Chapter 7, everybody! Sorry for missing last Tuesday but real life decided that it needed me.

So part of the description of Tortuga comes from the Pirates of the Caribbean Online game, with some of the people described being NPCs who sometimes have quests for you. Very happy they brought that game back with Legend of Pirates Online, that game was my childhood and I'll hop on every once in a while for the comfort and vibes.

In other news Don't Starve having a mime fits perfectly and since Wes is French that's what the parrot speaks. Also to any French speakers, I'm sorry if it's wrong, I'm using WordHippo and I'm not certain how accurate that is. As for who gets to play Ana Maria…Winona has been wanting to punch Maxwell for a while, let's be real. In other news I'm not sure if I've found beard hair around a skeleton in a set piece, but it works well enough for the story. XD

Also welcome to the Lunar Island! It's not going well.

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Pirates of the Caribbean © 2003 Disney

Wilson had not, by any stretch of the imagination, gotten a good night's sleep.

There were reasons, of course, overwhelming worry for Willow being chief among them, but trying to catnap in the eaves of some half-trashed building in a rowdy town full of pirates didn't help. Check himself over as he fully returned to the land of the waking, found everything still where it was supposed to be, no mystery bloodstains…okay. Next step: hope Maxwell hadn't snuck off in the interim.

Tortuga in the morning could possibly pass as respectable if it weren't for the inert bodies of pirates sleeping off the night before—there was a man busy feeding his chickens, another guy busy chopping wood, several marked businesses entertaining patrons such as a jeweler, a barber, a blacksmith…if he hadn't seen the state of things the previous night, he would have chalked up the men sleeping in doorways or behind crates as sailors who hadn't been able to secure lodgings between voyages.

Asking around for Maxwell, meantime, was an exercise in frustration, did finally run into him to find that he had been similarly looking for him.

"I was banking on you staying where I left you, pal," he said, tossing Wilson an apple. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I trust you wandering around by yourself."

"I was fairly certain you had gone and left me," Wilson said, eyebrows raised.

"Oi when I make a deal I keep it. Speaking of, follow me."

Wilson still had misgivings, apologized for keeping an eye open during his moment of silence, followed Maxwell to the docks, where they met with Woodlegs.

"Feast yer eyes," Woodlegs announced, gesturing broadly to a line of sailors on the docks. "The finest short-notice sailors, every man worth his salt. And crazy to boot," he added in an undertone. "This fit yer needs?"

"Good question," Maxwell said. Stopped in front of one of the men. "You."

"Wes."

"Whatever. Do you have the fortitude to face whatever the sea throws at you?" Wait a few beats. "That's a question that requires an answer, pal."

"Wes is a mime, sir, won't talk fer nothin'," Woodlegs said. "So he trained the parrot there to talk fer him. Although none of us has yet figured out how."

"Oi why would you even…fine, Wes's…parrot," Maxwell said, waving a hand irritably. "Same question."

"Vent dans les voiles," the parrot chimed.

"Do what?"

"It's French," Wilson said. "'Wind in the sails,' I think."

"Mostly we figure that means yes," Woodlegs supplied.

"Oi vey…well?" Maxwell asked Wilson. "This meet your muster?"

"Well you've certainly proven they're mad," Wilson said bluntly.

"And what's the benefit for us?" someone further down the line asked. Maxwell scowled, made his way to the person in question, tugged their hat off—

"Oh crud Winona," he managed—Wilson registered the sturdy build as a woman right as she decked Maxwell hard enough to lay him flat.

"Let me guess," Wilson said as Maxwell picked himself back up. "You didn't deserve that."

"No, actually, that one I deserved," Maxwell muttered, rubbing his jaw.

"You stole! My! Boat!" the identified Winona said, jabbing a gloved finger at him.

"Actually—" Maxwell started—flinched and backtracked when she cocked a fist at him. "Borrowed! Borrowed without permission but with every intention of bringing it back!"

"But you DIDN'T!"

"You'll get another one," Wilson interjected, feeling this would go south if he didn't intervene.

"See?" Maxwell said, happily grabbing for any chance of getting out of this.

"A better one."

"Let's not get crazy, pal."

"That one."

"What one?" Maxwell demanded—looked where Wilson pointed, rounded back on him when he realized that Wilson had pointed out the Interceptor. "That one!?"

Wilson raised his eyebrows significantly; as near as he could figure, Maxwell was after that black ship. Once he had the ship, he likely wouldn't need the Interceptor, and with any luck when Norrington caught up with the Interceptor it'd be full of pirates and he'd happily take that win instead of going after Wilson.

Maxwell, meantime, had noticed that the rest of the potential crew had been very interested in how the conversation was developing, were eyeing them like seagulls who sensed that they weren't guarding their food properly. "Fine, sure, that one," he said quickly, grinning at them like he was being charming. "What say you lot?"

Winona narrowed her eyes at them, considering and suspicious…finally barked aye!, a sentiment echoed by the rest of the crew before they all stampeded down the docks to the ship.

"No no no it's frightful bad luck to have a woman on board," Woodlegs said—made a face at him when Maxwell responded with an ironic expression. "Especially that one, especially on this particular venture."

"We'll have far worse luck without her," Maxwell said, glancing at the sky as he headed for the ship himself. Wilson and Woodlegs looked up as well—down at each other, exchanging a shrug.


What Maxwell had been looking at became brutally clear when they ran into a storm.

"How are we supposed to find an island that can't be found with a compass that doesn't work!?" Wilson bellowed at Woodlegs as they and the rest of the crew struggled to batten down the hatches.

"Aye, the compass doesn't point north," Woodlegs bellowed back. "But we're not trying to find north, are we!?"

This arguably made no sense, but Wilson had no opportunity to pursue this further until well after the storm passed, when they were cautiously wending their way through what could only be called a ship graveyard, bits and pieces of masts barely poking out of the water and hinting at the shapes they were avoiding beneath.

"Puts a chill in the bone, the number of honest sailors claimed by this passage," Woodlegs said, looking in the water. Wilson made an affirmative noise, decided that Woodlegs was in enough of a talkative mood he could pry something out of him.

"About Maxwell," he said to Woodlegs in an undertone. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Ahhh, there not be a sea voyage long enough to tell you every yarn what follows Maxwell Carter," Woodlegs said, affecting a stance as he shifted to expansive. "Most all though was before I knew him personal-like, back when he was captain of the Shadowchaser."

"That was Maxwell's ship originally?" Wilson asked sharply—Woodlegs suddenly looked caught. "He failed to mention that when we were negotiating."

"Aye…well he plays things a bit closer to the vest now, what after being viciously mutinied upon."

Oh they were definitely getting to the bottom of something now—sit, indicate that Woodlegs do the same; the old sailor did so, eager to launch into a story. "Now listen young Wil—when a pirate is marooned they're left with naught but a pistol with a single shot. That ain't much good fer signaling and it's no help with hunting, but after three days that pistol starts looking mighty friendly-like. But Maxwell—he spends those days in the water getting all sorts of sea creatures acclimated to him, works some magic on them…and then on the third day he lashes a couple of sea turtles together and rides them back to Tortuga! And oh, he's still got that pistol with the one shot, and he's saving it for one person and one person only: his mutinous first mate."

This shot wasn't meant for you. "That Charlie woman."

"Aye," Woodlegs said, nodding.

Okay, now to address the bigger issue with that story. "He roped a couple of sea turtles?" When Woodlegs nodded: "What did he use for rope?"

Woodlegs got ready to answer—paused, obviously confused by that himself, looked—

Wilson followed his line of sight to realize that Maxwell had been standing there for a bit, listening in. "Beard hair," Maxwell said bluntly. "Got it off the last guy that got marooned there. But seeing as we're here…get up, pal, I need to borrow you for a minute."

Here—Willow—

Oh please be all right.


Willow was not thrilled about actually being at their destination, mostly because she was still hung up on the whole blood sacrifice thing.

"Can't I just donate some and you drop me off someplace with civilization?" she asked Charlie as they were loaded up in a rowboat.

"This is a good question," the one-eyed guy she heard referred to as DC said—which led to the two rowing pirates having a whole argument over this as they slid into a cave system. Something about the softly glowing rocks inside put her teeth on edge, made the gray, drab-looking exterior suddenly weird and sinister.

"Look at it this way," Charlie said when they reached a cove and she led the way out. "How many people can say they've walked on the moon?"

Willow held her tongue at that, although some small sensible part that always managed to sound like Wilson spent the winding trip through a narrow tunnel yammering about how this couldn't possibly be a chunk of the moon that fell to the earth because people would have noticed that. Said noisy internal Wilson fell silent when they entered a larger cavern, her gasping at the sight of more gold and treasure than she had ever seen piled high in a cavern that managed to glow softly with moonlight even with the sun streaming in. Charlie smiled at her, steered her up a rocky little mound slick with coins and other assortments, parked her in front of what looked like a stone tomb as they waited for the rest of the pirates to file in.

"Are we all in?" Charlie asked, clasping her hands happily. "Shall I do a fancy speech or go straight for what we came for?"

"Speech!" one pirate said, pumping a fist.

"Speech after!" a big burly guy said.

"Yeah!" a short guy Willow recognized as one of the pirates from the governor's household. "I've been waiting ten years to spend all this!"

"I'll go for the short and sweet speech then," Charlie said, waving them off—turned sharply, shoving at the lid of the stone tomb, sending Willow leaping back with a yelp as it slid off—

Staring at the coins glowing inside, all of them identical to her own medallion.

"Behold!" Charlie announced, picking up a handful and letting it fall back as she gestured broadly to her audience. "The cursed treasure of Alter itself. And how did that sorry celestial chunk react when we had the incentive to track this down and find it?"

Willow was still lost on the whole Alter thing, but nobody here had anything positive to say about whatever it was, Charlie more than happy to egg them on.

"Unjustly punished for our crimes!" Charlie declared. "But we've tracked down every last piece but for this one, and all of us have paid our fair share, but for her!" Jab a finger at Willow, who could feel her chances of survival dwindling quickly—flinched when Charlie tugged the medallion off her neck, grabbed her wrist in a vice grip. "And do you know what I'm going to do when this curse is finally lifted?" Charlie asked, grinning maniacally. "I'm going to eat a whole bushel of apples."

The pirates cheered wildly at this, started chanting as Charlie put the medallion in Willow's hand—stopped abruptly when Charlie cut her hand and squeezed it around the medallion.

"Wait—that's it?" Willow gasped.

"Waste not," Charlie said primly; turned Willow's hand over, squeezing her wrist so she'd let go—

Dead silence as the bloodied medallion joined the others.

The air was charged, tense, everyone waiting for the curse to lift….

"I don't feel no different," one pirate said finally. "How do we tell?"

Charlie looked pensive for a moment before pulling a gun and shooting the pirate in the chest, watching with the rest of them as the pirate looked down at a bullet wound that didn't bleed.

"You're not dead!" another pirate said.

"No," the one pirate said, laughing nervously—turned furious when what happened fully registered. "Hey! You shot me!"

"It didn't work!"

"The curse is still upon us!" another pirate railed.

"Oh grow up," Charlie muttered, snatching the bloodied medallion up and glowering at it.

Willow knew she was in trouble when everyone's attention turned to her.

"You," Charlie said, coming up on her in a way that forcibly reminded her of an angry panther. "Did you ever make any deals with one Maxwell Carter?"

Deals? Why? "You asked if I had dealings with him—he had kidnapped me that morning."

"But he didn't give this to you."

"The only thing he gave me was some bruises around my neck—" Flinched back as Charlie practically exploded.

"Then WHERE did you get THIS!? I don't care if the person you got it from is dead, was it given to you?" Seemed to realize from her hesitation that she had technically stolen it from Wilson, slapped her in frustration and sent her and the medallion tumbling down the hill—fell short of the water, laid there as she listened to the pirates argue, trying to figure out her next move…she couldn't hide and hope for another ship, the only maybe-edible stuff she had seen was mushrooms, but she was dead if she stayed—

Startled gasp at a hand on her mouth, at the person in the water with a finger to his mouth—

Wilson!