(Part 5 of the Truths & Lies series, but can be read as a standalone. See A Reader's Guide to Truths and Lies.)

Beautiful she is, fresh and shining, and I covet her as soon as I catch sight of her. Save that there's no catching about it, for I feel her presence before I know there's a me to be a-feeling it... Then I remember the shot, the cold, and I see the heaps of treasure I'll never spend.

Odd that Jack took so little—perhaps he'll be back. I've half a notion he did come back, tried to wake me, but no, 'twas the other Jack, the monkey. What became of Jack, I wonder? He'll be wanting something to eat, with the curse lifted. There was an apple somewhere...

The lass speaks, and she be as fair to hear as to look upon. Perhaps some lubber of an angel sent me to Heaven, or Parnassus, or some other afterlife more pleasant than I deserve.

But she wants to talk of Jack Sparrow. So 'tis Hell then, and my first torment be to praise the man what sent me here for the delight of yet another wench that I want but cannot have. Always Jack Sparrow they be wanting. Always him.

"Jack Sparrow?" I croak, and hope the name will sound bitter as it tastes. "I knew as soon as I clapped eyes on him he was naught but a fool and a sodomite."

The wench scowls. No doubt all the lasses in Hell are in love with Jack Bloody Sparrow, but it seems no-one has told them I enjoy watching a pretty face twist in anger.

"Ah! I can see ye've a bone to pick with that, me dear, but I'll thank ye to bide until I've finished me say. I'll own to it, I were wrong about 'naught but'."

She makes "tsk" noises and picks up the apple. A shrivelled, putrefying thing it is, not unlike my own carcass. However, since I'm surprised to enjoy any manner of existence at all, I'll not be complaining about that. Leastways, not yet.

She balances the apple corpse on the palm of one hand, strokes it with the other. The air comes all a-shimmer. When it clears, the apple is green, glossy, and plump.

"You don' believe?" Her manner would be flirtatious, if pretty wenches made a habit of flirting with rotting cadavers. "You wan' to taste?"

My lips are parched, and I can see my lungs flaccid and empty inside my ribcage, so 'tis a mystery where my voice be coming from.

"Aye."

Like a dark angel, she holds the apple high above my mouth. With a twist of nimble, brown fingers too dainty for such strength, she crushes it to pulp. The juice falls onto what remains of my lips. I taste it.

I forget Jack—both the pretty one and the monkey I named after him—and even the Pearl, so lost am I in this taste I've been ten years a-yearning for. Too soon, it fades and I must use my wasted tongue and shrunken fingers to seek out the last drops from my face, my beard, from the dusty gold on which I lie.

She laughs at that, a tinkling, tuneful sound like coins dropping in a glass jar.

"You wan' to live again, Hector Cardew Tink? Hector Barbossa? You wan' to live? Then tell me all 'bout witty Jack Sparrow and him precious William Turner. Do we have an accord?"

Her laugh is mocking, for the words belong to my world, not hers.

"Tell Tia, an' I can make you live. Don' you be keepin' nothin' back, for I will know all—all 'bout them, all 'bout you."

I don't believe her last words, or I misunderstand, but it matters not. I would agree to anything. Anything at all.

Words tumble from my mouth unplanned. "Navigator were Jack's position when I joined. He were slighter yet in them days, flouncing around the Pearl with his painted face, his fluttering foreign hands, that lass's gait, and the bloody, buggering hair. Within minutes of meeting the man, my hands were itching to throttle him."

She bares neat, white teeth. "Them not the only thing itchin', hm?"

I don't care to be read so easy, but I make as light of it as I may.

"'Tis sadly true, lass: the front of me britches pulled to him as a compass needle pulls to north."

He had that effect on many people, did Jack.

"He weren't stingy with his favours, neither. Jack'd have most anyone as wanted him, which was half the ship. (Don't fret so, me pretty, you may be sure he'd an eye for the lasses too, when such could be had.) But of them he bedded, he were smitten with but one: Bill Turner.

"Now Bill weren't the slowest in the crew—we'd men slower than a fine lass like yerself will credit—but he were the least entertaining company it's been my misfortune to sail with since I departed honest employment."

Jack's sweet William was naught but misery to me, and to Jack as well in the end. I ain't ready to be speaking of it yet.

"But Sparrow were the Devil's own navigator—which be a pirate's way of saying a damned good one. Charts and course be generally Captain's business, but since none could touch mad Jack, they let him call himself Navigator. 'Tweren't only stars and arithmetic—though he were skilled with both—but stranger methods too. I've seen him call for a pail of seawater and drink, rolling it round his mouth like fancy gents does with wine; a few times I found him pressed up against a timber, whispering, and stroking the ship like a lover."

She settles herself against a pile of treasure, looks at me out of the corners of her coal-black eyes. Just for a second, she looks like Jack himself come to mock. For I wanted the Pearl even worse than I wanted her crazed, bejewelled Navigator. But the bargain be for Jack's story: I'll be keeping my other love for myself.

"Not that he didn't lead us into trouble, but ne'er on account of not being where he thought. The Pearl be a fast ship, but her name for being uncatchable were partly down to Jack setting a better course than them as was wanting to do the catching.

"His finest trick were drawing charts from his head. No mind put together right could've done it, but Jack was mad as a sandhopper, and he could. 'Tis my belief all the places he'd been (which was more'n you'd credit for one so young) and all the charts he'd seen, 'twere all of it trapped in the unholy mess of Jack Sparrow's head."

She chuckles. "Maybe him older'n you think!" Then, struck by a thought. "Don' you 'member where you been? An' you a great pirate captain?"

"No," I say. "Not like Jack. There's none as does."

She seems truly not to understand, which is interesting.

"Oh, I could describe a place well enough, draw you a rough map, but never a chart like Jack's, not a chart you could sail by."

Such a normal, human thing, yet she's no sense of it. What manner of creature be this wench? My spine prickles, but not with fear: she be putting me in mind of Jack again.

"Beautiful draftsman, he was: ink all over himself and anything else in pistol range, but nary a blot on the paper."

Had I but my Pearl again, I'd unroll one of Jack's charts and show her a true wonder, all drawn out clear as you could wish: tiny ships for harbours, anchors for a mooring, dolphins and porpoises along the currents...

But I fear she'd not rightly look, for this unearthly, pretty lass has other interests and says only, "Tell me of Jack Sparrow an' William Turner!"

"Aye, Jack Sparrow and William Turner. One of the mysteries of the universe, that be!"

This earns me a bright smile and another tinkling laugh. And more, for she fetches a great iron-bound chest I'd never have the strength to shift, and helps me lean against it. Then she sits down beside me and takes my hand. "Tell me how you watched Jack Sparrow and William!"

I can scarce refuse, but I'll have not be having this precious William nonsense—had more than enough from Jack.

"Bill Turner," I say, speaking it very clear, "Bootstrap Bill, as he became, were a quiet one. Tortoise to Jack's hare, you could say, for he were never quick, Bill, but he were a careful planner.

"I never knew how he come to pirating—usual story, no doubt—but he weren't happy with it. Not that Bill Turner were ever happy with much, save with Jack, and that not always. A fine seaman, he were, and fierce in a fight, but he fretted: he'd no stomach for killing of innocents nor stealing from the needy. Perhaps that's where Jack got his fancy notions. But you takes things as you finds them in this trade, and Bill weren't smart like Jack to choose what he'd find.

"There be precious few saints at sea. Bill could torment himself over the bloodletting, but he couldn't hide the shine in his eyes when we boarded a prize. No more than his wedding ring could hide his hunger for a nice bit of skirt or some well-filled britches. And Honest Bill lusted like a baboon for Jack's soft lips and hard behind."

"For a while..."

"So ye know how the tale ends."

"Don' you trouble for what I know. You jus' show me what you know—an' how you tell it."

"The real mystery, now, was what Jack saw in Bill. Oh, the fellow was handsome enough, when he weren't brooding: tall, strong, young—but older than Jack—and somewhere betwixt dark and fair."

Not unlike myself at the time, save that I needed no catamite to dress me in plundered finery.

"When Bill was in one of his saintly spells, he'd shuffle round the Pearl more puritan than pirate. But when Jack were in favour, he'd let himself be dressed in blues and greens, for Jack had a notion Bill's eyes showed the sea—said he read the weather in them, even on land. Jack were ever full of nonsense. Bill's eyes were plain, clear blue, same as mine."

"But Jack saw no sea in yours, hm? Why not?"

"Bill were first."

'Tis no magic to snare a lad's heart when he's new at sea: takes naught but a warm shoulder, a strong arm, and a little kindness. I've no liking for such games myself. I'd sooner play Jack's lover, and leave father to Bill. Only Jack trailed after Bill for something more, something I never saw.

She leans against my shoulder as she murmurs, "The sea need the shore."

'Tis just such wise-sounding nonsense as Jack used to spout. It explains nothing.

"Nay, I'll never know why Jack made himself a mooncalf over Bill Turner, unless the man's very dullness were exotic to one as strange as Jack."

"A rock don' shine, but it let the waves break, an' it never ask nothin' back."

"Aye, and it'll dash a ship to ruin and leave naught but driftwood to tell the tale."

"That come later," she says briskly, brushing dust from my coat buttons. "Creation 'fore destruction! Back to the beginnin', Hector Barbossa, if you wan' to begin yourself..."

"The beginning it be then! A proper pair of lovebirds they were at first. Their hammock—they'd not bother to sling two—was a byword for what, in refined company, you'd be calling 'enthusiastic buggery'. 'Tis but the truth, lass."

She grins. "An' you goin' to tell Tia all of the truth, now Hector..." Her teeth are milky white but they sparkle like Jack's golden ones.

I hope I return the grin—'tain't easy with my lips half rotted.

"'Tweren't only the hammock neither. We'd be forever stumbling over them against a bulwark, in amongst the coils of cable, anywhere with space for two bodies to rub together. Betweentimes, Jack's hands were forever fluttering round Bill like gulls round a fishing smack—William, he called him, Bill being, in his opinion, too plain for this pearl among men.

"Bill stayed quiet, but he'd slip an arm round fidgeting, capering Jack and draw him close. Even gutting fish up on deck, they'd lean their heads towards one another as they worked, or sit with legs outstretched to touch foot to bare foot."

She strokes my hair from my face, gentle and sad. "I'm thinkin' you missed touch most." She tilts her head to one side, sizing me up. "Your soul was curdled with lust for what you could not share—is that not so?"

I nod brusquely, for we both know she's seen true and there be no sense lingering.

"It couldn't last, of course, and Bill's parcels home boded trouble to come. Not that Jack cared. Seemed there was nothing he'd not do for one of Bill's glum smiles. He used to help Bill write letters to his missus, if you can believe that. I've a notion some of the money Bill sent was Jack's and all, for the poor sap were proud as an uncle of Bill's brat."

"Him love the father—why not the child?"

Just what Jack would've said. The chit—if chit she be—is daft as he ever was. Seems I be fated to endure eternity ruled by alluring lunatics. And I'd thought ten cursed years were disproportionate punishment.

"You made yo' own punishmen', Hector. So don' be complainin' 'bout the proportion of it."

Did I speak that aloud?  The shiver of fear, I can hide, but not the anger.

"The one as made his own Hell were your precious Jack, for his head were like his charts—inland blank save a few church steeples and such navigational landmarks. He'd no notion of Bill's life on shore, nor of aught above the high tide mark."

"An' how you know him wrong, hm?" Perversely, she be all smiles and dimples again. "Was you born inland, Hector?"

In sight of Trevaudance Point. Close my eyes and I smell heather and salt, turning out of bed in the dark and stumbling to the cliff top with a lantern to draw ships onto the rocks. Worked my way along the coast, found a berth on a lugger, and never looked back. All I know of the land is ne'er trust twinkling lights on lonely shores.

"Your whole life in the sound of salt water." She runs her finger along my collar bone in mockery of a lover's caress. "You belong to the sea, my Hector, an' to me, same as Jack."

"'Tis true enough." (I'd agree with Old Hob himself for a chance to live anew.) "But I'm not such a fool to gift me heart to a man what takes thought for a wife and child on shore. Jack was blind to dangers on land, and his folly was writ clear on their skins."

They'd pledged matelotage in days afore I joined, and given each other tattoos to mark it. A shame it were to see Jack sullied by Bill's cack-handed daubing.

"Jack's mark on Bill's wrist were a piece of art: scrollwork of breaking waves round a swooping sparrow, delicate as the detail on his charts. He'd worked a J into the sweep of the bird's wings and the curve of its breast, visible only if you knew how to look. Now ye'd think even crazed Jack Sparrow might question what such concealment boded for his future with dear William, but I never saw sign of it."

"You far too smart to see nothin' at all!"

"Maggots've been at me brains, me dear. Ye'll have to make yourself clearer—or restore me to my former vigour..."

She fusses with the folds of her skirts and brings out a tin. My tin! I lock the words behind gritted teeth. She must have stolen it from my pocket while... While I was dead, aye. Dead. There be no sense to be fearing the mere word. Now, the other word: was. That one, I find I've quite taken a fancy to.

So I speak. "There was a Tamil in Calicut, painted miniatures on wood. They'd their portraits made to give one another, Jack prattling the usual nonsense, wanting the sea painted the exact same shade as Bill's eyes. Stowed it in a baccy tin, he did, with a lock of Bill's hair."

I found it when I took the Captain's cabin, but I weighted it with lead shot and heaved it overboard. This tin here, the one Jack gave to Bill, this I kept. Leastways, until now.

"This the one you shoulda thrown to Davy Jones! He might return it to its rightful owner." But she giggles as she opens the tin, like Kitty the time she filched her mistress' comfits and shared them with me from a twist of pink paper. She lifts the lock of Jack's hair from the tin, all beaded and braided.

"You'll be needin' this."

"'Tis a pretty picture," I concede, "but I've no use for such things." He looks so young without his beard, fresh feathers in his hair put in special for the portrait, for he never found a way to make them last at sea. The shine has dulled, and the smell of him faded years since, though the curse robbed me of it before time could.

"More use than you know," she says. "Maybe your compass needle point to Jack, but you'll find him easier if you keep a part of him." She leans down to tuck the tin into my breast pocket, her wild locks brushing my face: sea-anemones to Jack's serpents. "You wan' to snag yo' fingers in that hair, hm, Hector?"

The weight of the tin on my chest feels good. An image comes, clear as eyesight, though 'twas years since and I thought to have forgot.

"Becalmed we were, and the heat something terrible, worse for stewing in our slops with no wind to bear them or us away. There being no profit battling heat or stink, we took arms against the lice. Jack and Bill sat working oil through each other's hair with a fine-toothed comb. Jack's braids could be untangled in them days, and now his hair lay sleek and flat over his naked back, shining with oil. Bill's hair was soon done, so I asked Jack to work on mine."

'Twas good to feel his nimble, brown fingers and hear him humming to himself as he popped the lice between his fingernails.

She grins and mimes picking a louse from my head, makes a show of disappointment: my parasites starved years since.

"Bill went below for some thread to bind up Jack's braids. I lifted the heavy fall of hair from his neck, and licked the bitter oil from the skin beneath. Oh, I knew Jack for wild and easy, but I'd not expected him to close his eyes and drop into my lap."

She shakes her head. "You wan' everythin' difficult," she says.

As if I made a choice to be lying here, neither quick nor dead, bartering my secrets to a witch for a scrap of hope. As if it 'twere me as made Jack befuddle himself with Bill and strong drink till there was naught for it but to cut and run. But I'm a-getting ahead of the tale.

"I nuzzled a path to his ear. 'If ever ye tire of Bill Turner...'

"'Ain't never goin' to,' he purred, guiding my hand to his chest. 'But he don't mind sharing.'

"It were almost what I'd dreamed of, meaning it weren't. I pushed him away. 'I've no need of Bill Turner's leavings,' I said. 'When ye want what I have for ye, ye've but to come askin'.'"

She cups my face in her hands like it were something rare and fine. "Jus' as I hoped!" she says, "You burn for Jack, but you don' burn up."

As I walked away, I heard Jack say, 'Your funeral, mate,' with a terrible indifference I knew weren't feigned Years after, when I was cursed and Jack—as I thought—dead, I'd hear those words in dreams and wake wishing... Wishing what? That I'd strangled him as he lay in my lap, most likely.

"In the end, 'twere Bill hisself as taught Jack jealousy. When I'd signed, Jack'd been a young scamp more lass than lad—pretty as a princess, for all he'd bite yer bollocks off for thinking it. He looked like ye could pick him up under one arm, but he fought mean and dirty, climbed like a monkey, and could turn the air blue with his bastard English and other tongues whose every word was blasphemy—in Jack's mouth, leastways. But young'uns don't last, and Jack were growing, though he'd ne'er be a big man."

To my eyes, he grew only more beautiful: muscles swelled, eyes deepened, every feature drawn not coarser but clearer.

"There were dark shadows on his lip and jaw, for 'tweren't baby fluff he'd be shaving with hoarded water and a scrap of looking glass. For Bill's benefit, that were, Dear William being none too taken with grown Jack. Oh, they shared a hammock still — and noisily, leastways after dark—but we'd not be tripping over them as afore, and I marked Bill's arm'd not find its way round Jack's waist so easy as once it did.

"Tide a-turnin'."

"Poor Jack saw it first, for he hung on Bill's every breath. He tried to hold him fast: painted, flirted, pouted, fluttered his pretty hands. Being Jack, it were nigh irresistible, and it did draw Bill back, but each time were harder won than the last, and sooner over. It began to flow my way a few months after they made me First Mate and Jack Second, promotion doing him no favours with Bill.

"To rekindle Bill's interest, Jack'd find a whore in port—knowing Bill's taste in that quarter as well as Bill himself—and bed her together. 'I'll find us a lass, eh William?' he'd say with a wink and a wiggle as the gang of us settled into a tavern. 'What takes your fancy tonight, or shall I choose?'

"We were in the old Brown Mermaid in Cochin. (They'd a leathery, dead thing in a glass case. The landlord said it were a baby mermaid, but it looked more like a dried anglerfish to me.) I could see Jack with a freckled slut, and I knew what he'd be saying: 'Come and meet my friend William, luv. Nicest man on the ship. I promise you'll like him.' Only William were gone, weren't he? I watched Jack's eyes dart round the barroom, knowing what they'd find, until he spied Bill in a dark corner, mouth to mouth with a satin-clad beauty.

"The beauty pulled back to work on the lace of Bill's britches, and Jack froze. Bill's whore was a slender lad with raven hair to his waist, golden skin, and eyes like tar pools. He were the spit of Jack—if you were half-blind, stupid, and piss drunk—but aged no more'n fifteen year.

"'Is that your friend?' asked the wench. 'He don't hang about, do he? Not to worry, eh? Better fun with four!'

"'Go fuck yerself!' Jack hissed, low and dangerous, never taking his eyes off Bill. The lass opened her mouth, looked at Bill, then at Jack. She'd sense enough to scarper without another word."

"Poor Jack!" says the witch.

I'd little sympathy then and less now: I keep my eyes on the prize. That night in the Mermaid, the prize was Jack Sparrow, and his eyes were on the dark lad between Bill's legs.

"Jack spun around, waved a hand at the rest of us. 'Evening, gents,' he announced, almost jaunty (meaning not jaunty at all, but trying his best). 'Think I'll take a stroll.'

"'Course, I was on my feet, taking his arm, choosing my words carefully... 'I've no taste for lasses nor lads tonight, Jack,' I said. 'What I fancy's a grown man who'll give as good as he gets.' I smiled then, letting him see the hunger.

"'Twas plain I had him hooked. But 'twere him as reeled me in, for he took my shoulders and pushed me against the wall. Then he were on his knees, hands at my britches lace, tongue wetting his lips... God's hooks, beautiful, wicked Jack Sparrow was..."

"Aye, you feel again, do you not, Hector? Is it still good? Should I touch it for you?"

She be laughing again, her eyes black and full of wickedness. Like Jack's. I could swear my cock fills and rises, solid as the Pearl's figurehead, though I know 'tis but scraps and maggots. The only things straining my britches are my hip bones.

"Can ye truly make me live, make me flesh?" 'Tis not begging—or so I tell myself—but bargaining.

"You seen the apple."

"You crushed the apple."

"The apple did not tell me 'bout Jack Sparrow an' William Turner..."

"Aah! And if ye be crushing me—who'll tell ye the story then, eh?"

Her eyes narrow. "You tryin' to bargain, Hector? You ain't even got breath in yo' lungs."

Nor flesh enough to shudder. I've little choice but to tell my tale, and I've a mortal fear that, once it be told, I'll matter no more. What I'm needing here is payment up front.

"If I could truly feel again, I could tell it better..."

She tips her head back, laughs loud and long. Then she takes my hands in hers, closes her eyes, and breathes out a lungful of the shimmer that restored the apple. Soon it surrounds her, flowing down her arms towards my hands.

Pain hits so quick I whimper, but there be just time to clench my teeth against the scream that would follow. Like flames it feels, save flesh and skin be not charred away, but condensed—a witch-burning reversed.

Suddenly, 'tis over. Breathing! My heart beats. She pulls me to my feet. I sway at first, but do not fall. My flesh, and even my clothes, are renewed, whole... I pull my knife from my boot. The hilt feels cold and sharply ridged but, just to make sure, I draw the blade down the pad of my thumb. I feel pain!

The witch stares. "Was pain of rebirth not proof a-plenty?"

She looks changed somehow, dusty and torn, her face inked with dots. As her smile widens, I see her teeth ain't milky now, but smeared black like she's been drinking tar, or ink. "You be home now," she says, "in the world of flesh. 'Tis your world, an' I am strange in it."

She can be as strange as she likes if she'll only let me stay! I'll wager this resurrection be but a sample of her wares, a taste, as it were. To lose it so soon would be unbearable.

She puts a finger to her cheek, tilts her head—'tis like watching Jack Sparrow haggle with a harbourmaster. "What happen next depend only on you, Hector. You was tellin' me 'bout the turnin' tide and wicked Jack Sparrow. Was you not?"

The tale as payment for my life. I could spin a fine one too, save the witch knows much and sees more. So why need me to be a-telling it?

"Why indeed?" She giggles like a tavern wench. "What I need is for you to be feelin' it, Hector!" She pushes me backwards through the cavern to a wall of rock, where she drops to her knees, unlaces my britches, and shows me a faceful of sin. "Show Tia what you made of, an' how it feel with pretty Jack, hm?"

That blackened mouth be uncanny and somehow... carnivorous, like things that feast in a fresh wreck. But when a man's been ten years cursed, well, a suck is a suck, and there's no denying the lass is a comely one. Nor no denying my own miraculous, blood-plumping flesh...

She hums as she takes me, holding my hips against the wall, and I'm back in the Mermaid, drowning in the feel of Jack's tongue. I could shoot my bolt like a green lad, but I grit my teeth and hang fire for—being neither lad nor green—I notice Jack be working to a purpose.

Trouble is, Bill Turner, busy with his own dark wanton, sees nothing, so 'tis my task to outlast the man. Takes all my strength, it does, but I mutter to Jack to slacken canvas till Bill comes in range. Soon as Bill can see, I throw back my head and wail like a banshee, testifying to the Mermaid's customers and whores that Jack's mouth does things they can only dream of.

Then Jack sets to in earnest, and there be little need of playacting from there on in. I finish, screaming his name, and fall to my knees. As the Mermaid rings with mocking applause, Jack winks and pulls me into a kiss.

Jack swung his hair forward to hide how he spat my seed on the floor, but the witch swallows it greedily. She winks, and kisses me just as Jack did. Then she laces my britches and leads me out into the sunlight.

The sun burns my eyes at first. The bright air burns my lungs, and my legs are weak. I lean on the witch, who strolls through the ankle-deep cinders, light as a lass in a spring meadow.

She pulls me onto a flat-topped rock over the bay, my body soaks up sunshine and fresh air while I scan the horizon, or watch hammerheads circling the spars of the ships' graveyard. After a time however, my breath comes easier, and I remember she'll be wanting the rest of the story.

"I were still something of a young fool meself, enough to fancy Jack truly mine at last. And so he were, for that night and the next."

"All fierce an' hot an' hurtin'—jus' how you like!" The witch grins and licks her inky teeth. I find I relish the sight of them, for I've learned their appearance means we be in the world of the living.

"But then Bill relented, and Jack went back to that old hammock they shared. His bunk stayed cold most nights, and mine scarce warmer. But pain's a thing I understand, and I knew Jack'd be hurting again soon enough, so I bit my tongue and bided my time."

"Waitin' for the tide to ebb an' flow."

"'Twere Bill's lust what ebbed and flowed, or his control over it. When he could master it—or sate it with sluts—Jack turned to me, and you may be sure I held him tight. When Bill's lust burned brighter, I were forced to let go, but each time I fancied to've cut some ropes between them, and set a few grapples of my own.

"I could be cunning too. I'd talk to Bill of families, spin him tales of how my Da put to sea and ne'er came home, leaving Ma and us brats to grief and ruin. 'Twas purest bilge: the furthest he went from shore was when he took a rowboat to ships on the rocks."

I'd help him load the cargo while Ma made a show of fussing over any sailors with fight still in 'em. Her gentle smile were the last thing those poor buggers saw.

"I taught Jack the pleasures of pain and power. He was a quick study, fearless and hungry, for he got no such games with Precious William. Or I'd talk of strumpet's tricks, knowing he'd try 'em on Bill, seeing only the lust he waked, never the guilt what followed. Lust he understood, but guilt, to Jack, were like sums to Pintel.

"One time, he sought help from a w... from a wise woman. He traded her a mermaid's comb—so he claimed—for spiced, enchanted cocoa beans to drive a man wild. We tested them together. Powerful magic, they were."

"I should hope!" She sets her hands on her hips.

Too slowly, it falls into place. "It were ye! Ye be..."

"The witch?"

Her eyes hold unfathomable depths of mockery, worse than Jack at his cruellest. I hold down a shudder: I'm not out of this storm yet.

"Strong magic did not aid Jack," she says, flashing from scorn to sorrow. "His hurt cause me to forget what I shoulda known best: you can stir up a storm, but you cannot make the sea change her place."

"When Bill figured out what Jack were up to, he cast the beans over the rail and wrapped himself in his hammock tighter than a grub in a cocoon: Jack went alone to his cabin that night, but he were in mine by morning."

I remember more. "Jack said he and ye... Ye helped him before?"

She smiles light and easy. "Of course! What mother would not help her son?"

The rock drops, my stomach lurches. God's ballocks! Jack's mother!

The horizon be blue and clear still, with no trace of the hurricane I've blundered into. I flirted with her, told of my lust for her son, acted it out with her... Did I not boast how I tricked Jack into frighting Bill from him?

Now she'll be making me tell the rest! Perhaps, if I beg forgiveness, she'll grant me a swift death. But I'll not beg for the thing I tried so hard to escape. Nay, not even to avoid something worse. I put my head in my hands, overcome by confusion or despair.

She laughs, and strokes my hair almost... tenderly. I know she be toying with me, but I cannot smother a foolish spark. Hope accomplishes what despair could not: I will not shed tears, but my throat clenches absurdly.

"Hush now, Hector!" she croons. "'Tain' so bad as it look. Maybe I have a use for you still—if you got what I need to aid Jack."

I can't leave off blinking and swallowing. My face burns.

"Let Tia take up the tale," she says, "till you can speak." Her voice is kind, but I fear her deeds will not be. "Jack's father was but a pirate, an' I was loved by another—a great sailor, but jealous. I tried to hide Jack from the sailor, but he would not bide on land."

It cannot be! Jack told me he were raised in a brothel, which explained a great deal, or so I thought. Witch and whore might be well-matched trades, but I can't picture this one scrubbing pots between customers, nor teaching young Jack the opportune moment to slip from under the bed and lift their valuables.

"I kep' my eye on the boy an' helped him when I could. But a day come when Jack lost him Captain, him ship, an' more. That day, the sailor took him chance to hurt me back."

Jack near killed the lot of us that time, him and his fancy sentiments. We'd made an accord with the East India Company—in the shape of a greedy little gent named Beckett—to ship a cargo of slaves. Can't say I cared much for turning relatively honest merchant, nor for the stink of the goods, but 'twere easy money and, as I said, you takes as you finds in my line of work.

I never saw Jack so angry, but the Captain told him to shut it or quit the ship, so he shut. But he couldn't let it be.

One sunrise we found ourselves closer than planned to a sand spit; my keys'd gone missing, a rope hung down from an open gun port, and the entire cargo—bar them as was half-dead in any case—melted into the jungle.

I doubt they enjoyed their freedom long, but the nub of it were they'd gone. Jack owned up to having mistook our position in the dark, but insisted the keys and rope were a mystery. None believed him, for we knew he steered perfectly, and picked pockets well nigh as good. We'd more pressing troubles, however: the East India Company was mightily displeased.

"A great sea battle!"

To hear her speak, you'd fancy it an epic clash of navies, not the poor Pearl trapped against a lee shore by a squadron of Indiamen out of Fort St. George.

"A good fight we made of it," I say, "but the Captain and a third of the crew were killed. I saw Jack shot through the chest; but by then, the Pearl were holed below the waterline and burning above it. I struck out for shore on my own."

"Jack wan' that ship so bad," says the witch, looking truly sorry for it. "Bad enough to trade him soul to Davy Jones."

I might have known he'd be in the tale, for 'tis becoming more like one of old Josiah's yarn's by the moment.

"Are ye saying 'twas ye as made Davy Jones raise the Pearl?"

"Ships ain' no concern of Tia's! Jack done that all by himself. He made Davy wait thirteen year—Jack learned him bargainin' from me—but he trade him soul none the less. My heart din' wait thirteen year: it break right then. I could not bear to look on my boy, knowin' Davy take him so soon. Tia's no fool to lock her heart in a box: better lock away the hurt, an' keep the heart where it can mend.

"Don't go believin' I gave no help, mind—why you think so many wash up alive, hm? You tell it yourself, now you found your tongue!"

I want to ask what Jack was, and what he knew, but my only salvation's the tale, and I must mind to the telling of it.

"'Tis true many of us came to shore—and I thank ye, if ye'd a hand in that. I gathered all the men I could, and led 'em through the jungle till we found ourselves a dhow. 'Twas a hard journey, and I grieved for Jack and the Pearl, as did we all."

Most for the Pearl, but ships be no concern to the witch.

"Did you not search for Jack?"

After his folly cost us so dear? If he traded his soul, he made a good bargain, for we'd soon've parted him from it had he come to shore alive!

But I adopt an expression of regret. "Even Bill could see 'twere a fool's hope."

I'd a suspicion Bill'd helped Jack lose us our cargo, but I saw no profit in calling him on it. Better to look to the future—then as now.

"Every man jack of the survivors voted for me: I were Captain Barbossa at last! I'd only the dhow—which weren't worth a name—but soon I'd be showing the world a thing or two. First, we needed food, water, and safety: I found us all three in the Nicobar Islands.

"Then who should show up but bloody Jack Sparrow? And the ship he sailed on none other than the Black Pearl herself, blacker and swifter than ever. How he found us he never said, but from the moment them black sails topped the horizon, they headed straight for our little anchorage, clean and true as you could wish, for all he'd scarce men enough to reef the sails."

(To think of the times I dismayed poor Bill Turner with talk of Jack's uncanny powers, never once wondering why the tales came so easy. And I called Bill a fool!)

"Now, the Pearl's safe return were a wonder to us all. My men from the dhow were so caught up in thanking Jack for the miracle, they quite forgot 'twere his folly as sank us in the first place. The man himself, arm still oozing from a fresh-branded P, would only put his finger to his beard and whisper 'I'm Jack Sparrow, mate—don't you forget it!'

"'Captain Jack Sparrow!" cries one of the idiots I'd saved from the jungle, and nothing would do but to make him Captain indeed."

I'd half a mind to curse them for the fools they were and go down fighting, but I figured I'd best paint on a smile, clap Jack on the back, and proclaim meself proud to be his First Mate.

"An' William Turner?" The question takes me unawares, but I welcome a new topic.

"Bill got Second Mate and were glad."

"William Turner an' my Jack?" she asks again, shaking her head.

Meaning, I suppose, were Bill glad to see pretty Jack? Well there's a question...

"Sat round the fire, we was; the fools I'd saved from the jungle a-crowding to touch Jack and the fools he'd saved from the fort, and all a-telling each other how happy they was to find the other set of fools still alive.

"Bill just stared into the flames, until Pintel jabbed him in the ribs and said, 'We're all glad to see Jack again, eh Bill?' Bill, being Bill, said naught; then he glanced across the fire with barely a smile. 'Glad to have you back, Jack, but I wonder what promises you made for it.'

"Jack's face flickered from cheerful to sickly in the firelight. 'No worries, love! Promises come cheap, eh? Anyway, I swear, by the time it matters, you'll not notice either way.' Then he came to sit by me, but only to drink himself stupid and sprawl on the sand, dead to the world."

"Ah!" she says, all witchy and mysterious. (Which be the wrong tack if she means to fright Hector Barbossa.) "My Jack has a touch of the sight, for all he won' believe."

"I thought of killing him as he slept," I say—truthfully, as it happens. "I marvel he knew I'd not."

Less than truth, that. Perhaps we both knew the men had just wits enough to send me after him; perhaps he were a trusting fool...

"Perhaps he fancied I cared for him more than I let on."

I try to believe this, in hopes that she will, but I've a hunch it won't pass muster. Best return quick to such facts as are in my favour.

"I spread a blanket over him. In the morning, when he woke groaning and spewing his guts on the sand, 'twas I that held his hair back and brought seawater to sluice away the mess."

I can only suppose 'twere done to impress the crew. Turns out lucky, for the witch is sizing me up with what looks to be favour.

"I'm thinkin' you could do it again," she says.

"That I could!" says I, seeing as it requires me alive and not writhing in torment.

"We resolved to quit Company waters and seek a living from the New World treasure ships. Jack had a notion to sail East into the South China Sea, past Singapore, then loop South and West to catch the currents back to Madagascar.

"He claimed to've been to Singapore, though none could think when, and to know his way as far as Java. After that—the Moluccas and the coast of New Holland—he had from Dutch maps, meaning he knew as much as the Dutchman what drew them. I agreed to the course on condition he drew out the charts first. And what charts he drew! I thought 'twere all a trick of his memory, but now I fancy he had that from you."

She nods gracious acknowledgement. "All the world below the shoreline."

A man soon wearies of inscrutable wisdom: be she planning on killing me or no? Still, praise for Jack's chart magic seems to please, and 'tis easily given.

"First he'd go still, staring at nothing I could see, then he'd wave his hands through the air, or trace invisible lines on the wall, and all the while he'd be muttering under his breath. Then, he'd pace about, measuring the miles in his head, cranking his legs more like a wading bird than a man.

"Then he'd scurry below to find ink and paper. We stood his watches; brought his meals. He'd be dog tired after, and Bill'd feed him, stroke his hair, call him clever, and such fiddle-faddle. And on the table, there'd be a new chart: the Strait of Malacca, the Celebes Sea, Moni, drawn pretty as can be.

"Served us well, those charts did. Plunder in the Strait were plentiful as Jack promised; we headed home laden with spices and silks. He found us landfall on specks with names he translated from Dutch or Portuguese: 'Goat Island', 'Burial Island', 'Buggery Island'... 'Tis my belief he named that one himself, in anticipation, as it were."

"An' was it well named?" She runs a fingertip up the front of my britches. Like mother, like bloody son! I'm in no mood for such games.

"I'd've named it Tough Scrawny Pigeons Island meself, for 'twere all we found to eat there, and precious few. But Bill were chasing after Jack once more, what with being so far from home and whores both, so no doubt the name was fitting enough."

She jumps up, clapping her hands. "Lust bind you to Jack," she cries, "an' fear to me. But hate outshine both. I believe you be fit for the task."

"I'm curious," I say. "Does your son approve of you raising the dead in all anatomical particulars?" 'Tis a risk, but the dark lady has a taste for outrage, and I've the curiosity of a cat—or a Sparrow. "Can he not work whatever magic he needs for himself?"

"Him father was but mortal," she murmurs wistfully. "An' I gave baby Jack to be raised by a mortal woman. He learned a touch of magic from her. Nothin' that can save him now."

So what he told me were part truth, perhaps. But what matter the dusky slut that raised him compared to his otherworldly mother? A breathing, feeling immortal! Now that's a trick after my own fancy: best be making myself useful.

"After such a cruise, we fancied rounding the Cape were no more than rounding Portland Bill. Then up the coasts of Africa and Spain, Jack finding excuses to linger, Bill and meself hurrying t'wards Peggy and salvation. We made good time, for Jack was outnumbered.

"By the time we reached Biscay, the lads scented home and spoke of naught but wives, sweethearts, and mothers. Bill turned Jack out of his bunk and took to prayers. I made sure he found an old Bible on a ship we boarded. He smudged the print with his fingertips, feeling for letters to remind him what he'd once had by heart.

"Jack sulked, and muttered about the bloody northern climate, but he'd promised the crew a trip home and they'd not let him go back on it. Couldn't chance the Pearl in a British port—not after Jack's run-in with Beckett—so we commandeered a cutter for Bill to take to Bristol."

Here be a chance to show meself looking out for her Jack. We needed him alive and halfway sane to lead us to the treasure of Cortez.

"Jack, meself, and the rest as had no cause to miss England, took the Pearl to St Malo to trade goods and stories, drink the local apple brandy, and wait for the cutter. Snappish as an eel, Jack were, though I did what I could to limit the harm. 'Twas easy enough with the Bretons, for my Cornish was more use there than anything Jack spoke. The French were a different matter; I'd naught but pardon, mercy and sil voo play to smooth things over, with Jack all the while calling them goat-buggering sons of incestuous cretins in fluent lingo."

I were too scared to laugh then, afeard he'd blab of the treasure, or get himself run through afore he could lead me to it. This time—though my case be more deeply frightful—I force a chuckle.

"So what manner of trouble would he require saving from this time—if that is what you're wanting me for? Something worse than insulted French privateers, I'll warrant."

"Death."

Ah. The big one. Then again, 'tis nothing I've not faced meself.

"Jus' as I hoped," she laughs. "Truly the man I need!"

"So Jack be dead."

There should be joy, but something has took the shine from it. Possibly 'tis the prospect of trading my own life for his.

"Not yet." Her tone says this be but temporary: no doubt, witches see these things clearer.

"And when he is, you want me to bring him back. And how exactly were you expecting me to contrive that, mere mortal that I be?"

"The same way I brung you."

"Now, would that be just the shimmery stuff, or was the first-rate bell-polishing a part of the ritual?"

'Tis a fine response, though I say so myself: Captain Barbossa be back indeed! 'Twould be truly a pity to lose him again so soon.

"Jus' the shimmer," she says. "But if you survive, you will be weak... an' hungry."

This time, I don't care at all for the way she licks her teeth.

"Why not do it yourself?"

"I cannot cheat Davy Jones."

"But you can give me the shimmer, and I can pass it to Jack."

She nods.

So it'll be back to smuggling if I want to keep flesh on bone. 'Tis how I started out, so I think I know how to turn a profit from it.

"May I ask what befalls this body, if I give away the force that restored it?"

"You die." That tinkling laugh again. "Or live. If you can keep enough for yo'self. Jack mus' snatch all he is able. Bein' long dead an' rotten, you took much—more than Jack's need. An' your tale showed me you are strong, selfish, greedy... You may hold some back."

"And if I refuse?"

"If Jack pass beyond savin', I reclaim my gift."

Her pretty face is pitiless as a shark's. I sweep off my hat and bow low. I never did care for pity, anyhow.

"In that case, ma'am, I'm honoured to accept."

I swear there be a twinkle in her eye. Either I be as big a fool as Jack, or the little witch has taken a liking to Hector Barbossa. She'd not be the first, and 'tis not all one way, neither...

"If only for the pleasure of seeing Jack afeared lest his old First Mate be his new stepfather."

"One word of that, an' you'll wish yo'self dead indeed."

The twinkle be there still, but now I see my death beside it. She'll not be leaving me alive with secrets she hides from Jack. I can but play along and hope for escape, though I'll be sorry to part from the lass.

She jabs a finger at my chest. "Jack ain' dead yet! An' you ain' goin' nowhere 'fore you tell how you betrayed him."

"Why? Ye surely know how the tale ends." Disappointment makes me bold.

"But I wan' to learn 'bout you, Hector. Are you a man who can keep hold of him own heart, hm?"

I know not what she means, but I see where Jack took his changing moods, for she simpers like a harlot scenting gold. No doubt, 'tis as calculated, but I allow a splinter of hope to rekindle. Enough to make me tread cautiously once more.

"Jack's course were set for disaster with or without me. I'll not disown my guilt, but he needed no more help steering for the rocks. Day by day, Bill grew more pious and Jack more wayward: none could predict his moods.

"Worse, he knew Bill stayed only for the treasure, so he put off going after it. The crew might have mutinied then, had I myself not held 'em back."

"He would not tell you where it was, hm?"

I smile agreement, as though I'd always planned to tell this part.

"I tried a few tricks. Nearly caught him once or twice, but he never told me all of what I needed, never drew me the right map."

"So you sent William to him."

So she knows. Jack were still daft enough to give Bill anything, if he'd but ask aright. Save Bill were stubborn as a mule, and wouldn't ask for naught. I tried in vain to win him round; until, suddenly, Jack did my work for me.

"Bill come to me at the helm one morning with his mouldy Bible, asking me to put his finger on a passage—'twere Proverbs 6, if I recall aright. Next thing, I saw him down in the waist with Jack, like a couple of curates working on a sermon.

"Jack were patient at first, took Bill's hand as he spoke, like he were trying to persuade him of something. But Bill pulled his hand free to jab at words he couldn't read. Jack took up reading again, but then he slammed the book shut and seemed to ask Bill something fierce and sudden. The pair of them were on their feet now, shouting, and waving their arms. Bill grabbed at Jack, but the book were already curving through the air like a well-thrown grappling hook.

"A hush fell on the ship as we tracked its plunge. It fell open as it hit, pages a-fluttering in the wind until a wave broke over it, and it tipped sideways and sank. Jack strode to the helm with a face like thunder, and stayed there through the rest of my watch and his own.

"Abovedecks, all were normal bar the silence. Below, 'twas a frenzy of whispers: the story took shape that the Captain had choked on a verse of Gospel, that he'd foamed at the mouth and been struck dumb until he could cast the Good Book off the ship. Now he was sailing straight for Hell."

"An' where they think to be sailin' by theirselves, hm?"

"Ah! If they knew that, me dear, they'd not be crew! A few of 'em—very few—said they'd follow where Jack led."

(You may be sure they went missing at the first opportunity.)

"Others laughed, but not many. Them as had Bibles scurried to read 'em or hide 'em away. Men whittled crosses to wear under their shirts, and touch secretly when Jack were near.

"Bill come to my door with a face on him like he'd found the water casks stove in six weeks from land. 'He's cursed!' he whispered. 'We'll all be damned unless we free ourselves!'

"'Twas then but a matter of alerting my picked men, teaching Bootstrap his lines, and waiting outside Jack's cabin. As soon as the map were drawn, Bill let me in. I held a knife to Jack's throat and sent Bill below to get the chart copied out."

It weren't quite the chart I expected—I'd not foreseen that last twist of Jack's madness—but it served my purpose well enough.

"Why not kill Jack then?"

Because the lily-livered scabs wouldn't have a Captain with blood on his hands. Can she not see?

"There be honour among pirates, my dear. 'Tis customary to give a deposed Captain some small chance. I even troubled to find him an island with fresh water."

I know not why. Perhaps I'd a fancy to return as his rescuer one day. I'd not have done it, mind.

"I thought him broken, for he said and did nothing."

He'd little choice, being beaten, and chained to the mainmast without water.

"But 'twas my part, as the next Captain, to arrange a farewell performance."

Even that, he stole from me.

"When we reached the island, I offered him one last request. I'd a cup of water in my hand, and I meant to make him beg—only to prove my power, you understand. He'd been chained to the mast for two days, and his mouth were too dry and swollen to say more than 'W...', but I held the cup to his lips, letting the crew see my mercy and his weakness."

But would the little devil drink?

"On impulse, I offered both water and a last request. He drank greedily, and of course, the word he said after were 'William'.

"Bill'd made himself scarce, but somebody found him and hauled him up on deck to face what he'd wrought.

'Why?' were all Jack said.

"Bill hung his head. I thought he might weep, or jump overboard and swim for Jack's island, but the crew wanted better entertainment: 'Go on, Bootstrap, tell 'im!' 'Tell 'im where to stick 'is treasure!' 'Tell 'im 'twere payment for your Bible!'

"This kept up until tight-lipped, God-fearing Bootstrap Bill Turner put his hands to head and howled. He shook his fists at Jack, shouted, wept, cursed, called him a devil, and worse. 'Twas but words, but to hear them from Bill..."

"What words?"

"Oh, insults, curses: 'painted Jezebel,' 'heathen harlot,' and the like. Bill borrowed heavily from the Bible. I forget the details..."

'Foul, half-breed witch' were one I'd especially not care to be repeating in present company.

"Most wise, Hector!"

How much does she know? Best tell the next part true.

"Bill yelled himself hoarse at last and I thought it were finished. I were about to get on with the marooning, when Jack found his voice.

"'Is that so?' Scarce a whisper at first, but growing stronger. 'That's what you all think, is it? Not very bright to make me your Captain then, eh? Worse to make me your enemy!' He glared at any man with the guts to meet his gaze. Their eyes dropped quick, I can tell you.

"When he had their attention (though none would look at him), he tipped his head up and began to sing. An eerie sound it were, rising and falling in some uncanny lingo, manacles clanking as his fingers traced shapes in the air. He seemed a heathen sorcerer indeed."

Like as not, 'twere but some nonsense his granny sang him when he were a snot-nosed brat, but the men trembled and clutched their crosses. I told Koehler to shut him up, but two of the fools grabbed Koehler's arms, blubbering how 'twere mortal danger to meddle with whatever demons Jack were summoning.

"He had the men in his spell, and I'd no choice but to let him speak.

"'I can't curse you, William,' he said to Bill, 'but I fear you've brought worse on yourself than I ever could, and it ain't finished, not by a long chalk.'

"'Aye, save the spells for Bill,' cried the scabs. 'Bill be the traitor here.'"

('Him an' Barbossa,' muttered Hawksmoor, but shuffled back when I caught his eye.)

"Ragetti, of all people, shushed them. 'Listen to him! 'He's reading the future. That's powerful magic, that is!'"

"Din' I say he got the Sight?"

A barnacle has Sight enough to know Bill were headed nowhere ye'd care to visit.

"'Tis what the crew thought. Scared the living daylights out of them, it did. He cursed us then—not as Bill had cursed him, but solemn and vicious.

"'The Black Pearl is mine,' he said. 'And I'm hers. Part us, and my curse'll follow you to the ends of the ocean. Oh, she might take you to the treasure, you and the map you stole, but gold won't improve your fortunes when the ship you sail on wishes you ill. And don't go thinking you can leave her or neglect her, for when I claim her back, there'll be a reckoning. If she don't speak well of you, you'll wish you drowned the day you went to sea. You'll spill your own blood in the water and beg the sharks to come finish you quick. But sharks'll turn tail in fright from the things a-coming after you!'

"I'd've said much the same in his place, but it struck terror into the men. Looking at the man I'd thought broken, ready to fall on his knees and beg for his life, I felt a chill myself. Jack might've staggered for a moment, but he were still standing, still spitting, and—though chained to the mast with two black eyes and a split lip—still dangerous."

The witch shakes her head. "You watch him so long, yet you never seen true till then."

Aye, until that day I'd seen only a cockstruck molly with a knack for charts, and I'd thought the Pearl were mine by rights. Now, I saw Jack Sparrow, pirate captain, and I felt like a thief on my own ship. I needed him gone before he could fright the fools into making him Captain again, or sacrificing me to the heathen gods they'd offended.

"I unchained him and drove him onto the plank myself (not trusting any man to follow orders). Then I made a great show of calling for his sword and pistol—even his hat—to be fetched on deck. Once he were in the water, I let the fools squabble for the honour of throwing his possessions after him."

I saw a few throw their crosses in the sea—whether to counter Jack's sorcery or appease his gods I neither knew nor cared. He were still standing, up to his knees in surf, as we sailed away.

"Marooning him were my first act as Captain, but the crew'd be remembering his words, not mine. They'd take my orders, but they'd see his shadow behind me, hear the ship calling to him. Victory tasted bitter."

"But you din' go back."

"No! The Pearl were mine to take, and take her I did, and the treasure of Cortez too!"

"See?" She pulls me to my feet and sets my hat on my head. "Captain Barbossa don' let him heart make trouble he don' need."

"I'd troubles enough when the curse began to bite, for the cowards remembered Jack's mummery and thought his vengeance were upon 'em. I took us back to his island then, thinking a corpse, or a wretched, desperate Jack, might restore some reason."

"But Jack was gone," she says.

As if I could forget.

"'Twas a blow indeed, but persuade them I did, in the end, that the sea had claimed his body. Bill were quite cracked after: drove us all frantic with his preaching: we'd sinned, we were all doomed; damnation were our just desserts... They said later 'twere only me as sent Bootstrap to the depths, but you may be sure we were all in that together."

Though 'tis true I devised the manner of it, for they lacked the wit to do away with a man who could not die.

"You can tell that to Jack." She looks angry, but then the corners of her mouth twitch up and a dimple forms.

"So, ten years later, when Jack bobbed up out of nowhere claiming to know the whereabouts of Bill's whelp, I never doubted him, nor that he'd barter anything for Bill's release and the whelp's life. Had he aged? To my cursed eyes, he seemed fresher than ever. And, as ever, I underestimated him..."

She takes my arm. "You won' be makin' that mistake again!"

She laughs at some joke I do not share. Suddenly earnest, she pulls a sea-stained envelope from her skirts and tucks it into my pocket. I catch sight of Jack's name smudged across the front.

"You got his hair for findin' him, memories to bind him to you, this letter to entice him, an' your greed for fetchin' the both of you home. I can do no more."

I want to shout aloud. The witch needs me: Hector Barbossa lives!

But for how long? Best put on my bargaining mask.

"Would there be such a thing as a reward, now?"

"Beyond your life restored? What would you ask?"

Beyond that? Easy enough. "What I betrayed Jack for: the Pearl."

"Did I not tell you? Ships ain' no concern of mine. Fetch Jack home: the res' lie 'tween you an' him."

"And, if I sail away, you won't try to stop me? What if I tell Jack about you? What if I have to kill him one day?"

"If I let you free, then you are free! Free to go, tell, kill, an' do with Jack as you choose." That tilt of the head again, the tuneful laugh. "Always supposin' you don' care to remain affectionate with him mother."

Ah! "Then 'twere wiser to let the whelp live in ignorance."

When I lean down to kiss her, she presses her body to mine. Warm and supple as Jack, she be, but both softer and stronger.

I be deep out of my depth here, I know, and off even Jack's maps, but then I never did care for life in the shallows.


The End