Fathoms 19

World's Truth

by

Manic Intent

"T'aint me fault," Jack grumbled. He stumbled slightly, and found himself steadied almost automatically by his Jamie. Barbossa rolled his eyes at the silent by-play, but was ignored by all and sundry. The bamboo forest seemed eerily uninhabited by animals, with only the sounds of insects hidden in the leaf litter in counterpoint to the wash of waves up the rock and sand beach. Their lanterns forced mottled shadows onto the crumbling ground. The scent of rotting leaves was paramount, thick and cloying.

"So the soul is in the center of this island? You know this to be true?" Elizabeth asked. A sword was belted at her hips, as well as a pistol. A right pirate Miss Swann was turning out to be.

"I've been told, but I 'aven't seen it, 'ave I?" Jack said, holding on to his tricorn hat. The good thing about bamboo forests—no annoying little branches to pluck at his clothing. "It's prob'ly at the center. Don't know if there'd be guards, or little traps or whatnot."

"Traps," Norrington repeated, with a frown. "Yes, quite likely. Some trap of a kind, or a guard. The patrols around the island seemed only token. As if they weren't really afraid of somebody landing here and making it past. Though, as you say, that could simply be the mere intervention of this Saturday character."

"Since we've been makin' enough noise t'wake the dead, m'sure we'd find out sooner or later," Barbossa said caustically. "So I hope ye all remembered t'load yer guns. Especially the gel an' the blacksmith."

Elizabeth shot him a dirty look, opening her mouth to retort haughtily, but then shut it as she recalled the comment about noise. "Bloody pirate," she could be heard to mutter.

The bamboo forest cleared quickly into a large circular clearing, where there was an oddly polished white square of stone made of smaller squares, each about a meter across, eight squares by eight, all with a different Oriental character written on them. At the center, where four squares should have been, was a large metal square of bronze, embossed with the design of a writhing serpent-dragon. There was a wooden plaque set neatly next to the puzzle, which Barbossa read out aloud, after pushing his lantern closer to illuminate the calligraphy. "The World's Truth, at the World's End."

"I hate puzzles," Jack said with a sigh, sauntering over to the squares—but was immediately pulled back by both Will and Norrington.

"Definitely the trap," Norrington said mildly. He pointed—on one of the squares, there was a suspicious dark stain. Old blood, perhaps.

Barbossa had, however, already walked up to the edge of the stone squares, where he looked thoughtfully at the Oriental characters. He then walked around the large square puzzle, slowly, before turning back to them. "Ideas?"

"It's... it's a riddle! What's on the stone," William suggested brightly. "And the answer will probably be the path through to the center."

"Very good... but I already knew that," Barbossa snapped. "Next."

"Maybe if you translate every word out there?" Elizabeth suggested. "Then we could guess at the answer."

Barbossa rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath. Jack was the one to cut in before there could be violence. "'Lizabeth, another language be hard t'translate, an' even so, lots o' words can mean lots o' other things, savvy?"

"Right." She looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Why would Davy Jones make an Oriental puzzle?" Norrington muttered, looking at the plaque. "Why not in English?"

"You mean Dutch. He's Dutch," William said, with a little frown. "I think. His accent. It seemed Dutch. And his ship, of course..."

"Irrelevant," Barbossa said dismissively, pulling absently at his gray beard as he looked at the square.

"Maybe we could rig up some o' th'bamboo an' get across," Jack suggested, "Instead o' tryin' t'solve th'puzzle."

"Capital, except that we have nothin' t'cut bamboo down wi', except our swords, an' by the time we do that, we'd probably 'ave been arrested again," Barbossa replied irritably.

"Where do people find truth?" Norrington said, absently, to himself. "Asking others. In books. The Book. The Bible." He frowned. "In religion, of course! And all religions speak of the ending of the world, in some way or other."

"An' we'd be better placed sawin' off bamboo than debatin' what th'world's truth be, from religion," Jack said dryly.

"No, Jack. The Commodore is definitely onto somethin'," Barbossa said slowly, walking around the squares again. "Of course. The world's truth. Buddhism—a common enough religion on the mainland of the Middle Kingdom. And the very title the pirate king goes under, that's also from Buddhist mythos."

"So ye've solved th'puzzle?" Jack asked.

Barbossa grinned, and stepped forward onto a square.

It sank down slightly under his feet, and there was a grinding sound beneath them, but then everything was still. No horrible traps, either. "Follow me lead," he said confidently, and stepped onto another stone square, diagonal right, then forward. When he reached the end of the winding route across to the central square, the metal slid open, to reveal an iron rectangular chute, rungs set into one of the walls. "Ah."

"So... what is the World's Truth?" Norrington asked curiously, as Barbossa climbed down onto the first rung, careful not to touch any of the other squares, lantern hooked to his pistol-belt.

"Buddhism precept. Lots o' display calligraphy on it in Canton, just didn't strike me until ye reminded me 'bout religion. 'Everythin' is nothin', nothin' is everythin'." Barbossa's voice echoed up from the tunnel as he descended.

"That doesn't make sense," Will protested, even as Barbossa disappeared into the darkness, the lantern light bobbing downwards. "How can everything be nothing? And I can't believe you just solved it like that."

"Ye know, yer so much like yer da' it scares me," Jack said dryly, as William followed Barbossa, Norrington helping Elizabeth down after him, then moving into the tube himself. Jack sashayed over to the metal square... and slipped.

He wasn't sure how that had happened—the stone was, admittedly, somewhat slippery due to the relative closeness to the sea and the presence of so much vegetation, dewing nicely, it was—but he did, landing hard on his side with an oath.

There was a grinding sound, and with some consternation Jack realized his elbow had caught on a square that had not been on the path Barbossa had taken. There was the sudden, insistent ringing of a small bell, hidden somewhere within the rock under him.

A yelp from below, as the rungs abruptly retreated into the wall. Jack saw the metal square slowly moving to close the opening, and without thinking, he dived down into the hole.

"Jack... I... I..." Will took a deep sigh. "I can't even find the words. We're trapped."

"Accident," Jack said placatingly, as he helped Norrington up. "Sorry." A pause. "Should we be worried 'bout that sound?"

Lanterns were set into the walls around them. They were in a relatively large domed room, ringed with oddly patterned stone—the ground was a flat, if rough gray slate. Stone or ceramic statues of armed men, dressed in realistically carved armor stood in a ring around them, all at attention, their palms parallel to their sides. There was one exit, which led to another dimly lit circular room. Barbossa took a step towards it.

The bell stopped. There was the sound of stone grinding against stone, and Jack ducked by pure instinct as a sword sliced through the air where his head had been. Creaking and trembling, the statues were coming to life, their carved features and bodies becoming more fluid. The swords they unsheathed from their ceramic scabbards were metal, and looked very sharp.

"Jack, if we get out of this, I am so going to slap you!" Elizabeth snarled as she drew her own weapon to parry a downward slice. Jack was unable to answer, dodging slices and parrying with the fine Turner sword, lithely, grimacing as he realized that the statues had unnatural strength. He shot at one of them when it got too close, and then winced as the bullet ricocheted off it and into the ceiling. Bulletproof. Not good.

"We 'ave t'make it t'the next room," Barbossa kicked at one of the ceramic soldiers, cursed when it only rocked a little, and deflected a stab of its sword expertly, riposting under its guard, then cursing again when the tip of his sword only sheared off the ceramic surface. William drew off one of the soldiers with stabs and slices that failed to even mark the material, but in doing so, opened a way to the room. Elizabeth ducked in, Jack after her, then Barbossa. Lucky, they were lucky—William, Barbossa and Norrington were amongst the best swordsmen Jack had ever known—and they held their own, despite the indefatigable, apparently invulnerable opponents. If they hadn't possessed this level of skill, it was entirely likely that they would have been sliced to pieces before even reaching the tunnel.

And then he recalled, with a wry grin, how Baron Saturday had mentioned something about Tia sending the most capable people she knew. Of course. If there was potentially going to be sword fighting, who else could she send?

The purpose of the second room was fairly obvious. Through a gap in the oddly patterned wall, the massive carved head of a dragon rested its bearded chin on the stone ground, taking up most of the room. Its eyes were closed, and between its jaws it gently held a tiny chest. The sculpture was intricate, but the details were rough, as if unfinished. Behind the chest, however, Jack could see a large forked tongue, and the ribbing of the inside of the upper jaw. Very curious—not very detailed, yet very detailed, at the same time... unfortunately, he didn't have much time to admire it and poke around, what with all the ceramic monster things.

Pushed back into the entrance of the second room, Norrington and Jack stood shoulder to shoulder at the narrow tunnel that would only allow two soldiers to come at them apiece. Jack grinned over his shoulder at William even as he danced away from a downward slice, pushing hard at the ceramic shoulder, making the soldier overbalance and fall against one of its kin with a tinkling noise. "Now ye be doin' th'proper heroics, Will, an' figurin' out what t'do next, savvy?"

"Okay, Jack," William said worriedly, steps informing Jack that he was approaching the carved head.

Norrington parried a series of stabs aimed at Jack, then stumbled with an oath as the ground shook, and heaved, under their feet, with a rumble of stone. Jack grabbed his shoulder as they fell back into the second room. On his back, upside down, he could see, impossibly, the ringed walls of the room begin to move.

Scales. What he had taken to be odd wavelike designs in the light of the lanterns were large scales. Which meant...

He looked over at William, who was holding the little chest in his hands, staring in horror as the head lifted off the ground, and the eyes opened to show orbs of brilliant gold each the size of a man's head. Color chased into the scales, and texture into the body—stone became sharp ivory teeth, stag-like horns, fine green mane, iridescent blue scales.

"Oh, bugger."

The shifting coils, at least, caused the ceramic soldiers to stumble and fall against each other, as the ceiling cracked, and began to fall in. Coils shifted, and the dragon's head slipped out. Blocks of stone and machinery crashed down onto the ceramic soldiers—they themselves were only saved by pure fact that the coils near them had to be lifted up and above them to free the head, so causing the brickwork and metal to shift and cave only into the first room. Moonlight flooded the chamber, lanterns smashing on the cracking slate ground—likely, it was also balanced on coils of the creature, beneath them.

There was a deafening roar from above, as the dragon shook itself free of the soil and vegetation that had grown on it while it had been asleep.

"Beach," Barbossa gasped, though Jack knew, inside him, that it was a little late for that. The coils, no longer stacked neatly on top of each other, were curling down, and Jack pulled himself atop one, grasping at the fin that flared along the top. Looking back, he saw that the others had done the same, with Elizabeth being supported by Will. The scaled body heaved, and they were up in the air, the wind whistling past their ears—Jack could even see the lights on his Pearl.

Another roar, as the dragon realized it had passengers that seemed intent on running off with the item it was to protect. The head with its impressive set of teeth turned to regard them, the eyes holding a certain alien intelligence, then it swept with surprising speed towards Will.

The box!

"Throw it 'ere!" Jack shouted, waving a hand. William didn't hesitate. Jack caught the tiny chest deftly, and pulled himself up, running on the slippery, heaving surface, waving his hands at the dragon.

"Hey beastie! Over 'ere!"

The dragon turned, snarling. Jack noticed small, vestigial clawed arms that extended from some distance along the coils below its head—the dragon used these to stop its lunge, twisting instead to follow the pirate. Thankfully, due to its long hibernation, or perhaps because it really was stupid, the dragon didn't seem to think of just grinding two of its coils together and turning Jack into a discolored stain—it kept attempting to snap at him, a little sluggishly. Jack rolled, yelped as he went into free fall, and then his breath huffed out as he landed on another coil.

Grabbing the sail, he yelled, "Will!" and threw the chest back in an arc upwards. Jack knew, subconsciously, that getting to the beach was really no solution at all—they would simply be trapped, between water and the very angry beastie. There was a very unladylike oath, as Elizabeth's sword slipped on the scales, unable to mar it. A pistol shot, but the dragon only hissed, shaking its mane and half-turning to glare at Barbossa.

Norrington was the one to catch the box, however, making Jack's heart stop for a moment as the dragon turned its burning gaze on the current offender, hissing like a thousand furious snakes as Norrington scrambled down onto a lower coil, grasping at more resilient bamboo that hadn't fallen off, slipping a little on loose soil. When the dragon got too close, he tossed the box again, this time to Barbossa. Another shot from his ex-First Mate, wide of the eyes, glancing off the scaly cheek. The dragon roared.

All of them were climbing a little awkwardly on constantly moving coils, trying somewhat vainly to get to the water, out of some ill-conceived notion of being able to use the ships to escape, perhaps. Jack could see the outline of one of the jolly boats, still unbroken, floating a short swim out into sea—no sigh of the other except for a few broken planks amongst a lot of crushed and floating bamboo.

He pulled himself upright using one of the remaining shoots that were still rooted to the top coils of the dragon, and leaped for another, headed towards the sea, with the agile grace born of years handling rigging on a ship. The box was now with Elizabeth, then back to Norrington, as they spread out to better confuse the massive animal. The dragon thundered its frustration, rearing back and shaking out its mane. Jack laughed, a little manic, as he imagined the look on the faces of those who had remained on the ships, even as he hauled himself upright on another shifting coil via the pale red and gold fin, his free hand flailing a little.

The box was back to Will again, who threw it at Jack with a warning shout... if a little too far out of reach. Jack ran for it, even knowing, for a sickening moment, that he couldn't possibly make it—the box fell hard, down on one coil, and sprang open. A white egg engraved with designs painful to follow with the naked eye, the hue of finest bone china, rolled out, then tumbled over the edge of the coil at another heave.

The beach had disappeared, with the writhing of the dragon's impossibly long body—only deep water remained now at the edges. A look risked backwards showed the dragon looking indecisively at the lot of them, as well as peering around for the chest. With the coils shifted, it was now clear that the island had really been much smaller than it really was—a small perch of rock on which the dragon had slept, long enough to somehow be overgrown with bamboo and develop a coastline.

Jack breathlessly snarled a string of curses at magic, voodoo, stupid blacksmiths and bad luck as he scrambled down over the coil, barely missing getting his legs crushed as it ground against a lower one, slipping on the soil that caked the next, then grimaced as, with a final bounce, the egg fell into the waves.

And vanished.

"Oh bugger..."

She swung her hand back, then threw the heart up in a wide arc, out and into the sea.

"Time's up, Davy Jones," Baron Saturday said.

"Aye."

Norrington was the first to pull himself up onto the boat, and he helped William up after him. When they were all aboard, Jack turned to William. "Yer still rowin'."

Elizabeth stared out at the devastation about them—crushed and uprooted bamboo, and the planks of the other jolly boat, and then the space where the dragon had last been seen. "Well. I don't believe it. Did we win?"

"Seein' as th'dragon is gone, seems like we did," Jack said doubtfully.

"Good," Elizabeth huffed, and slapped him with a sharp crack of her hand.

Jack yelped, scrambling back up behind Norrington. "'Lizabeth!"

"You deserved that, Jack," Norrington said dryly, then flinched as a familiar-looking 'person' appeared, standing a foot above the water, last seen as a black man behind the Dragon King.

Jack grimaced. "Ye 'ave t'stop doin' that, mate."

"Doing what?" Baron Saturday asked, mildly, then tipped his hat at Elizabeth, looking over her wet clothing appreciatively. "Ah. You must be the delectable Miss Swann."

"Who's this?" Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "The talking skeleton?"

"Not exactly," Barbossa said quickly, before even William took offence. "Baron Saturday. So did we succeed? Seein' as the dragon is gone, an' the egg too. Though that wasn't exactly the way Tia said it 'ad t'be done."

"Yes. I admit to having doubts for a moment," Saturday shrugged gracefully. "Well... after some thought I decided to make it simpler for the lot of you, since, well, complicated instructions would likely result in several more... problems, with the quality of the help she sent this way. Still, the job's done, can't complain. Heart and Soul have returned to the sea, so the spell—or curse, what have you—is broken. No more magic—no more eternal life, and magic islands. Davy Jones and his crew are mine again."

"My father?" William asked quickly. "Bootstrap Turner? What of him?"

"Free, and human," Saturday said with a grin. "As agreed, I believe. He's currently with Tia."

William let out a deep, shuddering breath, and buried his head in his hands. Elizabeth embraced him tightly.

"Thanks," Jack said cautiously.

"Don't thank me yet. You still need to get out of here, and my help doesn't extend to you lot any further." Saturday gestured at the distance, and then tipped his hat again. "Be well. I'd see all of you again, at the crossroads."

"What'd he mean?" Norrington asked, staring at the spot where the Loa had just been. "The crossroads?"

"He means when we die, mate, an' that could be a right possibility," Jack said, watching as lights were moving towards them. Ships. "Row!"

"Ye 'ave t'catch me first, mate!" Jack muttered, then staggered on deck as the waves abruptly swelled. Shouts from the other ships, then yells as, before their eyes, the land began to sink slowly into the sea with a bone-shaking rumble. "All 'ands on deck!" Jack commanded, as he attuned himself to his Pearl, stroking the wheel. Unafraid, she laughed under his touch, even as the waves turned dangerously big.

Displaced water turned into large waves that capsized some of the smaller junks, adding to the confusion. As he angled his Pearl to ride them, he laughed with her, helplessly, wildly, as water crashed over the side, threatening to sweep him over, nut-brown hands clinging firmly to the rail, grabbing at his hat as the water tugged at him. Shouts from the crew, as they clung on to the rail, the mast, the hatch, rigging, in an attempt to stay on board, the deck heaving this way and that under the angry waves.

It was over remarkably quickly, and the sea was theirs. It felt odd to be able to look out over open water where there had just been cliffs, and a port. Jack risked a glance to the right—the Lady Luck seemed to have ridden it out well enough, under the guidance of her Captain. Unfortunately, several junks—and the main warship—had survived, and were spreading out, intent on either catching them or sinking them. Jack flinched as a ranging shot was fired, cannonballs splashing into the water far too close to them.

Dots on the horizon, as the sky colored in greeting of the dawn.

"Scope," Jack snapped, and Anamaria hurried to his side, scope in hand. Focusing the instrument with one hand as he coaxed his Pearl steady over the gentling waves, he looked out over at the incoming ships—and began to laugh.

Approaching them was a neat array of five warships that flew the flags of King and Country, and the British East India Company—at the head, Poseidon's Wrath.

The pirate junks realized their peril, and scattered. Jack chuckled, giving orders to raise the flag of parley and weigh anchor. Lady Luck, after some hesitation, followed suit, and both ships watched as, with efficient, predatory seamanship, the warships proceeded to outmaneuver and sink most the panicking pirates, including the flagship. Four warships moved after the rest, skimming over the waves, while Poseidon's Wrath sailed towards them.

Lord Norrington again sat at the head of the table, James beside him and Jack opposite, Barbossa next to Jack, Elizabeth next to James and William alongside her. They had, as it were, dressed for the occasion, with some help from Lord Norrington—even Barbossa looked respectable, with his newly trimmed beard over his cravat. Elizabeth was radiant in an elaborate green dress—boy's clothes definitely did not suit her.

As breakfast was served, Lord Norrington said dryly, "No doubt you're surprised I'm here."

"T'aint sayin' it's not welcome," Jack was tucking into sausages and egg with enthusiasm, as if he hadn't eaten for days. "But 'tis true we were wonderin'."

"I admit that I was already considering following the both of you to Canton," Lord Norrington agreed, "Despite what I'd... said. Just in case. But then one night I 'woke up' to see a rather odd... lady of color, in my chambers. Dreadlocks, black lips. Strange dress. Very odd manner of pronunciation."

"Miss Dalma," James said, blinking.

"Yes, she said her name was Tia Dalma. And that I was dreaming, but she was real enough—and that you'd need me," Lord Norrington grinned benignly at James. "She then proceeded to give me a very helpful set of coordinates. Which were written on paper atop the dresser when I did, actually, wake up. So, deciding that I was bored in Bombay, I set off after all, taking all the boys with me."

"'Bored'," Elizabeth blinked, unable to countenance such a flippant word from the elder Norrington. "But... I have heard, from my father, that you are effectively in charge of Bombay, Lord Norrington. Surely, your responsibilities..."

"No doubt heard in the course of advising you on a match with my son," Lord Norrington grinned, as Elizabeth colored slightly. "No need to apologize. I know what happened and I wish the both of you happiness. Besides, I'm sure James is quite over matters." A sidelong glance at Jack, who pretended not to see it. Will failed to stifle a startled laugh. It was James' turn to color.

"What'd ye be doin' now?" Barbossa asked, obviously a little uneasy in the midst of East India Company power, despite the free breakfast, or perhaps because of it.

"I'd have to settle some business in Canton. Be entertained by the Lords in charge here, give an account of the latest hunt. It'd likely take at least a week. Leaving so soon will be too terribly rude." Lord Norrington said blandly. "Sadly enough, unlike most of the rest of you, I am quite tied down with social obligations."

"An' no doubt spend some time huntin' th'rest o' those that got away," Jack said dryly, buttering some bread. "A grand day fer fox huntin'."

Lord Norrington inclined his head in agreement, even as Barbossa smirked, the Turners frowning—the subtext escaped them. "Unfortunately one of my hounds is injured, but I have no doubt there's still some entertainment left to be had."

James looked disapproving, but kept his silence over his egg. Jack spoke, instead. "The harbor looked a mite damaged."

"Waves from the island sinking reached even Canton, I'm afraid," Lord Norrington noted, "But I do believe they're putting it down to natural disasters. It's a good thing we had foxes to play with, or my crew might have been terribly traumatized, watching all that land suddenly swallowed by the waves. What happened, actually?"

"Uh. Well. You see, my father got conscripted into Davy Jones' crew, and we were told that going to World's End and getting rid of Davy Jones' soul would free him." William blushed a little as he realized how outlandish his words sounded, especially in their extremely formal British surroundings. To his credit, however, Lord Norrington merely nodded encouragingly, and got a short, if rather stammered account of what had happened at World's End, and the island, as well as an even briefer consideration about the link of the soul to the stability of the land.

"Remarkable," he finally said, glancing at James, who shrugged. "If I hadn't seen the island sink, I might have expressed some doubt... but, remarkable." Dryly, "Even if it caused damage to Canton harbor."

"Are we in... trouble?" Elizabeth asked, cautiously.

"Quite the opposite," Lord Norrington said absently, "Despite news having reached India that your Letter of Marque is suspect. I've delayed it further, but I'm afraid a renewed Letter and a pardon may have to wait until I get back to Bombay."

"A what?" Jack blinked.

"It seems only fitting, after the lot of you managed, through accident, it seemed, to get rid of the largest pirate threat in the South China Sea," Lord Norrington sipped at his coffee. "However, of course, whether or not you wish to sail under the Letter of Marque, or continue making mischief, is up to you." A glance at Barbossa, who shrugged in turn, noncommittally. "In the meantime, I suppose I'd draw up some temporary letters that would allow you to dock in Jamestown."

"Thank you," Elizabeth managed to say, blinking, good manners saving her in the face of too much overwhelming fact.

"No need for thanks," Lord Norrington said effusively over his coffee. "I suppose I should be the one thanking all of you, for an amusing day of sport."

"Foxhuntin'," Jack noted, helping himself to more boiled egg. "Lured out by other foxes."

Lord Norrington grinned. "Foxes to lure out foxes. Interesting idea, actually. Care to be employed in Bombay, Captain Sparrow?"

"No thanks," Jack said quickly. "'Tis th'Caribbean fer me."

"To the Caribbean," William agreed, raising his mug of coffee.

As toasts went, it wasn't too bad.

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