Pirate Dreams 10

Pairing: J/W
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 2003
Summary: Will joins the Pearl's crew after Jack becomes a privateer, leading to many adventures, including the most dangerous adventure of all: romance.

Crane already had bearings worked out. Jack stood at the wheel, guiding the Pearl out of the harbor channel to sea. When they reached open water, they headed south by southwest, with a good wind behind them. Crane stood close by, the pistol poking into Will's back, having ordered all other crew members off the quarterdeck. "This is a good wind," he said. "We should reach our destination in three or four hours at the outset."

"A small uninhabited isle which has no name but the one given to it by the pirates who once used it as a haven. They called it the Devil's Isle."

"Really? I thought only pirates knew of its existence. How is it you came to hear of the place?"

Will came to Jack's aid. "Commodore Norrington told us about it once. He used to interrogate all the pirates he captured."

"Ah. Well, I can't imagine very many pirates are still living who would know of the Devil's Isle. The one who sold the map to Spillett is certainly no longer among the living."

"Alas, I cannot make that claim. You may choose to believe that Spillett was an innocent victim, and in the case of the murder of Ezekiel Harris, he certainly is. But he's far from innocent. He bought the map, killed the pirate, and took back the money he'd paid. Mr. Rufus Spillett is as great a sinner as they come."

"Oh, I think Mr. Davis and the pious Reverend are perfectly high-minded fellows. Mr. Harris was belligerent and rude, but hardly of an evil cast. Still, you have a point. The expedition was fair doomed from the start, between myself and Mr. Spillett, once he let me into his confidence. We had no intention of passing by this area without finding a way to detour towards the Devil's Isle, no matter what we had to do to get there."

Jack laughed. "You honestly believe in buried treasure? There's no such thing. No pirate would leave treasure behind when he could spent it instead. What for?"

"For safekeeping," Crane said. "Spillett gave me the whole tale. In the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and twenty-two, the pirate Bartholomew Woodes had reason to believe his crew were on the brink of mutiny, and so he enlisted the aid of his gunner, a fellow called Read, to load the treasure aboard onto the longboat in the dead of night, after making sure the crew were stupefied by extra rum rations. They were anchored off the Devil's Isle, where the men were afraid to go ashore for fear of its reputation as a haunted place. Woodes and Read buried the treasure and drew the map of its location. Then Woodes ensured his sole knowledge of that spot by murdering Read. He returned to his ship, his crew men none the wiser. They sailed off, and not two days passed before his men did try a mutiny, and he fended them off by telling them what he'd done, and threatening to burn the map should any of them strike against him. When they reached the next port, he made a pretense of going ashore for supplies, and ran off."

"Who no doubt was the same man who sold him the map?" "Well, of course. He said he'd had a chance to steal it away from Woodes while he slept, and made a copy, and then returned it to its hiding place."

"And how do you know that Captain Woodes didn't return to the Devil's Isle to collect his treasure?"

"Because Woodes was caught a fortnight after he ran off from his ship, and was hung for piracy."

"The first mate would never have kept another for himself? Or to sell to other fools?"

"Let me guess," Jack replied. "He believed the man because he coughed a great deal, and claimed to be dying of consumption, and Mr. Spillett, who had been kind enough to treat him a round, seemed like a decent fellow whom he wanted to see something good come to."

Will couldn't see Crane behind him, but could feel the pistol waver a little against his back as Crane said faintly, "How did you know that?"

"It's an old dodge, you great fool. There was no pirate named Bartholomew Woodes. He's taken two names of real men and mixed them together."

Will thought about trying to make some kind of sudden move while Crane seemed distracted. But then he felt the pistol push harder into him again, and Crane said angrily, "I don't believe you. What would you know about it?"

"It doesn't matter. We're on course for the Devil's Isle and we're staying on course. I've not gone this far to turn back now."

Will wondered what plans Crane had. When they reached the island, what then? He could keep using him as a hostage to get Jack to row them ashore, to help find and dig up the treasure. Or more likely, Jack was right and there was no treasure. In either case, Crane couldn't stay awake forever. He'd need to sleep, and what would happen then? Did he plan to maroon them all before that happened, and take the ship? He couldn't sail it alone. The man must be mad. And that made him much more dangerous and unpredictable.

The hours passed slowly. Will's legs grew tired from standing in one place, and his back hurt from Crane's repeated prodding with the pistol. He was certain Crane did it simply as an irritation. He tried a few times to talk to the man, to get more information, to try to learn anything further about his character that might give them a weakness to exploit. All he got for his efforts were the same things they already knew, that Crane was greedy and impatient. After years of poverty, and despite having been befriended by the Reverend Johnson, the man had clearly held a hatred of his lowered status all that time, merely waiting for an opportunity to rebuild his lost wealth. Now that he'd found that chance, his long years of waiting were over, and his patience had utterly expired.

After three hours of sailing, they heard a shout from the lookout. Land had been spied.

"Tell me," Will said as Jack guided the ship towards the island ahead, "if there is a treasure, how do you plan to get it back to a safe haven?"

"I'm not a simpleton," he replied. "I know you are waiting for me to need sleep. But I've worked that out. After the ship has anchored, you two will come with me to the island, while your crew remains aboard, locked below decks. You'll dig up the treasure for me, and then I'll bind you securely whilst I take my rest. Then we return to the ship to sail to Florida, where I shall take my leave."

"If there's no treasure, I'll be very angry. You won't want to see me get angry."

"We've no control over whether there's any treasure or not!" Will hated being tied to this man's whims. "You can't blame us if things go wrong."

They sailed on to the Devil's Isle, and found good anchorage in a deep-water inlet. Jack did as Crane instructed. The sails were furled, they dropped anchor, and the crew got the longboat ready for boarding.

Will wondered at this strange insistence, but the only reason he could think of was that it might discourage them from trying to make an escape once they reached the isle. It would take much more effort to row the longboat to a fast retreat than to sail it.

Jack reluctantly ordered the crew to take out the longboat's sail. Then they were sent below, and Jack secured the deck hatches. At least they'd have food and water down there, but Will worried what the crew would do should anything happen to the three of them.

Crane made Jack get into the boat first, carrying the one shovel they had on board. Then he untied Will's hands so he could climb in after, staying close behind him. He kept his pistol aimed at Will as he and Jack lowered the boat. Then he sat Will down directly in front of him, the pistol still nudging into the middle of Will's back. They faced Jack, who took up the oars and began rowing.

They beached the boat on a stretch of sandy shore. Crane took out his map with one hand, keeping a firm grip on the pistol with the other. He oriented himself to the inlet and the landmarks, then directed Jack and Will to walk down the beach. He made Jack carry the shovel.

They had not gone more than fifty paces when Will felt a distinct, sudden chill in the air, as if a strange frost had gripped the isle. Yet the day was sunny, and up to that point they'd been quite warm. "Does anyone else feel that?" he asked.

The air soon warmed up around them as they continued along the beach, but the experience made Will wary. That hadn't felt like any ordinary cold. It felt unnatural. Could this place truly be haunted? Why else would it have such an ominous name?

After a good half hour of trudging through the sand, they reached a stand of coconut trees, at which point Crane directed them to turn inland. They walked up a slight rise into grass-covered territory, until they reached a small stream. They waded across it, then headed towards a rocky hill. Crane halted there, studying his map again. Apparently the hill was another marker. He oriented himself, then ordered them to walk towards a stand of cedars. When they reached the outer edge of the stand, Crane made them walk slowly from tree to tree. Suddenly he halted them again. "There's the sign!"

Will looked at the nearest cedar. On its trunk a mark had been carved in the bark. It looked like the letter W.

Will began to wonder if the treasure tale could actually be true. The whole thing sounded so far-fetched, yet the isle was here, and the landmarks on the map were here.

Crane made them walk in front of him, single-file, Jack in front, then Will, as they strode directly out from the marked tree for twenty paces. "This is where we dig."

Jack obediently set to work, digging into the bare ground, flinging dirt with great abandon. About a foot down he reached a harder, rockier layer that slowed his progress. The shovel kept clanging against large rocks, which he had to work free before continuing. He got another foot down, with a squarish area about three feet by three dug out when Crane ordered him to stop.

An incredibly sweat-drenched Jack came up to hand Will the shovel. He untied Will's hands, leaning in close to whisper again, "Don't do anything stupid. There'll come a chance." Then he drew away as Will tied his hands in turn. Then Jack stood with his back to Crane as Will crossed to the hole.

Crane kept the pistol hard up against Jack's back. "Keep digging, Mr. Turner. Or this time, it's Captain Sparrow I'll be sending directly to hell."

Will reluctantly drove the shovel into the ground. The rocks were too numerous, and he didn't get very far before he gave it up as hopeless. "The ground's too hard and rocky here. There can't be anything buried beneath."

So Crane returned to his marked tree, with Jack still held hostage, and walked out the twenty paces again. They stopped about two feet shy of where the hole stood. Crane moved off from the spot, keeping Jack close, always in direct line of the pistol. "Start again there."

Pointless endeavor, Will thought. He started a new hole, digging easily through the top layer of loose soil. He quickly dug out an area two by two feet square and a foot deep. The late afternoon sun beat down on him as he worked, sweat beading on his brow, his thin shirt soaked through. Will paused for a moment to catch his breath. Just as he was about to start digging again, he felt an icy draft suddenly blow around him, even colder than the chill he'd felt earlier.

He stopped in mid-motion as an unusually strong feeling of dread enveloped him. He looked at Jack, whose eyes had gone wide. Even Crane seemed shaken. "You feel it, too," Will said. He waited, expectant, tense. The chill wind blew around him, and he could tell that Jack and Crane felt it round them as well. He shivered, the unearthly cold piercing him to the bone.

He's only got the pistol half-cocked. Will tried to signal to Jack that Crane's hands were badly shaking. He might not be able to fully cock the pistol with anything like speed in that condition, it might be their best chance.

"Dig!" Crane shouted, and in that very instant, Jack spun round, swinging his bound hands hard into Crane's arm. The pistol flew out of his hand to the ground.

Will leapt from the hole to attack him, but the coward bolted for the protection of the trees. Jack tried to give chase as well, but didn't get far with his bound hands. Will stopped to untie them, by which time Crane was lost from view within the cedars.

The strange cold in the air had vanished as rapidly as it had appeared. Will turned to pick up the shovel he'd dropped in his haste, thinking to use it as a weapon should they encounter Crane again. When he grabbed it from the hole he'd been digging, his knuckles scraped against something familiar. Not dirt or rocks, but something made of wood. "Jack..."

Jack hopped down into the shallow pit beside him. He scraped away some of the dirt with the toe of his boot, revealing wooden boards beneath. "It's a crate." He hesitated only a moment. "We've no time to dig it out now. Not with the crew in danger."

"I agree." Will grabbed the shovel and they left the spot. They retraced their route as rapidly as possible, for fear that Crane would somehow circle round and reach the longboat before them. They got round the hill, crossed the stream, and ran across the grass-covered plain. Then they scrambled down to the beach and slogged as quickly as they could through the sand.

Will felt a huge sense of relief when they reached the spot they'd landed on, for there was the longboat, safe and sound. No sign of Crane anywhere. He and Jack shoved off and hopped in, and Jack, being more rested from the digging, took the oars. They would take a while to reach the Pearl, which lay at anchor round a point along the inlet's shoreline.

Jack rowed hard, but when they pulled round the headland, Will cried out in surprise. The Pearl was nowhere to be seen. "Jack!"

The entire inlet was clear to their view now. Jack stopped rowing and turned round to look. He went pale. "That's not possible." Then he furiously set to the oars, pulling the boat far and fast, all the way out of the inlet to the open sea before halting his efforts.

Jack buried his face in his hands. Will climbed over to him, took him by the shoulders. "They're all right. They must be."

Will took one more futile look around, but there was no trace of the ship. He gazed back at the island. "That hill we went past is fairly high. We can climb to the top, that way we'll be able to see farther, maybe all the way round the isle. It would be faster than trying to row around it, yes?"

"Yes. Damn him for taking the sail. Here, help me with this." Jack shifted aside and handed one of the oars to him.

Rowing together, they made fairly good time back to shore. They beached the boat, then retraced their steps, running towards the hill they'd gone by on Crane's route. Will felt quite tired, yet Jack seemed to have renewed energy, so he tried to match it. The hillside had a rock-strewn, difficult face, but Jack tore up it in his half-crazed state, agile as a goat. Will half-scrambled, half-slid up the hill's steep side, finding the footing difficult and the handholds few. But they both reached the top safely.

The hill was tall enough, and barren of trees. They had a clear view round the entire small isle. The blue-green sea spread out around them in all directions, utterly empty.

Will couldn't understand where the Pearl could have gone. Even if Crane had somehow reached the ship before they got to the inlet, if he'd swum out to it, and somehow convinced the crew to help him sail her, they couldn't have sailed far. Not in such a short amount of time. They could see for miles, and there was barely a wind to speak of.

Jack simply stood there, with a defeated expression, slowly turning in a circle, staring blankly at the ocean. "Gone," he said, his voice breaking. "She's gone."

Will instantly went to him, made him stand still, and took him in a warm embrace. Jack's arms came up around him, holding him tightly. "We'll survive," Will said soothingly. "We'll get her back."

"No." Jack pulled away, a haunted look in his eyes. "It's the curse of these parts. Don't you remember? Ships vanish without ever being seen again, unless they be ghost ships crewed by the dead."

"That's a myth." Will shook him gently, trying to snap him out of this mournful frame of mind. "We don't know that anything's happened to them at all. Maybe Gibbs and the others found a way out of the hold. Maybe they sailed round the isle and found another inlet or cove. We can't see all of the shoreline from here, look!" He turned Jack round, showing him the stand of cedars they'd been at before. From up here, he could see that there was a second stand behind it, larger, more like a small wood. The trees there grew so tall and so close together than they couldn't tell what the coastline beyond them was like. "We'll need to row round the island after all, to check the whole shore."

Jack relaxed a little. "All right. You're right." Then he looked at the sky. "But there's no time."

Will checked the sun's position, realized it must be near on six o'clock. By the time they got down the hill and returned to the boat, the sun would be setting. They wouldn't be able to circle the island before dark. A sudden stomach pang reminded him that he was also hungry, for while Crane had let them have a bit to eat during the trip here, they'd had nothing since. "We need to find shelter for the night," he said. "And food. Then we'll row round the place first thing tomorrow."

"Crane might still be out there somewhere." Jack turned round to face Will, his arms wrapped round Will's waist. "There's no safe place here."

Jack nodded. He drew in closer for a quick kiss, then said, "I don't like this."

"I know." Will kept holding him tight, needing the physical contact. "There's something wrong with this island. Something not natural." He feared losing Jack, for if a ship could vanish from sight, why not a person? He didn't want to sleep at all tonight, didn't want to wake to find Jack gone without a trace. He touched Jack's face. "We can't let it take us."

"Ah." Suddenly Jack brightened. "I have an idea." He smiled. "We can tie ourselves together."

Will laughed, some of his tension dissipating. "I like that idea of yours very much. But first, food. I'm starved."

They made their way down the hill more slowly than they'd come up, and by the time they reached the bottom the sun was already starting to set. They'd still have enough light for another hour at least, so they put their efforts into finding food. First they went to the stream for fresh water, drinking their fill. Then they followed it inland, where the flora grew thickest. Not far along they found a papaya tree. The fruit would hardly sustain them, but it would serve to quench their hunger pangs for a while.

They gathered up all the fruit they could, then made their way back to the beach where they'd left the longboat. To their great relief, it was still there. But other than the shovel, they had no tools, though they did have a coil of rope in the boat. Will would have traded all his earthly possessions, meager as they were, for one good knife.

They ate the fruit as the air grew cooler around them, though at least now Will knew it was from the setting sun and not from any otherworldly apparition.

There was no kind of shelter near the shore, but they did have the boat. So when they'd finished their paltry supper, they hauled it further up onto the beach, a hard task even for two men. Next, working with the sand as a bank and the shovel as leverage, they managed to flip it upside down, propping one side up slightly with the shovel head. This provided barely enough room, perhaps a foot, to slither under its protection. They lay side by side beneath the upturned boat, on their backs, and Will did exactly what Jack suggested, and tied the rope round their waists, binding them together.

"If he finds us," Will replied, "he'll have a good deal of trouble getting under here without our noticing. Plenty of time to undo the rope, or to get off a pistol shot at him."

"I'm not sleeping," Will said. "I'm too tense. Hand me the pistol, and you get some sleep."

"No, I'm not doing that. I'm not shutting me eyes. Don't want to let you out of my sight."

Will sighed. "Look, if neither of us gets any rest all night, we won't have any energy tomorrow to row around the island."

Sometimes Jack could be downright stubborn. Will knew he was worried about something ghostly coming along to spirit him away, but they needed to try fighting their fears by being pragmatic. "Listen, I'm as worried about the supernatural as you are right now. That cold I felt earlier terrified me something fierce. The sooner we get off this isle, the better. But we can't do that if we're too tired. Now get some sleep." He paused. "Please?"

Jack silently handed him the pistol. "Wake me in a few hours. I shall be wanting that back."

Then Jack turned onto his side, put his arm round Will, and settled his head on Will's shoulder. Will cradled him with his left arm, keeping the right arm straight along his side, loosely holding the pistol. He listened to Jack breathing, waiting for the breaths to come more slowly. The boat cocooned them, warm and dark, and the sand provided a natural cushion for their bed.

Only the fear of what might come should they truly be stranded in this cursed place would keep them from a peaceful rest.

Jack indicated a sandy stretch of shore. They had rowed round the entire island that morning after an uneventful night, and had seen no sign of the Pearl. Now they were near the cedar woods, where Jack had suggested returning after their circumnavigation, as there was a small cove there and it was closer to the spot where the chest lay buried.

He'd been very quiet since they'd completed their circle of the island. Will worried that he was depressed again about the ship's mysterious disappearance. Jack tended to keep his deeper emotions to himself. Will wished he could offer some comfort, but there was nothing encouraging he could think of to say. Things looked very bleak, and he wasn't feeling terribly cheerful himself.

They beached their boat along the sand. A hill rose steeply here, close to shore, and thick with cedars. They made slow progress upward, finding their way between the trees, which fortunately stood so close together that their shade kept other plants from growing, keeping what space there was between them clear. Will's boots crunched atop a thick carpeting of pine needles as he hiked. The low, swooping branches often provided a handhold for the steeper parts of the hill, though Will soon found that the tree's resin made his palms itch. He was glad when they reached the top and the trees leveled out around them.

Will brushed his reddened palms against his jerkin. Jack had the shovel, which he'd used as a walking stick, so his hands were unaffected.

They had gone only a few feet further when Jack, in front, came to a sudden halt.

Jack pointed. There stood a small cairn of stones in a little clearing, looking for all the world like a burial mound.

Will felt a chill, though not like the ones he'd felt before. This was just an ordinary, fear-of-death chill. "You know," he said as they strode over to the spot, "this outlandish tale Spillett was told might turn out to be true. This could be where Woodes buried his murdered shipmate, Read."

"Must we?" Will didn't like the idea at all. He wasn't keen to find out what was under those rocks.

Jack took the shovel to the pile. "Yes, we must. Sometimes a murderer will strip his victim of anything valuable, but sometimes, especially if he didn't kill him to rob him, he'll leave well enough alone."

A gruesome task, but Will had to admit Jack had good reason to do it. He pitched in as best he could, moving the larger rocks while Jack shoveled away at the smaller ones. It didn't take long to reach the makeshift grave beneath, in which they found skeletal remains, still clad in disintegrating clothes.

Will stood aside, feeling uneasy, as Jack knelt down to examine the remains. "Do you think it was this Read fellow?"

So much for Will's fond though faint hope that the fellow had passed away naturally, perhaps of a fever, and his shipmates had kindly buried him here instead of dropping him into the sea. No, the man had been murdered. "He's haunting this place."

"I'm not ready to believe in ghosts just yet." Jack tossed something out of the grave. "That's useful."

Will bent down to pick up the dirt-encrusted knife, despite his queasiness over grave-robbing. This one tool alone might mean the difference between life and death here. With this they could cut down branches to form a shelter, they could open mollusks, they could cut wood for a fire. If they could find a way to start a fire. "Any matches?"

"Nor will anything else in here." Jack stepped out of the shallow grave and began piling the rocks back on top of it. "The clothes are too rotted away."

Will helped him rebuild the mound. "At least we have a knife. And maybe there will be something useful inside that crate."

They finished burying the murdered man, then resumed their trek. They walked through the woods in the direction they thought the hole might be, a guess at best, but when they came out into the clearing they found they were not far off. Will could see a mound of dirt just fifty feet away, where they'd been digging for the treasure. It looked undisturbed.

There had been no sign of Nicholas Crane during all this time. Then again, it wouldn't make much sense for Crane to try attacking them when they were two against one, and they had all the weapons. But what if he found their boat and made off with it? "We should hurry," Will said.

They walked over to the hole they'd started yesterday. Will took the shovel this time, and started in on the dirt encasing the wooden crate as Jack helped scoop dirt out with his hands. Intense curiosity, along with the fear of being away from the boat too long, drove Will to work at a feverish pace. With both of them working hard, it didn't take long to unearth the crate. It was closed with a simple lock, which Will broke easily with one short, swift stroke with the shovel. Then he and Jack lifted the lid.

Inside they found six bags stuffed with gold doubloons, enough wealth to keep a man in kingly fashion for many years. A treasure worth stealing, worth killing for, yet worthless to them in their present state. They carefully hauled each bag out to make sure there wasn't anything else inside, but the crate contained only the gold. So they replaced the bags, shut the lid, and left the crate there.

The trip back to the cove was a silent one, in which Will spent his time dwelling on their miserable fortunes. He felt tired and hungry, with little prospect for relief on either count. They were in far worse straits than their last experience of marooning, when they'd had tools and food and most importantly, fire. They had no ship, they had a killer on the loose, and despite Jack's dismissal, Will knew that a ghost inhabited this isle. He'd felt it twice now, and he was certain the unnatural cold was a spirit, the soul of the murdered man they'd found, restlessly wandering the earthly world because his death lay unavenged.

They had gone about halfway along their route through the woods when Jack stopped, suddenly gazing off to his right. "That's odd."

"What?" Will came up beside him, and followed his gaze. He saw a peculiar light among the shadowy trees, a faint orange-red glow. He gripped the hilt of the knife, which he had tucked in his belt. "It could be Crane."

They moved off towards the source of the strange light. Will made note of their path, not wanting to get lost in these woods. They didn't need to go far, though. As they drew nearer, they could see a clearing ahead, a pit dug out in its center, and a fire burning briskly.

They crept closer, coming out of the trees and into the clearing proper. There was no sign of Crane. They walked slowly round the edge of the entire clearing, staying close together, listening, looking out for any clues to the fire's origin. At the far side of the clearing they found a path leading through the trees, the dirt packed down hard.

Will wondered if they'd been guided here on purpose, if whoever or whatever had led them to the fire meant for them to follow the path, had laid a trap. "Do we go on?"

"I suppose not." Curiosity alone demanded exploration. Will swallowed hard. "I'm ready."

They walked down the path, prepared to fight at a moment's notice, cautious at every turn. As he moved down the path, Will suddenly felt that same dread he'd experienced earlier, only this time there was no accompanying chill. This was different, as if they were being watched, but not by anything living, as if the air itself were rife with unseen souls. He picked up his pace.

They were surprised to find the path ended in another clearing, in which stood a makeshift dwelling built of wood and stone. There had definitely been a previous inhabitant on Devil's Isle, and perhaps he lived there still. "Crane didn't build that," Will said.

Jack slowly approached the entrance, which had a door made from branches tied together with strips of palm tree leaves. He stood off to one side, pistol held ready, and kicked the door open with his foot. He slowly peered inside while Will stood right beside him, knife in hand. "Nobody's home."

They both looked inside the simple hut. Will saw a crude table and chair made from branches, a bed of palm fronds, and a small seaman's chest. Jack stepped further inside to examine the chest, with Will guarding the doorway. He hated this place, hated the miasma of evil seeping around it.

Will knew he should be glad they'd found shelter and supplies, but instead he only felt increasingly anxious. "Could someone be helping us?" Yet whoever it was hadn't shown himself, and there had to be a reason for such strange behavior. Was he trying to lull them into feeling secure when they really weren't? "Or is it Crane, setting a trap? But where is he?"

"Hardtack." Jack tossed one of the biscuits to him. He was already munching on one himself.

"Ta." Will caught it easily, and took a bite. Hunger made anything edible. He hoped getting some food inside him might alleviate these odd sensations he was having, hoped they were only the result of a weakened state.

"Clothes, a Bible, some books on navigation..." Jack sorted through the chest. "Ah, a flask." He opened it, sniffed, tested. He sighed. "Empty. As always."

Will kept the outdoors always in view. He wasn't about to be surprised by anyone. "Let's just take some of the matches and get out of here." He couldn't believe that anyone was helping them.

"Not yet. I've found something." Jack held up a satchel, pulling out a leatherbound book from inside. "It's a journal."

Jack came over to the doorway, where the light was better. "We have shelter here, a fire pit, some food. Why leave? We can protect ourselves here. We can see anyone approaching."

Will had trouble articulating why he was so nervous. "What if the fellow who built it returns? What if Crane found him, and they're now in league together? What if he has weapons?" These were all logical points, yet they failed to address the core fear enveloping him, which had no rationality. And the food he'd eaten hadn't helped.

"You're trembling." Jack touched his arm. "You don't frighten easily, mate. What's wrong?"

"Ghosts," Will said. He could feel their presence all around them, and not just a solitary haunting, either. This whole island was a habitation for the unrestful dead. "Can't you feel it?" Not a chill in the air this time, rather a sense of unnatural presence, an oppressive hollowness, as if all the life were being drawn away. "There's something here. Everywhere. Something dead and cold, and it wants us."

"It's cursed," Will insisted. "You're the one who said these waters were cursed, and I don't care if you're not ready to believe in ghosts. You and I have both seen normal men turn into skeletons and back to living flesh again. You can't tell me what does and doesn't exist." He was shaking now.

Jack gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, then went back inside the hut, returning shortly with the satchel. "Right. Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere." Will felt better already. "Let's get to the boat, and row to the inlet. If the Pearl returns, that's the first spot she'll search for us."

They made good progress through the woods, took a bit more time getting down the hillside, and by the afternoon had found the boat where they'd left it. As soon as they pushed off and began rowing, the sense of dread left Will. Everything felt normal once more, but he did not feel embarrassed by his panic, nor regretful at abandoning the shelter of the hut. He knew there was nothing right about that place.

By late afternoon they'd made landfall at the inlet's beach. They dragged the boat up high on the shore again, then went in search of sustenance. Jack had taken some of the hardtack from the hut, but they needed more than that to survive. With the knife, they were able to cut down coconuts, and later they used the empty shells to get water from the stream. Mollusks were found on the rocks near the shore, and by evening they'd gathered enough wood to start a fire with the matches Jack had taken.

"Thank you," Will said as they sat close together near the fire, having finished their supper.

"I didn't like what it was doing to you." Jack looked intently at him, firelight reflected in his eyes. "You truly believe it is ghosts, don't you?"

"Perhaps this will tell us more, then." Jack had the journal with him, and now he opened it, holding it so the firelight fell across the pages. "'Begun this third day of the month of October in the Year of Our Lord seventeen hundred and thirty,'" he read. "'By His Most Faithful Subject, Edward Eaton, late of County Devon.'"

"Only a month ago," Will said. He could surely have survived that short a time, after all, he'd still had food in his hut. Yet there had been no sign of the man.

"'Having been cruelly marooned here off the Destiny, a pirate ship, at the Captain's whim, for no crime but for doing of good works, and for constant preaching of the Word of our Lord to the men, whose souls were assuredly damned without His aid and succor.'" Jack smiled. "I can see why that would annoy a pirate crew. They're not the most religious of men, until they're facing the noose."

"Find the most crucial parts first," Will said. "So we'll know happened to him."

"'For the sake of my family and my reputation,'" Jack read on, "I make it plain to all concerned that I would never engage in an act of sin against any man, but was pressed to service aboard the pirate's ship after she boarded the merchant vessel New Jordan sailed from Whydah en route to Virginia. Twelve men were taken, and all came to the life of pirating with great diligence and no foreswearing, and all signed the oaths, I being the sole man to resist.'" Jack paused for a moment to take a drink of water. "That's dead common."

"Pressing men into piracy?" Will had heard of such actions, had read of them, but wondered how close the stories held to reality.

"Most times, when a pirate takes a ship, it's not just the cargo he's after. He's always in want of fresh men, from losing so many to wounds or disease. Lots of sailors professing to be honest men will jump eagerly from a captured ship to join the pirate crew, hoping to make a fortune in short time rather than remain as a near slave aboard their honest vessels."

He spoke with such cynical disdain that Will was taken aback, until he recalled the experience Jack and his own father had undergone aboard the "honest" merchant ship Intrepid. The crew had been continually brutalized by its captain and its first mate, with no recourse or relief. He realized now that this experience could not have been unique to the Intrepid. A seaman's life was generally harsh, dangerous, and short, as well as poorly paid. But for a man born into a lower station in England, little in life held out any hope of betterment. "So they were willing to risk death from the hangman's noose for a chance at riches? Was that likely to happen?"

"It happened often enough," Jack said. "Trouble is, they'd spend it all too fast on high living, and have to go out on another cruise, and then another, until they went on one too many."

Will was glad beyond measure that Jack had earned his pardon, had left that life behind. "I don't imagine most of them live to old age."

"No, they don't." Jack took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "If you got to thirty-five, you were considered uncommonly lucky."

He went quiet then, looking contemplative, and Will wondered if he were thinking about Nate Flynn. A pirate, captain of the Nighthawk, and a man Jack had loved. They'd sailed in the far east, something like three or four years, until captured during a chase. Captured because Jack had fallen overboard, and Flynn had turned back for him, an action that doomed him. Flynn had been hanged, while Jack and the crew were imprisoned at hard labor. Will calculated the years backward, from what he knew of Jack's past, for he'd only escaped from that prison a short time before arriving in Port Royal. He'd been in prison three years before the escape, so he must have been thirty-six or seven then, and Flynn had been of a similar age. Uncommonly lucky to live so long, for a pirate.

Jack came back from wherever he'd gone, and turned a page of the journal. "So Edward Eaton was a reluctant crewman, and he tried to instill Christian values on his crewmates."

"West coast of Africa. Slavers territory. That's no doubt the 'cargo' the New Jordan carried. Let's see what happened after the Destiny abandoned him here."

"Yes, he mentions that. 'I thank the Providence of Our Lord for my meager possessions, without which I must have surely perished.'" Jack flipped through the next few pages. "He writes new entries every day, looks as if the ones from the first week are mostly about finding food, water, and building his shelter. And about his praying a lot for salvation."

He continued skimming through the entries, until pausing about a third of the way into the journal. "This is interesting. I think he's found your ghosts."

"'The tenth of October. Today as I explored the eastern side of the island, with the sun warming me, I suddenly was struck numb by an unholy cold which filled me with an unnatural fear. It passed as suddenly as it had come, and nothing untoward occurred the rest of the day, yet I feel as if an intimation of evil has descended upon this isle. It is the work of the Devil, and I must pray ever more diligently for strength to overcome mine enemies.'"

"Poor man," Will said. "It's bad enough to feel that cold when you're with me, but to be here all alone must be a hundred times worse."

"He goes back to his daily struggle for survival in the next pages," Jack said. "And lots of praying, of course."

"So do I." Jack kept searching through the pages, looking for the next most interesting entry, which he found halfway through. "'Today marks my twentieth day of abandonment, and my heart aches for the society of fellow Christian men. I have come to an isle of the damned, where I am now daily tormented by malefice. I cannot travel far from my hut without the Devil's cold attacking me, nor can I go for many hours without hearing the baleful keening wail of the afflicted souls who have died before me in this cursed land.'"

"Good God." Will shivered, even with the fire's flames close by. "It got worse?"

"Skip to the end." Will needed to know just how much worse things could get, while at the same time, dreading finding out. "Did he go mad from these afflictions?"

Jack looked through the journal in silence, moving quickly through the pages. "More and more writing about the souls haunting the island," he said. "His handwriting gets more agitated as the days go on. The entries get shorter, with longer gaps between. Wait, here's something. 'I am in grave despair. This evening I spied a sail, and set a signal fire. The ship approached the isle, but as it drew near, the Devil's fog swept out to surround the vessel, and I could hear men's cries of fear aboard. Oftentimes have I noted this unholy phenomenon, working swift and strong at night more so than in the day, sending my own mind into a frenzy. Soon, I spied the sails once more, the ship having turned away from the isle to escape the fog, which then withdrew to its appointed place. I know now that I shall never be saved.'"

"Go on," Will said, though he knew what was undoubtedly coming, and didn't want to hear it. But he had to.

"This entry is dated the second of November," Jack replied. "That's only ten days ago. 'The Lord has forsaken me. I am surrounded by the dead. Their unshriven souls cry out to me to join them, and my constant prayers aid naught in resisting the call.'" He sighed. "That doesn't bode well."

"No. He's either dead or insane by now." Will couldn't imagine any other consequence of living in such a wretched condition.

"Dead," Jack replied. He had skipped forward towards the end of the journal. "Dated the sixth of November. 'I pray God forgives me for this the most grievous of all sins, but I can no longer live among these unholy spirits who give me no surcease. I commend my possessions to whatever unfortunate soul may find them. At dawn I shall take nothing but what Our Lord gave me, into the waters of the earth, into which I shall go as far as God will allow, far from this Hell, until the waters shall cover me over forever.'"

Will was horrified at the thought of the poor man being driven to such an act. And he was equally horrified at the thought that the same end might await them. It was far worse than he'd thought. After finding the burial mound, he'd believed that the isle was haunted by the ghost of the murdered Read, but now he knew there were many unquiet souls here, the ghosts of all the men who had ever been stranded, wrecked, or killed on these shores for as long as the isle had been visited by man. A cursed island lying in cursed waters, and they were destined to be its next victims.

"That's the last page. No, wait." Jack turned the leaf over. "There's a little bit more on the back side." He held the journal closer to the fire, which had died down a little. He read slowly, tilting the journal this way and that to catch the firelight best. "'I, Edward Eaton, late of Devon, do commend my soul to God and beg His most charitable forgiveness for my sins. And I condemn to the fires of Hell the soul of he that left me here, the pirate and sinner Captain Nathaniel—" Jack broke off with a gasp. "no."

"What?" Will reached for the journal, but Jack held it firmly from him. "What is it?"

Will grabbed his arm, wrenching it away from the flames. "Stop it! Jack, what's got into you?"

Jack struggled with him, still trying to burn the journal. Will, being younger and stronger, managed to pin him down, and then he flung his entire body on top of Jack, lying face to face. "For God's sake, leave off!" Will cried. "Please don't make me do this."

All the fight abruptly left Jack, and he went utterly limp. "I'm sorry." He grabbed Will tightly. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Will rolled over, bringing Jack with him, so that they lay entwined side by side. He kissed Jack warmly, still holding on tight. When he broke away, he said softly, "Don't scare me like that. I thought this island had done something to your mind."

Will let go his hold enough to look at the final entry, turning it towards the fire. In the orange-red glow, he saw Edward Eaton's final words. And I condemn to the fires of Hell the soul of he that left me here, the pirate and sinner Captain Nathaniel Flynn. "Dear God." Nate Flynn had been dead more than three years. He couldn't have marooned Eaton here a month ago. "Jack, it can't be the same man. It's only the same name, that's all. A coincidence."

"A pirate captain? The same name and the same profession?" Jack spoke brokenly, disbelief hanging off every word. "He's dead, Will. They hanged him in Surat."

"Perhaps someone was using his name, then. It happened to you, with Hardcastle."

"He's dead," Jack repeated woodenly, as if he hadn't heard Will. "He died because of me. He came back for me. He loved me."

Will set the journal aside and took Jack in his arms again. "I know he did. It's not the same man. How can it be? You saw him die."

His bald statement was met with a long silence. Too long. "Jack?" He couldn't see his expression clearly, even this close, for the flames had died down too much, swathing the shore in darkness. Will gently touched Jack's face, caressing his forehead, his cheeks. He seemed too tense. "Jack?"

"I didn't see the hanging," Jack said. "They told me they'd done it, but I didn't see him die."

Will's soothing fingers froze in place as the thought hit him. Nate Flynn could still be alive. He fought down a sudden wave of fear fostered by jealousy of Jack's former lover. He moved his hand, brushing Jack's lips. "Why would they tell you a lie?" he asked warily.

"No reason." Jack reached up to take Will's hand, kissed his fingers lightly, then drew it down to rest on his chest, holding on tightly. "He's gone. He's dead, and he's gone, and there's no reason to believe anything else." Nonetheless, Will felt him quivering against him, as if that improbable belief refused to let him go. Will had no idea what to do or say. The last thing he wanted was for a resurrected Nate Flynn to walk back into Jack's life. Yet he knew Flynn's death had hurt Jack nearly beyond recovery, blaming himself for it as he did. If Flynn were alive, Jack would be free from all that guilt and sorrow.

Except that if Flynn were alive, then what had he been doing while Jack languished in prison? Why had he not tried to save him, why had he never tried to find him again?

He was certain those same thoughts were running through Jack's mind. Will desperately wished they'd never seen that name in Eaton's journal. They had enough worries here without any further torments.

The fire had burned down to mere embers. "We should get under the boat," Will said. "It's safer there, and warmer."

"Come on." Will rubbed Jack's arms briskly. "Don't go off to that faraway past like you do. Stay here with me now." He pushed himself up onto his knees, got his arm under Jack's, and then yanked both himself and Jack upright. Will shook him by the shoulders. "Don't do this, Jack. Come on. I need you."

Jack suddenly grabbed him back, sagging a little against him, burying his face in the crook of Will's neck. "I know you do." Then he pulled away, straightening. "I need you, too."

"Let's do that," Jack replied, and they walked together across the sand to their boat.

Pirate Dreams

Chapter 10