|
The Treasure of the Afreet
BY: Elizabeth Lac1*** "Mister Gibbs," Jack calls conversationally, "give me all the canvas she can carry. Helm, hold dead ahead." Will stares in mute horror at the false dawn glowing red below the night-time silhouette of the island. The fire-ships -- nine in all, strung across the narrow inlet to the bay -- drift closer; the yellow flames clothing them roar like a storm wind and shimmer on the dark water like molten gold. Across the calm, those on The Black Pearl can hear the crack-crackle of burning timber and see the blackened drift of charred canvas over the distant gunwhales. "Douse yourselves with water, and have a wet cloth to breath through," Gibbs yells at the rest of the crew. "Jack!" Wills cries, rounding on him. "You don't mean to try to sail between two fire-ships? The Black Pearl will never survive! She's bound to take fire." Jack turns, meeting Will's outraged gaze. Jack's expression makes Will feel very young, very ignorant, and very foolish. "I'm sorry," Jack says with elaborate and faintly patronizing politeness. "Did I somehow give you the impression that being crewed by the damned undead was the only brush with magic The Pearl's ever had?" He glances out over the water again, considering the line of ships, so close now that the air becomes tinged with the smell of smoke and burning tar. "There," he calls to the helm, pointing to the space between two of the ships bearing down on The Black Pearl, the distance a little greater than that between any other pair. "I don't understand," Will murmurs, almost hopefully. "Quick, they're almost on us," Gibbs urges, slopping down a large bucket of water on the deck between the two men. Will notices the little black and burning motes swirling around them like night-insects. Jack is obediently sloshing water over himself, stooping to dunk his head and arms. Will looks up again and is stricken by the sight of the ship immediately off their port bow -- sheathed in flame and choking black smoke, her rigging twisting and falling in the heart of the fire, her bow beginning to buckle and blacken. "Oh Christ have mercy on us," Will moans, unable to take his eyes off the nightmare loaming immense before him. "Mister Turner -- William!" Gibbs snaps, dragging Will's attention to him. "Here, quick!" Will ducks his head and lets Gibbs upend the bucket over him. The shock of cold water on his scalp and neck and down his spine momentarily quenches the fever of fear burning under his skin. But all too quickly his wet clothes begin to warm uncomfortably. Larger flakes of burning canvas and smoldering wood ash begin to fall like hellish snow. Some come to rest among the rigging, or on the bellied curve of The Pearl's sails. Here and there, tendrils of smoke and bright new flowers of fire spring out on The Pearl's canvas. "Jack -- for the love of Jesus, turn back," Will implores, gripping Jack's arm hard. Jack turns his head, the black pits of his eyes reflecting the swirl and flicker of bright flame. He's smiling, not manically, but with deep and tranquil pleasure. "Take care," he murmurs, drawing the sodden cuff of Will's shirt sleeve protectively down over Will's hand. "These little bitsa' cinder are hot." Will backs up a step, despair and fear driving him from the rail as the fire-ships on either side of The Pearl slip past. "Jack -- it doesn't matter -- if The Pearl takes fire we'll all meet our end in fire or water." Jack turns on his heel, his head dropping back as he gazes in utter rapture up into The Pearl's rigging. Will follows his line-of-sight and stifles a moan of sheer fear as he realizes that the sails are rippling and flapping a little under their shrouds of bright flame. "She can't burn," Jack says softly. "She can't burn, nor sink by storm. She can't be caught nor outrun, she can't be captured by reef nor lee-tide. She's a blessed ship Will: she can be harmed by shot and steel, but not by air or fire or earth or water." Will's unsure whether this is any kind of reassurance or just further confirmation that the man directing their course is insane. Will forces himself to look at Jack, at his face reflecting the unearthy white glow of -- -- that's not right -- Will looks up, aghast and amazed and awed by the shivering sheets of white light clothing The Pearl's sails. He glances down and sees the same glittering gleaming radience washing the decks and the masts and even the crew's faces and clothing. Falling embers turn to ashy steel gray flakes and drift softly down like snow. The light sinks soaks beneath the surface of dark wood and Will understands why she's named The Black Pearl. |
