Pirates of the Caribbean: Barbossa and the King's Messenger (Book 1)

Marooned

"Yes, lovely indeed!" Jack replied, unconvincingly. "Although, as I say, I think you should view this as a chance for a bit of a change. Perhaps, someone known to you for, oh . . . years. How long were you engaged to this paragon?" he asked.

"A year," I replied.

"Well, there you are, then! Time for a change, savvy?" He smiled at me, a gleam in his eyes.

All at once, I realised what he was suggesting.

"Oh, Jack! You truly are my dearest, greatest old friend!" I laughed in spite of my troubles, "You're just the same as when we were children. You haven't changed a bit, really."

"Oh, yes, I have. There's been many a change indeed, as you shall see! Now, if you'll allow me . . ." He began to move closer, encircling my neck with his arm.

"No!" Momentarily panic-stricken, I ducked out from under his rather too-warm embrace. "I couldn't! Truly, Jack! Think of our fathers!" I exclaimed, hoping to distract him.

"Don't see why they'd object . . ." he murmured, leaning forward and breathing in my face.

"Then think of that wretched Barbossa and his men getting all your sparkly swag!" At this, he sighed and ceased his advances, to my infinite relief.

"Well, I wasn't going to mention it, but the gold is cursed, y' know." He took another swallow of rum and gave me a speculative look. "Tell you what, darlin', if we're NOT taking it to the next level, then help me build a fire, and I'll give you the tale."

Jack opened his damp tinderbox and placed it where the breeze and the late afternoon sun could dry it. Then, we collected a mass of dried palm fronds, of which there seemed to be an unending supply, and some rotten timbers from debris along the shore. "Let's have a bit of that dried seaweed," he said, pointing towards the high tide mark on the sand. I fetched a large bundle of dried vegetation for him, and we made a great pile of wood and branches.

Jack crouched down with flint and steel in his hands. "It would seem," he began, as he worked over his flint, "That the Aztec gods took a dislike to the way Cortes had helped himself to the gold, and then killed all the Aztecs in spite of it. I suppose you might say . . . he didn't honour the accord."

He stood up, as a most welcome flame took hold of the tinder. "Therefore, said gods placed a curse on his treasure: eternal punishment for anyone who took even a single piece of it." Jack had got quite a respectable fire burning, and he brushed the sand from his hands before rejoining me. "So you see, love, it may all be for the best. Of course, I wasn't inclined to take it seriously at first, but mind you, if it's true. . . ."

"That's it? 'Eternal punishment'?" I asked, very disappointed. "Why, it might be anything, mightn't it? Can't you be a bit more specific?" I was eager for details that would supply my imagination with images of the curse working on the mutineers.

"Well, it would be punishment enough for me, knowin' the gold was no use to me because of the curse," he suggested, as we watched the bright yellow flames rise into the evening sky.

"How can one not be able to use gold? To say nothing of the fact that I don't believe in curses and such," I remarked, feeling that this was cold comfort indeed.

Jack laughed softly to himself. "No? Funny, I thought it was you who pointed out that renaming a ship was bad luck. No matter; if it is true, there'll be the devil to pay."

"Good!" I declared. "I hope they all pay for their villainy, and Barbossa's at the top of the list. From the moment he stepped foot on deck – even before he took the Pearl and tried to kill us – that scoundrel was unbearable, with his swaggering insults!"