Chapter Seven

**We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot. Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!**

Will paced in the small cell for an hour, by the sound of the bells, trying to calm down. Sparrow was caught, Sparrow was caught. That was good, wasn't it? It's what he had been working for since the George Town attacks. And Will was the one who had caught him, mostly. That was even better. Stanley wouldn't punish him once he learned the truth. And Will wouldn't have to live with the crushing guilt that had haunted him all this time. He stopped pacing and leaned his head against the bulkhead. Then why did he still feel so wretched?

Drained, Will sank to the floor, and stared absently out of his cell. He looked around steerage, the deck between the upper deck and the hold. Daylight was fading, the sinking sun making the thin shafts of sunlight glisten on the dust in the air. The odor of the bilge water was not so strong as it had been on the Deadly Earnest. Jones and the other junior men must be making their beds amid the gear stored there, under the sheets of black canvas.

Black canvas?

Will's eyes were now adjusted to the gloom, and the hair rose on his neck as he looked around at the black sails covering the other gear. Suddenly he had to know what was under them. He jumped to his feet and paced again, looking for . . . he found a rotting plank. Apparently the crew of the Tarantula never holystoned steerage like they did the main deck; some of the wood was rough and splintering. The plank he pried up was just long enough to reach the nearest heap. He stretched and lifted.

Beneath the sails was a large wooden object, irregularly shaped, with sweeping, rounded edges. Pressing painfully against the flat iron bars, Will slid the plank along the edge of the canvas and came to a carved wooden bird, its wings outstretched, gripped at the body by the fingers of a human figure the rest of which Will couldn't see. He didn't need to. He backed away, into his cell, until he was leaning against the outside bulkhead. He knew what it was. A woman's form with wings - an angel - gripping a dove. It was an exact copy of the Black Pearl's figurehead.

For a moment Will couldn't breathe. His world spun and he felt like his heart was in his boots. Will found himself sitting again, and fighting a suddenly rebellious stomach. At that moment, he heard feet and voices at the hatch. One of the voices belonged to Captain Stanley. Panicked, the only thing Will could think of to do was to feign sleep. He was in no fit state to face the man. Will curled up on his side and told himself to breathe deeply.

Stanley and his company didn't even pause in steerage; they continued down the companionway into the hold. Will sat up, relieved, when they were gone and his thinking cleared. If both he and Jack were to get out of this mess he had gotten them into, they would both need to be very clever. Jack, Will was sure, could be clever while drunk and half asleep, but Will would need to try to guess what Jack would be doing. He smiled grimly. Doing his best to guess what Jack would do had been his explicit charge from Norrington. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

Will began a systematic inspection of his cell. The loose plank he had pried was too brittle to be of much use as a weapon, but he set it aside carefully, in case. The bars . . . Will knew that construction and considered its implications. Crossed flat iron slats made excellent cells when set in stonemasonry, but affixing them in a wooden ship had some inherent weaknesses. The bars were only as effective as the wood was strong. As a consequence, shipbuilders generally ran the bars entirely through the middle deck, down into the hold, the better to set the ends in the solid wood of the keel. One level might serve as a brig, the other as secure storage for loose or valuable items.

It occurred to Will that Jack was probably incarcerated directly below him. He laid a thoughtful hand on the bars, remembering an interesting property of metal. Casting an appraising glance around steerage, judging the amount of creaking noise the ship made as it lay in port - much less noise than it would make at sea - Will lay down next to the bars, and pressed his ear to one. Faint and tinny, but still clear, like distant voices heard across a lake, Will heard Stanley speak.

". . . until the Commodore gets here."

"Well, Mate," Sparrow's voice said, "you've got to be the worst pirate I've ever heard of."

"Imagine my disappointment," Stanley replied. "Why, in particular?"

"Attacking poor settlements? What's the point and purpose? If there's no treasure to be had, a real pirate moves on. Score a Spanish treasure ship, now, and you're sitting pretty. Unless you're afraid to attack someone who can fight back."

"I have nothing to fear," sneered Stanley. "You, on the other hand, have a very short life expectancy right now."

"That's nothing new to me, chum. No pirate expects to live very long. Makes every day worth living well. Something else you'd understand if you were a real pirate."

"I intend to be richer than any living pirate soon. That will take the sting out of not being accepted in your brigand ranks. You're going to help me to the gold at the Isle de Muerte."

"Swag, mate, swag. At least learn how to talk like a proper pirate!"

A loud pounding noise reverberated in Will's head, as something slammed into the bars. Will imagined it to be Stanley's fist.

"Enough! Where is the Isle de Muerte?"

"Good God, man! Can't you even conduct a proper parley? You've given me no incentive whatsoever to tell you!"

"How's this for incentive? You tell me where the Isle de Muerte is, or I cut off your ears, your tongue, and any other parts that protrude. Savvy?"

"Much better! I liked the 'savvy' part at the end. Maybe you are teachable, after all. But you gave your bluff away with the tongue. How can I tell you what you want to know with no tongue?"

"You think I bluff? Mr. Sparrow, I have men on this ship who are highly skilled - and I do mean highly - in the finer arts of making a man talk. You will tell me what I want to know."

Sparrow's reply sounded subdued, to Will's hearing. "And then you'll kill me Mate, once I tell you. I know the drill. I don't look forward to your men practicing their skill, but I'll tell you one more thing about a real pirate. The worst day living is better than the best day dead. We have only Hell to look forward to, savvy? So rather than be dead I'll take the worst you have to give for a very, very long time. How much time do you have? The Commodore's arriving soon, isn't he? Will you never learn to negotiate?"

Will heard nothing for a time, but some muted voices. Stanley was not alone with Sparrow, he remembered; the Chief Mate and some other men were there.

Stanley spoke again. "Well, Mr. Sparrow, suppose I allow you to instruct me. What do you suggest I offer you?"

"Now we're talking! Excellent. Let's look at it this way. I presume you intend to share the swag with all your men? Good. Properly piratical, equal shares and all. What's more, if you don't, and they get wind of it, it's mutiny. I have some experience in the area and know what I'm talking about. You've already made them outlaws, why shouldn't they turn on you? Out of curiosity, how did you turn a Navy crew into pirates? Good bit of business, that."

"I'm so delighted to have your approval. I hand picked a crew for pirate hunting. All men with no families and reputations for brutality. When we took our first pirate ship, I suggested we keep their . . . swag, as you call it. Every man agreed, and then they were bound to me by the need for silence and the promise of more wealth. Murdering innocents was an unfortunate necessity, but they were up to the job. Now, would you please get to the point?"

"Aye, I will. You have, how many men? Two hundred or so? You just agree - and get your men to agree - to make it two hundred and one. Let me have an equal share of the swag, and transport with my share on your ship, and I'll be glad to tell you where it is. It's really a *lot* of treasure, Mate. There's plenty there for everyone."

Will wondered if he had heard right. Was Jack really offering to throw in with Stanley?

"You would cut your own crew out?"

"Of course. They have a ship; let them get their own loot. I'll take my share and retire to an island a rich man, as I imagine you lot hope to do."

Will couldn't believe what he was hearing. Then he stopped his thoughts, dead. He *wouldn't* believe what he was hearing. Had he learned nothing? Once before, he had thought Jack was throwing in with Barbossa, and he'd been wrong then, too.

"That sounds suspiciously disloyal, Sparrow. Surely that's not proper pirate behavior."

"You know nothing of the Code, do you?" Sparrow sounded exasperated. "We stay together so long as it's mutually profitable. Why do you think I'm out alone? I'm not letting any of them go and find their own way to the Isle de Muerte. Now it's more profitable for me to throw in with your lot. Mutually profitable, savvy?"

Now Sparrow's voice lowered and grew seductive sounding.

"There is so much gold there, Mate, it will fill your entire hold and then some. I'll be glad of the help hauling it."

Again Will heard only muted voices in the background. Then,

"Captain Sparrow, you have a deal."

"An accord."

"An accord, then. You tell us where the Isle de Muerte is, and we will give you an equal share of the . . . swag."

"Excellent! Now, perhaps you'll let me out of here, and I'll find me some dinner."

"No, Captain Sparrow, you will tell me the location, first."

"I don't know the actual coordinates, Mate; I have to find it by dead reckoning."

"That's convenient," Stanley said, a warning note in his voice.

"No, that's magic. 'Can only be found by someone who already knows where it is.' Sorry."

"In that case, you will give me a good faith offering or the deal's off. What part of the Caribbean is it in? You'd have to tell me where to sail toward, in any case."

"There's some truth in that," Sparrow sounded thoughtful. "It's in the Bahamas."

Will's heart leaped. He couldn't name coordinates, either, but he knew what part of the ocean he had been in when Barbossa's crew had tried to use him to lift their curse. They hadn't been anywhere near the Bahamas. Bless Jack! He swore to himself he would never distrust the man again.

"More than that, Captain, or we'll return to the torture scenario."

"A day and a half's sail north of San Salvador. But you'll still need me to find it."

"You, or someone else who's been there. What did you do with Turner?"

For the first time, Will heard the Chief Mate's voice.

"He's in the brig. He thinks it's for his desertion."

"Turner?" Jack asked. "What's he to do with it? That boy couldn't find a rock he threw himself."

"He can corroborate your general location, Sparrow. If you're telling the truth, our deal is good. If not . . . I'll hang you and we'll use him. Stay here; I should be the one to bring Turner."

"Yes sir," said the Mate.

If Jack had anything else to say to that, Will didn't hear it. He rolled on his back away from the bars, his heart pounding. He would have to pretend he knew none of this and he hadn't even noticed the black sails, let alone what was under them. He would have to be convincing: his life, and certainly Jack's, depended on it.

Full night had fallen while he had been concentrating on the faint sounds transmitted through the metal. Steerage was dark and foreboding. Will pushed the plank back out into the open, and returned to feigning sleep. Stanley's footsteps were on the stairs.

"Mr. Turner."

Will rolled to his feet. "Captain!" he cried. Stanley stood there - behind him, a man holding a lantern.

"Mr. Turner, I understand you single-handedly caught Jack Sparrow."

"Yes, sir. No, I . . . I had to leave the ship to do it, sir. I'm really sorry. But, you know, my enlistment is only conditional, until the Black Pearl is stopped, and I thought . . ."

"Yes, yes," said Stanley, producing a large key ring, and unlocking the door. "Very well done. I'll put you in for a commendation for this. I'm sure the Commodore will approve it. He may add his own."

Will exited the cell.

"I apologize for the misunderstanding. I'm sure you understand how serious a matter the Navy must view desertion."

"Of course, sir."

"Now follow me, Turner." Stanley whirled smartly and returned to the companionway. His heart in his throat, Will followed.

The hold was as Will had imagined. Stacks of casks and crates, and some loose articles such as fine silks and tapestries were stored there, in addition to piles and piles of gunpowder kegs and cannon shot. In the equivalent to Will's cell, leaning negligently against the bars, stood Jack. A wave of regret washed over Will. He could see the man again as a friend and ally, but he was behind bars again because of Will. He looked away from Jack's piercing gaze, afraid of giving too much away.

The Mate and three men perched on upended barrels, but they stood when the Captain entered. The Captain gestured Will forward, to stand near the cell.

"Will," the Captain said, kindly, "you understand that it is your duty to serve your country and me unfailingly, even when your orders may seem strange?"

"I understand, Captain," Will replied earnestly. "I am the slave of duty."

Stanley frowned and Jack rolled his eyes. The Mate and some of the other men snickered. Will considered that he might have overplayed his part.

"I mean, how can I help?"

"It's important that we catch the Black Pearl at the Isle de Muerte, and Captain Sparrow has been kind enough to give me its location. But just to check his good will, I'd like you to tell me where it is."

"Stanley, I'm telling you, this lubber had no idea where he was," Jack said.

"Jack, you're a liar," Will managed to say. He prayed he sounded convincing. "Sir, I can tell you generally where the Isle de Muerte is."

"That's all I require of you, lad. Where is it?"

Carefully not looking at Jack, Will said, "It's in the Bahamas."

Will heard a distinct click from Jack's direction, which he was sure was the sound of the man's teeth as he snapped his mouth shut.

"We were only a short ways out of a Spanish port, San something. San Salvador."

Stanley was nodding, slowly. "How far from San Salvador?"

"Only a day or so. I couldn't tell you what the wind was doing, so I'm not sure exactly - we had to wait for the opportune moment - but it took us about a day and a half."

Will did not even glance at Jack. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

"What direction were you headed?"

"Mostly north, sir."

Stanley turned to the Mate. "Lieutenant, we set sail at dawn for the Bahamas."

"Yes, Captain. What about the Commodore?"

"My orders were to deliver his letter to Rodriguez. He won't expect me to wait for him when I have such a good lead to the Black Pearl. Turner, return to your duties. Under no circumstances may you leave this ship again. Sparrow, you may enjoy your life a while longer."