At Worlds' End: Part 6/15
Chapter VI: Seeking Destruction
Will Turner stood on the rickety dock, arms crossed, as Captain Barbossa surveyed the Blind Betsy with a critical eye. Pintel and Ragetti had been up since dawn swabbing the decks of the ship, practically filling a bucket with each squeeze of the mop. The pirate captain seemed to have found their work satisfactory, and was now inspecting the hull. The old ship had withstood the storm admirably.
"So that's your boat," remarked a newly familiar voice. Will turned to look at Robert Gadling.
"Ship."
Gadling grinned. "How'd she make out?"
"Well, it seems." Will glanced back down the dock to see Tia Dalma and Elizabeth walking toward them. He turned back to Gadling abruptly. "So are you ready to escort us to the Stella Mal?" he asked, full attention on the captain as Elizabeth continued past with a basket of exotic fruit. Tia Dalma stopped by the two men, an amused look on her face as her gaze darted from Will to Elizabeth and back again.
"Aye," said Captain Gadling, "as soon as I load a few provisions for the journey, and what's left of the crew boards. Had to enlist a few men from the tavern after the storm washed some of my own overboard. That's the boat over there." He gestured to a speedy-looking craft with the name Sea Witch painted by the bow.
"Named for your immortal who stayed too long in one place?"
"Him should a come to de Bayou. Don't nobody care how young and han'some a man look down dere," said Tia Dalma, her dark eyes flashing playfully at Captain Gadling.
"Nah. It's named in hopes of me finding one." He grinned back at her, and was rewarded with a blackened smile. "I'm just waiting for her to flop up on deck and introduce herself. Now help me with this box, young Master Turner."
Will jumped to his request, but once they'd hoisted the crate and made their way down into the hold, he addressed the older man. "You don't have to keep reminding me of my age. You don't have that many years on me."
"True s'truth, lad. Now let's set this down over in the far corner."
Behind the box, Will made a face of annoyance. They maneuvered past stacks of other boxes, finding the proper place. Will dropped the crate, throwing an arm up to cover his nose. "Whew. What have you been transporting - dead Indians as well?"
Captain Gadling shoved the crate into the corner, giving it a quick pat. "Black gold, this last voyage."
Will's face grew stony as he realized what Gadling meant. "Human cargo."
"Aye. I tried other goods, but nothing pays so well as slaves from West Africa. It's made me a fair fortune."
Tia Dalma's tinkling laughter filtered down into the hold. Will looked up to the light streaming in, a lone source of comfort in this dark space. "How can you flirt with her, then chain those who look just like her, and sell them like cattle?"
"They do it themselves, boy. Been doing it long before we arrived. Prisoners of war, dragged away from their homes, traded between tribes. At least they'll profit from the benefits of Western civilization." Gadling nodded above decks. "How d'you think she got to the Caribbean in the first place?"
"I imagine she or her family must have escaped at great risk," said Will darkly.
Captain Gadling shrugged. "S'no matter to me what they do once they get there. And now she's got the lot of you following her every order. Oh, I know the balance of power on your boat. Every man amongst you would follow her blind into a storm. In fact," he added with a huff as he gave the crate one last shove, "you already have." He turned to regard Will carefully. "You don't have to like me. Just remember - I've offered to help you with your little venture. My own has no bearing on that."
They emerged from the hold, the fresh sea breeze a welcome blessing after the oppressive stench below. Will and Gadling rested for a moment, looking round the harbor. Sailing out of the cove was a craft Will had never seen the likes of. The boat had a boxier shape than a European vessel, but it remained graceful. The sails were stiff and had ridges running through them - indeed, like the back of a dragon. The hull was brightly painted with a ferocious pair of eyes and a snarling mouth, completing the effect of some sea monster trawling dangerously across the harbor.
Captain Gadling followed Will's gaze. "That's how I ended up at the end of the world - running from a blasted junk. It seems I got my hands on a little trinket they want."
"Why don't you just give it back?" Will asked, still determined to think ill of the man.
Gadling's warm eyes crinkled. "That would be giving up, and where's the fun in that?"
* * * * *
The Blind Betsy and the Sea Witch made a rather odd couple as they headed out toward open waters, heading in a northerly direction. Gadling had given Barbossa the general coordinates of where the Stella Mal laid berth, but had offered to accompany them as a sort of intermediary - no mind that the destination was along his route as well.
Nevertheless, all parties involved were surprised when they met the other ship earlier than expected. They had successfully rounded a rocky cape in early morning fog when she came bursting out from the other side, headed straight toward them. Barbossa gave the wheel a sharp turn, and ordered Gibbs to drop anchor to avoid slamming into the larger boat. As the Stella Mal navigated the tight passage between the shore and the Betsy, they found themselves at broadsides. She was a large ship for a pirate vessel, painted as brightly as a ship of the fleet. An impressive number of cannons gleamed from their gun ports in the hazy morning light.
Will waved a hand from the crow's nest, which was roughly level with the other ship's quarterdeck. "Ahoy, Stella Mal!"
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then something small and metal whizzed by Will's right ear, creating a black-edged hole in the canvas behind him.
"He's shooting at us!"
The Sea Witch pulled up sharply to Betsy's starboard. Will repeated his exclamation for Gadling's benefit. "What do we say?" he shouted down to the other ship's Captain.
Gadling shrugged, ducking as another bullet whistled past. "Bugger if I know," he called back. "We've only met in passing."
Will began forming furious words to throw down to the other man, but before he could utter any of them, the captain of the Stella Mal revealed himself, stepping forth to the rail of his ship, and instantly bringing an end to the argument.
The man standing aboard the Stella Mal looked to be the fiercest pirate any of them had ever encountered, if not the devil himself. He was a giant of a man - well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders that looked as though he could hoist a canon upon them. His hair was a brilliant shade of red and his long ruddy beard curled out at the ends. His eyes were keen and piercing and his white teeth were bared in a fierce smile. He wore a cutlass at both sides and held a pistol in each hand, scabbards and holsters hanging by what gave new meaning to a "strapping" chest. His white skirt bloused open, revealing an admirable ginger pelt, and his belt buckle was the size of a dinner plate. His boots looked as though they could cause the earth to shake as he walked, and the great brass buttons on his coat seemed to gleam as brilliantly as they would reflecting the blast of a hundred mortars. His enormous plumed hat put Barbossa's to shame.
He squinted down at the two smaller ships, wondering perhaps, how quickly his guns could reduce both to kindling. Suddenly his smile grew wider, and he waved one large leather-gloved hand merrily.
"Ahoy Sea Witch! Sorry about that. You came up on me so suddenly I couldn't tell if you were friend or foe."
Captain Gadling grinned with relief, waving back to the giant man, who promptly threw a rope ladder down over the side. Both of the smaller ships crews heaved-to and dropped a longboat for boarding. They met in the shadow of the Stella Mal. Gadling silently bowed to Will, indicating that he was to climb aboard first.
Aside from its larger-than-life Captain, the boat seemed conspicuously empty. Will wondered where the crew was lurking, and if it had been prudent to leave their own vessels largely unmanned. The Captain interrupted Will's thoughts with a hearty handshake that would have left anyone with weaker arms than a blacksmith kneeling in pain. Will merely winced as he introduced himself.
"My name is William Turner. My crewmates and I hope you'll be able to help us."
The Captain made ready to reply, but spotted Tia Dalma at the space between the rails, and rushed to assist her. He took her hand and lifted her up, far more gently than Will would've thought possible for a man of his size. Soon Barbossa, Elizabeth, Gibbs, Gadling, and his newly minted bosun had joined them. Will was unhappy to recognize the latter as the tall, blonde, loud man from the pub at Worlds' End.
"Come, come into my cabin," boomed the captain of the Stella Mal once they were all aboard. The small crowd followed him. Everything in the captain's quarters seemed shiny and unused. "Wine?" he offered, holding up a large flask. Both Gibbs and the bosun of the Sea Witch smiled broadly. The giant man poured the blood red liquid into fine crystal goblets and passed them round as he continued to speak.
"I've been cultivating a certain image in my short time as Captain of this ship. I assume you've heard the stories, and yet, you've sought me out. Either I haven't done as good a job as I'd hoped, or you're searching for something bigger than you can handle. Neither ends well for you. So," he said, raising his glass, "to your good fortune, gentlemen and lasses." He took a sip of his wine and sat down behind the large, ornate desk. Will noticed the wooden figures that decorated it had been carved in the throes of agony.
"We've heard the tales, and better yet, I've seen the proof," said Captain Gadling, stepping forward. "I implore you not to take this visit as an insult to your good name."
The pirate captain leaned back in his chair. "So I'm not to be dispensing your doom after all. I have to admit, I'm glad of it - I've taken a shine to you. Where do you hail from?" he asked, looking directly at the crew of the Betsy.
Will spoke. "We set sail from the Caribbean, several months ago."
The man's eyes narrowed, and he scratched at his great ruddy beard. "Really? One of my last jobs was in Port Royal."
"Pirating?"
The man set his chair down on all four legs with a hearty thud, and retrieved a cloth to clean his pistol. "Earthquake. Took half the town down into the sea."
Will was determined to show no fear as he asked his next question. "Then you are... Disaster?"
The Captain kept his eyes on his gun as he answered. "Close enough. And again - was. Former trade."
"They say know Death."
"I've known many people, but I rarely keep in touch. Sorry, but if it's Death you seek, I can't help you on that count. Least not if you want to come through the other side intact," he mused, spinning the shiny pistol round his gloved index finger. When Will didn't seem to jump at the offer, Destruction tilted his chair back again and turned to look at Tia Dalma.
"You - I bet you know Death. You have the proper look about you. Why don't you ask her yourself?"
But it was Barbossa who answered. "Death recently granted us a favor. It would seem ungrateful-like ter come forward with another request so soon."
Will, feeling they were going off track, interrupted with a sense of urgency. "We need to bring a man back from the dead. Do you know of anyone else who could help us? Anyone of your acquaintance - angel or demon?"
Destruction's face darkened as Will spoke. He paused a moment before speaking, putting his fist to his bearded chin and regarding his audience closely.
"I do know the Devil. I've had the misfortune to collaborate with him on several occasions."
When no one seemed ready to bid him good day upon that proclamation, Destruction stood, walked over to a trunk, and retrieved a chart. He set it on his desk, examining it for a moment before striking a knife into one corner.
"There are two islands. Their local names translate to Isle of Bones and Isle of Blood. Between them lies a narrow, dangerous passage. The walls of the rocky ravine are pockmarked with caves and grottoes that the natives dare not venture into. They say each cave has its own curse, but only one is known as Mulut Naraka - the mouth of Hell."
The group crowded round, allowing Will, Barbossa, and Gadling to come closest to examine the coordinates. Will looked up to thank the man, but Destruction held up a hand to stop him.
"Now you must go," he said, great head bowed. "I cannot wish you a safe journey. I fear I have fulfilled my duties one last time."
* * * * *
It was a day and a half's smooth sailing to the spot marked on the charts. The two ships passed scores of lush green islands along the way. It was hard to believe that the entrance to hell could be located in these waters - they seemed far closer to most men's visions of paradise. Never the less, as they neared their target, the Sea Witch pulled close enough for Captain Gadling to shout across to the Betsy.
"Hope you don’t mind if we drop anchor and wait for you off shore. Have to protect our own interests, after all."
"What about your cargo?" called Will. "Aren't you in a hurry to reach your next port so you can trade it for more profitable goods?"
Gadling, ignoring the insinuation, shrugged. "I'd rather see how this turns out, if it's all the same to you. Far more interesting."
So they bid the Sea Witch adieu (some more gladly than others), and followed the shore until they had reached the place they had been told of.
The passage between the islands was narrower than Will had expected. High walls of rock on either side hosted a great variety of vines and other flora, blocking out the brilliant sunlight. Within the gorge, it looked gray and cold, and though light could be seen through at the other end, the whole effect was quietly foreboding. Will saw why the natives avoided coming this way. Swallowing briefly, he called down to Barbossa.
"Clear ahead."
Slowly, the Blind Betsy floated into the path of Destruction.
The layers of shadows cast by the plant life above moved slowly from fore to aft as the boat floated down the clear, blue waters. The entire crew was deathly silent as they passed dark grottoes and overgrown cave openings marked with an occasional grinning skull or other remains of the few poor souls that had braved this passage. Even Tia Dalma stood back from the rail, with her lips pressed firmly together, dark eyes watchful. Not a sound was heard outside the boat either - not a reassuring chirp from a frog, or even the small splash of a fish.
The eerie quiet and the stagnant air was suddenly disrupted by a gust of wind, and as if carried on it, the tinkling laughter of a child. It whipped down the gully, shooting its way through the rigging of the Blind Betsy.
"Did you 'ear that?" Ragetti whispered.
"I 'eard it," replied Pintel, having ducked as if to avoid any evil spirits the wind might have been carrying.
A voice blew by, as quickly as the laughter, then another, and another. A few words could be picked out of the whispers.
"Fears..."
"Aware..."
"Divide..."
The snatches of small children's voices increased, in volume and number, overlapping and conversing, until they had reached an unholy buzz. They echoed round the mouth of a particularly large opening in the ravine's wall.
"Shall we?" asked Barbossa with a grin.
Elizabeth set her jaw. "We've come this far. No turning back now." The pirate captain swung the wheel round, and they headed into darkness of the cave.
The first thing that hit them was the stench. There was a distinct sulfuric odor - the smell of really bad eggs. The water hissed and bubbled evilly. As the crews eyes adjusted, the saw that the rocky walls of the cave had a faintly reddish glow. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth thought she saw small dark shapes darting from behind one rock to another, but by the time she turned, the figures were gone.
"Hello?" she called out, voice wavering slightly.
"Shh," hissed Gibbs, finger to his mouth. "What have I told you 'bout bringing 'em down on us?"
Barbossa glanced up toward Will. "What d'ye see, boy?"
"It's difficult to see anything through this fog. Wait..."
At the edge of the boiling river stood a child, barefoot and clothed in foreign dress. The child seemed to be saying something - or perhaps singing it. As they drew closer, Will leaned toward it, desperately trying to catch a snatch of the child's voice. He or she (for it was difficult to tell) seemed to be repeating something, over and over. As they came even with the bank on which the child was standing, Will noticed its eyes were dull and blank, and that it moved with a mechanical precision. He could now hear its sing-song whispers.
"It's a world of laughter, a world of tears..."
And suddenly, the entire crew screamed as the Blind Betsy lurched forward, and with the creaking of timbers, plummeted down a steaming waterfall into the glowing red waters below.