At Worlds' End: Part 1/15
Chapter I: Up She Rises
"Damn you, Jack Sparrah!" roared Davy Jones, lifting his watery eyes to the heavens. His crew was silent with shock; it took some time for him to realize they stood behind him, awaiting orders (or dreading punishment, as the case might have been). Davy Jones collected himself, focused his rage. "Call off the Kraken," he hissed to his first mate, knowing well that it was too late.
The Bo'sun lifted his cat o’nine tails. Maccus shouted to the crew, "To the signal!" The pitiful monsters scattered to their posts, the Bo'sun cracking his whip at their heels.
Davy Jones braced himself against the table, staring into the trunk that had faithfully held his heart for so long. Of course, the heart would be safe in the depths of the ocean - difficult to retrieve, but safe. But if there were any chance of Jack Sparrow making yet another of the miraculous escapes he was famous for, any chance of Sparrow harming the heart as the Kraken dragged him down to the depths of the ocean...
Jones felt a sudden pain in the left side of his chest, exactly beneath the place he used to store the key young Turner had stolen from him. His tentacles grasped at the spot, his claw struck the table, and his mind reeled like an unruly compass. His worst fears were realized as he felt himself inexorably pulled in the opposite direction of the spot of the Black Pearl's doom.
Davy Jones' heart was far from safe.
* * * * *
"What d'yeh do with a drunken sailor, what d'yeh do with a drunken sailor, what d'yeh do with a drunken sailor err-lie in the mornin'?"
The man's raspy voice echoed over the calm ocean. Had there been any ships within range, they would have heard his drunken song before spotting the Blind Betsy, but few ships traveled these waters.
The figure of a buxom woman, carved with flowing hair and a cloth tied tightly round her eyes, burst forth from the fog, followed by the ship's prow. Captain Barbossa tightened his grip on the wheel as he stared grimly toward the next misty patch on the horizon. The monkey on his shoulder let out a reassuring chirp.
"Stick 'em in the scupper wi't the hosepipe on 'em, stick 'em in the scupper wi't the hosepipe on 'em, stick 'em in the scupper wi't the hosepipe on 'em, err-lie in the mornin'."
Barbossa rolled his eyes. "You're doing naught but givin' me idearrs, Mr. Gibbs," he called down to his newly minted first mate. Gibbs, for his part, raised a bottle to the Captain and rambled off toward the stern of the ship, where a figure hunched over the rail.
"Put 'em inta bed with th'Captain's daughter, put 'em inta bed with th'Captain's daughter, put 'em inta bed with th'Captain's daughter, err-lie in the mornin'," Gibbs half growled, half sung as he stumbled past Will Turner, who had been staring out at the dark ocean for hours.
A lovely young woman sidled up to Will, a steaming cup in her hands. Holding it out to him, she smiled tentatively and said, "I've never understood why that verse would be considered punishment for drunkenness."
Will refused to meet her gaze. "What they fail to mention is that the 'Captain's daughter' is another name for the lash," he said bitterly. He turned and stalked off, leaving Elizabeth Swann at the rail. The salt from the spume stung her eyes and lips. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body, hoping against hope that the action would ward away tears. She deserved Will's scorn, for her part in the death of Jack Sparrow. But the gulf between what she deserved and what she expected from Will had always been a wide one.
The Blind Betsy was catching up with the next patch of fog; it licked the rigging and made the lanterns shudder. Elizabeth shivered, wrapping her hands around the cup. Someone approached, softly shuffling from the direction Will had gone.
"Take dis," said Tia Dalma, wrapping a red robe around Elizabeth's shoulders. "To ward off de col'."
"Thank you," Elizabeth murmured, avoiding the woman's dark eyes. She had an uncanny feeling that Tia Dalma knew her part in the sinking of the Pearl far better than any of the men who had been there to see the Kraken drag it below. She busied herself knotting the robe's belt. The pattern was foreign, Manchurian perhaps. Elizabeth wondered if it had been a gift in exchange for an amulet or a jar of unknowable oddities, or if the woman had brought it back from the ends of the earth herself. Given the stories Tia Dalma had told them that night back in her hut, she wouldn't have been surprised.
* * * * *
They had sat around the edges of the creaky hut, the only noise amongst them the constant thunk of Will's knife thrown into the table. Tia Dalma had been the one passing out drinks that night, insisting Elizabeth take one. She had mentioned the cold and the sorrow then as well, as though she knew Elizabeth was chilled - not from the muggy bayou air, but from deep within. It was then Will had turned to face her for the first time since she had ordered them away from the Pearl. In a soft voice, he had told her, if anything was to be done... How she had loathed herself just then. Mercifully, Tia Dalma had asked them how far they would go to retrieve Jack. Will's eyes had burned as he swore his devotion to the pirate captain; Elizabeth had barely been able to summon her voice. Though the promise brought with it all sorts of confusion and complications, she desperately wanted him back. "Pirate," he had whispered with a smile, his lips mere inches from hers. Much more than the Black Pearl had been scuppered that day.
But the shock of Tia Dalma's next revelation had pushed those thoughts to the back of Elizabeth's mind. Captain Barbossa, whose death she had witnessed with her own eyes, had walked down the stairs and taken a bite out of his precious green apple, looking far more alive than at any point in their previous acquaintance.
"But - how -" Gibbs gasped.
Pintel crossed himself several times, in various patterns and directions.
"You," said Will, with marked disbelief. "Jack felled you in that cave."
Barbossa swiveled his head toward Will and gave him a dangerous grin. "Turns out he wasted that shot after all."
Gibbs eyed his empty mug suspiciously.
"Dere's no tricks here, gentleman," Tia Dalma had said, spreading her arms wide. "No more tricks dan meets de eye."
"No potions nor powders nor spells. This kind and generous lady made a deal on my behalf," said Barbossa.
"With Old Hob 'imself?" asked Ragetti, eyes wide.
Tia Dalma smiled mysteriously. "No, no, no," she replied, twitching a finger from side to side. "Wit' de good lady."
Ragetti had looked to Pintel, who shrugged and turned the whole of his attention to Tia Dalma. But she merely laughed, refusing to elaborate. Tia Dalma stopped to light a candle, blowing the match out and watching the smoke curl its way into the bottle-festooned rafters. She smiled mysteriously, her face illuminated by the small flame. "Dere be ways of reviving de dead, just as dere be ways to find what can't be found, and to sail oceans never mean' to be traveled."
"I know dose oceans, long time ago. Davy Jones tink him de sea!" She let out a short, cold laugh. "Him only a small part of it. Odders know dem waters long before him set sail. Kind ladies and gentleman, dey was. But, oh... you didn’t dare anger dem. For if you angered one of de kind folk, you met wit' de fury of de sea.
"First she send what you have already faced. She send de dragons of de sea. Now day, dere is only one left, and it answer to Davy Jones. So," said Tia Dalma, with a shrug, "she move on.
"She blow ships off course. She maroon dem on islands dat only appear once in a hundred years. She send dem to de place of ice and flame, where de flesh-eating giants live. She send dem to lands where de water and de fruit and de woman lull sailors to sleep. Some fates be kinder dan odders. But all dese fates be kinder dan what lies in store for dose who escape de islands. For den, she send de storms. A ghost of a ship blows across de prow, and de man in de crows nest shout out, afraid. Him see it coming first."
"See what coming?" Will prompted.
"De storm," said Tia Dalma, practically whispering now.
"She send great walls of water dat crush ships. She boil de seas, till all de fish pop up and float on de surface, and de hull of de boat start to crack. She suck ships down into de whirlpool, or t'row dem up in de air wit' de waterspout.
"An' den, it be you and de sea alone. An' dis be de worse fate of all."
There was a vague sound of bodies shifting uncomfortably, and empty mugs being set aside, their counterparts wishing them filled again.
Airily, Tia Dalma continued. "But - if you be bless to make it cross to de far side, you arrive in a land of green mountains tumblin' down into de sea. Dere boats have sails like de back of dragons, and glow wid de lanterns like fireflies. De harbors full of spice and silk and precious cargo. And de pirates..." (here she paused and laughed) "De pirates are masters of de sword."
The small hut was quiet, but for the creaking of the piles.
"Here it is dat you will find word of Jack Sparrow, on de far side of de worl'. Now - let me ask you again. How far are you willing to go to bring him back?"
There was a long silence before Will spoke, again looking to Elizabeth. "I am willing." She met his eyes for the briefest of moments before turning back to Tia Dalma.
"As am I."
The rest of the crew murmured their assent. Tia Dalma seemed satisfied. She leaned back in her chair. "Like I say, you be needing a Captain who knows de waters at Worlds' End." With a lazy gesture toward the man, she said, "Captain Barbossa be sailing dose waters long time now. He will lead you dere."
Elizabeth looked to Barbossa. He was watching Tia Dalma intently, his face betraying nothing.
"Now," said the woman, "we be needing a ship."
* * * * *
Tortuga in the daylight was perhaps worse than it was at night. The typical debauches still took place - drunks sleeping between the hogs, women of ill-repute advertising their wares - but the daylight revealed an additional layer of muck in the stalls and the harsh lines that marked the prostitutes rouged faces. The darkness lent a softness and magic to the scene. By day, it was a hard, depressing reality.
It was here they'd come to survey the market. They’d already seen a handful of ships, some not even sea worthy, some obviously commandeered from the British or Spanish Navies and hastily repainted, their "owners" eagerly wishing for a bag of gold for their troubles, before the Navy and the noose caught up with them.
"Fastest ship in the Caribbean, nigh but one," swore the gentleman currently attempting a sale.
"The Black Pearl's sunk," said Ragetti mournfully.
"Seen it with our own eyes, we did," added Pintel.
The gent cracked a wide, toothless smile. "Fastest ship in the Caribbean!" he advertised, with a grand gesture toward his own ship.
"No!" said Tia Dalma, tossing up a hand carelessly. "Dis is not de ship."
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am!" the salesman interjected, but Tia Dalma had already begun to stroll back up the dock.
Will rushed to head her off. "That's the sixth ship we've seen today, the second good ship. What is it that we're waiting for?"
Tia Dalma’s eyes widened as she pointed past Will and smiled. "Dat one."
Will turned and to look at the next dock over. "That one?" he asked, pointing and squinting at the largest, most magnificent ship in the harbor. Elizabeth did not blame his incredulity; as lovely as it was, it was obviously far out of their bargaining range.
"Dat one," purred Tia Dalma, still pointing. Will's eyes widened as he followed her gaze past the galleon to a smaller ship, painted (or rather, peeling) black. It was listing starboard, showing a heavy row of barnacles above the port side waterline. Its sails were graying and worn, and what could be seen of the sloping deck was covered in fishing nets and what looked to be the undoubtedly foul-smelling remains of various sea-life.
"That one," repeated Will, staring at something unseen in the distance and nodding. It was an expression half way between disbelief and a good-natured humoring of someone who was clearly crazy and therefore deserved either great pity or great respect. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from smiling. It was so undeniably Will. She’d seen him look the same way when dealing with Jack...
She drew a sharp breath as the cold settled in again. Will glanced at her with a flash of concern before rendering his face impassive. Elizabeth steeled herself, straightening her posture. Will turned away and followed Tia Dalma toward the most miserable looking ship they'd seen all day.
* * * * *
Though her skin shone beautifully in the afternoon sun, Tia Dalma seemed far more at home in the flickering glow of the lamps in the captain's quarters. Grime obscured any daylight that would have shone from the cabin windows. The captain sat at a small table. He was a little man with a caved-in chest and an empty sleeve that hung limply from his frame. He surveyed Tia Dalma and the motley crew assembled around her with obvious mistrust.
"I can give you de t'ings you dream of," Tia Dalma whispered across the table. "What do you wish for?" she asked, slinking close to the man. Will did not envy him; pressed against Tia Dalma's side was a highly uncomfortable place to be, especially with no Jack Sparrow to distract her.
"In exchange for the Blind Betsy, can ye bring back me Hester, gone these thirty years?" he asked, hope in his eyes.
"It woul' take time," she said, leaning away. "And time is some-ting we is short of."
The man barked out a laugh. "Good. I wouldn't take that shrew back if she be tearing down me door an' beggin' me. Best day o' me life when she passed."
Will found himself exchanging an unwanted glance with Elizabeth. They both quickly turned back to the table.
"Nar," the captain growled. "Give me a bag full o' gold, and ye can keep yer love and me ship." Tia Dalma smiled graciously as she took the seat across from the captain.
"In dat case, we be having a deal."
* * * * *
Barbossa had found a deserted inlet, had undertaken the impossible task of shaking the small crew into order, and had done so admirable. Tia Dalma watched them work from a distance before slipping off into the darkness. After a hard night of swabbing the deck, replacing the rigging, mending the sails, careening the ship to scrape both sides of the hull, and a morning's rest, they had set sail on a southeasterly course. Elizabeth had attempted to engage Will in conversation once the necessary tasks were finished and the blood-red sun was sinking in the west. He had been polite, but in few words made it clear he did not wish to speak with her.
Elizabeth sighed, burrowing deeper into the water-like folds of Tia Dalma's robe. "Will you look at dat," the woman murmured as they emerged from the fog, and the first rays of light lit up the morning sky like the inside of a pearly shell.