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

"Jack Need Yuh Help"

Chapter Eleven -- "Jack Need Yuh Help"

The very next morning, I descended the stairs expecting to prepare breakfast, but instead, I found a familiar-looking sack upon the table, filled with my long-lost stolen belongings. Everything had been sent to me by my dearest friend, the new and rightful captain of the Pearl.

Seated at her loom, Tia Dalma smiled at my delighted appreciation. Then she proffered a letter which had accompanied this bounty; it was sealed with a dirty blob of wax, and addressed to me in Jack's distinctive hand. He invited me to join him ("Wish you were here," as I recall his words) in Constantinople, where he planned to use the clues from my vision to find the mysterious cloth.

As I stood contemplating Jack's letter, I heard Tia Dalma draw near, whispering into her hands. Next came a dry, clattering noise, as she cast a handful of crab shells upon the table. I turned to see her studying the result with a look of foreboding that made my blood turn cold.

"Mek haste," she urged me. "Witty Jack need yuh help." Impelled by her warning, I set out for Anatolia that very morning, intent on helping my friend in whatever way I could.

Several weeks later, I was standing on the deck of the Pearl with Joshamee Gibbs, discussing the reasons that Jack's ship was laying by in Turkish waters whilst my closest friend languished in a monstrous prison.

"It hasn't gone exactly accordin' to plan," Mr Gibbs was explaining. 

"And what, exactly, was the plan?" I asked him. "Jack sent me a letter weeks ago to get me here – there must have been some design in place. What happened?"

"Well, you know Jack . . . t'was more of an idea he were workin' out as events unfolded. Trouble is, they didn't unfold quite as expected. He's got himself inside right enough, but . . ." Mr Gibbs shook his head and took another swig of rum. "T'is nigh on two weeks we've been waitin' for him," he warned, turning a worried eye towards the near-empty bottle in his hand. "Provisions be runnin' a bit low."

"One week is more than enough," I exclaimed. "Do you know if he's found the, um . . .?"

"Don't even rightly know what it is he's after," Mr Gibbs replied. "Played this close, he did. Between you 'n' me, something's not quite right with Jack. He's been . . . distracted, y' might say – more than usual," he quickly added.

I nodded and tried to think how I might help. "Do they have the same sort of garnish system as England? Do the prisoners have to buy food and candles and such?"

"T'is my understandin' that they do, in a manner of speakin'. But they also force the poor devils to beg alms for the means to purchase their necessities," he replied. "At least, them that ain't locked in the cages hangin' along the bridge. The ones in the cages ain't fit for naught but the boneyard."

I shuddered, wondering where Jack was and hoping I could find him in time. After a few more hours of thought, I had the beginnings of a plan. Unfortunately, it required a great deal of something more in Jack's line and less in mine; making things up as you go along.

And thus it was that on the thirteenth day of the month, I found myself standing outside the gates of the prison in the smoky morning air, amidst a crowd of expectant merchants. I was well veiled and robed over my usual boy's attire, and I carried a large, shallow basket filled with ripe dates and little jars of olive oil, discreetly covering other items that might prove useful. Unhappily, I had been forced to leave my scimitar on the Pearl, since I could not find a way to conceal it that would not immediately invite suspicion and probable unmasking.

I waited, surveying the walls, which had been made from rough stones centuries ago, and tried to map the plan of the prison in my mind. I counted at least four storeys in the square tower nearest the gates, with much higher towers elsewhere; clearly, many sections and battlements had been added over the years, which gave the prison an irregular, haphazard appearance. A few stonemasons were repairing a cleft in one section of the wall at the top storey, working from the most rickety scaffolding I had ever seen.