The Caribbean Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jack…
    “Well, this is convenient,” Jack said. “You being in my head and all. I was just on my way to see you. Very obliging of you to turn up here instead. Go ahead and appear, if you like—you know you’re always welcome here. Er, within reason.”
    No, Jack. It is best, you coming to see me. I have t’ings to show you…t’ings you must see and do.…
    “Madam, I don’t do t’ings for anybody but myself,” Jack pointed out.
    This definitely be for yourself, witty Jack.
    “Ah,” Jack said, “well, in that case, not a problem. We’ll be there in a heartbeat. Some supernatural winds would be helpful, if you’d like to contribute.”
    I be not at the Pantano River bayou, witty Jack. The glittering city awaits you; go there and seek me upriver.
    “What?” Jack protested, irritated. “Why can’t you just be where I want to find you? Why do I have to solve a riddle to get there? Why can’t you just come here ?”
    Jack…the world is not always arranged for your liking alone.
    “So what’s the glittering city, then?” Jack said. He thought for a moment. “Last glittering city I saw was New Orleans. ’Course, it was glittering because it was made of silver, which some may say was my fault. Which it was. A little. Well, a lot my fault. But I fixed it, so I don’t see what they’re going on about.”
    No response from the voice in his head.
    “New Orleans?” Jack guessed sheepishly.
    See you soon, witty Jack.…
    “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Jack said. The voice did not speak again. He shook his head, batting away the invisible creatures that were tugging at his hair and trying to steal his excellent hat. “I’ll have you know,” Jack said pointedly to his tormentors, “you dread fiends of the dark, that I am not afraid of you. Not even remotely. You see, unlike Tia Dalma, I know that you don’t really exist, so—”
    As he spoke, he reached behind him to see if there were any rum bottles in the cubbyholes along the wall. And then his hand hit something. Something warm. And alive.
    Something that said: “Madre de Dios!”
    “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!” Jack howled, launching himself to his feet.
    “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!” shrieked the thing in the dark.
    “You are real!” Jack shouted, spinning and flailing at the darkness. “I knew it! Scoundrel! Cur! I’ll have your bones for earrings! Or, no, that would be rather disgusting and not at all attractive. Stand and fight!” He wrestled with his sword, but it was caught in one of the crates.
    “Please, señor! Please forgive me!” the other voice cried.
    Boots thundered down the stairs and several pirates charged into the hold, waving torches and lanterns. The bright glow of the light fell on a boy cowering in front of Jack.
    He was young—probably sixteen, about the age Jack had been when he set out on his first adventures aboard the Barnacle . His dark hair was disheveled and matted with straw, his eyes were brown, wide, and frightened, and his thin brown hands were clasped abjectly over his head.
    “What in the Seven Seas are you?” Jack said. “You don’t look like a dread beastie.”
    “A stowaway,” Barbossa sneered. “Throw him overboard.”
    “ Lo siento! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, señor!” The boy threw his arms around one of Jack’s boots and pressed his head to Jack’s foot. “I needed help. No se —I didn’t know what else to do!”
    “Well, wrinkling my boots isn’t the best way to start,” Jack said, stepping back. The boy stayed crouched against the floor of the ship. “Aren’t you Spanish?” Jack asked. “You sound awfully Spanish.”
    “ Si —yes, I am,” the boy said. “I am Diego de Leon. I recently escaped from the fort of San Augustin , in Florida.”
    “A runaway and a stowaway,” Barbossa spat.
    “Sounds like my kind of lad,” Jack observed. Barbossa scowled. “You’re not related to me, are you?” Jack asked the boy