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Carina Smyth darted through the crowd of well-dressed citizens on the busy street of Saint Martin, her blue dress swishing and the metal links of a chain around her left wrist clanking as she ran.
“Stop that witch!” a voice behind her cried.
The young woman would have rolled her eyes, but she was too busy searching for an escape from the quartet of soldiers pursuing her. Why did men always confuse knowledge with witchcraft when it came to women? She was a scholar of science and the stars.
She had been fascinated by astronomy ever since she was a little girl, in honor of a father she’d never met. The only link she had to him was a weathered diary, its pages inscribed with mathematical formulas and charts of the sky. She’d been in search of the map it referenced for years, and she wasn’t about to let some simple-minded soldiers stop her, which was precisely why she’d picked the lock of her cuffs and escaped the cell they’d tossed her into.
Suddenly, a young soldier blocked her way, his nervous expression betraying his fear of the supposed witch. Without hesitating, Carina spun past him and dove under a wagon, then rolled out the other side and disappeared into the ever-growing crowd.
The soldiers gave up and turned back to report to their leader, Lieutenant John Scarfield. Clearly she’d used her magic to vanish, and there was nothing they could do about it. But their furious commander saw things differently.
“You’re telling me four of my men have lost one girl?” he growled. The officer’s face was flushed, and his broad shoulders were bunched tight. He gritted his teeth in frustration.
At that stage of his career, he should have been in command of his own fleet, fighting wars in West Africa, not stuck on that humid island, hunting down witches. It was taking too long, clawing his way up through the British navy, but what could he do when he was saddled with incompetents like this?
“Find me that wicked lass or you’ll swing in her place!” he snarled at his pathetic troops before stalking off.
His men pushed through the crowd gathering in front of the bank, searching the faces for the witch. But all they found were the excited townsfolk jostling for a better view.
That day was the unveiling of the Royal Bank of Saint Martin, and they were eager to see the new marvel that would safeguard the wealth of the island.
The portly figure of Mayor Dix stood before the bank, a proud smile on his face, as he introduced its features to the townsfolk. If there had ever been a bigger day in his career, he couldn’t remember it. It was he who had argued for the bank’s construction, insisted on the finest materials, and approved the budget for an expensive robbery-proof safe. Now all those endless days and nights of meetings, design, and supervision would be worth it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, with this bank, the town of Saint Martin enters the modern world,” proclaimed Mayor Dix as the bank doors were opened.
The crowd gasped at the sight of the imposing metal box in the center of the room. Hundreds of Sunday-best shoes shuffled as folks moved forward to get a better look, and several people remarked about the “new bank smell.”
“Our new vault is five inches thick, stands as tall as any man, and weighs an imperial ton,” explained Mayor Dix as he took his place on the steps before it. “No man could ever rob such a vault!”
At the mayor’s nod, the band, which had been rehearsing for weeks, began to play. In perfect time to the music, the bank manager, Mr. Krill, opened the huge door of the safe. His back to the vault, the mayor made a grand “Ta-da!” gesture.
The music slowed to a halt, the band members dropping their instruments to their sides. Townspeople murmured in confusion. The mayor heard the loud rumbling of someone snoring behind him. Slowly, he turned to see what was causing the commotion.
Lying across the top shelf inside the vault and covered head to toe in gold coins was Jack Sparrow.
“Pirate!” a woman in the crowd screamed, startling Jack awake.
“Pirate!” Jack shouted in alarm, echoing the lady. From his dazed state, it was obvious that he’d had plenty from the jug of rum in his hand.
Jack rolled to the ground in a shower of gold coins and blinked at his audience. Who were those people who’d awakened him so rudely? What were they doing on his ship? More importantly, had they brought more rum?
When Jack figured out his swaying was caused by the rum in his hands rather than the floor beneath him, he realized he must be on land. Knocking his hand against the floor, he discovered it was made of metal. Pieces of the puzzle began to come to him. He was in a bank vault—one of the easiest he’d ever broken into. Now he just had to remember what he was doing there.
“This may seem a peculiar request,” Jack began, gazing blearily at the guards taking aim at him, “but would someone kindly remind me as to why I’m here?”
“Hold your fire!” one of the soldiers commanded. “There’s a woman in there with him!”
Indeed, a red-haired woman with her clothes in disarray had just sat up next to Jack.
“He can’t hide behind that trollop!” Mayor Dix snapped.
“Sir,” said an embarrassed Mr. Krill, “I believe that’s your wife.”
“Frances?” The mayor’s voice rose in astonishment as the woman tugged up her sleeves and smoothed her hair away from her face.
Glancing down at his feet, Jack spotted thick ropes that ran under the vault and through holes bored into the back ofit. He frowned, peering outside. Jack could make out his faithful crew members Gibbs and Scrum tying the ropes to their wagons. Filling out the motley group were Marty, Pike, Bollard, and Cremble. Three teams of horses were at the ready.
“Right,” Jack said to himself as the ropes by his feet began to tighten. “Got it. I’m robbing the bank.”
“Shoot him!” ordered the mayor.
Mrs. Dix beat a hasty retreat and Jack dove for cover as bullets riddled the pristine vault walls.
“Not the bank, just the pirate!” Mayor Dix shouted.
Hearing the shots, the horses whinnied in fear and heaved against their ropes, pulling the vault from its position. It slid across the bank floor.
Wham! The vault hit the back wall of the bank. It might have stayed there if the guards had not fired again, sending the horses into complete panic. Their strength and terror caused them to break the bank—literally. Thin supports surrounding the building gave way like slivers.
Jack got to his feet, trying to find his sea legs in the open doorway of the bank as it began to shake and fall apart.
Standing fully exposed, Jack faced the guns again. “This was not part of the plan,” he murmured.
One of the ropes caught his ankle. The bank rumbled and groaned. It was leaving, and taking Jack with it. Swept off his feet, Jack was hauled along behind the runaway vault.
“He’s stealing the bank!” cried the mayor, spurring the guards to give chase.
Choked by dirt and debris, Jack managed to spin around and start to pull himself up the rope toward the mobile bank—just in time to see hundreds of gold coins pouring from the vault. Eyes wide, Jack tried to grab them as they bounced past him. The townsfolk, who were following the runaway bank, had better luck as they snatched up the riches spilling down the street.
Spying an awning extending from the bank, Jack jumped up and grabbed on, shaking the rope around his boot loose. He was barely able to hang on as the pirates urged the horses forward and the bank careened faster and faster through the town.
The horses turned sharply around a corner, smashing half the bank against another building. Jack ducked splinters of wood as the walls crashed and crumbled. Losing his grip on the awning, Jack flew through a window, then sailed past a family sitting down to eat and right out another window.
“Oof!” Jack landed back on the street, but as he staggered to his feet, he saw that the vault—and the Royal Guard—were ahead of him.
Two of the soldiers glanced back and shouted in surprise to see him behind them, but before they could fire, the bank crashed into a store, the noise distracting them. When the soldiers turned back to aim at the pirate, he was already gone.
Oblivious to the chaos in the streets outside, Carina Smyth peered through a telescope at Swift and Sons Chart House, making adjustments to its dials. Mr. Swift, the proprietor of the store, gasped in horror when he saw her there.
“No woman has ever handled my telescope!” he exclaimed, his nostrils flaring.
“Sir, your celestial fix was off. I’ve adjusted it two degrees north so your maps will no longer be imprecise. Although, you will have to start over with these.” Carina motioned toward dozens of maps that hung on the walls, which had taken the not-so-swift Mr. Swift decades to draw up.
Unaffected by her beauty and wary of her cleverness, the flustered store owner noted the dirt on Carina’s face and the broken chain dangling from her wrist. There could be but one explanation.
“You’re a witch,” he said.
Here we go again, she thought. “Sir, I am no witch,” said Carina. “I simply need to purchase a chronometer. I’ll pay you double for selling to a woman.”
She held aloft the chronometer she desired and reached for her purse. But Mr. Swift would not aid a witch, let alone a fugitive .
“Help!” he cried, pulling out a gun and aiming it at her with shaking hands. “There’s a witch in my shop!” he screamed.
Jack sprinted into the chart house. Now Swift wasn’t sure where to aim.
“And a pirate!” Jack added helpfully. He thought for a moment. “And a bank,” he said, pulling Carina away from the walls just as the bank crashed into Swift and Sons, cutting it in half.
The spot where Carina had been standing was destroyed. Swift stared at his demolished store in dismay.
Crash. His beloved telescope toppled to the floor.
Jack and Carina dashed away in the confusion. Out on the streets, they were quickly spotted by both the Royal Guard and Scarfield’s men, so they ducked down an alley.
The guards and soldiers stopped in front of a store window, having lost their quarry. They were so busy scanning the streets that they didn’t notice two formally dressed display mannequins had familiar heads—Jack’s and Carina’s.
“Were you part of the plan?” Jack asked Carina curiously.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” Carina replied out of the corner of her mouth.
“What a horrible way to live,” Jack muttered.
“I need to escape,” Carina continued. “Can you help me?”
“That man called you a witch, and witches are bad luck at sea,” Jack said, somewhat regretfully.
“We’re not at sea,” she countered.
“Good point. But I am a pirate,” Jack said. He might as well carry the sea with him.
“But I am clearly not a witch.”
“One of us is very confused.” Jack cocked his head as he considered the young brunette.
“By all appraisals, that would be you.” She knew exactly who she was and what sort of man stood before her.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Would you excuse me?” he said. “I seem to have misplaced a bank.”
Dodging gunfire, the two bolted from their hiding place and climbed to a rooftop. Below them they could see the soldiers and guards circling, but there were no ladders or nearby buildings they could reach.
“We’re trapped. What do we do?” Carina asked, whirling toward Jack.
“You need to scream,” said Jack calmly, pushing Carina off the building.
“Aaaah!” Carina was forced to oblige as she plummeted through the air. But instead of crashing to the street, she landed, unhurt, atop a wagon filled with soft straw. “Filthy pirate,” she shouted after him.
As Jack had planned, the soldiers took off after the wagon, giving him the chance to get back to robbing the bank. Jack ran toward a flagpole and used it to vault off the roof and back onto the bank just as it sped past. With quick steps, he scrambled up the side as the tiles dropped off beneath him.
But Jack’s timing could not have been worse. The horses were about to gallop under a stone bridge—a bridge both he and the bank could not pass beneath.
“Bridge ... Bridge! Stop, horses!” Jack bellowed, but his crew could not hear him, and the horses paid him no mind.
Jack jumped up onto the bridge and sprinted across the top as the horses headed under it. The bank blasted into the bridge, but the opening was not large enough for the walls to fit through.
It was, however, just the right height for the vault to be forced out the other side. Jack leapt into the air and landed atop the safe as the horses dragged it away from the town. The Royal Guard pulled up short at the bridge, trapped behind the bank debris, which clogged the only opening out of town.
The few townspeople who had not gone home to hide clustered in front of what was left of the bank. Their town’s shiny new building lay in unrecognizable ruins.
The bank sign dropped to the ground in front of Mayor Dix as he stepped over the remnants of his hopes for Saint Martin’s future and prosperity. All his hard work and dreams had been undone by a wretched pirate.
Preoccupied by their misfortune, nobody noticed a lithe woman clothed in a blue dress and manacle who stood among them, surveying the scene.
Having used her as a distraction, Jack and his cohorts had made it out of town. Good riddance, she thought. He wreaks havoc yet seems to come out ahead. And they call me a witch.