Chapter 4

Jack Sparrow crouched low among shrubbery flanking a lonely highway. Now that he’d lost his crew, he could not command a ship at sea. Therefore, he’d decided he would pillage, plunder, and loot on land.

What good was a crew anyway if they deserted him when things were a little off? “They dare to call me cursed,” he muttered, “as riches forge my way on land!”

A coach jangled toward him. Gold filigree highlighted the hand-carved details of the carriage, and even the horses wore decorations. Even better, a pair of powdered wigs was clearly visible through the windows. There would be prime pickings inside.

Jack leapt from behind the bushes and struck a dramatic pose. He had been rehearsing since that morning and settled on his present stance as the most threatening and imposing.

“Today,” he declared boldly, “you will be robbed by Jack the Highwayman! As my luck returns—”

Before Jack could finish his speech, the coach whisked by and headed toward town. The dust it kicked up covered him from head to foot, as though mocking him.

It could be worse, he thought. In seconds, a cold, hard rain began to fall. Well, now maybe it couldn’t.

The torrential rain continued as Jack reentered the town of Saint Martin. Protected by awnings and umbrellas, vendors displayed their wares. Jack’s eyes sparkled at the sight of barrels of rum, ready to be tapped.

Checking his pockets, he found nothing. He was about to swipe an apple from a stand when soldiers appeared across the square. More soldiers were approaching behind him.

Quickly, Jack threw himself over the nearest fence. A dozen well-fed pigs grunted with indignation as he landed squarely in their mud. Being a highwayman was exhausting. He briefly considering having a nice lie-down in the mud, but the urge for rum was greater and the pigs didn’t look very friendly.

Covered in gooey brown mud and in serious need of a drink, Jack entered the nearest pub and staggered up to the bar.

Grimes, the bartender, refused to serve him until Jack showed him some money.

Eternally optimistic, Jack checked his pockets again, just in case. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any rogue coins or jewels. The only thing he had to his name, besides the bottle holding the Black Pearl , was his trusty compass. He hesitated. The compass had steered him through many dangerous waters and led him to adventure. But what good was a compass when one didn’t have a ship or a crew?

Just then a fishing net slammed down on the bar from out of nowhere. Jack saw something familiar sticking out of one of the fish.

“Would you look at that?” the elated fisherman said to Grimes. “A fish stabbed itself with this sword! I’ll sell it to the navy! How’s that for luck?”

Before Grimes could reply, Jack slapped his hand on his infernal sword and flung it across the room, trying to remove it from his life yet again. But this time, the tip of the sword speared a wanted poster of him on the wall.

Enough was enough. Jack was going to have that drink, no matter what it cost. He placed the compass on the bar as payment.

“The bottle,” he said to Grimes.

The compass quivered, ever so slightly, as it rested on the wooden counter. The movement was just enough to make both of them freeze. Then, behind the bar, all the bottles began to vibrate in unison. A tremor seemed to pass through the pub. In that instant, Jack realized he had made a grave mistake, and he reached to take back the compass.

But it was too late. Grimes grabbed it, handing Jack a bottle of rum in return before tossing the compass onto a pile of gaudy jewelry and cheap trinkets that other desperate men had used as barter for drink.

Jack lifted the bottle he had bought with the compass. He paused before drinking. “A pirate’s life,” he toasted quietly.

Neither man noticed that the needle on the compass moved again. Miles away, on the deck of the ghostly Silent Mary , the ship’s wheel rotated by itself—in the same direction as the needle.

The living corpses of dead seagulls circled high above the mast of the Silent Mary as the ghostly crew below dutifully scrubbed every nook and cranny of the deck, even though nothing ever became clean. But as the wheel began to spin, the men stopped and stared.

“Sir, what’s happening?” Lieutenant Lesaro asked.

Captain Salazar crossed the deck, watching in anticipation as the wheel aimed the ship toward a distant horizon.

“Jack Sparrow has given away the key,” he said, moving eagerly to the rail.

The highest peak of the Devil’s Triangle began to crumble, revealing a long shaft of light that illuminated the decaying faces of Salazar and his crew. The Triangle then began to crumble, sending rocks tumbling to the sea.

“After all these years, it’s time.” Captain Salazar’s voice was triumphant as daylight danced across his cheeks.

As the Triangle fell, the intense beam of light began to expand. Wider and wider it grew, until there was a blinding burst, enveloping the skeletal Silent Mary in its glow.

“Hard to starboard,” the captain ordered. “We’ll sail to the edge and cross with the light!” As the men hastened to obey, a thrill ran through Salazar. “The Triangle will not hold us any longer,” he intoned.

Faster and faster, the ship skimmed away from its dank prison, the light guiding it to freedom. Hauling on the ropes, the crew channeled more speed from the ship as it neared the gateway.

The crew braced for impact, but the ship shot out of the crumbling arch with the force of a geyser. Once outside their tomb, the crew paused and looked around. The seas were calm, a bright blue sky stretching overhead.

“We’re free!” they cheered.

Captain Salazar stretched his withered arms wide, as if to embrace the new day.

“My very dead men, the sea is ours!” he said, addressing the elated crew. His eyes narrowed on the horizon. “It is time to hunt a pirate! I’ll sink every ship at sea until I find and kill Jack Sparrow.”