White and Black Pearls 2 - One Remaining Pearl

Chapter Six

“So tell me where we’re headed,” both Will and Barbossa said to the goddesses before them at the very same time, on different parts of the planet.

“To find Jack,” the goddesses replied.

“And how do you propose we find him?”

“With this,” the goddesses said benevolently, holding up one of Jack’s belongings.

Barbossa and Will both blinked and went silent with dumbfounded expressions on their faces.


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“I won’t be lasting as long as you need me for if you don’t give me any food!” Jack called out crankily to his guard above, when he heard boots on the rocks up on the outcropping. His stomach growled again and he banged his fist on the cell bars. “I’ll die of starvation and then you’ll be the one in trouble for letting the prisoner die under your watch!”

He sneezed then. Was somebody talking about him somewhere?

“And a blanket!” he demanded haughtily, before he began to get selfish. “A blanket, and food, and something to do!”

The Captain of the Black Pearl stepped back as something was hurled over the edge of the outcropping and slammed against the bars of his cell. He wiped his face where it felt wet, and found his hand to come away red with blood before looking down at the hunk of fat, meat and fur just outside his cell, bloody and dripping. “Food,” his guard snarled wetly and angrily. “And a blanket, and something to do! All three in one!”

Jack poked the meaty hide of whatever enormous animal this had come from, before looking mildly ill. “You should leave the comedy to those that are good at it,” Jack muttered under his breath. He yelped and barely dodged a spear that was thrown into his cell between the bars.

“To carve your dinner and your blanket with,” Davy Jones said in a rather distasteful voice. “Go ahead and try and use it to escape, it’ll do you no good!” he clipped out with a shake of his tentacles before marching back to his post at the outcropping. The former Dutchman captain took a seat heavily on the rickety wooden chair provided for him up on the wet rock outcropping, holding his hand over his chest and finding himself mildly short of breath. He looked at his tentacles against his chest and then at his hand, his expression becoming obviously concerned for himself, out of the view of others. He was a sickly colour, and there was a rotting black fungus growing along his arm and up one side of his face. It was hard to breathe, and his chest hurt in the cavity where his heart had once been. “Damn you Sparrow,” he hissed as water dribbled down his lips and he closed his eyes. “And damn all the gods.”

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Dun dun dunnnnn! Davy Jones is the guard!
But how is he alive?! Gasp! More to come...