The Devil's Hand

--Chapter Seven--



    It was only as they were leaving Tortuga in the distance that they realised that they'd left Will in port.

    "I'm not going back for the boy," Jack said. "It could be the difference between life and death for Miss Holyfield."

    "He'll kill you when we do retrieve him," Gibbs pointed out.

    "He can try. He'll have to get in line."

    Jack didn't care about Will right then. And, truthfully, young Mr. Turner's absence gave him more space to think, without constant whinging about how they weren't getting Nicky fast enough.

    All he wanted was to find Nicola before Roccelli did something to her. Part of him was a bit alarmed at how completely that desire had superceded everything else. But that was the bare-bones truth of it. He wanted her almost above anything else, even if he couldn't have her.

    He missed her. He missed her sharp intelligence and her quick wit, her fire and courage. It took a lot to face one's fears, as she had done. Hunting for Roccelli when she was terrified of him was, to Jack, incredibly brave.

    And as superstitious as the men were about having a woman aboard ship, Jack could see that the men missed her, as well. She brightened everything around her.

    He hated the idea of that light being put out.

    Jack knew that he couldn't keep her, once he got her back. Will would strangle him with his bare hands. Saving her, getting her back to Port Royal in one piece, would be enough.

    It had to be. He couldn't give her more.

 

-----

 

    She wasn't entirely certain what Giacomo was planning for her, but she figured it was going to be painful and drawn out. He'd abandoned all pretense of a devoted suitor, and let her stay holed up in the small cabin she'd been stowed in.

    Nicola sat in her bunk, legs drawn up under the skirt of her nightrail. It didn't seem fair that she'd fled him in fear of being complicit in his dark schemes, and it had only made him decide to do worse to her. Perhaps, if she'd married him, he would have let her be.

    But after the things she'd seen him do, she knew that would never have lasted.

    And she would never have met Jack.

    If she were really, truly honest with herself, she had to admit that sometime in the past few weeks, she had become more emotionally attached to Jack Sparrow than any other man she'd been courted by in her young life. They'd shared just one kiss, but it had moved her more than any other. He made her laugh. He didn't see her as a useless female only good for embroidery and birthing babies. Or for whatever Roccelli was planning to do with her.

    Nicola leaned her forehead on her knees, her hand still clutching the necklace. It was a bad, bad idea to fall in love with a pirate. After all, he'd have no use for her beyond, well, what men such as he generally wanted from a woman.

    Still, she ached in her heart, knowing that she'd never felt for anyone what she felt for Jack. And wasn't that a cruel twist? She could have had any of the rich, handsome suitors that had courted her. And here she'd gone and fallen head over heels for a pirate.

    Her father would have an absolute fit if he knew.

    The motion of the ship stopped and the wall behind her vibrated as they dropped the anchor. Nicola caught her breath. Had they reached their destination?

    The door to her cabin opened. Roccelli stood there, with that ugly, beatific smile on his face.

    "Come, cucciola mia, we go to our glory."

    "I'm not your pet!" she snapped.

    He ignored her and simply strode forward, grabbed her arm, and yanked her off the bed. She stumbled, but he didn't pause; he merely hauled her out of the cabin and down the corridor to the stairs.

    One of his men was waiting on deck with iron shackles, which he fastened around her slender wrists.

    "I would have given you gold and silver," Giacomo said sadly. "Diamonds, rubies, emeralds. But now all I give you is what you deserve. Death comes for traitors, after all."

    Since she couldn't climb down with her shackles, one of the larger men slung her over his shoulder and descended to the runner. He dropped her on the floor of the boat and she bit her tongue with the impact. Blood filled her mouth, and Nicola took the opportunity to spit it at Roccelli. Crimson droplets splattered on his crisp, white shirt, but he only laughed.

    Please, Jack, she thought desperately. Find me.

 

-----

 

    The Blood Storm might have been a larger, more powerful ship, but it wasn't the Black Pearl and couldn't match her for speed. While they had lost two days in sailing from Aruba to Tortuga, and another two in repairs, the Pearl was the fastest ship on the sea by means of enchantment. With the masts and other repairs finished, they were back near Aruba in a day, and turning east.

    "Where d'you think he's headed?" Gibbs asked.

    Jack shrugged. "Either the continent, or Trinidad. If they've made port along the coast and headed inland, it will be difficult to catch up. If it's Trinidad, or Tobago, we might have an easier time."

    "There's other places on this heading," Gibbs pointed out.

    "I am sincerely hoping, Mr. Gibbs, we needn't follow them all the way to Africa. I didn't enjoy my last visit there."

    

-----

 

    Nicola found it rather ironic that "for her safety", Roccelli ordered his largest thug to carry her from the boat when they reached shore. As she bounced against his back, fighting nausea, she reflected that she had nowhere to run to and no shoes, besides. And the bit about her safety was an outright lie. He was going to kill her, after all.

    Should've stayed at the mansion with Elizabeth, she thought.

    Since her view was entirely of the ground and the back of the man who carried her, she had no idea where they were headed. She felt sick and her head hurt. Still, at least she was alive . . . for the moment.

    The men all spoke in low voices, in Italian, which Nicola didn't know. Idly, she wondered how long they'd been in Roccelli's service and if they were as immortal as he.

    Abruptly, the man carrying her over his shoulder stopped and dumped her on the ground. The rush of blood away from her head made the world spin, and she caught a glimpse of her former fiance's face as he grinned down at her, before everything went dark and she passed out.

 

-----

 

    Their pursuit led them to Trinidad, just as Jack had expected, and a little cove on the side of the island facing the larger continent.

    "There," Gibbs said excitedly, pointing to the ship anchored before them. "The Blood Storm!"

    "I see it, Mr. Gibbs," Jack replied flatly. "When we get in position, I'm going ashore. And if you keep to the Code and leave me and Miss Holyfield here, I will hunt you down and kill you."

    Gibbs gulped. He'd never seen his captain in such a mood, and wasn't rightly sure of its cause. "Yes, sir. Would ye like us to do somethin' about the other ship?"

    "We're pirates," Jack said. "I'm sure you can think of something."

    Once they were closer, he took the Pearl's own runner to shore. He was vaguely familiar with this island, having explored it once with the thought to using it as a hideout, but it was just so far from everything else, he'd decided it wasn't useful.

    But he remembered a cave system that some primitive people had used for pagan worship and human sacrifice, not far from here. That was likely Roccelli's goal. Why he'd come all this way, Jack didn't know or particularly care. He just wanted to find Nicky, kill Roccelli, and get back to his livelihood.

    He came upon the first set of guards not five minutes later, hidden in the jungle scrub along the path. They tried to ambush him, but were somewhat noisy about it, crashing through the trees to get to him. Jack drew his sword and dispatched both swiftly.

    "Fools," he muttered. "Terrible footwork."

    Two more sets of lookouts later, Jack reached the cave he'd remembered. He hoped he wasn't too late; the continued presence of the guards gave him some measure of hope that Roccelli hadn't completed whatever ritual he was intending. And given what knowledge Jack had of the occult and the mystical, he was probably waiting for nightfall or midnight or some ridiculous thing. As it wasn't yet dusk, perhaps he had time.

    Another one of Roccelli's men tried to stop him inside the cave. Jack tripped him, slamming the man into the ground, and drew his blade across the man's throat. He was not in a mood for long sword battles. And if rumour held true, he had one ahead of him with the Devil's Hand.

    Bloodshed was never something Jack looked forward to.