The Devil's Hand

--Chapter Eight--



    Jack got lost twice before he managed to find his way to the central chamber. His gaze darted through the room, taking in the stone altar, Roccelli beside it. Nicola was chained to the altar, weighed down with shackles to keep her from escaping. It didn't seem she'd be going anywhere, though, since her eyes were closed, her honey-coloured hair spilling in a tangle over the rocky surface she lay on.

    "Captain Sparrow, isn't it?"

    He gave Roccelli the once-over. A little taller than himself, with annoyingly good looks. Dark hair, eyes like one of those fluffy dogs he'd met once, somewhere bloody cold.

    "Aye, that's me," Jack said.

    "I'm afraid, Captain, that you're too late to stop me," Roccelli said. He seemed oddly happy, not at all dismayed that Jack had shown up. "The ritual has begun."

    Jack hefted his sword. "As long as you don't finish it, I'm not too late. Savvy?"

    "Did you come for the girl?" The Italian pirate grinned. "Come to rescue a damsel in distress? You are definitely too late on that count. I've already had her as part of the ritual."

    Jack's dark gaze flicked to Nicola. He didn't see any signs of it, but he was still too far away. Fury made his guts clench. If this bastard had laid a finger on her, he would skin him alive!

    "She won't waken," Roccelli continued, seemingly oblivious. "I am not a complete monster. She will not feel a thing when I take her life for my continued immortality."

    With a shake of his head, Jack stepped further into the room. "No, mate, I'm not here for the girl. See, the Caribbean? It's mine. You're in me territory without so much as a by-your-leave, an' you're making life difficult for me and my fellow pirates."

    "Yours?" The other man laughed uproariously.

    "Mine," Jack said simply. "You've heard of the Pirate Lords, aye?"

    That stopped Roccelli's laugh. "Yes," he said cautiously.

    Jack shrugged. "I'm the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, mate."

    Those eerie blue eyes flicked over him. "You? Ridiculous. No matter. You're still no match for me."

    Roccelli drew his own sword, a wicked rapier with elaborate scrollwork on the guard, a large red stone in the pommel. He rushed Jack.

    The next few moments were a flurry of clanging swords. The Italian was as good as rumour said, but he was also stuck a little in his forms. Roccelli drew first blood, a slash on Jack's upper arm, nearly on the shoulder. Jack wasn't as restricted, and he took advantage of one block to punch Roccelli in the gut.

    The Italian was surprised, and angry. "Pirate," he growled.

    Jack grinned, showing gold teeth. "Only just catching on, are we?"

    With a roar, Roccelli swung at him. Jack ducked, dropping to the ground, and rolled under the other man's leg as he turned. Jack kicked out and hit the back of Roccelli's knee, sending him into a sprawl on the floor.

    "How . . . dare you!" Roccelli staggered to his feet. "I will kill you. But first, I will tear her apart before your eyes!"

    Jack was still prone on the floor, and as Roccelli brought his blade down, he pulled Nicola's pistol from his belt, sighted, and fired.

    The lead ball hit Roccelli dead centre between the eyes. The man stopped, jerked, and his sword fell from his grasp. Slowly, he crumpled to hit the stone floor with a somewhat anti-climactic "thump".

    "Not so immortal now, are we?" Jack asked the corpse. "To be honest, that was a little disappointing."

   Roccelli's hand twitched.

    "Oh, no, you don't!" Jack rolled to his feet, picked up the rapier Roccelli had dropped, and swung it down.

    It took two blows, but the Italian's head rolled free, and all movement stopped. He watched warily for several long moments, to see if somehow, Roccelli would recover, but nothing happened. Those pale blue eyes continued to stare sightlessly at the ceiling, even now clouding over.

    Panting from exertion, Jack bent and searched Roccelli for the key to Nicola's shackls. He retrieved his sword, and stumbled across the room to where she lay, eyes still closed, breathing shallow. A huge bruise marred her forehead, a narrow gash bisecting it and disappearing into her hair. He fought the urge to stroke her hair, and concentrated on unlocking the iron chains that held her down.

    "C'mon, Nicky," he said. "Time to wake up."

    Nothing.

    Jack shook her, lightly slapped her face. "Wake up, Nicola," he barked.

    At last, she stirred, faintly. Deciding that was good enough. Jack swept her up into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder.

    It would be preferable to have her on her feet, in case he ran into any more of Roccelli's men, but fate seemed to be with them. All the way back to his boat, they didn't run into a single person. Jack carefully deposited Nicky in the boat, and pushed off into the water.

    He noted with satisfaction that the Blood Storm listed to its side, rapidly taking in water. And the Black Pearl was just where he'd left it, cannons still smoking from its attack on the other ship.

    Gibbs helped Jack get Nicola on board. They carried her straight into Jack's cabin and put her on the bed there. She was a little more alert now, groaning with a hand to her head.

    "Report, Mr. Gibbs," Jack ordered.

    "As you've seen, the Blood Storm has been sunk." Gibbs looked very pleased with himself. "At first, I didn't think we could do it, since all attacks seemed to be repelled, but then suddenly, all the men on the other ship started acting like they was in pain, like. So we took them out in their confusion. Got some very nice booty, too. Lots of food, should tide us over a long while, and plenty of gold and treasure."

    "That should make the men happy," Jack said.

    Gibbs nodded, then asked, "How is she?"

    "She'll be fine, I think. Roccelli's dead. We need to make for Tortuga to retrieve Will."

    "Aye, Cap'n."

    Gibbs excused himself, leaving Jack with Nicola. The pirate captain wasn't sure how to revive her faster, so he sat and waited for her to come around.

 

-----

 

    Her first real, coherent thought was that her head hurt. She cracked bleary eyes and winced at the light in the cabin. A shadow moved between her and the lamp, and Nicola blinked, trying to focus.

    "Are you alright?"

    She knew that voice, hoped she wasn't imagining it. Was she dead? Being dead most likely didn't hurt, though.

    "Where . . .?"

    "You're back on the Pearl, love," Jack told her. "He wasn't as big an evil as I was led to believe."

    Nicola lifted a hand, rubbed at her eyes. "Is he- Did you kill him?"

    He nodded. She sat up, ignoring his attempt to push her back down on the pillows. She didn't know what Roccelli had done to her, but the effects seemed to be wearing off.

    "That's quite the lump you've got," Jack said helpfully.

    "One of Roccelli's men hit me with his pistol," she said. "May I have some water?"

    Wordlessly, Jack fetched a glass from the pitcher that sat on his desk and handed it to her. She gulped it down and sighed.

    Then she realised abruptly that she wasn't in her cabin, but his. And in only a nightrail, at that! She flushed, but he didn't seem to notice.

    "Where's Will?" she asked.

    "Ah." Jack hesitated. "We . . . might have accidentally, not at all intentionally, left him on Tortuga."

    Nicola let out a sudden laugh at the thought. "Oh, he's going to be so angry at you."

    "I think he'll live, especially since I retrieved you." Jack took the glass from her. "You'll want to change out of that."

    "That" was her grubby, blood-stained nightgown. She was grateful that she still wore it, horrible as it was, because it meant no one had touched her.

    That she knew of, anyway.

    "A bath, too, would be lovely."

    "I'll have the tub and water brought to you."