The Devil's Temptress: The Curse of the Black Pearl || Book 1

Prologue. 1720

1720

The fog followed them. It haunted them like they haunted these waters. A suffocatingly thick blanket of chimney smoke coloured mist was forever wrapped around them and life outside of that opaque wall was forgotten, it had been for almost two years.

The mood of the crew had been the first to turn sour, matching the bleak; then their taste, then their scent and then their touch. Now they could only watch the warm, ripe, red juice of the grapes trickle down the glass like fresh blood and listen to the salty fresh spray of the sea during a storm. Any reminder of what they once loved and craved or took for granted had become tortuous.

They were guided by their own ghostly tide, the air around them remaining unnaturally still as the chipped painted hull glided through the dark waters, the guiding figurehead slicing through the fog  and sending a wave of mist sweeping over the ebony deck. But no amount of fog could hide those sails; those sheets of tattered black hanging from burnt masts. They resembled the aged cotton which hung from their bones in the moonlight.

The sight of that ship alone was enough to terrify the most decorated of men whether they be pirate or soldier. It was an image they carried with them at night and could only safely speak of once they had returned to land, laid up cosy and warm in their beds. It was those sightings which inspired the stories and haunted the nightmares.

In the calm waters the rigging creaked, the holds rumbled and the lamps squealed as they swayed.

They were the predator in these waters, The Black Pearl.

On this particular night, most of the crew huddled together below, but the same regular figures stood on the upper deck with their eyes trained on the waters ahead.

"We should douse the lamps, Captain." The soft tone of voice did not conventionally fit that of a First Mate, nor did it match the current setting. A Mediterranean accent laced the words, making the simple suggestion sound like a colourful song to the Captain's ears.

Nicolette looked back over her shoulder far enough to see the faint outline of her Captain out the corner of her eye, then frowned. With her face remaining hidden, veiled by the darkness of the night, she felt confident expressing her anticipation.

"We are close..."

The Captain made no sign that he had heard her, nor a sign that he cared as he continued to look out over the deserted deck and calm waters. It was minutes later when, with a small nod, he gestured for the Bo'sun to follow through with her suggestion.

Nicolette turned back to watch the slow growing light on the horizon, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes. The small dancing flames around her were slowly extinguished bringing the view more into focus. With her facing the moonlight, a cream cascade of light managed to pick out her main features; the rusted silver coins twisted into her hair and the deathly pale white of her right pupil.

Her clothes sagged in places, hanging onto nothing but bone, and the half a dozen gold rings threatening to slip from her fingers no longer sparkled but looked dull and rusted. She had prayed to any God listening when it had first happened and begged for madness or death, but this was her punishment.

The moonlight showed her, showed them all for what they really were; dead but trapped among the living.

She clenched her fists before stepping back into the comfort of the shadows and held her chin high, after all, out of sight, out of mind.

"Sail ho!" The long awaited call was carried down from the crows nest.

Behind her, Captain Barbossa shifted and grumbled to the Bo'sun. "Keep her on course." He too was keeping his eyes focused on the small dot of light on the horizon, far in the distance. The helm rattled as it was adjusted by one notch and then she heard his footsteps draw closer.