Pirates of the Caribbean: Barbossa and the King's Messenger (Book 1)

Tia Dalma

Chapter Eight -- Tia Dalma

It was our good fortune that Captain Teague agreed to take us as far as the mouth of the Pantano. English ships were not welcome so close to Cuba, a prized Spanish possession, and the Misty Lady was bound for Tortuga. However, Jack did not wish to be seen arriving in Tortuga aboard his father's ship, and I did not have the stomach for the town's legendary roistering after suffering through the mutiny of the Pearl's crew.

"The scabrous swine are likely already there, or on their way, with the cursed gold burning holes in their pockets," Jack pointed out. "No need for us to turn up and spoil the party just yet." He was restless and impatient to recover his ship, but clever enough that he wished to gain more information before deciding his course of action. And there was also the matter of our rescue.

"What about . . . an abandoned ship floated ashore, and we took charge of 'er?" Jack asked me. We were standing at the rail of the Misty Lady, gazing down at the waves breaking around her bow as she made her way towards the Cuban coast.

I sighed. There was no dissuading Jack from inventing his own mythology if it spared him the humiliation of admitting to a paternal rescue. "And what happened to the abandoned ship after that?" I questioned him. "Where did it go? Did it disappear?"

Then a sudden thought made me laugh. "You know . . . really, you might say anything you like," I suggested. "What with the merciless sun, the fearful fate awaiting you, and all the rum, everyone will think you're half-mad no matter what you say! Why not give them a story they won't forget?" Jack narrowed his eyes as he thought this over, then he suddenly fixed me with a keen look.

"All right, then. What d' ye think about . . . sea turtles?" he said. "Strong swimmers, those creatures. Who's to say they didn't take us across the sea to Cuba, eh, love?"

"I think sea turtles would earn a unique place for the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow, in the annals of desert island escapes," I told him. "And you don't need me to appear in it, or swear to it; no one even knows I was on the island. Those robbers likely assume I perished at sea; why disabuse them of that notion?"

Jack seemed pleased by my reaction.

Teague sent us ashore at the mouth of the Pantano, with enough silver to buy a canoe off the fishermen who frequented those waters. Having acquired a small but sturdy craft, we embarked on our journey up the Pantano River.

It was mid-afternoon on a bright and cloudless day when we set out; yet by the time we had reached Tia Dalma's dwelling, the bayou's canopy had filtered out most of the sunlight. The air was warm and noiseless but for the soft buzzing of dragonflies and mosquitoes, as our canoe glided through the tranquil, swampy water from one thin shaft of brightness to another. Ahead, our destination was a precarious looking wooden structure perched high in a cypress tree.

"Best let me go first," said Jack, as he made ready to climb the ladder to the door of this fanciful dwelling. I followed him up, and entered a dimly-lit room cluttered with an assortment of strange and grotesque items of every conceivable description. They hung upon the walls, slithered along the ceiling beams, and lay tumbled about on the shelves and floor. Exotic, spicy scents of oils, herbs and perfumes mingled together in the air – Myrrh, attar? I wondered – along with a waxy smell from the dozens of small votive candles which served to light the room.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I spied a light and graceful figure seated at a small loom on the far side of the parlour. Turning her pretty, dreadlocked head to inspect us, she broke into a wide, inviting smile and rose from her work to greet Jack.

"Ah, Witty Jack! At last 'im come t' visit me once more." She swayed gently towards Jack, her head tilted fetchingly and her slender hands outstretched. Her speech was heavily accented with Jamaican patois, and her general appearance was like that of other voodoo women, or mambos, of the Caribbean – but her eyes! How shall I describe those great, dark lamps that shone with a light altogether supernatural? At once demanding your gaze and compelling veneration, they were wondrous eyes, possessed by no mere mortal: they were the eyes of the Goddess.