CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kerma

AYISHA WAS SITTING ON A CRATE up on the weather deck, embroidering a colorful border onto the neck of the sleeveless linen tunic she had made for her brother, when a shadow fell across her work. She looked up to see Shabako himself standing before her. “Good morning, brother,” she said in their language. She held up her project. “See? I found embroidery silk in the color of lapis lazuli, and carnelian, and this bright yellow. You will not have jewelry befitting your station when we disembark in Zerzura, but you will not be unadorned!”

Her brother did not even glance at the colorful needlework. Ayisha shaded her eyes with her hand to see his expression. The weather was mild and clear—but a thundercloud could not have looked darker or more ominous than the young pharaoh’s expression. She lowered her hands, setting her work off to the side.

“Walk with me, sister,” he commanded, and turned away. Ayisha followed him silently. She’d rarely seen her father angry, but just now, Shabako had resembled Taharka more strongly than he ever had before.

Shabako led the way, down the ladder to the main deck, then down again, until they were standing together in the now considerably emptier cargo hold of the ship. No crewmen were present at the moment.

Ayisha forced herself to face her brother quietly, her hands at her sides. He had always been forthright and direct as a boy, and he did not play games with her now, but came straight to the point. “Last night, I could not sleep, so I came next door to see if you were still awake and wanted to go up on deck with me and look at the stars, as we did when we were children, and our nurse nodded off. We would go up on the roof of the palace, and watch the heavens.”

“I remember,” Ayisha said, very quietly.

“But when I called your name, then struck a light, you were not in your bed. Tarek said you must have slipped out while he was asleep to relieve yourself, but I waited for an hour. You never returned. At first I was worried, thinking you might have fallen overboard. But then I realized that Tarek knew where you were—he just wouldn’t tell me. I threatened to have him executed when we reached Kerma, and he remained mute. But I could tell he knew where you were.”

He gave a short, sardonic bark of laughter. “Of course, Tarek would die for you without a second thought. I suppose it should not surprise me that he would also lie for you.”

Shabako folded his arms across his chest, and fixed her with a dark, forbidding look. “Where were you, sister?”

Ayisha drew a deep breath, trying to think of what to say. She had never lied to her brother before. She did not want to start now. “I would rather not say,” she said, her voice cold and formal. “The information is not your concern. It is private.”

Shabako looked at her, and she could see him, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. “Sister, you were gone all night. Yet today you are cheerful and bright eyed. It is clear that you did not miss a night’s sleep.” He hesitated, then continued, his expression stony, “So where did you sleep?”

“I told you, that information is private,” Ayisha said. She could feel her throat tightening; her face grew hot. “It is not your right to know.”

“I am pharaoh. It is my right, sister, and I command you to tell me the truth.”

Ayisha felt panic simmering within her. Soon they would reach Zerzura, and her brother’s word would be law. If he commanded his guards to execute Jack, they would do it, and there would be no recourse. What should I do? Tell Jack not to go to the island, to land us somewhere else, where we could hire another ship?

Ayisha bit back the urge to laugh, knowing the sound would be shrill, on the verge of hysteria. Hire a ship? We have no money! We could not hire a donkey-cart, much less a vessel!

And she knew Jack. Nothing would keep him from going to the island. They were so close. He’d never turn back.

Tears filled her eyes, and she dashed them away, quickly, ashamed of her weakness. She was frightened and angry—her control seemed to have deserted her. Setting her jaw, she stared silently at her brother.

The sight of her tears seemed to reach him, as her words had not. “Amenirdis,” he said, softly, finally using her real name, “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.” He hesitated, then said, “It is my responsibility to protect you, just as it is Tarek’s. I…” He struggled to find words. “You are so young,” he said, finally. “So innocent. Men of the world like that…they take advantage of young girls. I have seen his type before. He seduced you. It is not your fault.”

Ayisha stared at Shabako, then—she couldn’t stop herself—she laughed out loud. Stepping forward, she hugged him. “Shabako, little brother, you are so kind, so sweet, and I love you dearly, I truly do. But you are completely wrong in your conclusion. I swear by Apedemak that I went to him. I made my intentions perfectly clear. If anyone did any seducing, it was I.”

Her brother was staring at her. His mouth hung open slightly. I couldn’t have shocked him more if I had sprouted an extra head, she thought, and bit back an unnerved giggle.

Shabako closed his mouth with a snap, strode across the deck, stopped at the ladder, then about-faced and walked back. “Why?” he demanded.

Ayisha took a deep breath, and shrugged. “I fell in love,” she said. “I knew that we would not have much time together, so I made the decision to act on my feelings. I don’t regret that decision.”

“You love him?” Shabako said, clearly incredulous. “But…he’s white. Look what his kind did to us!”

Ayisha shook her head. “Shabako, evil has no color. Duke Wren-John, the slave hunter and trader, he was black. Remember?”

He nodded. “Yes…I remember. I would like to forget. But I probably never will.”

Ayisha nodded. She understood.

Shabako was looking at her. “Does Sparrow return your feelings?”

She shook her head, then she nodded, then she shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. He cares, in his own way, I am certain of that. And it is enough.” She ran her finger along the edge of one of the barrels. “Soon we’ll reach Kerma, and it will be over. I will go back to my duties as a royal, and he will sail away. But I will have the memory.”

Shabako nodded. “I think…I think I understand,” he murmured, watching her hand move along the wood. “There was a girl at Wickhaven, the plantation.…” He sighed. “She died last year. Childbirth.”

“Oh, brother!” Ayisha murmured. Tears came to her eyes again, and this time they were for him. “I am so sorry!”

He nodded, still not looking directly at her. “When it happened, I told myself that it was better that way. It was one way of escape. The child…was stillborn.” Shabako drew a long, painful breath. “I never even found out whether it was a son or a daughter. The Fenwicks didn’t bother to mark the graves of their slaves.”

Ayisha hugged him again, and this time, he hugged her back.

“When I am crowned,” he said, “my first royal decree will be to free Kerma’s slaves.”

Ayisha nodded. “I decided the same thing, when I thought the lion throne might pass to me.” She smiled at him. “And, just so you know, I am very glad that it will not.”

“You will be my heir until I get myself one,” he pointed out.

“Find a nice girl and marry her quickly, then,” she said, with a smile. Then, sobering she said, “It will not be easy, brother, to make such a sweeping change. It will take time, and work. If I were you, I would tell the people my intention, and set a date for the slaves to become free. Then work toward that date. That way the slaves will know they have that day to live for. They will accustom themselves to the idea of freedom, and taking responsibility for their own welfare. Where and how they will live, buy food, that kind of thing.”

Shabako nodded. “You obviously did give this much thought. Go on, please!”

“Setting a date in the future will allow the owners to adjust to the idea of paying their workers. This decree will affect so many things—the economy, marriage and inheritance laws, property rights—everything. If you announce a future date, give it perhaps a year, perhaps more, that will give you and your advisors time to study how best such progress can be accomplished.”

Shabako regarded her for a moment, then cocked his head to one side. “I always knew that my older sister was smart. I don’t think I knew how smart until just now. Amenirdis, when I am crowned, I shall appoint you my grand vizier.”

“But…that’s…no woman has…” she started to protest. Then she trailed off when he chuckled.

“And there have always been slaves, too. But that will change, and soon. A woman as grand vizier is a small change compared to emancipation of half the population.”

“That is true,” she admitted.

“So you will you accept the position?”

“I shall consider it, brother, and give you my answer—after you are crowned.”

“Have you ever been inside the labyrinth, Ayisha?” Jack asked. He lay stretched out, arms behind his head, looking up at the stars through the leaded skylight in the ceiling of his cabin. The crescent moon had set an hour or so before, so only the starlight provided illumination. Nights at sea were cool enough these days to be pleasant, with a breeze coming in through the stern windows. The evening watch on the quarterdeck had just signaled two bells.

Ayisha was lying with her head on his chest. She’d been drifting, content in the moment, and she didn’t want to return to the real world of miles sailed and irretrievable time passing. But she knew they must discuss this subject sooner or later, so, after a moment, she replied, “Just once. A long time ago.”

“What was it like, love?”

“My father took my brother and me inside with him. The high priest went with us, and he led the way. I remember the walls and floors, all built of pale, gray stone, very smooth to the touch. But the ceilings, they were different. I’ve never seen anything like them. We have nothing like them in the temple or the palace.”

“What were they like?”

“The ceilings were made from some kind of different stone. It was like quartz, but it gave off light. You could see without carrying a torch, which was a good thing, because the priests say fire will not spark within the labyrinth.”

“Torches don’t work?”

“No. It is part of the protective spell.”

“No sparks at all…” Jack mused. “That’s interesting.”

“Why are you—” Ayisha caught his meaning. “Oh! You’re wondering whether you could fire your pistol in there.”

“Right, love.”

She considered the question, then shook her head in the darkness. “I shouldn’t think so, Jack. Piye always said it just the way I repeated it to you. ‘Fire will not spark.’ It takes a spark to fire a pistol.”

“That’s right,” Jack said. “So we’ll have to rely on blades to overcome any…adversaries. Tell me more about your journey through the labyrinth. I want to know all that you remember, love.”

“I remember walking for what seemed a long time. The high priest chanted as we went. We walked, and walked…my legs grew tired, but I was proud of being a big girl, so I didn’t want to complain. Shabako began to fuss about being tired, so my father picked him up and carried him.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven, I think,” she replied. “Shabako would have been four.” She raised her head to look at him, though it was too dark to make out his features.

“In the Captain Ward book,” Jack said, “he reported that there were illusions and magical pitfalls put there when it was first built, traps that will bar anyone but the rightful users from finding the way to the center, where the Heart of Zerzura is located. Captain Ward said the stone rests on the outstretched palm of a life-sized golden statue of the lion-god, Apedemak.”

Ayisha nodded. “Your Captain Ward was correct, Jack. I wonder how he discovered all of this?”

“I have no idea. The author of the book claimed that he was a pirate for ten years, and maybe he was. It was published in England when I was just a little shaver. The pirate captains he mentioned in the book sailed the Spanish Main at least thirty years ago. One of the chapters in the book was titled, ‘Pyrate Lore and Legends of Treasure.’ I read that part over and over when I was a boy, dreaming about finding it all, and being the most famous pirate ever.”

The princess propped her head up on her left hand, and began trailing her fingers in aimless patterns across his skin. She smiled in the darkness. “I can picture you as a little boy, Jack. Full of mischief. I’ll bet you were constantly getting into scrapes.”

He laughed. “I caused me share of trouble, love. At any rate…none of the old-timers I ran across remembered anyone on the account named ‘Ward.’ But that’s not unusual. Many pirates don’t use their real names.”

“Really? Is Jack Sparrow your real name?”

“As far as I know, it is. Never saw it ever recorded anywhere, of course.” He shrugged.

“Where did you grow up, Jack? Who raised you?”

“I grew up here and there, love. My first memory is of climbing up the ratlines to the yardarm and seeing the ocean, all spread out. I was a cabin boy on many ships, visited lots of ports. And, of course there was Shipwreck Cove, which was as close to home as any place was. That’s the pirates’ secret hideaway. It’s an island—you know the kind. One of those places that’s very hard to find—unless you know where it is. And it’s not always in exactly the same place, some of the old-timers claim. As for raising…” He chuckled a bit hollowly. “I more or less raised meself.”

She could tell the subject wasn’t one he wanted to discuss, so Ayisha dropped both her head and the subject, nestling a bit closer. “No wonder there was an instant bond between us, Jack. We both hail from mysterious islands that cannot be found by ordinary people.”

“Hah!” His chest rose and fell beneath her ear as he snorted. “‘Instant bond?’ What instant bond? You bloody hated me!”

Ayisha kissed his chest, smiling. She moved her hand, running it down his side. “No, I didn’t. The first time I saw you, I thought you were quite good-looking…for a white man.”

“You’re trying to distract me, you minx, and don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, trying in vain to capture her hand.

“It’s working, too.…” she said, kissing his shoulder, then his cheek, searching until she found his mouth in the darkness.

“You are an insatiable enchantress,” he muttered, his arms coming up to pull her closer. He rolled them over until he had her pinned down. “You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

“You’ll die happy.…”

Some time later, when their quick breathing had eased, Jack murmured, “So where were we, love?”

“We were talking about the labyrinth, and what Captain J. Ward said about it.”

“Right. I need to know about the labyrinth, love, if I’m going to lead a foray into it.”

She sighed. “Yes. You need to know.”

“Apedemak…he’s your main god, right? Since ancient times, I suppose?”

“There are a number of lesser gods, but yes, Apedemak is special to us, and has been ever since my people left the city of Old Kerma in ancient Kush, just below the third cataract of the Nile. It was Apedemak that gave us the Heart, and told my ancestors to go west, toward the setting sun. They obeyed.”

“You saw his statue. What does he look like, Ayisha?”

“He is the lion god. He usually appears as a man with the head of a lion, wearing the Triple Crown. When my father saw him in a vision, he saw him as a huge lion, though.”

“What did the room look like, where the statue stands?”

“It’s a big, circular room, and there are two doors. We came in by one, and left by the other. Stacked around the edges of the room was the treasure. There were many piles of it.”

“Ayisha, tell me more about the Heart. It’s a magical stone—a source of great power, right? So what, exactly, does the Heart do?”

She raised herself up again, and her voice had gone low and intense. “Jack, the Heart is what keeps the people of Kerma safe. If the Heart was ever taken, or destroyed, we would all die.”

“Die?” He sounded startled. “How?”

Ayisha drew a deep breath. “The Heart is indeed a source of power. Every day, the temple priests renew the illusion spells. They are very strong, you’ll see what they’re like when we get there. The priests perform the spells, they say the chants, but the Heart provides the power that makes them work. Without the stone, Kerma would be visible. Anyone could go there.”

She clenched her hand as it rested on his chest. Ayisha could hear fear building in her voice. “And you know what that would mean! Cutler Beckett and men like him would be lining up to drag us off to the New World in shackles. They have guns. We have spears and bows and arrows. We would fight, but they would win.”

He did not reply, but Ayisha could tell he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Jack,” she said, urgently, “I know that you had to strike a deal with Christophe to get him to come to Kerma. I know you told him you could get him into the labyrinth. He’s a pirate—he wants treasure. I understand that. There are centuries’ worth of it, just sitting there. Letting Christophe have some as the price of getting my father’s bracelet back is worth it. And you can have some too, though I know my brother plans to keep his word and reward you and your crew for freeing him. But the Heart…the Heart must stay with the god, in Zerzura, Jack.”

“I understand,” he said, after a pause.

“Do you?” Her heart was pounding.

Calm down, she thought. Your father said Apedemak picked Jack, because he is a good man. Just keep remembering that.…

“I can deal with Christophe, darlin’,” he said. “He’s human, even if he is a double-dealing bloody snake. That’s not what concerns me. I’m just wondering about those illusions and ‘pitfalls’ Captain Ward’s book mentioned.”

“I can deal with the illusions, Jack, so don’t worry about them.”

“You’re not coming with us, love. It’s apt to be dangerous.”

“It will be a whole lot more dangerous if you don’t have me along!” she said. “Illusion can be very powerful, Jack. A strong enough illusion could lead you astray, even to your deaths. I know much more about this than you do.”

“I know you do.”

“Besides,” she said, “I’ll be the only one that knows the sacred word that will allow us to pass through unharmed. They say the elements of nature, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water will bring down a swift death for those who do not know the word.”

“What word is that?”

“I don’t know it yet, and I wouldn’t tell it to you if I did. Only a few people traditionally know it. The high priest of the god’s temple in Zerzura, and his successor…” Her voice thickened. “Piye is dead, remember? His successor, Nedjeh, will now become high priest, once I report Piye’s fate. He may already have been declared high priest. I’ve been gone almost a year.”

“So this Nedjeh, he would know the word?”

“Yes. And, of course, the pharaoh knew it, and the heir. So my brother must know it.”

Thinking of her recent conversation with Shabako, Ayisha sighed. “Talk about irony. Here I need Shabako’s help, and for him to trust me—just when he thinks I’ve betrayed my heritage.”

“What’s wrong with your brother, love?” he asked.

“Shabako knows, Jack. About us.”

He sat up abruptly. “How did he find out?”

“He came to find me late one night, and I wasn’t there.” She sat up, too, pulling the sheet up, resting her forearms on her knees. “Tarek doesn’t approve, at least I suppose he doesn’t, but he’d never tell on me. Shabako figured it out himself. I should have realized he would.”

“Oh…” he said. He sounded wary, almost apprehensive.

“Relax, Jack,” she said, and she couldn’t help it—her voice had a bitter, sarcastic edge. “I was able to convince him not to have you executed the moment we reach Zerzura.”

“Bloody hell! Did he really threaten—”

“No,” she snapped. “He didn’t.”

After a moment, he said, tentatively, “Should I say anything to him?”

“No. We talked. I pointed out that once we’re back on Kerma, I’ll go back to being a good little princess, and you’ll be gone. Shabako is a good man. He knows how hard it can be, to live the life we lead.” She leaned her head against her arms, her face turned away from him, and sighed. “I’m tired. We should go to sleep.”

There was a long silence.

“Ayisha…” he said, finally.

“Don’t say anything, Jack. There isn’t anything to say.”

“All right, love.”

They lay back down, not touching, and she closed her eyes, hoping for sleep. Her heart ached, but she did not allow herself to weep. There would be time for that later. It’s so strange, she thought. Human nature is so strange…and so greedy. Back when I thought he didn’t care, I would have been wild with joy if he had just held my hand and smiled at me. Now, when I have so much more, I can’t keep myself from wanting the impossible.…

She could tell by his breathing that he had fallen asleep.

Ayisha lay awake, staring into the darkness. Finally, Jack rolled over and threw an arm over her. He was still asleep, but the touch brought comfort. She relaxed, and, finally, she drifted off.

* * *

Jack stood on the bow of the Wicked Wench, with Ayisha, Tarek, and Prince Shabako. La Vipère, as she had done for so many leagues, was sailing in the Wench’s wake, half a mile distant.

A dark gray smudge marked the southeast horizon. It was impossible to say just how far away it lay. It might have been two or three leagues, or two miles, or a mile. Or less. There was something uncanny about that smudge. It was difficult to make the eye focus on it. If Jack hadn’t known otherwise, he might have thought the smudge was a distant bank of very low, dark clouds. Or the last remnants of a gale, heading off into the distance. Or perhaps even a low-lying ridge of rock, or a dark-colored sandbar.

“You’re sure that’s Kerma?” he said, shading his eyes and peering at it. “Looks like…a bank of cloud, or fog. Or maybe a sandbar.”

“Yes,” all three of the Zerzurans said, at almost the same moment. Then they looked at each other and smiled.

“Home,” Shabako added. “I never thought I would see it again.”

Jack raised his spyglass. “Jack,” Ayisha warned, “I wouldn’t do that.”

But Jack had already looked through the eyepiece.

The spyglass magnified the smudge, making it seem quite close, less than a mile away. Up close, it appeared to be a fogbank, but no natural fogbank had ever looked like this. The fog coiled and curled, all shades of gray, with hints of color occasionally swirling through, but they appeared and departed so quickly the human eye could not actually say what color, if any, lurked within the grayness.

Jack had never been seasick in his life, but peering into that cloud made him dizzy, and his stomach lurched. For a moment he felt as though he’d gulped half a bottle of strong rum in one long swallow, following a heavy meal—something he’d done a few times in his life, and lived to regret. Swallowing hard, he lowered the spyglass. His stomach heaved, and clenched. Jack gritted his teeth, and the nausea gradually passed.

“That was fun,” he said.

“I warned you,” she said, hugging her gray shawl around her shoulders.

“Next time, I’ll pay attention,” he promised.

“Jack,” Ayisha said, “you need to warn the crew that they may feel strange, but that they won’t be harmed, and the effects won’t last. Going through the illusion will be far easier on this ship than it will be on the other, because I am aboard this vessel, and I can…muffle the effects of the illusion better for those aboard the Wicked Wench than I can for La Vipère.” She smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “La Vipère will make it through, but they may not enjoy themselves.”

Jack nodded. “All right.”

“When we sail through, Jack, I will need to be at the helm.”

Jack looked at Ayisha incredulously. “No, love. It takes experience to learn how to steer a ship. It’s not just turn the wheel and the ship goes where you want.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to steer, Jack, I just need to stand beside the wheel, touch it with one finger. Will that be acceptable?”

Jack nodded. “Very well.”

He thought for a moment about how dense the swirling grayness had been. “Do you know where we’ll come out?”

“Not exactly, but we’ll be fairly close to Zerzura’s harbor.”

“How close? Are there rocks? Shoals?”

“No, not that close, Jack. Our fishermen have to be able to go out with their boats, so when the spell was first cast, the priests allowed for that. When my party left the island, we had to sail for two or three miles until we reached the illusion. It should work the same in reverse.”

After passing the word among the crew that they were going to be sailing into that unusual fogbank and that they might feel a bit strange, but would be safe, Jack went up to the quarterdeck. Ayisha came behind him.

He checked the traverse board, and looked at Lee Trafford, who was on the helm. “Hold her steady on course, Mr. Trafford. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jack trotted down the steps, then turned and went into his cabin. Locating the correct course, he carefully marked the bearings on his chart, then entered them in his logbook. “There you go, Mr. Beckett. If I decide to give them to you, I’ll have them,” he muttered.

Before going back to the helm, Jack went forward, where Shabako and Tarek stood on the bow.

The gray fog was much closer. It seemed to be reaching out with curling fingers, trying to grab them. Jack wouldn’t have looked through the spyglass at it again for a year’s pay. Once had been enough.

He went back to the quarterdeck.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Mr. Trafford, Miss Ayisha is going to be standing right here as we go through this unusual fogbank I mentioned.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Trafford said.

Ayisha smiled. Since she was wearing her shawl, the expression wasn’t particularly pleasant, but by now the crewmen were used to her. Word had somehow leaked out that she’d cursed Borya’s powder magazine, causing it to explode, and thus saved the ship. When asked if that was true, Jack had merely smiled enigmatically, and said, “If that’s so, I’m glad she was on our side,” and left it at that.

“Mr. Trafford,” she said quietly, “I am going to reach out and just touch the end of a spoke of your wheel, like this, for the next few minutes. I won’t try to turn it. I’m just going to touch it. All right?”

Trafford glanced at Jack, who nodded, and he, in turn, nodded at the woman. “All right, miss.”

Jack was standing on the port side of the quarterdeck. He thought that he’d be able to see the fog approach, by leaning to port a bit and looking past the sails, but it didn’t seem to work that way. One moment they were approaching, and the next they were in it, surrounded by grayness. The fog grasped them, curling its fingers around them, closing its hand so they were enveloped by it. For a moment, Jack fancied that the fog-fist would crush them. But…no. Whatever this grayness was—and it was not true fog—it was as intangible as the weather phenomenon it resembled. And, unlike normal fog, it was not wet. Jack reached over and touched the glass of the lantern, and it felt dry, not slick.

He soon learned not to stare directly into it, but to keep his eyes moving, not letting them dwell in any one place. It was eerie, eldritch, uncanny…all of that, and more. In addition to the grayness surrounding them, visible to their eyes, there seemed to be a faint hum in his head, an unpleasant drone that was occasionally pierced by muffled moans, or wails, or shrieks.…

The worst thing about the sounds was that he kept thinking he recognized the voices—people that he had known, people who were now dead. For just a second he thought he recognized old One Tooth Tommy, but he could make out no words. He also thought he heard Pharaoh Taharka’s voice.

The Wicked Wench plowed forward, as Lee Trafford, white-knuckled, kept her on course, glancing down at the binnacle every so often. Jack thought about asking Ayisha, standing motionless by the ship’s wheel, one finger resting on the nearest spoke, how far they had to travel in this…stuff, but a look at her face and body convinced him that distracting her would be a mistake. She was rigid with tension, the cords standing out on her throat.

Jack had been keeping his eye on the hourglass, and Chamba, who had the duty of turning it. It took fourteen minutes for the sand to run through it, normally. When Jack watched the sand, it seemed to be pouring from the upper part of the glass into the lower part at a normal rate. But his perception of time was strange. He felt as though they’d been stuck in this hellish grayness for half an hour. But a glance at the glass told him that only seven or eight minutes had passed.

At the speed they’d been traveling before they’d entered the fog, that meant that in another two or three minutes, they’d have traveled a mile. How wide was the expanse of fog they had to cross?

Jack watched the sails. The Wench had all plain sail set, and the canvas was properly taut. There was wind blowing, the sails could feel it, and were heeding its push, moving the ship forward. But he couldn’t feel the wind on his face, nor on his hand when he held it up.

He glanced down at Chamba, who was watching him. Jack tried to give the lad an encouraging smile. Chamba attempted to return it, but it looked more like a grimace of terror. Jack wondered what the former slave was seeing, and hearing. Worse things than he was, probably.

The last of the sand ran through the glass. Chamba turned it over.

Lee Trafford glanced sideways at Jack. The captain tried to give the helmsman a reassuring nod.

Hurry up, Jack begged his ship. Hurry up and end, he ordered the illusion-fog.

He looked back at Ayisha, and suddenly saw her draw a deep breath and relax.

And, just like that, the fog was gone. It was like snapping one’s fingers. One moment there, all around them, the next, simply…gone.

Before them lay perfectly ordinary blue water, under a lovely afternoon sky. In the distance, Jack could see the green of trees and vegetation, the gray rock of cliffs, and white specks studding the side of a tall hill. A low range of mountains appeared blue-gray from the distance.

Jack heard Ayisha gasp, and saw her expression—the look of a woman who was not sure whether to laugh or weep with joy. “Zerzura?” he asked.

She nodded, speechless.

“It won’t take us long to sail into the harbor,” Jack said. “You should go put on the clothes you made for your homecoming. And, Ayisha?”

She glanced at him. “Don’t forget to take off your shawl. You want your people to recognize you.”

Ayisha nodded, then she was gone, picking up her cotton skirts and making her way down the ladder.

He watched her hurry across the deck, thinking about their “talk” a week ago. At first Jack had been concerned about how Shabako might react to him, or Tarek, for that matter. But both men appeared unchanged in their demeanor toward him.

With part of his mind, he heard Robby down on the weather deck, ordering the crew to adjust the sails, as Trafford reached the mouth of the harbor, and, after a questioning glance at Jack, turned the Wicked Wench to approach the docks there.

Jack headed down the ladder to look behind them. La Vipère had made it through, also. Jack almost wished that Christophe and his brigantine had been lost in that hellish illusion-fog.

But if they had been, there’d be no way to get into the labyrinth now, would there?

Jack sighed, and wandered over to the railing. He’d read so much about the Heart of Zerzura, fantasized about it, thought about what it would be like to have something that would give him power and wealth. He knew full well that Christophe thought the Heart was going to be his. But Jack would be damned if he’d let the rogue have it.

But if I take it, Ayisha and Tarek and Shabako and all the rest of the people on Kerma will pay the price, he thought.

Jack leaned his elbows on the railing, staring down at the water sliding past without seeing it, his mind in turmoil. For years he’d put himself first, making bloody sure that he looked out for himself—because if Jack Sparrow didn’t look out for himself, it was damned certain that nobody else in this world would. The few times he’d put someone else first, such as the time he’d saved his “innocent” friend Christophe from hanging, look how it had turned out.

Jack rubbed his stubbly jaw, thinking. Maybe he could take the Heart, but not give the EITC the bearings to find Kerma. Then Cutler Beckett wouldn’t be able to find the island, and the people of Kerma would be safe.

A moment later, Jack realized what a ridiculous notion that was. His jaw tightened. Of course Cutler Beckett would come looking, with or without bearings! And without the illusions to conceal it, Kerma would be fully visible, ripe for the taking. He’d seen Beckett’s face, the greed in his eyes. He knew full well the resources the man could bring to bear. Hell, the EITC had more ships than the bloody Royal Navy. He and Mercer would find Kerma, invade the island, strip it of everything valuable, then take any survivors and throw them into the holds of slave ships.

Jack had a sudden vision of Ayisha in rags, her lovely face terrified, being dragged into the hold of a ship by brutal men. They’d throw her down and snap rusty iron manacles, stained with the blood of the previous miserable wretch, around those delicate, shapely ankles.

He shook his head hard, trying to drive that vision out of his mind, but he knew every time he closed his eyes, it would be there. Ayisha would be taken back across the Atlantic, and she’d be sold to some owner, and even if the man weren’t a brute who’d lash her for fun, he’d still want her. Any man would. He might share her with his overseer.…

Jack thought about the night she’d slipped into his cabin. She’d been scared, but resolute, determined to seize a bit of happiness for herself, after all she’d been through. She’d come into his arms trustingly, because she wanted to be there. It had been her first time, too.…

Afterward, she’d lain in his arms, softly whispering to him in her own language. He’d a pretty good idea of what she was saying, but she hadn’t burdened him by telling him in English.

“Damn it!” he muttered, clenching his first and slamming it down onto the rail. “Bloody hell!”

“Jack? Are you all right?”

He started at the sound of a familiar voice, and turned to find Robby there. A quick glance at their surroundings showed him that the Wench was gliding up to the dock.

Cradling his bruised hand, Jack stared across the docks, seeing the buildings of the city as they ascended the hillside, many of them round, others rectangular, none of them looking even faintly European in shape. Tall, pointed obelisks thrust up between the white stone edifices.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“It is,” Robby said. “What was it you said the other name for Zerzura was?”

“‘The Shining City.’”

“Pretty good description, I’d say,” Robby said.

At the far end of the wharf, a contingent of armed warriors marched toward the Wicked Wench. They were carrying spears and shields and wore swords on their belts. Another contingent of guards carried bows and arrows. They marched with military precision, tall, proud men, wearing armored bronze breastplates and skullcap helmets.

Jack thought about what just one broadside from the Wicked Wench’s guns would do to those precise, disciplined ranks.

He heard a loud male voice from behind him, speaking Kerman in tones that sounded like some kind of formal proclamation. Tarek’s voice.

Jack turned and saw the three Zerzurans walking across the weather deck. Tarek came first, to clear the way. The prince and princess followed, side by side. Although their feet were bare, they walked proudly, clad in the garments Ayisha had made for them. Their golden bracelets shone on their right wrists. Amenirdis wore her gazelle earrings. Their pleated white linen garments were striking against their dark skin. Prince Shabako’s sleeveless tunic and short kilt had bright embroidery on it, but those of Tarek and the princess were unadorned.

Crewmembers murmured in shock, pointing at Amenirdis, who appeared as her true self.

Lucius Featherstone and his new best friend, Etienne de Ver, braced to attention as she walked toward them, and as she drew even with them, they threw her their snappiest, best salutes. Smiling at them, she nodded graciously.

Jack stepped aside as the two royals and their guard walked up to the rail of the ship and stood there, waiting to be recognized.

The guards continued marching toward them. The man in the forefront, whom Jack took to be an officer, reached a point even with the bow of the ship. Then, suddenly, the man’s eyes widened, and he stopped so abruptly his troops bumped into him.

The sounds of marching feet died away, leaving silence.

The officer made a peremptory hand gesture, and his men halted, arranging themselves in precise rows. The commander strode forward alone, walking along the dock, until he reached the point opposite where the prince and princess stood, facing him across the short gap of water. He stared at them for a long moment, then suddenly he dropped to one knee, bowing his head and holding both arms away from his body in what was clearly a ceremonial gesture to a superior.

Jack let out his breath in a relieved sigh.

Several hours after their first meeting on the steps of the royal palace, Princess Amenirdis stood with her mother, Queen Tiyy, in the doorway to her own suite of rooms. Wrapped in a loose robe of linen, she had just come from her adjoining bathing chamber.

She looked around her at the outer room, the one that served as what the English would call a parlor. After growing accustomed to English homes for months, then the ship, her chamber seemed strange. Benches lined the wall. Low tables and stools sat on finely woven mats. The walls were whitewashed, painted with scenes of a pool containing colorful fish, surrounded by benches and trees. The columns that held up the ceiling were carved and painted to resemble lotuses. The door to her left led out onto her private courtyard, with its lotus pool, its palm trees, and low benches where one could sit and appreciate the flowers and plants.

The chamber behind her was the bathing room, and never had a bath felt so good, after so many months of having to wash in a basin. Amenirdis had stood on a block of limestone, as servants bustled back and forth, pouring jars of water over her. The water ran down the sloping floor, and out a drain. After they had bathed her, the servants had rubbed her body with scented oils, clucking over the roughness of her hands and feet.

It was difficult to believe she was really here. Amenirdis glanced at her mother and saw that Queen Tiyy felt much as she did. Smiling shyly, her mother reached over to touch her daughter’s arm—a light, fleeting touch. The queen needed to touch her children, Amenirdis knew, to reassure herself that they were really there, and that she was not dreaming.

“Hurry, daughter, the homecoming feast begins soon. I will summon a handmaiden to help you dress.”

Queen Tiyy clapped her hands. One of Amenirdis’s waiting women, Sennuwy, hurried into the room, bowing and praising Apedemak that her mistress was home.

Amenirdis froze, as she remembered that Sennuwy, like many of her servitors, was a slave. She found herself unable to meet the woman’s eyes.

“Hurry and dress your mistress, girl,” the queen commanded. “Paint her face. Make sure she wears her good sandals with the golden beads. And the golden girdle for her dress.”

Sennuwy began bustling around, fetching Amenirdis’s clothing, the kohl for her eyes, the pins and woven band to confine her own hair beneath her formal wig with its many gold and colored beads.

Queen Tiyy ignored the presence of the slave as she gestured at the chamber. “I knew you would return, daughter. You promised you would, and you have never broken your word. I just did not think it would be so long. But I never lost hope. I never lost faith. Everything is exactly as you left it.”

Amenirdis nodded. “Many things happened to delay me, Mother, as I searched for my brother.”

“I listened to the two of you today and could scarce believe what I was hearing, my daughter!” the queen exclaimed. “Captured and sold into slavery! Your brother, too! What you have been through—I cannot even imagine it. And to discover the fate of your father—how can the gods have received his spirit without the proper rites? We must have a memorial. But how can we, with no body?” The queen wrung her hands.

“I believe the gods will understand, Mother,” the princess said. “We will simply explain to our people that father was lost at sea.” Shedding the loose bathing robe, she raised her arms so Sennuwy could slip her gown over her head. The slave indicated the princess should sit on a low, backless stool to have her sandals laced on.

Once she was shod, Amenirdis stood again, arms held out, as the slave placed the golden girdle around her slender form and clasped it. Her white linen garment was elaborately draped and pleated—far more so than the simple one she had sewn aboard the Wicked Wench.

The slave indicated the dressing table, and the princess walked over to it and sat down. Only her private knowledge that Sennuwy would, in the fullness of time, be free enabled her to accept these services from the woman. She smiled at her, murmuring “thank you,” startling the poor girl so much she nearly dropped the heavy wig.

Amenirdis felt the wig weigh her head down as the slave adjusted it. Far longer than her own hair, the elaborately decorated black strands reached below her shoulders. It had been so long since she had dressed like this that she had forgotten how heavy the wig was.

Obediently, she closed her eyes as the slave took out the containers of kohl to line and shadow her eyes. “I don’t see why you wanted to invite those outlanders to the feast,” Queen Tiyy fussed. “They are so strange looking! Their clothes! Their skin! Ugly!”

“Jack and Robby and Chamba helped save me and Shabako, Mother,” Amenirdis said, her voice clipped. “They are our guests tonight, and we will give them all honor.”

The queen looked surprised at her daughter’s unaccustomed flash of temper. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course. I am sorry, daughter. I am just in a dither, hardly knowing what I am saying.”

“I understand,” Amenirdis replied, after Sennuwy finished rouging her lips. “It has been a strange day for all of us.”

“Done, Your Highness,” Sennuwy said. “Let me fetch your jewelry.”

Amenirdis sat still as the woman clasped a bracelet on her left wrist, then an armlet around her upper arm. The gold, lapis, carnelian, and silver necklace, with its enameled pectoral, followed. The slave held up long, heavy gold earrings, but the princess shook her head and touched the gazelle ones, her father’s gift. “I will keep these.” Sennuwy handed her several elaborate rings, and the princess slipped them on.

A moment later, seeing Sennuwy approach with the heavy, formal crown featuring a crescent held by two stylized ram’s horns, Amenirdis shook her head. “Not that one. It will make my head ache, Sennuwy. Just the slender gold circlet with the jeweled uraeus, please.”

The woman gave her another surprised glance as she darted off. Was I so rude, before? Amenirdis wondered. Did I treat those who waited on me like things, rather than people?

Her people did not have mirrors like the beautiful clear ones that hung in Mr. Beckett’s house. But a large sheet of polished brass was mounted on the wall. Crown in place, Amenirdis regarded herself. A beautiful stranger stared back at her. A royal princess of Zerzura.

Ayisha is truly dead, she thought, sadly.

* * *

Jack took some time to get his crew settled in for the evening. Shabako had promised him that the crew of the Wicked Wench would be permitted supervised shore leave in Zerzura, starting on the morrow, so long as the sailors slept aboard their vessel. Jack had rowed over to La Vipère after the prince and princess had departed, and had waved his parlay flag at the brigantine.

This time, he didn’t have to argue or convince Christophe to meet with him on neutral territory. The rogue pirate had a boat lowered immediately, and rowed over to join him.

“What was that we sailed through, Jacques?” he asked. “It was some kind of sorcery, wasn’t it?” His voice was steady, but there were lines on his face that Jack didn’t remember seeing before, and his eyes looked hollow in his face. If Jack had heard the voices of the dead as they passed through the fog-illusion, what had Christophe seen and heard, after all the slaughter he’d committed? No wonder he appeared shaken.

“Yes, it was magic. Very strong magic. That fog stuff was the illusion that protects the island,” Jack replied, shortly. “Listen carefully, Christophe. I’m not going to repeat myself. Anchor La Vipère here in the harbor, and you and your men stay aboard her. If any of your crew of cutthroats goes ashore, our whole deal is off, savvy? So control your men.”

“I understand. When do we go into the labyrinth?”

“My contact needs tomorrow to prepare,” Jack said. “I believe we’ll go early the day after tomorrow. If there’s any change from that, I’ll row over and let you know. Otherwise, I’ll come for you in a boat at dawn, savvy?”

“I understand.”

“And, Christophe, just in case your men get any ideas about going on a little unauthorized shore leave, let them know that my crew will be watching them. I have a couple of sharpshooters in my crew that can—and will—pick off anyone that launches a boat. I’ve ordered them to shoot to kill, so you are fairly warned. Savvy?”

“Yes,” Christophe said.

The French pirate wasn’t arguing or trying to charm Jack anymore, for which Jack was grateful. It was all he could manage to be businesslike with the rogue. “Good,” Jack said. “And, speaking of firearms, my contact told me that pistols will not fire in the labyrinth.”

Christophe opened his mouth. Jack raised a hand to forestall his question. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. It’s part of the magic. So come armed with your sword only. I’ll bring any equipment my contact indicates we’ll need.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And, of course, bring the bracelet.”

“I understand.”

“Very well.” Jack picked up his oars.

“You wouldn’t want to come aboard for a drink, would you, Jacques?” Christophe was looking at him hopefully. “I must admit, I have missed the old times we shared. Can’t we let the past belong to the past?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “No, I wouldn’t care for a drink, Christophe. Now row yourself back to your ship. That warning about the sharpshooters applies to you, too, make no mistake.”

“Ah, but Jacques, if your men shot me dead, I might fall in to the water, wearing the bracelet, and what would you do then, eh?” Christophe said, doing a good imitation of his old cheeky grin.

“I’d just wait a couple of extra days for your body to rise to the surface, then I’d cut the bracelet off your swollen corpse,” Jack said, coolly, though anger bubbled inside him. This time around he hadn’t brought his pistol, and that was probably for the best, he decided, because if he had, he’d have used it right then. “I’ve handled corpses before. I was the one that found Tommy after you murdered that harmless old sot, savvy? At any rate, I’m leaving now, Christophe. You’d better be back aboard La Vipère by the time I reach the deck of my ship.”

Christophe grabbed his oars and began to row, making good time.

After Jack reached the Wicked Wench, he went into his cabin and poured himself a stiff jolt of rum, then forced himself to sip it slowly, rather than tossing it back. That helped.

A short while later, there came a tap on the door. “Who’s there?”

“Robby, and Chamba’s with me.”

“Come in.”

The first mate entered, with Chamba on his heels. He held out a stiff piece of parchment-like material to Jack. “We’ve got an invitation.”

“From whom?”

“The queen, ostensibly, though obviously Ayisha must have written it.”

“I didn’t know she could write English,” Jack said, impressed. “You taught her to write, as well as read, Chamba?”

“Yes, Cap’n.”

Jack fingered the document, as he read it. “This must be papyrus,” he said. “All right, lads, Tarek will come down to the ship to fetch us by sunset, to escort us to this homecoming feast, so we’d better get ready. Chamba, do you have a coat, or a waistcoat, you can wear?”

“No, Cap’n. But don’t worry. His Highness, Prince Shabako, he told me ’bout this earlier, said there was sure to be some kind of celebration when he got home. He said he be sending me some clothes for tonight. He got lots, he said. Remember, we be about the same size.”

“Well, I guess you’re all taken care of, then,” Jack said. “You became friends with the prince during our voyage?”

“Yes, Cap’n, we did. He’s been teachin’ me to speak his language.”

“You speak Kerman? Or is it Zerzuran? Good, because we’ll need someone to translate for us tonight.” Jack glanced at Robby. “I suppose we’ll be stared at as though we’re in a wild beast show.”

Robby looked rueful. “I was just thinking that.”

Jack stood up. “I guess we’d better get ready, then.”

Jack hurried through his preparations, so he was up on the weather deck of his ship, washed, shaved, combed, and wearing his best, at least thirty minutes before sunset.

While he waited, he paced the deck of the Wicked Wench restlessly, thinking about the labyrinth that awaited him. He hoped Ayisha—no, Amenirdis, now—would be able to find out that sacred word, whatever it might be. He didn’t fancy having to tangle with the kinds of creatures that tended to inhabit magical labyrinths. Finally he slowed down, then stopped, running his fingers absently over the embroidery on the cuffs of his coat. Damn it all, he missed her, and she’d been gone only a few hours. The thought of sleeping alone tonight, after the feast, was depressing.

Robby joined him as he stood at the rail, watching the sun sink. His first mate had carefully brushed his best coat and hat. His blond curls were tied back, and his face was scrubbed and freshly shaved. Jack gave him an approving nod. “Very nice, Robby. I don’t think we’ll disgrace jolly old England.”

Robby laughed. “Whoever could have predicted we’d be here, getting ready to eat dinner with royalty that have lived on this island, as their ancestors lived, since long before Our Lord was born?”

“Your lord, Robby,” Jack reminded him.

His first mate smiled. “Any time you want to borrow my Bible when you run out of reading material, just say the word, Jack.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, mate. I’d rather spend me leisure time, as little as there is of it, thinking about what I’m going to buy with my share of what Prince Shabako gives us—as well as anything I can carry out of the labyrinth.”

“What will be the first thing you buy?” Robby asked. “I’m betting I know.”

“Go ahead, guess,” Jack said.

“We’re standing on it,” Robby said. “You’ll try to get Mr. Beckett to sell you the Wicked Wench.”

“You know me too well, mate.” Jack glanced at the lowering sun. “It won’t be easy. I’ll have to do it through a solicitor, I expect. Set up some kind of fake shipping company or something. Beckett certainly won’t want to sell her to me when I come back from Zerzura, telling him I never found Kerma, and that I don’t have the bearings to the island.”

“Is that what you’re planning to do, Jack? Lie to Beckett?”

“The thought has crossed me mind, Robby,” Jack said, lightly. “Mr. Beckett rather rubbed me the wrong way, last time we spoke. He made some threats. I don’t like threats.”

“But Jack,” Robby said, and there was suddenly fear in his blue eyes, “you’ll have to give him the bearings. You can’t just lie to a man like Beckett and expect him to swallow it.”

“I’m a pretty convincing liar, Robby,” Jack reminded him.

“Yes, but Jack, you’re not the only one who knows the bearings. Frank and I can navigate. Not as well as you can, but we manage. I doubt I could lie convincingly to Beckett, Jack. And with that thug Mercer standing by…” He shook his head and swallowed. “I wouldn’t even try.”

“I know. And no matter what I decide to do, Robby, I’ll not expect you to lie. Or Frank, either. Not to Beckett, and certainly not to Mercer. That brute scares me, too, with those black gloves.” Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure how it will all work out, Robby. But I trust Amenirdis. We discussed this problem, and I told her my concerns about Beckett and Mercer.”

“What can she do about it? No illusion will help this, and she can’t blow them up—can she?” Robby stared at him doubtfully.

“No,” Jack said, with a wry smile. “Though it would be handy if she could, wouldn’t it? I can’t tell you exactly what she’s planning, but she swore to me, by her god, that neither you, nor Frank, nor any other crewmember would suffer or come to harm because they rescued her or Shabako or Tarek. I have no idea how she plans to arrange this, but I believe her, mate.”

Robby considered this. “All right, Jack. After seeing what she did to Borya’s ship, I have considerable trust in the lady too.”

Jack nodded. “It’s possible Beckett will fire me. And if he does, Robby, I’ll be glad to see the last of Calabar. When I first met Cutler Beckett, I thought he was such an upstanding gentleman.” He shook his head. “In his own way, Beckett’s as bad as Borya. He just does it all without getting his hands dirty.”

“I’m surprised he let you sail off without sending Mercer along, to keep you in line,” Robby mused.

“I think he did send someone to report to him, Robby.”

Robby thought for a moment. “Newton? The carpenter’s mate who showed up so conveniently?”

“Yep. I wondered about him from the beginning, but I really began to wonder when I noticed that every time the man went on shore leave, he was posting letters. It’s always possible Newton was writing to his mum, I suppose, but I’ve never yet met a sailor that wrote to his dear old mum from every port of call.”

“If my mum was still alive, I’d send her letters from every port, Jack.”

“Robby, mate, don’t take this wrong, but you’re…not your run-of-the-mill sailor.”

“True. Getting press-ganged isn’t the same thing as choosing a profession. Before that happened, I’d always figured I’d be a farmer, like my dad. I liked the farm.”

Jack shuddered. “No offense, Robby, but I’d rather be keelhauled than live in one place, mucking out cow byres and staring at the stern of a bloody ox while wrestling a plow through the mud from dawn till sunset.”

Robby chuckled, as did Jack. This was an old dispute, one they’d hashed over many times, without reaching any solution other than to agree to disagree. “If you want the Wicked Wench, Jack, you’ll figure out a way,” the first mate said. “You’ve loved this ship since the first moment you saw her. I’ve never seen you look at a woman the way you look at her.”

“She’s a good ship, Robby,” Jack said, running a finger along the railing, as though the wood were soft, yielding flesh.

Robby smiled. “I think you and the Wench were meant to be together, Jack. One of those pairs people say in the same breath. Like…Adam and Eve. King Arthur and Excalibur. Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Jack Sparrow and the Wicked Wench.”

Jack looked at him in surprise. “What a romantic, Robby! Never knew you had it in you. Before you know it, you’ll be writing ruddy poetry.”

Robby shrugged. “Some things are just obvious, Jack. The Wicked Wench is like your pearl of great price.”

“Pearl?”

“It’s from the Bible, Jack. A parable Jesus told his disciples, about a merchant who saw a perfect pearl, the most wonderful, beautiful one in the whole world, but very costly. The merchant had to have this thing that was so perfect, so he sold everything he had so he could possess it. It’s in the Gospel according to Matthew.”

Jack took a long look at the ship, from bow to stern, then he nodded and smiled at his friend. “By Jove, I know just how the chap felt, Robby. Most of the Bible stuff you tell me about doesn’t make much sense to me, but this story does. A pearl of great price…that’s this ship, to me.”

Robby shook his head, slowly. “No…no, Jack. That’s not what the story means. It’s a parable about how one gets into Heaven.”

Jack waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t ruin it, Robby. I like the story! First Bible story you ever told me that I liked. Be happy, mate.”

“But, Jack—”

“Chamba!” Jack exclaimed. “Look at you!”

Robby turned. Chamba came across the deck toward them. He wore a finely tanned leather kilt, pale golden in color, with a long-sleeved tunic made of linen, embroidered with blue thread. A pleated blue mantle covered his right shoulder, hanging below his waist, which was cinched with a broad belt, decorated with copper and gold. A wide collar of finely worked links of gold and copper hung around his neck. On his head he wore a closely fitting cap.

“How do I look?” Chamba asked.

“You look like the prince,” Robby said, simply.

“These are his clothes,” Chamba said. He looked down at the kilt a bit dubiously. “You sure I don’t look strange?”

“You look great,” Jack said. “We’re the ones that are going to look strange. You’ll fit right in.”

“Here’s Tarek, come to get us,” Robby said.

They walked up the hill as evening fell, along streets paved with stone. Some of the circular houses with roofs like flattened cones bordered their way, and they could glimpse gardens and plantings behind them.

As they walked, the buildings grew larger and became rectangular. Tarek pointed to an imposing three-storied one. “The Temple of Apedemak. I was a temple guard, before I became bodyguard to the princess.”

Jack stared at the group of massive white stone buildings, linked by covered porticos. The temple complex was composed of rectangles, some spreading out along the ground, others going up into the air. An enormous gateway stood before it. “Impressive,” the captain said. And beneath those buildings, he thought, is the labyrinth…and the treasure.…

Past the temple, toward the top of the hill, another large rectangular building stood, perhaps half the size of the huge temple. Carved white columns supported an overhanging, flat roof. Tarek pointed to it. “The royal palace.”

Next to the rectangular building stood another, low, circular one. It appeared to be made of whitewashed brick, rather than stone. Tarek indicated it. “That is the old palace, which was kept to house many of the guards and servants.”

“Do you live there?”

“No, I sleep in the palace itself, in the antechamber of the princess’s bedchamber. So I will be able to defend her in case of attack.”

Jack sighed. Forget trying to sneak into the royal bedchamber tonight.…

When they entered the palace, Tarek led them up several series of ramps. They emerged onto the broad roof, which was taken up with large, scattered cushions, woven mats, low stools, and small, low tables. A waist-high wall enclosed the roof area, and benches ran along it.

There was a crowd of people already present, excitedly chattering away. As Jack, Robby, and Chamba entered, the buzz of conversation ceased, as all the guests and not a few of the bustling servitors stopped what they were doing, turning to stare at them. The moon shone overhead, half full, and torches flickered at the tops of tall metal stands.

“Please, forgive their lapse in manners,” Tarek said softly. “They have never seen white persons before.”

Jack glanced sideways at Robby. “Bring in the wild beasts,” he muttered.

After a long, uncomfortable minute, the other guests seemed to recall that they were staring. They abruptly turned away and resumed talking, all the while stealing surreptitious glances at the newcomers.

Jack smelled roasting meat, and his stomach rumbled. “How soon do we eat? I’m a bit peckish.”

“As soon as the…” Tarek paused, then addressed a quick question to Chamba, who murmured a reply. “…the butler announces the arrival of the royals, we shall be seated, and as soon as the royals take their seats at the head table, the food will be served.”

“Any chance of getting a drink?” Jack said, looking around for a barkeep of some kind.

“I will see what can be arranged,” Tarek said. “Wait here.”

Soon enough, he was back with a bottle and three cups. Jack examined the cup. It was fired red pottery, marked with a black line. It was beautiful ware. Tarek poured for the three of them. It was a heady, dark wine, not too sweet. Jack sipped appreciatively.

Guests continued to arrive, and everyone had to stop and gawk for a moment at the strangers. After his first cup of wine, Jack started raising his cup in a smiling toast to those who stared, which inevitably made them look down and scurry away.

“You’re incorrigible,” Robby whispered.

Jack shrugged. “Can’t help it, mate.”

At long last, the “butler” called out an announcement in loud tones, and Jack caught the names of the royal family. Their little party headed toward the tables. “Where do we sit, Tarek?” Jack asked.

“The princess told me where to seat you, and asked me to apologize for her that she cannot sit with you. Follow me.”

Tarek led them to one of the rows of tables, not far from the head table. Jack craned his neck, wondering where the princess was, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of her.

They sat at the low tables, cross-legged on cushions. Only after the other guests had stopped milling around and taken their seats did Jack get a good view of the head table, and the royals who stood near the wall, waiting. At a nod from the master of ceremonies, they approached their seats.

He saw Shabako, and Queen Tiyy, and—

Amenirdis? Jack’s eyes widened.

She was beautiful, but not beautiful like the girl he’d held in his arms just last night. That girl had been warm and alive, by turns laughing and passionate and pensive. This girl was every inch a princess, from the crown on her elaborate wig down to her elegant sandals. She was like a beautiful painted doll that had been given the ability to move on her own. Lovely, graceful, and elegant, yes, she was all those things. But her painted mouth did not smile. She appeared as remote as the moon.

Jack turned as he felt Robby bump his arm. “Look at that necklace the princess is wearing, Jack,” the first mate whispered. “There’s enough gold just at that table to buy the Wicked Wench.”

Jack gave him a quick, baffled glance. “What are you getting at? I should steal it?”

Robby blinked. “No! I’ve just never seen anything so…rich.”

Jack chuckled. “Look around us, Robby. They’re all wearing more than we make in a year.”

At long last, a servant came by and placed a plate before him. Jack watched the other guests, studying what was considered proper manners. Surprisingly, the Zerzurans hadn’t developed spoons or forks. Each person had his or her own knife, to cut food with, and luckily, Jack had his sailor’s knife with him. Once the food was cut, it was scooped onto pieces of rather spongy bread, which the guests then rolled up and ate.

Jack sampled the fare, and decided that Zerzuran cuisine compared well with others he’d tried all over the world. Some of the flavors didn’t appeal to him, but most of the food was quite tasty. Servitors circulated, offering assorted dishes: different kinds of roasted and barbecued meats, delicate fish steamed in large leaves, some kind of greens Jack had never encountered before, honey and spices sprinkled over roasted yams…the dishes just kept coming, all of them served on that beautiful, delicate pottery. Wine servitors came around every so often, pouring wine out of vessels with spouts molded to resemble animal heads.

They were halfway through the meal before any of the other guests got up enough nerve to speak to Jack, though Chamba had been chattering away since they’d first sat down. His closest neighbor, a young man who wore the skin of some kind of spotted beast thrown over his shoulder, said, by way of Tarek, “Captain Sparrow, greetings. I am Psamtick, one of the pharaoh’s scribes. How do you like our city?”

“Very beautiful, mate,” Jack replied. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Do they have large cities where you come from, Captain Sparrow?”

“Yes, they do,” Jack said, wondering what Psamtick would think of London, or Paris, or Singapore. The servitor came by again, and ladled a serving of beef—Jack was fairly sure it was beef—mixed with lentils, in a sauce, onto Jack’s plate. He had to use his knife as a scoop to get it onto the bread. Picking up the rolled bread in his fingers, he took a bite. It was spicy, but not scorching. He noted that Zerzurans did not eat with their mouths open, and wondered what Cutler Beckett would make of this gathering.

“And what is your country called, Captain Sparrow?” Psamtick asked.

“It’s called England,” Jack said. “It’s an island too,” he added, as an afterthought.

Psamtick seemed surprised to hear this, but pleased. He smiled politely at Jack as he chewed, and Jack returned it.

By the time the meal ended and they all rose, Jack worried that perhaps the queen and her children would simply disappear, and he wouldn’t get to see Amenirdis at all. But she nodded significantly at Tarek, and the bodyguard escorted them to the royal family.

“Jack!” Amenirdis said. Her eyes, outlined with heavy kohl, looked enormous.

“Hello, Your Highness,” Jack said. “How is the homecoming going?”

“Fine.” She looked at him. “You look very nice, Jack. Beautiful jacket and waistcoat.”

“Thank you. So do you, love. Every inch a princess.”

Amenirdis looked down. When she raised her eyes, the remote expression was gone. The woman he’d known last night was back. “Jack, to be honest, it’s been difficult.”

“It’s bound to be,” Jack said. “Things change.”

“That’s the problem,” she said. “Things here are exactly the same. I’m the one that has changed. I’m not used to…this…anymore.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand that encompassed her hair and clothing. “I wish I could run away. I mean, sail away…with you and the Wicked Wench.”

She said it half-jokingly, but Jack looked into those heavily outlined eyes, and saw the woman he’d known looking back at him, and knew that, for this one moment at least, she was serious.

“I would love that,” Jack said. “But you know as well as I do that isn’t going to happen, love.”

She nodded, biting her rouged lower lip. “I do know it.”

Amenirdis sighed, then seemed to pull herself together. “I have to stay, and help my brother. Tomorrow, he will be crowned. That will take place in the temple, and no outsiders will be permitted. But then he will address the people from the balcony of the temple, and I hope you will come to see that. Tarek will bring you, if you would like to be there.”

“All right,” Jack agreed.

“It will be an historical event for my people. Do not reveal this to anyone, please, but during this address tomorrow, Shabako will tell the people of Kerma that, a year from tomorrow, all slaves on Kerma will be freed.”

Jack nodded. “Makes perfect sense to me, love. Good that he’s giving himself time to work out all the details.”

She smiled slightly. “Actually, I will be responsible for much of that work. My brother intends to name me grand vizier. That is our term for what your people would call a chief advisor, something of that sort.”

“Prime minister, we call them in England,” Jack said. “Congratulations. You will do a splendid job, I am sure of it.”

“Thank you. I will do my best, Jack. It is my chance to set things right. It was a shock to me today to encounter my own slaves again.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll wager it was, love.”

Amenirdis nodded. “Believe me, the irony was not lost on me. But Jack, I will do a good job. Before too long, they’ll be free, I keep reminding myself of that. I have many ideas for improving my homeland. For one thing, I believe we will try to send some of our best and brightest young people off the island, to go to school. I am not sure where people of our color can be educated, though. Perhaps we will need to hire tutors for them.”

“What do you want them to learn?”

Her eyes were as hard as bronze in the flickering light of the torches. “How to make black powder, Jack. We’ll also need to know how to make tempered steel, using iron and carbon. We have iron here on the island. We can mine more of it. And, once the iron is taken from the ground, we will need to know how to cast it into cannons. How to make pistols and muskets.” Her voice was resolute. “One day, perhaps, the Heart will be stolen, or be lost. If that day ever comes, we must be ready. We must be able to defend ourselves. There are too many Cutler Becketts in your world.”

Jack nodded. “I know you can do it, love.”

She nodded. “I will, Jack. So much depends on it.”

Jack looked away, and took a deep breath. His eyes fell on Shabako, resplendent in the torchlight, and he smiled wryly. “You’re the one should be pharaoh, love,” he said. “Your father was right to be proud of you.”

Tears stood in her eyes for a moment, then she glanced away, blinking them back. “I can accomplish more as grand vizier, Jack,” she said. “If I were pharaoh, I’d have to worry about getting married and providing an heir. This way, I can concentrate on being the power behind the throne.”

Amenirdis added, after a second, “And it’s not like my brother is lacking in intelligence. He is simply…young. He survived as a slave on a sugar plantation for years. Only someone strong and determined could do that.”

“Right you are, love.”

“Oh!” She looked up at him. “I must tell you—there is bad news. My brother does not know the sacred word to use in the labyrinth. He has given his blessing for the mission, though, and promised to pass me his bracelet tomorrow, after he is crowned.”

“What about old Piye’s successor? Does he know it?”

She shook her head. “More bad news. Nedjeh was driving up on the cliff road about six months ago, when the wheel came off his chariot. He was killed, and he had not named a successor, because they were still hoping that Piye would return.”

“You’ll have to try and figure out the word, then. Surely you have some idea as to what it might be?”

“Some,” she said. “It will be an ancient word, from the time when my people left Old Kerma behind. It’s bound to be an important word, one that has meaning. The name of a pharaoh, or a queen would be my first guess.”

“That makes sense. Why don’t you make a list of—”

Jack broke off as a voice spoke from behind him, urgent, peremptory. He turned to see Queen Tiyy standing there. Her meaning was clear to Jack, even without a translation. Her Majesty wanted her daughter to stop wasting time with this common, no-account sea captain, and go talk to important people—their guests. Sweeping off his tricorne, Jack smiled and bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said.

The queen inclined her head graciously. “Please translate what I say, love,” Jack said, to Amenirdis.

“I will, Jack.”

“Your Majesty, I apologize for taking up your royal daughter’s attention. I know she has guests to attend to. I shall take my leave of you. Thank you for such a lovely evening.”

When Amenirdis had finished translating, Jack bowed again. The queen’s expression thawed a bit. She studied Jack’s face, then nodded, and spoke.

“My mother says thank you for your understanding.” The princess gave Jack a sidelong look, and added, “She also says you have the instincts to be a courtier, and a very charming smile.”

Jack glanced up. “Is that good, or bad?”

The princess smiled faintly. “A little of both,” she said.

Jack bowed to Amenirdis. “I wish…” He stopped himself. Saying anything would just make things worse. He nodded, and went to find his companions. It had been an eventful day.

The following afternoon, Jack stood among the crowd of Kermans who had gathered to hear their newly crowned pharaoh’s first address to his people. Chamba stood beside him, once more dressed in Kerman regalia.

Suddenly there was movement at the opening to the balcony. The crowd began to cheer as the new pharaoh emerged. He wore a vest that was open down the front, and a broad, jeweled collar. The skin of a lion was draped over one shoulder, and on his head was the crown bearing the twin uraei, the double cobras. The cheers of the crowd grew in volume as he stood there, his mother on his left, his sister on his right. Finally, Shabako raised his hands for quiet.

Jack listened as the pharaoh spoke, and Chamba translated:

“People of Kerma. My fellow citizens, and my subjects. I come before you today, crowned as your new pharaoh. Today is a day for joy and rejoicing throughout our land. After nearly four years away from Kerma, living among strangers in foreign lands, I have returned to accept my father’s crown. My sister, the Princess Amenirdis, rescued me from those who would have kept me from my homeland, and the lion throne.”

He tugged his sister forward as the crowd cheered for her.

“This week there will be rejoicing, as I make my first royal progress throughout our land. I look forward to sharing that joy with all of my people. But today is also a day for sober reflection. There is a new world out there, and I have seen it, as has my sister. The outside world has changed greatly, which is not surprising, but many of these changes are disturbing, nay, frightening. In the coming months, I will be traveling among you, talking to my people, so all of Kerma will know what my sister and I observed. There are fearful winds blowing through the world, my people. Kerma must be strong and prepared. To that end, we will need all our citizens to work together. When I say ‘citizens’ I speak not only of landholders—free men and women. I speak of everyone on our island.

Everyone. I say it again…everyone.”

There were murmurs from the crowd, now, and puzzled expressions.

“My people, to make Kerma as strong as it must be, in order to keep our island safe and secure, I intend to strengthen the spirit of our homeland by making a radical alteration in our society. Hear me, O my people. My first royal proclamation is this: One year from today, all slaves on this island shall be declared free. All of them.”

The people of Kerma were listening intently, silently, now. Many faces bore grim expressions of disapproval.

“You may ask why I am doing this. Enduring what I have, I can do nothing else! My people, while I was gone from you, I was captured and sold into slavery. For years I labored without reward or benefit, enduring degradation, humiliation, and privation. I was starved, and I was beaten. I was lashed. Witness for yourselves.”

The pharaoh threw off his cloak, then slipped off the vest, standing bare-chested. Shabako turned, so his back was to the crowd. Jack could see, even from his vantage point in the back, that Shabako’s back didn’t appear quite normal. He was reminded of that time he’d had to dress the wounds on Chamba’s back.

A collective gasp arose from the crowd.

The pharaoh waited until all had had a chance to see, then he faced them once more, slipping his vest back on.

“My people, I wish to reassure you. I want the best for Kerma. I am not doing this because of some personal agenda. I am doing it because, after long consideration, I have decided that this change will be the best thing for our homeland. Change can be frightening, this I know. But it can also mean a rebirth. And that, my people, is what Kerma shall have! Rebirth! A new spirit of freedom! Rejoice with me today—begin work with me tomorrow. May Apedemak bless his people, and keep our Heart strong.”

With that, he turned and left the balcony.

Some of the crowd cheered. Others began to shout indignantly.

Jack and Chamba slipped out of the crowd and headed back to the Wicked Wench.

“Inspiring speech,” Jack said, as they headed down the hill.

“It was, Cap’n,” Chamba said. After a moment, he added, “Captain Sparrow, I been meaning to tell you something. Now be as good a time as any, I reckon.”

“All right,” Jack said.

“Cap’n, when you leave, I won’t be coming with you. Shabako, he told me what he be planning last week. I been thinking about it hard, and I know what I need to do. So yesterday, I asked him to let me stay here, on Kerma, and help him free the slaves. Shabako said I can stay.”

Jack sighed. He’d been rather expecting this. “I’ll be sorry to lose you, Chamba,” he said. “You’ve been a good and reliable hand. But I respect your decision, lad.”

“Thank you, Cap’n Sparrow. Don’t worry that I be forgettin’ you. I won’t.”

“I won’t, either.”

They walked on, together, toward the ship.

That night, long after sunset, Jack was sitting in his cabin, still fully dressed, trying to read. The ship’s bell had just rung four bells of the evening watch. He’d hoped that reading would help him pass the time, and make him sleepy. He’d borrowed a slender volume from Frank Connery. It contained a Shakespeare play Jack had never read before. But the more he read, the more he realized he’d picked the wrong play if he’d hoped to calm and distract himself from what awaited him on the morrow. The Tempest was full of magic and eldritch creatures—even monsters. It was a relief when someone tapped on his door.

“Who’s there?”

“Frank Connery, Captain Sparrow. You have a visitor.”

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Tarek stood framed in the opening. “Tarek!” Jack exclaimed. “What is it? Is there trouble?”

The giant bodyguard shook his head. “No, everything is fine.” He lowered his voice. “Captain, she sent me to bring you to her. If you want to see her tonight, come with me now.”

Jack wasted no time in joining him.

They walked quickly up the hill to the royal palace. While they were outside, in the shadow of a tree, the bodyguard handed Jack a dark, hooded cloak. “Here, Captain. Put this on, pull it down to hide your face. Don’t speak. Follow me.”

Jack did as he was bade. Tarek led him through small, narrow corridors, then up several ramps. Jack realized he must be taking them through the passageways used by the palace servants.

Finally, they reached the door to a room, and Tarek halted. “I will be back before dawn, Captain, to lead you back through the palace. Do not be late.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks, mate.”

“She is expecting you,” the giant said, and turned away. “Go in.”

Jack pushed the door open, and went in. He was in some kind of antechamber, he realized moments later. He crossed it, and stood outside the door to the next room. Taking a deep breath, he tapped gently.

The door opened. “Jack!” Amenirdis stood there, her face bare of paint, her own hair curling softly around her face in black coils that reflected the lamplight. She wore no jewelry, only the simple white silk nightgown she’d made, the same one she had worn the first night she had come to him.

Reaching out her hand, she took his and drew him inside the bedchamber. Then she closed and locked the door, shutting the world away.