Chapter 6: Port of the Damned

When the Ranger slipped into the harbor of Isla Perdida under cover of dusk, Edward felt as if they’d sailed straight into the maw of a beast. The port, known to seafarers as the “Port of the Damned”, spread along the cove in a jumble of crooked taverns, derelict warehouses, and ships in varying states of decay. A ruined fort stood on a hill, its crumbled ramparts draped in creeping vines. Few legitimate flags flew here; this was a haven of outlaws.

As they dropped anchor, the crew buzzed with anticipation. After weeks at sea and hard-won battles, they were eager for strong drink, softer company, and the gambling of coins due to gambling being illegal on the Ranger. Hornigold gave leave for half the crew to go ashore in shifts to help keep mischief low. “Be sure to keep your wits!” he warned. “This port’ll swallow fools alive. Remember to wrap it up, only so much mercury can be stored onboard mates!”

Edward helped lower a dinghy, all the while scanning the dim shoreline. Fires burned in iron braziers along the docks, casting red light on faces lean and hungry. The scent of brine mixed with rum and something more fetid, decay of fecial matter and despair. He understood the nickname now; there was an aura of desperation here, as if damned souls lingered.

He went ashore with Jack, Israel Hands, and a handful of others. Jack was bandaged but insisted on walking unaided, hiding any sign of weakness beneath a cocky stride. She tipped her tricorn hat low, eyes flicking about. Edward stayed close, one hand on his belt where a knife and pistol rested idle.

They passed a gibbet at the dock’s end, an old corpse dangling within, picked at by gulls. Someone had hung a sign around the dead man’s neck: Thief. It was a crude warning, justice here was swift and merciless, in its own pirate way.

“Charming place,” Jack muttered. Edward caught the tension in her jaw; this was no more home to her than Bristol’s gutters had been to him.

They pressed into the narrow streets. Lanterns sputtered above doorways, illuminating snippets of debauchery, an unconscious drunk being rolled for coins by a woman with a dagger in her garter, two men dicing in the dirt over a pile of loot, a cluster of scarred sailors singing a hilarious, lewd shanty off-key.

Oh the captain’s daughter’s got a mouth like tar,

She swears like thunder in a seaside bar,

Said “I don’t need silver, I don’t need gold,

Just a lad with rum and a grip to hold!”

So up went me sail and down went the drawers,

We drank to the stars and pissed on the oars,

She kissed me throat, she bit me ear,

And stole my boots, that buccaneer!

Heave ho, lads, don’t be shy!

She’ll break your mast ‘fore you blink an eye!

Heave ho, lads, here’s the trick

She’ll take your coin and pinch your

Drunken laughter drowned the last word out.

The crew broke off to pursue their own pleasures. Israel Hands led two men toward a notorious brothel, already laughing loudly. Others sought the nearest tavern, “The Sinner’s Mast,” marked by a dangling sign depicting a devil toasting with a topless woman.

Hornigold had given Edward and Jack a different task: accompany him to meet a contact. The captain, Remy, and one other trusted sailor, Jacobs, soon joined them in front of a ramshackle tavern “Lost Landing” at the harbor’s far end, the agreed rendezvous.

Inside, the tavern was dim and thick with pipe smoke. Hornigold’s contact sat in a corner booth, a gaunt man with an eyepatch and skin as weathered as driftwood and leather. He went by the name Cross. Years ago, he’d sailed with Captain Ashcombe and lived to tell.

“So,” Cross rasped sharply like steel after Hornigold bought him a drink. “You found the Astrolabe.” His one good eye flicked toward Edward and Jack, as if sizing them up.

Hornigold inclined his head. “Aye. But it leads us somewhere we can’t fathom. We were told you might know more.”

Cross ran a tongue over his decaying teeth. “When I heard you asking around about Ashcombe’s treasure, I had to see for myself. Many have died chasing it. Ashcombe’s hoard, some say it’s cursed by the sea herself.”

Jack leaned forward, impatience in her voice. “And how to find it? The astrolabe is leading us, but to what end we know not. Ashcombe dealt with you. Tell us what we must do.”

Cross’s gaze lingered on Jack for a beat too long. Edward shifted, subtly interposing himself. Cross smirked and continued, “The device… Ashcombe claimed it was given by a sea witch. Said only she could reveal the path to the treasure he called the ‘Crown of Tides.’”

At those words, Hornigold’s fist tightened on his tankard. Crown of Tides. The name of their prize, at last spoken aloud. Edward felt a chill, remembering the astrolabe’s strange pull.

Remy frowned. “You’re saying we need this witch to help interpret the astrolabe?”

Cross nodded sagely. “Ashcombe met with her, in caves on Blackwater Shoal. He made some kind of pact, I reckon. If you want his treasure, best talk to her, or spirit, or her successor.”

“Successor?” Edward echoed.

Cross shrugged. “Witches outlive us normal folk, or others take up their mantle. Either way, Blackwater Shoal is where the answers lie. But I’d be careful… that place has a dark history. The last crew I knew who went seeking the witch, ” He drew a finger across his throat. “Never seen again.”

Hornigold downed the rest of his rum, jaw set. “We have a heading. That’s enough.” But he paused and glanced at Edward and Jack. “Cross trustworthier than most, but keep what he said between us. No need to spook the other lads before we must.”

Edward and Jack exchanged glances. They both recalled the sirens’ deadly song and the corpse that moved in Ashcombe’s cave. The crew already knew they sailed beyond the realm of reason; even the bravest had whispers of fear. But they both nodded. “Aye, Captain.”

They found the rest of the crew deep in their cups at the Sinner’s Rest. A cheer went up when Hornigold entered; many were well drunk. One pirate was playing a fiddle jig while two others danced a clumsy reel on a tabletop. For tonight at least, the men tried to forget death and ghosts in exchange for rum and revelry.

Edward allowed himself a cup of ale. It was warm and sour, but settled his nerves. He perched on a stool next to Jack. Remy and Hornigold were conversing quietly with Israel Hands about readying the ship at first light.

Jack took a swig from her tankard and grimaced. “Ugh. Tastes damned indeed.”

Edward chuckled. He felt a lightness, maybe from relief that they had a plan. “When we get that treasure,” he said low, “we’ll buy better drink than this in some fancy Kingston tavern.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You dreaming of a fine life already? Perhaps I’ll buy a grand house and fill it with silk,” she quipped, but her eyes were distant.

“What will you do?” Edward asked more softly. “After all this?”

Jack opened her mouth, then hesitated. Before she could answer, a crash interrupted. Two tables over, a card game had devolved into a scuffle. A big, bald pirate accused another fine haired of cheating. Voices rose; a punch sent chairs flying. In seconds, a full tavern brawl erupted, unrelated to them yet threatening to engulf everyone.

“Time to go,” Edward said, grabbing Jack’s arm just as a bottle sailed past and shattered on the wall behind them. He tugged her through the scrabbling throng toward the door. Hornigold’s crew were likewise extracting themselves or joining in with drunken glee, but Hornigold himself wanted none of it. He ushered his men out with sharp orders.

On the street again, Edward realized Jack was laughing under her breath. “What’s funny?”

She shook her head. “Just this place. Even the devil would think twice about claiming it.” Her laughter faded. “Honestly? I’ll be glad to be gone from here.”

Edward understood. The port’s dark allure had worn thin quickly. It was a glimpse of what a pirate’s life could be, endless fighting, drinking, and dying in some forgotten corner of the world. Without Hornigold’s purpose driving them, they could all too easily rot away here like so many others. He looked at Jack. Their eyes interlocking into a spinning wheel of eternity. Her was face perfectly lit by the torchlight, and  Edward found himself saying quietly, “We won’t end up here. We’re aiming higher.”

Jack kept his intense gaze and, for a moment, allowed her guard to slip, voice singing higher. “Aye. Higher love,” she echoed, something hopeful in her tone.

They returned to the Ranger past midnight. The ship rocked gently, a steadier home than any inn in that port. As Edward climbed aboard, he cast one last look at Isla Perdida. On a bluff just beyond the harbor, the silhouette of a crooked gallows stood against the moonlit sky. A tattered hangman’s rope swayed in the night breeze, empty, for now.

He shivered and went to help ready the ship. Hornigold wanted to depart before dawn to avoid any prying eyes or sudden disputes. By lantern light, they raised the anchor and unfurled the sails. One by one, the crew staggered back from shore leave, some nursing bruises from brawls, others humming familiar sea shanties off-key.

As the Ranger slipped out of the cursed harbor, the first hint of grey dawn touched the east. Edward watched the dark outline of the Port of the Damned recede, a mix of relief and determination coursing through him. They had left behind the taverns and ghosts of doomed pirates. Ahead lay Blackwater Shoal and the promise, or threat, of a sea witch’s counsel.

On the sterncastle, Hornigold stood with the astrolabe in hand. Guiding the ship southward now, straight toward their next destination. Edward turned his eyes to the horizon, where night already was yielding to day. The unknown awaited, but he felt the bonds of brotherhood around him and the weight of Jack’s trust by his side.

Whatever doom others had found chasing this path, they would not falter. Not until the Crown of Tides was theirs, or every last one of them had given their blood to the sea. With that grim resolve, Edward faced forward, leaving the Port of the Damned and its haunted shores fading in their wake.