Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

elieve it.”
“Sure he will, Jacky boy,” Mortensen said, with a nasty sneer.
Mortensen tried to be thorough; Jack had to give him that. First he
made Jack remove his boots. Roger peered down each boot, then
shook them vigorously to make sure there was nothing concealed
inside. Then he began running his hands over Jack, down his sides,
beneath his arms, down his legs. Finally, he patted Jack’s chest and
back, then his midsection, working his way south, clearly
uncomfortable with what he was doing. Jack stood passively, until
Mortensen’s hands slid along his ribs, then he winced theatrically and
giggled. “Roger, stop that! I’m ticklish!”
“Shut up, Jacky,” Mortensen growled.
As the jailer’s hands brushed the waistband of Jack’s britches,
then started downward, toward his crotch, Jack snickered loudly, then
caroled, “What is this, Roger? Trying to discover whether I’m a
eunuch? Ask Miss Sophie, she’ll vouch for me.” He did a bump and
grind, then winked and leered at the guard. “Roger, old chum, unless
you want to cause me embarrassment—and yourself a lifelong case of
envy—by demanding that I actually produce the goods for your
delectation…er…inspection, I’d suggest you desist.” He batted his
eyes at Teague’s lieutenant.
Mortensen stepped back. His weather-beaten countenance
flushed a dull red. “You’re clean,” he snapped, indicating the corridor
leading off to the right. “Come with me.”
Jack smiled and did as ordered.
Mortensen led him up a long cellblock. The dungeon seemed
eerily silent. Each cell contained multiple prisoners, except for the last
one, which was small by comparison. Jack looked in, to see
Christophe alone, sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, his
head drooping listlessly. The enclosure was featureless, save for a
foul-smelling hole in the opposite corner. Hearing footsteps, the
Frenchman looked up, then his eyes widened.
“Jacques!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Mon Dieu, I thought
you’d never come!”
Without answering, Jack abruptly turned to confront Mortensen,
who was looming behind him, scarcely a handbreadth away. “I don’t