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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

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deck, turning <strong>the</strong> freshly scrubbed surface silver. <strong>The</strong>n he headed for<br />

his cabin. He puttered around for a few minutes, hanging up his hat,<br />

coat, and waistcoat, <strong>the</strong>n he sat down on <strong>the</strong> edge <strong>of</strong> his bunk to pull<br />

<strong>of</strong>f his shoes and stockings.<br />

He thought about pouring himself a drink, but, just in case anything<br />

were to happen in <strong>the</strong> night, some aftereffect <strong>of</strong> what <strong>the</strong> crew had<br />

been through, he decided he’d better keep his head clear.<br />

His stern windows were wide open, letting in a pleasant breeze—<br />

—and a sound. A s<strong>of</strong>t, muted sound. A faint, regular sploop, <strong>the</strong>n<br />

swoosh. <strong>The</strong> noise was muted, but he recognized it. It was <strong>the</strong> sound <strong>of</strong><br />

someone rowing with muffled oars.<br />

Jack frowned, telling himself that he must be imagining it.<br />

How could anyone be out here, in <strong>the</strong> Atlantic, hundreds <strong>of</strong> miles<br />

<strong>of</strong>f <strong>the</strong> African coast, in a rowboat?<br />

Was he having some kind <strong>of</strong> delayed reaction to <strong>the</strong> illusion-fog?<br />

Jack scowled. He’d never be able to sleep until he’d verified for<br />

himself that <strong>the</strong>re was nothing out <strong>the</strong>re but water. Standing up, he<br />

automatically grabbed for his baldric and cutlass, slinging it on over his<br />

loose-sleeved shirt, even as he opened <strong>the</strong> door to his cabin and<br />

strode out onto <strong>the</strong> wea<strong>the</strong>r deck.<br />

He stood <strong>the</strong>re, listening, listening…and heard nothing. That<br />

bloody magical fog has gotten you spooked, hasn’t it, Jacky boy?<br />

Now you’re jumping at shadows.<br />

Jack heard a faint thump against <strong>the</strong> side <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Wicked Wench’s<br />

hull.<br />

You’re wrong, Teague. I’m right, and you’re wrong. Not for <strong>the</strong> first<br />

bloody time, ei<strong>the</strong>r. <strong>The</strong>re is something out <strong>the</strong>re…and it’s trying to<br />

climb aboard my ship.<br />

He began moving forward, toward <strong>the</strong> portside amidships ladder,<br />

silent on bare feet. As he moved, he drew his cutlass, careful to ease it<br />

out soundlessly. He was only halfway <strong>the</strong>re when a fancy hat came into<br />

view, <strong>the</strong>n shoulders and a torso. <strong>The</strong>n someone slung a long leg over<br />

<strong>the</strong> rail and stepped onto <strong>the</strong> deck.<br />

Jack caught his breath. Damn! Why didn’t I bring my pistol, too?<br />

He’d only made a tiny sound, but <strong>the</strong> intruder had a fighting man’s

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