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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

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angel’s wing.<br />

He straightened up. “Gentlemen, I find meself incapable <strong>of</strong><br />

smashing—and thus wasting—a bottle <strong>of</strong> perfectly good rum. That<br />

would be a sin, gents, now wouldn’t it?”<br />

Grinning, his men indicated <strong>the</strong>ir complete agreement. Jack<br />

raised <strong>the</strong> rum bottle to his lips, grabbed <strong>the</strong> cork in his teeth, and<br />

pulled. <strong>The</strong> cork came free. He spat it out. “That’s better! Mates, I now<br />

libate—if <strong>the</strong>re indeed be such a word, which I ra<strong>the</strong>r doubt—our lovely<br />

angel here. May she watch out for us, keep us safe, and guide us on<br />

our journeys!”<br />

Leaning over, Jack splashed a generous dollop <strong>of</strong> rum over <strong>the</strong><br />

angel’s head. <strong>The</strong>n, raising <strong>the</strong> rum high, he shouted, “I christen <strong>the</strong>e…<br />

<strong>the</strong> Black Pearl!” He took a large gulp <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> rum, feeling <strong>the</strong> lovely<br />

burn as it coursed its way down his gullet. “Here’s to me lovely Black<br />

Pearl, gents. Please toast our beautiful lady with me!”<br />

<strong>The</strong> crew erupted into assorted cheers. “Huzzah! Hurray for<br />

Captain Sparrow! Cheers for <strong>the</strong> Black Pearl! Huzzah for <strong>the</strong> Black<br />

Pearl!”<br />

Climbing back up out <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> forecastle, Jack passed <strong>the</strong> open<br />

bottle to his new quartermaster, a villainous-looking Dutchman named<br />

Jan van der Groote. <strong>The</strong>n he pulled <strong>the</strong> cork on <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r bottle, took<br />

ano<strong>the</strong>r drink, and started that one making <strong>the</strong> rounds, too. He hadn’t<br />

managed to find a first mate yet. Maybe <strong>the</strong>re’d be someone in<br />

Shipwreck Cove.…<br />

Even though he’d promised himself that he’d focus on <strong>the</strong> future,<br />

not <strong>the</strong> past, Jack found himself thinking <strong>of</strong> Robby for a moment. He<br />

hoped his friend had reached shore safely, dug up his share <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

pharaoh’s reward, <strong>the</strong>n used <strong>the</strong> gold to go back to England and buy<br />

himself a snug little farm. Maybe Robby would actually pursue that<br />

whole seminary and taking orders notion. <strong>The</strong> lad really would make a<br />

good minister. He was probably <strong>the</strong> only Englishman Jack had ever<br />

met that really tried to live his beliefs—yet managed not to be a prig<br />

about it. He deserved that farm and that vicar’s collar, and a rosycheeked<br />

girl who was plump in all <strong>the</strong> right places.…<br />

<strong>The</strong> cheering was dying down now. Both bottles <strong>of</strong> rum were<br />

empty, which was no surprise. Jack wet his finger and held it up, as a

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