Immortal War

At her touch, the door opened with a creak. Grace had expected the interior of the cavern to be underwater, too, but, as she crossed the threshold, she found that it was dry and airy inside. Her hair and clothes were also now dry. Turning back, she saw the wall of ocean water that stopped at the entrance, as if held back by an invisible force field. The fish were stuck within it and could only stare back at her in mute wonder.

“Close the door! For goodness’ sake, love—close the door! You’re letting in a terrible draft!”

Grace obediently closed the heavy door as a lady pirate passed her with a grateful nod.

“Welcome to Jack Tar’s!” said the woman, in a friendlier tone. “The company’s grand and the drink is plentiful—but I’d stay away from the house cocktail until you’ve got your bearings!” With a wink and a giggle, the woman bustled on her way.

Grace stepped forward, finding herself awestruck by her surroundings. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had expected of Jack Tar’s Cavern—perhaps simply a deep underwater version of Ma Kettle’s Tavern. In a way, it was like Ma’s, but far bigger. And where Ma’s was a rickety wooden building that always gave you the impression it might imminently collapse into the sea, Jack Tar’s was a rock structure, as vast and solid as a cathedral. Stepping forward, Grace realized she was on a central landing, from which stone stairs stretched both up and down, left and right. She moved along the landing, trying to take it all in. Seeing—and hearing—hordes of pirates carousing in the room below her, she decided to continue down the stairs. As she made her descent, rough archways in the rock opened onto cavelike rooms, each filled with pirates lounging, drinking, playing cards, or singing chanteys. There were caves as far as she could see in every direction. It felt as if Jack Tar’s Cavern might stretch across the entire ocean floor.

The downstairs bar was even more crowded than it had seemed from above. Up ahead, Grace could see the bar itself—a vast circular structure that seemed to be on two or three different levels. Clustered around the bar on every level were rows of pirates, lining up to refresh their tankards and those of their mates. She needed to find a way to get everyone’s attention but, glancing around, realized just how difficult this might prove. They were all so engrossed in their conversations, games, and singsongs. She couldn’t blame them. They had earned their leisure. She had wondered, before entering the cavern, if the dead pirates’ wounds would be visible, but mercifully this appeared not to be the case.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” said a gap-toothed pirate at her side. “Are you a new arrival?”

“Just visiting,” Grace said.

The pirate laughed at that. “Just visiting, eh? I’ve heard that one before! Look around, missy—everyone is just visiting!” He headed off to join the clamor for the bar, laughing as if at some private joke.

Grace stood her ground, wondering again just how she was going to attract the attention of all the thirsty and gregarious denizens of this cavern.

“Grace? Is that you?” She heard a familiar voice coming closer. Turning, she found Bart Pearce at her side.

“Bart!” He looked just as she remembered him in life. As tall and strong and handsome as ever.

Bart smiled at her. “I thought I heard your voice, but I didn’t like to think it could be you.” His eyes flashed with sadness.

“It’s okay,” she said, realizing his mistake. “I’m not dead.”

Bart’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, Grace?” he said. “They say only the dead can enter Jack Tar’s.”

“Truly,” she said. “I’m here on an astral visit.”

“Okay…” he said, not totally understanding, but taking Grace’s word for it.

Now Grace became aware of other eyes turning curiously toward her. “You look well, Bart,” she said. “You look like you’re at peace here.”

He grinned and shrugged. “You know me, Grace. Happy-go-lucky. I always reckoned on a short life but a merry one. And this place, these crazy folks, well, it’s all quite an unexpected bonus!” He turned momentarily as another pirate squeezed him on the shoulder and offered to buy him a drink. Grace smiled to herself. It was clear that Bart Pearce was every bit as popular in Jack Tar’s Cavern as he had been at Ma’s.

“Now, look,” Bart said, turning back to her. “If you’re not dead, what on oceans are you doing down here?”

“I need your help,” Grace said. “Not just you, but all the pirates down here—or as many of them as are willing to bear arms again.”

Bart’s face showed concern. “Have things got that bad up above?” he asked. “I mean, we hear reports from all the newcomers, and, lately, there have been a lot of newcomers.”

Grace nodded. “It’s bad,” she said. “Sidorio’s armada outstrips the Alliance’s now. His troops outnumber ours. He’s just suffered what should have been a decisive defeat, but he’s intent on one more push. We can’t let him win. There’s too much at stake.”

Bart nodded. He looked reflective for a moment. “You know, Grace, we depend on new arrivals to bring us the news from above, but, I swear, the ocean itself has begun to weep for this war.” His expression grew more determined. “What can we do?”

“I need you all to come back, one last time. I know you’re at peace here and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Will you come and join the fight?”

Bart didn’t flinch. “Of course!” he said, then looked down woefully at his side. “Only I don’t have my sword anymore, Grace. Those sentimental buggers up there strung it up in a case at Pirate Academy, so I hear.”

“Yes,” Grace said, smiling reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Bart. Your sword will be waiting for you. The same goes for Molucco and any of the others who are missing theirs, too.”

“You want Molucco, too, eh?” Bart grinned, remembering perhaps Grace’s former animosity toward Molucco Wrathe.

Grace nodded purposefully. “I want Molucco and Porfirio Wrathe.” Her eyes ranged about the vast cavern. “I want every last pirate here to come back up tonight.”

Bart nodded in understanding. “Out of my way, lads!” he bellowed, pushing his way toward the old ship’s bell that hung over the bar. He grabbed the chain and rang the bell loudly.

The chimes echoed up and down the huge cavern. Hearing it, the pirates ceased their chatter and turned, expectantly, toward the bar. Bart leaped up nimbly onto the counter.

“Sorry to interrupt your revels,” he said, “but our help is sought in the war raging up above.” His words seized everyone’s attention. Grace glanced up to see attentive pirates leaning across the stairway and craning their necks from the most distant corners to see and hear better as Bart continued.

“We all know from the reports coming in nightly that the situation has been bad for a while. Things have come to a head tonight, it seems, and the Alliance needs us to go back to join them in one last battle. The future of piracy—the future of our oceans—depends on its outcome.” Bart exchanged a glance with Grace, his eyes bright with purpose. He lifted his head up proud and strong and raised his hand high in the air. “All those who are ready to join me, cry ‘aye’.”

Nothing could have prepared Grace for the deafening cry. It echoed through the cathedral-like cavern and lingered for what seemed like minutes. The show of support and solidarity drew tears from Grace’s emerald eyes.

Bart glanced down from the bar counter. “Reckon you have your answer, Grace. Now, jump up here beside me and tell us all what happens next.”

42

WOUNDS