Summons Davy Jones

The word “devil” resounded in his mind. And then, suddenly, he knew where he was. He was wherever Davy Jones met up with dead or dying mariners. Any moment now, Old Squid Face himself was bound to appear. He’d call Jack’s name…and that meant it was all over.

But it can’t be, he thought. There are so many things I want to do!

Jack stood there. After a moment he shifted his weight and looked around again.

It’s bloody rude to keep a chap waiting, he thought.

But maybe he didn’t have to wait. Maybe he could summon Jones? He’d seen the Pirate Lords do it, after all. And there were whispers…rumors…that Jones would sometimes negotiate, make deals, with mariners brave or brazen enough to confront him, then stand up to him. He’d faced Jones before, hadn’t he?

Jack was desperate enough to try anything. He closed his eyes, recalling the words. He’d have to adapt them a bit. Not for the first time, he wondered what that stuff about “binding the queen in her bones” was all about.

Clearing his throat, Jack spoke aloud: “Davy Jones…I, Jack Sparrow, kin of a Pirate Lord, call you. I entreat you by your alliance with the Brethren of the Coast. You gave those mortals powers over the sea, binding the queen in her bones, and I am of their blood. I entreat you. Come to me, Davy Jones. I summon you. I summon you. I summon you.”

He peered into the blankness, but there was nothing there. No monstrous shape. Nothing but the blankness. Bloody hell. I’ve failed.…

Jack blinked…and he was there.

He’d forgotten how dreadful that grayish-white countenance was.

The tentacles stirred, reaching out for him. Jones’s little eyes had a greedy spark as he regarded Jack.

Swallowing hard, Jack steadied himself, assuming an air of confidence he didn’t feel. Placing his hands together, he bobbed a bow at the unearthly captain. What title had the Pirate Lords addressed Jones by? “Your Squidliness” probably wouldn’t do.

Jones’s expression changed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as they peered through the squid-flesh that served him in lieu of human features. “You are not of the Brethren Court!” he exclaimed. “Who are you, audacious boy, to summon me thus?”

Jack bobbed another bow. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow…sir.”

“Ahhhhhh…I remember you now. Teague’s whelp.”

Jack nodded.

“You are young to be a captain, boy,” Jones observed, studying him.

“Thank you, Captain Jones,” Jack said. “I’m really quite good at it, I assure you. And I’d like to remain a captain.”

“Why have you summoned me, Sparrow?” Was Jack mistaken, or did he see a tiny flash of what might have been amusement in those beady little eyes?

“Captain Jones,” Jack said, marshaling all his considerable negotiating skills, “the fact that I’m here, talking to you, means that I’m, er…either dying or dead, correct?”

“Dying, yes.”

***

The Price of Freedom, Chapter 19