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Jack eyed the Sword with grave disappointment. It had promised so much. It should have been his ticket to freedom. Instead, it, like its namesake, was just a despot that made anyone who wielded its power a pawn in its game. Jack lifted the Sword in the air. With Cortes gone, he suspected it would obey him. It only had one master now.

"Now, mate," he said to the Sword, "undo anything you've done that would have helped your old master. Undo the things that would have pleased Cortes."

The town square lit up, and the confused citizens of Puerto San Judas reappeared. The docks were repaired and full of ships. Much to his disappointment, the Grand Barnacle had transformed back into the little fishing vessel Jack and his crew were used to. 

"Would have been a chore to sail that thing, just the five of us, anyway," Jack said.

Jack looked out on the sea and noticed a familiar ship sailing near the horizon. It was the Royal Navy vessel the Sword had sunk out at sea. Jack heaved a sigh of relief. He wondered if the crew remembered anything of what had happened. And there were certain things that strangely didn't change at all, the snow was still falling, though lightly now, over Isla Fortuna. And Left-Foot Louis and his crew, whom the Sword had conquered, did not reappear. Nor did Tumen. Jack turned to Arabella, and they shared a moment of silence for their fallen crewmate. Then, they heard a rush of footsteps coming up the hillside. They turned to see Fitzwilliam and Jean, followed by Constance struggling in the snow. And behind them . . . Tumen!

"Oh, my stars," Arabella said, holding her hands to her mouth. Tears of joy and relief welled up in her eyes.

***

The Sword of Cortes, Chapter 11