#e:bp

“The lass cast away by pirates, aye? Shame t’ see a fine young sailor run aground.”

Barbossa was wary of mystical symbols. He doubted this new acquisition could do much worse to him than Cortés’ hoard had already accomplished, but he’d sooner send it to the depths when he scuttled the raided ship than take it on his own without knowing what was in it.

He was on his haunches on the deck, examining the lock, unperturbed by the commotion as his crew continued to strip the ship of her valuables. It wasn’t an unreasonably complicated mechanism; he could probably persuade it to yield, given a lockpick and some patience.

“Best be runnin’ along back to yer chambers, Yer Highness,” Barbossa said, not unkindly, as he lounged against the wall of his cell. “A dungeon’s no place for little girls.”

There was cursed gold in the castle, and the easiest way to infiltrate it had been to intentionally run afoul of the royal guards. Now, he and his crew had only had to wait until moonrise and then slip their bones through the bars.