Chapter - 1 The Lien

The moonlight speared the cloudy night sky of the Caribbean as it fell upon the enormous castle by the shore of the La Isla del Verano. Castle Verano was standing bold against the darkness of night beyond. It stood there as if invoked from the novel of a French writer. Every stone was precise and square as if those who built it were the perfectionist of their fields. As if they were in love with what they made. Those walls were built to protect a family, to echo with laughter and be the shelter they needed for the millennia to come, especially from the treacherous atrocity of those who ruled the sea without law. The aged yet strong structure that stood tall with arrogance was the property of Sir Lord Bedwyr Cunningwell. Who ordered its construction precisely fifty years ago when the Duke of Uswaria gifted it to him in honour of his servitude as the commander of his army during the war with the bordering countries. The man governed the isle with pride, and his subjects respected him for the very same. It is no lie that the trade flourished due to his command. The reason being that Sir Bedwyr was a far incomparable businessman than he ever was a soldier. But even the almighty sun sets at the end of the day, Sir Bedwyr's ruling days came to an end, and so did his life. He left everything to his only son when the old man died twenty-one years ago on the exact same day his granddaughter was born. To everyone's surprise, Bedwyr Cunningwell was not buried on the land he ruled for so long. Instead, his body was buried on the grounds of the country he fought for - Uswaria. The nobleman's last order was a tomb for himself, just like that, of an Egyptian ruler. And various of his invaluable possessions were buried alongside him in that tomb.

But what counted now was the arrival of a ship which wasn't supposed to be there. The ship was like no other ship which had ever sailed in the far-reaching ocean. The Flying Dutchman sailed with the thundering clangour, which sent chills down the spine of the crew of the other ship. The very sight of that ominous ship sent any mortal man praying for his dear life. Many sailors claim it ascends from the ocean depths, its rigging draped in seaweed and its sails glowing like fire. It speeds across the flat water when all other ships are becalmed. Its very beams sigh with human voices, weighed down with a century of weary toil. But a ship is nothing without its Captain, and the leader of this Le monster des profondeures was the dreaded Davy Jones. The whole of the ocean feared even the hint of that man's name. Even speaking his name made the mortals break into a cold sweat. And presently, Captain Davy Jones's vessel of death was heading towards La Isla del Verano to collect a debt from a man whose debt had been long overdue.

The Dutchman halted far from the shore as its deformed crew boarded the boats to row towards the shore as their Captain, stationed himself at the bridge. Unlike his crew, Captain Jones could not step onto the land before his waiting of ten years was complete. A curse gifted to him by the goddess of sea Calypso. Only a fortnight was left before the day was to come again when he could feel the firmness land below his feet. But was there anything for him on the land, wondered Jones as his ears were filled with the noise of guns and cannon firing, the metal of the swords clashing against each other but every other sound fell flat against that of horrified screaming. A sadistic chuckle escaped his scaly lips as the Captain imagined the horrified faces of the people on seeing immortal deformed men in an attacking stance. All this wouldn't have happened only if a man would have been true to his words, but corruption indeed is buried deep inside the heart of men. It didn't take his men long to drag the culprit out of his castle as he saw the deformed crew hauling a middle-aged man who appeared to be begging for mercy which he was being denied of. It was amusing to see the man wailing and penuriously trying to escape the grip of the men as they threw him on the rowboat. Adjusting his hat, Captain Jones took his time making his way toward the flying bridge, where his eyes fell upon the hostage who was being forced aboard the Dutchman. A mocking smile danced on his scaly lips as he amused himself with the plight of the poor man.

"We brought th' jimmy ye asked fur, Cap'n." Maccus - the crewman with a hammerhead shark for his face announced as he saw his superior make his way towards them.

"Sir Lord Benjamin Cunningwell. Do ye know who I be?" Jones' icy cold voice filled the open air of the flying bridge. The hostage Benjamin who was being held still by the crew fell on the seaweed-covered wooden floor of Flying Dutchman at the sight of the man who was behind the foulest nightmares he ever had. Seeing the living epistles standing in front of him, Sir Benjamin found breathing an arduous task as he managed to whisper -

"Davy Jones..."

"I spy ye know me. Jolly now the introduction can be ignored." The Captain joked as he indicated his men to pick up the poor man. Without another word, Davy Jones turned away to walk towards his cabin. The crew understood his wordless command as they started towing the governor of the island to the cabin. Once the two men of different status and equally contrasting mortality were in the cabin, where there was a long table with only two chairs at the opposite ends which yet again were vastly different in appearance, Captain Jones made himself comfortable on the leather-bounded one which was obviously made for him.

"Lord Cunningwell, ye must be wonderin' what this mythical ship be doin' 'ere an' what its Cap'n wants from a mortal such as yerself. " Davy said, his tone laced with mockery as he pulled out his pipe for a nice drag smoke. Noticing Benjamin Cunningwell choking with fear and despair filled Jones's heart with a sadistic joy as he couldn't help but chuckle to himself at how he accomplished in pushing yet another man to kneel and beg for his mercy.

"I-I k-know. M-my father told me about t-the deal." Stuttered Lord Benjamin, who remained rooted to his position near the cabin door, hunting for the right moment to make his escape.

"The deal." Chuckled the Captain as he rested his head on the back of the moss-covered armchair. "H'e been supposed to complete 'is part o' the deal fifty years ago! " His icy voice rose as he said the last part. The echo of his rage made the Lord reconsider his thoughts about escaping from the captivity of the man who had claimed the sea to himself.

"H-he was w-wrong to not f-fulfill his part of the d-deal b-but there is nothing I can do now, Mr Jones." Benjamin tried to excuse his dear father's faults, who had left him such immeasurable wealth. But most of all, the deal ended with his death.

"I know what yer filthy noble brain be thinkin' but ye be wrong mate. This deal been not that Bedwyr Cunningwell will brin' that book to me but that there it would be the blood of a Cunningwell who will brin' me the book. Yer backstabbin' father left 'is burdens onto ye an' if me part o' the deal isn't fulfilled I promise Lord Benjamin that yer name be erased from the pages o' history." Davy menaced in a growly voice. The anger he felt at that moment was visible in the fierce fashion in which tentacles he had for his beard flowed.

"But, I simply don't know where that bloody book is! My father never told me about its whereabouts of it." Prayed the man of nobility who was oblivious to the location of the book.

"Then figure it out." Declared the Captain, who no longer was seated on his armchair but was positioned near the cabin's window, staring at the wreck that his men had made of La Isla del Verano. "I give ye the leverage o' a week. Brin' me the book an' the shadows o' this ship will ne'er fall upon ye or yer island." Jones added as he turned to face the pathetic man who was regretting the very fabric of his existence at this moment.

"But..." The unforgivingly icy voice of the Captain of the Flying Dutchman reverberated in the hollow cabin yet again. "I wid need something, someone as a lien. Ah don't trust ye nobility no more." He resumed.

"You can keep a quarter of my treasure." The shrewd confidence of the nobleman shone as Lord Benjamin stood tall again after a whole evening of dreading his existence.

"Nah, yer fortune does not promise yer return. Ye 'ave an awful lot to care fer a little loss. I would need something precious, somethin' yer fortune can't buy ye. I want somethin' close to yer 'eart, a thin' ye would come back fer." Jones dismayed the proposal as he took a heavy step towards Benjamin, whose face fell hard at the dismal. Lord Cunningwell felt himself suffocating under the echo of his wooden leg.

"I have no such lien to offer you, Mr Jones," Benjamin spoke with a pretended confidence as he tried to seal his fear behind a confident visage.

"Urr ye sure?" Asked the Captain as he raised what would have been his eyebrow if he were to be the human he was centuries ago.

All Lord Cunningwell could respond was a weak nod.

"Dishonesty runs in yer bloodline. Don't it!" Sneered Jones, who was now dangerously close to the deceitful man. Benjamin could feel the tobacco-infused breath of the demon captain on his face. The imposing height of the cursed man added to the account of Benjamin's nothingness in front of Davy Jones. Out of the blues, Lord Cunningwell was struggling to breathe, for his neck was in the iron grip of Davy Jones's claw. Gasping for air Benjamin used the last of air left in his lung to whisper -

"Daughter. Keep my daughter."

A barbarous smile crawled onto Davy's lips as he slowly eased the grip of his claw. Seeing the man imploring for air gave the Captain a callous pleasure that he wanted to last longer. Eventually, as he let go of the nobleman, Jones declared in an almost fiendish excitement as he flung open the cabin door -

"Maccus, brin' me 'is daughter. An' see that there she comes 'ere in one piece." Ordered Captain Jones with a sinister laugh, a laugh which had no hint of emotion in it.

"No!" Revolted Lord Benjamin, who yet again found his conviction supporting him. "Don't dare touch my daughter. I will bring her here, but you must promise me she will be returned, unharmed once I have your book." He demanded as he stared into the cursed pirate's eyes only to find the hollow orbs staring down at him with contempt.

"Tis a deal then." Declared Jones. In no time, the pirate vanished from sight as Benjamin saw him entering a chamber. Before Lord Cunningwell could have realized the weight of the bargain he had made with the demon from the depths of the ocean, he was back in the castle. The lien he was supposed to give was far more heart-wrenching than finding the book, which Benjamin doubted even existed. His legs failed to carry him as quickly as he desired. Seeing his daughter became an urgency for the poor man who had bargained her for a leverage of a week. Cursing himself under his breath. Benjamin made his way through the maze-like hallways of his castle to the east wing of the castle, where was the chamber of his daughter. The beautiful interior of the castle was tarnished by the unforeseen assault on them. To his only relief, the cursed pirates found him before they headed to the east wing.

Although Benjamin Cunningwell had been raised with the finest of manners he discarded them all as he barged into the room of his daughter, who was rooted next to the window, her fragile-looking fingers curled around the satin curtain as she looked at the horror that had been brought upon the peaceful people of Verano. Two handmaidens stood behind her, shivering for fright as they gasped at the hurried entrance of their employer. But unlike them, their mistress stood tranquil at her position as if completely oblivious to the arrival of her father.

"Elena dear, you must listen to me." Said the Lord as he hastened towards his daughter. The sudden outburst of words brought back the young girl from her ocean of thoughts as she swirled to face her father. The maids were dismissed at once by a wave of a hand, as he clenched his little girl in a tight embrace.

"Oh, papa! What is happening? Who are these demons, and why are they hurting the people?" Entreated the young Lady Cunningwell, who was taken aback by the embrace from her father. But it wasn't a loving hug and Elena could feel the urgency in it as if he feared she would fade into oblivion if he let go of her. "Papa, are you alright?" Innocently asked Elena, who was toiling for air in the unnaturally tight embrace of her father.

"Oh, I wish everything would have been fine, my love." Wailed Benjamin as he finally let go of his daughter. The confession forced a bewildered visage to cast over his beloved daughter's face, which had turned pale due to fright. The poor father leaned in so his forehead was touching that of his deary as a tear escaped the captivity of his eyes. The old man was crushing under the weight of the hoax strength he was pretending to possess, but he wasn't allowed to let others surrounding him know. But the old Lord couldn't keep himself contained when the daughter he bargained for looked at him with those innocent eyes of hers.

"Forgive me child, but you have to go." Whispered Benjamin as he reached for the empty candleholder behind his back, cautiously obscuring it from Elena's view.

Before young Lady Cunningwell could have even parted her lips to inquire, a sharp pain infused in her skull. The young girl could feel the warmth of the blood that flowed down from the right side of her head. The red liquid was leaving a trail of fiery sensation as it made its way towards her collarbone. Before Elena could have apprehended her situation, the light started to fade as her body went numb. The poor father was careful not to hurt his child, but it was essential for him to not let her see the horror she would be enduring for the coming week. But most of all, he lacked the courage to face the hate in those ever-loving eyes of his little girl. Pulling her lifeless body to his chest one last time, Benjamin muttered his last apology as he collected Elena's frail body in his arms.

*

Captain Davy Jones stood by the window of his cabin staring into distant space, from the window. The rhythmic sound of the serene ocean below the Dutchman felt pacifying as it filled the hollowness in his chest where once laid his heart. The pirate was growing fond of the stillness of the ocean near La Isla del Verano with the passing moment. Davy almost flinched as the door opened with an eerie noise, breaking the moment of rare serenity he had in centuries.

"The bilge rat be back, Cap'n." Maccus announced. The weariness of his manner was visible in his equally uninterested tone.

Captain Jones found a much larger company in the cabin than he had anticipated. Lord Cunningwell was standing ahead of the five servants who accompanied him, his stature shielding an unconscious form in the arms of the servant who stood behind his employer. Eventually, after a long moment of discomfiting silence hovering over them, Benjamin finally stepped away, allowing the cursed man to take a look at the lien he is receiving for the Testament of Dead Spirits. To his amazement, Lord Cunningwell's daughter appeared nothing like her father. Rather than having the same cunning smugness the family inherited, her face, on the other hand, was innocent, carefree and full of life. Her skin appeared as soft as the sunshine of dawn and her locks, which were falling freely as her head dangled from the servant's arm, were darker than the stormy night of the ocean. Her whole form appeared to have never been exerted to do any labour. To Jones, it appeared as if the heaviest thing she ever lifted was a pen to write the tales of a white knight who would come to save her. The sheer innocence that reflected on her face made the immortal Captain feel pity for the damsel, who when she will open her eyes will not find herself in the comforting embrace of her own room but in the cold, damp, and unforgiving cell on The Flying Dutchman. Where her handmaidens wouldn't be there to accompany her but the cruel and savage crew of the cursed ship who would rob her of her honour the first chance they would get.

After all, life is cruel. The thought occurred to him as he shrugged his shoulder and said -

"A bonny lien. She would surely keep me occupied fer a few days." The devilish voice of the undying Captain filled the room, sending chills down Lord Cunningwell's spine as he shot the pirate a cold look.

"You dare touch my daughter, and I promise you will never see that book again, you filthy, rotten piece of nothingness!" Benjamin's posh French accent rivalled the heavily Scottish one of Davy. The sudden impression of bravery in pity man left a mark on Captain Jones.

"So, it be a deal then. Ye brin' the book to La Isleta Templada an' ye will find yer daughter there. Untouched." The last word came out as more of a mockery than a promise and that was what Jones desired.

"Unlike my father, I would honor your deal Mr Jones, but I need your words on the safety of my daughter." Benjamin ignored the scorn as he held his head high.

"I might be a gentleman o' fortune but I live by me words, Benjamin Cunningwell. As long as the book reaches me within a week yer daughter would stay alive on this ship." Davy's icy voice failed to assure the noble but seeing no other way out of this deal, he indicated the servant carrying Elena. But poor butler saw no fitting place to lay down his mistress.

Seeing the confused mortal, Jones spoke in an irked manner -

"Just put 'er on the table."

And so, the unconscious Elena Cunningwell was lying on the dust-covered table of the cabin of the cursed ship, the blood from the deep still flowing down her glowing skin. The dress she was wearing reminded the Captain of the color of centuries-old fine wine, sorely its beauty won't last long on this cursed ship. But what the servants did next left the immortal a little baffled. The men neatly placed three considerably large chests next to the long table.

"I told ye I don't need yer money," Davy enunciated impatiently.

"This is not for you, Davy Jones." Lord Cunningwell spoke for the first time with the refinement of the nobleman he was. "I think I am allowed to presume that there is no edible food on this ship of yours, and a week is a very long period of time for my daughter to go without eating. The other two chests contain her clothes and a few books for her." He continued with the same arrogance.

The statement did not anger the cursed Captain. It genuinely confounded him. And his confusion was perceptible in the reflexive tilt of his head. Even in the moment of peril this man was thinking of comfort and that thought instead of enraging him admittedly baffled his thoughts. Ignoring the perplexing proposition, Jones took a step toward Lord Cunningwell.

"Ye 'ave a week, Cunningwell an' the time be not stoppin' fer ye or yer precious little daughter. Ye will ne'er see 'er again if I don't receive the book." Growled Davy Jones as he towered the Veranico men.

And so was gone the confidence of the nobleman, as the man felt cold sweat on his forehead. In no time, the mortals were off the Flying Dutchman. The cursed ship sailed far away from La Isla del Verano and took away its heart - Elena Cunningwell.

"What be we to do with 'er?" Broondjongen - the in charge of the prisoner's cell on the Dutchman asked his Captain as he passed a nasty look at the human female.

"Put 'er in the cell. I'll see what to do with 'er." Jones answered in a spine-chilling tone.