The Black Buccaneer - Chapter - 33

The Sea Phantom glided through the dark waters, the wind filling its sails as Captain Black—or rather, Henry Creed—stood at the helm, watching the distant flicker of lanterns aboard the British Dauntless.

Through his spyglass, he could see that Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner were safely back with the Royal Navy. The aftermath of Isla de Muerta had played out exactly as he expected.

Satisfied, he lowered the spyglass.

“There’s no need to approach,” he muttered to Morgan, his first mate.

Morgan, a seasoned sailor who had fought alongside Sirius for years, nodded in understanding. “Aye, Cap’n. Wouldn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”

Sirius smirked. “Especially not from the likes of Commodore Norrington. He’ll be celebrating his victory, and I don’t fancy ruining my reputation as a respectable merchant.”

The crew chuckled, knowing full well that Henry Creed’s reputation was built on careful deception.

As Port Royal came into view on the horizon, Sirius took a deep breath.

The British wouldn’t recognize him—not unless someone from the pirate world betrayed his true identity. And considering most of those who faced Captain Black were dead, it was highly unlikely anyone outside the pirate community could link him to his old life at sea.

Still, he couldn’t be careless.

Turning to Morgan, he issued a series of orders. “Lower the pirate flag. We dock as the Wind Whisperer, a merchant vessel under Henry Creed. Keep the weapons hidden, act like a proper trading crew, and no drunken trouble at the taverns.”

Morgan grinned. “Aye, Cap’n. But you know our boys—keepin’ ‘em out of the taverns is a battle harder than takin’ a navy fort.”

Sirius chuckled. “As long as they don’t sink the city before we finish unloading cargo, I’ll consider it a success.”

The moment they docked, Sirius resumed his Henry Creed persona—a wealthy merchant, a man of business and leisure, and most importantly, a man with no known ties to piracy.

He stepped off the ship, his boots clicking against the wooden pier, and took in the familiar sights of Port Royal.

It was a city of opulence and order, where nobles and merchants rubbed shoulders with privateers and soldiers.

He adjusted his fine coat, making sure he looked every bit the gentleman adventurer he pretended to be.

And just as he expected, no one suspected a thing.

With a casual smile, he blended back into high society, leaving behind Captain Black’s legend—for now.


The Sea Phantom anchored at a secluded cove outside Port Royal, far from prying eyes.

Gathered on the deck, the pirates he had recruited from Tortuga stood in silence as Captain Black—the man they had followed into battle—addressed them one last time.

“You’ve all fought well,” Sirius said, his voice steady. “And you’ve earned more than most pirates could ever dream of.”

He gestured to the large chests of gold, the rewards of their final voyage.

“This is yours. Take it, use it, and leave this life behind.”

The men looked at each other, eyes wide in disbelief.

Captain Black was giving them a way out.

One of the men, a grizzled pirate named Reynard, stepped forward. “Yer serious, Cap’n? No strings?”

Sirius smirked. “Just one.”

With a wave of his hand, a parchment appeared, glowing with golden runes.

“This is a magical contract. You sign it, and you get your gold—but you also swear never to reveal my name, my face, or the truth about who I am.”

The crew exchanged glances, but none hesitated.

One by one, they took the quill and signed their names, the contract glowing as it bound them to secrecy.

When the last man finished, Sirius rolled up the parchment and made it disappear with a flick of his wrist.

“That’s that, then,” he said. “You’re free.”

One by one, the pirates took their gold and vanished into the world.

Some left for small villages, ready to live a peaceful life with their riches.

Others set sail for far-off lands, never to be seen again.

And just like that, Captain Black’s crew was gone.

Sirius watched as the last rowboat disappeared into the mist.

He exhaled slowly, feeling a strange sense of relief.

For years, he had lived as a pirate, commanding fear and respect.

But now, Captain Black was nothing more than a story.

And Henry Creed?

He was just another wealthy merchant, living comfortably in Port Royal.

Henry stepped through the grand entrance of his Port Royal mansion, feeling the weight of his double life finally lift from his shoulders.

Dressed in fine merchant’s attire, he was no longer Captain Black, the feared pirate. Here, he was simply Henry Creed, the wealthy trader, a man of good standing, respected by governors and nobles alike.

As he walked into the main hall, he was greeted warmly.

Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner stood side by side, their hands lightly touching—a clear sign of their growing relationship.

Governor Weatherby Swann, standing nearby, smiled as he saw Henry enter.

“Henry, my boy!” the Governor said, stepping forward. “I trust your voyage was successful?”

Henry gave him a polite smile. “Always, Governor. But I see there’s more pressing matters to discuss.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You mean us?”

Henry smirked. “Yes, and I must say, I saw this coming.”

Will cleared his throat, looking somewhat nervous. “Governor Swann has… given his blessing for me to court Elizabeth.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s quite the turn of events.”

The Governor sighed, exasperated. “Yes, yes. I know it’s… unusual, considering Will’s station, but after everything he’s done, I believe he is worthy.”

Elizabeth beamed. “I always knew you would, Father.”

Henry folded his arms, looking Will up and down.

“And what about you, Turner? Are you truly prepared for this life?” Henry asked, his expression serious but not unkind.

Will met his gaze with determination. “I love Elizabeth. I’d give her the world if I could.”

Henry nodded, satisfied. “Then let me help you with that.”

Henry walked over to his study, retrieved a sealed document, and placed it in Will’s hands.

Will frowned, looking down at it. “What’s this?”

Henry grinned. “It’s land. A large estate, not far from here, along the coast. It’s yours now.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Henry, I can’t accept this—”

Henry held up a hand, cutting him off. “You can, and you will. I’ve gathered more wealth than I could ever need. A piece of land is nothing to me. But to you? It’s a home for Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s hand tightened around Will’s. “Henry… this is too much.”

Henry shook his head. “No, it’s exactly what’s needed. You’ll have space, privacy, and the chance to build a life together.”

He then gestured to a locked chest near the fireplace.

Will hesitated, but at Henry’s nod, he stepped forward and unlatched the chest.

Inside, stacks of gold coins gleamed in the candlelight.

Will took a step back, shaking his head. “Henry, I can’t take this.”

Henry chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well, I’m not taking it back. Consider it an investment.”

Will still looked hesitant. “I… don’t know what to say.”

Elizabeth smiled warmly. “Say thank you, Will.”

Will sighed, then looked at Henry with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Henry. For everything.”

Henry smirked. “Aye, that’s more like it. Now take your fortune, build your home, and don’t make me regret this generosity.”

Elizabeth hugged Henry, whispering, “You’ll always be family to me.”

Henry’s smirk softened. “And you to me, lass.”

As Will and Elizabeth left the mansion, excited to begin their new life, Henry Creed stood at the window, watching them go.

For the first time in a very long time, he felt content.


Henry was in his study, sipping a glass of aged Caribbean rum, when Morgan entered without knocking—a sign that the man was agitated.

Morgan, now a captain in his own right, had been Sirius’s most trusted ally ever since Tomlin’s death. Sirius had rewarded his loyalty by giving him command of the Windwhisperer, a fast and reliable ship, perfect for a man of his experience.

But now, Morgan’s face was grim, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with worry.

Henry set his glass down and raised an eyebrow. “That bad, is it?”

Morgan nodded, pulling up a chair. “Worse than bad, Captain.”

Sirius smirked at the title, even though he no longer lived the life of a pirate. “I take it this isn’t about a shipment gone wrong.”

Morgan leaned forward, his voice low. “Davy Jones has been seen—above the sea.”

Henry’s smirk faded instantly.

Even though Sirius Black had never met Davy Jones, he knew the name very well.

Davy Jones wasn’t just a legend. He was real—and his domain was the sea itself. The infamous captain of the Flying Dutchman, a man bound by dark magic, cursed to rule the depths and claim the souls of the drowned.

And most importantly, he never surfaced without a reason.

Henry sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Where did you hear this?”

Morgan exhaled. “One of my contacts in Tortuga. Says Jones has been roaming above the water, his ship seen by pirates and privateers alike.”

Henry’s gaze darkened. “That’s not normal.”

Morgan shook his head. “Aye. And it gets worse.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

Morgan hesitated before saying, “Jones has been asking for names. Looking for specific captains.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “Which ones?”

Morgan leaned in. “Yours.”

Henry’s jaw tightened.

It made no sense. He had never crossed paths with Davy Jones, never made a deal with the devil of the sea.

But now, the captain of the Flying Dutchman was looking for Captain Black.

And even though Sirius was confident in his own power, this wasn’t about himself.

It was about Morgan.

Because ever since he gave Morgan the Windwhisperer, the man had been sailing the seas without Sirius’s protection.

If Davy Jones was on the hunt, Morgan could be a target.

Sirius stood up, placing a firm hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “You listen to me, Morgan. I don’t care how many ships Jones commands, or how many cursed sailors fight for him—you don’t cross his path.”

Morgan sighed. “Aye, I figured you’d say that. But I can’t exactly hide on land, can I?”

Sirius smirked, but there was no humor in it. “No, but you can avoid making any deals.”

Morgan nodded slowly. “And what about you? You’re the one he’s looking for.”

Sirius’s gray eyes darkened.

“Oh, I’ll find out what he wants,” he said. “And if Jones is looking for me… then I’ll make sure he regrets it.”


The Black Pearl rocked gently on the waves, anchored far from any prying eyes. The moon was high, casting a silver glow across the deck, but Jack Sparrow wasn’t sleeping.

He was in the lower deck, rummaging through a crate of rum bottles, muttering about the declining quality of pirate provisions.

That was when the air grew unnaturally cold.

Jack froze, his fingers tightening around the neck of a half-empty bottle. The shadows deepened, the flickering lantern light dimmed, and a low, unnatural creaking filled the hull.

Then, out of thin air, water began dripping onto the wooden planks—except there was no leak. The droplets glowed faintly, moving upward as if they defied gravity.

And then he appeared.

Standing in the gloom, his skin barnacle-ridden, his eyes tired yet distant—Bootstrap Bill Turner.

Jack let out a long sigh, setting the bottle down.

"Oh, bloody hell."

Bootstrap took a step forward, his boots making no sound against the floorboards.

Jack held up a hand. "Now, before you start, I must say—this is a terrible time for ghostly visitations. I’m in the middle of a very important philosophical discussion with this here bottle of rum. Would you care to join?"

Bootstrap’s expression didn’t change.

For a long moment, Jack said nothing, staring at Bootstrap with calculated stillness.

Then he sighed.

“Right. So he’s finally come to collect.”

Bootstrap nodded gravely. “Jack, you made a deal with him.”

Jack crossed his arms. “Aye, I did.”

Bootstrap continued, his voice dropping lower. “You asked for the fastest ship in the sea, and he gave you the Black Pearl.”

Jack exhaled sharply. “And I promised payment—one hundred souls each year for ten years.”

Bootstrap nodded slowly. “And it’s been thirteen.”

Jack grinned nervously. “Has it? My, how time flies when you’re having fun.”

Bootstrap wasn’t amused. “Jack, you haven’t given him a single soul.”

Jack shrugged. “Well, you know me. I’ve never been particularly good at bookkeeping.”

Bootstrap’s face darkened. “Jack. The Kraken is coming.”

Jack froze.

For the first time, his expression shifted from mock amusement to genuine unease.

Bootstrap lifted his hand, pointing to Jack’s right wrist.

Jack looked down and his stomach dropped.

A black, ink-like stain had appeared on his skin, shaped like a twisting tendril.

A mark.

A target.

Bootstrap’s voice was grim. “Davy Jones has marked you, Jack. The Kraken will hunt you until it drags you and the Pearl to the bottom of the sea.”

"Jack, you need to listen." His voice was heavy, carrying the weight of something unnatural. "Davy Jones has sent me with a message."

Jack’s grin faltered, just slightly. "Ah. And here I was hoping you were just stopping by for a casual chat."

Bootstrap’s gaze darkened. "Jones is looking for Captain Black."

Jack went still.

For a long moment, the only sound was the gentle creaking of the ship.

Then Jack blinked. "I don’t believe I know a Captain Black. Sounds terribly generic. Perhaps you meant Captain Brown? Captain Gray? No?"

Bootstrap stepped forward, eyes boring into him. "Don’t play dumb, Jack."

Jack let out a slow exhale. "Well. That’s… unexpected."

Jack leaned against a barrel, arms crossed.

"And what, pray tell, does the tentacled horror of the deep want with him?"

Bootstrap hesitated. "Jones… didn’t say. Only that Captain Black has something he wants."

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. "Now, that’s interesting. Because last I checked, the only things Captain Black has are ships, gold, and an uncanny ability to disappear when it suits him."

Bootstrap’s voice grew lower, almost haunted. "Jones doesn’t come to the surface for no reason, Jack. He’s been seen too often lately. He’s searching."

Jack ran a hand through his hair, thinking.

"So let me get this straight. I, the ever-resourceful Captain Jack Sparrow, must now find a man who doesn’t want to be found—to hand him over to a sea demon?"

Bootstrap’s face hardened. "It’s that, or Jones comes for you instead."

Jack groaned, rubbing his temples. "Of course he does. Wonderful. Bloody brilliant."

Bootstrap took a step back, his form fading slightly, the water on the floor rippling unnaturally.

"Find Captain Black, Jack. Before it’s too late."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts—and the chilling knowledge that Davy Jones had set his eyes on a man even pirates feared to cross.