“I’m calculating,” Anamaria replied, her voice a low rasp. “The exact angle I’d need to toss him overboard without the wind catching his ridiculous hat.”
The explosion was magnificent. It sent Barbossa’s remaining skeleton crew scattering into the surf and bought Jack the precious seconds he needed to draw his sword. In the chaos, Anamaria boarded the Pearl herself, wielding a cutlass she’d pried from a dead Spaniard.
By dawn, the curse was broken. The gold was returned. Barbossa fell, finally mortal, with an apple rolling from his dead hand.
Jack’s grin faltered for the first time all week. “Anamaria! I was just coming to find you. Felt terrible about the Interceptor . And the sloop before that. And… was there a rowboat?”