Wes had just left the tavern and hadn't gone far when he fell into thought. All he knew was that Jack Sparrow would appear in London. He had to get there before the story began—otherwise, with the vastness of the sea, he'd have no idea where the Fountain of Youth could be.
Suddenly, he became alert, sensing approaching footsteps. His eyes locked onto the dark forest ahead, and he said in a low voice, "Come out."
There was a rustle in the underbrush, and a woman with sun-kissed brown skin and a striking beauty stepped forward.
Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, exuding an air of mystery and allure beneath the moonlight.
Behind her followed a tall, broad-shouldered Black man with a bare torso. His muscles were sharply defined, radiating raw power.
"A beautiful lady. Are you a pirate too?" Wes narrowed his eyes slightly, examining the woman.
"Good evening, Mr. Wizard," Angelica said with a graceful curtsey. Her curvaceous figure was displayed fully under Wes's gaze.
Yet Wes was entirely unmoved by her charm. Instead, his attention focused sharply on the man behind her.
"Interesting. I didn't expect to encounter a reanimated corpse here. Is he your creation, madam?"
Angelica hadn't expected Wes to recognize the man for what he was. A flicker of fear rose in her heart.
The reanimated corpse immediately moved in front of her, shielding her protectively. His expression was tense and alert.
"So, not yours after all. He's just under orders to protect you," Wes said calmly. "Looks like you've got connections with a voodoo sorcerer."
It only took him a glance to see that Angelica had no traces of magical power on her.
Wes now had a clear idea of who this woman was.
Angelica tried to steady herself and said softly, "Mr. Wizard…"
Her voice was gentle, but carried a faint tremble, barely noticeable under the strained atmosphere.
"I'm busy. Speak your business directly." Wes's tone was firm and unwavering, like an immovable wall, leaving Angelica momentarily at a loss for words.
She stared at Wes, her heart flustered in a way she couldn't quite explain.
She was stunning—always able to easily draw the attention of men. Her delicate features seemed sculpted by a master artisan. Her bright eyes were as clear as a lake, and her slightly upturned lips were soft and rose-like.
But Wes seemed immune. He was one of the few who showed no reaction to her allure.
"I just want to know—why are you looking for Jack Sparrow?" Angelica asked again, summoning her courage.
"That's none of your concern, madam," Wes replied coldly and succinctly. The chill in his words made Angelica visibly flinch.
Instinctively, her hand drifted to the pistol at her waist. The cold metal brought her a strange sense of comfort.
Her fingers rested lightly on the grip.
"In that case, I've overstepped," Angelica said, her voice tinged with disappointment as she slowly stepped back.
"Wait." Wes's voice rang out suddenly, and Angelica's heart jumped into her throat.
Is he going to attack? Her mind raced with a hundred thoughts in a flash.
The reanimated corpse gripped a battle axe in both hands, his muscles tense and coiled—ready to fight with everything he had to protect her.
But Angelica raised a hand and stopped him just in time.
She had no desire to become this mysterious wizard's enemy—not unless there was absolutely no other choice. If a battle broke out, the consequences would be disastrous.
"Which direction is London?" Wes asked in the same calm tone, as if the tense exchange a moment ago had never happened.
"Head east. Keep going straight east and you'll get there," Angelica answered quickly, eager to bring the conversation to an end.
"Thank you," Wes said simply. Then, to Angelica's astonishment, his body suddenly lifted into the air and vanished into the sky.
"Oh my God," she whispered, stunned. "I have to find Jack before he does."
Unfortunately for her, Wes was thinking the exact same thing. He had already recognized this woman as Jack Sparrow's lover. He had to find Jack before she did.
—
Wes was speeding toward London in his custom-modified luxury flying car. It was a personal project he'd worked on diligently after Christmas, with plenty of help from the twin brothers during the overhaul.
The car's interior was spacious—practically a small apartment. Wes had even installed a cozy bed inside, turning the vehicle into a flying hotel suite.
Its speed was phenomenal, streaking across the sky like a bolt of lightning.
By the time the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, Wes could already make out the silhouette of London. The massive city lay sprawled across the land like a sleeping giant.
Crossing the Thames River, Wes chose a secluded spot to land. With a quick spell of invisibility, he ensured no one would discover his flying car.
Seventeenth-century London unfolded before his eyes.
The streets were narrow and winding, paved with cobblestones. Each step echoed with a crisp clack, like whispers from the past, telling tales of the city's long history.
Wooden houses lined both sides of the road, worn by time, their walls faded and weathered.
The rooftops shimmered faintly under the morning sun. A few pigeons fluttered down, bringing a touch of life to the ancient city.
Their flitting movements were like dancing notes in a melody, adding vibrancy to the atmosphere.
London's commercial district was bustling and lively. Shops stood in rows, their signs varied and colorful—selling everything from fabrics and spices to books and knick-knacks.
Merchants stood at their doors, enthusiastically calling out to customers with bright smiles. Their voices rose and fell, forming a chaotic yet energetic symphony.
Women in long dresses and bonnets browsed carefully, baskets in hand, choosing fresh fruits and vegetables. Men in long coats and top hats discussed business or exchanged political news.
At the port, it was even busier.
Massive sailing ships were docked along the shore, their tall masts stabbing the sky, sails billowing in the wind.
Sailors moved briskly, unloading crates of treasure and bundles of goods—brought from distant lands and sent off again to corners of the world.
The air at the docks was thick with the salty scent of seawater and the aroma of goods. Seagulls soared overhead, crying sharply.
Their cries were like joyful songs, adding vitality to the bustling port.
At this time, Britain—with its powerful navy and the East India Company plundering wealth across the globe—was hailed as the "Empire on which the sun never sets." But none of that mattered to Wes.
What he cared about was: had he arrived too late?
After some careful investigation, Wes was relieved to find he'd arrived a little early. Nothing major had happened in London recently.
So he settled down to stay for a while—and decided to sample the local cuisine of this era.
He was quickly disappointed.
True to its reputation as a "food desert," British cuisine nearly gave him psychological trauma.
The flavors were bizarre and hard to swallow—a full-on assault on the senses.
Even the desserts, though beautiful in appearance, were disgustingly sweet. It was as if they'd been soaked in syrup, making them almost inedible.
A few days passed in a blur—and finally, Wes received word of Jack Sparrow's arrival.
°°°
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