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experiment with hooking it straight off Chevalle’s head while he walked below the trees in Teague’s garden). For the life of him, Jack could not understand why anyone would choose such an enormous long, curly monstrosity, if one were given the choice of any wig. The thin mustache and goatee (of a much darker color) added nothing to the effect, either.
    On top of all this absurdity, Chevalle was wearing his dark blue tricorn hat, which was adorned with fluffy blue ostrich feathers…much like Barbossa’s hat, in fact. Jack wondered if Barbossa had intended the imitation. Of all the Pirate Lords to imitate, why Chevalle? Especially when Barbossa had a much classier and more fashion-savvy example right under his nose. Well, really . Jack sniffed indignantly just thinking about it.
    Fifi growled again, and Chevalle stroked her head with fingers covered in rings. “It’s all right, ma petite ,” he murmured. “If he does not tell us why he is here, I will let you eat him for dinner—and, bon appétit .”
    Fifi licked her chops with her tiny pink tongue.
    “It’s quite extraordinary,” Jack said conversationally, raising his eyebrows at Fifi. “I had no idea that there were rats that big.”
    Chevalle and Fifi both narrowed their eyes at him. “She is a French poodle ,” Chevalle purred snootily, refusing to be rattled by Jack’s rudeness. “Only one of the most valuable and expensive dogs in le monde . And smarter than you, je suis certain of that.”
    Ruff! Fifi agreed, turning up her nose.
    “Yes, she’s a treasure,” Jack said. “I bet she’d get along famously with this cat I once knew.” Back when he was captain of the Barnacle , Jack had been perpetually tormented by a cat named Constance. She was actually Jean’s sister, who had been turned into a cat by the mystic Tia Dalma. In her feline form, she was a hideous menace who plagued Jack at every turn.
    Constance would probably love Fifi…at the very least, they could gang up on him together. Although, according to Jean, Constance was off somewhere living a normal human life now. If she was anything like her cousin Marcella, Jack hoped to never ever meet her in “person” form.
    Chevalle stared at him with cold eyes. “Jacques, why are you here?”
    “Oh,” Jack said casually, “no reason. Happened to be in the area, thought I’d pop ’round to say cheers, see the old mansion. Love what you’ve done with the place.” He arched an expressive eyebrow at the shattered mirrors.
    Chevalle leaned back and propped his peculiar shoes on the table. Fifi began licking his fingers delicately.
    “ Tres bien ,” Chevalle said. “Since you insist on being obtuse, I will help you. Are you here perchance about a blackguard who is going around calling himself the Shadow Lord?”
    Jack tried not to react, but his face must have given him away. Chevalle pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “As I suspected,” he said. “I know about the vials of Shadow Gold, Jacques.”
    “I’ve always hated it when you call me that,” Jack said, nudging a candlestick with his foot. He felt like a kid who’d been caught doing something wrong—hauled into Teague’s study for punishment and squirming on the carpet.
    “I know,” Chevalle said serenely. “The Shadow Gold is magnifique . I have never seen such a beautiful thing.” He stared into space, his fingers moving slowly through Fifi’s fur.
    “You think?” Jack said, trying to sound offhanded. He shrugged elaborately. “A bit gaudy, if you ask me.”
    Chevalle shook his head. “ Non , you are mistaken. It is ze essence of pure beauty.”
    Jack scratched his head under his hat. He gave Chevalle a sly glance. “Per’aps I’m just remembering them wrong, then,” he said. “Maybe I need to take another look. Too bad I left mine back on the Pearl , eh? Mind if I have a gander at yours? Where d’ye keep it?”
    “Ha-ha,” Chevalle chuckled. “You do not have a vial, Jacques. The Shadow Gold is