Shaman starts with a confusion spell.

The shaman's lip curled as he watched these interlopers clumsily cut a way past the plant-life crowding the beach instead of using the thin path through the brush a tribesman would have spotted easily. He would make them leave this holy sanctuary. The spirits of the plants embraced him, letting him pass without trace through their jungle. It was trivial to slip down to the mauled trail the new comers left, pluck flame-colored hairs off the thorn bush the woman had brushed against, and pass back into the woods as silent as a shadow.

While the invaders made their way slowly but surely towards the sacred temple at the center of this island, bashing through the foliage like drunkards, his calloused hands carefully twisted green branches into a small figure. Wrapping the red hairs about its head was all he needed to complete the poppet and extend his power out to the woman leading this war party. Picking a few nuts from the forest floor, he was ready to begin.

"Let her mind be cracked and divided like these shells," the shaman easily crushed the nuts in his stony grip as he beseeched the spirits of the air before sprinkling the broken bits over the little doll's head.

Alice's head swam. Last time the pirate-ess experienced something like this, the lot of them were drinking a public house dry in Aruba and a big Nederlander laid a lucky fist upside her head. But no one had raised a hand on her here and, to her ever living irritation, there was no one for her cutlass to gut in retribution. She stumbled to a stop and pulled off her tricorn. Alice rubbed her forehead in vain hope of corralling her scattering thoughts.

Mr. Malloy put a stout hand on the woman's shoulder to steady her. "You alright, cap'n?" he asked in his flowiing Irish lilt. "You're sway'n like you're outta your tree."

Alice spun on the man. "It'd take half of Dublin to put me out of any tree I sat in." She slapped his hand away. "It's this damned stifling jungle. I'll be finer than new once we get a proper breeze. Now, quit moving your jaws and get moving your feet!"

The men exchanged awkward looks. "You were to say where," Mr. Halimi squeaked out sheepishly.

"Of course I said where," she snapped. "You turn toward a rock that looks like a..." For the life of her, Alice couldn't remember. The journal said to turn toward the rock that looked like a snake? monkey? raccoon? She cracked the book. She went through the pages time and again but the Spanish that was so plain before sounded like mad ramblings now. As she scoured the nonsense, Alice slowly became aware that the men were staring at her, judging her, weighing her boldness, her fitness to lead.

The pirate slapped the journal closed. "It's this way!" the captain declared, gesturing off at an odd angle.

Several minutes later, they burst out of the suffocating jungle onto a long, pink-sand beach, the very same beach they landed on this morning. Alice shook her head, that couldn't be right, yet their rowboat lay a couple dozen yards away.

"Mon capitaine," said Renard, demonstrating his amazing talent for stating the obvious, "we 'ave gone in a circle."

Alice flung her hat at the lanky Haitian, sending the tricorn bouncing across the sand. "Don't you know I know that? I... I..." She searched for an explanation. "I told you that jungle was stifling. I needed a breeze... now I've got one and I know where to go. So, let's go." She stormed back into the trees not even bothering with her abandoned hat.

Molloy exchanged worried glances with Smith and the others but they dutifully followed their leader once more into the dense jungle growth that filled the island. After a hard trek through treacherous terrain where the captain had to sacrifice a boot to the deep mud of the stream bed she'd wandered into, and their captain mumbling to herself with her countless careful referencing and cross-referencing of every detail the journal offered, they finally emerged back onto that very same beach from this morning.

Alice pulled at her red hair. "What? How?!"

Mr. Malloy stepped forward, his voice low. "I'm tell'n you cap'n, this island is not right. This land is haunted it is, and I say-"

"And you're talking shite," Alice snapped. "I'm not walking away because four little boys got scared of the big dark woods!"

"Then how do you explain us, being back here again?"

"It's... it's..." Alice's mind spun for options. "It's the big dark woods. The canopy. It's thick. We can't see the sun and we get turned around." That sounded reasonable enough to her. "See? It's leaves. That's all. No fairies, no spirits. Just leaves." She spun around. "Who has the compass?"

Smith slowly raised his hand. "It's I captain, I 'ave it."

"We use that!" Relieved she had solved the 'spooky' mystery of the island, Alice strode proudly back into the woods.

For hours they criss-crossed the island, carefully consulting their instrument, stumbling on roots, swatting away insects of all varieties, and pressing through suffocating jungle. The captain pushed them maniacally, Alice even gave up her second boot to a strangle of thorny vines rather than turn back. Finally, they emerged onto the very beach they'd landed on that morning.

"No!" Alice bellowed. "No. No! NO!" She was practically hopping in place. With an anguished scream she flung her coat to the sand and stomped it till the pique had left her.

Renard shook his head and wrung his dark fingers. "La capitaine is un master navigator. This is impossible. It is le vaudou - the voodoo you call it. We are ensorcelé!" He pointed to the rowboat patiently waiting on the sand. "We should take it and leave."

"No," Alice barked.

"In my land," began Halimi, "we have the djinn, spirits of the-" He went suddenly quiet when the captain unsheathed her cutlass.

"No! No spirits!" She swung the blade expertly to herd the men back, eyes as wide as plates. "It's a small island. That temple should be easy to find. We're not leaving until someone - Gets. Me. My. Gold!"

Renard crossed himself, muttering, "La capitaine, elle est devenue folle."

They returned to the thicket and wandered this way and that, up hill and down, driven on by their rambling captain, and returning to the dreaded beach twice more and twice more the captain herded her men back into the jungle. None of them were fool enough to try and cross the women when she had a blade in her hand. She wandered at random, stopping to mutter to herself or stare confusedly at the enigmatic terrain, until the dying light **** them to stop.

The tropical night was mild but being left barefoot and coatless made Alice feel cold and ****. The men huddled around the safety of their fire, chewing on hardtack and exchanging concerned glances while their captain sat forlornly on the edge of the light, determined to hold back tears of frustration.

The shaman smiled grimly as he watched the distraught invaders huddle around their fire. Any reasonable human would see that lords of this land had given them many chances to abandon their thievery, take their strange boat, and go but she would not. The flame-hair's greed and pride had blinded her. Now, he would humble her for her stubborn pride.