The Code is more what you'd call guidelines than actual rules.
— I see my ship. Right there.
— Can't spot it. Must be a tiny little thing hiding somewhere behind the Pearl.
— I suppose in exchange, you want me not to kill the whelp.
— No, no, no. Not at all. By all means, kill the whelp. Just not yet.
— Close haul her. Luff the sails and lay her in iron.
— Belay that! Or we'll be a sitting duck.
— Belay that "belay that."
— But, captain...
— Belay. Belay. Stow. Stow. Shut it.
You know, the problem with being the last of anything, by and by there be none left at all.
You'd best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. You're in one.
— Look at them all.
— There's not been a gathering like this in our lifetime.
— And I owe them all money.
— You don't know what this is, do you?
— It's a pirate medallion.
— This is Aztec gold. One of 882 identical pieces they delivered in a stone chest to Cortés himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon them with his armies. But the greed of Cortés was insatiable. And so the heathen gods placed upon the gold a terrible curse. Any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity.