Hurricane Gold

  Day faded slowly into night and a roof of stars appeared.

  Precious emerged from under the lifeboat and paced up and down the deck. She had been keeping herself to herself, lost in her own thoughts. Perhaps she too was wondering if they were doing the right thing. She was a very different person to the one he had first met the other day at her house.

  How long ago was that? It seemed like years.

  Precious stopped her pacing and approached James.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ she said.

  ‘You should try,’ said James, standing up.

  ‘I know,’ said Precious and before James realised what was happening she gave him a hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in his ear.

  ‘What for?’ said James, taken aback.

  ‘For helping me,’ she murmured. ‘I know I said a lot of things back there in the jungle, but I really don’t think I would have been brave enough to do this by myself.’

  She kissed him quickly and crawled back under the lifeboat.

  James settled down on the deck with his jacket for a pillow and looked up at the stars, trying to think of nothing. Slowly sleep crept up on him and he lay there, rocked by the waves, untroubled by dreams.

  He was awoken by a boot in the side at daybreak. The first mate was standing over him, chuckling.

  ‘Wakey, wakey, rise and shine,’ he said. ‘We’re there.’

  The sky was a dull, lifeless grey broken by thin streaks of lurid salmon pink. James felt queasy and disoriented. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and scratching his head. Precious and Manny were emerging from under the lifeboat, looking as dazed and confused as James felt.

  Off the starboard side of the ship was the crouching, black shape of an island, but in the dim early-morning light James could make out no features.

  ‘How long till we put in to the harbour?’ he asked.

  ‘Put in to harbour?’ the first mate laughed. ‘You must think us daft. This is as close as we’re getting, my friend. You know what that place is? No one ships there unless they got bad business. Well, it ain’t my business, it’s your’n. From now on, you’re on your own.’ The mate spat over the rail.

  ‘A rowing boat, then?’ said James. ‘You’ll at least row us to the shore?’

  ‘I’m not a pirate,’ said the mate. ‘I’ve little sympathy for you but I’ll not see you drown. Come along.’

  They clambered over the side of the ship and down a rope ladder to a waiting rowing boat where four sleepy sailors sat ready at the oars.

  They pulled steadily across the dark water until they were within a couple of hundred feet of the shore.

  ‘This is the end of the line,’ said the mate. ‘It’s too dangerous to go in any closer. There’s submerged rocks here and a very nasty reef. You can swim, I hope.’

  ‘Yes,’ said James, ‘but –’

  ‘There’s no buts about it,’ interrupted the mate. ‘You can swim ashore or you can return to the Lady Grey and sail with us to Kingston.’

  ‘I paid you to take us to –’ said James, but it was all he said before the mate pulled out a pistol and waved it at him.

  ‘Get in and swim,’ he said unpleasantly.

  James took Precious by the hand and jumped before she could protest, a moment later they heard a splash as Manny joined them.

  James kicked and felt sharp rocks below the water, which was churning and surging over the reef.

  The rowing boat was already a small shape heading back towards the ship.

  He looked at Precious’s frightened face. Manny was nowhere to be seen.

  If they made it to dry land it would be a miracle.

  Part Three: LAGRIMAS NEGRAS

  Eton College

  Eton

  Windsor

  Dear James,

  As your classical tutor I thought that I really ought to write to you and bring you up to date with all things Eton. I’m afraid that I can never stop being a schoolmaster, and even from a distance of some five thousand miles I am worrying about your education. I am sure that your admirable aunt will be doing her best to school you, but I know how you always did prefer outdoor pursuits to dry and dusty learning. I realise that you find lessons pretty beastly at the best of times but it won’t stop me from trying to drum some education into you, and I only hope that something is sinking in.

  As you have no doubt already discovered, I am enclosing in the package a couple of school books I would like you to look over, as well as some test papers for you to complete. On another sheet you will also find some ‘homework’. It is merely a few construes and some passages to translate, from Latin into English and vice versa, just so that you don’t become completely rusty. You will be familiar with all this from work we have done before, and I don’t think you will find any of it too taxing. As I say, though, I don’t want your brain to turn to complete mush while you are away in the land of the sombrero. I trust you are enjoying yourself in Mexico, and, despite this letter and all my efforts, don’t work too hard!

  I have been mulling over your return to Eton in the summer half. I think it would be pleasanter for you if you could ease gently back into school life. To that end, I wonder if you would like to join the school party in Kitzbuhel at Easter. The Alps will be rather lovely at that time of year. There will be rock climbing, walking in the mountains, tobogganing and skiing (weather permitting). I feel sure that an adventurous, outdoors chap like yourself would rather enjoy that sort of thing. Anyway, have a ponder and get your aunt to write to me when you have made a decision.

  I can hardly believe that a year has passed since you first arrived here at Eton. Time seems to be slipping through my fingers like desert sand. The months just gallop past. I remember your arrival as clearly as if it were yesterday. Standing outside my room one morning was a tall, quiet boy. He seemed a little unsure of himself, as all new boys must, but how quickly he learnt! You soon became a confident, self-sufficient young man and I could that see you were going to be a credit to the school. Not least because of your athletic achievements. Remember all the excitement of the Hellebore Cup and your triumph in the cross-country? You had all the self-assurance and guts of someone twice your age. It’s a shame you are missing out on all the running at the moment, but I am sure that you are keeping fit out there in Mexico.

  I am pretty confident that books and learning and the world of academia are not going to figure very heavily in your future, but I am also confident that you are destined for great things! For my part, I am doing my duty and sending you this, no doubt unwelcome, reminder of school. You, as usual, will do with it what you please.

  I will sign off now. I am sure you are not at all interested in the ramblings of an old schoolmaster. Good luck with the ‘homework’.

  Yours sincerely,

  Michael Merriot

  23

  Into His Mother’s Arms

  James struggled towards consciousness, like someone clawing his way through a sticky silver spider’s web. As he pulled aside the last strands, he became aware of light and sound and a soft breeze stroking his naked skin.

  He could hear two things, a rasping breath and a repeated harsh trumpet blast. As he tried to make sense of them he realised that one was the sound of surf breaking lazily on a beach and the other was the cry of a seabird.

  Now he tried to make sense of what he could see. It looked like a pile of glittering gold, spread out before him in a vast undulating heap. The nuggets closest to him were sharply defined but the rest were hazy and out of focus. He twitched his nose; something was pressing against his face. Then he understood that he was looking not at gold, but at sand. He was lying on his stomach with his face half-buried in the stuff.

  So he was on a beach, then? Yes. He could feel warm sun on his back and as he shifted his gaze he saw a large piece of smooth, bleached driftwood a few feet away.

  It all came back to him, now. Plunging into the cold water of the Caribbean. Fighting the waves and the current. Swimming hard towar
ds the island, but with every stroke being pulled further out. The grey-black sea smashing into him and trying to force him under. Refusing to give in to it, his arms hacking away at the sea. Then the reef scraping his legs and stomach. Tearing at his shirt. Trying to find a way through. Being thrown this way and that. Against the rocks. Precious tiring, calling for help. Holding her. Pulling her along the reef, looking for an opening, a way through to the sheltered waters on the other side. Losing all sight of Manny. Not caring. Only hoping that he and Precious could make it safely ashore. How long were they in the water? It felt like hours. Then there was the agonising memory of larger waves, and being hurled on to the rocks. He must have hit his head. After that his memory was blank and his thoughts were spun into the suffocating spider web.

  He was in one piece. Even if that piece was battered and bruised. Where was Precious, though? Had she made it ashore? He moved his elbows forward through the warm sand and pushed himself up. He checked the damage. His shirt was gone and his trousers were in tatters. He had scraped the skin off his arm and shoulder. The right-hand side of his chest was caked with dried blood. There was a hideous purple blotch lower down around his hip. But at least he was all there. Arms, legs, hands, feet. And his heart was beating and his lungs still pumping.

  A small red crab was curiously picking at a scab on his ankle. He plucked the creature off and threw it into the sea.

  The effort of this small movement exhausted him and he sank back into the sand and closed his eyes.

  In a moment he was asleep again.

  He was woken by a shadow falling across him as the sun was blotted out. He shivered and opened his eyes. Someone was standing over him.

  ‘Thought you could trick me, huh?’ said a man’s voice.

  James squinted up into the sun. The man was in silhouette, but it was unmistakably Manny, and he was pointing Strabo’s gun at him.

  Now what?

  ‘Manny?’ James said feebly. ‘You made it then. Where’s Precious?’

  ‘Never mind the girl,’ said Manny. ‘This is between you and me.’

  With a huge effort, James rolled on to his side and sat up.

  ‘You tried to fool me, huh?’ said Manny. He was damp, and had lost his hat and jacket and the bandage from around his head, but he looked like he’d had an easier time of it than James.

  His eyes were clear and burning.

  ‘Me!’ he shouted. ‘Nobody can make a mug out of Manny the Girl.’

  James hung his throbbing head in his hands and was sick into the sand.

  He needed to get out of the sun.

  He needed food and water.

  What he didn’t need was Manny going crazy on him.

  ‘Not now, Manny,’ he said.

  ‘You tried to pretend you was my brother Louis,’ said Manny. ‘All these days you been pretending. I don’t know how you did it. You musta put some kind of hoodoo on me. Used some kinda magic. But I seen through it. You ain’t Louis. You never was. I know who you really are. Yeah. You didn’t expect that, did you? You’re the guy tried to kill me back in Tres Hermanas. You’re the guy pushed me out the car. You and Precious have been working together.’

  At the mention of her name, James came alive. He stood up and looked along the beach in both directions, ignoring Manny.

  There was no sign of her. There was only golden sand and palm trees and the surf whispering on the shore.

  ‘Where is she?’ James asked. ‘Where’s Precious?’

  ‘Don’t worry about her,’ said Manny. ‘I took care of her.’

  ‘What?’ said James angrily. After everything they had been through he hated the thought that Manny would harm her in some way. ‘What have you done to her?’ he shouted.

  ‘I told you,’ said Manny. ‘She’s taken care of. Now tell me who? Huh? Who is ever going to know? You tell me that. Who is ever going to know?’

  ‘Know what?’ said James.

  ‘Know I shot you,’ said Manny. ‘You and the girl. I’m gonna shoot you and leave you on this beach to be eaten by the crabs. You thought I didn’t know what was going on, just because I hit my head. Well, I ain’t stupid, boy. I may be crazy but I ain’t stupid.’

  James was getting desperate. What had happened to Precious? He looked past the line of palms at the edge of the sand. The land rose sharply towards a bare hill, broken here and there by jagged, rocky outcrops. A group of big saguaro cactuses stood looking down at them like men standing and pointing. A gull screamed. Like the scream of a girl.

  ‘What have you done with her?’ James yelled.

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ snapped Manny. ‘I don’t want you trying to put another hoodoo on me. You ain’t Louis, you won’t fool me again.’

  ‘No, I’m not Louis,’ said James, with all the venom he could muster. ‘You left Louis to die, remember? Back in San Antone. You left him behind to be shot twenty-three times by the police. So, no, I’m not him, and I’m glad of it.’

  ‘Shut up,’ shouted Manny. ‘Just you shut up.’

  ‘No. I won’t shut up,’ James yelled. ‘I know all about you, Manny. I know all about how you killed you own mother, your precious mama.’

  ‘No, you’re lying,’ said Manny. ‘I never did. I never did. Not my mama.’

  ‘Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her,’ said James coldly. ‘Maybe you only meant to hit her, but you did kill her. You hit her and she fell, and she died. She isn’t waiting for you, Manny. Because if she’s in heaven, you’re going to hell.’

  ‘No,’ said Manny, fearfully shaking his head, which caused the flap to come loose again. ‘You’re lying, and your dirty lies are giving me a headache. Just you shut your mouth, you liar.’

  ‘Here he is, everybody,’ said James. ‘The great Manny the Girl! Who killed his own mother and left his brother behind to die.’

  Manny closed his eyes, fighting back tears. It was all that James needed. He squatted down, grabbed the piece of driftwood and swung it at the gun in Manny’s hand.

  There was a loud crash as the gun went off and then it spun away over the sand. James and Manny both dived for it at the same time, and scrabbled to get their fingers around it, rolling in the sand.

  ‘Oh, I’m gonna make you pay for your dirty lies,’ said Manny, getting his fingers around the trigger.

  ‘Put a sock in it,’ said James and just then the gun went off.

  James felt the heat of it, searing across his chest, but it was Manny who took the bullet. It hammered into his shoulder and he collapsed on to his back with a sigh.

  He lay there, white with pain and shock, and bleeding heavily.

  Despite everything, James suddenly felt sorry for him. He tore off part of Manny’s shirt and used it to try to stem the flow of blood.

  Manny’s eyes had become unfocused. Once again he looked like a poor frightened little boy.

  ‘It hurts, Louis,’ he said, the loss of blood tipping him back into fantasy. ‘I thought they got you, but they got me. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Just be quiet for a moment and lie still,’ said James, ‘I may be able to get help.’

  But Manny pushed him away, picked up the gun and lurched clumsily to his feet. He looked around, his eyes darting crazily, and saw the big cactuses up on the rocks.

  ‘Who are those people, Louis?’ he said, shielding his eyes from the sun, his shirt rapidly staining crimson.

  ‘There’s nobody there,’ said James. ‘Sit down and rest.’

  ‘No,’ said Manny, ‘look at them! Can’t you see them? What do they want? Why are they staring at me?’

  James tried to prise the gun out of Manny’s fingers but he was holding on with a claw-like grip.

  Manny shoved James away again and strode, stiff-legged, across the beach. James hurried after him into the tree line and up the hill. As Manny got up among the rocks he began firing at a cactus, knocking its ‘arm’ off. Then he carried on firing at its body until it was turned into a flayed and mushy pulp.

  ‘They won’t stop
staring, Louis,’ he said. ‘How do they know me? How do they know what I done?’

  ‘There’s no one there,’ said James. ‘They’re just cactuses.’

  Manny froze, momentarily unsure of where he was, and there came a distant shout from the trees.

  Manny spun round, his cheeks streaked with tears. ‘Can’t you hear it, Louis?’ he cried. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Then he broke into a smile, and his face lit up with the big, open grin of a child.

  ‘I heard something,’ said James.

  ‘I think it’s Mama, Louis. I think she’s calling out. She’s calling us home to dinner. We’re all going to be together again, Louis, the three of us.’

  He turned away from James, who scrambled up on to the rock behind him. On the other side was a low depression, filled with more cactuses: maguey, prickly pear, agaves and some big round barrel cactuses like giant pincushions. In the centre was another tall saguaro, which, indeed, seemed to be beckoning them with outstretched arms.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Manny called out. He looked like a little boy. ‘I’m coming, Ma –’

  ‘No,’ said James, but he couldn’t stop him.

  Manny staggered down the slope, got up on to a big rock, and stepped off it, straight into the ‘arms’ of the saguaro.

  He screamed.

  ‘It’s a trap, Louis,’ he roared. ‘They tricked us. They was waiting for us. Get away! Oh, damn, but it hurts.’

  As he struggled to free himself he stumbled deeper into the thicket of spiky plants and started firing again.

  James ducked down so as not to be hit by a stray bullet.

  He heard voices and the sound of hurrying footsteps. A moment later a group of Indians with long black hair emerged from the bushes. They were wearing matching white outfits and carrying modern rifles. They shouted something to Manny that James couldn’t understand, but Manny was lost in a world of pain and confusion, thrashing wildly in the cactuses, screaming and firing the last of his bullets.