“We heard the shot,” Ross said. “We feared the worst.”
“I shot a rat.” Padre Dominguez pointed at the headless remains of an enormous rat.
“Midge!” Ross called. “Top speed. Get back to the ship and get Nubby!”
“No,” Padre Dominguez said, his voice thinning to a whisper.
“Too late. I am just a few beats of the heart from my Lord.”
In spite of the monk’s grave words, Ross waved Midge to go on.
“Padre,” Ross said, almost afraid to ask, “where’s Anne?”
“He took her, Declan. He took her. His fleet departed for the Isle of Swords . . . I don’t know. It seems like hours, but down here, I don’t know.”
“The ships,” St. Pierre thought aloud. “Caiman, those were the ships you saw in the fog.”
Suddenly, Padre Dominguez’s eyes went very wide. He sat up and raised both trembling hands, reaching for Ross. “Declan, he has the map. He knows the way. He knows everything. My Lord, forgive me. I told him everything!”
Ross knelt at his side. “We’ll follow him,” Ross said. “We’ll make sure—”
“No!” Padre Dominguez gasped and grabbed Ross’s shoulders.
“The true treasure, you must make sure he does not get it!”
“You said something like that before, Padre. What do you mean?
Gold, silver, jewels—what?”
“Thorne can have all that.” Padre Dominguez coughed violently. His eyes fixed for a moment, and he fell backward. Then he blinked and looked again at Ross. “Declan, come closer.” His voice now was so weak and soft that none of the crew could hear it. Ross put his ear to the monk’s mouth. Padre Dominguez whispered, and Ross’s face went ashen white.
Ross pulled free of the monk’s grasp. “How can that be?” Ross asked.
“Promise me,” said the monk. His last breath escaped, and this time, his eyes remained fixed. Ross felt for a pulse and found none.
Ross stood and faced his crew. He wondered how much they had heard.
“Is he . . . ?” Cat asked.
Ross shook his head. Padre Dominguez was gone. “Thorne and his fleet are underway to the Isle of Swords. If Anne is to live . . . and if we will ever see that treasure, we must stop him.”
“But Captain,” said Jules, “what did he mean when he said Thorne has the map? The map is . . .”
Ross turned back to the dead priest. He motioned for Jules to help, and they carefully laid the monk on his stomach. Ross and Jules recoiled when they saw the amount of blood on his back.
Then, hating to have to do so, but needing to be certain, Ross gently brushed away the blood and looked at his back. One glance, and Ross shut his eyes and looked away. “Thorne took the map.”
“Brandon, be reasonable,” Sir Nigel said in the commodore’s quarters. “How can you possibly trust the word of a pirate?”
Blake paced quietly for a few moments. “I do not think Ross is typical of most pirates.”
“You are right in that,” Sir Nigel scoffed. “Most pirates do not blow up the islands they visit!”
“That is not what I mean. Declan Ross is a scoundrel, there can be no doubt. He has not earned the moniker of the Sea Wolf for nothing. But he has some honorable qualities.”
“Ha! Name one.”
“He is loyal to his crew.”
Sir Nigel nodded. “Name another.”
“He is merciful. After all, he spared my life in Misson.”
“True, I suppose. Name one more.”
“Sir Nigel, I’m not recommending that Ross be recognized as a saint! I just feel like we must trust this letter.”
“But to sail all the way to Cape Verde?”
“Yes!” Commodore Blake pounded a fist into his open hand.
“Tell me, why would Declan Ross risk his own capture with the note, if he was not attempting to eliminate his competition?”
“I can think of a hundred other reasons.”
“No, Sir Nigel. Thorne’s stronghold is on Cape Verde. We will endeavor to make top speed, and, if providence allows, we will catch Bartholomew Thorne or kill him.”
Sir Nigel stood at the rail on the Oxford’s stern. Disgusted, he spat over the side. This far out in the Atlantic, he knew there was no way to contact Scully. Thorne was a potent force at sea, but would he be able to defend his fortress against the might of the British Royal Navy?
Bartholomew Thorne had placed Anne in the same cell she had occupied before on the Raven. He’d made sure that she had better food—salted meat and fresh bread—but it was the same disgusting cell. It was dark outside, and the lanterns only gave off a little light.
Still, she could not risk opening the Bible because several pirates lingered on the cell deck. She waited for what seemed an eternity until the men at last ascended the stairs.
She scooted to the most-well-lit corner of the cell and slowly drew the Bible out of her clothes. She flipped through, searching for the book of Romans and the message written in blood. Finding it, she paused. Chills shot up her arms. His message went on for page after page. Knowing that Padre Dominguez had written to her with his own blood was more than a little disturbing. But what had been so important? Anne could no longer delay. Glancing up for a moment to the shadowy stairwell, she began to read.
Anne,
I told Thorne how to get to the Isle of Swords, but I did not tell him everything. I tell you now in the hopes that you mig ht yet be able to bargain for your life—and because you must help me. There are two keys.One of them, the key to the clifftop castle itself, Thorne knows it is hidden at the bottom of the shallows of the bay near the island. I told him he must dive for it. But what he does not know is that something lives in that water. The Watcher, we call it, a creature that will not suffer an impure soul to enter its domain. The other key is to a chest on the altar where the candles are. You will find a silver cross alone on a wall. The cross is the key. Take the contents from that chest. If you can escape, deliver them to the abbey of San Ravelle in Venezuela. If you cannot escape, do anything you can to keep the true treasure from Thorne. Now, read Romans.
Anne sat lost in thought for some time, rereading the blood letter again and again. When at last she looked up from the Scriptures, her body jolted and she caught her breath. Bartholomew Thorne stood at the door of her cell. “Anne,” he said, his eyebrows not quite low enough to hide the cold fire in his eyes, “I do not recall providing you with anything to read, especially a book for weak-minded fools like Dominguez.”
Anne snatched several pages out of the Bible, but before she could do anything with them, Thorne’s bleeding stick slammed her wrist to the ground. One of the spikes pierced her hand just above the wrist. She dropped the pages and screamed in agony.
“What were you going to do with those pages?” Thorne asked.
“Eat them? But if you had done that, you would have forced me to fetch Mister Flagg. I’m certain he could have found a way to get them out of you. But that would have been very . . . unpleasant.”
He lifted his stick, and Anne clutched her bleeding hand to her chest. Then Thorne unlocked the door of her cell, took the Bible from Anne, and picked up the ripped-out pages. He said to her, “Do you have any other tricks, my dear?” She shook her head no.
He locked her cell door. “Good girl,” he said. “Now, if you excuse me, I feel the need upon my soul to do a little reading in the Good Book.”
The deck of the Robert Bruce unexpectedly felt very alien to Cat.
The ship sailed northwest at the highest speed the prevailing winds would allow. Ross, with the help of Ramiro de Ferro Goncalo, had the crew working feverishly to adjust and repair sails for optimum performance. And everywhere Cat turned, there was tension. Crewmen spoke in whispers or argued. Once, when Cat walked past a group of men eating, he heard someone mention his name. Cat slid around a corner and listened.
“. . . Cat knew,” said one man. “Saint Pierre and Jules searched the place out, and they mis
sed it.”
“He couldn’t have just seen it?” said another. “He had to know it was there.”
“So what if he knew?” This voice Cat recognized. It was Red Eye.
“Maybe he was held a prisoner there. Did ya ever think of that?”
“Since when did Thorne ever keep prisoners?”
“Yeah, I say he’s one of them.”
“Them who?” said Red Eye, growing irritated. “One of Thorne’s men?”
“Why not? Maybe Thorne’s plantin’ his men on other pirate ships to spy on us or . . . to pull some treacherous act.”
“Obviously yer not capable of thinking,” said Red Eye. “But try to see what yer suggestin’. So Thorne is sendin’ out spies, and the way he does it is by beatin’ ’em near to death and then leavin’ ’em on islands in the hopes that rival pirates will pick ’em up?
Fool. Use yer head. And what about Cat’s memory . . . you think he’s faking that?”
“Maybe not,” said one of the men quietly. “But isn’t it odd the things he seems to remember?” Red Eye had no answer for that.
Shaking his head, Cat walked away. He needed to get off the deck, to find a quiet place to think. But on his way, Declan Ross and Stede crossed in front of him. “Captain Ross,” Cat called. “Captain Ross, may I talk with you?”
Ross and Stede were talking animatedly. Looking annoyed, Ross turned and said, “Not right now, Cat.”
“But, sir, it’s important.” Ross did not reply. He and Stede thundered away and climbed up to the quarterdeck where Stede took the wheel from Ramiro. Cat followed but did not join them on the quarterdeck. He didn’t have to. Anyone within twenty feet could hear their conversation.
“We’ll make for the Azores,” Ross said, sounding like he must have already said it before but was being questioned. “The monk said the Isle of Swords was a hundred miles due west of the Azores.”
“I’ve been there,” Stede replied. “A dozen times, mayb’ more. I haven’t seen a thing. The monk said the currents will b’ throwing us off. So, mon, how will we b’ finding it?”
“We’ll use our compass and the stars, like he said.”
“But what stars, mon?! Do you remember the map?”
“NO!” Ross yelled. “No, I don’t remember, Stede! But Thorne has my daughter. I’ve got to try! What else can I do?”
“We can wait,” Stede answered. “We’re not far from the Azores, mon. Let’s wait for Thorne to make his return trip. Then we have him.”
Ross thought for a moment. He wondered if Commodore Blake had found his note. He wondered if the British would do what he asked. “Every time I wait, someone dies. I will not wait this time. If you prefer, I can drop you off on the Azores, but I’m sailing for the Isle of Swords.”
“Aw, don’t b’ a fool, mon. Ya won’t b’ dropping me off, not without the gold from that island.”
Cat climbed down the nearest hatch. He went to the third deck and found his hammock and lay down. Then he took the leather pouch out of his coat and began to put the clues together.
41
CROSSCURRENTS
Shouts came from down the hall. Blake and Sir Nigel ran to investigate. “Commodore Blake,” said Mr. Jordan between gulps of air. He had a dark-skinned man by the arm. “Sir, we found this man hiding near the back of the estate. He’s a bit hard to understand, some sort of mixture of local dialects, Portuguese, and English. But I think he knows something about Thorne.”
Commodore Blake towered over the wiry, dark-skinned man. “Do you know what happened to Bartholomew Thorne and his fleet?”
He nodded his head emphatically. “Si, Thorne, ’es my master. Pero, if I tell you, you give me freedom. No more cativo, no slave?”
“Freedom.” Sir Nigel clucked. “Look here, you’ll get the gallows if you do not speak.”
“Silence, Nigel!” Blake looked at his second-in-command hard before turning his attention back to the man. “Yes, tell me what you know about Bartholomew Thorne, and I will purchase your freedom. I’ll even give you a plot of land for your very own.”
“Land, para me?” That was all it took. He told what he knew.
“Thorne and el navio, his ship and his fleet, they leave here four nights ago tras por do sol.”
“That is after sunset,” said Mr. Jordan. Blake nodded.
“Then, much later, another pirata navio, grande ship, came.”
“Ross,” Blake whispered.
“Piratas search everywhere. They dig a grave in the garden. Then they leave.”
“We found the grave, sir,” said Mr. Jordan. “There’s an open-air courtyard on the west side of the estate. There’s no name on the grave, but it is marked with a cross.”
“The place is deserted, Commodore,” said Sir Nigel. “If Thorne was ever here, we’ve missed him.”
Commodore Blake wondered if, perhaps, Ross had just sent them on an epic wild-goose chase. Finally, he said, “Take this man aboard. Give him a hot meal.” He turned to Sir Nigel. “Thorne was here. We missed him.”
“Where do we go now?” Sir Nigel asked.
“North by northwest,” said Commodore Blake. “Just as Declan Ross suggests.”
Anne woke up in the dark. She tried to sit up only to be greeted with a surge of fresh pain. She remembered almost falling asleep when the sea had started to roll. She had heard frantic shouts from above as men ran about on deck. Ten pirates each with coils of ropes draped on their shoulders appeared on the cell deck. They scurried back and forth, tying down anything that hadn’t already been secured.
“What’s happening?!” she’d shouted at them, managing to stand.
None of the men answered her directly, but as they left, one of them threw her a coil of rope and said, “Tie yourself t’ the bars, lassie!”
She remembered doubling the rope, tying off both ends, and slipping into the loop she’d made. That was when the world seemed to turn upside down. Anne remembered nothing more until she awakened with her head throbbing and her body aching as if she’d been beaten with a staff. She felt fresh bruises on her knees, elbows, back, and even on her head.
“You did survive,” came a rough voice from the stairwell.
“No thanks to you.” Anne looked at the wound on her hand. It had scabbed over, but still looked raw.
Thorne approached her cell. “Yes, well, a captain must maintain the discipline of his crew.”
She ignored his comment. “Last night, was that a storm?”
“No,” Thorne replied. He stared blankly in her direction. “I am not altogether sure what we experienced. Padre Dominguez warned me of a place where the ocean currents collide. He said that the sea would erupt in mountainous waves . . . that we must ride the wind down the backside of the wave before it crested. This we did, but it was not easy. I have never seen an angrier sea.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Anne felt its vibration in the wood of the deck. “Where are we now?” she asked.
“By my reckoning,” he said, sorting through the keys on an enormous ring, “we are but five miles from the Isle of Swords.” He opened the cell door and said, “You will come up on deck. I have something to show you. A sight unlike any you have ever seen in your life.”
Cat awoke with a start. He was breathing hard, sweating, and swaying rapidly in his hammock. The images were still fresh, swirling in his mind. He blinked and drifted back into them. Where is it, boy?!
The harsh voice. I know she gave it to you. Out with it!
Stop! Leave me alone! Another voice. Cat recognized it as his own. I don’t know what you’re talking about!
Don’t you lie to me. Whelp! Cat felt the blow to his back. The sting. She must have told you. She gave you the map, didn’t she?
Cat saw cold blue eyes glaring at him from a dark shadowy figure. Unexpectedly, someone burst into the room. A woman, a beautiful woman with red hair. She grabbed the man by the shoulders.
Don’t you dare lay a hand on him! You coward!
The
man slammed the back of his fist into her jaw, and she fell to the floor.
The man drew back and began to kick her. Cat saw himself rise to his feet and run to the woman’s aid, but the man shoved him so hard he fell to the ground and rolled. He saw the man kick her too many times to count. Then the man walked toward Cat.
“Nooooo!” Cat choked out a cough and rolled out of his hammock. He fell to the floor on deck three. He was back on the Bruce. He looked to his right and saw that his leather pouch had also fallen to the ground. He picked up the pouch. She gave you the map, didn’t she?
Cat untied the leather lace and tipped the bag. The silver cross slid out into his hand. A few shakes, and the lock of red hair came. The jewel was gone, no doubt lining Vesa Turinen’s pockets with gold.
Cat stared at the pouch. Slowly, he removed the leather lace from the guide loops around the mouth of the bag. Grasping the edges, he spread open the material and pressed it flat on the deck. The golden lantern light revealed an intricately detailed map . . . a map to the Isle of Swords.
The bells for the middle watch on the Bruce had sounded long ago.
Ross, Stede, Ramiro, and Jules stood on the quarterdeck.
“Ramiro, give me the logbook again,” said Ross, holding up a hand. The captain stood next to the wheel. He stared through a sextant, measuring the angle of the horizon based on a prominent star. Ramiro handed Ross a weather-beaten book as thick as a man’s fist. Ross found what he was looking for and announced, “It’s got to be here! Dominguez said we’d hit the crosscurrents a hundred miles west of the Azores. We are precisely one hundred miles due west of the Azores.”
Stede was at the wheel. “Plenty of stars,” said Stede. “But without the map, we b’ not knowing which ones to use!”
Ross growled and turned to Jules. “Has anything odd happened with the compass?”
“No, sir,” he replied. “I’ve been closely watching it. We’ve stayed due west, just like you ordered.”
“Captain Ross,” a quiet voice drifted up the ladder. Declan leaned over the edge of the deck and gave Cat a hand up.