Isle of Fire (21 page)

Several Raukar warriors dismounted their horses and went to work, unfastening the sled from the harness they'd used to drag the cannon to the shore. By the time Teach and his crew boarded the
Talon
, the Raukar had the dragon neck cannon in position. Thorne watched eagerly as Teach sailed the
Talon
farther out into the harbor.

“What is the effective range?” asked Thorne.

“Eight hundred, maybe nine hundred feet for a direct hit,” answered Brandir, the chief gunner. “But you must remember the inner barrel of the dragon neck is grooved in such a way as to impart spin on the eldregn canister. When it explodes, the eldregn spreads like a deadly cloud. Even a near miss will suffice.”

“And the wind?” Thorne asked.

“None today,” said Brandir. “But out at sea in a strong wind, the canisters will move off target . . . accuracy—and distance—are greatly diminished.”

Thorne grunted. That was ill news. When was the Atlantic ever void of wind? Thorne raised his spyglass. Teach had at last anchored the
Talon
. Thorne watched with some amusement as Teach and the others tripped all over each other trying to get into the cutter and row away. They had some guess as to what was coming.

“Are they out of range?” asked Brandir.

Thorne watched through the glass and waited. “Yes,” he said with a sigh. Normally, he would not have cared, but the Raukar might balk if he blasted his own crewmen out of the water. “Yes, they are clear of the ship, far enough, I think. So long as your shot is true.”

“I will not miss,” Brandir said abruptly. He growled something in Norse to his men, and they sprang up. They loaded the firing cartridge and ramrodded it deep into the barrel. Brandir stared at the
Talon
and cut the fuse on the canister before loading it into the barrel. Brandir and another man cranked up the barrel. “On your command,” said Brandir.

Thorne looked upon the
Talon
. Its white sails were raised high but moved very little. Brandir was right: there was maybe a five-knot breeze, nothing more. The ship swayed gently on the dark water beneath a slate gray sky. “Fire.”

Brandir lit the fuses, and the Raukar gunners stepped away. The cannon uttered a sudden, deep blast. Thorne watched through the spyglass. He watched the projectile arc high and sail out of sight. A heartbeat later, the sky flashed as if by lightning. The boom that came subsequently was thunderous, and a great fiery claw erupted over the
Talon
. Molten strands of flame fell upon the ship. The sails vanished first. Fire raced down both masts and in all directions across the spars. The main deck became a cauldron, and the ship was quickly enveloped in fire. Thorne lowered the spyglass and gasped. How long had it been? Fifteen . . . twenty seconds?

Suddenly, a great explosion rocked the harbor. The eldregn had reached the powder deck below the waterline. The
Talon
burst open spectacularly with whole sections of the hull and deck blasting outward. Flaming debris screamed into the sky and then rained down into the burning water below. The circle of destruction was enormous. Thorne imagined such an explosion in the midst of a different harbor . . . a harbor full of British warships, packed in tightly together.

Hrothgar, who had been watching from a nearby hilltop, descended and stood near to Thorne. “Now are you satisfied?” he asked.

“The British burned away my most precious treasure,” said Thorne. “So I will turn their nation into an isle of fire.”

16
TREASURE IN THE SPIDER'S DEN

U
hnngh!
Commodore Blake strained, reaching his arm into the discovered passage behind the desk. He pulled out his arm and sat up. “I'm quite certain I cannot reach it.”

“I could,” said Hopper. “Back at the fort in New Providence . . . I, well, I did this sort of thing all the time.”

“I'm sure you did, Hopper,” said Lady Dolphin playfully, tickling him behind his ear. Hopper squeaked with laughter.

“It's awfully tight,” said Blake. “Are you sure you want to try? The bundle's all the way in there.”

“No problem, Guv'nor,” he replied, dropping to the floor. “Just leave it to Hopper.”

Hopper began to shimmy his way into the crawlspace. Blake held the oil lantern up to the opening in the wall. It didn't give Hopper much light, but he was glad to have it. After all, those spiderwebs wafting in the cool drafts had to have gotten there somehow.

The bundle was just a few feet ahead. Hopper inched along. He was now all the way into the passage. Commodore Blake and Lady Dolphin could just see the bottoms of his shoes slowly disappearing into the opening. But then his shoes stopped and became very still.

“Hopper, is everything all right?” Dolphin asked.

There was silence for a few heartbeats, and then Hopper tentatively responded, “Uh, yes . . . my lady . . . everyfin' is fine.”

But everything wasn't fine. Hopper had stopped because the light of the lantern had illuminated the owner of one of the billowing webs—a large brown spider. Its long, fuzzy legs were drawn up close to its body so that it appeared as a jumble of rigid angles. At first, Hopper hoped it was dead, but as Hopper drew near, it scurried forward an inch. Hopper could feel its multiple dark eyes staring at him.
Come on, lad
, he told himself.
It's just a spider. You're a
hundred times its size.
But Hopper knew, in this tight crawlspace, he could not easily retreat. And it was impossible to sit up or turn away. That spider could just skitter right up to Hopper's nose, and Hopper could do very little about it.

And yet . . . Hopper desperately did not want to let Commodore Blake and Lady Dolphin down. In spite of the fact that Hopper had routinely stolen from the British back in New Providence and then stowed away on the
Oxford
, Commodore Blake and his wife had welcomed him, given him meaningful work to do, and something more. Hopper looked the spider in its multiple eyes and said under his breath, “You'll stay put if you know what's good for you.”

Then Hopper squirmed forward—inch by inch. He passed by the spider's lair and dared not turn his head to look back. He expected at any moment to feel hairy legs climbing up onto his elbow. But he didn't. He did, however, get coated in more dust.

The bundle was just ahead. “Almost there!” he called back over his shoulder. He stretched out his arm, grabbed the twine that bound the bundle, and drew it into his grasp. Then he began to wriggle himself backward. He passed the spider's lair, which, he noted, was now empty. At last, he pushed his feet out of the opening in the wall, and Commodore Blake carefully hauled the young lad the rest of the way out.

Hopper stood up and, with a slight bow, handed the bundle to the commodore. “Oh, Hopper,” said Lady Dolphin. Hopper grinned, expecting to be showered with praise. But the next words from Lady Dolphin's lips were, “It seems you've brought back a stowaway of your own.” She reached toward Hopper's shoulder, and when her hand drew back, the hairy brownish spider sat on top of it. The creature looked even more hideous in the brighter light, especially sitting there like a pet on Lady Dolphin's delicate white fingers. But it didn't seem to bother her in the least. “He's not dangerous . . . unless you're a roach or some such.” She lowered her hand to the opening and shooed the creature back to its shadowy home.

Commodore Blake gave the bundle to his wife. “I believe you should be the one to open this . . . whatever the contents turn out to be.”

Lady Dolphin carried the bundle over to the dusty couch and sat down. She untied the laces and opened the stiff cloth, revealing three very old journals. They were, in fact, exactly like the others Mrs. Kravits had sent over those many months ago. Her eyes glistening, Dolphin looked up to her husband and to Hopper. She opened the first journal and, in spite of the apparent water damage that had smeared the ink on several pages, she immediately recognized her father's flowing script. Dolphin smiled and her lip trembled as she spoke. “His writing is always so ornate. You'd think he was writing a treaty for the king, not a personal journal.” Dolphin laughed, but her eyes remained locked onto the text.

“The king?” Commodore Blake mumbled. He retrieved his pocket watch and flipped open the brass face. “It is much later than I thought. My darling, I am caught between two needs. I must attend my meeting with King George, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving you at a time like this.”

“It is never wise to keep a king waiting,” Dolphin said. “And after your reception at the palace this morning, I want to be with you. I will read my father's journals in the carriage.”

“What about me?” asked Hopper.

“What do you mean?” asked Blake.

“Can I go to see the king?” he asked.

“Well . . . no,” Blake said, feeling odd. “I had planned to drop you back at the
Oxford
until after our meeting with His Majesty.”

“I'll stay out of the way,” Hopper pleaded. “I've never been inside the palace.”

“I don't know if that's a very good idea,” Blake said. “Dolphin, what do you think?”

“Once we clean off the dust, he'll be fine in his . . . vest and coat, crisp breeches, and shoes at a high shine. Why don't we let Hopper stay with me in the regent's box? We won't be in the midst of Parliament that way, but Hopper can still see the king.”

“The Regent's box it is, then,” Blake decided. “But, Hopper, I hope you won't be disappointed. These meetings are generally pretty boring. And . . . the king, well, he may be somewhat less impressive than you imagine.”

As Commodore Blake expected, Dolphin quickly became absorbed in reading her father's journals in the carriage. She spoke for the first time as the carriage drew up to the palace's northside gatehouse. “There's still no mention of my mother being pregnant,” she said. “There should be . . . that is, of course, if I was born on the date my father told me.” She was quiet for a few moments. “He mentions a trip to Barbados that he had planned. He was debating whether or not to take my mother. Ah, it will have to wait.” She placed the journals on the seat.

“Bring them,” said Commodore Blake. Then he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “If His Majesty is as long-winded as they say, you might be glad of the diversion.”

17
COMMODORE BLAKE STANDS ACCUSED

T
he driver opened the carriage doors to ripples of laughter. He looked at his three passengers curiously. Then he bowed and stepped aside so the three of them could depart.

Taking in the enormity and grandeur of St. James Palace, Hopper gasped. “Would you look at this place!” he exclaimed.

“Surely you've seen the palace before,” said Dolphin.

“Yes, my lady, but never this close.” Hopper's bright eyes seemed to triple in size as they danced over the intricate stonework and the sea of red brick of the gatehouse and its twin polygonal turrets. “It's huge.”

“Actually, Saint James Palace is considered quite small,” said Commodore Blake, earning a frown from the carriage driver, “. . . for the seat of a world power, that is. Did you know that it was constructed on the ruins of a leper hospital?”