Isle of Fire (30 page)

He stumbled around a bend into a small round chamber and found himself face-to-face with Edmund Scully.

Cat and Anne hastened along a narrow, curling passage when they heard a tremendous groaning from up ahead. They came around the bend just in time to see two large doors slam shut, sealing off two passages, leaving only the left-hand passage remaining. “Hurry, before he cuts us off!” Anne yelled, and she sped forward.

Cat ran after her and grabbed her arm just after they both entered the passage. He looked at the oblong door they had come through. It did not shut. “He's not cutting us off,” Cat said, thinking aloud. “He's leading us this way.”

“But how does he know where we are?”

“I . . . I don't know,” Cat replied.
He can't be everywhere . . . can he?

Cat and Anne crept up the passage, both fearing that like some vengeful spirit the Merchant would fly from an unseen crevice and drag them screaming into the sea. Each had drawn a cutlass, but somehow it didn't seem as though a sword would be effective against such an infamous rogue.

They walked in silence, following the curving and seemingly endless tunnel until Cat saw something ahead. “Look,” he said. “The tunnel forks again.”

They hurried forward just in time to see the door to the left branch shut in their faces. “This is impossible.” Anne blew out an angry sigh. “It's like he's watching us, only he can't be.”

Cat tightened his grip on his sword and wiped the sweat from his brow. Then he sighted another one of those strange bored-out holes in the roof of the tunnel. He grabbed Anne by the wrist and pointed his sword to the ceiling.

“What—” she started to say, but Cat covered her mouth. Then he held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow. He led her into the right-hand passage and found it coiling slightly downward.

After a few moments of walking and scanning the ceiling, Cat stopped and whispered, “He can hear us.”

Anne's eyes roamed the passage walls, and Cat explained, “There are openings in the ceiling just prior to every junction or fork in the path. I don't know how exactly, but our voices must carry to some central place. The Merchant has this place rigged like a gigantic mousetrap.”

“And we're the mice,” Anne whispered. “What do we do?”

“Follow me,” Cat said. “And don't make a sound until I do.”

Being sure to place his boots softly as he walked, Cat crept along the passage until they came to the next junction of several corridors. He made sure there was a listening hole in the roof, but remained silent. He led Anne over to the opening of the leftmost passage and whispered in her ear, “Hold this door open with all your might.” She looked at Cat curiously.

Then Cat stepped back into the main passage and stood directly beneath the listening hole. Then he practically yelled, “The path splits three ways. Which one do we take?” Then he raced through the door that Anne held open. Anne let go of the door, and in a matter of seconds, that door, as well as the middle door, slammed shut. “How did you know which way?” Anne asked.

Cat smiled. “I didn't know for sure,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I just remembered Scully describing this place like the coils of a conch shell. I figured it's better to be closer to the outside than the inside.”

Anne tilted her head slightly and marveled at her friend. Buoyed by Anne's admiration, Cat said, “Now, let's go where the Merchant didn't want us to go.”

Father Brun saw the motionless, glassy eyes and knew that Scully was dead.
How many deaths have my actions in some way caused?
Father Brun chastised himself. He laid Brother Dmitri against the cool wall and watched for the huge man's chest to rise. He could discern no movement, and the shoulder that had been caught in the door was bruised black. The leader of the Brethren had been in many difficult places but none like the Merchant's insidious undersea stronghold. Here, death seemed to wait around every corner. He grimaced and, with two fingers, closed Scully's eyes.

It was then that he noted a strange round hatch on the other side of the chamber. Glancing back at Dmitri, he walked over to examine the opening. From the location of the hinge, it appeared that this hatch opened outward. And rather than a handle latch, it had a kind of pressured bond. Father Brun noted with apprehension that seawater dribbled in along the hatch's perimeter. “So this is it then,” said Father Brun aloud as he walked past Scully back to Brother Dmitri. “There's no way out.”

Even so, Father Brun determined to try. He slung Dmitri's arm up over his shoulder and hoisted the big man up once more. He thought maybe the water behind the door at the other end of the tunnel might subside at some point and maybe he could somehow pry open that door. It was a lot of maybes.

A great grinding noise shook Father Brun out of his thoughts. But there was not time to react to it. A massive wall of water exploded up the passage, lifting Father Brun off his feet and launching him and Dmitri backward into the chamber. Father Brun felt himself smack into something that felt oddly like a sack of grain. As the water propelled him backward, Father Brun realized he'd crashed into Scully's body. But the irresistible force of the water blasted them straight back into that strange hatch. Father Brun heard a sickly crunching noise . . . then a crack. He felt his own body curl, and the water pushed him through the opening in the stone, jettisoning him out into the cold depths of the sea.

With one arm, he held Brother Dmitri. With the other, he flailed and pushed Scully's body away. His breath was already turning stale in his lungs. Nonetheless, Father Brun struggled to retain it. He could see nothing and dared not swim until he knew which way was up. He held his breath and let himself float. After what seemed like an eternity, Father Brun felt his momentum shift, felt himself rise. Then he kicked madly with his feet and clawed at the sea with his free hand. He had no idea how deep below the surface he was, but shoved thoughts of drowning away. His lungs burned deeply, intensifying to a searing sort of agony that sent showers of sparks into his mind. His thoughts became confused, and an odd numbing threatened to take over his limbs—just as he broke through the surface.

Father Brun gasped, sucking in a massive breath. Instantly his strength returned and he flailed to tread water. That was when he realized he'd heard someone else cough. He shook his head and blinked the water out of his eyes. And to his utter amazement, Brother Dmitri spluttered and spat. “You're alive! Oh-ho! You're alive!” Father Brun exclaimed.

“Am I?” came a hoarse reply. “I can't tell.”

“Yes, you goat . . . yes, you are, praise the Almighty!”

“Where are we?”

Father Brun jerked his head back and forth, craning to see anything on the sea under the night sky. He saw nothing of the island and assumed that, by now, it was fully submerged. But there! Something floated not twenty yards from his position.

“I see the cutter!” he told Brother Dmitri. “Can you swim?”

“I've only got one good fin,” he replied. “But . . . I'll try.”

Smacked repeatedly by sudden whitecaps and moving slower than driftwood, they made their way to the small boat. Father Brun helped Dmitri clamber over the side and then hoisted himself in as well. They lay in the cutter and stared up at the stars for only a moment when Father Brun sat up. “Cat and Anne!” he exclaimed. “They . . . they're still down there.” He reached frantically around the bow of the cutter and found the mooring line. He pulled it swiftly, hoping that it was somehow still attached to the now-submerged island. But when he drew the line in, it came back with a hunk of coral attached to it. “It's torn free,” he said quietly. “We've lost them.”

With a groan, Brother Dmitri sat up. He squinted at the rope and then over the monk's shoulders. “No, we haven't,” he said. Then he pointed. “It's the
Constantine
.”

Father Brun lifted himself higher and saw the huge shadow swaying gently on the water. There was a second ship with it, but not a third. Father Brun picked up an oar and began to paddle. “We'll wait this out,” he said. “And when that island surfaces again, we'll take a larger force in, bring iron bars to pry open those doors, and get Cat and Anne back.”

Brother Dmitri smiled. His spiritual mentor was also the fiercest warrior he'd ever met—a wonderful combination, Dmitri thought. Father Brun stroked the oar hard toward the shadows on the sea. He never once looked back over his shoulder. He never saw the other shadow, carving the sea and moving swiftly toward them like a ghostly giant.

The Merchant grew restless. It had been utterly gratifying to hear Father Brun and the others scurrying through his network of tunnels like rats in a trap. And even more pleasing to hear their voices suddenly cease. But the silence from Cat and Anne was unexpected . . . disturbing. He scanned the openings all around his domelike chamber and wondered. Since the last junction, he had not heard a sound from them. Had he crushed one of them in the door? Had they split up? He doubted it. But still, the silence was troubling. “Where are you?” he hissed.

The light of several recessed lanterns led Cat and Anne to a sturdy door. It was very wide and had an iron wheel in place of a handle. Assuming it would be sealed tight, Cat grasped the wheel and turned. To his and Anne's surprise, the door opened. And to their everlasting relief, the door was well maintained. It moved soundlessly on its hinges. On the other side, bathed half in shadow, half in the peculiar green light from the oil lanterns, was a chamber full of metal cabinets and a very old desk made of half-rotted wood. The room itself was on a slight slant, and the books in the one open cabinet all leaned to the side like men pushing against a seawall to hold back the crushing tide.

Her eyes wide and curious, Anne turned to Cat and pointed. She started to enter, but Cat held her back and gestured toward the two openings that gaped like empty eye sockets in the ceiling. Anne nodded that she understood, and they went to the open cabinet. Cat carefully removed one of the old leather-bound books and opened it. The first few pages were inscribed with names—some in English, Spanish, or French—but many more in languages he did not recognize. After that, the book seemed to become a sort of ledger. There were columns of sums and figures, as well as names and dates. The dates showed this to be a very old volume; the first entry was 1596 for a shipment of cannon shot. The line beneath it indicated that twelve hundred pounds of black powder had been purchased and shipped to Romania. The next was an import sale of swords from Spain.