Isle of Fire (36 page)

Father Brun put an arm around her shoulder. “I am so sorry you had to endure such a tragedy,” he said.

Anne quickly dabbed her tears with her sleeve. She cleared her throat and said, “We were cut off from you . . . down in those tunnels. How did you escape?”

With colorful interruptions from Brother Dmitri, Father Brun told their story. “The Merchant meant to drown us like rats in that chamber,” said Father Brun. “But the Almighty, as he often does, transformed tragedy into triumph.”

“By the time we surfaced, the
Celestine
had already gone below the waves,” said Brother Dmitri. “The damage from the reef was too severe. We boarded the
Constantine
with scarcely enough time to catch our breaths. The Merchant's ship, it came from the darkness and sent the
Dominguez
to the bottom before we realized what was happening.”

“We had no time to react,” said Father Brun. “And we couldn't match its firepower. We did the only thing we could . . . we fled.”

“The
Constantine
is lighter,” said Brother Dmitri. “We harnessed the prevailing wind and sped away. The Merchant's ship gave up the chase and turned back.”

“It was then that we took a chance,” Father Brun explained. “We used our instruments and the stars to double back on them. We found that they had anchored near the Merchant's tidal lair.”

“Dropped our sails and doused all our lanterns,” said Brother Dmitri. “We let the darkness and distance hide us.”

“We sent out a few men in a cutter to watch,” explained Father Brun. “The Merchant's ship departed just before sunrise.”

“We sailed in after,” Brother Dmitri said, “hoping to dive and find some way into that accursed place. We found several hatches, but they were all sealed tight.”

“We found you not long after,” said Father Brun. “You were floating in the water. We thought you dead.”

“Miraculous!” Brother Dmitri exclaimed.

“Where are we now?” Anne asked.

“We are north of Cuba, headed to New Providence,” said Father Brun. “We hope to find your father there . . . or at least Commodore Blake.” He was silent a moment and then added, “The Merchant has eluded us once more . . . and now we don't even know where to begin to look.”

“Gotland,” said Anne.

“What?” the two monks asked.

“When I swam behind the Merchant's ship,” Anne explained, “I overheard sailors talking. They said something about a long trip to Gotland. But I've never heard of such a place.”

“It is an island south and east of the Swedish mainland,” Father Brun explained. “I was born in Sweden, lived my childhood in Stockholm. My grandfather used to tell me of the men of Gotland, men who still lived the old ways.”

“What would the Merchant want with the Swedes?” asked Dmitri.

Father Brun ran a hand through his hair and said, “I wonder . . . no doubt some dark designs. What do you suggest we do about it, Captain?”

Anne didn't answer at first. Then, with the two men staring at her, she said, “You mean . . . me?”

“Cat agreed to sail on this mission only if you could be his second,” explained Father Brun. “We will honor his wish.”

Anne swiped at her watering eyes. She missed Cat now more than ever. She wished he was there by her side, there to take command. She never wanted it to happen this way. “I think we should continue for New Providence,” she said. “We'll need help if we are to fight the Merchant and that fortress of a ship he sails. Then we sail for Gotland and get this man once and for all.”

“For the Almighty,” said Father Brun.

“Amen,” said Brother Dmitri. “And . . . for Cat.”

24
TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCE

C
utlass Jack's
Banshee
sailed alongside the
Robert Bruce
, keeping pace as they journeyed across the Atlantic. Aboard the
Bruce
, it was time for the evening meal. “I made 'his special for you, Mister Slash,” said Nubby, placing a large bowl in front of their newest crewmen. “Cap'n Ross told me it was your favorite.”

Rather than using his captain's quarters, Ross and his senior crewmen ate the evening meal with the rest of the crew. They sat around a hodgepodge of tables. Those who couldn't find room at an actual table used the tops of crates and barrels instead. All eyes turned to Slash to see what he would do with the “special” course he had been served.

Slash stared down at the bowl. He picked up his wooden spoon, dipped it into the creamy greenish stew, and nudged a chunk of something around the bowl. “What, what is this?” he asked, looking up with a rueful expression on his face.

St. Pierre covered his mouth with his hands. Jules pounded a fist on his barrel-table. But Ebenezer Hack couldn't contain himself any longer. He let out a deep, chesty guffaw and had to lean on Red Eye to keep from falling out of his chair.

“It's . . . it's iguana stew!” Captain Ross exclaimed. “You said if I let you join the crew, you'd eat iguanas!”

“This”—Slash held up a glop on his spoon—“is iguana?”

“Go on!” Hack bellowed. “Take a bite.”

“Just shove it on in there,” said Jules. “It's really quite good.”

Slash figured he didn't have much choice, so he pinched the bridge of his nose and put the spoon in his mouth. He tasted garlic right off, a little onion, a lot of pepper. Then he chewed a hunk of meat and experienced a flavor that took him by surprise. It was spicy and hearty, full of savor and salt. “Hey,” he said, plunging the spoon into the bowl for another bite. “This is good!”

“Ha!” Nubby exulted. “That'll teach the lot of you to doubt my cooking!”

Ross and everyone except Jules, who generally enjoyed Nubby's iguana stew, sat in stunned silence for a few moments before the entire deck erupted in laughter.

Later that night, Ross, Stede, Cutlass Jack, St. Pierre, and Red Eye met in the captain's quarters aboard the
Robert Bruce
. Ross had a sea chart spread wide upon his desk. He pointed emphatically at England. “What's Thorne going to do?” he asked.

“Shoot King George?” St. Pierre suggested.

“Jacques!” Red Eye slapped him on the shoulder.

“Well . . . that is what I would do,” said St. Pierre. “What better way to exact vengeance upon an enemy nation.”

Ross shook his head. “No, half of London would line up to shake Thorne's hand if he got rid of King George. The English have little love for their imported king.”

“Maybe Thorne will blow up the palace?” said St. Pierre. “Or some other English landmark.”

“I think that is likely closer to the truth,” said Ross. “Thorne's hate of the British is an obsession. In his mind, they murdered his first wife and took away his chance to become the dominant naval power in the Atlantic.”

“But can we believe Bellamy?” asked Cutlass Jack. “Thorne could be intendin' an attack in the Caribbean fer all we know.”

“In life, I b' not believing a single word from that bedeviled mon,” said Stede. “But with him dying I think him b' trying to hit us with the only thing him b' having left . . . the truth.”

“I am convinced that Bellamy told us the truth about Thorne,” Ross said. “It makes sense. He has it in for the Brits—that's clear. But what can he do? He's lost his ship, his fleet, his stronghold in the Cape Verde Islands. More than a year, we hear nothing from him.”

A comical smile appeared on Stede's face. “I don't suppose him b' rowing a little cutter up the Thames . . . just to say hello.”

“Not likely,” said Ross. “A man with Thorne's contacts could do a lot in the time he's had. And yet we've scoured the Caribbean and Thorne's usual haunts. None of his previous suppliers have done business with him. More than anything else . . . it's the not knowing that worries me.”

Half an ocean away, the
Raven's Revenge
sailed into Sigvard Bay and found a familiar British ship of the line anchored among the limestone rock formations. “That's the
Oxford
,” said Bartholomew Thorne. “Commodore Brandon Blake's ship . . . in Gotland.” His breathing deepened to a throaty rasp.

Teach had the wheel but wished someone else did. Thorne looked like he was ready to skin half the crew. Nonetheless, Teach managed to guide the ship to port without getting a taste of his captain's bleeding stick.

Thorne suddenly felt like everything was falling apart. Intending to take command of the Raukar, he'd secretly slain Hrothgar. The Raukar did not suspect, but what if, as Teach suggested, they decided to pull out? And now, Blake appears? Thorne thought perhaps Wetherby had completed his mission and simply brought back the
Oxford
as a trophy. But seeing that ship, a symbol of British might, anchored here led Thorne to believe that something had gone terribly wrong.

The fortress of the Raukar was in chaos. Word had spread rapidly about Hrothgar's fall. Men and women alike wept openly. There was talk of the British invaders and of the captives who were taken. Thorne and Guthrum led a procession up the winding avenue that led to Hrothgar's Hall. Torchbearers surrounded the stretcher upon which Hrothgar's remains lay. Six men on either side bore their fallen leader to his home.

“What has befallen me?” Lady Fleur cried out. “Where is my husband?”

“He is here!” Thorne exclaimed. “We have borne him to his great hall in honor.”

Lady Fleur did not run down the stone stairs, but there was a quiver in her gait as she descended and went to her husband.

“I urge caution, Lady of the Raukar,” Guthrum said. “He was badly burned.”

The stench hit her like a wall, but she waived Guthrum off dismis-sively and looked beneath the great red banner that covered Hrothgar. After only a moment, she lowered the banner and looked up abruptly as if catching her breath. “Tell me,” she said, “how comes he thus?”

“By unhappy chance, my lady,” said Guthrum. “He—”

“He led the Raukar valiantly,” Thorne interrupted. “Västervik is razed to the earth as you desired. But in the battle, Hrothgar fell.”