Isle of Fire (41 page)

“Come now,” said the Merchant, playing his hand carefully. “Young Griffin is a clever lad . . . and a gifted swordsman. Surely, with the proper motivation, he could be led to see things your way.”

“He's worthless,” said Thorne, his voice deep and raspy. He was getting upset, just as the Merchant had hoped. And from the look on Cat's face, his father's words were having just the impact the Merchant was looking to find.

Cat held no love for this man, but somehow, hearing these words now cut into him like long jagged blades. The anger he had struggled with so often kindled into a flash fire. Cat saw the Merchant's dagger, its tip already bloody, lying within reach on the desk. “I think,” said the Merchant, picking up the dagger, “this should be put away for now.”

Thorne stood up. “I want him dead before we leave for England.”

“It shall be done as you command,” said the Merchant, smiling, for his gambit had paid off. He put the gag back in Cat's mouth and tightened it. “You will never see Griffin Thorne again.”

Dolphin sat in the darkest corner of her cell and wept. Her husband was two cells away and looked on helplessly. “The way he questioned me,” she cried. “That painting . . . NO! It cannot be true.” She looked through the bars and shadows to her husband. Her eyes were huge and pleading. “Tell me, Brand, tell me it cannot be true.”

His silence was thunderous. “You knew then?” she said, her words heavy with accusation.

“I did not know until we stood in Thorne's presence,” he said. “But I began to suspect from your father's journals.”

“Why didn't I see it?”

“You couldn't have,” he replied gently. “I once spoke to Declan Ross about Thorne. I wanted to know what drove the man . . . to better understand him so that I could capture him. Ross told me how Thorne's wife had been killed in a fire. But Ross never knew there was a child. I don't think even Thorne knew that the child had survived.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I saw the way he looked at you,” said Blake. “There was most definitely recognition. But even with all those questions about your age . . . your parents, I daresay he still doesn't know for sure.”

“It were a shadow wid eyes!” Skinner cried. A small group of deck hands—Thorne's and Raukar—stood around him in a circle.

“A big rat, like as not,” said Barnabas, who went back to swabbing the deck.

“Were not!” argued Skinner. “Lessun ye've seen rats wid arms and legs like a great big toad!”

“It was a toad now?” asked one of the Raukar.

Skinner growled. “I know what I saw.”

“Don't be so stupid,” said Hangman Pete, the ranking officer on the deck. “You just hadn't woke up yet. But seein's you are now, why don't you help Barnabas get this deck clean.”

Two decks below, Hopper continued his search. Just as he found the hatch to the lowest deck, the ship started to move again.

27
ST. ALFRED'S DAY

T
he morning of May 21 dawned bright and warm in London. The port was already jammed with military vessels and merchants alike. Miles of the Thames River were near clogged with boat traffic. No one wanted to miss the celebration of St. Alfred's Day. As unpopular as King George was for his governing of England, he had managed to earn a reputation for throwing unforgettable parties. In fact, preparations for this year's event had begun the day after last year's party.

The bulk of the British navy had already moored. Brigantines like the
Liverpool
, the
Bristol
, and the
Valiant
, as well as first-rate ships of the line like the
Gallant
, the
Union Jack
, and the
Robert Elliott
were the latest naval vessels to anchor. Under the king's orders, merchant ships positively heaped with casks and barrels delivered their payloads to each of the navy ships. Commodores, captains, mates, and crews—especially those who had been out to sea for extended periods of time—were thrilled by the prospects of making merry and of spending time at home.

By late in the afternoon, a special barge was towed out into the center of the harbor. After dark, fireworks purchased from the Far East and from around the globe would be launched from this vast platform. All of London waited to celebrate one of England's most noble and effective warriors. But none of the revelers knew that the city would have dire need of men like St. Alfred that night.

Anne was at the helm as the
Constantine
drifted into Sigvard Bay. They'd searched most of Gotland's ports and small harbors for the
Perdition's Gate
, but with no success. When Anne saw what was waiting for them in Sigvard Bay, she said, “Uh-oh.”

“Turn the ship around!” urged Father Brun. “Turn around!”

“It's too late,” said Anne. “They've seen us.”

And she was right. Three tall ships broke off from the small fleet gathered in the bay and approached the
Constantine
. But they did not fire.

“Are any of those the Merchant's barque?” asked Father Brun.

Anne squinted. “No,” she replied, her voice detached and dreamy. “But I think I know one of those ships!” Then she leaped in the air. “It's my da's ship! And there he is!”

Moments later Declan Ross came aboard the
Constantine
, and Anne melted into his arms. “Oh, Da!” she cried, and tears drenched his shoulder. “Cat . . . Cat's gone. The Merchant drowned him—Da, Cat died to save my life.”

Ross felt his own eyes burn, and he hugged his daughter. “Good lad,” he whispered. In many ways, Declan Ross felt he'd just lost a son.

After exchanging stories of grief and victory, as well as news of how they each came to be there, it became clear that decisions had to be made.

“The Merchant and Bartholomew Thorne together?” muttered Father Brun. “I cannot imagine worse news.”

“It gets much worse,” said Ross. “We captured a young woman fishing on the shore here at Sigvard Bay.”

“You captured a woman for fishing?” asked Anne.

“No,” said Stede. “We didn't mind that her b' fishing. It was when she up and tried to put a spear in us that we nabbed her.”

“She was very resistant at first,” said Hack. “Wouldn't tell us anything.”

“That is, until we invited Red Eye to assist us,” said Ross. “She took one look at him and told us everything we needed to know.”

“Red Eye,” Anne said, feigning accusation, “what did you do?”

“Not to worry, Anne, I just cleaned my teeth,” Red Eye said, shrugging, “. . . with my dagger.”

“We learned that these Norsemen, the Raukar she called them, have built a fleet of some sixty ships,” Ross said. They have now sailed with Thorne and the Merchant to Britain. And, Anne, she was not some ‘poor' woman. When we finished questioning her, she spat on my feet, looked scornfully at our fleet, and told us we were all going to burn. I'm not sure what she meant, but I know England needs us.”

“His terms were quite extraordinary,” said Thorne. He stood by his quartermaster as the
Raven's Revenge
drifted on steady winds down the English Channel.

“I'll bet he asked for thirty percent of the new trade profits, didn't he?” asked Mr. Teach.

“Forty,” said Thorne.

“Forty?! What's a blighter like him need with so much?”

“There was more,” said Thorne. “After the British are defeated, he wants us to sail to Saba. Apparently the Brethren have their stronghold there.”

“He wants us to finish off the monks too, eh?” Teach laughed. “Well, that ought not to be too hard.”

“No, not with the dragon necks,” said Thorne. “And now that we know where the Brethren are, I'm only too happy to carry out the Merchant's wishes. But his third term is something of a mystery. He wants me to kill him.”

“What?!”

“The Merchant clearly stipulated that he wants me to kill him, as soon as he's had time to train an apprentice to his vocation.”

“Are you goin' to do it?” Teach asked.

Thorne crossed the quarterdeck in three long strides. As he descended to the main deck, he said, “The contract is agreed upon in blood. I have no choice.”

“Where are you going, sir?” asked Teach. “We'll hit the mouth of the Thames in an hour.”

“I am going down below,” Thorne replied. “There is someone I want to talk to in the cellblock.”