The Castle on Deadman's Island (15 page)

Crescent sped through the door, tripped over the boxes, and sprawled on the floor. Getting herself up, she shoved the boxes, furniture, wood – everything she could lay her hands on – against the door. Then she ran for the servants' stairs.

Behind her, Snyder struggled to open the door. Putting his shoulder to it, he finally burst through, falling into the pile of debris. He lay there cursing,
then pushed the debris away, got up, and limped after her. That gave Crescent time to reach the stairs and clamber down. If she got to the boat ahead of him, she could paddle out of reach and raise the sails.

At the bottom of the stairs, she threw open the door and raced across the kitchen.

“Stop right there!” a voice commanded.

Mrs. Snyder was blocking the way to the back door, an evil-looking meat cleaver in her hand. “I'd hate to use this,” she said, “but I will if I have to.”

Neil couldn't sleep. It wasn't the pesky mosquitoes, nor the lumpy ground under him. It was worry-worry about what was happening in the castle and whether Crescent was all right. Where was she now? he wondered. Still in the tower? He didn't have a watch, but knew it must be late as the full moon had traveled halfway across the sky.

Eventually, he decided it was no use lying here wide-awake any longer. He threw back the blanket and made his way to shore, where Daniel's dinghy nestled against the dock, occasionally drifting ahead to nudge its companion, an old abandoned punt part full of water. Neil stared down at the dinghy. Should
he or shouldn't he? Was Crescent right? Would it just complicate the situation if he appeared?

Suddenly, the silence of the night was pierced by a faint sound from the direction of Deadman's Island-a muffled shout, or was it a cry of alarm? It ceased abruptly and the silence settled in again, but it was enough to make up Neil's mind.

He untied the dinghy, jumped in, and began rowing frantically, his imagination conjuring up visions of Crescent in trouble. Though there was a slight headwind, he soon reached the other island. Making the dinghy fast to the dock, he stood there, panting from the effort and wondering what to do now.

He looked into the boathouse, where
Discovery
was tied up. Crescent's empty sleeping bag was spread out in the cockpit, a book open on top, but there was no sign of her. He looked up at the tower. Was she still in her hiding place there, waiting? The castle stared back at him, cloaked in darkness.

He took the now-familiar path to the castle. To his right, the tower loomed in darkness. Somehow, he would have to get in there. He crossed in front of the castle and stood looking up at the tower, alert, his ears straining. All he could hear was the rhythmic strumming of crickets.

Now that he was here, Neil began to have second thoughts. Bumbling about in the tower in the dark, he
could do more harm than good and might even put Crescent in worse danger. Why had he come, anyway? Perhaps he should wait on the dock for developments. At least he'd be nearby if she needed him.

But then he caught a glimmer of light reflecting on the trees at the back of the castle. Someone was up. He took the path around to the back. The kitchen light was on. He crept up to a window that was open to the night breeze.

The Snyders were sitting at the kitchen table, and Mrs. Snyder was drumming on the table irritably with her long red nails. Mr. Snyder was slumped over, his head in his hands.

“And we had it all set up so neatly,” he groaned. “I mean, Grimsby's supposed suicide note about his money troubles and all. But that servant girl's ruined everything.”

“Unless we shut her up,” his wife said.

A chill went through Neil.

Mr. Snyder raised his head and stared at his wife. “You don't mean …?”

She met his gaze. “We can't stop now, Carson, not with what we have at stake. We have to change the plan a little, that's all.”

“Change the plan? But how?”

“It may even be better this way.” Mrs. Snyder was gazing into space, as if already visualizing the success
of her new scheme. “Suicide never did suit Grimsby's personality, although I think we would have gotten away with it, from what I hear of that dim Sergeant Simpson. But preying on a servant girl is very much like something Grimsby would do. I can see how it happens now – Grimsby lures the poor girl to the tower under some pretense, grabs her, they struggle, the railing gives way under their weight, they both go over…. We find their bodies, one on top of the other, on the rocks below.”

“No!” her husband groaned. “I can't do it again. Not another one.”

“We've no choice, Carson, we're in too deep now. But you won't have to do it alone. I'll help you.”

“I need a drink,” her husband said weakly.

She stood up. “Come on then, there's brandy in the library; but only one shot until it's done, then you can have all you want.” She nodded towards the pantry. “Check that her knots are holding, then come into the library.”

As soon as both Snyders had left, Neil eased the back door open and slipped inside. He found Crescent sitting on the floor of the pantry, her hands tied behind her back and her ankles bound together.

She looked up and her eyes widened in surprise. Neil held his finger to his lips, then quickly found a
knife – the same one he'd use to cut Daniel free. Was it only twenty-four hours ago?

He released Crescent and she followed him outside. “Hurry!” he said. “They could be back any minute.”

Crescent didn't need any urging. “She had this meat cleaver,” she said. “And she looked as if she was ready to use it.”

“If we can get
Discovery
underway before they find out you're gone –” Neil began, but there was a sudden shout of alarm from behind them. They ran for the boathouse.

Neil uncleated the lines and jumped aboard, and Crescent began paddling furiously. As
Discovery
glided out of the slip, Neil caught sight of a polished hull glinting in the moonlight on the far side of the boat-house. “Whose boat is that?” he said, in alarm.

“It's theirs,” Crescent said, as she hauled up the main. “A speedboat.”

Neil's heart did a flip.
A speedboat
! And he thought he'd seen a figure in it. But how could that be? The sounds of pursuit had only now reached the front of the castle. “There they are!” he heard Mrs. Snyder shout.

The sails filled, and
Discovery
slowly picked up speed.
Come on, come on,
Neil urged, but he knew that a sailboat takes time getting up its momentum, unlike a speedboat. He saw Snyder pounding down the path
and disappearing into the boathouse. Any second now, he expected to hear the angry roar of the speedboat's motor coming to life.

Carson Snyder was about to leap into the speedboat when he stopped so suddenly that he teetered on the edge of the slip. He stared down in disbelief at the dark shape occupying the driver's seat.

“Come on, get in, Carson,” a sepulchral voice said. “Then we can both leave this cursed island forever.”

Carson stayed rooted to the spot. “No, no,” he quavered. “It can't be!”

“What's this, man?” the voice said. “Don't you want to come with your old friend and partner in crime? I will admit I'm a bit of a mess – my nice jacket's got blood all over it. See?” An arm was lifted toward Snyder, showing the bloodstained sleeve of a sports coat. “Even my face is bloody and my hands. And I'm not as … shall we say … as substantial as I was before. But that's the way ghosts are – now you see them, now you don't. I'm just getting used to it myself.”

Carson backed away, trembling.

The shape in the driver's seat sighed. “Well, if you won't come with me, then I won't go either. And you know what that means – you may own the whole castle, now that you're rid of both of us, but I'll still be here, haunting the halls everywhere you look.” The
shape laughed – a deep tormenting laugh. “So make up your mind, Carson….”

Carson Snyder turned on his heels and ran from the boathouse, up the path.

At the front door, Mrs. Snyder was waiting to see the speedboat shoot out of the boathouse in pursuit of the disappearing sailboat. Instead, her husband came stumbling back up the path.

“What are you doing here? Get after them, Carson!”

“It's him,” Snyder stammered, breathing heavily. “Grimsby!”

“Grimsby! Grimsby! Are you mad?”

“But it's him, I tell you … I saw him … right there in the boat … his jacket all bloody….” Snyder leaned against a column for support.

“Grimsby is dead,” his wife said coldly. “Get hold of yourself.”

“I know he's dead…. It's his ghost…. It's going to haunt us….”

Mrs. Snyder delivered a vigorous slap to her husband face. “Snap out of it, Carson. Those two kids in the sailboat are the ones who will haunt us, if they get away. Now listen carefully, I've got everything worked out. You can easily catch up to them in the speedboat. Then you run them down at full speed….”

Snyder looked at her in dismay. “But we can't –”

“Just listen. It happens every summer. The story you tell is simple: you were rushing to shore to report Grimsby's suicide to the police. The sailboat had no lights. You didn't see it until you were on it. Now get going.”

“But –”

“Get going.”

Snyder returned to the boathouse reluctantly Approaching the speedboat cautiously he was relieved to find it empty.

In the light breeze,
Discovery
was slow to pull away from Deadman's Island. Neil and Crescent both stared back at the boathouse apprehensively, expecting the speedboat to come flying out at any moment, Snyder hunched over the wheel.

We'll never outrun him, Neil thought. Crescent knew as well as he did that their situation was bleak. Time was what they needed – time to reach Lovesick Island before Snyder caught up to them.

The minutes ticked by, Crescent fiddling with the sails to get more speed, Neil urging
Discovery
on,
rocking back and forth, as if that would help. Soon they were halfway.

“Maybe his engine won't start,” Neil said hopefully.

“Something
is holding him up,” Crescent said. “Whatever it is, it gives us a chance. Another ten minutes and –”

Vroom, vroom –
a powerful engine sprang to life.

“Oh, God, he's coming,” Neil said.

Crescent stood up and surveyed the water ahead. “Pull up the centerboard, Neil. Quick!”

He leaped to haul up the board, not stopping to ask why. If Crescent thought it should be done, that was good enough for him.

Still standing, steering with her foot, Crescent pushed the tiller to port. “Found it!” she cried triumphantly.

Found what? Neil wondered. Then he remembered the submerged boulder that Charlie had warned them about.

Behind him, Neil saw the bow wave of the speedboat reflected by the moonlight. It looked like a fluorescent arrow aimed straight at them. On it came, not slowing down in the slightest.

He's going to ram us, Neil thought. There was nothing they could do but brace themselves for the inevitable collision. “Hang on!” he called to Crescent,
as the pursuing boat closed in, its prow seeking them out like a predatory shark.

Then, just before it reached them, the speedboat went from full speed ahead to an abrupt, grinding, metal-tearing, shrieking stop, sending Snyder shooting over the windshield. He landed headfirst in the water with a sickening clunk.

Neil stared at the devastation behind them. With the centerboard raised,
Discovery
had cleared the boulder, leading their pursuer into the trap.

Snyder's body was floating facedown in front of the wreckage.

“Jibe, ho!” Crescent called, warning Neil to duck under the swinging boom.
Discovery
jibed through 180 degrees, and they headed back the way they had come.

Crescent maneuvered as close as she could to the wreckage. “I'll get him,” Neil said, and he slid over the side and found himself on the boulder in water just above his knees. Grabbing Snyder's heavy body under the armpits, he heaved it into the boat.

They reached Lovesick Island and, with difficulty, lifted Snyder onto the dock. Crescent felt for a pulse. “All we can do is try to revive him here. By the time we sail to the shore and call a doctor, it will be too late.”

“It may be too late already,” Neil said. “He got an
awful crack on the head and must have swallowed a ton of water.”

Crescent began the life-saving technique she'd been taught in swimming classes at the yacht club. Water gushed from Snyder's mouth.

Neil wondered why Graham and Daniel hadn't appeared to help. Maybe they'd slept through the crash and the commotion at the dock. But when he went to the campsite to get them, he found their blankets rumpled from being slept in, but unoccupied.

“Any sign of life?” he said, when he returned. Crescent shook her head. He's a goner, he thought, looking at Snyder's inert body. Still, they had to do all they could to help him, even though he'd deliberately tried to run them down.

Crescent kept working. “Where's Graham? And Daniel?” she said, between breaths.

“I don't know. They were both asleep when I left, but they're not here now. I took Daniel's dinghy over to the castle, so they couldn't have gone anywhere.” Then he remembered the old punt, which had been tied up at the dock. It was no longer there. “I can't believe they'd use that leaky old punt!”

But it was only a few minutes later when they heard the squeak of oars in rusty oarlocks, and the old punt came jerkily out of the darkness. Graham was in the
stern and Daniel at the oars, having trouble getting the punt to turn toward the dock. “Pull harder on your right oar, Daniel,” Neil called. Eventually the punt responded and they reached the dock.