Isle of Swords (19 page)

20
RAID UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS

R
oss let his blade slide slowly the rest of the way out of the sheath and slid the sharp point into the shrub. He was ready to thrust the weapon through the bush and straight into the Englishman's gut.

Red Eye emerged from his hiding place and, without a sound, crept up behind two of the British soldiers.

“Surprised to find you here,” the British soldier named Jarvis said as he reached over the hedge. He moved slowly, cupping his hand. Suddenly, he struck. His hand moved faster than Ross expected. Ross reacted. He shoved his cutlass, but it caught in the crook of a branch.

The Englishman stepped back from the bushes and held up a large bluish moth.
“Adscita globulariae!”
he said. “A brilliant specimen.”

Ross exhaled. Red Eye dove back into the forest.

“Normally you find such a creature on the trunk of a conifer where it blends in. How odd to see it just sitting there on the building. Beautiful, isn't it?” He held it up to the other soldiers.

“You're an odd one, Jarvis!” said Osbourne. The group of soldiers walked off, laughing hysterically.

Ross shook his head.
A moth? I almost killed him over a moth.
As soon as the troops were out of sight, Ross sprang up again. He knew the longer he waited, the more likely someone would discover him.

He rose up to the barred window and called again, “Cat! You in there?” Still there was no answer.

Ross checked for soldiers and then hopped through the bushes to the next window with bars. “Cat?” he whispered. This had to be the right place. “Cat?”

A face suddenly appeared at the window. Ross was so startled he fell backward into the bushes. “Captain Ross?” It was Cat.

Ross stood, looked both ways along the building, and motioned to Red Eye. “Cat, listen. We don't have much time. Go to the other side of your cell. I want you to get as far away from this wall as you can.”

“Why?” Cat asked. At that moment, Red Eye appeared with two items: a small hooded lamp and a barrel of black powder. He placed the explosive barrel by the wall beneath the window. Cat said, “Oh.”

Ross nodded. “When this goes off, we should be able to get you out.”

“What about Commodore Blake and the other troops?”

“We have a plan for that,” Ross said. Cat looked at him quizzically. Ross winked and said, “Let's just say, the biggest boom will get their attention.”

Cat disappeared from the window. Red Eye ran back to the woods and signaled with his sword. He waited for the signal back.

There it was—three flashes. Red Eye waved to Ross. Ross uncovered the lantern and lit the fuse. Praying that St. Pierre had cut exactly ten seconds of fuse, Ross dove out of the bushes. He sprinted across to the woods and crashed next to Red Eye.

Red Eye and Captain Ross stared back and forth between the barn on the other side of the fountain and the fuse burning by Cat's cell window. The fuse on that small barrel of black powder must have been a little short. It went off first with a boom and a flash of orange light. But a split second later: FOOM!!

A thunderous shock wave shook the town of Misson. Orange, yellow, and white light flashed and bathed the area. A great cloud of fire and debris rose from the ground where the barn once stood. A gust of hot, sulfurous wind swept over them.

Red Eye smiled. “That Jacques sure knows how to celebrate!”

They watched from their refuge as British troops streamed out of the hospital and ran to the scene of the great explosion. Then the two of them drew their swords and ran through a drifting cloud of smoke to the wall of Cat's cell. The black powder had breached the wall. Ross and Red Eye began to kick at the loose stones. Small flecks and chips broke free and skittered away. From behind, Midge, Jacques St. Pierre, and Jules appeared. “You didn't put enough powder in that barrel,” Ross growled.

“Pardonne, Capitaine,” Jacques replied angrily. “I assumed you wanted your man whole and alive—not scattered in the air like so many burning pieces!”

“Move!” said Jules. He took one long stride and slammed the bottom of his boot against the stone. An enormous chunk of rock broke free. Another kick, and enough stone caved in for Jules to enter. Midge waited outside while the others rushed in. They found Cat huddled in a ball near the other side of the cell. He was unharmed—though still clutching his ears. He jumped when Ross put a hand on his shoulder.

“On your feet, Cat,” Ross said. “Unless, of course, you'd like to spend the night with the British.”

“Uh . . . Captain?” Midge said through the opening. He sounded worried.

“I take it you were not satisfied with our hospitality,” came another voice from behind them. They turned. Standing outside, just a few paces back from the hole they had made, was Commodore Blake. Midge backed into the cell. Red Eye handed Cat a sword. Ross and St. Pierre already had theirs unsheathed. Jules stood at the ready. “So you were responsible for the fireworks this evening. An impressive display. It almost worked.”

Ross stepped forward. “Stand aside,” he said.

Commodore Blake drew his own sword. “I think not. This man is our prisoner, and after your efforts tonight, so are you.”

“This man,” said Ross, gesturing to Cat, “is just a lad. And until you unlawfully took him—and my daughter—prisoner, they were crewmen.”

“She is your daughter?” Commodore Blake's brows rose. “I see where she gets her spirit. Just crewmen, eh? So, I suppose you are just merchants with commerce in Dominica.”

“That's right,” Ross said. “I am a merchant sailor out of Scotland.

We had business in Misson with Mister Saint Pierre, here.”

“Is that right?” asked the commodore. Ross nodded. “Now, why do I not believe you are telling me the truth? Is it the fact that your daughter and this lad were found roaming around a notorious pirate hideaway? Or is it that instead of coming to the door and seeking to explain your case, you decided to blow up half the town? No, neither of those. I think the reason I do not believe a word from your mouth is because I know exactly who you are. You are Declan Ross, captain of the
William Wallace
. And you, sir, are a pirate wanted by my country, and heaven knows how many others. And though I was hoping to catch Bartholomew Thorne, I will happily settle for you.”

“The odds aren't in your favor, Commodore,” said Ross, and he took a step forward.

“Oh? I suspect they are a little better than you think,” he replied with a nod. From the left and the right, more than a dozen armed soldiers marched out and stood behind him.

21
STALEMATE

I
t doesn't have to go like this,” Ross declared with a subtle shake of his head.

“I quite agree,” said Commodore Blake. “Put down your swords, and I promise you a fair trial.”

“Fair?” Ross snorted. “If you mean the six of us doing the hempen jig on the gallows at New Providence, no thanks. I like my neck just the way it is. I suggest a better plan. You put down
your
swords,
your
guns, and let us pass. If you do, I promise you will all live.”

Blake's eyebrows shot up. He glanced left and right at his men.

“I do not think you understand your circumstances. Clearly—”

“Commodore!” Ross shot back. “Look at your men. They are barely out of boyhood. I can see the fear in their eyes—and it is well that they should fear. The men I have assembled here are the fiercest warriors of the open sea. Take Red Eye, for instance.” Red Eye stepped forward, brandished his cutlass, and opened his bloody eye for the British to see. Ross continued. “The only reason he hasn't killed anyone yet is because he honors my command. I need but say the word, and he will suddenly be among you, swift and silent as a ghost. Your men will begin to drop to the ground before they realize the danger!”

Commodore Blake was not shaken. But the same could not be said of his troops. They began to shift in place and exchange nervous glances. “And this massive man beside me,” Ross went on, gesturing to Jules. “Did you notice he bears no sword, no pistol? That is because he needs none! Jules has killed more men with his bare hands than the lot of you have killed with all your weapons combined.” Jules flexed the muscles of his massive barrel chest. He cracked his knuckles and gave the British his “prowling wolf” grin.

Cat looked up at the men of the
William Wallace
. He had no idea if what Ross said was true, but looking up at them now, he found it hard to doubt.

“You may have such seasoned and treacherous men in your charge,” Blake said. “But we need not scrap with you on your terms.

You have put yourself between the devil and the deep blue sea. Iron bars behind you. And this narrow opening is your only escape. But if you make to charge through it, we but need to wait for you to emerge and shoot you one at a time. And every moment that passes, time works to our advantage. I have sent for more of my men. They will leave your diversion and swell my ranks. You are caught, Declan Ross, like a mouse in a trap.”

Cat marveled at the two commanders. In their glares, a battle of wills raged like two tall ships, side by side, firing relentlessly but refusing to sail out of harm's way. Blake, at last, broke the stalemate.

“Drop your weapons, Declan Ross,” he said. Looking directly at Cat, he added, “Perhaps there are some among you who need not be hanged as pirates.”

Cat shrugged away the commodore's glance. Ross and the crew of the
Wallace
had taken him aboard when they could have left him to die on that island. And they had risked all to come back to Misson when they easily could have just left him in the hands of the British. For better or worse, Cat had thrown in his lot with the men of the
William Wallace
. He raised his sword and stilled the uncertain quiver in his stomach.

St. Pierre suddenly stepped forward. The British soldiers shifted.

One or two raised their muskets. Jacques looked at Ross, shook his head, and sheathed his cutlass. Misunderstanding St. Pierre's action as a gesture of surrender, Blake smiled. He now wore the prowling wolf grin. But not for long.

Surrender was the farthest thing from St. Pierre's mind. He sheathed his sword only to get his hands free. From one pocket he withdrew a smooth round object about the size of a fist. A short fuse stuck out of the top. In a split second, Jacques flicked something in his left hand, and the fuse was lit. He tossed the object through the breach in the wall, and it rolled at the feet of the British soldiers. “Grenade!”

Commodore Blake and his men scattered. The grenade exploded a second later, a thunderous blast that left a huge roiling cloud of dark smoke. Ross yelled, “Through the breach, men!” He led the charge, followed directly by Red Eye and St. Pierre. Jules and the others came right after. They found themselves in an odd orange twilight. Dawn was at hand, and the inferno from the exploded barn raged on. Black smoke and ghostly morning mist swirled. Blake's sailors were disoriented for just a moment, but when they turned to stand their ground and block the escape, they found they had lost their advantage. A soldier lifted his musket and fired over Ross's head. Ross felt it go by. The soldier braced his weapon against his shoulder and charged at Ross with his bayonet. Ross slashed the bayonet aside and threw his shoulder into the sailor's chest. Stunned, he fell away and lay still.

Three British came at Cat. He parried the first attack with a sudden upward slash. Then he spun out of the way as the other two charged by. They ran directly into Jules. One of their bayonets jabbed into Jules's upper thigh. With a grunt, Jules grabbed the Englishman's rifle, withdrew it from his leg, and broke it into pieces over his knee. Jules grabbed the two soldiers by the gold buttons on their chests and flung them aside like rag dolls.

“This way!” They all heard the voice from up ahead. It was Red Eye's voice, but no one saw him. “Get moving, louts!”

Ross gathered his men and led them in the direction of Red Eye's voice. As they ran along the tree line, Ross wondered what had become of Commodore Blake. Had he been wounded or killed by the grenade? Ross somehow doubted it. Blake had proven much too savvy for such an ignominious end. Still, he couldn't just disappear.