Isle of Swords (42 page)

“You did survive,” came a rough voice from the stairwell.

“No thanks to you.” Anne looked at the wound on her hand. It had scabbed over, but still looked raw.

Thorne approached her cell. “Yes, well, a captain must maintain the discipline of his crew.”

She ignored his comment. “Last night, was that a storm?”

“No,” Thorne replied. He stared blankly in her direction. “I am not altogether sure what we experienced. Padre Dominguez warned me of a place where the ocean currents collide. He said that the sea would erupt in mountainous waves . . . that we must ride the wind down the backside of the wave before it crested. This we did, but it was not easy. I have never seen an angrier sea.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Anne felt its vibration in the wood of the deck. “Where are we now?” she asked.

“By my reckoning,” he said, sorting through the keys on an enormous ring, “we are but five miles from the Isle of Swords.” He opened the cell door and said, “You will come up on deck. I have something to show you. A sight unlike any you have ever seen in your life.”

Cat awoke with a start. He was breathing hard, sweating, and swaying rapidly in his hammock. The images were still fresh, swirling in his mind. He blinked and drifted back into them.
Where is it, boy?!

The harsh voice.
I know she gave it to you. Out with it!

Stop! Leave me alone!
Another voice. Cat recognized it as his own.
I don't know what you're talking about!

Don't you lie to me. Whelp!
Cat felt the blow to his back. The sting.
She must have told you. She gave you the map, didn't she?

Cat saw cold blue eyes glaring at him from a dark shadowy figure. Unexpectedly, someone burst into the room. A woman, a beautiful woman with red hair. She grabbed the man by the shoulders.

Don't you dare lay a hand on him! You coward!

The man slammed the back of his fist into her jaw, and she fell to the floor.

The man drew back and began to kick her. Cat saw himself rise to his feet and run to the woman's aid, but the man shoved him so hard he fell to the ground and rolled. He saw the man kick her too many times to count. Then the man walked toward Cat.

“Nooooo!” Cat choked out a cough and rolled out of his hammock. He fell to the floor on deck three. He was back on the
Bruce
. He looked to his right and saw that his leather pouch had also fallen to the ground. He picked up the pouch.
She gave you the map, didn't she?

Cat untied the leather lace and tipped the bag. The silver cross slid out into his hand. A few shakes, and the lock of red hair came. The jewel was gone, no doubt lining Vesa Turinen's pockets with gold.

Cat stared at the pouch. Slowly, he removed the leather lace from the guide loops around the mouth of the bag. Grasping the edges, he spread open the material and pressed it flat on the deck. The golden lantern light revealed an intricately detailed map . . . a map to the Isle of Swords.

The bells for the middle watch on the
Bruce
had sounded long ago.

Ross, Stede, Ramiro, and Jules stood on the quarterdeck.

“Ramiro, give me the logbook again,” said Ross, holding up a hand. The captain stood next to the wheel. He stared through a sextant, measuring the angle of the horizon based on a prominent star. Ramiro handed Ross a weather-beaten book as thick as a man's fist. Ross found what he was looking for and announced, “It's got to be here! Dominguez said we'd hit the crosscurrents a hundred miles west of the Azores. We are precisely one hundred miles due west of the Azores.”

Stede was at the wheel
.
“Plenty of stars,” said Stede. “But without the map, we b' not knowing which ones to use!”

Ross growled and turned to Jules. “Has anything odd happened with the compass?”

“No, sir,” he replied. “I've been closely watching it. We've stayed due west, just like you ordered.”

“Captain Ross,” a quiet voice drifted up the ladder. Declan leaned over the edge of the deck and gave Cat a hand up.

“Cat, it's not your watch for another couple of hours,” Ross said.

“I know, sir, but I thought you might be able to use this.” Cat showed the captain the wrinkled piece of leather that had once been a pouch.

Ross couldn't believe his eyes. “Is this real?” he asked. Cat nodded.

“A map. You have a map to the Isle of Swords?!”

“How b' that possible?” Stede gawked.

“My mother gave it to me. It was on the inside of my pouch.”

Cat bunched the leather together to show them. “I carried it around all along . . . I just didn't know.”

Astonished and speechless, they stared until they heard bells from the rear of the ship. Two bells. Pause. Two bells. Pause. Two bells. Pause. And two more bells.

“That b' morning watch, Declan. You got mayb' an hour left to use the stars!”

“May I?” Ross asked, and Cat handed him the map. They both knew they had much more to discuss on this matter, but Ross couldn't spare the time now. He scanned the map, noted the constellations and their positions. Then back to the sextant and then the logbook.

“I can't believe it!” he shouted. “We've drifted too far to the south.”

“That cannot be,” grumbled Jules. “As I said before, I've been watching the compass.”

“No blame to you, Jules,” said Ross. “Padre Dominguez told us that's what the strange current would do.” He went to the sea chart, scribbled a few figures from the logbook, and then drew a line. “Mister Stede, follow this course!”

“Aye, Cap'n!”

“You had better wake your men, Ramiro,” said Ross. “If what the monk told us is true, that swinging bowsprit will be needed like never before!”

Ramiro said, “We'll be ready!”

But before the Portuguese shipwright could get down the ladder, Cat yelled, “May I go with you?” Ramiro looked at Ross, who nodded.

“Follow me,” he said. “I understand you are a quick study.” Cat grinned and leaped down the ladder.

“Jules, wake the crew—the whole crew!” Ross said, putting a hand on Jules's massive shoulder. “The ship's already locked up pretty tight, but make sure everything that can be tied down is— especially the barrel of monkey pee! This could be the roughest ride any of us have ever had.”

“There it is, sir,” said Jules. “We just changed direction. It's slight, but it's there.”

“Stede?”

“I'm correcting now, mon,” said the quartermaster.

“Again,” said Jules.

“I'm starting to feel what it's doing,” said Stede.

Ross looked up at Midge in the crow's-nest. “You see anything?”

“Nothing unusual, sir,” Midge called back.

Ross looked out on the dark sea. Nothing unusual. He scanned the skies, saw a faint glow in the east. Not much time before sunup.

Without the stars, how would they—then he felt it. Ever so gently, the ship rose. “Midge!”

“Swells comin', Cap'n!” he cried. “Swells like mountains!”

“Tie yourself in, Midge!” The winds intensified as Ross yelled to the front of the ship. “Ramiro, be ready!” Ross heard no reply, but leaned over the rail of the quarterdeck and saw Ramiro nod and salute.

The
Bruce
rose up on a massive wall of black water, and from their perch, the entire crew witnessed what lay in wait for them. The ocean as far as they could see was a roiling, undulating cauldron.

And among the swells there appeared ominous patches of darkness and sudden eruptions of sea spray and foam.

Trying always to keep the ship firmly in the grasp of the steady wind, Stede guided them carefully among the swells. Just as they crested the top of a towering wave, Midge yelled, “Starboard!!”

Ross turned and saw the monster wave that was headed right for them. The
Bruce
was riding one wave right into another. “It's coming across, Stede!”

Stede spun the wheel hard as they braced for impact.

It never came. The
Bruce
seemed to grab the wind and spin forty-five degrees to the left. It coasted down the back of the first wave and slid out of harm's way before the two waves collided. The sound of that collision, like sudden thunder, jolted the crew. Spray rained down and blew horizontally across the deck.

“How did we . . . ?” Ross realized how. He looked across the deck, and there were Ramiro, Cat, and the others—all sopping wet, but grinning like mischievous kids.

On the bow, Ramiro's head went back and forth, watching for rogue waves and looking to see which direction Stede was steering.

Cat, holding on to the rail—and the ropes—for dear life, felt his stomach drop. The
Bruce
abruptly rose up. They were cresting a gigantic wave as if it had grown up beneath them.

Ramiro barked out orders with zeal. “Claudio, pull the fore halyard, now!” And Claudio, a man with forearms like tree boughs, yanked a line, and the sail on the bowsprit fell limp.

“Enrique, pull both pins!” With two men keeping the bowsprit from swinging wildly, Enrique pulled the pins out of the gooseneck and waited.

Ramiro looked back to see what Stede would do. He watched until he saw the wheel spin rapidly to starboard. “Starboard!!” Ramiro yelled, and Enrique dropped the pins into two different holes.