Ocean Without End (11 page)

Carlo was laughing as we hauled him, dripping, aboard. Francesco slung an arm around his shoulders.

‘So, little fish — we throw you out, and you swim back to us?'

Carlo's eyes shone happily. ‘Where are we going next?' he asked, smiling around at us all.

‘Who said you were coming with us?' Jem's sombre voice cut through the laughter.

‘But you must let me sail with you,' Carlo pleaded. ‘I cannot stay a moment longer in my father's house.'

‘This isn't a sailing school for young lords.'

‘Let him stay,' said Francesco. ‘He's a good boy, he works hard.'

‘No,' said Jem, firmly. ‘We want to stay in these waters a while longer. We can't do that with the whole Maltese fleet out searching for us.'

‘Nobody will search for me,' Carlo retorted. ‘You saw my father's face. He doesn't care if I live or die.'

‘Not surprised,' muttered Miller. Francesco, irate, pounded Miller on the arm, Miller punched him back, and all at once the small boat erupted in shouts and shoving, rocking dangerously in the shallow waves.

‘Stop it!' I yelled. Nobody took any notice. I had half a mind to tip them all overboard, as I'd done on my first night. I stood up and snatched the pistol
from Jem's belt. The men fell silent.

‘What are you doing, you fools?' I said. ‘We're sitting here like fish in a rock pool. Get us back to the ship. Fast. We'll sort out Carlo later.'

Miller suddenly realised what I meant. All the windows in the house on the cliff were lit up now — soon the men of Black's household would charge down the hill, armed and angry.

‘All right, you swabs,' he growled. ‘Hands to oars.'

As they set to their oars, I sat down and handed Jem his pistol. Carlo was gazing at me with wide eyes. He wasn't smiling any more. I gestured to him to move closer.

‘Carlo, who told you we would be here tonight?'

Jem looked astonished, the realisation only now taking hold.

‘There was a note.'

‘From who?'

‘I don't know,' said Carlo. ‘After, well … the morning after you came to visit my house, a note came. A message-boy brought it. The note wasn't signed. I thought perhaps it was from you.'

‘The Turk?' Jem suggested.

I'd figured as much. But even Hussein Reis didn't know which night we'd choose for our raid. He must have spies all along the coast.

‘We'd best keep Carlo with us for a while, Jem, and head back to Shipwreck Bay tonight.'

He nodded. ‘And we'd better keep a sharper lookout from now on.'

Jem's warning was quickly forgotten. By the time we'd sailed back around to Shipwreck Bay and dropped anchor the next day, we were all nearly asleep on our feet. I had a swim to try to wash the dust from my hair and clothes — the salt water stung the crystal cuts all over my face, hands and neck. When I dragged myself back on board, the crew of the
Mermaid
was fast asleep. Nobody was on lookout.

Those who'd been in the raiding party the night before were worn out, and the men who'd stayed on board had kept a restless watch. None of us had closed our eyes for two nights. Now the boys slept the sleep of the dead, sprawled across the deck or swinging below in their hammocks.

Down in the cabin, I carefully hung my sword on the hook set into the bulkhead and stared at it awhile, nudging it every so often to watch it spin, gracefully, in the air. Then finally I wrapped myself in a dry blanket and sat at the chart table, where Jem had stacked Mister Black's books. He'd also wedged the chalice, still tied in a cloth, at the very back of the
chart cupboard. I gently prised it out of its hiding place and unwrapped it slowly. It was such a bright yellow gold I could hardly believe it was real. All around the rim and the stem were jewels, in tiny clusters like flowers around larger, massive gems of all colours and shapes.

It was a treasure such as I'd never seen. No wonder Black had been willing to defend it with his life. I placed it carefully on the table with both hands, as I'd seen the priest do at Mass, a lifetime ago in the little stone church on Santa Lucia.

Almost as precious to me were the books. I sniffed the fine leather bindings, the rich dusty smell of ink on paper that wafted from an open page. These books would make life on board much more interesting. Perhaps I could teach Jem to read. I flipped over a few pages, ran my finger over the lines of print — some charts, intricate maps of an unknown shore, strange etchings of odd-shaped plants and creatures, unfamiliar weapons and half-naked people, perhaps Africans. Hussein would know who they were. He seemed to know everything — more than he let on.

Then there were richly bound volumes, printed in small type, with names of vaguely familiar places and long-dead emperors.
The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
, by someone called Gibbon. Volume Two. Volume Four. Volumes Five and Six. Damn. I hadn't picked up the whole set. I smiled to myself. There'd be no going back for them now.

Mister Black. His words were thrumming in my ears like funeral bells: ‘Now you do the bidding of the man who killed your father.'

‘The man who killed …' My head must have fallen down onto my arms as sleep took me into strange realms of storms and lonely rock islands and a man with a wild red beard and Mama crouching over a fire in a cave on a hilltop. When I opened my eyes, there was sun at the window and Hussein Reis stood in its light with the chalice in his hands.

‘About time you stirred,' said Jem, standing close by. ‘You must've been tired — you've slept through two meals.'

Somebody must have carried me to my hammock while I slept. I stretched and yawned and splashed my face, while Jem told Hussein about the raid. Then I raced out to retrieve my clean clothes from the deck, where they hung, rigid in the salt air, from the rigging. It didn't seem right to receive guests in the cabin in my underdrawers and shirt, so I pulled on my breeches and scrambled back down the ladder.

Hussein was turning the chalice over and over in his pale hands, gazing intently at it. The stream of sunlight pierced the depths of the red and blue jewels as they caught the glow. Slowly, he twisted the stem until it came away from the cup.

‘Aha!' he breathed. He glanced up at us and grinned at our horrified faces. ‘Don't you worry, I can put it back together again.'

From his belt, he drew his thin, curved dagger, and with its tip edged a tightly coiled paper out of the hollow chalice stem.

‘I'll be dumblustered,' I murmured. ‘What is it?'

Hussein unrolled the paper and held it up to the sunlight. ‘It's a map.'

‘A treasure map?' asked Jem.

‘No, but it's worth a pretty penny in some quarters.'

Hussein stared fiercely, first at Jem and then at me. His blue eyes seemed to search my very soul, but for what? Trust?

At last his gaze wavered and he sighed. ‘Let's be seated,' he said. ‘There's a great deal to discuss, and we must soon be on our way.'

‘Best get on with it then,' said Jem.

‘It's a pity you people have never learned the Ottoman way of doing business. We sit comfortably, drink apple tea, enquire after the health of our entire known acquaintances, drink more tea, and then, after some hours, we talk.'

‘Sounds bloody boring to me,' muttered Jem.

‘You're not a Turk,' I said to Hussein. It was hard to keep the harshness from my voice.

‘I am now.'

His glance fell on the book propped open on the table. ‘Well, well, Lily, you have some reading to do.' He fingered the pages, looked up, and smiled. ‘I fear Mister Black will grieve the loss of his volumes of Gibbon far more greatly than the theft of this chalice.'

He draped himself across the only chair, carefully arranging his robe around him. ‘I'm going to sit, anyway. If you wish to be uncomfortable, so be it.'

I pulled myself up to perch on the chart table, my feet swinging off the floor.

‘I'll stand,' said Jem.

‘Mister McGuire, you are nothing if not consistent.'

‘So,' I interrupted, ‘what about the map?'

‘Yes, the map.' Hussein drummed his fingertips together lightly. ‘It's not, I regret, a treasure map. It's a plan of the secret tunnels under Valletta, known only to the Grand Master.'

‘So we can raid the Great Palace?' asked Jem, hopefully.

‘So we can defend the city from the French army. It is planning a great invasion, and I intend to stop it.'

‘What?' Jem was just about ready to explode.

‘Who are you?' I tried to fix Hussein with the same kind of forceful stare he'd used on me.

‘I am as you see.' He spread his hands, palms upwards.

‘You know what I mean,' I said.

‘And I choose to ignore you.'

‘Are you a spy?' There. It was out in the open, the thought that had been drumming inside my head for days.

He simply looked away. ‘Now, my dear girl, you are becoming impertinent. I shall simply draw a veil over that accusation. Let us continue.'

With that, he tucked the map deep into the folds of his clothes. I saw now that his normally spotless robe was grimy from days ashore, with a thick hem of dust around the bottom. His face was tired, and it was a day or so since he had shaved.

‘Very well,' I said. ‘How did you get away from the Duke?'

‘And where's our ransom?' Jem chipped in.

‘The ransom? Not even I could persuade the good Duke to part with gold in exchange for a beloved son.'

‘It don't matter,' retorted Jem, ‘since we've kidnapped the boy all over again.'

‘McGuire, I know only too well the boy ran away of his own free will, and would do so again, no matter how many coins changed hands. He is, I fear, not a wise investment.'

‘Why were you in the Old City that night?'

‘Lily, please, as much as I admire your curiosity, this could go on for hours if you two keep asking random questions. Allow me to explain on my own terms.'

‘Stop beating around the four winds, then,' Jem growled.

‘There is much I cannot tell you,' said Hussein. ‘Forgive me. But, all right, let's start with the Duke. He's a great patriot, and so, no doubt, is his son.'

‘He's full enough of it, aye,' Jem nodded.

‘The boy should go home, ransom or no ransom. Malta will need all its sons in the coming weeks. But I digress. I was there, when you so rudely interrupted, arranging delivery of —'

‘Carlo?'

‘No, this map,' he patted the place where it lay hidden, ‘and also certain other objects that your men kindly removed from the Santa Lucia tower for us.'

‘Those bloody guns,' said Jem.

‘Guns?' I shouted, jumping down from the table. ‘Is that what was in those bundles? Is that what all that shooting and killing was for? Just a few guns?'

‘Calm down, Lily, please.'

‘That's the night I was kidnapped. I'd still be at home, if it wasn't for those stupid guns!'

‘I know,' said Hussein. ‘It was an unforeseeable consequence. But perhaps one day you'll feel it turned out for the best.'

‘That's highly unlikely.' I crossed my arms defiantly.

‘These are special guns, Lily, a new kind of musket with an almost infallible firing mechanism, and tremendous range. They will revolutionise the art of war. It seemed to me our Maltese friends might need them more than the good people of Santa Lucia, so I persuaded Diablo to capture them. How was I to know he'd capture you as well?'

‘We tried to throw her back,' said Jem. ‘Honest.'

‘He nearly blew up the whole town,' I said.

‘Diablo is not the most subtle of men,' said Hussein. ‘I'm sorry. Believe me, I would never send anyone to attack Santa Lucia. I know it well, and I grieve for any lives that were lost.'

I shook my head. The more he explained, the less clear it became.

‘What does Diablo care if the French invade Malta? You can't tell me he's patriotic.'

‘I doubt that he remembers which country he was born in,' said Hussein. ‘He pretends to be a Spaniard, but I imagine he was born in a poorhouse somewhere in London town.'

Jem snorted. ‘I had him down as a Portsmouth harbour rat, myself.'

‘Whoever he may have once been,' Hussein went on, ‘Diablo now cares only about his income. If the French invade, it'll be very bad for Diablo and his kind. Frankly, their days are over already, but they don't realise it.'

He smiled, just a little. ‘You are entering the profession at a difficult time, Lily. The great days of piracy are over. The corsairs have retired to their harems. The Knights of Malta have been crippled by the revolution in Paris — all their assets have been seized, some of their greatest men have gone to the guillotine. These are desperate times for Europe. In such times, brave men die and evil men prosper. But if Napoleon's army takes over the Mediterranean, piracy will be finished forever.'

‘Never!' snorted Jem.

‘It makes sense,' I said. ‘With a grand army comes a great fleet.'

‘Not to mention an extremely efficient secret police,' Hussein went on. ‘French judges, tribunals, bureaucrats, executioners, perhaps even officers who can't be bribed. Not good for Diablo, not good for the Knights of Malta. You, Master McGuire, might need to take up a different trade.'

Jem rubbed his whiskers. ‘Always wanted to run a tavern. I been saving some gold.'

‘Ah yes,' Hussein chuckled, ‘the pirate's dream. A tavern full of women and beer. Your chance may come sooner than you think.'

‘Then the Knights are in on this too?' I asked him. ‘That's why you were meeting the Duke de Santiago that night.'

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. It's not as simple as that. Certainly some of the Knights will oppose the French, as will the old noble Maltese families, like de Santiago. But many Knights are French themselves. Their feelings on the matter are, to say the least, mixed.'

‘It'll never happen,' said Jem. ‘What do the French want with this old lump of rock?'

‘My dear man, it is happening. The fleet is gathering in Toulon as we speak. This lump of rock may be nothing more than a stepping stone, but such stones do get stepped on, even by great men.'

There was a moment of thoughtful silence.

‘How long have we got?' Jem asked.

‘Weeks. Days. They may have set sail already. It depends, as always, on the winds.'

‘You mean there's something you don't know?' Jem teased. ‘How about that?'

Hussein smiled with him. ‘Sadly, there is much I don't know, and no time to learn it.'

‘What's in the Golden Grotto?' I asked, remembering Diablo poring over the chart, muttering into his beard.

‘Nothing besides seaweed, but you've heard the rumours. Treasure upon treasure for the taking. It's a myth, as you well know, but Diablo will not let it rest.'

‘Where the hell's he gone, then?' said Jem.

Hussein shrugged again. ‘Who knows? I have sent my crew to intercept him. They have orders to bring him back here under guard or kill him. I don't care which. He has betrayed me once too often. He sailed off with the English guns, and any day now we will need them. Napoleon is on his way.'

Diablo — at gunpoint or dead. That meant …

‘So I'm free?' I could hardly believe I could say the words.

‘You are free of Diablo, at least — all of you,' Hussein said quietly.

All I knew at that moment was the sound of the air, in and out of my lungs, and the feel of the ship moving gently beneath my feet. I walked to the window and gazed out across the clear blue waters to the sunlit beach, where a few of the boys were lying about on the hot pebbles, their feet splashing in the shallows.

Behind me, Hussein was issuing orders.

‘McGuire, you may inform the crew they are released from their bond with Diablo, as he has forfeited his captaincy. You may keep the
Mermaid
, in equal shares, as payment for services. If you choose to keep sailing her, rather than sell her, I may engage you on some irregular tasks, since you have proven yourselves brave and trustworthy enough, if a little rash at times. I will pay you, of course.'

Free. Who cared about Napoleon and the armies of Europe, the Golden Grotto, or the mysterious Knights of Malta? I was free.

But now what?

‘I'll go tell the boys,' Jem said, grinning, ‘then we'd best get out of here.'