The Pilgrims of Rayne (17 page)

Siry blinked. I called his bluff. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't a killer.

“You want to help us?” he asked. “You really want to help us?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then come with me.”

He took off running down the beach. I hoped this wasn't going to be a long trip. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off and I was feeling kind of worked. I wanted a nap, not a tour. But this was Siry's show. If he was going to show me something important, I had to go along. He led me along the shore of the cove, ducking into the dense jungle near the outer limits of Rayne. He seemed to pick a random spot to enter the jungle, but I soon realized we were on a small path. Back in Stony Brook I knew every twist, turn, rock, path, tree, and ditch in the woods behind my house. It was the same for Siry. He knew exactly where he was going. We shot along the narrow, twisting path for several minutes. The foliage was thick, making the jungle seem darker than it was. The path rose gradually and soon became so steep I thought about using my hands to scramble up. We were climbing, high. It was tough going. I knew we were coming to the end of our trip when the path became lighter again. Siry climbed on to a rock outcropping at the edge of the jungle and turned back to me. I could see the excitement in his eyes.

“We're not just a bunch of angry kids,” he declared. “We mean what we say, and we're going to do something about it.”

He motioned for me to take a look. I climbed up next to him to find we were on a rock ledge, high above the shore. We were facing the ocean that bordered the large protected bay. Looking out, I saw nothing but green sea. Down below was a curious sight. This wasn't a sandy beach. It was a rocky, rugged coastline. Jutting out from the shore were five long, wooden piers. Tied up to either side of each pier was a sailing ship. Ten in all. Each was identical. They looked to me like old-fashioned pirate ships, complete with double wooden masts.

I'm guessing they were about a hundred feet long, with a structure at the stern. They were identical, except for their colors. Each was painted a different bright, tropical color. There were vibrant greens, brilliant blues, and a few deep corals. It was an awesome sight. The ships gleamed in the sun. Their brilliant colors made them look more like amusement park rides than practical ships. I'd seen old-fashioned sailing ships at the Mystic Seaport back home, but I'd never seen so many in one place. It was a small fleet.

“They look new,” I observed.

“They are,” Siry answered. “They've only been out for short test sails.”

“Is this the fishing fleet?” I asked.

“No,” Siry answered. “They're way bigger than any fishing boat. Officially, the tribunal says they're to replace the older fishing boats, but people who've been aboard say they aren't outfitted for fishing.”

“What do
you
think they're for?” I asked.

Siry looked down at the colorful fleet. He thought for a moment, then said, “I don't know. I don't care. When I look at these ships I only think of one thing.”

“What's that?”

Siry looked at me with dead seriousness and said, “Escape.”

“What?”

“Many of the Jakills have been on ships since they could walk. They know how to sail. They'll have no trouble handling one of those.”

“Whoa, wait,” I said. “You're not thinking of—”

“Yeah, we are,” Siry said. “We're going to steal one of those ships and leave the island.”

“What about the security force? Aren't they guarding the ships?”

“They're more worried about Flighters coming from the sea. They won't expect a threat from Rayne. That's part of the problem, Pendragon. The people here have given up. No, worse, it's like the spirit of adventure has been bred out of them. They go along, living on the beach, catching their fish, picking fruit, and singing songs. There's no life here. No excitement. It's a dead culture. The Jakills are going to change that.”

“No offense but I've seen you guys fight,” I said vehemently. “If the security force jumps in, you'll never set foot on one of those ships, let alone sail it away.”

Siry stepped in front of me, folded his arms, and smiled. “I agree. It was the one thing that kept us from going forward with our plans. I think we've solved that.”

He gave me a wide, Cheshire cat grin. It didn't take long to understand what he was thinking.

“You're kidding, right?” I said quickly.

“You said you wanted to help us.”

“Yeah but, we're talking about piracy!”

“There was one thing my father said that stuck with me, Pendragon. He said that Ibara was getting close to a turning point. He said the future of our home depended on how that turning point went. I think he was right, and I think the Jakills are that turning point. We want to get out from under this controlling society and explore Ibara. We want to make this a better place. You said you wanted to help? Get us onto one of those ships. I think that's what my father would have wanted you to do.”

I stepped past Siry and looked down on the brightly colored sailing fleet. This territory was an enigma. It seemed the people who lived on this island were being sheltered from the bigger world beyond. But why? What was out there? Did
the tribunal know? Were they protecting their people? Or keeping them prisoner? There was a big fat truth lying out there, somewhere across the ocean. I had no doubt that whatever it was, it had something to do with the overall destiny of Ibara, which meant it had to do with Saint Dane. I needed to know what was out there, not for the same reasons as Siry and the Jakills, but for the sake of the whole territory.

How could I do that? I could go to the tribunal and try to learn from them. But in spite of my loose connection to Remudi, I was an outsider. If the tribunal totally controlled the lives of everyone in Rayne, what chance did I have of getting them to be truthful with me? Unfortunately, the answer was clear. There was zero chance of that. It was looking as though my best hope of learning the truth about Ibara was in joining up with a renegade band of kids who were hungry for adventure.

“When do we leave?” I asked.

 

This is where I'm going to end this journal and send it to you, Courtney. Like I said, I'm about to become an outlaw. I've decided to put in with Siry and the Jakills and help them hijack one of the sailing ships. The flumes have always put us where we needed to be, when we needed to be there. I don't think it's a coincidence that I've landed on Ibara when the next Traveler is about to make such a bold move. Something is about to happen on this island. Change is coming. The Jakills are at the leading edge. Their disenchantment with the status quo feels like a revolution. Things are definitely coming to a head. By all accounts the strange Flighters have become more aggressive. Just as strange is the mystery fleet of sailing ships that the tribunal constructed. What are they for? Why are they being so secretive about them?

Strangest of all, I need to know what lies beyond the shores of this island. In some ways I feel as if I haven't even discovered Ibara yet. I've only experienced this one small, secluded island. Is the rest of Ibara like this? Who are the Flighters, and why are they harassing the people of Rayne?

And of course, where is Saint Dane and how is he involved? Each time I meet a new person, my first thought is that he might be Saint Dane. It's tough to live in that constant state of paranoia. I've got to go with my gut, and my gut tells me that to unravel the mystery of Ibara, I've got to become a Jakill.

No, I've got to become a pirate.

 

END OF JOURNAL
#29

Courtney read Bobby's journal,
by herself, in Gunny's lonely basement apartment in the Manhattan Tower Hotel. The pages were almond colored and perfectly square. Each measured about twelve inches across. Bobby had written them in black ink and placed them in a flat, watertight pouch that he rolled up and tied with a band. As the story on Ibara unfolded on the pages before her, Courtney realized again how much she missed Mark. Learning of Bobby's problems alone was a lonely, torturous experience. She needed Mark. She needed a friend. She wanted to trust Dodger. But after what happened with Whitney Wilcox on Second Earth, she wasn't going to put her faith in a stranger too quickly. So after the bellhop witnessed Bobby's journal arrive in the garden outside the hotel, Courtney panicked. She swooped it up and hurried into the hotel to get away.

“Hey!” the bellhop yelled, chasing after her. “Where you going?”

“Leave me alone!” Courtney shouted without breaking stride.

“That thing showed up out of nowhere!” he exclaimed, stunned. “How did you do that?”

“Magic. I'm a magician. Pretty good, huh? Show's over. Go away.”

She hurried up the steps of the hotel. Dodger was right after her.

“You ain't no magician,” he said. “There's something else going on here. You're not some kind of spaceman, are you? Or spacegirl?”

Courtney stopped again. “You're kidding, right? You won't believe it was phony magic, but you'd buy that I'm from Pluto?”

“I'm not buyin' nothing. I just want to know what's going on.”

Dodger seemed to Courtney like an okay guy. Bobby trusted him. Gunny trusted him. In the past that would have been enough for Courtney. Not anymore.

“You're right,” she exclaimed. “You got me. I'm from outer space. Keep it to yourself or I'll vaporize you.”

She tried to walk off again, but Dodger took her shoulder. Courtney pulled away angrily.

“Look,” he said, backing off, “Gunny asked me to help anybody who showed up with one of them rings. How can I do that if you don't level with me?”

Courtney wanted to trust the little guy. Badly. “I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “It's not your fault.”

She left him standing on the steps of the hotel, dazed. She hurried to Gunny's apartment and spent the next hour pouring over every word of Bobby's journal. Reading about Bobby's adventures wasn't new to Courtney, but this time felt different. Aside from her trip to Black Water, Courtney always felt as if she were nothing more than an observer. The events Bobby wrote about didn't affect her directly.

Those days were over.

The territories were folding in on themselves. Dados had turned up on Quillan and the three Earth territories. They turned up in her home in the form of a mechanical cat. Courtney knew the
events Bobby described weren't about Ibara alone. The puzzle was getting more complicated. The battle with Saint Dane was suddenly less about the struggle for individual territories. It was now about Halla.

Sitting in that lonely apartment, Courtney knew that finding Mark wasn't just about saving her friend. It could affect events on all the Earth territories. It could affect Bobby on Ibara. It could affect every being in Halla. Saint Dane was making his final push to bring the territories down. The realization staggered her. She was worried about Bobby and what he'd found on Ibara, but she also knew there was nothing she could do about that. She had to stay focused on her mission on First Earth.

She had to find Mark.

The telephone rang. Courtney jumped. The bell was loud and jangling, not like the soft tone of her kitchen phone on Second Earth. Gunny's phone sounded like a fire alarm. She calmed herself and picked up the heavy, black receiver. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

“Don't hang up,” Dodger begged.

Courtney didn't, but she didn't speak, either. She didn't know what to say.

“I think I got it figured,” Dodger said. “Are you and Pendragon on the lam from the law?”

Courtney burst out laughing. “On the lam?” she echoed. “What are you, some kind of mob guy?”

“No!” Dodger said quickly. “I got nothin' to do with them guys! Honest!”

Courtney forced herself to refocus. She knew she couldn't look at this world from a Second Earth perspective. This was 1937. It was a different territory with different rules.

“Look, Dodger, I understand that what you just saw freaked you out.”

“It did what?” he asked quickly.

“What I mean is, you saw something…unusual, and it's making you…nervous.”

“You can say that again, sister,” Dodger agreed.

“And stop calling me ‘sister.' Or ‘skirt' or ‘dame' or ‘broad' or whatever clever macho demeaning term you can think of.”

“Sorry.”

“Look, I wish I could trust you. I can't. I've been burned before. I mean, I've been fooled before.”

“Oh, I get it,” Dodger said knowingly. “You've been dumped by some chump boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Courtney said. “You could say that.” Courtney laughed to herself, thinking that Dodger didn't realize how close to the truth that was.

“Then there's no problem!” Dodger continued. “I don't want to be your boyfriend. I got no time for skirts, uh, girls. Sorry, that slipped out.”

Courtney was weakening. Dodger was getting to her, but she knew that was exactly the kind of thing Saint Dane would do. He was offering to give her what she needed most, friendship and help.

“Thanks, Dodger,” she said curtly. “But no thanks. Maybe someday I'll get the chance to explain it to you, but not today.”

Courtney hung up. She barely had time to gather the journal pages and put them back into the waterproof pouch, when a knock came at the door. She looked around for a place to hide the journals and chose Gunny's favorite hiding place…the oven.

“Who is it?” she called while quickly closing the oven door.

“Room service,” came a professional man's voice.

“I didn't order room service,” she called back.

Another knock. Courtney started to panic. There was no way
out of this room. She ran to the door and put her eye to the peephole to see…

A smiling Dodger staring back at her through the fish-eye peephole. He had to stand on his toes to get up high enough.

“Compliments of the house!” he announced cheerily.

Courtney couldn't help but smile. The guy was either a sincere goof, or Saint Dane was better than she imagined. She hesitated, then unlocked the door, and threw it open. Dodger stood there behind a dinner cart loaded with plates of food that were covered by silver warming domes. Courtney's stomach rumbled.

“How did you get here so fast?” she asked suspiciously.

“I called you from the house phone in the laundry back there,” Dodger said, pointing to a door a few yards down the hall. “I figure you gotta be hungry after rocketing through the universe. Pluto, right?” He gave her an innocent, sincere smile.

“Come on in,” she said. “If you're going to give me trouble, it might as well be on a full stomach.”

“Oh, no,” Dodger said. “It ain't right being in a lady's boudoir.”

“Ain't that your, I mean…isn't that your job?”

“Yeah, but I ain't here on official business. I'm here on Gunny business.”

Courtney gave Dodger a good long look. The delicious smells rising up from the covered plates made her mouth water. “Tell you what,” she said. “If you're telling the truth, I guess you'd call it being ‘on the level,' I'm sorry for being so mysterious. If you're not telling the truth, you know exactly where I'm coming from, so back off.”

“Jeez, you're confusing me,” Dodger said. “You gotta understand. I owe Gunny a lot. I wasn't the best kid growing up, you know. Gunny took me in and gave me a job. He trusted me. Nobody ever done that before. I think I did all right, too. All because Gunny gave me the chance. So if he asked me to swim
over to Germany and give old Adolph a smacker on the lips, I'd be swimmin' and puckerin' up. The way I see it, helping you is easy-peasy.”

“All right! I give up! Jeez, you're making me cry here…and now I'm starting to sound like you. Unbelievable.”

“I grow on people,” Dodger said with a sly smile.

“Look, it's got to be on my terms. Don't ask questions. Don't follow me. And only do what I ask. If that's okay with you, I welcome your help.”

Dodger let out a big, genuine smile. He tipped his bellhop cap and said, “I am at your service, ma'am. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. And don't call me ‘ma'am,' either.”

“What should I call you?”

“‘Courtney.' No title. No colorful slang. Just ‘Courtney.'”

“Done. Nine o'clock it is. Meet you in the lobby?”

“Done.” She couldn't help but smile. “Thank you, Dodger. And just know that if you're Saint Dane, I'm ready for you.”

“And maybe someday I'll know what the heck that means,” Dodger said. “Until then, enjoy this delicious meal. I'll see you bright and early!”

He tipped his cap again and left Courtney to pull the cart of food into the room. All thoughts of Dodger and Saint Dane and Ibara evaporated for the few minutes it took her to enjoy the feast. Dodger had brought her a fabulous dinner of sliced turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy, nut stuffing, cranberry sauce, and buttered green beans. Thanksgiving had come a few weeks early. Courtney was all set to chow down when the thought crossed her mind that somehow Saint Dane knew how much she liked Thanksgiving dinner, and this meal was another way to earn her trust. Was he that incredibly devious? She decided she was too hungry to care. She put her fear of manipulation-by-
turkey out of her head, and tucked in. It was delicious. She ate too fast and ended up feeling totally bloated, but she didn't care. Dodger had thought of it all, including the pumpkin pie and milk. Courtney decided to hold off on eating the pie until she digested a little. That held her back for a whole five minutes. It was too tempting. She downed the pie and enjoyed every last decadent crumb.

It was late. Courtney didn't finish feasting until nearly ten o'clock. She knew it wasn't smart to go to bed on such a full stomach, but she was dog tired and the tryptophan was working its magic. She could barely keep her eyes open long enough to brush her teeth and pull off her clothes, before she fell into bed and dropped off to sleep. One of her last thoughts before nodding off was that Dodger's thoughtful meal had an added bonus. She was going to get a good night's sleep without all the tossing and turning she usually had to endure while her mind raced and worried. She was on her way out. That was good, because she knew the next day would be busy. She was going to begin her quest to find Mark in this alien world.

The next morning she was woken up by the jangling telephone. She leaped up, ready to grab her clothes and run out of the building to escape from the fire. It took her a second to realize it was only the annoying phone.

“What's with these old-time people?” she asked herself. “Are they all deaf?”

She answered the phone and heard Dodger's friendly voice. “Change your mind?”

Courtney glanced at the bedside clock. It was nine thirty. She had slept nearly twelve hours.

“Yikes, sorry. I'll be right there.”

Courtney didn't bother with a shower. She quickly dressed in her woolen pants and white shirt. She threw on socks, tied up the
leather shoes, and slipped into the green sweater. The finishing touch was the floppy hat that she tucked her hair into. She had no idea what she'd find on First Earth, but there was one thing she knew for sure. She didn't want anybody treating her like a “skirt.” Satisfied, she left the apartment and headed upstairs.

The hotel lobby was bustling with people. Courtney saw Dodger leaning against a big, marble column near the lounge. She watched him for a moment. He looked innocent enough, she thought. He wore plain black pants and a short charcoal gray cloth jacket. Without his bellhop uniform, he looked even younger. Being short added to that impression. He stood watching the hotel guests as they passed by, waving and smiling to those he knew. One elderly woman was having trouble getting the attention of the busy bellhops, so Dodger jumped in and helped her carry her suitcase to the front desk, even though he wasn't on duty. There was nothing about Dodger that made Courtney think he could be Saint Dane, other than the fact that she thought everybody could be Saint Dane. She wasn't going to let her guard down, but she needed help finding Mark. She decided it was worth the risk. She left the doorway, stuck her hands in her pockets, and walked toward him. When Dodger saw her, he brightened up.

“There you are!” he said. “Good afternoon!”

“Yeah, very funny,” Courtney said, all business. “Let's go talk.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Dodger said obediently, then winced. “I mean, yes, Courtney.”

Courtney led him into the lobby lounge. It was loaded with people chatting and socializing.

“No good,” she said, putting on the brakes. “Is there someplace private?” She thought a second and added, “But with other people around?”

“You want private but with other people?”

“Uh, yeah.” She realized how ridiculous that sounded.

“Still don't trust me? Even after the turkey dinner?”

“Especially after the turkey dinner,” Courtney said. “But thanks anyway.”

“You're welcome. Follow me.”

Dodger led Courtney through the opulent lobby. The short guy walked with a cocky strut, like he owned the place. He brought Courtney through the hotel restaurant and into the bustling kitchen.

“Hey, Dodger!” one of the cooks called out. “Ain't this your day off?”

“Nah, I'm always workin',” Dodger shot back quickly.