The Time Pirate (28 page)

· Greybeard Island ·

G
unner, wake up! It's me! Nick!”

But Gunner wouldn't wake up, wouldn't even move a muscle or crack an eye. Nick surveyed the scene. He'd passed out in his favorite chair before the great stone hearth at the Greybeard Inn, his boots still up on the hearthstone. Beside the chair was an empty bottle of Irish whiskey, lying on its side. Gunner was snoring loudly and shaking his head back and forth, as if he was having some very bad dream. He'd probably started drinking when he lost Nick on the radio. Their last communication with each other had not been filled with hope.

Nick was, above all, most anxious to get to the lighthouse and see his parents, but since they had no idea he'd been in any danger, and Gunner did, he was at least compelled to let Gunner know he'd survived the crash at sea. Gunner, the propietor of the old inn, was probably sick with worry about whether Nick was dead or alive. No, make that “definitely sick.”

Nick had never seen his friend like this. Oh, he'd have his occasional “wee dram” of rum or the like, or a lager of an
evening, but an entire bottle of whiskey? Never. Nick had tried shaking him, pinching his nose, and screaming into his ears. Nothing, it seemed, would rouse his old friend from his stupor.

“Don't go anywhere,” he yelled into Gunner's left ear, “I'll be right back.”

Nick went into the kitchen, or galley as Gunner called it, and made a large pot of coffee, as black and hot as he could get it. Then he searched the many cabinets for a large kettle. He grabbed the biggest one he could find. It was cast iron and weighed a ton, and he felt a sharp stab of pain in his sore right shoulder as he lifted it. The poultice had helped, though, and he was on the mend. He placed the kettle in the deep sink and turned on the tap. Cold. The colder the better for his purposes.

This was not something he wanted to do, he thought, watching the water fill the kettle. But he really could think of no alternative. Then he grimaced as he thought how heavy the kettle would be when full. When the water reached the brim, he turned off the tap.

Somehow, grimacing, he lifted the kettle out of the sink. But he immediately set it on the floor. He would have to drag the thing into the lounge bar, where Gunner was waiting for his big surprise.

Nick lost about a quart of water, dragging and sloshing the kettle all the way from the galley to the lounge with his left arm only. It seemed to take an hour, but finally he was in position behind Gunner's chair. But he had one more chore.

He returned to the galley and poured a large mug full of steaming hot coffee. Back in the lounge, he placed the mug and a steaming pot of coffee on a table near Gunner's chair.
He wanted to get this hot coffee down Gunner's gullet as quickly as possible. He needed his friend's attention, and he needed him to make some sense.

“Gunner,” he shouted, “please wake up!”

No effect.

He knew he would have only one shot at lifting this heavy kettle above Gunner's head, and lord knows what it would do to his shoulder. But there was nothing else for it.

He squatted behind the pot, right hand on the handle, left hand under the bottom, and rose up, using his leg muscles to get him upright and his upward momentum to get the kettle high enough. And then he tilted the kettle over Gunner's head so that most of the cold water splashed full into his face and the rest drenched his chest and stomach.

Gunner sat straight up, sputtering, and shouted, “Who's there?” not even seeming to notice that he was now drenched in cold water and soaked to the very skin.

Nick stepped around to the side of the chair, where Gunner could see him, now holding a mug of hot coffee.

“Who're you?” Gunner mumbled.

“Why, Nicholas McIver, of course. At your service, sir. Just returned from the briny deep.”

“Nick?” he blurted out, rubbing the water from his already bleary eyes. “Nick McIver, as I live and breathe?”

“In the flesh.”

“God above, I ain't dreamin'! It is you!” he said, reaching his arms out for his young friend. “You're alive, for all love! Come! Come here,” he said. “Come and let me hold you a moment before I realize ‘tis just a dream after all.”

Nick bent down and embraced his sopping companion, patting him warmly on the shoulder. When Gunner released him,
still in shock, Nick put the mug into his trembling hands and said, “Drink. All of it. Now.”

Gunner tilted back his head and quaffed the entire mug in one draught. Nick instantly refilled it from the pot, and said, “One more. I need you awake.”

Gunner downed the steaming coffee and said, “Enough! I'm awake and most anxious to hear your tale of survival. How on earth did you get out of the sinking Camel?”

“Got my legs under me on the seat and shot straight out. She was going down fast, Gunner, clipped my shoulder. Lucky to be standing here, I think.”

“Praise God, Nick, praise God.”

“I will when I get the chance. Now, Gunner, I must hurry to the lighthouse to see my mother and father. I will tell you all of my adventures later.”

A dark cloud passed over Gunner's face.

“What is it?” Nick asked, heart in his throat.

“There was a German search party here a few hours ago. They're looking for a young German officer who parachuted onto the island a while ago. A spy, probably. He has not used his field radio or made any contact with Nazi HQ located in town hall on Guernsey. They believe he may have been killed by an islander, and they're looking into it. They went house to house all over the island rounding up various people to take back to Guernsey for questioning. And—”

“And what, Gunner? Tell me please.”

“I'm afraid your parents were part of that group.”

Nick looked stricken. “Did they take Katie?”

“No. I don't think she was home at the time of the search.”

“We've got to help them!” he cried.

“How? Storm the prison? Nick, I think they'll be all right.
They don't know anything about this bloody German spy, and I imagine they'll be released soon enough.”

Nick didn't answer, thinking about the young soldier they'd buried beneath the oak tree. But Gunner was right. They were made of sterner stuff, both his parents. He'd no doubt they'd be home tomorrow or the next day. So far, except for the brutal bombing of the port, the Germans seemed to be treating the islanders in a fairly civil way. He decided the dead soldier was something Gunner, like Fleur de Villiers, was better off not knowing about and so kept quiet, thinking about his poor parents. There had to be a way to help them. He'd think of something.

“Gunner, I saw a basket on your kitchen table. It looked exactly like one my mum has. What's in it?”

“A strawberry pie from the smell of it. I think Katie must have brought it up to the barn for us and left it there last evening.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No, but I'm sure she's somewhere, in a flowery glen, knitting bluebells into haloes or something.”

“I want to have a slice of that pie right now,” Nick said, suddenly famished.

“Think I'll join you. But first, in all the excitement, I'm afraid I just remembered something. She left a note for you under the linen. It just says ‘Nick,' but it's Kate's handwriting all right.”

“Let's have a look,” Nick said and headed for the kitchen, Gunner right behind him. Nick lifted the linen cloth and saw the rolled-up piece of paper with only his name showing. He said, “It's too dark in here to read. Let's go out by the window.”

Gunner collapsed into his favorite chair. Nick sat at the desk, unrolled the paper, and began to read.

“What's it say?” Gunner asked, looking at Nick. The boy had gone white as a sheet and put his head in his hands.

“Nick, c'mon, lad, it can't be as bad as all that.”

“Yes, it can,” the boy said, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Well, what is it, for all love?”

“The Nazis have got my parents. And, now, Billy Blood's got Katie.”

“What? God help us, that blackguard Blood is back? Took that little angel? Why?”

“He wants my golden ball. Only now it's in exchange for my sister's life. He says he'll slit her throat if I don't appear within the next forty-eight hours.”

“Where? Where does he have her? We'll go and fetch her right from under his wretched nose, by heaven!”

Nick had a magnifying glass out, studying Kate's scribblings, mostly numbers. “Have you your maritime charts nearby?”

“Right in the drawer in front of you.”

Nick wiped his eyes and pulled out a sheaf of navigational charts, placing them on the desk before him.

“Obviously Blood forced her to write this ransom note. She's put down the longitude and latitude coordinates, the time and place where she's held captive. And the hour of the deadline.”

“Where's he taken her?”

Nick got up, handed Gunner Kate's note, and said, “Read the coordinates out loud, Gunner, and I'll locate that devil on the chart.”

As Gunner slowly read the numbers out, Nick flipped through the maritime charts until he found the right one. “The Ca ribbe an, well, that's a start,” he said, running his finger over the chart until it stopped on 18 degrees north latitude, 76 degrees 50
minutes west longitude, the precise location Gunner had just given him.

Gunner bent over Nick's shoulder to get a look and said, “Jamaica.”

“Aye, Jamaica all right. The town of Port Royal. A piratical haven, if ever there was one.”

“He's taken her back in time, too, hasn't he, lad?”

“Yes.”

“What date does he want to meet?”

“First October, 1781. Before the sun sets.”

“We should retrieve the golden orb from its hidey-hole in the Armoury and make preparations for the time trip,” Gunner said. “A wee girl, brave as she is, held captive in a den of murderin' pirates? She shouldn't remain there a minute longer than she has to.”

“Yes. Listen, Gunner, I've an idea. Just the beginning of one, but it holds promise. There is only one possible way to effect Katie's rescue, but I'm going to need Commander Hobbes's help. He and Lord Hawke are preparing to shut down the castle and to leave for England soon, so we've got to be quick about it. May I use your telephone? I want to call the commander and tell him we're on our way to the castle with a favor to ask.”

“What's yer plan, boy?”

“Don't ask. There's no time. Please go up the Armoury and fetch us the orb!”

Gunner returned to the Greybeard Inn's lounge, polishing Nick's golden orb with a soft cloth. This miraculous machine, built by Leonardo da Vinci and bequeathed to Nick by his beloved ancestor, Captain McIver of the Royal Navy, gleamed
like the sun itself, casting sharp shafts of golden beams on the walls and ceiling.

“Beautiful thing,” Gunner said, “sends a right chill up my spine every time I look at it.”

The boy said, “If this works the way I intend, we'll have Kate home before sundown. Even if my parents are lucky and are released early, Kate will be home before they even know she was kidnapped!”

“Lad! Do you think we can manage all that?”

“Of course we can.” Nick laughed. “We've got a time machine, remember? Time is on our side. Once we've got her safely away from Blood's lair, we just return here, to the inn on this very morning!”

“Your parents will never even know?”

“Isn't that a good thing, Gunner? To save them all the worry? They've got more than enough to worry about at the moment, haven't they?”

“Aye. If we succeed.”

“
If
we succeed, Gunner? Of course we will succeed. We must. And that's part of my plan,” Nick said. “Now, come along, we must get to Hawke Castle at once and explain the situation to his lordship and Commander Hobbes. They are critical to a successful rescue mission.”