Isle of Swords Page 10

  “Nigh on a week,” Beckett replied. “Maybe more. It smells something horrible.”

  “A week,” the commodore echoed. He was thoughtful a moment. He looked more intensely at Anne and Cat. “You know about the bodies,” he said to them. “I can see it in your eyes. But what I don’t know—” He drew a long silver cutlass and held the point a few inches from Cat’s chin. “What I don’t know is if you had something to do with it.”

  “Leave him alone!” Anne shouted. “He didn’t hurt those people!” In spite of the sword, Cat stared at the ground.

  “He looks guilty to me,” said the commodore, his brow lowering and his jaw set.

  “No!” Anne cried out. “Cat’s innocent! We had nothing to do with it!”

  “Innocent?” The commodore frowned. “I doubt that either one of you is innocent. But I am inclined to believe you did no harm to those we found in the basement. You see, we’ve come across such piteous scenes many times before.”

  Cat and Anne stared at each other, then back at the commodore.

  “Now, listen to me,” he said, lowering his sword. “I am making you a very merciful offer. Just tell us what you know and you can be free.

  Otherwise, our court will have no recourse but to charge you with piracy—charge you even with the murders of those we found in the basement. You will hang from the gallows. You will—”

  Anne blurted out, “We don’t know anything. We just found this place and—”

  “Enough!” The commodore’s rage spilled over. “Tell me where

  Thorne is!”

  “Thorne?” Anne echoed.

  “Bartholomew Thorne!! This was his hidden camp. You must know where he has gone!”

  Anne chose her words carefully. “I know who Bartholomew Thorne is, but we aren’t part of his crew. We came to Dominica for supplies.”

  “Then how did you know about this place?” Commodore Blake threw up his hands. “This is pointless. You had your chance. Mister Crowley, put the lad in manacles and leg irons.”

  “Yes, sir.” Crowley hesitated. “Uh, what about the girl?”

  “Have you not yet learned my customs? No, so long as she remains ladylike, we will let her walk with us unbound.”

  Another man, dressed similarly to the commodore but with quite a bit less gold on his lapels, leaned over and said to the commodore, “Sir Brandon, are you sure that’s wise? She seemed awfully willing to raise a sword.”

  “Wise or not, Sir Nigel, we will allow her to walk unbound,” the commodore replied. “But to be sure she will not escape, why don’t you walk behind her. Mister Crowley will walk in front. With two such capable escorts, we have very little to fear from this young lady.”

  18

  A CORAL TIGER

  Where are you taking us?” Anne asked. The British troops under Commodore Blake’s command had completed their search of the abandoned town and now walked briskly along a wide path through the dark Dominican forest.

  “To Misson,” replied Sir Nigel from behind. “There are a few people there the commodore would like to question. Plus, there’s a nice little cell where we can put you two for a bit.”

  Misson? Anne cringed inwardly. It just kept getting worse. A fleet of British ships would soon be hunting the southern ports, cutting off the Wallace’s escape. And now hundreds and hundreds of British troops were about to descend upon the town where her father and many of the crew were shopping for supplies. She looked up at the moon through the canopy of trees. She had no idea how late it was or if her father was still in Misson. Still, what could she do? They’d taken her sword. They’d taken her dagger. Cat was chained at the wrists and ankles. And she was surrounded on all sides by numerous soldiers. She needed a plan.

  Anne glanced back at Cat. Their eyes met for just a moment. “Face the front, my lady,” said Sir Nigel, each word coated with contempt. Anne looked away. She began fingering the coral tiger hung from her necklace. Their caravan began to slow a little. Anne looked ahead and saw why. The path narrowed, forcing the ranks of soldiers to thin at the bottleneck. Anne looked back at Cat again, wishing she could ask him what he thought.

  “I said, FACE FRONT!” Sir Nigel waved his torch in Anne’s face. She flinched back and did as she was told. Lieutenant Crowley looked back over his shoulder and laughed. That made Anne furious. She squeezed her coral tiger so hard that the jagged edge at the bottom of the carving pricked her finger. She put her finger in her mouth and tasted blood. . . .

  Blood. The plan came together in a rush. Anne looked again at the steadily narrowing path. It was so tight, the troops had to walk through single file. In a few moments, the group of soldiers near her, including Crowley, Cat, and Sir Nigel, would all have to line up to pass through.

  Anne again looked up at the moon through the canopy of trees. She had always had a very good sense of direction. She was fairly certain that they had been traveling northeast for almost the entire hour since they’d left the town. That would mean the path back to the Wallace was off to the right. She thought of Cat. If her plan were to work, it had to happen fast—with the element of surprise. There would be no time to free Cat from his bonds. And with those chains on, there was no way for him to run. There was no choice. She’d have to leave him.

  At last, they came to the bottleneck in the path. As she figured, the soldiers in front and behind narrowed to single file. Anne waited until dozens filed in behind them, and they were all hemmed in on both sides by the lush forest. Slowly she pulled the coral tiger from the necklace. She held it firmly in her fist with the jagged point sticking out like a very small dagger. She looked back over her shoulder at Cat, defying Sir Nigel and hoping to arouse his anger. When Cat looked up, she mouthed, “I’m sorry.” He looked at her questioningly.

  “Here now!” Sir Nigel growled. “I thought I told you to— keep—your—eyes—forward!” He started to lift his torch like before, but Anne surprised him. She kicked backward with her left foot, pushing the torch toward Sir Nigel’s chest. The flames leaped up his beard. He howled. Lt. Crowley turned around again, but Anne was already moving. She planted the sharp coral into his upper thigh. He cursed and clutched his leg. Anne disappeared between two large trees and fled into the forest.

  “Come back here!” Sir Nigel bellowed, still patting out the flames from his beard and chest. Several soldiers opened fire, but they had been walking in the torches’ light. Their night vision was gone. Anne instantly faded into the darkness of the forest.

  “Don’t waste another shot!” someone shouted from far up the line. “After her!”

  By the time the troops stopped shooting and raced into the woods, Anne had a huge head start. But she had to be careful. Her night vision wasn’t much better than theirs, since she too had been staring at torches. And the footing was horrible. If she ran into a tree or fell into a ditch, it would all be for nothing. As her eyes adjusted, she made a sharp right turn and ran as fast as she could through the branches, brambles, and bracken. After careening recklessly through the forest without stopping for what seemed like an eternity, Anne froze in place. She waited for her heart to stop pounding and listened intently to see if anyone was in pursuit. The only noises she heard were the welcome sounds of the tropical forest at night.

  The forest flew by in a grayish blue blur. Anne found herself bounding over stumps, roots, and fallen logs. Her legs burned from the exertion. Suddenly, she burst through a row of feathery ferns and landed in a narrow hollow. She stopped herself just before she would have smacked into a gnarled tree root that protruded from the bank of the hollow.

  The path! It had to be. In the pale light, she saw a well-trodden passage snaking its way through the forest. Anne turned around, wondering if she’d thought things through well enough. To turn right would take her south to the Wallace, her original plan. She had to get to the ship to warn them about the British convoy so that they could—do what? Put to sea to escape the coming trap? But she knew they would not set sail if her father and the landing
party had not yet returned from Misson. To turn left would take her to Misson. If her father was still there, he needed to be warned. But it was too late for that, wasn’t it? Anne knew she could never get there before Commodore Blake and his British troops. And what if she ran all that way only to discover her father had already returned to the Wallace. How would she attempt to rescue Cat? Anne couldn’t keep all the possibilities straight in her head.

  She sighed and turned to the right. She needed to get to the ship.

  Someone on the Wallace would know what to do. As she began to run south on the path, her stomach churned. Her little excursion plan for Cat had become a disaster. And one way or the other, she knew that it was all her fault. She just hoped that Cat wouldn’t pay for her foolishness with his life. That fear in mind, Anne drove herself down the path. In the dark, she had no idea how far away the

  Wallace was. She stumble-stepped most of the way, stopping once to catch her breath. Then something flickered up ahead.

  Anne skidded to a stop and crouched. The path wound like an “S” in front of her, and at the top of it, around the second curve, torches appeared. Ten, twelve maybe. Anne froze. Could Commodore Blake have guessed her intentions? Had he sent a regiment south to cut her off from the main path?

  Anne saw them approach the first curve. She needed to get off the path and fast. She looked up. No climbable trees near enough.

  She could see there were at least a dozen or more. Not knowing what else to do, she dove off the path into the foliage and hid.

  They spoke in hushed voices as they approached. Anne ducked, practically lying facedown on a bed of dirt and dead leaves. She peeked up through the leaves. The torches were passing by. She couldn’t see if they were wearing uniforms, but they were definitely armed. Torchlight illuminated the barrels of several muskets. They continued to pass, and Anne thanked her lucky stars. She had thanked them too soon.

  Something grabbed her by the wide leather belt she wore and lifted her clean out of the bushes. A rumbling deep voice said, “I found her, sir!”

  19

  ROSS’S PLAN

  You have a bad habit of running off, Red,” the huge man said.

  “Jules?” Anne couldn’t believe it.

  He hoisted her up, carried her like a handbag, and put her down lightly on the path . . . directly in front of her father. Even in the flickering light of the torch, she could see the vein bulging on his forehead, the tendons taut on his neck. Anne started to speak, but didn’t even get out a syllable.

  “You betrayed me, Anne,” Declan Ross said. “You betrayed us all.”

  His words felt like knives. Tears started pouring down her cheeks. “Father, I didn’t mean for—”

  “Don’t!” he said. “Your intentions do not matter here, Anne. You abandoned the ship. Some might even call it mutiny.” Anne cringed. She knew what the pirate’s code said about mutiny.

  Ross continued. “And you took Cat with you! Why do I feel so confident that this was all your idea?” His blazing eyes bored into her. “What kind of sense is that, daughter? He’s a wounded man! You put his life in danger.” Ross looked into the woods behind her. “Where’s he hiding anyway? Cat, you can come out now!” Declan called out into the forest. There was no answer.

  “Where is he, Anne?” he asked.

  Anne fell to her knees and sobbed so hard she choked. Her words came out between wet breaths and gasps. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

  Some of Ross’s ire melted away, and he knelt and lifted Anne’s chin. “What happened?”

  She told him all of it. From their discovery of the abandoned town to Commodore Blake’s order to send his ships to scour the southern ports to their eventual capture. She even explained how Commodore Blake had refused to put chains and leg irons on her, treating her like a lady.

  “I wouldn’t have escaped otherwise,” Anne said.

  Ross was thoughtful a moment. “How long ago did this Commodore Blake send his ships south?” Ross asked.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Anne replied. “No, wait, it was near sundown. I remember. The sun had just gone behind the mountains.”

  “Sundown,” Ross echoed. “His men had to get to their port.

  The ships needed to be made ready. Sailing time, Stede?”

  “That b’ about an hour,” he replied, shaking his head. “We might b’ making it before those outrageous navy ships show up— if we b’ going straight to the Wallace and put to sail right away.

  But . . . we ain’t doin’ that, are we?”

  Ross grinned, and in the torchlight, he looked wild. “I won’t— not until we get our newest crewman back.”

  Red Eye appeared at the captain’s side. “I’d like to volunteer for this little expedition, if I may.”

  The captain nodded. “I’ll need your special talents,” Ross said.

  “Jules and Midge too. But that’s all. Stede, you and all the others will take my daughter back to the Wallace. I want you to sail with all speed around the southern tip of Dominica. Make for La Plaine.

  If our luck holds, we’ll see you there in a couple of days.”

  “Ya have a plan, mon?” Stede asked.

  “Part of one. We can’t match this Blake’s numbers. But he won’t be expecting us, and I probably know Misson better than he does.

  But for this to work, we’re going to need a distraction . . . a big distraction.” Ross scratched his furry beard a few moments. “I wonder if he would . . .” Ross muttered. “He doesn’t think much of the British either. Yes . . . I think he just might.”

  “Ya have that look again,” Stede said. “I don’t mind telling ya, that worries me, mon.”

  “You just worry about the ship,” said Ross. “Get the Wallace out of here. I’ll see you in La Plaine.”

  Ross led Jules, Midge, and Red Eye again under the stone arch behind St. Pierre’s mill at the foot of Mount Macaque in Misson.

  On the other side, Ross found a heavy wooden door with wrought-iron hinges and a sturdy-looking black lock. Ross raised a hand to knock and heard an ominous click.

  A man holding a pistol stepped out of the shadows near the door.

  “Bonsoir, Englishman!” whispered Jacques St. Pierre.

  “Jacques, you’re very lucky I’m a nice guy,” answered Ross.

  “Men from Scotland such as myself have killed for less.”

  “Ah, pardonne, mon capitaine!” St. Pierre lowered the gun and embraced Ross. “You will forgive my insult, but there are many

  English soldiers about. They make me, how you say, discomfort-able? So I have been making preparations . . . just in case.”

  “So they are here,” said Ross.

  St. Pierre made a sour face. “They came creeping in not long after dark,” he said. “Like cockroaches, they scurried all over Misson. But where are my manners? You are not such insects. Come inside and we will talk. I am guessing that you have not come back to shop more, eh?”

  St. Pierre produced a large iron key, worked the lock, and led them inside. They passed the wall of black powder barrels, the forge, and the stairs to St. Pierre’s special room. He welcomed them into a study and seated them in big leather chairs among stacks of books.

  “Can I get you something?” he asked. “Wine, maybe? A biscuit?”

  “Yes, please,” said Midge. “That would be right lovely, it would.”

  “No, we don’t have time,” Ross declared, scowling at Midge.

  Midge’s shoulders slumped. “Jacques, it’s the English I’ve come to see you about. They took one of my men. Any idea where they would put a prisoner?”

  “The hospital,” he replied. “There are two cells there. A man named Julliard keeps the peace—mainly when pirates are in town. Ha!”

  “I need to get my man out of there,” Ross explained. “And I’ve got to do it fast. The British navy is on the way to cordon off the southern ports.”

  “I see,” said St. Pierre, the wheels of his mind already spinning away. “But getting a m
an out of this place will not be easy. The soldiers are like roaches, I tell you. So many!” St. Pierre looked at Ross and his men. “But no, you did not come to fight them. No, that would be tres stupide!”

  “I have a plan,” Ross said. “I’m going to need your help. And I’m going to need a lot of your black powder.” Ross explained his plan to Jacques St. Pierre. The Frenchman’s grin grew wider and wider as he listened.

  “What you ask will probably bring the English here,” St. Pierre announced when Ross was finished. “Everyone in Misson knows I am the man to see about things that go boom! Ha-ha! But, for the man who brought me Chevillard’s wheel, I’ll do it! And as to the location of this diversion? Dutchie’s barn, I think. He has always wanted a new place anyway.”

  Ross and Red Eye were hidden in the woods outside of a long, low stone building on the northern edge of Misson. They sat on either side of a small brown barrel.

  “Can you see, Midge?” Ross asked.

  Red Eye waited to make sure none of the British guards were passing by, then drew his cutlass. It was one of the swords St. Pierre had given him. Its blade was wide and unmarred. Red Eye tilted it, changing the angle of the blade several times. He stared in the direction of the stone fountain near the main road. Nothing. Red Eye signaled again with his sword, two flashes in rapid succession.

  Then, finally, from the fountain came two answering flashes. “He’s ready,” Red Eye said.

  “Good,” Ross replied. “You put the fuse in the barrel?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Ten seconds’ worth, like Saint Pierre said.

  You sure this little barrel will be enough?”

  “Jacques said so,” Ross replied. “Besides, we want to break Cat out, not blow him to kingdom come. Now, the question is, which cell? Keep an eye out for guards. And Red Eye . . .”

  “Yes, Captain?”