68 Knots (33 page)

“Trust yourself and no one else,” his father's voice said.

“Shut up,” Arthur answered silently.

They waited. Six minutes. Seven. Arthur knew that Jesse was either free on the outside or trapped beneath the tide in the narrow passage. Arthur took off his shirt and stepped to the edge of the black seawater. If Jesse couldn't make it, Arthur knew that he would also—

SPLASH! Jesse burst through the surface, showering the others and gasping for air. Arthur grabbed his shoulders and hauled him out of the sea. A rope was tied around his waist, and it trailed down into the murky water.

It took several minutes for Jesse to slow his breathing.

“It's long,” Jesse said. “The water is deep, and it's a long way to the outside. We should hurry. Follow the rope.”

“How did you get this rope?” Dawn asked.

“Joy,” Jesse answered between gasps. “Loyal friend. She saw the tide getting high. She swam over to the dinghy with this rope. She tied it to the dinghy. She gave it to me when I got out.”

Arthur shook his head slowly. “Remind me to kiss her when we get out of here,” he said.

Dawn smiled. “I'll be sure to do that.”

Crystal led the way, with Marietta right behind her. They
each grabbed the rope, lowered themselves into the chilling water, and took a deep breath.

“Remember,” Arthur said, taking command once again, “keep your hands on the rope. Pull yourselves along quickly. And don't bunch up—you don't want to get kicked in the head by the person in front of you.”

They nodded, and one at a time, they vanished.

Arthur counted slowly to sixty. “If they run into trouble, I don't want all of us down there trying to hold our breath,” he explained. “We need to give them time to get out.”

“Jesse,” Arthur continued. “You and Dawn go next. BillFi, Logan, and I will take the last shift.”

Jesse nodded. He lowered himself into the water, with Dawn behind him. “Don't take too long,” Arthur said. “As the tide comes up, this passage just keeps getting longer.”

Then they were gone.

Arthur counted to one hundred, then he turned to the other two. “You ready?” he asked. They nodded. Logan looked green and queasy in the glare of the flashlight, his stomach still unsettled from his heavy bouts with alcohol. He was panting in rapid, shallow bursts. “Let's go,” Arthur said.

Sixty seconds later, the three of them were in the water. BillFi was in the lead, and Arthur took the rear, placing the flashlight on a rock and aiming its beam into the water. They filled their lungs with the clammy cave air and dropped below the inky surface.

The cold was shocking. Arthur held the rope in his left hand and slid his right hand forward. No flashlight beams guided them, and the blackness was complete. He tried to develop a rhythm—reach, pull, glide, reach, pull, glide—and he hoped that he was going fast enough to get out before his
lungs forced his mouth to open. Reach, pull, glide. It felt good. He thought he could make it.

Then his foot bumped something soft. Definitely not a rock. He thought at first that it was a shark, but it didn't come after him. Besides, he thought, sharks wouldn't swim where they couldn't see.

Logan
. The word flashed through his mind. It's Logan. He stopped, held the rope, felt around in the darkness. He couldn't take any chances. Whatever it was, he would try to drag it out of the cave.

His hand hit a rock, then another. Then, holding the rope with his right hand and straining into the midnight water as far as he could reach, he felt the soft object again. It was a shoulder. Logan's shoulder. Arthur grabbed onto Logan's shirt and pulled hard with his right hand.

He was running out of air. With only one hand on the rope, he had to be careful not to let it slip away. He knew if that happened, neither he nor his friend would ever reach the surface.

He tried another rhythm. Pull, slide. Pull the rope, slide along it. His left hand ached from clenching Logan's shirt so tightly, but he wasn't about to loosen his grip. Pull, slide. He had to breathe. He let some air out of his lungs, hoping to stall the need to inhale.

Pull, slide. A faint glimmer up ahead. More bubbles out. Some seawater spasmed into his throat, and he coughed out valuable air. Pull! Slide! The light grew brighter. Arthur gave a final tug on the rope, and he felt Logan slip from his grasp. His mouth opened and he felt cold water rush down his throat. He didn't feel arms grab him from above and lift him into the chilly breeze.

When he woke up, Arthur looked around the captain's quarters of the
Dreadnought
. Dawn was next to his bunk. Arthur tried to sit up, but the bunk—and the cabin, and the world—twirled out of control, and he sank back down to the cool security of the mattress.

“Are you all right?” Dawn asked.

Arthur took a deep breath of clear air. “Dunno,” he slurred. “Howslogan?”

Dawn smiled. “He's okay. He's asleep in his bunk. Another few seconds though, and he wouldn't be okay at all. You saved his life.”

“I can't—” Arthur spoke, but he cut himself off. In a single quick move, he rolled over, thrust his head off the bunk, and threw up into a large bucket Dawn had placed there for just such an occasion. When he was finished, he sputtered, “I don't—” and he threw up again. “Oh, shit,” he said, and he lay back down to sleep.

That night, the entire crew enjoyed a dinner of shish kebobs on deck. The sunset was a deep red, and the boat rocked gently in the harbor. BillFi invented a new drink for the occasion—he called it “Inky Blackness,” and it seemed to be mainly rum and grape juice—and he offered a toast to Arthur's heroism.

“To Arthur, who pulled Logan out with one hand and himself with the other,” he said. “He's one handy guy.” BillFi laughed out loud at his joke.

The crew raised their glasses to Arthur, who waved dismissively. He looked pale and tired, but he grinned at his onboard friends. He felt a deep warmth in his heart, grateful that everyone was okay.

“And to Jesse,” Joy said, “who went back into that water with a rope, just to save his friends.”

They raised their glasses to Jesse, who sat without moving.

“And to Joy,” Dawn said. “She's the one who swam over with the rope in the first place. That showed a lot of courage and foresight.”

They raised their glasses to Joy, who grinned and blushed.

“And I'll offer a toast,” BillFi added, “to Reginald Branigan. We'll probably never know what became of him after he left the island, but I hope he received the ending he deserved. I hope he ended well.”

All eight members of the
Dreadnought
crew lifted their glasses high and held them aloft for a long silent moment. Then Dawn stood, walked to the rail, and emptied her glass overboard. “And that's for Captain Carr,” she said to the sea. “All good sailors like rum, and I'm sorry about the grape juice.”

Then Logan stood and walked over to BillFi. “Pour me another drink,” he said. “And make it a strong one.”

Crystal rolled her eyes, and Arthur shook his head. Another night, another round of Logan's binge drinking. Logan took the overfilled glass to the side of the ship. He drank one long swallow of the rum and grape juice, and then with surprising anger, he hurled the glass and its contents far overboard.

“I've had enough of that shit,” he said, facing his friends. “I damn near died today. I can't run. I can't climb cliffs. I can't swim. I can't do a fucking thing. I've been letting that shit mess me up for a long time, but it stops now.” He turned to face Arthur. “I owe you big time.”

Arthur shook his head. “You owe yourself a great life,” he said. He pointed to the pitcher of purple booze. “And I think you're right—you won't find it in there.”

Logan nodded, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and sat down.

Then Arthur sat next to Dawn, wrapping a blanket around their shoulders. He said nothing, and he still stared straight ahead. Logan inched as close to Crystal as he dared, and BillFi and Jesse watched from the top of the hold. Joy sat alone, and Marietta fumed. Seagulls cried from time to time, waves murmured below, and the
Dreadnought
crew chatted quietly, their faces growing indistinct in the darkening evening.

“What should we do about the treasure?” Marietta asked. “We didn't get the things out of Branigan's chest. When is the next really low tide?”

Logan shook his head. “I'm totally not going back in there,” he said.

“I agree,” Dawn said. “I can see why Bonnie calls that stuff evil. It is evil. Blackgoat ripped apart people's lives, and I don't want to risk
my
life going back.”

“That's ridiculous,” Marietta said. “Some of that stuff is worth good money. We could sell it to a museum or something. And we won't risk our lives—we just have to watch the time, that's all.”

“
Perdone
. Sorry. I'm for leaving it there,” Joy said. “I don't want any part of it, and besides, I think Bonnie might be right. Look at us—some of you nearly died trying to find that stuff.”

“Well, I'm going back for the treasure,” Marietta said in a firm voice. “Who's going with me?”

The only sound was the creaking of the ship and the gentle lapping of the waves.

“Fine,” Marietta said with a scowl. “I'll go by myself then. Some other time. Without any of you. And I'll be rich all by myself.” She stomped down the gangway to the cabin below.
The sky was nearly dark now, and the rest of the crew remained on deck, pressed close together for warmth and companionship, talking and laughing and dreaming together. Gradually, everyone but Arthur and Dawn drifted below and slid into their sleeping bags. The silence held them close for a long time.

“I don't get it,” Arthur said at last. “I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

“What makes you think you're doing anything wrong?” Dawn asked.

“Are you kidding? Logan nearly died.
I
nearly died. Crystal seems ready to mutiny. Marietta seems ready to explode. I thought all we'd need was strong leadership, and everything would be fine.”

“Oh, I see,” Dawn said with a gentle nod. “And you thought that Arthur Robinson, age seventeen, with no experience in stuff like this at all, could simply
decide
to be a leader, and never make a mistake? I see clearly. You're full of yourself, and now you want pity for screwing up.”

Arthur shook his head, knowing that Dawn couldn't see the anguish on his face. “No,” he said with surprising calm. “I don't want pity. I want to understand. I'm giving clear orders. I'm thinking things through as clearly as I can. I'm taking the needs of the crew into consideration. I'm trying to anticipate—”

“No, you're not,” Dawn interrupted.

“Not what?”

“You're not taking the needs of the crew into consideration.”

“Sure I am,” Arthur answered. “I think about what they'll need. I try not to yell at them too much. I give them time to do their jobs and time to have fun. I let them take the helm a lot—”

“Big deal,” Dawn said. “So
you
give us time to have fun. So
you
give us a chance to take the helm. So
you
give us at least
some of the respect we deserve. You aren't giving us what we want most.”

“What the hell's that?” Arthur snapped.

“Freedom,” Dawn said. “Maybe we don't want you to
give
us time to have fun—shouldn't that be our own choice? Maybe we don't want you to
give
us a chance at the helm—isn't this our ship, too? Maybe we don't want you to
give
us the things you think we need—can't we make those decisions for ourselves? The people on this ship respect you, and they trust your leadership, even when you screw up. But if you want things to work better, you need to lead
less
, not more. You don't have to make every decision. Let us talk things over and come to a group decision. You don't have to think things through all the time. You have some pretty smart people on this ship. And you don't have to make mistakes all by yourself. We all deserve the chance to try and to fail and to learn—and not to beat ourselves up over it. You deserve that same chance, too.”