Across The Sea (6 page)

Captain Leonard was a tall man
but Bodin’s beastly frame still loomed over him.

“And this you know how?”
Captain Leonard asked.

“How else would the British
Navy know where we are and how valuable the boy is? Who knows of
our plans?”

Leonard turned to a young
pirate beside him. This pirate was slightly shorter than Captain
Leonard and much leaner. “Find them all. We’ll square this
now.”

The young pirate went on his
way.

Captain Leonard faced Bodin and
asked, “You don’t suspect him, do you?” He was referring to the
young pirate who had just walked away.

“Ratwell?” Bodin replied.
“Never.”

As Ratwell walked back toward
them along with three men, Francis could see where his name had
come from. This pirate looked like a skinny rat. His blue eyes were
slits but not ugly like Bodin’s. In fact, this man’s eyes made him
look like a handsome gentleman. And the rest of his face was almost
as pretty as a young woman’s. But there was something else. Its
overall composition gave off a look. Sinister. His nose, his
pronounced cheekbones, his close-trimmed beard – all were sharp.
Sharp as a blade dripping blood.

Ratwell was now standing next
to them. All three men with him appeared apprehensive.

“Men!” Captain Leonard shouted
out to the rest of the crew on deck. “Please, gather ‘round!”

The crew that was available to
leave their posts drew together toward them.

Captain Leonard walked up to
the three men with Ratwell. “We’ve come to the realization that one
of you, or perhaps all of you, sold information from this ship to
the British.”

Leonard stopped before one of
the them.

“Was it you, Whackseed?” he
asked, his face closing in on the pirate’s.

“No,” Whackseed blurted, almost
under his breath.

“Why us?” another of the three
asked. “Why is it us that’s under suspicion?”

“You are the only ones who knew
about the boy, Keeb,” the Captain replied. “I trusted you.”

“Are we to walk the plank?” the
third asked.

Keeb gave this pirate a quick,
urgent look, which Bodin caught.

“Walk the plank?” Captain
Leonard asked. He smiled. “Yerdley, heavens, no.” He stepped back.
“Ratwell,” he called.

Ratwell drew his sword, so fast
that Francis barely saw him move. It was as if the sword had
appeared from thin air in Ratwell’s left hand.

And before Francis could
process what was happening, Ratwell had already pierced Yerdley
through the chest. Right through his heart. Yerdley’s eyes widened,
and tears soon appeared.

Francis was aghast.

Ratwell turned, making Yerdley
move with him and his sword. He walked Yerdley to the edge of the
ship and kicked the pirate from his blood-wet talisman. Yerdley
dropped into the water below, sinking as he was dying.

“Forgive me,” Captain Leonard
said to the two remaining accused. “I’m too worn from last night’s
rum to be taking out the plank. Do not be offended. You are very
much deserving of one.”

Ratwell stepped toward
Whackseed.

“Please, Captain,” Whackseed
pleaded. “I never betrayed you.”

“Whackseed, my dear sailor,”
Captain Leonard said. “I have a banging in my head that needs
caring for, and unfortunately, I possess no definitive method at
hand to properly and hastily determine who amongst you betrayed
me.”

“I have a wife, Captain. I have
children…”

But it was too late; Ratwell
cut Whackseed off by skewering him in the chest. Francis, shaken,
looked up at the killer: Ratwell, as Ratwell gazed into Whackseed's
horrified eyes, and smiled. The murder-happy criminal manoeuvred
Whackseed around as well, and kicked him off his sword, into the
ocean.

“He should have taken into
account his pirating ways before he went forth with family plans,”
Captain Leonard said. “You’ve never seen me with a rattle and a
bassinette, have you?”

Ratwell moved toward Keeb,
grinning at him.

“Wait,” a voice said, without
urgency.

Francis turned.

“We need him,” Bodin continued.
“We need to know how much the British know.”

“Lock Keeb and the boy up,”
Captain Leonard ordered.

The two pirates holding Francis
marched him toward the bow. They yanked open a door and shoved him
in. Francis fell a few feet before his body smacked against a hard
wooden floor. The two pirates jumped in after him, avoiding a short
ladder. Something smelled terrible. One of the pirates grabbed him
by the arm, while the other lit a lantern. They were in a narrow
corridor. On either side were empty prison cells with thick
bars.

Spaff
!

Francis shook, startled by that
sound. He turned, and saw that Keeb had been thrown in behind him.
Two more pirates jumped in from the deck.

Francis was thrust into one
cell which was locked with a key on a ring. Francis looked over at
Keeb as he was pushed into a cell across from him.

All four pirates moved back
toward the short ladder. The key ring, which held half a dozen
keys, was hung on a peg on the wall by the ladder. The lantern was
hung on the opposite side, on another peg. The door above was shut
and Francis and Keeb were left alone, lit only by the flame of the
lantern.

Francis sat down on his cell
floor, exhausted. Keeb did the same, and leaned his head against
the bars of his cell, his face perspiring.

“What are they doing?” Francis
asked. “What’s going on?”

“Shut up,” Keeb barked. “Don’t
talk.”

“Do you know where my brother
is?”

“I’m not talking to anyone
anymore. You should do the same.”

“Please. Just tell me what you
know.”

Keeb locked eyes with Francis,
the skin around the pirate’s eyes heavy with defeat. “You’re
doomed. That’s what I know. You should have stayed home with your
mother and father.”

The door above the ladder
opened, sunlight shooting back in. Ratwell climbed down, making
Keeb jump to his feet. Captain Leonard followed as Ratwell grabbed
the keys off the peg and moved toward Keeb’s cell. Keeb backed
away, and Ratwell smiled as he unlocked the door and pulled it
open.

“Come on out, Keeb,” Captain
Leonard ordered.

Ratwell gripped Keeb’s arm, and
proceeded to pull the prisoner up the corridor toward Captain
Leonard. Keeb lifted his gaze at the entrance above the ladder.
Francis turned to look up as well. A looming figure stood there.
Francis squinted; the sunrays beaming in from outside made it
difficult to see this figure’s face. He stood, and saw it then: the
wide face belonging to Bodin. Keeb saw the giant’s red-rimmed,
translucent eyes and registered what was about to take place.

“No,” Keeb said, as if only to
himself. “No!” he then cried out.

He pulled backwards but Ratwell
seized him with both hands and pushed him ahead.

“No!” he cried again.

Captain Leonard took hold of
Keeb as well and shoved him up the ladder. Bodin moved back and
three pirates who had been standing behind him came forward and
grabbed onto Keeb’s clothes. They hauled him up.

Keeb shouted even louder this
time. “Nooo!”

Captain Leonard turned in
Francis’ direction. He pinched the corner of his wide-brimmed hat
in salute, and offered, “Sweet dreams.” He then took to the ladder.
Ratwell, behind him, just grinned at Francis, saying nothing, and
then climbed the ladder himself, taking the lantern with him. The
door shut.

Francis was alone. In
darkness.

He sat back down, and then lay
his head on the floor.

Hours passed. Or so it seemed
like hours. Try as he might, Francis could not fall asleep. When
sleep did creep on, Francis dreamed that he was running. Ackley,
his life-long friend, ran alongside him, on the pebble-covered
shore. They were laughing. Then Francis was sitting on a rug by the
fire in his house. His father sat on a stool nearby. Francis turned
and saw Michael, his older brother, sitting on a bench beside him.
Michael’s black hair reached straight down to the bottom of his
neck.

“When I’m older,” Francis
proclaimed, “I’m going to be in the Royal Navy.”

“Just like Robert of
Dreighton,” Michael added, smiling down at Francis. A spark
flickered in Michael’s blue eyes.

Francis smiled back,
embarrassed that his father heard he wanted to be ‘just like Robert
of Dreighton.’ Even though it was true, it made him feel like a
little boy with childish dreams, instead of a growing one at the
cusp of becoming a man.

His father shook his head to
himself. “Those are just stories, Francis,” he interjected.
“Stories written to sell books to children. All those people you
read about are just made up. All those heroes; someone just thought
them up inside their head.”

Francis, in his dream, did not
believe his father.

As he stirred awake, however,
lying in a rank cell, Francis knew that he had been silly.
Who
cares about treasures
, he thought,
or being a daring hero
with everyone yelling out your name? Who cares about men prancing
around with swords? All of them after gold so they can show off
once they get home. Those same heroes would probably feel rotten
right about now, all filthy in a cramped cell with no bed. And if
they tried anything, they’d probably be hacked up by the whole crew
on deck.

Francis fell back to sleep.

He dreamed that he was standing
on a grassy bluff overlooking the Langer River from high above. He
saw the back of a black-haired, young man, sitting cross-legged
near the cliff’s edge. He recognized this young man. It was his
older brother Michael.

“Is it true what Father said
last night?” Francis asked, stopping beside his brother. “That
heroes aren’t real? That they’re silly?”

“He…” Michael began, looking up
at Francis. “He just meant it in a different way than you
understood.” He smiled. The spark in his blue eyes flashed
again.

“He meant that the characters
in the books you read,” Michael continued, “and everything that
happens to them, are just part of some writer’s imagination.”

“Was there ever a Robert of
Dreighton?” Francis asked, disappointed.

Michael smiled again. “Of
course there was. Robert of Dreighton was an esteemed captain. And
a talented explorer. He was even also sometimes considered a hero.
I’ve met scores of people while working out at sea who’ve told me
tales.”

“The same as in the books?”

“No. Quite different
actually.”

“How?” Francis did not like
hearing that the stories were ‘quite different’. He sat down next
to his brother.

“Well,” his brother began to
explain. “Most... didn’t have much actual battle, or swordplay.
They were adventures that, likely, no writer thought exciting
enough to put down on paper.”

“Like what?” Francis asked.

“Well, there is one story...
and it’s one that I really like. It takes place on an island. Some
faraway island where Dreighton and five of his men were camped. On
the first night, as per his usual custom, Dreighton went off to
search on his own.”

“For treasure?”

“Oh yes. Dreighton always
searched new islands alone before he involved any of his crew.”

“What kind of treasure was he
looking for?”

“A chest, chock full of gold
artefacts, buried at the height of the Roman Empire. The King of
England was obsessed with Ancient Rome and he charged Dreighton
with finding the treasure at all cost. Dreighton, on that first
night, dug where he suspected the treasure was, and found it. When
he walked back toward the camp, he heard voices just up ahead,
speaking Spanish. What Dreighton didn’t know was that a Spanish
crew was also on the island, searching for exactly the same
treasure. Dreighton hid behind a grouping of rocks and spied more
than thirty Spanish sailors, all of them armed, holding his five
men captive. Dreighton was unprepared. There was only two other men
left with him, and they were on his ship which was hidden in a
small bay. And these two weren’t exactly the fighting kind.
Dreighton made a decision. He knew that His Majesty would want him
to quietly row away and set sail, leaving his five men behind, but
making off, all the same, with the Ancient Roman treasure.”

“What did he do?”

“Dreighton rowed back toward
his ship. He thought that if he offered the treasure in exchange
for his men, there was a chance that the Spanish might refuse his
offer and torture his men until Dreighton, himself, presented them
with the treasure.

“Once aboard his ship,
Dreighton ordered his two crew to wait until he had rowed back to
the island and then to sail away and not come back for two days.
When the Spanish saw Dreighton’s ship set off on the horizon, they
truly believed Dreighton had abandoned his men. They questioned
their prisoners about what they knew of the treasure and its
whereabouts, while Dreighton stole into their camp and left behind
a note. The note read that the treasure was still on the island,
and that it would be offered to them if the Spanish agreed to
certain conditions. The Spanish captain ordered his men to comb the
island for the note’s mysterious author. Surely it couldn’t be
Robert of Dreighton, but if it was, capturing and bringing the
Englishman home to Admiral Rogalles would be much more valued than
the Roman treasure. Still, the Spanish captain was very ambitious.
He decided that he’d go after both.

“Another note turned up. And
along with it, a gold coin. From Ancient Rome. This second note
read that the Spanish crew must make certain that no harm come to
the five captured men. If any did take place, the unknown author
would regard the Spanish as incapable of honouring any future
dealings and the treasure would be lost to them forever.
Immediately, the Spanish captain ordered his men to treat their
prisoners with the utmost of respect.