Isle of Swords (20 page)

The huge basin of the fountain loomed up on their left, and before Ross and his men could clear it, a rank of British soldiers charged in. They immediately formed a line and barred the pirates' way. One of the British soldiers unleashed a shrill blast on a whistle.

Ross would have rather had these men open fire with their muskets.

The whistle, Ross knew, would summon reinforcements. Ross knew they had to move—and move fast—to avoid the cloud of enemies that would no doubt descend upon them soon. He raised his cutlass and took a step toward the British, but suddenly, Red Eye darted out of the trees behind the enemy.

He swooped past them, raking his sharp blade along the backs of the enemies' knees. The entire line buckled, falling to the ground without firing a shot. Ross and the others leaped past the wounded enemy. As they began to run, Ross slapped Red Eye on the back.

“Proud of you,” he said. “You didn't kill anyone.”

“Give me time,” Red Eye replied.

Ross stopped and turned around suddenly.
Where was Cat?
He had been running behind Midge just a moment ago. “Midge, where's Cat?”

“I dunno, Cap'n,” Midge replied, slowing to a trot. He looked around with genuine surprise. “He was right there beside me— leastways until the fountain.”

“Jacques, take the men,” Ross said. “We'll meet at your mill. If I'm not there in a few minutes, can you lead them on the east road to La Plaine?”

“Oui, mon capitaine,” he replied.

Jules started to protest, but Ross said, “I'll find him! He can't be far. Go on, before the reinforcements show up and catch us all.

Follow Jacques.” Jules nodded, but his glance betrayed much worry and doubt. In a moment, they were gone into the shadows.

Ross ran back past the writhing soldiers at the fountain. Panic beginning to rise in his throat, Ross scanned the woods—every crook and alcove. But there was no sign. “Captain, look out!” It was Cat, but the warning was too late. Something hit Ross hard on the right side of his face. He staggered a few steps and hit the ground. When he looked up, he saw the outstretched blade of Commodore Blake. In his other hand, he held a pistol, leveled at Cat's chest.

“Get up,” said Blake. “Slowly!”

Ross rose to one knee. He held out his hands in a calming gesture. “I'm getting up . . . just like you said.”

“Drop your sword!” Blake barked. He looked back and forth between Ross and Cat.

“Okay, okay! Just easy with that pistol.” Ross let his sword fall to the ground.

Blake looked at Ross quizzically. “Is this lad your son?”

Ross shook his head. “Then tell me,” said Blake, “who is he that you would risk so much to save him?”

“I already told you,” Ross said, trying to hold the commodore's eyes with his own. “He's one of my crew.”

“Really, Captain Ross?” Blake said with contempt. He started to look back at Cat, but too late. “No pirate that I've ever heard of—” Cat's heavy boot slammed into Blake's hand, sending the pistol flying. Blake grunted and wheeled his saber toward Cat, but Ross had snatched his cutlass from the ground and was there to block.

“Run, Cat!” Declan yelled. But Cat started to run the wrong way. Blake pushed away Ross's sword and attacked. “No, the other way!” Ross yelled, repeatedly blocking and dodging Blake's swift blade. “Follow the tree line—argh—to the big church. Then— ah!—head south to the mill with the big waterwheel. I'll meet you there if I can!”

Cat sprinted away just as rays of the morning sun began to cut through the overcast and streamed red through the mist and smoke.

Ross and Commodore Blake dueled back and forth beside a barn.

Blake was good with a sword—not Red Eye good—but good enough to hold his own for a while. But Ross was stronger and more experienced. He studied Blake's attack and began to predict each move as it came. Soon, Ross pressed his advantage and caught Blake off balance. It was then that Declan Ross revealed the unique talent that had allowed him to best his enemy in almost every previous duel.

In the blink of an eye, Ross switched hands with his cutlass. Now, using his left hand and powerful backhanded slashes, Ross slammed

Blake's sword up against the side of the barn. Ross pinned Blake's weapon there and snapped his right arm, back-fisting the commodore across the cheek and jaw. Blake's saber clattered to the ground, and he staggered and crashed onto his back. The commodore shook his head, spat, and wiped blood from his lips. He started to reach for his pistol, which lay just a few feet from his outstretched hand. But Ross was there and kicked the gun away. Then Ross drew his own pistol and pointed it at Blake. He did not fire.

He hesitated, looked at the cutlass in his left hand and back to the pistol in his right.

“What's the matter?” Blake asked. “Can't decide which way to kill me?”

Ross lowered his cutlass and laughed. “Funny Englishman,” he said with a snort. “No, I have no desire to kill you. In fact—though my da would roll in his grave if he heard me say this—I rather like you. You're smart.” Ross lowered the hammer of his pistol and bent over to meet Blake's eyes. “And you treated my Anne like a lady. For that, you live to fight another day. But, since you probably won't tie yourself up . . .” Ross slammed the end of his pistol against Blake's head. He groaned and slumped to the ground.

Ross put his pistol back into his belt but did not sheathe his cutlass. Hoping desperately not to run into Blake's reinforcements, Ross sprinted away. As he followed the path he hoped Cat had taken to the mill, he realized his mistake. In telling Cat how to get to the mill, he had told Commodore Blake where to find them. Ross could only hope that his British enemy wouldn't regain consciousness until he and his crew were long gone.

22
RACE FOR THE MILL

W
ait! Don't shoot!” cried Midge. He knelt next to a prone Jacques St. Pierre on the balcony on the second floor of his mill. St. Pierre stared down the barrel of a long rifle at a man running frantically toward them from the alley near the church. “Put the gun down, Frenchy! That's Cat. That's our boy!”

Midge slapped Jacques on the shoulder before disappearing down the wrought-iron spiral stair. “You almost made me shoot him,” St. Pierre muttered. “Rat-breath idiot!”

They found Cat breathless at the front gate. “Where's the cap'n?” Jules thundered.

“On the other side,” Cat huffed. “Not far from the cells. He's fighting Commodore Blake.”

“And you didn't stay?”

“He ordered me to go,” Cat explained. “I didn't know what else to do—” Jules opened the gate and hauled Cat inside. He began to lift Cat off his feet.

Red Eye was there in an instant. He put a hand on Jules's big forearm. “Easy, Jules. The cap'n gave the lad an order. Cat did the right thing.”

“Now, you brawny giant,” said St. Pierre. “If you are so anxious to lift things, get back to the task I gave you. The arrangement is good, yes? But not nearly enough barrels. Keep going, eh?”

Cat turned and noticed rows of barrels stacked two and, in some cases, three high all around the perimeter of the mill. Some were hidden behind short palms and other trees, but many more were in plain sight. “What are you doing?”

“I am, how you say, preparing for guests?” St. Pierre replied with a wink. “It is only a short matter of time, I think, before they will arrive.” St. Pierre laughed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few more things to make ready.”

The Frenchman trod quickly away and disappeared with Midge into the mill. “What's in those barrels?” Cat asked. Jules just laughed and walked away.

Ross rounded the bend and saw the church. The rays of the morning sun had turned golden and splashed the enormous stained-glass windows with light. Ross knew the image emblazoned upon the glass, Christ being taken down from the cross. He'd seen it before in artwork and etchings the monks of St. Celestine had shown him. Something about this version, however, penetrated Ross with a horrible, aching sadness. Maybe it was the deep and somber colors upon the glass. Or maybe it was being so close to the large image— the sun shining, making the wounds so visible. His nail-scarred hands and feet, the crown of thorns, his pierced side—it reminded Ross of Cat when Jules cradled his limp body on the day they fought Chevillard.
That must be it
, Ross thought as he left the church behind him. He did not look back.

Ross was careful to stay in the alleys and in between buildings whenever he could. He had no idea how many soldiers Blake had in Misson. Anne had said there were a lot . . . hundreds. So Ross ran on and stayed hidden. But there was one place, he knew, just before the mill, where there were no back alleys and no tree cover. He'd have an open sprint of two hundred yards where he'd be as visible as a cardinal in a bare tree to anyone in the central market of Misson.

It was coming up soon, but Ross's view of the marketplace was obscured by the very buildings and trees he'd used for cover. Then he saw a break between buildings up ahead, and he surged ahead for it. He could see the mill, but it seemed a hundred miles away. For as Ross broke free from the cover of the structures and foliage, he saw a huge mass of dark blue marching out of the marketplace toward the mill. British soldiers, more than he could count.

“It's him!” Midge exclaimed.

“Are you sure?” St. Pierre asked. They stood at the balcony and looked back and forth between the army of British soldiers advancing on the mill from the west and a lone man sprinting wildly in from the north.

“Don't you see his coppery beard?” Midge asked. “Y'know, you have bad eyes.”

Not as bad as your breath
, thought Jacques.

“It's Captain Ross, all right,” said Jules. “But will he make it?”

“He had better,” said St. Pierre, a sneer curling on his upper lip.

“The capitaine told me I should lead you to La Plaine. I will be furious if I waited here for nothing!”

Jules looked at the advancing army. “That is a lot of soldiers.”

“All of you, go now to my study and wait,” Jacques commanded.

“I will go to the gate for Declan and meet you. We will make our stand by the forge. Ha-ha!” St. Pierre raced out of the room. The others heard his frenzied cackles from the stairwell, and he was gone.