Isle of Swords (26 page)

Red Eye went first. Gritting his teeth, he took two strokes. Jules went next. The first lash hit his broad back with a strange muffled snick. “Too weak, Stede!” Jules complained. “You can do better than that!”

Stede shook his head and let fly. The braided leather cracked in the air and snapped upon the massive pirate's bare flesh. Jules grunted satisfaction and rolled his shoulders backward. “Ah, that's real, now,” said Jules.

Some taking a pair of lashes, others just one, the crew went to the rail. Anne stood by Jules and buried her head on his shoulder.

For Cat, it was a misery to endure. Not only had Anne and the others been disciplined in his place, but there was something else. Cat watched the whip stream through the air over Stede's head, watched it curl like a snake behind him, and then suddenly reverse course, snapping violently forward. Cat's head began to throb. A muffled buzzing came to his ears. He blinked. He saw a flash of another place—definitely not the deck of the
Wallace
.

Cat turned and stumble-stepped through the crewmen. He disappeared around a bulkhead and leaned on the portside rail.
Take this, my son,
came a voice, feminine and deep. Tender like before, but with a trace of urgency or . . . alarm. An image flashed into Cat's mind—the leather satchel held out by a slender hand. Another hand receiving it.
Within this pouch, you will find help for your journey out of this life. It is everything that I can give you. Wait! One more thing.

The flash of a dagger, and she dropped a two-inch lock of her hair into the pouch.
Keep it safe, and when the time is right, get away and never look back
. Cat couldn't see her face, just a glimpse of a smile— loving and yet somehow full of sorrow. She turned suddenly. Her luxurious red hair swung round. A door opened. A scream. Then a loud crack of the whip.
Where is it, boy?
A different voice, harsh and angry, more like a feral growl.
I know she told you. Out with it!

Another crack of the whip, and Cat fell to his knees and wretched.

“Cat?” Anne came around the bulkhead. “Cat!” She ran to him, saw that he had been sick. “It's over,” she said. “The whipping . . . it's done.” She put her arms around his shoulders and helped him stand. “Cat, I'm so sorry.”

“It's not that,” he whispered. His hand went to the leather pouch that hung from his belt. “I heard the voices again.”

Anne took in a sharp breath. “Did you know them? Do you . . . remember?”

Cat shook his head. “I . . . I think one of them was my mother,” he said. “She called me son.”

“There were others?”

“One other,” he said, his words barely audible. “I don't know . . . he frightens me.”

Led by their captain and Stede, a number of crewmen came around the corner and found Cat and Anne. “Cat!” Ross exclaimed.

“Are you all right?”

Nubby barged in. “No, he's not all right,” he barked. “Can't you see?”

“Nubby, take Cat below,” Ross ordered. “Give him fresh water.

He looks pale.”

“It's the whippin', isn't it, lad?” said Nubby, leading Cat away.

“It brought something back.”

Cat woke up with a start, rocking his hammock.
How long was I asleep?
he wondered. He remembered Nubby giving him three mugs of water, some fresh biscuits, and a plantain. But that had been in the broad afternoon sun. Now it was dark. An oil lantern hung near the door. Its flame was turned way down low.

Cat untied the leather pouch, reached in, and removed the lock of red hair. He smoothed it with his finger and wondered about his mother. He still could not picture her whole face. Just the sad smile and her hair. But somehow, he knew she had loved him. That brought Cat a mixture of comfort and pain. He wondered what had happened to her. He reached into the pouch and withdrew the cross. He'd managed to brush away most of the tarnish. The silver reflected back the orange lantern's light.

“Why did you give me this?” he thought aloud.

He reached once more into the pouch and removed the green jewel. He heard the echo of the other voice, hard and terrible.

Where is it, boy?
Cat held the cross in one hand, the jewel in the other. He wondered which one the hideous man from his memory was after.

28
THE ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT

T
he sun was bright overhead, but not as hot as the previous day. The crew of the
Wallace
enjoyed the stiff wind as they continued their voyage to the Caicos Islands. They gathered again near the mainmast. A black flag with the white silhouette of a prowling wolf above a Scottish claymore sword, the flag of the
Wallace
, flew high overhead. Jacques St. Pierre, Cat, and Anne stood in the midst of them. They listened as Drake continued the ceremonial reading of the Articles of Agreement. Drake held up the large parchment and read in a loud voice, “Article Seven. If any man shall not keep his arms clean and fit for engagement, or neglect his business, he shall be cut off from his share and suffer such additional punishment as the crew shall think fit.”

Cat felt a little poke from behind. “I'll help you with that,” said Red Eye.

“Article Eight. He that shall be found guilty of cowardly deeds in a time of engagement, that same man shall be marooned or hanged.” At the mention of marooned, Drake made momentary eye contact with Cat. “And lastly, Article Nine. If any man shall lose a hand or foot in time of engagement, he shall have four hundred pieces of eight. If he shall lose an entire limb, that same man shall gain eight hundred pieces of eight.”

“What'd ya do with all that money, Nubs?” cracked Midge to the general merriment of all. Nubby, on the other hand, wasn't very amused.

“I spent most of it on pots, pans, and knives,” he said. “But I held back a wee bit of silver and bought a special poison that dissolves in food. You know, for a special occasion.”

The crew roared at that, but Midge's laughter was nervous at best. All eyes then turned to the quarterdeck where their captain had just appeared. “Why is he wearing a dress?” Cat whispered.

“It's not a dress,” Anne said, giggling even though she was trying to sound angry. “It's a kilt.”

“It looks like a dress.”

“Don't let him hear you say that,” Anne warned. “You'll be scraping the whole deck by yourself. My family is very proud of its Scottish roots. The Clan Ross is very powerful in Scotland.”

“Do they all wear dresses?”

Anne slapped him on the shoulder. “Just stop. Father only wears it for special occasions like this. I think it makes him look heroic.”

She had a point there, Cat thought. In spite of his dress jokes, Cat actually liked the way it looked on the captain. The kilt was hunter green crisscrossed diagonally with bands of red and two lighter shades of green. It hung down to his knees and just above the top of his boots. He wore a belt with a dark leather satchel on one hip and a sword and sheath on the other. Ross's white shirt was open at the neck and billowed in the breeze.

The captain descended to the main deck and stood beside the quartermaster. “Mister Stede,” he said, “it is time to add to our ranks.”

“Aye, sir,” said Stede. He took the articles from Drake and spread them across the tops of a couple of barrels. He dipped a quill pen into a dark bottle of ink and handed the pen to the Frenchman.

“Do you, Jacques Saint Pierre, now swear an oath to—”

“Wait, Stede,” said Ross. “Where's my Bible?”

“I don't know,” replied Stede. “I figured since ya didn't bring it, ya didn't want it.”

Ross frowned. “It doesn't seem right without it.” With that, Ross went belowdecks. He emerged a few seconds later carrying a small Bible with a cracked and faded cover of brown leather. “Here we are,” said Ross, handing the book to Stede.

“A Bible, Declan Ross?” said Padre Dominguez. “I did not know you were a believing man.”

The captain felt suddenly as if the only beam of sunlight on the whole deck shone down directly on him alone. “Don't read too much into it,” he replied, more bitterly than he meant to. “It's just custom.” He nodded at Stede.

The quartermaster held out the Bible, and St. Pierre put his hand on top of it. “Do ya, Jacques Saint Pierre, swear an oath to obey and uphold the articles of the
William Wallace
? If that b' yer wish, so say ya, ‘aye.'”

St. Pierre delighted in the whole ceremony. A successful businessman, he missed the adventure of life at sea. As he scanned the ship's articles, he lingered most longingly on Article Three: Of any prize by us taken, the captain is to have two full shares; the quartermaster one share and a half; the bosun, carpenter, first mate, doctor, and chief gunner will have one share and a quarter. Due to St. Pierre's obvious skill with cannons and explosives, Captain Ross had offered to make Jacques the chief gunner of the
Wallace
. A share and a quarter of every prize sounded very good to Jacques St. Pierre.

“Aye!” Jacques declared. He took the quill from the bottle of ink and signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of the parchment.

The crew cheered, “Hurrah!!”

Cat came forward next. He wore dark blue breeches and a loose-fitting white shirt. The leather pouch hung from a cord around his neck. He placed his hand over the Bible and swallowed. He'd spoken to Captain Ross earlier, and he had assured Cat that should he discover his identity and desire to go and resume his former life, Ross would release him from his duties aboard the
William Wallace
. Still, Cat felt reluctant. The crew had been so welcoming of him, had gone to great lengths more than once to rescue him, and he was grateful. But he couldn't get over the feeling that there was still something very wrong here. Pirates were notorious scoundrels, after all.

“Do ya, uh . . . Cat, swear an oath to obey and uphold the articles of the
William Wallace
? If that b' yer wish, so say ya, ‘aye.'”

Cat looked around. Red Eye winked. Seeing that bloody eye wasn't the encouragement Cat was seeking. But then Captain Ross smiled at him approvingly. Anne's face was lit with joy, and she nodded at him as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”

Like St. Pierre before him, Cat studied the articles, and above all the others, one stood out. Article Two: “The crew of the
Wallace
in a time of engagement shall willingly offer just quarter to any who request it. We shall not needlessly murder or do bodily harm to our foe. Neither shall we impress men into service. We shall not torture prisoners. Nor shall we mistreat women or meddle with them without consent. Any man who does violate this article shall suffer swift death.”

Pirates abiding by such a code seemed unbelievable to Cat. They were killers, weren't they? But perhaps Captain Ross was different.

Cat found himself saying, “Aye!” He picked up the quill pen and found the feel of it vaguely familiar. He dipped the tip into the ink and began to sign his name to the articles. Only when he did, the first letter was not a “C.” He stared at the parchment and the ornate letter “G” he had just written. It was as if his hand had done reflexively what it always had done, but try as he might, Cat could not remember what came next. He looked up from face to face. Stede's was a study of confusion. Captain Ross's eyes were thoughtful. But Anne wore a different expression. Her mouth dropped open in sudden discovery. And Cat remembered the initials they'd found in the cottage on Dominica. GLT.