Isle of Swords (40 page)

At last, Cat hurried to catch up. His mind swirled like a hurricane. Stede had been wrong. Cat's tears had nothing to do with Anne. Cat drew his cutlass and charged up the wooded incline. As he sprinted along the familiar path to Thorne's fortress, Cat wondered how he could ever explain what he feared—especially to Captain Ross.

Red Eye and Caiman spearheaded two rows of crewmen, and they came upon the hapless sentries at the fortress's gate like an avalanche.

Inside Thorne's fortress, they found a skeleton detail of guards, many of them slaves impressed into service. Some fought and were overwhelmed by Ross's frenzied men. Others dropped their weapons and ran away. By Ross's command, they were not pursued.

Ross began to second-guess this command, for the initial search of the fortress had turned up no sign of Anne or Padre Dominguez.

Red Eye and Caiman returned via the spiral staircase. Their expressions told their tale. They had found no one either. Ross kicked over a table. “There's got to be something!” he yelled.

“Wait.” Cat emerged from the other crewmen. Unruly shocks of blond hair hid his eyes. He brushed his hair aside and said, “If they are still held in this keep, I think I know where.”

“You remembered something?” Ross asked.

“Not exactly.” Cat looked around nervously, feeling like a thousand pairs of eyes were on him, studying, guessing his thoughts. “I have no specific memory of this place—no faces or events. But, like the path in Dominica, it all feels familiar. I . . . I can't explain—”

“And you don't have to,” said Ross, putting a hand on Cat's shoulder. He handed Cat his torch. “Just lead the way.”

Cat led his captain and much of the crew on a winding journey with a general downward trend. He crossed an open courtyard where the moon cast eerie light on them until they disappeared through a door on the other side. Then down a ramp to a long chamber. There were three doors on the left and a pair of double doors on the right.

Cat paused there, thinking, and then led them through the double doors and down a long set of stairs. “I went this way already, Cat,” said St. Pierre. “Jules and I searched it well. Are you sure?”

“I'm not sure of anything,” Cat replied, but he kept going. Cat picked up the pace, but stopped abruptly after passing a hall on the left. He turned and retraced his steps to the opening and then plunged down the hallway. The crew followed. The hall ended in a capital “T,” and Cat looked to the right, holding up his torch. He shook his head. Then he looked to his left. It appeared the hall dead-ended. A tall bureau stood at the end.

“I thought for sure this was the—wait!” Cat held up his torch and advanced. The shadows moved as he approached the end of the hall. And there, barely visible until he was upon it, a narrow passage cut sharply away, left of the bureau. “This way!” he called over his shoulder.

“I didn't see that,” murmured Jules.

“Neither did I, mon ami!” said St. Pierre. “How did he know?”

No one answered, and they choked down to single file to travel the narrow hall. It led to one last stairway. Cat turned and said, “I think there is a sort of dungeon at the bottom of these stairs. But be careful. The stairs are uneven. You don't want to skewer the man in front of you. So give each other some—”

Cat and the others froze. There'd been a gunshot from somewhere down below. Ross leaped ahead of Cat and led the way down the stairs. They burst into a subterranean prison and a horrendous smell hit them like a hammer. It was a mixture of decay and sewage, but the crew endured it and began to search. There were ten cells on either side of the room. They found long-rotted human remains in some, and some were empty.

“Declan, over here!” Stede called out. Ross sprinted to him. Cat and the others followed. There, slumped in the corner of a cell, was Padre Dominguez, and a pistol lay in his limp hand.

40
RIDDLES

W
hy? Why would he . . .” Cat could not finish the question. The answer eluded him, pushed away by the persistent thought that if they'd only found the cells a few moments earlier, Padre Dominguez might still be alive.

“Open the cell,” Ross said quietly. Jules looked around for something to pry open the door, but seeing nothing, reared back and kicked it in.

And, to everyone's astonishment, Padre Dominguez opened his eyes. “Declan,” he said weakly, “I prayed that you might come.”

“We heard the shot,” Ross said. “We feared the worst.”

“I shot a rat.” Padre Dominguez pointed at the headless remains of an enormous rat.

“Midge!” Ross called. “Top speed. Get back to the ship and get Nubby!”

“No,” Padre Dominguez said, his voice thinning to a whisper.

“Too late. I am just a few beats of the heart from my Lord.”

In spite of the monk's grave words, Ross waved Midge to go on.

“Padre,” Ross said, almost afraid to ask, “where's Anne?”

“He took her, Declan. He took her. His fleet departed for the Isle of Swords . . . I don't know. It seems like hours, but down here, I don't know.”

“The ships,” St. Pierre thought aloud. “Caiman, those were the ships you saw in the fog.”

Suddenly, Padre Dominguez's eyes went very wide. He sat up and raised both trembling hands, reaching for Ross. “Declan, he has the map. He knows the way. He knows everything. My Lord, forgive me. I told him everything!”

Ross knelt at his side. “We'll follow him,” Ross said. “We'll make sure—”

“No!” Padre Dominguez gasped and grabbed Ross's shoulders.

“The true treasure, you must make sure he does not get it!”

“You said something like that before, Padre. What do you mean?

Gold, silver, jewels—what?”

“Thorne can have all that.” Padre Dominguez coughed violently. His eyes fixed for a moment, and he fell backward. Then he blinked and looked again at Ross. “Declan, come closer.” His voice now was so weak and soft that none of the crew could hear it. Ross put his ear to the monk's mouth. Padre Dominguez whispered, and Ross's face went ashen white.

Ross pulled free of the monk's grasp. “How can that be?” Ross asked.

“Promise me,” said the monk. His last breath escaped, and this time, his eyes remained fixed. Ross felt for a pulse and found none.

Ross stood and faced his crew. He wondered how much they had heard.

“Is he . . . ?” Cat asked.

Ross shook his head. Padre Dominguez was gone. “Thorne and his fleet are underway to the Isle of Swords. If Anne is to live . . . and if we will ever see that treasure, we must stop him.”

“But Captain,” said Jules, “what did he mean when he said Thorne has the map? The map is . . .”

Ross turned back to the dead priest. He motioned for Jules to help, and they carefully laid the monk on his stomach. Ross and Jules recoiled when they saw the amount of blood on his back.

Then, hating to have to do so, but needing to be certain, Ross gently brushed away the blood and looked at his back. One glance, and Ross shut his eyes and looked away. “Thorne took the map.”

“Brandon, be reasonable,” Sir Nigel said in the commodore's quarters. “How can you possibly trust the word of a pirate?”

Blake paced quietly for a few moments. “I do not think Ross is typical of most pirates.”

“You are right in that,” Sir Nigel scoffed. “Most pirates do not blow up the islands they visit!”

“That is not what I mean. Declan Ross is a scoundrel, there can be no doubt. He has not earned the moniker of the
Sea Wolf
for nothing. But he has some honorable qualities.”

“Ha! Name one.”

“He is loyal to his crew.”

Sir Nigel nodded. “Name another.”

“He is merciful. After all, he spared my life in Misson.”

“True, I suppose. Name one more.”

“Sir Nigel, I'm not recommending that Ross be recognized as a saint! I just feel like we must trust this letter.”

“But to sail all the way to Cape Verde?”

“Yes!” Commodore Blake pounded a fist into his open hand.

“Tell me, why would Declan Ross risk his own capture with the note, if he was not attempting to eliminate his competition?”

“I can think of a hundred other reasons.”

“No, Sir Nigel. Thorne's stronghold is on Cape Verde. We will endeavor to make top speed, and, if providence allows, we will catch Bartholomew Thorne or kill him.”

Sir Nigel stood at the rail on the
Oxford
's stern. Disgusted, he spat over the side. This far out in the Atlantic, he knew there was no way to contact Scully. Thorne was a potent force at sea, but would he be able to defend his fortress against the might of the British Royal Navy?