Isle of Swords (44 page)

Cat smiled but didn't know what the captain was trying to tell him.

Ross went on. “But luck doesn't weave together the kind of intricate strands I'm beginning to see. I'm beginning to feel like maybe we were meant to find you . . . that we were meant to be mixed up in the search for Constantine's Treasure.”

Ross got up, walked quickly behind Cat, and closed and locked his cabin door.

“Before he died, Padre Dominguez told me something,” said Ross quietly as he sat back behind his desk. “I've shared this with no man, not even Stede, whom I'd trust with my life a hundred times and one. You see, along with the gold, silver, and jewels, there is one other treasure. It is the treasure that Padre Dominguez feared losing the most.” Cat leaned forward, and Ross explained. “Somewhere in the castle on the Isle of Swords, there is a small wooden chest. And in that chest, there are three long nails.”

Ross waited a long moment for that to sink in. Cat squinted.

“Nails?”

“Not just any nails, lad,” said Ross gravely. “These are the nails— the very three nails—used to crucify Christ.”

The
Raven
dropped anchor in the main cove. The water there was deep blue and fairly shallow but not transparent like the waters of the Caribbean. “If the priest's message to you is to be believed,” said Thorne, “then something lives in these waters. Sharks, more than likely. He claims that only one of pure intentions can make this dive and return with the key. We'll just see if he told us the truth.”

Thorne gestured, and a man with long, straight black hair, deeply browned skin, and dark paint beneath his eyes came forward.

“Arturo here,” said Thorne, “was once a champion cliff diver on his little island. He can hold his breath for a very long time. He will make the first attempt to retrieve the key.”

Arturo smiled, climbed up on the rail, and speared into the water.

Thorne, Anne, and many of the crew went to the rail. They saw Arturo's brown legs kicking away for a moment, and then he was gone. Several seconds passed. Then they all felt something. A small jolt to the bottom of the ship. Thorne scanned the water. A strange ripple spread out from the hull. Everyone at the rail jumped back.

They'd seen something moving in the depths. It was just a fleeting glimpse—something long and dark. If it had indeed been a shark, it would have to have been one of the largest ever seen.

Thorne waited longer than any man could possibly hold his breath. His eyebrows lowered. He turned from the water and looked at the crew. “Five hundred pieces of eight for the man who brings me the key!” Thorne looked first at Skellick.

“What?” said Skellick, clinging to the ship's wheel. “I can barely swim.”

Thorne started to growl, but turned when he heard three splashes. “It's Oliver!” cried one of the crewmen. “Christopher and Douglass too!”

The men crowded the rail and watched bubbles form three foamy rings on the water's surface. Seconds ticked by, feeling like hours, and still they watched the water for any sign. “Look!” someone yelled. They all turned. Forty yards from the bow, a large irregularly shaped blotch of foam appeared on the surface. And swirling beneath the foam like a gigantic submerged rose was a massive plume of blood.

“Apparently,” Thorne said, “the priest knew what he was talking about. Your turn, Anne.”

Anne crossed her arms defiantly. “I won't do it. You kill me, and you'll never get your key.”

Thorne looked amused. “I predicted you'd say as much. Stupid girl. Mister Flagg is very imaginative. If I must turn you over to him to be persuaded, I think you might find there are some agonies worse than death.” He watched Anne shrivel as she thought about the possibilities. “And I promise you, Anne, if you fail me here, I will hunt your father down, him and the rest of his crew, and string their entrails across the entire Caribbean.”

Anne knew she could not win. One way or the other, she knew Thorne would kill her. But if she could get the key, at least she had a chance. Slowly, she climbed up on the rail. Anne took several breaths, inhaling and exhaling longer each time. She wanted slower, more even breaths. Anne had done a fair amount of diving in the islands, mostly to retrieve hunks of coral that she could carve. She hoped her previous experiences would keep her alive here.

She held her next breath and dove into the water. Her momentum carried her far beneath the surface, and as she slowed, she opened her eyes and began to kick. The dark shadow of the
Raven
's hull loomed on her right, and a faint pale glow beneath her must have been the sandy floor. She swam rhythmically, not rushing, not panicking. She needed to pace herself if the breath would la— The heel of her right foot had struck something. She spat out half of her air, turned, and looked frantically behind her. She saw nothing, just the deep blue of the sea and the shadow of the ship. She regained her composure.
It could have been a fish, a piece of seaweed . . . anything at all.
She swam deeper, pinching her nose a couple of times and blowing to depressurize her ears. The stale air in her lungs began to burn, and she had to suppress the panic. Thorne had said the key was encased in wax and held within a stone chest.

As she neared the soft sandy bottom, she found large sea rocks, a few massive patches of brain coral, and old timber from a long-submerged wreck. She was about to give up and return to the surface when she spotted something on the seafloor to her far right. She swam toward it, and it grew darker.

Her lungs were fairly screaming at this point, but she pushed herself on. The vision was still cloudy, but as she grew near, she realized there were large stone rings on the seafloor. The gigantic rings coiled one on top of the other, and there in the center was the stone chest.
Thorne didn't say anything about stone rings.
Feeling confused and somewhat disoriented, Anne swam toward the chest.

She found the lid was on tight, but once lifted, slid easily off. She saw a square glob of white. When she touched it, she realized it was the wax case. It dangled upward, anchored by a hook embedded in its side.

Anne yanked out the hook, grabbed the wax case, planted her feet on the ocean floor, and pushed off with all her might. Her mind felt muddled, and she began to see little flickers of light. Some corner of her awareness recognized that as she lunged away from the chest, the dark rings slowly uncoiled.

Anne found herself being hauled carefully onto the deck of the
Raven
.

“Well done, Anne!” Bartholomew Thorne cried, holding up the wax case. Anne blinked. Mr. Flagg put something with a sharp smell under her nose, and her eyes opened wide.

Thorne took out a dagger and stabbed it into the wax. A few moments later, he had a dark iron key in his hand. “This, gentlemen,” he said to the crew, “is the beginning of a new life for us all!”

The crew whooped and cheered. Someone helped Anne to her feet and put a blanket around her shoulders.

Thorne laughed aloud as he slid the key into the pocket of his coat. “Fetch me my Viking horn, Mister Skellick!” he said. “We'll launch the longboats. Once we're ashore, I want you to take the ship. Lead the others into hiding among those coves. I am not expecting any company, but I don't want our unmanned ships lying in the open.”

“Aye, Captain Thorne,” said Skellick. He disappeared below and returned a moment later with a long, curved white horn. It had gold bands at the narrow blowing end, as well as at the wide opening.

“Ah! I feel like a Viking!” Thorne reveled. “After all, they were the first pirates!” He grinned at Anne and gave a long blast on the horn. It made Anne's ears ring and echoed off the cliff walls.

“I will wait for your signal and come quickly,” said Skellick.

Thorne grabbed Anne's wrist, sending a bolt of pain shooting up her arm. “Now, Anne,” he said, “it is time to plunder the Treasure of Constantine!”

43
THE WATCHER

W
hen the
Bruce
arrived at the shards, the wreckage of Thorne's destroyed ships had burned itself out and slid beneath the water. “I can't believe it!” Declan Ross exclaimed from the quarterdeck.

“Where is he?”

“There are only two possibilities,” said Ramiro. “Either we beat him here or . . .”

“Or?”

“Or, he's already come and gone.”

Ross's shoulders fell.

“If the ships Caiman saw off Cape Verde b' Thorne's fleet, the mon has not had time to b' here, load the treasure, and scoot back off,” Stede said.

Ross shook his head. “He had a good five hours on us at least. I don't see how we could have beat him here.”

“Unless the monk deceived that outrageous pirate!” said Stede hopefully. “Mayb' Thorne b' still sailin' around the North Atlantic looking for the island!”

It was possible that Padre Dominguez had misled Thorne. Ross couldn't be sure. One other thought had occurred to him as well, but it grieved him to consider it. The waves in the deadly crosscurrent could have claimed Thorne's life. But that would most likely mean that Anne was gone as well.

“Too many possibilities,” said Ross. “And they're all out of our control. We will sail through the shards and dive for the key. Then we'll know.”

Stede had guided the
Bruce
through the shards without mishap. They dropped anchor as far inland as they dared to go. “I've got pure intentions!” Ramiro said indignantly. “I should be the one to dive.”