The Dagger X (The Dagger Chronicles) (8 page)

“Right, then!” Van said. “Here goes!” Van drew his arm behind his back and then whipped it forward, sending the shell hurtling outward over the surf. Kitto barely had time to comprehend what Van intended before Sarah’s pistol exploded in her hand and recoiled. Instantly the shell shattered into a thousand shards and tumbled into the white foam to vanish.

Kitto, incredulous, pointed to the spot in the air where the shell had been.

“How? But . . .”

Sarah carefully returned the pistol to the oilcloth and draped the excess over the guns to keep the sand from them. She sat down next to Kitto.

“My father taught me. In secret, of course.”

Kitto finally found his tongue. “So you . . . all this time you have known how to shoot?” Sarah nodded.

“And all this time I have greatly been opposed to weapons and to violence.” She hung her head a moment.
“And still I am.” She took Kitto’s hand. “You will remember the words I have told you all these years, that what you see in your mind’s eye and deeply believe, you can make come true?” Kitto nodded. How could he ever forget that lesson? Who might he have let himself become without it?

“Those are not just words for me. They run deep. My father taught them to me, taught me that notion.” Sarah let go Kitto’s hand and stood again. She bent over and took up the musket. “They run deeper than the teachings of Friends.”

Kitto had forgotten the burning pain in his stump. “I do not understand, Mum.”

Sarah reached down to Van’s pile of shells, snatched a largish one up and cast it toward Van who caught it neatly. Van grinned, turning and walking down the beach again.

Sarah set her feet in a wide stance and lifted the musket to shoulder level. She lowered her eye to the site and pulled back the hammer.

“Morris will be back. He has my boy. I know it. And I will be ready to do whatever a mother must, no matter how it might imperil my soul.” A long way down the beach now, Van hurled the shell out over the surf. Kitto watched Sarah’s body tense. The musket bucked, roared, and a plume of smoke drifted off in the breeze. Kitto turned in time to see the last shards of turtle shell scatter into the white foam.

Sarah sat down next to Kitto, but Kitto edged away.
This was all too much: his clubfoot, this island, a baby . . . now this.
His mother knew how to shoot!

A long moment of silence passed between them until Van charged up and gave Kitto a slap on the shoulder.

“Is that not something? Your mum could best the king’s own marksmen!” Van’s bright teeth flashed in the sun. “What a wonder, eh?”

Sarah silenced him with a look. “You are upset, Kitto,” she said.

Kitto grabbed Van’s shoulder to hoist himself to his feet, crutch in one hand.

“I do not know what I am,” he said, meaning it in many ways. He took a few hobbled steps along the beach. He spun around and nearly lost his balance.

“Lies,” he said, glaring at Sarah. “Lies! Father had plenty. Never told me my name, never told any of us his past. And you, Mum”—Kitto steeled himself—“you had your lies too. I never . . .” His thought eluded him and he shook his head violently. “And you treat me like a child, like I was Duck! You never trusted me to know any of this.”

“That is not true, I simply—”

“Is there anything else, Mum? Anything else I should know about you?” Kitto’s tone had taken on more than a bit of venom.

Sarah stood, her face flushed.

“No, Kitto, I should think that one dark secret is all that I have.”

Kitto looked down, suddenly ashamed. But there was more he felt he needed to say.

“I am not a child, and I will not be treated like one any longer.” He spun away again and hobbled his way down the beach.

Van and Sarah watched Kitto go.

“Shall I stop him?” Van said.

“No. When he is upset, it is best to leave him.” Sarah turned out toward the sea and scanned the impossibly distant line of the horizon. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes moistened with tears.

“H
ow much farther is it?” Kitto said. It had been ten minutes since Ontoquas had caught up to him as he hobbled along the beach, seething with an anger he did not fully understand.

“Soon.” They were now just coming upon a rocky rise that jutted out into the water. The island here did not slope steadily from forest to beach as it did elsewhere, but instead tumbled sharply from a hundred feet up at the island’s pinnacle to a jumble of craggy rocks upon which the waves thundered and sent up wisps of spray. Kitto’s stump burned from the effort of the walk.

“It is here. There.” Ontoquas made a sweeping gesture with her hand that indicated they were going around the promontory.

“Do we swim, or climb over?”

Ontoquas stepped into the water and motioned for Kitto to follow.

“Good,” Kitto said, and tossed his crutch high up on the beach where it would be safe from a rising tide. He
hopped into the wash, then lowered to hands and knees and crawled his way into the surf.

Ontoquas was out deep enough to swim now, and Kitto made for her. He welcomed the flow of the water along his body. He had always loved to swim; it was one of the few physical activities that he could do as well with his clubfoot as any other boy. And he found now, even without the last ten inches of his leg, his body could still glide gracefully along. After several strokes he caught up to Ontoquas. They had come just far enough so that Kitto could begin to see around the rocky promontory. It bent along for a good stretch, then eventually gave way to a smooth beach beyond.

“Where are we going?”

Ontoquas pointed toward a place along the rocky expanse, perhaps forty yards before the sandy beach resumed. The rocks at the water’s edge seemed shrouded in shadow.

“That is the cave?”

“Yes. You like cave. I show you.” Ontoquas continued on, swimming a path that paralleled the island for some time. Kitto kept pace easily, careful to keep his kicks gentle. Shortly, Ontoquas began to angle toward the dark outcropping of rock. Closer they swam toward the crag. Closer.

Kitto pulled up from his stroke to better look. They were now only ten yards from where the waves washed up against the rocks, and sure enough he could see the top of a dark opening just above the lapping water.
From farther back it looked simply like dark rock, but this close he could see that it formed a kind of tunnel. A strange feeling passed over him, sending goose bumps up his spine.

I know this place,
he thought. Was that possible?

He paddled forward to come alongside Ontoquas just at the opening. She still treaded water but held one hand against the lip of rock that formed the mouth of the tunnel. Her long black tresses fanned out in the water and draped her shoulders.

“In there?”

Ontoquas nodded. “Have care,” she said, tapping herself atop the head. Kitto understood. Here the water did not so much crash against the rocks, as the waves had already broken on the rocky tumble that reached out behind them, but still the water rose and fell several inches. It would be easy to strike one’s head inside the tunnel.

Ontoquas had just turned from him and was about to enter the shadowy gloom when a dark movement in the water below Kitto gave his heart a flip. Something was there, swimming just below their feet.

“Watch out!” Kitto cried and clutched at the rocks above as if to pull himself out of the water, the terror of the shark coming back to him in an instant. Ontoquas heard him and ducked back out into the sunlight.

She gave a toothy smile. She reached out and patted his arm.

“No! Not shark. No sharks here. Turtles. Many, many.
See!” She lowered her head below the surface. Kitto did the same, his cheeks aglow with embarrassment. His eyes open underwater, he could see the entire entrance to the tunnel. It descended several feet to the sea floor and was perhaps a yard or so wide. As Kitto looked on, a turtle about the breadth of two hands paddled its way straight through the middle of the tunnel, swam beneath Ontoquas’s kicking feet, and flippered off into the open sea. A moment later two more followed, smaller, swimming one just behind the other.

He looked up to see Ontoquas smiling at him. He returned a smile of his own, struck by the rarity of the expression on the girl’s face. Together they broke the surface again. Ontoquas swept her hair from her eyes, her high cheekbones and angular jaw aglow in sunlight. Kitto saw her as pretty for the first time.

“You are ready?”

Kitto nodded. “I think I am.”

Ontoquas took a deep breath, turned from Kitto, and went under the water. He followed suit, paddling himself through the water just behind her kicking feet. Dozens of white air bubbles swirled about her toes and rose slowly to the surface.

Within a few strokes Kitto and Ontoquas swam in near darkness. The light from outside the tunnel lit the way dimly, but the farther they went, the darker it grew.

Kitto felt a dull panic beginning to rise.

Just stay with her. Trust her!
He startled when a dark form moved below him; he squinted and made out the
outline of a large turtle swimming in the opposite direction. Again the strange sensation struck him, the familiarity of the place.

After several yards it grew lighter again, and with a few more strokes he could see Ontoquas settle her feet on the sandy bottom. Kitto carefully raised his head and came to a stop beside her, balancing on his one foot. He began to tip over, but Ontoquas reached out and grabbed him about his arm and shoulder and pulled him upright. Kitto put a hand on the girl’s shoulder to keep himself steady. She was slight of frame, but somehow still very strong.

“You are scared,” she said. Kitto felt his cheeks burn. He cast his eyes downward and nodded.

“You are brave to swim again, after the shark,” she said. Her dark eyes glinted in the light that flickered along the rippling water. Their eyes met for a moment, then Kitto turned away to take in the surroundings.

They stood in a pool the size of a small room. The ceiling rose in the middle to a height of perhaps twelve feet, and at the middle a slim crack in the stone revealed the blue sky above. Indirect sunlight lit the cavern in a dreamlike glow. A small splash sounded at the far end of the pool, and Kitto turned to see turtles, dozens and dozens of them. Some of them sat motionless on the sandy embankment at the far end of the pool, others climbed sluggishly into or out of the water. A small turtle swam right toward them, its little head and shell shiny and dark above
the water’s surface. Kitto and Ontoquas moved apart, far enough for the creature to paddle between them. Kitto laughed.

“This is amazing!” he said, looking around again. The cavern was still and quiet, the wash of the waves outside barely audible. There was something comforting about the little cavern.

“The water, to drink, it is here.” Ontoquas started forward. “You walk?” Kitto leaned on her to hop forward until the water grew more shallow, at which point he bent over and scrambled along with his hands and one foot.

Ontoquas emerged first from the water onto the sandy expanse. Kitto followed awkwardly, self-conscious of his pathetic need to crawl like a wounded animal. He was used to walking oddly, but this animal-like shuffle left room for no shred of dignity. He wished he had brought the crutch. As he scrambled up the rising embankment, a very large turtle half the size of him glowered down from the crest. Its neck telescoped outward, and the creature opened a fearsome beak in Kitto’s direction.

“Good Lord,” Kitto muttered, caught between alarm and amusement. Before he could decide how to get past the turtle, Ontoquas appeared behind it with the bright smile again.

“He will not bite,” she said. She grasped the turtle by the edges of its shell and with a few heaves scooted it out of the way.

“Not you, maybe, but he looks ready to take my
nose off.” The turtle lowered its head and padded down the sandy bank into the water.

“He is the big one,” Ontoquas said. “He is the father, the chief.”

Clearly the sandy beach on which they now stood was a nesting ground for the turtles. Small mounds speckled the area, indicating where eggs were buried. The ceiling sloped downward here, too, and came very low toward the back of the sandy expanse, some yards off. Between Ontoquas and Kitto, at their feet, a tiny rivulet of water cut a groove in the sand and flowed into the pool they had just left.

“Do you see?” Ontoquas pointed toward the back right part of the cave, where the beach was somewhat more elevated and the ceiling stooped. “White men,” she said.

Kitto looked in the direction she pointed, but at first he could see nothing but obscure gloom. As he stared, the shadows took form.

“Barrels!” he shouted, and his voice reverberated through the cave. He let go of Ontoquas’s shoulder and scrambled forward.

Barrels!
Dozens of them, not the huge kind used for water, but smaller ones maybe three feet high and eighteen inches in diameter at the top. They were nestled along the back wall three deep and two high. Kitto reached out for the first barrel he came to and steadied himself next to it. He ran his hand along the stave edges and the top. It felt dry. That was good. Barrels like
these would not keep well in the damp for seven years.
This has to be the nutmeg,
he thought. Kitto withdrew his hand, and could feel a dusty residue on his fingers. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed hesitantly. Then he breathed in deeply. He smiled and lifted his head.