Sam smiled. Indeed, why not? It would be fun to see Alonzo’s expression—Catalina’s too, come to that. “I might.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you. Sleep on it.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Chapter Five
The rope swayed as Catalina negotiated each knot. This was despite Alonzo standing at the bottom, holding it steady for her. Halfway down, and it felt as if her arms were about to pop from their sockets. Her hands were skinned raw. Reaching the treetop platform yesterday would have been impossible if Torvold had not hauled her up. She should have asked him to lower her now, but it was too late. He was already on the ground. Catalina made the mistake of looking down. Her head swam. She refocused on the rope and felt with her foot for the next knot.
Were it possible, Catalina would have sworn the rope had grown longer overnight. Each step was torture, a never-ending nightmare. The ground came as a surprise when she finally reached it. Catalina staggered and needed Alonzo to steady her. Her arms and legs were shaking, her hands throbbed, but it was over. She took a step back and gave Alonzo a grateful smile.
The final person was Sam. He dropped down the rope, hand over hand, barely using his feet at all, making light work of what had been such an ordeal for her. Not that it was appropriate to compare herself to a cabin boy.
Charles secured the end of rope around the tree trunk. “For the next time we need a roost.”
Sam watched him do it. “It’s certain there will be a next time?”
“Count on it.”
Yaraha swung a sack over his shoulder and pointed. “The boat is this way.”
Torvold grabbed two others, ready to follow.
“Wait. We must take more care,” Alonzo said. “Doña Catalina should be in the middle.”
“Why? Can she not walk where she wants?” Yaraha asked.
“We must be ready to protect her.”
Torvold laughed. “We cannot protect. If the hunters come, we all run. Very fast.”
“Doña Catalina is daughter of Vizconde Pedro de Valasco. She—”
“If she cannot run, then she should learn.”
Charles joined in. “There are no viscounts here. Catalina is just another person. That’s all. She takes her chance with the rest of us.” As if to emphasize the point, he handed them both a sack.
Alonzo was temporarily speechless, although he soon recovered. “How da—”
Catalina had also been surprised, but she put her free hand on Alonzo’s arm. “It’s all right. Without them, we’d be dead.” Charles was not being deliberately unfriendly or provocative, merely stating facts. After her time with the pirates, it was easy to spot the difference.
Alonzo still glared at Charles, but then took Catalina’s bag from her and stalked off, carrying both. “I know how to treat a lady.”
Everyone ignored his muttering, although Charles and Sam exchanged an amused look, as if sharing a joke over it. What did it say about the castaways if a pirate was more favored company than a noblewoman? Catalina already knew Sam was no gentleman, and neither were the others, it would seem.
However, a seed of discomfort sprouted. The memory resurfaced, of her and her friends, mocking their grandparents’ outdated views. Not decades, but hundreds of years stood between her and the castaways. It was naïve to expect them to obey the social rules she was used to. When in Rome… If she did not want to become a figure of ridicule, she had to be willing to change. Alonzo meant well, but he would also need to adapt. Although, she had to admit, she was grateful not to be burdened for the walk. Her legs were still unsteady.
Fortunately, Yaraha did not set a fast pace. He moved with a stealthy grace, watching and listening. His feet made no noise. Catalina wished she could draw more confidence from his obvious familiarity with the jungle, or Torvold’s strength, or Alonzo’s loyalty. She tried to keep up with them, while Charles and Sam brought up the rear, each carrying a sack.
Catalina knew the island had not changed from the day before, but now it felt far more ominous. Had the air always been so thick? Every shadow held a threat. Splayed leaves were monstrous hands, reaching for her. She jumped at a dry click, but it was just a stone striking another. Catalina felt her heart trying to climb up her throat. The pirates had frightened her, but they were a known, comprehendible danger. These hunters belonged only in nightmares. Then, amazingly, she heard Sam laugh. Of all sounds, it was the last she expected. Catalina glanced back.
Sam and Charles were strolling along, as if on a leisurely jaunt in the countryside, clearly at ease. In fact, Catalina had never seen Sam look so relaxed and cheerful. Even the way he walked was more animated than before. There was a spring to his step, a fluidity to the set of his shoulders.
Sam held something in his hand. Catalina thought it might be the compass she had dropped the day before when she was surprised by voices calling from the treetops. She slowed a little to catch what Sam was saying.
“This is wrong. North has to be over there.”
“Probably is,” Charles agreed.
“But the compass is pointing this way.”
“It will be pointing to the center of the island. It’s the electromagnetic interference. That’s what killed all the instruments on the Okeechobee Dawn.”
“That was your ship?”
“Our seaplane.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll see.”
“It had instruments that could die?”
“If they ran out of juice.”
“Juice?”
“Or got zapped.”
Sam was silent of a while. “Do things here ever start making sense?”
“No.”
The jungle ahead was becoming lighter. Before long, the group emerged beside a wide river. Or was it? Surely the waterway was too big for the island. The opposite bank was a quarter mile distant. Yaraha had spoken of an inner sea, so was this an inlet? The water stretched in both directions, curving gently inward. A vague memory nagged in Catalina’s head. She should recognize this. But how?
“Here is our wonderful boat, the Inflatable,” Torvold said.
The craft was unlike any Catalina had seen before. It was bright orange. The sides looked as though they were made from tubular cushions. It had three benches to sit on, but no rowlocks. At first, she thought there were no oars either, but then saw two small paddles on the floor. It would take a long time to cross if that was all they had.
“How does it float so high in the water?” Sam clearly was also unfamiliar with the type of boat.
“There’s air inside. Like a balloon,” Charles answered. “That’s why it’s called the Inflatable. Really it’s a description, not a name, but we’ve got to call it something.”
The boat was tied to a stump. Yaraha slipped the mooring rope loose and towed it to where a rock formed a natural jetty. From the way the Inflatable responded, it was surprisingly lightweight.
Yaraha held the boat steady for them to board. “Watch out for fish in the water. They’re nasty.”
“How nasty?” Sam asked.
“Like piranhas with extra teeth and a sore head,” Charles said, laughing. “They’re another of Madison’s bio-robots. They’re not really fish. You couldn’t eat one, but the same doesn’t work in reverse. Your chances aren’t good if you fall in, and I’d recommend keeping your hands inside.”
Alonzo dropped the sacks he had been carrying in the Inflatable, then turned to make a show of helping Catalina. The boat rocked as she took a seat, and she was grateful for the helping hand, but Alonzo’s manner was excessive. He clearly intended his actions as an example of good manners for the others. It was not going to work. Catalina could tell from their expressions. Maybe she should say something to him when they had the chance for a private chat.
Meanwhile, Sam prodded the side experimentally. “Oilskin?”
“Rubber.”
“What does it rub?”
“Rubber is the stuff it’s made of.”
; “Oh.” Sam picked up one of the small paddles. “This is it?”
Torvold’s grin split his beard in two. “You are a sailor, ja? Watch. You will like this. Oh yes, you will like this.”
He knelt by a box at the rear and pulled hard on a cord coming from it. The sudden eruption of noise made Catalina jump, and she barely restrained a squeal. The sound would have resembled that of an angry bee, if bees could produce the same volume as a church bell. The Inflatable surged forward. Catalina clung to the side as spray whipped her face. Amazingly, they were moving as fast as a galleon in full sail.
Torvold threw back his head and roared with delight. “So far I have rowed. Heave-ho, heave-ho. So many seas. Of all the wonders I have seen, I tell you, this is the best. The very best. My grandfather was a wise man, but even he had no tales of anything so good. If I could take it back to my home, I could ask for gold beyond counting.”
“Until the gas ran out,” Charles said.
“Always, you spoil my dreams.”
“Then dream on, my friend.”
Catalina tried not to watch the water for signs of the deadly piranhas. She did not need to frighten herself more. Instead she divided her attention between the two shorelines. Now that she was out on the water, the uniformity of the twin curves was unmistakable. If the inner sea maintained the same arc in both directions, it would meet itself, forming a complete ring, with the flat-topped mountain in the center. That could not be natural—concentric rings of land and sea set around a mountain?
Catalina gasped in surprise. Of course she recognized it. Why had it taken her so long?
“Charles, you said about other names for this island.”
He smiled at her. “Have you thought of one?”
“Yes. I’ve read Plato. This is Atlantis.”
* * *
Even from a distance, the differences between the two island rings were obvious. The outer one had been a jungle. The one they were approaching was a garden. The land was laid out with clipped formal hedges and flower beds. The trees stood in ruler straight rows. However, the plants were unlike any Catalina had seen before.
The grass, if that was what it was, shimmered purple-red. The trees were thirty-foot-high blades of yellow and white. The flowers might have passed for orchids, except they formed clusters, with each flower the size of a plate.
Set among the beds were numerous flat-topped structures, all built from the same yellow stone that lined the waterfront. The top of the embankment was only two feet above sea level. Tides must not be an issue here.
Catalina saw a knot of people gathering on the quay, clearly attracted by the sound of the rowing box. Torvold did something to cut the noise to a low drone. The boat’s speed slowed accordingly, and they coasted toward the waiting group.
“We were starting to worry about you.”
“Us? We’re fine. How could you doubt it?” Torvold shouted back.
“We picked up some newbies,” Charles added. Catalina assumed the term related to her, Alonzo, and Sam.
The side of the boat bumped the wall of the embankment. Yaraha threw the mooring rope to one of the watchers and sprang ashore. Another native with an identical topknot exchanged a few words with him in a lilting language Catalina did not recognize. Everyone else seemed to be speaking a variant of English, although she had to listen carefully to be sure in some cases.
Catalina again accepted a hand from Alonzo to step onto the quay. She was all too aware that, just like an embarrassing dream, she was meeting a collection of strangers while dressed in her underwear. Admittedly, her state of undress was more in keeping with the castaways’ loose, knee-length breeches and shapeless smock tops than her gowns, but it did not make her feel any less awkward.
A new person joined the gathering, an elderly woman with curly white hair and a face crisscrossed by lines. The skin on her hands sank between her knuckles and was dotted with liver spots. Yet her eyes were sharp and she carried herself with resolve. She was the leader of the castaways. Of that, Catalina had no doubt.
“Welcome to the Squat. My name’s Elizabeth Anderson, but I answer to Liz.”
Out of habit, Catalina started to curtsy before remembering her clothes did not lend themselves to such formalities. “I am Catalina de Valasco, daughter of Vizconde Pedro de Valasco, and this is my family retainer, Alonzo Ortiz.”
Liz patted Catalina’s shoulder. “No need to stand on ceremony, dear.” She had a strange accent, similar to Charles, although with more of a nasal twang. She turned to Sam. “And you are?”
“Sam. Sam Helyer. I was cabin boy on the Golden Goose. The ship has sunk, and I’m the last survivor.” Sam hesitated, as if making a decision. “So I’ve missed my chance to tell my crewmates I’m not a boy. Probably just as well. I don’t think they’d have been happy about a cabin girl.”
While people around her laughed, Catalina needed long seconds to be sure she understood what Sam had just said. But there could be no doubt. She was dimly aware of Alonzo at her side giving a low growl. Mostly, Catalina just felt her jaw drop open.
* * *
Catalina had assumed the yellow buildings were houses. They had clearly been made for a purpose, yet they were devoid of windows and doors. The walls were built from large blocks, cut and assembled without mortar, creating wavelike patterns in the stone.
“This is the Squat.” Liz’s wave took in a group of buildings, set around a purple lawn. “I guess you’re wondering why we call it that.”
Catalina nodded out of habit. In truth, the only thing she was wondering about was Sam. Was he…she really a woman? It was hard not to stare, looking for signs.
“I don’t know who first gave it the name, probably someone from the twentieth century. Squatting is a slang term, meaning to take over an empty building. The owners have gone, so now we live here.”
“These are houses?” Sam asked.
“Right enough.”
“Where’s the door? How do you get inside?”
Catalina glanced across. Of course, the pitch of Sam’s voice did not belong to a child, or a man. How had she not noticed it before?
“Like this.” Liz marched along a broad flagstone path, leading straight to the nearest wall, where curves in the stone formed the outline of an arch.
Five feet off the ground, a small black circle broke the uniformity of yellow. The disc was inset, and possibly made of glass, judging by the way light shimmered over it. Liz waved her hand in front, without touching. Immediately, a vertical crack split the arch and the two halves slid apart, vanishing quickly into the wall on either side.
Catalina jumped back. The day had contained too many surprises. She did not know how much more she could take.
Liz put an arm around Catalina’s shoulder and gently urged her forward. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll get used to it.”
They entered a large room. A warm light filled the space from no obvious source, casting no shadows. It was as if the entire ceiling was a lamp. In the center, a fountain splashed into a basin, surrounded by a high circular bench.
“This is the common room. We gather here for meals and the like,” Liz said.
The aroma of cooking was enough to make Catalina forget all else. There was only so far that fruit could go to assuage the hunger gnawing her stomach. “Does that mean we might get breakfast?”
The others were following, carrying sacks from the Inflatable. Yaraha spoke. “It does. I’ll cook. Torvold can put the supplies into storage.”
Charles laughed as he handed over the sack he was carrying. “Believe me, that’s the safest way around. Torvold has many talents, but cooking isn’t one of them.”
“You do not like my food?”
“Has anyone, ever?”
“Humph.” The exchange was in good spirits.
“Do you want breakfast, Charles?” Yaraha asked from the doorway leading to an adjoining room.
“No. It’s okay. I’ll find Babs. Catch you later.” He smiled, patted Sam on the back,
and left. Torvold followed Yaraha from the room.
Catalina snuck a longer look at Sam. Questions seethed in her head. The pat had been a gesture of support. Had Charles known Sam was not a boy before she made her announcement on the quay? But what was Sam? A girl? A woman? How had Sam kept her secret from the other pirates? Or had she? It was easy to imagine the sort of woman who would choose the company of vulgar sailors. But no—Catalina remembered the way the pirates treated her. They had not known.
“Okie-dokie. First things first.” Liz clapped her hands for attention. “We need to put you in the book. Take a pew.”
Catalina’s parents had ensured she was schooled in every language a prospective husband might speak. She had thought her command of English was good, but now she was at a loss.
Sam was just as confused. “Take what pew where?”
“I mean, sit down. Make yourselves at home.”
The circular bench had a cushioned top and was clearly intended as a seat. However, it was too high. Catalina did not see how to get on while maintaining decorum, nor would she be able to rest her feet on the floor, once up there.
Neither of these issues were a problem for Sam, who jumped up with a backward hop, and then sat, cross-legged. Was she really a woman?
A band of daylight fell across the floor as the door opened and a man and a woman entered the common room. Catalina thought they had been among the castaways on the quay. The man was tanned, middle-aged, and bald. The woman was younger, and had the dark skin and curly black hair of an African.
Meanwhile, Liz opened one of a grid of hatches on the side wall. She called out, “A bit of advice, never leave anything lying around. The caretakers will assume it’s trash and you’ll never see it again. Always put stuff you want to keep in a locker, like this.”
“Can’t you tell them not to?” Sam asked.
“They aren’t human and don’t take orders.” The man who had entered held out his hand. “I’m Floyd.”
Without getting up, Sam leaned forward to grasp it. “Sam. From the Golden Goose.”
Isle of Broken Years Page 9