It was true, Captain Bright was no gentleman. He stole for a living and lied every day of his life. But even Jim could see Bright was a different breed of pirate than Silver. Ultimately, Jim modelled himself after Bonnie Mary’s father rather than his own. Like Bright, Jim only fired his gun in battle, certainly never on an unarmed man. “A true gentleman of fortune should never have to,” he had once heard Captain Bright say.
When the time came, Jim had mixed feelings about taking on his father’s name. He’d been a mewling infant when Thesely Silver found him, but somehow she’d known him instantly as the son of her soul and took him in without reservations. The Old Captain’s true feelings about Jim were always a little harder to fathom. Eventually, though, it seemed he came to trust Jim, to bestow on him his most valuable legacy — his own name. How could Jim say no?
After his father’s death, Jim began to suspect that Long John the First, that deep, scheme-loving man, had had the last laugh after all, or at least had possessed his own reasons for encouraging Jim to take his name.
He wasn’t ruthless, and a pirate needed to be ruthless, Jim knew. That was the real reason his father had left the name to him. The name made things easier, no question about it. Jim wasn’t forced to earn his reputation through bloody deeds of shocking cruelty like others who flew the black flag. When merchantmen heard the name Silver, they surrendered without a fight.
And now here he was, nearing fifty and still living off his father’s infamy, willing to profit from deeds he himself disdained. It was a little disgraceful, really. He was too good to fully live up to the name’s reputation, yet too bad to forsake it completely.
After all, a fellow does need to make a living, he always told himself.
Ordinarily, it was not enough to keep him up at night. Ordinarily though, he was not charged with the task of killing Fetzcaro Madsea, his former best friend, preferably within the next forty-eight hours, if it wasn’t too inconvenient.
Fraud, the wind whistling through the cataract between the cliffs whispered. You’re a fraud, Jim Silver. If you was a strong man, you’d already have found a way t’ gut him like the bottom-feeding catfish he is.
Jim ran sweaty fingers through his thinning grey curls, trying to erase the memory of Fetz the way he used to be: the smiling, gap-toothed boy who’d been his friend.
It don’t matter what he once was, his father’s voice echoed back to him across the years. You kill him, son. You find a way, or mark me words, he’ll kill you.
This time Jim knew his father was right. Strong or weak, I will kill Fetz, or die meself by his hand. No choice in the matter. No choice this time. To defend Little Jane and Bonnie Mary, all was permitted. Fetzcaro Madsea would die.
The sound of boots crunching on black stone gravel behind him startled Jim from his reverie.
“What’d you do to them?” said a hoarse voice at his back. He felt a boney hand at his elbow and the pressure of cold metal between his shoulder blades. Like a genie incanted from the bottle of his own errant thoughts, Madsea was suddenly behind him. “What did you do to them?” he repeated over Long John’s shoulder, digging the pistol into his back.
“Do to who now?”
“You poisoned me crew!” snarled Madsea.
“What?”
“You ask me who or what one more time and I’ll blow yer block off, ye devil!”
By now Bonnie Mary had rushed up to where they stood. “Stop it, Fetz!” she cried.
“It’s those damn birds, ain’t it?” murmured the Panacea’s captain. “Me men ate the birds and now they’re all sick! You tainted the meat. I know you did.”
Long John and Bonnie Mary exchanged a look.
“You, Mary.” Madsea turned, pointing the muzzle of his gun squarely at Bonnie Mary’s chest. “You tell me the truth.”
“Fetz, these two ate the birds, too, and look, they’re fine,” Doc Lewiston broke in as he arrived on the scene. “In fact, you ate the meat yourself and seem none the worse for wear. Let’s not be rash now. Perhaps there’s some other explanation.”
“And you? You ate the birds. How do you feel?” Madsea turned to Lewiston.
“Right as rai —” but before he could finish, poor Doc Lewiston felt something nasty gurgle in his stomach. “Just a moment,” he said, before staggering off behind some rocks, where he was violently ill.
Madsea’s black eyes glared malevolently at the two pirates, but his voice was calm. “Forget the birds for a second. Why don’t you two tell me how you plan for us to cross the moat.”
“Well, uh, usually,” improvised Bonnie Mary, “we builds us a … raft.”
“A raft? With what?” Madsea glanced around the bleak stretch of black sand. There were no trees in sight.
“Usually, see, there’s a few pieces of driftwood around,” said Bonnie Mary.
“What with only two people, it ain’t never been a problem,” Long John added. This was a part of the plan they had not considered, having never truly constructed a raft to get across the moat before, but they couldn’t let Madsea know that.
“Seems to me,” said Bonnie Mary slyly, “your men used all the driftwood they could lay hands on to build that fire last night.”
Madsea’s eyes blazed like black coals in his bone-white face. “And you never thought to mention this when they were throwing the wood on the fire?”
“I tell you what,” said Long John in a conversational tone, “why don’t you just relax. Me and Mary, we’ll go out and fetch ye some wood. We’ll get a raft up and ready for you fellas in no time.”
With the pistol still trained on Bonnie Mary, Madsea’s hand shook with fury. “Ye take me for daft? You two aren’t leaving me sight till my crew’s up and well. Understand? And tonight,” he roared out to the rest of his party, “tonight we’ll all be feasting on hard tack and ship’s biscuit. No more of these damned birds. Do I make meself clear?”
A handful of half-hearted “yes sirs” and “ayes” were outnumbered by the indelicate moans of several of the others being sick.
“Oh, buck up!” shouted Madsea as he kicked a rock out across the moat.
No one saw the pebble Madsea kicked into the lagoon deal a glancing blow off the tip of a grey dorsal fin in the water.
Doc Lewiston returned, ashen-faced.
“Oh, it’s the birds all right,” Madsea said bitterly to the physician. It was a statement, not a question. He transferred his pistol to his left hand and slipped his sword from its sheath with his right. Almost gently, he pressed the sword point into the button of Bonnie Mary’s shirt.
“You’ve been picking up some bad habits, Mary.”
“How’s that?”
“Jim were always the liar, not you.”
“Don’t know what you’re —”
In that moment, with both Madsea and Lewiston’s attention focused on Bonnie Mary, Long John seized his chance. He raised one of the crutches, aiming to bring it down on Madsea’s head. He was just a hand span away from cracking Fetz’s skull when a hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed his arm.
“Watch out, Captain!”
In a split second, Darsa had twisted Long John’s arm behind his back and forced him to the ground.
His knee hit the hard-packed sand, momentarily blinding him with pain. He let out a groan, unable to move.
“Not as fast as you used to be, eh, Jim?” Madsea laughed, his sword still trained on Bonnie Mary, his pistol on Long John. “You ain’t got me licked, Jim Silver. Not by a long shot,” he crowed. “Whatever’s sickened them, it’s me and my men what got the arms in this outfit. You try to take us down, trust me, ain’t all of them so sick one of ’em won’t nail you with a shot or two. You think you’re safe because I need you to find the treasure? Pah! I don’t need the both of you. And frankly, me one-legged friend, you are slowing us down.”
Madsea’s finger stroked the trigger of the pistol, still aimed at Long John, lying motionless on the ground. Darsa wisely rolled off his foe, not wishing to come be
tween the captain and his wrath.
“Fetz, don’t shoot!” Bonnie Mary cried. “It’s enough, just leave him be. He can’t hurt you now.”
“Aye, I do suppose you’ve got a point there, Mary.” Madsea shrugged and lowered the sword, and sliding it back into its sheath. “What’s he going to do? Bite me to death?” He nudged Long John with the toe of his boot. The pirate flinched away. “Ha! Didn’t think so, mate,” said Madsea with a smile. In his sunken-cheeked face it looked more like the dead grin of a skull than that of a living man.
Suddenly, he leapt toward Bonnie Mary and the muzzle of the long-barrelled pistol came to rest at the level of her heart. “You on the other hand, I’ve heard it’s awful bad luck keeping a woman aboard ship. And a tricksy one like you could prove well dangerous.”
Bonnie Mary’s face went as white as a sheet. She was a veteran of countless boarding parties and pistol duels, but always she came well-armed, never without a weapon by her side. To face an armed enemy without was unthinkable. Yet here she stood, helpless.
She remembered the sight of her own blood that day at Anguilla … flowing without end, without reason, from the awful rip in her face, her shaking hand blindly reaching out for anything that would staunch the flow …
She trembled uncontrollably.
“Stop! Leave her alone.” Jim’s voice exploded in the air like cannon fire, dispelling her memories, distracting Madsea.
Long John bowed his head. “Listen to me, Fe—, Captain Madsea. You’re right. I admit it. It’s the bird flesh.”
Madsea’s head whipped around. “I knew it.”
“Please. Just hear me out. Let me explain,” begged Long John. “Anyone who eats the bird flesh and don’t eat the green lichen aforehand gets the illness. Now you know, so let Bonnie Mary be.”
“Pah!” spat Madsea. “Now what’re you talking about? What’s this green lichen business?”
“The green stuff,” Long John explained wearily. “It’s all over the island. You know, them mossy bits on the rocks.”
Madsea stared back at him, not comprehending.
“Just let him show you,” Bonnie Mary pleaded.
Desperate to make his case, Long John snatched a handful of the stuff off a nearby rock and crawled forward until he was as near to Madsea’s boot as he dared. He thrust the hairy green up at him. “See. As you ain’t sick yet, I’m guessing you already ate some.”
“Hmmmm,” muttered Madsea, handing his gun to Darsa. He took the slimy green clump between thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light.
Long John inched toward Bonnie Mary. At last he was able to reach out and touch her hand. She crouched down, laced her fingers through his and squeezed, absorbing a measure of calm from his touch.
Madsea was still scowling. “And how do you know this works?”
“Once, long ago,” said Bonnie Mary, “me and Jim came to the island right before a powerful storm blew through the area. It lashed the island so hard we feared for our skins and took ourselves to shelter in one of the caves along the mountain. The moat rose mighty high and wavy, too risky to get ourselves back. We got right hungry, waiting days for the storm to pass. Weren’t nothing to eat, just the lichen on the rocks and the walls of the cave, so we ate that. At last the skies cleared, and as we made to leave, what should be outside the cave but one of our little orange friends. So, being right starving, we caught and cooked the bird right then and there, thinking to heck with any sickness we got after. We ate and ate, and when we was full and in our right minds again, we waited, knowing the sickness our rash act would bring upon us. But nothing happened. Not that day or the day after. Me and Jim was just fine, and the only reason we could think of was that it was the lichen what saved us.”
“So we figured ourselves out an experiment,” continued Long John. “The next year when we was back, we ate some of the lichen again, and then one of the birds, and lo and behold, the illness still didn’t come for us.”
“So there you have it. The green stuff must have some healthful powers, if it can beat back the bird sickness. We’ve been eating it regular for years. I suppose you develop a taste for it after a while,” Bonnie Mary said with a shrug.
Madsea scowled down at the malodorous plant in his hand. “But why am I not ill? I ate the bird flesh, but I don’t remember eating anything half as revolting as this.”
Long John could think of no answer, but Bonnie Mary thought she knew the reason. “You and Doc Lewiston drank from the pool on the rock. Maybe that’s why you ain’t sickened. Doc Lewiston and Darsa had some of it too, and see? They’re still well enough to stand.”
“By Jove, you’re right,” marvelled the doctor, now fully recovered from his brief bout of illness.
“So if everyone else eats this, their health will return?” asked Madsea skeptically.
“We don’t know,” admitted Bonnie Mary. “We ain’t never tried eating it after the bird meat.”
“How long do you suspect they’ll continue on ill in this way?” inquired Lewiston with concern.
Another inconclusive shrug, this time from Long John. “It could be hours.”
“Or days,” said Mary.
“Weeks, I’ve seen it take with some,” remarked Long John.
“A man could die of it, I suppose,” Bonnie Mary added.
“And you expect me to wait for days or weeks for them to get better?” cried Madsea.
“What do you propose we do then, Captain?” asked Doc Lewiston. “We can’t go on just the four of us. You’re in no right shape —”
“I’m the captain,” Madsea exploded. “I decide whether I’m in the right shape or not! Come, you heard what they said about building a raft. We’ll use what driftwood we can salvage from the fire. Let the rest of ’em mewl and puke their lives away if they wish. If they miss out on taking the treasure, they don’t get a share. The fewer men we have to ferry across, the better.”
“It’s still dangerous,” pleaded Long John. “Captain, you should know that there’s sharks in them waters. I seen ’em, just last year. Trust me; you don’t want to mess with one of them creatures. Why, back when I was a young lad, I were a-swimming here and a shark come up t’me —”
“Oh, do shut up,” snarled Madsea, grabbing his gun back from Darsa and pointing it at the two pirates. “Now make yourself useful, and help us find some more wood.”
Chapter Nine
East is East
There is an old saw that says “be careful what you wish for.” Sitting in the jollyboat on her way to the Nameless Isle, Little Jane remembered how much she’d wished to be a real grown-up pirate, free from her parents’ restrictive rules forever. Now here she was, practically captaining her own ship, with no parents around to tell her what to do and feeling no pleasure in it at all. All she wanted was for things to go back to the way they’d been, when she’d felt protected and safe instead of afraid and alone. More than anything, she wanted to see her parents again. But if she asked for that, who knew in what twisted way fate might answer her.
Only two weeks before it had seemed as if everyone else on board knew what they were doing and that she was the only one without answers. She’d trusted in her parents’ superior knowledge, simply assuming they’d get the Pieces out of any jam.
So much for that. Her parents couldn’t save the Pieces. They couldn’t even save themselves. And if they failed, with all their strength, knowledge, and experience, what chance was there for her?
Just little boats upon the ocean, she thought sadly, all of us just trying to stay afloat in the storm. Don’t matter how practiced the pilot steering, none’s guaranteed a safe voyage.
She knew if she were living in one of Villienne’s books, the sky would’ve gone grey and rainy right about now in accompaniment to her lousy mood; however, it remained solid blue, and oppressively bright. How could such a sunny day be so cheerless?
How stupid she felt for taking so much for granted; assuming her parents and the Pieces of Eight would alw
ays be there; never guessing a person’s body could up and betray them like Ishiro’s had done; never suspecting people she’d known for years like Ned could suddenly turn on her. All that had been required to send the whole structure of her life tumbling down like a stack of blocks was a knock to the Pieces of Eight. Once Ned Ronk kicked that out of place, everything just started to topple. And even if she got it all back, could she ever feel safe and happy again, now that she knew how easily it could all be taken from her?
All her old fears about Australian alligators, vengeful druids, and transforming trees were patently ridiculous, she realized now. There were real things to be afraid of out there and they were far scarier than those even her accomplished imagination could conjure up.
What formerly unshakable thing would see fit to betray her next? She didn’t want to think about it. So she tried to focus her wandering mind on Jonesy and Villienne, watching as they rowed, trying in vain to stay in synch with each other, Jonesy swearing as Villienne nearly lost another oar to the pull of the waves. Please don’t ever change. Her thoughts reached desperately out to them. I couldn’t take it if you were to change, too. Just take me home, jollyboat. She patted the vessel’s wood-keeled side. I’m half-sick of adventure, unbelievable as it may sound.
In her mind’s eye she could see them all back at the Spyglass, her father whittling away at a block of wood, her mother playing fiddle by the light of the fire, Jonesy behind the bar telling her to …
“Wake up Little Jane!” Jonesy yelled. “Hold fast. We’re gonna hit.”
Little Jane barely had time to grab onto the sides of the boat before they smashed against a piece of submerged coral with a sickening scrape.
“Blast it!” swore Jonesy as he pushed at the coral with one of the oars, trying to force the jollyboat free. Unfortunately, the sharp coral had pierced straight through the hull and the boat was starting to take on water through the gaping hole. Little Jane, Villienne, and Jonesy scrambled out of the small vessel before it could fill up.
“Little Jane! Villienne! Where’re you going?” cried Jonesy as he jumped from the boat, his shirt billowing out like a hot air balloon in the water. “We can’t just leave the boat here. How’ll we get back?”
Little Jane and the Nameless Isle Page 9