Doc Lewiston favoured Little Jane with a deep bow. “We were medical students together,” he explained, “and until Alistair here accidentally incinerated our lodgings, flatmates as well.”
Villienne blushed. “You know I still feel awful about that.”
“All forgiven,” the cheerful doctor assured him. “Now tell me, Villy, who is your young companion who most vociferously insists on not being a fellow. And what are you doing in literally the last place on earth I expected to find you?”
“We’re looking for me parents,” piped up Little Jane, eager to get back to the search.
“Your parents?” inquired Doc Lewiston, who only then began to realize there was something strangely familiar about the girl’s appearance. “And just who might they be, eh? What did you say your last name was?”
“Silver,” said Little Jane, a glint in her eye.
“Is that right?”
It was at that moment that Little Jane noticed that the path of rock they were standing on ran from the place they found the lamp, east to the volcanic mountain on the other shore. At high tide the water hid the path from sight, but now, as the tide was going out, the rocky strip stood revealed to all, rising a few inches up above the water. This path then, this was what Melvin’s code had been trying to tell her about all this time, she realized.
“Masthead East Lamp!” she cried triumphantly as she pulled Melvin from his scabbard, holding up his handle for Villienne to see. “I was right! That lamp— it were supposed to lead the way!”
Chapter Fourteen
The Shiv
“Caw!” a peculiar orange bird screamed as its beady eyes peered down at the two ungainly figures struggling along the rocky path.
“Oh, do shut up,” muttered Bonnie Mary at the irritating fowl, but this only seemed to further encourage the creature.
Beside her, Long John forced himself to take another painful hop forward, well aware he was leaning more heavily on Bonnie Mary with each step. His face was red with sunburn and sweat dripped into his eyes.
The treasure cave was still far off. It would take time for them to make their way around the base of the volcano to the right spot. Then they’d have to face the climb up the tightly twisting paths between the rocks, up to the cave that served as their own personal bank vault.
Suddenly, Bonnie Mary stopped, cocking her crown of matted braids in the direction they’d come from. She listened intently, drops of perspiration glittering on her brow.
“What?” Long John asked. “What is it?”
“What’s that?” she rasped, her throat dry.
“What? I don’t hear …” And then he did. “Cannon fire? Could it be…? You think someone’s come to rescue us?”
“Maybe it’s not a rescue at all,” said Bonnie Mary. “Could always be some other fella Fetz made angry come ta take it outta his hide. Sides, if it was Jonesy, Ishiro, or Little Jane, how’d they know where to find us?”
“They all three know that there’s treasure on the island. And Jonesy knows exactly where the treasure’s hid, and so does Jane, right? You gave her the sword.”
“Aye, I did,” replied Bonnie Mary. “Not that I been counting on Jonesy to remember much. It were so long ago, and you know how he be about remembering things. I should’ve reminded him now and again all these years. Still, maybe he did remember. Stranger things have happened, eh?” She took another halting step forward, half-dragging Long John along before another, much less pleasant thought occurred to her. “Wait. Jim, you did explain to Little Jane the meaning of the clues on the sword like you said you would, didn’t you?
“Me?”
“Yes, you Jim!”
“Weren’t it you what told her?” he asked hopefully.
“No.”
“Blast it! I thought you’d tell her when you gave her the sword …”
“All my days. You’d think with all them stories yer always tellin’ her, you’d tell her something she might actually be needing to know.”
“Now, that ain’t fair, Mary. You was the one gave her that sword. Weren’t it only natural I assume it would be you what’d tell her? And warn’t it your brilliant idea to stash the blasted loot here in the first place, now that I recollect it? I were always saying secret codes and hiding places ain’t nothing but trouble, but you had to get inventive …”
“Oh, hush! It don’t matter now. Our goose is well cooked and you know it, Jim Silver. If’n I ever get me hands on that dirty pox-monger Fetz, I swear I’ll tear ’im in two.”
Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do now other than curse themselves for being so negligent. Once more they were forced to hold fast and trudge on, in the desperate hope the cave would provide their timely salvation.
Madsea listened to the pounding of the far-off cannons with growing irritation. It was impossible, but somehow, someway, someone was here. On his island.
He’d been followed, betrayed. Someone had been tipped off, and now they were coming … strangers … after his gold. The gold he’d suffered and near died for, and curse them, but they were firing on the Panacea now, and she was firing back, albeit sporadically. He’d recognize the report of her 24-pounders anywhere.
He looked back and saw Kingly make it to shore and help Darsa out of the water and up onto the beach. The steward coughed up a copious amount of water as Kingly gently pried his fingers off the scrap of wood he still clutched to his chest. Madsea felt a startling twinge of guilt when he noticed the absence of Doc Lewiston from the group of survivors. He’d long assumed the one benefit of prison was that it had beaten such useless sentiments out of him for good. That he harboured such unexpected sympathy for a doctor, of all people — a man who’d tried to put leeches on him, for Pete’s sake — seemed beyond belief! Yet of all the people Madsea had met since his imprisonment by the French all those years ago, Lewiston was the first to show him any scrap of true kindness. That Lewiston stayed on to tend to him despite lucrative offers from other ships struck him as inexplicable, yet there it was.
“Ahoy, Cap’n,” Kingly called out.
“Have you seen Lewiston?” asked Madsea, eager for some good news about the doctor.
“Sorry, Captain, looks like that creature got ’im.”
Madsea sighed and turned away so the men could not see how upset he was. “How’s Darsa faring?”
“A’right, Captain,” choked out Darsa. “Just need a moment to catch me breath.”
“It sounds like someone’s attacking the Panacea, Cap’n” announced Kingly gravely.
“Ship’ll have to take care of herself,” Madsea replied, unfazed. “There’s no way for us to get back at the moment. The only prudent course to salvage anything of our mission is to press on and get to that treasure afore anyone else has a chance to lay hands on it. That’s where our priority lies!”
“Yes, sir,” replied Kingly, though he felt there might be something slightly amiss with the captain’s reasoning. However, his position was not to ask questions. He helped Darsa sit up against a rock to recover.
When Kingly looked up from tending to his friend, he saw that Madsea was already running toward what appeared to be a path that led up the side of the mountain. He watched, amazed at his captain’s healthy pace. Instead of slackening, Madsea seemed to pick up speed as he went, his boots pounding across the sand in time to the distant sound of the cannons.
Bonnie Mary glanced over her shoulder, dismayed to spy Madsea gaining on them, loping over the flat tops of the beach rocks like a man who’d never been sick a day in his life. He still carried Jim’s crutch over his shoulder like a club, and looked as if he meant to use it.
“Sod it,” panted Long John, “Did I miss something here, or ain’t he a bleeding half-dead consumptive?”
“Don’t look back, Jim, just keep going,” puffed Bonnie Mary as she pulled him by the scraps of shirt tied about his waist. They would have to quit soon, a distant part of her mind realized; Jim couldn’t endure much more.
“Mary, stop!” h
e finally gasped.
Stubbornly she continued to pull him along.
“No,” he croaked out and abruptly let go of her.
“Jim, we can’t stop here!” Tears stung her eyes. “Fetz, he be catching up …”
“No,” Jim repeated weakly, leaning his weary bulk against a massive black rock to rest, his chest heaving. “Where’s the shiv?”
“What?”
“Me knife, Mary. Where it be?”
“What for, Jim?”
“You’ll get on ahead faster without me,” he panted.
“Jim, I ain’t leaving you here. Fetz’ll kill you.”
“No, he won’t. You just get on up there and open the chest lickety-split. Get whatever weapons you finds, then come back for me. Whatever new health Fetz’s come into, I’m still a mite stronger ’n him, I figure. With the shiv I’ll take him easy, you’ll see.”
He favoured her with his most winning smile. Though his lips were split and flecked with blood, that smile still could not help but bend her stubborn heart. She could stay here to wait for Fetz to come, but she knew Jim was right about the weapons in the cave. The only way the two of them could hold out against Fetz and his men was with the weapons. And it was plain to see that Jim would never make it up to the cave, even with her help. Still, Bonnie Mary couldn’t leave him. Never had she seen Jim so hurt and beaten down. Even now, supporting himself against a rock, he seemed to weave to and fro in the air, barely able to hold himself upright. He didn’t look strong enough take on even the tubercular Madsea, let alone any of the strong sailors who might accompany their captain.
“C’mon Mary.” He nudged her. “There be no other way.”
“I reckon. But still …” She took a deep breath. Her damaged eye cried freely and Jim reached up a trembling hand to brush the wetness away. Even that small movement, she saw, seemed to take extraordinary effort.
“Keep yer wits about ya, Jim,” she whispered, not trusting herself to say more. Her gaze darted quickly over his features, trying to memorize them all, every pore and crease of that face she loved and so feared to lose.
Oh Lord, forgive me, she thought. With a sharp gasp, she burst the bodice of her dress, tearing it in half with her tough, strong hands, releasing the shiv knife inside at last. She picked it up and held it out.
“Take it, Jim!”
He reached out and took the shiv from her. Their eyes met. How can I leave him? she thought.
“Get on!” he said roughly, pushing her away, breaking the spell.
“You stay safe, Jim,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “Captain’s orders, ye hear.”
“Aye aye,” he replied.
She turned and ran off up the path and out of sight.
As soon as she was gone he sagged heavily against the rock. I be dying here, most like, he thought, and yet he felt strangely calm. He was too tired for fear. The thought that Bonnie Mary might escape comforted him. He closed his eyes and prayed that she would be safe.
Then, with a few jarring hops, he propelled himself behind a massive black boulder on the side of the path. From there he knew he would be hidden from view of anyone coming up the path. The world swam before his eyes for a moment, and he felt the urge to lie down on the soft, welcoming sand. But there he remained, crouched and leaning against the rock, hidden from view, the shiv in his hand, waiting.
As Madsea scrambled up the path he felt a strange sense of agility he had not possessed since the days of his early youth as a cabin boy aboard the Pieces of Eight. Had he been less interested in treasure and the demise of his enemies that day, he might have taken a bit of time to wonder why this was so. The mind of Madsea, however, remained inflexibly bent toward the attainment of his goal and all he realized was that his strength, renewed as it was, was still not enough. Years of damage to his lungs could not be reversed so quickly. As he made his way around the mountain, he began to grow short of breath, with the pirates still far ahead of him.
Once Darsa appeared to be out of danger, Kingly left the beach and quickly caught up with his captain. Spotting the distant figure of Bonnie Mary high above them on the path, Kingly surged forward, overtaking his captain. Unbeknownst to him, the poor bosun was set on a direct course past a certain black boulder that hid far more than a stray patch of lichen.
Long John knew he would only have one chance to overpower Fetz. In his mind he saw himself leaping out from behind the rock, shiv knife in hand, and landing on Madsea’s back just as the Panacea’s captain came up the path. From there, Long John figured he could slip the knife in between Madsea’s ribs, thrusting upward to the fatal place using his greater weight and momentum to force his smaller, lighter enemy down beneath him. He could pin Madsea to the ground then, stabbing him once more, should the first thrust not meet its intended mark. He forced himself to breath more slowly. Whatever the outcome, it would all be over soon.
Now Long John heard the sound of running feet upon the path, every footfall beating in his head like a drum. It took all his will power to keep from springing out too soon. Wait … wait … wait …
Now!
He sprang.
In the millisecond between his leap from behind the rock and the time it took for his body to fall on the man on the path below, Long John realized he’d made a terrible error. This man was too large to be Madsea. But he had no time to adjust his thrust in mid-air, and he landed on the big body with the sharp point of his blade exposed. The shiv struck flesh and bone somewhere in the man’s side as he twisted. Long John could not shove the blade home for the final deadly push now. How could he, when he had no idea whom he’d just stabbed? All he knew was that the man could not possibly be his intended target.
Kingly bucked wildly under his attacker’s weight. A geyser of blood sprayed up as Long John held on to the large man’s shoulders, still dangling a few feet off the ground, slippery hands trying to find purchase on the knife to pull it out, should he need it to defend himself.
Just then, Long John heard a cry from somewhere behind him. Still riding the thrashing Kingly’s back, he turned toward the sound. A large object was coming straight for him. He had time to partially duck his head away from the swing, but the club still connected with his skull. Pain and bright lights exploded in his head as his hands released their grip. Slipping off the bosun, Long John hit the ground, already unconscious.
Madsea watched as Jim fell to the dust at his feet. Faint from his wound and loss of blood, Kingly collapsed beside the senseless pirate.
Madsea stood panting over the two men, the wooden crutch still vibrating in his hands from the force of the hit. Dizziness and a faintly floating feeling came over him. Had he done it? Had he finally dealt the fatal blow? But the treasure. How would he ever find it now?
Somewhere, far away, Madsea heard a hastily cut off scream. His strength returned as he remembered Bonnie Mary. Madsea peered up at the string of holes that pockmarked the side of the mountain. The treasure must be hidden in one of those caves. And she would lead him right to it. As he scanned the mountainside, he glimpsed a movement. Just below the place where the mountain’s surface abruptly turned into sheer black rock, he saw her, a brightly coloured parrot in her garish clothes, standing out clearly against the sombre black of the volcanic stone.
A joyful smile, like that of a little boy, bloomed on Madsea’s sunken face. He picked his way around the bodies of Long John and Kingly, not stopping to check if either still held a pulse. Eager to be on his way, he climbed in the direction of Bonnie Mary, up, up toward the caves.
Bonnie Mary ran between two boulders, cursing as she scraped her knuckles on a piece of jutting rock.
Jim!
Don’t think, just run. Don’t think, just run.
Please be all right, Jim. Please be all right.
These desperate thoughts broke through all efforts to calm herself.
Damn her eyes and the twisting path, but she couldn’t see anything of the fight from where she stood, listening. Ther
e’d been shouted curses and screams of pain. Those she heard.
It took all her willpower to keep from turning back. She had to keep her head, save the emotion for later. Her only job now was to get to the cave and get the weapons before Madsea or any of his men. Then she could help Jim. Not now.
She took off again, rounding a bend, following the corkscrew path around the mountain. She passed by the cool gaping mouths of several welcoming caves along the way. Her lungs gasped for air and she was sorely tempted to stop and take shelter in one, but knew it was a foolish idea. Now that her knife was gone, she needed something to arm herself with. If Madsea dared survive, she would not meet him with fists alone.
Madsea settled into a brisk walk. There was no point in running. Bonnie Mary could run all she liked, he thought with a grim smile, but ultimately there was no place for her to go. He was fairly certain this was the only path up the mountain.
Above a small clump of stunted pear trees — the only trees that grew anywhere on the island, it seemed — sat a small statue. Once the statue had been painted gold, but now only a scattering of paint flakes hinted at its former glory. At one time, long ago, the golden, eight-armed figure looked as if it had swallowed the mighty sun itself. The statue and the clump of trees with their hard yellow pears were all that distinguished this particular cave from the hundreds of others dotting the volcanic mountain.
Bonnie Mary looked down at the ebbing tide far below; low enough now to expose the bridge of raised rock that ran from the bottom-most pear tree away to the other side of the moat, the path she’d taken on every journey to the treasure cave — except this one. Three dark specks moved along the tide-exposed path in the distance, but she could not say who or even what they were.
With a final bound over the rocks at the mouth of the cave, Bonnie Mary launched herself into its blessed shade, hoping, just this once, that chance would favour her.
Little Jane and the Nameless Isle Page 13