Once Upon a Midnight Sea

by Ava Bradley

  But he didn't.

  "I realize now that I have been a corpse who cared not for living his life, but only ruining that of another. Looking back now, I do not care for the person I was. In fact, I despise him. I am glad that you were aboard the night I stole Lady Luck for if you weren't, I would never have been able to see myself for what I truly was."

  "Yes, you would have," she started to argue. Because you are more exceptional than you will ever allow yourself to believe.

  "Most of all, I want to say that I am sorry for what I have done to you. You did not deserve this, Adriana."

  "No Christian, you are wrong." She placed a hand over his chest. The strong beat of his heart made her fingers tingle and sent new courage into her heart. "My life was extraordinarily boring until I met you. If I could return to that night and once again be given the choice, I would choose to be here now. My life will never be the same again." She risked a smile. "I am quite certain I will never know another person who frustrates me the way you do."

  The clouds parted and divine silver light illuminated his face. Christian drew slowly towards her, his eyes heavy lidded and his lips slightly parted.

  "Let's get going, you two. Before the night abandons us." Henri started the winch.

  Adriana smothered an anguished gasp as the boat began its descent. She held Christian's gaze as she dropped to the water. The jolly's narrow hull touched, and Adriana released the ropes.

  "God speed," she called up to them.

  The current immediately snatched her small boat. Adriana rowed only to keep herself on-course to the island. In the darkness, it had all but disappeared.

  She watched the bob of light of Mr. Ling's solitary lamp marking the bow of her ship until it shrank to a pinpoint, the only indication Lady Luck was still there. By now Christian and Henri were also afloat, but she couldn't make them out.

  When she finally drifted nearer her destination, the clouds parted and mercifully gave her a solid view of the silhouette of all three islands. She put her starboard oar into the water and aimed for the southern tip of the farthest one. She dared take her eyes from it only to glance to her right. There was no sign of Christian and Henri.

  She knew they were there. "God be with you," she whispered into the darkness.

  The water grew rougher as she neared the island. As it was channeled through each land mass, fierce swirling currents were born. Adriana put her back into the oars and barely met her mark at the southern-most tip of Devil's Island. This would all be for nothing if the current carried her away.

  For a fearful moment she could see no place to tie the boat. They were doomed for sure if it floated away. She'd never said aloud what she'd heard about sharks conditioned to feed at the sound of a bell rung by guards disposing of dead prisoners, but suspected Christian had heard the stories as well.

  Though the southern tip of the island sat the lowest, the short trek up the cliff was still excruciating, and extremely dangerous in the dark. Once at the top she turned and looked down to the tiny cove. The jolly bobbed and kicked ferociously in the choppy water. No wonder so few attempted escape.

  As she turned and faced her objective Adriana's heart surged in her chest, and dread prevented her feet from moving. The wind whipped wisps of loose hair into her eyes.

  "I haven't come this far to give up now," she whispered to herself, ashamed for her fear.

  She pushed through a thick brush to find a well-worn path. Deciding she should start in the opposite direction of the cove, she turned left and inched her way through the darkness, taking slow, cautious steps. The last thing she needed to do was crash through the brush and awaken every prisoner on the island.

  The monstrous squeal of a gigantic pig nearly sent Adriana leaping out of her skin. She froze, holding her breath. Nice piggy, she mouthed silently. She'd nearly missed the stone hut it belonged to, nestled in to a thick copse of trees. The pig was penned by a tree limb and stone fence so crudely fashioned it looked built by Mother Nature herself.

  I had better pay more attention, or I'm going to walk right into some inmate's yard. A sudden shower of fat raindrops helped conceal her presence, but with it came a sudden increase in the darkness as the moon was fully masked by thickening clouds. The pig snorted and grunted as it nosed away.

  Adriana waited until her eyes were better adjusted to the darkness, praying the occupant inside hadn't been awakened. Finally she could make out the name scratched above the door. Dubois.

  She turned and started away, but halted before her first footfall. A coiled noose-trap lay directly over the path. Only as a sliver of moonlight fell on the stones did she see it. It had been a miracle she hadn't stepped in it as she'd come up the path.

  Adriana glanced heavenward. Christian, Henri, please be careful!

  As quickly as it emerged, the moon disappeared behind a heavy cloud. The rain increased, surprisingly cold and sharp as the wind whipped it sideways against her face.

  For what seemed like hours she inched her way across the northern edge of the island. Indeed it had been hours, she realized, as a few glimpses of the moon marked its journey across the sky. It must be near three a.m. Fatigue pulled at her senses, but Adriana wouldn't let herself be conquered.

  She passed Trudeau, Brighton, Favret and Thoreau, and four empty cottages in dilapidated condition. By now she must be halfway across the island. It was time to turn across. But what if Henri and Christian turned, and some of the huts were missed?

  She decided to continue north along the western edge of the island to one more cottage, and then turn.

  The rain turned to a drizzle, then a fine mist. The next cottage appeared in a thin beam of blue moonlight. Her eyes found the name across the threshold and immediately fixed on the letters, and her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

  De la Croix. Merciful God!

  But what if there were more than one De la Croix on the island? Quickly she tried to calculate the odds in her head. Sixty two huts, four so far empty. What were the chances two men named De la Croix were imprisoned here?

  Whatever the odds, she had to take them. She withdrew the derringer from her waistcoat pocket and pulled back the hammer. The pocket pistol possessed four bullets, but Adriana knew she could only shoot if her life depended on it. The first shot fired would bring the guards running. If inside she found the wrong man, she had to be careful not to wake him.

  Adriana made her way up the path and stepped quietly across three stones that made the threshold. A wooden door with an iron bolt stood open and a ragged linen curtain hung in the frame. Despite the rain, the evening was warm and muggy. To the left, a goat lay asleep in a dirt wallow, sheltered from the rain under the thatched overhang.

  She slipped through the door and pressed herself against the wall. A candle nub on a small table lit the single room. The increasing wind slipping through a glassless window made the flame dance, sending flickering light and strange shadows across the bare walls.

  In addition to the table was a single chair and a cot, and a shelf on the wall holding a small glass bottle that served as a vase, and a conch shell.

  A sudden flapping made Adriana's breath catch. A brightly colored parrot flew onto the table and stole from a bowl on the table.

  "No, Monsieur Pickles! Dégazez!" Across the barren floor, a man leapt out of bed and swatted at the bird.

  * * *

  Christian stopped to free his shirt from the sharp hook of a vicious thorny bush. He leaned one hand against a thickly-trunked tropical tree to rest. Its fat leaves still dripped with the remnants of the rain shower that had only moments ago drenched them with cool, refreshing water.

  "You all right, boy?" Henri backtracked to join him.

  "Oui. Just let me catch my breath."

  "You're sweating."

  "It's rain," he lied.

  Indeed, his skin felt like it was on fire. He wasn't strong enough to do this, not yet. Christian straightened up and drew a deep breath. It didn't matter. He had no other choic
e, and he could endure a little dizziness if it meant saving his father.

  "How far have we come?"

  "Maybe half the island. You want to turn across now?"

  They'd moored the boat in a jagged cove and wasted too much time crawling up the rocky cliff. This side of the island was inhospitable at best, but Christian couldn't be certain the rest of it was any better. The growing wind buffeted the sharp edge, sending salty wind whipping up into his eyes. The vegetation was nearly impenetrable here, and the thorniest on the island, having to stand up to the punishing wind. No wonder there were no huts. They'd crossed nearly a quarter of the island before finding a single domicile.

  "No. Let us go on further. We've seen only six huts so far. If there are thirty-six, we have a long way to go."

  "Perhaps Adriana has had better luck."

  Christian straightened up and eyed Henri as heavy foreboding draped over him. "I worry about her." If anything bad were to happen...he would never forgive himself.

  By the glimmer that passed through Henri's eyes, Christian knew he did, too. "Ah, you haven't known her as long as I have," he said, refusing to admit his worry out loud. "If you did, it would be the guards you worried about more."

  Christian chuckled softly. "I know her well enough to know that. Still, her courage is a size too big for her."

  A strange sense of pride blossomed in his chest as he thought back to the night when first he'd encountered her in her cabin. She'd stood up to him like a warrior. Christian smiled. "We never should have let her come ashore."

  "Oui, you are right, but we could not have done this alone."

  "I am feeling better. Let us continue."

  Henri turned but stopped suddenly before taking a step. He held up his hand.

  "What is it?" Christian whispered.

  "I thought I heard something."

  * * *

  The bird squawked and flew up onto the window's open sill.

  Adriana caught her breath as she recognized the name. Mr. Pickles, he'd called the bird. Mr. Pickles! She'd had always thought her father's choice of the same name for his prized Pomeranian was somewhat silly. Now she realized it must have a significant, secret meaning he shared with Gilbert.

  "Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!" the bird screeched.

  "Je souhaiter."

  I wish, Adriana thought he said.

  "Mademoiselle!"

  "Ahh! Ça suffit!"

  The man turned around and then froze as he saw her. He merely stood, silent and gaping, as if imagining the sight of her. Adriana realized she hadn't asked Christian if his father spoke English.

  "Squawk! Mademoiselle!"

  The old man blinked twice.

  "Monsieur De la Croix?"

  His eyes grew wide.

  One look at him, and Adriana had not a single doubt this was Christian's father. He possessed the same emotion-wrought eyes of pale jade, the only difference in them the age they revealed. The same unruly hair, though silvered, that curled around his ears. Etched in his left cheek was the identical line where Christian's dimple appeared when he smiled one of his beautiful, genuine smiles. Around Gilbert's eyes were pronounced laugh lines weathered by the intense tropical sun, the same Christian possessed that would someday deepen as age ripened him.

  "I am Adriana Montague."

  He gasped once, and then a second time as his eyes grew wider still. He took one shuffling step, then another. He lifted his hand and reached for her, but stopped as if afraid she were some ethereal vision he might destroy if he touched. He covered his mouth with a hand, then drew it away to reveal an impassioned smile.

  "Montague...Bon Dieu! Of course you are," he whispered. "Even as mine fail me, I can see you have your father's eyes." He stayed where he was, a statue frozen in time.

  "I've come to take you home." She offered her hand. "Come, we must hurry."

  * * *

  Christian drew a deep breath as he listened. "There are livestock and wild animals on the island. We are hardly alone."

  He started forward as Henri lingered, cautiously listening. Christian turned around. "Well, come on."

  Henri's pale blue eyes darted around. He was jittery, and Christian couldn't blame him. But the old seafarer was always overly cautious, and tonight it was costing them precious time. He waited, humoring the old man.

  "All right," Henri finally answered. "Must be my ears playing tricks on me. Can't make out a damned thing in this blasted wind."

  They passed a hut marked Rubio, and its neighbor, Eggers. Some of the names were so poorly scratched they were illegible, but Christian knew his father possessed neat handwriting that had survived his imprisonment. The letter proved it.

  They traversed down a low incline and followed the footpath through what appeared to be a wallowing meadow of sea grass. A prickly bramble bush of some type stood as tall as a house. Christian noted it didn't appear to possess fruit. Were the prisoners here fed, or did they have to rely on their own gardens?

  He rounded the bush with Henri a few steps behind. Before him stood four guards, all of them holding rifles.

  Christian froze in his tracks. The men stared at him, clearly surprised to see an outsider on the island.

  Henri's footsteps behind him jolted him back to reality. "Run!"

  The guard standing closest lifted his rifle to his shoulder. "Halt!"

  Christian lunged. "No!"

  The guard's aim changed as if unsure which one to aim at. The muzzle flashed with a tremendous roar, lighting up the night.

  * * *

  Fear replaced the wonder in Gilbert's eyes. "No, I cannot. If I am caught trying to escape I will receive seven years in solitary confinement. I am an old man, I cannot survive it again."

  Adriana stepped close and took his hands. He uttered a soft gasp as she touched him. "Mr. De la Croix, your son is here. Don't you want to see him?"

  "Christian?" The indecision tearing at his soul was evident in his pained expression. Finally he nodded. "Oui, to give up such a chance is to lie down and die right now."

  "My boat is tied in a small cove at the southern tip of the island."

  He followed her outside into the cold rain. "Where is he? Where is my son?"

  "He and Henri search the other end of the island."

  "Henri Dupree? Wait–Monsieur Pickles!" He spun around and held out his arm.

  The bird flew to him. "Salaud."

  "Silence, imbecile." Gilbert pulled her off the path. "This way, it is faster and we will not risk waking the others."

  The wind covered their footsteps through fallen tree litter as he led her through the dense center of the island. Thorny branches snagged at her clothing. One stung her cheek as it scratched to her lip, drawing blood she could taste.

  Gilbert hobbled along as though extending great effort, yet so slowly Adriana had only to walk alongside. He gave her an apologetic smile. "They broke my foot ten years ago at my third escape attempt. I've not been the same since."

  With each step their escape seemed more unbelievable. Adriana was certain at any moment a passel of guards would step into their path, rifles aimed at ready.

  As they reached the south cliffs of the island, a horrifying moment stretched as she feared she had lost her way to the cove. She should have turned around to map the area so she could recognize it on the way back. Then lightning lit up the night sky and she recognized a purplish bush, half dead on one side, she'd pushed through at the cove directly in front of her.

  A sharp crack split the windy night. Adriana froze. "What was that?"

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gilbert halted, looking at her expectantly. "My ears, they are not what they used to be. Alas, much of me is not what it used to be."

  Adriana held a finger to her lips. Far in the distance, another bolt of lightning touched the ocean. It must have been thunder.

  "Come, hurry."

  It took an eternity for the old man to negotiate the rocky incline face. Adriana was practically carrying him as t
hey reached the bottom. As if knowing they were headed for the boat, the bird leapt off his shoulder and landed on the front bench.

  Only when she untied the jolly boat and pushed into the current did the monstrous fear choking her begin to lift.

  "Bon Dieu! I don't believe it," Gilbert said in a dust and cobwebs voice.

  She smiled at him as she rowed with new strength. "Nor do I." It was almost too good to be true. Why, these past few weeks nearly warranted memoirs of her own.

  They weren't out of danger yet. Wind and the current tried to push the boat back toward the mainland–the mainland governed by French authorities. Adriana fought with all her strength to row the jolly boat north-westerly, out to sea.

  "Watch for a lantern," she said. By now Lady Luck would have drifted past the islands and headed toward the coast. If she were to miss it in the darkness, Adriana could find herself caught by the trade winds and pushed out to sea.

  "My eyes, they aren't what they used to be."

  The poor man. How could she be cross with him? He'd suffered so terribly. By the looks of him, his teeth weren't what they used to be, either.

  "Do the best you can. My ship is drifting north-west to pick us up, but I cannot see as I row."

  Lightning lit up the night a second time, then almost instantly, a third. "There!" He pointed. "I saw her silhouette against the sky. My, she's a tall one."

  A surge of pride warmed Adriana's chest. "Built by my father's own hands." She turned around, hoping the old man hadn't imagined it. Relief flooded over her as she saw Mr. Ling's lantern at the bow.

  "Your father, is he there?"

  "He could not be here, but he is anxious to see you, back in Baltimore."

  "Baltimore," Gilbert said in a far-away voice. "In the Americas."

  "It is beautiful," she assured him. "You shall love it."

  "I shall love any place where I see my son again. I so feared he hated me."

  "On the contrary, if you only knew what he has endured to rescue you, you would be quite impressed by his devotion." Adriana brought the jolly boat alongside the ship.

  Adriana had never been so happy to see the wrinkled faces of Mr. and Mrs. Ling. They peered over the railing, chattering in fast Chinese as Adriana fixed the ropes on the jolly boat. Gilbert eyes glistened with joy as they were slowly drawn up. Mr. Pickles flew off the jolly boat's bow and up onto the deck.