Isle of Fire

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  Hrothgar began shouting orders, and Thorne heard a series of sudden snaps. He craned his neck up to follow the mainmast skyward and saw the last of three gigantic sails fill taut with wind. Thorne took an awkward step backward, for the ship lurched forward with incredible, sudden acceleration. The long hull stabbed effortlessly through the water, and the ship—with all its cannons and crew—moved faster than any ship Thorne had ever captained.

  “We sail south,” explained Hrothgar. “Near the inlet where you have moored your barque, the Talon, you called it?”

  “Yes,” answered Thorne. “Fast little ship, but not fit for battle.”

  “Not fast like this?”

  “No,” Thorne replied. “Not even close.”

  This pleased Hrothgar. “In a few minutes, we’ll come to a rocky tidal island just a mile from shore. I will show you something then.”

  Hrothgar said nothing more to Thorne for quite some time. He stomped around the deck, checking hatches and rigging. Many words could be used to describe the Raukar, but careless was not one of them. Thorne went to the prow and was surprised to see how high above the water he stood. It was quite a view, and Thorne imagined hunting a British ship of the line from this vantage . . . watching its masts crack and fall and smiling as its hull slipped below the wa—

  “There it is,” said Hrothgar, appearing behind Thorne. He pointed over Thorne’s shoulder to a pyramid-shaped piece of stone several hundred yards off the starboard bow. A twisting gray tree was the only vegetation on the little cay, and waves crashed constantly against it.

  “It is your custom,” said Hrothgar with a wry grin, “a pirate custom . . . to fly a black flag, is it not?”

  Thorne nodded. “The banner is used to paralyze the enemy, to frighten him into submission or a tactical error.”

  “Fear is a powerful tool,” Hrothgar said. He studied Thorne for a few moments and then said, “I took the liberty of discussing this matter with your second . . . quartermaster, I believe you call him.”

  “Teach?”

  “Yes,” the Raukar chieftain replied. “He told me something of your previous ship, about the flag you once flew. But I did not choose to replicate the design. Correct me if I am wrong, but this ship was defeated by the British?”

  Thorne did not answer, but sour hatred churned in his gut.

  “Now that you have the might of the Raukar behind you, Gunnarson, you will fly a new banner on this ship, and no Christian will stand against us. RAUKAR!!”

  The entire crew responded, “HRAH!!”

  Hrothgar nodded to a giant by the mainmast who immediately hauled a length of rope. Thorne watched as a great black banner unfurled and flapped in the wind. Thorne looked once and looked again at the design. At first he thought it was the same as the Raven’s. The skull, the raven taking flight, and the hourglass were all there. But then Thorne saw the difference: instead of two cutlass swords crossed behind the skull, Hrothgar had a pair of crossed hammers.

  “Do you approve?” Hrothgar asked.

  Thorne felt his throat thickening. It was almost too good. “Yessss,” he rasped.

  One of the warriors on the starboard rail yelled something in Norse. It was spoken too fast for Thorne to translate.

  “We are in range,” Hrothgar said as he led Thorne over to a dragon neck cannon near the fore starboard rail. “We have assembled a formidable fleet, and the valor of the Raukar who will sail it is unmatched. But even so, the British so outnumber us that victory cannot be assured and would be costly beyond reckoning. Watch now and see the means by which our victory is assured.”

  Hrothgar motioned to the team of Raukar stationed there. He watched one man jam a black powder charge down the barrel until its fuse appeared in an eye-hole at the rear of the cannon. Thorne wondered again what sort of cannonball these dragon necks fired.

  He scanned the feet of the loading team but saw none. There was, however, a stack of odd-looking black canisters. One of the loaders grabbed one of these, and Thorne watched the man turn the canister carefully so that a wiry fuse stuck up. He unsheathed a dagger and cut off about ten inches of the fuse. Then, with the fuse on the canister sticking up, the man slid the canister into the barrel of the cannon. Another man took a ramrod and pushed the canister to the back of the cannon until the canister’s fuse popped up next to the firing cartridge’s fuse.

  Then, two men went to work, each turning a crank handle so that the barrel of the cannon tilted upward. Too high, Thorne believed. It’ll sail right over that little island.

  A man approached with a torch and looked questioningly at Hrothgar. The chieftain nodded, and the man put the torch to both fuses. The fuses began to burn, and the Raukar warrior looked up, grinned at Thorne, and said, “Eldregn!”

  The charge went off. The cannon shuddered. And Thorne watched with some satisfaction as the shot went well over the rocky island. Terrible aim, he thought. I expected bet— Thorne never finished his thought. There was a painfully bright flash followed by a concussive blast. A harsh orange fireball kindled above the island, and it began to spread in the sky. Flaming streamers like tentacles stretched forth and descended upon the island. The lone palm tree was instantly consumed. But it continued to burn. Fire continued to pour down from the sky, and licks of flame sprang up all over the rocky formations of the island. To Thorne’s utter amazement, fire burned even on the surface of the water.

  “Greek fire,” Thorne muttered. “You found the formula for Greek fire.”

  “Nay, Gunnarson,” said Hrothgar. “It was a gift from Tyr. And the Raukar have made it even more . . . effective. It is eldregn!”

  “Fire rain,” Thorne whispered. Then, with his throat constricting, he grasped the armor on Hrothgar’s shoulders and said, “The British . . . they will burn.”

  “Yes,” Hrothgar replied.

  Thorne looked up to the black flag once more and said, “I am ready to name this ship. I will call it . . . the Raven’s Revenge.”

  “It is no coincidence,” said Hrothgar, “that the servant of Tyr would distinguish himself under the sign of the raven. We Raukar call the raven the chooser of the slain.”

  “This eldregn, this fire rain . . . what would it do to a ship?”

  “You will see . . . soon enough, Gunnarson. The British will see as well.”

  Thorne shook his head. “I need to know its range . . . the distance it spreads, and I need to see how quickly it consumes a ship.”

  “But we have no ships to waste,” said Hrothgar. “There is a shipwreck on the western side of the island. Part of the hull is still visible above the waves. Perhaps that will serve—”

  Thorne shook his head again. He had other ideas.

  Edward Teach stood on the beach with a group of Thorne’s crew. A long cutter rowboat rested half in the water, half on the pebbly shore. “So let me make sure I understand you,” said Teach. “You want me to sail the Talon out into the harbor about two hundred yards and then anchor? But you want me to raise all the sails—even the lanteen?”

  “That is correct,” said Thorne.

  “And then what?”

  “Then,” Thorne said, pulling the tarp off a skid and revealing a dragon neck cannon. “Then I suggest you and the lads explore the Baltic Sea.”

  “Awww, but, sir?”

  “Quartermaster,” said Thorne, loosening his bleeding stick, “this is not a request.”

  Teach lowered his eyebrows and glared at his commander, but only for a moment. Then he turned on the other lads and shoved them one by one into the cutter. Teach will make a decent second-in-command after all, thought Thorne. If not the smartest man, he at least has some backbone.

  Several Raukar warriors dismounted their horses and went to work, unfastening the sled from the harness they’d used to drag the cannon to the shore. By the time Teach and his crew boarded the Talon, the Raukar had the dragon neck cannon in position. Thorne watched eagerly as Teach sailed the Talon farther out into the harbor.

  “What
is the effective range?” asked Thorne.

  “Eight hundred, maybe nine hundred feet for a direct hit,” answered Brandir, the chief gunner. “But you must remember the inner barrel of the dragon neck is grooved in such a way as to impart spin on the eldregn canister. When it explodes, the eldregn spreads like a deadly cloud. Even a near miss will suffice.”

  “And the wind?” Thorne asked.

  “None today,” said Brandir. “But out at sea in a strong wind, the canisters will move off target . . . accuracy—and distance—are greatly diminished.”

  Thorne grunted. That was ill news. When was the Atlantic ever void of wind? Thorne raised his spyglass. Teach had at last anchored the Talon. Thorne watched with some amusement as Teach and the others tripped all over each other trying to get into the cutter and row away. They had some guess as to what was coming.

  “Are they out of range?” asked Brandir.

  Thorne watched through the glass and waited. “Yes,” he said with a sigh. Normally, he would not have cared, but the Raukar might balk if he blasted his own crewmen out of the water. “Yes, they are clear of the ship, far enough, I think. So long as your shot is true.”

  “I will not miss,” Brandir said abruptly. He growled something in Norse to his men, and they sprang up. They loaded the firing cartridge and ramrodded it deep into the barrel. Brandir stared at the Talon and cut the fuse on the canister before loading it into the barrel. Brandir and another man cranked up the barrel. “On your command,” said Brandir.

  Thorne looked upon the Talon. Its white sails were raised high but moved very little. Brandir was right: there was maybe a five-knot breeze, nothing more. The ship swayed gently on the dark water beneath a slate gray sky. “Fire.”

  Brandir lit the fuses, and the Raukar gunners stepped away. The cannon uttered a sudden, deep blast. Thorne watched through the spyglass. He watched the projectile arc high and sail out of sight. A heartbeat later, the sky flashed as if by lightning. The boom that came subsequently was thunderous, and a great fiery claw erupted over the Talon. Molten strands of flame fell upon the ship. The sails vanished first. Fire raced down both masts and in all directions across the spars. The main deck became a cauldron, and the ship was quickly enveloped in fire. Thorne lowered the spyglass and gasped. How long had it been? Fifteen . . . twenty seconds?

  Suddenly, a great explosion rocked the harbor. The eldregn had reached the powder deck below the waterline. The Talon burst open spectacularly with whole sections of the hull and deck blasting outward. Flaming debris screamed into the sky and then rained down into the burning water below. The circle of destruction was enormous. Thorne imagined such an explosion in the midst of a different harbor . . . a harbor full of British warships, packed in tightly together.

  Hrothgar, who had been watching from a nearby hilltop, descended and stood near to Thorne. “Now are you satisfied?” he asked.

  “The British burned away my most precious treasure,” said Thorne. “So I will turn their nation into an isle of fire.”

  16

  TREASURE IN THE SPIDER’S DEN

  Uhnngh! Commodore Blake strained, reaching his arm into the discovered passage behind the desk. He pulled out his arm and sat up. “I’m quite certain I cannot reach it.”

  “I could,” said Hopper. “Back at the fort in New Providence . . . I, well, I did this sort of thing all the time.”

  “I’m sure you did, Hopper,” said Lady Dolphin playfully, tickling him behind his ear. Hopper squeaked with laughter.

  “It’s awfully tight,” said Blake. “Are you sure you want to try? The bundle’s all the way in there.”

  “No problem, Guv’nor,” he replied, dropping to the floor. “Just leave it to Hopper.”

  Hopper began to shimmy his way into the crawlspace. Blake held the oil lantern up to the opening in the wall. It didn’t give Hopper much light, but he was glad to have it. After all, those spiderwebs wafting in the cool drafts had to have gotten there somehow.

  The bundle was just a few feet ahead. Hopper inched along. He was now all the way into the passage. Commodore Blake and Lady Dolphin could just see the bottoms of his shoes slowly disappearing into the opening. But then his shoes stopped and became very still.

  “Hopper, is everything all right?” Dolphin asked.

  There was silence for a few heartbeats, and then Hopper tentatively responded, “Uh, yes . . . my lady . . . everyfin’ is fine.”

  But everything wasn’t fine. Hopper had stopped because the light of the lantern had illuminated the owner of one of the billowing webs—a large brown spider. Its long, fuzzy legs were drawn up close to its body so that it appeared as a jumble of rigid angles. At first, Hopper hoped it was dead, but as Hopper drew near, it scurried forward an inch. Hopper could feel its multiple dark eyes staring at him. Come on, lad, he told himself. It’s just a spider. You’re a hundred times its size. But Hopper knew, in this tight crawlspace, he could not easily retreat. And it was impossible to sit up or turn away. That spider could just skitter right up to Hopper’s nose, and Hopper could do very little about it.

  And yet . . . Hopper desperately did not want to let Commodore Blake and Lady Dolphin down. In spite of the fact that Hopper had routinely stolen from the British back in New Providence and then stowed away on the Oxford, Commodore Blake and his wife had welcomed him, given him meaningful work to do, and something more. Hopper looked the spider in its multiple eyes and said under his breath, “You’ll stay put if you know what’s good for you.”

  Then Hopper squirmed forward—inch by inch. He passed by the spider’s lair and dared not turn his head to look back. He expected at any moment to feel hairy legs climbing up onto his elbow. But he didn’t. He did, however, get coated in more dust.

  The bundle was just ahead. “Almost there!” he called back over his shoulder. He stretched out his arm, grabbed the twine that bound the bundle, and drew it into his grasp. Then he began to wriggle himself backward. He passed the spider’s lair, which, he noted, was now empty. At last, he pushed his feet out of the opening in the wall, and Commodore Blake carefully hauled the young lad the rest of the way out.

  Hopper stood up and, with a slight bow, handed the bundle to the commodore. “Oh, Hopper,” said Lady Dolphin. Hopper grinned, expecting to be showered with praise. But the next words from Lady Dolphin’s lips were, “It seems you’ve brought back a stowaway of your own.” She reached toward Hopper’s shoulder, and when her hand drew back, the hairy brownish spider sat on top of it. The creature looked even more hideous in the brighter light, especially sitting there like a pet on Lady Dolphin’s delicate white fingers. But it didn’t seem to bother her in the least. “He’s not dangerous . . . unless you’re a roach or some such.” She lowered her hand to the opening and shooed the creature back to its shadowy home.

  Commodore Blake gave the bundle to his wife. “I believe you should be the one to open this . . . whatever the contents turn out to be.”

  Lady Dolphin carried the bundle over to the dusty couch and sat down. She untied the laces and opened the stiff cloth, revealing three very old journals. They were, in fact, exactly like the others Mrs. Kravits had sent over those many months ago. Her eyes glistening, Dolphin looked up to her husband and to Hopper. She opened the first journal and, in spite of the apparent water damage that had smeared the ink on several pages, she immediately recognized her father’s flowing script. Dolphin smiled and her lip trembled as she spoke. “His writing is always so ornate. You’d think he was writing a treaty for the king, not a personal journal.” Dolphin laughed, but her eyes remained locked onto the text.

  “The king?” Commodore Blake mumbled. He retrieved his pocket watch and flipped open the brass face. “It is much later than I thought. My darling, I am caught between two needs. I must attend my meeting with King George, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving you at a time like this.”

  “It is never wise to keep a king waiting,” Dolphin said. “And after your reception at the palace this morning, I w
ant to be with you. I will read my father’s journals in the carriage.”

  “What about me?” asked Hopper.

  “What do you mean?” asked Blake.

  “Can I go to see the king?” he asked.

  “Well . . . no,” Blake said, feeling odd. “I had planned to drop you back at the Oxford until after our meeting with His Majesty.”

  “I’ll stay out of the way,” Hopper pleaded. “I’ve never been inside the palace.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a very good idea,” Blake said. “Dolphin, what do you think?”

  “Once we clean off the dust, he’ll be fine in his . . . vest and coat, crisp breeches, and shoes at a high shine. Why don’t we let Hopper stay with me in the regent’s box? We won’t be in the midst of Parliament that way, but Hopper can still see the king.”

  “The Regent’s box it is, then,” Blake decided. “But, Hopper, I hope you won’t be disappointed. These meetings are generally pretty boring. And . . . the king, well, he may be somewhat less impressive than you imagine.”

  As Commodore Blake expected, Dolphin quickly became absorbed in reading her father’s journals in the carriage. She spoke for the first time as the carriage drew up to the palace’s northside gatehouse. “There’s still no mention of my mother being pregnant,” she said. “There should be . . . that is, of course, if I was born on the date my father told me.” She was quiet for a few moments. “He mentions a trip to Barbados that he had planned. He was debating whether or not to take my mother. Ah, it will have to wait.” She placed the journals on the seat.

  “Bring them,” said Commodore Blake. Then he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “If His Majesty is as long-winded as they say, you might be glad of the diversion.”