Jonathan shrugged but said nothing. He continued on the path and Rina noticed the trees had become thicker, the sunlight barely penetrating the canopy overhead as they weaved between the gnarled trunks. They came to a small clearing, and in the center stood a little stone hut with a thatched roof and smoke trickling from a crooked chimney. To Rina’s surprise, the air smelled almost sweet.
Jonathan came to a stop and reached for her arm. She flinched at his touch, and he pulled back quickly.
“I’m sorry—“
“No, it’s fine. I was just—“
“My fault—“
“No, it’s mine—“
“Smith!” he snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Let’s just forget it, shall we?” At her flushed nod, he added, “I only wanted to warn you that Charlotte may seem a bit . . . odd when you see her.”
Sarina cocked her head. “What do you mean odd?”
Jonathan glanced toward the hut, lowering his voice, slightly. “With Grace working for our family much of the time, Charlotte grew up with the people who worked for my father, most of them natives from the islands, or even as far away as Africa.”
Rina nodded in understanding, and he continued. “Many of them were practitioners of strange religions, and Charlotte came to study under a local priestess from Hispaniola who taught her rituals to help her sharpen her natural-born sight.”
“What kind of rituals?” she asked, her voice taking on a hushed tone. “Do you mean magic? Dark arts?” She had heard tales of such things but dismissed them as fancy. Now, in the thick quiet of the forest with the strange, sweet smell around her, an inadvertent shiver raced down her spine at the idea.
“They call it Vodou,” he replied. “I don’t understand much of it. Spirits and sacrifices. There was a time when I thought it all a bunch of rubbish, but it does seem to help Charlotte. I no longer find it that easy to dismiss. I wanted you to be prepared,” he said. He leaned in with a teasing wink. “There’s still time to run back home, Smith.”
Rina’s eyes narrowed. “I believe I can deal with it.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Very well. Just be certain you don’t swoon, would you? It’s getting too bloody hot to carry you back.”
“Can we go in now?” she asked in irritation, ignoring the tingle she felt at the thought of Jonathan carrying her. She headed toward the hut and lifted her fist to knock at the rough wooden door, Jonathan at her heels.
“Enter,” a voice called.
Rina lifted the latch and shoved the door open, stepping into the cool, dim interior. The sweet smell was thicker inside, and as Jonathan closed the door behind them, she had a strange sense of being trapped . . . locked in another world. Candles flickered all around the room—on tables, benches, shelves set into the walls at varying heights, casting everything in a warm glow. Charlotte watched them carefully from where she stood behind a table, dressed in a rich gold gown, the sleeves flaring wide from elbow to wrist. She wore no wig. Instead, her hair hung in waves about her shoulders, dark and thick. But it was her face that gave Sarina pause. Thickly powdered and so pale she resembled a corpse, Charlotte had outlined her dark eyes with a thick line of kohl. The effect was disturbing, and once again, Rina shivered.
Jonathan nudged her forward, and she stepped toward the table in a daze, noticing for the first time the items lined up before Charlotte. Mellick’s journal and the chest from the Lady sat next to a plate of some kind of roasted meat, a cluster of dried flowers, a glass of water, a cloth bag, and yet another grouping of candles. Charlotte lifted her arms, the sleeves of her gown falling back to reveal her slender forearms, and Sarina could have sworn a light wind swirled around the room.
A low murmur reached Rina’s ears, and she realized Charlotte was chanting something quietly; exotic words in a foreign tongue. Charlotte began to sway, her head tilting back as she chanted, the words growing louder . . . faster . . . with every rhythmic repetition. Suddenly, with a sharp cry, her head snapped up and she clapped her hands loudly once, the candles flaring in unison before settling once again to a low flicker.
“The Lwa—the spirits—are pleased,” Charlotte said in a low voice, one hand drifting over the table in front of her. “I have offered gifts on your behalf, and they are prepared to hear your request.” She turned to address Jonathan.
“Jonathan Tremayne, what do you seek?”
Jonathan stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I seek the cup . . . and Kane the Merciless.”
“Ah, yes, the cup,” Charlotte replied, opening the journal to a page marked with a black ribbon. Rina could make out the sketch of a cup she’d seen when exploring the book herself—a crude rendering, as if drawn in haste, unlike the sketch of the cutlass. Charlotte ran her fingers over the picture lightly, then picked up the cloth bag and pulled the drawstring open. She shook the bag, eliciting a rattling sound, then upturned it, pouring its contents over the open pages of the journal. Charlotte looked down, poking through the mixture of seashells, rocks, and small whitewashed bones, her brow creased in concentration.
“South,” Charlotte said, her words a quiet drone. “You must go south to Savannah. You’ll find the cup behind a blue door.” She didn’t blink, barely breathed. “As for Kane, your paths will cross soon. Sooner than you expect. But first—“ She glanced up at Jonathan, eyes wide. “First, the king’s man will come for you.”
“King’s man?” Jonathan repeated. “Do you mean Stanton?”
Charlotte poked through the items on the journal again. “Yes. He is coming, Jonathan. You must go.”
“What of the coin?” he asked. “The map?”
Charlotte’s eyes glazed over for a moment before focusing on Jonathan once again. “The map is coming to you. It’s in the box as you suspect, and you’ll receive word soon where to find it.”
“What box—“ Sarina began. Jonathan held up a finger to silence her.
“As for the coin . . .” Charlotte continued, her brow creased in concentration. “It’s shrouded in darkness. It’s somewhere familiar, but I cannot see it clearly.”
She shook her head as if to clear it. “You need to go, Jonathan. Before Stanton arrives.”
“The ship won’t return until nightfall,” he said, leaning forward as if he could read Charlotte’s stones and bones himself. “Is there enough time?”
Charlotte frowned. “I don’t know. It’s unclear. It will be very close, Jonathan. You will need to hurry.”
Jonathan nodded and reached for Rina’s elbow. “We should get ready. I want to be on the beach at sunset.”
They turned to leave, and Charlotte called out. “Jonathan?”
He looked back at her, waiting.
“There’s more,” she said, eyes now staring straight ahead, unseeing.
Or perhaps, Rina thought, seeing.
“I see . . . a betrayal,” Charlotte said. “Someone will betray you, Jonathan.”
He stiffened. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But it’s someone close to you. Someone you trust.” She blinked, her black eyes regaining focus. “Be careful, Jonathan.” She gathered up the journal and the chest and handed them back to him, her hand lingering on his arm for a moment to punctuate the warning.
With a grim nod, he turned and opened the door. Rina looked back to see Charlotte watching them closely as all the candles in the room flared high for a moment, then sputtered out, leaving the room in darkness. Charlotte’s eyes gleamed, reflecting the light from the open door, and Rina turned away to follow Jonathan outside, her hands clutched together to keep them from trembling.
With each step I grow closer to my goal. Now in the warmer southern waters, I find memories of the horrible winter fading, replaced by hope for what is to come.
Yet hope, as always, is tempered with caution.
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 15 January, 1665
Charlotte’s words haunted Jonathan as he and Sarina walked back toward the house. Stanton was closing in. Someone
was going to betray him. He glanced at Sarina beside him, not wanting to believe what he suspected.
Would she be the one?
Sarina caught him looking at her. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
Sarina sighed, her exhale loud in the quiet forest. “You think it’s me.”
“Think what’s you?”
“Don’t play innocent, Jonathan. It really doesn’t suit you.” Sarina stopped and reached for his arm, pulling her hand back quickly when he flinched. She flushed and looked away abruptly, and he felt a twinge at the idea that he might have actually hurt her feelings.
“You think it’s me who will betray you.” She hurried to continue, not giving him a chance to respond. “Not that I blame you. You hardly know me, and I haven’t done much to gain your trust since we met.” She started forward again, not looking back to see if he followed. “But it isn’t me, just so you know, and I’m willing to wait until you believe that. I won’t even ask about the box Charlotte mentioned, just to prove to you I’m not gathering information to go out on my own.”
Jonathan watched her walk away, a leaden feeling twisting in his gut when he realized he really didn’t suspect her. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew—for some strange reason—that he could trust her.
“Smith, wait,” he said, raising his voice to call out louder when she didn’t stop. “Sarina!”
She paused and he hurried to catch up with her. She brushed at her eyes before turning to look up at him, and he realized she was hiding tears.
“Are you crying?”
She scoffed. “Of course not. It’s just . . .” She waved a hand around. “The dust.”
Jonathan laughed. “I should have known you could never betray anyone,” he said with a smirk. “You’re a dreadful liar, Smith.” She huffed and turned away, but he grabbed her arm to still her movements.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She blinked in surprise and opened her mouth to respond, but no sounds emerged.
Jonathan laughed again. “Speechless, Smith? If I’d known all it took was an apology to get a little peace and quiet, I would have done it sooner.”
Sarina tried to feign irritation, but the quirk of her lips gave her away. “You really are a bastard.” Somehow, the words came out rather fond.
Jonathan grinned, shaking a finger playfully. “Now, Smith, you’ve met my father. You know that’s not true.”
Sarina shook her head in exasperation. “It’s more a comment on your personality than your parentage.”
Jonathan’s hand flew to his chest, his face grave. “You wound me.”
“Somehow, I feel your ego will survive.”
They turned together to head out of the forest as Jonathan snorted. “Oh, Smith. What would I do without your charming conversation?”
“Well, if Charlotte is right, it won’t be long until we find the treasure—and Kane—and this is all over. You won’t have to wait long to find out.” She said the words with a teasing lilt, but for some reason, they left Jonathan feeling rather empty. She glanced at him curiously, obviously noticing the falter in his step, and he forced a smile.
“Speaking of Charlotte,” he said, “the box she spoke of is a puzzle box once owned by Mellick. I believe the other half of the map is in it and have several people searching for it on my behalf.”
“People you can trust?”
Jonathan shrugged. “For a price. They don’t know of the map, just the box, and the promise of a handsome reward should be enough.”
Sarina bit her lip in consideration. “Well, you must be right if Charlotte says you are.”
“Does that mean you’ve become a believer then?” He watched her carefully.
Sarina shrugged. “I’ve no reason to doubt Charlotte,” she explained. “And I’ve no better idea than to follow her instructions.”
Max was waiting for them when they returned to the house, pacing back and forth across the front porch. He looked up as Sarina and Jonathan approached and walked over to meet them. Like Jonathan, he had opted for a sophisticated suit given their temporary surroundings—dark gray with an emerald waistcoat—his dark hair smoothly clubbed and gleaming in the sunlight.
He nodded in greeting to Sarina, then turned to Jonathan. “Did you get your answers?”
“Some,” he replied. “As well as more questions. But that is not unusual when dealing with Charlotte.”
Max laughed, nodding his head as he ran his hand over his hair. “Yes, well, at least you had some success.”
“Did you learn anything in town?” Jonathan asked, as they turned to head toward the house. Max was excellent at ferreting out information, and Jonathan had sent him to see what he could learn about Kane’s whereabouts. It was difficult to track him while they were on the ship, and he’d hoped that perhaps on the mainland there might be some rumor of where he could be found.
“Nothing,” Max said with a heavy sigh. “No news of Kane . . . or Stanton, for that matter. The good news is the Crown seems to be focusing its search for the Arrow near Hispaniola at this point.”
“Not Stanton,” Jonathan corrected. “Charlotte says he’s already on his way.”
Max frowned. “How soon?”
“She didn’t know, but we sail for Savannah at sundown.”
“Savannah?” Max frowned slightly. “For what purpose?”
“Charlotte says that’s where we’re to find the cup. Behind a blue door.”
“A blue door? Well, that should be simple. How many doors can there be in Savannah?” Max laughed as they neared the house. He held the front door open for Sarina with a slight bow. “Did you ask Charlotte any questions of your own?”
Sarina looked genuinely surprised. “No. I hadn’t thought of it, to be honest.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’ll know the questions already, as well as the answers,” he said with a fond grin. “Of course, she won’t share them unless you ask.”
“She says it’s rude,” Jonathan added as he led them into the sitting room and sprawled on the settee. “I think she just enjoys tormenting people.”
Sarina sat across from Jonathan and watched Max as he assumed his usual position at the fireplace. “Have you ever asked her anything?” she asked.
Max flushed slightly, eyes drifting to look out the window in the direction of Charlotte’s hut. “Aye. Once or twice.”
“Did what she say come true?”
Max looked back at her, a soft smile on his face. “Not yet.”
A flash of movement at the window drew his gaze back as Charlotte emerged from the woods. His smile grew, eyes focused on her form as he said, “If you’ll both excuse me. I have some matters to attend to before we leave.”
He nodded at Sarina once before striding from the room. Jonathan stood, taking his position by the fireplace, and after a moment, spotted Max approaching Charlotte out the window. She’d tied her long hair loosely at the nape of her neck, and her face was scrubbed clean from the powder and kohl. She looked so young, he mused. The two turned and walked away together, faces beaming.
“They’re in love,” Sarina said quietly.
“Aye.”
“For how long?”
Jonathan sighed. “Forever, it seems.”
“They have so little time together. It must be difficult.” She stood and walked to the window, leaning her face against the cool glass and watching them stroll along the edge of the woods. “So much sadness here,” she mused. “Your father separated from Grace. You separated from your family. Max and Charlotte.”
Jonathan cleared his throat but said nothing. Sarina turned to look at him, her eyes sorrowful, and a rush of warmth filled him. Part of him longed to cast aside his doubts and cross the room and gather her in his arms. She leaned toward him slightly, and for a moment, he wondered if she might have been thinking the same thing.
Thinking about what had been interrupted in the barn.
But just as quickly, the moment passed, and Sarina sho
ok her head slightly, returning to the settee.
“Do you think . . .” she began hesitantly, “when all this is over, you’ll come back here?”
Jonathan stiffened, running his fingers lightly along the fireplace mantle. “There is no place for me here now. My life, such as it is, is on the Arrow.”
“Ah,” she said, “yes, of course.” Did he detect a note of disappointment in her voice?
For some reason, Jonathan felt a need to explain himself. “It would be dangerous for me to remain here. I am, as you are well aware, a criminal.” When he turned to look at her, he found her watching him, face impassive. He swallowed, fighting the urge to squirm under her direct examination.
“But how long can you live like this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Jonathan held her gaze for a moment before turning to look back out the window.
“As long as I must,” he said.
There were times in Max’s life when he felt as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, when the responsibilities he had—the promises he’d made—became a dark cloud enveloping him, almost cutting off his very breath.
But when he emerged from the Tremayne home and saw Charlotte standing across the lawn in the bright sunshine, all that weight melted away. She spotted him, her face blossoming into a smile, and he couldn’t help but return it. Her golden gown glowed in the sun, skirts billowing about her legs in the light breeze. She brushed back a few loose strands of hair from her face, and he quickened his pace, eager to get to her.
Every moment was precious.
“Nice suit,” she teased as he drew closer.
Max laughed, unable to hold it in. “Well, you know. When in Rome and all that . . .”
Charlotte grinned as he took her hand, rubbing his thumb over it in gentle circles. “One would hardly know you’re a dread pirate.”
“Don’t let the gentlemanly exterior fool you,” he said, leaning in with a wink. “I’m still quite the dastardly fiend inside, where it counts.”
He tucked her hand into his elbow, leading her on a quiet stroll across the property. They nodded at the few people they saw—most out working in the fields after a short luncheon break—and enjoyed a companionable silence. Max relished these times together, however few and far between. He had treasured them since the first time he’d laid eyes on Charlotte so many years ago, when Jonathan was wounded so badly and had to return home to recover. It was when Max had first learned the truth of Jonathan’s parentage, and he’d been the only one Jonathan trusted enough to take him home.
Cutlass Page 18