Cutlass

by T. M. Franklin

  “Perhaps we’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Sarina said after a while. “May I see the map again?”

  Jonathan unrolled the parchment and handed it to her. “What are you thinking?”

  She knelt on the ground, spreading out the map and pointing to the sketch of the coin. “I was just thinking that maybe this shows us more than we thought.” Looking around, she picked up a couple of thin sticks from the ground and placed them carefully on the map. “If we draw a line from this hole to Virgin Gorda . . . and the other to this island . . .” She looked up at him. “Shouldn’t this point to where we should go?”

  “Well, if we drew the map correctly, yes,” he admitted. “It makes as much sense as anything, I suppose.”

  Unfortunately, Isla Diosa was not depicted on the half of the map they’d been able to reproduce, and for the next few minutes, a heated discussion erupted as to exactly where on the island they were and where on the map they should be. Finally, James stepped forward and picked up another stick. Without a word, he dropped to a knee and drew an outline of the island in the sandy ground along the edge of the map and a slightly lopsided circle to show the base of the mountain. He reached down and adjusted Sarina’s stick slightly, then turned to examine the rise of the volcano behind him. After a moment, he pointed to the right.

  “Over there,” he said. “Somewhere by those big boulders.”

  Jonathan still didn’t trust James, but seeing no alternative, they moved to the area that Ceron indicated, facing a high wall of solid rock about fifty feet long. They spread out to search for a sign—a cave entrance perhaps, or a marker showing where the treasure might be buried. They ran their fingers along cracks in the rock, pushed against boulders, scraped away at the gravel and rocks covering the ground, but after an hour, they gave up in frustration. They pulled out some food and drink they’d brought along, passing around bits of hardtack and dried beef and skins of water.

  No rum this time. Jonathan thought his men needed the focus. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be helping. Hutchins and Crawley continued to examine the wall, moving beyond the area delineated by James. Ceron, for his part, sat studying the map and muttering to himself. Jenkins, Allegheny, and Thomas set off to check on the mates on guard duty. Charlotte and Sarina spoke in quiet tones as they ate, and Max sat against a boulder, staring at the wall and tossing rocks against it with a frown.

  “Don’t you see anything, Charlotte?” Jonathan asked in frustration. She sipped water from a skin and wiped perspiration from her forehead.

  “I’m trying,” she said, just as frustrated. “All I can see is darkness. I can’t make anything out.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to make out,” Max snapped. “If there is a treasure, we’re obviously in the wrong place.” He ripped off a piece of beef to gnaw on and threw a few more rocks.

  “This has to be the place,” Jonathan retorted. “We’ve followed the map . . . the clues . . .”

  “Clues?” Max snorted, picking up a larger rock. “Is that what you call them?” He threw the rock with a little more force, and it broke a small piece off the wall before falling to the ground. He nodded a little in satisfaction and grabbed another. “Rantings of a madman is more like it.” He tossed another rock, breaking off another piece of the wall.

  “That’s not helpful, Max,” Sarina said shortly. “If you don’t have any better ideas, maybe you should be quiet.”

  “Sarina,” Charlotte protested. “We’re all feeling frustrated. There’s no reason to take it out on Max.”

  “Well, his attitude is not productive.”

  “Nobody is being productive at the moment,” Max grumbled, throwing another rock. “I believe that’s the point.”

  “All of you, stop it!” Jonathan ordered. “I need to think.”

  The bickering cut off, and Jonathan began to pace, the only sound his quiet footsteps and the steady chink of Max throwing rocks.

  “Perhaps the top of the map isn’t north, after all,” James offered.

  Jonathan sighed. “It has to be. There are no matching land masses if we change the orientation of the map.

  “Perhaps you misaligned the coin? Chose the wrong island?”

  Max threw another rock and a large chunk dislodged from the wall. He lifted his arm to throw another and froze.

  “It’s not the wrong island,” Jonathan replied, trying to remain calm. “The name makes too much sense. The mountain has to be where we start. We’re obviously just in the wrong spot on the mountain.”

  “Maybe we need to climb up?” Hutchins suggested.

  Max ignored the conversation, stood quietly, and approached the wall, running his finger along the long crack now visible from the ground to just above his head. He scanned the ground and picked up a sharp rock, chipping away at what was apparently not rock, but dried mortar of some kind. The crack continued horizontally for a couple of feet, then down again . . . almost like . . .

  “Captain?” he called out. “I think I found something.”

  They gathered around him, scrutinizing the wall with eager eyes. It was Sarina who gasped first. “Is that a door?”

  “It appears so,” Max replied.

  With no further instruction, the men picked up rocks and began to scrape and chisel away at the mortar, excited murmurings replacing the frustrated grumbling from before. After a few minutes, they stepped back to examine their handiwork with wide smiles.

  It was indeed a door carved into the rock, and if that wasn’t enough to convince them they were in the right place, the letters S.A.M. carved into the stone halfway up the right side would have proven the fact.

  Hutchins stepped forward, slipping the tips of his fingers into the crack along the edge of the door. The muscles in his forearms tensed as he tried to pull it open. “Help me out here, Crawley,” he muttered, and the two of them put their shoulders to the door, trying instead to push it.

  “Men,” Charlotte muttered to Sarina. “Always with the brawn instead of the brains.” She flipped to the last page of the journal. “A key for the door,” she read, loud enough for the rest to hear. “Obviously, it won’t open without the key.”

  Jonathan frowned, mainly to cover up his aggravation that he hadn’t been the one to realize that. He reached into the bag for the chest and pulled out the locket, eyeing the door skeptically. He stepped closer, then bent down to examine the initials, rubbing his fingers over the engraved letters.

  “I think there’s a hole here,” he said quietly, picking up a rock to scrape at the stone below the letters. Everyone stepped forward, silent and tense, as a piece of stiff mortar chipped away, revealing a thin rectangular hole in the door. Right where a keyhole would be.

  Jonathan examined the locket, the emerald on one side, the Latin engraving on the other.

  Behold, I stand at the door and knock.

  Drawing a deep breath, he pressed the locket into the keyhole. Or at least he tried to.

  It didn’t fit.

  “Perhaps if you open it up?” Sarina offered.

  He nodded, opening the locket until it lay flat. The group held their breath as the metal slid easily into the keyhole this time. Now to turn it. Jonathan could feel his heart pounding as his fingers tightened on the edge of the silver locket.

  “Don’t break it!” Hutchins cautioned loudly, making them all jump.

  “Bloody hell!” Jonathan snapped. “I’m not going to break it!”

  Hutchins shrugged sheepishly but said nothing else.

  Returning his focus to the key, Jonathan inhaled deeply and turned it—ever so carefully—to the right.

  With a loud click, the door shook and swung inward, a cloud of dust revealing a dark passageway draped with cobwebs.

  “No wonder I couldn’t see anything,” Charlotte murmured. “It’s black as pitch in there.”

  Jonathan felt a gentle squeeze and realized Sarina had taken his hand. He looked down to see her grinning up at him.

  �
��We’ve found it,” she said, bouncing slightly on her toes. He couldn’t resist lowering his head to kiss her soundly.

  “Not quite,” he replied. “But soon.” He straightened and stepped toward the opening, not releasing Sarina’s hand.

  “Crawley, light the lanterns!” he ordered. “I think it’s time we found us a treasure!”

  Pay heed to the Word

  ‘Twill be your true guide

  Quench thirst with the cup

  A coin to give sight

  A key for the door

  A mind for a map

  Then cross the bridge to bridge the gap

  Seek Aphrodite’s kiss, when light doth play

  And the sword will lead the way

  - The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, Date Unknown

  Rina swept a cluster of cobwebs away from her face, grimacing in the murky darkness. Jonathan was right ahead of her, carrying a lantern, the rest of the men following behind as Crawley took up the rear with a second lantern. The path led into a low-ceilinged cave, barely tall enough for Hutchins to walk upright and wide enough for two to walk abreast. James explained that volcanoes in the islands often housed miles of such winding caves. She did not find that the least bit reassuring.

  Still, she was excited. The discovery of the door—and the fact that the key Mellick described actually opened it—sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t help but believe that they were on the right track. Anticipation buzzed along her skin as she followed behind Jonathan, making the cobwebs almost tolerable.

  Almost. She brushed another one aside and Jonathan reached back to take her hand. Rina smiled slightly at the gesture as he pulled her along, eager to get wherever they were going.

  Of course, she had no idea where they were going, and she had a feeling Jonathan didn’t either. They followed along where the cavern led, curving back and forth until it descended sharply, the steep angle forcing them to grip the damp stone walls to keep their balance.

  “We must be deep below the surface,” Max said after a while, his voice echoing sharply against the walls.

  “Aye,” Jonathan agreed. “I wonder how much farther—“ He came to an abrupt stop, and Sarina bumped into his back, stumbling a bit.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Jonathan held up the lantern, illuminating the path before him. Or rather, the lack of path. The floor fell away into the darkness, and Rina could just make out the edge of the other side of the chasm in the dim light. It was much too far to jump.

  Max stepped forward and picked up a rock, tossing it lightly over the edge. They were silent, listening for the sound of the pebble hitting the bottom, but the faint plink after a full five seconds proved it was farther away than they’d hoped.

  “Perhaps a rope?” Max suggested.

  Jonathan called Crawley forward so they could examine the area with both lanterns, but there was nothing to which they could tie a rope in order to swing across the gap.

  “There’s no way across,” Jonathan muttered to himself. “We can’t climb down and climb back up again.” He looked up, examining the smooth stone walls as far as the lantern light reached. “But there must be a way.”

  “Maybe it’s like the key and the door,” Rina offered, unwilling to give up. “We need to find a way around or over. This must be part of the puzzle.”

  Jonathan nodded in agreement. “Spread out,” he ordered. “Look for anything that seems out of the ordinary.”

  It was Charlotte who found what they were looking for: a small alcove, hidden behind a corner they’d missed at first, the opening barely noticeable in the darkness. Jonathan pulled Rina into the niche with him, Charlotte peeking around the corner curiously. The others waited out in the main passageway.

  A stone platform about waist high stood in the center of the little room, cylindrical in shape, with a narrow lip running around the upper edge. Jonathan held the lantern close to the platform, and Sarina smiled when she made out the initials S.A.M. engraved in the center.

  “I guess we’ve found it,” she murmured, running a finger over the letters.

  “Aye, but now what do we do with it?”

  “Well, you’ve already used the coin and the key,” Charlotte interjected. “It doesn’t seem like the cutlass is the best option here, perhaps the cup?”

  Jonathan opened the bag and pulled out the cloth-wrapped cup. He examined it in the lantern light, reading the inscription aloud. “Pones coram me mensam ex adverso hostium meorum inpinguasti oleo caput meum calix meus inebrians.”

  “What does it mean?” Charlotte asked.

  “It’s from the Psalms,” Jonathan replied. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.” He held the cup in his hand for a moment, eyeing the platform with a slight frown, then carefully set the cup into the indentation on top of it.

  It fit perfectly.

  Rina held her breath, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

  Nothing did.

  Jonathan stepped around her to poke his head out into the main passageway. “Anything?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Max called, his voice echoing in the cavern.

  Jonathan re-entered the small room, moving quietly to circle the platform, his gaze focused on the cup.

  “We’re missing something,” Rina muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Jonathan raised a brow. “Aye.”

  “Quench thirst with the cup,” she murmured to herself, staring at the cup. “My cup runneth over.” She started slightly, looking up at Jonathan, who was watching her with a slight smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re right, of course.”

  “Right about what?”

  “The cup!” He crossed to the doorway again, calling out. “Bring me a skin of water!”

  “Jonathan, what are you talking about?” Rina glanced at Charlotte, who smiled knowingly.

  “If a cup is to satisfy your thirst,” Charlotte said, “it needs to be full, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye,” Jonathan added, taking the skin from Max and crossing to the platform. “In fact, it should runneth over.” With that, he tipped the skin, pouring water into the cup until it trickled over the rim. The center of the platform dropped an inch, a loud click echoing through the alcove as more water sloshed over the rim of the cup. They heard a screeching sound, followed by excited shouts, and Jonathan and Rina exchanged a quick glance before hurrying out into the main passageway.

  They came to an abrupt stop behind the gaping others, tilting their heads to follow their line of sight. At first, Sarina couldn’t see a thing, despite the fact that both Jonathan and Crawley held their lanterns aloft. Then, more scraping sounds . . . a slight movement.

  “What is that?” Hutchins asked quietly.

  No one responded, all eyes focused above as the sounds got louder. They stepped back, nervous and unsure, as something large and rectangular descended slowly toward them. As it drew closer, gaining illumination from the lanterns, Sarina could see it was made of thick wooden panels, bound together by iron pins and suspended by heavy chains.

  “It’s a bridge!” she exclaimed.

  Indeed, after a few minutes, the wooden platform came to rest across the gap with a thud and a cloud of dust. The last of the screeching echoed through the cavern until they stood in silence once again.

  “Remarkable,” Jonathan muttered, still trying to see farther above them. “Pulleys and counterweights, I’d imagine, much like a capstan.”

  “Mellick certainly had a flair for the dramatic.” Rina moved forward, examining the bridge before stepping onto it. “Well, I suppose this is the cross the bridge to bridge the gap then. Shall we cross?”

  They walked slowly across the bridge, a little uneasy at first, but it seemed quite solid. Max reached out for a handrail, testing its strength. “I wonder how he built all of this.”

  Jonathan grimaced slightly. “Well, he had sig
nificant coin. He hired local help.”

  “Seems a bit risky for someone so paranoid about keeping a secret.”

  Rina glanced from Max to Jonathan. She’d read the journal, so she knew how Mellick had handled that problem.

  Jonathan shrugged. “He kept the workers blindfolded on the way to and from the caverns,” he explained. “Only a couple of men knew the true location.” He paused, raising an eyebrow at Max, his face shadowed in the lantern light. “They did not live long enough to share the information.”

  Max swore under his breath.

  “If I’m right,” Jonathan continued as he stepped off the bridge and back onto the stone floor, “they’re somewhere in here, hidden with Mellick’s Gold.”

  Rina shuddered at the thought.

  They continued in silence for a while, the path narrowing until they could only walk in single file. She noticed that they didn’t appear to be in a tunnel any longer—at least not a naturally occurring one. The walls were definitely man made and at least twelve feet tall. Every now and then they’d come to another high wall and have to turn either left or right. Jonathan wouldn’t pause before turning to the right every time.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” she asked, quiet enough so the others couldn’t hear.

  Jonathan’s lips lifted slightly. “No idea. But we’re bound to get there eventually.”

  Rina shook her head. “Excellent plan, Captain. Let’s hope we don’t get lost in the bowels of this mountain for all eternity.”

  “So macabre,” he replied with a grin. “How about some positive thinking, Smith? We haven’t come all this way to fail now.”

  “There’s no logic to that whatsoever.”

  “Logic is overrated. Besides, I think—“ He came to a stop at the entrance to a room, approximately twelve feet square. It was surrounded by more high stone walls with a half-dozen doorways appearing at random intervals. In the center of the room stood another platform similar to the one in the alcove but rectangular in shape. Jonathan cast Rina a victorious look. She ignored him and walked toward the platform, the others following her to gather around it.