“Alignment,” she said firmly. It was just the right word. “Alignment,” she chanted, grateful for the blessing she had received from the Goddess of Insights. She began to repeat the word in a loud whisper.
“Alignment.
Alignment.
Alig-nment.
Ali-gnment.
A-line-ment.
A line meant.”
The word began to sound strange, alien, wrong. She continued the chant, and she watched as the odd world laid out before her—a ground made of blue air, a world made of churning seawater, a sky made of straw-colored sand—shifted and melded and merged in her mind. It was at this level, where all that matters is earth and water and fire and fog and life and gravity, that Dawn felt her spirit soar in breaching leaps around her. This is what she was after. This is why she did this. This is why she chose to stand on her head on a beach and chant while others were tossing Frisbees and building fires and talking about hidden treasure. There are other worlds in this world, other universes in this universe, other realities in this reality, and Dawn felt them pull her in deep and passionate ways.
When Dawn had finished her journey into alternate dimensions and was lying on the sand, trying to get the spots in front of her eyes to disappear, Joy and Logan roasted several long skewers packed tightly with chicken, peppers, and onions. The Dreadnought crew gathered around the fire, and as they ate, they talked about the lure of the treasure Bonnie had mentioned.
“It’s a lie,” Crystal said as she helped herself to a chicken shish kebob. “It’s some fucking line she’s come up with to find out whether she’s talking to brainless tourists or not. If we fall for it—if we ask her where the treasure is—she’ll know we’re just stupid kids, and she’ll laugh about us for months. Besides, think about it. Do you really think she knows where a fortune’s worth of treasure is, and she doesn’t want to get her hands on it? Her story is cute, but it doesn’t make sense. And whoever heard of a pirate named Blackgoat?”
“I have,” Dawn said. “I read about him in one of the books in the captain’s quarters. Bonnie is right. He sailed all around here, he gathered a lot of gold and things from the ships and towns he raided, and he was nasty. We’re lucky he’s not around today.”
Crystal shook her head. “Okay, so he was real,” she said. “That doesn’t mean anything—and it sure as hell doesn’t mean that Bonnie stumbled on his treasure and then just left it there. I’m telling you, it’s a test. I think we should try to pass it like adults.”
“And I think we should grab the treasure while we can,” Marietta said, pulling a piece of chicken off her skewer with her teeth. “This is the chance of a lifetime. We meet up with some crazy lady who’s decided that money is evil. Then she tells us that she left behind a treasure worth a fortune. And you’re telling us that we should just ignore it? Not me. I want to know where the treasure is, and I want to go get it.”
The crew nibbled food off of sticks and debated the issue well after lunch. Then Bonnie emerged from the cabin of her sloop and began to rig her sails. It was time for a decision. It was time for leadership. Joy dug the Saint Christopher/Saint Francis coin from her pocket, but Arthur cut her off.
“It seems to me,” he said, standing up and watching the little sloop, “that we’re missing the point. It doesn’t matter whether the treasure is real or not—if we don’t pursue it, we’ll never know. And it really doesn’t matter what Bonnie thinks of us—we’ll probably never see her again. So the question really boils down to whether we’re willing to go over to Bonnie’s sloop and ask her about it. That doesn’t seem too tough. She’s the one who told us so much this morning. It seems only natural to want to know more. Some of you might disagree, but I’m going to go over there and talk to her about it. And besides, we’re forgetting one important thing. BillFi said we’d meet someone today who would help us. I’m beginning to trust his crazy little hunches, and I figure Bonnie can’t help us if we don’t follow her lead. Who knows—we might find enough treasure to let us stop stealing stuff from boats.”
Arthur rowed the dinghy alongside Bonnie’s sloop. Through the light fog, he could see Bonnie moving around down in the tiny cabin.
“Ahoy,” he said. “Permission to come aboard?”
Bonnie was packing some odd pieces of scrap fabric into a box. She didn’t look up. “I can’t exactly stop you, can I?” she said. “I don’t carry a gun.”
Arthur wasn’t sure whether that constituted an invitation or not, but he tied up the dinghy and scrambled over the side. He sat down in the boat’s shallow cockpit.
“Got a glass of water down here for you,” Bonnie said, still without looking up. “Don’t mind sharing water. It’s free in most places around here.”
Arthur glanced over at the towering Dreadnought, shrugged, and climbed down into the cabin.
The space was almost entirely filled by a table that had a wooden bench on each side. There were no other rooms. A counter along one wall held a small green camping stove that was surrounded by a clutter of spice bags and stained mugs. The air was musty with odors of mildew, sweat, and cooking fuel. Tucked under the bow was a roll of soft crumbling foam; Arthur guessed that Bonnie rolled it out each night across the table and slept right there. He sat down on the port bench as Bonnie filled two smudged glasses with water from a plastic jug. She put the glasses on the table and sat down opposite Arthur.
“So,” she said, “you’re here about Blackgoat.”
Arthur accepted the glass and took a drink. “Well, you got us kind of curious,” he said. “What exactly did this guy do?”
“Who are you kids?” Bonnie asked, her gaze solid. “What are you doing out here?”
“We’re part of a camp,” Arthur said. “A summer sailing camp. Our instructor sent us out for a while on our own to improve our sailing skills.”
Bonnie looked out the tiny porthole at the looming mass of the Dreadnought. “Bullshit,” she said. “Try again.”
“It’s true,” Arthur insisted. “We all signed up for a sailing—”
“Yes, yes, a sailing camp,” Bonnie interrupted. “That much I believe. But your instructor didn’t trust you with that ship just so you could learn a jib from a jenny. What happened? He dead?”
Arthur gasped. “What? Um, no. Not—”
“Okay, so he’s dead,” Bonnie said without a smile. There was no hint of accusation or fear in her eyes. “You kids kill him, or what?”
Arthur took a deep breath and told Bonnie the whole story—McKinley’s oppression, his suicide, the burial at sea.
When he was done, Bonnie chuckled. “Slid him off a plank, did you?” she asked. “Right into the ocean? Hell, probably serves him right.” She chuckled again. “Okay, you’ve done your bit. I’ll tell you about Blackgoat and his treasure.”
Arthur returned to the beach about an hour later. He said he’d tell everyone about Bonnie once they were back on the Dreadnought.
A short while later, sitting at the head of the dining table, Arthur smiled at the others.
“What did she say?” Marietta asked. “Did she tell you where the treasure is?”
Arthur nodded. “She told me where it is, and she told me how to find it,” he said. “It was weird, though. I got over there, and she acted like she was expecting me. She poured us glasses of water, and we sat in the cabin and then she asked about McKinley. I told her the truth. She didn’t seem to care. Then she told me all about Blackgoat and the things he did around here. He was a serious pirate for about twenty years before he finally disappeared. People say his ship went down in a battle with an English warship, but no one knows for sure. All they know is that he suddenly stopped raiding boats.”
“Fine,” Marietta said, “but what about the treasure?”
“When she was done telling me about Blackgoat,” Arthur continued, “I asked her about the treasure. She just sighed, took out an old chart, and pointed to an island. Then she said, ‘You’d better hurry—sail all night, if you have to.
Tomorrow morning, the tide will hit a half-year low. That’s when you have to be there. You can’t see the cave normally. It’s underwater.’ Then she rolled up the chart, put it away, and pointed toward the door. ‘You got what you came for,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’ The next thing I knew, I was back in the dinghy.”
“What do you think all that meant?” Joy asked.
“I don’t know,” Arthur answered. “I think we disappointed her—” he tried to look tough, “but I got what I wanted.”
Dawn opened a chart, and Arthur explained that the treasure was hidden just southeast of Vinalhaven Island, right in the middle of Penobscot Bay, on the southwest side of a small piece of rock called Brimstone Island.
“Brimstone Island?” Crystal asked. “Give me a break.”
“That’s what she said,” Arthur replied. “It’s right here on the chart. She said we should approach from the south, just west of the Buffalo Ledges. We’ll come to a steep cliff with rocks at the base. The cliff is maybe a hundred feet high. At the base, way below the high-tide line, is a small opening that leads back into the rock. It’s only visible when the tide is really low, like it will be tomorrow morning around eight o’clock. The cave goes back and up, and then it opens into a large room that Bonnie says has a big old box in it. She said that’s the treasure—and she said she hoped, for our sake, that we don’t ever find it.”
“She might get her wish,” Dawn said. “We’ll never make it to Brimstone Island by eight tomorrow. The wind has died down a lot, and even if we sailed for another five hours today and three hours tomorrow, I don’t think we’d reach it. The only way to get there in time is to sail all night.”
Logan grinned. “We could totally sail all night,” he wheezed. The others nodded.
Dawn fixed them all with a serious stare. “Do any of you know the first thing about sailing at night?” she asked. “Can you tell a chime from a gong, just by the sound? You’d better, because that’s how you know which buoy you’re passing. Do you know what an occulting light is? You’d better, because otherwise you’ll never know which marker you’re looking at. If you mess up, we could all go down with the ship.”
“Now wait a minute—” BillFi argued.
“BillFi,” Arthur said, “Dawn is right. If we want to sail all night, we’ll have to learn about night navigation. I’m sure Dawn can teach us—she’s been reading McKinley’s books. And whoever is at the helm should have someone else up there with them—it would be too easy to fall asleep by yourself. Besides, the night will be long, cold, and lonely. Some company will make it a little easier.”
Logan shook his head. “Well, then maybe we shouldn’t, you know, do this at all,” he said. “Why don’t you go back and, like, ask Bonnie when another really low tide will be. We’ll just make sure we’re at the island then.”
“That’ll be tough,” Arthur said. “She’s heading out to sea.”
He pointed to a porthole. The rust-colored sails of Bonnie’s sloop were far off in the distance, fading in the foggy air.
“Great,” Logan said. “Then I totally change my mind. I think we should forget all about this stupid treasure myth and just keep on sailing, you know, the way we have been. It’s probably all just a whoop-de-doo fairy tale anyway.”
“No,” Arthur said. “I say we find out what’s going on. This is too great an opportunity for all of us. Just think—we spend the summer by ourselves at sea, and we end up rich in the process. We could each own an island with a mansion on it. We’re going to find that treasure if we have to sail all night, and as—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crystal interrupted. “As your captain.”
Arthur nodded seriously, trying to look authoritative. “Yes,” he said in his strongest low voice. “As your captain, I say we go for it. Who is willing to take the helm for the night sail?”
No one said a word. The possibility of treasure was tempting, but not if it meant standing on a cold deck all night, staring at charts and buoys and markers and lights, and trying to keep the ship from hitting an invisible rock. Arthur looked around the group, one face at a time. Never be afraid to let them see you mad, his father’s voice flashed across his mind.
“This is great,” Arthur said to his crew, scowling in the best anger he could muster. “You spend all our money in Freeport, so now we’re raiding yachts to stay alive. Now we have a chance at some treasure. Some of you want the treasure, but no one’s willing to do the work. Fine. That’s just fine. If you won’t do it, I will. I’ll sail all night. I’m not afraid to do what has to be done.”
An instant before Marietta could say a word, Dawn spoke up. “I’ll do it with you,” she said.
CHAPTER NINE
THIRTY-TWO KNOTS OF FREEDOM LEFT
With Crystal at the helm, the Dreadnought turned to catch the gentle fog-laden wind and head toward Brimstone Island. Marietta was supposed to be on bow watch, but as usual, she talked someone else into doing it for her. Logan took the job, happy for the chance to serve on duty with Crystal. He clung to the bowsprit rigging and watched for lobster pots with a self-conscious air of importance and gravity. He pointed out every lobster float he saw, even some that were harmlessly off to one side or the other. Anything to keep in contact with the vigorous and daunting Crystal Black.
Logan even took to calling out the color, position, and distance of each lobster float: “Pink and green, eleven o’clock, like, fifty yards!” “Solid orange, three o’clock, twenty yards!” “Black and white, one o’clock, like, thirty yards!”
Then he paused for a long time. His voice sounded different when he called back again. “White with orange and blue stripes, ten o’clock—and coming right at us!”
Puzzled, Crystal glanced off to port. Through the fog she could see the gray outlines of a Coast Guard cutter heading toward them.
Logan scrambled back to the cockpit. “What do you think?” he asked Crystal, standing just a bit too close. “Are they, like, after us? Do you think they know about McKinley? Should we, you know, say anything to them? Hold our course? Turn and head back to port? Totally raise a white flag and surrender? What do you think we should do?”
With an exasperated sigh, Crystal said, “Look, Logan, they probably don’t even—” But then she stopped. Logan’s only courage, she thought, comes from a pathetic booze bottle. He wouldn’t understand the value of a showdown. “We’re holding our course,” Crystal declared.
Logan dashed downstairs. Arthur was in the captain’s quarters, getting some sleep before the night sail, and Dawn was in her bunk, reading sailing books. Joy was in the galley, extracting life from the ancient kerosene stove with a level of violence that seemed to clash with her peaceful attitudes. The other Plunder Dogs were sitting around the dining table, playing poker.
Logan threw open the door to the captain’s quarters and shouted, “Get up top, everyone! The Coast Guard is, like, bearing down on us! We’re in a lot of trouble!”
Arthur leapt out of bed and dashed up the ladder. The others followed right behind him. They gathered on deck and watched the cutter grow steadily nearer.
“Crystal,” Arthur said, “what’s up?”
“Coast Guard cutter,” Crystal said flatly. “I hear the U.S. owns one or two of them. Tend to cruise around the offshore waters. Big deal.”
The nervous energy on deck sank a bit in the fog. “Is it trying to intercept us?” Arthur asked.
“It’s been on a collision course ever since we first saw it,” Crystal answered. “Doesn’t mean a thing. The worst thing we could do now is turn around and run away. I’m holding my course.”
“Maybe we could just steer a little bit away from them,” Logan wheezed. “You know, like, slowly and innocently. Like nothing was wrong.”
Arthur shook his head. “Bad call. If we turn away, they end up crossing our wake just a short way behind us. Too close. I think we should turn a bit toward them, so we cut in behind them and let them sail on their way. That way, if they do want to talk to us, they’ll
have to change course—and we’ll have some time to plan what we’re going to say.”
“Forget it,” Crystal commanded. “I’m at the helm, and I’ve already told you what we’re doing. We’re holding our course.”
“But didn’t you say it was a collision course?” Joy asked.
Crystal nodded with a tight grin. “You bet your ass,” she said. “Sailboats have the right-of-way over powerboats—right Dawn?”
Dawn nodded.
“So let’s make them turn away,” Crystal said.
The nervous energy on deck returned. All eyes watched the foggy cutter growing ever larger. Five minutes passed, and no one on the Dreadnought said a word.
“Crystal,” Logan broke the silence. “I think this is a totally bad idea.”
“So?” Crystal shot back.
The cutter came closer, holding its course. Crystal held course as well, staring defiantly at the giant mass of metal moving toward them. She could see a few of the Coast Guard sailors on the cutter’s deck, leaning against a rail and watching the Dreadnought. They seemed calm.
The distance between the two ships dwindled. Arthur thought he could see the Coast Guard sailors grinning as the cutter maintained its collision course. The Dreadnought stayed true to course as well.
Closer. . . .
Closer still. . . .
BOOOOOOOOPP! The cutter sounded an air-shredding blast on its horn—and then slowly began to turn to starboard. Crystal held the Dreadnought’s wheel steady, letting the cutter pass close to the schooner’s stern. As the Dreadnought slipped in front of the cutter’s wave-slicing bow, Crystal saluted to the sailors on deck. They waved back, and one of them, laughing, blew her a kiss.
As the afternoon faded toward evening and the fog dwindled into mist, Arthur noticed BillFi on bow watch by himself. With nothing else to do and feeling too awake to get another nap before the all-night sail, Arthur climbed out onto the bowsprit and joined his little friend.
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