68 Knots

by Michael Robert Evans

  Fernandez sighed. “Let me talk to the judge and the D.A.,” he said. “I’ll get back to you.”

  The crew spent the afternoon swimming in the deep waters of the bay. A cluster of jellyfish drifted by, large and clear with purple centers, and Logan scraped up the nerve to touch one.

  “Wow!” he said. “They’re more solid than I thought. And it didn’t sting me!”

  BillFi scooped one out of the water in an easy motion. He studied it closely. “I wonder if you can eat these things,” he said. “I wonder if they’re edible.”

  “Doubt it,” Dawn answered. “I don’t know why, but I really doubt it.”

  No further word from Fernandez had come by evening, so the sailors made a delicious dinner and talked quietly for several hours. A few of them idly cleaned up their bunks, getting their personal belongings in order. It seemed like the thing to do.

  That night, the Dreadnought moved silently to a new bay, on a new island farther out to sea. Dawn pointed to a chart. “We’re running out of land,” she said. “If we keep this up, we’ll have to drop anchor in Iceland.”

  The night passed with subdued conversation, the swapping of addresses, some comments about plans and keeping in touch. Dawn and Joy filled much of the time with a lively debate about God and the Goddess. Crystal wrote in her journal. Jesse touched up the fading lines of his tattoos.

  The next morning, Arthur was on the radio once again. When he was finished talking, he sat down with the others on deck. “Fernandez is helping us a lot,” he said. “He could easily haul us out of here if he wanted to.” Arthur smiled. “And he pointed out this morning that U.S. waters extend two hundred miles off the coast—if we bolted for international waters, we’d never make it. The Coast Guard ships would catch us before we got halfway there. Still, Fernandez talked to the D.A., and he came back with an offer. If we turn ourselves in and plead guilty to the theft charges, we won’t have to go to jail. We will have to pay for everything we stole, though, and we’ll have to pay a fine. We’ll also have to do a lot of community service—two hundred hours apiece, working in homeless shelters and after-school programs. But we wouldn’t go to jail. I think that’s the best deal we’re going to get.”

  “Thank goodness,” Dawn said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  For several minutes, the only sound was the breeze in the rigging. Then Joy spoke: “Cuanto? How big are the fines?”

  Arthur took a deep breath. “They’re big—twenty thousand apiece, for a total of one hundred forty thousand dollars. And to pay for the things we stole will take a total of thirty thousand more. So somehow, we’ll have to hand over one hundred seventy thousand dollars.”

  Logan whistled low. “I’m a bit short this week,” he said. “Try me again on Monday.”

  “Shit,” Crystal said, “my parents wouldn’t pay that kind of money, even if they had it.”

  “Mine either,” Dawn said. “That’s impossible.”

  A mood of gloom settled over the crew, but just for a moment. “Treasure!” Logan said. “We know where there’s some treasure. Let’s tell them about that treasure stuff we found in that cave—the spoons and things—and see if that settles things up. It might be worth a lot to a museum or something. Maybe that will take care of everything.”

  Arthur shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” he said. “I’ll talk to Fernandez.”

  He was gone for just a few minutes before he returned on deck. It was clear from his expression that the discussion had not gone well. “He laughed,” Arthur said. “I mentioned Blackgoat and Branigan, and he laughed and said, ‘You’ve been talking to Bonnie, haven’t you?’ He was impressed that we had actually crawled through the caves and found the stuff, but he said it wouldn’t do the trick. He told us that giving its location to the judge might help—it might make it look like we’re trying hard to do the right thing—but he said the fines and restitution have to be in cash. Real, modern, American cash.”

  “So much for that,” Logan moaned. “I hear Iceland is lovely this time of year.”

  “We’ll have to talk about that,” Arthur said. “I still don’t think most of us are willing to—” He was interrupted by Jesse.

  “Why not ask Turner?” Jesse said slowly, his tattoos making his voice seem deeper. “He has a lot of money. And he owes us a big favor.”

  Arthur looked at him with surprise.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ONE KNOT OF FREEDOM LEFT

  The next morning, Arthur radioed the idea to Fernandez, and the captain agreed to check it out. The radio reverted to unsympathetic static.

  Arthur sat in silence in the captain’s quarters. He looked around. There was the bed where McKinley had left this earth, and where, it turned out, power was not free for the taking. Next to it was the desk, which held the radio that served as both lifeline and finale. Along the wall, next to the rope calendar that was now nearly free of knots, were the Dreadnought log, several books that held the secrets of sailing, and the letter that McKinley had written to his mother. Arthur knew that the summer’s adventures were coming to an end, and he was surprised at how sad he felt about it. The summer had been difficult at times—even dangerous—and Arthur had never held illusions about continuing the cruise into autumn. September was not far away, and with it would come school and textbooks and tryouts for the soccer team. The end of the summer was not a surprise, and Arthur couldn’t figure out why he felt so close to tears.

  Maybe some things aren’t supposed to end easily, he thought.

  The radio crackled with Fernandez’s voice. Arthur sat up quickly.

  “I’ll be damned,” Fernandez said over the air. “Turner has agreed to pay for everything you people have done. He must owe you a lot.”

  Arthur smiled and lifted the microphone. “I think we just broke even,” he said. “Let’s work out the details.”

  Half an hour later, Arthur gathered the crew on deck and explained the situation.

  “We are to surrender the ship tomorrow at noon,” he said, “so we’ll have to get an early start. Our parents will be in Rockland Harbor to pick us up, and we’ll be ordered to appear at the State Police office sometime later for the filing of formal charges. But the D.A. has agreed to the deal, so Turner will pay the fines and restitution, and we’ll all have to do the community-service work. That’s not small—we each have two hundred hours of working with kids who are in trouble with the law. Think about it. During the school year, we could maybe do five hours every Saturday afternoon. That means that our Saturday afternoons will be booked for the next forty weeks. That will be a lot of hard work, but it’s worth it. When we’re done, we’ll be off the hook.”

  “Will homicide charges be filed against our parents?” Logan groaned. “I think my mom is totally going to kill me.”

  Arthur smiled. “You’re on your own for that,” he said. “But we’re going to make it, and now it’s important that we end this trip in style.”

  The crewmates spent the evening getting the ship ready for surrender. They finished packing their belongings, they scrubbed the decks, they cleaned up the galley and the cabins, and they put all of McKinley’s things in order. It took several hours, but everyone in the crew wanted to impress the people who would be waiting for them.

  In the captain’s quarters, Arthur received a radio hail from a newspaper reporter who had been following the conversation with Fernandez. She asked Arthur a long string of questions, and Arthur patiently put together the entire story for her. He was tired and had a lot to do, but he thought the publicity would help in case something went wrong.

  That night, as the sailors sat around the table in the main cabin for the last time, Logan poured cranberry juice and raised his glass. “Well, gang—it’s been a wild ride.”

  The crew drank to that. Then they talked with each other, openly and freely, about their lives, their dreams, their fears, and the summer they just spent together. The sky to the east was growing light when the last of them went to be
d.

  And Arthur untied the last knot in his rope calendar.

  August 22nd dawned crisp, cool, and windy. After breakfast, Arthur gathered everyone on deck.

  “When we get to the dock,” he said, his low voice calm and certain, “there will be a lot of people waiting for us. The Coast Guard, reporters, our parents. We need to make this look good. We have to show them that we know what we’re doing—that we’re not just a bunch of crazy teenagers.” He paused and looked at Dawn. “We also need to say our goodbyes now. We won’t have much chance when we reach Rockland.”

  Logan turned to Crystal. “This has been really great,” he said quietly. “Do you think I could call you sometime?”

  Crystal smiled—a surprisingly soft and gentle smile beneath her cap of blond hair. “You need to find someone closer to home,” she said. “But it’s been good getting to know you, too.”

  Joy went around the circle, hugging each of her friends and whispering blessings and solemn wishes into their ears. “It’s been a pleasure ministering to you all,” she said. “If you ever need help, give me a call.”

  Jesse clapped a huge hand on BillFi’s shoulders. “Does this mean we’re going back to the shelter?” he asked. “Back to the Bronx?”

  BillFi smiled. “What do you think?”

  Jesse returned the grin, distorting the tattoos on his face. “After all this?” he said. “Hell, no. I never again want to take orders from people who don’t know what they’re doing. I like the way things have been this summer—free to do whatever we want. So let’s go wherever we want.” They shook on it.

  Arthur put his arms around Dawn and gave her a strong hug. “If I can . . . um, College of the Atlantic . . .” he said, “would that make any sense . . . if I—”

  “Yes,” Dawn said softly. “It would make all the sense in the world.”

  After a long moment of heartfelt and sad farewells, Crystal announced that she had one more thing to do. She ran below and returned with something held behind her back.

  “This is for you,” she said to Arthur. “You’ve been a pain in the ass at times, but we wouldn’t have had this summer without you.” She held out her hand. In it was Blackgoat’s dagger, with ruby eyes in the handle’s skull.

  Arthur stared at it and then looked up with amazement at Crystal’s smiling face. “You kept it!” he said. “I didn’t think we had saved anything from that cave.” He took the dagger and held it respectfully in his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “This really means a lot to me. A lot.” He gave Crystal a quick hug and stowed the dagger in his duffel bag.

  As the goodbyes dwindled down, the crew got ready for their return to their families and their futures. They wanted the ship to be perfect.

  Space had been cleared at the main dock in Rockland Harbor, and Fernandez waited there with his Coast Guard officers and two dozen members of the Maine State Police. Waiting on land was a cluster of adults—the parents of the Dreadnought crew, some reporters, curious townspeople. Noon was just minutes away.

  “There they are, sir,” said one of the Coast Guard uniforms. He pointed to the east, where the sails and masts of the Dreadnought were coming into view. The ship was in full regalia: every sail had been hoisted, colorful banners fluttered from the rigging, and the four gashes of the Dreadnought flag—the one Logan had made so many weeks before—flew from the top of the mainmast.

  “That’s one beautiful ship,” Fernandez said out loud.

  The Dreadnought approached the dock smoothly, with Arthur at the helm. Flash bulbs and murmurs popped through the crowd. The crew, dressed in dark T-shirts and light pants, lined the rails, standing not at attention but with a steady air of confidence. Arthur called out his orders with a clear sharp voice. “Prepare to jibe!” he boomed. “Jibe ho!”

  The crew leapt into action, sheeting in the sails and preparing to let them out on the other side. Arthur twirled the wheel, and the Dreadnought spun around smartly. The starboard side of the ship slid gracefully against the side of the dock, Jesse and Logan threw lines over the dock cleats, and Dawn and Crystal secured the gangplank. The sails were lowered and stowed in an instant. Then once again, the Dreadnought crewmates stood along the starboard rail. Their faces were serious, respectful, and proud.

  Fernandez and two of his officers approached the gangplank.

  “Nice docking. Permission to come aboard?” Fernandez asked in a strong military tone. He saluted, and his officers did the same.

  Arthur stepped forward and returned the salute. “Permission denied, sir.”

  Fernandez looked startled. “What?”

  “Just a moment, sir,” Arthur said. “Crystal? Now, please.”

  Crystal turned from the line of crewmates, kicked off her shoes, and scrambled up the rigging. At the top of the mainmast, she unclipped the Dreadnought flag and carried it down to Arthur. Dawn and Arthur folded the flag into a triangle with great care, and then Arthur climbed onto the gangplank and crossed over to the dock.

  “Sir!” he said firmly. “Presenting the crew of the Dreadnought—the finest sailors ever to cross the Gulf of Maine.”

  One at a time, the crewmates walked solemnly across the gangplank as Arthur called out their names:

  “Joy Orejuela.” She held her hands before her and paused for a moment in prayer. Then she stepped onto the dock.

  “Crystal Black.” Crystal marched across the gangplank and gave Captain Fernandez a playful punch on his shoulder.

  “Jesse Kowaleweski.” The crowd gasped at his multicolored skin. He walked across without looking at anyone.

  “William Fiona.” BillFi pushed his glasses up his nose and trotted off behind his friend.

  “Logan McPhee.” Logan crossed the gangplank and stood smartly in front of Fernandez. He locked eyes with the captain—something he would have been afraid to do a few months ago—and then he nodded and continued down the dock.

  “And Dawn FitzWilliam.” Dawn smiled at the crowd and at Arthur, and she walked across the gangplank with the casual grace of someone who knows where she’s going.

  “I’m Arthur Robinson,” Arthur said, stepping onto the dock. “One crewmate unaccounted for, sir.”

  Fernandez smiled gently. “We know, son,” he said. “She’s on her way home.”

  “And it is my duty to report a suicide and burial at sea,” Arthur continued.

  “Very well,” Fernandez responded.

  “Presenting the Dreadnought colors, sir,” he said. He held the flag out toward Fernandez. “Permission to come aboard now granted.”

  Fernandez shook his head. “We don’t need to take your ship just now, son. And you keep the flag. I think you all earned it.”

  Then the Dreadnought crewmates, escorted by the Coast Guard and Maine State Police officers, walked down the dock toward land, toward their parents, and toward some tough questions and painful answers.

  Logan trotted over to his parents, gave them an awkward hug, and turned with them toward their car. His mother, prim and severe, glared at him sharply, but his father wore a tie-dyed hat and maintained an odd grin. He couldn’t help noticing that Logan seemed to stand a little straighter and carry himself with more pride than he had before. He winked at his son. “Cut out the booze, didn’t you?” he whispered. “I was hoping you would.”

  “You knew?” Logan asked, wide-eyed.

  “Why do you think I sent you on this cruise?” Loopy answered with a grin. The two of them walked side by side toward the car.

  Crystal’s parents, classic middle-aged overweight Americans, greeted her with joy and concern and then ushered her off toward a waiting station wagon. Crystal scanned the parking lot—and saw Jim Greenfeather standing at the edge of the crowd. She tore herself away from her parents and bounded over to him. “You came!” she said.

  “Had to,” he replied with a smile. “I don’t have your phone number.” The two of them talked for a moment, exchanged addresses, and kissed goodbye. Then Crystal climbed into the station wagon and waved
to Jim until she vanished in the distance.

  Jesse and BillFi walked across the parking lot toward a waiting taxi. The driver, a bored-looking heavyweight woman, held a hand-scrawled sign bearing their names. The shelter in the Bronx had obviously hired a taxi to take them to the bus station—things were probably too hectic to spare anyone. Jesse and BillFi approached the taxi, side by side, and then looked at each other for a moment. Without a word, they walked past the taxi and vanished down the road. Arthur watched them dwindle, not sure if they’d be all right but confident that somehow, together, they would survive. He wondered if he would see them later at the police station. Or ever.

  Joy burst through the crowd and wrapped her arms around Leo. Her parents waited quietly, not staring directly at the young couple, and then hugged her in turn. “You’ve lost so much weight!” her mother shrieked with a giggle.

  With her arm still around Leo’s waist, Joy said, “Mother, I’ve been ministering to my shipmates, and I want to work at a street mission. I know it’s not the House of Joy, but it truly is God’s work. I’m on the right path now, and it’s time for me to start getting the job done.” Her mother grinned and kissed her on the head.

  Dawn gave Arthur a final hug and a deep kiss, and she whispered in his ear, “College of the Atlantic. One year from now. I’ll see you then—if not before.”

  Arthur hugged her back. “Count on ‘before,’” he said. “We’re only four hours apart. Won’t we be able to see each other pretty often?”

  “Would you like that?” Dawn answered.

  “Do seagulls poop on the foredeck?” Arthur said with a grin.

  Dawn laughed. “’Do seagulls poop on the foredeck?’” she said. “Couldn’t you ask something a little more romantic—like ‘Do the stars shine beautifully on your radiant face’?”

  “How about ‘Do you think hurricanes could keep me away’?”

  Dawn nodded. “Don’t you agree that it’s a nicer way of phrasing things?”