“What are we looking for?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” The Zen master said, his smile growing wider. “What every man seeks, but few attain. What Ching Shih wishes for, what your companions see in their dreams that disappears upon waking.”
“He telling you anything good?” Strike got into his face, a nose-length away, staring him down.
The master raised a wrinkled hand and patted her cheek, as a kind owner would to its dog. She went to grab his arm and swat it away, but in a flash she landed on her back in a heap.
The old master readjusted his robes, the smile not leaving his face. “Serenity.”
He began walking away, back up the steps of the pagoda.
Keene called after him, “Where’d the girl go?”
“You must save her from herself. Vengeance isn’t the answer.”
“What’s the answer?”
“Water can both destroy and cleanse.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
But the old man had no more answers. He disappeared, high up in the winding walkway, presumably to his perch in the lighthouse, where he would continue to guide lost souls.
Strike rose off the ground, brushing herself off. “I let him do that. Bad form beating up old people.”
“I bet,” Keene said, but his mind was elsewhere, wrapping itself around the Zen koan of the master. Water could both destroy and cleanse. He had no knowledge of what that meant, although his subconscious wanted to address it immediately.
He brushed it off and settled into the present.
“What next, Keeney?” Linus said. He paced nervously back and forth.
“You’ve been quiet,” Keene said, nodding towards Theodora. The woman stood staring at the parchment in Keene’s hand. “You want a copy, or something?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“The drawing?”
“Everything.” The corners of her eyes were wet. “Freedom is beautiful.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Keene said, at a loss of words. He scratched at his neck. “So we search the island. They’re both here.”
“And then?” Strike said.
“We act like water,” Keene said, trying to channel the Zen master.
Although, if he was being honest, he hadn’t made an ultimate decision on whether, when given the chance, he would choose to cleanse or destroy.
30 | Ghost Ships
Apparently the extra coins hadn’t purchased the captain’s loyalty after all. When the group returned to the rocky atoll where the junk was supposed to be docked, all they found were divots in the rough sand.
So much for a roundtrip fare.
Not that Keene blamed him or the rest of the crew. From the gray clouds hovering in the sky, it was obvious that a storm was setting in. Keene turned to Theodora, who stood with her arms crossed, looking surprisingly calm for being stranded on a barren island.
“You’re not worried.”
“That isn’t really a question,” Theodora said.
“No.”
“The wind is nice.” She held her arms out, the sleeves of her dress catching the growing breeze. Keene wondered what other information, if any, she was holding back. But at least he didn’t get the impression that she was playing him.
Instead, she had the air of a weary traveler, ready to embark on a new adventure—even if it meant leaving her home and what she knew behind. Keene understood both ends of this argument. Too extreme either way could be a problem.
Keene shrugged and started to walk along the rocky beach. The sky over the water swirled with gray clouds and the hint of a storm. Wherever this ship happened to be, he wanted to be inside when the rains came.
Strike caught up with him, breathing heavily. “So we’re still here.”
“I’ll take that as one good thing.”
“The channel on the other side of the island, it doesn’t look natural.”
“What, you think our old friend dug it himself?” Keene said.
“I don’t know. But it’s not like we have somewhere else to go.” Thunder cracked overhead, and a blue-white flash streaked across the darkening sky.
“It’s gonna storm.”
“I know.”
“That means a one way trip if we’re wrong,” Keene said. “Rising tides.”
“The last stop on a one way trip,” Strike said. Her voice was still raspy, her breaths labored. “You up for it?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Who knows,” Strike said, staring with wistful smile at the opening sky, “maybe we’ll even find you a shirt.”
“Stop.” Theodora tugged on the back of Keene’s jeans. Keene tried to shake loose and keep going. The landscape on the abandoned island had remained much the same—so much so that he couldn’t be certain they weren’t walking in endless circles.
“I don’t see anything.”
“I can smell them.” Theodora uttered the words with tremendous disdain, like the pirates were foul creatures. “The chasm is close.”
On approach, the canyon carved across the island was easily visible, like a scar raked into the soil by a particularly vengeful god. But in the midst of the rocky terrain and howling rain, droplets whipping at Keene’s face, finding the massive drop was proving difficult.
They seemed to be moving directly towards the roiling sea, with no sudden drop in sight.
Keene edged forward, his neck craning to scan the ground before him. As fate would have it, the soil and the rocks and debris had all disappeared. They were standing on what amounted to a sheer cliff.
Keene glanced up, back at the sea, which had remained at a constant level—the same height as his own position. Then he did a double-take, back at the massive gash in the earth. Vertigo set in, and he took a precautionary step backwards.
“They could really use a sign.”
“The monk understands where it is. That is all that matters,” Keene said.
“But how did he keep the sea from flooding it?” Strike said, her thin voice almost swallowed by the wind. The maelstrom had picked up, sending foaming water crashing over the edge of ravine, down to the floor below.
“Not all mysteries are meant to be solved,” Keene said. He followed the bob of Theodora’s black hair as visibility continued to plummet. At this rate, he’d be swept into the canyon—no drowning required. His eyes spotted a tan object rustling in the wind, slamming against the side of the cliff wall. “Rope ladder.”
He crouched down, pinning the bucking fibers to the slick rock with a tight fist.
Theodora backtracked and disappeared into the ravine first, scaling the ladder with graceful ease before Keene could stop her. Keene leaned out over the side as far as he dared, watching her settle on to the ground.
“Come on,” she said.
“What do you see?” Keene said.
“A tunnel to the center of the earth.”
Her voice echoed off the man-made ravine’s walls.
“I always wanted to drown twice in a day,” Strike said. She slipped by Keene, searched for the top rung, then began her descent.
Linus followed, looking particularly pale.
His friends in the middle of the ravine, Keene took one last look at the sea. Lightning crashed above the choppy froth. High tide didn’t seem like it was ready to settle down. A massive flood would be some luck.
Keene took a deep breath and dropped over the side.
From the bottom of the ravine resembled a rock quarry, with stones of all sizes, colors and shapes. About two inches of water covered the ground, seawater sluicing down through well-worn ridges in the wall.
A winding path, trampled down by boots and chests, cut through the debris. Down the center of the ravine, a particularly large swath of earth had been disrupted, as if something large had been dragged.
“The s
hip’s here,” Keene said with a certainty that belied his other doubts. If it wasn’t, then they were out of time and options. The group fell in line behind him, heading towards the entrance to the tunnel. A black maw grinned back at them, like the jaws of a lion. When they reached the cave’s opening, Keene began to understand the true sense of scale—a massive entrance cut directly into the earth, almost as wide as the ravine. Perhaps twenty or thirty yards wide, and a dozen tall.
And not just dark.
Pitch black, without a shred of light flickering.
A commotion echoed from deep within the cave. Gunshots—or an explosion—sounded along with shouted calls-to-arms.
“Lorelei,” Keene said.
“Just in time,” Strike said.
“Just a question, dude,” Linus said from the back of the line. “What are we gonna do with her?”
“Whatever we need to,” Keene said, with less conviction than he would’ve liked. Uncertainty could kill you in a situation like this. Hesitate for a moment and a ruthless enemy would seize the upper hand—never to relinquish their iron grip.
Keene took one of the ancient flintlock pistols out of his pocket. Although he had little hope of hitting anyone with a bullet, the weighty materials and hefty grip would probably be good for knocking an enemy unconscious. If the thing didn’t explode in his hands after the first shot.
Theodora rooted around at the edges of the blackness, finding an abandoned torch. She lit the black pitch with a fire steel hidden within her flowing gown. Shadows danced along the walls, suffusing the mineral rich walls with a warm glow. Veins of gold, silver and quartz flashed when the light swept over them.
“Linus, grab another,” Keene said, beckoning for the kid to step forward.
“Come on, I can fight.”
“Good one.”
Linus, head down, grabbed one of the half-burned torches and touched it to Theodora’s. A second flame sprung to life. Theodora pointed at the ground where the drag marks continued into the depths of the cave.
“Your ship can take us away from here?”
“That’s what we’re betting on,” Keene said. After all, who didn’t like gambling with their lives? Then again, it couldn’t be considered a gamble when it was really a last resort. He scanned the fringes of the light, searching for movement to accompany the loud sounds coming from deep within the cave. But whatever conflict was transpiring, it wasn’t all that close.
Keene took issue with the cave’s construction, noting the sagging beams and wet soil glistening at the tall ceiling. Building something like this so close to the edge of the water was ridiculous—an exercise in tempting fate.
No wonder so much pirate treasure was lost. The water at their feet had now reached their ankles.
“We gotta be close,” Strike said. “Right?”
But Keene had no answers—only the fuzzy light of the torches and the reverberations of a commotion to guide him. The shouting grew louder as they pushed further. There were no more gunshots, nor any other indications of violence. But the atmosphere was definitely charged.
The blackness began to recede, revealing more of the cave.
Far up ahead, torchlight—dozens of burning branches covered in pitch—swathed the walls. In between, a dim, almost black expanse separated them from a large, circular room. Like a jewel in the center of it all, a small ship—unspectacular in size, no larger than a fishing trawler—sat shimmering.
Keene now understood why Ching Shih had been drawn to the craft in the first place, even without knowing its true capabilities. For although the vessel was slight, she was constructed of the purest, most brilliant silver—chronosium so bright it forced Keene to shield his eyes.
And, at its helm, a majestic bird stretched its wings, soaring through the air. On the tip of the masthead, a missing slot for the statue Fox had left behind. The only part of the ship, perhaps, that had ever seen the light of day.
“The Silver Songbird,” Keene said. “Holy shit.”
Shouts in Chinese bounced off the walls, shadows dancing high up the cavern’s rocky face.
And they were headed straight towards Keene.
“I think they saw us, dude. Aw, come on, they definitely saw us,” Linus said.
Leveling the pistol still gripped in his hand, Keene briefly considered engaging in a firefight. But the dozen men had them outnumbered, with surely much more spare munition as well. Keene threw a glance over his shoulder, where absolute darkness lurked just at the edges of the torchlight.
To go forward, they would have to go back.
“Get rid of the torches and retreat,” he said.
The burning pitch hissed as it sailed over Keene’s head, landing some twenty feet in front of them. He gave a final glance over his shoulder, at the absolute darkness.
Then he plunged back where they came, cold water at his shins and shouts at his back.
31 | A Strange Voyage
Keene felt a flapping near his arm. He flailed in the dark, catching hold of Theodora’s wrist.
“Link together,” he said in a hushed whisper, “and move towards the wall.”
From the pirate’s shouts, they were growing weary to have yet another interruption—this time an entire group of unwanted thieves in addition to the stupid girl who had foolishly attempted to rip off their boss. From their discussions, it seemed this problem had been taken care of.
Exactly how Lorelei had been dispatched remained unclear. Keene felt his throat tighten.
There were also lots of shouted imperatives to use only sabers, since guns were so damn loud in the cavern.
Keene gulped at the thought of being sliced open like a trout, his entrails spilling into the brackish water, salt stinging at the open wound. Between almost drowning and potential disembowelment, the day had been full of ways to die horribly.
As he moved, the darkness became more absolute.
“All set,” Strike said. Keene felt her fingers touch his palm. “Please don’t shoot me.”
Keene adjusted his grip on the gun so that it was pointed towards the ground. He hoped.
Then he edged the group closer to the wall.
Heavy footed soldiers clamored toward them, water splashing, the first wave bearing no torches. Having adjusted to the inky stillness, Keene had the advantage of being able to sense his attackers.
As a downside, he couldn’t see where he was going. Which was a large negative, particularly when attempting to act as an eight-legged hive mind. The group stumbled and cursed softly in the darkness, retreating until the well-lit room was only a thimble on the edge of the infinite black.
The pirates stomped closer, growing frustrated, the sound of sharp blades whipping through the air. Theodora had been right about the smell—a musk drifted towards Keene’s nostrils, a foul amalgamation of sweat, tobacco and saltwater.
“Kill the thieves!”
A roar of bloodlust erupted from the first wave of men. Far behind them, a couple better prepared companions rushed forward with brilliantly burning torches, the orange glow casting a thin light that Keene and his group sat right on the edge of.
This gave Keene an advantage, as he could see their shadowy attackers, but the pirates were still running blind. Sensing an opportunity, Keene let go of his friends and brought the old pistol up.
He fired at one of the apparitions.
Then he threw the gun at the charging throng.
Thunderous shots sounded in his ears as Strike joined with her stockpile. Frenzied cries and large splashes came nearby. He repeated these steps with the next pistol, this time actually dropping someone with a bullet.
The pirates dispersed, fleeing towards the safety of the well-lit room, speeding past the torch-bearing second wave, who soon followed suit.
Keene, for lack of a better plan, rushed after them.
He hadn�
��t expected to turn the tide so quickly, but then, these guns were probably a lot scarier to these men than they were to him. A laughable weapon in his own time, or even the twenty-first century, they were formidable and respected in the nineteenth century as quite lethal.
Keene reached into his waistband for the third and final pistol, charging into the cavern. The Silver Songbird glittered. He stopped upon emerging from the cave and looked up.
The ceiling opened up like a cathedral. Piled in every corner around the silver ship—and up against every wall—were heaps of glimmering riches—rubies, emeralds, gold, platinum, jet, diamonds and other precious materials of every imaginable persuasion.
The wealth was so magnificent as to almost make the ship seem drab.
Not quite.
A gunshot boomed against the high ceilings, and Keene dove to the ground. The men had retreated reconsidered their no firearms policy when Keene’s group had unloaded leaden death upon them.
The pirates now appeared willing to choose deafness over leaving this mortal coil. A reasonable barter, all things considered. Although Keene was disappointed that his foes had changed strategies, since a hail of bullets—which meant five, perhaps six, followed by long periods of loading—now whizzed uncomfortably close to his head.
The group took refuge at the base of the silver ship, right beneath the large ornamental bird hanging from the bow. When they crouched down, the chilly water was now high enough to soak their pants. Keene poked his head out and a shot glanced off the ship some ten feet above his position.
“Anyone hit?”
“All good, Keeney,” Linus said, “for now.”
“I am uninjured,” Theodora said, a slight quiver in her voice. Maybe she was reconsidering her decision to come along. Too late to change things now.
“You got a plan, Captain Keene?” Strike said. She blind-fired around the ship’s edge, then chucked the pistol into the air. It disappeared into the rippling water. “Running low on ammo here.”
“How’s it look on your side?” Keene said.
“Maybe a couple of them. We got three in the first wave, I think, from the bodies in the water.”
The Kip Keene Box Set: Books 1, 2 & 3 Page 46