Knight's Cross (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 3)

by Christine Kling

  Arzella let go of the wheel and ran forward. Alonso lay on the deck clutching his ribs. She wanted to go straight to him, but the sail and yard swung about dangerously in the wind. She pulled down the flapping sail and tied ropes around it and the yard before it struck Alonso again. The mainsail snapped loudly as the Ruse lay in irons facing into the wind.

  She helped Alonso to his feet, and he cried out in pain. She half carried him into the cabin, lowered him onto the bed, then lifted his legs and swung them onto the mattress.

  Alonso moaned when she touched his side. Some ribs were surely broken.

  “Stay in bed this time and rest,” she said.

  He did not answer her.

  She pulled open one of his eyes, but the eyeball had rolled up in the socket. She leaned down and put her ear by his mouth. He was breathing. He was alive. For now.

  She had to get the Ruse to land.

  When the storm broke, the rain was icy cold—but it was water. She wrapped Alonso’s cloak around her. The wind had flailed and tossed her hair, tying it in knots at first. Now it lay plastered to her head and dripped down her neck and chest. She was soon soaked to the skin. She opened her mouth to drink in the fresh water, even though the wind-driven raindrops stung at her face like flying nails.

  The night crept up slowly. The storm had darkened the sky early, creating a false dusk that seemed to last for hours. When real darkness finally came, it was so complete, she could not see the deck of the ship.

  Merely lighting the lantern exhausted her. Her arms felt alien, disconnected from her body. When she could no longer control the ship’s wheel, she used a piece of rope to tie the wheel in place. That way she slept, off and on, a few minutes at a time, and when she awoke, she adjusted the course. Keeping an exact course no longer mattered. The long coast of Tunisia ran from north to south like a buttress off the African continent. It now stretched ahead to the west of them. She could not miss it.

  Twice she went below to check on Alonso. He slept. She tried to force some water from the goatskin flask down his throat, with little success.

  Along toward morning, Arzella awoke from a short nap, and the sky was filled with stars. The storm had blown through. The wind and seas still tossed the Ruse about, but the rain had gone with the clouds. She felt her clothes beginning to dry. The air felt different.

  When the sky grew gray behind her, she learned why. From the top of the waves, she was able to see a dark strip on the horizon ahead. Land. As the sun rose into the sky, the coast of Africa also rose up out of the sea. The mountains surprised her. She had always thought of North Africa as a land of deserts. Yet as the big boat approached the shore, she saw trees and beaches. But she did not see what she sought. A harbor.

  Arzella untied the wheel and turned the Ruse, putting her on a more northerly course to parallel the coast. The wind had shifted, too, and if she turned too far, the sail fluttered. She considered trying to raise the mainsail, but she did not think she had the strength to do so. Her only other choice was to tack the ship and sail away from the coast. That she could not do.

  With the small sail and the poor angle on the wind, the Ruse no longer ate up the miles. They crawled their way north all morning, but she saw no sign of civilization. Arzella knew she needed to eat to keep her strength up, but she was too tired to seek food.

  Arzella awoke when the keel hit bottom. The Ruse shuddered and groaned, and then with a loud crack the ropes holding the mainmast snapped. The tall spar fell slowly at first, then crashed down across the forecastle, smashing through the bulwarks and lodging itself in the hull.

  A wave lifted the boat up off the bottom. Arzella grabbed the wheel and spun it, trying to turn them back out to sea. Seconds later the keel hit bottom again, and this time the foremast snapped the rigging and crashed down and broke apart, the majority of it falling into the waves. The Ruse rolled halfway onto her side, then a wave lifted her up and slammed her onto the bottom again.

  Pushing aside splintered wood and wet canvas, she climbed down the precariously tilting steps and into the aft cabin. The decks were canted at a crazy angle, and she had to move from handhold to handhold. Alonso appeared half-awake as he gripped the bedclothes so as not to fall out of the bed. His eyes rolled in their sockets and his limbs flailed.

  “Alonso,” she said as she grasped him by the shoulders and shook him. “We must get off the boat.”

  He called out her name, grabbed the front of her cloak, and pulled her to him. He would not let go.

  She wrestled and fought him and finally broke free. She jumped back out of his grasp.

  Arzella looked around the cabin. Waves were breaking over the ship now, and water surged through the cabin door and swirled around her bare feet. Without the masts, she could no longer launch the ship’s boat on her own. She and Alonso would both have to go into the water. She could swim, but in his current state, Alonso would likely drag her under. She needed some wood to keep him afloat on his own.

  Hanging over his bunk was his sword. She pulled it from the scabbard, opened a tall cupboard door, and slid the sword through the gap by the hinges. She levered the door away from the cabinet and the hinges broke loose. Searching through Alonso’s clothes, she found a belt and several sashes, and she used these to tie the wooden door to his chest to buoy him and to restrict his flailing.

  The shield! Alonso would never forgive her if they did not take the shield with the enciphered key engraved on it. And she would need other things, too, if shipwrecked on this coast. She collected the bag she’d brought aboard from Gozo and stuffed a few clothes into it, along with shoes for both of them. She added the atlas of sea maps, Alonso’s hand compass, and a flint for starting fires. She threw in her tools, their few remaining coins, and a traveler’s flask she had made of silver, long ago in her father’s shop. The biscuit and dried nuts she and Alonso had been eating went in, as well as Alonso’s goatskin bag filled with water. She tied the travel bag closed, grabbed the shield, and started for the deck.

  Then she returned, replaced the sword in the scabbard, and took it, along with Alonso’s pistol and his bag of powder and ammunition. She wrapped them in his rain cloak.

  Walking was difficult on the slick, slanting decks with her arms filled with such a load and waves washing about her feet. She spotted what she was after on the low side of the deck. The empty water barrel. Using Alonso’s sword, she pried open the lid and stuffed all her belongings inside. She added the shield last, and said a small prayer as she pounded the lid back into place with a belaying pin. She untied the ropes that secured the barrel to the gunnel, rolled it to the gate, and pushed it into the sea.

  She was happy to see it did not sink straight away, but rather bobbed to the surface. As it was in the lee of the ship, it drifted slowly toward shore. When the waves caught it shortly, it would move faster.

  Arzella paused a moment to examine the waves and tried to estimate how far off shore the Ruse was. It looked as though they had grounded at a river mouth. The river’s shoals reached farther out into the sea than she anticipated. She knew the Ruse to be a shallow draft vessel, so unless they had grounded on some sort of pinnacle, the water around them should not be not too deep. She should be able to touch bottom shortly after she entered the sea.

  Arzella returned to the cabin for Alonso.

  She could not get him to stand or walk, and he was too heavy for her to carry. Not knowing what else to do, she rolled him out of the bed, took hold of his feet, and began to drag him on his back across the tilting cabin floor. Seawater washed around him, sometimes even across his face, but he did not wake. Perhaps it was a blessing, since, with his broken ribs, the pain would have been unbearable.

  When she finally got him and the door over the cabin doorsill, he slid down the slippery deck and lodged against the bulwarks. She got hold of his feet, turned him around, and dragged him to the open gate in the bulwarks. She paused to look across the water toward shore. The water was cloudy here at the river mouth, and
on the shore, the beach looked like rich, dark mud. Beyond that were bright-green plants and trees. It looked peaceful there, and it was not so very far away.

  She pushed Alonso into the sea and jumped in after him.

  Via della Conciliazione

  Rome, Italy

  April 26, 2014

  “Cole, never turn around to look.” Her voice sounded strong, even though they were running all-out through the crowd. He dodged around a lady with a stroller. When he caught up to Riley, she was still giving him what for. “He’ll never spot you in a crowd from the back of your head.”

  “Okay, Magee. Lesson learned.”

  When they reached the edge of Saint Peter’s Square, they entered a street and the crowds thinned considerably. It made running easier, but they had less cover.

  They had a pretty big lead on him, but there was no question he was faster than either of them. Cole’s backpack bounced on his back, making it even harder for him to breathe regularly. Riley was in better shape than he was, and she was starting to pull ahead of him as they dodged their way through the crowds down the street. If it came to it, he’d stay behind to take on Blondie alone, giving her time to get away with the photos on her phone.

  He saw Riley skid to a stop in front of two big American guys wearing gray-colored desert camos. Cole slowed to a trot. She pointed up the street, and he heard the words “scared” and “touched me.” When Cole arrived at her side, she grabbed his hand and took off running. She nearly jerked him off his feet. The last he saw of the two big guys, they’d turned shoulder to shoulder and were facing up the street.

  The Tiber River was coming into view at the end of the street. They hadn’t passed many businesses along the street, but the character of the neighborhood was changing. He saw what looked like a restaurant down at the corner. Maybe they could cut inside and lose Blondie while he was dealing with Riley’s protectors.

  Cole twisted around to look behind him. He felt Riley squeeze his hand tighter.

  “Cole! I said, never look back!”

  “Too late. No sign of the big guys.” They were probably on the ground. Blondie was gaining on them again. “Those guys barely slowed him down.”

  A motorbike zoomed up behind them. They were running down the middle of the parking street that ran parallel to the main avenue. The guy on the moto beeped his little horn at them. Cole waved at him to go around. The guy beeped again, then drove up onto the sidewalk to get around them. He zipped down to the corner and stopped in front of the Versi Bistrot Bar. He swung his leg around the front of the scooter. He tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder, then pushed the bike back onto the center stand. He walked into the bar.

  “Asshole,” Riley said.

  Cole yanked her arm and pulled her between two parked cars and onto the sidewalk.

  “Where are you going?” Riley shouted as they dodged around a wooden signboard on the pavement.

  “Thank God for assholes,” Cole said as he pulled her to a stop in front of the bistro bar. He jumped on the still-running Vespa and pushed it forward off the center stand. “Climb on. He’s already seen us.”

  Riley swung a leg over the back of the bike, and Cole cranked the throttle. The dapper Italian came running out with a grease-stained takeout bag in his hand. He tried to grab at the back of the motorbike. Riley batted his hand away as Cole pulled out into traffic.

  Horns blared. He veered right and crossed over the bridge with the flow of cars, then turned right down one side street and left down another. The traffic thinned as they traveled farther from the Vatican. He circled around for several minutes before he turned into a narrow alley. He made a U-turn, and they waited at the alley entrance to see if their pursuer had commandeered a vehicle of his own.

  “We’re going to wind up in a Roman prison,” Riley said. “Grand theft Vespa.”

  “Hey, I think it was a better idea than getting caught by Blondie back there.”

  “No kidding.” She climbed off the back of the scooter and wiped her face on her sleeve. “Looks like we lost him.”

  “So what now?”

  She leaned her back against the side of the building. Her arms were crossed over her midriff, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

  “Are you okay, Magee?”

  She glanced at him and flashed him a grim smile. “I didn’t tell you the whole story about what happened yesterday, because Sister Ola was there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When Virgil showed up in the catacombs and took me, he killed Diggory. He used explosives. Seems he really gets off on blowing stuff up.”

  “Can’t say as I’ll mourn Priest, but it makes me even more determined to stay several steps ahead of Virgil Vandervoort.”

  Riley pushed off the wall and brushed the dust off her hands. “I think we’re done in Rome here.”

  Cole nodded. “We need to get back to Malta—to the boat.”

  “We probably don’t want to fly commercial,” Riley said. “These Knights are too well connected.” She straightened up and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll try Hazel.”

  She put the phone to her ear. “Hi there. It’s me. Where are you?” Riley paused and listened. “What a life you lead.”

  Cole enjoyed watching Riley talk on the phone to her best friend. Her face always lit up.

  “Rome—and I’ve got a favor to ask. We really need to get out of town, but don’t want to use any public transport. Got any friends who live around here who might be able to help us?” She listened again, then said, “Okay, I’ll hold.”

  “Where is she?” Cole asked.

  “Sardinia—not all that far away.” Riley held up her hand to let him know Hazel was back on the line. “Hang on a second.” She took the phone away from her ear and pushed a button. “Okay, I’ve got you on speaker. Give me the address and I’ll type it in.”

  Hazel gave her the number and spelled out the name of the street and the town. “It’s not too far,” she said. “Head over there. They’ll be expecting you around two o’clock.”

  “Thanks, my friend. We’re on some kind of noisy Italian scooter, and we need to get moving. I’ll have to call you later to fill you in on what’s happening here.”

  “No problem, darling. Just give that man of yours an extra hug from me. We’ve got wedding plans to work on, girl. Ciao!”

  “Are you sure you got the address right?” Cole asked after the call. “You didn’t read it back to her.”

  “Cole, I got it.”

  “Let’s get going, then. If we get there early, maybe we can stop for something to eat.”

  Riley activated the GPS navigation program in her phone, and a female British voice said, “Head west one hundred meters, then turn right.”

  “Let’s go,” Riley said.

  An hour later, Cole pulled the bike to a stop. Over the noise of the idling engine, he heard the voice from Riley’s phone say, “The destination is on your right.”

  Cole looked to their right, and he saw nothing but a dirty, dusty, open field.

  For the past hour, he and Riley had been arguing. There was no way some friend of Hazel’s lived out here. It was arid countryside with scraggly trees, dusty homes, and dirty kids kicking soccer balls or standing at the side of the road staring at them as they zoomed past. Now, they’d arrived at a dead end. There was a chest-high chain-link gate across the road. The sign said “Proprietà Privata.” It was easy enough to translate.

  “So you still think this is the right place?”

  “This is the address Hazel gave me. Sometimes Google Maps messes up and sends you to the wrong place. Who knows. But I’m sure I got the address right.”

  Cole turned off the bike. After riding for hours, the silence sounded loud. Slowly, as his ears adjusted, he began to hear the soft buzzing of insects and the occasional birdcall.

  Riley said, “I wonder if we’re supposed to go through the gate.”

  Cole walked over to a tree. “Excuse me. I think
this tree needs watering.”

  Riley shook her head and walked over to the gate. She rested her arms on the top bar and lowered her head onto her arms.

  When he was finished, Cole joined her.

  Riley’s head popped up. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  “I don’t hear anything but the bees buzzing.”

  “Nope,” she said. “That’s not bees.”

  Riley put her hand against her forehead to shade her eyes. “There,” she said. “To the west.”

  Sure enough, he saw it, too. The dot in the sky grew bigger and the noise grew louder. The helicopter kicked up a choking dust cloud as it landed on the other side of the gate.

  Riley climbed over the gate first, and Cole followed her. The pilot leaned over and pushed the door open. He pulled one side of his big headphones off one ear and hollered, “Are you Maggie Riley?”

  She nodded.

  “Get in, then. Hazel says she’s got champagne waiting for you.”

  Aboard Shadow Chaser II

  Manoel Island Yacht Marina, Malta

  April 28, 2014

  Hazel came up the stairs from the forward cabin looking like she was ready to dine with the captain of a cruise liner. The white, sleeveless dress with purple frangipani blossoms showed off her shapely, coco-brown shoulders.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerily.

  Riley looked down at her own tank top and pajama bottoms and wrapped her fingers more tightly around her coffee mug. “How did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Like a babe,” Hazel said. She stood in the middle of the salon and turned around, examining the furnishings. She walked over to the bar and peered through at the kitchen. “I didn’t really get a chance to look around much last night. This new boat is really lovely, Riley.”

  “And we’ve got Theo to thank for that,” Riley said.

  Theo leaned on the kitchen side of the counter and grinned.

  “Good morning, Theo,” Hazel said. There was something about her smile when she looked at him that made Riley suspect that Hazel’s motivation for accompanying them all the way to Malta extended beyond helping with wedding plans.