Cerulean Isle

by G. M. Browning

  Grant’s eyes met mine, a grave mistake. L’Ollon struck him hard. Grant staggered back but did not fall. Regaining his posture, he looked squarely into L’Ollon’s eyes. A thread of blood trickled from his nose.

  “We were tasked with sharpening the swords, Captain. The boatswain took to the wine. He engaged young Jacob in a round of swordplay but was enraged when he could not win. He attacked Jacob with the intent to kill but fell backward, landing atop a blade the deaf boy was refinishing. It was a terrible accident, Captain.”

  L’Ollon looked around the room and found the deaf boy cowering in fear, traces of blood still on his hands. The captain turned to Christoff.

  “Christoff, bring Grant and Jacob to the office at once. I will deal with them in private.”

  “And what of Beelo, sir?” asked the other pirate in the doorway.

  “Wrap the mate in clean linen and give him to the sea. Take the sword out of him. I don’t want to lose a sharp blade. As for the deaf boy, clean him up and lock him in the cage. Leave him there till we reach Curacao.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “There’s not enough work to keep you rats busy,” said L’Ollon. “Swordplay and murder, eh? Is that the way of it here in the barrel room? Henceforth, the provisions will be checked four times daily. I want twenty new barrels made before dawn and if this is not done, I will kill every last one of you.”

  The captain left and the sound of his angry cursing echoed in our ears.

  The quartermaster said, “Grant, how could you let this happen?”

  Grant said nothing. Christoff glanced over his shoulder at the corpse. The other pirate tugged on the sword protruding from Beelo’s body.

  “Beelo was our finest swordsmen.” Christoff looked at me. “How be it you bested him with a blade? Beelo was fast, ruthless, even with the wine in him. Come you two, and may God help you.”

  Christoff led Grant and me through the damp, dim corridor to a narrow companionway. These stairs took us up to the main deck. The sun was warm on my face and the fresh wind smelled of sea salt. As we followed Christoff, the other pirates stared. Did they know their boatswain was dead?

  There were pirates everywhere. The three masts stretched overhead and men clung to the crosstrees. They climbed the rope ladders and swung down from the lines with incredible finesse. Others worked vigorously with mops and buckets while their shipmates coiled extra line around thick wooden cleats. The sails took the wind and moved the barque swiftly over the sapphire water. The brilliant sun was white-yellow and its endless light set fire to the tips of the waves. The Caribbean Sea glittered around us like a jagged and living crystal creature. I wanted to stop and take a deep breath, feel the sunlight on my face, and pray to my mother one last time.

  We made our way toward the stern and through two large wooden doors that led to the crew cabins. A short corridor stretched ahead of us with four rooms on each side, making eight small resting quarters. At the end of the corridor, we stopped at the last room on the left. Christoff opened the door and motioned us to enter.

  Several lanterns lit the room. The thick red carpet gave a fiery contrast to the brown, wooden walls. Swords and pistols hung from brass hooks. Sturdy shelves crowded with dusty books were nailed to the walls. A large table dressed in clean linen was set with fresh bread, fruits, vegetables, and wine.

  Captain L’Ollon sat behind a desk opposite the table. He was scratching some words on a parchment with a tattered quill. When we entered, he paused from his writing and stared at us coldly. The desk was adorned with stacks of parchment, candles, inkwells, and maps. A faded blue sea chart hung off the edge of the desk, and I could see fine lines, words, and numbers scribbled all over it.

  “Come closer, boys,” L’Ollon ordered. “Christoff, close the door.”

  Grant and I approached the captain’s desk as his eyes remained fixed on us.

  “You have aided in the committing of an irrevocable crime aboard my ship. The penalty, under my articles, is death.”

  A small part of me welcomed the thought. At least I would be with my mother again.

  L’Ollon stood and took a sword off the wall. It gleamed dreadfully in the yellow glow of the lanterns.

  “Listen to me, you ungrateful galley rats,” he said. “Your deaf friend will spend a few nights in the cage—a cold iron cell in the bowels of the Obsidian. Under normal circumstances I would have him gutted for his deeds, but he’s the leverage in my plan. Now you two are leverage as well.” The sword glimmered and flashed as L’Ollon paced about the room. “I shall offer you a choice. You can either do as I instruct henceforth, or die by my blade.”

  Grant looked squarely at L’Ollon. “We will serve you, Captain, loyally and without fail.”

  L’Ollon smiled at me. His rotted teeth looked like kernels of corn caked with soil. “It seems that there is more to you than I thought. A real bargain. I should thank your father next time I dock in Santiago. Tell me, where did you learn to wield a sword?”

  “With the boatswain was my first time, Captain.”

  His rancid breath puffed in my face. “Well, your talent will be put to the test in due time. As for you, Cooper Grant, your thieving days have just begun. Sit, I shall tell you what lies ahead.” Captain L’Ollon pointed to a small bench not far from the desk.

  We sat down. I watched his sword. Christoff sat in a plush chair near the doorway. He reached for a nearby carafe of ale and poured some into a silver mug. He relaxed in the chair with his drink and listened intently as L’Ollon spoke.

  “We make for the island of Curacao. We will dock in Willemstad. That town is home to a fellow pirate, Captain Shanley. He is a floggin’ traitor and a lying, backstabbing thief.” A deep distance formed in his eyes. His brow dipped in anger and his lower lip curled. He was remembering something, and Grant and I knew what.

  “You see, a few years ago, he and I arranged a deal. I paid him a heap of gold and gave him a copy of my sea chart; he was to keep my voyage free of followers. Not long after I set sail, my fleet met a terrible storm. I lost my fleet in that tempest.” L’Ollon looked away and set his gaze toward the window. Deep in thought, he looked out at the rolling waves. “The Obsidian is all I have left.”

  I watched L’Ollon stare out the window. Are the Water People out there, somewhere in that beautiful blue water, following, watching, and listening?

  “My gold fell to the bottom of the sea, and it was Shanley who set out to comb the ocean floor. He still has my sea chart. I need it so I can return to the place of my ruin. Curse that galley-rat. He has made several voyages and has recovered much of my fortune. It is my gold that he spends. My father’s gold. My grandfather’s gold!” He slammed his fists on the desk. “I will get that chart and reclaim the empire built by my forefathers. Shanley will pay with his blood, and once in Curacao, we will not leave until he is dead and his ill-gotten fleet destroyed.”

  The sunlight spilled through the window, creating a bright red square on the carpet. L’Ollon stepped into the sunbeam, his black boots shining like wet coal.

  “The two of you will play a critical role in my game. Willemstad is riddled with Shanley’s crew. I will send Christoff into town, as Shanley’s men do not know him. You two will go with Christoff to Shanley’s guarded villa. Christoff will pretend that he is interested in purchasing one of Shanley’s smaller ships, a sloop. While he deals with the rat, you, Grant, will sneak into the villa through the rear entrance. Your orders are to steal the chart bearing my signature. Do not be discovered. Jacob will be with you throughout and if you are seen, he will utilize his new-found talent in swordplay with orders to kill.”

  “I don’t understand, Captain,” I uttered.

  L’Ollon loomed over me. Strands of oily black hair fell into his face. “I will give you a sword, Jacob. You will protect Grant’s life. You will kill anyone who hinders the success of your mission. Just remember what you learned in Santiago when that man tried to take you from me. Remember what you did to Beelo.
” He smirked. “Death just seems to follow you, doesn’t it, lad?” He stepped away from me and motioned for Christoff.

  “Once you have stolen the sea chart,” Christoff began, “make for the harbor. I will lead Shanley there. He will think he is about to make a grand sale, but Obsidian’s crew will be there to capture him and bring him aboard. He will answer to Captain L’Ollon for his crimes.”

  L’Ollon threw his heavy sword across the room. The tip of the blade stuck into the wooden wall. The pommel wobbled from side to side.

  “There is time yet,” he said, now sitting on the edge of the desk. “Four days, to be precise. I want you both to work the main deck until we reach Curacao, so I can keep an eye on you. Once land is on the horizon, I will provide you with fresh clothing and the necessary tools to help you accomplish the mission. Now I ask only once, do you have any questions?”

  “When the job is over, Captain, what of Jacob and I?” asked Grant.

  L’Ollon’s brow arched. He stepped close to Grant and peered down at him. Strands of his black hair sprouted from under the red scarf and dangled over his eyes. “Are you asking, Cooper, for a reward? You want a share of the gold, do you?”

  “I desire no gold, Captain.”

  “Then what, in the wrath of Neptune, do you ask?”

  “To sign, Captain. I want to be official on board this great ship. I desire to be an articled crewmember. That is all I ask.”

  I could not understand Grant’s passion for the pirate life. Why would Grant desire to serve the ruthless L’Ollon? I wanted freedom. I wanted off the Obsidian and to be rid of Jean L’Ollon forever. I imagined asking for that. I envisioned myself standing tall and proud as Grant and asking the vicious pirate to let me go.

  “I’ll tell you what, Cooper,” said L’Ollon. “There is something else I want. If you can steal this item along with my sea chart, the shipboard articles will be spread out before you and you can sign your worthless name with my quill. How does that sound?”

  “Excellent, Captain. What more shall I obtain for you?”

  “A book, young cooper.”

  “A book, sir?”

  “Yes. In the private quarters of his villa, you will find a small library. Among the dusty tomes waits a book, small and crudely bound in sun-bleached brown leather. It is tied with a dark blue ribbon. Shanley has this book. I want it. You must get it but do not open it.”

  L’Ollon walked over to the window. The sunlight shone on his face as he stared out at the endless water. His left hand fell on the handle of his pistol. Silence filled the cabin and several long minutes passed. The ship creaked as it swam over the waves.

  “Christoff,” said L’Ollon suddenly, “set them to work on the main deck. Instruct them as you see fit. Teach them anything you desire. As for the deaf one, leave him in the cage until we reach land. No food, only water.”

  “Understood, Captain. Come along, lads.”

  Chapter 8

  Young Pirates

  So it was that Grant and I began our work on the main deck among the crew.

  Christoff showed us many things over the next several days and instructed the other pirates to share their knowledge when needed. There was excitement in Grant’s eyes as he worked alongside the pirates. Every chore he was given, he performed with a smile and hardly took time to rest. The other pirates liked his eagerness and energy. They took full advantage of him, using him to lighten their loads.

  I did what I was told. My life depended on it. Captain L’Ollon made his rounds and often stood on the forecastle looking down at the working crew. I could feel his eyes watching me. My misery was obvious, and he reveled in making matters worse.

  During midday, the Caribbean sun always shines the hottest. L’Ollon commented, “You look overheated, Jacob.”

  I nodded, not sure how to respond.

  “Give me your shirt, then. You’ll feel better with the spray of the sea on your back.”

  I obeyed and handed him the garment. The edge of his mouth curled to a devilish half grin. He left me to my work without saying another word.

  At first, I did feel better. The cool spray of the waves was refreshing, but it wasn’t long before I realized that I had been made a fool. I suffered terrible burns on my back and neck. The skin on my back cracked and bled.

  Apart from the maltreatment, I continued to work as hard as I could. I found that if I focused on the labor, I forgot my woes, if only for a little while. Though terrified, I climbed the highest rigging to the top of the mainmast to check the condition of the lines. I handled buckets of volatile gunpowder, served the pirates their food and drink, and held watch over the sea so the ship’s navigator could take a few moments rest.

  After several days of working the main deck, I grew fond of the sounds of beating lines and flapping sails. The pull of the wind, the rolling of the water, the moonlight casting a web of shadows on the deck—I enjoyed this part of life on the sea.

  In the few fleeting moments I was permitted to rest and eat, I went to the starboard bow to look out over the beautiful azure sea. The tips and swirls of the dancing waves sparkled like my mother’s eyes. In my heart I could hear her last words to me: I promise that I will watch over you always. I will be the sunlight that warms and the wind that cools. I will be the rustle of leaves and the stir of the sea. Feel these things through all of your days and know I am with you. Remembering her comforted me. I pressed on with strength.

  ~~~~~~

  “This isn’t so bad, Jacob,” Grant said.

  We were down in the barrel hold helping the others check the food and other provisions. The stock was dangerously low.

  “Better than being thrown overboard, I suppose.” I answered. “I like not being confined to the barrel room, but I don’t share your allure of the pirates’ life.”

  “For many years, I picked pockets to survive. I lived alone, and when I lost my way, there was no one there to help me. I dreamt of sailing, dreamt of being free. This is it, my friend. The Obsidian can go anywhere.”

  “Your devotion will not be rewarded. You’ll see. L’Ollon means to use us and then we’re dead. If not for his plans in Curacao, we would be dead right now.”

  “When we get there, we’ll see how…” he paused, and then tensed. “Today is the day, Jacob. We should be entering Willemstad Harbor this afternoon.”

  Grant and I stared at each other, suddenly frightened. A part of me wished we had another week to sail, another week of working the main deck instead of committing thievery with the possibility of being killed at any moment.

  “Aye,” said a deep voice from behind us. Christoff looked imperial in his fine russet blouse and shiny black boots. His leather belt held a magnificent cutlass enclosed in a gold trimmed scabbard. On his fingers he wore dazzling jeweled rings that sent beams of color dancing on the walls. He needed to impress Captain Shanley, to convince him that he was a wealthy seaman interested in purchasing a ship. He looked the part as he stood in the lantern light of the barrel room.

  “Come with me,” said Christoff. “Captain L’Ollon wants you cleaned up and readied for land.”

  We went to the main deck where the crew was hard at work furling the sails. At dizzying heights, the pirates dangled from taut lines and swaying beams. They hollered and grunted as they hoisted the heavy, wind-catching fabric to long bulging rolls. As the sails were raised, I felt the Obsidian slow. Soon, the three great masts looked like naked trees, and the pace of the mighty barque was reduced to a drift. I looked over the starboard side and saw Curacao resting on the horizon. The island looked long and flat; we were close enough that I could make out the pointy roofs and colorful paint of the Dutch-built homes.

  We followed Christoff to a small storeroom. He opened a long wooden chest to reveal bundles of clean clothes. Christoff drew out two clean, white linen shirts and handed them to us. Next, he gave each of us a thick black belt, a pair of soft leather shoes, and light brown pants made from soft dyed cotton.

  “Dres
s,” he said. “Forget your tattered garments. These clothes are yours to keep.”

  The pants were soft on my tired legs and the linen was cool on my burned back. The shoes fit perfectly. The soles cushioned my footfalls.

  “Ah, an improvement to be sure, lads! Now follow me, Captain L’Ollon awaits us. You’ll be given your orders one last time.”

  We found Captain L’Ollon standing tall at the bow in his knee-length brown coat and red scarf. He was peering out at the island through a small collapsible spyglass. When he heard us approach, he closed the glass and put it in his pocket.

  “Yonder waits Curacao,” began L’Ollon, “and in its midst is Captain James Shanley. He owns several ships, all of which are docked in the wharf. Shanley only sails two of them these days: his new brigantine Kraken’s Bane and the schooner Eternity. There are four other ships in the harbor belonging to him; two sloops, another schooner, and a fishing boat. These vessels are for sale.

  “Christoff will take you to the island in a rowboat; I don’t want anyone to know you have come from my ship. The Obsidian will approach the harbor an hour after you have made it to land. Once in the town, you will go with Christoff to Shanley’s villa.” L’Ollon reached in the left pocket of his coat and took out a bundle of thin, metal strips. He handed them to Grant. “You will use these tools to assist in accomplishing this mission.”

  “Lock picks,” exclaimed Grant in awe.

  “When Christoff leads Shanley away, use them to enter the villa and private quarters. Retrieve my sea chart and the leather book, and then make for the harbor immediately. Christoff will turn on Shanley and take him aboard the Obsidian where the bastard will suffer for his betrayal. And as for you—” He pulled the long curved dagger from his belt. He turned the blade away and handed me the hilt. “Take my blade. May it serve you well, young swordsman, but if you fail, this steel will be your death.”

  With a trembling hand, I accepted the heavy weapon. I realized it was more than a long dagger; it was a short sword. I tucked it in the left side of my belt. L’Ollon reached in his pocket again and withdrew a bulging coin purse, reminding me of the brown pouch my father weighed in his hand. My left hand tightened on the handle of the blade.