68 Knots (27 page)

“But you know, that's not how it's going to happen. At some point, they'll all show up at the docks, and we'll sail
toward them in the
Dreadnought
, and we'll tie up and march out and greet them. No McKinley. No stories about the Leadership Cruise. No—what will we talk about? Raiding yachts and stealing food? Bobbing for other people's lobsters? Drinking rum and listening to music and having a great time? How do we explain that to our parents? What do we say when they ask about McKinley? What's the
first thing we do
when we sail up to the dock?”

The conversation was having the desired effect. BillFi was more relaxed now, leaning against the rigging and listening to Arthur's thoughts. He was silent for a long time, staring out at the friendlier sea. Then at last, he spoke.

“I don't know what we'll do, Arthur,” he said. “I don't know what. I just don't know. But I'm sure that something will come to us. Something will come. We'll know what to do. Then.”

The night grew chilly, and the
Dreadnought
crew drifted below. The last to leave Dawn and Arthur alone was Marietta, but at about ten o'clock, she abruptly stomped down the gangway and disappeared. The air was damp but clear, and the sound of conversations bubbling up from the dining hall blended with the rhythmic churning of the bow through the low even swells of the sea. The horizon had long since transformed, slowly, from a vista of pine-green land and slag-green water to a shimmering slice of tiny lights, blinking in cacophony, confusing and tranquil and mesmerizing. The air was crisp with the smell of salt and seaweed. Dawn took the first turn at the ship's wheel, her baseball cap pulled low with her ponytail flopping out behind, and Arthur sat on the railing next to her. At her commands, he jumped down to adjust the sails.

“We need to sail on a bearing of 150 degrees until we see a red flashing light straight off to the east,” Dawn said. “It should flash every four seconds, according to the chart. It has a whistle on it, too, but we're still too far away to hear it. Once that light is directly east, we should turn and head straight for it.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, “but I see a million lights. Which one is right?”

They searched the broad band of lights off the port beam, trying to spot a small red flash that repeated every four seconds. Arthur counted “one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four” out loud as Dawn fixed her gaze on one red light after another. She checked and dismissed radio-tower lights far in the distance, running lights of other ships, even occasional taillights on cars that flickered as they passed behind houses and trees on shore.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “I might have it. Keep counting.”

“One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four. One thousand one—”

“Are you sure your count is right?” Dawn asked. “The light I'm looking at is blinking too slowly.”

Arthur turned on a small flashlight, checked his watch, and counted again.

“That's it!” Dawn said. “It's right over there.” She pointed off the port bow and counted with Arthur. “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four—we found it! It looks like it'll be due east in about half an hour or so.”

“Thank goodness,” Arthur said. “That counting was really getting on my nerves.”

Arthur sat back down, and the two settled into comfortable silence. The night began to take on a magical air, the way
it does when friends huddle close outdoors. The sky overhead, undimmed by streetlights and unsoftened by clouds, was a sea of blackness sparkled with a billion tiny suns. Looking up past the main mast, Arthur tried to imagine just how far away those stars were. He knew that the light that reached his eyes had left the stars long ago—they had all moved by now, and some had exploded or sputtered out altogether before he was born. There was life out there—he could feel it—but suddenly, he and Dawn were the only living souls in the universe.

“Do you ever wonder where we're going?” he asked.

“Sure I did,” Dawn answered. “But then we found that blinking red light.”

Arthur laughed. “That's not what I—”

“I know what you meant,” Dawn said with a sweet smile. “I was kidding. Sure, I wonder where we're going. And think about what that means. Where will we be tomorrow? Will we find this cave, climb in, and discover huge amounts of treasure? Or will we miss the island entirely and wind up sailing into a crowded harbor on Vinalhaven? And what about the day after that—where will we be then? And next month? And next year? And a hundred thousand years from now? Where will Arthur Robinson and Dawn FitzWilliam be a hundred thousand years from this exact moment? Will we be here on Earth as other people? Or will we have disappeared for good? Or will our sun have exploded or sputtered out altogether?”

Arthur looked at Dawn. He was sure he hadn't said that out loud. He studied her pretty freckled face as she watched the lights and minded the wheel. He hadn't felt this content in a very long time.

“Oh, hey,” Arthur said as he hunched against the chill of the night, “I found the
Dreadnought
's log when I was poking around McKinley's cabin earlier. I was trying to find more books about night sailing, and I found this old logbook.”

Dawn grinned. “Well, go get it!” she said. “Let's find out what this old boat has been up to.”

Arthur scrambled below and returned with a large leather-bound book. He clicked on his small flashlight and skimmed the pages quickly.

“Wow!” he said. “This ship has done a lot of things before we found her.”

“We have time to kill,” Dawn said. “Tell me where she's been.”

Arthur settled himself down on the rail. “Let's see,” he said. “Looks like she was built in 1892—way more than a century ago! She was launched on June 12, and they really did smash a bottle of champagne on her bow when she slid into the water.”

“I love it!” Dawn said. “I think a great boat like this deserves a fancy beginning. What was her maiden voyage? Exploring the South Pacific?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur said. “She hauled boxes of stuff from Maine to Newfoundland.”

“Oh,” Dawn said, disappointed.

“The boxes were filled with ordinary stuff—fabric, paint, candles, rope, bullets. One box even had a bunch of shoes in it. And she sailed back from Newfoundland filled with tons of salted cod.”

“Gross,” Dawn said, wrinkling her nose. “I hope they didn't put any in
my
bunk.”

Arthur laughed. “It looks like the
Dreadnought
hauled boring cargo for a long time,” he said, flipping through several pages of the logbook. “In the 1950s, she was sold to a guy named Dr. Hector. I don't see his first name in here at all. He sailed the ship to Annapolis, Maryland, and it looks like he hired a bunch of people to fix her up for a sailing trip around the world.”

“Cool!” Dawn said. “Maybe we should do that sometime.”

Arthur glanced at her. He wasn't sure how to interpret that, so he turned back to the book. “Looks like Dr. Hector died in 1974, and a bunch of people in Gloucester, Massachusetts, turned the
Dreadnought
into a tour boat.” He chuckled. “They offered dinner cruises in Boston Harbor—lobsters and all. Just like we've been doing, sort of.”

Dawn smiled. “Sort of.”

“Then the ship was a kind of floating classroom in Mystic, Connecticut,” Arthur said, turning the pages. “It looks like that's when they built our bunks down below, for the students to sleep in. Then she was a bed-and-breakfast off Long Island, and then she was a museum in Provincetown, Massachusetts.”

Dawn patted the steering wheel. “You've gotten around, haven't you, girl?” she said to the ship.

“And then she was sold to Howard McKinley,” Arthur said.

“And then McKinley killed himself, and a bunch of teenagers took over the ship, and now we're sailing off in search of pirate treasure,” Dawn said. “Maybe we should write our own entry into the log.”

Arthur smiled. “Let's wait to see how it all turns out,” he said. “Maybe we won't want to admit to anything in writing.” Arthur riffled back through the pages of the logbook, and a piece of paper fell out. He pounced on it before the wind could blow it overboard.

“What's that?” Dawn asked.

Arthur studied the paper. “It's a letter from McKinley, and it's addressed to his mother in Greencastle, Indiana.”

“What does it say?” Dawn asked.

Arthur read the note in the dim beam of the flashlight.

May 18

Dear Mother,
I know it has been a long time since I wrote last. Sorry about the delay. I've been working very hard—lots of irons in the fire, you know. The business world is tough, but I'm making it work for me. I think Dad would have been proud.

“Was his father dead?” Dawn asked.

“I guess so,” Arthur said.

“I didn't know that.”

I took the money I made from the Tex/Mex restaurant and used it to launch the Norfolk Notebook, sort of a touristy, family-oriented, general-interest regional magazine. You would like Norfolk, Mother. It's a nice city.

Anyway, the magazine was so successful that I was able to sell it after just a couple of years. And now I've parlayed that money into the biggest venture of my life. I'm buying a fleet of tall ships, and I'm going to use them to help young people learn the value of discipline and respect. The ships will operate like
summer camps on the ocean, and students will be able to test themselves against the elements and learn a lot about their ability to overcome obstacles.

“Well, that
is
what he said in the brochure, anyway,” Dawn said. “It didn't work out that way, but I guess that is what he was trying to do.”

I've already bought the first ship. It's called the Dreadnought, and it's a beauty. It's a 156-foot schooner, and it was—

“A hundred fifty-six feet!” Dawn exclaimed. “Not even close!”

Arthur nodded and continued:

It was once used as the personal yacht of the Duke and Dutchess of Wales. It's in perfect condition, and I think the students who live on board will be able to feel how they ought to behave. This ship commands respect, Mother, and I'm sure the others in my fleet will do the same.

I am taking a bit of a gamble, though. I have used all of my liquid assets to purchase the ship, so I'm counting on everything going well. If I don't get enough students, or if something goes wrong during the first summer, things could get a little tight. I wouldn't have to sell the ship or anything—I've planned too well for that to happen—but if the first summer doesn't go well, I might have to take your advice.

Working for Pete at the lumberyard would be hard, of course—being the older brother, I have always felt that I could do a better job at getting ahead—but if I have to do that for a few months to keep my cash flow in the black, then I guess I'm ready for that.

Arthur and Dawn were silent for a long moment. Then Dawn took a deep breath.