Cerulean Isle (5 page)
The boy began to cry. His hands dripped blood, and he tried to wipe them clean on his shirt.
Grant turned to me. “Listen, Jacob, we’re in a lot of trouble now. You have just defeated one of L’Ollon’s best swordsmen.”
He and the others dragged the corpse to the side of the room and covered it with a blanket. They left the blade in because if they removed it, more blood would flow. They mopped the floor and tried to get back to work. It wouldn’t be long before someone came down to our quarters looking for the boatswain.
Chapter 7
The Chart and the Book
No one could concentrate with a dead body so near. Everyone left me alone. I sat atop an empty barrel in the far corner of the room. It was past noon. The sun would be bright and hot overhead. The heat of the day fell through the cracks in the floorboards. Beelo’s body began to smell.
My heart raced each time footfalls rumbled the deck. I couldn’t help but watch the doorway, expecting an enraged group of pirates to storm in, blades drawn and pistols in hand.
Grant busied himself with a broom. He swept the room, humming softly, but I could see his fear. His face was pale and beads of nervous sweat trickled down his brow. He looked over at me, then continued sweeping.
My hands began to shake as I recalled every second of the fight. The pile of swords on the workbench gleamed as if silently calling to me. Despite the horror of Beelo’s drunken game, the sword gave me bravery and evened the odds.
I stood up, planning to take up another blade for protection, when a barrel streaked across the room. It shattered, spilling its contents of lemons and limes about the floor. Captain Jean L’Ollon, Quartermaster Christoff, and another pirate stood in the doorway.
L’Ollon’s coat was as brown as the wooden floor, and his heavy boots clopped like the shoes of a horse. Kneeling down, he pulled back the blanket and held his hand over Beelo’s bloody mouth. He turned to Christoff. “No breath. He is dead.”
L’Ollon approached Grant, his left hand resting on the pommel of his long dagger. “Speak, Cooper. What treachery has come to pass?”
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.”
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.
