Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) (13 page)

The captain leaned back in his chair, mentally debating how much was true. "How much money you got?"

"Eighteen dollars. It wouldn't have been enough, the rest was stolen. So I...I heard one of your crew saying you'd be stopping in Newport, and I made plans to come aboard and get off there." Tristan waited again, unable to tell if his situation was getting better or worse. What if the captain didn't say 'Newport' out loud to anyone?

"Let's see it," Alex said, holding out his hand for the money.

Tristan pulled a roll of damp bills and some change from his front pocket, stepped forward, and handed it over.

"You have luggage?" Alex straightened the bills along the edge of his desk, thumbing through for a quick count.

"In the engine compartment."

"You've been hiding in the engine room?" Alex threw his head back in laughter, then switched to being dead-serious. "The carbon monoxide would've knocked you off in the first hour."

Tristan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing logical came to mind. It was a fact and he knew it.

"Any fool who manages to survive with the engine deserves a drink!"
And a ride to shore.
"What'll it be?" The captain pulled out bottles of scotch and vodka from a lower desk drawer.

"Water?" Tristan asked.

"Water it is. Charley, get the kid a gallon!" Alex said cheerfully, waving Charley out the door.

"Thanks." Tristan's relief faded when the man frowned.

"Don't thank me yet, kid. You don't know where you're being dumped." The captain put the vodka away and kept the scotch, rising from his chair to get himself a glass. "There's a place we should be passing any hour now—that is, once the engine's online. You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

"No, sir."

Alex nodded. "Well, you can't expect to hitch a ride and have all the say about where you end up, and it's better than being fish bait." He poured his drink. "It's a speck of land. Took a shipment there once."

Alex stared out the small window, his mind blank. Tristan tried to get a good look at the map, unable to decipher color-coded lines, and pocketed a book of matches without thinking. By the time he realized what he'd done, Alex was returning to his desk.

"If you make your way to the far side, you'll find a ferry dock. Some other ship can take you back to the mainland."

Tristan stepped away from the desk as Alex dropped into his chair. The captain shuffled the top map to the bottom of the stack. "Well? You can't expect me to stop everything and take you back to Seattle, or anywhere in Oregon for that matter, can you? I won't be responsible for you on this ship. You're added weight. Food and water are slim enough with the altered course. We'll probably be drifting in on fumes as it is." Alex emptied his glass in one gulp. "And be grateful for God's sake."
You're lucky I'm willing to get near the damned place. Lord help me if I ever end up there again. Better yet, kill me first.
"Charley will take you in the lifeboat."

"Lifeboat?" Tristan pictured an iceberg with such jagged edges, the ship they were on would have no chance of docking. Why else would he be sent in a lifeboat?

Charley reentered the cabin with a plastic jug of water.

"Charley, my boy." Alex refilled his empty glass with another shot of scotch. "I've got a mission for you."

"Yes, sir!" Charley stood straighter, an eager smile plastered to his face.

"I want you to take our young hitchhiker to land when I say so. Take
Ol' Yeller
. It's gassed up and shouldn't give you any trouble."

"Land, sir?"

"An island. Just off course." Alex downed another shot. "Coming up."

"You mean…." Charley's eagerness diminished. "You can't mean you're going to leave him stranded on a deserted island, can you, sir?"

"It's not deserted and the ferry can take him to the mainland."
I think I remember something about a ferry.
"I think the lad's proven himself clever enough to trade his way for a ticket." Alex began mumbling to himself, pulling a map from the center of the stack to lay over the others. The eighteen dollars did not reappear.

"Maybe I could work?" Tristan asked. "Just until you get somewhere?"

"No can do, buck-a-roo," Alex said, pulling another map to the top. "Out."

"But—"

Charley pulled Tristan out of the cabin.

Tristan's bags sat on a wooden crate on deck. Charley told him to stay put and trotted off somewhere. The engine finally roared to life and the crew filed out of the galley, in too much of a hurry to take any real notice of him.

"How much more daylight?" Tristan asked when Charley returned.

"Hour and a half, maybe." Charley spoke in a hushed voice, avoiding eye contact.

"Do you know anything about this island?"

"No. But I'm guessing that's it over there." Charley pointed into the wind at the horizon.

Tristan squinted, unable to see any signs of land. "Where's the mainland?" Tristan assumed a much shorter distance between the island and mainland. "Maybe the island has a large population. They'd need to be in touch with the mainland somehow. A ferry makes sense." As long as he could get back to the mainland, finding the emerald wouldn't be a lost cause.

"I don't know anything about the island itself."

Tristan waited in silence until a hazy gray strip defined itself; wider than he expected, covered with trees. He laughed at himself for assuming Alaska would be covered in ice, then searched again for the mainland in other directions. There had to be a mistake somewhere—something he'd missed. "Would it be on the other side of the island?"

"Only one mainland and it's behind us."

Tristan searched the horizon as far as he could see. "How far?"

"Couple hundred miles." Charley shrugged. "Grab your bags. I'll show you the boat we're taking."

Tristan cringed, remembering Alex's fleeting estimate of five hundred. "Why can't we pull in at the ferry dock with this ship?"

"Alex probably wants to stay on course." Charley led the way to three rubber raft lifeboats and pointed to the least faded,
Ol' Yeller
. "Put your bags under the bench." Charley stepped in and untied lifejackets, tossing them to the deck. "Here's a Ziploc if you want to keep anything dry."

Tristan wasn't sure he needed to, but transferred the matches, the deck of cards from his back pocket, and the flashlight, hoping Charley wouldn't recognize any of it. The ship's engine slowed to an idle and Tristan glanced at the island, surprised to see it so close. "That was fast."

"Fastest one of her kind!" Alex said, from a higher platform.

Tristan shielded his eyes to look up at the captain. He seemed relatively good-natured, but was also willing to leave a kid stranded on an island he would never personally step foot on.

"Take care of yourself!" Alex shouted cheerfully. "And get the hell off my ship!" He kept smiling and walked away.

Charley gave Tristan a nod of encouragement and pointed into the raft. They stepped in and fastened their life vests while being lowered into the water. The raft's motor jerked to life and they took off at full speed, slamming against every swell of waves.

"Do we really need to go this fast?" Tristan yelled over the motor, deathly afraid of bouncing out.

"I need to get back before dark," Charley yelled. "I have a family, you know."

"Why wouldn't he just give me a job?"

"Not my call."

Tristan faced into the wind to keep his hair from whipping his eyes, using both hands to hang on. The shoreline approached fast—an entire mountain range. "He said the island was small!"

"I'll take you in as close as I can," Charley shouted, aiming for an inlet with calmer waves. He raised the angle of the propellers to keep from hitting the jagged rocks that only showed between waves. "This is as far as I can go. Sorry, mate."

"Can't we try a different beach?"

"No time. This'll work. Give me your jacket."

"What?" Tristan clung to his vest. The bottom of the raft snagged on rocks, yanking it sideways. "You can't be serious."

"Jackets are for the crew. It's not deep or far, just cold. Keep your balance."

"But I'm not a good swimmer!" Tristan studied the crashing surf. "I can't swim at all!"

"You won't need to. I have to get back before Alex leaves. Come on, go!"

Tristan took off his vest and quickly knotted a strap from his backpack to the jug of water before slipping it on. He held the duffle bag with both arms and sat on the edge of the raft. The tips of his shoes barely reached to test the freezing water.

"Hop in when the water's low. You'll get a feel for footing."

Tristan missed the opportunity and waited, doubting he could get himself to jump.

"Now!" Charley shoved him off the edge when the next wave passed.

Tristan inhaled a shriek. The freezing water leveled out at his waist. He held the bag above his head to keep it dry. "I can't do it!" He turned to get in the raft, but Charley had already reversed the engine, making his way to deeper water. "You can't leave me out here!"

"Sorry, mate. Walk when the waves are low, jump when they pass. Get out of the water as soon as possible. Good luck!" Charley turned the boat and sped away.

"You can't do this!" Tristan couldn't watch the raft, too concerned with the approaching wave. His legs were already numb. Two waves passed before he could get himself pointed toward shore.

With timing and balance, Tristan inched his way when the water was low, jumping a few feet with the waves, dreading the landing and undertows. A wave dropped him into a hole with no footing. His baggage weighed him down, keeping him underwater until the next wave slammed his knees and shins against sharp edges.

Tristan let go of the duffle bag to use his hands on the rocks, scrambling to get reasonable footing before the next wave and undertow could pull him out farther. The bag hadn't gone far; it almost knocked him over when the next wave came.

Nearly frozen, Tristan swung the duffle bag toward shore. It landed where taller rocks kept it from rolling. Tristan pushed himself faster, slipping and falling more often than not, driven by the fear of something bloodthirsty nipping at his heels, drawn by the trail of blood from gashes he could not feel.

Shallower water proved more challenging—quicker rushes with slimier ground and sharper rocks. Tristan slowed his pace for safer footing and when he reached the duffle bag, he threw it onto the rocks above the waterline. Watery blood oozed from his hands.

The straps on the pack bit into his shoulders. He twisted to get it off and launched it, willing to sacrifice everything inside. The tethered water jug bashed against a rock.

Shaking uncontrollably, he used barnacles for traction and pulled himself up the final embankment, spotting his pack in a shallow tidal pool a short distance away. He was too frozen to crawl toward it, and instead faced the setting sun.

The water was warmer than the wind and for a moment, he considered getting back in. The ever-crashing waves held no sign of bloodthirsty monsters, nor the ship named
Falcon
. Tristan's last thought, lowering his head to a rock for just a quick rest, was of the tide—whether it was currently high or low.

13

-
S
ECURITY
B
REACH -

"IT'S TRUE!" Dorian skidded to a stop in the cabin. Gram and Oliver leapt from the kitchen table, upsetting stacks of bisque dishes at one end and mixtures of glaze at the other.

"What is it?" Gram asked. "Is it the cave?" She tossed her paintbrush aside and slipped out of her smock.

"There's a boy on the beach!"

"Oh." Oliver settled back into his chair with a bowl and towel. "I thought all the kids left with their parents."

"They did!" Dorian said. "The boy on the beach is a stranger!"

"I thought security—" Gram stopped when Oliver dropped his dish and rushed out of the cabin. The screen door banged behind him.

Dorian sighed and rolled her eyes, taking Oliver's place at the table. "Whoever it is, he looks hurt. I think we should—"

The front screen slammed open and Oliver appeared in the doorway. "You're not going out there." He snatched his jacket from the back of the chair. "Where is this boy?"

"I'll show you."

"For once, Dorian, I want you to do like I tell you and stay put," Oliver said. "Just tell me what side of the island he's on and let me deal with this."

"Southwest."

"You are not to be anywhere near him until I know exactly what he's up to and why he's here. Consider him a criminal or an escaped convict for all I care. He's not to be trusted under any circumstance."

"Until you've cleared him?" Dorian asked.

Oliver glared, then headed for the door.

"Oliver!" Dorian stood from the table, enraged at being treated like a child half the time. "He might need medical attention. And he doesn't look like he's up to anything. He looks…young."