LC 04 - Skeleton Crew (19 page)

"I'm going to publish the translation after the dig is over. Lewis
has already talked to the UGA press, and they're enthusiastic. It'd
be nice to know who to give credit to for the original."

"I didn't get a chance to thank you for letting me stay in your
apartment," said Lindsay. "I was late getting to bed and had to be
up early."

"Maybe we can do it again. I was looking forward to some wine
and girl talk. Did you have any trouble getting in?"

"No, not at all."

"I was concerned that you might, because we changed the locks
on the doors. Sometimes mine sticks. I usually have it bolted. I
may be getting paranoid, but a couple of times about two weeks
ago I thought someone was trying to break in. I could have sworn
I heard the knob rattle. The security guard said he hadn't seen anything suspicious. The second time, it was two o'clock in the morning. I called Trey and the poor guy motored over here from the
barge."

"That's strange." Lindsay related the visit by Mike the previous
evening.

"That guy gives me the creeps," said Bobbie. "He and Tessa
really hate us. The others are all right. They're even interested in
what we are doing."

"Well, some of the archaeology crew are egging them on," said
Lindsay. She told them about the planting of false rumors.

"That letter she had the other day when Boote fell in the water,"
said Bobbie. "That was from Carolyn and Nate?"

"Apparently."

"Well, they shouldn't have believed such a stupid story anyway," said Bobbie.

"Well, no," agreed Lindsay, "but we need to lay off. It will be
easier on us in the long run if they don't think we're going to lay
waste to the barrier islands."

"What are you guys doing for dinner?" asked Harper.

Lindsay shrugged. "I haven't heard from John. What about
Trey?"

"He and Lewis are having a meeting. Why don't we go to the
mainland, or maybe St. Simons, and have dinner?"

"Sure, I'd like that," said Lindsay.

John entered the lab and pulled Lindsay aside. "How was the
interview with Ramirez?" she asked.

"Routine. Thanks for the warning. Look, I've got a meeting
with Lewis and Marcus-"

"That's fine, I'm going out with Harper and Bobbie. We're
going to St. Simons."

"Want me to get one of the guys to take you?"

One of the guys?"

"One of my crew."

"I think Bobbie and Harper probably have it covered."

"Call me when you get back."

"Sure, if it's not too late. Everything all right? I mean with the
FBI agent?"

"As far as I know. He was interested in the confrontation the
other night. I told him there was nothing to it, that you got the
pirate lady to kick his butt."

"Yeah, I wonder how Evangeline Jones is fairing with
Ramirez."

"She's probably spinning him a yarn." John kissed her cheek
and went to Lewis's office.

"Nice-looking guy, that John West," said Harper as they left the
building and headed for the dock.

"Yes, he is." Lindsay smiled to herself. John was the first guy
other than Derrick in a long time that she was truly interested in.

Harper was piloting the boat. Like Bobbie, Harper was a long-time
scuba diver and boater.

"Ever go sailing?" Harper asked, yelling above the sounds of
the motor. "That's what I love. It's like flying over the water."

That's what it felt as if they were doing now. Lindsay's hair was
pulled back in a ponytail, but it still whipped back and forth, hitting her face. She couldn't keep the stray tendrils out of her eyes.

"I love this job," continued Harper. "I usually work in libraries
and archives. This is the first job I've had where I get to combine
everything I enjoy. It's great."

It was about the same distance to St. Simons as it was to
Fernandina Beach where she and John had eaten a few nights earlier. But Harper was a faster driver, and they arrived at their destination quickly. She slowed considerably as she piloted to a dock and
cut the engine. Bobbie and Lindsay jumped out and tied the boat.

"OK," said Harper. "We have several choices. We've got
seafood-which I confess I'm getting a little tired of-Chinese,
Italian, French, and probably some others."

"How about Chinese?" Lindsay suggested.

I love Chinese food," Bobbie agreed.

They walked past the marina for a few hundred yards to the
Chinese restaurant. They were seated in a booth-Harper and
Bobbie across from Lindsay. They ordered egg rolls, garlic chicken,
Mongolian beef, sweet-and-sour pork, and rice.

"This is a feast," said Harper, filling her plate. "Bobbie, I'll bet
you need to eat a lot, doing so much diving and swimming."

"I need to eat a lot whatever I do. My mother tells me to enjoy
my metabolism while I'm young, because it'll leave me when I get
older."

"So, Harper," said Lindsay, "any previews on the upcoming
journal entries?"

"Nope, you have to wait along with everyone else. So far I
haven't run across any mention of another Asian. Poor man. You
said he was ill?"

,'Very."

"What about the first one? He was murdered?"

"Seems so."

"I haven't run across anything like that, either. So far, everything's like a happy outing."

"What I want to know is, what's the author up to?" Bobbie
asked.

Harper shook her head. "Lindsay, you going to do drawings of
all the remains?"

"If there aren't too many. Lewis wants to use them for newspaper articles."

"I thought they might be nice illustrations for the book."

"Lewis is going to hire a sculptor to do the faces from the skulls.
You might want to use photographs."

"Or both."

They talked their way through all the Mongolian beef and garlic chicken, three quarters of the sweet-and-sour pork, and two
plates of rice. Bobbie explained what a Lumbee Indian was to
Harper, and Harper told them what it was like growing up in
Singapore. Lindsay told Harper and Bobbie about her archaeologist grandfather and some of the early trips she went on with him.

"I'm stuffed," said Harper at last. "This has been fun."

It was dark when they walked back to the dock. Bobbie and
Lindsay untied the boat as Harper started the motor and turned on
the running lights. She piloted the boat easily out to the ocean and
took off. The ocean air was cool and Lindsay put on her jacket.
Bobbie and Harper both seemed to enjoy the wind in their faces.

They were twelve miles from their dock at St. Magdalena and
two miles from the shore on the opposite end of the island when
the motor began smoking and stopped.

"What in the... ?" exclaimed Harper over the whine of the
engine as she tried to restart it.

"Well, damn."

She reached for the radio. The cable had been yanked out.

From a voyage on the Spanisli Jalleon
'Estrella de 'Espana, c. i>>S

-'Translated by .Harper Latham

.. »..,,.».... .,! - ....... ._..........
AFTER THE STORM we did not immediately set sail. We first buried
the poor sailor, which amounted to Father Hernando saying a few
words over the body, then throwing it overboard with a cannonball sewn inside the shroud. After that, the ship required a few
minor repairs, which consisted of caulkers pounding oakum into
the separated seams, carpenters nailing lead sheets over gashed
places in the hull, and sailmakers repairing torn sails, or hoisting
new ones.

The ship's hull below the waterline had to be examined by
sailors who cannot only swim, but can hold their breath for an
extended period of time. They dived into the water, looking for
damage and making necessary repairs. Valerian's servant, )en,
helped in this task. It turns out that he was a pearl diver in his land.
The men were glad for his assistance. This is not a favored task,
and jen can stay underwater for a long time.

Three days after the storm, I stood by the grate on the weather
deck, hoping to overhear something else, but there was only the
steam and aroma of salted pork. The crew around me went about
their incessant tasks, as though there had been no fatal storm days
before. The page had turned the sand clock and said the third
prayer of the morning, when I saw the three of them-Valerian,
Lopez, and Captain Acosta-pass me going toward the captain's
cabin. I waited until they disappeared, then casually strolled from my post through the arched doorway past the large brass cannons
tended by soldiers intent on their own conversation. The few
sailors scrubbing the floor ignored me as I passed. They were
dressed in ragged clothes and most had bare feet, such a contrast
to me in my fine robes and shoes. Some of the crew bid on the
clothes of the fallen man, so poor are they that an extra set of rags
is considered a fine thing. The money, I understand, will go to the
unfortunate man's widow. Such a paltry sum would hardly be
worth it to Luisa, but will be a good sum to the poor woman and
her children. Such is the disparity between them and me. I am a
fortunate man.

I diverge from this journal entry, perhaps because I am ashamed
at my failure. I passed the helmsman, who stood at the whipstaff
toward the rear of the deck listening for any instructions shouted
to him from above. Beyond him was Valerian's servant, Jen, sitting
in front of the door to the captain's cabin, cradling his harp in his
arms, serenading the crew.

"I saw Valerian come this way," I stammered. I thought that
boldly admitting to following them would look less suspicious. "I
fancy a game of chess."

Jen grinned at me, and I felt he was not fooled in the least by
my ruse. "I tell him," he said, and I nodded, turned, and went to
my cabin, feeling foolish and incompetent.

Are they up to something? Of course, men like that are always
up to something. But are they smugglers? Smuggling gold and silver has long been a problem for the House of Trade, and they have
all but ignored it. Perez, the new governor of the House, thinks he
can bring it under control, if he has the right information. I wonder. Smuggling is as established as the Church itself. He thinks that
if he can make an example of a few, the rest will follow. But where
there is such great wealth for the taking ... I think it is a hopeless
venture. Perhaps when I get to Havana I will talk to my brother
about how to proceed. Undoubtedly, he will be a good counsel,
and he is as honorable as the good Perez.

I listen, but my discoveries are of little importance. I hear only
the common things from the rumblings of the crew. The man
Sancho who was salvaged from the ocean after the storm was
accused of stealing from another sailor. These men have so little, I
couldn't conceive what he could have stolen. I discovered that
what he stole was a space to sleep. Imagine. Such are the condi tions of the sailor. It ended with the boatswain deciding in favor of
the man making the complaint, and Sancho had to find another
place. I would not have found this very serious, but I do not live
their lives. It was apparently very serious with the crew. Another of
the crew accused Sancho of stealing his knife, but upon producing
it, it had Sancho's name scratched on it. Sancho, allowing that he
could neither read nor write, had had it done in Seville, he said. He
got to keep the knife. But it is my understanding that none of the
crew believe him, including the steward. I heard the steward complain to the boatswain that Sancho is a clever sneak and to watch
out for him.

I spend much time with Valerian. I like him, but I don't know if
he seeks out my company because he favors it, or because he is
watching me. At any rate, it looks as if the only way I will discover
any useful information will be from him. Valerian is a puzzle. He is
quite different from the garrulous Lopez and the rather dense captain. What could they have in common?

We are lucky with the weather. Good weather makes for a less
quarrelsome crew. However, it seems to me that dissension among
the crew has increased with Sancho's arrival.

Valerian conversed with Bellisaro about the sails. I stood and listened, amused. Valerian was suggesting a different arrangement of
the sails for faster sailing. I know Bellisaro and how he holds the
captain's suggestions in contempt, so I was surprised when he
gave Valerian a slight smile and ordered the crew to the ropes to
change the tension and angle of the sails. Then he yelled something down to the helmsman. Having thus done (which was not a
small task), Bellisaro took his sandglass, threw his log-line into the
ocean, then counted and timed the knots as the line reeled. He
looked sideways at Valerian and smiled. We were indeed going
faster.

That evening, over chess, Valerian explained that it has something to do with the way the wind rushes through the sails. I did
not understand. He went on to explain that the sails are like the
wings of a bird, and it might be possible to design a contrivance
with sails that could seat a man and he could sail from a cliff and
fly with the birds. I told him he needs to spend less time in the sun.
He went on to assure me that he is not the first to think of this,
other great men have designed such things. He said this as if he
assumed that I thought wanting to fly was the mark of an intelli gent and sane man. "Keeping the motion forward would be a
problem," he said, and I told him that no, I didn't think forward
motion was the problem. We were sitting cross-legged on the
floor, the chessboard between us. He leaned forward, his eyes
shining, warming to his topic. "A little over five hundred years ago
Eilmer of Malmesbury made a short flight from his abbey. And you
are familiar with the ideas of da Vinci?" I wasn't, nor did I know
who Eilmer was or where Malmesbury was. But if it was an abbey,
he was a man of God and that reassured me and I listened.
Actually, I enjoy listening to Valerian. He has a way of opening up
the world and looking at its wonders that often holds me spellbound.