Seizure (14 page)

W
e clustered around the bunker’s only table.

It would’ve been more clinical to inspect the crate in Shelton’s garage, but we opted for secrecy. Plus, the bunker was a better venue for chewing me out.

“Flaring in public is
dangerous
!” Shelton sounded outraged. “You don’t know what could happen. What if you’d lost control in front of Bates? What if the virus had suddenly caused a new side effect? We don’t know enough to roll the dice like that!”

“You put us all at risk.” Ben’s finger stabbed in my direction. “
You
get caught,
we
get caught. You want to end up in a cage? Become a lab rat, like Coop was?”

Hi glared, arms crossed, content to let the others do the scolding.

I’d offered apologies on the car ride home, but no one was buying. Then or now. Finally, I’d had it.

“Enough! We’ve been over this. My actions were impulsive and risky. For that, I’m sorry. But we needed an edge against Bates, and it worked. Now can we please inspect our purchase?”

I didn’t tell them about my sniffing ability. Now was
not
the time. If the boys found out I’d also flared at a yacht club party, they’d flip out.

Scowls still in place, the boys let it go. They knew how stubborn I could be.

“Most of this stuff is junk.” Shelton shoved several items aside, including the eye patch, the hats, and the replica guns. Working quickly, we removed other worthless filler probably added by Bates to increase the price.

When we’d finished, what remained was a scroll of papers tied by a scruffy leather cord. Wrinkled and frayed, the documents had definitely seen better days.

“Hell-o!” Hi pointed.

The strange little cross decorated the very first page.

“Booyah!” Shelton unwound the cord.

“Don’t get too excited,” Hi cautioned. “Bonny’s treasure map is well known. A clever counterfeiter might’ve copied that symbol to dupe people like us.”

“True,” I said. “Let’s not lose our scientific objectivity.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Shelton moved aside for Hi, considered by all to have the best “science” hands.

“Which one of you is my assistant?” Hi raised both forearms, fingers splayed.

Ben shoved him a box of latex gloves. Properly garbed, Hi lifted the top sheet of parchment.

“It’s the first page of a letter,” Hi said.

I scanned the first few lines. “Addressed to Anne Bonny! Find out who wrote it.”

Hi checked the next sheet. I noted that both pages contained the strange cross.

The letter signed off with a bold set of initials.

“Somebody named M. R.” Shelton said. “Who could that be?”

“Mary Read.” I couldn’t believe it. “The letter is from Mary Read to Anne Bonny!”

“I kissed a girl, and I liked it!
” Hi sang.

Shelton chuckled. “There’s no proof they had that kind of relationship.”

But even I laughed. Whatever. If the documents were genuine, we’d hit the jackpot. That letter alone could be worth thousands.

Moving gingerly, Hi leafed through the remaining pages.

“Three letters,” he said. “Two from Read to Bonny, and one back from Bonny to Read. All dated early 1721.”

“How did Bates get letters going both ways?” Ben asked. No one could answer.

“When was
Revenge
captured?” I asked.

“Calico Jack was hanged in 1720,” Shelton replied. “So these were written after they’d been caught.”

“While in prison,” I said. “But why write each other letters? Weren’t their cells in the same jail?”

“How about we read and find out?” Hi said.

Good point.

Back to page 1. We studied the document in silence.

The language was antiquated, the script faded and hard to decipher. Still, it was English. Eventually the odd prose started making sense.

“There!” My finger shot toward the page. “Read says that she’s ‘bored to tears’ now that Bonny ‘has gone so far away.’”

“Gone?” Shelton ear-tugged. “Where’d she go?”

“Shhh!” Ben hissed. “Some of us don’t read as fast.”

We waited.

“Next.” Ben glanced my way. “And no spoilers this time.”

Hi flipped the page. My greedy eyes devoured the archaic text.

I waited, hands clasped in impatience. Finally they saw it.

“Holy smokes!” Hi.

“My God!” Shelton.

Ben looked up, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Congrats guys,” I breathed. “We just discovered what really happened to Anne Bonny. The truth.”

Hi read aloud. “‘Thank goodness your worthy father saw fit to claim you home.’”

“Worthy father?” Ben asked. “Like God? She died?”

“No! No!
Her
father. William Cormac! He
did
ransom her!” Shelton clapped his hands once. “Bonny went back to Charles Town.”

“You sure?” Ben sounded unconvinced.

“Yes.” My lips spread into a dopey grin. “She wasn’t hanged.”

“Letter two,” Hi said with a flourish.

We crowded together again.

“This one’s from Bonny to Read,” Hi said. “A month later, in February 1721.”

“Not dead,” Shelton noted. Ben shrugged in agreement.

The handwriting was stronger, the language more sophisticated, reflecting a better education. The correspondence consisted of two pages, the second largely covered by an enormous signature.

Anne Bonny. Clear as daylight.

Even better, Bonny had sketched the bent cross in the corner of both pages.“That symbol must mean something,” Hi said.

“Decorative?” Shelton mused. “Like handmade stationary?”

“I’m thinking something practical,” I said. “Like a calling card.”

“Watermark.” Ben stated it as fact.

I looked a question at him.

“It’s a security feature.” He pointed to the image. “Not a typical cross, but one that’s slightly flawed, so the reader knows
exactly
who drew it.”

“Of course!” I said. “Read and Bonny both sketched the symbol on every page, like an authentication:
I really wrote this
.”

“Let’s
read
the bloody thing,” Hi suggested again. “Sound good?”

He set the pages side by side so we could see the whole letter.

I read both pages quickly.

“Oh!” My disappointment was obvious.

“I see.” Ben frowned.

“Ah.” Shelton ear-tugged.

“That blows!” Hi crossed chubby arms. “They didn’t let her go?”

“Not according to this.” Shelton reread the passage. “Bonny wrote that colonial authorities only transferred her to Charles Town to face more piracy charges.”

“What is Half-Moon Battery?” Hi asked. “That’s where she said she was being held.”

No one knew.

My heart sank. Bonny had still faced execution. And given her notoriety in the Carolinas, her chances might’ve actually been worse.

“This is exciting!” Shelton wasn’t feeling my empathy. “We may rewrite the history books!”

I considered the new facts in Bonny’s letter. “Bonny was transferred to Half-Moon Battery at Charles Town. Subsequently, her father’s petition for release failed.”

“Scheduled to be hanged,” Shelton added. “They were really gonna do it.”

“Last correspondence,” Hi said. “Read to Bonny. March 1721.”

This letter was longer, stretching five pages. When we’d finished, everyone spoke at once.

“She’s talking about the treasure map!” Shelton squealed.

“Escape attempt?” Hi began to pace. “Wow!”

“We were right,” Ben said. “It’s all about the docks!”

“Hold on!” I raised two palms. “Organize. What do we know?”

Shelton pointed to the second page. “Mary wrote, ‘the sketch is safe, as is the subject.’ She must be talking about the treasure map. And the treasure! What else?”

“Could be,” I allowed. “Or she could be talking about someone’s portrait.”

Shelton looked at me as though I’d lost my mind.

“I’m only saying it’s not
certain
,” I said. “I tend to agree with you.”

“‘Keep faith and wits about ye.’” Hi read aloud. “‘Even the darkest holes may be breached, the stoutest locks tickled.’” He slapped a thigh. “Tell me she’s not hinting at escape!”

“Again, I agree. But we should avoid unfounded assumptions.”

Ben tapped the second-to-last page. “Read mentions a place called Merchant’s Wharf, and describes it as ‘thy favorite landing.’”

“We know Bonny used the East Bay docks,” I said. “Merchant’s Wharf must’ve been one of them.”

“I still can’t believe she’d tie up in the center of town,” Shelton chortled. “That’s beast!”

When Ben cleared his throat, we all went quiet.

“Bonny wrote she was being held at Half-Moon Battery. Then, in this last letter, Read said the dungeon was close to ‘both favored wharf and recent earthen works, a happy chance of fortune.’”

“And?” Shelton didn’t get it.

“‘Recent earthen works,’” Ben repeated.

“That could be a reference to where they buried the treasure,” I said.

“Of course!” Hi’s face was flushed with excitement. “Mary is telling Anne that her prison cell is close to the treasure tunnel!”

Clickity click! “Maybe they used the tunnel to bust Bonny out?”

“Son of a gun.” Shelton stared, thunderstruck. “Tory, you’re a genius.”

“These letters confirm everything!” Hi broke out a dance move—the Cabbage Patch. “Bonny’s treasure is buried beneath East Bay Street, somewhere near the old docks!”

“And we should look for the tunnels near that dungeon, Half-Moon Battery.” Shelton joined Hi by doing the Soulja Boy.

“We did it!” Hi crowed. “We figured out where Anne Bonny buried her treasure! Holy shnikies!”

“Just a second!” Ben’s voice halted the dance party. “Those are
huge
assumptions you’re making.”

“Ben’s right,” I said. “We don’t even know what Half-Moon Battery is. But first things first—we need to authenticate these letters.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “Let’s not embarrass ourselves again.”

“How?” Shelton asked. “You got a rare document expert on speed dial?”

“The treasure map.” Hi unrolled our stolen booty. “Let’s compare the handwriting in these letters to the verses on the map.”

“Good idea.” I placed a page on either side of the map, one penned by Bonny, the other by Read.

Mary’s block-letter style was clearly not a match.

But Anne Bonny’s bold, curling script, sweeping the page in aggressive, slashing strokes . . .

“The writing looks an
awful
lot alike,” Shelton said.

“Yep,” Hi agreed.

Ben nodded.

“We may be onto something,” I said. “But we need to be
absolutely
sure.”

“How?” Shelton asked.

“Leave that to me!” Hi beamed. “I know just the man for the job.”

“H
ow’d you find this place?”I asked.

Before us, eight stone columns flanked the entrance to a massive stone building. The roof was at least forty feet above our heads.

“And who’s responsible for this behemoth?” Shelton’s head was craned back as he spoke. “It’s ginormous.”

“Methodists.” Hi scrolled on his iPhone. “Pre–Civil War. The website says, ‘The Karpeles Manuscript Museum is housed in a grand and bold Greek Revival structure of the Corinthian order, styled after the Temple of Jupiter in Rome.’”

“Okay,” Ben said. “That fits.”

The colossal edifice was definitely shooting for the Greek-temple look.

“Are we set?” I asked. “This guy will help us?”

Hi nodded. “He’s a document whiz. My mother had him trace our family tree.”

“Remember, no one utters the phrase ‘treasure map.’ We’re only showing him the two lines we photocopied.”

The main doors led into a cavernous chamber resembling a courtroom. White columns lined walls edged with decorative friezes. Corner windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Rows of pews marched from the entrance to an open central area, where glass display cases surrounded a long wooden table. Beyond, against the rear wall, a low wooden divider encircled a stone pulpit.

The room was outsized and majestic, reflecting its past as a congregational hall. It made me feel very, very small.

“Mr. Stolowitski?” a prim voice called. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Dr. Short. Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

A compact man, Short wore tweed pants and a blue wool sweater. Tiny round glasses rested halfway down his nose. Snaggletoothed, with thinning brown hair, the guy was no beauty.

Short’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a half smile. “To be honest, Hiram, I’m not sure I
did
agree. But, here you are.”

“Yes, well,” Hi stammered, “I’m sure you’ll find this interesting. Thanks again. Sir.”

“These are your friends?” Short dipped his shoulders in a slight bow. “Dr. Nigel Short. Assistant director, museum historian, and resident forensic document examiner.”

“Tory Brennan.”

“Shelton Devers.”

“Ben.”

“Shall we get to it?” Short gestured with perfectly manicured fingers. “Place the documents on the table, then please stand aside. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Turning on a heel, he strode in the opposite direction and disappeared through a doorway.

“He’s prickly, but everyone swears he’s the best,” Hi whispered. “Trust me.”

I laid out Bonny’s two-page letter, then a photocopy of a pair of lines from the treasure map:

“Anyone have a clue what ‘the dark chamber’s sluice’ might be?” Hi asked.

“One thing at a time,” I said. “Here comes your guy.”