Shark Island (13 page)

“Great heavens,” said Wiki, feeling glad that the funeral procession was halfway back down the track and out of earshot of this cheerful little yarn.

“It cartwheeled three times before it hit the water,” George assured him.

“I'm not surprised!”

“Then we saw this famous great nail sticking out of the plank.”

“Which had snagged the canvas shroud and held the corpse in place?”

“Exactly,” said George, and smiled benignly, back to his placid self now that the ordeal was over.

The grave was filled in and the dirt patted down. The four seamen joined them, their shovels on their shoulders, grinning broadly, not even trying to pretend they had not overheard the yarn and enjoyed it. “Back to the brig,” said George cheerfully, setting himself in motion. He looked up at the sky and observed, “By the time we get there food should be just about to hit the table.”

“Not for me,” said Wiki. “I'll get you to drop me at the
Annawan.
” As she had thanked Rochester for the part he had played in the brief ceremony, Annabelle Reed had put out a hand, and without even looking at him, had gripped his wrist.

To his relief, George nodded without asking for details. Then, just as he started to follow Rochester and the four seamen down the graveyard path, a distant rattle of stone distracted Wiki's attention. He stopped, looked around, and saw a man standing on the ramparts of the prison, looking out to sea. It was Forsythe—the burly figure was unmistakable. Wiki wondered if he was looking for a ship from the exploring expedition, but as he watched, the southerner turned round, and made the same long careful survey of the land. Wiki hesitated, on the verge of going to the prison ruins to see what he was about, but by the time he arrived at the top of the track to the beach, Rochester was out of earshot. When he looked back at the bastion, Lieutenant Forsythe had vanished.

Thirteen

When Wiki clambered on board the schooner
Annawan,
the crew was at midday dinner, and so the decks were very quiet. Because it was hot, the off-duty watch was in the forecastle, and those on duty were in the shadiest spots they could find while they took a break from their work at the pumps. No one tried to approach him; instead, he was aware of hostile stares. Wiki looked around for Hammond so he could announce his arrival, but couldn't see him anywhere, so he headed for the quarterdeck and went down the after house stairs.

When he arrived at the threshold of the captain's cabin, he paused. He'd forgotten just how great a contrast the after house was to the brightly sunlit deck—how it was so much more like a Stonington parlor overburdened with furniture than a regular captain's cabin. Instinctively, he checked the floor where the corpse had lain. The blood-soaked mat was gone, and the deck boards were clean. Then he saw that Annabelle was hunched in a chair in front of the heating stove. Despite the heat of the day, flames flickered. Perhaps because of that, she hadn't noticed his arrival.

He cleared his throat, and she whirled around in her seat. With a gasp she said, “Wiki!” When he went up to her, she stood up and gripped his wrist again, dragging him close as she hissed, “What was it you recited at Ezekiel's burial?”

It was the very last thing Wiki had expected her to say. He detached his wrist, took a step back, and then said,
“Haere e te hoa, ko to tatou kainga nui tena.”

“What does it mean?”

“Literally,
Go, my old friend, to the eternal abode that awaits us all.
”

Annabelle slumped back in her chair, her eyes huge with horror, and he abruptly remembered that Cajun were reputedly superstitious. “You spoke to Ezekiel's
ghost?
”

He grinned reassuringly, and joked, “I didn't expect him to answer.”

However, she was not amused. Instead, she glanced wildly around the room—and something rustled in the darkest corner. It was the same stealthy scraping sound Wiki had heard while he was examining Captain Reed's corpse. Again it reminded him of rats creeping toward the scent of blood. The hairs on the nape of his neck shivered and lifted.

Another furtive scrape. It came from the big covered birdcage. Cautiously, Wiki crept over to it, and lifted a corner of the cover. A round unblinking eye peered back at him. It belonged to a parrot—a large white parrot that shifted about on its perch. In the sardonic fashion peculiar to parrots, the bird revolved its neck so it could study him coldly, first from one side of its head, and then from the other.

When Wiki looked back at Annabelle, she had her eyes squeezed shut. Dropping the cage cover, he went back to her, saying more gently, “I quoted that proverb at the burying ground at the top of the cliff. Even if it worked, there's nothing to be afraid of in here.”

“Isn't there?” Her voice shook wildly.

Wiki said carefully, hoping she was not going to succumb to another fit of hysteria, “According to my people's beliefs, by now a bird will be carrying your husband's spirit on his journey to the underworld.”

“Ezekiel's spirit is in a
bird?
”

She sounded more horrified than ever. Wiki shrugged helplessly, and excused himself by saying, “It's a common belief in the Pacific, not just in New Zealand.”

He saw her shudder, and then she shifted about, groping for a handkerchief to dab at her cheeks. When she looked up there were still tears in her eyes, but somehow she managed a shaky smile. “Wiki, dear Wiki, what are you doing here?”

“I know Lieutenant Forsythe told you I am with the exploring expedition,” he said, standing and surveying her with his hands propped on his hips. “A much better question is what are
you
doing here?”

“On this ship?”

“Aye.” He paused, watching her tilt her head to one side in the way he remembered so well. Despite the passage of eight years and the terrible events of the day before, she was just as young and beautiful as she had been the week before her wedding.

He said, “Every time I thought of you, I imagined you in pretty gowns, pouring tea from pretty tea sets, prettily entertaining Ezekiel's friends.”

“Life was indeed a lot like that,” she admitted, and a dimple flickered in one cheek.

“So why in the devil's name did you come on voyage?”

“Because I was bored.” Her eyes flashed, and she exclaimed, “Have you any idea what it is like to live in Stonington, Wiki? It is very pretty, the village, yes, but those New Englanders! Not only are they as cold in nature as an undertaker's doorknob, but the womenfolk—they spy, you know. And gossip. All the time, they spied on me.”

“But why would they do that?”

“Wiki, you're teasing me,” she accused. Her superstitious fright and hysteria had vanished; she was as pert and challenging as he remembered. “Can't you imagine the contrast to my life before?” she demanded.

“To your life in New Orleans?”

“You have no idea of what life is like for a New Orleans belle—the flowers, the passion, the poems and the duels! Life for a belle in New Orleans is perfectly dazzling, while life for a Stonington matron is perfectly drear.”

“Then you should have married one of your New Orleans beaux,” he said callously.

“Wiki, you are cruel—you were ungallant back then, and I made myself excuses for you because of your youth, but now you are too old to be ungallant.”

“Not so.” Damn it, he thought, she was flirting with him, and he should have more sense than to allow it; she'd been widowed for less than twenty-four hours. It was indiscreet enough for him to be alone with her, even with the door wide open; it reminded him too much of the week before her wedding.

She leaned forward and commanded softly, “Sit down.”

Wiki looked around. There was a big chair close to the lady-chair where she was perched, but he had a strong feeling that it had been Ezekiel Reed's, so he chose one with an upright back which was farther away. While he sat on it, he was conscious that she was watching his every small movement intently.

When he was settled, she said, “You have greatly changed since the age of sixteen—you were a man already then, but now you are even more so.” She studied his face with those enormous, rapt eyes. “But very handsome still—and I am so glad you did not tattoo your face as you so often threatened. Your face creases up so beautifully when you smile that I assure you yet again that a tattoo is not necessary. Why do you wear your hair so long?”

“Right after your wedding I gave up the attempt to look like a Yankee,” he said. “It didn't make sense any more.”

She nodded. “It is a great pity Ezekiel did not get to see you again before he—died. He would have greatly approved.”

He said, astonished, “What in God's name makes you think that?”

“He thought it was a huge joke that his great friend William Coffin should have the wonderful effrontery to carry his good-looking half-breed son to Salem, and introduce him to his oh-so-proper Nantucket-born wife and all her neighbors.”

Wiki said wryly, “It wasn't such a joke for me.”

“Or her, no doubt—but Ezekiel greatly disliked your father's wife, Huldah.” Then she demanded, “So what happened to you right after my wedding?”

“I went to college.”

“College? What do you mean?”

“My father was furious—because of that waltz.” He grinned wryly and said, “You know how Stonington people gossip?”

She pouted her lips. “You're teasing me again.”

“No, I'm not.” His father had been so furious about that sensational last waltz and the gossip it had caused that when he had sailed off to the Pacific he had left Wiki behind. “And the minute his ship was hull-down on the horizon his wife packed me off to a missionary college in New Hampshire, so I could learn how to convert the poor benighted Indians.”

Wiki grinned reminiscently. “But instead I met George Rochester, who'd been sent there in disgrace as well, and the Abnaki Indians converted
us
—they told us yarns and taught us how to hunt. After a few months the authorities found out about it and all hell let loose, so we built a birchbark canoe and paddled off down the Connecticut River.”

“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands. “So why can't you understand how tedious it was to pour tea from
pretty
teapots and wear
pretty
gowns in Stonington, when all the time you were having such adventures?”

Wiki smiled, but then said soberly, “Was Ezekiel an unkind husband?”

Her perfect brows flew up. “No, not at all. When he was home he was always generous—but he was too often away. After eight years I was tired of it, so I made up my mind to go on voyage and find romance again.”

“Romance—in
sealing?
”

“Mrs. Palmer went a-sealing in this very same schooner, so why shouldn't I?” she demanded, and flipped a hand in a very Gallic gesture.

“Mrs. Palmer sailed on the
Annawan?
” Wiki exclaimed, astounded.

“The voyage didn't go well—but she was proud of it. Everyone praised her valor—including her own husband,” Annabelle said resentfully. “Even that fool—that
couyon
Joel Hammond was praiseful. Did you know he was on the
Annawan
at the time?”

Joel Hammond had sailed on the
Annawan
with Palmer?
Good God,
thought Wiki, and said, “What do you mean, the voyage didn't go well?”

“The ship was commandeered by a crowd of wicked convicts. They were on a prison island, just like this one, and those horrid desperadoes made Captain Palmer carry them to the mainland.”

“
What?
When was this?”

“They sailed from Stonington in 1832, and came back the following year,” she said, and added serenely, “They said they were lucky to get away with their lives, and Ezekiel was able to buy this schooner very cheap because of it.”

Wiki deliberated, wondering if there was any documentation of this in the box that still sat on Rochester's desk, and whether this was the kind of thing she had been hunting for. He said, “Why did you try to burn the ship's papers?”

“Why do you ask me that?” she said evasively. “I was just clearing away. The
Swallow
will carry me to Rio de Janeiro—Lieutenant Forsythe has said so—and I must tidy up and pack my things.”

“
Forsythe
told you we're going to Rio?”

“Yes—when your ship leaves, I leave with it, so I must make haste to be prepared.”

“Have you spoken to Captain Rochester about this?”

“No, but Lieutenant Forsythe offered passage on the
Swallow
—and he is a lieutenant, while Rochester is just a passed midshipman, no?”

“But Rochester's the commander of the ship—he's
Captain
Rochester.”

“Only when he is on board the ship, is that not right? That's what Lieutenant Forsythe told me.”

Wiki, feeling hopelessly bogged down, said, “It's complicated.”

“Well, when I ask
Captain
Rochester for passage he can't possibly refuse because I cannot stay here,” she said pertly, “A married woman without a husband, you know, is in a most peculiar position—especially at sea.”

Wiki thought that most surely was the truth, and that even if they managed to save the
Annawan,
George would probably have to offer Annabelle passage to Rio out of sheer gallantry, because it wasn't decent to leave her alone with these men. Curiously, he said, “Where were you yesterday when Forsythe and Kingman came on board?”

She frowned. “Wasn't I in this room?”

“Not according to Lieutenant Forsythe.”

“Then I must have been in the galley.”

Wiki studied her thoughtfully. This helped to explain why she had fled to the galley when her husband had thrown her out of the cabin, but it still seemed an odd place for someone so elevated as the wife of the captain. “Were you alone?”