The Dagger X (The Dagger Chronicles) (17 page)

After the first day on the island the pirates had moved their camp farther inland, wanting to make sure that when Morris arrived, there would be no sign on the beach of their occupation. That is where Kitto found them all gathered, along with Van and Sarah, who bobbed Bucket in her arms nervously while the boy sucked on a shard of coconut as big as his fist. Bucket’s knuckles were grimed with white ooze. Ontoquas stood nearby, having run ahead of Kitto to relay the information. She gave him a smile from across the circle, glad that he had made it back.

They all formed a ring around Exquemelin, who had cleared the undergrowth away and drawn a rude sketch of the island in the dirt with the stub of a stick.

“Best check on their progress,” X said, handing the spyglass Ontoquas had carried back with her to Black Dog. The towering man stepped forward and accepted
the instrument wordlessly, then disappeared through the leaves toward the beach.

X squatted on his haunches and marked a spot just off the island’s shore on the diagram.

“We hope they drop anchor roughly here and make to the shore with their boats. We count what number arrive to shore. It will likely be three parts out of four of how many crew total, which tells us how many to expect when we take the ship.”

Fowler broke in. “We take it in the dead of night, aye?”

“
Ja, ja.
We take the ship in the night and we sail off.”

“And we come back for the barrels?” Van said. X flicked his fingers at the beads on his beard again in thought.

“This part I do not love, but
oui
. We sail off. Morris watches his ship disappear, believing that never will he see her again. Then we return, very early perhaps. We row the jollies past the reefs and fetch the barrels, gone again after two trips at the most.” X looked up at his men. He grinned his gold tooth at them.

“Is anybody else ready to be rich?”

X trained the spyglass to his eye. The
Port Royal
lay at anchor in gently rolling waves, its spars bare.

“Have they launched a boat?” Kitto asked. X handed him the instrument.

“Into the water it goes. Very exciting, no?” He poked Kitto’s ribs. What Kitto felt could not be called
excitement—something closer to nausea would be more accurate.

Kitto squinted through the spyglass, balancing his elbows against the rocks, being sure to let as little of himself show as possible.

“Oh, Kitto, do you see him? Can you see Duck?” Sarah said from behind him. He turned to watch her chew at her lip, her face tight with anxiety.

X, Van, Kitto, and Sarah huddled together atop the craggy rocks close to the crevice that shed light into the cave below. Kitto scanned frantically for some sign of Duck, but in all the deck activity of dozens of men, he could see none.

Duck, where are you? Still hidden?

“He is not there, Mum,” Kitto said. “But that might be a good thing!” he added.

Sarah chewed on a knuckle now and willed herself not to cry. “Yes, it might be a good thing.”

I do not see William, either,” Kitto said finally. “I would have thought he would be on deck.” His eye caught sight of a small, dark figure moving about, hauling a bucket with him.

“Akin! I see Akin!”

Now Van snatched away the telescope and peered through it. “It
is
him!”

“Stay down, lower to the rocks,” X counseled.

“Now why is Akin the only one not locked away?” Van said.

Kitto held a hand to his brow. Without the telescope he could just make out the blur of activity on the deck.

“First boat is down in the water. Men are climbing into it.” One of the men wore an oversize hat. Could that be Spider? Van handed the spyglass back to X, but Sarah stepped forward and snatched it away before he could take it. X scowled.

“I thought I was the captain here!” he said, but did not reach for the instrument. He turned to Van and Kitto.

“Please, boys. Check on my baby. She is there still, eh?”

Kitto motioned for Van to follow and together the two of them clambered over the rocks to the crack that looked down into the darkness of the cave below. While Kitto had served watch that day, Quid had fashioned a wooden leg for him out of a tree limb and the split bottom of a coconut shell. He attached straps to it with materials taken from the jolly boat stores, and with these Kitto had been able to put it on in little time after he had returned. The straps around his thigh and leg were not comfortable, but Kitto adjusted instantly to the contraption, and found it made movement a bit easier. He still carried his crutch, too, as he worried that putting all his weight on the healing stump would be both painful and detrimental to the healing process.

The crack was quite narrow, just wide enough for Kitto to pass through. He doubted that Van could fit. It was roughly six feet from end to end, and perhaps ten inches wide in the middle. The boys lay down on their stomachs and craned their necks.

“Don’t fall in,” Van advised.

“Good idea. There! Look at all the shells,” Kitto said, pointing. He and Van had inched forward to poke their heads into the opening. It took a moment to see in the dim light, but once his eyes adjusted, Van too could see the wreckage of broken shells littering the sandy bank toward the back end of the cave.

“Pippin’s been eating like a queen.”

“Can you see her?”

“Hold my legs, will you?”

Van held while Kitto wriggled himself farther into the crack so that his shoulders passed through and he was able to peer deeper into the dark recesses of the cave. He squinted into the gloom.

Was that Pippin? There was a shiny something toward the back of the cavern, but whether it was the crocodile or just the pool that reflected the light he could not discern. Then Pippin made it easy for him by waddling out into the light.

“Hello, Pippin!” Kitto called. The reptile held a half-crushed turtle in her jaw that dropped to the sand when Pippin lifted her head to look up at Kitto with a dull curiosity.

“No, I am not coming in,” Kitto said. “But be sure to eat anyone who does, right? Especially Morris or Spider. And chew slowly.”

Kitto reached back for Van, who pulled him back roughly.

“Pippin there?”

“And looking tired of turtle.”

“My baby!” X called. “She is well?”

“Yes, Pippin is fine. Any sign of Duck?”

Sarah still had the spyglass trained on the ship. Her sober look told Kitto enough.

“Have they lowered another boat?” X asked her.

“What? Oh . . . yes, they have. Still I cannot see Duck, though. Or William. Where can they be?” she fumed. X reached out for the instrument but Sarah pushed his hands away. X stuck his tongue out at her, then furrowed his brow.

“We shall not have long to wait now,” he said. “If they know about the cave, they should make for it directly.”

“I hope Spider goes in first,” Van said. X settled his hat tighter onto his head.

“Bad for Pippin’s digestion, that trash, but I think she could survive.”

After an hour X was still hunkered low to the rock. He had finally cajoled the spyglass from Sarah. The boats had reached shore and the men had unloaded supplies well up from the cave entrance. Kitto and Van and Sarah awaited news.

“Jolly boat coming this way! Three men, is it? Two, and a boy.”

“Boy?” Sarah sat up expectantly.

“A dark one.”

“Oh.”

Kitto risked a peek over the rim of rock. He could see the boat approaching, and from the looks of it, Spider was at the oars.

“Ah, yes. John Morris, the pig!” X spat. “He sits in the stern. They are rowing directly for the cave entrance.” X turned to Van. “See how close you can get, but do not be seen,” he said.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Van said, and turned to scrabble his way along the scree closer to the edge that overlooked the water. The wind swept his blond locks back as he crept along, agile and sure.

“I have waited a long time for this, Spider,” Morris said. He dabbed a kerchief at the holes of his severed nose, then pulled back the fabric to glare disapprovingly at it. “A long time.”

“Aye, Captain, that you have, sir,” Spider said between strokes. “We have all waited for this day. I believe it when I sees it for myself.”

Morris swept roughly at the sleeve of his black frock coat. “You saw Quick, Spider. There was no fight left in him after we took his ship. I do not believe he could have lied.”

Spider turned to spit, intentionally missing Akin by only a few inches. “Aye. I think he was sweet on that woman, too. The one lost to sea. And the cripple. He kept looking out for them when we had him up on deck and transferred him to the naval frigate.”

“No doubt they ended up with the sharks,” Morris said. He pointed toward the base of the cliff. “That was a fortunate encounter with the HMS
Portsmouth
, Spider. A ship of the line of her size will not have any problems
to contend with between here and Port Royal, a perfect escort for the
Blessed William
.”

“Aye, sir. No Spanish ship would dare take her on.”

“I do hate it that Quick is not here to watch us retrieve his pilfered treasure, though,” Morris said. “He was a beaten man when we left him, yes, beaten but not broken. Seeing the barrels full of nutmeg come out of hiding and into our hands . . . I think that would have done the trick.”

“And the other treasure, sir? The . . .”

“Ssst!” Morris hissed in warning. He raised a hand to his lips. Morris pointed a bony finger at Akin. His gaze turned to the cliff.

“There, Spider. That dark part of the rock there, just above the waterline. That is precisely how Quick described it. Row in as close as you are able.”

Spider pulled away with the oar in his left hand, veering the rowboat in the direction his captain had indicated. A minute later they had drawn to within ten feet of the cliff.

“That is it. Remarkable. How is the depth here, boy?” Morris called up to Akin.

Akin stood at the bow and peered over the side into the water. “Ten feet, Captain! Deeper even.”

Spider exchanged a meaningful look with Morris, then turned to Akin. “Look again, boy. I ain’t wanting to run aground here and scratch up this fine boat.” Spider eased one oar out of the oarlock.

Akin could see the bottom clearly and knew his first
reading to be accurate, but he wanted to look as compliant as he could. That was important. He had been the model of obedience since Morris first granted him the chance to be his cabin boy after he had promised that he detested William Quick and his horrid crew. With his freedom he had been able to keep Duck supplied with food up until Akin had been assigned to the
Port Royal
after they had met with the frigate.

Duck
 . . . Akin stared down into the clear water, wondering how the little one had fared, hidden in his barrel, bound for Jamaica.

Alone.

“I am looking, sirs. I see . . . I see . . . a turtle?” Spider lifted the oar free, turned it in toward the boat, and with its tip he jabbed hard.

“Take a closer look!” Spider said with a laugh. The oar blade struck Akin in the buttocks, knocking him forward and over the bow. He landed with a splash, then came up sputtering. He glared daggers at Spider while he treaded water.

“Well, look who knows how to swim!” Spider said, grinning widely.

“I have told you that I know how . . .
sir
!”

“Now, boy,” Morris said to Akin. “Time to show your mettle, lad. That is a tunnel there in the wall. You see it?”

Akin turned in the water. He could see it easily, though how far back it went or where it led he was afraid to consider. “Aye, Captain.”

“There is a cave inside, boy. A cave. Quick said there
would be enough daylight to see by. Head back into that cave and have a look around. There should be a collection of barrels. Find them, then come back out and give us the news.”

Twenty feet above them, cowering behind a bulge in the crag, Van rolled over to look up at the heavens.

Oh, no!