Sam started to run. Ferns snatched at her legs, vines slapped her face, and then a tree leaped into her path. The jolt as she crashed into it knocked her back to her senses. This was more than stupid. She had no idea where she was headed, and was as likely to blunder into a trap. On top of this, she was leaving a trail a blind man could follow and making enough noise to alert anyone with a pair of ears. Sam rested her hand against the trunk, waiting for her heartbeat to slow.
The jungle was silent. No hint that she was being followed. Sam moved on carefully, watching her footsteps, trying to make no noise. Then she caught a distant sound, a clicking, like someone sucking their tongue off the roof of their mouth. “Tck-tck-tck, tck-tck-tck.” It was not birdsong, she was sure. An insect or a secret code? More than one mouth was making the sound, and all were coming in her direction. She had to find somewhere to hide, and quickly, a dense patch of greenery, a hole in the ground, anywhere.
Sam moved on, searching. A glint in the leaf litter caught her eye. She grimaced as she picked up a brass compass. At least she would know which direction she was going when she was overtaken. All the time the clicking was getting closer. “Tck-tck. Tck. Tck-tck.” Was it some strange language? How long did she have?
High above, the canopy of leaves was dense enough to hide in, but would she be able to climb, even with her experience of shimmying up masts and swinging though rigging? The clicking was getting closer by the second. “Tck-tck. Tck.”
Sam could feel panic rising. She went from trunk to trunk. Which would be best? The last thing she expected was for a knotted rope to drop, no more than ten feet away.
“Up here. Skjot.”
Sam skidded to a halt.
A second voice, Catalina’s. “That’s one of the pirates.”
Sam started to climb. Above her, she saw the rope disappearing into the canopy.
A third person spoke. “We don’t leave anyone for the hunters.”
Sam felt the rope being hauled up with her on it. Still, she continued to climb with all the speed she could muster. A few seconds more and she arrived at a fan of branches. Palm fronds were interwoven between the limbs, forming a circular platform in the air. It felt secure, if not completely firm.
Five people were already there, including Catalina wearing just a loose smock and stockings. Sam tried not to stare. The smock was embroidered and obviously expensive. It covered Catalina from chest to knees, but still left more skin exposed than anything Sam had seen her wear before. There was even a hint of cleavage between her breasts. Someone kicked Sam’s foot, reminding her she was not alone. The someone was Alonzo, who scowled at Sam though he said nothing.
She turned to the others. The three strangers were dressed in loose-fitting breeches that did not reach their knees. They had woven reed sandals on their feet. Two wore simple sack-like shirts, while the other was bare-chested. Aside from their clothing, their appearance was as different as it was possible for three men to get.
The bare-chested one had the look of the native islanders. His skin was the color of tanned leather. He had solemn dark eyes and a thoughtful expression. Thick black hair was wound in a knot on top of his head. His body was tattooed with bands of intricate patterns, snaking across his chest and around his arms.
The biggest was a giant of a man. He had a thick mane of long yellow hair. His bushy mustache and beard could not hide his broad smile. The absence of lines around his eyes put him in his mid-twenties, several years younger than his native companion. He was the one who had been pulling up the rope with her on it, an action not requiring any great effort on his part.
The last of the three was easily the oldest, aged fifty or more. His hair was receding and gray at the temples. He had clearly made some attempt to shave that day, with mixed success. Small nicks marked his round face. He blinked at her through a pair of spectacles, which made his eyes appear smaller than they truly were. Sam had seen such lens devices before, although not with side arms to hold them secure on the wearer’s face. It struck her as a sensible addition.
Sam opened her mouth, but the oldest man held a finger to his lip and whispered, “Shush. Wait until the hunters have moved on.”
She peered down through the leaves.
“Tck-tck. Tck. Tck-tck-tck.”
The source of the clicks was now directly below, although Sam could see nothing. A blur of movement caught the corner of her eye, gone before she had a chance for a proper look, but Sam saw that she had been watching for the wrong thing. These hunters were not human. They were too small, too quick, and with too many legs. Another bush rustled and twitched, and then another. How many were in the pack? Yet already the clicks were moving away. Whatever sort of creature these hunters might be, they were not in the habit of looking up for their prey.
The party in the treetops waited until the sounds had faded.
The blond giant was the first to speak. “Close. Ja.” He let out his breath with a sigh.
The other two men also relaxed.
“Who are you? Do you know what this place is?” Sam asked.
The native gave a smile and said, in softly accented English, “My name is Yaraha. Welcome to the Isle of Broken Years.”
The name was not one Sam had seen on any map. What had she been expecting? She was in the land of fairies. No doubt, unicorns and dragons would show up next.
The oldest man spoke. “Catalina and Alonzo had just introduced themselves before we spotted you.” His English was fluent, but although he appeared European, his accent was as unfamiliar as Yaraha’s. “You are?”
Before Sam could speak, Catalina answered for her. “He’s a pirate.”
“He?” The man looked at her, clearly confused, then shrugged. “Okay.”
Oakie? Had he called her that? “My name’s Sam. I’m cabin boy on the Golden Goose. Well, I was before it sank.”
“Yes. That has a habit of happening to ships around here. But you were the cabin boy?”
His tone made it a question and there was stress on the word boy. He knew she was a woman. How had he seen through her so quickly? Even Captain Williams had taken a year. However, he did not seem about to challenge her. He continued, without waiting for an answer. “I’m Charles Wooten, navigator on the Okeechobee Dawn.”
“Did your ship sink too?”
“The Okeechobee Dawn isn’t a ship. Not as you’d think of it. She’s a seaplane. Fortunately, Babs was able to bring her down safely, even after the engines cut out. But she won’t be able to take off unless the electromagnetic interference lets up.” About a third of what Charles said made sense. Was it due to his peculiar accent? He pointed to the blond man. “This is Torvold Olavson, he’s a Viking. He’s one of the few people to have the misfortune of being shipwrecked even before getting to the island. He paddled his way here on a raft he’d lashed together.”
“How. Do. You. Do?” Torvold said each word separately, like a child who has been practicing.
Charles grinned. “He’s been here less than a year and is still learning English. But don’t let him wind you up. He’s actually getting quite good at it.” He gestured to the native. “Yaraha was blown here from the mainland by a storm. He was one of eight in a fishing canoe. And that was…”
“Eleven years ago,” Yaraha said. “Now there’s just me and Piracola left.”
Charles asked. “So, you three, what year was it for you?”
“What year when?” Sam’s confusion was not easing.
“What year when you got here?”
“Last night.”
“Do you know the date?”
“March the 20th, 1631.” The start of an idea crept into Sam’s head. “Broken years?”
“Yup. That’s it. The island keeps hopping back and forth through time. Won’t stay still. That’s what causes the whirlpools and the like. The whole island gets sucked out of one year and splashes down in another. Time is getting sliced and diced. The Isle of Broken Years was the name one of Yaraha’s friends gave it. There a
re others. You can pick which you prefer when you know more.”
Catalina looked as stunned as Sam felt. “That doesn’t…It’s…You mean you’ve all come from different times?”
Charles nodded. “I know. It takes some getting used to.”
“How?”
“If we could answer that, maybe we could escape. Liz knows more than anyone. Save your questions for her.”
“There are others here?”
“Yes. Liz has been here longest. She was a scientist with a team who wanted to investigate the Bermuda Triangle.” Charles gave a wry smile. “She’s the world expert on it now, even if she’s just turned up more questions than answers.”
“How many are here?”
“It’ll be fifteen, including you three.”
“There were other sailors from my ship. They’re the ones you’d have heard…” Sam’s voice died at the sight of Charles’s expression.
“I’m sorry. They wouldn’t have gotten the better of the hunters. Were they friends of yours?”
Catalina scowled. “They’re pirates and murderers.”
Charles glanced between Catalina and Sam. “That may be, but we don’t judge here. We can’t afford to. We have to work together and let go of old scores.”
“They deserve to hang.”
“Possibly. But we’ll all die soon enough.” Despite his grim words, Charles sounded cheerfully resigned. “The hunters don’t differentiate between honest folk and crooks. This island’s a dangerous place. We’ve all lost friends. So, like I said, Sam, I’m truly sorry.”
Sam caught her lower lip in her teeth and nodded. How did she feel? There were a few sailors on the Golden Goose she might have called friends, but none had survived the sinking. Of those on the island, were there any whose death touched her deeply?
“What are these hunters?” Catalina asked.
“Madison calls them bio-robots.”
“A bio-robot? What’s that?”
“You can ask Madison when you meet her. But I can’t guarantee you’ll be any wiser afterward.”
Torvold gave a snort of laughter. “Madison. They say she talks English. I am not so sure. Lady Gagger, the book of faces, neck flicks. I think she makes up things to trick me.”
“In that case, she’s doing the same to me,” Yaraha said with feeling.
Charles grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s just as baffling for me and Babs, and we were only eighty years before her.”
“So where…when are we now?” Sam asked.
“No way of telling, unless someone new arrives and they avoid the hunters.”
Torvold peered over the edge of the platform. “Talk of the hunters, they are gone now. When do we go down? When do you think it is safe?”
“It’s never safe. Still, I’d vote for waiting in the roost till morning. The hunters are always more active after a time jump,” Charles added for Sam, Catalina, and Alonzo. “They come looking for new castaways. But they’re unpredictable. Old Town is the worst spot. We think it’s where their nest is—that’s if they have a nest. The closer you are to Old Town, the less warning you get after a jump.”
“How far away is this Old Town?” Sam asked.
“The opposite side of the island. We’re as far away here as we can get. Not that it means much. Some jumps and they’ll be out here in minutes. Other times they don’t show up for hours.”
Yaraha said, “I agree with Charles. We should wait until tomorrow before returning to the Squat.”
“The Squat?” Sam could not tell whether he meant it as a place name or an activity.
“That’s what someone called it a long time ago. It’s where we live, on the middle island.”
“There’s another island?”
“Yes. In fact, there are three in total. We have to cross the inner sea to get to the Squat.”
“The hunters don’t go there?”
“No. Otherwise we would not be here to talk to you,” Yaraha said with a smile.
“So why don’t you stay there? Why come here, if it’s so dangerous?” Catalina voiced Sam’s next questions for her.
“Food. We were on our way back from the farm when the island jumped.”
“Farm? Would you have any food you could spare?” Catalina’s eagerness was obvious.
Sacks were hanging from a nearby branch. Yaraha lifted the nearest one down and took out papaya and avocados. “Here’s fruit. Mainly we harvested maize and potatoes, and I caught a pair of ducks. We also have eggs if you don’t mind them raw.”
“Fruit will do. Thank you so much. I couldn’t eat anything last night.” Catalina directed a glare at Sam.
Don’t blame me. It was your friend Alonzo’s fault. The not-cook had been silent throughout the conversation, sitting beside Catalina. His only contribution was to frown anytime anyone dared look in Catalina’s direction. Had Charles and the others noticed? Alonzo gave the clear sense he saw himself as a guardian. If it had not been his official role on the Spanish ship, he had now taken it on himself.
Torvold shook the branches, making the platform sway. “You think the hunters are less to fear than we fall off when we sleep?”
“Won’t be the first time I’ve slept in a roost,” Charles said. “We can take turns on watch. Make sure nobody rolls over in their sleep. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to wake anyone who’s snoring too loudly. The hunters can hear. They’ve never shown any interest in climbing trees, but I don’t want to learn the hard way that they can.”
Sam took a bite of papaya and looked up through the lattice of leaves. The moon was a silver disc, set in the darkening sky. She could not restrain a gasp, nearly choking on the fruit. Any doubts about Charles’s story vanished.
“What is it?” Yaraha asked.
“The moon. It’s full, but should be past the last quarter.” Sam shook her head. “I don’t know why it’s so shocking, after talk of jumping years, but…” She shrugged. “I suppose, as a sailor, the stars and moon are your guide. If you can’t trust them, then you’re totally lost.”
Sam kept staring at the moon while she ate the fruit. Had she ever imagined it was possible to be this lost?
* * *
Sam and Charles took the first watch. Darkness claimed the sky, but the moon cast enough light to pick out the curled shapes of sleeping figures. After years spent clambering though ship’s rigging, Sam had a good head for heights, but some of the group were clearly uneasy and had taken a long time to settle. Alonzo had placed himself between Catalina and the rest, as if fearing they might assault her in the night.
Sam’s ears were trained for the “Tck-tck-tck.” Yet time passed, and she heard nothing except for four sets of breathing and the sounds of the night forest—a rustle of palm fronds in the breeze, the thrum of soft insect wings beating the humid air, and the distant rush of the ocean on the beach.
Charles was so still, Sam was beginning to wonder if he had drifted off, but then he said, “You are a woman, aren’t you? I’m not wrong?”
“How did you know?”
His teeth showed white in the darkness as he smiled. “It’s to do with fashion. The markers you look for, when you first meet someone, and make a split-second judgment. When fashions change, you can’t simply pick up on clothes and hairstyle. You have to look at the person. I saw you and immediately thought you were a woman. It threw me when Catalina called you he.”
“What was it about me?”
“Not sure. The way you move, or something in your eyes, your jawline. Maybe all it takes to mislead people in your time is to hack off your hair, ditch the skirt, and shimmy up a rope. I’m used to women with short hair, wearing pants, and acting like tomboys. I’m also used to women who want to go and explore the world. You’ll understand when you meet Babs.”
“Are you going to tell the others?”
“Do you want me to?”
Sam’s gut reaction was to say no. But did it matter? “What would people here say about it?”
“
In what way?”
“Would they think I was unnatural?”
“Oh God, no.”
“Would they want me to…” Sam tried to think what she would least like about being treated as a woman.
“Sit indoors, do the cooking, and knit booties for babies?”
Apart from being unsure what booties were, it seemed about right. “I’d hate it.”
He chuckled. “You’re going to get on well with Babs.”
“I won’t be expected to act like a housewife?”
“It’d be more problematic if you did. The island is deadly. I’d say no one lasts long here, except Liz is doing okay. We all take our share of the risks. We can’t carry fainting maidens. Catalina will probably have more problems than you.” He glanced at where she lay sleeping. “What made you decide to pass as a boy?”
“My pa. When my aunt died there was no one to look after me, so he took me to sea with him. He disguised me as a boy. I’ve been living as one ever since.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven or eight.”
“Sam is short for Samantha?”
“No. I was Sarah.” How long since she last thought of herself by that name?
“And you were a real pirate? Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, and all that?”
“Yo-ho-ho?”
“Robert Louis Stevenson. I guess he was a bit after your time. But you were a pirate?”
“We were privateers, in theory. The captain had a letter of marque from the Dutch Republic.”
“You didn’t regret your father taking you to sea?”
“No.”
“Was it fun?”
“In parts, I guess.”
Sam leaned back and stared at the stars. It felt good to be able to talk, without the need to lie and guard every word she said. Sam had loved her father. Her heart ached at his death, but beyond that, she had not realized how much she missed simply having somebody she could relax with. For the last year she had been always on guard, watching herself. It was over. She need never play at being cabin boy again.
“You can tell them I’m a woman.” Sam made the decision.
“Why don’t you tell them yourself?”
Isle of Broken Years Page 8
