by Jo Sparkes
A hatchway to the stars.
“That’s the hole on the ledge? The one marked by the turtle knob, past the upper cave tunnel?” Wall asked.
Jon nodded.
Halfway up - if you made it that far - your body would be poised above a wicked cluster of stalagmites. Ten foot spears just begging to impale an unlucky climber.
“You never scaled that.” Shaking off her fog, she stepped close to touch the surface, slick and smooth, polished by the sea long past. “Jon. You’re crazy.”
“I did it…all the way to the top without a safety harness. Couldn’t do it now to save my life.” He turned to Wall. “My father and his brother, Jill’s dad, bet each other who could make it to the upper cave first. A race, with the sailboat as the prize. Dad dove in the pool without even donning his gear. Uncle Chris dove after him, but wound up returning for his tank. It’s a long way down and back to the surface outside on a single breath of air.
“I was seventeen, and knew I couldn’t beat either of them swimming. But I could rock climb. I slipped three times before managing to pull myself through the opening - just as Dad stepped onto ledge. I got to the tunnel first.”
Jill gazed up the expanse of rock - the sheer height making her dizzy. “You scaled this? No wonder Uncle Ray gave you the Sadicor - he must have been so proud.”
A slow grin spread across Jon’s face. “He was livid.”
She’d never understand men.
Eventually they returned to the pool, donning gear amid prodding dares. Mike was of a mood to challenge Wall’s standing as club champion at holding his breath underwater. Wall refused, siting his obligations as the blonde’s buddy.
An acrimonious vibe threaded the jesting, further tainting the night. Jon finally hustled them all back to the Sadicor, where Melanie continued her claim that Jill had waved her into the cavern. Somehow Melanie’s misadventure became Jill’s fault. Wall didn’t blame her, so he said, but his advice suggested he believed most of his girlfriend’s tale.
When she was finally alone in her tiny cabin, crawling into her bow-shaped bed, Jill left the lamp on, in the same way she’d done when she was eight years old. Muffling the noise in her pillow, she sobbed her heart out.
It was a tossup whether her nightmares would feature crazy blondes or evil snakes. Instead Jill dreamt of a cave filled with people. Moans of pain, of panic, echoing endlessly through the dark.
A tall man with curly hair tried to comfort her, murmuring, “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not, as long as I’m with you.” She stroked his face, kissed his cheek. He put something soft in her palm.
“From the holy man’s cloak,” he whispered. “It’s sacred.”
Rough hands grabbed her, yanking her away. She saw Jon - but his skin was ghostly pale. He looked at her with pity even as he bore her away. The cloth fell to the floor, trampled by his heavy boot.
Wall reached to help her, but a whip cracked and his cheek split. So he let her go.
And she was swallowed by the dark.
Snare
With the sun smacking her in the face, Melanie woke.
Her eyes hurt, Wall’s snoring hurt, and the Sadicor’s rocking was affecting her stomach. She sat up, maneuvering her way out of the bed and out of the room. Jill usually had a pot of coffee going far too early for a normal human - and thank heavens today was no different.
Of course, the downside to that was Jill herself being awake.
The brunette climbed down the ladder with an empty mug as Melanie poured. “Morning,” she said, far too loud.
Melanie winced, managed a nod. She felt like she’d been drinking tequila. She couldn’t remember drinking tequila.
Apparently the same thought occurred to Jill. “Were you drunk last night? Is that why you went in the cave?”
There had been a dream with a cave. With men…and one bearded man in particular. He’d given her a ruby…
Melanie glanced at the counter and there it was. The ruby choker, cushioned on a folded paper towel. Wall had removed it last night, concerned that she’d worn it diving. Jesus, she’d actually worn gold jewelry diving. They’d left it out to dry.
Leaning close, she couldn’t find any damage. “I went into a cave?”
The brunette threw her a sharp look over the coffee pot. “You claimed I waved you in.”
Melanie reached for the jewelry, struck by a wild thought. This thing needed to go, as far away from her as possible. She could take it up the ladder, toss it over the side. No one would ever know.
Her fingers trembled. She was actually scared to touch it.
“Jill,” she grasped the edge of the towel it lay on, shoved it across the counter. “Get rid of this.”
The brunette looked at her suspiciously.
“Please.” She couldn’t find the words to explain, but she knew, deep down to her soul, that the ruby was bad.
Jill’s brown eyes narrowed. Melanie held her breath.
The girl slowly wrapped the paper towel around the gold and bore it away.
The pendant, Melanie told herself. Today she would wear the crystal pendant.
Except, as it turned out, she couldn’t find it.
It was astonishing, Jill thought, just how much her cousin and his partner could eat. Diving seemed to double their capacity.
The five had gathered round the dining booth. Mike wolfed down toast; Jon shoveled oatmeal. Wall, empty plate before him, sipped a cup of coffee.
And Melanie sat quietly in the far corner, withdrawn in every way. She hadn’t eaten, but then she’d devoured a whole chicken last night. Admittedly Jill didn’t like the blonde, but somehow now she felt sorry for her, even after last night.
Something was most definitely wrong.
“I just don’t believe it,” Wall was saying. “The physics makes no sense.”
“Screw physics,” Mike said. “You have to over-think everything.”
“Easy enough to verify,” Jon leaned in between the two men. “Check the gap area. Has to be flat, even. Some sign of decking.”
“If it is a galleon,” Mike’s eyes gleamed, “there ought to be an opening to the cargo hold.”
“Cargo hold…” Jill found herself exchanging looks with Jon. Her adventure last night had eclipsed thoughts of Spanish galleons and treasure chests.
“The West Indies Fleet,” Jon spoke softly. “Spain used convoys to transport luxuries around the empire. Just read about it last night.” His smile encompassed the table. “They also called it the Spanish Treasure Fleet.”
“So maybe a whole cargo of gold.” Maybe they really were rich.
“Could be full of gold, silver, jewels,” Jon said. “Could also be tobacco, sugar or silk. Which wouldn’t be so valuable after a century underwater.”
“I like our odds,” Mike rumbled through a full mouth.
Jon slanted him a look. “Even if it were sugar, the Captain must have had coin with him. For purchases and such.”
The words hung in the air, full of promise.
Then Jon stood. “Wall, you and Melanie together. Jill, you’re with me. And Mike, buddy - you’re on your own.”
“Just the way I like it,” he grinned.
Leaping up, pushing to escape the booth, the men missed Melanie’s wide eyes, stiffening shoulders. It wasn’t reluctance; it was closer to terror.
Wall’s fingers clasped the blonde’s arm. To Jill’s surprise, she went with him.
Melanie felt better in the dive prep.
Wall was attentive, gentle. He even caressed her cheek when she assembled her gear properly. Mike winked at her; Jon patted her shoulder. Even Jill smiled.
She’d somehow been forgiven for last night. They all thought her confused, recalcitrant. Mike had even called her brave, though she didn’t quite remember it that way. Vaguely, vaguely she recalled getting back at Jill. For what she couldn’t say.
Submerging proved easier today. She held her console in front of her face plate, allowed a small stream
of bubbles out of her B.C. They sank together, looking at each other over instruments, laughing over foolish gestures. No need to clear her ears this time - a first. It must be the money, she decided. The anticipation of wealth. Even in Wall, that anticipation ran high.
Everything was perfect.
Except that they sank past fifty-two feet. At exactly fifty-five feet she and Jill stood on the ocean bottom while the others hovered.
Melanie glanced around, startled. The bottom still looked even - bumps here and there, ruffled sand from the currents or whatever it was that shifted the soft powder. None of the others seemed to notice the depth change - or maybe they just didn’t care.
Wall tapped her arm, pointing, and she looked. If she hadn’t a regulator tightly clamped between her teeth, her mouth would fall wide open.
The space between the two halves of the wreck now rose out of the sand by inches, looking very much like part of the wreck. Coral had receded somehow, revealing the even, flat surfaces belonging to a man-made structure. Even the protruding bump was obviously a bowsprit.
This was a damned big ship. How had the others not known?
Maybe the change had been gradual; maybe in diving every day they hadn’t noticed. But she’d skipped a full day, and probably not been very observant when she had dived. After all, clearing ears and keeping up took all her attention. Still, the bones of this ship before her looked nothing like the pair of reefs she remembered. Did their diving kill the coral? She’d have to ask.
She’d also make damned sure of her share.
Wall touched her, and she swam with him to the wreck.
Jon and Jill worked atop the gap area, midpoint between the two raised housings. Their fingers busily brushed through the traces of sand, fins gently propelling them onward. Mike examined the side of one reef facing the gap.
Wall led her to the other reef.
The familiar feeling of fear was gone. And without it, Melanie found herself able to really see things, such as the dead bits of coral still clinging to the wood, flaking away when her gloves touched them. Behind the flakes a solid structure stood erect. If she squinted, she could almost make out individual planks of timber.
Surely there had to be some sort of doorway here. Of course - that’s what the others were seeking.
Wall yanked out his knife, using the handle to chip away at the coral. On the opposite side Mike plied his crowbar. Melanie reached for her own dive knife, struggling with the strap to free it.
A loud scrap, slow and drawn out, surrounded them. Jill’s squeal came an instant later.
They turned to see her straining, feet braced against the bottom, pulling something with all her might.
Feet braced against the deck, Melanie corrected herself.
She pushed off to join her. And felt a small thrill when she realized Wall was behind her. She was leading him.
Closing in, she saw the brunette tugging on something, trying to pry it from the gap deck. Jon set beside her, adding his strength to hers.
Mike joined them, feeling beneath the sand first to find their quarry. Nudging Jill out of his way, he bent his knees in weightlifter fashion and heaved.
The entire wreck groaned furiously. If not for her regulator, Melanie would have licked her lips.
A thick black ring tilted upright out of the sand - and a chill ran down Wall’s spine.
A handle, he realized. A handle to the cargo hold.
He hadn’t really believed - never allowed himself to fully believe before. Maybe toyed with the notion, idly considered a thing or two he might purchase.
But he never actually believed.
Mike and Jon ceased pulling. Mike now wielded his crowbar, Jon holding him off so he and Jill could clear sand away. Looking for edges of the hatch.
Wall knelt to help.
Melanie made some movement. Swiftly he checked her, but the sparkling eyes within the pink mask reflected the same excitement everyone else shared. She actually knelt to help.
And as she dropped, he caught a flicker behind her. Something in the distance, swimming away toward the broken bowsprit. Something large.
It disappeared before he could make it out.
Frantically Jon’s hands brushed silt, to reveal a dark crack running parallel to the upright ring. The edge of the hold door. Mike drove his crowbar in and thrust down, trying to lever it.
Wall slipped beside Jon, grabbing the ring as well. Bracing feet by the opening they yanked, muscles straining.
Nothing. Not the slightest give, nor the smallest promise of future yield.
That shadow-thing shot by again, circling back to the bow. Possibly the manta, but Wall kept a wary eye. He hadn’t forgotten the hammerhead.
Jon startled him by grabbing his arm. Urging him to stop. Wall did, so the two men could clear the rest of the doorway. Perhaps find a more promising angle.
There wasn’t room to help, really, so he watched, floated higher, drifting sideways. His mind also drifted, wondering if the manta had made a home in the wreck. If mantas made homes - he had very little experience of rays.
Keeping Melanie in view, he’d angled just far enough to see the bowsprit. Something dangled below it, seemingly caught rather than hovering free. Something dark and crescent shaped, that he’d glimpsed once before.
He swam closer.
Light from the surface shifted - he saw an old man, hands bound to the sprit. His body thrust backwards against the bow, his head lolled, revealing a large strawberry mark on his cheek.
Rheumy eyes lifted, brimming with anguish…terror. Those eyes focused, pinning Wall with accusations.
“Wall?”
Jolted, Wall spun awkwardly, to see Melanie hovering beside him, green eyes wide within her mask. In question, not in horror. She was checking on him, like a proper dive buddy.
And he’d understood her - as he never understood anyone underwater.
Not attempting to answer, he spun back to the bowsprit. But even before his eyes could focus, Wall knew the thing was gone.
Melanie surfaced to Mike’s shout of triumph and Jill’s delighted whoop.
For the first time she let out a whoop of her own.
They’d found a treasure ship, she just knew it. She was rich, whatever her share. She’d be wealthy. Wealthier still, if she ended up with Wall.
Far wealthier, the thought flashed through her brain, if she hooked up with Mike.
She shook that last notion away and climbed the ladder.
Mike and Jon discussed options, made plans. There was another way inside the front section, so they thought, within the bowsprit cabin they’d first entered. They’d go back inside.
And if it failed, other options abounded.
“So you’re going into the wreck again,” Jill rolled her eyes. “That means I’m left without a dive buddy, unless Wall…”
Wall shook his head. “I’m with Melanie,” he said. And looked right at her, smiling warmly.
Melanie smiled back. “I’m definitely diving. We can finish uncovering that door.”
“We need you inside, limey.” Mike snatched up a tank, heading to the compressor room. “You want a fucking share - earn your fucking share.”
“Melanie and I can buddy,” Jill declared. Wall immediately protested - two novices, the men not around if trouble arose.
“They’ll be fine,” Mike growled, and Jon seemed to agree, adding, “Let’s see if we can clear that passageway Mike found.”
Melanie grinned. She felt no fear whatsoever and marveled at it.
“I’ll dive with Jill,” she decided.
The great feeling continued. She consumed two hot dogs making plans in her head. Plans for the dive, plans for the future.
Mike filled tanks, Jon unearthed a better dive light for Wall. For the first time since setting foot on the Sadicor’s teak deck, she felt ready, eager. Confident.
Until she took Mike his lunch.
He huddled at his bench behind the compressor, red muscle shirt stretched
over his ripped chest as he plied a screwdriver. She smiled and set the plate at his elbow.
Then he reached for a folded paper towel. The ruby choker lay within it.
“I don’t like other people in here,” he growled. “Let alone stashing their shit. Get this out of here.”
Melanie shook her head. She really, really didn’t want to touch it.
Mistaking her reaction, he tossed the screwdriver aside, snatching the necklace and thrusting it at her. “It’ll get messed up in here, princess.”
Stepping back, her retreat was stopped by the cold compressor against her spine. Her eyes slid off his - noticing the books on the shelf: ‘Wrecks of the Caribbean’, ‘Revisits: Theory of Soul Returns to the Earth Plane’.
She glanced back at Mike, saw his expression. And realized he was as drawn to her as she was to him.
Impulsively she leaned over the necklace. She meant to kiss him, but somehow it was her teeth that caressed his lips.
She felt more than heard the click of the gold clasp at the back of her neck. Panic flared for a heartbeat. Trapped, she thought, and knew she’d made the same bad choice again. Fleetingly she wondered where that idea came from - what it could possibly mean.
Big hands grabbed her hair - and the muscle man was kissing her with a thoroughness Wall had never dared attempt.
All thoughts fled as she twisted in his grasp, demanding even more.
Mike climbed out of the sailboat cabin, balancing two full tanks on one shoulder. As no one was looking he set them down to rub his protesting muscle. Truth was, carrying these heavy tanks wasn’t quite as easy as it used to be.
But other things were looking up.
During the beginner dive class, the blonde had been one of two very interested females. Being the instructor always attracted the women, and owning the shop hadn’t hurt. At the time Mike hadn’t pursued Melanie - there was a tasty redhead to thoroughly enjoy before her husband returned from a business trip. And anyway, it could turn awkward with the Brit assisting the pool training. When class was done, however, he had turned his full attention to her. Melanie rejected him, to his surprise.
