Little Jane and the Nameless Isle

by Adira Rotstein

  “I just read a good deal more than is good for me,” he replied with charming modesty.

  “I wish I knew all you did,” Little Jane said wistfully. “Things’d be well easy then.”

  “You have no idea.” Villienne sighed as he stared down ruefully at his hands. As usual they were covered in ink stains from his leaky fountain pen and odd little burn marks, the result of numerous chemistry accidents. Not the hands of a workingman, nor a gentleman either. “So much folly,” he confided to her. “Whatever knowledge I possess, I lack even the most rudimentary grasp of how to make money. If only I could invent a chemical agent to remove lime-scale or hard-to-treat-stains, I wouldn’t be so hopeless. A well-spoken repository of fundamentally useless knowledge is all I am.”

  “Why, you have lots of knowledge that’s worth knowing,” said Little Jane. “Just be a matter of waiting for the proper occasion of using it is all.”

  “One could wait a lifetime for such an occasion when it comes to my talents,” he remarked wryly.

  “Maybe. But whenever I gets a piece of knowledge I ain’t able to make use of right away, I writes it down so I don’t forget it. I used to have a little book for it, too. I wrote down all the things I’d be needing to know about how to be a good pirate.”

  “What was the book called?”

  “How to Be a Good Pirate.”

  “Oh.”

  “Only thing is, I can’t find it. Must’ve gone down with the Pieces of Eight, I reckon.”

  “Ah,” said Villienne, thinking hard about the title of Little Jane’s book. Something about it seemed vaguely cockeyed to him. He was troubled by the concept that a seemingly intelligent girl’s greatest desire in the world was to become “a good pirate,” whatever that meant.

  “Aren’t the words good and pirate mutually exclusive?” Villienne mused. “Isn’t it common knowledge that being a sea-faring outlaw with a price on one’s head and questionable dietary standards, pleasant as your parents may be, is still a destiny best to be avoided, not pursued?”

  “I suppose next ye’ll try to convince me I ought to stay home and tend the inn,” she snorted. “Be happy as a wife or spinster or some other such proper womanly profession, like them skirts back in England.”

  “You misunderstand me, Jane. Obviously, you love the sea, but there are other ways to indulge in that ardour without snatching others’ belongings and being so free and easy with the law. ”

  “Like what?” she asked suspiciously.

  “There are ways,” he insisted, “if one only has the courage to try something different. I’ve lived in London and seen marvellous things done by people both high and low, and a great number of them women, too. Why, I once met a woman who translated the entire English language into a sequence of ones and zeroes, and a man who could animate disembodied frogs’ legs simply by passing electrical current through them!”

  “That’s great n’all, but what use would animated frogs’ legs or that ones and zeroes talk be to us aboard ship? Wouldn’t help no one change course in a storm or swab the deck. And a pirate’s life ain’t as free and easy as you be thinking either.”

  “I hardly think the life appears easy,” said Villienne. “Just look at your parents and all they’ve been through.”

  “I wish I could look at them, instead of listening to you,” retorted Little Jane rudely, blinking back tears. “Ain’t your business telling me the way they live is wrong, when that’s all they ever knowed and them not here to defend their selves from slander!”

  Villienne placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Come now. I meant no offence by it. We’ll see them safe to rights. We’ve a strong wind at our backs and we’ll catch up, you’ll see.”

  “Aye, maybe,” mumbled Little Jane as Villienne retired to the companionway. She had too much to think about; between the words on Melvin, books dipped in gravy, and languages made of numbers, her head was spinning. Meanwhile, there was the Nameless Isle to prepare for, and finding her parents to worry about.

  Now was no time to dwell on such things, she chided herself before returning resolutely to stirring the soup, pausing only to read the last chapter of Robin Hood to see how the story ended.

  Chapter Five

  More Trouble Than

  They’re Worth

  Little Jane was not the only member of the Silver family thinking hard that day. As the launch party assembled, Bonnie Mary busied herself contemplating all the parts of their plan that might not work.

  It galled her that Jim looked so carefree and cheery, so childishly pleased to be unchained at last, crutches be damned. His delight at being outside and upright showed so clearly on his broad, expressive face that it nearly broke her heart.

  Bonnie Mary could read him like a book. No, she amended, easier than that; unlike books, Jim’s weathered countenance held no secrets from her. She knew that at that moment he was thoroughly occupied with the feeling of the wind ruffling his hair, the smell of the briny air curling in his nostrils, and the glare of the sun as it glinted off the rolling waves.

  She, too, was relieved to be able to turn around without meeting a wall in every direction; however, she could not lose herself in the sensations of the sea as he could. Not today, at any rate. It was her curse to keep on thinking. Thinking about how much closer they were to the impossible task before them — and the distinct possibility that they would die trying to accomplish it.

  “Courage, me love,” whispered Long John, suddenly appearing beside her. Gently, he stroked her arm with his hand, but all she felt was the desire to brush it away. Subtle shifts in her posture gave away her increasing edginess, like a change in the atmosphere, or static in the air before a rainstorm.

  “Courage? That’s just a fancy word for there ain’t no more options,” she muttered.

  The launch was lowered down to the water, hitting the water with a soft splash. The sails unfurled and luffed in the strong breeze as the party set out.

  Twelve people set sail aboard the launch toward the Nameless Isle that day. Captain Madsea, Doc Lewiston, and Darsa, Madsea’s steward, were the only ones she and Long John recognized by sight. Their numbers were filled out by other seamen, including Kingly, the bosun, and six others chosen by Madsea to work the sails and rudder. Would twelve make it back, as well? Bonnie Mary had no illusions on that score. Jesper, the ship’s lieutenant, was left in command of the Panacea, with Savignon, the quartermaster, to help him with the crew and captives until their captain’s return — assuming he did return, that is.

  The ex-crew of the Pieces of Eight stared anxiously after their former captains as the launch made its way slowly toward the island. Madsea, especially, was the target of a substantial number of dark looks from men who prided themselves on their ability to hold grudges for as long as it took to get satisfaction.

  Lieutenant Jesper rocked back uneasily on his heels. He hoped the captain didn’t do anything stupid to the two pirate captains while they were on the island. The last thing this sodding tub needs is a prisoners’ revolt, he thought grimly.

  As the launch bobbed along, Bonnie Mary reassured herself by going over the strategy she’d hashed out with Long John days ago in the brig. The way she figured it, they had five major weapons on their side in their war against Fetz on the island.

  First was the knife, still secreted away in her corset. It would be hers for the quick, deft stab in the ribs to an enemy standing close. Second were Jim’s crutches, ideal instruments for cracking open a man’s head like a coconut in his strong, capable hands. Third and fourth were weapons of a geographical nature. The two pirate captains were the only ones who knew both the location of the treasure cave and the secret way to get there.

  Stalling for time was the best strategy, they both agreed. Bonnie Mary hoped Madsea wouldn’t discover they were taking him on a roundabout route until it was too late. Taking the long way around meant they could waste plenty of time climbing the island’s jagged rocks and crossing the moat at the widest point befo
re Madsea got wise to what they were doing. The longer it took to get to their destination, the more likely the party from the Panacea was to run afoul of weapon number five, the wildlife of the island, a danger Bonnie Mary prayed she and Jim might avoid.

  She hoped enough of Madsea’s men would be incapacitated by the time they made it to the treasure cave that she and Jim would have a fighting chance of defeating whoever was left. A long shot, of course, but it was the only scheme they came up with that offered any possibility of success.

  If they managed to get to the cave, circumstances might prove more favourable. Along with the coins, gold, and jewels accumulated in its inner recesses there were also a few weapons they’d left on the island, deeming them too rich or impractical for everyday use, or too small to join the impressive display behind the bar at the Spyglass.

  Among the weapons she distinctly remembered storing were a pair of tiny one-shot Italian pistols, a ruby studded ceremonial Punjabi dagger, and an ivory-handled machete intended for splitting coconuts. Not exactly a proper ship’s arsenal, but useful nonetheless.

  If they managed to kill Madsea, she and Jim could hole up in the cave for at least a few days. They could even eat the peculiar orange birds in a pinch. There were always birds in the cave when they visited, so she assumed there were nests nearby. Drinking water could come from the condensation in the cave or captured rainfall. It would be hard, but Bonnie Mary was determined that Fetz would never win. If they held out long enough, she reasoned, the rest of his party might just give up and leave. It was their leader, despite his frail state, who kept them moving, animated by his spirit and purpose. She hoped the rest only cared about getting their pay.

  “We can wear them out,” Jim had promised her with a confident smile. “Just look at Fetz. His strength is flagging already.”

  Yet, as the jagged rocks rose up to greet them, Long John looked more like the one whose strength was flagging. He sagged against the gunwales, his eyes on the cliffs looming above them, growing closer with every gust of wind in the small boat’s sails. And Bonnie Mary, who knew her Jim better than anyone else alive, knew he was only just beginning to realize the true enormity of the task ahead.

  Back on the Panacea, Ned Ronk’s mind was still consumed with the idea of the treasure on the island.

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that, standing astride a powerful sea-going vessel, with little to do, one’s thoughts automatically turn to treasure — how to obtain it, how to keep it, and how to steal it away from everyone else.

  Following this common train of thought, it occurred to Ned Ronk that one of the great benefits of serving aboard the Pieces of Eight was that, like most pirate captains, Silver and Bright divided the loot equally among captains and crew, never taking a greater share.

  Sourly, he doubted that would be the case aboard the Panacea. The thought of all that treasure going to that loony Madsea galled him rotten. Surely, he, Ned Ronk, should get a bigger piece of the pie. After all, he was the one who sabotaged the Pieces of Eight’s fighting capabilities and delivered the pirate captains into Madsea’s hands. Surely he deserved to be rewarded with more than the piddling fee he’d received from the doctor back in Havana.

  He frowned. What a man deserved had little to do with what he received on this earth, of that Ned Ronk was certain: The only way to get what was owed to you was to take it yourself. This time he would get his fair share, he thought determinedly, no matter what he needed to do to get it.

  Despite his lack of conventional sea knowledge, Villienne was correct in his prediction of good winds for the rest of the Yorkman’s voyage. The weather was as perfect as it could ever be at sea, and with the Yorkman in possession of the most up-to-date ship’s features, they cut through the ocean like a knife through butter. (In fact, unbeknownst to the crew, the Yorkman was well on its way to making the Nameless Isle in nearly half the time it took the older, less daringly built Panacea.)

  Ishiro watched Little Jane jump restlessly from ratline to ratline before landing on the deck. The wind tinkled the golden key of Melvin’s case that she now wore in her ear as she looked through the spyglass at the expanse of blue that lay ahead.

  “I saw it,” she announced excitedly, pointing. “The island, it’s not too far — a half-day’s journey, maybe less. We could make it by morning if we sail on hard through the night.”

  “All right,” said Ishiro. “I’ll give the command. You sure you still want to go with us when we make the island?”

  “Aye, Captain. There’s no way I’d stay on the Yorkman while you go rescue me own parents,” she answered firmly.

  Many a member of the Yorkman’s crew crossed himself as the first flock of orange birds lit on the mizzenmast early the next morning. They were still quite a distance from the island, but the lazy birds could ride quite a way on air currents alone.

  Ishiro, of course, was well aware of the birds’ reputation as bowl-bashing cuisine. Before leaving Jamaica he’d taken the precaution of packing the ship’s larder with the best salted beef and jerk chicken the island had to offer, and plenty of coconuts to season them with. Hopefully this would prevent the men from entertaining any notion of eating the peculiar orange fowl. Vigilance was crucial. It only took the consumption of one bird to leave a man incapacitated for a week, Ishiro knew, which is why it sometime helps to have a captain who’s also been a cook.

  What were the chances that Madsea was still on the island or that this was even their intended destination? Ishiro was still worried, but in his heart he believed they were nearby. At the thought of the potential confrontation, he experienced a feeling long dormant in his soul. Like an old gun dog, he twitched with anticipation for the chase. He sensed the other men were feeling the same. None were completely immune to the energy of the hunt, that momentary thirst for a little blood, a little action.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  Chapter Six

  The Cursed Climb

  The party on Madsea’s launch was unhappy. They were sweaty, they were tired. And only Captain Madsea and the doctor had had the presence of mind to bring spiked climbing shoes to tackle the jagged, slippery rocks.

  Now, your average rock is either jagged or slippery, but rarely both. However, the rocks that ring the Nameless Isle are covered with peculiar orange bird guano, which everyone knows is one of the slipperiest of slippery substances on earth. Vast quantities of slimy green lichen did nothing to help matters either. Here in the predator-free micro-climate of the Nameless Isle, the lichen flourished in much greater profusion than it ever did in Smuggler’s Bay. Here it never had a chance to dry out, thanks to the spray of sea water crashing into the rocks with predictable frequency, 365 days of the year. Here, thin leather sandals and flimsy deck slippers provided little to no purchase, eventually forcing the Panacea’s resentful crew to tackle the island with bare hands and feet.

  Or foot, if you happened to have just one. For Long John, the scramble over the guano-stained, wet lichen covered rocks was a terrible trial, worse than he’d anticipated due to his still-healing injuries, the stifling heat, and a certain spotty-faced seaman named Snepper who’d been entrusted with the task of forcing him to keep up with the rest of the group. Mostly, this involved the seaman jabbing the pirate in the rear with the stock of his rifle whenever Long John’s pace slackened (or whenever Long John’s pace was just fine, but Seaman Snepper felt the urge to jab him anyway). After an hour of exertion, Long John decided to forego the further abuse of his buttocks and sit. He eased himself down on a rocky ledge to take a much-needed rest, stripping off his shirt to expose his back to a blessed hint of a breeze.

  He took a sip of lukewarm water from his canteen. “Say there,” he began, trying to engage Snepper in conversation. “I ever tell you about the time me and the missus went hiking in the Andes?”

  “No,” snapped Snepper, picking up his rifle.

  Jab. Jab.

  “Get moving.”

  Long John balanced listlessly, resi
gned to obey out of sheer exhaustion. To argue would take more effort than he could muster at the moment. He could see the rest of the party through the wedge-shaped gap between the rocks below. They were farther ahead, picking their careful way through the jagged fangs of rock.

  They travelled silently on, at one point forced to walk where the water came up to their ankles, the stone they stood on submerged beneath their feet. The ocean surged and foamed threateningly around them, misting their bodies with a fine cooling spray. Later, they found themselves high up on the stones, forced to jump between small gaps in the rocks. Long John could always make out Bonnie Mary, even at a distance. She was at the front of the party, and the only one still wearing a shirt. All the men had long since stripped down to breeches like him, their bare backs shining in the pitiless glare of the sun.

  “Keep moving,” growled Snepper.

  Jab. Jab.

  Long John wished in vain for the crutches he’d had on the ship. They would have been perfect to crack over the infuriating Snepper’s skull. Now, that would stop the infernal jabbing. Much to his annoyance, though, he could still see the sturdy wood implements bobbing mockingly along up ahead in the distance, where they were strapped to the steward’s back.

  “What’re you looking at?” sneered Snepper. “Keep moving.”

  Jab, jab

  “Hope that thing goes off in yer face one day, mate,” Long John snarled at him. Steeling himself for another jump, he flicked his braided queue over his shoulder. The sweaty tail of hair stuck to his back like a leech. Then he braced his foot between two rocks and launched himself forward, reaching out for the next punishing hand hold.

  Long John wasn’t the only one feeling out of sorts on the trek. In the bleary haze of the midday sun, Bonnie Mary was starting to have some serious misgivings. Her thoughts moved sluggishly as she struggled to remember every detail of the plan. So blasted hot. It felt like her brain was baking. It would be so tempting, with the secret path just a mile away from where they now stood, to pack the whole “long way around” idea in and just take the easy route.