Scully was trapped by the two big men, but not for long. He moved quick like a striking snake and slammed the bony ridge of his hand into Alejandro’s throat. Then, without a second of wasted motion, he drew back his arm and plunged his elbow into Dutch Bennett’s gut. Both men fell to the ground. Scully did not take the steep path but darted into the woods. Cat and Anne raced out of the tavern. Father Brun and Brother Waverly emerged a second later and went immediately to their wounded friends.
“Cat, are you sure?” Father Brun asked, looking up from Alejandro, who was having a hard time breathing. “Brother Waverly did not see him.”
But Cat was already sprinting into the bush. “I’m sure!” he called back.
“I’ll go after him!” yelled Anne over her shoulder. But no sooner was she in the woods than the ground seemed to drop away. The incline was steeper here than on the narrow path they’d walked to get to the tavern. Anne found herself painfully bounding down the hill. Her vision became a green blur as branches whipped at her face and sawed at her arms. She tripped once and gasped, almost going over but somehow regaining her balance. Between the branches and trunks she searched desperately. Where had they gone?
She finally slowed her descent just before she came to a ridge of stone. One more step, she thought, shaking her head. The ridge was a cliff of sorts, and the sudden fall could have been deadly. From this vantage, Anne spotted Cat—and Scully.
They were running though thick foliage, and Cat almost had him. He lunged for Scully, nearly grabbing his shirt, but a branch came whipping back and caught Cat full in the chest. Cat staggered, fell, and rolled several painful revolutions down the hill. He regained his footing and stood. Then, clutching his ribs with one hand and fending off branches with the other, Cat continued the pursuit.
Cat was falling behind. Suddenly, Scully veered left, doubling back toward the main path.
Anne darted back the way she had come, trying to follow just the right angle.
Little glimpses of black, that was all Cat saw of Scully as he darted ahead of him through the trees and foliage. The man is as nimble as a rabbit, Cat thought. The way he changed directions and made turns, all the while careening downhill—it seemed inhuman. Still, Cat managed to stay within sight of him.
Suddenly, a wall of the tallest ferns Cat had ever seen sprang up, and the whole world went green. The stalks were wide and feathery and spread in every direction. They grabbed at his ankles, which was not what Cat wanted as he plunged down the hill. Cat held his arms up to shield his eyes, but the plants were too thick. Cat could no longer see Scully at all. Cat slowed down. Then came to a stop. He listened for Scully’s footfalls.
But there was nothing. Cat had lost him. Think! he told himself. Where would Scully go? Back to his ship, of course, and then off the island. But where would he moor his ship? Cat looked to the north. Certainly not Montego Bay. Much too crowded for Scully’s liking. No, he’d find a place where he could come and go without notice.
Cat tried to recall the map Father Brun had shown him. There wasn’t really a proper inlet to the northeast, not without crossing over Montego Bay. There wasn’t anywhere else to put a ship without being noticed, unless . . . Scully doubled back on me! Mosquito Cove—it had to be. It was the only inlet close enough to the main road. Cat made up his mind and tore off to the east. The more Cat thought, the better it sounded. The only question was, how far ahead had Scully gotten? And that depended on when Scully had doubled back on him.
But those concerns couldn’t be helped. Cat sprinted diagonally down the hill. He found the footing awkward but still easier than going straight downhill. He picked up speed and raced on.
The wall of green ended just as abruptly as it had begun. Cat couldn’t believe it. Scully was just ahead—thirty, maybe forty yards. Cat charged ahead, throwing his body recklessly forward and gaining speed. His heart pounded, and his thighs burned. Thin branches sliced his upper arms. Thick branches snapped, but left bruises behind.
Scully did not seem to be running at full speed, and Cat thought that perhaps Scully had not realized that Cat had come through the fern forest. Cat ate up the ground between them. Grabbing at the man’s coat had not worked out so well the first time, so Cat decided to throw himself at the man’s ankles. The distance between them shrank: twenty yards, fifteen, ten . . . he was right behind him now, near enough to—
Just before Cat leaped, Scully turned his head. He saw Cat and, like a ship catching a sudden gust of wind, Scully surged ahead. “It’s no good, Scully!” Cat growled, but the man was fast. He started to pull away. And through the sweat and hair in his eyes, Cat saw that they were reaching the edge of the forest. There was some kind of clearing ahead. No . . . not the road! Cat thought with horror. If Scully hit the open road, he would be gone. He could duck into a building, slither into an unknown crawlspace, or cut down a side street and disappear. Cat summoned all the strength he had left in his legs, sprinted a few more steps, and dove.
In midflight, Cat flung his arms out and then wrapped them around . . . nothing. He slammed into the mulchy ground and got a face full of dead leaves. Cat jumped to his feet and looked up only to see Scully run off. But then something incredible happened. Scully reached the forest’s edge and suddenly flailed into the air with his feet flying up behind him. He crashed hard. Cat heard the scatter of gravel, several sharp curses, and then a low moan. He ran to the edge of the woods, and there was Anne with her leg stuck out in the path.
She shrugged. “Oops . . . he tripped.”
The three ships of the Brethren had sailed out of Montego Bay and moored off the coast of a deserted cay. Father Brun and Brother Dmitri had taken a very defiant Edmund Scully into Father Brun’s cabin. Cat and Anne waited just outside the cabin’s door for an hour, but it seemed like an eternity. All their hopes of finding the Merchant depended on what Scully knew.
“What do you think they’ve done to him?” Cat asked.
“I can’t imagine they’ve been smacking him with a club,” said Anne. “We haven’t heard a thing.”
“He wouldn’t, would he?” asked Cat.
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Smack Scully with a club or whip him or anything like that?” Cat waited for Anne to answer. When she didn’t, he said, “I mean, Father Brun and Brother Dmitri, they’re monks, Christians . . . they can’t just beat the information out of Scully, can they?”
Anne was silent a few moments, and her eyes became glassy as she remembered another member of the Brethren, Padre Dominguez, who had befriended her and protected her before Thorne tortured him to death. “I don’t know, Cat,” she said. “In some ways, the Brethren are at war. What the Merchant has done throughout history . . . what Edmund Scully has done . . . unspeakable things! If they have to hurt Scully in order to capture the Merchant . . . how many lives might be saved?”
Cat nodded slowly. He hadn’t thought of that.
“Besides,” Anne continued, “the monks, the members of the Brethren, they aren’t your usual monks. I watched Padre Dominguez knock the starch out of a dozen pirates—all while I was reading the Bible to him. These Christians aren’t afraid to fight, and you know what? I don’t blame them. There are a lot of evil men in this world. Someone has to fight them.”
Before Cat could comment, the cabin door swung open. “Cat, Anne, prepare the ship,” said Father Brun as he emerged from the room. “We sail for Pine Island off the coast of Cuba.”
Brother Dmitri appeared in the doorway. “The Merchant has built a stronghold on a unique tidal island. La Isla Desvanecente, it is called . . . the disappearing isle.”
“But thanks to Scully,” explained Father Brun, “we will be able to find it.”
“Then,” said Brother Dmitri, brushing between Cat and Anne and walking toward the stairs, “we will at last stem the Merchant’s bloody tide.”
When Scully didn’t follow Father Brun and Brother Dmitri out of the cabin, Cat and Anne peered nervously into the room. They saw Scully s
eated on a small chair in the middle of the room. His wrists were bound and rested in his lap, but Cat and Anne could see that he was shaking. And his face was ghost white. Sweat dribbled down his forehead and poured down his cheeks. His eyes were as big as saucers, and his large dark pupils darted this way and that.
Cat leaned back into the hall and looked aghast at Father Brun. “What . . . what did you do, stab him?”
Father Brun laughed out loud. “We did no such thing,” he said. “Neither of us laid a hand on Scully.”
Anne looked again at their frightened captive. “Well, what did you do to him?”
Father Brun sighed. “Brother Dmitri has a terrible scar on his right forearm. Have you seen it?”
Cat and Anne nodded. It was hard to miss such a scar.
“Well,” Father Brun went on, “Dmitri simply explained to Scully how he got the scar. You see, Dmitri was working for a blacksmith in Spain and caught his arm on a piece of metal that had fused itself to the roof of the forge. His arm literally roasted above the superheated fires before he could tear it free. Tragic really, being caught in the flames for even a few seconds . . . unimaginable pain.” Father Brun shook his head and began to walk away.
“That’s all?” Cat exclaimed. “You got Scully to reveal the Merchant’s secret location by showing him a scar?”
Father Brun stopped at the stairs but did not turn around. “Oh, there was one other thing.”
“What?” Anne blurted out.
“Then we told Scully the truth about hell.” Father Brun turned then, and his pale eyes seemed luminous in the torchlight. “After that, he was uniquely inclined to speak to us. In fact, I have a suspicion that he may now desire to join the priesthood. Why don’t the two of you bring Brother Scully up on deck?”
14
A DEAD MAN’S TALE
Five, six . . . seven. Ross counted the cannon blasts even as he and Jules at last cut through the base of the fallen mast. The Bruce drifted to port, and the mast slid off the deck into the black water. Ross had already seen the precision of the Ghost’s gunners, but he shut his eyes anyway, praying that Bellamy would somehow miss with every shot. Ross’s thoughts turned to his daughter. He’d made the right decision to send Anne with Cat after all. Ross waited for the cannonballs to strike home. He waited and heard . . .
“Declan!” Stede shouted. Then more cannon shots in the distance. “Declan, get up here! Mon, ya got to b’ seeing this.”
Suddenly, Ross felt himself hoisted off the ground. He opened his eyes and saw the deck rushing by. Jules had picked up the captain and slung him over his massive shoulders. “Jules, what are you . . .” Ross groaned. “Jules, put me down!”
Jules did exactly that, placing Ross on the quarterdeck next to Stede and the ship’s wheel. Stede slapped his captain on the back. “Look, look!” he cried, pointing desperately to the stern.
Ross turned and saw not one but three ships. Bellamy’s frigate was one of them, but . . . Ross squinted and saw that one of the new ships had three sharp finlike sails and a very low draft. It sailed behind Bellamy’s ship and fired almost continuously. Ross exhaled a mighty sigh. The ship was a xebec . . . the Banshee. “Well, call me an eel!” he said. “Cutlass Jack, you rascal!”
“And Lâchance!” exulted Stede. “That other ship b’ a galleon, Le Vichy! They come up on Bellamy like Bellamy come up on us,” said Stede. “Now, they b’ driving him to our portside.”
Ross watched as the three ships exchanged fire. But Cutlass Jack had the best angle, and Bellamy couldn’t get out of his pursuer’s firing range . . . not without coming alongside . . .
“Stede, that’s exactly what Jack’s doing!” Ross’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Don’t let him slip by us! Stay on his starboard.” Then Ross went to the quarterdeck rail and yelled, “Jacques! Red Eye!” He waited a few moments and heard no answer.
Ross leaped down from the quarterdeck and ran to the hatches yelling for his two master gunmen. Still there was no answer. At last, Red Eye’s soot-streaked face popped up from a hatch near the foremast. “I heard you, Captain,” he said, his voice agitated. “But it took some doing to get here. Jacques was down below . . . near the stern . . . when the second barrage hit. The first gun deck is sealed off.”
St. Pierre had been in the worst possible place. “I’ll get a team of men down there,” Ross said hurriedly. He turned and barked out orders to anyone within shouting distance. Then he turned back to Red Eye. “What have you got portside?”
“Nine . . . maybe ten of the eighteen-pounders,” he said. “More starboard. Captain, what’s been happening? I thought we were done for.”
“We have help,” Ross said simply. “In a few moments, Bellamy will be driven along our portside. When I give you the signal, fire every ship killer you have!”
Red Eye wiped soot from his face, grinned, and turned to leave, but Captain Ross put a hand on his shoulder.
“And Red Eye . . . ,” said the captain, his face as solemn as the grave.
“Captain?”
“Bellamy must not escape,” Ross said. “If it comes to it . . . put him on the bottom.”
“That I will, sir,” Red Eye said, and he was gone.
Bellamy was indeed a brilliant seaman, and he’d mercilessly trained his crew until they could work the sails and master wind and wave in their sleep. But skill’s treacherous companion was pride, and Bellamy had been so caught in the chase and so convinced of the kill that he never dreamed other ships could be stalking him through the mist. Cutlass Jack and Captain Lâchance had hit Bellamy hard and fast. There was some minor damage to the frigate’s rudder, and with Jack cutting off every angle, Bellamy found it impossible to turn or escape. And by the time Bellamy realized where his attackers were pushing him, it was too late.
At a distance of about three hundred yards, Bellamy’s frigate passed along the Bruce’s portside. Timing was crucial, so Cutlass Jack harnessed every bit of his xebec’s shark-fin sails and raced up on Bellamy’s portside. Cutlass Jack on one side, Declan Ross on the other, and Lâchance right behind, Bellamy found himself in no man’s land with no choice left but to fight it out. The frigate opened fire from both port and starboard cannons, raking Jack’s xebec and Ross’s man-of-war from the inside. But Bellamy’s attack could not last.
Cutlass Jack’s xebec sat very low in the water, and Jack trained his cannons on the lowest sections of Bellamy’s hull. Jack fired at will, and great wounds opened up on the frigate. Lâchance managed to cross behind and fired two deadly shots into Bellamy’s stern. Soon, the enemy’s ship began to take on water.
Captain Ross gave the command. Red Eye and his gunnery team lit the fuses on massive hulking cannons that, in the shadows, looked like giant grizzly bears growling out of the cannon ports. But while their growl was thunderous and fierce, it was nothing compared to their bite. These bears spat out eighteen-pound cannonballs. Some fell short or flew between Bellamy’s masts, but those that hit the frigate did unimaginable damage. Bellamy’s forecastle exploded from one strike, collapsing the deck beneath it and raining jagged wood and other debris on the crewmen below. Another heavy shot caved in a section of the hull on the frigate’s middle gun deck, struck a cannon that was in the midst of reloading, and started a dreadful fire that kept a dozen men busy and unable to fire back.
The finishing blow came when an eighteen-pounder blasted the frigate’s quarterdeck and helm, wounding Bellamy and killing his first mate. The crew saw their captain fall, and they began to panic. Several men took places on a launch and others lowered the cutters.
“We’ve got him!” Ross bellowed. “His crew—they’re fleeing like rats in a flood!” Ross ordered a boarding party, and Stede brought the Bruce in close enough to lower a gangplank. Cutlass Jack had the same idea, and his men began to board Bellamy’s ship from the other side.
Ross told his men, “Give them the choice: be arrested and face justice or die where they stand.”
“Declan,” Stede called from
the quarterdeck. “Don’t ya b’ overstaying yer welcome over there. There b’ no doubt more’n few fires burning down below.”
“Point well taken,” Ross replied, and he led Jules, Red Eye, Hack, and two dozen more crewmen across the gangplank.
The few pirates still left on Bellamy’s main deck refused to be taken prisoner. They fought furiously but were quickly overwhelmed. Having disarmed his first foe and thrown him to the deck, Red Eye—against his better judgment—offered another man a second chance. This fellow looked all of twenty years of age. He had no beard, an apologetic moustache, and small eyes that looked timid and afraid. But he also had a dagger that he promptly put into Red Eye’s foot. Red Eye howled and knocked the man unconscious with the heavy guard of his sword. What’s the matter with me? Red Eye wondered as he yanked the dagger out of his foot. It’s like I’m becoming nice or something.
The fighting all but over, Ross roamed the deck uncontested until he ran into Cutlass Jack Bonnet. “I reconsidered,” Jack said.
Ross embraced him in a great bear hug. “How?” he asked. “How did you find us?”
Cutlass Jack pulled away and laughed. “Ye told me yerself you were goin’ t’ Saba . . . t’ see the monks. We just missed you. The monks kindly told us where you’d gone, so we followed.”
“You followed us all the way from Saba?”
“More or less,” Jack replied. “We lost ye’ for a good bit. It was providence that we ever found ye’ again. We caught up t’ this French galleon t’ ask if they’d seen ye. After they up and surrendered to us a half-dozen times, they finally told us ye be headin’ for Martinique. When they told us you were goin’ after Bellamy, I figured you could use a little help. Their Captain Lâchance insisted on coming along as well.”
“You saved us all,” Ross said. “Bellamy had us dead to rights.”
Isle of Fire Page 11
