Cutlass

by T. M. Franklin

  Pay heed to the Word

  ‘Twill be your true guide

  Quench thirst with the cup

  A coin to give sight

  A key for the door

  A mind for a map

  Then cross the bridge, to bridge the gap

  Seek Aphrodite’s kiss, whence light doth play

  And the sword will lead the way

  Rina read it through three times, but the words were no clearer. Was it some kind of poem? A code? Did it really have anything to do with the cutlass at all? Her gaze dropped to the sword in her lap, and she ran her fingers over the hilt gently, her eyes lighting on the engraving around the sapphire.

  And God said, “Let there be light, and there was light.”

  Her father had translated it for her shortly before . . .

  Light.

  . . . whence light doth play . . .

  Let there be light . . .

  It had to be more than a coincidence, didn’t it?

  With a determination founded in instinct more than knowledge, she shuffled through Tremayne’s desk until she found a scrap of paper, then quickly copied the poem and tucked it into her pocket. She replaced the journal and the chest in the bottom desk drawer and set the cutlass back on the shelf, touching it once more reverently before turning to gather the items to polish Tremayne’s spare boots.

  She knew the captain was keeping things from her, and she couldn’t help but think that this Mellick’s journal, and the rather obscure entry referring to the sword, had something to do with it. There was a reason the cutlass was important to him, and she believed she’d just gotten the clue as to what it was.

  Of course, even having known the captain only a short time, she’d learned there were only three things that truly motivated him—pleasure, vengeance, and treasure—and he generally got the first from the latter two.

  And the sword will lead the way.

  Lead the way to what? Kane? Treasure?

  Rina found that either one would give her pleasure.

  That night, she hid the scrap of paper under her pillow, certain it was the key to something important.

  Early the next morning, Rina woke to find Tremayne already up and gone. After dressing quickly, she tucked the poem into her pocket, then stripped his bed, stuffing the soiled linens into the empty washtub. As she made her way on deck, she spotted Tremayne by the wheel, his gaze darting to light on hers. His shoulders relaxed a bit, as if he’d been searching for her.

  Odd.

  She set the washtub down and slipped her hand into her pocket, fingering the scrap of paper lightly. Tremayne may have had his secrets, but Rina felt confident she could discover them in time. If not, she would simply have to convince him to reveal them.

  She hazarded one more glance over her shoulder to find Tremayne watching her, brow raised in curiosity. She shrugged and turned back to her laundry.

  Tremayne could wonder what she was up to for a change. It seemed only fitting.

  In the meantime, she would try to untangle the mystery surrounding the sword herself.

  She was up to something.

  Jonathan watched Sarina scrub his bedsheets, studiously avoiding looking in his direction, and he could tell she was up to no good. She wrung out the last bit of linen, then stood to clip it to a makeshift clothesline strung across a small section of the deck. She caught his gaze and looked away quickly, biting her lip as she dumped the wash water over the side of the ship.

  If he were to be completely honest, the woman confounded him. He knew he’d destroyed some of the illusions she’d had about her father when he told her about his past, yet she handled it all with grace and noticeably few tears. She seemed to trust him, at least to a certain extent, but the next moment she refused to meet his gaze, and he knew she was hiding something.

  He wondered if it had something to do with Danny.

  He hadn’t known that Kane had stolen the cutlass from Danny when he in turn had stolen it from him. When Jonathan learned that little fact, a short while later, he’d been surprised. Danny had been adamant about living a normal life, and Jonathan doubted he could have been lured back to his former activities, no matter what the temptation. He’d thought Danny above a weakness such as greed.

  Apparently, he’d thought wrong.

  Of course, during long weeks at sea, the two had often passed the time speculating about the legend of Mellick’s Gold, but he’d been under the impression that Danny thought it a myth, a fancy. Unlike Jonathan, who knew it to be real.

  And he knew that Kane did as well.

  Eyeing Sarina’s flush as she dried her hands, he suspected that he was right about her—that perhaps Danny had told her something more about the cutlass than she was letting on. He wondered just how much. Deciding he would try to find out, he followed her as she lugged the washtub back belowdecks, and caught the door to his quarters before she could close it behind her.

  She jumped, hand flying to her throat as the tub clattered to the floor. “You startled me!”

  “A bit jumpy, are we, Smith?” he asked, stepping by her to sit at his desk. “Why so nervous?”

  She sniffed, bending to pick up the tub and put it away. “I’m not nervous. Why are you skulking about like a criminal? Oh, wait . . .” She held up a finger. “You are a criminal.”

  Jonathan gave her an impassive look. “Hilarious.”

  Sarina smirked and began to tidy up a pile of books near the bed. Jonathan watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to the mess of papers on his desk. He scanned one absently and frowned in confusion when he spotted Sarina’s dirk half-hidden beneath a manifest. Suspicion bloomed, and he picked up the dirk, tapping the point on the tip of his finger as he waited for her to notice.

  Eventually, she glanced at him and her eyes widened before flickering away nervously, throat working as she gulped. She fiddled with an arrangement of chess pieces, dusting them with a cloth and pointedly not looking in his direction again.

  “Smith?”

  Sarina cleared her throat but didn’t turn around, completely focused on dusting the white queen. “Yes?”

  “Is there a reason your dirk is on my desk?”

  “Is it?” she asked, trading the queen for a rook. “That’s odd.”

  “Hmm . . . indeed.” His sharp gaze drifted over the desktop as he toyed with the dirk, scanning the scattered papers idly before opening the top drawer. He glanced down, and his eye narrowed as he spotted the bottom drawer—the bottom drawer that had been decidedly locked when he’d last left it.

  The drawer that wasn’t quite closed now.

  With his eye on Sarina, he slipped the dirk into the crack at the top of the drawer and pulled it open. He spotted the hunch of her shoulders as the wood scraped along the edges, and he took a deep breath to control his temper.

  “It appears you’ve been busy, Smith,” he said, voice deadly quiet. How much had she seen? How much had she understood?

  “Well . . . you know . . . a lot to do,” she replied brightly, picking up a bishop and fumbling with it before dropping it on the floor.

  “Smith,” he snapped. “Forget about the chess board. What did you hope to accomplish by snooping in my desk?”

  He half expected her to deny it; he almost jumped in surprise when she whirled about in fury.

  “I wouldn’t have to snoop if you didn’t hide things from me!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t you play innocent!” she exclaimed, waving her dusting cloth, the chess pieces forgotten. “Who is Simon Mellick, and what does he have to do with my father’s cutlass?”

  “It’s my cutlass,” he muttered in reflex.

  Sarina rolled her eyes, fists propped on her hips. “Don’t try to distract me. There is more going on here than revenge, and I think I deserve to know what it is!”

  Jonathan glared at her. “You deserve?” he growled. “You sneak onto my ship, try to murder me, steal my cutlass . . . then I have to risk the lives of
myself and my crew to rescue you from Stanton—and you dare to say you deserve anything from me?”

  Sarina opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. “You should count yourself lucky that I don’t throw you overboard.”

  They locked furious gazes for a long moment, both breathing harshly. Then, to Jonathan’s surprise, Sarina asked, “Why don’t you?”

  Jonathan blinked. “Why don’t I what?”

  She shrugged. “You keep saying you’re going to throw me in the brig or leave me on an island . . . or throw me overboard, but you don’t. It’s almost like . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “You want something from me.”

  “You’re out of your—“

  “But what is it?” she mused, half to herself. “You already have the cutlass—although I do still plan to remedy that—so what?”

  Sarina eyed him carefully, and he fought to meet her gaze. He could see the moment she put it together.

  “It’s not me, is it?” she said finally. “It’s my father. Whatever you’re after, you think my father knew something about it. You’re keeping me around in the hopes that he told it to me.”

  Jonathan thought about denying it, contemplated storming out in a rage—possibly even following through on his threat to throw her in chains. Instead, he opted for the more direct route. Perhaps it was time for both of them to place their cards on the table.

  “Yes,” he said.

  A victorious smile crossed Sarina’s lips as she folded her arms over her chest. “And what makes you think I would tell you anything?”

  Jonathan raised a brow, then reached down to retrieve the chest and journal from the bottom drawer and set them before him.

  “There are a few reasons,” he said matter-of-factly as he opened the chest, taking out each item and lining them up on his desk. “First, you’re curious about all of this. You’re practically drooling with anticipation of getting some answers.” He flashed her a challenging look as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t try to deny it.”

  She didn’t.

  “Second, you want to know more about your father. The parts he kept hidden from you. The true reason my name was the last word to pass his lips.”

  “Which was?”

  Jonathan leaned back in his chair, eyeing her carefully. “Who is to know for certain? Perhaps because he knew of my own grudge against Kane and sought his own vengeance.”

  Sarina frowned. “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally.

  He continued, ticking the numbers off on his fingers. “Third, all of this will play a big part in making Kane pay for everything he’s done, and I know you’re interested in that.”

  She didn’t soften. “Is that all?”

  Jonathan smirked. “Well, there is one more thing.” He paused for effect and almost burst out laughing as she leaned forward slightly in anticipation. “But I think you already know what it is.”

  Sarina’s lips quirked slightly. “It’s treasure, isn’t it?”

  Jonathan grinned in response. “Aye, Smith. And it’s a big one.”

  More than a thousand nautical miles south-southeast, at His Majesty’s Antigua Naval Yard at English Harbour, Commodore Lucius Stanton paced along the dock, a frown on his face. The young informant, who’d come in with the most recent vessel, relayed his message with frantic sincerity.

  “And you’re certain of this?” Stanton asked, fixing the lad with a glare that emphasized inaccuracy would not be tolerated.

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said. “Tremayne’s bound north toward the Colonies.”

  Stanton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. By now, the pirate could be as far as Florida if the wind was with him. And the wind always seemed to be with One-Eyed Jack. It was the only explanation the commodore had for the bastard’s ability to evade him at every turn.

  Stanton flipped the boy a gold coin and turned on his heel to stride toward the Intrepid, the crew busily loading up supplies and making minor repairs to the hull. He spotted Lieutenant Cameron peering over the starboard bow.

  “Ready the ship!” Stanton yelled. “We sail in an hour.”

  “An hour, sir?” he replied. “But we’ve yet to finish repairs.”

  “They’ll have to wait.” Stanton crossed the gangplank at a near run, jumping to the deck without missing a step. “I’ve received word of Tremayne’s location.”

  The lieutenant nodded, knowing the commodore’s rather single-minded obsession when it came to the pirate. “I’ll send Barley to retrieve the crew. We’ll be ready in an hour.”

  Stanton issued a curt nod in response and turned to bark orders to the men loading supplies. He watched with a satisfied smile as they quickened their efforts. Yes, Tremayne had a head start, but if he was indeed sailing for the Colonies, then Stanton knew where he was going. With any luck, this time he’d finally catch One-Eyed Jack unawares.

  The commodore raised his face to the brisk wind, inhaling deeply.

  The chase was on.

  The cold is everywhere, seeping through the cracks and crevices and into my very bones. As far as I can see, the world is a blanket of icy white, frigid and crackling ominously.

  The only thing that keeps me warm is the hope of fulfilling my mission.

  And Mary, the innkeeper’s daughter, a woman so fair she would make the angels weep. I would have her for my own if she would take me.

  - The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 16 November, 1664

  Rina couldn’t ignore the thrill of excitement that ran through her at the word.

  Treasure.

  She didn’t consider herself overly materialistic or greedy. Really, she’d always had enough to live comfortably, if not extravagantly. That had all changed after her father’s death, however. She’d been left with little except for their home in Boston and a small inheritance from her mother. She’d sold the house to pay for the investigator, and she’d all but exhausted the inheritance in the months of searching for Tremayne.

  So, Rina would have been lying if she said the idea of relieving her financial woes wasn’t appealing.

  Still, it wasn’t just that.

  “When you say big,” she asked, taking a tentative step closer, “just how big do you mean?”

  Tremayne smiled, waving at the chair across from him. “Why don’t you sit down, Smith, and I’ll tell you.” She did as he suggested, too intrigued to argue, and he continued, “Have you not heard of Mellick’s Gold?”

  “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  He leaned forward on the desk, tapping a finger on the leather-bound journal. “Did you read any of this?”

  “A little.”

  “So you know Mellick was a tradesman in London about ninety years ago, an ordinary man, with a penchant for puzzles.”

  Rina nodded. “Yes, he mentioned a collection.”

  The captain leaned back in his chair. “Mellick overheard a conversation that led him to leave England and come to the New World. He detailed rumors of an expedition forming to seek a great treasure of Aztec gold. He set sail immediately.”

  “Seems a bit impulsive. To leave his home based on rumors.”

  Tremayne shrugged. “He says in the journal he investigated it thoroughly, although he doesn’t go into much more detail. Suffice it to say, he gathered enough information to warrant him joining the hunt, and he apparently left England a month before the expedition.”

  “Did he find the gold?” Rina asked, mesmerized.

  “I believe he did,” Tremayne replied. “In autumn of 1665, he alludes to that fact in his journal, but also that he feared it being stolen from him. He became quite paranoid, certain his enemies were close on his heels—including the men from whom he’d originally heard of the treasure. Which leads us back to the puzzles,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “Mellick hid the treasure,” he replied. “But he didn’t write specifically where. He feared he would be murdered and if the journal fell into the wrong hands, his enemies would take the gold for themselves. He’d met and married a
young woman shortly after he arrived in the Colonies, and she was with child. So, to protect his heir, he devised an elaborate puzzle that would have to be solved in order to find the gold.”

  “The poem,” Rina mused. At Tremayne’s curious look, she added, “In the back of the journal—A cup . . . a coin . . . a key . . .”

  “Yes,” Jonathan replied. “We’ve determined the poem points to the relics that need to be gathered in order to solve the puzzle.”

  “We?”

  “Me, your father . . . Kane,” he explained. “I’ve been in a race against Kane to find the items ever since.”

  “Wait. I don’t understand something.” Rina said, shaking her head. “If the journal was intended for Mellick’s child, how did you get it? And why didn’t he keep all of these relics?”

  “He died before he got a chance,” Tremayne replied, waving a hand. “Consumption. His wife as well, a short time later. The child was never born, and with a lack of heirs, all his belongings went to a distant cousin back in London.

  “The man was undergoing financial troubles of his own, so he opted to sell all of Mellick’s property in the Colonies rather than spare the expense to have it shipped overseas. The relics were scattered to the winds, and it was only by chance that the journal came into my father’s possession, and eventually to mine. It, along with the contents of Mellick’s library, ended up in a book shop in Charles Towne. My father is a collector, and had also heard the legend of Mellick’s Gold. When he found the journal, he knew it would prove invaluable.”

  He paused, his gaze intent. “Kane thought so, too. When he learned I had the journal, he determined to acquire it. It was he who set the trap for my crew those years ago, he who took my eye and left me for dead. All in a plot to get the journal.”

  “But he failed.”

  “Thanks only to Max,” he replied. “He managed to wound Kane and get the rest of the crew away safely. He saved my life.”

  Rina breathed deeply, absorbing all she had heard. “So . . .” she said, swallowing thickly. “Kane killed my father for the cutlass? The sword from the poem?”