The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2)

by Linda Watkins

  Holding my breath, I used my mind to delve deep inside myself – deep into my Christian beliefs – deep into my love of family and country.

  With a silent prayer, I blew out the breath I had been holding, moving my arms in circles as I did so. The smoke, unable to withstand the power of pure love, dissipated before my eyes and, once again, I regarded the old man, Ian Morrison.

  “Give me my son,” I said softly. “And let us be done with this foolishness.”

  The old man looked drained and, reluctantly, nodded. “The boy is outside with your man right now. Take him and leave this place. Do not come back, witch! Or I will smite thee as verily as I say it!”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. Not believing him, yet praying that what he said was true, I slowly backed out of the room. Once outside, I inhaled deeply. The air was sweet and full of salt and I gulped it down eagerly.

  I started down the steps and was gratified to see Micah standing at the foot of the stairs, Samuel and Sarah by his side.

  “Praise be to God!” I screamed as I ran down the steps to greet my long-lost boy.

  When I reached the bottom, Samuel threw himself into my embrace, burying his head in my skirts, crying for joy.

  “Come, my sweet boy,” I whispered as I moved my hand through his soft hair. “We must not tarry. That bastard could change his mind.”

  Micah, hearing my words, nodded. “Come, Son,” he said. “We must leave this place.”

  Samuel smiled and then frowned. “But I cannot leave, Papa. I cannot.”

  Fear coursed through my body. What else did that old conjurer have in store for us?

  “Why, Samuel?” I asked. “Why can’t you leave?”

  “I don’t know, Mother,” he responded. “All I know is that if I try, I am overcome with a fierce pain.”

  As he spoke, he pointed to his abdomen and there was such a look of terror on his face that I believed him completely.

  “Can we try?” asked Micah. “Maybe that will be done with now.”

  Samuel seemed reluctant but gamely agreed. Micah put his arm around the boy.

  “Lean on me, Son,” he said. “I’ll give you all my strength and love.”

  Slowly, we walked toward the path that led away from the house – to what I believed was the property’s boundary line. When Samuel put one foot over that line, he doubled over and screamed in pain.

  “I cannot, I cannot!” he cried. “Please don’t make me.”

  I pulled him back to Morrison’s property and held him close as the spasms that racked his body subsided.

  Not knowing what else to do, I sat in the sand with him, cradling his head in my arms.

  Sarah, who had been strangely quiet during everything, stepped forward and knelt down beside us.

  “There is something binding him here, Mother. I can feel it. A talisman, amulet, something tangible that holds him to this place.”

  I looked deeply into my daughter’s eyes and knew she told the truth.

  “Samuel,” I asked. “Do you have something – something Mr. Morrison gave you?”

  My boy looked perplexed. “No, Mother. That man gave me nothing.”

  Micah stepped forward. “Have you anything in your pockets, Sam?”

  The boy looked puzzled. “Not that I know of, Papa. Maybe some lint.”

  Micah smiled. “Do you mind if I check?”

  “No, Papa.”

  Smiling genially, Micah gently perused the contents of Samuel’s waistcoat’s pockets.

  “Nothing there,” he informed me. “Just lint like the boy said.”

  My husband then turned back to Samuel. “Remove your coat so I may check your trousers.”

  Samuel did as his step-father asked and Micah reached into the boy’s pants’ pocket.

  “Now, what is this?” he asked as he removed his hand.

  Smiling, he held up a small, flat rock. “A skipping stone?”

  Samuel looked surprised. “That’s what it looks like, Papa. But how did it get there? I don’t remember finding it.”

  “That’s not a problem, Sam. Don’t worry about it. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Micah held the stone out for me to examine. It looked completely ordinary, however, when I touched it, I could feel power flowing through it.

  “We must be rid of it,” I whispered to my husband. “Now!”

  Micah nodded. “Well, it has always been my belief that a good skipping stone should be returned to the place it came from – the sea. Samuel, what say you and I send this stone back to where it belongs?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Taking the boy’s hand in his, Micah walked with Samuel down over the sandy beach to the shoreline.

  “And, how many skips do you think we can make, Sam? Five? Six?”

  Samuel smiled. “I’d say seven, Papa.”

  Micah ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re an optimist. Now put your hand in mine and, together, we will see how many skips we can make.”

  Samuel, again, did as his step-father asked and I watched as, together, they spun the stone back into the ocean from whence it came.

  One, two, three, four, five times the stone skipped across the water’s surface until finally it sank, hopefully never to be found again.

  As soon as the stone disappeared, a scream of anger came from the house, echoing across the beach.

  “Make haste, my love,” I said to my husband. “We must be rid of this place soon or that old man will make mincemeat of us all!”

  Nodding, Micah lifted Samuel onto his shoulders. “Come now, Daughter,” he said to Sarah, who was staring out to sea. “Time to leave.”

  Sarah didn’t reply or move.

  “Child, did you hear your father?” I asked, impatiently.

  She still didn’t answer but continued to stare out at the water. Then, suddenly, she raised her hand pointing toward the horizon.

  “Look, Papa,” she said. “It’s coming.”

  We turned as one toward the sea. On the horizon, the water was beginning to churn unnaturally.

  “What is it, Sarah?” I asked. “What’s coming?”

  She was silent for a moment.

  “Look, Mother.”

  Now, at the horizon, five water spouts appeared – one large one in the middle with two smaller ones on each side. Slowly, they moved toward each other and the shore.

  We watched, transfixed, as the spouts began to coalesce, forming what looked like an immense water dragon. As the beast took shape, the wind around us began to howl whipping up the sand, sending it forcefully into our faces – tearing at our exposed skin.

  “What shall we do, Maude?” cried Micah as he pulled both Sarah and Samuel to him, shielding them from the bite of the wind and sand.

  I didn’t answer but continued to stare at the monster that was now almost fully formed. Water made up its girth, but its scales were cut from seaweed and its eyes made from parts of two jellyfish.

  I watched as the eyes finished forming – they were ones I knew well. Blue and icy cold, they were the eyes of Ian Morrison.

  The dragon drew closer then stopped short of the shoreline and threw back its head and roared.

  “Micah, save the children!” I cried. “RUN!”

  As I spoke, I placed myself between my family and the approaching sea creature. I took a deep breath and, without thinking, spread wide my arms, holding up my hands, palms facing the beast.

  The dragon roared again and took a mighty step toward the shore. It was now so close I could hear it snort as it prepared to unleash its wrath upon me.

  “Vade Satana: turpi viventem!” I screamed, raising my hands high.

  The creature was not daunted and, instead, extended its neck toward me, mouth open.

  Without hesitation, it let loose with its fiery breath.

  Flames surrounded me.

  “MAUDE!” cried Micah.

  I remained still as the fire danced around me, but none, not one whisper of flame or ember, could touch me.
r />   “Vade Satana: turpi viventem!” I screamed again.

  As I issued my command for the creature to be gone, I waved my hands in front of me and, as I did, the flames around me changed into rose petals and fell harmlessly to the ground.

  The dragon, angered, prepared to attack again, but I had no fear. Instead of running away, I stepped forward into the water, my eyes locked on the creature’s.

  “You will not have me or mine!” I cried. “Go back to the darkness whence you came and bother me no more!”

  The dragon roared, but this time it seemed less powerful.

  “Vade Satana: turpi viventem – be gone, foul creature!” I screamed one last time, waving my hands before me.

  “Look!” cried Micah, his voice filled with awe. “It’s breaking up!”

  Indeed, it was. The waves of water that had formed the creature were starting to fall off, returning to the sea where they belonged.

  The sun, which had hidden behind a cloud when the dragon appeared, once again began to shine as the ocean returned to its natural state.

  I stumbled, feeling faint, all the power drained from my body and mind. I feared I would fall, but Micah caught me and lifted me to him.

  “Samuel, Sarah,” he called. “Make haste. We must be rid of this place. NOW!”

  What happened next is a blur to me. I was so drained from the battle with the sea monster that I let myself be carried away.

  When I came to, I was lying in soft grass under a weeping willow. As my eyes came into focus, I sat up.

  “Where are we, Husband?” I asked.

  Micah, who was standing nearby watching over me, smiled. “We are several miles from the Morrison Plantation and I believe we are safe thanks to you, my Maude.”

  “The children?”

  “They’re safe, too, and are playing down by the stream that runs through this valley.”

  I smiled. “We did it. Will we be able to make Charles Town tonight?”

  Micah surveyed the sky. The sun was floating just over the horizon.

  His face turned serious. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

  I closed my eyes, letting my senses roam the countryside around us. If there were danger here, I would feel it.

  I hesitated but a heartbeat. “No, not now. He knows he’s been beaten. And away from his stronghold, I will be more than a match for him.”

  Micah nodded. “All right, if you think it wise, I would rather we spend the night here.

  There’s fresh water and enough light left for me to hunt up a squirrel or rabbit for our supper.”

  I nodded. “It’s a good plan. It is safe here. Go and find us some game. Samuel and Sarah can gather wood for a fire and I will see if I can find some natural-growing herbs to make us tea.”

  Micah shot two rabbits, which we roasted on a spit made from a fallen branch. After we all had eaten our fill, I put Sarah and Samuel to bed in the back of the wagon. Young Sam was exhausted and fell asleep almost instantly. Sarah, delighted to have her older brother home again, wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. I kissed them both good night and then walked back to the fire to join Micah.

  He had found some wild-growing tobacco and had fashioned himself a smoke.

  I smiled. “Don’t make a habit of that, Husband. It’s not good for your lungs.”

  Micah laughed. “Just once in a while, Woman. Now, we need to talk about the future.”

  Puzzled, I settled down beside him, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “Future? What do you mean?”

  He took a deep breath. “I am loathe to return to Falmouth and Storm Island. I see nothing for us there except pain and sorrow. I’m thinking we need a fresh start.”

  “A new start? Here in Charles Town?”

  He shook his head. “No, not here. But do you remember what the good Captain said before we left the Adventure?”

  I frowned. “The good Captain, as you call him, is a pirate. Lest you not forget that!”

  Micah laughed. “Yes, he’s a pirate, but a gentleman pirate by my reckoning. What say we set sail for Jamaica and make a new home there? I can join the Captain’s crew – he said so himself. And, Samuel, should it meet his desire, could sign on as a cabin boy. You can ply your trade as a midwife and healer. And, hopefully, there will be a school where Sarah can continue to learn her letters.”

  “And, you would become a buccaneer?”

  Again, he laughed. “Yes, a buccaneer – a swashbuckler – would you mind being married to a man who lives on the edge, my love?”

  I could hear the excitement in his voice. He had always done as I’d wanted – been a farmer and a fisherman providing for us all. But looking at him now, I could see the boy in him again – a boy who worked from a young age in a bakery to help support his family, and then, again, as a man, shouldering his responsibilities as husband and father. Perhaps, now it was time for him to do something for himself.

  I turned toward him and took his face in my hands. “If this be truly what you want, my Micah, then so be it. We will go to the islands and I will become the wife of a buccaneer!”

  Thus ends the saga of our journey from Maine to the Carolinas to seek the return of our abducted boy. By the grace of God, the journey, though perilous, had a happy ending. Perhaps no one will never read this diary, but perchance someone will.

  And, if that someone is in need of knowledge, I pray that she finds the truth she seeks in my words.

  Maude Prichard Abbott Levine

  21st day of September, The Year of Our Lord 1698

  51

  Kate

  The Talisman

  I LAY THE book on the desk with Maude’s final words bouncing off the walls of my fragile brain. How did she know another woman would be reading her diary?

  I shook my head, perplexed, then checked the time. It was after six. I’d been reading all night. As I rose from the chair, I knew I should be exhausted, but, somehow, I was anything but. On the contrary, I felt invigorated and, in a sense, renewed.

  I slipped the little diary back onto the bookshelf where I’d found it and, gathering up my things, said adieu to the strange stone silo and descended once again into the tunnels.

  I quickly made my way back to the entrance to the Carriage House and, once inside, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into a pair of scrubs and white lab coat. Pulling my hair back into ponytail, I grabbed my down jacket and headed out the door to the clinic.

  When I arrived, Steve was already there, sitting at the front desk going over the day’s schedule.

  “Hey, there,” he said. “You get some sleep?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I lied. “You’re up early.”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

  “How’s our patient?”

  “He woke up a little while ago. Wants to get outta here.”

  “That sounds like him. I’ll go talk to him. I want him to stay here at least for a few more hours to be sure he’s okay.”

  Thanking Steve, I walked to Jeremy’s room and knocked on the door.

  “Come on in,” he called.

  I could hear the irritation in his voice, so I put on a pleasant smile as I entered.

  “Hey, sailor. How’re you feeling this morning?”

  He grinned. “Just like before. I feel great. Can you fill me in on what happened last night?”

  I checked his monitors and his vitals, then sat on the side of the bed.

  “You were at the boatyard. The Morrisons stopped by to pay a visit. After they left, Smitty went to check on you. You were lying on the deck of the boat, obviously very sick. He called me and I brought you here. And, that’s it. What do you remember? You want to add anything?”

  He leaned back against the pillows. “Nope. Last thing I recall was Terry and his grandfather coming by. Something about ordering twenty pounds of scallops, I think.”

  I frowned. There had to be some way to jog his memory.

  “Let’s try something,” I finally sai
d. “Close your eyes. Then, take several deep breaths and try to visualize exactly what happened. Play the scene in your head as if it were a movie you’re watching.”

  “Okay,” he responded, closing his eyes. “I’ll try.”

  I waited a few minutes, letting him get into it.

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Me on the boat. Terry wheeling the old geezer aboard. Talked a bit. The old guy kept staring at me – made me lose my train of thought. And, that’s all. Everything beyond that’s a blank until I woke up here.”

  “All right,” I said. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do next. I haven’t the foggiest idea about what’s causing these fevers. Oh, I have suspicions, but that’s all they are. I think it’s time to call in the specialists.”

  “I already have an appointment first week in January with that Infectious Disease doctor. Why more, Katy? Are you hiding something from me?”

  I saw a brief wave of fear cross his face as he spoke. I reached out and took his hand in mine.

  “No, I’m not hiding anything from you. I wouldn’t do that. But we need to rule out a few things and that means you’re going to have to see an oncologist.”

  I let that dreaded word hang out there for a moment so he could absorb it.

  Finally, he spoke. “You think I’ve got cancer?”

  “No,” I said emphatically. “I don’t. But we’ve got to confirm it. There’s a great Oncology Department at Mass General in Boston. I know one of the professors who works there. Would it be all right if I called him on your behalf? There’s a whole slew of tests that need to be done and I can’t do them here.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, you have my permission. Would I have to stay in Boston?”

  I smiled. “No. Most likely Dr. Martin will order the tests and scans to be done up here before your visit. That way, he’ll have the results when he sees you or he may even decide, if all the tests are negative, that a visit isn’t necessary. We’ll have to wait and see.”