“Nothing to it,” he said.
CHAPTER XXIV
They slipped quietly past the city of Savannah and saw along the banks that the British were well prepared for war. Soldiers had overturned boats and small ships at regular intervals to use as defensive positions, and all the marshy land between the riverbank and the higher ground of the city proper was speckled with wooden fortifications to hinder any ground advance. It wasn’t the Savannah she’d left behind. It was darker, as if war had pushed the light from it, leaving a desolation of brown and grey where once had been green. The sounds of life were gone. The country near the city held its music back, waiting, wondering when the crouching beast of war might stir.
Fin’s eyes turned northward, toward home. Two years had passed since last she saw it. She prayed the shadow cast on Savannah hadn’t stretched so far as Ebenezer. She leaned against the rail and looked out at the familiar pines and cypress of the Georgia riverbank. The city slipped away to the southeast, and gradually the land emerged from the grey cast of war and became itself again. It hadn’t changed, not yet. The trees still rose straight and thin; they still shed their leaves and straw to carpet the forest in shades of autumn and rust. The same wet smell of pine and mud filled her nose. The birds singing and the sounds of animals splashing in the river were no different now than when she and Peter walked in silence and threw stones to pass the time. No shadow here, not yet.
When she left, she was a scared girl, running from the consequences of a scared girl’s actions. Murder, whispered a voice inside her. Bartimaeus’s smile erupted in her mind as the rope snapped his neck. She shut her eyes. What would he think of what she’d become—a pirate, a murderer. Terrible things. He gave up all of that, and even though he left his old life behind, he hadn’t hesitated to step forward and place his neck in the noose when they came for him. All because he’d protected her—and now she rendered his sacrifice worthless by her actions.
She hated herself. She’d been smiling as she killed soldiers today. Defain had seen her; he’d approved. Something inside her enjoyed it. No matter how far she ran from it, that smile lurked in the darkness, waiting patiently to rule her like a tyrant. But at this very moment, Creache was in Ebenezer, wreaking what havoc she couldn’t imagine. If that smile could help, if that murderous tendril of spirit inside her could stop him, she would embrace it.
The river wound inland like a snake. Topper, renewed by the morning’s action, no longer showed signs of exhaustion and worked fervidly steering the ship around the curls of the river. Even a mighty ship of the line could appear small and insignificant out on the open sea, but here, constricted amongst the trees, banks, and bends of a land-bounded world, the ship was unwieldy, awkward, out of place. It made the men nervous.
Fin stood near the prow, straining her eyes through the trees, looking for any familiar stone, bank, or grotto that would tell her she was home. The ship crept along in silence. Every tree that slipped past pulled the invisible knots in her stomach tighter. Fin needed to see what was coming. She needed a better view, needed to know what to expect. She ran to the base of the mainmast and hauled herself up the ladder to the crow’s nest. Topper’s voice called out, asking if she was all right. She didn’t answer him.
She reached the top and looked fearfully out across the canopy of the forest. She didn’t know what she expected to see, didn’t know what she feared to find. Only a riddle of mottled brown and rolling yellow treetops greeted her. She felt better though, more at ease, more ready to meet what awaited her. From up here she could see. She breathed deeply and dared to think that maybe everything would be all right after all. Peter was out there somewhere, in these very woods. She traced the line of the river northwest to a point where something stopped her eye. In a small bend of the river, some few miles ahead, she picked out a straight brown line jutting up just above the treetops. A mast. The Rattlesnake. Her breath caught in her chest, and she searched the line of the treetops south of the mast. She couldn’t be sure she saw it at first, but the more she stared, the more certain she became. Rising just above the trees was a white swan perched on a bell tower. The chapel. Home came back to her in a rush, and suddenly every smell and stone was familiar. She dropped through the gate of the crow’s nest and swung down the ladder.
“We’re almost there, Topper,” she said.
“Best go find Jack.”
Re-arming the crew was easy. All they had to do was report to the armory. Every man took a musket, a pistol, and whatever blades he found that suited him best. Topper put the Monarch at anchor downriver from the Rattlesnake, out of sight.
Jack urged everyone to silence. They lowered the rowboats into the river and rowed to the shore in an uneasy silence, all eyes and ears strained for signs of trouble. Once they reached the bank, Jack climbed up into the cover of the woods and motioned everyone to gather around.
“All right boys, I know you’re tired.” A collective groan seeped out of the crew. Most were running on nothing more than hope and adrenaline. “Stay lively a little while longer,” said Jack. “Soon as we get the ’Snake back we’ll make for open sea and find us a quiet port to disappear into. But first things first. There’s no telling how many hands Creache has on board the ’Snake. But he didn’t waste time pulling out of Charleston, so I’m guessing the ’Snake ain’t full. Likely a skeleton crew.” Heads nodded. “Creache’ll be anxious to get underway soon as he’s done with business ashore, so odds are most of the crew’s waiting for him aboard ship. We’re going to sneak up—quiet like—right down the shore here, board the ’Snake and take her quick as we can. After that’s settled, we can look to settling up with Creache. Any questions?” He looked the men over. When no one spoke, he turned to Fin. “Button, this is your stompin’ ground. Lead the way.” He thumped her on the back and pushed her out in front of the group.
There were twenty-eight of them in all. Half were remnants of the Rattlesnake’s crew, the other half were the prisoners freed to man the Justice. Fin didn’t know any of the prisoners by name, but so far none had given any reason not to be trusted. Armand Defain crouched at the rear of the group, in the shadows, uncharacteristically somber. Fin hadn’t thought him capable of anything other than murder and gloatish amusement, but here he looked almost nervous. Tan nudged her shoulder and urged her to action.
She led the crew down the bank to the water’s edge and then quietly upriver toward the Rattlesnake. The fallen leaves on the ground caused her boots to slip on the sharply rising bank, and she stumbled along with one hand to the ground to stop herself from falling completely. Troubled footsteps from behind told her the others fared no better. She’d walked through these woods, down this very bank a hundred times with Bartimaeus, foraging herbs among the grass and growth, never once worrying over how much noise she might make or who might see her coming if she didn’t stay low. The effect was unsettling. She was a stranger in her own home. Her stomach churned with every step. She strained her ears, listening for even the slightest sound that might warn her of violence or alarm from ahead.
The river wound to the left, and they followed it around the bend. It turned sharply to the right, then curled back to the left again where it ran nearest the orphanage. They could see the Rattlesnake anchored upriver around the curve. Now exposed along the riverbank, Fin climbed back up into the woods where they would have less cover from landward eyes but more concealment from the ship. She led them through the pines and out across the river-carved shoulder of land that lay between them and the ship. To her left she could see the outer walls of the orphanage. More than anything, she wanted to run straight to the front gate to see what was going on behind that wall. But they needed to secure the ship first. She tried to put it out of her mind and kept her eyes fixed on the Rattlesnake.
When they approached to within a hundred yards of the riverbank nearest the ship, Fin caught the sounds of harsh voices on the wind. The sounds came from the chapel. The wind changed again, and the snippets of sound were whisk
ed away, replaced by the chirping of birds and the low babble of the river.
She stopped behind a large, fallen cypress and deferred to Jack. He crawled forward and peered over the tree, across the last few yards toward the ship. Fin forgot all about the Rattlesnake and fixed her attention up the hill, toward the chapel. She caught hollow thumping sounds: feet on a wooden floor. She picked out a woman’s voice: loud, in anger—or fear.
“Button, pay attention!” spat Jack in a harsh whisper. He was talking to the group, explaining his plan of action. Fin didn’t care. The sounds coming from the chapel consumed her thoughts.
Tan nudged her. She turned and saw Jack stooped low and creeping through the brush, leading the men down to the river, toward the Rattlesnake. Tan nudged her again, beckoning her to follow but she held back. Jack and several others crawled into the rowboat that Creache must have used to come ashore. Those that didn’t fit in the boat clung to the side and held their muskets and powder-horns out of the water. Fin watched as Jack quietly rowed the boat toward the ship. Tan beckoned again and she moved to follow; she could still catch up with Jack and the boat. Then once more, the harsh tone of a male voice rang out from the direction of the chapel. Fin jerked her head away from Tan, away from the river, away from the Rattlesnake. The voice came again and she made up her mind, small steps at first, then she broke into a run. Tan called out for her to stop, but she ignored him.
The chapel was a hundred yards away; it was a world away. As she ran across the distance, she felt as if she were violating something sacred. She’d dreamed that when she came home, came back at last, that she would do so having put who she’d become behind her. She didn’t want the sailor, the pirate, the murderer, following her—not here. She left home to keep those things from this place, from these people, from Peter. Now she was bringing it all back. Worse, she wouldn’t be able to hide it, to lie about it, to cover it up. If she meant to stop Creache, then she meant to bring death where innocence slept. She felt her blood rising; she meant to fight. And with it rose her shame, her guilt. Then she felt what she hated most: a rising sense of excitement. She was looking forward to it. She imagined Armand Defain smiling at her in approval. She didn’t care anymore.
She reached the chapel and flattened herself against the wall. Tan emerged from the trees and ran to her. Fin gritted her teeth and prepared a protest. He wasn’t going to stop her now.
“What’s the plan?” asked Tan. Fin relaxed and unclenched her jaw. He wasn’t here to stop her.
“Kill Creache.”
“Simple. I like it.”
Tan smirked and drew his rapier. He edged his way down the building, and Fin followed. They slipped around the corner and sidled up to the first of the tall arched windows that marched down the flanks of the chapel.
Inside was everything that Fin feared. Orphans filled the pews, more of them than Fin expected. In the past there were rarely more than twenty; now there must be fifty, quiet and meek in the pews, driven here by war no doubt. Standing near the rear of the sanctuary, clothed in grey, hunched and crooked like a gargoyle, stood Sister Hilde. She guarded the children, her hands on the heads of those around her, channeling comfort and discipline. Her eyes, though, were turned away. Fin was thankful. She wasn’t ready to confront that gaze; she wasn’t sure she would ever be.
The focus of Hilde’s attention was Carmaline. She was standing awkwardly, as if off balance, near the front door. Her arms struck out at right angles, and her head was thrown back as if in the middle of a great laugh. Then Carmaline turned, and Fin saw the figure behind her. Carmaline’s immensity had hidden him. It was Bill Stumm. He had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other held a knife. He pressed the blade against Carmaline’s throat, and it was nearly lost in the folds of her neck.
Silhouetted in the door was Creache. In front of him, the floorboards had been ripped up and cast aside. Piles of dirt filled the doorway. Now and then, a shovel tossed a new cloud of dirt out of the hole in the floor. It was deep enough that only the diggers’ heads and shoulders were visible above the rim of the hole. The shovelers were two teenaged boys. Orphans.
“Deeper!” shouted Creache.
“There ain’t nothin’ down here, mister—” argued one of the boys in the hole.
“Do as he says, child!” snapped Hilde. Her voice was thinner than Fin remembered.
Fin turned away from the window and crouched down, out of sight. She pulled her cutlass from her belt and took a deep breath. It was time. She had to act. She started to rise, but Tan pulled her back down.
“Let him dig up whatever’s down there. Then he’ll leave on his own, and we’ll be waiting.”
Fin hadn’t considered that. She didn’t care for whatever Bartimaeus had stolen and buried. Creache, on the other hand, was ready to kill for it. If she rushed in to stop him, too many people were in a position to get hurt. Tan was right. They peeked through the window to watch and wait.
“If you’d care to tell us just what it is you’re looking for, we might be able to help you find it,” said Hilde.
Creache turned to face her. “Do you know the name Bart Gann?” he asked.
“Bartimaeus? Of course. He was our cook for nearly twenty years. What of him?” said Hilde. She wasn’t intimidated and held back none of her usual venom.
“Your cook stole a great deal of gold from me—nearly twenty years ago.”
“Nonsense. Bartimaeus wouldn’t steal a crumb. He was as penniless as any orphan that ever darkened our gate, and that till the day he died.”
“Bart Gann was as malicious a pirate as ever set blade to flesh. He was a thief, a murderer, and a lover of cheap wine and cheaper whores. Have any orphans here from the brothels of Savannah?” Creache raised an eyebrow and a smirk threatened his lips. Hilde didn’t answer. “Perhaps he came here out of pity, looking for one of his bastards. As ironic a place as any to hide, I suppose.”
“He was a good man,” protested Hilde.
“Aye. Good sailor, good pirate—good traitor. I never saw him coming, I’ll give him that. When he made off with the gold, he caught me perfectly off my guard. Once you’ve debauched with a man, pirated with him, warred and whored with him, you come, at last, to think you know him. Perhaps even trust him. But Bart was far more wicked than I. Often I wonder when it was that he decided to turn. What was the precise moment his treachery was born? I never had an inkling of it.”
Creache paused and preened his mustache in silence. “Then, when he’d stolen our fortune, he disappeared. Twenty years I searched for him. Twenty years poking in rotten little towns up and down the coast, and never once a whisper, never a hint. Made myself an honest man, put away the pirate, and turned all my purpose to searching for him unhindered by the hangman’s threat. To give up being a pirate is no small thing for a man who gives himself to the life. Such was my hate that I cast it away. And then for years, nothing. Until at last, the British caught up with him. I sailed to Savannah the moment I heard. But when I got here, what did I find? The bloodthirsty bastards had already dangled him. I was furious, demanded they tell me where he had been hiding—but they starting asking questions—about me, about why. And I couldn’t let them connect us could I? No.” Creache paced the chapel floor in front of Hilde as clumps of dirt flew up from the hole in the floor.
“Then Bart’s deception unraveled itself when that little whore of yours—that Button—had the nerve to come aboard my ship.”
“Phinea?” said Hilde with disbelief. “You’re mad.”
“Quite,” he said with an arrogant sniff. “I can’t imagine what she thought to gain by coming out to find me, but whatever her little plan, it failed. I expect the British will be sending her to join old Bart any day, if they haven’t already.”
Carmaline swooned, and Bill staggered against her weight to keep her upright. Sister Hilde’s face turned a shade whiter. “You lie,” she hissed at him.
Creache turned on her with an amused smirk. Before he could answer, one of
the boys in the hole threw his shovel out. “We can’t dig no more, mister. There ain’t nothing down here. We dug so far we hittin’ water.”
Creache kicked the shovel back at him. “You don’t stop until you find what’s mine!” he shouted.
“We can’t dig no more! Ain’t nothing but mud!” hollered the boy back at him.
Creache walked to the hole and looked down into it. The muscles of his shoulders twitched in anger as he glared into the muddy pit. The bottom was flooded with water. The boys stood in it up to their knees. He spun around and grabbed a child from the nearest pew. Sister Hilde’s nose quivered in anger as he dragged the scared little girl in front of her and pulled a pistol from his belt. Fin’s eyes widened; it was Betsy. He jerked the girl by her arm and rammed the blunderbuss against her temple. His face twisted into a snarl of rage.
“Where is it?” he said to Hilde through clenched teeth. Sister Carmaline worked her mouth open and closed like a fish, her face white with fear. Hilde matched his gaze.
“Where is what?” she said coldly.
“He lived here twenty years, and you expect me to believe that he never said a word or spent an ounce?” The small girl in his grip began to cry as he pressed the gun into her temple. “It’s not where the map says it is, so that means one thing: someone took it. Where is it?”
Fin considered that Creache might be right. Would Bartimaeus have kept a fortune in gold secret from the sisters for so long? Surely they could have put the money to good use, rather than let it lie in the ground for twenty years. If Hilde knew, she would certainly give it up before she let Creache harm one of the children.
“I told you. Bartimaeus was poor when he came and poor when he went. He never owned anything but the clothes on his back and that blasted fiddle.”
Creache didn’t like her answer. He cocked the hammer of the gun. Hilde’s nose froze. So this is what she looks like when she’s scared, thought Fin. Carmaline staggered backward, threatening to faint. She forced Bill up against the wall, and he grunted and cursed while she mashed him against it in her infirmity.
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