Cerulean Isle

by G. M. Browning

  He tossed the pouch to Christoff. “Enough gold to buy the larger of the sloops should Shanley want proof of payment. Don’t give him so much as a reale. Bring back Shanley, and that purse is yours.”

  “Understood, Captain.”

  “Now, ready yourselves in any manner you see fit. Christoff, feed the boys and round up a few men to row you to Willemstad.” L’Ollon shifted his gaze to us. “Good luck in Curacao, and while you’re skulking around with Death chasing your heels, remember poor Beelo. Ha! The fall of Shanley’s empire has begun.” Turning back to the bow, he peered at the island through his spyglass.

  Christoff, Grant, and I were secured in one of the rowboats and lowered to the waves. Four pirates joined us and they worked the oars steadily, pulling the rowboat away from the ship’s dripping, barnacle-laden hull.

  As the boat swam roughly over the water, I looked back at the Obsidian. Its gruesome figurehead seemed real, its lifeless arms tied at the wrists to the bowsprit, its dead head drooping sadly and defeated with that gaping mouth and those empty eye sockets. Jean L’Ollon, the Obsidian, and the legacy encompassing it meant three things to the people of the Caribbean: wealth, power, and death.

  The island of Curacao grew larger as we approached. Grant’s freckled face was pale as he nervously fiddled with the bundle of lock picks. I looked down at the blade that rested in my belt, a blade that had undoubtedly killed many men. Today I would kill or be killed.

  Chapter 9

  Thieves

  L’Ollon’s pirates rowed our boat into the wharf. All around us were glorious ships of varying shapes and sizes; some bore red flags, others blue and yellow. Crests of distant countries adorned the banners, and as we drifted in, I heard an assortment of languages.

  The harbor was deep enough to accommodate even the grandest of vessels. Christoff pointed at one of the finest ships in the bay. “There is Shanley’s brigantine,Hydra’s Bane.A brigantine is very similar to a barque. There isn’t much difference between Hydra’s Bane and the Obsidian. Our barque is a bit shorter in length but our masts make up for it. The brigantine and the barque are the preferred ships for our trade, you see. Shanley’s fleet is fast and maneuverable. His ships are all large enough to hold a tough crew, several cannon, and room for cargo.”

  Grant turned to me and whispered, “Trunks of gold and jewels, I’d say.”

  “I’ve seen many modified ships, as well,” continued Christoff. “Some seafarers employ carpenters to alter the forecastles, quarterdecks, and holds to suit the needs of the captain.”

  “Some pirate captains even build prisons in the lower holds,” Grant said to me.

  ”Now look yonder, lads,” Christoff directed. “There rests a mighty galleon. Jean L’Ollon had one just like her years ago. The galleon is built to hold large quantities of cargo and a large crew. It is a warship to be sure, lads, but speed it does not have. It takes heavy firepower to best a ship like her. ‘Loot her and leave her if you dare get close,’ say the best pirates, ‘she won’t be giving much chase.’”

  The wooden dock wobbled under us. The afternoon was warm as the sun began tilting to the western sky. We found the main road connecting the harbor to the town.

  Curacao was not much different than Cuba. The streets were littered with peddlers. Peasants and nobles alike crowded the taverns; the sounds of the smithy’s hammer-falls rang like church bells. Fragrant fruits and flowers sweetened the air. I could hear music, laughter, and cheers coming from a nearby square. The townsfolk paid us little mind. They brushed by, unaware of our criminal intentions.

  No one seemed to notice the dreadful sword hanging from my belt. It was commonplace for a boy to carry the arms of his father or master—a symbol of faithfulness and pride to follow behind bearing his trusted weapon should he need it. Perhaps Grant and I looked like Christoff ’s sons. Walking with him in the far away town of Willemstad was like walking with a powerful lion. I felt safe now that I was away from Jean L’Ollon. Even the feeling of the solid, un-moving earth beneath my feet was rejuvenating.

  We entered a smoky tavern. Christoff instructed us to sit at a round table and speak to no one. He weaved around the drunkards and servers in the hazy room to a lone man sitting in the far corner, a fat man wearing a patched gray shirt. His arms were tanned and his grimy face was round. He and Christoff shook hands. Christoff took the chair across from him and they spoke for several minutes. I watched their mouths and tried to guess what they were talking about.

  Grant leaned over the table toward me. “Jean L’Ollon’s quest has begun, and we are a part of it!”

  “What about this quest? You haven’t told me the rest of the story.”

  “Where did I leave off?”

  “The night of the storm, L’Ollon’s men opened fire on the Water People.”

  “Right… L’Ollon panicked just as his men had. He called for the cannon to be manned and set. Soon, the galleon Hydra let loose its terrible wrath.”

  “He shot at them? Why?”

  “L’Ollon thought only of his fortune. He assumed that the Water People had come for it. The Obsidian, with its twelve shots, fired freely. The sloop Cutlass, with its six, blasted the dark waves. On they fired until they were out of ammunition. It was then that L’Ollon and his crew realized their mistake.

  “A vicious boom rumbled from the bilge of the Hydra. The men working below ran up the companionways and onto the main deck screaming, ‘The Hydra is taking water! The hull has been torn open!’

  “The sounds of men drowning below deck filled the stormy night. L’Ollon looked to his other ships. The Obsidian drifted on the water unscathed, but the Cutlass was sinking, too. L’Ollon gathered his sea charts, filled his pouches and pockets with gold, and abandoned his beloved galleon. He slipped into a small rowboat and cast away over the water. He rowed alone and watched the warship sink. The Obsidian was his only chance for escape. The crew hoisted him aboard and L’Ollon immediately gave orders to make sail. They obeyed and took wind despite the raging storm. The Water People did not follow.

  “Six days elapsed, and soon the island of Puerto Rico took shape in the distance. L’Ollon called for a feast before landing. He told his men that they deserved a good meal for their trials and faithfulness. The galley prepared a fine stew using the last of the provisions, provisions that L’Ollon had poisoned.”

  “Poisoned?”

  “Ah, Jacob, keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry.”

  “He wanted to kill the remaining crew. You see, they had seen the Water People. They were all on the brink of madness, even L’Ollon. He knew his crew would begin telling of the horrors they had witnessed to anyone who would listen. By killing his crew, L’Ollon would be the only one who knew the truth.”

  “Did they die?”

  “From what I’ve heard along the waterfronts, yes. They drank the stew and died in minutes. In Puerto Rico, L’Ollon made repairs to the Obsidian and bought slaves to help him sail to Jamaica’s port town of Kingston. Kingston is full of seafarers from the fallen Port Royal, and L’Ollon found it easy to recruit another ruthless crew. He set sail once more and pirated the surrounding waters.

  “After some time, L’Ollon began to catch word that one of the crewmembers survived the poison and told the officials what had happened at sea. The man was locked away and labeled mad, so little harm was done. You know who else heard the news that the gold-laden Hydra and the Cutlass sank?”

  “Captain James Shanley?”

  “Precisely. Now L’Ollon is on a quest to reclaim his fortune. It begins with Shanley and will end with the Water People.”

  Christoff came back and we followed him out of the tavern.

  “That man was one of Shanley’s crewmates,” said Christoff as we walked along the main road. “I paid him an eight for directions to Shanley’s villa. I told him I wanted to buy the sloop.”

  “How did you know he was one of Captain Shanley’s men?” I asked.

  “Ah, it’s a skill t
hat comes with time, lad. Experienced pirates always recognize a man of the same trade. Certain mannerisms tell a lot. Also, there is the scent.”

  “Like sweat or old clothing?”

  “No, lad. Though there is truth in that as well. I mean the scent of the sea, the perfume of the ocean air; the smell of a lifetime of sun, salt, and booze.” He paused. We had come to an intersection. “We must go left and then make our second right. The road will take us up a hill, and there among a coppice of palm trees waits Shanley’s villa. Come now, we are in need of haste. The Obsidian will make for the harbor in a half hour. The town will recognize her and Shanley’s men will come running to warn him.”

  ~~~~~~

  Captain Shanley’s residence had two levels, a sharply gabled roof and wide clean windows. It was painted bright yellow with white detail around the doorways, rails, and windows. Near the main entrance stood two armed pirates, one with a sword and the other with a pistol. They tensed as we made our way across the lush green garden and over the smooth stone walkway. Christoff did not seem worried. We followed close behind him.

  “What business do ya have ’ere?” asked one of the guards.

  “Good day,” answered Christoff. “I am looking for the owner of the sloop.”

  “Captain Shanley owns them ships. Is he expectin’ you?”

  “No.”

  The pirate’s brow dipped in disapproval. “Shanley don’t meet wit’ unexpected strangers.”

  “I arrived by a charter ship three days ago. I am new to the Lesser Antilles and I mean to buy my own ship. If you’d rather I leave, I understand, only let your captain know that you stopped him from making a good deal of money.”

  The two guards muttered to each other, then turned to us again. “Now see ’ere,” one began, “you speak like a wealthy seaman, so we’ll give you a chance t’ buy your way in, but your little monkeys will be waitin’ out ’ere. Got it?”

  “Indeed.”

  Christoff opened the brown purse and took out four silver coins. He held them in the sunlight. They gleamed, as did the eyes of the pirate guards. With a flick of his wrist, the coins flew through the air and landed at the feet of the men. They chimed as they struck the wooden porch. The men rushed to gather them up. After a brief moment of examination, they nodded to each other, stuffed the silver in their pockets and stepped aside, letting our quartermaster proceed through the wide front door.

  “Go on,” yelled the guard with the pistol, lifting it and pointing it at us. “Me eyes be sick of lookin’ at ya!”

  Grant and I ran down the walkway, through the garden and back onto the winding road. I expected the gun to explode as we ran.

  “Gather your wits, my friend; it’s time to carry out our end of the deal.”

  “Deal? There is no deal!”

  “We have our orders, and if we don’t succeed, we’re dead, remember? I’ve broken into dozens of homes. This one will be no different. Besides, I have these lock picks; they’ll make the job easier.”

  “What do we do first?”

  “We sneak around to the rear of the house. Once inside, we listen for voices. Sound is a thief ’s best friend, Jacob. Whatever we hear will guide us. Ah, leave it to me. Just have your sword ready.”

  “I’ll certainly use it if need be, but I cannot promise success.”

  “Remember how you bested Beelo?”

  “Yes. But I—”

  “No worries. You have a natural talent with a sword. Now let’s go, we’ve wasted enough time. We must recover L’Ollon’s sea chart and that mysterious book.”

  Grant and I found a window in the rear of the manor. An iron lock kept the two shutters closed. After Grant picked the lock and parted the shutters, we entered the house, finding ourselves in a large storage room filled with stacks of crates. With tender steps, we made our way through, being careful to disturb nothing. Light spilled in through the square window. The dusty air made the rays of sunshine look like milky white bars. Weathered trunks were concealed in one corner of the room.

  “Let’s have a look,” said Grant. “Got to make fair use of these picks.”

  “Let’s do the job and get out of here.”

  “Don’t be scared. You’re the one with the sword.”

  Grant knelt beside the biggest trunk and took the rusted lock in hand. He inserted his metal pick. With gentle pokes, he picked at the tumblers systematically. The pick snapped. He cursed under his breath, then produced another one. After several minutes, the rusted lock opened in his hand. He removed the lock, and we lifted the lid. A tattered, stained bundle of rags lay before us.

  I grabbed the bundle of rags and lifted them out of the trunk, revealing a mass of glimmering gold.

  Grant plunged his hands into the money. Heavy coins chimed as they fell through his fingers. Gold: solid, cold, and real.

  “We can do it, Grant.”

  “Do what? Oh, yes, the chart and the book. Yes, we can do it.”

  “No. Not that. Let’s fill our pockets with as much as we can carry. We can make for the town, book passage to anywhere, and be free.”

  “But I…” His voice trailed as he looked away.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to escape. I am so close, don’t you see? We’ll soon be able to sign L’Ollon’s articles and become official members of the Obsidian’s crew.”

  “Don’t you know what kind of man Jean L’Ollon is? A tyrant, a murderer!”

  “What else could he be? That’s what makes him so infamous.” Grant reached into the pile of gold and scooped out a handful of coins. He put them in his pouch and then handed the pouch to me. It was heavy and could barely close. “Here, take this and go if you want your freedom. I’ll be fine alone. I can finish the job.”

  The pouch in my hand held enough to purchase clothing, food, a room, and anything else to aid in my quest for freedom. My eyes went to the window. The hazy sunbeams lit the way.

  I crept to the window, free to escape. Leaving Grant with the treasure trunk and his wayward dream, I stepped through the dusty sunbeam and touched the wooden sill. I heard the squawking of the birds and the rustle of the palms, the very distant churn of the ocean. I looked back at Grant, who stood alone, one hand on the door that would take him into Shanley’s home. I wondered what he was waiting for, and then I realized why he remained. He was making sure I escaped safely. The pouch of gold felt heavier suddenly, too heavy for me to carry alone.

  I stepped away from the window. “Grant,” I called. “Wait for me.”

  Chapter 10

  Captain Shanley

  We stopped to listen for voices from within the manor and heard Christoff engaged in conversation.

  “Christoff ’s voice is far and faint,” said Grant. “Any sounds we make will be just as faint to them. It should be safe to go in. Take off your shoes.”

  The stone floor was cool and dry on our bare feet. We slipped out of the storage room and into the brightly lit hall.

  The polished stone floor was pristine and smooth. The air smelled of sweet incense. To our left, a spiraled stairwell snaked up to the second level; to our right stretched a long hallway. The walls were finished with a shimmering gold paint and throughout the length of the hall stood marble tables with vases of bright flowers. Directly in front of us was a foyer boasting a circular fountain. Crystal water cascaded from a stone seashell. The stream created subtle rippling waves of light on the ceiling. The quivering beams illuminated the walls and filled the entire room with a warm yellow glow.

  “You’re asking a lot for such a small ship, Shanley.” Christoff’s voice was louder, likely a room away.

  We needed to move on. As we started for the stairwell, we heard footsteps approaching. We raced for the stairs and began our silent ascent to the second floor. I clutched the handle of my sword to keep it from clanging against the iron rails.

  Looking down from the second floor into the foyer, we saw Christoff. In front of him stood a partially bald man with a round bel
ly and strong build. He wore a silly half smile as he spoke, making his face pleasant and likable.

  “So that’s Captain Shanley,” commented Grant. “He’s not what I imagined.”

  Grant and I crouched and waited, watching and listening.

  “That is my final offer,” said Shanley, his voice calm. He led Christoff to a small writing table.

  “That can be arranged,” answered Christoff. “I have two thirds of the cost with me now. I will need to meet my investor at the harbor. I welcome you to join me.”

  “What is your investor doing at the waterfront?”

  “My bank is in Aruba, and I have made plans to invest in Curacao’s bank. He brings my notes. If you’ll join me in meeting him, I will gladly pay you in full.”

  “Will he be carrying gold? I don’t trust bank notes from men I have just met.”

  “Indeed. My man will have a trunk of money. You can trust me, Captain. Allow me to prove it.” Christoff took the bulging pouch off his belt and poured the contents onto the table. Gold and silver coins covered Shanley’s writing area and spilled onto the floor.

  “I thought that L’Ollon said not to give him so much as a reale,” I whispered to Grant.

  “Let’s have faith in Christoff.”

  Shanley continued, “Let me prepare the papers for the sloop, and I’ll join you in a walk to the harbor.”

  “There is just one other necessity,” said Christoff. “Forgive me if you deem it an unreasonable request.”

  “Please, go on.”

  “I need a crew.”

  “Have you prepared articles a man would find appealing?”

  “Indeed, my shipboard articles guarantee a fair stipend.” Christoff reached into his shirt and withdrew a folded parchment.

  Shanley read it through. “Enticing and fair. I released a band of men from my services not more than three days ago. They’re strong and eager for work. Allow me to give these articles to my guard. He can deliver them to the men at once.”