As the sergeant-at-mace walked Dean out of court, Ronan stood up and shouted after him. “This isn’t over, Seaborne! We’ll figure something out, you hear me? Don’t give up hope!”
Ronan’s message was wasted on Dean. It would take more than words to help him now. The lockup was right next door to the courthouse. Dean was remanded into custody, and a pair of guards marched him up to the second floor of the prison. They removed his shackles, threw him in a cell, and slammed the door. That was it. His short life as a free man was over.
Dean rubbed his wrists and took a look at his new accommodations. The holding cell was large, and he was not alone in it. A handful of pirates milled about in the center of the room, standing in the light of a lone window. More convicts lined the walls, either preferring the shadows or lacking the energy to leave them. The heat in the cell was oppressive. The muggy air reeked of body odor and other smells Dean preferred not to investigate. Unless the powers that be opted to transfer him to Newgate Prison in London, this would likely be his home for the next ninety-five years.
The thought turned Dean’s stomach. Everything he had ever heard about Newgate was a nightmare, but he found himself hoping for a transfer just the same. If nothing else, the move might present him with an opportunity to escape.
Escape.
That was the dream Dean would have to cling to now if he wanted to survive. Ronan had been right—to keep going required hope. Unfortunately, Dean saw little reason to hope for anything in this place. Large stones formed the walls, mortared together with thick cement. Strong iron bars penned the prisoners in, keeping them in full view of the guards at all times.
Dean put on a brave face and walked to the window. Outside, in the streets of Port Royal, the world was going on without him. “I gave up the throne of Zenhala for this?” he asked himself. At the moment, the freedom to chart his own course in life felt vastly overrated.
“Move!” someone shouted. Dean jumped, but the order wasn’t meant for him. He turned and saw his jailers ushering another prisoner into the cell. Dean recognized him as the ugly man he had just seen in court. Captured already? He shook his head as the guards urged the man forward.
“I’m moving, I’m moving,” said the man. “A little patience might be in order. Ain’t easy takin’ the stairs on one leg.”
Dean looked closer. Sure enough, the man was struggling along on top of one peg leg and a crutch. When at last he reached the threshold of the cell, the guards took his crutch away.
“I’ll be needing that,” the man said.
The guard with the crutch shook his head. “Can’t take anything in there that might be used as a weapon.”
“That ain’t no weapon, it’s me crutch. I need it to walk!”
“You’re in luck, then,” the guard laughed. “There’s nowhere to go. Have a seat.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll give it back when you walk to the gallows,” the other guard chimed in. They both found the situation very funny.
The ugly man snarled as they shut him in. “It’s a wicked thing, taking a crippled man’s crutch. A wicked thing indeed!” He looked around at his fellow prisoners. “Who’ll give an old buccaneer a hand? You there, boy! Help me to that window.”
Dean sighed. He wanted to be left alone, but in prison, there was safety in numbers. Dean knew he was better off with a friend to stand beside him, even if they did only have three legs between the two of them. And he couldn’t leave a one-legged man to hobble across the room by himself. Not when the man was asking for help.
Dean put his shoulder under the man’s arm, taking the place of his missing crutch. The man put no weight at all on his peg leg as they staggered across the cell together. He was heavy, but Dean managed. “There’s a good lad. Thank you kindly.” Dean grunted as they reached the window and sat down with their backs to the wall.
The man let out a deep breath and massaged the stump of his amputated leg. “Thanks again, lad.”
“Don’t mention it. That wasn’t right what they did, taking your crutch.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” The man spit on the floor and gave the guards the evil eye. They were too busy playing cards to notice. “Don’t matter, though. All’s well now. I’m right where I want to be.”
The man leaned back with a smile on his face, but what he had to be happy about, Dean could not hope to guess. He looked like he’d been hit in the face with a frying pan—crooked brown teeth and a nose like a potato. Sharp cheekbones and a protruding brow surrounded a pair of scheming eyes. Dean had judged the man ugly from a distance, but up close, he was a gargoyle.
“If this is where you want to be, you need to raise your standards,” Dean said.
“Hah!” the man laughed. “The boy’s a quick one. Pleased ta meet ya, lad. Alec Skinner, at yer service. Captain Alec Skinner.”
The captain offered his hand, and Dean shook it.
“Dean Seaborne.”
“I know. I was there in court today, listenin’ to every word. That’s quite a body of work you’ve put together. Very impressive for a boy your age.”
Dean frowned. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Course not,” Skinner said. “They left out yer crowning achievement!” He leaned in to whisper, “The way I hear it, you’re the spy what led the Black Fleet to Zenhala.”
The mention of Zenhala stopped Dean cold. He made a point of never talking about the island with anyone but Ronan, Verrick, and Waverly. There was a secret to finding the Golden Isle, one that every pirate in the Caribbean would’ve killed to learn. “You don’t really believe that story . . .”
Skinner rubbed his beard. “Enough pirates say it, a man gets to wondering. Way I heard it, the Black Fleet looted that island and left with a boat full of golden trees—the haul of a lifetime—but came back here with nothing. Less than nothing! Not even One-Eyed Jack. How do ya suppose that happened?”
Dean shrugged. “He probably went down in the storm. Either that or he kept the golden harvest for himself. He was never big on sharing.”
“No.” Skinner shook his head with a laugh. “Speaking from my own personal experience, he was not. I haven’t sailed the Caribbean in ten years ’cause of him. Couldn’t work an inch of these waters, all ’cause I refused to bend my knee to the great Pirate King.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t one of One-Eyed Jack’s men?”
Skinner scrunched up his face. “Lord, no! You won’t find me shedding one salty tear for that old blackguard. Good riddance, I say!” He spat again. “I made my bones workin’ for me own self, raiding ships in places you ain’t never heard of.”
Dean blinked. “So what brought you here?”
Skinner grinned a crook-toothed grin. “I’m here for the same reason I went to court today. The same reason I’m sittin’ in this cell. I’m here for you, Dean Seaborne.”
“For me? Why?”
“Got a proposition for you, lad.” He jerked a thumb toward the guards and their card game. “You think these numbskulls caught me? Not a chance. I turned myself in after you got sentenced. Had to make sure you and I got a proper chance to talk.”
“About what?” Dean said, afraid that he already knew the answer. “I can’t take you to Zenhala, if that’s what you’re after.”
“I’m not here for that.”
“What, then?”
Skinner nodded toward their cellmates with a disapproving look. “I’d prefer to have the conversation elsewhere.”
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
Skinner unscrewed his peg leg and took out a stick of dynamite that he had hidden inside. “Don’t we, though?”
Chapter 5
Decisions
Dean plugged his ears and closed his eyes.
The explosion blasted a hole in the base of the wall, creating a crack that ran up to the window. The opening wasn’t big enough to squeeze through, but it would be soon enough.
“Have at it, boys!” Skinner shouted, pointing at the break
in the wall.
After the blast, the guards took more of an interest in what was happening inside the cell. One of them called downstairs for backup and the other fiddled with his key ring, trying to fit the right key into the lock. Meanwhile, every able-bodied man in the lockup threw his shoulder into the wall. The prisoners attacked the breach like human battering rams and quickly broke through.
“Stop!” the guards shouted, as a dozen pirates rushed to freedom. Dean was about to follow them out when Skinner grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Ease up a point there, lad. Good things come to those who wait.”
Sure enough, when the guards finally opened the cell door, every one of them began chasing after the escaped pirates. Dean and the sly captain waited until the last guard went out through the wall, leaving the prison empty. Skinner motioned to the cell door, which, in their haste, the guards had neglected to close.
“Shall we?”
Dean picked Skinner’s crutch up off the floor. “I think this belongs to you.”
Once outside, Dean and Skinner started down a narrow street, keeping off the main roads. They walked with purpose, trying not to draw attention as they moved away from the wild gang of pirates running in the opposite direction, soon to be recaptured.
“I need to find my friends,” Dean said.
“Already taken care of,” Skinner replied. “Told my men ta find that boy who called out to ya in court. They’ll have yer ship waitin’ at Gallows Point, as per me orders.”
“Gallows Point? That’s where they hang the prisoners on this island.”
“One of me better ideas. What’s the last place you’d expect a couple ’a’ fugitive pirates to run to after a jailbreak?”
“Fair point,” Dean said. “Except I’m not a pirate anymore.”
“Sorry, laddie,” Skinner laughed. “You don’t get to make that decision.”
Dean followed Skinner through Port Royal, keeping a sharp lookout for the authorities. They stuck to busy market streets in the nicer parts of town, avoiding the slums most pirates would run to. Skinner was a smart one, Dean could tell, but he also knew the man’s help came at a price.
“You busted me out for a reason,” Dean said. “Let’s hear it.”
“One word,” Skinner said as they neared the docks at Gallows Point. “Aquatica.”
“Aquatica?” Dean stopped short, unable to hide his surprise.
“You’ve heard of it. Good. What do you say? Fancy a trip? You and yer friends?”
Dean trained a cynical eye on Skinner. “There’s no such place.”
“Know that for a fact, do ya?”
Dean shrugged. “I hear stories, same as anyone. I don’t always believe them . . .”
“Humor me, lad,” Skinner said. “Ya owe me that much, I think.”
“It’s supposed to be some kind of retreat,” Dean said. “A private island for royals on holiday.”
“Not exclusive to royalty. It’s just the cost ta spend a night there is so expensive, only nobles can afford ta pay it. And it’s not an island, either. It’s a castle. A fortress-at-sea.”
“As far as I know, it’s a fish story. A con that pirates use on wealthy marks they mean to rob and maroon.”
“Seems ta me, folks said the same thing about Zenhala.”
Dean looked away. Skinner had a point.
“I seen it with me own eyes.” Skinner raised his right hand in the air, as if to swear on the fact. “Just south of Trinidad and the Tobago Cays. It’s real.”
Dean studied Skinner’s ugly face. “Say it is real. Why tell me?”
“Yer a smart lad. I’m sure you can piece together your part in this.”
Dean frowned. “You need a spy.”
Skinner nodded. “I don’t have a fleet ’a’ pirate ships ta help me storm the castle. I need a savvy mate ta go in first. Lower the defenses. Raise the gates. Spent a lotta time tryin’ ta find the right man fer the job. When I heard about a boy who led the Black Fleet to Zenhala, I told my crew, that’s just the kind of spy we need.”
They had reached the docks. Dean spotted the Tideturner moored at the end of a pier. He wanted off this island and out of this conversation.
“Captain Skinner, listen, I—”
“Don’t answer straight away,” Skinner said, cutting Dean off. “Give it a good think. A tropical island resort that caters to the world’s most exclusive clientele . . . a lavish and lively court filled with decadent luxuries . . . wonders and riches from all around the world! It’s the score of a lifetime, and you’ll find I share the wealth a lot better than One-Eyed Jack.”
Skinner waited for Dean’s eyes to light up at the promise of loot. Once he realized it wasn’t going to happen, he took another tack. “I can see yer not one ta make hasty decisions. That’s fair enough—ya don’t know me from Adam. Can I ask that we at least board this here ship and go on talkin’ below deck? We need to step lively before we get hauled back ta prison, and I’ve gone as far as I can on one bad leg an’ a crutch.”
Dean sighed. He had hoped that they might part ways here, but Skinner’s mates were nowhere in sight and the Tideturner was the only ship ready for sea. He couldn’t just leave the man standing on the dock. Not after everything he’d done. Dean brought him on board, making excuses about Aquatica the whole way.
“Captain, it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you did to get me out of jail and back to my ship. I’m in your debt, truly. But, this job . . .” Dean shook his head. “I can’t help you with it. I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”
“Gone the high road, have ya? Not to worry. You’ll come ’round ta my way of thinking.”
“Not likely.”
“Oh, I hope that’s not true,” Skinner said, as he climbed on deck with a little help from Dean. “I’d hate to have gone through all this trouble for nothin’.”
Skinner made a clicking sound with his mouth, and a pair of large hands pinned Dean’s arms behind his back. He let out a yelp and tried to break away, but it was no use. He was locked in the grip of a giant.
The tall man from court, Dean realized. Skinner’s henchman spun him around, and Dean saw the Jamaican was there too. Ronan, Verrick, and Waverly were all tied up beside him.
“Allow me to introduce my associates,” Skinner said with a flourish of his hand. “Marlon Spyke . . .” The black man flipped a dagger in the air and caught it between two fingers.
“And this here’s Tom Kincannon.” Skinner reached up to slap the giant on the shoulder. “Also known as Long Tom Cannon.”
Dean scowled at Skinner, who looked even uglier than he had a moment earlier. “They’re my two best men. Dependin’ on how you look at it, they’re also my two worst. Now, fer the sake of yer friends, ya might want ta reconsider my offer.”
one last job
Chapter 6
Let’s Make a Deal
The journey to Aquatica was excruciating. Skinner confined Dean and his friends to quarters the whole way. He kept everyone in separate cabins and he did it without barring a single door. The pirate captain bound his captives with chains forged out of fear itself.
“I’m only gonna say this once,” he warned Dean as he shut him in. “You set one foot outside this room, and I’ll slice off yer lady friend’s pinkie toes. Try to talk to one of yer friends without my say-so, and I’ll cut off both her ears.”
Dean’s mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me. I’ll be tellin’ yer friends the same story, and you better hope they listen. What happens next is up to you and yours, understand?” Skinner grabbed one of Dean’s ears and gave it a painful turn.
Dean understood all right. Skinner had them right where he wanted them. Unable to communicate with his friends for fear of what horrors might befall them, Dean was stuck acting as his own guard. As the trip wore on, he grew mad with worry. Days later, when Skinner finally let him out of his room, Dean was almost afraid to leave.
The sun momentarily blinde
d Dean’s eyes when he returned to the top deck of the Tideturner. After his vision adjusted, he saw a boat off the starboard bow. They had rendezvoused with Skinner’s ship, a brigantine christened the Crimson Tide. A ragged band of scoundrels hung off the gunwales and rigging as they made their approach. Long Tom Cannon hailed the crew, and the rowdy scalawags hollered back. There had to be at least fifty men on board.
“Where are my friends?” Dean demanded, trying hard not to sound afraid.
“Pipe down, they’re coming,” Skinner replied. He was on the port side, leaning on his crutch and looking out across the ocean through a spyglass. Dean noticed he had screwed on a fresh peg leg (minus the dynamite, judging by his stance). Marlon Spyke brought Ronan up a moment later. Ronan looked like he’d been through the same emotional ringer Dean had.
“You all right?” Dean asked him.
Ronan nodded. “I’ll feel better once I hit something.”
“Hold that thought. We’re not there yet.”
Ronan grimaced at the shipful of pirates alongside them. “We better get there soon.”
Waverly and Verrick came up next. A wave of relief crashed over Dean when he saw them both alive and unharmed. “There you are!” he exclaimed as he rushed to them—and then recoiled, taking stock of Verrick’s haggard appearance. The old man looked dead on his feet.
“He slept with one eye open, protecting me these last few days,” Waverly explained. “If he slept at all.”
“They locked you up together?” Ronan asked.
“He wouldn’t leave my side.” Waverly put a hand on Verrick’s weary shoulder. “He was very brave.”
Strangers in Atlantis (Seaborne) Page 3
