I paced restlessly in that bedroom, feeling oddly displaced and uncomfortable. I reflected on what I might have been doing on the ship at this time if we had still been at sea. Perhaps making the rounds on the upper deck, the captain explaining the different sails and their function, while we strolled arm in arm … in that ridiculous, unnecessary way.
My notes! Of course. That’s it! That’s my purpose, my meaning. I sat down and withdrew my papers and looked for my broken pencil, the one I found on the captain’s desk on that first day ….
I sat there for many moments, unable to write a word. Nothing came. A queer case of writer’s block. I drank a glass of water, and did some yoga-breathing to clear my head. Ah, now that felt good. Relieved all that pent up stress. I’d been neglecting my exercise for too long. I could see that now. In fact, that was probably the cause of the unpleasant scene downstairs. I couldn’t sustain my stress-relieving exercise on the ship because the captain had always been with me, day in, day out, without a moment of reprieve. It felt so good to be finally alone.
Feeling suddenly tired, I dropped to the bed. I was weary but still agitated, and I rolled onto my side and tucked my hands under my cheek. Well, he did say he would be returning for dinner. And I anticipated it with not complete regret.
And then I heard the breaking of glass. But before I could turn, I felt an explosion of pain on the back of my head.
And then nothing.
Chapter Nine
Notes: Unexpected turn of events. Researcher admittedly disconcerted.
I awoke groggily and with difficulty. I opened my eyes and grimaced in pain. I quickly closed them again until the pain abated somewhat.
I could feel the rocking motion I had been so accustomed to by now, moving my bed up and down gently, like a mother rocking her baby.
A ship. I was on a ship.
I opened my eyes again, just barely able to keep the throbbing in my head at bay. A dreadful, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach hit me. I did not recognize this cabin.
It was very small and sparsely furnished and poorly maintained. The captain’s things gleamed, testifying of his strict standard of care. But here the table was blistered and rotting, the chair broken. Things were astray and out of place, and I became afraid.
I tried to move, but I realized my hands were restrained behind my back, my feet tied together. I began to panic. I tried to maintain control by reminding myself panic would neither improve my efforts nor increase my chances of survival, but this technique which had served me in the past, strangely failed me now. I could not decrease my heart rate or bring peace back to my mind. My heart raced, and my eyes darted from one thing to another uselessly. I tried to speak but no words came. I had been gagged.
The door opened, and a man entered that I did not recognize. His head was covered with a red bandana, his long gray hair in greasy knots hanging down his neck, and he had a gold hoop earring. His leg was missing and a wooden leg was awkwardly attached to the stub. He saw that I was awake, and he smiled wickedly, showing his blackened teeth.
I tried to move, to communicate somehow with him, to find answers to the panic stricken questions reeling in my brain, but he simply scooped me over his shoulder and took me out the door without a word spoken.
I trembled and whimpered, quite literally frozen in fear as the stranger carried me to another cabin and set me down quite un-gently on a chair. I looked up to find Finley on a chair opposite me. I nearly cried in relief to see a familiar face. I tried to talk to him, but I couldn’t because of the gag.
“Well, here she be, Fin,” the man said in a gruff voice and tore off the gag.
“Oh, John,” I cried when it was off. “What’s happening? What’s going on? Who are these men and what do they want with us? Where’s the captain? Is he hurt? And … oh, dear! What’s happened to your face?”
I saw that his eyes were swollen, his lip split and bleeding. He, too, was tied up, his hands behind him. He barely looked at me. He refused to meet my eyes as he sobbed.
“Stop sniveling, John, and be useful!” I turned to the stranger who leaned negligently against the table, looking entertained. “Where is the captain?”
“I’m sorry, Rachel,” John whispered.
“What do you mean? It wasn’t your fault.”
“So sorry.”
John sat limply. The stranger came close and bent over John and untied him. He took him by the arm. “Up ye go, John boy.”
“Where are you taking him?” I asked in a panic.
“Why, your friend here is being set free, bonny lass,” he said happily, showing me a blackened smile.
“Set free?” I repeated dumbly. “But why?”
“Would ye like to tell her, John boy? Why are we lettin’ ye go and keepin’ the lass w’ us? What was that? Don’t ye be wantin’ to tell her?”
“You promised not to hurt her, remember Marshall,” John pleaded.
“Yeah, and ye know I be always keepin’ me promises.” My hair was suddenly seized, pain shooting through the wound on the back of my head as my face was forced up towards the awful stranger. I was kissed violently, his stench as repugnant as his lips covered mine. My cry was muffled and useless. “She be a pretty little lass, ey Finny?”
I struggled with the ropes causing burns to my wrists. “What does he mean, John? What does he mean letting you go? What did you do?”
“Nothin’ so bad, dearie,” the stranger answered. “Just helped us get what we want.”
“What do you want?”
“The key, me dear. The legend to the map. And John boy told us all about ye.”
“Me? But how could …? I didn’t tell a soul.” I stopped and looked at John keenly. “John?”
He kept his head lowered, still sobbing quietly. The stranger took him by the arm and escorted him out. “Forgive me, Rachel. Forgive me,” he said as he turned to leave.
“Fat chance of that!” I bellowed as he walked out the door looking miserable.
I was not alone for long. The stranger reentered moments later. I tried to twist my arms free or budge the chair forward, but I could do neither. He walked towards me with black intent. “Marshall Looper,” I said in a voice that was not strong, but it did not waver.
And then he smiled happily. “Ye be knowin’ me, I see. Me reputation proceeds me.”
“Precedes,” I answered with disdain.
“Ey?” he growled.
“Precedes, moron. To come or go before in time or —”
“Shut up, wench,” he spat and slapped my face. “Don’t ye ever be insultin’ me!”
I had never been slapped in the face before. I had always considered it a rather mild form of punishment. But the sting reverberated through my body, making my head explode. I cried out involuntarily.
“Ye mind me, little girl,” he sneered, “or there’ll be more of that. I’ll teach ye proper respect —.” To my horror he withdrew a knife and raised it up, but a knock on the door stopped him. Someone entered, demanding the captain tend the helm immediately. Looper sheathed the knife and walked quickly out the door. In fact, incredibly, he seemed nervous.
I looked up and froze, my mouth agape.
It was Charles Dubois, the beautiful Duke of Norcross.
Chapter Ten
Notes: In retrospect, circumstances inevitable. Fulfillment of calling eminent and inexorable.
“You!” I cried in horror.
The duke was not in ropes. He was untouched, no bruises or cuts where he would have been abused. He stood tall and straight and unmolested, and his lips curled, smiling at me. I thought I saw a hint of pleasure and satisfaction behind his eyes at my reaction.
“Miss Madera,” he said musically. “We meet again.”
I was stupefied, and simply blinked at him for some moments. Surely it wasn’t him standing here in this horrible place, cool and collected. No, it was impossible.
I swiftly collected my senses and spat, “The honorable duke, whom everyone adores. A
t last we’ve uncovered the secret to his success.”
He laughed as though he found me very funny. “Chérie ….”
Anger surged. Throwing my head back emphatically, I declared, “Well, I’ve got news for you. I’ll never cooperate. Do you hear me? Never. Even if you torture me and force me to talk, you will never be sure if it’s the truth. You haven’t an inkling of the vastness of my knowledge. And I’ll be very convincing.”
His laughter stopped immediately. He looked at me, his eyes focused and aware, like he just realized he’d misjudged me, and therefore must figure me out anew.
“Petite, you misunderstand …,” he began, his accent suddenly thick. But then his eyes fell on the ropes around my feet and hands, and he stopped. “Mon Dieu!” He bent to untie them.
This, I admit, momentarily perplexed me.
“You think you are a prisoner here?” he asked, his voice concerned. When he finished untying the knots, he gently rubbed my raw wrists. He called for some ointment and it was brought to us immediately. He aggressively questioned the man who brought it, but it was in French, the words too fast and accented for me to understand. The man answered back, holding out his hands in supplication, saying in French, “It was an order.”
The duke slapped him with an open palm and sent him away. The man left with a dark, hating look at the duke.
I covered up my confusion with vehemence. I shook my head. “You don’t fool me,” I said forcibly. “One doesn’t bash one’s guests over the head and tie them up in lieu of an invitation.”
“Bash over the — Do you mean, chérie, that you were bludgeoned?” Gentle fingers examined my wound, and then he dropped his face in his hands and cursed. “I blame myself. It serves me right. I ought to have known my orders would be misconstrued. After all, we are dealing with pirates here, n’est pas?”
“Yes. Pirates,” I said, looking at him levelly.
He stepped back in astonishment. “Miss Madera, you don’t think I ….” He crouched down next to me, a humble move that didn’t fit him. “I am innocent, chérie. Surely you are too wise, too clear sighted to really believe I would ever try to hurt you.”
His face was raised, his clear eyes pleading with me. Doubt gripped me. “You are a villain!”
He looked at me with hurtful reproach. “Chérie.” He gently touched my hand. “I have done wrong. I have aligned myself with pirates, it is true. You are right to disbelieve. You are right to abhor. It is wise. But can you not sympathize, enfante?” he beseeched. “You have no interest at all in the treasure? You do not wish to unearth it? To see it? To touch it? Can you not excuse my alliance with evil in order to bring about the greater good?”
“No, I … well … not like this.”
“But you are free now. You will never be hurt again. Tell me you believe me.”
There was silence. His face was tortured and pleading as I watched him.
“My dear?”
“My head still hurts,” I answered quietly. “And I haven’t had any dinner.”
He threw his head back and laughed inordinately at my words. And although I didn’t consider that they’d been very funny, a faint, reluctant smile touched my lips.
And he said, “Then we shall dine together tonight after all!”
*** *** ***
I glared at him over the dinner table. “So that’s why you invited me to dine with you tonight.”
“Mais non, chérie. It is true I needed you for the information you possessed, but how delighted I was when I found you. How utterly you charmed me.”
I clenched my jaw shut and stared at my plate mutinously. “And then when I didn’t cooperate, you had me kidnapped?”
“Mais non. I have already explained. I asked them to keep an eye on you, and to persuade you, if they could, to come and join us. It is the truth!”
I was silent and thoughtful.
“Is there nothing I can say? Nothing I can do to make you believe me? Try to understand. We are not very different, you and me,” he coaxed.
“What do you mean?”
“We are both logical creatures, chérie. Creatures of reason, as well as – what is the word – grit. We know that the truth is worth any cost, and we have the strength to pay the price.”
It was worth any cost, I knew. The ambit of my sacrifice was testimony to his statement. How many people would have given up their home, their job, their very life in pursuit of the truth as I had done?
I shook my head. “Are you trying to convince me that you’re motivated by truth?”
“Do you think I need the money?”
“Surely you’re going to keep the treasure.”
“Non! It belongs to the world.”
“The world? It may interest you to know, Duke, that I am not a stupid person,” I replied severely.
His blue eyes glinted. “My dearest child, neither am I.”
“A bunch of pirates are kidnapping and torturing for the sake of altruism?”
“No. They think they are going to get a share, bien sur.”
I picked up a chunk of bread and took a bite, contemplating his words. “How did you get involved anyway?” I asked crossly. “I thought you were capturing pirates, not leading them.”
“I do capture pirates. I do my best to rid the seas of these vermin. However, when I was closing in on this Looper, he sent me a message I simply could not refuse. One might call it a bribe, if they didn’t know me well.”
“He told you about the map?”
The duke nodded.
“And you’re determined to carry out your civic duty to the bitter end? So you team up with cutthroats and outlaws?”
He laughed again, but more subtly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I can be far more dangerous,” he murmured.
I quieted, believing him. I looked down and took a drink, watching the swirling liquid. “Almost at the very moment that the map can be unlocked, you get involved,” I contemplated.
“Lucky,” he answered with an unabashed smile.
“The pirates acquire a new backer, a man with ambition and connections, at the exact right moment.”
“It was all meant to be, you see?”
“Why do you say it like that?” I demanded.
“Don’t you believe in fate?” he asked curiously. “I do.”
I chewed on my lip.
He could probably feel me wavering, so he reached out and gripped my hand as he eagerly leaned forward. “The pirates do not know what I plan to do. They think we shall get the treasure and keep it. But I have my connections, and I have my plans. Once the treasure is unearthed, I will have them arrested. Do not worry. You do not do wrong to help me in this. I could not do it on my own, you see? I needed their help, and I’ve gotten it. But I need your help, too. Will you help me, s’il vous plait?”
His grip tightened, anxious for my answer.
Hadn’t I said it was my mission, my calling? And the captain had completely refused to help me. I couldn’t do it alone.
I nodded.
His face broke into a relieved, beaming smile. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek.
I leaned back and frowned. The captain would never have done that.
Chapter Eleven
Notes: Warning to my successors: Imprudence in the negligence of psychological training when contemplating as emotionally and mentally taxing a venture as time travel.
If there was any lingering doubt, it disappeared as I leaned over that beautiful map. I immediately noted that it was not the original map, but a copy, written on parchment common in the 5th century B.C. The Maharahi family lived during the old kingdom, which was between 2575 and 2150 B.C. The parchment was incredible, of exceptional quality and still very white in color. I fingered the material and sighed. The calf skin felt stiff yet supple in my hand.
“Can you read it, petite?” the duke asked, his voice eager. “Or do you need the legend?”
I straightened and withdrew my notes and went through them. “I made a copy from me
mory just after I saw it. Yes, here it is.”
“This is the symbol for North, here.” I showed him on the notes and then matched it to the one on the map. When I did, he turned the map around, which he now knew he was holding upside down.
I leaned over his arm and pointed. “It is near Southern Africa. You see there? We are headed to these islands. There’s a group of them there, as far as I remember. That one must be Morrell Island. Then west of that is Mount Vernon Island. There’s a lot of plate tectonic activity in this area resulting in changing land masses and such. I studied this area extensively in my preparation. I am amazed at how incredibly accurate the map is. I don’t believe a fraction of this is discovered presently.” His head came around when I said that. “My notes say the treasure is buried in the furthest west island. The latitude and longitude escape me now. At present it is enough to know we go south. When we arrive, more will present itself.”
“We could be there in as little as three weeks,” the duke told me, and I could hear the excitement and awe in his voice.
Three weeks. It was closer than ever now. It was really happening. My calling. My purpose. The map was right in front of me, real and tangible. Strange, I did not share the duke’s enthusiasm, couldn’t get into the spirit of the adventure. I thought I’d feel more excited than this.
He eyed the papers as I stuffed them into my pocket.
“When you said, ‘discovered presently,’ what did you mean?” the duke asked.
I looked at him as I adjusted the folds of my dress. “I mean there are islands there, though they’re not yet generally known.”
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