68 Knots (32 page)

Sounds familiar, Arthur thought.

He got his chance when Captain Carr was out with two men searching out a small island for a good place to anchor. They took one of the dinghies, and they had been gone about half an hour when Mister Blackgoat came up on deck with a flintlock in his hand. He called the men together, told us all a bunch of lies about how Captain Carr was selling us out to the merchants, and he declared that he was now captain of the vessel. I don't know whether the men believed what he said or were simply afraid of his firearm—we always knew Mister Blackgoat was a bit daft—but we all went along with him. Shouldn't have, but we did. We pulled sail and left the three of them on that island. They had some rations, and we all figured they'd manage well enough. But we never heard from them again.

“That's horrible!” Dawn said.

Crystal grinned. “Talk about bad karma,” she said.

So now we was sailing a stolen boat. We took down the ship's flag and sanded her name off the hull. And the first merchant cargo vessel we saw, we boarded. Set the crew adrift in the lifeboats, took all the victuals and valuables on board, and sank that ship straight down to the bottom of the ocean.

Now it might be sounding like Captain Blackgoat was nothing but a miserable fellow, but that wouldn't be an accurate understanding. In fact, I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for Capt. B. I was climbing rigging a few years back, lost my footing, and went over. We were in right shallow water, just a fathome or so, and I must have spooked a shark that was sleeping on the bottom. The next thing I knew, the beast had a hold of my leg and was dragging me under. I couldn't move, and I knew that I was going to die. As I looked up at the ship through the silver surface of the water, I saw Capt. Blackgoat climb the rail. He jumped into the water and landed right on top of that shark. The shark let go of my leg in a trice, and some mates pulled me into a lifeboat. I looked back to see Capt. B wrestling that shark, sticking it in the eyes, twisting its flippers, and I could see it was hurt. I figure that Capt. B broke its back when he landed on it, and so he was able to get the upper hand in the fight. Well, it took about twenty minutes, but Capt. B killed that fish, and he didn't suffer a scratch! We hauled that black-eyed shark on deck and carved it up in a hurry. There's nothing in this world I like better than a good shark steake, and Capt. B gave me first choice of the fillets. That dinner was the best I ever ate!

“Sometimes a man has to fight the sea,” Jesse observed. “The good ones win.”

I ended up losing the leg a few weeks later—the blood went bad, and there was nothing else for it. But I'd be long dead if it weren't for Capt. B, and my only regret is that I didn't have the dedication to return the favor and stay by his side until the end.

And then there was that gale that bloody near killed us all. It happened a few years back. We could see that some weather was coming. The wind was backing around toward the northeast, and we could see dark lines of storm clouds far off on the horizon. So we dropped anchor in a safe harbor, used the lifeboats to set some extra anchors, and made sure the hatches were tight and the sails were furled.

Through his glass, Capt. B could see a small cargoe ship sailing south right along the storm line. He couldn't figure out what the devil they were doing out there—couldn't they see that a gale was brewing? Well, he watched until he saw the ship disappear in the squall line. He knew it couldn't survive out there in that storm, so he gathered us all together. He told us that he wanted to go out and rescue the crew of that ship, fools that they were. He also said that we might not survive it, either. He said that we were safe, here in the harbor, and that anyone who wanted to go ashore and wait there could do so. Three people left. They took a lifeboat in while we raised our anchors. Then we went out to see if anything was left of the foolish little ship.

It was a bigger storm than we had thought.
Waves took out our foremast and half our rigging. A few of the cannon got loose and crashed about the deck, doing a great deal of damage. The ship pitched so hard that no one could keep their footing. We had to tie ourselves to our stations and do our work as best we could without moving.

We got to that ship just as it was going down, and we used a lifeboat to get the twelve crewmen out of the sea. Capt. B was in the lifeboat, of course, with a line tied around his waiste, lunging out over the gunwales and grabbing at any waving arms he could see. We saved them all, the fools, and we brought them back to the harbor. They said their captain had died of dysentery just a few weeks before, and no one on board had much experience. They had thought they could outrun the storm.

Well, rather than rob these people blind, as we had done with that first ship, Captain Blackgoat up and decides to help them out! Said it wouldn't be sporting to plunder an inexperienced crew that we came across in distress. Wouldn't help his image as a pirate. He wanted to take on the biggest and the strongest, not some sodden crew we had to pluck out of the sea. So we put them down on the mainland and gave them some food and told them to be on their way. Odd fellow, Capt. B.

“No shit,” Crystal said.

We lived off the booty from our first plunder for about a month, then we ran down another ship and
did to it what we'd done to the first one. This crew put up a bit of a fight. Fired pistols at us and even tried to wheel a cannon into place. But we was too fast. The Wormwood's a fine ship. We came alongside and took that vessel in a few minutes' time. Got a little bit of money and some food. But not enough to satisfy Captain Blackgoat.

Nothing ever seemed to satisfy Capt Blackgoat. That eventually was the end of him. We gathered more money and more supplies with each attack, but it was never enough. He once told me that he planned to attack an Armada vessel or a ship from the British Naval fleet. I told him he was mad, that we'd all be killed and deserve the dying. But he wanted the world to know that he was the most fearsome pirate in the sea. He wanted to attack a British Naval vessel, strip it clean, and leave the crew naked on board to sail her back to England and tell the tale.

Well, he did it. We came across a British ship, the HMS Queensborough, and Captain gave the orders to attack. Now I'm no coward, but I know when I'm outmatched. I grabbed a chest on deck, put in some provisions and a fair bit of our treasure, and snuck off in one of the dinghys.

I watched the battle as I rowed away. The Wormwood didn't last an hour. The Navy ship put its first cannonball right through the deck. The next cannonball was heated red hot—I could see it glowing as it shot through the skye. When it hit the Wormwood, right in the main cabin, the whole ship seemed to burst into flames.

The Wormwood went down in a trice, and I believe all hands went with her. Captain Blackgoat, gunner Mitchell, Roberts the sailmaker—they all went down, God rest their souls. And everything on board went down with her.

I made it to this island in short order, and I hid out among the caves to avoid capture. I was hoping that some of my mates would make it to the beach, but none of them showed up.

It's been nineteen days now. I've used up the food I brought with me. So I've made up my mind to turn myself in, and I'll be heading off soon. I'll stash this book and the sea chest deep inside one of these caves. It isn't much, but it's all that's left of the Wormwood, the ship I called home for more than 10 long years.

The crew was silent for a long moment, thinking about history and ships, loyalty and death.

“What about this other trunk?” Crystal asked.

BillFi looked at her, sighed, and lifted the lid of the other chest. The objects inside this trunk were much newer. BillFi pulled out a pair of black high-heeled shoes, a woman's navy blue blazer, a leather-bound book. He handed the book to Arthur, who unzipped the cover and opened it.

“It's a daily planner,” Arthur said. “A calendar book. From four years ago. And it's filled with appointments and lists of things to do. ‘Contact Alberts in Chicago.' ‘Check on timetable for focus group.' ‘Notify Bradley about Singapore opp.'” Arthur looked up. “I think it's Bonnie's. This is how she planned her work marketing washing machines.”

“What the hell is it doing here?” Crystal asked.

Dawn smiled. “Don't you get it? Bonnie carried this stuff around with her on the boat for a while. Maybe she thought she could go back to this life someday. Then she found the cave, read Branigan's diary—just like we did—and she turned her back on her old life forever. She put these things next to Branigan's because they go together. The last remnants of a mindless quest for wealth.”

“So where's the loot?” Crystal asked. “This stuff doesn't look like a fortune to me.”

It was Arthur who answered. “Listen to this. On the last page of the planner, in really big letters, it says: ‘Whoever finds this should know. I tossed most of Blackgoat's riches into the Atlantic Ocean. Trust me, you should thank me for saving your life. Now go home and be good to your children.' It was Bonnie's last message.”

“That bitch!” Crystal exploded. “She had all this great stuff, and she chucked it into the damn sea? We could've sold it and gotten really rich. What the hell was she thinking?”

Dawn nodded. “She was following her heart. That's why she told us about this place. So we would understand the lesson she was trying to teach us. So she told us about the caves, and the low tide, and—”

“Low tide!” Arthur said. “Oh, shit. What time is it?”

Crystal held her watch in her flashlight beam. “Twenty minutes after nine.”

“The tide!” Arthur said. He grabbed Dawn's arm. “Dawn—when would this cave—”

“Now,” Dawn said with horror. “The mouth is probably underwater already.”

They scrambled down the passage that Crystal had climbed, gathering Marietta and the still-shaken Logan with them. Below the small room at the bottom, they found nothing but murky saltwater.

“We're trapped!” Marietta screamed. “We can't get out!”

The crew sat down quietly and didn't say a word. The only sound was Marietta's panicked breathing and the soft plopping of water dripping off some stalactites.

“Dawn,” Arthur said at last. “We know that the tide doesn't go as high as that upper room, the one with the chest in it. How long could we last up there?”

“We wouldn't run out of air,” she said. “These chambers are pretty big. But an extreme low tide comes along only a few times a year. Without water and food, we'd never hold out long enough.”

“Okay, then we'll have to get ourselves out of here,” Arthur said. “Everyone listen to me. We need to know how high the water is and how far it is between here and the outside.” He turned to Jesse. “Listen, you're the strongest person in this crew—and you might be our only hope. We need you to dive down there and find out how deep it is and how long the passage is from here to the outside. Take a deep breath, keep track of where you are, and don't go so far you can't get back. Are you willing to help?”

Jesse nodded, and Arthur smiled with pride at the respect the others were giving his command. As the rest of the crew sat in silence, Jesse untied his boots and took off his pants and shirt, revealing the elaborate mosaic of swirls and colors that covered every inch of his body. He took a gulp of air. Without saying a word, he disappeared into the dark water.

“Crystal, check your watch,” Arthur said. “I want to know how long he stays down there.”

“And, like, what if he doesn't come back?” Logan whimpered.

Arthur sat down on a damp stone. “Then I'll go in after him,” he said. Dawn glanced at him, her expression a mixture of admiration and fear.

Time passed with agony. The six trapped crewmembers sat in the cramped passage, their flashlights aimed at the water in the hopes that Jesse could follow the beams back to them. Echoing drops of water splashed down from the walls. Jesse was gone for two minutes. Then three. Then four. Arthur took off his shoes and began to unbutton his shirt.

“How long can he hold his breath?” Logan asked.

“Not this long,” Dawn said.

Suddenly it all became real to Arthur. He stopped with his shirt half-unbuttoned, and he stared at the inky black water. He had commanded attention. He had given orders. He had been a leader. And his friend Jesse might well be dead as a result. Arthur sat down, pale and sick. He had just sent a friend to his death, and suddenly leadership and authority didn't seem to matter much anymore.

“Never show weakness,” his father's voice echoed through his head. “Raise for discussion only those points you're willing to lose. It doesn't hurt to let them see you mad. If you pull that
stunt again, I'll resign as captain. Don't talk to me in that tone of voice. I'll give you something to cry about.”

Arthur shook his head. His father wasn't making any sense. In fact, he—Arthur shook his head again. He thought about his father, trim and tidy in his crisp business suits, armored with his smug smile and glinting eyes. In fact, Arthur thought, he doesn't make sense in my world at all. But if I can't get help from him, who can I get help from?