Across The Sea (7 page)

“The captain then waited
anxiously for the next note to appear. His men found it within the
hour. This note read that three prisoners must be released at once.
Once the men were safely removed, the next note would surface, this
one being an actual map to the treasure. The Spanish captain
released the three men, and the map materialized. On the map was
handwriting requesting that another prisoner be immediately
released or the treasure would be moved from its mapped location.
The Spanish freed another Royal Navy sailor, and the treasure chest
was found exactly where the map indicated. Inside the chest was the
Ancient Roman treasure. And another note. This one requested that
the last prisoner be released. The Spanish captain laughed. He had
the treasure; why would he release his last prisoner? He shouted to
the forest surrounding them that he'd released the last prisoner
only if the man who wrote the notes revealed himself. Dreighton had
already anticipated that this is what would happen, and that he’d
have no other choice. He stepped out from behind the trees.

“The Spanish captain could not
have been happier to see him. Spain would reward him beyond his
dreams for all that he’d accomplished on this island. Dreighton
ordered that he free the last prisoner. The Spanish captain laughed
again and commanded his men to fetch Dreighton. As the men
approached, Dreighton pulled out his sword. He yelled out that he
would only drop his blade if the last Englishman was released. If
not, Dreighton would not go with them freely and cause bloodshed
like none the Spanish captain had ever seen. The captain let the
last man run off, not caring for him much anyway, and Dreighton
dropped his sword. He was taken prisoner and, along with the
treasure, he was transported back to Spain.”

“What?” Francis exclaimed,
confused. “That can’t be. What happened to him?”

“No one knows,” Michael
answered. “He was in Spanish custody for almost a year before the
King of England was able to negotiate his release.”

“That’s impossible,” Francis
argued. “Surely he escaped the Spanish ship. Surely he fought all
the Spanish sailors and got away.”

“No. Francis, he couldn’t.
There was an entire crew on that ship. And Dreighton was only one
man. But the point of the story… is that he gave up the treasure
that the King sanctioned him to find... to save the lives of four
sailors. And then he sacrificed his own freedom… for one man. No
one who works at sea has ever forgotten.

“You see, the Robert of
Dreighton in the stories you read is an embellishment of who this
man really was. He’s a character written to make everyone believe
that the Royal Navy is made up of heroes who can’t be beaten, or
who always make the right decisions. The adventures, the battles,
the enemies:
that’s
what was imagined to sell books.”

Francis was crushed. He could
not grasp, all at once, what all this meant.

“But heroes,” Michael said,
interrupting Francis’ train of thought. “Heroes
are
real.
And they’re not silly.”

Francis looked up at his
brother. “What do you mean?”

“What Robert of Dreighton did
on that island was truly heroic. And Francis, heroes... are
everywhere. There are heroes in our lives every day.”

“Who are they?”

“Anyone.” Michael smiled and
that spark lighted again in his blue eyes. “Anyone,” he repeated.
“A hero is someone who will do something while looking straight in
the face of immense odds, not because it will make them a legend or
well thought of, but because they actually want to make a change.
Heroes don’t act to make themselves appear good. They act to make
the world good. They act to make the world a better place. And even
the smallest of acts make a difference, affect change. Acts of
heroism are done out of love. And heroes act not caring in the end
if they receive accolades or rewards. They act because they feel
some sort of responsibility toward this world. They feel
compelled.”

Something had clicked into
place inside Francis’ head then. It had all suddenly made sense.
He, himself, had known a hero. His brother.

The door above opened, and
light beamed in. Francis lifted his head from the cell floor.

Three pirates came down the
short ladder, one of them grasping a lit lantern. Keeb was then
lowered by other pirates outside. The three men inside grabbed onto
him to keep his drooping body from falling. Francis sat up as the
three pushed a slouching and limping Keeb down the corridor. Keeb
slogged on, as if he no longer knew he was still alive. They had
hurt him somehow; yet there were no bruises on his face or
hands.

The men lay Keeb down on the
floor of his cell.

“Careful now,” one of the
pirates said to the others. “He mustn’t get banged up any.”

The men left Keeb and climbed
back outside, taking the lantern with them.

* * *

The sun rose bright the next
morning, and somewhere not so far, a Royal Navy ship with the name
HMS Glide
painted onto her stern was anchored at sea as
waves were sliced against her hull.

On deck, Captain Strick stood
at attention with his uniformed crew as Vice-Admiral Wister, a
heavy-set, older man, and several of his aides boarded Strick’s
ship. The Vice-Admiral had come from another Royal Navy ship
nearby. Immense and intimidating, this ship was christened the HMS
Whisper. She was the pride of the Kingdom’s undefeated sea
power.

Captain Strick brought the
Vice-Admiral down to his chambers where both men sat across from
one another, with Captain Strick behind his desk and the
Vice-Admiral with two of his aides standing behind him.

“I should have known Bodin was
involved,” the Vice-Admiral said. “And this boy… how is he of such
value?”

“Our spy informed us in Pond
Vale Isle that he is actually the young man’s sibling. They plan to
use the boy against him.”

“And do you know where this
boy’s older brother is?” the Vice-Admiral asked.

“Yes,” Captain Strick replied.
“Our spy informed us that he is hidden on the islands.”

“The Admiral is preparing a
fleet. Perhaps we can get there before their ships do.”

Captain Strick unrolled a map
before the Vice-Admiral.

“He said something,” Captain
Strick began. “Bodin. He said that we might think we know
everything, but all that we know is only half.”

“He was playing games with
you,” the Vice-Admiral said, glancing the map.

“He told me to pass the message
on to my father.”

“The Admiral is much too
occupied to bother with the musings of a common murderer.”

“Very well…”

“Your spy... did he mention the
amount of ships they’ve amassed?”

“He’s acquiring this
information for our next meeting which will be in Grand
Marine.”

The Vice-Admiral looked into
Captain Strick’s face. “Taking the boy was impulsive and
premature.”

“At the time, I did not
believe…”

“Let me finish,” the
Vice-Admiral said, interrupting Captain Strick. “You have
compromised your spy. He is no longer of use to you.”

“We do not know that for
certain,” Captain Strick argued.

“We are dealing with Bodin
here. He will know. In any case, Captain Mann and the HMS Whisper
will sail along with you to Grand Marine. Now that we know Bodin is
aboard the Red Mist, it is our duty to put a stop to him, for the
final time.”

* * *

As the Vice-Admiral boarded his
small rowboat to head back to Captain Mann's ship, one of Captain
Strick’s crew members approached Strick on deck.

“Captain, sir,” the crew member
said, in a hushed voice, “we have a bit of a smallish problem,
sir.”

The Captain was confused.
“Smallish?”

More crew members approached,
pushing a small person forward. Captain Strick looked down. The
small person was a mud stained, little girl in a tattered
dress.

Strick was horrified. “How did
that get onboard?”

“She was holding onto one of
our ropes,” another crew member answered. “From her own crude
vessel, sir.”

“Crude?” Lily interjected,
astonished and offended. “I beg your pardon.”

“Sir,” the first crew member
said, lifting a dripping, white cloth with three letter m’s
hand-drawn, representing three birds in flight. “This was flying on
her mast.”

The Captain’s face screwed up,
revolted. “I beg of you, remove that chamber wipe from my face and
kindly place it back where you found it.”

“We’ve not the foggiest how
long she held the rope, sir,” the second crew member continued.

“I recognize this imp,” Captain
Strick said, none too pleased. “She was with the boy in Pond Vale
Isle. She’s been hitched to my ship since and none of you idiots
noticed.” Captain Strick was disgusted. “Bring her along.”

Two crew members, escorting
Lily, followed Strick to his chambers. Once they were all inside,
Strick ordered the men to leave and he sat down behind his desk
again. He looked up at Lily, who stood facing him.

“What is your name?” Strick
asked.

“Lily. What’s yours?” Lily
moved to sit in the upholstered chair next to her. Captain Strick
raised an eyebrow, his eyes worrisome. This scallywag had caked
dirt on every finger and dried mud all over her threadbare
smock.

“Please,” he began to tell her.
“Don’t…” But it was too late. The filthy rag of a girl had already
seated herself in the immaculate chair. He looked at her with an
equal mixture of contempt and repugnance.

“I am the captain of this ship.
I will be the one who is to ask questions.”

“You already said in the market
that you were a captain but I don’t remember your name.”

“What are you after, little
girl? Your father and mother must be turning Pond Vale Isle upside
down looking for you.”

“My father and mother are dead.
And you can send word to my aunt and uncle that I’m just dandy and
on a mission to save a friend. Believe me, you’ll be more surprised
at how they won’t be that surprised.”

“Well, I am thrilled to inform
you that His Majesty's Royal Navy is now offering to unburden you
and your little hands. We can find the boy for you. Our vast
resources are only here to help you.”

“Well, it’s with an even
greater thrill that I inform to you that His Majesty's Royal Navy
took the boy when he was safe with me and your vast resources lost
him. It looks to me like you could use these little hands.”

“Insolence on this ship will
get you whipped,” the captain said, changing his tone to icy.
“Consider this a warning.”

Lily held her tongue. It would
do no one any good for her to get on the wrong side of this
man.

Captain Strick stood.

“We are heading to Grand
Marine. Once we land, you shall be placed with the appropriate
authorities and they shall have you sent back to your aunt and
uncle.”

“I can be put to better use
here,” Lily said. “You’ll need me.”

Captain Strick walked to a side
door and opened it, revealing a small room with a bed and desk.

“You are to stay inside this
chamber until we reach Grand Marine,” he instructed. “You are not
to leave, no matter the circumstance.”

Lily walked toward the open
door. Her eyes drifted up to Captain Strick's own. “You hate the
water, don’t you?”

Captain Strick just stared down
into her eyes. He could not help it. It felt like someone had just
thrust a sword right through his heart.

“Somebody put you on this
ship,” Lily continued, “and you didn’t want to get on but you did
anyway. I can tell when somebody’s uncomfortable on water but I’ve
never met anybody as uncomfortable as you.”

“Well…” Strick, caught off
guard, did not know how to respond. He looked like a man who had
just been stumbled upon with his undergarments down. “I wouldn’t be
caught languishing in the stuff.”

“You don’t like to swim?” Lily
was now surprised. She knew that there were some like her uncle who
hated boats; but swimming, how could anyone not like to swim?

“Goodness no.” Strick made a
repulsed grimace. “Why would anyone want to get all wet in slimy,
grotty sea water?”

“But it’s fun.”

“Fun? God only knows what, or
who, has been in that water.”

Lily smiled.
This captain is
funny
, she thought.

Captain Strick stopped himself
from further chit chat. There were not enough minutes in the day to
familiarize oneself with the grimy children of commoners. “Good.
Very well. Do not leave this chamber.” And with that, he shut the
door in Lily’s face and walked away.

* * *

Lying in his unlit cell, Francis
tried to make out the doorway above the ladder. Someone outside had
just made a noise by grabbing its outside handle. The door opened
then and sunlight blasted in.

Ratwell climbed down. Francis
had grown quite fearful of this young pirate. Ratwell grabbed the
key ring from the peg and walked toward Keeb’s cell. He was
followed by Captain Leonard, who was followed by the hulking form
of Bodin.

Keeb remained asleep on his
cell floor.

Ratwell unlocked the cell door
and entered. He stood over Keeb for a moment, just staring down at
him, and then kicked him hard in the stomach. Keeb let out a pained
grunt and doubled over, hugging his midsection. Ratwell grabbed
Keeb by his collar and sat him up, propping him against the
bars.

Bodin leaned down to him, close
to his face. Keeb, now wide awake, stared back, still holding onto
his stomach.

“We are about to land in Grand
Marine,” Bodin informed him. “You’re to keep your appointment with
the British. We’ll provide you with false information with which
you will feed them. And we’ll be keeping a watch on you. At all
times. If anything is attempted, on your part, which is out of turn
and not according to plan, you’ll receive a poison-tipped arrow,
directly from Ratwell’s crossbow. Once the poison mixes with your
blood, you’ll commence a meandering and very agonizing death. And
of course, there is no antidote.”