Seizure (9 page)

“I think we can pull that off.” She beamed a mile of teeth, devastating my male companions. “Franco’s on security today, and he never leaves the booth. Bad hip. And I know the other curator fairly well, since he’s my husband.”

I could sense Ben and Shelton deflate.

Tough break guys. Otherwise, you
totally
had a chance.

Doofuses.

“Follow me.” Sallie popped up from her chair. “No one else is here, so I can give you a quick peek.”

We wound through the museum, collecting Hi along the way.

Sallie led us up two sets of stairs and down a long hall to a room closed off by thick black curtains.

“I’ll text Chris,” Sallie said. “He’d hate to miss a chance to pontificate about Anne Bonny. He’s infatuated.”

I hid my impatience. I just wanted access to the damn exhibit.

“He’ll be right up.” Sallie closed her phone and stretched both arms above her head. “I’m
so
tired of manning that desk.”

In my periphery, the Three Stooges followed her every movement. Elbow-jabbing each other in the ribs.

Good Lord.

Seconds passed. Became minutes.

Sallie broke the silence. “What got you interested in our female pirate?”

“I just learned about her,” I said. “I didn’t grow up around here. She sounds incredible.”

“Oh, she was,” a voice called from behind me. I turned. A smiling young man was striding toward us.

“Franco?” he asked Sallie.

“In his cubby. The Braves are up in the fourth, so he won’t be out for a while.”

Chris wasn’t bad looking either. Pale blue eyes, collared shirt, weathered jeans, red hair curling from under a beat-up Mets cap. Though a bit soft at the belt line, the guy radiated a sense of ease.

Chris stepped past me, arm-wrapped Sallie, then introduced himself with a round of handshakes. “It’s great to welcome Anne Bonny fans. I meet very few people your age who know of her.”

“We’re very advanced,” Hi said earnestly. “I can even zip my own pants. Most times, anyway.”

“Thank you
so much
for letting us steal a peek at the collection,” I said quickly. “We really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” Chris pulled back the curtain and waved us through. “But let’s not mention this visit in the comment box.” He fired a shooter at Hi. “And nice going on that pants zipping. That’s sophisticated work.”

Hi snorted, shot him a thumbs-up.

Eyes rolling, I slipped through the drapes into darkness.

I
heard Chris pass me on the right.

Fiddling sounds. Then a floor lamp ignited, followed by another. Chris moved to the opposite side of the room and powered a third.

“Sorry for the gloom.” He foot-shoved an extension cord toward the wall. “The power is disconnected in this area. We’re re-jiggering the wiring.”

The lighting was soft and yellow, perhaps fifty percent of normal. The room’s corners remained deep in shadow. I wished I could flare to see better, but I wasn’t crazy.

We were standing in a windowless chamber about thirty feet square. Display cases lined the walls, each stuffed with antique pirate paraphernalia. Tattered banners. Replica ships. Gold coins. Daggers.

Beside each cabinet, a sign explained the contents in flowing, antiquated script. The room had a jumbled, eclectic feel.

I was captivated. Pirate gear is just too cool for words.

The room’s center held a small assemblage of dummies, each costumed in authentic pirate regalia. Foremost among them was a woman wearing a white linen shirt, a red and purple velvet vest, men’s breeches, wool stockings, and a mottled waistcoat. Gold hoop earrings, a silver pendant, a pearl necklace, a wide leather belt, ribbons, brass buckles, and sturdy black boots completed the ensemble.

The lady had flair.

She also had a wicked iron cutlass, three knives in leather sheaths, and a pair of pistols strapped to her chest.

“Meet Anne.” Chris gestured to the lady buccaneer.

“Amazing.” I crossed to study the mannequin. “Where was she from, exactly?”

“Her early history is hard to pin down,” Chris said. “The most widely accepted story places her birth in County Cork, Ireland, sometime before 1700.”

“Her father was a Kinsale lawyer named William Cormac.” Sallie had been so quiet I’d forgotten she was there. “He was quite prominent, but had an affair with his serving woman and got caught.”

“
Playa’s gotta play
,” Hi muttered under his breath. “Oof!”

My elbow, his gut.

Chris picked up the story. “When his wife exposed the adultery, Cormac was publically shamed and driven out of business. His reputation was shattered, so he fled to the New World with his mistress and their newborn daughter. That would be Anne.”

“Where’d they end up?” Shelton asked, voice neutral. I suspected he knew the answer and was testing.

“Right here in Charles Town,” Chris replied. “Cormac soon had a thriving legal practice, and he and his family became part of the city’s upper crust. Anne grew up rich on a Lowcountry plantation.”

“So why’d she turn pirate?” This time, Shelton’s curiosity sounded genuine.

“By all accounts, Anne was a wild child,” Sallie answered. “Her father constantly griped about her tomboy ways, but she was stubborn. And he worked too much to keep close watch over her.”

“Anne’s mother died when she was a teenager,” Chris added. “Having no siblings, Anne spent a lot of time alone, and eventually fell in with the ‘wrong crowd.’”

My breath caught. My eyelids burned.

Sometimes it happened like that. The slightest connection to my mother and, without warning, I’d go to pieces. I always tried to hide my sadness. Mostly, I succeeded.

It’d been less than a year since the accident. Though duller now, at times the pain still cut like a knife.

I refocused on Sallie’s words.

“—stabbed him with her dagger! Young Mr. Grabby-Hands was hospitalized for weeks. After that, nobody made unwanted passes at Anne. And she was only fourteen!”

Like ping-pong, the tale bounced back to Chris. “At sixteen, Anne fell for a drifter named James Bonny. Most think he was simply after her inheritance. When they married, her father was furious.”

Ping. Sallie’s turn.

“Cormac had always wanted Anne to be a lady of importance,” she said. “He planned to marry his daughter into a respectable Charles Town family, through a man of his choosing. She was supposed to be an aristocrat. A plantation owner’s wife.”

Pong. Chris took over.

“When Anne refused to renounce her no-account, sea captain husband, Daddy Cormac gave her the boot. So the couple moved to New Providence, a pirate hotbed in the Bahamas.”

“She was married?” That surprised me. “Even as an outlaw?”

“Not for long,” Sallie said. “Anne got cozy with the local pirates, then found out James had turned informant. She left him for a flashy swashbuckler named Calico Jack Rackham.”

“This part I know,” Shelton said. “Calico Jack offered to buy Anne, but her husband wouldn’t have it. So they ran off together.”

“Buy her?” I couldn’t keep the irritation from my voice. “He tried to purchase Anne like cattle?”

Shelton shrugged and grinned. “It was a simpler time.”

“And that was before Anne’s ‘lady friend’ entered the picture.” Hi’s leer aimed for lecherous, nailed it. “You know Bonny swung both ways, right?”

My look conveyed that I did not.

“He’s telling the truth,” Shelton chuckled.

My eyes swung to Chris, who nodded with a grin.

Why do boys find this topic so thrilling?

“The Neanderthals are referring to Mary Read, another female pirate.” Sallie rolled her eyes at Chris, whose palms rose in innocence. “Read joined Calico Jack’s ship,
Revenge
, also dressed like a man. Anne took a shine to the ‘new guy,’ but eventually discovered Read’s deception. Nothing changed. From then on, Read and Bonny had a
special
relationship of an
undisclosed
nature.”

“
Pillow fights
,” Hi fake sneezed, then danced away from my elbow.

“Mary and Anne were two of the toughest sailors on board,” Sallie said. “The crew all knew their secrets but accepted them as equals.”

“Pirate ships were very liberal, almost complete meritocracies,” Chris said. “Bonny and Read could sail, fight, and handle themselves, same as the men. Nobody messed with them.”

“Tell the capture story,” Shelton urged. “Didn’t they shoot up their own guys?”

“Only because the men wimped out.” Sallie looped my arm as if we were confidantes. “In 1720, Captain Jonathan Barnet, a pirate turned pirate hunter, attacked
Revenge
while she was anchored. The crew was passed out, having celebrated the capture of a Spanish trading ship the previous night by getting bombed.”

“Barnet sailed close and blasted
Revenge
with cannon fire. Badly hungover, Calico Jack and his men refused to fight. Only Anne and Mary resisted.”

Sallie threw a classic “men stink” look at Chris. I was starting to like her.

“Legend goes, Anne screamed, ‘If there’s a man among ye, ye’ll come out and fight!’” Sallie snorted derisively. “The men cowered in the hold like beggars. The two ladies were so incensed they began shooting at
them
, killing one and wounding several others, including Calico Jack.”

Chris grinned at his wife. “In the end, only Bonny and Read stood their ground against Barnet’s crew. Though they fought like hellcats, everyone was captured. Eventually, the whole crew was hanged.”

“But not Anne.” I remembered Rodney Brincefield’s story. “She may have escaped.”

“So you
do
know a little.” Chris looked impressed. “Back in Port Royal there was a trial, sensational because two of the accused were women. Read and Bonny were reviled for rejecting polite society and defying traditional female conventions.”

“Polite society?” Sallie scoffed. “More like uptight prigs.”

“When found guilty of piracy,” Chris continued, “the ladies played their trump card.”

“Which was?” I asked.

“They pled their bellies.”

“Come again?” Hi said.

“Each claimed to be pregnant,” Sallie clarified. “English law forbade the hanging of a woman with child, so Anne and Mary couldn’t be executed. While the others swung, they were spared.”

“Calico Jack was hanged, then disemboweled,” Shelton said. “The governor propped his body in a cage at the port’s entrance, where every ship could see. Nasty.”

That stopped conversation for a moment.

“And?” Ben’s first words since entering the building.

“That’s the mystery,” Chris said. “Mary Read succumbed to a fever in prison. No one knows what happened to Bonny.”

“Some say she died in jail. Some say she was hanged after giving birth the following year.” Sallie shrugged. “Others insist her father paid a ransom and brought her back home to Charles Town. Still others argue that Bonny escaped altogether, and went on pirating. No one knows for sure.”

“One crackpot book claimed that Bonny became a nun,” Shelton said. “Another swore she got back with her husband. It’s all bunk. Straight-up guessing.”

I glanced at Bonny. The fine clothes. The jewels. The braided hair.

What happened to you?
I wondered.
Was yours a happy end, or a terrible one?
“So where’s her loot?” Hi blurted out. “Bonny was a badass, kick-you-in-the-mouth boat jacker. What happened to all that cheddar?”

Chris grinned. “I figured you’d get around to that.”

“Buried. Somewhere. If it ever really existed.” Sallie smoothed her hair with both hands. “For years, everyone thought her treasure was on Seabrook Island, but that was a hoax. Then the popular choice became Johns Island, because certain features match up with the map.”

“Map?” I said, innocent.

“Yes, map.” Chris checked his watch, then strode to a dark wooden bureau on the far side of the room. “Over here.”

I tried not to sprint.

“We’ve got only a few minutes, but you have to see it.” Chris tugged keys from his pocket. “It’s amazing.”

Behind the heavy doors were rows of drawers. Chris worked a second lock, then pulled the bottom one out as far as it would go.

Jackpot.

T
he document looked ancient.

A glass barrier covered the cabinet drawer, making it hard to read details. But what I could see piqued my imagination. And then some.

The map was sketched on a square foot of crinkly brown paper, now pinned at the corners to a cloth backboard. Squiggly lines formed a central image that appeared to be an island.

Script ran across the top of the page, but in the dim light I couldn’t read the words. The bottom left-hand corner had an odd illustration of some kind. A skull and crossbones adorned the bottom right.

No problem interpreting that one. Danger. Stay away.

“This is made of hemp.” Shelton was reading the brass placard affixed to the case. “The whole map is pure dope.”

“You guys are storing illegal drugs in here?” Hi shook his head. “It’s my civic duty to turn you in.”

“Too true,” Chris said. “But you may want to call Washington. The Declaration of Independence is written on the same stuff.”

I ignored the banter. Though tantalizingly close, the map was still obscured and unreadable.

“Is there any way to . . . you know . . . remove it?” I asked.

“Sorry.” Sallie pointed to bulbs set inside the casing. “Usually the drawer light comes on, and we have overheads. But without power, this is the best we can do.”

“It’ll still be here in the spring,” Chris said lightly. “Gives you a reason to come back.”