Chapter 6
Two weeks into the voyage, Hawke and the ship’s quarter-master, Mr. Stanley, bent over the table in the chart room, studying a nautical map of the Atlantic Ocean.
The chart room was situated conveniently down the corridor from the captain’s quarters.
From where he stood, Hawke could see the door leading to Shadbolt’s cabin, directly across the hall.
The first mate’s quarters had apparently been occupied by Lady Annabelle’s nanny when her ladyship was aboard, and Shadbolt had let Hawke know in no uncertain terms that he would not hesitate to kick down the door of the captain’s cabin and come to her ladyship’s rescue if he heard any sound of distress from the young woman.
Hawke still had a long way to go to earn the trust of this crew. He envied the easy rapport of the men who had sailed together for so many years.
The light from the swinging lantern shone on the quarter-master’s scalp where his hair was thin. The man was in his fifties, one of the older sailors aboard. His face was weatherworn, a deep tan with creases around his eyes from years of squinting against sun and wind.
Mr. Stanley tapped his finger on a spot on the map and set a marker on the location.
“Right on course, Captain.” He turned a page in his notebook, looking over his calculations, then returned to the chart, moving the marker a quarter inch.
“We’re making excellent time.” He cleared his throat.
“But I still can’t estimate our arrival.
Not without knowing the final destination. ”
Hawke glanced at him but didn’t respond.
He returned to studying the marker and its location on their charted course.
He appreciated the quartermaster’s precision, and the man’s understanding of navigational instruments.
The mathematics necessary to calculate latitude and longitude was complicated.
But he still didn’t trust him with the location of Isla de Plata. Not yet.
“Based on Captain Courtney’s logs,” Hawke said, placing his hand on the thick book beside him, “the ship was careened twenty-five days ago in Molène?”
“Aye.”
Hawke nodded. He was relieved they’d not have to stop and clean the hull.
Doing so would cost them days. Although necessary, careening was one of a sailor’s least favorite tasks.
A suitable location had to be found, one with a gradually sloping beach and a large expanse of sand.
The entirety of the ship’s cargo would have to be taken in boatloads to the shore.
Once that was finished, the grueling work began.
Using thick ropes, the crew would haul the ship onto the beach, and once the tide went out, they’d get to work, chipping and prying off the barnacles, shells, and other marine growth.
The accumulation could weigh hundreds, even thousands of pounds, and with the yards of seaweed it caught and trailed, a ship could be slowed to half its speed.
“The crew must have done a fine job,” Hawke said. “And it is to that—and of course a steady wind—we can attribute the ship’s swiftness.”
Mr. Stanley nodded absently. He studied the chart, scratching his cheek.
He took one of the rolled maps from a stack and laid it out flat.
“Captain, if we continue on this course—” He slid his finger along the map, departing from the Atlantic current and continued to an empty expanse of ocean, east of the Florida peninsula and southwest of the Bermuda Isles.
He stopped, tapping his finger, and looked up at Hawke, concern clearly on his face.
“We are headed directly toward the Devil’s Triangle. ”
Hawke sighed. He should have known the quartermaster would figure it out. “We are,” he confirmed.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Captain, how do you remember the island’s location? You were but a boy when The Good Will sailed.”
“It’s a fair question,” Hawke said, surprised nobody had asked it earlier.
“The ship’s navigator died before we left the island, and Courtney took his place.
As I was one of the only crew not entirely stricken by the illness, I assisted.
I was a curious boy and eager to learn about currents and charts.
” He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.
“And some memo-ries sear themselves into our minds. The island’s location is one I will never forget.
I imagine it is the same for Captain Courtney. ”
Mr. Stanley blinked rapidly. “I’m uneasy, Captain.
” He glanced at the door and lowered his voice.
“It is said sea serpents roam those waters. Perhaps even the kraken. Entire ships have simply disappeared without explanation.” He pulled his finger away from the map as if even the ink and parchment representation of the Devil’s Triangle should be avoided. “I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Hawke said. Even though sea monsters might be a myth, that part of the sea was dangerous and for the most part unexplored.
Sensible sailors avoided the region entirely.
Even the current flowed around it. It was undoubtedly the reason Isla de Plata’s location had remained secret.
Not wanting to upset the man further, he didn’t tell Mr. Stanley that when they reached the island, the kraken would be the least of their problems.
“Maintaining our current speed,” Hawke said, hoping to steer the conversation away from talk of sea monsters, “how long before we reach the region?” He avoided saying “Devil’s Triangle.”
Mr. Stanley looked between the map and chart. He measured a distance and made a calculation in his notebook, looking at it for a long moment before he spoke “Five weeks,” he said at last. “Could be more, hopefully ’twill be less.”
Five weeks. An impressive speed. “At that rate, we might reach the island ahead of those we pursue.” He grinned, but the quartermaster appeared to be deep in thought.
“That night still haunts me,” Mr. Stanley said, his eyes glassy as he stared over Hawke’s shoulder. “If I’d only paid closer attention.”
Hawke frowned. “What night?”
“The night Captain Courtney was taken.” He looked at the floor, shaking his head slowly as he spoke. “I should have known something was amiss. That Blackham—he’s pure evil. You can see it in his eyes.” He pointed two fingers at his own eyes, moving them from side to side.
“I was told nothing of what happened,” Hawke said. “Only that he was taken.” He pulled out a stool from beneath the table, sitting on it and pushing the other toward Mr. Stanley with his foot.
The quartermaster sat, settling back against the wall.
“We were at Molène for the careening. Captain Courtney favors a particular bay. Nice stretch of sand, fresh water, and good hunting, if you like seals and seabirds. Lots of fish. It’s hidden, difficult to navigate if you’re unfamiliar with the islands, but not entirely secret.
We’ve seen others there before. So ’twasn’t a complete surprise when Leviathan sailed into the bay. ”
Hawke could picture the scene perfectly. A sandy beach surrounded by Molène’s shrub and grass-covered hills. He’d have chosen a place just like it.
“We’d finished careening and were having a bit of a celebration,” Mr. Stanley continued.
“Would have preferred if the captain had chosen a bay with a few ladies nearby, but we made do. Some of the lads made a bonfire. A few of Blackham’s crew joined us.
Nice enough chaps. Brought plenty of liquid refreshment.
Madiera wine—strong stuff, that. We swapped stories of our travels, drank, ate.
” Mr. Stanley’s face darkened. “I saw Blackham speaking with Captain Courtney a good distance down the beach. I think Shadbolt was nearby, but I can’t be certain—I was well into my drink.
Don’t know what they said, but I could tell Captain wasn’t pleased.
’Twas something in the way he was standing.
And how he walked away.” He frowned. “Don’t know how I could tell, but I could. ”
“What then?” Hawke urged him to continue.
“Most of the crew slept on the beach. And we woke late.” He gave a sheepish grimace. “The alcohol.”
Hawke nodded, understanding completely.
“Leviathan was gone, and so was the captain.” Mr. Stanley lifted his hands, palms up, then slapped them down on his thighs. “I told ya, that Blackham is a wicked one.”
Hawke thought through Mr. Stanley’s story.
Clearly Blackham had come to Molène for the express purpose of finding Captain Courtney.
And it appeared the crew bringing wine to the bonfire was to ensure Leviathan’s early departure would not be noticed until the ship was well away.
It was a brazen act—kidnapping a pirate captain.
Hawke wondered if he could somehow use Blackham’s overconfidence against him.
Mr. Stanley leaned forward, pulling Hawke from his contemplations. “You don’t really think Captain Courtney has been taken to Isla de Plata.”
“Your shipmates believe it,” Hawke said. “And Lady Annabelle. As for myself, I am inclined to agree with them.”
“Is the island truly cursed?”
Hawke nodded. “Yes.”
Mr. Stanley’s face paled. He swallowed. “If you’ve no more need of me this evening, I’ve the first night watch.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stanley,” Hawke said, dismissing him. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.” As the man slipped away, Hawke rolled the maps and charts and placed them carefully where they belonged.
Knowing what was ahead, predicting the end of the voyage was impossible. Drumming his fingers on the table’s wooden top, he considered the factors in play.
He could only guess at the course Blackham would take. Would he stop for supplies? Was his ship weighted with cargo and marine growth? Would the wind hold steady? Would either ship encounter a storm? A hurricane? An attack? He let out a breath, frustrated to have no control over any of it.