Chapter 1 #3
“As I said,” Grieg continued, “the journey was ill-fated. An unknown disease overtook the crew of The Good Will, and none were spared the affliction. Those who didn’t die immediately returned damaged.
Mad.” He tapped the side of his head. “Few survived. Fewer still are alive today. I know of only two.”
“The island is cursed,” Shadbolt said, his voice nearly a whisper.
Grieg crossed himself.
She would never understand seamen and their superstitions about curses. “But Court isn’t mad,” Annabelle pointed out.
“Which is exactly why Blackham came for him,” Grieg said.
Annabelle rose and began to pace. Her thoughts were a whirl.
This could not be real. It all seemed too fantastical.
And worrying about a child’s story was taking them further away from the real problem of finding what had happened to her godfather.
She looked at the men, wondering how these two reasonable people could even entertain such outlandish ideas.
She considered what to say, how to reason with them, how to convince them they were not looking at the situation rationally.
She stopped pacing, standing before the hearth and studying the men.
She had known the two of them for as long as she could remember, and she trusted them completely.
Shadbolt and Grieg were like elder brothers to her.
She knew without a doubt that they would never purposely mislead her.
As much as her rational mind fought against the idea, she knew they believed what they told her to be the truth.
And apparently Captain Blackham believed it as well.
The hair on the nape of her neck lifted.
Captain Blackham was an evil man, not only a rival of her godfather’s but an enemy.
His reputation was notorious: bloodthirsty and greedy, a pirate by all definitions, and one who showed no mercy to those who stood between him and what he wanted.
And apparently what he wanted was her godfather—or at least information he was supposed to possess.
Although she had been a child when she had promised to protect Court, she meant every word she’d said.
She would do everything in her power to keep him safe, as he would do for her.
They were family after all. Not by blood, but Court was every bit her father, and she would go to the ends of the earth to bring him back safely.
“If this is all true,” she said, slowly.
“If this is truly why Court was taken, there are two possible outcomes.” She tapped one pointer finger with the other.
“Blackham will discover the captain does not know where to find the island, or”—she touched her next finger—“Court will lead him there.” She pressed her two fingers together as the reality of the situation became clear.
“Either way, there will be a point when Captain Blackham has no more use for him, and . . .” Annabelle swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.
Shadbolt pursed his lips, casting his gaze downward.
Grieg nodded. “That is our fear.”
Annabelle rubbed sweat from her forehead. Whether or not she believed in the legend of the Lost Treasure of de Silva or the existence of Isla de Plata was immaterial. If that was where Captain Blackham was taking her godfather, that was where they must go to save him.
“You are Captain Courtney’s heir,” Grieg said. “The ship is yours—as is the decision as to how we are to proceed.”
Annabelle nodded, and the urgency she’d felt earlier returned with full force. They needed a plan. “We must find him, rescue him. Surely Court told someone where he believes the island to be. Or perhaps he wrote down the location in his logs?”
“We’ve searched,” Grieg said.
Shadbolt nodded. “The location remains a secret.”
“But there is someone who may know something,” Grieg said. “The one other survivor of The Good Will’s final voyage.”
“Who is it?” Annabelle grasped at the bit of hope.
“Hawke,” Shadbolt said. “The Good Will’s cabin boy. Although he was just a child then, there is a possibility that he remembers . . . something.”
“Very good.” Annabelle nodded quickly. Here, at least, was a starting point. “Where shall we find this Hawke? If there is the smallest chance he can lead us to the island or at least direct us to someone else who knows, we must speak to him at once.”
“That is our thinking exactly,” Grieg nodded, but then he grimaced, glancing at his companion.
“There is one problem,” Shadbolt said.
“A small problem,” Grieg clarified, then he grimaced again. “Or perhaps two.”
“What?” Annabelle asked. “What problems?”
“He may not be willing help us,” Grieg said.
“Surely we can convince him,” Annabelle said. “It is a matter of life and death after all. What is the other problem?”
The men glanced at each other again.
“Hawke is in prison,” Shadbolt said. “In the Marshalsea.”
The name of the notorious prison sent a chill over her skin, but Annabelle did not allow her trepidation to show. She rested her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Then we must simply get him out.”