Chapter 8
Hawke awoke and squinted at the light coming through the porthole above his berth.
He’d come in from the night watch only a few hours earlier, and his body resisted rising.
He lay still, listening to the sounds of the ship—the deck’s creaks, the quartermaster’s footsteps overhead, the splash of waves against the hull.
He was becoming accustomed to Calypso’s Quest’s particular rhythms.
The noises of The Cormorant had been so familiar to him, he had been able to discern when a yard was loose by the sound of the sails’ flap. He’d even diagnosed shipworm in the hull when the wood sounded hollow beneath the carpenter’s footsteps.
The noise he didn’t hear was Lady Annabelle.
His bunkmate must have risen early. The woman had managed to avoid him completely in the weeks since their clash in the chart room.
A task made all the more impressive considering the size of the ship.
And the fact that they slept only a few yards apart.
Aside from an occasional sigh in her sleep or a rustle of bedding, he’d heard nothing at all from the other side of the curtain.
Hawke rose, pulling on a shirt. Thank the stars, she didn’t snore.
The only time they’d come close to any interaction was when he’d come upon her and the cook speaking in the galley.
He hadn’t meant to listen to their conversation, but it was difficult not to overhear.
He’d thought often about what she’d said.
How she would leave behind her life at sea for a loveless union.
He’d actually felt sorry for her. Briefly.
Hawke left his quarters and climbed the stairs to the upper deck, greeting Mr. Stanley at the wheel.
He stood for a long moment, judging the waves by the rocking of the ship and studying the eastern sky.
There was no indication of an approaching storm, and a glance at the ship’s compass indicated their heading remained constant.
He nodded in satisfaction. He looked out across the deck to where Tim was tightening a rope around a mooring bit.
Tim had taken to the sea like he was born to it. He took fastidious care of the main deck, keeping it clean and obstacle free. And he rubbed along well with the crew. In spite of the unsavory way his presence on the ship had come about, Hawke was pleased to see his friend thriving.
In the chart room, he entered the watches’ reports and made note of the weather and the ship’s heading, and then descended belowdecks to the galley, surprised that Beattie was not inside.
Finding a barrel of apples, Hawke took one, munching on it as he returned to the main deck.
A group was gathered at the foredeck, and Hawke heard Lady Annabelle’s voice among them, which was enough to send him walking in the other direction. But he paused when he heard her words.
“—but even if Blackham does find the island, he cannot obtain the treasure without the keys,” she said.
Hawke drew closer. Lady Annabelle was sitting on a crate facing away from him, surrounded by a small group of the crew.
“The keys have all been lost,” Grieg said, leaning against the mast.
“Ye think Blackham has found the keys, do ye, Belle?” Beattie asked. The cook sat on the grating covering the hatchway, massaging his hip.
“It is the only thing that makes sense,” Lady Annabelle said. “Otherwise why go for the island at all? And why now? He has had many chances over the years to discover the location from either Court or Hawke.”
“If that is true,” Shadbolt said, speaking slowly, “if Blackham has the keys, if he finds the treasure, all who know of it will be in danger of execution, even his own crewmen—-perhaps especially his own crewmen.”
Shadbolt was right, Hawke thought. As soon as word spread, Blackham would be the prime target of every pirate, privateer, merchant, and naval vessel between the South China Sea and the Caribbean.
He would do whatever was necessary to protect his secret, and the best way to keep a secret was to make certain as few people as possible knew it.
“Then we cannot delay.” Lady Annabelle’s voice trembled. She jumped to her feet.
Hawke stepped into the circle. “Calm yourself, my lady.”
Lady Annabelle spun to face him. “Surely there is a way to increase the ship’s speed. Perhaps the sails can be adjusted or more can be added.” She came around the side of the crate.
She wore breeches.
The sight took Hawke so unawares that he froze with his mouth still open. He blinked and shook himself. What had she been saying? Something about the sails? The treasure? Yes, that was it.
“It is of no consequence,” he said, his throat dry. He swallowed and coughed, looking deliberately away from Lady Annabelle. “Blackham and everyone he brings to the island will be dead before their return, with or without the treasure.”
“I don’t believe you. All this talk of a curse, but it is no more than superstition.” Lady Annabelle had assumed her typi-cal stance, glaring, her expression a challenge.
“Disbelieving does not make it untrue.” Feeling the stares of the others on him, Hawke answered definitively, leaving no room for doubt. “Isla de Plata holds only death.”
Lady Annabelle’s expression wavered. “If that is true, why aren’t you dead?”
The others looked to him, awaiting an answer.
“I don’t know,” he said, truthfully. “I have tried to come up with a reason. Anything to explain it.”
“What happened aboard The Good Will, Captain?” Grieg asked.
Hawke inhaled and pushed out a heavy breath.
He’d never told the story, not in its entirety.
The memory was one he’d hoped to forget.
He looked at the faces of the crew; more had gathered around him, waiting, expressions ranging from expectation to skepticism.
But most showed fear. They deserved to know, he decided. Deserved to know what to expect.
Lady Annabelle sat back onto the crate and crossed her ankles; Hawke deliberately turned his gaze away.
“The Good Will was a three-masted carrack under the command of Captain James Westwood,” Hawke began.
“We embarked from Charleston with a hull filled with cotton, bound for London. We’d been at sea not a week before we encountered a storm.
Captain Westwood feared we were on the very outer bands of a hurricane and altered the course to ride her out.
Unfortunately, he predicted wrong, and instead of avoiding the hurricane, we sailed directly into it.
The ship held strong, but she took some damage.
The storm threw us off course, sending us southeast, rather than north. ”
“Into the Devil’s Triangle,” Beattie guessed.
Hawke nodded.
Nervous mutters came from the crew, and Grieg crossed himself.
Lady Annabelle shook her head, muttering about unwarranted superstitions.
Hawke paced as he continued. “The lookout sighted land, and Captain Westwood set a course for it right away. We arrived, finding a mountainous island with a large bay.
“The crew set to work, making repairs, replenishing our water stores. Some caught fish, some gathered fresh fruit.
“One party returned from their exploration, telling of the remnants of an old shipwreck. The wood was long gone, but they’d found some fittings. As the days went on, so did their search. They discovered cannons, ballast stones, an anchor, and finally the wrecked ship’s bell.” He stopped pacing.
The group had been joined by even more crewmembers, and all of them seemed to hold their breath, waiting.
“Was it Magdalena?” Lady Annabelle whispered.
“It was,” Hawke said. “I saw it with my own eyes.” He made a frame with his hands. “Magdalena carved in bronze.”
The muttering started again.
“You can imagine the frenzy that followed. All of us rushed around the island, searching for the legendary door with three keyholes.”
“Did you find it?” Tim asked.
Hawke shook his head. “The captain called off the search before long. Some of the crewmembers had fallen ill, leaving fewer hands to finish the repairs and restock the stores. Although we all still sneaked away to search when nobody was watching.” He gave a wry smile.
“As the days went on, more and more of us fell ill.” He started pacing again, finding the story easier to tell when he was moving.
“The illness began with vomiting, fever, and intense pain in the belly. People were so ill they couldn’t stand.
As it progressed, those afflicted saw things that weren’t there.
Men became paranoid, convinced the other crewmembers were enemies.
One man ran off into the jungle, and the next day, he was found dead. ”
He closed his eyes, remembering the terror of those days, lying awake at night hearing screams of pain in the darkness.
“Once the ship was stocked, the captain ordered all aboard. Some of the crew refused and had to be forced. We set sail, but the sickness worsened. Fights broke out, a man jumped overboard and another attempted to follow. The second was saved, bound into a bunk, where he raved and raged until he died hours later.”
From overhead, a seabird let out a high-pitched call, and the crew started.
Hawke turned, pacing in the other direction.
“Each day more fell ill. And each day more died. After two weeks, not enough crew remained to sail the ship. Those of us who were alive were so ill we couldn’t leave our bunks.
We lay there, surrounded by the bodies and screams of our shipmates.
” His voice trembled, and he paused to calm it, breathing hard.
Hawke’s gaze traveled over the crew. They stared in shocked silence, eyes wide. Tim’s hand covered his mouth.
“We were, at last, found by a fleet of British warships,” Hawke said. “The provisions and surviving crew were divided, taken away to various ports.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “And that is where the story ends.”
“And yerself and Captain Courtney are the last survivors,” Beattie said in a soft voice.
Hawke nodded.
The crew was completely silent. They glanced at one another. Li Chen held his elbows, shivering.
“I apologize for frightening you,” Hawke said at last. “But you need to know the truth of where we’re going and what awaits us when we get there.”
The silence continued.
Hawke cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels, wishing someone would speak, but they just glanced at one another and back at him.
Finally, he drew his sword and pointed it at the crew. “Avast! All of you, back to your duties.” His shout had the intended effect, as if he’d broken a spell. They jumped up—-except for Beattie, who was helped to his feet by Mr. -Stanley—and rushed away to their various responsibilities.
Only Lady Annabelle remained. She stared at her hands, brow furrowed as if deep in thought, then without looking in his direction, she slid off the crate and walked with slow steps toward the ship’s bow.
Hawke watched her go, wondering what she’d thought of the story. Was she frightened now? He certainly hoped so.