Chapter 17
Annabelle and Grieg sat on a crate on the main deck of Calypso’s Quest. She leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs, enjoying the warmth of the sun after so many days of fog.
It was as if the storm had completely scrubbed the sky, leaving it blue and bright.
Wet clothing and hammocks hung from lines stretched between the masts, flapping in the very welcome breeze, and from below came the sounds of singing from the galley.
It felt as if the voyage was finally back on course.
“And you slept through the entire thing,” Grieg said. “Like a church bell without a ringer.”
Annabelle shook her head, smiling. “You are having me on.” She loved listening to her friend’s tales, but his insistence that a sea monster had attacked the ship was taking things rather far—even for Grieg.
“I am not,” he insisted. “Come with me. I’ll show you where Hawke’s sword cut into the hull when he slashed at the beast.”
Annabelle accompanied him, looking over the rail where he indicated.
There were indeed gouges in the wood of the hull that could have been made by a sword’s blade.
She studied Grieg’s expression, looking for any indication that he was teasing but saw none.
She shuddered, remembering the thumping noises, and looked nervously into the depths below.
The water was clear, and she saw only a few small fish.
“Do you think it will return?”
Grieg scoffed. “Not if it has any sense whatsoever,” he said, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. “This crew has proven itself more than a match for the kraken.”
Annabelle gave him a flat stare but couldn’t help but smile at his false bravado. Although he put on a brave face for her sake, she could see apprehension tightening the skin around his eye.
“Grieg,” she said, speaking seriously. “Do you think Captain Blackham’s ship encountered the storm? The monster?”
He scratched his chin through his beard. “I can’t say, Belle. But if they did, let us hope for Captain Courtney’s sake that Blackham is as skilled a pilot as our own Captain Hawke.”
“Impossible.” Hawke’s voice came from behind them.
The two turned.
“Glad to see you up and about, Captain,” Grieg said. “It was a long night.”
Annabelle’s thoughts flashed to the dark hull, and her stomach felt ill at the memory.
The hours of the ship’s lurching, of being tossed to and fro across the deck, wondering if the next wave would be the one to submerge the ship entirely.
And all the while, not knowing whether Hawke was alive or dead . . .
Hawke gave Grieg a nod in response, but his attention was on Annabelle. “You’re not wearing your sword,” he said, frowning. “You should be practicing your defensive maneuver at every opportunity.”
“I intend to,” she said. She rubbed her shoulder. “I am giving my arm a rest.”
“There is no time for rest.” Hawke shook his head. “Do you think an enemy will treat you gently because your arm is sore?” He motioned toward the cabin. “Go on, retrieve your weapon.”
Annabelle twisted around on the crate, facing fully toward him. She did not care to be ordered about in such a fashion, and opened her mouth to tell him so, but she was cut short by Li Chen’s cry from the Crow’s nest.
“Land ho!”
Annabelle snatched her spyglass from her waist and expanded it as she hurried to the rail. She aimed it in the direction Li Chen was pointing, squinting as she looked through the eyepiece.
On the horizon was a faint line—a small change in color between the sea and sky.
A thrill went through her. She had seen the same view many times before and felt the same excitement.
Over the next hours, and perhaps days—depending on the ship’s speed—the line would darken, becoming a bump that gradually expanded until the trees and mountains that made up the landmass became recognizable.
Hawke stepped up to the rail beside her.
Annabelle offered the spyglass, but he didn’t take it. His face was set, and his jaw tight. “Isla de Plata,” he said in a quiet voice. “We have arrived.”
It was the next morning before they drew near enough to see the island clearly.
Hawke had chosen to approach from the windward side, believing if Blackham had arrived, his ship would be on the leeward where it would be more protected.
He hoped the element of surprise would give their rescue mission an advantage. As would Madame Dauphiné’s tonic.
The island was larger than Annabelle had imagined, with high green mountains and rocky cliffs. When the ship came near, Hawke ordered the sails reefed. Not knowing the depth of the ocean floor, he worried about running aground on a sandbar or reef.
From above, Li Chen watched the seabed closely, calling down warnings to Mr. Stanley to adjust if the course appeared too shallow. This close to land, the water changed color based on the sea depth, the shades varying in blues and greens.
They continued along the rocky coast, searching for somewhere to make landfall.
Annabelle put away her spyglass. They were near enough that she no longer needed it. She watched as surf crashed into the jagged cliffs, sending up spray. Isla de Plata appeared very unwelcoming.
Seabirds dove and soared, catching fish and returning to nests in the cliffs. Dark shapes swam around and beneath them, but Annabelle was relieved to see none were large enough to cause alarm.
At last, they spotted an inlet. And while it was not surrounded by a sandy beach, at least the rocks seemed smaller.
Not wanting to risk going any nearer to the dangerous shore, Hawke ordered the ship to drop anchor.
The waves were choppy, which would make for an unpleasant ride in the jolly boats, but Annabelle was far too eager to get onto the island to allow a bit of discomfort to bother her.
She’d spent the entirety of the day before alternating between practicing her defensive block and watching the island through her spyglass.
She was tired of waiting, of preparing. She was ready to get onto that island and find Court.
Hawke ordered all hands to the forecastle of the main deck.
Annabelle and Grieg sat on their usual crate.
When Beattie came up the stairs, Grieg stood, motioning for the cook to take his place, but Beattie waved his hand in thanks, choosing instead to lower himself onto a hatch cover beside Murray.
Madame Dauphiné’s remedy seemed to be helping his hip, giving Annabelle hope that the tonic the ship carried might cure the strange sickness that plagued the island.
Grieg sat back down. Shadbolt came to stand silently on Annabelle’s other side. The other crewmembers sat or leaned against the rails or mast. Anticipation buzzed in the air. They had arrived. Once the crew was gathered, Hawke stood before them, legs apart, and hands behind his back.
Annabelle thought he looked exceptionally handsome, dressed entirely in black, long coat flapping in the wind. His manner was commanding and confident. She felt a flutter inside her belly, and her cheeks flushed. She glanced at Grieg, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction.
Hawke addressed the crew. “From this point forward, each of you must have a bottle of tonic on your person at all times. Whether you are aboard the ship or ashore. We do not know the nature of this sickness, and we will take no risks.”
Tim and Murray distributed the small bottles from Madame Dauphiné’s shop. A few of the crewmembers tugged out the corks and sniffed, grimacing and even gagging at the smell of the dark liquid.
“The taste is unimportant,” Hawke said. “This tonic will save your life.”
Grieg brought two bottles to Annabelle, placing one in each of her hands. “For you, and for Captain Courtney when we find him.”
Annabelle gave her friend a grateful smile. She put the bottles carefully into her pockets.
Once every person had a bottle, Hawke nodded. “Over the past weeks, I have considered how best to approach this rescue mission. There are so many variables that it is impossible to anticipate what we might encounter.”
“Captain Courtney may not be here at all,” Li Chen said from his position next to the mast. “Blackham may have come and gone. Or not yet arrived. Or perhaps this is not his destination at all. He and Captain Courtney may not even be together. Or the captain is already—”
“As I said,” Hawke spoke loudly, cutting him off. “Many variables.” He darted a look at Annabelle, giving a gentle nod and a soft smile as if hoping to reassure her.
She smiled in return, but the expression didn’t come easily.
Of course, she’d worried about the same scenarios over the past weeks, but hearing them voiced by someone else made each seem more plausible and the chances of rescuing Court slimmer.
She pushed away the fears that accompanied those thoughts.
They must try. What other option was there?
“If Blackham’s crew is indeed on the island,” Hawke went on, “Leviathan will be anchored in the bay on the eastern side. They will most likely have encamped in the same location as The Good Will’s crew did.
There is a stream with fresh water, and fruit trees nearby.
The beach is sandy and flat, shaded by palms, and protected by tall rocks.
” He shrugged. “Lovely, and unfortunately very defensible.”
The crew listened, but rather than appearing afraid, as they had when discussing curses and sickness, they seemed intent, even eager. Annabelle felt the same. If she could, she would take a jolly boat to land right now and run across the island herself.
“Of greatest concern, however,” Hawke said, “are Blackham’s men.”
At this, the crew began to grumble, accompanied by scoffs and curses.