“Right here!” Midge ran up, and Cat grabbed the barrel from him and began to pour it all over Caiman. The high-pitched whistles filled the tunnel, so loud that Cat could barely handle it without covering his ears. The white creatures fell off Caiman’s body in clumps. They crawled away and soon were gone. But there were other screams wailing at the other end of the tunnel.
“Midge, help Caiman!” Cat yelled. “If there are others, I’ve got to get to them.”
Cat raced up the tunnel. He found one man covered in the white creatures. They were actually dragging the man into one of the smaller side tunnels. Cat splashed the fluid on him, and again the creatures screeched and fell away. But it was too late. Blood oozed from a hundred wounds, and he was not breathing.
“Die!!” someone screamed up ahead. Cat heard a pistol shot.
Then another. The clash of a sword on the stone wall. “Filthy little maggots, die!!”
That had to be Red Eye, Cat thought. He had only a small amount of the monkey pee left in the bottom of the barrel. He hoped it would be enough. Cat found Red Eye slamming himself backward into the wall of the cave, mashing dozens of the creatures.
Cat splattered him with all the fluid that remained. As the creatures fell off, Red Eye began stomping them furiously. “Lousy little . . . take that! Yeahhhh, now you feel it! Arrrrr!”
“THIS WAYYY!” Captain Ross called from somewhere up ahead. Midge and Caiman sprinted past. Cat and Red Eye were right behind them. “THIIIIS WAYYY!!”
They emerged at last from the tunnel under the shade of wide tree boughs. All of them panted from the exertion; many of them were streaked in blood. Red Eye had cuts and wounds all over.
Caiman was worse. “We lost two men,” Ross said sadly.
“They should b’ listening,” Stede said. “Mon make their own choices. This b’ true.”
45
THE HOLY KEEP
Thorne and his men are still here,” said Ross. “I’m sure of it.”
“I hope yer right, Declan,” said Stede. With the forest now behind them, they marched warily up the steep incline. The volcano rumbled even more ominously than before. The ashen darkness overhead had thickened. Cat looked over his shoulder at the smoky crater and wondered. Their view was spectacular. If not for the fear cast over them all, each would have stopped to marvel. They saw the treetops of the forest and the pitted rock formation with its tunnels hidden within.
They could see the edge of the bay and, in the distance, the shards.
At last, Ross and his crew came within sight of the castle they had been seeking for so long. Made of black and gray stone, or just covered with a layer of ash, no one could tell. But the building maintained by the monks for so many long years looked solid and impregnable. It had three windowless turrets, the largest of which faced the hill that Ross and his crew were climbing. Behind this turret rose a high gabled roof over a magnificent square fortress.
Ross’s mind churned. They had met no resistance, other than the creatures in the tunnel. If Thorne was still on the island, where was he? Each man’s heart pounding in his chest, every sense on alert, they slowly drew near to the castle. They found a huge stone door ajar. Ross pushed the door open, and they gazed down a long corridor with small paintings on either side. The crew pressed in behind Ross, and they walked cautiously to the end of the hall where an engraving of the crucifixion of Christ gazed down on them.
Cat stared at the wounded Christ and found himself reaching for the silver cross in his coat pocket. Could they really be here, in this building? Cat wondered if the captain was thinking the same thing.
Ross had felt a strange gravity since he entered the holy keep. He had no reason now to doubt anything Padre Dominguez had told him. Still, he’d never really believed in God. He’d told his wife that on many occasions. Abigail had dragged him into church a few times, and he’d repeated after the vicar with the rest of the crowd.
But he hadn’t believed any of it. The volcano rumbled outside. Ross looked away from the engraving. Still, he felt like Christ’s eyes were following him.
Short passages led right and left of the engraving, and an odd glow came from doors at either end. It was a golden glow. Ross looked back at his men. He motioned for Jules to lead his group to the right. Ross went left. From both doors they entered a vast sanctuary lit by hundreds of candles and one large window. The men gasped as they entered, for the light was reflected in a million different directions and hues by gleaming gold, polished silver, and many-faceted jewels. It was not at all the sort of treasure the crew had pictured—massive, hedonistic piles of gold coins, with fallen silver statues, and jeweled trinkets hanging from chandeliers or tossed hither and thither.
No, what Ross and his men found was that the monks of the Brethren had organized the treasure into dozens of magnificent open stone vaults. There were vaults heaped with gold and others with silver. Many vaults were filled with jewels: red rubies, white and green diamonds. Some others contained all manner of weapons— gilt staffs, swords and daggers with jeweled hilts, and ornate shields of silver and gold. The immaculate orderliness of the monks made the Treasure of Constantine all the more impressive.
Ross and his men walked down two aisles between twenty rows of wooden pews. All had their eyes forward on the treasure, so they did not notice the numerous doors on either side of the sanctuary.
Stede ran his fingers over the green diamonds. Red Eye began sorting through the weapons. Jacques St. Pierre put down his barrel and lifted a pile of gold coins and finger bars up to his nose as if he could savor the smell of these riches.
Ross and Cat saw the altar at the same time and walked toward it. If they’d turned, they would have seen that everything in the sanctuary, the seats, the aisles, the vaults—even the candles—was angled to draw attention to the altar. Upon the altar were two items, a wooden chest and a large leather-bound book.
Stede turned and watched Captain Ross go to the wooden chest.
The others began to turn as well. Ross and Cat gazed at this chest.
It was more than large enough to hold the contents described by Padre Dominguez. There were carvings and designs engraved with gold and silver: a lion, a lamb, a tree, angels with flaming swords, and an intricate cross on the top. Declan Ross put his hands on the chest. He looked at Cat as if to ask, “Should I?”
Cat nodded. Captain Ross grasped both sides of the lid and began to lift. But the lid did not move. He tried harder, but it did not budge. The chest was locked, but look as he might, he could see no keyhole. And even had he found one, they had no key. Suddenly, Ross spun around, almost knocking a lit candle off its stand. Captain Declan Ross knew he had been beaten. He had led his men into this sanctuary. In a gilded trance, he had marched them up to dip their hands into the treasures. Then, ignoring all common sense, he went to the altar among the candles and let himself be captivated by the chest. He closed his eyes and drew his cutlass. Someone had to have lit all those candles.
“Men,” Ross said quietly, “I may have doomed us all. Raise your weapons! Stand your ground and prepare to fight for your lives!”
A deep, thunderous blast came from the volcano. Harsh orange light flashed in the lone window, and pistol shots rang out from above. Men appeared at the balcony of an upper story Ross and his men had not even noticed. The doors on both sides of the sanctuary opened, and enemy pirates streamed out like a torrent.
The crew of the Bruce dropped their baskets and their massive coils of rope. They let the riches from their hands fall back into the vaults. Every man took up arms and ran to meet the enemy. Jacques St. Pierre lit two grenades from candles and tossed them into the oncoming pirates. Jacques had crafted these weapons, making them as potent as the ones he’d used in Dominica. They exploded, sending heaps of men flying into the pews. But even as he spent grenade after grenade, the enemy kept coming in increasing numbers. Red Eye fired all seven of his pistols, felling seven of Thorne’s men, but more rushed forth to challenge Red Eye??
?s cutlass. Stede hacked through men with his machetes as if cutting grain during the harvest. Jules and Caiman knocked enemies to the ground with their bare fists. Ross and Cat defended the altar with cutlass and dagger, and for a time held off any challenge.
But this enemy had far more skill than Chevillard’s men. They used their far greater numbers and began to whittle away at Ross’s crew. Having spent his last grenade, Jacques St. Pierre was left to fight with his cutlass and dagger. Pirates closed in from both sides, but Jacques was agile and very fast. He ducked under a high attack meant to take his head and leaped over a swipe at his knees. He jabbed one enemy in the gut with his dagger, ran a few paces, and slashed his cutlass at whoever pursued. But his stick-and-run method of combat only worked when there was room to run.
Jacques leaped up on a pew near the back of the sanctuary and hacked an enemy across the shoulders. He slashed and stabbed, but the enemy hemmed him in. There was nowhere left to go.
From across the great room, Jules saw St. Pierre, and he realized with dreadful certainty that there was no one from his crew near enough to help the Frenchman. St. Pierre continued to fight, but in one moment he pointed down near Jules’s side. Jules looked down, saw the barrel, and understood. He kicked an attacker into the vault of green diamonds and then grabbed the barrel. He held its fuse in a candle’s flame and hurled the barrel across the room. A smile of gratitude on his lips, Jacques St. Pierre dove off the pew. He caught the barrel for a split second, flung it at his attackers, and fell into one of the vaults of gold. FOOM!! The barrel ignited, and though Jacques had designed it mainly to produce smoke, its explosion incinerated dozens of Thorne’s men.
Smoke billowed and swirled from the explosion. Many of the pirates still fighting could not see. Swords slashed from unseen places, daggers stabbed from the dark, and pistol fire laid many men low. In the chaos, Ross and Cat still held the altar. Jules, Stede, and Red Eye stood between the treasure vaults and fought valiantly.
Suddenly, there came a horn blast from within the sanctuary. The sound rang out near the window. For a moment, the fighting stopped. The smoke was beginning to clear, and pirates on both sides of the sanctuary turned to look. Bartholomew Thorne stood at the window. He had Anne in the crook of his elbow and quickly brought a pistol up to her head. “Stop!” he rasped, his eyes fixed on Ross. “You are wasting my men!”
“Father!” Anne cried out. Thorne tightened his grasp.
Behind Ross, Cat heard Thorne’s voice and looked up. And at last, he knew the man with cruel blue eyes, the man who had mercilessly beaten Cat’s mother to death.
“Tell what’s left of your men to stand down!” Thorne commanded. “Or your poor daughter, Anne, will die today.”
Ross moved fast. He kicked the sword from Cat’s hand, swung round him, and held a pistol to his head. “Tell your men to drop their weapons, Thorne, or I’ll kill your son!”
“Captain, what are you doing?” Red Eye whispered urgently.
The color drained from Bartholomew Thorne’s face. He stared through the drifting smoke. “Griffin?” he said, with shock and recognition. “How . . . how can this be?”
My name, Cat thought. Griffin Thorne.
Thorne’s brows lowered, and he leered at Ross. “Go ahead, Declan. Go ahead, Sea Wolf, kill the little blighter. You’ll only be finishing my job for me.”
Ross cocked his pistol. Cat pleaded, “Captain, no.”
“I’m not bluffing!” Ross exclaimed.
“I expect not,” said Thorne. “Not with your only daughter’s life on the line. You had better not be bluffing. Kill him, Ross. Put him out of my misery.”
Ross looked into Cat’s eyes, then back at Thorne.
“Why do you now hesitate? Maybe you were bluffing after all.”
Thorne cocked the lever on his pistol and moved the barrel to Anne’s temple. “You fail again, Ross. You wait too long to act. Just like when you lingered on the Caicos, allowing me to take your daughter. And just like that extra month at sea, away from your beautiful wife back in Edinburgh, eh, Ross?”
A ringing came to Ross’s ears. His blood turned to ice.
Cat reached into his pocket, felt the lock of hair. He grasped the silver cross and closed his eyes.
“Surely you didn’t think strong Abigail would take her own life—hang herself,” Thorne said. “I killed her, Ross, strangled her with my—”
Ross swung the pistol away from Cat and fired at Thorne, but his aim was off. A second shot rang out a split second later. Ross recoiled, a spurt of dark blood erupting from his neck. He slammed into Cat, and they both fell hard. Blood flowed out from Declan Ross. It spread on the cold stone floor and pooled around Cat’s silver cross. And the volcano outside rumbled louder.
46
THE FIRST MUTINY
Bartholomew Thorne shoved Anne against one of the stone pillars near the aisle. She sprawled onto her back, writhing in pain.
Thorne stepped up onto the dais where Ross and Cat lay stricken and picked up the silver cross. “I have been looking for this,” he said, wiping the blood off on his coat. He cast his gaze on Jules, Red Eye, and Stede. “Your captain is dead. Do you wish to join the dead and dying, or will you enjoy the spoils of this vast treasure?”
Thorne’s men had had time to reload. Dozens of pistols lifted and pointed at the last of Ross’s crew. “And that goes for the rest of you!” Thorne looked into the crowd. The remnant of Ross’s crew felt Thorne’s icy stare fall upon each of them. “I do not easily grant quarter, but I need more hands to carry this treasure out of here!”
“I will not ask again,” said Thorne. A low rumble shook the holy keep. Men glanced furtively at the window. It was nearly night, or so it seemed.
Anne looked up through a matted mess of her own hair. She saw her father sprawled lifeless near the altar. When men came forward out of the pews, men who had served Ross, some for many years, Anne wept.
“Good . . . good,” muttered Bartholomew.
Stede looked down at his captain and lifelong friend. He was prepared to die if need—wait! Stede turned his head subtly, stared for a moment at the area where Captain Ross’s chest met the floor.
Acting quickly, Stede dropped his machetes. They hit the floor with a dull clatter. “I’m sorry, Anne,” he said, and he turned quickly away from her anguished sobs. As he looked up to Thorne, he said, “I b’ wanting my fair share of that treasure. Especially them green diamonds.”
Thorne’s smile widened. He stepped down off the platform and grasped a fistful of sparkling jewels. He brought them to Stede, and let them fall one at a time into Stede’s hands. “A man knows what he wants,” said Thorne, his voice harsh and thick. “A man gets . . . what he wants.”
Stede turned to Red Eye and Jules. They looked at him with rage and murderous contempt. “What’s the matter with ya?!” Stede screamed. “Fool, mon! Don’ b’ throwing yer life away for nothing!”
Stede snatched a pistol away from one of Thorne’s men. Others nearby started to react, but Thorne held up a hand.
Stede took the gun and leveled the barrel right at Jules’s chest.
“Make the right choice,” Stede said, glaring into the big man’s eyes.
Jules gritted his teeth and dropped his cutlass.
Stede brought the gun to bear on Red Eye. The man’s scarred face twisted in confusion. He trembled with rage, but he bowed his head. His sword fell to the ground. His dagger followed. He reached into his coat and dropped two small axes onto the ground. He pulled a long thin knife out of one boot and a snub-nosed pistol out of the other. Last, he reached into a satchel at his side and removed a grenade. He handed that reluctantly to one of Thorne’s men.
Stede nodded and handed Thorne the pistol he had taken.
Thorne held Stede in his gaze and then said, “I can use a man like you.”
Thorne stepped up on the altar and stood near the wooden chest. Another rumble reverberated through the building. “Now, lads,” Thorne commanded, ??
?load the sleds! And don’t leave a bit of gold or a single jewel behind!” Thorne’s men watchfully ushered Stede, Jules, Red Eye, and the others away. They joined squads of Thorne’s pirates as they shot into the rooms on either side of the pews. Men in leather harnesses returned pulling large carts on skids.
They formed lines and began emptying the vaults of Constantine’s Treasure, one pailful at a time.
Cat groaned and started to push himself up from the floor.
Thorne motioned to a bald pirate with a stringy beard. “Mister Grimly, take some rope, tie Griffin to one of the pillars. Anne too— but to a different pillar, mind you!”
Grimly nodded and pointed to Ross. “What about ’im?”
Thorne gazed at the wooden chest and did not turn around. “I hardly think it necessary,” Thorne said. “But if he breathes, tie him up as well.”
“Aye, sir!” The rope Ross and his men had brought lay strewn across the sanctuary floor. Grimly ran to it, pulled out a boarding axe, and cleaved the rope in two. The first section he drew out was far too long. He walked back to its middle and cut it there. Then he yanked Anne by her hair and slammed her up against the stone pillar. She groaned and started to slide away, but Grimly sat her up. He pulled her arms back behind her in a kind of reverse hug of the column and began to cinch her tight with the rope. Round and round he went, until Anne was so constricted she could barely breathe or move her arms. Finally, in an oft-practiced motion, Grimly tied a devious knot behind her.
Cat had risen to his knees when Grimly slammed the flat of his axe against the side of his head. Cat fell over unconscious, and, like a spider, Grimly bound up his prey with the rope.
Grimly reached down and put two fingers on one side of Ross’s neck. To his surprise, he found a pulse. He thought about finishing him off with the axe. After all, being the pirate who killed Declan Ross would make for a nice reputation. Grimly glanced up at Thorne and thought better of it. He dragged Ross to another pillar, cut another piece of rope, and tied up his third captive.