Isle of Fire (17 page)

But Cat was already sprinting into the bush. “I'm sure!” he called back.

“I'll go after him!” yelled Anne over her shoulder. But no sooner was she in the woods than the ground seemed to drop away. The incline was steeper here than on the narrow path they'd walked to get to the tavern. Anne found herself painfully bounding down the hill. Her vision became a green blur as branches whipped at her face and sawed at her arms. She tripped once and gasped, almost going over but somehow regaining her balance. Between the branches and trunks she searched desperately. Where had they gone?

She finally slowed her descent just before she came to a ridge of stone.
One more step
, she thought, shaking her head. The ridge was a cliff of sorts, and the sudden fall could have been deadly. From this vantage, Anne spotted Cat—and Scully.

They were running though thick foliage, and Cat almost had him. He lunged for Scully, nearly grabbing his shirt, but a branch came whipping back and caught Cat full in the chest. Cat staggered, fell, and rolled several painful revolutions down the hill. He regained his footing and stood. Then, clutching his ribs with one hand and fending off branches with the other, Cat continued the pursuit.

Cat was falling behind. Suddenly, Scully veered left, doubling back toward the main path.

Anne darted back the way she had come, trying to follow just the right angle.

Little glimpses of black, that was all Cat saw of Scully as he darted ahead of him through the trees and foliage.
The man is as nimble as
a rabbit,
Cat thought. The way he changed directions and made turns, all the while careening downhill—it seemed inhuman. Still, Cat managed to stay within sight of him.

Suddenly, a wall of the tallest ferns Cat had ever seen sprang up, and the whole world went green. The stalks were wide and feathery and spread in every direction. They grabbed at his ankles, which was not what Cat wanted as he plunged down the hill. Cat held his arms up to shield his eyes, but the plants were too thick. Cat could no longer see Scully at all. Cat slowed down. Then came to a stop. He listened for Scully's footfalls.

But there was nothing. Cat had lost him.
Think!
he told himself.
Where would Scully go? Back to his ship, of course, and then off the
island. But where would he moor his ship?
Cat looked to the north.
Certainly not Montego Bay. Much too crowded for Scully's liking. No,
he'd find a place where he could come and go without notice.

Cat tried to recall the map Father Brun had shown him. There wasn't really a proper inlet to the northeast, not without crossing over Montego Bay. There wasn't anywhere else to put a ship without being noticed, unless . . .
Scully doubled back on me! Mosquito Cove—it had
to be.
It was the only inlet close enough to the main road. Cat made up his mind and tore off to the east. The more Cat thought, the better it sounded. The only question was, how far ahead had Scully gotten? And that depended on when Scully had doubled back on him.

But those concerns couldn't be helped. Cat sprinted diagonally down the hill. He found the footing awkward but still easier than going straight downhill. He picked up speed and raced on.

The wall of green ended just as abruptly as it had begun. Cat couldn't believe it. Scully was just ahead—thirty, maybe forty yards. Cat charged ahead, throwing his body recklessly forward and gaining speed. His heart pounded, and his thighs burned. Thin branches sliced his upper arms. Thick branches snapped, but left bruises behind.

Scully did not seem to be running at full speed, and Cat thought that perhaps Scully had not realized that Cat had come through the fern forest. Cat ate up the ground between them. Grabbing at the man's coat had not worked out so well the first time, so Cat decided to throw himself at the man's ankles. The distance between them shrank: twenty yards, fifteen, ten . . . he was right behind him now, near enough to—

Just before Cat leaped, Scully turned his head. He saw Cat and, like a ship catching a sudden gust of wind, Scully surged ahead. “It's no good, Scully!” Cat growled, but the man was fast. He started to pull away. And through the sweat and hair in his eyes, Cat saw that they were reaching the edge of the forest. There was some kind of clearing ahead.
No . . . not the road!
Cat thought with horror. If Scully hit the open road, he would be gone. He could duck into a building, slither into an unknown crawlspace, or cut down a side street and disappear. Cat summoned all the strength he had left in his legs, sprinted a few more steps, and dove.

In midflight, Cat flung his arms out and then wrapped them around . . . nothing. He slammed into the mulchy ground and got a face full of dead leaves. Cat jumped to his feet and looked up only to see Scully run off. But then something incredible happened. Scully reached the forest's edge and suddenly flailed into the air with his feet flying up behind him. He crashed hard. Cat heard the scatter of gravel, several sharp curses, and then a low moan. He ran to the edge of the woods, and there was Anne with her leg stuck out in the path.

She shrugged. “Oops . . . he tripped.”

The three ships of the Brethren had sailed out of Montego Bay and moored off the coast of a deserted cay. Father Brun and Brother Dmitri had taken a very defiant Edmund Scully into Father Brun's cabin. Cat and Anne waited just outside the cabin's door for an hour, but it seemed like an eternity. All their hopes of finding the Merchant depended on what Scully knew.

“What do you think they've done to him?” Cat asked.

“I can't imagine they've been smacking him with a club,” said Anne. “We haven't heard a thing.”

“He wouldn't, would he?” asked Cat.

“Wouldn't what?”

“Smack Scully with a club or whip him or anything like that?” Cat waited for Anne to answer. When she didn't, he said, “I mean, Father Brun and Brother Dmitri, they're monks, Christians . . . they can't just beat the information out of Scully, can they?”

Anne was silent a few moments, and her eyes became glassy as she remembered another member of the Brethren, Padre Dominguez, who had befriended her and protected her before Thorne tortured him to death. “I don't know, Cat,” she said. “In some ways, the Brethren are at war. What the Merchant has done throughout history . . . what Edmund Scully has done . . . unspeakable things! If they have to hurt Scully in order to capture the Merchant . . . how many lives might be saved?”

Cat nodded slowly. He hadn't thought of that.

“Besides,” Anne continued, “the monks, the members of the Brethren, they aren't your usual monks. I watched Padre Dominguez knock the starch out of a dozen pirates—all while I was reading the Bible to him. These Christians aren't afraid to fight, and you know what? I don't blame them. There are a lot of evil men in this world. Someone has to fight them.”

Before Cat could comment, the cabin door swung open. “Cat, Anne, prepare the ship,” said Father Brun as he emerged from the room. “We sail for Pine Island off the coast of Cuba.”

Brother Dmitri appeared in the doorway. “The Merchant has built a stronghold on a unique tidal island.
La Isla Desvanecente
, it is called . . . the disappearing isle.”

“But thanks to Scully,” explained Father Brun, “we will be able to find it.”

“Then,” said Brother Dmitri, brushing between Cat and Anne and walking toward the stairs, “we will at last stem the Merchant's bloody tide.”

When Scully didn't follow Father Brun and Brother Dmitri out of the cabin, Cat and Anne peered nervously into the room. They saw Scully seated on a small chair in the middle of the room. His wrists were bound and rested in his lap, but Cat and Anne could see that he was shaking. And his face was ghost white. Sweat dribbled down his forehead and poured down his cheeks. His eyes were as big as saucers, and his large dark pupils darted this way and that.

Cat leaned back into the hall and looked aghast at Father Brun. “What . . . what did you do, stab him?”

Father Brun laughed out loud. “We did no such thing,” he said. “Neither of us laid a hand on Scully.”

Anne looked again at their frightened captive. “Well, what did you do to him?”

Father Brun sighed. “Brother Dmitri has a terrible scar on his right forearm. Have you seen it?”

Cat and Anne nodded. It was hard to miss such a scar.

“Well,” Father Brun went on, “Dmitri simply explained to Scully how he got the scar. You see, Dmitri was working for a blacksmith in Spain and caught his arm on a piece of metal that had fused itself to the roof of the forge. His arm literally roasted above the superheated fires before he could tear it free. Tragic really, being caught in the flames for even a few seconds . . . unimaginable pain.” Father Brun shook his head and began to walk away.

“That's all?” Cat exclaimed. “You got Scully to reveal the Merchant's secret location by showing him a scar?”

Father Brun stopped at the stairs but did not turn around. “Oh, there was one other thing.”

“What?” Anne blurted out.

“Then we told Scully the truth about hell.” Father Brun turned then, and his pale eyes seemed luminous in the torchlight. “After that, he was uniquely inclined to speak to us. In fact, I have a suspicion that he may now desire to join the priesthood. Why don't the two of you bring Brother Scully up on deck?”

14
A DEAD MAN'S TALE

F
ive, six . . . seven. Ross counted the cannon blasts even as he and Jules at last cut through the base of the fallen mast. The
Bruce
drifted to port, and the mast slid off the deck into the black water. Ross had already seen the precision of the Ghost's gunners, but he shut his eyes anyway, praying that Bellamy would somehow miss with every shot. Ross's thoughts turned to his daughter. He'd made the right decision to send Anne with Cat after all. Ross waited for the cannonballs to strike home. He waited and heard . . .

“Declan!” Stede shouted. Then more cannon shots in the distance. “Declan, get up here! Mon, ya got to b' seeing this.”

Suddenly, Ross felt himself hoisted off the ground. He opened his eyes and saw the deck rushing by. Jules had picked up the captain and slung him over his massive shoulders. “Jules, what are you . . .” Ross groaned. “Jules, put me down!”

Jules did exactly that, placing Ross on the quarterdeck next to Stede and the ship's wheel. Stede slapped his captain on the back. “Look, look!” he cried, pointing desperately to the stern.

Ross turned and saw not one but three ships. Bellamy's frigate was one of them, but . . . Ross squinted and saw that one of the new ships had three sharp finlike sails and a very low draft. It sailed behind Bellamy's ship and fired almost continuously. Ross exhaled a mighty sigh. The ship was a xebec . . . the
Banshee
. “Well, call me an eel!” he said. “Cutlass Jack, you rascal!”

“And Lâchance!” exulted Stede. “That other ship b' a galleon,
Le Vichy
! They come up on Bellamy like Bellamy come up on us,” said Stede. “Now, they b' driving him to our portside.”