Isle of Fire (25 page)

Three warships
, Cat thought.
Won't the Merchant be surprised
when he realizes the might of the Brethren is about to descend upon
him? It's a bit of overkill for one man
. The thought had barely traveled its course when several things happened in such quick succession that no one had time to react until it was too late.

There came a horrible, sharp cracking sound, and the
Celestine
was suddenly no longer sailing beside them on the right. Cat turned and looked aft. Their sister ship had come to a dead stop in the water, and a gaping black fissure had opened on its bow near the keel. The
Celestine
seemed stuck, perched at an odd angle, even as water poured into its hull. Someone yelled, “They've struck a reef, Captain! Trim the sail and come about!”

At that moment, Scully jammed his fists back toward Brother Javier. The cutlass blade slid across Scully's bonds right below the knot, and in a heart's beat, he was free.

“Scully, no!” Father Brun yelled, but Scully dove over the rail.

Cat, Anne, and Father Brun raced to the rail and scanned the waves. “Javier,” Father Brun cried. “Look aft!”

Javier dropped his sword and sprinted toward up the stairs leading to the poop deck. He strained to see down into the dark water. He looked for a head to pop up amid the whitecaps, but none did. “There's no sign of him!” he called back.

“Look here,” Cat said. He had picked up Javier's sword and held it up for all to see. Dark blood trickled down its blade.

“The fool,” said Father Brun. “He paid for his freedom with his life.” He was grim and silent for a moment. “Nonetheless, we cannot dwell on this. The
Celestine
is in need of aid.” Brother Keegan had deftly turned the ship around. The
Dominguez
had followed suit. They could all see that the
Celestine
was lower in the water and listing to one side.

Cat looked from the ailing ship back to the circle of black known as La Isla Desvanecente. “But what about the Merchant?” he asked. “The tide's coming in. We could lose this chance.”

“Believe me, Cat,” said Father Brun, “no one would regret the loss of the Merchant more than I would . . . but my brothers are in need. Even now, the tide's pushing the
Celestine
's hull onto that reef—the crew must be rescued.”

“I understand,” Cat said. “But with Scully gone . . . how will we ever find the island again?”

“We could just anchor and wait until tomorrow,” said Anne.

Father Brun noted that the
Dominguez
had surged ahead and was already nearing the
Celestine
. Then he turned and looked toward the setting sun. “I wonder about that sail you might have seen,” he said. “If the Merchant does indeed have ships near his disappearing island and they came upon us at night . . .” He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Cat couldn't believe it. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? How could they come all this way, get this close, and then just let him go? “So, that's it?”

“Either choice is grim,” said Father Brun. “If we go after the Merchant, we neglect the
Celestine
. The
Dominguez
may not get the crew to safety in time. And yet, if we go to my brothers' aid, and we let the Merchant escape us, then how many will perish because of his black influence in the world?”

“What if . . . ,” said Javier, still wiping blood from his sword, “what if we could do both?” They stared at Javier quizzically. “Ah, I will explain. Some of you sail the
Constantine
and rescue the men on our wrecked ship. Some of you take a cutter to the little island and find the Merchant.”

Father Brun's slow nods accelerated. “Yes . . . yes, that will work! Javier, you are a godsend. Cat?”

Cat grinned. “I'll give the order and get my sword.”

The sun was setting as the cutter made for the black rock island. Father Brun, Cat, and Anne worked the oars in the front. Brothers Diego and Cyprian heaved the oars against the waves in the middle. And Brother Dmitri alone anchored the cutter in the rear. The
Constantine
was already a hundred yards behind them, joining the
Dominguez
to rescue sailors from the disabled
Celestine
.

“Does the Merchant have guards?” asked Brother Cyprian.

“Scully did not specify,” said Father Brun. “But I have no doubt he will. You do not ask out of fear . . .”

“No, Father Brun,” he replied, straining and arching his back. “But if the Merchant is not alone, how will we know which man is he?”

“I have seen him,” Father Brun whispered.

“You've seen the Merchant?” Cat and Anne asked as one.

“Only once, and it was a long time ago . . . just after I joined the Brethren.”

“Why haven't you told us before?” asked Cat.

“It is not something I like to remember.” Father Brun winced. “But . . . you are right, you should know. I was studying under a great leader of the Brethren, Father Vincente, in Curaçao. One morning, I left the church on my usual visit to the marketplace. Halfway there, I realized I hadn't brought my money, so I returned to the church. I was on the steps when I heard Father Vincente groan. I threw open the doors and found a man standing over Father Vincente's body.”

“The Merchant?” Anne asked.

Father Brun nodded. “He fled, but I chased him into the rectory behind the church. I managed to trip him up on a narrow flight of stairs, and that's when I saw him.”

“What did he look like?”

Father Brun replied quietly, “. . . Pale, diseased, cold.”

There were no more questions.

The narrow cutter sliced between some waves, crested and slid down the backs of others, and blasted through the rest. It was growing dark, when the cutter reached the stony shore of La Isla Desvanecente. Brother Dmitri quickly found a curving hunk of coral and tied off the cutter. He gave the knot special attention. The last thing any of them needed was to have the cutter float away while they were inside.

Father Brun and Brother Cyprian each carried oil lanterns. “The island is much larger than it appeared,” said Father Brun. “Much of it is already under the water. The tide concerns me.”

“Ah, why the worry?” scoffed Brother Dmitri. “We're just going after one of the most diabolical madmen in history, chasing him into his own lair which at any moment could be completely submerged beneath the waves.” No one laughed.

“Here!” Brother Cyprian called. “I found the bulkhead door.” Cat and the others surrounded Brother Cyprian, and they all stared down at a circle of dark iron so crusted over with coral that it was hard to discern as having been a door at all.

“No sense wasting time,” said Brother Dmitri, and he reached down and grasped an iron bar that protruded like a kind of handle. He gave a mighty pull, but it did not move. He shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his stance to get more leverage. He pulled again. “Ah!” Brother Dmitri jerked back his hand. In the lantern's light, all could see the blood surging from the gash on his palm. “That coral is razor sharp!” Without another word of complaint, Dmitri reached down and tore a strip of cloth from one leg of his breeches and bound his hand. “That door is shut tight.”

“Maybe there's another hatch,” said Anne.

“Scully mentioned only one,” said Father Brun. “One way in. One way out, he told us.”

“Scully lied.” Anne called out, “Bring the lantern.”

They joined her and discovered a dark iron door identical to the first. Cat reached for its handle. “Mind the coral,” said Brother Dmitri.

Cat threaded his hands onto the metal and gave a tug. The hatch came immediately free, surprising Cat, who fell backward, barely keeping upright in a pool of ankle-deep water. Cat looked behind him and saw nothing but the dark sea. “That was close.”

“Too close,” said Brother Dmitri. “Be more careful. Now is no time for swimming.”

Cat joined the others at the now-open hatch. “There's light,” said Brother Diego. They stared into a five-foot-wide tunnel that plunged straight down into the rock. A seemingly never-ending ladder led down, vanishing and reappearing several times in the pale greenish light that emanated from unseen recesses in the glistening stone.

“Maybe he's expecting us,” said Anne.

“I do not know how that could be,” said Father Brun, and he abruptly closed his eyes in prayer. “Nonetheless we place our lives in the hands of the Almighty. Father, be for us a light in dark places, amen.” Then Father Brun reached into a fold of his cloak and withdrew a short but wickedly sharp dagger. “I will go first.”

“Are you certain?” the Merchant asked, his dark eyes glistening with interest.

“As certain as I live,” said a sopping wet Edmund Scully. Blood still seeped from the wound on his forearm, and he clutched it to his chest. “He calls himself Cat, but he is the son of Bartholomew Thorne. There is no mistaking his features: eyes, angle of the brow, and the line of his chin. But to put it beyond all doubt, I overheard him speak of it.”

“This is . . . an interesting development,” said the Merchant. His tongue slithered like a serpent between his sparse teeth. “Of course, you should never have brought them here, Mister Scully. We had an arrangement.”

“Yes, of course,” Scully said, trembling from much more than the cold. “But given your new association with Bartholomew Thorne, I thought that you would want, that you could use, his son to—”

“Be silent.” The Merchant barely whispered those words, but it may as well have been a voice as loud as a cannon blast. “Due to your weakness, I have lost much—the secrecy of my unique lair is forfeit.”

Scully leaned backward. They sat in a wide oval chamber where many tunnels converged. Scully didn't know where each tunnel led, but he didn't like the cold look in the Merchant's depthless eyes. Scully's muscles tensed, and he prepared to dart for the nearest tunnel.

“Still,” said the Merchant with a grotesque, canker-ridden smile, “in your ignorance you may have brought me a prize worth more than my loss.” He rubbed at his pointed chin. “How many ships did the Brethren muster?”

“Only three,” Scully replied nervously. “And one of them is impaled upon your reef.”

“The
Perdition's Gate
is due to arrive within the hour,” said the Merchant. “The Brethren vessels do not stand a chance.”

“But two ships against one?”

“The Brethren are warriors, but their skill stretches very thin on the ocean. My men and my weapons are far superior.” The Merchant stood. “Now, who will venture ashore? Will Thorne's son . . . Cat, will he—”

The Merchant became silent, but other voices filled the chamber. “Cat, there's a wrung missing. Watch your step.”

“I see it,” a voice answered. “Anne, be careful.”

“That's Father Brun,” whispered Scully. “And Cat is with him. But how—? They sound as if they are in the room.”

“Nay,” said the Merchant. “They descend the west tunnel.”

“How . . . how do we hear them?”

“The acoustic nature of my abode,” said the Merchant. “Tubes that formed long, long ago as this molten column cooled in the water of the sea. There is even a place in the center of my lair where I can monitor almost all of these upper chambers. Come, walk with me. I will show you. And, perhaps, you can be of some use yet.”

Scully stood, pleased that he could repay his mistake. The Merchant led him along a winding corridor until they came to a doorway with a low arch. “You'll need to duck through here,” said the Merchant, stepping aside.

“It's dark,” said Scully. “I can't see—” It wasn't much of a push, just enough to cause Scully to lose his balance. Windmilling his arms and clawing at the air, Scully fell into endless dark. Scully's scream—a shrill, desperate wail—reverberated through the tunnels and then ended quite suddenly.