Isle of Fire (29 page)
“We're almost there, sir,” said Mr. Jordan to the commodore's unspoken question.
And at last, up ahead to port, sticking out into the river like a dark finger, there was a long fishing pier. Mr. Jordan steered the ship expertly alongside. The crew of the
Oxford
tossed mooring lines overboard. Dockworkers tied off the lines, and the ship was secure. Mr. Tyler assisted several deck hands in lowering a gangplank.
Mr. Jordan and several of the
Oxford
's crew escorted Commodore Wetherby down to the pier just as the deck hands rolled several barrels to a stop. The commodore eyed the barrels and smiled. “Is this the surprise you promised, Mister Jordan?”
“Yes, sir, it is,” he replied. And then, nodding to the tallest of the dockworkers, Jordan said, “Evening, Captain.”
The dockworker opened the barrel and removed something. He placed it snugly on his head and ran a finger lovingly along the gold trim. “Hello, Nigel.”
“Blake!” Wetherby gasped, and his hand went to his waist. “What the devilâ”
“Not a good idea, old friend,” said Blake, lifting a pistol to Wetherby's eye level and cocking its hammer back. Wetherby looked around and saw that each of the men from the
Oxford
had also drawn guns. He'd be dead before he freed his own gun. He stared in disbelief as the other two dock workers looked up. It was Blake's wife and that meddling rat boy.
“Mister Jordan, if you please,” said Commodore Blake, “take Mister Wetherby's weapons.”
“Does that mean you wish me to cut out his lying tongue?”
“Don't tempt me.”
Mr. Jordan removed Wetherby's pistol, his cutlass, and a booted dagger. “He was heading to the Baltic Sea, Captain,” explained Mr. Jordan. “Said there's pirates on an island south of the Swedish mainland.”
“Gotland Island?” Blake muttered. “That's where Thorne's holed up, is it?”
Wetherby did not answer. He stared back at Blake venomously. Mr. Jordan smacked the commodore's hat off Wetherby and growled, “Answer your commanding officer, you turncoat.”
Wetherby's face reddened and his breathing quickened, but he didn't utter a word.
“Looks like someone's already cut out his tongue,” said Blake. “No, I imagine you've already said too much, haven't you?” Then he turned to Mr. Jordan. “Take him below decks and lock him up. We have one brief stop to make in Edinburgh, but then . . . let's complete Wetherby's course. Bartholomew Thorne has been playing dead long enough.”
“Yes, sir!” Mr. Jordan replied heartily.
But just as he jerked his captive around, the slightest hint of a smile appeared on Nigel Wetherby's face.
W
hat was that?” asked Anne, who had followed right behind Cat. They'd heard a peculiar sound like a metallic wheel turning. Then there came a muffled boom from around the bend behind them.
“I don't know,” said Cat, turning and pulling Anne back the way they had come. “Father Brun?”
No one answered. When Anne and Cat came around the bend, they found a dark iron door barring their way. “Father Brun!” Cat yelled.
“We're cut off,” came the monk's muted voice. “There's no latch on this side.”
“None on this either,” said Anne.
“Cat, Anne, try to find a passage leading up if you can,” said Father Brun. “We'll try to find you, but no matter what, try to find a way out.”
“What about the Merchant?” asked Anne.
There was a moment of silence. Then Father Brun said, “In my zeal to capture him, in my fervor at nearly having him within my grasp, I . . . I've led us into his trap. Find a way out, Cat. Forget about the Merchant. He has the upper hand!”
“Yessss, yes, I do,” said the Merchant. “Run little Cat, while you can. And good-bye, Father Brun.” The Merchant reached down beside the levers and grasped an iron wheel valve. With great effort, he turned the wheel to the left, followed by a larger wheel next to it.
Father Brun led and, with Brother Dmitri at his heels, raced back along the corridor. He saw an opening on his right and, hoping to circle back and find some way to meet up with Cat and Anne, he took it.
“STOP!!” Brother Dmitri bellowed. “That sound!” Above their racing hearts there arose a breathy, whooshing sound like waves crashing one after another on a shore.
Father Brun closed his eyes a moment and clenched his teeth. When he opened his eyes, he said, “He's let in the sea.”
“Run!” Cat yelled, racing down the tunnel away from the iron door.
“But which way?” Anne fired back. “We could be running to our deaths!”
“I don't see what choice we haâ” Cat went around the corner too fast. His boots lost traction on the slippery stone passage, and Cat sprawled to the floor. He cracked his chin smartly and tasted blood.
“Cat!” Anne ran to his side.
“Okay,” Cat said, spitting at the wall. “Walking it is, then.”
Anne laughed. “We'll walk fast,” she said, helping Cat to his feet. As he stood, he noticed a fist-sized hole cut into the rock overhead. No, cut wasn't quite the right word. It looked as if some strange eel-like creature had bored deep into the stone. Cat eyed it curiously for just a moment more, and the two of them trod ahead. The tunnel soon branched off. One passage very clearly went down, spiraling into darkness. The other went on more or less level but was more narrow and wet.
“This way,” Cat said. He opted for the lighted tunnel.
“No, not that way,” the Merchant hissed. He looked down at his network of levers and valves and thought for a moment. Then he said, “More complicated, and I don't want you there for long, but still it could serve the same purpose.” He pulled two levers at the same time and listened to the music of the metal wheels turning.
The water roared into the passage. Father Brun sprinted away. Brother Dmitri and the others bolted after him. They turned at the closed iron door and careened back into the main tunnel. A side passage leading downward opened suddenly on the left, but Father Brun saw another branch to the tunnel just up ahead.
Which one?
He had only three steps to decide.
“This way!” He took the first left, but no sooner was he through the opening, when a door swung slowly away from the wall and began to seal off the passage. Brother Dmitri tried to follow. His head and most of his body squeezed into the new passage, but the door caught his right shoulder. At that same moment, Brother Diego and Brother Cyprian tried to stop and help from the other side, but a torrent of seawater smacked into them. They scratched and clawed for a hold, but the flood took them screaming down the passage.
“Brun, leave me!!” bellowed Brother Dmitri, the water blasting through the gap between the door and the wall. “I am done!” The door continued to press on his shoulder. His eyes bulged, and he roared in anger.
Father Brun did not heed Dmitri's words. He fought through the spray and slammed his fighting rods into the narrow breach above Dmitri's shoulders. Then, using the rods as levers, he tried to pry back the door. Dmitri coughed, trying desperately to breathe, but the water pressure was so intense that every time he opened his mouth, it filled immediately. “GO!”
Father Brun lost hold of one of the rods for a moment but jammed it back into place. It was a better place, and the leverage started to work. Suddenly, one of the rods cracked and broke, and the door pressed even harder on Dmitri's shoulder. Dmitri made no sound, and Father Brun feared he was dead. He used both hands on the remaining rod and, uttering a silent prayer, pulled with all his might. The door moved just slightly, but it was enough. The water surged into the chamber, pushing Brother Dmitri through. He tumbled on top of Father Brun just as the door slammed shut.
“Dmitri . . . Dmitri!” Father Brun rolled him over and put his ear to Dmitri's lips. He wasn't sure if he heard or felt any breath at all. Even so, he hoisted his sodden friend up and began to drag him down the new passage. This was no easy task. Dmitri was a large man and, as dead weight, was extraordinarily heavy. Father Brun groaned with every step. His breaths came out in gasps, and he could feel his heart crashing against his ribs.