The Dreamer (9 page)

“Would you stop saying that?” he exclaimed angrily. “What madness has affected you now?”

“It isn’t madness, Captain. Don’t you see what we must do? We will find the treasure, you and me. And never worry about the future again.”

“Find the treasure? You
are
mad.”

“I’m not! The answers are all here.” I gestured to the buckle. “They’ve been here all the time, just waiting for someone to unlock them.”

His brows came down and he looked at me sternly. “What nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” I exclaimed. “You said the map didn’t have a legend, that it was illegible. But
this
is the legend. You’ve been wearing it around your middle all your life.”

He abruptly rose and walked away from me. “I told you, the treasure is a myth. It doesn’t exist.”

“Your father didn’t even know it for what it was. Perhaps he suspected, I don’t know. But he had the images on those scraps of paper engraved on his belt and burned the papers, knowing that the safest place to hide something was in plain sight.”

The captain turned and looked at me.

“It’s why I was sent to you, don’t you see?”

“
Sent
to me?”

“Yes. It’s why I’m here. My calling. My mission. This is what I’ve been looking for since I arrived.”

He looked at me. “What are you saying?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.

I stood and went to him again. But when I did, he backed away from me and put the desk between us as if he were afraid of me.

“We retrieve the map. We search for the treasure. We bring it to land and present it to the world. Our reputations will provide us with opportunities until the end of our days.”

He looked at me in horror. “You really are mad, aren’t you? Just how do you suggest we do all this?”

I blinked. “You know where the map is, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do
not
.”

I looked at him sternly, and he had the grace to look away. “Do you want to know what I think, Captain?” Without waiting for him to answer, I continued, “I think your father’s friends, the pirates who sided with him during the mutiny, continued in their piracy after your father retired from it. Fredrick, didn’t you say his name was? It was he and his men who arrived in time to save you when you were a child, and it was he and his men who raised you. And
that’s
why you can pilot these waters without being molested. Because you have
allies
in these waters. But you also have enemies, don’t you, Captain?”

He stared at me in surprise, but he did not dispute me.

“I could tell by the look on Finley’s face he was afraid when he heard the word pirate, yet a look at that pirate ship and he was at ease again. It’s the only explanation. And you know Marshall Looper still has that map, and that he is still searching. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

The captain came around the table and seized my arm. “Keep your voice down,” he bit between his teeth.

“Don’t you see, Captain? We
can
do this. We must.”

“What can we do? Are you seriously suggesting I take you out on the open ocean yet again? That we attack a pirate ship, steal a map that may or may not still exist, and go
treasure hunting
?”

“Yes,” I cried happily.

He released my arm, throwing me from him. “It’s out of the question,” he said succinctly, and then turned away and tore off the pretty jacket with no regard for its delicate material. “And what’s more, I don’t want you breathing a hint of this to anyone. Do you understand?”

I looked down at the buckle, carefully reading it. “It is very cryptic,” I said. “I can know very little until I see the map itself. It gives the direction of North, possible markings for landscape.”

“The fact you claim you can read the legend puts you in more danger than ever before,” he said more to himself than to me, nearly tearing his hair out with his hands. He turned to me suddenly. “Not anyone, not the crew, not anyone ashore, not even Finley, can know about it. You understand?”

I scoffed, still reading the buckle. “It also gives a date and time. Interesting.”

There was a noise at the door, and the captain looked up in consternation while I turned the buckle over in my hand and looked on the back. “Oh, darn. It’s empty,” I said.

Suddenly it was ripped from my hands and tossed to the floor where it clinked on the hard wood in protest.

“Enough. I demand you forget this madness. Swear never to bring it up again, not with me, not with anybody. We are going ashore, and you are going to
stay
there. Forever. If I have to bind and gag you to ensure it, I will.”

I smiled, exhilarated and revived, feeling more affection for him than ever before. “I’m so happy!” In my exuberance, I flung my arms around him. “And I know you well enough to see that your ostensible anger is only unconscious concern for my safety, Captain, and I think it’s sweet.”

I drew away and looked up at him, my hands gripping his upper arms. I continued gently, apologetically, “But you will change your mind. You will be convinced. No one can stop this. Not even you, O Captain my Captain, Mallory Tucker.”

I twirled in a circle before falling onto the bed, my arms outstretched, my eyes on the ceiling, a smile on my face.

There was a soft knock at the door, and I turned to see Finley enter. In his subdued, unassuming way, he asked the captain for his orders, thanked him, and quietly left.

But something on his face made me wonder if he perhaps overheard some of our conversation, in the way he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and at the captain not at all. I chided myself for being suspicious. And surely it wouldn’t even matter if he had overheard us. But I couldn’t help an odd shiver run down my spine.

Chapter Seven

Notes: First contact with aristocracy: a Duke Charles Dubois. Would make interesting case study. Manner and dress exceedingly pleasing. Cursory study reveals subject’s affable yet complex personality inordinately engaging to researcher. Witness similar reaction in general population.

Captain only exception. Disputes hypothesis. Explanation not forthcoming.

** Researcher experienced inordinate pleasure in title and hierarchy despite democratic upbringing. Intriguing. Customs and atmosphere affecting despite efforts at indifference: the standard protocol for researcher/subject relationship.

I leaned over the bow of the ship, watching the land slowly approach as we bobbed up and down on the waves. It seemed we were going tremendously fast all of a sudden with something like the shore as a marker.

England.

I turned to my notes that I held in my grip, and struggled against the wind as it attempted to take them from me. As I scribbled on the paper, my hair repeatedly blew into my face, blocking my vision, and I had to continually brush it away.

“I shall learn to fashion my hair according to the mode of the day, Captain. It will not do for me to …,” I looked up and found that he had moved down the deck, and was speaking to Finley. I went to him, notes and all, writing along the way.

I stood behind him, finishing a sentence, and when he turned, he bumped into me.

He cursed, then quickly asked if I was hurt.

“You always ask that,” I said complacently, “and I always say ‘no.’”

“If I’m always trampling you, it’s because you are always underfoot.”

I looked up, frowning. “You told me to stay close, didn’t you? I’m only obeying orders.”

“I am incredibly busy and simply don’t have time for your nonsense today.” He turned to leave.

“
Nonsense?
” I followed after him. “What is your problem? You’ve been snapping my head off since breakfast.”

He exhaled a long breath and shook his head. “I apologize.”

“Captain, I sense anxiety. Is there a reason for this?”

“I’m not anxious,” he told me, but he still avoided my gaze.

“Of course you are. Look at you, you’re in knots. What is causing so much apprehension? It started when ….” I looked around and saw his eyes on the distant shore. “It started when land came into view.” My eyes narrowed when he swung on me. “It is the approach of land, isn’t it? What is the problem, Captain? Don’t you like shore?”

“You’re mistaken Rachel, as usual.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m right, Captain. You should have seen the look on your face when I said it. You looked startled and a little afraid. I think I’m right, yet I don’t know what you should be apprehensive about. I should think you’d be relieved to be finished after a long journey, to finally return home and be able to rest. You certainly don’t act like the ship is your favorite place. So why should you be unhappy to find it come to an end.”

He looked out to sea, ignoring me now. But I wasn’t fooled. His ears were perked, his posture defensive.

I thought about it. “It can’t be because you’ll miss your crew. You aren’t exactly on the best terms with them. And Finley is definitely a permanent fixture in your life, so it can’t be that. You’ve no family on the other side of the ocean. And you’re home here. You are clearly English. If you’ll allow me, a psychological evaluation would — ”

He suddenly turned. “Would you stop talking like that,” he demanded.

I blinked in surprise.

“There you go again. You’re unintelligible. You speak as though you’re not even human, like you’re just studying us from afar. You changed for a while, and I thought … I hoped ….” He stopped momentarily and then shook his head. “But here you are once more, worse than ever.”

I opened my mouth but the words came with difficulty. “I-I was merely … that is, I was simply trying to understand ….” I shook my head.

The captain’s eyes widened, and I knew he regretted his outburst. His hands rose as though he were attempting to ward off an unpredictable beast. “Forget I said it, Rachel,” he begged. “Speak however you wish. For heaven’s sake, just don’t cry.”

I laughed. “Captain, I wasn’t going to cry.”

He lowered his hands and leaned back. “Of course not. I don’t know why I said it.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s humorous.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why. Women
do
cry. Particularly in this century.”

“Yes, but not
you
.”

There was silence, and I turned and looked out at the sea. My notes flapped in the wind, but they were safe in my grip and did not escape me. Without looking at him, I said casually, “You say that a lot, that I’m strange and different from other women. Would you prefer if I was more like the women you know?”

“Heavens no!”

I laughed. “You sound so alarmed. Why not? You just told me I was unintelligible.”

“Yes, well, I don’t understand most women.” He shook his head as he looked out at the ocean. “I ran into a beehive once when I was a boy. The bees flew about my face, sharp and stinging and too quick to swat away. That’s what women are like. Especially when they talk. Little and fragile and terribly dangerous. I just don’t know how to defend myself against anything so small and hateful.”

I was silent. He didn’t look at me, his face turned away. I couldn’t even see his profile. His posture was relaxed, but I could tell it was deliberate. “Do you feel this way about me?” I asked quietly.

He frowned thoughtfully and shook his head. “It’s true you speak quickly, like other women, and I very seldom understand you, either. But you’re different. Your tone, your expression is … almost masculine.”

“Masculine!”

“Yes. You aren’t offended or shocked by our seafaring ways. In fact, sometimes you hardly seem aware of us at all. I suspect you view us more as useful instruments than actual men.”

“And this pleases you?” I asked in horror.