David Wood
Buccaneer
Dedicated to John Blake, for always being there for us.
Prologue
It was a stormy day on the Arabian Sea. Dark clouds hung low on the horizon and an angry wind scoured the decks with salt spray. William Kidd stood on board the Adventure Galley, surveying his prize. The merchant vessel sailed under Armenian colors, but carried French passes guaranteeing its protection, and that made it a fair game. They’d taken it with little resistance offered by its crew. If its cargo holds carried half the wealth he hoped, he would be a rich man.
“Captain, may I have a word?”
He turned to see an ashen-face Joseph Palmer standing behind him, shifting his weight from side to side and looking about as if fearful of being overheard.
“What is it, Palmer?”
“We have a problem.” The sailor dropped his gaze, reluctant to continue.
“What is it? It can’t be the cargo. The ship was riding too low in the water for her to be empty.”
“No, Captain, it isn’t that. It’s the finest haul we’ve ever made. Gold and silver, silk and satin, and all sorts of fine things.”
Kidd tried not to let relief show on his face. It would not do to reveal that he’d had even the slightest doubt. Loyalty among his crew was tenuous at best, and the dogs would bite at the first show of weakness on his part.
“So, what is this problem?”
Palmer cleared his throat and looked up at the gray sky.
“It is not a French vessel.”
Cold fear trickled down Kidd’s spine. The man had to be mistaken.
“It is an Indian ship,” Palmer continued, “captained by an Englishman.”
“That cannot be. It is under French protection. French!”
“It’s the truth all the same.” Palmer shrugged. “The captain of their vessel, he wants to see you.”
“Then he may come and see me. I will show him all the proper courtesies.” His thoughts raced. He was a privateer, not a pirate, but, after this incident, it might not be seen that way back in England. Perhaps he could reach an arrangement with this captain. “Bring him aboard.”
“There’s a problem with that. We tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t stop fighting. Finally, Bradinham stuck him in the gut. He’s in a bad way, and I don’t think he’ll last much longer. He says it’s important. He said he…” Palmer stopped and scratched at his chin whiskers. “What was the word? It was something like ignore.”
“Implore.”
“That’s the one.” Palmer’s expression brightened. “Shall I take you there?”
Kidd saw no way other than to face the problem and work his way out of it.
“Very well, sailor. Let us go.”
The wounded captain sat propped up on the bed in his cabin. His quarters were austere, not at all befitting a man of his rank, Kidd thought. Blood soaked through the heavy bandages wrapped around his abdomen, and loss of blood had drained him of any color he might have had. He forced a smile as Kidd came through the door.
“Be welcome, Captain.” His voice was as thin as old parchment. “Please, close the door.”
Puzzled by this courteous reception, Kidd complied.
“I understand you wish to see me.”
The man’s gray eyes, glassy with shock, locked on his.
“Are you a man of God, Captain Kidd?”
It was not a question he would have expected, considering the circumstances.
“Of course,” Kidd replied.
“You are needed to do God’s work.” A series of painful coughs racked the captain’s body, and red froth oozed from the corners of his mouth. “I need you to deliver something to England. It must not be lost or fall into the wrong hands.” He handed Kidd a canvas bag. Inside was an ivory document case, very old and ornately carved. Bound to it was a sheet of parchment with instructions on where and to whom to deliver it.
Kidd frowned. The man’s urgency indicated this was something of great value. Perhaps he could profit from this transaction.
“Captain Kidd, please listen to me.” The man could scarcely manage a whisper now. His time was short. “Do not think to circumvent God’s will. That way leads to ruin.”
Kidd nodded. He was above such superstitious nonsense, but no harm in humoring a dying man.
“Believe me.” He pulled down the neck of his shirt, revealing a brand on his left breast. He was a hairy man, and the brand was now a pale scar, but Kidd recognized the symbol immediately.
Surprised, he took an involuntary step backward, his head swimming, and clutched the wall for support.
“It can’t be,” he gasped. “They are all dead!”
The dying captain managed a weak smile.
“Not quite. Not yet.”
Chapter 1
It was like walking on Swiss cheese. Avery chose her steps with care as she wound between sinkholes and abandoned shafts. Damn treasure hunters. They’d torn the island apart over the last two centuries and for what? A legend. Then again, she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t a believer.
She paused, straining to listen for any sound that would tell her where work was going on. She didn’t know exactly where the crew would be, probably somewhere near the reputed location of the famous Money Pit.
It had been a long hike from the causeway. Not so long ago, you could drive onto and around the island, but no longer. The local government had taken it over and shut it down, citing safety concerns. Now, no choice remained other than hoofing it. One hundred forty acres sounded small until you had to walk across it in the blistering sun, all the while worrying that your next step would send you plunging down into darkness and whatever lay beneath.
She brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face, feeling the damp sheen of sweat and humidity that clung there. She knew she should have made an appointment, but when she’d heard the news about the new crew undertaking the search, she couldn’t wait, knowing she might not get a chance like this again. Now, if she could only make him listen.
Passing through a dense stand of the oak trees that gave the island its name, she looked out across an open space where workmen had, over the years, stripped away the native forest. There! Far across the clearing, workers milled about, setting up equipment and surveying the area. Pleased that she’d been correct about their likely starting point, she picked up the pace. She thought she saw one of the workers, a tall, dark man with long hair, turn and look her way.
Avery felt the ground give way beneath her feet. She sprang back a moment too late. Her scream didn’t quite drown out the muffled snap of rotten wood shattering. She reached out, her fingers digging furrows in the soft earth as she struggled in vain to hold on to the edge of the abandoned treasure pit. She caught hold of a thick tuft of grass and, for one blessed moment, hung motionless over the void.
And then, with a tortured, ripping sound, her lifeline tore free. She battered the inside of the shaft as she slid downward, grasping for a handhold. Sharp pain lanced through her as jagged rocks sliced her palms and battered her legs. Her ankle caught on a thick root, turning painfully beneath her, but it slowed her fall enough that she was able to grab hold and loop one arm around it.
Frozen with shock, she could only gasp for breath as she gazed up at the circle of light far above her. She could have sworn she’d fallen a hundred feet, but it was more like twenty. It might as well have been a mile for all the hope she had of climbing back out. She thought of the man who had looked her way. Might he have seen her fall? Maybe, but she couldn’t count on it.
“Help!” Her scream was not one of panic, but more a matter of hedging her bets. She didn’t know if anyone at the work site could hear her from so far away, but it couldn’t hurt to try. She considered adding, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” but even her morbid sense of humor wouldn’t permit it. She shouted again, this time loud enough to send a sharp, stabbing pain through her vocal cords. “I fell in a shaft! I need help.”