She was calmer this morning, apparently having accepted her fate, or maybe just biding her time until she was free of us. A thought had been on my mind since our conversation last night.
“Let’s go forward where we can talk without being overheard.” I grabbed her arm and led her to the bow. She resisted slightly, but I wanted the crew to see that I had a handle on her.
“Let go.”
“I’m not hurting you, and it’s for show,” I whispered.
We sat on the cover of the forward hold, both looking intently ahead, hoping for the first glimpse of land, which meant different things to each of us.
“We’ve got a problem,” I began.
She looked at me. “You have problems. I am getting off this boat and away from you murderers.”
“That is the problem,” I continued, before she could interrupt. “You think this band of rogues is going to let you walk away, knowing what you know?” She looked at me, and I knew I had her attention. “You know about the treasure and the murders. You know the whole story. Do you think you can just walk away from that?”
“The lot of you needs to meet the noose,” she said.
“Talk like that’s not going to get you home.”
“It’s the truth.”
There was no point in arguing with her. “I intend to honor my agreement with you, but we have to create a ruse, or this bunch won’t let you out of their sight alive.” I continued before she could interrupt. “I have a plan, but you’ll need to do your part.”
“As long as it has nothing to do with pirating or murder, I’ll do as you ask. But,” she paused. “Cross me, and I’ll watch this sorry lot of yours hang. I swear it.”
I looked away from her and saw a dot on the horizon. “There’s the first island.” I pointed. “You can be off this boat tomorrow and have your life back if you play along.”
29
The ship came to life as we passed the first small key. This was a tricky piece of water to navigate: shallow and riddled with shoals. Swift was forward, dropping the lead every few minutes and calling back the depth to Rhames, who held the wheel. He knew these waters better than any of us, but I could tell by the look on his face he was worried.
“You know how to find the pass?” I approached him.
“Aye, but it’s a bit tricky in this light. Best around noon when the sun’ll show you the deeper water.”
I nodded for him to continue.
“You’ll be following this chain of islands for sixty miles, then there’ll be a gap, and if you look to the left, there’ll be a chain of small cays curling toward the south. Mind the three-fathom line and turn toward the land in the distance. Follow the angle of the islands and you won’t ground.”
I was thankful for his knowledge and looked toward the sun, now about two hand-widths above the horizon, and calculated it would be dark in a couple of hours. We still had sixty miles of water between us and the pass leading to Cayo Hueso, or Key West. Too little time by a long shot to reach the channel, and sailing these waters at night was dangerous. The best thing to do would be to anchor here, where we’d be safe for the night, and move on in the morning.
“Let’s anchor for the night, then. It’d be good for everyone to get a bit of rest. We’ll have to set a watch, but just one man at a time.”
“Aye,” they responded.
We turned to the south and approached the shallow water, a light green in the setting sun. I called to the men to drop sail and allowed the boat to coast to a stop about a hundred yards from a small island. “Drop the hook.”
The chain rattled from the forward compartment as the anchor found the bottom and grabbed. The swing of the boat into the current let me know it held. Rhames ordered a hundred more feet of rode to be lowered before he was satisfied. I checked to make sure we were clear of any obstacles, as the wind had died, and the tide would swing us around when it changed.
“Right, then. Let’s get some food and set a watch. Tomorrow we make port.” I laid out the rotation of two-hour shifts before I left the deck and entered my cabin. I needed to think and wanted to be alone.
Minutes later, my peace was broken as Blue and Lucy approached the door. I called them in, and Lucy went to my leg to check the wound. Blue stood nervously by the door, and I sensed this was not the reason for their visit.
“You can close it if you want to talk,” I said, as Lucy removed the bandage. The leg looked close to normal in size and color now, although the claw marks were vivid and would leave a nasty scar.
He shut the door. “Mr. Nick,” he started, but stopped, as if searching for words.
Lucy took over, “We are scared to go to the big port the others are talking about.”
I thought I knew why, but let them continue.
Now that she had broken the ice, Blue said, “We are escaped slaves. If the wrong person should see us, we will be hung, or returned.”
I laughed, realizing it was the first time in days I’d done so. “You’re not the only ones that’ll be hung if the wrong person sees you. Several of the other crew have been pirating for too long.” Their concern made me complete the plan that was already forming in my head. “I was planning on putting them ashore at the island here and setting up a camp. You are welcome to go with them. I am little known and will take a skeleton crew to pilot the boat.” I chose not to tell them of Rory’s desire to leave, although on a boat this small there were few secrets.
“Thank you, Mr. Nick,” Lucy said as they left.
I left the cabin and went on deck, where I climbed aloft and looked out at the islands off the port side. There were three, and the larger looked to be a few hundred yards around, fair size, but you never knew if the mangroves concealed solid land or swamp. The deep water went to within feet of a small beach. There was a little light left, and I called to several of the men sitting on the deck to haul one of the canoes out of the hold.
We rigged the block and tackle to the canoe and, with four of us on the line, hauled the craft into the clear, swung it over the side, and set it in the water. I wanted to take Rory so I could tell her my plan without the prying ears of the crew, but she wasn’t in sight. Instead, I decided on Blue. If there was any man amongst us who could judge the habitat, it was him.
We climbed down the rope ladder and dropped into the boat, where we each took a paddle, and made our way toward the island. We quickly reached the small beach I had seen from the rigging, where we landed. I got out of the canoe, realizing we had arrived sans weapons, but there was little threat on this mangrove-covered spit. Blue took the lead as we went to the edge of the brush and entered the interior.
I felt clumsy as I followed him. Where he seemed to navigate the web of palm fronds and mangroves, I stumbled between them. To my surprise, we reached a small clearing near what I expected was the center of the island. It wasn’t large, but was high and dry. It appeared to have been used previously, as there remained evidence of a fire ring, fish bones, and stone tools. I picked up a small scraping stone and examined its crude construction. Everything appeared to be ancient, probably left from an Indian band camped here long ago.
“This is a good place,” Blue said, as he walked the perimeter of the clearing and peered into the brush. “Maybe no water, but the land is solid and there are no bugs.”
He was right. I had expected to be assaulted by mosquitos, but now realized there were none. This island seemed to rise from the water, unlike the moist swamp land the tortuous insects favored. We returned to the beach and paddled the canoe back to the ship just as the sun was about to disappear. I glanced back at the sun, partially cut off by a palm tree extending toward the water, and felt for the first time in weeks that it was good to be alive. That is, until I saw the fiery look on Rory’s face as I climbed the ladder and stepped on the deck.