“You’ve got the landmarks right, but the scale is wrong,” he said, as we sat over the chart table in my cabin. “See here,” he said, pointing to Indian Key and running his fingers over the longer Matacumbe Key below it. “This is where we are,” and he moved his finger to Duck Key, with the longer Vaca Key behind it. “If you don’t know these waters, they likely look the same from a distance. Closer in, I reckon you would have figured it out.”
“But we are west of Indian Key by twenty-odd miles.”
“There’s some currents in these waters that’ll fool you. There was no time to run the log line yesterday, and with the wind from the northeast as it is, the water’ll be movin’ in that direction as well. Could be close to a three-knot current.”
I traced the route back to the area where we had crossed the reef, close to a hazard marked as Sombrero Key. “We passed by that? And you knew?”
“Don’t reckon there was a choice, was there?”
He was right, and I realized just how close we had come to destruction. “You know this area, then?”
“Been through once or twice. You’re one of the lucky ones to make it past Sombrero in one piece. Some gold and silver’s sitting out there for the taking.”
Impressed by his knowledge, I did the calculation in my head and realized a three-knot current running against us would put us just where he said we were. “Is there a good anchorage here?”
He pointed to the western tip of the long island. “There’s a small village in a deep harbor there called Port Monroe. More like a couple of shacks than a village, and the island protecting the anchorage is big enough the Navy ship won’t be able to see our masts behind it.”
The spot looked suitable, and I was happy that he had no objections to our dodging the Navy ship. Possibly the fortune in silver in the bilge had something to do with that, but I took him at face value.
“I need to tend my friend.” He got up to leave.
“How is he?” I asked. “If we can get back to these islands,” I said, pointing to the chart, “I have a woman that is a healer there.”
“He’ll be needin’ something. Right now he’s alive, but a fever burns deep. I’m afraid to move him from the hold.”
I pulled the leg of my pants over my calf and showed him the scars. “She cured me of this, I think she can help your friend.”
“I’m sure there’s a story there,” he said, and got up to leave.
I followed him from the cabin and watched as he took a bucket of water and some dried turtle down into the hold. Swift had the watch, and I went to the helm. “Mason says there’s a harbor around that point there.”
“Oh, Mason says, does he?”
I knew he was worried about losing power to the newcomer. “You’ve got a share of everything larger than he even knows. If he’s got value, especially in these waters, we need to use him.”
“Aye. Any hazards?” he asked.
I pointed toward an area just before the tip of the island. “He says there’s some shallows and to give it some leeway as you go around. I’ll wake Syd to help with the sails.”
Mason and Syd were both on deck, and I decided to trust the newcomer at the helm. Swift reluctantly turned over the wheel after I recounted the man’s knowledge of the area, and the three of us went to work the sails.
“Need a lead?” I asked.
“No. I’ve been here. Might take down a bit of canvas, though. It’ll be close quarters when we round the bend.”
We dropped the foresails into their lazy jacks, lashed them down, and climbed the main mast to release the topsail. We were still moving fast—I guessed at seven knots—and remembered what he had said about the current. Now that it was working in our favor, we were making the same speed as the opposite direction with less than half the sail.
“Prepare to come about,” he called, as he cut the wheel to starboard.
We moved forward and watched the sails swing to port, where they caught the wind. He called orders to release the jibs and spill some air from the mainsail as we hugged the northern bank and made for the half-dozen shacks ahead. A hundred yards out he called to drop the main, and we crept forward
“Drop the anchor,” he called, as we slowed to a near stop, and he swung the boat into the current.
With a bit of regret, I threw the silver ballast overboard, but not before checking the attachment. I did not want to lose this anchor. It held, and the boat pulled tight, then swung a few degrees with the bow into the current.
“Joshua Appleby!” Mason stood at the rail and yelled toward the shacks.
“What the hell is he doing?” Swift asked.
Syd moved his hand to his dagger, ready to silence the man. “Let it play out. He’s been nothing but honest and, without his help, we might be wrecked on the reef.”
He relaxed his hand, but it remained on the hilt of the knife.
“He’s no better than you,” Mason said. “You’ve no worries here.”
A figure appeared on the porch of the closest building. “Joshua. It’s Mason. I’ve got a man in need of attention.”
“And the rest? I know that boat. Smugglers and slavers the last I looked.” He cupped his hands and yelled back.
“They took the boat from that lot. I suspect you might get along with this bunch. Now would you kindly row out here, we’re without a launch.”
The four of us stood by the rail as the man rowed to us. A handful of people had gathered on the shore as well, two small enough to be children, but they looked dark-skinned, and I doubted it was a coincidence.
“Those two,” I called down to the man, as Mason tossed him a line to secure the boat.
He looked up and growled, “Can you wait a bloody minute?”
The boat tipped, and I suspected from the way his cheeks showed red in the lantern light that he had been drinking. I decided not to press him. As anxious as I was, I would know soon enough.
He exchanged a few words with Mason, and we went to rig a stretcher to haul the man from the hold. Swift found a board and we descended into the darkness. He was still alive, but his skin was red and swollen, and I could tell he held heat without touching him. We rolled him onto the board and fashioned a harness to secure him to it. Swift, Syd, and I went above to raise him, while Mason stayed below to guide the stretcher. He came up easily, and I saw why as the moonlight illuminated his emaciated body.
We swung the boom overboard and started to lower him to the launch.
“Best get a man down there. Your friend Joshua doesn’t look too steady on his feet,” I said to Mason.
He descended the rope ladder to the launch and signaled that he was ready. Hand over hand, we lowered the stretcher to the deck of the waiting boat.
“We’ll come back out for you,” Mason called, as the man released the line and started to row to shore.
“Not that I don’t trust them, but something’s odd with that group on the shore, and I don’t mean to wait,” I told Syd and Swift, before pulling my shirt over my head and diving in the water.
The water was cold, but after a week without bathing, it felt good as the sweat and grime washed from my skin. I swam the distance to the beach and waded onto shore. The two figures came toward me and I knew I was right.
“Mr. Nick,” Blue said as he came toward me. Lucy rushed past him and embraced me. “Mr. Nick, bad men come to the island with uniforms. They take Red.”
“And what of Rhames?” I looked around, hoping my right-hand man would show himself.
“Mr. Rhames is in the shack, drunk,” Lucy said, and pointed to a small building.
I went toward it in a fury, wondering what had happened. “Lucy, the man they have in the small boat needs your help,” I said, as I walked into the shack.