“I’m fine,” she said.
The look on her face must have mirrored his own. There was no way either of them could be fine. “Where are we?”
She stepped in close to him and whispered. “It’s like a hidden room off the main room of the house. These are still the Thimble Islands, maybe the very same place we were before. But we’ve passed through a door into a private room.”
“Your doing?” he asked.
“I think what I did with the light must have attracted the attention of a witch far more powerful than we’ve ever seen. Even more powerful than the Widow Nance.”
“The stranger,” Proctor whispered, deliberately not glancing up at the ship. “But then why did he try to save us?”
“That question troubles me also,” she said.
“Come on.” Esek had climbed up the ladder to the deck of the ship and was gesturing for them to follow. Proctor steadied the ladder for Deborah. In a normal tone of voice, he said, “Be careful.”
Esek reached out with one arm and hoisted her onto the deck. Proctor followed and soon stood beside them.
Up close, the stranger looked like a madman. He stank, like a man who had not bathed or washed his clothes in a lifetime. His eyes were rimmed red and the sockets beneath them were as dark as a bruise. There were four pale parallel scars beneath the stubble that covered his sunken cheek. His clothes had once been very fine, better even than Proctor had seen the governor wearing, but they were old and covered with stains. Buttons were missing and the lace trim hung as loose as autumn leaves, waiting for a strong wind to set them adrift. A sword hung at his waist, on a belt that had been notched so many times it nearly wrapped around him twice.
But none of those things, alone or together, marked him as mad, merely as unfortunate, like a castaway lost for years on some desert island. He seemed mad because of his grin, which was as wide as the Atlantic, revealing teeth as dark as stormclouds.
His grin, and his eyes. The smile did not touch his eyes, which were dark and dangerous and fixed on Proctor. “That was a most remarkable feat,” he said, with a nod toward the island with the tiger. “Old Scratch hasn’t been frustrated like that in a very long time.”
“Is the tiger your… pet?” Deborah asked.
The smile returned to the stranger’s face, though not as broad and now slightly uncertain. “No, no, definitely not my pet.” He glanced toward the island and licked his lips nervously, giving an impression wholly at odds with the capable man of action who pulled himself across the rope and ran to attempt their rescue. “But where are my manners? Will you be so kind as to join me in my somewhat humble residence?”
“Do you live in the shack or the palace?” Esek asked. He had tucked the pistol back in his belt, but he rested his hand on his waist close to it.
“Oh, it’s more than a shack, very comfy, really,” the stranger said. “But we mustn’t go in the palace. No, that’s not for us.”
“Who’s it for?” Proctor asked.
The madman grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Who wants to go first?”
The crossing from the ship to the island was done by the way of ropelines, one for hands and one for feet. “I would prefer to go first,” Deborah said. “If those ropes are as old as those on the ship, they’re likely to break under the weight of the gentlemen.”
Without waiting for permission, she stepped out onto one rope and grabbed hold of the other at shoulder height. Though not quick, she made her way confidently and deliberately across the line. Proctor caught himself suppressing a smile. She could be surprisingly practical. When she had gone about half way, and dangled so low that her hem nearly touched the water, the stranger leaned over to Proctor.
“She’s the kind who’ll put on pants if you’re not careful,” he said.
The comment offended Proctor. In fact, Deborah had worn pants on several occasions when they were fighting the witches of the Covenant the year before and it didn’t bother him in the least. But he wasn’t going to give credit to the stranger’s remark, nor defend her actions to someone who didn’t know her. “She values her independence, as all good Americans do,” he said. “It is a trait I admire in her.”
His use of good Americans was intended as a shiny minnow on the end of a hook, by which he hoped to draw out the stranger’s reaction to the war. But he failed to take the bait. In fact, he was so busy glancing back at the island with the tiger that he scarcely seemed to hear them at all.
“Oh, believe me, I know the type,” he mumbled. “I very well know the type.”
Deborah had reached the other side and hopped down onto the rocky shore. She turned and waved at Proctor, who lifted his hand in answer. While he waved, Esek climbed out on the rope. “I’ll be getting over next,” he said.
“Are you sure that’s wisest?” Proctor asked, looking at his size and thinking about what Deborah had said.
“Sure. I’m bigger than either of you, so if it’ll hold me, you can cross no problem, eh?”
He started across. The tiger roared again, a sound followed by a loud splash. The stranger ran back to the other side of the boat and peered down. He reached over and thumped the wood, screaming at the tiger.
“Do tigers swim?” Proctor said.
The stranger spun around, his eyes wide with mad delight. “Oh, yes. And they are also excellent climbers.”
The deep gouges on the side of the ship that he had taken for worm-marks took form again in a different light. Proctor turned back to Esek, who moved quickly for a man his size. Still he was heavy enough that the rope drooped all the way down into the waves, soaking his boots. “You best hurry up,” Proctor called.
Esek gave no reply, but the mad stranger rubbed his hands a bit too gleefully. “They don’t swim that fast. No, it’s you who best hurry when it comes your turn.”
“Can’t the tiger just climb onto your island? Why would we be any safer there?”
The madman patted the hilt of his sword. “We’ve reached an agreement over the years. She doesn’t come on my island and I don’t interfere with hers.”
This talking of the tiger as if it were a person worried Proctor. Though the man looked mad, his words and actions had all been lucid. Everything except his behavior toward the beast. “Didn’t you interfere by rescuing us before we wrecked?”
“Ah, that I did now, didn’t I?” he said, laughing. He clapped Proctor on the shoulder. “I would go now if I were you.”
Esek had climbed ashore across the water and stood at the far edge of the island, staring at the white palace. Deborah stood halfway between him and Proctor, near the entrance of the small hut.
Proctor climbed out on the rope, finding it harder than it looked. His feet swayed back and forth, nearly toppling him into the water. The raw sound of claws scraping wood echoed from the far side of the ship. Terror wriggled into Proctor’s heart, and he hurried, but the more he hurried, the more he swayed until he lost his feet entirely and dangled by his arms while the rope whipped back and forth beneath him. He had one eye looking for purchase for his feet and the other watching for the tiger coming around the edge of the boat.
The madman stood at the side of the ship and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hurry.”
His crazed laughter brought Proctor cold resolve that the circumstances did not provide alone. His feet found the rope and he made his way calmly and deliberately to the other side, where Deborah waited for him.
“I don’t see how he survives here,” Deborah said. “Clearly he lives here — there’s a pile of old rags that serves as either a rat’s nest or a bed, though given the size, I suspect the latter. But there’s no sign of food, only a little bit of water—”