The sun had not yet even crested the horizon to illuminate the inside of the tent when there was a dreadful shout. It was Humbolt yelling, a screech like an animal caught in a trap. He was standing by the entrance of the canvas where he had come in from the night watch, a lit torch in his hand illuminating a dark pool at his feet, as well as the corpses of Miller and Madsen, both sporting wide gashes in their throats, as Thatch and Vanders had the previous morning.
Ambrose shot to his feet like a ball from a cannon, his tanned features unnaturally pale as he stared at the corpses of Madsen and Miller. He rounded on the crew, a madness in his eyes that I had never seen before, and my heart might have stopped in my chest at the fire in them. I felt myself start to shake. Silas sat next to me, his hands still tied behind him too. He gazed reassuringly back at me, and I forced myself to take a deep breath so as to not convey my disbelief. I knew I was trembling, and he tipped his head a bit for me to move closer to him. I did so, his great warmth soothing in the presence of more unnatural death.
“No one go’ pass me, Cap’n, I swear it!” Humbolt said, and I knew he was remembering what happened to Thomas. “I were awake all nigh’, ne’er even had a droppa drink!”
Ambrose stared around at the crew, seemingly dumbfounded. Much more so than he had the previous day when the first two sailors had been found sliced open. He gazed about the tent, as if looking for something out of place, but he found nothing. With a growl, he delivered a savage kick to Miller’s lifeless leg. “Get these out of my sight. Now!” he barked. The crew hurried to obey; I did not doubt it was to get away from Ambrose in the event he decided to blame someone and pull his pistol.
Ambrose whirled back around to stare at myself and Silas. Silas sat unmoving as a mountain, but I forced myself to pull off of his shoulder. I felt that Ambrose seeing me so close to Silas might provoke his rage further. He came over, glancing at Silas for a long moment before turning to me and kneeling, brushing my hair from my forehead. “Are you all right, Jamie?”
I nodded numbly, sure my face was still pale in the dim morning light. “Yes. Who would do such a thing?”
Ambrose was silent before he rose to his feet again. “No one will hurt you, lad. Not while I’m here.”
Once Ambrose had walked away, Silas turned to me. “I hate to admit it, Jamie, bu’ he does care abou’ yeh.”
I sighed softly, closing my eyes. “I know…” It hurt to say. Despite everything he had done, Ambrose still felt something for me, something that I wanted to return. But at the price of so many lives lost, I could not do it.
With the corpses disposed of and supplies packed, we all set off on our excursion. Ambrose was at the front with me and the map, Bosun perched upon his shoulder, gabbling odds and ends of wordless screeches, giving the gold hoop in his ear an occasional nip. Silas was somewhere behind us in the midst of the crew, at least given his crutch for the trek. Ambrose had tied my wrists loosely together in front of me and held the end of it, and for all the world, I was led like a dancing bear.
What I had imagined would be a joyous moment for the crew was as somber as a funeral procession. The terror of the dead buccaneers had fallen on their spirits. I could not blame them, for my own chest ached with undefinable fear at what might be lurking in the jungle along our way, just waiting to pounce. My own imagination created beasts from shadows more terrifying than anything that likely lived on this island. I even wondered if the spirits of Squire Harrington and Mister Kearns had come back to wreak their vengeance upon the crew of the MORAY for their mutiny, though I suspected the same as Ambrose, that the culprit was one of flesh and blood. What manner of man inhabited this island that could pass through our camp as unseen as wind and claim lives of sleeping men without waking the rest from their slumber?
The principal mark on the map was a river that ran through the center of the island, nearly cutting it in two, with a distinct bend to it. The instructions stated north by northeast from the bend, and we found the bearing through the trees with my compass. Roderick and Reed were at the front, beating a path through the brush with their cutlasses until we came out of the denseness of the jungle onto an expanse of flatter land. In the distance loomed the mighty rock cliff faces we had seen on the eastern side of the island when we had approached it aboard the MORAY.
We continued in this direction for some paces until those in front let out a great shout. Ambrose pulled me along next to him, and we found stretched out in the dirt before us, an old skeleton, covered with ragged, tattered clothing. Most of the flesh was gone from its bones, its jaw opened in a nightmarish grin. The legs, right arm, and head were all pointed in a straight line, but the left arm stood straight out from its body like half a T, its empty eye sockets staring vacantly at the rocky cliffs.
“What sort of a way is that for bones to lie?” Duncan said in a tremulous voice.
Ambrose let out a guffaw of laughter. “Old Hawk points the way,” he said, nudging one of the bones with his foot. He checked the compass. “Northwest, this way. We are on the right track. Come, boys.” He nudged his head to the left, toward the upward hills that the ghastly specter indicated.
The gradual uphill path became a rocky cove as we climbed higher, the roar of the ocean coming from below us rather than in front of us now. I realized why this spot had appealed to Captain Locke, for it was inaccessible from the north-northeast with the cliff face behind it, and the stony passage was such that it was not easy to stumble upon. We paused to eat and drink before continuing along the rocky crags when we suddenly rounded a bend to see two yawning cavern mouths in front of us.
“Which way?” Clark asked, and Ambrose glanced over at me.
“What say you, lad?”
I thought this might be a test, though of what I was unsure. I took the compass Ambrose held out to me, shifting this way and that until I was able to make sense of where we were. “The left, to the north,” I said, and Ambrose smiled brightly. It was obvious that he had reached the same conclusion.
Duncan and Clark went forward first with lanterns, the rest of us following cautiously behind. The cavern itself was not overly tall, but we could still stand straight and raise a pickaxe overhead without fear of bringing the top down on our heads. The walls dripped with warm moisture that caused the air to have a smell that reminded me of seaweed and barnacles. Ambrose studied the final instruction, penned in his father’s hand.Seek within,162 paces.
As we neared the paces indicated, the ground in front of us seemed to suddenly drop off into shadow, and our party slowed. Ambrose moved carefully forward with his own torch, leaving me behind. He reached where the shadow fell and peered downward, then laughed brightly, the sound muffled by the damp stones. He gestured his crew forward, and there was much crowding and shoving. I kept close to the wall so as not to be dragged forward and eventually was able to make my way to see.
The drop from the edge was only about half a meter, though it was shaped similar to a bowl, all around the entire cavern. The inside of the rocky crater was filled with sand that seemed to have settled in several places. In one spot, something poked out of the sand, barely visible but for its dark shadow. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was the iron-wrapped corner of a wooden chest.
There was a fantastic whoop, and suddenly Reed had jumped down into the crater, stamping his feet and kicking sand around to try to uncover whatever lay beneath it. Ambrose held up his hand, motioning to the assortment of digging tools with us. “Let’s not be foolish about this now, boys. We have a lot of work to do.”
The pirates set to work, tossing sand from the crater. The earth from the top was mostly dry and crumbly, but it grew moist and heavy the further they dug. Silas and I were tasked with bringing water to the crew. The thrill of riches seemed to have tripled their strength, for there was no bickering or complaints, save for when one pirate would get a face full of sand from an overly enthusiastic counterpart.
It felt like days, though I suspected it had only been a few hours at most, when the chests were uncovered. Though encrusted in filth from their burial, they were in surprisingly good order. One crate had a corner that had rotted away, and something spilled from its depths that I could not see in the cave’s dimness, until one of the pirates held aloft a shiny, gold doubloon with a crow of triumph.
There were four chests in all, uniform in shape and size, the initials C.L. carved into the lid of each one. They were all closed with large, iron padlocks that still held fast despite the dampness and dirt that had entombed them for all these years.
Morgan raised his pickaxe to swing at the lock, but Ambrose held up a hand again. “Wait. Let’s get them out of there before we start busting them.”
There was a bit of grumbling, and I hardly could blame them, for my own curiosity was piqued, and I longed to see what was inside of this pirate’s stash, but Ambrose was right that intact chests would be easier to move than broken ones and scattered trinkets.
The men attached ropes to the crates, and after many attempts, the four chests were pulled from their grave and to the open mouth of the cavern. The sun was already sinking, and Ambrose declared we would stay here for the night, for returning to the bay would be slower with the precious cargo, and none of us were eager to be in the deep of the tropical jungle in darkness. An area was cleared for a fire, and then, as Silas prepared a hasty meal from the supplies we had brought, the first of the chests was split open with a mighty swing of a shovel by Ambrose himself. The lid was thrown back with an ominous creak.
Inside the large box were burlap sacks of various shapes and sizes, but the first one dumped out upon the grass revealed a stock of silver ingots that glinted in the firelight. The next bag held a scattering of jewelry that looked as if it may have been crafted for the Queen herself. I was aghast at what we found in these chests. I knew Charles Locke had been a successful pirate of great renown, but I was unprepared for the sheer amount of decadence that spilled from the unassuming bags.
