Jewels, coins of every denomination, strings of pearls, golden chains, figurines encrusted with precious stones, expensive silks that even outshone the ones in Ambrose’s quarters. Most of the coins and statues were unfamiliar to me, and they obviously had not all come from the same location either. There were different levels of craftsmanship, design, and imagery, and I found myself studying a bas-relief that seemed to be made of ivory and had some of the most intricate carvings I had ever seen in my life hewn into it. I felt a sudden ache in my chest as I realized that Squire Harrington would have known the origin of this piece, and hot tears stung my eyes as grief settled over me once again. I refused to let the tears fall, for the pirates would have no pity for me, and I would not give them the satisfaction of my pain.
Just this single chest that was opened would have made each of us men of means. I could hardly imagine that there would be more in the other chests. A second one was broken into before the sun sank too low to see further, and it contained wealth much the same as the first. There was much celebration, with rum flowing like a river into the crew. Through it all, Ambrose sat near the chests, drinking no more than a single glass the entire night. At one point, Silas moved over to him to say something in his ear. Bosun fluttered over to me, perching upon my shoulder, nibbling at his toes with his long beak while Ambrose and Silas engaged in soft conversation that I could not hear. A few of the crew gave me a glass of grog to drink and spun me in playful circles while they sang a bawdy tune. Only when Roderick grabbed my ass and pulled me against him did Ambrose move, snarling at Roderick to take his hands off of me or he would be gutted like a fish, and the man released me with a leer and an apologetic bow to Ambrose, though none to me.
When the carousing died, the crew made their berths for the night, and I found myself curled close to Ambrose in the light of the dying fire. I hated myself for doing it, but his presence amongst the shadows and demons was more reassuring than sitting alone. He stroked his fingers absently through my hair, and I fell asleep against his chest that night in the dying firelight of the treasure island.
Chapter Thirteen
IawokewithAmbrose’sblack coat wrapped around me. The crew was in good spirits and the same number as yesterday. No mysterious attacker had come in the night to reduce our ranks. Indeed, that whole bloody affair seemed to have been forgotten as the pirates gathered the makeshift camp together, and we prepared to set out for our beach encampment again. Our supplies were substantially lighter with fewer rations to carry, and some shovels and pickaxes had been abandoned as well. The chests were heavy, much heavier than a man, so some harnesses were fashioned for the crew to be able to drag the chests along. Silas and I carried the supplies, and even Ambrose “got his fancy hands dirty,” as the crew joked, by helping to pull the crates. Bosun sat on one of them, flapping his wings and clucking his tongue at the sailors, screeching out a beakful of foul words whenever he was jostled.
Going downhill was much easier than I imagined it must have been going uphill with these things when Locke buried the treasure years ago. We followed our path back to the river bend, since the way had already been cleared, taking a break to eat the remainder of our food, and from there it was only a short trek to the beach and the canvas fort.
Ambrose directed the chests to be placed into the jollyboats. It was getting too late in the day to take them back to the MORAY tonight, but we could pack up tomorrow and potentially set sail for home. That thought made knots twist in my stomach, for I would be going home without the squire, to an unknown future that might or might not involve Captain Miles Ambrose.
Once the boats were loaded, the crew took the opportunity to splash in the sea water, and even Ambrose, Silas, and I joined in, for all of us were hot and grimy from the multiple days trekking through the jungle and hauling our treasures. Silas cooked an excellent dinner from the provisions at the campsite, the rum flowed again, cards and dice were thrown, and all seemed in as merry a mood as rich men could be. Tomorrow would be busy with preparing to set sail for home, and everyone was quite exhausted from the past few days’ labors. The sun had barely set when we retired to the tent for the night.
It was nearly pitch black inside the tent, the barest scrap of moonlight illuminating the area, when I awoke with a start, unsure what had roused me. I sat up blearily, wanting to rub my eyes, but my hands were once again tied. I looked around, feeling that there was something amiss, though I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Until my eyes landed on a hunched figure, silhouetted by the light of the tent flap, crouched low to the ground like a monstrous beast, creeping along the ground, moving deftly between sleeping forms until it stopped by the first mate. For a moment I was unsure what I was looking at, but then the figure’s head lifted, and, to my shock, I saw that it was Silas, unbound. I must have gasped, for he looked up at me, and there was a hardness in his eyes that I had never seen before.
His eyes met mine, and Silas pressed his finger to his scarred lips in a silencing gesture. I clenched my lips firmly as I stared, not even daring to breathe. As deftly as any street thief, Silas plucked the knife from Humbolt’s belt and sliced it as neatly as a surgeon across the man’s bony throat. At the same time, his large hand came up to cover the man’s nose and mouth, so the few jerks and sounds he made as he awoke and thrashed in his own blood were muffled, no louder than the snores of the men next to him. I felt the world spin, and I closed my eyes to keep myself from retching.
Once Humbolt had stopped twitching, his cadaverous body having gone even more corpse-like than before, Silas released the man’s face, carefully wiped the blade on the man’s sleeve, and returned the knife to Humbolt’s belt. He wiped his own hands on the sleeve as well, smearing the blood so it was no longer recognizable. He made the sign of the cross over Humbolt’s form before he began to creep back over toward me. I sat, transfixed, as I watched him; he lifted most of his heft with his arms and pushed himself along with the ball of his one foot, like some sort of humanesque cobra. Despite moving over jungle terrain, he was almost completely silent, no more than a shadow crawling across the floor, the soft underbrush and sand settling back down to disguise the path he had taken to Humbolt’s side. When he was back to me again, he picked up the piece of rope that had been securing his hands and wound it around his wrists behind his back before resuming his sleeping position. In less than two minutes, it was as if he had never moved at all.
My heart thundered in my chest so loud it was a wonder it did not wake the crew. I rolled to face him. “Silas,” I whispered.
“Shh,” he said softly, and I could barely see the glint of the moonlight off his teeth in the darkness that shielded him. “I ain’ gon’ hurt you, lad, I’m keepin’ yeh safe. Hush now.”
I obediently closed my mouth on the questions within them, almost wishing I had not known the answer to the island’s mystery. I knew Silas had been in the Navy and had killed before, but knowing and seeing were two entirely different things. Watching my gentle giant of a friend end the life of a fellow man so suddenly, and then feel obvious remorse over it when he blessed the man, brought so many confusing thoughts to my mind that I could not have given voice to them all if I had wanted to.
Was Silas any different than Duncan and Thatch and Ambrose? Was killing the pirates who would have no compunction about slitting anyone else’s throat just as dastardly as murdering the squire and Mister Kearns? Or was it justice for the terrible things they had done? I could not decide, and my perilous thoughts kept me awake another hour or so, until one of the crew woke, staggering to his feet to go outside before tripping over the body of Humbolt and realizing with a great roar that the man was dead.
The camp was instantly awake, buzzing like a hive of angry bees as torches were lit to push away the darkness. Ambrose was mostly silent, watching his men. Mutiny, it was plain, hung over us like a thundercloud. It was only when Ambrose gave the order for Humbolt’s body to be taken away that it all came to a head.
“It’s a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Duncan said, pointing his finger savagely at Ambrose. “A ghost hauntin’ us, cuttin’ us down like cattle. An’ you do nothin’!”
“What would you have me do, Mister Duncan? Torture the lot of you until someone spills his secrets?” Ambrose asked, waving his hand airily.
“Oh, we see through you, Miles Ambrose; you want to play booty, that’s what’s wrong with you,” Morgan snapped, casting a glance over at me. “You have your precious treasure and your molly boy, and hang the lot of us!”
Ambrose rose to his feet then, stepping between myself and Morgan’s gaze. “Perhaps you can understand King George’s English, sir. I’m captain here, by law and right. Not much worth to fight, the lot of you. You’ve neither sense nor memory, and I leave it to fancy where your mothers were that let you come to sea. I reckon tailors is more your trade.”
“We’d all swing and sun-dry for your bungling!” Roderick snapped, and the resounding chorus of agreement shook me to my very bones. Silas sat beside me, silent as the grave, and I made no motion toward him, trying to not draw attention to us while their ire was focused upon Ambrose. What a moment it would be if he and I should have to fight for dear life against an entire crew of strong and active seamen!
I waited for Ambrose to draw a weapon or throw a fist, but he merely held up his hands. “If you have no faith in me, then I resign. Elect whom you please to be your captain now. I’m done with it.”
This answer obviously surprised the pirates. I believe they had been expecting violence as much as I had. “What game you playing at, Ambrose?” Franklin asked.
“No game,” Ambrose said with a shrug. “If you are unsatisfied with me as your captain, then I resign, by thunder! Make of that what you will, I’m sick to speak to you, and I need have no part of it.” And this the more surprised me, for I thought he had never shown himself so cunning as he did then, keeping the mutineers together with one hand and grasping with the other after every means, possible and impossible, to make his peace and save his miserable life.
“I claim the right then to step outside for a council,” Roderick said gruffly, and the others nodded. “Give us your hands.”
“I understand how a deputation works,” Ambrose said, and he held out his hands, wrists together. Clark came forward with a length of fabric that he tied around Ambrose’s wrists, leaving the three of us bound as they turned and filed out.
I turned to Ambrose with wide eyes. “What’s happening?”
“They’re going to throw me off,” Ambrose said calmly. “As I am the only one who might be able to put them off of it, I am not about to provoke them to violence.”
My heart thundered, for if Ambrose was no longer captain, that did not bode well for any of the three of us.
