Isle of Swords (16 page)

“What do we do?” Cat asked. “They're everywhere!”

“I don't know. Hide, maybe.”

“What if it's the pirates, the ones who—”

“Don't say that!” But as quickly as they appeared, the torchlights began to blink out. The forest around them was once again dark.

But there was a heavy feeling in the air. They both knew the danger had not passed.

“Get down!” Anne hissed. She pulled Cat's sleeve. He stooped down near her, peering just above the rail. From every forest wall surrounding the town, dark figures emerged. Dozens and dozens of them scurried out, disappearing for a moment at one building and then dashing silently to the next. Anne turned and saw more of them emerge from the forest just a hundred yards behind the building in which they stood. So many, too many to count, they closed in from every angle.

“We've got to hide!” she whispered urgently. Cat started down the ladder, but Anne stopped him. “Too late. Pull up the ladder.

Close the trapdoor.”

Cat did as she suggested, wrenching the ladder up and leaning it against the rail. He and Anne lifted the heavy door on its rusty hinge. Trying desperately to keep it silent, they lowered the trapdoor gently into place. Then they turned and waited. A slice of the moon had risen. The rooftops and alleys were bathed in gray blue.

Suddenly, they heard soft footsteps. Many footsteps. Anne and Cat hunched down as low as they could, but each peeked above the rail.

“Soldiers,” Cat whispered.

Anne nodded. In the moon's light, they saw dozens of pale faces beneath dark hats. They clutched long, dark objects in their white hands—muskets. Their razor-sharp bayonets gleamed. The alley below filled silently with soldiers. Cat and Anne held their collective breath and slumped down, their backs to the wall. Anne turned to Cat. “We're trapped.”

17
ROOFTOP HOPPING

C
ommodore Blake, we've searched every building,” came a heavily accented voice from below. “The town is empty.”

“British,” whispered Anne.

“It would seem that our information was a bit . . . dated,” said another voice. This one only lightly accented, but deep and rich with confidence. “Perhaps a little light will see us through. Kindle the torches and search every building from top to bottom. If there is anything, anything at all that could tell us where they've gone, we must find it. And, Mister Kent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take a brigade back to Tarou Point. Bring word to Commodore Ainsworth to mobilize a third of the fleet to scour the southern ports, especially Roseau and Soufriere. Our quarry may have departed long ago, but if any have lingered, we will snare them at night when they are sleeping—or drunk!”

“Yes, sir!”

Anne clutched Cat's hand. “Roseau!” she whispered. “The
Wallace
is moored just up the river from there. We'll be cut off.

We've got to get to the ship.”

“What about your father . . . the landing party, are they even back from Misson yet?”

“I don't know,” Anne replied. “But it doesn't matter. If the British take Roseau, we're all done for.”

Cat reached for the iron ring of the trapdoor. “No, wait!” Anne exclaimed. They both fell silent when they heard movement in the room beneath their feet. “They're down there.” She looked frantically around the belfry. There was nothing. No rope, no tools, no escape.

“The roof,” Cat whispered. Anne looked over the rail. “We could climb over the rail and creep along the roof. Then we can leap across to that little cottage. If we can drop down somewhere behind the troops, we can disappear into the forest and make our way back to the river.”

“Are you crazy?” Anne looked away. “That's ten feet across if it's an inch!”

“Yes, but we're leaping down. We could make it.”

“And break our legs!” Anne complained.

“No, just roll when you hit the other roof—that'll spread out the blow.”

“How do you know that—oh, never mind! Even if we make it unharmed, the whole British navy will hear us.”

“You have a better plan?” Cat asked.

“No.”

Before she could think of one, Cat stealthily slipped over the rail and onto the roof. Anne gritted her teeth and followed. They crept along the rooftop until they came to within a yard of the edge. The gap between buildings wasn't quite ten feet, but it was close.

“Come on!” Cat urged. He backed up a step and was about to run for it.

“No way,” Anne said. “I'm going first.”

“No, we go together,” he replied, the moonlight glinting fiercely in his eyes. “If we go one at a time, and the troops hear us, someone is going to be left behind. We have a better chance if we leap together.”

Anne looked at Cat with new respect. “So what do we do when we hit the roof down there—that is, of course, if we don't kill ourselves in the fall?!”

“We run,” said Cat. “Run behind the chimney in case they start shooting. Once we're there, leap again to the next building. But keep up with me and head toward the woods. I think that's our only way.” Anne nodded.

“Ready?” They both sped to the edge of the roof and leaped.

The night air whooshed by, and they tumbled to the cottage's rooftop. They landed with an enormous thud but rolled. To Anne's amazement, they both survived unharmed. But a great commotion arose in the alleys below.

“What was that?!” a voice yelled.

“There!” came another. “Up on the roof!”

“Fire!”

Cat and Anne heard the sharp reports of rifles being fired. They ducked behind the chimney just in time. Musket balls smacked into the roof, sending shattered shingles flying in all directions.

Another blast hit the chimney near Cat's elbow. “Ow! We can't wait here!”

He tugged Anne behind him, and they leaped straight across to the next building. They landed awkwardly this time, stumbled, but were not hurt. Alert to the shouted commands below and the musket balls whizzing by them in all directions, Cat and Anne raced from rooftop to rooftop. Finally they came to the last building before the woods.

Anne looked down. It was a decent height. “How do we . . .”

“Watch me,” Cat said. He agilely spun round, dropped to his stomach, and slid over the edge. He hung by the strength of his hands and arms and dropped lightly to the ground. Anne shook her head and attempted to do the same. But when she slid over the edge, she could not hold her grip, and she fell backward.

Cat was there to break her fall, but Anne didn't even have time for a thank-you. He took her hand and yanked her into the woods.

They had barely gone ten yards into the forest when they smacked right into dark blue uniforms. They fell backward, stunned.

Anne rose to her feet first and drew her cutlass. Cat rose and did the same.

“Drop your weapons!” one of the soldiers commanded. Cat and Anne looked around. There were a dozen men, each leveling a rifle in their direction. More soldiers poured in behind them.

Reluctantly, Cat and Anne lowered their swords and let them fall from their hands. The troops moved in.

Cat and Anne were led roughly back up the alleys and out into the main street. They were shoved to the ground before a tall man. He wore black boots, dark blue breeches, and a breasted white vest under a blue frock coat. Gold was embroidered upon his lapels, and he wore a wide black tricorn hat trimmed in silver.

“Lieutenant Crowley,” said the man, stooping and taking Anne's hand. “Are you in the habit of manhandling a lady?” He gently lifted Anne to her feet and bowed slightly to her, all the while glaring at his subordinate.

“No, sir, Commodore,” he replied. “But . . . she's a pirate!”

“Really?” the commodore asked. “Has she a sign upon her back?”

The other soldiers laughed. Crowley went red in the face. “Well . . . no, but she has that look about her. They both do. Why, they've got to be—”

“Of course they are pirates!” The commodore became suddenly fierce. “This town is a pirate stronghold! Nonetheless, she is still a lady. And under my command, we will treat her civilly, do you understand?”

Crowley winced and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The commodore fixed his gaze upon Anne. “I am Commodore Brandon Blake, of the British Royal Navy,” he began. “I apologize for your treatment, but you must understand, we are in pursuit of as ruthless a band of killers as the seas have ever known. If you cooperate with us, tell us where they've gone, I have the power to pardon your offenses. And that goes for your friend here as well.”

Cat stood and brushed himself off. Anne said nothing. She was confused, angry, and acutely aware that the seconds were ticking away.

If the British navy cordoned Roseau, the
Wallace
would be trapped.

“I shall ask you again,” said the commodore. His green eyes were fierce, penetrating. “Where have they all gone?” Still, Anne did not answer. “Come now, you cannot have much loyalty to that villain. After all, you've been left behind.”

“Commodore!” a man called. “Commodore Blake!” He ran up and spoke in breathless huffs. “We found something . . . there's a basement . . . fifteen corpses. Sir, they were tortured, left hanging upside down. It's a bloody mess down there, sir.”

The commodore stared hard at Anne and then Cat. There was a power in his gaze that made them both feel like he could see right through them. The commodore continued to stare but said, “Mister Beckett, how long have the bodies been there?”

“Nigh on a week,” Beckett replied. “Maybe more. It smells something horrible.”

“A week,” the commodore echoed. He was thoughtful a moment. He looked more intensely at Anne and Cat. “You know about the bodies,” he said to them. “I can see it in your eyes. But what I don't know—” He drew a long silver cutlass and held the point a few inches from Cat's chin. “What I don't know is if you had something to do with it.”

“Leave him alone!” Anne shouted. “He didn't hurt those people!” In spite of the sword, Cat stared at the ground.

“He looks guilty to me,” said the commodore, his brow lowering and his jaw set.

“No!” Anne cried out. “Cat's innocent! We had nothing to do with it!”

“Innocent?” The commodore frowned. “I doubt that either one of you is innocent. But I am inclined to believe you did no harm to those we found in the basement. You see, we've come across such piteous scenes many times before.”

Cat and Anne stared at each other, then back at the commodore.

“Now, listen to me,” he said, lowering his sword. “I am making you a very merciful offer. Just tell us what you know and you can be free.

Otherwise, our court will have no recourse but to charge you with piracy—charge you even with the murders of those we found in the basement. You will hang from the gallows. You will—”

Anne blurted out, “We don't know anything. We just found this place and—”