Isle of Swords (5 page)

When Anne emerged from the palm forest, she saw the
Wallace
unloaded and half-turned on his side.

“Stop!” Anne shrieked, waving her cutlass frantically as she ran.

“Right the ship!” A few members of the crew looked up, but their backs were turned to the open sea. They did not see the corvette with black sails round the bend behind them.

“Stop! Stop now! Right the ship!” she yelled, stumbling across the sand in reckless horror. Still, only a few looked up, most bemused, not understanding. “Father!” she cried at last.

If there was anything in the known world that would get Declan

Ross's attention, it was the call of his only child. He dropped his line and scanned the horizon. “Anne?” Then he saw her, saw her waving frantically and slashing her sword. He heard one word drifting across the sand: “Chevillard!”

Ross turned and saw the prowling corvette and its red flag. The color drained from his face. Knowing it was too late, Ross faced his crew and barked orders. “Right the ship! Right the ship, now!

Heave the mast lines! Prepare to fight! We are under attack.”

The crew turned in unison, saw the threat on the seas, and transformed into a frenzied cloud of action. Within seconds they began to haul the
Wallace
upright.

Stede strode up to his captain. They both watched Chevillard's advance. He was coming . . . slowly, but inevitably.

As soon as the ship was stable, Cromwell and Midge began lowering the gangplank. Ross looked again at the enemy.
No time.

There's no time
. He flew around the bow and yelled, “Midge, get that gangplank up!”

“But, Cap'n, . . . the cannon shot's on the shore. We've got to—”

“Get the plank up NOW!! Then get up in the crow's-nest and keep watch on Chevillard!”

Stede was in his captain's face in a second. “Have ya gone mad, mon? We cannot b' fighting without the cannon shot.”

“Quartermaster,” Ross said, his words clipped. “We don't have the time to load the cannonballs, and the
Wallace
won't budge with much more weight.”

“What ya b' thinking? We cannot outrun a corvette, mon.”

“I don't plan to run from Chevillard,” Ross said, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.

Stede backed away, grinning. “Yer an outrageous mon, Declan Ross. Ya b' up to something. That b' true!”

“The rascal's cutting us off, Cap'n!” Midge yelled from his perch high on the ship's crow's-nest. The dark ship stayed out of cannon range, but drifted behind them, waiting.

“He's not as dumb as I thought,” Ross said. “We've got to get the
Wallace
off this shore, or we're all done.” Holding Anne at arm's length, he asked, “Anne, where's Jules? We need his strength.”

After Anne explained about the wounded man, Ross turned and looked at the tree line. Jules was nowhere to be seen. He looked back to see his daughter's tears. “You did the right thing, daughter,” he said. “No crewman on the
Wallace
should leave another pirate behind.”

She nodded, her bottom lip quivering, and joined the others who were lining up on both sides of the bow.

Except for Nubby, who was unaware of the problems and still back in the forest looking for iguanas, the crew of the
Wallace
tried to push the ship back into the sea. Grunts and yells arose as they strained against the massive weight. Unscraped barnacles cut deep into their hands, but they did not stop. They knew that pirates caught on land . . . were dead pirates.

“You look like you could use a little more brawn,” said a deep voice from behind. And there was Jules, carrying the wounded man.

Ross spun around and grimaced when he saw the bloody mess in Jules's arms. Anne turned as well. Her eyes pleaded, and her shoulders sagged.

“Midge!” Ross commanded. “Get up there and lower the gangplank. After Jules gets this guy down in the hold, pull it back up!”

“Aye, Cap'n!” And like a spider, Midge climbed up one of the mast lines and disappeared over the rail. Once the wounded man was safely aboard, the crew went to work with renewed vigor.

Again, grunts and groans. Sweat and blood flowed. “Chevillard comin' round, Declan!” Stede yelled from the other side of the
Wallace
. Ross stepped away from the bow. Chevillard's corvette had turned and drove toward them.
He's tired of waiting,
thought Ross.

He knows we're stuck, and he's coming to get us.

“Men!” Ross bellowed. “We need an inch, and the tide will do the rest. Now go for it! All you've got!” This time the effort was eerily silent. They stifled their pain and, with grim determination, laid into the
Wallace
. Breaths escaped in hisses, muscles trembled on the verge of spasming, and hearts pounded so hard the men could feel it in their eardrums. Then they felt it. A shift . . . a subtle bit of motion, but still, the
Wallace
did not break free. “Come ONNN!!!” Ross yelled.

Then Ross spotted Nubby coming out of the forest with a basket of iguanas.

“Nubs, you land-loving lout! Get in here and push!” Ross yelled.

Still not realizing the danger, Nubby argued, “Blast it, Captain, I'm a cook, not a strongman!”

“Get over here now!” Ross bellowed, dizzy with the strain.

Nubby looked beyond the landlocked
Wallace
and saw the looming corvette. The basket of iguanas went flying, and Nubby hit the
Wallace
like he'd been shot out of a cannon. The shift was more pronounced this time. The
Wallace
moved. The salt water flooded into the small crevice that had opened around the ship's hull. And suddenly, the ship was afloat. The
Wallace
slid backward into the surf. “Well done, lads!” Ross shouted. “Now, all aboard! We have a Frenchman to send to Davy Jones's locker!”

As the crew scaled the rope ladders and shimmied up the mast lines, they wondered how they could defeat the Butcher with no gunpowder and no cannonballs.

6
A DESPERATE PLAN

T
he red flag and black sails of their opponent loomed on the seas before the
William Wallace
. Captain Ross launched a string of commands. “Nubby, get below and see to the wounded man! Anne, you go with him.” She nodded and disappeared with Nubby belowdecks.

“Midge, Cromwell, Henrik, Smitty, and Red Eye—meet me by the mainmast!” Ross raised his voice. “Lads, take up every pistol, every dagger, every cutlass, every dirk—anything you can use as a weapon! Be ready for the fight of your lives!”

One man stepped forward. Leathery-skinned with wrinkly slits for eyes, Drake was the oldest sailor aboard the
Wallace
. “But, Cap'n,” he said, “you make it sound like Chevillard's going to board us!”

“I mean to let him,” Ross said. This announcement rattled the crew, but they followed their captain's orders.

“Stede, take whatever wind we have and steer behind the corvette —out to sea!”

“We can't outrun her!” Stede called back, spinning the wheel.

“No, but we've got to make it look like we're trying to!”

“Care to let me know what ya b' planning, mon?”

“Not now,” Ross replied. He drew near to his old friend. “Just keep your thunder gun handy!”

“Got it right here,” Stede replied, grinning. He reached into a cabinet beside the wheelhouse and withdrew a short musket with a snubbed barrel that widened drastically at its end.

“At least we have one cannon!” Ross winked. Weaving in and out of crewmen and leaping lines strewn across the deck and open hatches, the captain made his way to the mainmast where a group of bewildered sailors waited. No one was more confused or more vocal about it than Cromwell.

“Shouldn't we be takin' to our station of battle?” he asked.

“You
are
at your station of battle!” Ross said curtly. “Now, speak no more and listen. Cromwell, you and Henrik get to the top of the mainmast, one on the topsail and one on the main. Smitty, take the mainsail on the foremast. Here's my plan.”

As he told them, the looks on their faces underwent a marked transformation from shock and horror to roguish grins. Smitty leaped away and scaled the foremast. Each with a boarding axe holstered at his side, Cromwell and Smitty clambered up the mainmast.

“Stick close to the mast, lads!” Ross yelled. “Wait for my signal and make a clean cut!”

“What about us?” Midge asked, fingering his own dagger. Red Eye, a powder monkey—one of the many deck hands who shuttled black powder cartridges from the stores below to the gun decks during battle—stood impassively. The left side of his face was scarred and slightly misshapen from a cartridge that had gone off as he loaded it into a cannon. His left eye was blind, the pupil dark red, and the whites permanently colored a sickly pink.

“I have a very important task for you two,” Ross said. As he finished outlining his plan, Midge whistled and Red Eye, who almost never smiled, gave a crooked grin.

“What if we get caught?” Red Eye asked. “I don't speak French.”

“Just remember,” Ross implored. “As soon as Chevillard and the lion's share of his men board the
Wallace
, you two hit the water.”

The pieces of his plan all in place, Declan Ross stood on the forecastle waiting for his opponent's next move. He didn't have to wait long. Thierry Chevillard's sleek ship maneuvered across the
Wallace
's path, cutting off the ship's escape. By Captain Ross's orders, Stede let the
Wallace
drift slowly into the enemy's firing range.

“Declan, I hope ya know what ya b' doing,” said Stede.

“Don't I always?” Ross replied. “Second thought, don't answer that.” Stede raised an eyebrow, then checked on Chevillard's ship.

“He won't fire right away,” Ross said quietly, almost to himself.

“He'll wait until his ship rolls on the top of the wave.”

“How ya b' knowing that?” asked Stede.

“French tactics. The Butcher sailed for King Louis' Royal Navy before turning pirate. He'll want to fire high and take out our masts before coming to claim his prey—I'm counting on that.”