Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (21 page)

God's light! They be eatin' off plates o' gold!" the red-bearded seaman exclaimed as he stared in amazement at the elegantly laid table, the gold plates, silver tableware, and goblets of fine glass rich enough for a royal banquet. "Lord love us, all we be missin' is a throne made o' gold!" he said, forgetting for a moment whose brother it was they were searching for.

"Lookee here! They even fish with hooks made out o' gold!" another awed crew member said in disbelief as he spied the gleaming metal hooked to a neatly coiled length of string.

Liam O'Hara, an Irish gentleman-adventurer who'd signed aboard the
Madrigal
for a bit of excitement and profit, fingered the gold plate, his eyes narrowing as he took note of the engravings. "This is Spanish. So is the silver. And look at that rapier and dagger on the wall. From Toledo, or I'm a Dutchman and Protestant to boot. I'd know that workmanship anywhere. Wouldn't mind owning that myself," he said with a look of envy. Eyeing Valentine Whitelaw more closely, he asked, "You are certain that was your coat of arms over the doorway and not some Spanish grandee's? Faith, but I'd no idea you were Catholic," he suddenly exclaimed.

Thomas Sandrick glanced at his friend in surprise, but Valentine Whitelaw was frowning, until O'Hara pointed at the gold crucifix hanging from the wall.

"Geoffrey Christian's wife, Magdalena, was Catholic. She was also Spanish," Valentine responded. His explanation might have explained the crucifix,
but
it left unexplained the remaining Spanish items, for he seriously doubted that Magdalena would have brought such things off the
Arion
, even if she'd had the time.

"Maybe Captain Christian sent the valuables ashore with his wife. Didn't want them Spaniards to get their 'ands on 'em," the bos'n said, voicing his captain's speculations. "These things could've come off one of the cap'n's prizes."

Valentine had to admit that the idea had merit, for he himself ate off gold plate won in battle from a Spanish captain's table, and he drank madeira and port from another Spanish captain's prized cargo of fine wines, and most of the rare gems he had given Cordelia came from that same captain's personal coffers. He could still remember the voyage and subsequent battle during which Geoffrey Christian had acquired the fiery emerald that Magdalena had worn with such pride.

But still Valentine was puzzled. He glanced around the room. There was a simple table and
five
stools. The table had been set for five; Basil, Magdalena, and the child-
-
but for whom else? And yet, only three mats with neatly folded blankets were placed against the far wall. A sea chest had been positioned beneath a window. Opening the lid, Valentine stared down at the neat pile of clothes inside. They were an odd assortment of men's and women's, and of varying sizes and styles, although nothing very fashionable. Sitting on top of another, smaller chest across the room Valentine saw a doll. Woven from a rough, cottonlike material, it had eyes and nose formed of tiny shells and a dress made from a strip of elegant lace. Inside the chest, he found a woman's combs and personal items, including a rope of pearls and the emerald pendant he recalled so well.

The place had obviously been lived in-
-
and by Basil and Magdalena, and a child-
-
and yet there was a strange emptiness about it, Valentine thought as he picked up the ornately engraved, gold plate occupying the place of honor at the head of the rough-planked table.

" 'Twould seem as if your brother has been enjoying all of the comforts of home," O'Hara commented with a smirk as he lifted up to the crew's curious eyes a frilly-edged, silk chemise.
"We should all be so fortunate to find ourselves stranded on deserted isle
with a beautiful, hot-blooded
d
oña
," he said, and glancing away to wink at a couple of other gentlemen seamen who'd signed aboard, the Irishman wasn't aware of the cold, unfriendly gleam that had come into his captain's eye.
He was even more unsuspecting of the Turk's quick movement, at least until he glanced back to find a sword point hovering
perilously
close to his throat.

Red-beard eyed the fancy gentleman contemptuously. He could have told his nabs not to say what he was thinking, at least not in the captain's presence if it was something rude about a lady, or the captain's brother, and especially if the Turk was by his side.

Valentine shook his head at Mustafa, who, rather reluctantly it seemed, sheathed his sword.

Liam O'Hara swallowed, although it was more like a gulp. " 'Twas a jest, nothing more, I didn't mean any harm by it," he explained without further
delay
and wondered how it was he'd ever thought Valentine Whitelaw so refined and sporting a gentleman when sharing a tankard of ale in London. In fact, Valentine Whitelaw had become a dour-faced, iron-handed stranger ever since they'd set sail, O'Hara decided peevishly, thinking this voyage had not been as
amusing
a venture as he had been led to believe. Indeed, Valentine Whitelaw had even seemed to forget that there were gentlemen on board and had treated them like the rest of his men, expecting them to eat and sleep with this rabble he called a crew. Even Sandrick had not been the amusing shipmate he'd hoped for when first learning of the man's presence on board. The man had been either sick or silent for most of the voyage. O'Hara wondered why he was even on board, since he was a wealthy man who had power and position at court. What could he possibly have to gain on this voyage? O'Hara grumbled to himself, thinking he'd be sitting pretty in London if he had even half of Thomas Sandrick's fortune.

"Cap'n! The ashes of a fire I found
out
back are still warm!" one of the crew called out as he came running to the door of the hut, his face flushed with excitement. "There's a spring just beyond the clearing. There's even a pot they use for cooking. 'Tis drying in the sun on a flat rock b
eside the pool
."

The portly seaman exchanged a knowing look with his slightly pale and unusually quiet friend with the red beard.

"There's even a spit set up over the fire."

The portly seaman eyed his friend up down, as if trying to figure out how long the spit would have to be to skewer his friend.

Valentine Whitelaw's eyes were bright with determination as he gave his orders, certain now he would at last discover his brother's whereabouts.

Scattering his men, sending half toward the headland with O'Hara and half into the woods to search, Valentine, Thomas Sandrick, and the Turk headed in the opposite direction toward the cove.

They hadn't gotten very far when a shout from the group that had gone toward the headland drew Valentine's attention. Valentine halted, but the Turk kept walking,
gesturing
to the point of the other headland,
jest
before it bent to parallel the shore. He had spied something and wanted to investigate. Valentine let
him
go while he and Sandrick waited to see what his men were yelling about as they
hurried
toward them, carrying
something heavy
under their arms.

" 'Tis a cannon, Cap'n!"

" We found it half- buried in the sand."

" Off a Spanish galleon!"

" Look out there, Cap'n. There she is!"

" Broken up on the rocks."

" Some of her cargo must have washed up on shore."

" Might even have been survivors!"

" No
tellin' who
we might be
findin' on
this island now."

" We could be attacked! Maybe that's what happened to yer brother, Cap'n?"

" Gives me the jitters, it does. Where the devil is everybody, Cap'n?"

Valentine Whitelaw stood staring around him in growing dismay. Where indeed was everyone? Might Basil, Magdalena, and the child have been attacked by the survivors of this wrecked galleon?

"Cap'n? Ye thinks we might have a closer look at that galleon? Reckon there might still be something salvable from it. Since we got a boat, we might find something interesting out there in the bay that didn't get washed ashore. There just ain't any way, unless he'd a boat, that yer brother could have gotten to it that far out," one of the crew suggested, thinking of the gold and silver he'd seen on that table in the hut. There was bound to be more treasure in the sunken galleons hold.

But his captain was more interested in discovering what had happened to his brother to worry about the cargo of the wrecked galleon. " There will be time enough for that later. Take your men across the headland, Michaels. I wa
nt to know what lies beyond."

"
Aye, Cap'n," the crewman said, exchanging disgruntled looks with several of his mates.

Valentine Whitelaw hadn't miss
ed his men's disappointment. "
Gentlemen. So there will be no further misunderstandings concerning this: Should there indeed have been survivors of that wreck you are so anxious to explore, then I would urge caution, for I would not want the Spanish to catch any of my men with their breeches off. Or were you gentlemen planning on swimming fully clothed? Were you intending on setting a guard, or were you all going to dive in and come up with your hands full of gold doubloons? And the gentleman in the boat, what were you going to do should you have been fired upon? A fine pair of sitting ducks you would have made. Once we have dis
covered whether or not we face a
n enemy, and have dealt with that threat, then, and only then, will we have the pleasure of exploring the wreck. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aye, Cap'n," they chorused, some of them slightly shame faced, although O'Hara's eyes remained turned out to sea and the wreck that held such promise of riches.

"
Good. Now let us waste no more time," the
Madrigal's
captain requested as he turned away, certain his orders would be followed his time as he started back along the beach. He glanced in the direction Mustafa had gone, but the Turk had long since disappeared.

Thomas Sandrick stared about him curiously.
" 'Tis so quiet," he said. "
Almost unnatural."

They had just reached the headland when the silence Thomas Sandrick had remarked upon was shattered by a horrible cry. Valentine looked up in time to see the strangest figure flying through the air in pursuit of Mustafa as the Turk came tumbling down the rocky side. He landed with a splashing thud in the middle of a tidal pool on the beach below.

Tristram Christian had fallen asleep while on duty, just as Lily had suspected. Sitting propped against his favorite pine, his bare, brown legs crossed at the ankles, he hadn't sighted the ship flying the red cross of St. George anchoring just off shore. Nor had he seen the boat load of men being rowed ashore, nor later the shadow that fell across the rocks and blocked out the sun.

He hadn't heard Capabells's agitated cries in the branches above his head until too late. Opening his sleep-drowsy eyes, he had yawned lazily, wondering what the ruckus was. Stretching, Tristram had glanced up to see a horrifying sight.

The tallest, cruelest corsair he'd ever seen was standing over him. The man was even more terrifying a sight than the French pirates. Later, Tristram was to remember little about the man who had been about to attack him other than the fierce face and curved sword; both were certain to haunt his dreams for many nights to come.

Crying out, Tristram had jumped to his feet, or perhaps he had been pulled to his feet. Tristram was never to remember exactly, for the ferocious-eyed man had hooked his fingers around his arm in a murderous hold, or so the young boy believed as he started kicking and clawing at the madman who had caught him napping. But even more heart-stopping for the lad was wondering how he would explain all of this to Lily, if he lived; and then she would probably kill him for not having taken heed of her warning to keep watch at all times.

Tears of fear and desperation had been coursing down Tristram's face when he had been as startled as his attacker. Suddenly,
like
some fantastic winged serpent, Lily had flown at the man. Or perhaps it
had b
een Cisco he had seen and he had just thought Lily was flying. The parrot had been in the tree, at least the last time Tristram remembered hearing him, but whenever Cisco spied Lily he would fly down to her.

That was exactly what had happened. Cisco had landed on Lily's shoulder as she walked beside the cove, and he had been perched there, curious about the feathers that had sprouted on his mistress's shoulder, when she had come stealthily up the other side of the headland. Intent on surprising her brother, she had seen instead a horrible man shaking Tristram by the scruff of the neck.

She hadn't stopped to think, she had just come running, forgetting for a moment the bizarre outfit she wore. Cisco had flown in the air, green wings flapping. At the same moment that Lily had landed before the Turk, Capabells had swung out of the tree, his little face twisted into a mask of ferociousness as he squealed at the interloper who had so disturbed the quiet.