Thorpe's Candle

SKYLER

The majestic West Wind sat in the heat, its twenty-seven-thousand tons towered over the berth at the docks of the small resort town. With a flurry of last minute activity, the final passengers boarded and the gangways retracted. Soon it would continue on its cruise to the next port along the western coast of Mexico. The ship's twin Sulzer diesels sent a constant low rumble through the waters of the channel. Gulls dove through the sky above the ship's gleaming chrome and teak appointments.

A few hundred yards away on the opposite side of the channel, a small outboard bobbed in the light chop, its presence all but ignored in the heat of the early afternoon. A teenage boy pretended to fish while he kept a close eye on the cruise ship. Halfway between him and the West Wind was the San Felipe, a Mexican government archaeological dive boat anchored in the middle of the channel. The boy watched as two divers surfaced, boarded the San Felipe and prepared to move it to allow clearance for the cruise ship to depart.

Cruise ships were a mainstay to the popular resort destination, and their prop wash had stirred up the bottom helping to uncover long-buried items. For the last two weeks the government-sponsored project had uncovered bottles, pottery shards, 19th century machinery parts, and rock ballast from early galleons. Many items were the result of a mid-1800's hurricane that demolished the town along with numerous ships. The deadly storm had uprooted many coffins from a cemetery near the beach. Old newspaper accounts told of people seeing coffins floating out to sea.

The boy waited patiently for the San Felipe to raise anchor and move up the channel. Having watched the same routine with other ships for three days, he knew he would have about twenty minutes alone at the dive site to search for any salable artifacts before the ship departed and the archaeologists returned.

When the San Felipe's engines came to life and it started moving north, he put on his dive gear and slipped over the side into the warm, dark water. The heavy throb of the cruise ship seemed to come from every direction. He followed the sloping side of the channel down until it leveled off, forming a muddy gray plane littered with chunks of coral and limestone. Odd-shaped pieces of debris stuck up from the sediment like partially unearthed bones.

Finally, the dive site appeared. The boy saw the outline of a grid system made of wires stretching between an angle-iron frame. The grid covered approximately two thousand square feet and lay suspended a few feet above the bottom of the channel. Numbers and letters on plastic markers dotted the grid showing the location of interesting finds.

He moved across the top of the grid looking for any items he could take back and sell to the less-scrupulous souvenir shops in town. To his untrained eyes however, everything looked the same — strange-shaped objects covered with a layer of neutral-gray silt. Tied to the wires in five or six areas were a few small orange plastic ribbons. He searched these first.

The closest ribbon marked the upper half of a large blue glass jar filled with liquid. A second marked the tip of an enormous timber running at an angle down into the sand. He swam from ribbon to ribbon fanning the silt away to reveal other objects.

The boy glanced at his dive watch. The only thing that concerned him was the departure of the ship. Being caught in its prop wash could be deadly — clearance was tight even at high tide. Once the ship started to move, he knew he would only have a few moments to get to a safe distance.

The pitch of the ship's engines rose as he stopped at the next ribbon. Again he fanned the silt. This time he saw the worm-riddled top of what was left of a large wooden box. It materialized out of the muddy bottom having been preserved under the thick layer of mud and sand. Brushing his hand across it caused a glint of light to reflect off a piece of metal — a small plate about 100 millimeters square. Engraved on it was the image of a tree. As the current washed away the silt cloud, the image took shape — a full oak tree that spread its limbs from a thick mature trunk.

He continued to run his hand across the plate revealing more of the image. Maybe he'd found something important, he thought, something the divers had missed! Then the words En Memoria O Recuerdo De, “In Memory of” appeared, and he knew in an instant that he was looking at the top of what was once a coffin.

As his hand jerked back, a dark shadow eclipsed what little light there was and threw the dive site into gloom. Just as suddenly, a tremendous blast of water shoved him head over heels across the top of the grid. His regulator caught in the metal wires and the force of the water slammed him into the angle-iron frame. He cried out with wrenching pain. Then his head smashed into an outcrop of limestone and his face mask cracked.

The drone of the ship's engines grew to a deafening pitch. Dazed and frightened, he lay trapped on his back looking up at the shape moving overhead. He tried to swim but the latticework of the grid held his tank in its tangled grip. Panic took hold as he squirmed about becoming even more firmly entangled. The immense thrashing sound roared in his ears as the whirling screws of the ship came directly at him.

Matt Skyler yanked his dive mask off and tossed it into a yellow plastic milk crate. His stomach ached from hunger and he regretted skipping lunch. The excitement of the morning discoveries had pushed him back into the water just as soon as he'd come up for a fresh tank.

At six-three, Skyler had a dark tan, an Olympic swimmer’s body that filled every square inch of his black one-piece and long caramel-colored hair that hung in ringlets down his brow. He moved with a confident stride across the deck of the San Felipe to the bridge. Just inside was an ice chest filled with cartons of orange juice and two six packs of Corona. He grabbed an orange juice, downing half of it in three pulls. Next, he found a box of soda crackers kept in the map cabinet. Taking a handful, Skyler ate as he watched Paco Cruz kneel and inspect a small mass of wet purple rock covered with what was once a graceful anemone. Now it resembled a formless glob of spinach.

Skyler walked over to stand beside his fellow diver. “What do you think?”

Cruz poked the rock with his diver's knife. Then he looked up smiling. “It's definitely the handle of a sword, Señor Skyler. Mid-seventeenth century, give or take a decade. I believe we have found the San Paulo.”

Slightly shorter than Skyler, Cruz had dark bronze-colored skin and the strength of a bull. His long black hair hung down his back as he stood and slipped out of his wet suit. Cruz was the government archaeologist from the Department of Mexican Antiquities in charge of the search for the illusive San Paulo. It had been a galleon loaded with ivory and jade that had burned and sank in the bay over 300 years ago.

“I cannot thank you enough, Señor Skyler, for giving up part of your vacation to come to my aid. If it were not for you, I would still be looking in the wrong place.”

“Dumb luck, believe me.” Skyler shrugged and bit into his last cracker. “Just remember, Paco, the deal was for a case of Sauza Tres Generaciones if we find the San Paulo.”

“And so it shall be, my friend. You will have your tequila.”

“Why don't we run one more survey just to be sure?”

“A fine idea. As soon as the cruise ship leaves, I'll program another sub-bottom profile.” Cruz picked up the relic and gently placed it into a tank of salt water.

Skyler scanned the sleek lines of the West Wind as it prepared to move away from its berth. He watched the swirling dark currents created by the side thrusters stirring up the channel. Then he saw a small powerboat anchored across the waterway tossing about with no one aboard. He moved back to the bridge and grabbed a pair of binoculars. Focusing on the middle of the channel, he saw what he feared — the telltale trail of bubbles moving across the channel

“Damn!” Skyler turned to the man inside the cabin. “Captain, shut her down.” Then he rushed across the deck and grabbed a fresh tank out of the storage rack. “Crank up the scooter, Paco!”

“What is it?”

“Souvenir hunter.”

“Sweet Jesus, where?” Cruz tried to see what Skyler was talking about.

“This side of that outboard.” He pointed as he slipped on his tank and weight belt.

Cruz nodded then jumped off the stern to the lower platform and unhooked the AquaBike, a small battery-powered underwater scooter used for hauling objects up from the bottom. “You only have a twenty percent charge. It may not be enough to get you there.”

“Not much choice.” Skyler dropped down beside him. “If I don't get that jerk out of there, he'll be sliced to pieces.”

“Should we call the harbor police?” Cruz pushed the scooter off the platform.

“No time.” Skyler slipped into the water and gripped the throttle. With a spray of foam, he disappeared under the chop.

The boy knew he had only seconds to live. Oh God, help me, he prayed as the dark monster swept over him. Suddenly, out of the blackness came a flash — the edge of a large knife sliced through his tank harness setting him free. A powerful arm wrapped around him. Then a hard rubber mouthpiece was shoved in his face and he took a deep breath. He felt himself being pulled across the top of the grid faster than he had ever moved underwater.

Within seconds, the screws of the ship passed over the point where he had been trapped and the dive site became an enormous cloud of silt and mud. The light grew brighter as he and his rescuer approached the surface. A moment later, they broke into the blinding Mexican sun.

The boy stared at the wall of metal that made up the West Wind. Only a few moments before it had been a leviathan of deadly proportions. Now it moved with grace and beauty along the channel heading for the open ocean, its multi-colored pennants dancing in the tropical breeze.

The thin, high-pitched whine of the underwater scooter buzzed in his ears as the low rumble of the cruise ship faded. The man who saved his life kept a solid hold across his chest while he steered the scooter toward the runabout. Once they pulled alongside, he let go and cut the power to the scooter. Almost immediately, the San Felipe appeared and maneuvered to within a few meters of the smaller boat.

“Señor Skyler, are you okay?” someone called from the dive boat.

Flashing a thumbs-up, the man helped the boy grab hold of the side of the runabout. “You gonna make it, kid?” he asked after pushing his dive mask onto his forehead and removing his mouthpiece.

“I think so.” The boy’s voice was choked and raw. His head throbbed from the impact of the rock. “Stupid, I guess.”

“Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it. Diving alone is stupid. Being run over by a ship is downright insane. You really want to die that bad?”

“Forgive me, Señor, and gracias.” He coughed as he held on to the bobbing boat.

“Take care of yourself, kid.” The man patted the boy’s cheek then flipped the power switch and guided the scooter toward the stern of the government dive boat.

With his remaining strength, the boy pulled himself into the runabout and turned to watch his rescuer climb onto the rear platform of the San Felipe. For an instant, the man glanced back at him and smiled — a smile that warmed him more than the golden Mexican sun ever could.

Skyler turned to Cruz. “What's say we call it a day, amigo? I've had it.”

“I agree.” Cruz swabbed the sweat from his forehead then secured the AquaBike onto the stern platform. “Do you think the young one learned his lesson?”

“Who knows? Truth is, that's just the kind of stunt I would have pulled when I was his age.” Skyler dried his face on a towel and went to the ice chest inside the dive boat's cabin. This time he grabbed a Corona.