Wake of the Bloody Angel

Chapter Twenty-nine

The trail grew more treacherous as it climbed the nearest mountain’s slope. Here the greenery had gotten a better grip, and in a couple of places we had to stop and seriously look around to figure out where the path continued. Suhonen, in a giddy mood despite the slashes covering his arms and legs, whistled and cut through anything that blocked our way.

No more giant lizards attacked us, and despite our best efforts, we saw no sign that anyone secretly pursued us. It wasn’t a big island, but there were plenty of hiding places, especially for a lone man familiar with the terrain. If Black Edward had left those bare footprints, this case could turn especially ugly. The only real way to find a single person on an island like this was to use what the Pontecorvans called Kayhemadda: set fire to the greenery and let it burn the island clean. It was a literal scorched-earth policy that would be a very last resort.

The trail ended at the base of a flight of stone stairs. They weren’t ancient, but neither were they recent: lichen and moss had already encroached. They rose above us to a small plateau. The stream we’d crossed earlier tumbled down beside it, making a narrow waterfall. The spray from the pool felt wonderful.

“Who goes first?” Clift asked, wiping his face.

“I will,” I said. The idea that Black Edward Tew was up there, whether in a castle or hiding in the bushes, filled me with impatience. After all this time and distance, I could be close to getting my answers. Why had he sunk the Bloody Angel? What did he do with the treasure? And most important, my actual job: Did he even remember Angelina Dirnay?

Then I felt cold steel at the back of my neck. A voice said, “Wait just a minute.”

I turned. Dietz moved his sword’s point to the hollow of my throat, and his square face creased in concentration. “We’ve all heard about Black Edward’s treasure, Mr. Sword Jockey. Some say it’s on the bottom of the ocean; some say it’s not. And if it’s not, what better place to find it than under Black Edward’s own bony ass?”

“Dietz,” Clift said, “put the sword away now.”

“You just hold on, Captain, I’m looking out for you here, too. I think we need to make Mr. LaCrosse swear a blood oath that whatever we find, we split. Just among us, of course. The rest of the crew, well-” He smiled. “-what they don’t know won’t hurt ’em much, will it?”

I stood very still. I was too tired to be scared. Mainly I was just annoyed. I had suspected the veneer of respectability was thin on a lot of these former pirates, and here was the proof. But he was keeping me from the culmination of my search, and that was pissing me off.

“Dietz,” I said, “put the sword down like the captain said, or die. It’s that simple.”

Dietz pushed my chin up with the blade’s tip. “You think you’re fast enough to get me before I get you, old man?”

“I won’t have to do a thing. Last chance.”

His smile grew. “Not a one of your friends could get me before I get you, and I bet they’re all considering my offer just now. Besides, the blood oath I want from you requires all your blood.”

I knew from the way he’d leaped on the big lizard that he was brave and tough, but smarts hadn’t been a factor then. Now he looked suddenly surprised; his arm dropped and his sword fell to the ground. A moment later, he fell atop it. There was a gash across the back of his neck that had severed his spine, and a matching bloodstain on Clift’s ultra-sharp sword.

“Dumb bastard,” Clift said, and used Dietz’s tunic to clean his blade.

Jane said in annoyance, “Well, I was going to do that, show- off.”

“Sometime today?” Clift deadpanned. “Or when your calendar cleared?”

Jane laughed. I said to Clift, “Sharpen that thing every night, huh?”

“Every night,” he assured me. “He’s not the first one to turn his back on his pardon.”

“Will you get in trouble for doing that?” I asked.

“We have a standing policy for recidivism. You just saw it.”

“Of course. My mistake to doubt you.”

I suddenly felt very tired. Dietz’s eyes were still open in surprise, and his sword lay beside him. I should’ve tried to reason with him and get him back on our side, even if it required trickery. Instead, I’d stood by while he’d been killed, knowing it was going to happen, because I just couldn’t muster the energy to care. Whether he deserved it or not was immaterial. I wasn’t worried about his soul; I was worried about mine. I’d have to be more on guard against that kind of complacency.

I looked at the steps again. “I’ll go up and see what’s there.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Clift assured me.

“Be careful,” Jane said.

I asked, “Are you worried about me?”

She grinned. “About my money.”

The climb was a bastard. The stairs were so steep that I had to use my hands as well, crawling up like a jungle bug. Tactically they were brilliant: no one could mount them with a weapon in hand, and by the time you got to the top, you were too winded to be much of a threat.

About halfway up, I had to stop and wait for a snake to finish crawling across one step. It was as big around as my arm, and in no hurry. I glanced down at the others, which was a mistake. The stairs were so close to vertical that my head began to spin, and it wasn’t hard to imagine toppling down them to my death. At last the snake’s tail appeared, and in moments it was gone into the weeds.

When I finally reached the top, I knelt on the last step and rested my upper body on the plateau’s ground, waiting to catch my breath before taking a detailed look around. My shoulder throbbed something fierce, but I didn’t have the heart to see if that was sweat I felt or blood. I momentarily closed my eyes, and when I opened them, an enormous hair-covered spider bigger than my hand sat looking at me, its dozens of eyes gleaming in the sun.

I stared. It stared. I said, “You can try it, pal, but you ain’t got enough ass in your web to handle me today.”

The spider seemed to agree. It turned and scuttled away into the undergrowth.

The plateau was really a flattened foothill of the island’s nearest mountain. The stream ran across it and disappeared into the jungle on the other side. A stone path led from the top of the stairs to a small wooden house, bigger than any of the huts below but still nothing grand, certainly not the castle of a pirate king. One huge tree loomed over it, casting it in shade. The windows were dark and curtainless. In fact, there was no sign of any movement or life at all. Somewhere a jungle bird squawked in amusement.

I pushed myself to my feet and walked toward it. Despite being hot from climbing, I shivered. There was something hostile in the air, as if invisible forces sought to stop me. Halfway to the house, I called out, “Hello? Anyone in there? I’m looking for Edward Tew. Angelina Dirnay sent me.”

The house remained dark and still. A steaming tropical wind stirred the boughs of the tree, and it reminded me of some enormous beast awakened by a foolish traveler.

On the off chance I was, in fact, being watched, I took off my sword and put it on the ground. Seldom have I felt so naked without it. I raised my hands. “Look, I’m unarmed. I just want to talk. Okay?”

There was still nothing. Whoever, or whatever, might be in the house wasn’t coming out. Several bright red birds launched from the big tree and sailed out over the jungle below the plateau. From here I could see the Red Cow in the harbor, and the persistent fog bank beyond.

I also spotted the remains of a large bonfire in the open space away from the trees. In it were rectangular wooden frames. Now I knew the fate of the pictures taken from the huts below. But what did they depict that caused someone to hate them so much?

I picked up my sword and went back to the top of the stairs. Far below, the others looked up expectantly, and I waved for them to join me. Whatever I was walking into, I’d feel much more secure with them at my back.

Like me, everyone needed a moment to recover after the climb. The bloodstain on Jane’s leg was bigger now, but she neither mentioned it nor limped. Suhonen stood motionless, staring intently at the house. Clift said, “No sign of anyone?”

I shook my head. “No. I shouted when I first got here, but there was no response. I don’t think anyone’s in there.”

“No one’s crawling up the steps after us, either,” Jane said as she checked. “There must be another way off this high ground. Pirates like to drink, and those steps would kill a drunk.”

“Maybe that was the point,” Clift mused. “Well, shall we?”

We strode down the stone path to the house. The hot wind blew back our hair, and seemed to moan through the distant rocks above the tree line. Unruly vines and weeds had claimed the edges of the clearing, and it looked as though the primeval forest would soon regain possession of it, just like the path that brought us here.

I knocked on the door. The wood was laden with moisture, and mold clung to its edges. It made a wet smacking sound instead of the sharp rap I expected.

I pushed the door; it was unlatched, and swung open with a high-pitched creak. The tree’s shade made the interior dark despite the numerous windows. Jane, sword in hand, flattened against the wall on one side of the door, Suhonen on the other. Clift stayed behind me, his sword still on his belt. Duncan stood beside him.

With my hands loose at my side, I stepped into the house, ducking low at the last moment in case someone waited to take off my head. Nothing happened. I stood up and waited for my eyes to adjust.

As they did, something extraordinary happened. It was like I’d entered some sort of spellbound cottage. From the sunblasted jungle outside, I now trod the darkness of a rain forest hidden in perpetual dusk. I sensed great ancient forests around me, with its naked inhabitants peering out around the trunks of the great trees. I blinked a few times, and the images resolved into things painted on the walls and ceilings.

I forgot to breathe. The detail, design, and execution of these images was extraordinary. The trees began with spidery root patterns that extended from the baseboards onto the floor, and their trunks climbed the walls until limbs branched out across the ceiling. The colors were vivid, brighter than life and yet somehow pulsing with it. Birds of red, orange, and yellow sat among the leaves, and here and there were parts of snakes, lizards, and insects. Behind the trees, simple blurred lines suggested the rest of the forest, with occasional faint beams of sunlight implying depth.

As a baron’s son in Arentia, I’d been taught the basics of art appreciation, and I knew without a doubt I was in the presence of genius. I turned slowly, taking it all in. Who the hell did all this?

There were people there, too. A bare arm here, a naked breast there, dark hair obscuring faces… It was the kind of tribe that you might find on an island like this. Had there been one before the pirates arrived? If so, where were they now?

“Eddie?” Jane called from outside. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I answered numbly. “It’s, uhm… all clear.”

They joined me in the house, Suhonen having to duck to get through the door, and were equally startled by the art. “Good grief,” Jane said at last. “Somebody had a lot of free time.”

Clift touched one of the paintings. It had begun to flake off the wood. “It won’t last much longer.”

I felt a sharp pang of anguish that this wonder might not be long for the world, but I brought myself back to the moment and looked past the art at the house containing it. This was the big main room, with a stove in one corner, a desk in another, and nothing else. A door led into a second room, where only a rumpled bed remained. On the bedroom floor, though, several recent bare footprints had marked the dust. Our watcher in the woods?

“Eddie?” Jane called. “You better come see this.”

I joined her. They all stood in front of one section of the wall, where the artist had painted a nude woman leaning seductively back against a tree. In one hand she held some sort of fruit. She was depicted larger and more prominently than any of the others, who were shown hiding and peeking out.

When I didn’t react fast enough, Jane said, “Look above her neck.”

I did, and got my biggest surprise yet. It was, without a doubt, Angelina.

It wasn’t just the detail, which he got right-well, at least on the parts of her body I could personally verify. He’d captured something ineffable about her, so that anyone who knew her couldn’t fail to recognize her. Her expression was one I’d seen many times, a mixture of annoyance and amusement that, coupled with her nudity, made her almost unbearably sexy. My mind involuntarily conjured up the memory of our one kiss all those years ago, and I felt an uncomfortable arousal building in me.

It lasted until Duncan quietly asked, “Is that my mom?”

I nodded, the momentary spell broken. I’m pretty sure I blushed, too, but it was too dark for anyone to see.

“Your mom?” Clift repeated. “Is there something here I should know about?”

It seemed pointless to keep the secret now. “He’s Black Edward’s son.”

Clift looked at Duncan. “Really,” he said with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

“He’s never met him,” I said quickly. “Black Edward may not even know he exists.”

“The man’s got a good memory, though,” Jane said. “If he hasn’t seen Angelina in twenty years.”

Yeah, I agreed to myself, a very good memory. Or Angie had flat-out lied to me. She occasionally went away for weeks at a time without telling anyone where or why; did she meet her pirate lover in secret? Hell, did she come here and pose for him against that huge tree outside?

“Look at this,” Suhonen said. He stood over the desk, nodding toward something but careful not to touch it. My God, he was a quick study. We gathered around him.

He’d found a book, with wooden covers and vellum pages bound between them. Painted on the cover was a sailing ship halfway sunk beneath the stormy waves, the water around it filled with drowning men. Below this was the title.

“It looks like a logbook,” Jane said.

“Yeah,” I agreed distantly. Everything receded except the words painted on the cover by the artist’s steady hand.

“I can’t read the language, though,” she added.

“Me, neither,” Suhonen said.

“I can,” I said. My voice was barely a whisper.

She noticed my attitude. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” I said, snapping back to the moment. “I can read it,” I repeated.

“What language is it, then?”

“Arentian,” I said.

“You’re from Arentia?” Suhonen said in surprise.

“Originally. And not for a long time.”

“Do you think it’ll tell us what really happened to his ship?” Clift asked.

“I’m absolutely certain it will.”

“How do you know?”

I tapped the lettering on the cover. “Because the title is The Wreck of the Bloody Angel and What Really Happened. ”

The same title as the official book back in Watchorn Harbor. The irony was as sharp as Clift’s sword.