Free Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson Page B

from the deck to the main boom. “I’m going to climb up there, untie the bindings, and let the sail loose. . . . When I give you the signal, just hoist away on this rope, and watch.”

    From atop the forecastle, Anne scrubbed the deck and watched her father. She was amazed at the interest he’d taken in the lad they’d rescued. Ever since we left for Dominica , he’s been hovering over him like a mother hen . She worked the scrub brush a little harder, its bristles digging into the debris and sediment on the deck.
    She’d told her father about the memory loss, and he’d stewed over the name. Cat. Anne frowned and scrubbed harder. Little flecks of black and brown flicked off and flew this way and that. She watched her father smile and point at the sails and rigging . . . and smile again. “Look at him,” she mumbled to herself. “The first time he’s able to walk around on deck . . .” Her words trailed off into a deep growl. She dropped the scrub brush, stood, and scowled at her father.

    Declan Ross saw his daughter’s glare and wondered, Now what is she angry about? He shrugged and turned back to hand the rope to Cat, but . . . he was gone. Ross looked about the deck. No sign. The nearest hatch was still secured. Ross hadn’t heard a splash, so he couldn’t have gone overboard. Where in tarnation— “Up here!” came a voice from above.
    Ross craned his neck, and there, standing on the boom like he owned the ship, was Cat. Ross looked back at the rigging, then back up to Cat. He realized not only had Cat clambered up the rigging in a flash, but he had also untied the bindings and loosened the topsail. Ross mouthed, “How?”
    Cat cocked an eyebrow and grinned. Looking out to sea, his eyes narrowed. To the captain’s horror, Cat grabbed the top of the rope Ross had been holding and leaped off the boom. As Cat fell, the gaff frame rose to the top of the mast, and the topsail went up. Cat landed softly on the deck next to Ross and tied off the rope. A split second later, an easterly wind barreled into the sails of the William Wallace .
    The ship lurched and picked up speed, and several of the crew cheered.

    Anne watched as her father let out a thunderous laugh and grasped Cat by his shoulders. Jules, Red Eye, Midge, and others—all smiles—surrounded Cat and joined in the merriment.
    Anne went back to scrubbing the deck.
    â€œHe’s a sailor,” Ross declared in his quarters later that evening. “A pirate or merchant marine.”

    Stede nodded. “Mayb’ British navy?”
    â€œI thought of that,” Ross replied. “That would explain his knowledge of the ropes and rigging. But his accent isn’t British—at least not mainland British. Reminds me more of the settlements, a hint of the islanders’ speech too.
    â€œThere’s something else . . . something that takes the navy out of the picture. He’s got more than the instinct for the sea any good sailor has . . . he’s got that flair . . . that pirate risk. Not only did he raise the topsail just as the wind came, but he did it by leaping off the boom—and this, just days after lying near death!”
    â€œThat mon b’ reckless,” Stede said. “But it b’ a calculated kind of reckless. Knows what him b’ doing so the risks don’t matter. I seen it too. This afternoon, I let Cat take the wheel for a spell. I tell you, him’s hand was as steady as granite. And b’fore I knew what him was doing, him steered the ship down the backside of a swell and into a gale wind I didn’t see.”
    Ross leaned back so he was no longer visible in the flickering light of the lanterns. “I’m sure of it. Cat is a pirate.”

13
AN UNEASY ALLIANCE
    T he William Wallace drifted slowly with the current of the Roseau River on the lower western quarter of the island of Dominica.
    The early morning sun