Free Voyage of Plunder by Michele Torrey Page A

snapping. Leaves being thrust aside. Footsteps.
    Timothy? Is that you?
    I jerked up too quickly and accidentally tumbled out of my hammock. I stood, cursing, tangling my hand in my hammock, bumping my head against the wall, kicking a shoe across the floor.
    Voices.
    Shaking, still blurry from sleep, I lurched out onto the veranda.
    Not forty paces away, three men moved toward me, following the path. One held a lantern, its brownish light casting monstrous, swaying shadows.
    As yet, no one had seen me.
    I returned to my hut, blindly searching for my pistol and cutlass. My hand touched the pistol, and I shoved it in the waistband of my pants, feeling the sting of metal. After groping around for a few more seconds, I touched leather—my crossbelt. I fastened on my crossbelt with its cutlass and stumbled for the door.
    Without a sound, I descended the stairs and fled. A few moments later, I was at my dump. I crouched behind a plant with dense foliage, watching, breathing like a hurricane, my heart crashing, leaves wet against my cheek. Whatever these riffraff were up to, it was no good, of that I was certain. I hoped against hope they would not find my hut.
    As they stepped into the clearing, I recognized two of the pirates: Rat Eye and Gideon Fist. The other pirate I did not know. Black hair sprouted from him like on an ape I had once seen in a cage back in Boston. Like the other two, he was heavily armed.
    “Under the marked tree,” said Fist, pointing.
    Aye,” growled Rat Eye. “I remember it well.”
    Carved into the trunk of one of the palm trees was a crooked
X.
I had seen the mark before and wondered about its significance. I had a dread that I was about to find out.
    Rat Eye set down the lantern, and the hairy pirate handed him a shovel before taking another shovel in hand and starting to dig. The two of them labored while Fist lit his pipe, squinting at the proceedings through the smoke. Occasionally he glanced back down the trail as if to be sure no one had followed them.
    For the next half hour or so, I heard nothing but grunts and oaths, the slice of the shovels, the whisper of thrown sand, and the patter of rainwater from a jungle so recently drenched. A bug bit my arm, and I crushed the insect, hoping that whatever the scoundrels were looking for, they would find it quickly and leave. As yet, no one had tossed so much as a glance at the hut, hidden in shadows on the far side of the clearing.
    Thunk! Thunk!
    “Found it!” cried the hairy man.
    “A lovelier sound I've never heard,” said Rat Eye, grinning. He straightened, puffing hard, his shoulders and head extending above the pit. He wiped his brow with his sleeve.
    “Well done, men.” Fist emptied his pipe before stowing it back in his pocket. “Just set it up here next to me, and I'll take care of the rest.”
    With a grunt and a heave-ho, Rat Eye and Hairy hoisted a wooden chest onto the ground next to the pit. Then they clambered out of the pit as Fist took a key from around his neck, unlocked the chest, and lifted the lid. Sand trickled away, and the hinges creaked.
    My breath caught. Jewels, coins, gold and silver bars, crowns, bracelets, necklaces—it was a king's ransom. Fist dug in a hand, and I heard the sound of treasure.
    Rat Eye giggled, and his eyes gleamed.
    Hairy grabbed a handful of loot and began to dance about. “By the devil, 'tis good to see it again. We're rich! We're bloody rich!”
    “Those half-wits aboard the
Defiance
don't know we stole 'em blind,” said Rat Eye. “They still think we nabbed nothing but sails and kettles aboard our last prize.”
    “Nor will they ever know.” So saying, Fist drew two pistols, one in each hand, and aimed them at Rat Eye and Hairy.

airy stopped midtwirl, mouth hanging. A ruby slipped from his hand.
    “Cap-Captain Fist,” stammered Rat Eye. “What—what're you doing?”
    “I'm obliged to you rascals on three accounts,” said Fist. “First, for stealing the goods. Second, for keeping