Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson Page B

has been known to make port here. If we need to make a hasty exit, we can’t risk you falling behind.”
    Ross joined a group of sailors by the rail. They began lowering a cutter into the river. Cat watched and wondered if he’d ever remember who he was.

    Cat lay cramped in a hammock slung between two ceiling planks only three feet apart. He figured he should be happy with the accommodations in Stede’s wardroom. He was alone while most of the crew slept in very crowded quarters on the lower gun deck. And the rest of the crew had their hammocks hung with just eighteen inches between them.
    The landing party had been gone for several hours. Cat stayed busy for most of that time, but it drove him crazy to see the shores of Dominica and not be able to explore them. So even though there were still many hours of daylight left, he had made his way belowdecks to Stede’s quarters. But sleep did not come, not a hint of it. He swayed gently in the hammock, held his leather pouch on his stomach, and wondered about the contents. The green jewel has to be worth something, he thought. He wondered if he could use it to hire someone to take him back to the island where he had been found. Probably not , Cat decided. He didn’t even know where that island was or what it was called. He didn’t really want to lose the jewel anyway. It might have belonged to him, might be a clue to his identity. Might be.
    The tarnished cross with the strange markings was even more puzzling. He’d studied it and discovered that on the long end it was serrated, tiny jags and grooves cut into the metal—almost as if it had been placed in some sort of holder or stand.
    But of the three items, none was more vexing than the lock of red hair. It was lush and soft and brilliantly crimson. But whose was it? The thought occurred to him that Anne’s hair was red like that.
    But she didn’t know him. They’d just— There came a knock at the door. It was faint and subtle, but Cat was sure there had been a knock. Who? Stede wouldn’t knock. Cat slid out of the hammock and dropped quietly to the ground. His muscles protested. The sparring in the morning had worn him out.
    Wounds in various places throbbed dully, reminding him that he wasn’t quite well.
    Cat quickly put his leather pouch behind a large conch shell in Stede’s cabinet, the only hiding place he could find. He ambled over, crouched, and put his ear to the door. Another knock, this one a little louder, jolted Cat backward a step. A whispered voice, “Cat?”
    He opened the door a crack and peeked out. “Anne?” He stood up and opened the door wide.
    â€œHurry up,” Anne barked under her breath. She barged past him and shut the door and locked it.
    â€œAnne, what are you doing?” he asked, feeling awkward and somewhat suspicious. “What’s with all the sneaking around?”
    â€œYou want to go ashore, don’t you?” she said. He looked at her quizzically. “You said you wanted to go ashore, that you might remember something, right?”
    â€œY-y-yes,” Cat stammered. “But Captain Ross forbade me. To go would be mutiny.”
    â€œFor me, yes,” she replied coolly. “But not for you. My father has no right to keep you on this ship.”
    â€œYour father—”
    â€œIs not someone I like very much right now,” Anne interrupted.
    â€œHe doesn’t know you. For all he knows, Dominica could be your home. He’s keeping you captive against your will.” Anne didn’t mention that he’d done the same to her ever since her mother died.
    But Anne’s face was red, and her smoldering eyes carried the unspoken message: Do you want to go or not?
    Cat hesitated. Seeing the Carib stone face had brought back something, really the first memory of anything. And he longed to investigate Dominica. Still, Captain Ross and the crew had welcomed him aboard, healed him,