Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson

something that caught their fancy. Then he took Ross by the arm and led him deep into the room. They came to a set of six enormous cannons, three on either side of the narrow aisle.
    â€œWhat are these?” Ross asked. “Ten- . . . twelve-pounders?”
    â€œThese, mon ami, fire sixteen-pound cannonballs.”
    â€œSixteen?!” Ross was skeptical. He studied the long barrels, black cast iron inlaid with bronze and housed in dark wood carriages.
    â€œYes, I know, these cannons look too light for those kind of ship-killing cannonballs. But I found this woman in Portugal who casts with iron and bronze to make the barrel smooth, but relatively light. She claims that they will fire a sixteen-pound ball accurately over six hundred feet.”
    Ross was impressed.
    â€œAs a token of my appreciation, take two of these for the Wallace .”
    â€œHow will I get them back to—”
    â€œI will have them delivered,” St. Pierre explained. “You still anchor in your usual place, at the bend on the Roseau?” Ross nodded. “Good. My servants will bring them when you leave.”
    By the time their shopping trip into St. Pierre’s special room was over, Ross and his men had acquired a spectacular array of goods, instruments, and weapons. Jules even came away with a bag of Mediterranean spices for Nubby to add to his iguana stew. It needed something to make the rest of the crew like it. Red Eye had three swords. Ross picked out a new navigation device St. Pierre called a backstaff for Stede. “That should just about do it,” said Ross.
    â€œExcept for the monkey pee,” said Padre Dominguez.
    â€œOh, right . . . that,” said Ross.
    â€œAnd one more thing,” said Jules, handing the captain a small, cloth-wrapped package.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Ross asked.
    â€œIt’s blue coral for Anne,” Jules replied, looking away. “She should have something, don’t you think?”
    â€œRight . . . uh, thanks, Jules,” said the captain. “She’s probably still mad that I didn’t let her come.”

    Later, as the sun began to set, Ross, his landing party, and dozens of St. Pierre’s hired servants carried loads of supplies as they made their way back through the rain forest. “I don’t understand,” said Padre Dominguez. “Why was he so happy about Chevillard’s wheel?”
    â€œThierry Chevillard once attacked a merchant ship sailed by Saint Pierre’s brother Vincent,” Ross explained. “Chevillard forced Vincent and his crew to become pirates. When Vincent refused to burn a settlement to the ground, Chevillard had Vincent drawn and quartered.”
    Padre Dominguez made the sign of the cross.

15
GHOST TOWN
    C at dangled from the frame of the balcony window twenty feet above the water. Anne impatiently treaded water beneath him. “Just let go!” she whispered.
    Easy for you to say, Cat thought. You know if you know how to swim! But unwilling for Anne to think him afraid, Cat held his breath and plunged into the blue-green water below.
    The first few moments under the water were the worst. Cat’s heart hammered at his ribs, and his lungs screamed for want of air. It seemed like he sank forever, down into the murk. But his descent began to slow and reverse. He did not struggle or flail, he simply let himself float upward. When Cat surfaced, his ears rang. He opened his eyes to a blurred vision of sun shining in a young woman’s red hair. Kick your feet, a voice said. There, just like a little shark.
    â€œWhat did you say?” Cat asked as he spluttered and shook his hair out of his face. He kicked his feet and began to paddle his hands back and forth. His vision cleared, and there was Anne swimming beside him, looking at him strangely.
    â€œI said, ‘Swim, Cat. Kick your feet.’ You looked like you were about to sink back under.”
    â€œI guess . . . I guess I know