The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3 Read online

  At first he thought it was coming from the Emerald Star. A signal from his brother, perhaps. But a second later there could be no doubt about its origins. The sound had come from behind him. His head snapped around to where they’d come. It didn’t make sense. The local people didn’t have anything as sophisticated as a rifle. And he’d told Hammersmith to leave his weapon behind days ago. He focused the telescope. His eyes were wide and his mouth open. He stared into the distance, where he’d left Thomas Hammersmith five hours earlier.

  He made a silent prayer that the poor man had lied about dropping his weapon and had now taken his own life. It would be a far better way than to let those angered barbarians reach him while he was alive. He stared at his pursuers, as they ran down the sand dune, like a flooded river, breaking free of its bank and running wild.

  Smith breathed in deeply. It was impossible that anything could coax a human body to run at full speed through a desert. Even from his distance, Smith imagined their powerful muscles straining to propel their muscular frames across the thick sand. They were moving much faster than he or Jack could possibly run through the sand.

  My god, but they move beautifully.

  Jack asked, “What do you see?”

  Smith said, “Nothing good. That’s for sure. Come on. The water’s not far now. It would seem preposterous that we’re to be butchered so close to our safety.”

  Jack took the telescope and quickly assessed the men in pursuit. “They’re moving with speed, aren’t they?”

  “That they are, but they’re still five or six miles away – much too far for them to reach us in time. We’ll be safe, trust me my lad.”

  Smith continued to set the pace. It was slightly faster than a walk, but a long way off from a run. He no longer stopped for rests. He wasn’t quite terrified yet. All he had to do was keep moving, and he’d reach the Emerald Star with time to spare.

  It wasn’t long before he heard the strange battle-cry of his pursuers. It started out softly, barely audible, yet constant. At first he thought it might be the sound of the dangerous surf crashing on the sandy beach ahead. It was too relentless to be caused by humans. But twenty minutes later the sound resonated louder, and by forty minutes, Smith could feel the prickly fingers of Death, teasing at his back.

  Jack asked, “What is that sound?”

  Smith ignored him, unable to accept the only possible answer.

  “They’re close aren’t they?” Jack persisted, without attempting to hide his fear.

  Smith nodded. He couldn’t believe that humans could make such a persistent and horrifying sound, but there was no denying its origins now. It was the sound of the fiends who chased them approaching fast. It caused fear to rise in his throat like bile. “Run!”

  Adrenaline commanded his muscles to move without hesitation. He ran all the way to the beach. Dusk turned to nightfall by the time he reached it. With nightfall, the sound of the battle cry had finally ceased. Somehow, the eerie silence felt far more terrifying.

  They reached the final sand dune. It stood approximately sixty feet into the air, and descended all the way into the cold, unfeeling waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He was badly winded. The muscles of his calves and thighs were hot with pain. His heart thumped so hard he could barely hear the waves crashing on the shore, above it. Smith glanced behind him. His pursuers were still another hour away, even at their fantastic speed. He grinned, it was close, but they were going to make it.

  Jack turned to face him. His eyes were wide and his breathing hard. “Where’s the Emerald Star?”

  “Don’t worry,” Smith grinned. “She’ll be out there, somewhere.”

  “Your brother’s left us!”

  “No! My brother might be a greedy, selfish bastard, but he will be there.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Smith removed the golden skull and leather shot bag from his satchel. “Because he wants this as much as we do.”

  “But how are we going to contact him?”

  “With this,” Smith said, as he poured a small amount of the contents of his shot bag onto the ground in three separate piles. The blackened powder mixed with the sand. He then struck the first one with his fire-striker. Ferrocerium struck steel’s heated shards and ignited the gunpowder. In an instant, the first pile ignited, followed by the second, and third, in a rapid staccato like gunshots.

  He stared at the sea. The Emerald Star was now blanketed by the night sky. Where are you, brother? Nearly two hundred feet out, he saw the golden light begin to flash.

  *

  Smith watched the skiff approach. The sailors rowed hard against the rough seas. Not one of them was chatting. They were all focused on the cadence and fighting not to be overturned by the waves breaking along the shore. Smith looked up as the skiff caught its final wave and slid onto the beach. The men pulled her up a few feet until they were confident the swell wasn’t going to reclaim the boat before they were ready.

  Smith looked at Oswald, his brother, and captain of the Emerald Star. Smith grinned as he offered his hand. “Christ, are we glad to see you, brother!”

  “You’re welcome.” Oswald’s eyes darted to Jack and back to Smith. “You took your time. What happened to the rest of your men?”

  Smith looked toward the peak of the second sand dune behind them. Small white dots appeared to be moving across its crest. The whites of the eyes of his pursuers were unseen, but they were there, and they were very close.

  He turned to his brother. “It’s a long story and we’re not on our own, so I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Oswald glanced toward the peak of the sand dune and nodded. “All right gentlemen, it looks like Smith and Jack didn’t make any friends with the locals, so let’s get back on board the Emerald Star.”

  The sailors didn’t need to be told twice. They worked quickly. Smith and Jack climbed onboard the wooden skiff as the rest of the men pushed it back into the water. Smith gripped the leather satchel, which contained the ancient relic, holding it close to his chest. There was no way he was going to lose it in the dangerous surf, so close to the Emerald Star. Following Oswald’s command, the sailors waited until the wave broke onto the shore, and then rowed hard to meet the following wave.

  Now afloat and into the violent waters, Smith realized he wasn’t safe yet. The next few minutes might be the most dangerous of his entire trip. His mouth was set hard and his heart raced so much he could hear blood pounding in his ears. Where he gripped the satchel his knuckles turned white. The waves came in endless sets. Each one capable of flipping the skiff and drowning them all.

  No one, he realized with mixed feelings, could swim in such violent water. It meant if they reached the Emerald Star they were safe from the savages who pursued them. If they didn’t reach the ship, they would never survive in the water. No man, no matter how strong a swimmer, could stay alive in such a torrent.

  “Hold on, men!” Oswald yelled, as they reached the second breaker.

  The skiff’s bow lifted high into the air. For a moment Smith was certain they were going to flip. The two sailors who rowed closest to the bow saw it too. They jumped forward, moving the weight further toward the bow. Smith watched in horror as the seawater from the breaking wave – white and frothy – rushed through the back half of the skiff. Helpless to avoid the unfolding series of events, he hung on the edge of the boat. Water ripped past him, sending sea spray over his face. The saltwater stung at his eyes and filled his mouth with the bitter taste as two sailors, and Jack Baker were washed overboard.

  The bow crashed down hard.

  Ahead, a third breaker approached quickly. Smith glanced behind him. The two sailors were barely afloat – the whitewash so full of air that it provided barely any buoyancy at all – and he couldn’t even see young Jack. He wondered how his brother was possibly going to rescue the three men before the next wave drowned them all. The rest of the sailors paused on their oars for a split moment.

  “Keep going men,” Oswald screamed.
“Or every one of us will be lost!”

  The men rowed in silence and none of them had to be told to leave their friends behind. It wasn’t an option of helping their friends. It was save themselves or drown. They struck the third wave at speed and the momentum carried the bow over the top of its crest. For a moment, the skiff appeared to remain stranded in the middle of the wave as the flow of water tried to drag them toward the beach.

  “Heave you bastards!” Oswald shouted.

  Smith held his breath. The skiff remained motionless for another split second and then began moving forward. He slowly exhaled as the efforts of the men rowing started to be rewarded with movement. They cleared the fourth and fifth waves without any trouble. After that, the deeper water settled and they picked up speed.

  Two minutes later the skiff came alongside the Emerald Star’s portside and Smith climbed up the cargo nets. He kissed the deck. He had cheated death.

  Oswald waited until the skiff was pulled up onto the deck and then turned to him. “You okay, little brother?”

  “Fine. I’m sorry about your men.”

  “Don’t be. They knew the risks. Death is part of the life of a pirate. You lost more men than me today, by the looks of it.”

  Smith nodded. He’d felt the same about the men he’d lost earlier. They’d all chosen this life. “All the same. I’m sorry.”

  Oswald shook his arm. “It’s good to see you. I was starting to think you weren’t coming back. You could have picked a better time though.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with the timing?” Smith asked. “I cut it fine, but I made it.”

  “We were about to set sail. There’s a storm coming, and if you’d waited another hour or two, we’d have had no choice but to leave you here. Either that or the Emerald Star would have been smashed to pieces along this frightful coast!”

  Smith smiled. “Another hour and you’d have been picking up our dismembered pieces. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not alone.”

  Oswald looked at him, appraising him in a new light. “My goodness, you did it, didn’t you? You actually stole their damned relic?”

  “Yes. And what’s more, I know why it’s so valuable to them.”

  *

  The Emerald Star was a Spanish Galleon sporting four masts, and armed with a total of sixteen cannons – seven to the port and starboard sides, and one each in the forecastle and aftercastle. Smith’s brother had captured the Spanish galleon while it was heaved to, making repairs, off the coast of Gibraltar ten years earlier. Since then, Oswald had her refurbished so she would be unrecognizable to her original owners. Her sail canvas was increased to make her fast, and her load kept light so she could be used as a pirate ship.

  His brother had been successful in his endeavors. He was an extremely lucky man, and it had made him rich. Smith smiled as he saw Oswald admire the ancient relic. Neither of them had ever made such an incredible haul. It was the first time he’d gotten away with such deceit. His brother appeared calm. After all, his brother was a pirate.

  Oswald studied the evil looking skull. “I can’t believe you went through with it!”

  Smith said, “There will be plenty of time to admire it later. Now let’s bring up the anchor and get away from this God forsaken place!”

  “Soon.”

  “No. Now, it can’t wait. We have an angry army after us!”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t take long. We’ve struck the sandbar and are trapped for the time being. The tide is coming in and she’ll float free, soon. Within the hour, for sure.”

  “We don’t have an hour.”

  “What are you worried about? We have a crew of 120 men armed with muskets. I think we can take a few natives. Besides, you saw how rough the surf was coming out here – it’s impossible to think they’ll be able to swim through it. And, even if a few might get lucky, they’ll never have the strength to then board us.”

  Smith stared out at the darkened shore. “There might be a thousand out there. They’re driven mad like wild beasts.”

  “My god, you really stole it, didn’t you?”

  Smith pulled the golden skull and handed it to him. Its wicked smile stared at him, as if to say, I told you I could get away with all of this, didn’t I?

  Oswald undid its leather satchel and admired the ancient relic. A wry grin on his face. “I can’t believe you got away with it!”

  “We haven’t yet!” He glanced up at the darkened sky, from where he’d come. In the night Smith couldn’t make out the shape or movement of his pursuers. But he knew they were out there, driven by rage. He shook his head, it was going to be one hell of a storm.

  The sudden gust of wind bellowed from the shore, sending painful specks of sand shooting towards them. It passed as quickly as it had struck – only a teaser of what was soon to come. Oswald looked pleased.

  Smith asked, “What are you so happy about?”

  “This wind is going to be perfect. It’s going to blow us off the shore, instead of into it. As soon as the tide lifts, we’ll be blown out to sea.”

  He breathed in a sigh of relief. It was going to be okay. He’d committed a terrible crime and stolen from the very people who’d saved his life, not more than ten days ago. But he was going to get away with it, and he was going to be a very wealthy man. Smith’s heart started to race again – because along the shore the fearsome and hypnotic battle cry started again over the roar of the angry sea.

  *

  The portside of the Emerald Star was quickly lined with men aiming muskets toward the beach. Smith noticed the battle hardened pirates seemed unfazed by the angry war-cry resonating from the shore. It was amazing to see so many of the native warriors preparing to attack. Despite their massive numbers, they were outmatched. Oswald’s men had superior weapons and the advantage of being up high on the deck of the ship, whereas the warriors would need to swim through the impossibly rough surf, then climb the hull to reach them.

  Smith forced himself to relax. There was nothing the attackers could do. The screeching cry from the shore increased pitch until it became deafening. He pressed his hands over his ears. The sound was unimaginably loud, and like nothing he’d ever imagined – and then it stopped completely. Carrying simple weapons of wood and fractured obsidian the army advanced into the deadly sea.

  “Hold your fire!” Oswald ordered. He walked along the deck, making certain that each of his men felt his presence and maintained discipline. “They’ve a long way to swim before they can harm us. There’s nothing they can do. So keep calm. We might still have to pick off the few stragglers who survive the swim, but they’ll be easy targets.”

  Smith followed his brother. “You’re certain your men can keep hold of the Emerald Star?”

  Oswald grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re afraid?”

  “Afraid? Of course I’m afraid.”

  “Why? There’s nothing they can do?”

  “Look at them. They’re driven crazy by the need to return this damned relic.” Smith cursed. “How much longer until we’re off the sandbar?”

  “Not long. Not long now.”

  Smith watched in horror as his pursuers were driven into the deep water by their religious fervor. Few were capable of swimming. Terrified and relieved, Smith felt his gut wrench at the horrible sight of men, women and children drowning to reach them. Not all of them could swim and those who could were unlikely to make it past the breaking waves.

  It was a pitiful sight, and made Smith feel sick to the stomach. He watched a young man, no more than twenty, walk into the water until his head dipped below the surface and then never return. Followed by an adult warrior, nearly six feet tall, who simply ran into the surf, and was swept away by the first wave that reached him.

  Not a single shot was fired, and still they came. Warriors advanced into the sea by stepping onto their drowned brethren with the sort of fanaticism that made them believe that with enough deaths they could build a bridge with their dead into the sea. Smith wanted to vomit a
s he watched the first hundred or more people become buried beneath the waves.

  Oswald glanced at him. “Why don’t they stop?”

  Smith shook his head. “They’re as powerless to stop as we are to move off this damned sand bar. They’re driven by a higher power, to return their precious relic. Its loss eats at them and tortures them so much that the pain of death pales by comparison.”

  “And now it’s going to drown them.”

  Smith nodded, solemnly. He may be a selfish bastard, but he wasn’t completely devoid of human feelings. They were good people, and had treated him and his party kindly. He’d stolen something of immense value from them, but that didn’t mean he wanted to watch them all die.

  Smith spotted one man who had dropped his weapon and concentrated on swimming had made it past the breakers. The man appeared to have gotten lucky and swam hard during a slight pause in the set of waves. He was now swimming easily toward them.

  “Oswald!” Smith shouted as he pointed at the man.

  “I see him.” Oswald shook his head in disbelief. “There had to be one, I suppose.”

  The warrior swam quickly until he reached the side of the Emerald Star. Smith watched as the poor wretch stared up at the massive freeboard – the distance between the water and the deck – and suddenly realized there was nothing to climb. The warrior then quickly swam toward the front of the ship, where the bowsprit netting was tethered from the bowsprit to the hull just above the waterline.

  Oswald drew his pistol and waited as the savage climbed onto the bowsprit. The instant the man’s foot touched the deck Oswald squeezed the trigger and the shot ball fired. It struck the boarder directly in the middle of his forehead. The ball lodged inside the man’s skull and never left again. The warrior’s eyes stared vacantly up at him and he fell backwards into the water, where he floated lifelessly.