Cerulean Isle by G.M. Browning Read Free Book Online Page B

each of us a thick black belt, a pair of soft leather shoes, and light brown pants made from soft dyed cotton.
    “Dress,” he said. “Forget your tattered garments. These clothes are yours to keep.”
    The pants were soft on my tired legs and the linen was cool on my burned back. The shoes fit perfectly. The soles cushioned my footfalls.
    “Ah, an improvement to be sure, lads! Now follow me, Captain L’Ollon awaits us. You’ll be given your orders one last time.”
    We found Captain L’Ollon standing tall at the bow in his knee-length brown coat and red scarf. He was peering out at the island through a small collapsible spyglass. When he heard us approach, he closed the glass and put it in his pocket.
    “Yonder waits Curacao,” began L’Ollon, “and in its midst is Captain James Shanley. He owns several ships, all of which are docked in the wharf. Shanley only sails two of them these days: his new brigantine Kraken’s Bane and the schooner Eternity. There are four other ships in the harbor belonging to him; two sloops, another schooner, and a fishing boat. These vessels are for sale.
    “Christoff will take you to the island in a rowboat; I don’t want anyone to know you have come from my ship. The Obsidian will approach the harbor an hour after you have made it to land. Once in the town, you will go with Christoff to Shanley’s villa.” L’Ollon reached in the left pocket of his coat and took out a bundle of thin, metal strips. He handed them to Grant. “You will use these tools to assist in accomplishing this mission.”
    “Lock picks,” exclaimed Grant in awe.
    “When Christoff leads Shanley away, use them to enter the villa and private quarters. Retrieve my sea chart and the leather book, and then make for the harbor immediately. Christoff will turn on Shanley and take him aboard the Obsidian where the bastard will suffer for his betrayal. And as for you—” He pulled the long curved dagger from his belt. He turned the blade away and handed me the hilt. “Take my blade. May it serve you well, young swordsman, but if you fail, this steel will be your death.”
    With a trembling hand, I accepted the heavy weapon. I realized it was more than a long dagger; it was a short sword. I tucked it in the left side of my belt. L’Ollon reached in his pocket again and withdrew a bulging coin purse, reminding me of the brown pouch my father weighed in his hand. My left hand tightened on the handle of the blade.
    He tossed the pouch to Christoff. “Enough gold to buy the larger of the sloops should Shanley want proof of payment. Don’t give him so much as a reale. Bring back Shanley, and that purse is yours.”
    “Understood, Captain.”
    “Now, ready yourselves in any manner you see fit. Christoff, feed the boys and round up a few men to row you to Willemstad.” L’Ollon shifted his gaze to us. “Good luck in Curacao, and while you’re skulking around with Death chasing your heels, remember poor Beelo. Ha! The fall of Shanley’s empire has begun.” Turning back to the bow, he peered at the island through his spyglass.
    Christoff, Grant, and I were secured in one of the rowboats and lowered to the waves. Four pirates joined us and they worked the oars steadily, pulling the rowboat away from the ship’s dripping, barnacle-laden hull.
    As the boat swam roughly over the water, I looked back at the Obsidian. Its gruesome figurehead seemed real, its lifeless arms tied at the wrists to the bowsprit, its dead head drooping sadly and defeated with that gaping mouth and those empty eye sockets. Jean L’Ollon, the Obsidian, and the legacy encompassing it meant three things to the people of the Caribbean: wealth, power, and death.
    The island of Curacao grew larger as we approached. Grant’s freckled face was pale as he nervously fiddled with the bundle of lock picks. I looked down at the blade that rested in my belt, a blade that had undoubtedly killed many men. Today I would kill or be killed.

Chapter 9