Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson Read Free Book Online Page B

you can get to the mainland, far away from the co—”
    â€œWe are not leaving, Declan.” The monk’s face was calm—even peaceful—but resolute. “But we would ask one favor of you.”
    â€œAnything, Father,” Ross replied.
    Father Valentia turned his head and nodded. The group parted, and a hooded monk came forward. He stood by Father Valentia and lowered his hood. His hair was dark, but his eyes were darker . . . sinkholes surrounded by skin deeply tanned but cracked and weather-beaten.
    â€œThis is Padre Dominguez,” said Father Valentia. “While we remain here to preserve our order, he must escape.”
    â€œMust escape, Father?” Ross asked. “No pirate has dared leave a death’s-head on this isle, until now. You want me to take him aboard, a monk I do not know, but leave your order here to face Thorne’s wrath? Why would this be?”
    Father Valentia remained silent.
    Captain Ross looked at the black flag stabbed deep into the sandy shore. Its grinning skull, a menacing intruder to the monastery, nested in the orchard beyond. Ross wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow and looked back at his crew.
    Ross turned to face Padre Dominguez. “Do you know what you’re asking me, Padre? Your life is forfeit—so is the life of any who grant you quarter! What is it Thorne wants from you?”
    The monk’s aged, pocked face became so taut that his lips seemed to disappear. He turned to his superior, who nodded. “The Treasure of Constantine,” the monk said slowly, as if the words had not been spoken in an age and would bring down a curse upon the one who said them. “I know how to find it.”
    For a long while, Captain Ross studied the monk’s face. “The Treasure of Constantine, Padre Dominguez?” he scoffed. “Everyone knows that fortune was lost in the Bosporus during a squall. All the gold, the silver—even the green diamonds—lay beyond reach in the depths. Next you’ll be telling me you know the secret location of El Dorado!”
    â€œNot lost,” the monk whispered. “Stolen. Stolen by Spartan marauders in AD 400, but reclaimed by the church and hidden once and for all so that pagan hands would never defile them again.”
    â€œMountains of gold and jewels . . . treasure?!” Ross exclaimed.
    â€œWhat’s to defile?”
    â€œYou and I define treasure very differently,” the monk replied.
    â€œSo you say, Padre,” Ross scoffed. His head began to pound again. He paused and twisted an end of his coppery moustache between his fingers. “But why would you take me and my lads to this holy treasure? We’re just as pagan as any.”
    â€œNot so, Captain Ross. The Brothers of Saint Celestine know you are better than that. You and your men were taught to fight at sea by your nations during time of war. When the war ended, the governments left you with a choice between piracy and the starvation of your families. In spite of that—even now—you attack only those who are openly at war with Scotland. And you always grant quarter to—”
    â€œSpare me the benediction, Padre!” Ross exclaimed. “I . . . I can’t offer you quarter. I can’t take you aboard. Crossing blades with Bartholomew Thorne over some legendary treasure—that’s just insane!”
    Stede jabbed Ross in the ribs. “Think of the treasure, mon,” he whispered. “Besides, we already got Thorne trying to kill us and—”
    â€œNot now.” Ross spoke under his breath so that only Stede could hear. Then he spoke aloud to the monks. “I’m sorry, Padre, but I just can’t risk the lives of my crew without proof.”
    Padre Dominguez’s face saddened. He turned and let his brown robe fall down from his shoulders. And there, tattooed into the flesh of his back, was a very intricate map.

10
HIDE AND SEEK
    L ate that evening,