Chapter Nine

Zach was as good as his word. The Hawk sailed with the morning tide, sails gleaming in the dawn light, and Amelia watched from the cliff top with a heart bereft and angry. The boom of the cannon, a three-gun salute, marked his farewell as the Hawk left the harbour, bearing south until she was lost behind the curve of the island.

He was gone and the sea stretched empty before her.

Time passed as it ever did on Ile Sainte Anne. Amelia made her visit to Porto Novo and watched, fascinated, as Luc’s friend in the French East India Company greeted him with smiles and pleasure. There were others in port too, the British not least among them. Amelia watched from the shadows as the scarlet-uniformed officers took Luc aside and presented him to a tall, thin man dressed all in black. They spoke together for some time, in low voices, and something about that conversation disturbed her. Perhaps it was the stiff way Luc held himself, the tension in his jaw, but whoever this man was she doubted he was a friend.

She asked Luc about it later, as they sailed home to Ile Sainte Anne, but he waved away her concerns and said they’d spoken only of trade and the sharp edges of the modern world.

And it was easy to forget that dour man when Luc talked with excitement and renewed faith of their plans for the future.

Her father, though more cautious, began to be hopeful too and only Overton, like his son, remained stubbornly opposed. But his opposition could not stop the path of progress. Once her father had agreed that Luc should help Ile Sainte Anne trade with the imperial powers, it seemed proper that Amelia’s marriage to him would mark the start of the island’s new future. The date was set for their wedding and, four months after Zach Hazard had sailed from Ile Sainte Anne, Amelia felt that her life was once more on an even keel.

If she occasionally dreamed of Zach – passionate dreams, leaving her sweaty and frustrated amid her tangled sheets – it was no matter. He was gone, he would not return and dreams were only dreams.

On one such night, with a high wind whistling through the stone walls, she awoke from her fevered sleep with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. For a yearning moment confusion reigned. Her body was still ripe with desire, the memory of his lips on her skin so sharp that she could barely draw breath.

Then reality penetrated the dream, casting it into the wind. Outside there was a clanging of bells, shouting, and the running of feet. It could mean only one thing: a ship was foundering in the treacherous waters off Black Church Rock.

Jumping out of bed, Amelia threw on her clothes, slung a length of rope across her body, and darted down the stairs and out onto the path leading to the cliffs. The wind was blowing hard from the east, and more than likely it had driven a hapless trader onto the rocks.

The night was dark, storm clouds hiding the moon and stars. Only the distant flash of lightning lit the scene, revealing staccato images of horror to terrify any sailor. The ship was grounded and breaking up under the force of heavy seas – her mainmast was gone, sail flapping like rags in the wind – and her hull was pierced and taking on water. Even over the crash of the sea and the roar of the wind Amelia could hear men screaming.

She battled her way to the end of the headland. Already there were islanders scrambling over the rocks at its base, some with lines to throw to the sailors and others intent on salvage.

Though she knew the path well, she took the winding route down the cliff with care. On a calm day she would sometimes dive into the waters below, but it would be death to fall into these dark and heavy seas tonight. Soon she had reached the foot of the cliff and was scrambling over sea-sprayed rocks towards the foundering ship. Others came along the beach; she could see their torches, ragged in the wind as they ran.

The noise was astonishing, like being inside a thundercloud. The boom of the sea on the rocks filled her head, and only the shrieks of the sailors and their dying ship could pierce the noise.

Her clothes were drenched, hair whipping into her eyes. She pushed it back with her fingers, cursing herself for not braiding it, and clambered closer to the stricken ship. Jean-Pierre was ahead of her, shouting orders into the wind, torch held aloft like a beacon. Among the rocks floated bales – silk, perhaps – and men perched far out, hauling them ashore. There were sailors, too, scrambling up onto the rocks, while others floated lifeless in the sea.

Ahead, the ship loomed black against the night sky. She looked enormous, rolled onto her side, belly split like a whale rotting on the shore. Keeping low enough not to be blown off her feet, Amelia climbed closer. The rocks were slick and she made slow progress, but unlike most of the men of the island she knew these rocks well and could go further out, closer to the ship and her crew.

She could see men, shadows and flashes in the lightning, crowding close to the rail of the ship. Her deck was canted seaward almost ninety degrees and they hung on its landward rail in desperation, too frightened to risk the drop into the sea. If she could reach them and tie off her line between the rocks and the rail they could make their way along it to safety.

Working fast, she secured her rope around a sturdy rock and tied the other end around her waist. She was light and quick; it would not be difficult to climb up onto the ship once she had crossed the stretch of churning water. The sea was rushing through the channel, fast and deadly, but she knew these rocks and it was no more than waist deep, shallow enough to wade. If she could keep her footing she could reach the wreck and climb up along the fissure in her hull; it would be the work of a moment, even in the dark. Crossing that treacherous channel of water, however …

A hand seized her arm and she spun, startled to see Luc standing behind her. ‘Amelia!’ He had to shout to be heard over the wind. ‘What are you doing?’

She gestured to the men. ‘With a line, they can reach safety.’

He squinted through the darkness. ‘Impossible,’ he said, tugging her arm backward. ‘Come. Come away.’

Angry, she shook herself free. ‘Not impossible for me.’

‘I won’t let you—’

‘They’ll die!’ she shouted through the storm. ‘Would you just leave them to die?’

‘Men die at sea!’

‘Well not if I can help it.’

He might be her betrothed, but he couldn’t stop her and she climbed over the last of the rocks, down into the water. There was a fierce pull on her legs as a wave rushed through the narrow channel and she had to hold on to the rocks to keep her feet. Above her she could hear Luc swearing in French; there was a glimpse of movement, and then she felt the line on her waist go taut. For a moment she feared he was going to haul her in like a fish, but when she looked up she saw that he’d braced himself and was paying the rope out little by little so that if she fell he would be able to hold her. She smiled and felt a rush of warmth in her chest; Luc simply nodded and watched as she made her way across the torrent to the wreck.

Twice she fell, knocked sideways by the waves racing around the ship. Water closed over her head and in the darkness up was down and fear was a scarlet flutter in her chest. But each time she found the line at her waist and hauled herself upright as the water receded.

Luc had saved her life, of that she was certain. Perhaps she had been somewhat rash. No matter. She lived, and that was all that counted.

The wreck loomed over her now, the barnacled hull sweeping up into the night. Far above, the stranded sailors shouted, their language unknown to her but their panic obvious. With water streaming down her face, she reached out and grasped the broken boards of the hull. It was slick and black, but where the boards were splintered she could easily grasp hold and heedless of the shards of wood scraping at her hands and feet she hoisted herself up and out of the water. The line dragged heavily on her waist and looking back she could still see Luc, torchlight glimmering against his wet hair as he watched her climb. Higher now, the wind snatched at her with long, ruthless fingers, and she had to hold tight to keep from being blown back into the water. But climb she did, sheltering inside the ship as she made her way up the crack in the hull.

The ship, though, wasn’t still. She moved each time a wave broke over her and the wood snapped and complained, water racing in and out of her hull. Pausing, Amelia glimpsed a flash of light from the starboard side of the ship. For a moment she was confused, then it came again and she realised that she was seeing lightning through another rent in the hull, this one on the opposite side. The ship was breaking in two, speared on a rock and being hammered by the relentless ocean. Amelia could feel the hull shifting as she climbed and doubted the ship would last much longer.

She hurried. No one left aboard when the ship broke up would survive.

At last her climb became more of a clamber as she crested the curve of the hull and made her way to the deck that listed down towards the ocean. One of the sailors clinging to the rail gave a shout when he saw her – perhaps he imagined he’d seen a phantom? Other frightened faces peered at her from the storm as she slid along the hull towards them.

On her knees, she grabbed the rail with one hand and the arm of the man who had shouted with the other.

‘I have a line,’ she yelled. ‘I can help you.’

He stared, not understanding. To his eyes, she supposed, she appeared like a wild boy rising up from the sea as if from nowhere. Since explanation was impossible, she started working on the knot around her waist. She’d tied it well and it came away easily beneath her practiced fingers. Hauling on it until it was tight, she tied it off securely to the rail and then motioned to the first of the men.

He understood instantly and untied his belt, looping it over the line and then around his chest. With care he made his way across the slippery, exposed hull of the ship and then slid along the line until he was out of sight.

Amelia waited, felt the ship shifting as another wave crashed into her windward side. Something below deck creaked and snapped – she felt it through the soles of her feet. Around her, the men hunkered lower.

Then it came, three tugs on the rope.

‘You,’ she pointed at the next man. ‘Go.’

Eyes wide with fear, he did the same as his shipmate, slipping on the hull and sending the rope bouncing with his uncontrolled descent. He must have made it, however, as the rope was tugged three times again. And so it went on.

There were five men in total and one by one they made their escape to land. Amelia would not leave until the last of them was gone, and as he made his careful way off the ship she found herself alone.

Alone in the midst of a storm.

She should have been more frightened than she felt, but there was something so thrilling about the roar of the sea, the howl of the wind, and it ran through her veins like fire. She turned her face to the wind and laughed, yelled a wordless shout into the teeth of the storm. Let the wind tear at her hair, at her clothes. She longed to spread her arms, to fly.

Then she heard a noise, a sound from below deck – a cry for help?

The rope tugged three times. It was her turn to leave.

‘Hello!’ she shouted. ‘Hello there!’

Of course, it would be impossible for anyone to hear her above the noise of the storm. She should get below herself, so she could be heard.

The rope jiggled again, three times. Impatient.

She jerked it back once, and then slid down the deck toward the nearest open hatch. She’d just call down, in case someone was trapped. Another wave hit the ship, sending up a vast plume of spray that got into her eyes. She wiped her face and grabbed hold of the edge of the hatch, poking her head inside. ‘Hello, is there anyone there?’

The only sound that came back to her was the boom of the waves inside the wreck and the creak of protesting wood. Suddenly, the deck shifted. With a jerk, she lost her grip and began to slide down the deck, towards the hungry sea. Desperately, she tried to stop her fall, bracing her feet against the root of what had once been a mast. Snapped now, it stuck out like a fallen tree and she balanced on it, her back pressed against the deck. Above her the rail and the line to safety seemed very far away.

She cursed, thoroughly.

Light split the sky again and, for an instant, she caught sight of another ship, well clear of the rocks, riding the storm. Then it was gone.

A new panic set her heart racing faster. There were many tales of unnatural ships that haunted wrecks, looking for the dead. Well, if that was what she’d seen then the ghostly captain would have many new recruits this night, but she did not plan to be one of them.

Determined, she turned her attention back to the hatch above her head. The deck was too slick to climb, but it was strewn with broken rigging, so all she need do was grab hold of one of the snapped yards and make her way back up to the rail.

Simple.

Or it would have been if the ship hadn’t chosen that moment to split. With an enormous rending sound, the stern broke away, turning sideways under the force of the sea. Amelia saw it racing towards her; if she didn’t move she’d be crushed between the two halves of the ship. Her choice was immediate and desperate. There was no time to even shout out, she simply launched herself from her precarious perch on the splintered mast and dived into the raging sea, trusting in nothing but fate to save her.

‘Haul the fore-sail up and furl it!’ Zach yelled as he staggered across the heaving deck to take the wheel. ‘Square the yards, and get strops round the mast above the booms!’

Brookes grabbed his arm, soaked to the skin and clinging to a line. ‘We’ll never outrun it, Zach. Are you mad?’

‘Reef the sail!’ Zach shouted in response. ‘Haul on board the tack, tend the braces and haul up the mizzen. Throw out the warps and get a tri-sail rigged!’

‘Zach!’ Brookes yelled, fear dark in the man’s eyes. ‘In the name of mother and child, we must make port!’

Laden with cargo to trade – their venture to the east had proven profitable – the Gypsy Hawk rode the huge seas with all the grace of a pregnant cow. Perhaps it would have been more prudent to make port at Ile Sainte Anne, but Zach intended to avoid that place at all costs.

‘Captain!’ Brookes shouted through the rain. ‘This is madness!’

He was right, but Zach had no desire to encounter the siren of Ile Sainte Anne. Nor to see her in the arms of Luc Géroux. Four months since their last meeting and still he felt the danger of her. These treacherous seas were nothing compared to his own treacherous heart. Best steer well clear.

‘She’ll hold!’ he shouted back to Brookes, both hands on the wheel. ‘The worst is past, another hour or two, no more.’

‘But Zach—’

‘Sail ho!’ The shout came from the port rail; no one was aloft in this weather.

Zach peered out into the black just as a flash of lightning split the sky. There was a ship on the rocks, breaking up in the storm.

Brookes made a swift warding gesture.

‘We’re well clear of it here.’ Zach knew these waters well, even in perilous weather. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, and in its light he saw men moving across the canted deck of the ship. Poor buggers.

Brookes spat on the deck, for luck. ‘They’ll be sleeping with Old Hobb tonight.’

It was true enough and there was nothing the Hawk could do for them. To draw close enough to pick up survivors would imperil the ship, and the seas were too big for a longboat, the rocks beneath them too hazardous. The risk was too great.

‘Take the helm.’ Handing the wheel off to Brookes, Zach made his way towards the ship’s rail, holding tight to a line lest he be washed overboard.

‘Zachary?’ There was a note of unease in Brookes’ voice, as if he could guess the path of Zach’s thoughts. ‘Captain, there’s nothing we can do for them!’

‘I know it.’ Nevertheless, he cast a glance at the longboats and wondered. But, no. The Hawk pitched sharply and he staggered, a wave crashing over her prow as if trying to pull her under. She rolled and Zach heard the cargo shifting, though it had been firmly tied. ‘Shiner!’ he yelled. ‘Send a man below, secure the hold.’

Shiner bellowed orders and Zach found himself at the rail gazing out at the dark island. He could pick out the white of the breaking waves as they crushed the wrecked ship, and he tried not to imagine Amelia Dauphin perched on the rocks, singing sailors to their deaths.

There was another flare of lightning across the sky, a long flickering fork of light. Then he knew Amelia had been in his thoughts for too long because it seemed that she stood upon the upturned deck of the foundering ship.

He blinked, swiping a hand across his face to dash the water from his eyes, and looked again. All was dark, and then another flash of light and he saw a figure on the deck, near the remains of the foremast. Cursing his own madness, he pulled his glass from his belt and waited for another flare of lightning.

It lasted only an instant but it was enough.

For some unfathomable reason, the girl was aboard the wrecked ship. There was no doubting it was her, scampering about alone on the deck.

‘What the devil is she doing?’ he cursed, hesitating between putting his glass away and looking again.

Lightning flashed; he looked again.

The deck was at a sharp angle, and it seemed she was unable to climb up to the top rail. Little good it would do her anyway for the whole ship was breaking apart. She would be crushed, drowned. There was no chance for anyone aboard that doomed ship and in the icy grip of the storm Zach Hazard felt a rush of dread.

‘Lower the longboat!’

Confused eyes blinked at him from Shiner’s ugly face. ‘Captain?’

‘I said lower the bloody longboat!’ He stripped off his belt and everything else save his shirt and britches and shoved them at Shiner. ‘Don’t lose them.’

Another flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a terrible rending crack as the spine of the wrecked ship snapped. Zach felt it like a fist in his gut. ‘Longboat, now!’

In a flurry of activity, the longboat was lowered. The Hawk pitched and rolled, clanking the boat against her side.

‘Zachary, no!’ Brookes shouted from the helm, but couldn’t leave the wheel to stop him.

Despite the force of the storm, Zach climbed up onto the ship’s rail and offered his first mate a farewell salute. ‘Wait for me!’ he ordered, but didn’t linger to hear Brookes curse in reply. He slipped over the side and slid down the ladder, pausing at the bottom to gauge the shifting gap between the Hawk and the longboat. If he missed …

The Hawk rose, the longboat fell. The longboat rose, the Hawk fell.

Zach jumped.

Wood smacked him hard in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. A wave crashed over his head, but they didn’t go under. He was aboard.

Behind him he could hear the dying screams of the wrecked ship and with an oar in each hand he pulled hard towards her.

It was madness, he knew, but it didn’t matter. All he could think of was Amelia and how he had to save her from such a bitter death.

By the time he reached the rocky waters where the merchantman lay, impaled, Zach’s shoulders burned, his boat was half swamped, and he began to fear for his life as well as his sanity.

‘Amelia!’

He yelled her name until his throat was raw, sick with rising despair and panic. He tried to keep the longboat from being crushed by the wreck as he searched the mountainous waves for one lone woman, but it was impossible. Madness.

And yet …

Amid the black water he glimpsed a ghostly face and flailing limbs, someone exhausted, struggling for their life. Picking up the oars he fought his way through the storm towards that slender hope. He rowed until his muscles screamed, and then, balanced precariously and lashed by the storm, he reached down into the raging sea. Fingers closing around a limp arm, Zach began to haul with everything he had left.

He hoped it would be enough, for death would take them both if he failed.