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Their shadows, side by side, pointed across to the next dune, a loaf-shaped mound among its rounded brethren, the dunes as a whole falling away, the power of the recent wind having carved them out, digging for something deeper. To the north, bits of sunlight picked out the distant edge of the sea. Nigel imagined being out there on a boat, fishing or searching for whales. If a fisherman even looked in this direction, what would they see but sand and shadows.
From this distance, the truth emerged from the darkness in the form of a dark prow, resting nearly level. Bits of rail stood out like broken teeth down this side, guarding sand-stroked decking. A swath of the vessel's side stood clear of sand, revealing long planks of wood, slivered with age, a few starting to pull loose of the ancient ribs. A few of those ribs thrust from the dune further along, suggesting damage to the whole—no surprise, given the four centuries the vessel had been mired in muck and sand, alternately buried, then revealed by the vagaries of weather. The English pirate Thomas Cavendish and all of his men might well lie buried in that very hulk, or they may have been washed away in the storm that took her down or any of the raging winds since then.
A partial monologue rose in his mind, and he blinked a few times. Not to be. They hadn't time for such things, and even the desire to capture the moment felt inappropriate in the face of the odds against them.
"You found it."
Nigel gave a nod, and freed a hand to wipe his face. "Our track should be easy to follow. From here, I presume we'd be a little more cagey. Perhaps we might climb one of the higher dunes from the ocean side. If we kick the sand down, we might conceal our tracks—"
She touched his arm, watching him without expression. "You do have a camera."
"Of course. And I am fully aware that I've no scorpions this time, neither have you any gun I'm aware of. Given that we cannot fight, flight or concealment seem our best options."
"Right. Gimme the camera." She'd already spotted one in the mesh pocket in his pack, and pulled it free.
He'd fallen silent again, regarding her in confusion.
"You wanted to lead them to it. Finish the job. Head for the wreck, then we cover our tracks." She tapped on the camera. "Might as well capture the moment, though, right? Not like you're running anywhere."
His throat clenched and his eyes burned, just a little. They must run, he knew that, but a path direct to the ship made for a better ruse. Nigel squared his shoulders, and tried to even out his walk as he approached the goal of their quest, the pirate ship Content, as in peaceful or happy.
His shadow crept up the skirt of sand, then melded with the blackened wood above, rippling over the turned spindles of the rail. Where had Hortensia's grandfathers camped upon the wreck? Had they been here at the forecastle as it rose from the clutches of the sand, still strikingly intact, determined to remain in the sun?
Perhaps instead they lit their own small fire on the main deck, where the few dozen sailors themselves would have bedded down in their blankets, exposed to both stars and rain on perilous journeys of their own. Down below, in the stout hold of the ship, there'd be no room for men among the barrels of booty and barrels of supplies, flour and salt, preserved fish, perhaps even live tortoises like Mama Tortuga, prized for their long lives and low feeding requirements, traits that allowed them to be carried across the sea until sacrificed to the sailors' hunger.
Or did those natives stand upon the stern like the captains of old, their faces toward the horizon as they kept watch for sails and shouted orders, hoping to bring home their treasure and defend the lives of their men from the dangers of the vast ocean around them. Their dreams came to naught, for here, the ship lay, both tomb and marker, swallowed by the sand for so very long, and revealed now only by the ferocity of a new storm and the enigmatic clues the grandfathers left behind.
Nigel reached out and touched the hull, rough beneath his hand, and slightly warm in the sun. He bowed his head, knowing he'd make a lovely scene, communing here with the lost wreck as it returned to the light. He knew, and it seemed irrelevant compared with what happened next. Yes, he had found it, thanks to the wisdom of those who went before. In moments, the ship must have new masters, pirates of a modern age eager to tear her open and break out her heart.
A seam opened in the slats before him, a jagged tear into the darkness within, but it was not all dark. Warm light winked at his feet, and Nigel knelt down, his fingers sifting through the sand until the coin lay golden in his palm.
Beneath his other hand, the hull vibrated as if it hummed in communion with his spirit.
Then Devi ran for him. "Nigel, can't you feel it? Let's go!" She grabbed his arm, hauling him up to scramble and slither across the decking, their footfalls thudding on the ancient wood as the truck's engine rumbled ever closer.