"No cause to fret over Jeremy," Jason assured Candy. Dog-tired as he was, he had made the trek down to Seattle for this purpose, as well as to make sure all was peaceful in the absence of the other city father.
    He found only one situation that called for his attention. Pilak was returning from a day of largely unsuccessful fishing, his nets and his scanty catch slung over his shoulder, when two men he had not seen before came up on both sides of him.
    "What's that?" said one, sniffing the air. "Smell like fish to you?"
    "Naw," said the other, "fish smell better."
    "That's a fact. You know what I reck'n it is?"
    "What you reck'n?"
    "I reck'n this 'un don't warsh as often as he orter."
    The other leaned closer. "Why, you're right. I reck'n we orter give him a bath, don't you?" They were nearing the horse trough.
    "We'll see he gits good and clean!"
    They grabbed hold of his arms. Pilak tensed himself to resist, shutting his eyes against his inevitable disgrace. Then a pleasant voice spoke his name, prefaced with "Mister," which was unknown in his experience. The hands on his arms let go. He opened his eyes to a roly-poly man standing in the way. "Mr. Pilak, I believe? Barnum, Phineas T. You'll have heard the name, surely. No?" He clapped Pilak on the shoulder. "Gentlemen of our stamp ought not to ply these streets unaccompanied. So many low, crawling things about." He shouldered the others aside. "You will excuse us?"
    The two were still baffling over him when they felt their collars grabbed. A big broad-shouldered man thrust his face into theirs. "New in town?" he asked. They nodded, cringing a little. "Then you'd best know that round these parts we set a deal of store by our neighbors. Don't take kindly to strangers bullyraggin' 'em in the streets. Following me, are you?" he asked, with a hard shake. They nodded vigorously. "Good," Jason said, dropping them. "Then be off."
    He overtook Barnum outside Lottie's and thanked him for stepping forth. "But it wasn't needed," he said. "In Seattle we look after our own."
    "I see that," Barnum replied, casting an eye over Pilak's patched hand-me-downs. "You won't object to my standing one of your own to a hot supper?" Pilak smiled, showing a gap where his front teeth had been. "In the course of which," Barnum continued, "I shall acquaint him with the multifarious attractions of circus life." He bade Jason a good evening and escorted Pilak inside.
    Joshua wondered what was bothering Jason. "Is it Jeremy?" he asked. Around them the new shift was replacing the old. Despite the late hour the camp blazed with light and in a few minutes would be whining and thumping once more.
    "Pilak," said Jason. "I believe Barnum plans to make a show of him."
    Joshua shrugged. "That's his trade."
    "I mean to stop it coming about if I can. I owe it to Aaron."
    "Why him in particular?"
    "Tell you something most people don't know–and I only found out by accident." Joshua then heard for the first time that Aaron Stempel, famous for screwing out the last penny at the bargaining table, had a flaw that worked against the hardheaded calculation he prided himself on. "Haven't you wondered why he's not the richest man in the territory by now? Fact is, he gives back half of what he gains in good works. Must feel in peril of his soul"–then a bright thought struck him–"or maybe it's our influence." Joshua laughed. "Keeps Pilak and a half dozen like him housed and fed, but in roundabout ways so as not to shame 'em. Charges 'em a scant rent, gives 'em a little work now and then. It'd pain him to see Barnum undo all that. Pain me, too," he added. He went out to join the crew. Joshua retired to his cot, where he lay for a while meditating on the complex nature of man.
    On board the Seamus O'Flynn, the sailor at the helm watched the last bit of sand funnel through the waist of the glass beside him. He turned it over and reached for the clapper of the bell that hung from the poop forerail. Another hand stopped his. It was Frye's. He raised a silencing finger.
    The partners had agreed to approach the island from the east. Any other course would bring them too near the lighthouse, whose beacon made a second moon, albeit a dim one in the persisting fog. They would have to keep clear of the Race Rocks–so called, as Frye explained, because the water made a tide race around them–or risk joining the dozens of craft that had foundered there. Jeremy asked why not take the channel between the two islands. Frye shook his head. "That's Choked Passage. It's the very devil to navigate. Shoals, rocks, kelp beds...a bad sitchyation altogether."
    The landing party would be larger than the one Aaron had argued for, the General having steadfastly rejected the idea of an advance guard. Since he insisted on going himself, Aaron would be going, too. For the remainder of the party he proposed Jeremy, Frye, and two oarsmen who would help with the digging if necessary. Jeremy elected to stay behind; he was more hopeful of what might be found in the sea, if one were looking for it. Aaron accepted his offer gladly, and only wished he could reduce the number by one more.
    The plan was to camp on shore till morning. No one relished the prospect of sitting out all night hunched against the cold, but they thought it likely they could find shelter among the rocks, or even in a small cave. The map was silent on such matters. After depositing them the ship would cross the strait and moor off Port Angeles till the following night. When she returned the shore party would signal her by lantern, fog permitting: up and down to wait, back and forth to leave them another day.
    Having worn around east, carrying just enough light to sail by, and further hidden by the fog, which was now mingled with a light rain, they crept up on the island and lay to off the east shore. They brought out the sailor's third eye, as Clancey called it, to take a sounding. Along its lead line the lengths were marked with bits of rag and leather. A man standing abaft of the weather beam swung the line over his head and then cast it out to sea. The lead sank far enough to show, by a lowered lantern, a strip of leather but not the white rag beneath. "And a quarter four!" Frye whispered. "We dare bear no closer, Captain."
    All at once the deck bucked under them, sending Jeremy sideways onto a hatch coaming. The ship was riding a swell that could not be accounted for by the tide. Waves slapped against her bows. "Ship off the port quarter!" cried the lookout, forgetting the order to observe quiet. The fog was punctured by a jib boom pointing straight toward them, followed by the bowsprit, head, and wedding-cake foresails of a man-of-war that outweighed, outmasted, and outgunned–by the fact of having guns–their own. "British," said Clancey, "divil take her!"
    "Douse lights," said Frye, almost forgetting to add, "Sir."
    "Eh? Oh, aye. Off all lights!" The men ran fore, aft, and to the sides. In not much more than a wink the decks went black. The company could not see each other, and many grabbed the nearest fixed object to get their bearings. But before long they could make out forms, however darkly, and many wondered whether the British could do the same. "If her lights show us up, that will do for our treasure hunt," said Aaron.
    "Stand by to wear ship," Clancey ordered. "Quiet-like," he added.
    Frye acknowledged both halves of the command and set about making it so. "In gaff!" he whispered. "In tops'ls! Up courses!" The men hurried to obey. "Softly!" they would hear from time to time, and then tread lighter. Jeremy could not see what they were doing–they could not themselves–but under the creak of timbers and the flap of sailcloth the ship turned slowly; too slowly, with the larger one fair to sight her at any moment. "Helm up!" Frye ordered. "Haul round head yards! Set courses!"
    On this heading there was a wide bay. Without stars or moon, or time to take a sounding, Clancey had to guess at its contours from his recall of the chart. Hearing the few words passed between him and the mate, Jeremy realized there was a real danger of their running aground or worse. They piloted blindly for some minutes. The captain muttered a prayer, of a kind. At last he thought he saw an answer from above, and then he was certain. The English vessel was being eclipsed, though very slowly, behind what could only be the shoulder of the bay. She was sailing on past them toward the west; either she had not seen them or she had more pressing business elsewhere. Whichever it was, he and the others were glad to see the back of her. They dropped anchor for the night in Pedder Bay, as it was called, while the H.M.S. Fairlead, out of sight, proceeded majestically down the strait, on what errand they never did learn.
    She was still on Clancey's mind the next morning. The fog having dispelled, Selden had had resource enough to cast for Chinook salmon, with which the bay swarmed. "Sure," Clancey muttered, "if them bloody English sees us we'll be took for poachers."
    "That's all right," said Aaron, sipping his coffee at the rail. "I'm partial to poached salmon." Jeremy's expression showed his struggle to make sense of the remark, and Aaron could not help laughing. Jeremy realized that, improbable as it seemed, Aaron had make a joke. That encouraged him to ask about his maritime career, of which he was eager to hear more. "You must have been awful young when you set out," he said.
    "It was a hard life for a boy," Aaron acknowledged, "but it was what I wanted." Venturing farther, Jeremy asked why he had given it up. "My father died," he said. Then he shook his head. "That wasn't it. A voyage brought us up along this coast, and when I saw these miles of forest, and found out there was no logging industry to speak of, I knew the right fella could make his way here." He smiled ruefully. "By the time I got back I found a few had climbed on board ahead of me. Like you Bolts. But you were wanting a proper mill." Jeremy was old enough to remember Jason's try at establishing one. None of them ever mentioned it. "So I still got in first, in a way. Your brother woulda stuck his head in a hornets' nest sooner than contract with me, but he didn't have a choice."
     The satisfaction in his voice recalled the Aaron Jeremy knew. "Did you?" he asked.
    Aaron laughed again. "You once had an urge to go to sea yourself." He forbore mentioning he had done all in his power to aggravate it. "Ever come back to you?"
    It was one of the impulses that had brought Jeremy there, but he did not say so. "I've got Candy to think of now. And the kids. And Jason counts on me."
    Aaron nodded. "Once you're tied to the land, you stop heeding the sirens' call."
    Now it was Jeremy who laughed. "You're sounding like Jason."
    "Jason isn't the only–"
    The lookout gave a cry. Another ship was entering the bay–not the man-of-war, to their relief, but a two-masted trawler. Perhaps they were taking her accustomed place. The men stowed their nets. The others waited at the rail with trepidation. The Amazon backed her main yard, set her jib, and hove to. Captain Blackett shouted across a request to speak with his fellow skipper. He asked whether they had met any other vessels recently.
    "Oh, aye," Clancey began. Aaron elbowed him. "I mean, no. No, sir. Not a one."
    "No..." Blackett paused. "...pirates?"
    "Pirates!" Jeremy exclaimed. Aaron and Frye looked at each other.
    "Are ye jestin' with me, sir?"
    "I wish I were. Pirates they fancied themselves–a gang of fantastical madmen who overtook us off Bentinck Island. Mad enough to let us go unharmed, Lord be thanked. But they took our catch. We'll go home empty-handed this voyage." Jeremy thought of offering him the salmon they had gathered, and then scotched the idea.
    Clancey was still skeptical. "How was it ye didn't see their approach?"
    "I lay it to the fog, and my own folly. I saw–thought I saw–something on the rocks. 'twas like a seal, yet it wasn't." He shook his head. "You'll think me mad, too."
    Jeremy could hardly believe what he had heard. "Wh–wh–wh–"
    Before he could finish, Tom had jumped up onto the rail, to the astonishment of Blackett and his crew. "How many were they?" he piped out. "The pirates?"
    "Why–ten or twelve, I judge. 'twas hard to say, they leapt about so." At that, Tom's face took on an expression quite like Jeremy's. Aaron wondered what it signified.
    "Thought I'd best warn you," said Blackett, "happen you're bound that way."
    "No!" Clancey said quickly. "We're sailin' through the San Juans up to–ah–somewheres up in that vicinity, and returnin' as we came. Stayin' clear of the island entirely. Aye, sir, if there's one place we'll not be goin'–"
    "Clancey," said Aaron, "that'll do."
    "It would be wisest, I judge," said Blackett. If he wondered about their business there, he did not show it. Bidding them good morning, he trimmed his sails and tacked out of the bay.
    "Pirates!" muttered Clancey. "Fine kettle of fish!" Aaron murmured assent, but his thoughts were on the General.
    A little later Jeremy came upon him in his cabin holding the map up to the lamp. "You think it's a fake?" he asked.
    Aaron gave it up. "Who can tell? One thing I know–it's a mistake to trust circus people."
    Jason was working around to the same conclusion. On his way into town he found Barnum inspecting the municipal totem pole with keen interest. "Not for sale," he said, before the question could be put.
    "Ah," said Barnum with obvious disappointment. "Well, well."
    "Mr. Barnum–"
    "Phinny."
    When they're sledding over the lake of brimstone, Jason thought, as he continued the overture he had composed on the walk down. "I've made quite a study of men at their wooing–had a professional interest in it, you might say–and I've observed they generally have matrimony as their object. So I can't help but wonder: what brand of marriage do you foresee for yourself and Pilak?"
    Barnum had had a long experience of dodging intrusive questions and felt relieved to hear one he did not mind answering. "I shall offer him a place in my circus. As–let me see now–an Inca soothsayer, fetched at untold expense from the snow-tipped Andes."
    "That wouldn't be quite truthful, would it?"
    Barnum met Jason's hard gaze with one of his own. "The truth of an utterance lies in the hearing. You yourself, I recall, have practiced this philosophy on the odd occasion." He was referring to an effort Jason had made the year before to sweet-talk Barnum's prize dove Jenny Lind into a special engagement in Seattle.
    "Shouldn't like to see him taken advantage of, is all." Barnum pointed out that Pilak would enjoy more money and celebrity than he could hope to see in his present circumstances. "And his dignity?" asked Jason. "What of that?"
    "I draw your attention to the little General," said Barnum. "Short in stature, to be sure. But is he lacking in dignity?"
    Jason found himself at a loss to answer. "You won't press him?" he said, aware he was falling back to a weaker position. "Allow him to make up his own mind?"
    "Of course," said Barnum in surprise, or a good imitation of it. "And I trust you'll show him the same courtesy." He offered his hand. Jason took it, but with misgivings.
    "Abandon the search?" Aaron's own similar doubts had led him to make the proposal, which the smallest of the assembled partners now echoed back shrilly. "Out of the question!"
    Clancey scratched his side whiskers and asked Aaron's reasons. "It's a pipe dream," said Aaron, "and too dangerous. You heard that captain." Tom started to rail again. Aaron hushed him; Tom was beginning to get on his nerves. He tried to get Clancey to take a stand one way or the other. Failing, he turned to Jeremy.
    "May turn out a waste of time," said Jeremy, after thinking it over, "but since we've come this far–"
    "There!" Tom trumpeted.
    Jeremy had more to say. "We should go back to Aaron's first plan. If there are pirates out there, we don't want them surprising us in the dark. And it's not smart to risk a large party." The others nodded. "I say we send in two or three at first light." He volunteered himself as one of them. "The captain saw–" he began, and then stopped, coloring.
    Before Aaron could nominate himself to accompany him, Tom had claimed the place. And he refused to consider taking a third, for reasons that to Aaron's way of thinking did not parse. The others voiced doubts about his ability to shoulder an oar, but he insisted he had the strength of a man twice his size. "One could manage her," Frye allowed, "with an effort." Tom let the slight pass, and in the end they left it at that.
    "I suppose," Aaron said, "between the two of you you'll be able to tell if the map's a fraud." Tom gave him a sharp look.
    "And if it proves true?" said Clancey.
    "If so...." He let the sentence finish itself. "But I shouldn't get my hopes up."
    Clancey left an order to rouse them at the end of churchyard watch, and they went to their beds–all but Tom, who said he would stay up a little yet. Aaron felt another qualm at leaving him alone but was reluctant to say so out loud. They were partners, after all.
    The silkie floated in the lizard-hued depths through streams of liquid sunlight, sifting the flow with sinuous flexings of her slender fingers that brought her nearer, ever nearer to Jeremy till at last she was clasping him by the shoulders. But why was she shaking him so hard? "Time to rise," she announced in a man's voice. A shift in her features transformed them into the second mate's. "Come on, now," he said. Jeremy woke fully into the dark of the cabin. Lowering himself to the floor, he noticed that the other bed was still empty.
    Back on deck, he saw they had resumed their previous position off Bentinck Island. Abeam of them lay the mouth of what pretended to be a passage through but was not, being cut off by a natural bridge that connected the main body of the island with a spur to the south. Both bridge and spur were invisible for the surrounding fog. The inky night showed a harbinger of grey. The air was cold but the wind was still.
    The crew lowered the quarter-boat, released the runners holding her, and dropped a rope ladder. Tom descended first. He hopped onto one of the thwarts. Jeremy followed more clumsily. He unhooked the tackle at the stern and then made his way forward to help with the other. They unshipped the oars, and Jeremy cast off the painter, setting her adrift. Clancey called down to them to watch for tide rips. No other words were spoken.
    Once settled on their seats, they took up their oars and paddled around till she pointed toward the twin faces of grey rock. The darkness was going faster than Jeremy had expected. The same could not be said of the cold, but the work of pulling soon warmed him, and Tom at his back. They fell into rhythm almost at once. Jeremy found that Tom's boast had been only a little exaggerated: if he could not make as much way as a grown man, he could rival two good-sized boys. Jeremy was grateful for that. He would not reach shore as weary as he had feared.
    The morning was eerily quiet. The only sounds apart from their own were the cries of the cormorants, the creak of the ship at anchor, and the splash of water against the rocks that stood arrayed on both sides like hostile deities who might come to life at any moment.
    "Land!" Tom whispered. Jeremy craned to look. He knew they could not have reached the bridge yet. Two strokes farther on, the fog slid back to reveal an islet in midstream. Jeremy heard what he was sure was the rattle of footfalls against a pebble beach. He raised his oars and whispered to Tom to do the same. They sat motionless, letting the channel cradle them while he listened. He did not hear it now.
    They rowed on. Both were feeling the strain in their shoulders and chests. By unspoken agreement they veered south of the islet. Clearing the tall rocks on that end, they hove within sight of the beach beyond. Tom shouted. Its narrow reach was covered with lumps of black fur. It was a bed-and-board for seals! This so excited Jeremy he nearly dropped an oar.
    In the next second he did just that. For on one of the rocks, turning in the half-light, lay what looked at first to be another seal but was not; was, impossibly, something else. It had not only a tail but a face, the most saintly face Tom had ever seen–for he was gazing spellbound as Jeremy was. The face was framed with black fur, not the long hair Jeremy had imagined, but that did not matter, it was what the engraving had promised. "Silkie!" he shouted, or tried to, but tears choked him.
    Yet the others had heard. "Did he say silkie?" asked Clancey.
    Tom made hushing noises, but Jeremy paid no attention. "Bring her around!" he said. "We've got to land!" Standing, then stumbling, he dropped his other oar. He sludged through the bit of water they had gained to take one of Tom's. He looked back. If the silkie were metamorphosing, as Barnum had said, by now it should have taken on more human, or more sealish, form, but it seemed not to have changed at all. It turned and stared at Tom as if it had never seen anything like him, rather than the opposite. Then it dove off the other side. At the same time the footfalls returned. There was no mistaking them now.
    Those on the ship heard only a little of this. Now there came to their ears a sharp cry, cut off suddenly, and a splash, or crash. The fog partly cleared, and they saw the boat upturned, with neither of her crew in sight. "Jeremy!" Aaron shouted. "We're coming for you!"
    "Stay away!" came the immediate retort. The savageness of it, following on the morning calm, came like a galvanic shock. A moment later they heard "Tell Jason if I could swi–" And that was all. They called Jeremy's name, and Tom's, but without answer.
    "If he could what?"
    "Swim," said Aaron. "He's drowning!"
    Frye ordered the crew to clear away the spare boat. No one bothered about quiet now. On pulling back the cover they discovered the boat was useless, its bottom boards cracked. When or how it had been done no man knew, but to the question of who had done it Clancey had a quick answer: "A mite." That would explain why they had heard nothing from him. He must be in league with the pirates; Barnum too. But why? They could not hope to capture the Seamus O'Flynn. For that matter, Barnum could probably buy her six times over. They called Jeremy's name again, hopelessly. The fog was dissolving, the sun was about to arrive–and Jeremy, it seemed certain, was gone.
    They could not see behind the east face of the islet to the beach, to which a wet but breathing–nay, gasping–Jeremy lay pinned beneath the tip of a cutlass.
    At Aaron's insistence, Clancey landed him and a handful of others on the southeast shore of Vancouver. Two men swam in a line, tied its end to an oak on the shore and the other end to the bows of the damaged boat, and floated her in. If Jeremy had seen Aaron he would have admired the atypical dash of his appearance, with his trousers rolled up and his chest partly bared. Clancey left them with tools and a day's provisions. If they could not repair the boat they would make a raft, or swim, but one way or another, Aaron vowed, they would cross over and search for their shipmates. Clancey was bound to honor Jeremy's request to inform Jason, but promised to return in a day with him and as many others as were willing to aid in the search.
    The voyage back was long and silent. Candy was at the head of the crowd that assembled to meet them. She saw at once that Jeremy was nowhere to be found. When Clancey stepped off the gangplank and slowly, unwillingly met her eyes, she knew without his saying a word. And in fact he said none, could not conjure up from the depths of his Irish soul what had to be said. She had been frightened of this moment but had determined to meet it without crying. She almost succeeded, but rivulets broke forth unbidden from the corners of her eyes and refused to stop. She pretended they were not there, and out of an illimitable respect for her, so did everyone else.
    Jason arrived after her and, grasping the one fact to be grasped, demanded to hear everything. Clancey had barely begun when Joshua grabbed him by the lapels. "And you didn't go after them?" Jason pulled him away.
    "T'other boat was sabotaged." Clancey was almost in tears himself. He added, in a voice only they could hear, "By Barnum's little fella." Jason spotted Barnum at the outside of the crowd. "Belike he's lost, too. Mr. Stempel stayed behind to search for their–search for 'em."
    "I'll not believe he's gone," said Jason. "You hear?"
    "Poor lad called for ye at the last. Said to tell ye if he could swim–"
    "What?" Joshua cried out.
    Candy looked up in confusion. "But–"
    Jason pressed down on Clancey's shoulders. "What were his words? Exactly?"
    "I–" Clancey gulped. "He said–he said–if I could only swim–alas the day! Never will I see ye more this side. Tell Jason–Jason, me own dear brother–"
    "Sure you're not embellishing?" asked Joshua.
    "But–" Candy repeated.
    Jason saw Barnum edging toward them. He all but picked up Clancey and pushed him onto the gangplank. "Below. Now." He clutched Candy's waist in a tight cinch, an impropriety that she would not have expected of him and that many of her fellow brides would have envied her. In the circumstances she did not think to be shocked.
    "But he can swim!" she said finally when the four of them were out of the others' hearing.
    "Like a duck," Joshua added.
    "'course he can. That message was to let me know he's not really drowned."
    Clancey stared in amazement. "Then why–" The truth flashed home. "He'll be in some trouble."
    "And wanted to keep you out of it."
    "And the midget?" asked Joshua.
    Jason shook his head. "I can't guess what his part in it is, or his master's. But we'd best be wary of 'em." He ordered Joshua to return to the mountain and round up a dozen men. "Looks like you'll be getting that trip you coveted."
    Joshua declined. After all, one of them had to keep the family business going. "Besides," he said, "I trust Jeremy to land on his feet."
    Jeremy was lying with his feet and hands bound. His trousers and brogans were still damp and clammy. Tom was beside him in the same state. Like two trussed turkeys, Jeremy thought, and then erased the thought, disliking its implication. From the islet they had been led through the shallows and up a spire of rock onto the bridge, against whose sides the sea pounded below. A beach of pastel pebbles spiked with big grey stones stretched out in either direction. They crossed to the spur, which was like a gatehouse cut out of the rock. In a bay to the south they saw the top of a mast swaying with the tide.
    They descended by a path to a fissure in the rock, invisible till they were upon it, and then entered a large grotto whose walls were smeared with a bright green fur. The rush and shush of the waves, before they ever saw the foam flying up in small bouquets where the flat part of the floor ended, told them the sea ran in and out there. Trails of old seaweed nestled on the bank. The wall on the sea side hung down almost to water level; the others stood ten yards back from the ledge. Light entered through a wide chimney at the top. Gaps in the rock made pipes for the wind to sound, all together, making new chords that moaned and droaned. The sound was soft because this side of the island sat sheltered, mainly, from the seaborne westerlies.
    So the wind music floated, half-heard, through the air, and together with the emerald walls made the place seem like a sorcerer's cave. Jeremy remembered a story of Shakespeare's Jason had told him once about a magician on a magic island; he might have made his den here.
    Certainly the denizens were outlandish enough. Clad in bright motley, they had seemed like mirages when they appeared from nowhere to pull Tom and Jeremy out of the water, only to silence them a moment later with blades at their throats. They had allowed Jeremy to warn off his comrades but stopped him when it sounded as if he were about to say too much, not realizing he already had.
    There were eight of them, most having olive skin and black curly hair. They reminded Jeremy of Seattle's Greek colony. The most visible exception was a pale blond giant, who had carried Tom and Jeremy without straining across the shallows and who relaxed of an evening, it now appeared, by lifting large stones in the same way. On the far side of the cave two men stood abreast, supporting two others on their shoulders. By them sat a man whose legs appeared to be wrapped around his neck. Jeremy lifted his head to see from a straighter perspective; the position looked the same. Having been asleep for many hours, he wondered whether he were still dreaming. Beside him another of the pirates held up a sword–a straight one, not the captain's curved cutlass–and, gripping it by the point end, thrust it into his mouth. With this clue the scene was transformed.
    "Circus people," said Jeremy. "They're circus people!"
    "No more," said a voice beside him. He looked up to see the pirate captain standing over them, hands on his waist. He was tall and supply muscled, with eyes like black opals. "Now we are da terror of da seas!" De Fuca Strait, anyway, Jeremy could not help amending. "Winter come," the captain went on, in a half-apologetic tone, "a man make his living as he may."
    "If he may," said the blond man.
    Tom wriggled to sitting. "I take it I am in the presence of the brothers Zampolli and"–he nodded toward the strong man–"their colleagues, late of Dan Rice's Great Show?" The captain showed pleasure at being recognized. "Permit me to introduce myself. General Tom Thumb, of the Barnum circus."
    "Ah!" The captain bowed. "Zampolli has heard of you."
    Tom looked about. Like Jeremy, he had been napping. Before, most of their captors had left–to go pirating, Jeremy had assumed–and not presented a chance to see them together till now. "Surely one of your number is missing?" said Tom. "A little fellow like me? We saw him on the rocks." Jeremy realized he was talking about the silkie.
    "Ah, si." Zampolli nodded toward the tide pool, really an enclosed pocket of the strait, where a figure was circling on its back. Tom had not been in a position to see it before. "Mercy!" Zampolli yelled. Jeremy wondered whom he was begging mercy from. "Little, si," he said, as he gave the figure a hand out, "but no man." The figure removed its sealskin headdress–obvious enough in the light, though it was fading–and revealed itself as the most beautiful little woman either man had ever seen. In truth Jeremy had never seen one before; Tom had, but none to match her. "Cara mia," said Zampolli, "permit me–"
    "Tom Thumb," she said, in a tone of awe. Her eyes glistened as brightly as her bathing dress, which was also made of sealskin. Below it she wore a pair of sealskin boots shaped to resemble fins. Jeremy wondered how he could ever have been fooled. "I have y–that is, I've seen your picture." Tom bowed as well as his bonds permitted. It struck Jeremy for the first time that he was a famous man, the most famous of his size in history, and no doubt a hero to other little people. He was obviously one to Mercy, who stood before him in a devotional attitude, eyes steeped in adoration.
    For once, Tom lost his self-possession. "I–where–" he stammered.
    Zampolli put an arm around Mercy, as around a favorite child. "She is our lorelei. Da boatmen sail close to see–then we plunder. Idiote!" He threw his head back and laughed. His captives did not think it so funny. Zampolli ran his fingers along a strand of her auburn hair. "Bellissima, no?" he said, glancing slyly at Tom. Mercy's cheeks turned crimson.
    Oddly, so did Tom's. He said, in a voice louder than necessary, "I heard that you quit Rice while he was up here on tour." He seemed to know a power about them, Jeremy reflected.
    Zampolli shook his head mournfully. "Big jump. His partner say to us he will make up a new show and we will be da stars." He raised a fist. "Sia maledetto! He's-a only desire to ruin Signore Rice. We go, then he's-a go–and Zampolli is abandoned. We try to make up a show, but–" He made a "poof" noise. "No people, no money. So Zampolli turn brigante. And now we eat."
    "Not much," said the strong man, munching a bit of hard bread.
    "My friend says true." Zampolli extended his hands helplessly. "We are too kind. Zampolli kill nobody. But now you see the pirate's lair"–he glowered at them from under his curling brows–"perhaps Zampolli think again." He strolled off, pulling at his mustache.
    "This is utterly unnecessary," Tom began. He was working his wrists busily, and Mercy took the complaint to refer to his bonds.
    "Are the ropes hurting you?" she said in alarm. "But they mustn't!" She crouched behind him and began pulling at the knot. Jeremy asked Tom if he had not intended to say more. Tom considered, and then shook his head. Mercy leaned around to see his face. "Better now?"
    His lips broadened in a dreamy smile. "Much," he purred, "especially when your hands are over mine, warming them." Mercy quickly drew her hands away and dropped her eyes. Slowly she raised them again, and then moved her hands back. She and Tom smiled at each other. Jeremy sighed and rolled over. He sure missed Candy.
    At dawn the crew of the Seamus O'Flynn returned to find Aaron and the others exhausted and ill-kempt. Aaron looked as if he had been marooned for weeks rather than hours. They had just finished making their boat seaworthy, or so they hoped: the first trial had been a disaster. Now it did not matter, for Clancey and Jason had brought in a dinghy taken on board before sailing.
    At the sight of Jason, Aaron staggered up and hugged him. "Your brother," he said woefully, "your valiant brother...."
    Jason eased out of his grip. "He'll be pleased to hear your high opinion of him."
    "Poor man." Aaron shook his head. "Wracked with grief, you're denying the truth. I understand." He patted Jason's arm. Jason winced. He was unused to being patted. "Jeremy's gone–and all because of my greed. I'll sell my mill–no, I'll give you a third of it in his memory. How would that be?"
    Jason regarded him with wonder. "Never seen him so," he said. "Seems a pity to spoil it."
    Aaron stared, uncomprehending. "Jason...." said Clancey.
    "Yes, well–" Jason patted Aaron's arm in return. "Moved as I am by your generosity, 'twouldn't be fair to take advantage of you. Jeremy's alive."
    "Alive! No, I saw him–that is, I heard him. He said–"
    "Said if he could swim, yes. And so he can. Like a–" Joshua's earlier comparison seemed too tame somehow. "–like a slitherin' eel."
    "Alive!" The relief in Aaron's face was swept away at once by a wave of outrage. "What'd he want to pull a trick like that for?"
    "Shouldn't wonder if he'd met up with that pirate band," said Jason.
    After the scanty supper of last night and an even scantier breakfast this morning, Jeremy did not doubt the account Zampolli had given of their hard times. Mercy was still by Tom's side. She had changed to a plain skirt and blouse, with a scarf about her shoulders. The outfit was simple, but Tom thought it most fetching–especially the scarf, which she had spent an hour digging for in their costume trunk. "I'm sorry you've come to this," she said. "What are you doing in these parts, anyway?"
    Jeremy half-turned. Tom hesitated. "Seeing after Mr. Barnum's affairs," he said after a moment. "He trusts me implicitly."
    Mercy rested her chin on her hands and gazed at him. "I imagine a person could trust you with 'most anything."
    Before Tom could answer–and just as well, in Jeremy's opinion–Zampolli returned. "Zampolli decide," he announced. He picked up his cutlass. Tom and Jeremy shrank back. Mercy screamed. Zampolli brought the cutlass down on Tom's bonds, snapping them. Then he did the same for Jeremy's. "We find a new lair," he said. "You come, too."
    Jeremy did not favor that idea. "Let them go, Paolo," Mercy begged. "They've done us no harm."
    "But, cara mia, they procure da grand ransom!"
    Jeremy heard himself saying, "I know something better than a ransom," and then, "I know where there's treasure buried."
    "Treasure?" Zampolli's eyes gleamed.
    "You still have the map?" Tom said in surprise.
    The others had heard and begun to gather round. "That's what pirates are usually after, isn't it? Only you have to promise to let us go." He had a flash of inspiration. "On your honor as circus men."
    The captain looked around at his company. "Bene. You have Zampolli's word."
    "This may not be a good idea," Tom muttered.
    Ignoring him, Jeremy indicated the pocket of his jacket that held the map. "But I'll have to show you the–"
    Zampolli's huge hand snatched it out in a grand sweep. "You stay. Lorenzo, Massimo, Nicolo, Ottavio! Venite!" He led his brothers to the rift in the rock.
    The strong man called after him. "And us?"
    "You guard da prisoners," he captain shouted back. "We find treasure, we let you know."
    As he left, the remaining men–those who were not brothers–exchanged looks that suggested they had heard something of the sort before. One of them made a comment Jeremy could not hear. They gathered in a circle by the entrance and spoke together in low voices, forgetting their captives entirely.
    "Jeremy, about the map–" Tom began.
    His attention was arrested immediately by Mercy clasping his hand. She pointed to a square of light in the wall. "Flee!" she whispered.
    He hesitated. "Very well," he said, "but I shall return for you." He cast a sidelong glance at Jeremy. "You, too," he added as an afterthought.
    "Thanks," said Jeremy unhappily. He had seen that the hole was too small for him, and the entrance was blocked by the pirates. Tom scurried to the wall, at whose foot he found the bathing dress Mercy had shed the previous evening. A sudden worry over whether the proprieties were being observed when she undressed was swallowed up in the urgency of the moment. He paused long enough to hold the dress aloft. "According to the legend," he said, "when a man steals a silkie's skin she's his." Mercy thrilled at these words.
    "Hi, you!" In the toils of love, Tom had forgotten all caution. The others had heard him. He quickly scaled the rocks and slipped out through the hole. Mercy clasped her palms together and pressed them to her cheek with a sigh. Jeremy sighed, too, for his own reasons. The pirates looked at one another uncertainly.
    They heard a voice outside. The Zampollis were returning already. "Imbroglio!" Paolo shouted as he entered. "Inganno! Inferno!"
    "Some, uh, problem?" asked Jeremy.
    Paolo crumpled the map in his fist and threw it down. "Contraffato! The man who make-a this never see this island!" So Aaron had been right to distrust his partners.
    Now Paolo noticed Tom's absence. "Da pygmy–where is he?" One of his brothers made a quick search and shook his head. "Find him!" Paolo roared, and they started out again.
    Only the others blocked their way, the strong man at their head. He had the sword swallower's blade and was fingering the tip menacingly. "Let him go," he said.
    "What is this?" the captain demanded. "Mutiny, by the Great Horn Spoon!" Jeremy wondered what dime novel he had found that in.
    "We're tired of being pirates," said the strong man. "We're striking out on our own."
    "We have a covenant," Paolo declaimed. "You sign in blood!"
    "B-blood?" Jeremy whispered.
    "That was Paolo's idea." Mercy sighed. "He so likes to be dramatic."
    While he was preoccupied, Jeremy got to his feet and headed for the entrance. Paolo blocked him. "Avast, scurvy dog!" He drew his cutlass.
    "Arm yourself, boy!" cried the strong man, flinging him the sword. Paolo raised his blade. Jeremy met it almost without intending to. Suddenly he was in the middle of that dime novel.
    When Paolo hesitated to lay on, Jeremy ran to the back wall, where a set of natural steps led two-thirds of the way up to the skyhole. He took them in three leaps. Paolo was on each step almost ahead of him, and trapped him at the top. With no other way open, Jeremy climbed out on the rock wall, sword tucked under his belt. Holds he could not have guessed at till he reached them, he wedged hands and feet into, trying not to look at the green water below. They led by a zigzag path to within three feet of the top and then ended. He took a deep breath, tensed, and sprang, reaching high.
    He felt a jabbing pain as his hands met the hard rock. But he had made it. With all the strength his shoulders and back could summon he heaved himself up and partway over the rim. His hands scrabbled across the rock, gripping first one protuberance and then another, as he pulled himself out the rest of the way. His body lifted, then fell, lifted and fell, and each time it dropped onto the brutal surface it took new scrapes and bruises. But he was free.
    He had not reckoned on Paolo's training. In a flash he had taken the wall and catapulted over it. He landed at Jeremy's feet as if dropped from above, cutlass between his teeth, scarlet blouse a-billow in the breeze. Ignoring a thousand aches, Jeremy scrambled to his feet and drew his sword, fumbling a little; it was a long reach. Paolo feinted at him. Jeremy stepped back. Another feint; another step back. Paolo thrust. Jeremy parried and counter-thrust. Paolo chopped down. The shrill clash of steel rang out over the island.
    Jeremy did not believe Paolo would kill him. But he plainly did not mean to let him leave, and might be willing to inflict great injury for the prospect of a ransom. In size and dexterity he had the obvious advantage, and he had had practice in using a cutlass, or playing at it. But Jeremy was used to swinging an axe, and wielded his sword in the same way. Neither knew enough to tell good technique from bad, and so they posed a considerable danger to each other and themselves.
    They fought strenuously, moving over the rocks and down onto the shingle beach, where their feet slid on the loose rocks. Within the cave, the other Zampollis were trying to get out and get to their brother, but the rival faction, now including Mercy, were unwilling to yield the exit. At last they broke through onto the beach and surrounded Jeremy. Paolo shouted at them to stand back and let him fight free.
    At that moment a rifle shot brought the action to a halt. The Seattle men, led by Tom, were at the edge of the sand cliff above. All were armed; it was Jason who had fired.
    Tom clambered down the cliff face and reached the bottom as Mercy emerged. "I have come for you, my fair!" he cried, and he grabbed her in his arms. Most of the others chose to descend by the path, which took hardly any longer. Two of them routed out the remaining pirates, or former pirates, huddled in the cave, and soon the entire band was under guard.
    Some of the rescuers expressed relief that Jeremy was alive, a feeling he shared after his swordfight. But he was still a little disappointed he had not been able to see it through. Paolo always maintained he would have won, but Jeremy was not so sure, and truthfully, neither was Paolo.
    Only now an unforeseen question presented itself. "What do we do with them?" Aaron asked. Tom was ready with an answer. Barnum had authorized him to offer all the members of the band long-standing engagements with his circus. The effect of this announcement on the beneficiaries was no greater than the impression it made on some others, Jason for one, whose stare made Tom squirm a little. "Why didn't you say this in the cave," Jeremy asked, "and spare us a fight?" Tom's bashful glance at Mercy told the story. He had been about to do so, but that would have deprived him of the chance to play the hero and bask in her attentions.
    "A woman," Aaron said in disgust. "I might have known." He had a sudden thought and peered at Jason. "You have anything to do with this?" Jason half-shook his head. He was hardly listening.
    With a zeal Barnum would have lauded, Tom presented the case for clemency. These were Canadian waters; Americans had no jurisdiction there. If they turned the pirates over to the British, they would have to explain their own presence, and Tom would not feel right if he allowed their poaching to go unreported. He assured them Barnum would make reparations to any victims who applied. "Zampolli kill nobody!" Paolo protested. Everyone ignored him.
    Then Tom addressed Jason singly. "Only once in a man's life does he meet the right woman," he said. "Many men never know that blessing. If you turn in these good people, I'll have lost my one chance of happiness. I appeal to your sense of romance–"
    "That does it," said Aaron. "You're letting them go."
    "All but one," he said. At the first sight of Jeremy, safe and whole, he had displayed perhaps the biggest smile of his life; he was not smiling now. In fact he looked downright grim.
    Barnum had no choice but to allow himself to be marched from the dock where the voyagers had just disembarked to the pump house at the foot of the sawmill pier. Jason had chosen the location deliberately: it was small, out of the way, and unoccupied, and it had only one door.
    "There was never any treasure," he said, "nor silkie neither. It was them you were after, to hire for your hippodrome show. And for that you nearly got my brother killed. I've a mind to–" He took a step toward him. Barnum lifted his hands protectively. "–to turn you over to the law," Jason finished.
    "What–" Barnum found his tongue too dry to work as nimbly as he was used to. "What crime," he managed to say, "can be laid at my door?"
    "Got a lawyer working up a list," said Jason. "Swindling, soliciting under false pretenses, aiding and abetting of piracy, kidnapping, attempted murder, and–and malacopterygy in the first degree." He threw in the last for good measure. It was something to do with herring; he liked the sound of it without knowing much what it meant. But that hardly mattered since he had manufactured the whole story. Seattle did not have a lawyer–yet.
    Barnum did not know that. "Suppose," he said, in some nervousness, "suppose I was to propose, propose you overlook my faux pas? And offer in exchange a small contribution to your lumber enterprise?"
    He should not be let off so easy, Jason well knew. On the other hand, this would end their financial crisis. And he could name his price. He needn't make it all that easy. "Cash?" he said finally.
    He could hear Barnum exhale his relief. "I shall wire my bank at once."
    "And one more thing." Barnum's breath caught again. Jason grinned. "I think you owe us a show."
    And what a show it was! It began at 7:30 on Wednesday evening. Practically all of Seattle was there, although Aaron begged off, saying he didn't like circuses. A tent was raised in the middle of the street, with seats, a ring, and an acrobatic frame produced by Stempel's mill for the occasion. Ben was hired as a candy butcher, Candy's little brother to stand outside and beat a bass drum before the show. Music for the show itself was furnished by Clancey's concertina player. Barnum was the ringmaster.
    The proceedings were opened by Lottie, riding sidesaddle in a dress so daring she had never allowed the town to see it before. Mercy performed equestrian feats of her own, with Tom leading the horse. Pilak made his debut as an Andean sage; the sight caused Jason great disappointment. The strong man, the sword swallower, and the contortionist each took his turn, and then the Zampollis (who had made it up with them by now) disproved the law of gravity with their unrestrained ups and downs and rounds and abouts.
    For the finale the entire company returned and each in turn encored his feats to a tumult of applause and "Bravo"s. Then they retired to the sides, and Candy's little sister entered, strewing flower petals. Behind her, looking as if they had stepped off a wedding cake, marched Tom and Mercy, arm in arm. The town minister met them in the middle of the ring, and there, beneath the big top and the towering trees of the great Northwest, they were joined. The show was over. The crowd descended on the newlyweds to bathe them in congratulations.
    It had been grand, the finest thing Seattle had ever seen, yet it had not dispelled all worries. Jason approached Pilak to see if, even now, he might be talked into changing his mind. The pair who had hectored him got to him first. Jason was about to turn them out when he heard one of them inquire if Pilak really did hail from all the way down in Peru. Pilak answered with a formulation he had learned from Barnum, together with the occult air proper to it: "All will become clear." The newcomers were vastly impressed. So his new life would have its compensations. That eased Jason's mind.
    He saw Barnum watching him, as if expecting a concession he had been right. Jason would not give him that satisfaction, and anyhow he did not believe it. But he had witnessed an instance of the one spiritual truth he did believe in firmly: the operation of grace. That kept him from begrudging Barnum his success this trip. He granted him as much of a smile as the sentiment moved him to.
    He spied Jeremy sitting alone, lost in his thoughts. Candy was below with the wedding couple, finding out everything she could about the arrangements for the honeymoon. Jeremy heard a voice beside him. "For a boy who's just been to the circus, you look uncommon dour."
    "We didn't find it," said Jeremy. "Not the real thing." He said it reluctantly, afraid Jason would laugh.
    Jason understood him too well for that. "You may yet," he said. "And look there." He pointed to Tom and Mercy. "True love. Ain't that wonder enough?" Jeremy allowed he might be right. "Follow your heart," Jason moralized. "That's the only map you'll ever want. Lead you to pure gold every time."
    Jeremy looked at Candy and saw in her the proof of Jason's words. He already had the object of his quest and had not realized it. Or if he had, it had slipped his mind, in the same way words occasionally slipped his tongue. He must never take her for granted again. He loved her more than his brothers, more than the trees or the rivers, as much as–yes, he could admit it, and knew that other beloved would not have minded, that she would have loved her, too. If only they could have met! That would always be his great sorrow. But to have known and loved them both was his great joy.
    The concertinist, who was standing by the exit, struck up "I'll Go No More a-Roving", and in it Jeremy found a moral. Promising himself he would never again neglect love's service to chase moonbeams, he went down to Candy's side.
    "You just can't help yourself, can you?"
    The voice was at Jason's back, but he could not mistake the dash of bitters in it. "Thought you didn't like circuses," he said.
    Aaron came up beside him. "'Follow your heart,'" he repeated. "I followed mine all the way to Vancouver, and see what I got for it."
    "A grand adventure," said Jason. "Isn't that what you were really after?"
    Aaron stared at him. "No! I was after the four hundred thousand!"
    Hearing that, Jason gave a laugh that caused even the lovers to turn. It resounded to the very tip of the tent pole and, for all one may know, to wherever the silkie still reclined in the moonlight and tossed her sea-washed hair. We humans, Jason mused–when all's tallied, it's we who are the fabulous beasts.
    
    ...and so the tale would be told for years by the captain of the Seamus O'Flynn when an audience was to be had, of an evening at the alehouse.

Web Hosting · Blog · Guestbooks · Message Forums · Mailing Lists
Allwebco Web Templates · Build your own toolbar · Site Building Articles · Audio, Fonts, Clipart
powered by bravenet.com