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By Root 639 0

stories, too, though I am wary of them. Little-told tales, heard as jokes or whispers from the Arawak. It seemed strange to me, indeed, that the ancient Toltec – or their inheritors the Mexica – never attempted to sail to the island, to examine it, perhaps to find traces of that fallen star. Yet the people of the islands were not so unified in fear, and I have heard tell of fisher folk and others who had, by accident or design, found themselves near this nameless island. Some have never returned. And some have come back sick, or dying, or insane, with tales no one would believe. Some even say the island moves, that it is rarely at the same place twice, and that it is haunted by a malevolent ghost. All nonsense, no doubt, yet Amerigo, who has heard the stories as much as I have, is enchanted by them. "It must have been a meteor," he said to me, "of an unusual size." His eyes became dreamy then and he said, "Would it not be a perfect ending to our voyage, [unreadable], that, after we have explored this world, we can perhaps explore the stones of another?"

I, too, was taken in by his enthusiasm, but only momentarily. Though the weather is now clear again and our speed stays at peak, Amerigo is suggesting a detour. He is determined to explore this island. I am fearful, but do not know why.

… Before leaving Xaymaco, Amerigo has taken on board a young Arawak man who claims to have seen the island. We are goin [unreadable] direction, though there is not yet a trace of it. The sailors are treating this as merely another excursion, and I wish I could share their lightness of heart. Yet, though I am wary, I too am compelled to this island: I too want to discover this possible visitor from another world and learn of the truth in the old stories of the Mexica. The aura of mystery surrounds this island, and it is more attractive and irresistible than anything we have yet discovered. Tomorrow…

… We have found it! Even as I write the island lies before us, wrapped in clouds, cloaked in dusk. It is beautiful, though the eyes cannot penetrate far beyond the shore. Everyone on board is quiet as the island exerts a not-inconsiderable influence over us. It is at the same time inviting and brooding, peaceful – yet with an underlying, almost sinister feeling. I must know what lies beyond the clouds. I now regard those trifling lines of poetry I had written as just that – trifling. My masterpiece will be this island, its mysteries explored in verse so beautiful as to make the ladies weep. The landing party, with Amerigo and myself, will go at first light tomorrow. I–

It was the end of the writing. There had been more pages, before and after, but they had been removed at some time in the past. Orphan held the journal close to his chest, almost hugging it, and curled up on the narrow bed. He thought of all the people he had lost, from the parents he never knew, to Gilgamesh, to Lucy, and with each one the pain came harsher and more threatening, like tropical lightning. I can't bring back my parents, he thought, and I can't bring back Gilgamesh. But Lucy… and he thought of her laugh, and the way she had looked at him, and he fell asleep at last, still clutching the ancient journal to his chest.

TWENTY-TWO

Pirates

Lastly, the crime of piracy, or robbery and depredation upon the high seas, is an offence against the universal law of society; a pirate being, according to Sir Edward Coke, hostis humani generis. As therefore he has renounced all the benefits of society and government, and has reduced himself afresh to the same state of nature, by declaring war against all mankind, all mankind must declare war against him.

– William Blackstone, Commentaries on the Laws of England

It was a full two weeks later when the Nautilus entered the region of water known as the Carib Sea. A storm was building up on the horizon, where the setting sun cast blood-red and stained-yellow hues across a cloudscape of rain. Lightning flashed amidst the distant build-up, sizzling silver spears reaching from the heavens to the sea. The air