Isle of Fire Read Online Free Page A

“Do ye truly think anyone believes that someone like me, who’s seen what I seen and done what I done, could ever really change?”
    Declan stood up. “I do.”
    His face masked by regret, Cutlass Jack Bonnet let out an exasperated sigh, shook his head, and left Ross’s quarters.

    Early the next morning, Declan Ross rolled out of his hammock and went to his desk. There he found the small brown satchel of jewels he’d given Cutlass Jack the night before. He hefted it in his hand. It felt as heavy as it had when he’d handed it to Jack.
    â€œHim b’ long gone,” said Stede from the open door.
    â€œI had a feeling,” said Ross.
    Stede looked at the pouch of jewels. “How many did that rascal keep?”
    â€œNear as I can tell . . . he didn’t keep any.”
    Stede thought about that a moment. “Him b’ one outrageous mon.”
    â€œHe’s a good man . . . at heart,” said Ross. “But I don’t look forward to the next time we meet.”
    â€œThis b’ what we signed up for, mon. Some of them will not b’ seeing things our way, ya know.”
    â€œStill . . . I wish he—ah, never mind.”
    â€œWhere to now?”
    â€œSaba,” said Ross. “Let’s go get Cat.”

3

THE CITADEL

    F ather Brun rushed in with a bundle under his arm. He started to speak, but then saw the shattered mirror and Cat’s bloody hand. He quickly placed the bundle on the table near the window and helped Cat to his feet. Father Brun led Cat to sit on the corner of the cot, removed a clean piece of linen from a drawer, and pressed it gently into Cat’s palm. The monk said nothing but sat beside Cat and waited.
    Cat looked away. But at last, in a quiet, gravelly voice, Cat said, “I am just like him .”
    Father Brun placed a reassuring hand on Cat’s shoulder. “If by that you mean you are like your father,” said the monk, “then you are grievously mistaken.”
    â€œHave you ever seen him?” Cat exclaimed.
    Father Brun nodded. “Yes, but it was a long time ago.”
    â€œThen you know,” said Cat bitterly. “My eyes, my jaw, everything—it’s just the same. Every time I see myself . . . I see him.”
    Father Brun tilted his head thoughtfully. “I see someone quite different. Your eyes, your mouth—none of those things make who you are. And I am quite certain that you are nothing like Bartholomew Thorne.”
    â€œYou saw what I did!” Cat’s face twisted with anguish. “You saw that rage. I would have killed Dmitri . . . if you hadn’t stepped in.”
    â€œI doubt that,” said Father Brun. “I’ve seen men stronger than you break a staff over Dmitri’s head without doing him much harm.”
    Cat laughed in spite of himself but quickly looked away. “But, Father Brun,” he said, “I’ve had memories come back. I’ve seen him go from perfect calm to a murderous rage in an instant—just like me.”
    â€œHe’s done unspeakable horrors,” said Father Brun. “But you would never go that far.”
    â€œHow do you know?” pleaded Cat. “There’s still so much of my past missing. So much I don’t remember. What if I really am just like him?”
    Father Brun stood, and his voice had an edge to it when he spoke again. “Cat, do you really believe that this has already been decided for you?”
    Cat looked at him and blinked. “I . . . I don’t—”
    â€œThe way you are talking,” Father Brun interrupted, “leads me to believe you think that who you are is a fixed thing, a doom that cannot be avoided.”
    Cat’s mouth opened and closed, but he said nothing.
    â€œSee to it that you banish that thought from your mind,” Father Brun continued, his voice sharpening as he spoke. “For it is a lie from the pit of hell! Now, I am very