Jamys skimmed through it until he found the first mention of the Golden Horde:
Port Royal authorities, dockworkers, and islanders recorded sightings of the infamous pirate ship, which all accounts describe as sporting black sails, a skeletal-looking crew dressed in rags, and strange red lights glowing on deck. According to the final entry in the port master’s log, the ship circled the island several times but never came into port, nor did the crew ever come ashore.
This record is contradicted by the journal of Father Bernard Bartley, whose mission in Runaway Bay provided sanctuary for reformed pirates, most of whom had been sailors captured during raids and forced into the life. At the time the Horde was sighted on the north side of the island, Bartley wrote this after finding a half-dead man washed ashore near his mission:
“He had been brutally treated, and expecting his demise, I offered him absolution, so that he might go before God with the grace of his sins forgiven. The castaway refused, insisting that Hell would be nothing to his life. He claimed he had brought ashore his master, the captain of his ship, who had him steal the jewels from a relic buried in the sand; jewels that had been used by the first mate to transform his captain into a monster. As the fever took the castaway’s wits, he began to rave about this transformation, during which his master had died and then come alive again to drink the blood of the crew. That night, an hour before he died, the castaway cursed his master, this Captain Hollander, that he might never know port again.”
Few facts are known about the captain of the Golden Horde, whom some records name as Frederick Hollander. The most popular myth associated with this captain was a bargain he struck with the devil to trade his soul for eternal life. As you might expect, there was a catch, as the legend claims that Satan (or perhaps the curse of the much-abused castaway) doomed Hollander and his crew to sail the seas in darkness forever. Several eyewitnesses supported the myth, and insisted that as soon as the sun rose above the horizon, the Horde would simply vanish into thin air. . . .
Jamys copied the information and stored it in a file before he returned to the Web site’s front page. One of the coin images, a Spanish gold piece sporting a cross similar to the Templars’ martyrdom cross, looked vaguely familiar to him. When he couldn’t place it, he returned to the search results.
Another Web site devoted to salvage diving and recovery maintained an archive of mapped voyages. He checked the index for the Golden Horde, and found an antique map that showed several routes around the island as well as one leading up to the American mainland before it ended in a series of dashes. When he checked the legend, he saw that the dashes indicated the last known position of the ship.
Jamys imagined any mortal reading the accounts of Hollander and his ship would dismiss them as myths or superstitions, as the historian had. But details involved with the curse and the castaway’s claims made him suspect Hollander had not been human, but Darkyn. An immortal obliged to travel by ship in that era would not have been able to store blood for any length of time, and so would be forced to feed on the crew while at sea. Hollander would also have the Kyn’s nocturnal nature, which would compel him to avoid the discomfort of the sun’s rays by sailing only at night.
Much of the information on the sites that mentioned Hollander and the Golden Horde had been condensed and interpreted; what Jamys needed to see were the actual documents and maps from the seventeenth century. Fortunately for him modern humans who were obsessed with the past preserved such things with great care, and kept them in museums and the libraries of important institutions. When he returned to Charles Gifford’s Web site, he discovered the historian had scheduled several lectures at the Miami Maritime Museum, to which he had also donated Father Bartley’s journals.
Jamys didn’t want to involve Chris in his quest, but his unfamiliarity with Lucan’s territory made it almost a necessity. As he made note of the museum’s address, he heard a ringing sound coming from his traveling case, and reached in to take out his mobile.
The caller ID displayed the number for his father’s private line at the stronghold.
His ruse had been discovered, it seemed. He was tempted to shut off the phone, but if he didn’t answer the call, Thierry would order the garrison to begin searching for him.
He pressed the speaker button. “Yes, Father.”
“When you bespell a mortal in order to assume his identity, you should remember to adjust his memories as well,” Thierry said. “Where in God’s name are you?”
He considered how to answer that. “Where I am safe.”
“Since you are not here, I disagree,” his father snapped. “You are to return to the stronghold by nightfall.”
“No.”
Thierry growled, “You mistake my meaning, son. I do not make this a request. I am your suzerain as well as your parent, and I say you will come home at once.”
It gave Jamys little satisfaction to repeat his father’s words back to him. “I am not a warrior.”
“You are my son, Jamys.” Thierry’s tone softened. “There is no need for this estrangement and rebellion. Tell me where you are, and I will come there.”
“To bring me back,” Jamys amended.
“Yes. No.” His father made a frustrated sound. “Permit me to make right this thing between us. You wish to train with the garrison? I will direct my captains to instruct you. I will have my builder construct a villa on the grounds for you so that you may set up your own household. I will give you whatever you wish, boy; you have but to say what you need.”
He closed his eyes. “I am not a boy, Father.” He felt Chris’s hand touch his shoulder and covered it with his own, drawing strength from it. “I am a man.”
“Of course you are—”
“Then let me be one.” He switched off the phone before Thierry could reply, and set it down beside the laptop, and stared at it. “Forgive me. I did not mean to wake you.”
“I was a little cold.” Chris picked up the mobile. “I know this is encrypted, but if you keep using it, he’ll find a way to track down the signal.” She removed the back to extract the battery and the SIM card. “We keep a supply of smart phones downstairs that can’t be traced. I’ll get one for you to use while you’re here.”
She said nothing about the conversation she’d obviously overheard. “You are not going to tell Lucan?”
She moved her shoulders. “If he asks me who I’ve given phones out to lately, I’ll have to say you’ve got one.”
“About my father,” he persisted.
“I think you should tell Lucan about it.” She sat down beside him. “From what I overheard it sounds like you could use some advice. Lucan can seem unfeeling and sarcastic and kind of scary sometimes, but underneath all that sneering superiority and cold-blooded heartless killer thing he does, he’s just a guy trying to get by. He’ll understand.”
Jamys had long suspected the same, and nodded slowly.
“The sun’s almost up. You should get some rest.” Her eyes strayed to the notes he had been writing. “Are you planning to go down to Miami for something?”
“Yes.” He opened Gifford’s Web site and tapped the screen where the lecture information was listed. “This.”
Chris read it, and then eyed his notes again. “You ran away from home to attend a lecture on piracy? Couldn’t you have just taken a class at the local community college?”
He pulled up the account from Father Bartley’s journals. “I want to know more about this.”
Chris skimmed the page, and then sat back. “Well, no one knows what happened to Hollander and the Golden Horde, not even Mel Fisher.” Her lips formed an O that she covered with her fingers. “Oh, my God. You’re going after the Emeralds of Eternity. No. Really?”
“Yes.” He was surprised that she knew about the lost jewels. “You have read the high lord’s summons.”
“I, ah, heard about it.” She jumped as the drapes on the other side of the room began to close. “I thought the curtains closing by themselves would be cool, but they’re actually a little creepy.” She regarded him. “If you’re the one who finds the emeralds, the high lord will give you rule of Ireland, right?” When he nodded, she smiled. “I could help you with that.”
Jamys knew how resourceful Chris was, and she knew the region far better than he. Accepting her offer would also allow them to spend more time together, and he wanted that more than the jewels. But while he wanted to have her with him, he had to consider first her position in the household. “I cannot take you from your obligations here.”
“You heard Lucan. He said for me to look after you while you’re here,” she reminded him. “That makes you my number one priority.”
Chris spoke as if he were nothing more than a task to be attended to, and yet he detected a subtle alteration of her scent that indicated secrecy. She was not lying, but she was not telling him everything. Jamys couldn’t blame her for holding back, not when he was doing the same. He suspected that, like him, she did not trust easily.
It did not matter to him. He would take her however he could have her. “Then we will search for the emeralds together.”
* * *
Lucan slipped away from his blissfully exhausted Samantha in their bed and left their chamber for his dressing room. Although she thought of herself as his equal, his beloved was still in her infancy as an immortal, and as such spent most of the daylight hours abed. Lucan himself seldom required more than three or four hours of rest, and had discovered he could make do with as little as an hour.
He dressed in silence as he thought on the night’s events. While he loved her rather more than anyone or anything in existence, Lucan never took for granted Samantha’s own devotion. He could not; she was the only soul in all the world who had ever loved him. He had never expected that, not after walking the night alone for more than seven hundred years. Indeed, she had come to him when eternal life had grown exceedingly tedious, and brought to him the sort of hope and wonder he had never imagined himself feeling.
