The Emerald Key - By Christopher Dinsdale Page 0,66
over to his starboard yardarm railing and waved across the small expanse of water that separated the two ships.
“How you doing, Captain?”
Big John threw his arms in the air. “Jamie! What the heck are you doing on that ship?”
“Taking the kids on a tour. Remember?”
“That cannot be your boat! It looks brand new!”
“Actually, we’re just borrowing it. The captain owed me and a lot of other Irish immigrants a big favour.”
“And where are you planning to go on your tour?”
“West,” Jamie replied cryptically. “Quite far west, actually.”
“I don’t believe this,” muttered Big John.
Jamie pointed ahead. “According to my map, I think we’re about to enter the Thousand Islands. I was hoping you could help lead me through the narrow channels. It looks a little tricky, especially with the currents and night coming soon. To tell you the truth, this is the first time I ever skippered anything bigger than a rowboat.”
“The first time he’s ever skippered anything bigger than a rowboat,” muttered Big John to himself, shaking his head. “He’s got the newest ship in all of Canada under his command. and he’s asking me for help.”
“So what do you say, Captain? Can you help me out?” called Jamie.
Big John pointed one of his huge fingers at Jamie. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Got it?”
Jamie scrunched up his brow. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Very funny. And stay a good distance behind me. Your sleek ship has twice the speed of mine so the last thing we need is a collision at night. Once we get to Kingston, son, you keep going west and you’ve made it to the open waters of Lake Ontario. From there, you’re on your own. Got it?”
Big John returned a weak salute and watched as Jamie gave the telegraph a signal to the engine room to slow her speed. The Flying Irishman started to slow down and then drifted in behind the Kentson. She took up her position at the rear of the procession, as ordered.
“Is that entire ship being run by children?” asked Hawkeye incredulously.
“We didn’t see anything,” corrected Big John, still shaking his head. “And go tell the rest of the crew they didn’t see anything either.”
Chapter 17
A sombre Jonathon Wilkes waited in queue at the Western Star Shipping Line ticket booth. He had been so close to having the Book of Galway, his next fortune, in his possession, and now he had to return to England empty-handed. He wondered how he could have blundered so badly. The book, he was sure, was now lost in the massive fire that had consumed Canada’s House of Parliament. He felt no remorse about being responsible for the death of the two Irish children, but he found the burned-out shell of the parliament building strangely disturbing. In all of his travels, he had never experienced a local population torching their own legislature. This Province of Canada is going nowhere, he surmised. The crowds have no respect for authority, and the leaders can’t even protect their own government buildings from riots and arson!
“May I help you, sir?” asked the ticket clerk.
“Yes, I would like a first-class ticket on the next Western Star ship leaving for London, England, please.”
As the clerk scanned the schedules, a door burst open at the back of the office. An irate fellow with a thick black beard stormed out of the office, and he was quickly followed by a tall man dressed in an immaculate business suit. Wilkes suddenly recognized the black-bearded fellow as Captain Chamberlain of the Carpathia.
“Richard, you need to calm down!”
“Calm down? You want me to calm down? How can I? You just told me my new ship has been stolen right off the dock of your Prescott shipyard!”
“We will find the ship shortly, I assure you. Surely, a bunch of troublemaking children can’t get too far. They have no training in the operations of a steamship. They likely beached themselves in a nearby marsh.”
“It was a bunch of Irish children, you say?”
“The authorities say witnesses saw a group of young Irish children near the shipyard the evening the boat disappeared. The two night watchmen confirmed their descriptions and said the ringleader was a tall Irish lad with brown hair and a leather satchel over one shoulder.”
Chamberlain slammed his fist on a desk. “I bet it has something to do with that lad I met at the pub. He was towing along two Irish brats. I told him I