Page 25

EDDIE

M y blood ran cold as Joe stepped in front of me.

“Oh, don’t do that, Red Joe,” Short Clarry said. “This isn’t about you.”

Joe stared down the narrow barrel of the revolver. “Where’d you get that?”

“This old thing? It was my grandfather’s. He was issued it in the war. It’s an Enfield No. 2. A collector’s piece by now, probably.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “John Coldwell could have put it in his museum.”

I dug my fingers into the back of Joe’s coat.

“Put it down, Clarry,” Joe said, keeping his voice even. “The police are on the way.”

“This is island business, Red Joe, not police business. John Coldwell was one of ours, and it’s right that we should sort it out. That man behind you is a killer , and?—”

“Bullshit,” Joe said. “That’s bullshit.”

“Believing the word of a Hawthorne over one of your own now, are you?” Short Clarry asked.

“It was an islander who killed John Coldwell,” Joe said. “And it’s an islander pointing a fucking gun at me right now.”

“Then step aside,” Short Clarry said, “and there’s half your problem solved.”

“It was you,” I said suddenly. “I was leaving the museum, and I passed you . You weren’t in your house. You were going to the museum. You’re the one who killed him!”

Short Clarry didn’t even flinch.

“All this,” Joe said hollowly. “All this for some old diary.”

“No,” Short Clarry said. “All this for Dauntless , Red Joe! For our future! I’ve been talking to investors. Investors ! And then John Coldwell put everything in jeopardy when he attacked Hawthorne for the diary. Tourists won’t want to come here if they think that’s how they’ll be treated!”

I spluttered.

“Short Clarry, you’re pointing a fucking gun at that same tourist right now,” Joe told him.

Short Clarry looked at least a little shamefaced. “Yes, well, he’s not a tourist now though, is he? He’s a witness .”

“You fought with John Coldwell over what happened with the diary,” Joe said. “You got angry, and you hit him with the rack, and you killed him. And Eddie had already seen you going to visit him.”

I dug a hand into the pocket of Joe’s coat, and he must have felt it because he turned his hip to help me. My fingers closed around Joe’s torch. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was heavy, and it was better than nothing.

“That’s the long and the short of it,” Short Clarry said.

I couldn’t believe we were going to be murdered by a man with floral curtains and Royal Albert Old Country Roses tea cups.

“Then I saw him, didn’t I? Climbing up to the point in that bright red jacket, sticking out like the balls on a dog, and now here we are.

” He gestured with the pistol. “Step aside, Red Joe.”

“No. I can’t do that.” Joe lifted his chin. “I won’t.”

Almost two hundred years ago, on this very point, Josiah Nesmith and his fellow mutineers had hanged Captain George Hawthorne.

What would our great-great-great-whatever-grandfathers think of us now? A Nesmith standing in front of a Hawthorne, except this time he doesn’t have a rope in his hands.

I hoped our ancestors at least appreciated the irony.

Short Clarry didn’t waver.

“Is this really what you want?” Joe asked, as I felt the torch slide free. “I’m the last direct male descendant of Josiah Nesmith.”

“We’re all mutineers at heart, Red Joe,” Short Clarry said, “even now. You’re no better than the rest of us. Come on now, last chance to step aside.”

Joe stepped aside just as I threw the torch.

It was a bad throw. The torch went wide, smashing against the wall behind Short Clarry’s right shoulder. It was enough to make him flinch back though.

“Run!” Joe yelled, pushing me toward the steps. “Go!”

We were younger than Short Clarry, and faster.

I hauled myself up the stairs, and Joe was only a step or two behind me.

“Lantern room!” Joe yelled. “Go!”

We thundered up the steps.

Below us, a shot rang out, a short sharp crack that echoed through the tower.

My heart skipped a beat, but by the time I’d registered the sound— registered it and understood it and expected to feel a sudden burst of pain—it was already over and I was still moving, and Joe was still behind me.

We passed the door to the flag room. The steps were steeper here, narrower, and we raced up them.

I spilled into the lantern room ahead of Joe, riding the adrenaline burst of my panic.

“Outside!” Joe grabbed a pair of binoculars and followed me out. He slammed the door shut, twisting the handle closed and then jamming the binoculars under it. They fell straight through and hit the catwalk.

“Oh god,” I managed, gripping the rail and gasping for breath. “I thought you had a plan !”

“That was the plan!” Joe gripped the handle tightly.

“That’s a terrible fucking plan!”

“If you’ve got a better one, Eddie, now would be the time to share!”

“Can he shoot through those windows?” I asked. “Because we’re kind of trapped here now!”

“Those windows can withstand a cyclone.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Joe!”

“I don’t know, Eddie! I’m fairly sure this is an unprecedented situation, and not one that was taken into consideration by nineteenth century lighthouse designers!” He leaned on the metal door to look through the windows to the lantern room.

Short Clarry burst into the room, clutching his chest and panting for breath.

“Go around the other side,” Joe said. “Get the flags.”

I hurried to obey. Out on the ocean there was a speck of white on the horizon. It was a boat. The police boat? It was still so far away.

Hurry the fuck up .

I managed to unknot the flags and scrambled back around the catwalk in time to see Joe gripping the rattling door handle.

Short Clarry glared at us through the glass, and mouthed something I couldn’t hear, but probably wasn’t complimentary.

I didn’t mistake the way that he tapped the gun against the window though.

I held up the flags tangled in their ropes. “What am I doing with these?”

“Waving them,” Joe said. “First to that police boat out there.” He didn’t let go of the door handle to point. “Then to anyone who can see you in the village.”

I opened my mouth to reply and caught another glimpse of Short Clarry and his gun through the windows. I yelped, and then dropped to my hands and knees on the catwalk.

What the hell did I know about ballistics? I could wave my flags from down there just as well.

I left Joe bracing all his weight against the door and gripping the handle so Short Clarry couldn’t open it from the inside. I crawled quickly around to the seaward side of the tower with my flags.

The speck of white on the horizon gradually grew larger and larger.

But not fast enough.

* * *

T he Joe-shaped blur looked to be struggling by the time I got back to him.

“Anything from the village?”

I squinted up at him. “Lost my glasses. I can’t see shit!”

What a pair we made. If our ancestors weren’t still laughing at the irony of Joe stepping in front of a gun for me, then they were definitely laughing at our ineptitude.

Metal clanged as Short Clarry wrenched at the door again. He wasn’t really a big guy, but it turned out he had enough murderous rage to really boost his strength.

“Binoculars,” Joe said, nodding at them.

I grabbed them. “What am I doing?”

“Signalling. Get a reflection, and get it to the boat out there.”

“Right,” I said, fumbling with the binoculars. “Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot, right?”

“Oh, so you know that, but not the flags?”

“ Everyone knows that.” I hunkered down beside him, angling the binoculars in an attempt to catch the scant sunlight.

The door shuddered again.

“Fuck,” Joe said, his voice cracking. “Eddie!”

I looked up at him, and his expression was stricken.

“My hands are sweaty. I can’t hold it!”

I dropped the binoculars and clambered to my feet, my stomach swooping. I stood beside Joe, shoulder to shoulder, and put my hands over his.

“You let go,” I said, the wind whipping my hair, “and I’ll hold it. We’ll brace it together.”

My eyes stung as the door shuddered again. I glanced behind us. The boat was closer now, close enough to make out the blue checks along the side of it.

Still too far though.

Underneath my hands, Joe’s sweaty grip slipped another fraction.

This wasn’t going to work, and I was pretty sure Joe knew it too. So instead of telling me we were going to die, he told me something else instead.

“I like you, Eddie Hawthorne,” he said. “I like you a lot.”

My heart clenched.

“I like you, because you’re funny, and cute, and you wear stripey socks.

I like you because you laugh a lot. I like you because you have a smile like sunshine, and you share your food with my dumb dog when you think I’m not looking.

” His hands slipped again, and I saw the fear flash in his eyes.

“I like your books and your glasses and the fact that everything you wear clashes. I like you, and even though I hardly know you, I want you. I think we’re good together, and, whatever happens here, I think I could have more than liked you too. ”

“That’s more words than I’ve ever heard you say at once.” I swallowed around the ache in my throat. “I like you too, Joe Nesmith.”

I nudged his hand with mine. His grip loosened.

The door smashed open before we were ready for it, catching Joe with a glancing blow.

He stumbled back, hitting the rail of the catwalk.

He caught the rail, and his knees hit the catwalk.

I didn’t even have time to see if he was okay, because suddenly Short Clarry was advancing on me.

He was red-faced and sweaty. The gun shook in his hand.

“Clarry,” Joe croaked. He tried to stand, but it was like he couldn’t get his feet under him. “Clarry, don’t.”

Short Clarry ignored him.

I moved back, one hand on the rail.

“Clarry,” Joe croaked again.

I backed away, out of Joe’s sight, around to the leeward side of the catwalk. I didn’t take my eyes off Short Clarry. I just kept moving, wondering when he was going to shoot.