The Chronicle:

To say that I was amazed by the discovery of my father's old sea log would be a pale understatement.  I had never suspected such a document might be waiting for me, let alone the contain information about a lost treasure on a deserted island!  I felt a lot of respect and admiration for my father, that he would have left the entire document, and its unvarnished details, for me to read instead of prettifying the story.

I shared the story with my companions.  I admit it, although I have no particular need for money, the notion of a treasure trove waiting to be rediscovered made my blood boil with enthusiasm.  The treasure I would claim for Castille, but the honour I would claim in my father's name!  The thought of those villainous Blackstones profiting from this treasure after the way they had treated my father, why, it infuriated me.  And I had to trot out the Maris Stella and my new letter of marque.  I easily convinced my companions to join in this adventure; Lucas could use the distraction from his sorrow over doña Salvadora Veronica, and the idea of a treasure was enough to get some attention from Juan and Picante.

As it transpired, the good señor Picante hinted that he might have some useful contacts in this respect; in the days prior to his propitious return to Theus, it seems he had sailed with some crews that were more disreputable than most.  In addition to Picante's chequered past, it seemed to us that it was logical to begin our search in Avalon.  We did not expect to be warmly welcomed there, but we might yet find out what had become of the Blackstones these last twenty years; in addition, I hoped that our old friend Reginald Coleson might help us find some information on the ship of the Explorers' Society that had rescued my father.  We once again packed our luggage (including my one sea chest and Lucas's many trunks...) and provisioned the Maris Stella for a trip of unknown duration and conditions.  Within a few days, we put out for Carleon.

The trip to Avalon was easy enough this time; no sirens or Leviathan, no squalls or icebergs, and no pirates.  We had to skip around the Montaigne blockade but that was accomplished easily enough since their navy was still a frightful mess due to the Empereur's visceral mistrust of any officer showing too much competence.  I took great care to learn the Maris Stella's little idiosyncrasies without pushing her to her limits yet.  We had beautiful sailing weather for most of the way, as it was late Julius.

The only strange thing in fact was Lucas's behaviour as we started approaching Avalon.  At first he seemed a bit distracted, but we put it down to his recent woes.  But then we noticed him starting, like one does upon hearing one's named called.  "Did you hear that?" he would ask occasionally, looking perplexed and increasingly worried when we answered that we heard naught amiss.  The more time passed, the more frequent this became, until he stopped asking if we heard anything.  But he kept on throwing glances left and right, frowning, as if looking for the source of the noises – or voices – he seemed to hear.

Occasionally, I overheard him speak when it seemed there was no one else nearby: "My mother?" he asked of thin air.  "Our mother?  What do you mean?"

What did he mean indeed?  I wondered if he was thinking of some way to free aunt Lucia.  But he clearly did not wish to discuss the mysterious calls he alone heard.
 

At last we reached the port of Carleon, making ourselves as discreet as possible.  We took the Maris Stella to an unremarkable berth a bit out of the way, and made our way ashore.  Carleon is a very striking city, even though I would hate to admit it to an Avalonian; it is beautiful in a way that is not quite human, but it is cold to the soul.  Nevertheless, there is much to look at and we had not spent very long when last we had been here on our way to l'Ile de la Bête.  Lucas seemed even more distracted here than on board, but he would not discuss it.

We started by visiting the chapterhouse of the Explorers' Society and asked to see Reginald.  Our erstwhile travel companion seemed genuinely happy to see us, despite the less than perfect end to our previous adventures together.  We all went to an Avalonian eating establishment (it was unspeakably bad, but Reginald seemed to like it), told him the story in confidence, and showed him my father's log.  He promised to do his best to find what he could for me regarding that ship which had rescued my father twenty years ago, asking for a few days to research this.

The next task to attend to was a search for what had become of the Blackstones.  For this we relied on señor Picante's contacts in the less savoury parts of the nautical world.  We followed him to various drinking establishments in the port area; fortunately, Avalon's ale is less offensive to the palate than its cuisine.  Still, it involved far more drinking than I cared for, so I sipped my mug while my cousins partook more fully and Picante went to visit smoky backrooms in search of his contacts.

It was in such a drinking house, the Kipper and Skirt Inn, that we had the surprise of being addressed enthusiastically by a tall blond man dressed in Ussuran fashion.  "Castillans!" he boomed.  "You are Castillans, are you not?  May I join your table?"  He seemed pleasant enough, we welcomed him and made room for his large frame.

"I am Baronet Vlad Nikolovich, envoy of the Gaius to Castille," he explained.  "I am here to look for transportation to your country, but no ship in Carleon seems to be bound there. "

We chatted a bit about Ussura, and we described some of what we had seen when we were there, although we withheld some details.  He talked freely about the land spirit they call the Matushka in Ussura, so, emboldened, we told him of our unnerving encounter with this being.  He was a charming fellow, even though his manners were so different from ours.  He was disappointed when we told him we were just arriving from Castille and would not be returning there for several weeks, but then he cheered up.

"I could travel with you, yes?" he suggested.  "And go to Castille with you when you are done."  We cautiously explained that we might be going into danger before returning home, but that only whetted his interest.  We were about to shake hands on the agreement when a group of ruffians, led by two large and menacing men, burst into the inn.  They immediately spotted my cousins and I, and without hesitation attacked us.  Even with Baronet Vlad's help, we were markedly outnumbered, and I was reduced to unconsciousness, while my companions were also severely wounded.  The thugs carried me off, and Baronet Vlad had my cousins carried back to the Maris Stella.

It was then discovered, however, that my vessel had been attacked as well!  They had held my crew at bay long enough to manage to ransack my cabin before the arrival of the Guard forced them to abandon their search and escape in small boats.  Several Knights of Queen Elaine appeared on the scene to investigate, led by a man Lucas and I had last seen in Eisen some five months ago: Henry "Hotspur" Clayborne, alias Bors MacAllister, the Avalonian who had assassinated admiral Marceau under Eisenfürst Heilgründ's hospitality!  He led Vlad to where my body had washed ashore - I had apparently been bound hand and foot and thrown into the sea to drown but miraculously survived the ordeal, though in grave condition.   My cousins and I were seen to by the Queen's own chirurgeon.  I had no memory of what had happened, since I had remained unconscious.

Once we were somewhat recovered from these wounds, MacAllister informed us that we were "invited" to an audience with Queen Elaine herself!  We looked at one another, but there was obviously no refusing a royal "invitation."  MacAllister escorted us through the palace, a most remarkable edifice, all the way to a small private audience chamber.  At least it was not a ploy to take us to a dungeon: Queen Elaine herself was there, accompanied by two gentlemen.

The queen was as pale and beautiful as she has been depicted by her minstrels, with deep grey eyes and fiery red hair, a willowy silhouette, and perfect grace.  With her were a tall blond man in his thirties, with long hair and well-trimmed beard, sparkling blue eyes, and well tailored clothes; and a stooping, hirsute, wild-looking older man dressed in embroidered robes, with unsettling eyes of two different colours: one blue, and one red.

MacAllister bowed deeply to the sovereign, and introduced us one after the other.  Of course Lucas is ever the skilled courtier, Juan was faultlessly gracious, and I made sure not to embarrass my family and my country.  But Baronet Vlad made the most spectacular introduction it had ever been my misfortune to witness: perhaps awed by his surroundings, he stumbled in his bow, faltered, vacillated, caught his feet in the carpet, and went stumbling backward into a low table, sending a vase of flowers to the floor in a spray of water and broken crystal.   The Ussuran wound up on the floor in a heap with an expensive ancient tapestry on top of him

We were mortified and left nearly speechless; I was amazed that the queen could recover her poise so seemingly effortlessly.  I daresay Baronet Vlad will at least be remembered in Carleon.  I suppose the good side is that after this, no mistake I or even Picante could have made would have been noticed.

The two men were introduced as Captain Jeremiah Berek (the notorious privateer of the Sea Dogs) and Derwyddon, advisor to Queen Elaine.  We were warned by the Queen that the swordsmen we had encountered were known pirates - followers of the dreaded Reis - and that if Reis was pursuing us, then we were in dire danger.  The Queen asked us a few polite questions, but it became apparent that the true reason for our presence was Derwyddon's extreme interest in Lucas.  Although my cousin bore the interview well, I could tell he was unnerved at being examined by the sorcerer in much the same way a head of cattle is examined by a cook.  We were all relieved to reach the end of the unexpected and unsettling interview.  We never quite understood what had just happened.  The audience ended with Bors McAllister dragging Vlad bodily out of the audience chamber before he could attempt a formal bow and risk another disaster.
 

Over the next few days we continued visiting Carleon, but the visit was becoming less interesting and the wait more frustrating.  We learned very little of help from the Explorers' Society, despite Reginald's genuine efforts on our behalf; but Picante's enquiries proved more fruitful.  After much nosing around the taverns of the port, he took us to a disreputable establishment where sailors congregated.  Suffice it to say that we met some Sea Dogs, that they were not terribly friendly, but we did learn a few interesting things from them.

The man called Conrad Blackstone in my father's log had changed his name some years ago in an attempt to escape his own notoriety.  He was now known as Captain Conrad Hix – the same man on whose vessel we had travelled to l'Ile de la Bête and back!  The Sea Dogs had no great love for him, for despite being an Avalonian he was also a Brother of the Coast.  An atypical one, if what we hear of his reputation was reliable; for he seemed a surly, savage, selfish man with little inclination for solidarity with his "Brothers".  Some additional enquiry (and bribery) supplied us with the latest rumours of Hix's whereabouts.

With this, we had an objective.  It galled me to think that I had be on this man's deck for weeks without knowing what he had done to my father; and it irked me as well to think I owed him thanks for his help.  I consoled myself by reasoning that it was really Captain Allende to whom we owed any thanks.

Once away from Carleon and all those who could be interested in tales of treasures, we shared with Baronet Vlad the true goal of our travels.  He was delighted with the adventure!  We set out to patrol the area of the Frothing Sea where Hix' sloop the Drake was last seen hunting for merchants to snap up.  I was nervous, for this was going to be the Maris Stella's first attempt to fulfil her task as a letter of marque and capture prey.  I approached the search by following likely merchants along the trade corridor (whom I suppose we may have made a bit uneasy), waiting for the Drake to pick a vessel and attack it.  The Maris Stella stayed well under the speed she was capable of, so that we would not alert anyone to our true potential; I had her disguised as a somewhat sloppy smuggler, a likely role for a lugger.

Of course, searching for a single vessel on the high seas is no simple business, and not a little dependant on luck.  For that baptism of  fire, luck was with us: we saw the Drake swoop down after only a few days of waiting.  It was easy to recognize her lines after over a month aboard her.  I put aside my qualms about attacking our former transport when she chose to attack us first.  She flew a signal to heave to and prepare to be boarded.  I had the Castillan flag hoisted, along with an answering signal that they should heave to and prepare to be boarded.  She then attempted to run, probably assuming we were the merchants' escort, but we pursued and exchanged a few broadsides before we caught and boarded her.

It was a lively boarding action.  Lucas relished the opportunity to have a little swordplay, and Baronet Vlad proved as fearsome a combatant as he looked.  Juan and Picante fought in a more hit-and-run style, and I tried to subdue my opponents without killing them when I could.  We gave and received our good share of wounds, but those of the Drake's sailors who had known us six months before seemed loath to fight us, and I was able to convince many of them to surrender.  I do not think they much loved Hix as a captain.  Hix himself, and some of his officers, fought with far more vigour but finally surrendered when cornered.  With Picante's assistance, I caught Hix in time to prevent him from escaping out the stern window in a dinghy, and he surrendered at pistol's point.

Conrad Hix, or rather Blackstone, was seething at this "treachery", and was even angrier when I told him what I had learned from my father's journal, but then I saw a cunning expression pass fleetingly over his features.  He was already calculating how he could turn this defeat into an advantage.  With a great show of reluctance, he threw up his hands and grumbled that he knew only part of shanty, and we needed his brother Aaron if we were to find Treasure Reef.
 

We extracted the following story from Conrad: after going on account and marooning my father in 1648, the Blackstones had laid low in the hopes of coming back to Treasure Reef once the area was not so well patrolled by Montaigne ships.  During the Avalon War of Independence of the mid-1650s, the brothers were captured by the Montaignes and pressed into service in the Montaigne navy.  Captured in turn by the Avalonians, Conrad had later been pardoned in exchange for turning in evidence against the Montaignes.  He had then changed his name to Hix to attract less attention, then returned to the life he was most suited for, piracy.  Probably because he had amassed a string of enemies closer to home, he had recently sought membership with the Brotherhood of the Coast.

Meanwhile, brother Aaron was still prisoner of the Montaignes; after the war, having been caught trying to jump ship, he had ended in Talon Prison on Footprint Island.  Conrad had spent the last few years discovering Aaron's whereabouts, obtaining details on the approaches to the island, learning the details of the prison's construction, and bribing a network of contacts.  Canny as ever, he had all this information memorized; although we searched his cabin, we could not find any written record of this information.  He still clung to old methods...  And on that topic, I obtained from him another verse of the shanty, the last three lines:

"Off the cost of Carleon
Twenty vessels fought for gold
All the ships fought valiantly"

If we wanted to go any further, he said, we'd have to help him break Aaron out of Talon Prison.

Well, harder things have been done.  After all, Talon Prison is not La Bucca, and we now know breaking out of even that is not impossible.  Captain Hix had spent the last three years learning about the place and planning his brother's escape, so he had amassed a good deal of information on the approaches of the island.

First, I took our prize to be sold in Avalon; I offered some of the sailors a berth on the Maris Stella, and turned the others ashore in a safe location.  I bore them no grudge, on the contrary.  Then we were free to turn towards the challenge of Talon Prison.  Having little trust in Hix, I handled the navigation to Footprint Island myself.  I made sure to wait for dusk before taking the Maris Stella into cover behind the cluster of reefs to the southeast of the island.  It was slow work, for I insisted on taking continuous depth soundings to confirm the good captain's information.  Fortunately for us, the Montaignes had grown so bored and complacent that there were no boat patrols, let alone blockade ships, around the island; the jailers relied on their cannons, as well as the deadly reefs, tidepools, and undertow (undertoe?) to keep the prisoners in.

Indeed, the bluffs along the north and south of the island are so rocky and abrupt, it would be difficult in the extreme to climb them, even were it not for the gun emplacements and watchposts that guard them; and the western end of the island, the only easy natural approach, is the location of the port, where a couple of Montaigne navy ships were anchored.  The eastern end is, if anything, worse, since it's a maze of coral reefs, tidepools, quicksands, and sinkholes.  But after being thoroughly questioned, Hix admitted that he had learned of the only safe path through these tidepools (through bribery, & coetera).  He seemed quite reluctant to help even in this matter, though it seemed to be in his interest.  I assume he was hoping that a few of us would be hurt or even killed in this little adventure, giving him a chance to turn on the survivors.

We lowered a longboat, and Juan, Lucas, Picante, Baronet Vlad, Hix, and I climbed rowed out to the tidepools.  It is fortunate that Juan and Picante were competent sailors, for Lucas and Vlad were inexperienced and Hix was no help at all.  We had to prompt him frequently to even get the necessary information, and there was no point in hoping he would row.  He watched us with covert glee, waiting for us to crash onto a reef or fall overboard.  But we managed to safely steer the longboat to the northmost tidepool, a large one he referred to as "the Big Toe".  From there, we had to swim in and make our way to the broken rock formations that formed a sort of barrier around the island.  We kept close watch on our friend Conrad.

The Big Toe was revealed to be the only approach to a crevice which, in turn, connected to a maze of caverns that riddled the island.  When pressed, Hix told us no one knew about these caves except the escaped prisoner he had bought the knowledge from.  That seemed doubtful to me, but there was nothing to do but go on – or leave empty-handed.  We made our cautious way through the natural tunnels, marking our way along.  Despite a few false turns, we finally reached a point where the tunnel rose towards a small are topped by a man-made ceiling of stone.  After a bit of fiddling with the cut stones, we discovered that one moved to reveal a passage up into a darkened room.

Cautiously, we moved into the room and examined our surroundings by lantern light.  We had emerged under the desk of some sort of office, furnished with wooden furniture of mediocre quality.  A look at the papers scattered onto the desk and in drawers  led us to understand that this was the office of the prison commander!  Unfortunately, the commander had not had the kindness of leaving a plan of the prison for us.

Warily, we listened at the door to make sure that all was quiet, then exited the office and started searching for Aaron Blackstone.  We soon ran into a squad of prison guards, but were able to subdue them quietly and steal their uniforms.  We hid the guards in an empty cell, bound and gagged.  We had to hurry before their absence was missed at the change of shift, or even earlier.

We eventually found Aaron Blackstone in a cell that was relatively larger and more comfortable than is customary, which, we learned, bribery had procured.  Alas, he shared this cell with two other men, so we had to effect a rather larger escape than we had planned on.  In fact, Aaron insisted that he would only leave if his companions were freed as well.  These men introduced themselves as Jacques Renault, a Montaigne, and a large Eisen who called himself "The Kire."  They were most pleased by the unexpected freedom offered.  They chose to make their separate way as soon as we were back down in the caverns.  And we made our way back through the caverns and the tidepool, to the longboat, then to the Maris Stella.  We set sail in the dark, still unnoticed by the Montaignes.
 

I made Aaron recite his portion of the shanty because I had a suspicion that it would be difficult to hold on to the two brothers.  Then I pieced the three portions I had.  Father's log told me of the order the verses should be read in: first Conrad's, then the bosun's, the Aaron's.  I was still missing some lines of the bosun's section, but could learn nothing of his whereabouts from the Blackstones.

"Off the cost of Carleon
Twenty vessels fought for gold
All the ships fought valiantly
All but one were lost at sea
The single ship that did survive
Her men they numbered fifty-five"

Then the missing lines, then Aaron's verse:

"And with their pistols turned the tide
So when you're hopeless, if you're keen
You'll remember those thirteen."

It seemed obvious that there were many numbers in the shanty that made little sense.  I scribbled them: 20, 1, 55, 13.  I looked at charts; if I assumed that those numbers revealed co-ordinates, then 20º 1' N would be a latitude, and 55º x' W would be a longitude, unless the climate on this island had been  much colder than my father's log indicated.  I assumed an "x" for the missing lines.  And 13 had to refer to the meridian of reference: the Vaticine Meridian centred on Ciudad Vaticine is situated 3 degrees east of the Théan Meridian centred on Charouse, and 13 degrees west of the Numa Meridian, sometimes called the Pirate Meridian.  So this must mean that the meridian used was either Vaticine or Numa.  Perhaps the missing lines would have helped interpret this.  Which one to pick?  If I was a pirate, would I automatically choose to use the "Pirate Meridian"?

Then I decided that it did not matter. We had a latitude, which is easy to fix, and a partial longitude, which is never easy to measure.  I would simply take us to 20º 1' N and 55º W, then sail west along the parallel until we reached the island.  If we did not not find it between  55º and 56º W by the Pirate Meridian, (or between 49º and 50º W by the Théan Meridian), then we would simply sail on westward to 55º W by the Vaticine Meridian (or 52º W by the Théan Meridian) and start looking again.  Actually, I had to give a little more room than that for error on the longitude calculations, but the reasoning was simple enough.

We sailed on for several days, the favourable weather still holding.  As we approached the suspected location, everyone became fascinated with  the seascape, looking for islands.  I had promised a substantial reward to the first sailor who would spot the island.  At last, a jubilating cry was heard: "Land ahoy!"  As we approached and confirmed the sighting, the topman who had first identified the island pocketed his bonus with glee.  From the turquoise waves, we first saw the cone of a volcano, then the rest of the mountainous island, its flanks covered with verdant vegetation.

I brought the Maris Stella in range and had a longboat lowered.  My cousins, Baronet Vlad, Picante and I went ashore to reconnoitre, leaving the Blackstones on board and under watch.  It seemed that the easiest way to get an overview of the entire island would be to climb the volcano (which seemed dormant) and survey our surroundings.  The ambient temperature was warm, the climb was steepening steadily, and soon we were surrounded by clouds of small insects.  We could not see more than a few paces ahead, so thick the jungle was, but it was easy enough to tell which way to go from the rising slope.

We finally reached the elevation where the jungle ended quite suddenly, with very little transition.   We took a few steps – and found ourselves face to face with a group of wild men!  I should say, rather, wild men and women, a handful of them.  They where dressed only with the merest of coverings, made of feathers and some crudely woven fibres, and their faces were painted with strange markings.  Their skin was of a fairly pleasant sienna hue, and there eyes and hair were as black as a Castillan, but what eyes!  How they shone!  And what hair – with bits of feathers and shells woven in!  Although I daresay it was no stranger than a Montaigne's court wig.  They carried weapons made of wood and stone, no metal at all.  We stared at each other in surprise, but they recovered quickly.  They yelped a few words in a language none of of could understand or even identify, then ran into the jungle.  They moved with the ease and speed of hunters.

My companions and I hesitated.  We decided not to follow the natives, since they certainly knew the jungle much better than us.  We wondered if they would bring back reinforcement and return.  We considered going back to the Maris Stella, but it seemed like a timorous thing to do; these people had not seemed very threatening.  We agreed to continue to the top of the mountain and get our bearings.
 

With another hour or so of effort, we climbed all the way to the top.  The mountain was indeed an extinct volcano, the crater still yawning open; from the state of the vegetation all around, it must be a few hundred years at least since it has last erupted.  From there, we had an excellent view on the entire island.  To the east, we saw a well protected cove with a sandy beach, where a couple of row boats or canoes had been left.  We guessed that these must belong to the people we had met, for the make of these boats was odd.  Paddles rested nearby as well.  I drew some sketches of the island, adding as many landmarks as I could.  We signalled to the Maris Stella to let them know we had reached our first objective.

This survey gave us no immediate clue, however, to where  a treasure might be buried.  Most of the island was covered with the thick jungle we had walked through; anything could be hidden in there and never found again.  While I was sketching a map, Juan peered into the gaping mouth of the old volcano.

"We should go in," he said.  "The treasure might have been hidden in there.  At the very least, it's easy to spot, even after a long time."

We looked at one another.  Really, this made as much sense as anything.  Using semaphore and repeating twice to be sure to be understood, I signalled to the Maris Stella that we would explore the cavern there.  Fortunately, we had brought all the equipment necessary to do some exploration in rugged terrain.  We anchored a rope at the top and went over the lip of the crater into the bowels of the dormant volcano.

The cusp of the crater formed a vast roofless cave, its walls sloping inward.  The rock was extremely hard, as befits this type of terrain, although zones of softer rock had been eroded by rain where they were exposed.  The inside of the volcano had a curvy, flowing geometry, probably a legacy of the lava flows of yore.  The bottom was uneven but fairly passable.  The sun provided adequate lighting in the centre of the crater, but for the edges it was fortunate we had thought of bringing lanterns; it got very dark in there.

Careful exploration revealed a tunnel left by the lava, so we started our descent, carefully marking our path with chalk.  After a while, the tunnel lost its natural appearance and began to look as if it had been carved and shaped by human hands – or some other intelligent creatures, perhaps.  We also noticed that the temperature was rising as we descended, indicating that there must still be some volcanic activity in the depths.  Not only did the temperature keep on increasing, but we also started to see steadily thickening clouds of vapour wafting upwards.  Yet the tunnel was now intricately carved in motifs that reminded us of Syrneth sites we had seen before, particularly the Catacombs of Charouse, although the style was different.

It became very difficult to breathe because of the heat; fortunately, the clouds of vapour were apparently just that, steam and not poisonous gases.  We reached a point where most of us could no longer continue, but Juan was still eager to move forward.  The descent was now very steep, more of a climb downward than a walk, so he tied a rope around himself and, despite our misgivings, insisted until we agreed to lower him into the lower part of the caverns.  The heat radiating from behind the steam was unbearable.

At first we kept in voice contact, but soon we lost even that.  But we could feel vibrations in the rope, which we hoped indicated that Juan was still climbing down.  The wait was so long, and the heat so searing, that we started arguing whether he could still actually be conscious.  But just as we were finally deciding we should just hoist him back up, Juan finally emerged again from the steaming pit of hell itself.  He carried with him a strange metal artefact, a sort of gauntlet but with only three claw-like digits.  He said he had found it perched on a sort of circular dais or altar, above a pool of molten lava.

We did not tarry to examine the object, but climbed back toward the surface with all haste.  It is only when we reached the open bowl of the volcano's crater that we stopped to look at Juan's prize.  The metal of it was extremely unusual, and we assumed it must be of Syrneth origin.  Juan said he had searched the mephitic caves, but had found nothing else that could be moved, let alone a treasure trove – only strange stone carvings like the ones we had observed.

We made our way out to daylight, about to discover a new danger: we were no longer the only ones to look for the treasure.
 

Unconscious at first of the changed situation, we climbed out of the volcano and started our way back down toward the sandy landing we had noticed from the summit.  After another shorter trek through the steamy jungle, though by comparison with the innards of the volcano it seemed balmy to me, we emerged near the anchorage.  But there we found that we were no longer the only Théans on the island; we came face to face with a crew of twenty or so.  If we were surprised by their presence, they were well aware of ours, as they had been looking for us, and they seized us immediately.  We soon spotted the tattoos many sported, and the flag they flew: the Crimson Roger.  They must have arrived during our long search under the volcano, and we had not thought to check the island's surroundings again when we came out, so tired were we.

They were commanded by a man called Paul du Paix, apparently the first mate on the dread pirate Reis's ship.  He had with him an array of unsavoury characters, including one of Prince Vincenzo Caligari's numerous nephews, Julius Caligari; a quiet man gazing with haunted eyes through a strange mask made of metal and inset with jewels; two immensely strong men, both apparently mute and one of them with skin black as night; but also some faces we already knew, particularly a man we had not seen for some months but who clearly had not forgotten us: Lucius Malveck.  He cackled insanely, delighted with the encounter.

But the most surprising face was one Lucas spotted first; he nudged me, indicating a young man who stayed well back of the group of pirates, looking awkward.  After a second of hesitation, I recognized our cousin Javier de Béjarano, a scholar we would never have dreamed of associating with the bloodthirsty Crimson Rogers.  Javier recognized us as well, and his eyes widened, but he stayed silent.  In any event, Malveck was making quite enough noise to distract others' notice.

Du Paix was also looking pleased, although I am not sure whether it was more because of the fact of our capture or the prospect of beating information out of us.  He took a malicious pleasure in the task.  Naturally, my companions could tell him about the treasure, but next to nothing of its probable location, since they had little notion of navigation and had not memorized the shanty.  As for me, I knew that I had to hold out for a while before giving them anything, for they would not believe me if I surrendered too easily.

In between such interrogations, Javier managed to sneak a few moments to talk with us.  He looked sickened, but was too frightened of the pirates to oppose them.  He had been captured in circumstances much like our own, exploring a Syrneth site, and had managed to convince them that his knowledge would be useful to them if they spared his life.  He was now their tame scholar.

Then the beatings went on.  After what I hoped was a suitable show of resistance, I revealed part of the shanty to du Paix.  But I gave him only the first two verses, keeping for myself the last one.  He insisted half-heartedly for a while, but he must have believed me for soon after he and his men packed their equipment.  They left us tied up, and du Paix and Malveck informed us gleefully that Höhne, the man wearing the metal mask, was loose somewhere on the island.  With this goodbye, the pirates smashed our ship's boat and the natives' canoes to splinters, then left on their longboat.

We did not know what du Paix had meant when he talked of Höhne, but his amusement boded ill for us, and a glimpse of Javier's horrified expression also confirmed that this was not a pleasant prospect.  We freed ourselves from our bonds as fast as we could, and took stock of the situation.  We decided to return to the summit of the volcano in the hopes of signalling the Maris Stella – if it had not already been captured.  We would also hold the higher ground, a tactical advantage.

The climb was even more exhausting this time, for we were badly hurt.  The night overtook us, but we kept climbing.  For most of the night, we heard from time to time a horrifying scream in the distance.  We reached the top of the volcano with the dawn; by then, the screams had ceased.  From the summit, we spotted the smoking remnants of a bonfire on the shore, probably lit by the natives for the night.  Near it, we discovered the unnerving sight of what looked, from this distance, like an abattoir or a battlefield.  Nothing was moving, and we could not spot Höhne.  But we did notice that a new canoe had been pulled up on the beach, as if more natives had come to look for their brethren.  On the horizon to the north was the Maris Stella, and in the opposite direction but not so far, was a ship beating the Crimson Roger.  On the island, nothing stirred.

We looked at one another, and realized this canoe was our chance to escape.  We tumbled back down the mountain as fast as our tired legs could take us, racing for the canoe.  As we pushed through the jungle, we heard sounds that we were certain were the pirate pursuing us.  We burst through the vegetation and onto the beach, pushed the canoe into the water, and piled into it.  Behind us, we saw the masked man emerge, his arms red with blood to the elbows, and the morning sun glinting blindingly on his mask.  We rowed as fast as ever we could, ignoring our injuries and our fatigue, until we reached the Maris Stella.
 

We set sail away as soon as we hit the deck, hoping to remain unnoticed by the pirates and be out of sight by the time they checked on their pet monster.  I had begun to doubt that this island was the one the shanty gave the key to, or else perhaps I was not interpreting the shanty correctly.  Perhaps the key was in that missing portion.  I decided to push on another thirteen degrees, in the hopes that all was not lost.  A few days' rest saw much improvement in our health, although we were still badly hurt and I had a few cracked ribs.  We kept watch, but saw no more of the pirates.  As we approached the second set of co-ordinates, I had us slow down to a few knots, unsure of our exact longitude and unwilling to miss the ghostly target.

And lo, despite our flagging faith in the tale of the treasure, we found land of a sort.  It was no so much an island as a shoal, a flat coral reef brushing under the surface of the waves at high tide, and stretching bare at low tide.  We took sounding after sounding in these treacherous waters, and I had the Maris Stella drop anchor at a safe distance.  Once again, we took a ship's boat out – in this case, the canoe that was now serving as a ship's boat since ours had been destroyed.  It was tricky navigation to get us through the jagged reefs that guarded the isle, but we managed it.

Once ashore, we began our search for some good treasure-hiding spot.  The ground was as treacherous as the waters, jagged and broken.  We observed a shell of prodigious size, like a clam's in shape but large enough to be used for a bath.  At some other time I would surely have wanted to examine it more closely, but now I wanted only to find what we had come looking for and be away.  We had limited time until the next tide covered the reef again.  We were almost ready to give up when at last we found a large opening in the coral, a sort of cave filled with water.  Once we found it, it became fairly easy to mark its location, and we agreed it was the only hiding place in sight, unless we wished to open the giant clam (which I was beginning to consider.)

Being the best swimmer, I stripped off my jerkin, pistol belt, and boots, tied a rope to my waist, and dove into the cave.  I had to come up for air again, but persistence was rewarded and I found a submerged chest, wrapped in oilcloth.  It was too heavy for me to lift, so I tied the rope around it and let my companions hoist it out of the water.  We were eager to open it, but decided to wait until we were back on board, as the tide was still rising.

In all justice it seems this should have been the end of our day, but we were not yet done.  As we laboured back towards the boat, Juan gave a cry of warning.  We heard a sound like something skittering across the reef.  We turned and faced a monstrous spider, a full four yards in height and wide in proportion!  It pounced, clearly intent on devouring us.  We dropped the chest and pulled our weapons to fight it.  This creature was monstrously strong, contemptuously brushing aside our attacks.  We were losing to it, and thought our last hour had come.

 In a stroke of desperation, Juan pulled out the claw-like Syrneth gauntlet, which he had somehow managed to hide from the Crimson Rogers and carry back from Claw Island, and put it on his left hand to use it somewhat like a panzerfaust to parry while he used his sword in his right hand.  Somehow, the gauntlet increased his strength, and this allowed him to strike a crucial blow to the giant spider.  The creature teetered, we all redoubled our efforts, Juan struck it again, and it collapsed in a tangle of hideous legs.

But Juan then discovered that he could not remove the gauntlet.  Try as he might, it would not come off.  We had to hurry off the reef, so the question of the gauntlet must wait.  We picked up the chest again and hurried for the boat, the water rising fast around us.  But to our dismay, we had company again: the hated Crimson Rogers had found us.  Paul du Paix was leaning on a rock, while Malveck laughed uproariously.  "It was so kind of you, my noble friends, to retrieve the treasure for us!"  Behind them loomed the silhouette of Reis himself.

We were barely able to raise a weapon to defend ourselves, but we tried.  Early in the melee I was struck down by a blow and lost consciousness.  I later learned that the pirates had easily managed to take the treasure chest from us and left us to drown on the reef.  My cousins tell me they managed to signal to the Maris Stella to send the small row boat it still had, dragged me to the boat, hopped onto it, negotiated the tricky exit through the jagged reefs, and rowed their way back to the Maris Stella.  We left Treasure Reef with our lives, but nothing more.

After this we returned to Castille, although I have no memory of the trip.  My injuries left me nearly dead, and I would need several weeks to recover to a semblance of health.