Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“Worthy father?” Ben asked. “Like God? She died?”

“No! No! Her father. William Cormac! He did ransom her!” Shelton clapped his hands once. “Bonny went back to Charles Town.”

“You sure?” Ben sounded unconvinced.

“Yes.” My lips spread into a dopey grin. “She wasn’t hanged.”

“Letter two,” Hi said with a flourish.

We crowded together again.

“This one’s from Bonny to Read,” Hi said. “A month later, in February 1721.”

“Not dead,” Shelton noted. Ben shrugged in agreement.

The handwriting was stronger, the language more sophisticated, reflecting a better education. The correspondence consisted of two pages, the second largely covered by an enormous signature.

Anne Bonny. Clear as daylight.

Even better, Bonny had sketched the bent cross in the corner of both pages. “That symbol must mean something,” Hi said.

“Decorative?” Shelton mused. “Like handmade stationary?”

“I’m thinking something practical,” I said. “Like a calling card.”

“Watermark.” Ben stated it as fact.

I looked a question at him.

“It’s a security feature.” He pointed to the image. “Not a typical cross, but one that’s slightly flawed, so the reader knows exactly who drew it.”

“Of course!” I said. “Read and Bonny both sketched the symbol on every page, like an authentication: I really wrote this .”

“Let’s read the bloody thing,” Hi suggested again. “Sound good?”

He set the pages side by side so we could see the whole letter.

I read both pages quickly.

“Oh!” My disappointment was obvious.

“I see.” Ben frowned.

“Ah.” Shelton ear-tugged.

“That blows!” Hi crossed chubby arms. “They didn’t let her go?”

“Not according to this.” Shelton reread the passage. “Bonny wrote that colonial authorities only transferred her to Charles Town to face more piracy charges.”

“What is Half-Moon Battery?” Hi asked. “That’s where she said she was being held.”

No one knew.

My heart sank. Bonny had still faced execution. And given her notoriety in the Carolinas, her chances might’ve actually been worse.

“This is exciting!” Shelton wasn’t feeling my empathy. “We may rewrite the history books!”

I considered the new facts in Bonny’s letter. “Bonny was transferred to Half-Moon Battery at Charles Town. Subsequently, her father’s petition for release failed.”

“Scheduled to be hanged,” Shelton added. “They were really gonna do it.”

“Last correspondence,” Hi said. “Read to Bonny. March 1721.”

This letter was longer, stretching five pages. When we’d finished, everyone spoke at once.

“She’s talking about the treasure map!” Shelton squealed.

“Escape attempt?” Hi began to pace. “Wow!”

“We were right,” Ben said. “It’s all about the docks!”

“Hold on!” I raised two palms. “Organize. What do we know?”

Shelton pointed to the second page. “Mary wrote, ‘the sketch is safe, as is the subject.’ She must be talking about the treasure map. And the treasure! What else?”

“Could be,” I allowed. “Or she could be talking about someone’s portrait.”

Shelton looked at me as though I’d lost my mind.

“I’m only saying it’s not certain ,” I said. “I tend to agree with you.”

“‘Keep faith and wits about ye.’” Hi read aloud. “‘Even the darkest holes may be breached, the stoutest locks tickled.’” He slapped a thigh. “Tell me she’s not hinting at escape!”

“Again, I agree. But we should avoid unfounded assumptions.”

Ben tapped the second-to-last page. “Read mentions a place called Merchant’s Wharf, and describes it as ‘thy favorite landing.’”

“We know Bonny used the East Bay docks,” I said. “Merchant’s Wharf must’ve been one of them.”

“I still can’t believe she’d tie up in the center of town,” Shelton chortled. “That’s beast!”

When Ben cleared his throat, we all went quiet.

“Bonny wrote she was being held at Half-Moon Battery. Then, in this last letter, Read said the dungeon was close to ‘both favored wharf and recent earthen works, a happy chance of fortune.’”

“And?” Shelton didn’t get it.

“‘Recent earthen works,’” Ben repeated.

“That could be a reference to where they buried the treasure,” I said.

“Of course!” Hi’s face was flushed with excitement. “Mary is telling Anne that her prison cell is close to the treasure tunnel!”

Clickity click! “Maybe they used the tunnel to bust Bonny out?”

“Son of a gun.” Shelton stared, thunderstruck. “Tory, you’re a genius.”

“These letters confirm everything!” Hi broke out a dance move—the Cabbage Patch. “Bonny’s treasure is buried beneath East Bay Street, somewhere near the old docks!”

“And we should look for the tunnels near that dungeon, Half-Moon Battery.” Shelton joined Hi by doing the Soulja Boy.

“We did it!” Hi crowed. “We figured out where Anne Bonny buried her treasure! Holy shnikies!”

“Just a second!” Ben’s voice halted the dance party. “Those are huge assumptions you’re making.”

“Ben’s right,” I said. “We don’t even know what Half-Moon Battery is. But first things first—we need to authenticate these letters.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “Let’s not embarrass ourselves again.”

“How?” Shelton asked. “You got a rare document expert on speed dial?”

“The treasure map.” Hi unrolled our stolen booty. “Let’s compare the handwriting in these letters to the verses on the map.”

“Good idea.” I placed a page on either side of the map, one penned by Bonny, the other by Read.

Mary’s block-letter style was clearly not a match.

But Anne Bonny’s bold, curling script, sweeping the page in aggressive, slashing strokes …

“The writing looks an awful lot alike,” Shelton said.

“Yep,” Hi agreed.

Ben nodded.

“We may be onto something,” I said. “But we need to be absolutely sure.”

“How?” Shelton asked.

“Leave that to me!” Hi beamed. “I know just the man for the job.”

“HOW’D YOU FIND this place?” I asked.

Before us, eight stone columns flanked the entrance to a massive stone building. The roof was at least forty feet above our heads.

“And who’s responsible for this behemoth?” Shelton’s head was craned back as he spoke. “It’s ginormous.”

“Methodists.” Hi scrolled on his iPhone. “Pre–Civil War. The website says, ‘The Karpeles Manuscript Museum is housed in a grand and bold Greek Revival structure of the Corinthian order, styled after the Temple of Jupiter in Rome.’”

“Okay,” Ben said. “That fits.”

The colossal edifice was definitely shooting for the Greek-temple look.

“Are we set?” I asked. “This guy will help us?”

Hi nodded. “He’s a document whiz. My mother had him trace our family tree.”

“Remember, no one utters the phrase ‘treasure map.’ We’re only showing him the two lines we photocopied.”

The main doors led into a cavernous chamber resembling a courtroom. White columns lined walls edged with decorative friezes. Corner windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Rows of pews marched from the entrance to an open central area, where glass display cases surrounded a long wooden table. Beyond, against the rear wall, a low wooden divider encircled a stone pulpit.