He scanned the rows sternly. 'Let me show you something.' Stepping away from the pulpit, he reached for the linen-covered shape on the small table. Bud leaned forward as an expectant hush filled the room.
Clay paused a moment, then plucked the sheet away. Beneath was a flat, black stone, perhaps twelve by eighteen inches, its edges badly worn and chipped. It was propped against an old box of dark wood. Carved into the face of the stone were three faint lines of letters, crudely highlighted in yellow chalk.
Clay stepped up to the pulpit and in a loud, trembling voice repeated the inscription:
'It's no coincidence this stone was found when the Pit was first discovered, and that its removal triggered the Water Pit's first death. The prophecy on this evil stone has held true ever since. All of you who would seek idols of gold and silver— whether it be directly, by digging, or indirectly, by profiting from the diggers—should remember the progression it describes.
He drew himself up. 'At the lobster festival, Malin Hatch himself told me the treasure was worth a couple of million dollars. Not an inconsiderable sum, even for a man from Boston. But I later learned the real estimate was closer to two billion. Two
His voice dropped. 'Then there's the next line:
His hollow eyes parsed the audience. 'Today, many of you want to lift the stone, so to speak, to get the gold idol underneath. The same thing Simon Rutter wanted, two hundred years ago. Well, remember what happened to Rutter.'
He returned to the pulpit. 'The other day, a man was killed in the Pit. I spoke to that man not one week ago. He offered no excuses for his own lust for gold. In fact, he was brazen about it. 'I'm no Mother Teresa,' he told me. Now, that man has died. Died in the
Clay paused to draw breath. Bud glanced across the congregation. The fishermen and lobstermen were murmuring among themselves. Claire was looking away from the minister, down at her hands.
Clay began again. 'What about all the others who have died, or been crippled, or bankrupted, by this accursed hoard? This treasure hunt is evil incarnate. And all who profit from it, directly or indirectly, must expect to be held accountable. You see, in the final reckoning, it will not matter whether or not treasure is found. The mere
He cleared his throat. 'Over the years, there's been a great deal of talk about a curse on Ragged Island and the Water Pit. Now, a lot of people will dismiss such talk. They'll tell you that only ignorant, uneducated folk believe that kind of superstition.' He pointed toward the stone. 'Tell that to Simon Rutter. Tell that to Ezekiel Harris.
Clay's voice fell almost to a whisper. 'There have been some strange doings on the island. Doings they're not telling you about. Equipment is malfunctioning mysteriously. Unexplained events are throwing things off schedule. And just a few days ago, they uncovered a mass grave on the island. A grave hastily filled with the bones of pirates. Eighty, perhaps one hundred people. There were no marks of violence. Nobody knows how they died.
'How did these men die?' Clay suddenly thundered. 'It was the hand of God. Because do you know what else was found with the dead?'
The room fell so silent that Bud could hear the brushing of a twig against a nearby window.
Chapter 32
As site doctor for the Ragged Island venture, Hatch was required to handle the red tape relating to Wopner's death. So, bringing in a registered nurse from downcoast to watch the medical hut, he locked up the big house on Ocean Lane and drove to Machiasport, where a formal inquest was held. The following morning, he left for Bangor. By the time he finished filling out the reams of archaic paperwork and returned home to Stormhaven, three working days had passed.
Heading to the island that same afternoon, he soon felt more confident he'd made the right decision in not challenging Neidelman's decision to press on. Though the Captain had been driving the crews hard over the last several days, the effort—and the exhaustive new precautions the teams had been taking since Wopner's death— seemed to have dispelled much of the gloom. Still, the pace was taking its toll: Hatch found himself attending to almost half a dozen minor injuries during the course of the afternoon. And in addition to the injuries, the nurse had referred three cases of illness among the crew to him: a fairly high count, considering that the total personnel on the island had now dropped to half the original number. One complained of apathy and nausea, while another had developed a bacterial infection Hatch had read about but never seen. Yet another had a simple, nonspecific viral infection: not serious, but the man was running a pretty good fever.
Early the next morning, he wandered up the trail to the mouth of the Water Pit. The pace was obviously frantic—even Bonterre, emerging from the Pit with a handheld laser for measuring distances, barely had time for more than a nod and a smile. But a remarkable amount of work had been accomplished. The ladder array was now fully braced from top to bottom, and a small lift had been attached to one side for quick transport into the depths. A technician told him that the soundings and measurements of the Pit's interior were now almost complete. Neidelman was nowhere to be found, but the technician said the Captain had gone practically without sleep for the last three days, closeted in Orthanc, directing the gridding-out of the Pit.
Hatch found himself speculating on what the Captain would do next. It wasn't surprising, his throwing himself into his work in the wake of Wopner's death. But now the obvious tasks were almost done: the ladder array was complete, and the Pit would soon be fully mapped. Nothing remained except to descend the Pit and dig—with extreme caution—for the gold.
Hatch stood silently for a minute, thinking about the gold and what he would do with his share. A billion dollars was a stupendous amount of money. Perhaps it was unnecessary to put the entire sum into the Johnny Hatch Foundation. It would be hard even to
