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    The Dragon Stone: The Money Ship, #3
    The Dragon Stone: The Money Ship, #3
    The Dragon Stone: The Money Ship, #3
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    The Dragon Stone: The Money Ship, #3

    By Joan Druett

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    About this ebook

    Condemned to death by the Sultan of Brunei, Nelson O'Cain seeks to save himself with a tattoo of a dragon -- a rampant dragon with wings outstretched, the same dragon that was carved on a obelisk on a small island at the mouth of a river in Borneo. Not only was the pillar supposed to be a man who had been turned to stone, but the carved dragon was a vital clue to where Hochman the pirate buried a great treasure. Captain Michael Gardiner and his seafaring daughter Jerusha both believe that the Dragon Stone has magical powers, but it is up to Nelson to solve the puzzle ... if he can.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOld Salt Press
    Release dateDec 26, 2017
    ISBN9781386494652
    The Dragon Stone: The Money Ship, #3
    Author

    Joan Druett

    Joan Druett's previous books have won many awards, including a New York Public Library Book to Remember citation, a John Lyman Award for Best Book of American Maritime History, and the Kendall Whaling Museum's L. Byrne Waterman Award.

    Read more from Joan Druett

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      Book preview

      The Dragon Stone - Joan Druett

      The Money Ship

      Book Three

      dragon.jpg

      The Dragon Stone

      1

      Jerusha was running through the trees, dashing from one little path to another, when she crashed full-tilt into an oncoming man. 

      Dear lord, she said, stepping back.  It was her old friend from a long childhood voyage on the South Seaman Huntress, the man who had been her father’s first officer.  Nelson O’Cain. She recognized him at once, despite the passage of two years.  She bobbed a hasty curtsey, spluttering apologies, but found herself smiling idiotically, too, gladder to see him than she would ever have expected.

      Jerusha, he said, and took off his hat and bowed, which made her giggle.

      You look so grand, she said, abruptly feeling very shy. On board the whaleship Huntress the officers had dressed the same as the ordinary seamen, in duck trousers and loose shirt cinched at the waist with a broad leather belt.  Now, Nelson O’Cain’s dark hair was neatly gathered in a queue, and tied back with a broad black velvet ribbon that matched the lapels, collar, and cuffs of his dark-blue officer’s coat, and he was wearing white breeches and white silk stockings, with gilt-buckled shoes.  

      His expression, however, was as quizzical as remembered, one dark eyebrow sheeted down over one half-shut eye.  He smiled and said, You look quite grown up, and taller than ever.  How old are you now?

      Twelve, she admitted. But I turn thirteen tomorrow.  Because she was still considered a child, she was not allowed to put up her hair, so her ringlets were tied back loosely behind her ears with a single pale blue ribbon. And her matching ankle-length gown was straight and plain.

      But you are still running away, I notice. Who are you escaping from this time?

      The same man who made my life miserable when we were at anchor in Ternate. That willocky Francis Buckler.

      Not the boy who stole a burial canoe, and tried to give it to you after tipping the corpse into the sea? 

      That’s the one, as beautiful as ever. And he’s still a bitch, she added broodingly.

      Jerusha!

      Women of a certain age still think he’s adorable, but he’s as cruel as ever.

      Is he with his father?

      No, no, his father is back in Ternate, as far as I know.  Francis operates on his own, she said.  Looking around, she spied a bench under a tree, and sat down on it. "He has an ugly lump of a pinisi schooner that his father bought for him, she went on, and he plies the coast of Borneo, picking up cargoes to carry to Singapore, so he’s around here often.  He’s just another Bugis pirate, really.  I think he deals in opium," she darkly added.

      "He’s the captain?"

      Aye. They say he’s a fine seaman, though even his Bugis crew reckon he takes too many risks.

      But he must be — what?  Not twenty yet, surely.

      Seventeen, I think. 

      Good lord, he said, and shook his head.

      There was a pause.  She watched Nelson look up and down the path, his manner somehow wary, but no one came into sight. They were alone, the only sounds the rhythmic echoes of the four orchestra players on the lawn of Mr. Van Loon’s country house, and the distant chatter of many guests. After a moment he sat down on the bench, too, and though he sat a good space away, she wanted to lean against him, the way she had leaned over his shoulder in the distant past, scowling down at the books as he taught her navigation.  So she had forgiven him for leaving the Huntress, Jess thought with surprise.  Somehow, over the months, she had forgotten her grudge.

      Impulsively, she said, Why do you smell of curry powder?

      She saw his face crinkle up in a smile. I put curry powder in my sea chest to keep away the moths.

      Wouldn’t camphor do a better job?

      Not in the tropics, according to my servant.

      A servant? she exclaimed, impressed.

      He’s Indian, a fierce Pathan, who loves my rifle more than he loves me.

      She laughed. "And you’ve risen to the rank of first officer of the grand and beautiful East Indies country ship Amelia?"

      How do you know that?

      Your uniform, she said, and shrugged with a grin.

      He shook his head. What a wise child you are. But it was easier than you think. Officers don’t stay long on the country ships. Getting a position on a London-based Indiaman is the recommended route to riches, so most men grab the opportunity when it comes. There were constant vacancies. I simply filled them.

      I’m sure it wasn’t as easy as that.

      You’re right. There were ... difficulties, but I’ve survived them.

      What do you mean?

      "Press-gangs from British Navy ships are always a problem in these waters, as so many of their sailors die of disease and have to be replaced, but the Amelia has been boarded by gangs looking for officers so unusually often that Captain Douglas began to joke about a particular search for me. Or perhaps he wasn’t joking, because I noticed I was always set to supervising a job deep in the hold or high aloft when a Navy ship sent a party on board."

      Jess knew a great deal about press-gangs, because her father had told her about them, but still she felt puzzled. Why would they be looking for you in particular?

      He merely shrugged, as secretive as ever. Instead of replying, he went on in a lighter tone, There are some pettifogging rules, too. To qualify for the rank of first officer, one is supposed to have been four voyages.

      But four years on a South Seas whaler counts as four voyages, surely!

      He laughed. That’s what Captain Douglas says, too, but I’m not sure what will happen if there is an official complaint. And one is supposed to be twenty-three, he added. There was general relief in the Great Cabin last week, when we celebrated my birthday. 

      There was a pause, and then he said, You’re living with the Van Loons?

      Well, it solved a problem for Papa, she said.  Mr. Van Loon was her father’s agent, who normally lived in Singapore, but had this trading house on the estuary of the Brunei River, in Borneo. Then, just like old times, she found she wanted to confide in Mr. O’Cain, and impulsively said, My father wanted to send me to Lewes to stay with my grandparents, but I flatly refused. Then he thought of his aunt, Temperance Gardiner, who lives in Sleepy Hollow, Massachusetts, but I didn’t want to do that, either, so the Van Loons offered to take me into their home to help with the children.

      And you were happy about that?

      "Not really. I wanted to stay with Papa on my brig Hakluyt."

      It would have been easy enough to stay with her father, she thought

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