Wake of the Bloody Angel Read Online Free PDF

round-bodied little woman with gray hair piled high on her head sat squinting at a map on her desk. She looked up and said, “What do you want?”
    “Don’t get mad,” I said.
    “Why would I get mad?”
    “We mentioned the Bloody Angel to the magistrate, and he got mad.”
    “That man is a blot on the good name of Watchorn. I used to have his office, did you know that? All that space. Now he’s got me in a damn closet.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you want to know about the Bloody Angel ?”
    I liked her casual air and the fact that she agreed with me about the magistrate. “If I say I’m not interested in the treasure, will you believe me?”
    “Sure, because there is no treasure. Lots of people have looked, but it’s been twenty years and not so much as a bead has showed up.”
    “Has anyone looked lately?” Jane asked.
    “Not in at least five years. We get the occasional inquiry, but mostly it’s just sailors thinking they’re unique in their interest. When they find out they’re not, they wander off. Also, not too many of them can read.”
    “So you do have records,” Jane said.
    “Of course we’ve got records. And maps. And detailed reports.” She stood and took a large bound volume from a nearby shelf. On the cover it was titled: THE WRECK OF THE BLOODY ANGEL AND WHAT REALLY HAPPENED.
    She handed it to me and gestured at the table. “It’s all in there, all gathered up neat and nice for convenience. Have a seat. Read to your heart’s content. Make notes, copy maps. Just don’t damage the book; if you do, I’m within my job description to kill you.”
    Jane put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll let you handle this. I’m going to go find a drink. I’ll check back in an hour.”
    I nodded, sat down, and began to read.
    The texts were legal, which meant they were also boring. There was a description of the storm, and a map showing where the Bloody Angel supposedly sank. Then there was testimony from people who were on the beach when pieces of the wreck began to wash ashore. They were referred to only by their initials.
    The official report was written by a man named Cyrus Northack, special envoy from the Cotovatrian court, and his contempt for the locals was palpable. He excoriated them for snatching up everything that washed ashore without reporting any of it. He asserted that no hint of treasure had been seen or mentioned, but he suspected that if any had, he’d be the last to know. The final straw was when the local gravedigger presented him with a bill for the burial of the dead pirates scattered along the surf.
    But there had been a lone survivor, initials WM, who explained what happened. Driven into the shallows by the storm, the ship hit a sand bar and the wind snapped its mainmast. She rolled over, and the weight of everything in her hold—including treasure, one would assume—broke through the deck and led the way to the bottom. Black Edward Tew was last seen clinging to the upside-down ship’s rudder, shaking his fist at the sky.
    “Anything useful?” the clerk asked me when I closed the book.
    I shook my head. “Just confirms the story I’ve been told.”
    “It’s an old story well known,” she said sadly. “Are you giving up your treasure hunt, then?”
    “I told you, I’m not hunting the treasure.”
    “Of course. And I’ll turn down a shepherd’s pie. Want to see something?” She opened a drawer in her desk, reached beneath some papers, and brought out a piece of wood. It was light and faded from age, and either end of the plank was ragged where it had broken. There were a few darker spots on it that could once have been bloodstains. Or mildew.
    “They tell me this is a piece of the Bloody Angel herself,” the woman said. “My predeces sor snatched it up right off the beach, the morning after the wreck.”
    I turned it over. There was no hidden inscription, no markings or carvings. It could have been from anywhere. Yet I felt the truth of her