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currents clash, still we must be wary. For a span of seven miles we will ride some of the roughest swells and currents you have ever seen. Worse still—the colliding forces beneath the waves cause deep sucking pockets to open up. One minute you are cresting a wave, and suddenly, a two-hundred-foot chasm opens up off the bow. A ship drawn into the gaping dark mouth in the sea has but moments to live. The currents will slam the chasm shut, crushing any vessel under a mountain of never-ending water.”
    Stede whistled. Ross and Jules realized they had been holding their breath while the monk spoke. They exhaled together and looked about nervously. Padre Dominguez went on. “We can catch our breath for the next seventy-five miles,” he said, winking at Stede, who still looked shaken. “Then we will begin to hear the first beats of the island’s molten heart. We’ll pass through a shield of mist and volcanic ash, and if the sun has risen, we will see the Ilha de Espadas. The island is shaped like a crescent. The outer rim of the island is sheer and unassailable. The only way to approach it is from the mouth of its bay.”
    â€œLet me guess,” said Ross. “There’s something in the way.”
    â€œYes,” replied the monk. “The island is not called Isle of Swords for nothing. Guarding the mouth of the bay is a unique reef formation we of the Brethren call the shards. Hundreds and hundreds of sharp rocks and coral thrust up through the surface like so many daggers. A ship that crashes into one of these is likely to be split and sent to the bottom. There is danger below as well, for hidden spikes of coral lay beneath the waves. There is only one path through the shards, and I alone know this path.”
    â€œI don’t suppose you’d care to write that down for us,” said
    Ross, already knowing the answer.
    â€œNo, Declan Ross,” the monk replied. “I will keep that knowledge to myself until we are in sight of the island.”
    Stede had heard enough. “So, then, we just hurry across that little harbor and fetch all the gold?”
    â€œAlas, no. We must moor in the harbor, and there I must dive for the key.”
    â€œKey?” Ross squinted.
    â€œThe Treasure of Constantine is locked tight in an impenetrable clifftop castle on the northern end of the crescent. Without the key, there is no way in, unless, of course, any of you can scale a sheer wall of stone some three hundred feet. The only window in the fortress looks out over the ocean, but it is not an entrance.”
    â€œAnd you have to dive for the key?” Ross asked. “Why not just keep the key yourself ?”
    â€œA key of such value cannot be entrusted to the possession of a man. A man may change allegiances. A man may be corrupted. A man may get sick and die, and if so, the treasure would be lost to all forever. The Brethren felt that it was best to keep the key within reach of the island, but at the same time out of reach.”
    â€œSeawater will corrode the key to naught—given a few years under,” Ross said. “I hope you made the key of something sturdy and put it in something watertight.”
    â€œThe key is wrought iron, tempered by the Brethren to endure the corrosive power of the sea.” Padre Dominguez paused, rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully, and then continued. “The key is encased in wax, sealed in stone, and placed among thousands of like stones.
    One must know exactly what the stone looks like to separate it from the others. I know this. The key waits for me to dive and retrieve it.”
    â€œWhy you?” Jules asked.
    The monk paused, again wondering how much he could trust them, and also, how much they could possibly believe. “In due time,” he said.
    â€œOkay,” Ross said. “So, you can do the dive. Just please tell me that once we have the key, we can just go on up and get the treasure.”
    The monk shook