His fingers closed upon coarse cloth. He pulled feebly
and something rolled toward him.
"What's this?"
Ricky's hands slid along his arm to the thing he had found. He could
hear her exploring movements.
"It's some sort of a bundle. I wonder where it came from."
"Some more remains of the jolly pirate days, I suppose."
"Here's something else. A bag, I think. Ugh! It smells nasty! There's a
hole in it--Oh, here's a piece of money. At least it feels like money.
There's more in the bag." She pressed a disk about as large as a
half-dollar into Val's palm.
"Pirate loot--" he began. Anything that would keep them from thinking of
where they were and what had happened was to be welcomed.
"Val"--he could hear her move uneasily--"remember that old saying:
'Pieces of eight--Ralestones' fate?"
"All good families have curses," he reminded her.
"And good families can have--can have accidents, too."
There could be no answer to that. Nor did Val feel like answering. The
savage pain in his legs and back had given way to a kind of numbness. A
chill not caused by the dank air crawled up his body. What--what if his
injuries were worse than he had thought? What if--if--
The dripping of the water seemed louder, and it no longer fell with the
same rhythm. Ricky must be counting money from the bag. He could hear
the clink of metal against stone as she dropped a piece.
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