Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (24 page)

“I can’t tell,” Sebastian admitted with
disappointment. “I know it’s something in the angle or maybe
because they are out of the water. If I drew a waterline and then
tried to put them in…”

“Try it. I want to see.”

“I forgot my rag—”

Before he’d finished speaking, Sebastian’s
father stuck his head out the door and asked for a wet rag. Filipe
brought one quickly and stood in the doorway, watching as Sebastian
erased the bottom half of the boat and tried again. The result:
immediate marked improvement. It took several tries to get the oars
placed properly in the water, but once he managed one, he made
quick work of drawing the rest.

“Look, Papa. It’s easier than I thought.
What happens if…” He tried drawing an octopus climbing up the side
of the ship but failed.

“I see where you are going with that,
Sebastian,” Filipe commented approvingly. “That would be an amazing
picture if you could make it work.”

“I will try for sure. I imagine it clinging
to the bowsprit, inching its way toward the bow.”

“That implies motion, son. That might be
hard to manage, but it
would
be exciting.”

Filipe left without a word, father and son
hardly noticing his departure, but one by one, the crew came to the
doorway to watch as he worked on the changes to the boat. Sebastian
drew the octopus, wiped it away, and recreated it repeatedly—
nearly as often as men came and left the doorway. Some offered
advice, most unhelpful, but a few could see what he hoped to
accomplish and gave suggestions that actually worked. The smile on
his face grew with each strike of the stick. Several times, his
father handed him a re-charred stick and then burned the old one
again.

“I think I see it now. I have to picture the
tentacles moving. Not what they’d look like if they weren’t. I have
to try to capture the motion.”

“Can you do it?”

Sebastian beamed as he nodded. “I can. I
know I can.”

Mac’s huge frame filled the doorway. “I’m
hearin’ that you drew—oh, that is a fine ship, laddie! Look at that
sail! I can fair see it ripplin’ in the wind now. You’re good. I’m
thinkin’ you should be drawin’ us pictures of the yarns that
Jaime’s always tellin’. It’ll be like watching them come to life on
deck!”

“Papa would make me scrub it afterwards. Why
make work for myself?”

“What’s the difference between scrubbing
your floor or mine and the deck?”

He glanced up at his father, laughing. “That
was supposed to make Mac volunteer to clean it up!”

Despite his objections, Sebastian knew he’d
be spending the next weeks until they reached Cartagena attempting
to illustrate Jaime’s stories. They would have to do it during the
day. Drawing in the dark would be next to impossible—even with
lamplight and candles. Even in the cabin, if the light was on the
wrong side of the ship, he couldn’t see well enough to
practice.

“Don’t give up, lad. You’ll be paintin’
pictures on canvases that the rich will hang in the greatest houses
in the world. Your great, great, grandchildren will brag on their
ancestor, Sebastian Soranzo, the greatest painter of his time.”

Cartagena

Alone in his quarters, watching the busyness
of the nearby docks, Sebastian seethed. Water lapped the sides of
the ship and gulls cried overhead as they swooped and dodged,
fighting one another over the same fish tossed aside by someone.
The rowboats, carrying members of their crew, hit the docks and the
sight sent a fresh wave of fury over him.

Once again, he was tempted to grab a rope
and creep down the side of the ship and into the water. Had he not
proven himself able to explore alone and safely at Barbados? Had he
not managed to get himself out of the way during the storm so that
his father could do his duty without concern? He had even managed
to protect himself in the worst battle he’d ever imagined—right on
their ship!

Twice he jumped up and grabbed the latch,
ready to run. Twice he returned to his place at the porthole. His
only consolation was seeing the men climb from the boats but
without Hector. His father had forbidden that too. For all his
newfound humility and gratitude, it had chafed. That was something,
anyway.

Again, the temptation returned.
Cartagena
. Even the name sounded wild and exotic. Unlike the
Cartagena he knew in Spain, this port
looked
exciting! Were
there strange animals he’d never seen or heard of beyond the plains
that surrounded the city? There must be. Snakes and giant spiders
the size of a man’s hand—that was what Giorgio had said when he
refused to leave ship. It couldn’t be so; the amusement on the
men’s faces told him they didn’t believe the sensational tales. It
was just another of Giorgio’s excuses to stay aboard.

As he reached for the door once more, a new
thought occurred to Sebastian. Amazed, he went back to the
porthole, wondering if he could see his father there. As far away
as the men were, the great red plume on his father’s second best
hat would likely show, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe Nicolo hadn’t
worn it. That must be it. As Sebastian recalled, he had not seen
that feather in the boat.

Curious, he strolled from the cabin, nodding
to the sympathetic looks of some of the other men. This bolstered
his courage and his attitude. He would not be seen moping like a
child. His father had left him behind. Was that not a father’s
prerogative? In fact, as captain, he had a responsibility toward
the ship. Leaving behind a boy who had proven himself untrustworthy
in the past only made sense.

As much as he wished to believe his lofty
thoughts, they were still a bitter pill to swallow. He’d been left
behind—again. The telescope sat in its box by the wheel. Sebastian
grabbed it, hoping to see his father before he disappeared into the
town, but he was too late. He found no trace of Nicolo Soranzo
anywhere near the two little piers that jutted out into the sea,
boats tethered to their piles.

Hector stepped up to the railing, gazing out
at what might be his new home. It all depended on so much—if there
were records of escapees in Spain, if settlers were welcome, how
the government handled taxation and if there were workers available
to work any kind of enterprise that might be suited to that area.
“Looking for your papa?”

“I thought I’d see which way he went and
then try to guess what was there, but I can’t find him.”

“Not trying to decide which way you could go
to explore without getting caught, are you?”

Red flooded his face. He ached to protest.
Denials formed so quickly in his mind that, had he spoken them,
they would have been a jumbled mess of incomprehensibility. With
more self-control than he knew he possessed, Sebastian shook his
head slowly—deliberately. “No. I made that mistake once. I hope I
am a better son than to do it again.”

“Siracusa.” It wasn’t a question, which
meant Hector had heard it all. That embarrassed him further.

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you enjoy your adventures?”

He swallowed hard before admitting the
truth. “I did. I should feel as though I can’t enjoy the memory
because it was so wrong to do it, but I did enjoy it. I had a
wonderful day until Papa grabbed my shoulder and boxed my ears for
not following when told.”

“I am surprised he did not lock you in your
room. I would have if you were my son.”

“I was just thinking the same thing when I
watched from my cabin. Papa should have locked me in, but he
didn’t.”

“Perhaps,” his father’s voice said from
behind him, “that is because my son now has the tools and knowledge
of how to pick a lock.”

“Papa! I thought—why have you not—no! I
can’t pick that lock and you know it. I can lock me in, but…”

Aware that Nicolo might want a moment of
privacy with his son, Hector strolled across the deck to look out
to sea, but Sebastian’s eyes never left his father’s. Nicolo shook
his head and said, “Son, I think you are not fair to yourself. You
would not have picked that lock today had I done it.”

Again a lump formed in his throat, and again
he forced it down with a gulping swallow. “I don’t know about
that.”

“What do you mean?”

Trying to appear much more nonchalant than
he felt, Sebastian shrugged one shoulder and twisted the corner of
his mouth. “I just—well, I was angry that I was left behind.
Several times I went to let myself down the side of the ship again.
I think if I had found the door locked, I would have worked on it
until I got it open.”

“Then I made the right decision. I wondered
if I needed to show you that I trusted you to do the right thing,
or if I needed to try to ensure that you had no choice but to do
the right thing.”

“I think no choice is easier, Papa,”
Sebastian admitted.

“And I think,” Nicolo began as he leaned his
forearms against the railing and stared down into the water below
them. “I think that you are old enough to know that doing the right
thing because it is right begets more right-doing.”

“I still want to go.”

“I know.”

“When will you go? I thought you—”

Nicolo shook his head. “Eduardo and Jaime
are exploring first—asking questions. We would not want the locals
to decide that the head of the notorious pirate Nicolo Soranzo of
The Vengeance
is a prize they wish to offer Spain. We must
first ensure I am safe there.”

Though Sebastian knew that some sought to
capture and kill pirates, particularly notorious ones such as
Nicolo Soranzo, he’d always imagined their capture and execution as
an entire crew. The idea of bounty hunters searching for just one
man—his father, for example—hadn’t occurred to him. “What about
Jaime? Is he safe? Is there any reason to think someone would hurt
him?”

“I don’t think so, Sebastian. Jaime is,
thankfully, a nobody. Although, if they become antagonistic against
us, then anyone associated with the ship will be in danger unless
we raid.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The small town held the potential of
becoming a great city. Perfectly situated for travel east to
Europe, it boasted a fertile plain waiting to be planted and wasn’t
too large to resent another body. In fact, the local men acted
excited to hear news of home—even if a bit skeptical of a man who
arrived in what was obviously the ship of Mediterranean
pirates.

“I wasn’t about to lose any more money to
those nasty Englishmen, so I heard of a pirate looking for a lark
and set out here,” Hector said, trying to sound as if he was bitter
against anyone but the Spanish Crown and the Church.

“What brought you here?”

“I’d heard about Trinidad, see. Captain
Soranzo didn’t know much of the Caribbean, being a terror to the
corsairs, don’t you know, but he agreed that it sounded nice.
Hostile though. I don’t think there’s a Spaniard, Portuguese, or
Dutchman amongst them. They’re all natives. I wanted a bit better
society, if you know what I mean.”

“I bet you had to pay plenty to get them to
come across the ocean in that little ship.”

“Almost paid with my life in a horrible
storm, but,” Hector added, “Captain Soranzo’s men are magnificent
sailors.”

The governor had been sitting silent through
the meal as others plied their guest with questions. Now he spoke.
“What is it you wish from a life at Cartagena?”

“Governor Vizcaína, I wish to take up
tobacco farming.”

“I cannot see you with seeds and a hoe,
señor
Castillo. Someone with your position of comfort and
ease would not find manual labor in the hot sun rewarding and
invigorating. It would likely drive you to an early grave.” The
governor smiled politely, but Hector heard steel in his voice and
coldness in his eyes.

“I had hoped to be more of the
owner/financier with overseers and laborers.”

“And,” the man pressed with the other guests
concentrating intently on their conversation, “what will prevent
these pirates from returning to attack us or to attack the ship
that carries your crops to Spain?”

“Honor.”

The room erupted in laughter. “Pirates of
honor. Is that not a contradiction?” someone called from the other
end of the table.

“They brought me here, fought to protect me,
and saved me from the men who sought to rob me of everything I own.
They kept me alive when the sea and other pirates would have killed
me. They have promised to come to my aid if they hear of any attack
here—and will help defend you as well.” Hector dropped his head for
a moment before he turned to meet the gaze of the governor. “If
they wanted to rob, they could have dumped me in the ocean and gone
back to safer waters for them.”

“And where are they now, these friends of
yours?”

“Feasting on the ship. They have purchased a
pig and a great quantity of fruit.”

“Purchased? Since when do pirates purchase?
I have heard of Nicolo Soranzo. He is notorious as ruthless against
any flag that he chooses to attack.”

“And he keeps his word—gives it reluctantly
but keeps it once given.”

The Governor Vizcaína and Hector Castillo
locked in a contest of wills, neither willing to flinch before the
other. At last, the man on the governor’s right asked another
question, allowing both men to yield without losing face. “What
will keep us from killing you and taking your fortune for
ourselves?”

Nicolo had prepared Hector for this. All
through the meal, he had been working the conversation to lead them
to it but hadn’t expected it to come as a question from those he
hoped to be his new neighbors. This was much easier and natural.
“Because if you do, Nicolo will bring every pirate he can find to
wipe you all out at once. He has the respect and the resources to
do it.” Hector swallowed a sip of wine before adding, “I want to be
a good neighbor—a part of this community. If you do not want me
here, tell me now. We’ll continue on to Aruba or perhaps down to
Santiago. However, if you want the taxes on the crops I propose and
additional protection from the sea, then I hope you will consider
me a good neighbor.”