Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (3 page)

Only one man asked to leave—one that Nicolo
had suspected would never return to the crew once he reached land.
Nicolo led the man to his cabin and told him to wait outside. He
had Giorgio watch as he counted out every piece of gold and silver
the sailor was entitled to and then put away the rest. “Come
in.”

Twice they counted the coins, ensuring that
the man was satisfied. The man struck his name from the articles of
the ship and made his mark beside the line, acknowledging his
removal from their boat. Nicolo nodded to both men as he rolled up
the documents and sealed them back in the corked jar once more.
“Follow him to get his things, Giorgio. Thank you for your service
with us. May you be prosperous here.”

By the time the man jumped ship and swam for
shore, the first rowboat full of men bounced across the water on
its way back to the boat. Jaime climbed aboard first. He strode to
the quarterdeck where Nicolo stood. “What happened?”

“I was recognized.”

“Who?”

“
Signorina
Lucia of Parma.”

Jaime’s face drained. “We must leave
immediately.” Before Nicolo could continue, Jaime asked another
question. “Why is Sebastian not pestering us with questions?”

The Search

Nicolo raced from place to place on the
ship—every spot that the boy enjoyed, he searched thoroughly. It
seemed as though Sebastian had vanished. True and overwhelming fear
gripped the pirate’s heart. Was it possible that anyone could have
climbed aboard the ship and spirited away his son?

Before he could question the crew as to the
last time they saw Sebastian, a shout from Jaime sent him racing to
the bow. “What?”

“I think our lad has developed a new sense
of adventure. His boots are in his cabin and—”

“You or me. Who should go? I could be
recognized, but you could take care of procuring more
supplies…”

“Let’s both go. You know you need to hide.
They won’t expect you to return. You’ll find him faster, and I know
how to bargain.”

Nicolo pointed to Giorgio. “Get me six of
the strongest rowers from below. Now.”

Every second that ticked past increased his
level of fury a hundredfold. By the time they lowered the boat, his
insides shook with rage—and the overwhelming desire to throttle his
son. Nicolo’s fingers looked calm and steady to those who watched
as he stared across the water to the wharf that grew nearer with
each powerful stroke. It was an illusion borne of sheer willpower.
Inwardly, those fingers twisted, drummed, balled into fists, and
then drummed some more. He grew more
anxious—frustrated—terrified—with each passing second.

“Jaime?”

“Yes.”

“We have to do it. It’s time.”

“Yes.” The younger man’s eyes said what his
lips could not in present company. “We’ll take care of it as soon
as we are safe again.”

“Will we run like we did three years ago?”
The muscular man, a former slave freed when they’d captured his
master’s ship, peered into Nicolo’s face for the answer he
sought.

“We’ll run.”

Fearful resolution washed over the dark
face. “Pull harder, men!”

At the dock, Nicolo whispered something to
Jaime and then sprinted toward the town. Once again, he wove in and
out of merchants, shoppers, and townspeople. He’d learned to be
nearly invisible when necessary—to blend into crowds at a moment’s
notice.

When a cursory stroll through the main
streets yielded nothing, Nicolo tried again. This time he spoke to
vendors, children, and women. He kept his tone apologetic—almost
differential. All traces of the commanding captain were gone. In
their place, a concerned father nearly begged passersby to consider
if they’d seen a boy with dark ruddy hair and a tall gangly
body.

At each query, a regretful shake of the
head, “I’m sorry,” or other apology made him question his search.
Was the boy really on board ship after all? Perhaps he’d used the
rope to swing out over the water as he sometimes did. Then again,
no one had heard a splash or a squeal. That didn’t make sense.

Try as he did to convince himself that the
search was wasted, Nicolo’s gut told him the boy was on land, but
where? A small road led from the town into the countryside. Surely
Sebastian wouldn’t wander that far, would he?

Unsure what else to try, he half walked,
half ran up the road, occasionally calling. Just as he was ready to
give up and return to town, a woman stuck her head out of a
doorway. “Did you call for Sebastian? Tall, skinny boy with red
curls? Oh, wouldn’t I love to have those curls.”

“Yes! You have seen him. Where is he?”

“I sent him up to my son. Up there on that
hill.”

“How long ago?”

The woman hesitated, glancing at the sun,
thinking, and finally shrugged. “Two hours? Maybe three? He seemed
interested in art so I thought—”

“Thank you!”

His mind focused on his mission, Nicolo did
not notice the cuts and scratches on his feet as he ran through
trees and up the hill, off the well-traveled paths that had been
kinder to them. At the top, he leaned his hands on his knees,
panting from the exertion, his eyes scanning the area for any sign
of his son. “Did… you see… a b…boy,” he gasped between gulps of
air.

“Sebastian? He brought me lunch and stayed
to—”

Nicolo interrupted eagerly. “Where did he
go? When? Did he say?”

“He went back to town—said he couldn’t stay
out long—that his father would worry.”

“I’ll worry his backside; that’s for
sure.”

“He’s a good boy. An artist in his soul.
Look—” The man tried to show Nicolo the canvas he was working on,
but the captain ran back down the hill without a backward glance.
“You should see—” the artist called once more.

“I must find him.” Nicolo stumbled, rolling
down the last few yards and picking himself up at the bottom.

“Try near the shore,” the man called. “He
was talking about the children; they like to play there.”

Waving his hand to show he heard, Nicolo
sprinted a dozen yards before his run slowly dwindled into a fast
walk. The shore. It was a terrible place for a boy like
Sebastian—so easy to find him there. Easy to take him away. He must
not be taken away—not again.

Walking along the sand was a dangerous
proposition. Would
Signorina
Lucia have anyone watching the
shore? It was possible. She might have had time to send out
searchers. Would she notify Pier Luigi Farnese? That could take
weeks. As long as they escaped, they were safe. This time.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out his
neck scarf. With practiced skill, he wrapped his head in it and
rolled up his sleeves and breeches. Nicolo glanced down at himself,
trying to see his baldric with the eyes of a local. Was the
coltellaccio
on it menacing enough? Should he move a hidden
dagger into sight as well or was the short
sabre
enough of a
threat? He had to inspire enough fear and awe, but not incite an
attack.

Nicolo stopped and took a few deep breaths.
Think. What to do next? Where to go? How best to find the
boy?
Those were the important questions. The rest were
distractions from his purpose.

Children played in the sand on the long
strip of shore, but Sebastian was not a part of any group. Twice he
started to ask, but the children ran from the pirate in their
midst. No doubt, their mothers had warned them of the horrors they
would face as slaves to a pirate.

Two passes—including through the docks and
back—made the point clear. He was not on shore. Nicolo’s mind
whirled with possibilities. The woman said he had taken food to the
artist, so they had fed him, but the sun was warm. He might be
thirsty. Perhaps he went to find something to drink.

With that thought, he strode back to the
town, hesitating at the corner of a building. Should he work his
way through as the ruthless pirate Nicolo or the concerned father?
As a well-dressed captain, he had been recognized.

The precious time he had wasted galled him
as Nicolo strode into the streets. Find the boy and get out of
there. Second-guessing himself was futile and dangerous. He
wandered in and out of vendor carts, his eyes darting from person
to person, building to building, in stores and out of taverns. Then
he heard something.

Laughter.

His heart lightened and feet quickened as he
dodged people and animals on his way to that sound.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand clapped over his shoulder, startling
him. Sebastian whirled, ready to slug the fool who dared to
interfere with the son of Nicolo Soranzo. Meeting his father’s eyes
damped the fire in his own. “Oh!”

“Come. Now.”

“But—”

Without another word, his father’s hand
wrapped around his scrawny arm and dragged him through the streets.
The other children mocked him—children who moments before had been
impressed with his skill and speed. Mortification tinged his cheeks
a red that rivaled his hair.

“I was just—”

“We’ll talk on the ship. Go.”

“Why are you dressed—”

Sebastian’s ear exploded as his father boxed
it smartly. “I said on ship. Silence.”

Never had he imagined that his father would
be so angry with him. He had expected to be caught—eventually. It
was impossible to have such an exciting day without leaking out
some kind of hint of what he’d done. For all his failings,
Sebastian was not stupid.

A raft was nearly at the ship when he and
his father reached the rowboat. His father pointed to the raft.
“Jaime went?”

“Yes—to pay for the wine and fruit. That’s
all he could get—and a few barrels of water.”

“It’ll do for now. Let’s go. Did you see
anyone?”

“Two men came asking about you. We told them
we didn’t know but that we were going to try to sign on. Promised
to meet them at a tavern near the wharf.”

“Good. They’ll be waiting there.”

Sebastian listened, curious. He had learned
young that to know what he should not, he must keep silent and let
others talk. The men rowed faster than he’d ever seen—faster even
than when they had races near ports. Something important was
happening, but what?

The moment he set foot on deck, Jaime rushed
him to his quarters. “Stay and do not argue with your father.”

“What is happening?”

Jaime shook his head. “Of all the days,” he
began as he shut the door behind him, “you pick this one to assert
your independence. You’ll be back in skirts and braids after
this.”

Alone in the cabin, Sebastian could see
nothing of the bustle around him but he could hear it. He heard the
grunts of men loading the barrels onto the ship and rolling them
down into the hold. He heard the calls for this person or that, but
he sat with wide eyes and dry throat when he heard his father
order, “Hoist anchor!”

Movement. It was unmistakable. The
difference between the gentle rocking of a tethered ship and the
equally gentle rocking of a free one was something he’d never
understood but always recognized. What did it mean? Why were they
leaving so quickly? He’d expected at least one—maybe two—more trips
to the town. He’d hoped to see more work of the artist.

Voices grew near. His blood pounded and
rushed through his ears, making it difficult to hear until they
were just outside the door. He did everything he’d ever learned to
calm himself. Breathe slowly and a little shallow. Don’t try too
hard to listen. Take a deep breath and back to shallow. Over and
over he tried until he was calm and could easily hear the argument
outside.

“—just a boy, Nicolo. He wants to see the
world from a foothold that doesn’t rock him to sleep at night. This
ship is like a mama’s skirt that you force him to hide behind. It
is time for him to grow up a little.”

“He has proven today that he isn’t old
enough to be trusted alone. I was recognized, Jaime. You know what
that means. We could have been gone an hour ago!”

“And not had the wine and water or fruit
that we needed. Your men served you well. Now don’t take your fear
out on a boy who is, after all, just being a boy!”

Silence. It could mean two things. His
father was either considering Jaime’s argument as a valid one, or
he was seeking to gain control before blasting the young man for
interfering. Sebastian knew which it likely was but hoped for the
other.

“Listen, Jaime. You know how grateful I am
to you for all you have done for us—for Sebastian. His mother—”
That silence returned. “Regardless, he is my responsibility. Do not
interfere. Go tell Eduardo we’re off.”

Jaime didn’t argue. Sebastian had not
expected that he would. His friend would stick up for him—fight for
him even—but he would not interfere when Nicolo Soranzo put him in
his place.

The door opened. Sebastian did not even try
to hide that he’d been listening. “You were recognized?”

“That is not the issue. You left the boat.
Without permission.”

“I just wanted to see—”

“And if I wanted you to see, I would have
taken you myself!”

“But I’m stuck here on this boat—”

“Where you are alive and safe,” his father
growled. “I do not risk our lives so that you can throw it away on
childish games. What were you thinking?”

Time hung for a moment as if frozen while he
debated whether to continue to fight for more freedom or to yield
to his father—this time. A look of satisfaction grew on his
father’s face. Nicolo thought he would yield and that angered
Sebastian. “I was thinking that I am old enough to walk around
without an armed guard! I’m just the son of a pirate! No one cares
about me. No one wants me. You’re paranoid over something that
doesn’t exist! Who cares that someone recognized you. Lots of
people recognize you. You’re infamous! You—”

“Enough. You know nothing, but I tell you
this. If I leave you on the boat, you stay on the boat. If I want
you in town, I will take you. You’ve done nothing today except
prove that you are not old enough to do what it is you think you
deserve.”