Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (8 page)

“Let me see. What are you drawing?”

“The ship’s wheel.” He stared disgusted at
the confusing blob of circle and lines that looked more like a
drunken spider’s web than a ship’s wheel.

“Well, you have the right shape.”

With a playful shove, Sebastian sent Jaime
flying to the bunk. “Thanks.”

“Maybe you’d have more success if you tried
to draw something you can see—your boot or the porthole or even
your hand. Maybe from memory isn’t a good way to start.”

The idea made sense; instinctively,
Sebastian knew he’d do better even if not well. “I’ll try it.” His
eyes roamed around the cabin, and he shrugged as he set his boot in
the shaft of light coming through the porthole.

A new sense of self-consciousness filled him
as he tried to draw the basic shape of his boot with Jaime
watching. The result—a mess. However, unlike the last mess, at
least he knew it looked like a boot—a misshapen, ugly one, but a
boot nonetheless. “It’s not good, but it’s a bit recognizable.”

Sebastian grabbed the rag to wipe it clean,
but Jaime grabbed it. “No! Just scrub off the parts that you want
to change.”

He spent an hour working until his changes
began to make the picture worse. Jaime held out his hand for the
rag. “I’ll go wash it out for you.”

With a grin, Sebastian passed it to Jaime
and stared at the result as the door closed behind his friend. He
tried to add a loop to the back of the boot, but the faint lines
that resulted caused him to jump up and open the door. He
hesitated. If his father came in the cabin…

A glance at the bunk answered his dilemma
for him. Sebastian snatched his blanket from the bed and tossed it
on the floor. It might earn him a scolding, but his father would
never pick it up for him. Nicolo Soranzo insisted his son, as well
as his crew, do their own work.

The busyness of the crew ensured his ability
to run the length of the ship and scramble into the galley. Mac
didn’t even turn from cutting up chunks of meat. “I don’t have time
for games right now. The men’ll be hungry come time for
dinner.”

“I’ll just load the stove for you before I
get out of your way then.”

“That’s a fine laddie. Yer father don’t
appreciate just how fine a lad ye are,” Mac muttered as he hacked
at the meat.

Sebastian worked quickly, shoving the wood
in the stove and holding a smaller stick in the coals until he was
sure it had burned into the wood a bit. A water bucket tempted him
to plunge the flaming stick into it, but at the last second, he
realized he’d have to wait for it to dry if he did. Blowing on it,
didn’t work like it did with a candle, but eventually he managed to
roll and blow enough to put out the flame and stop the smoke. Back
through the ship, waving at his father as he slunk past, Sebastian
tried to look as nonchalant as his excited self could manage.

He burst into the room and found Jaime
examining the drawing, the blanket tossed aside once more. “I think
you’re worried too much about the details. Worry about the shape.
You can add details once you know you have the outline
correct.”

After staring at his work for another minute
or two, Sebastian scrubbed the floor clean and felt his stick. It
was still hot. “I should probably wait until it has cooled so it
doesn’t leave a permanent mark, shouldn’t I?”

Jaime felt the stick and nodded. “You’re
right. Still too hot.” His father’s voice rang out, calling for
Jaime. “I should go. Keep trying. I’ll grab a couple of lemons and
a lime when I can sneak them out of the galley. They’re simple
shapes. Maybe they’ll be easier.”

Just as Jaime started to pull the door shut
behind him, Sebastian asked, “How long do you think it will take to
know if I have any talent for it?”

His friend smiled and shrugged. “I don’t
know, but I imagine not until months or even years after you are
sure you don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The wind pushed the ship through the water
at speeds they hadn’t felt since they sailed to Sicilia. Everyone,
crew and captain alike, felt the excitement of progress and smooth
sailing. Nicolo stood on the quarterdeck and viewed the sea before
them. They would arrive in three days of good sail.

Within hours, they saw that they were not
the only ship taking advantage of the storm that blew around them.
Rarely did Nicolo risk his flag unless trying to capture a ship
with the least amount of battle necessary. For a moment, he was
tempted to raise the yellow jack—warning of disease—but it might
tempt a ship to try to capture while people were ill and weakened.
The risk was as great as the benefit it worked.

“Hoist the flag, Jaime.”

The solid black flag rose quickly, flapping
and snapping in the brisk wind. The other ship, a merchant, ran the
moment it spied the flag in the air. Nicolo smiled—a good decision.
Hector stormed up to him, furious.

“Why did we not give chase? It is a merchant
ship, is it not? We could take that ship easily.”

“Yes, we could, but it is not Spanish. How
can you get your revenge if you gain your wealth from a Portuguese
ship? You put your trust in me; now let me do my job.”

“So we get a Spanish ship later. Why not
both? Do you think we would complain about more money?”

“You are the only one complaining. The other
men are not bloodthirsty. They are willing to wait—to trust. Learn
patience.”

Hector’s frustration exploded. “Patience?
Ten years in prison—tortured—do you not think I have demonstrated
enough patience?”

Before Nicolo could order the man to pick up
his holeystone and finish sanding the deck, Eduardo stepped up and
hauled the man away, shouting, “Should I throw you overboard and
let you swim for the ship? Perhaps you have learned enough to take
them by yourself in your week of experience on a ship.” The
quartermaster shoved Hector back to where he’d been working. “You
are pathetic.”

Jaime stepped up to Nicolo grinning. “Our
friend is impatient, isn’t he?”

“Very. I have to remember that I promised to
help the victims of injustice, not the victims that I like. Cruelty
begets cruelty—sometimes in a different form, but it happens.”

As Jaime turned to leave, Nicolo stopped
him. “Where is Sebastian?”

To his surprise, his boatswain hesitated.
“Um, I think he’s in his bunk.”

“Is he well?”

“Very.”

He eyed the young man curiously. “There is
something you are not telling me. What is it?”

“I think your son would like to tell you
himself, but…”

“But what? What is it, Jaime?”

“Sometimes you do not listen long enough to
hear what the boy says or wants to say.”

“And what,” Nicolo asked, feeling quite
indulgent and excusing Jaime’s mild rebuke, “would you suggest I do
instead?”

Jaime frowned and turned to leave. “I think
it would be better if I mind my own business.”

The tone said even more than Jaime’s words.
Nicolo watched the young man as he went to show Hector the proper
way to use the holystone. What did the young man mean about his
unwillingness to listen?

“Jaime, come here.”

The look on Jaime’s face told him that he’d
have to press to learn what his wise young friend wanted to say. It
had happened many times over the years. Jaime gave a suggestion;
Nicolo did not receive it well, and Jaime withdrew his advice until
practically forced to share it. Only once had Jaime ever pressed
until Nicolo agreed. He had been right too—something that still
rankled. Then again, if Jaime chose to interfere at all, he was
almost always right.

“What is this about me listening? What
should I listen to?”

“I am sorry, Nicolo. I know my place, but
sometimes I forget.”

“And this time I want you to tell me.”

“I am not much older than Sebastian myself.
What can I know?”

So he would resist. As usual, Nicolo would
have to press, but this time he had no patience for it. “Let’s not
waste time, Jaime. You know something you think I need to know. I
want to hear it. I may ignore it, but as we both know, when you do
speak, you usually speak sense.”

“I am not his father. I see with the eyes of
a friend, not a parent.”

“But,” Nicolo had a new thought—one that
actually explained something he had always wondered. “Most boys
have two parents, do they not? They have a father who is not swayed
by sympathy because they will do what is hard, to do what is best.
Then they have a mother who understands and feels her child’s pain.
They are sympathetic and temper the father so that he does not
become too harsh and unyielding.”

“Yes…”

“Sebastian has no mother. You, as a friend,
give a little of that understanding that I as a father don’t allow
myself. I need that balanced picture. Over the years, you have, at
times, helped stop me from serious mistakes—ones that might have
hardened him to me. We both know I cannot do that. He must be
willing to yield to me when it is necessary.”

The work of the ship continued around them.
Sails pulled them, mile by mile, closer to their destination. The
carpenter still worked to smooth the side of the boat that no
longer showed evidence of battle. Eduardo kept watch for other
ships and other dangers. Men climbed the lines to tighten rigging,
but still the young man said nothing.

“Jaime…” Suddenly, Nicolo grew concerned.
“Sebastian is well, is he not? He is in his cabin and safe?”

“He is well, but he is going to be reticent
to tell you anything if you go in and demand and react without
listening.”

“Do I do that?” It sounded like him, but
Nicolo hoped that perhaps it might be an exaggeration.

“You do.” Jaime shrugged. “I am sorry, but
it is true. Listen to him, Nicolo. He’s a smart boy. He wants you
to be proud of him, but he is not like you. He does not have the
rage and the need for vengeance driving him as you do.” Jaime spoke
again before he could reply. “You would not want him to. When this
is over, when we leave this boat for good, you will be glad that he
is not a pirate at heart.”

The truth of Jaime’s words bored into his
heart. Sebastian was not a coward, but he did not have the heart
for fighting. He tried to hide it, but it showed in his face. As
Nicolo pondered Jaime’s words, the young man went back to his work.
This time, his boatswain hurried down into the hold for reasons
that no one would think of or understand but would ensure their
safety or comfort. He was a good one—better than any other they’d
ever had.

With the ship running smoothly, Nicolo went
down to Sebastian’s cabin. His hand reached for the knob, but he
stopped himself, dropping his hand to his side. Staring at the knob
he remembered his childhood—his life back when he was part of a
family. He had been away from family for so long he’d forgotten
what it was like.

His hand rose again and knocked.

Tempests

Sebastian’s head whipped around to stare at
the door. Only Jaime bothered to knock on his door, and even then,
he usually called out. Maybe his father had sent Hector to fetch
him.

“Yes?”

“Sebastian…”

The rest of his father’s words were lost to
him as shock and dismay flooded his heart. Why did his father
knock? What would he say when he pushed on the door and it did not
open? How—

Impatience laced his father’s second call.
“Sebastian!”

Frantically, he scrubbed at the floor with
the rag until it looked like a dirty mess rather than an artistic
one. He tossed the rag and the stick into the corner and jerked the
short pole from the door. “Yes? You need me?”

“What took you so long? What are you doing
in here?” His father stepped into the little cabin and peered
around the room, stopping with eyes suspiciously fixed on
Sebastian’s face.

He flushed until his face nearly matched his
hair, and he knew it. “Nothing important.”

“I asked you—” Nicolo began, anger welling
up in his eyes, but he closed them, took a deep breath, and sank to
the bunk. “Are you feeling well, son? Is there something you should
tell me?”

Confused, Sebastian shrugged. “I—what do you
mean? Of course I am fine.”

His father’s eyes bored into him. “And you
have nothing you think you should share with me? Maybe you have
questions…” Nicolo swallowed visibly. “Perhaps about the raid,” he
suggested quickly.

Sebastian shook his head. “No… it’ll be the
same as usual, right? I am locked in the room looking like a stupid
girl while everyone is out having adventures.”

His father’s hand reached for him, pulling
him onto the bunk. He felt an arm around his shoulder, but
Sebastian stared at his feet on the floor. “You do not like our way
of protecting you, do you?”

“Would you like it? Would you like to be
stuffed into a padded dress with jeweled combs in your hair to make
you look like a woman?”

“I think my beard might make such a thing
ineffective, but no I would not.”

“I look forward to the day that I have hair
on my lip and my chin. Then maybe yo—people will see me as
something other than a fragile child.”

Neither of them spoke for some time. After a
few minutes, his father tried again. “Perhaps we should talk about
what you were doing before I came. I don’t see…” It seemed as if
his father was hesitant to speak.

“I—”

“Sebastian, why won’t you talk to me?”

Once more, a very long silence hovered
between them. Sebastian fidgeted with his hands while Nicolo seemed
to fight his desire to say what he thought. His father’s silence
when he obviously had something to say unnerved him. Usually Nicolo
would have exploded in a rage when Sebastian did not answer
quickly. That he tried to be understanding prompted Sebastian to
try to explain.

“When I was in Siracusa, I went to the house
of an artist. The woman, Rosa—”