The King's Armada

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “And what is your costly plan?” Courtney asked, eyeing the stack of money on the table. It reckoned at quite a few hundreds, or even thousands of U.S. dollars.

  “Well,” Guy didn’t know how to begin. He tried describing airplanes in English and Spanish. Each of them had caught glimpses of them in that fascinating box known simply as TV. “I will charter an airplane and we, all of us except Mary, will board that plane and fly to the island of San Villafranca. This is a small independent nation. I will make certain arrangements in advance. Once there, I will turn over a sum of money to a certain party and you will all become citizens of Villafranca. You will have passports and free entry to the U.S. where we can then pay more money to a certain lawyer who will begin proceedings to make you American citizens.

  “And after that,” Doña María said, “we will marry.”

  “That’s right,” Guy agreed. “I have been too long single and need someone to share this load, which is becoming heavier and heavier.” The words of a song from a musical flashed through his head: “I would rather a new edition of the Spanish Inquisition than to ever let a woman in my life.”

  “And you will become Catholic,” Doña María added.

  “That is open to discussion. As you know I made a great pretense in Spain, following in the footsteps of many other Europeans. The spirit must move me.”

  “I will see to that,” she said.

  Another thought crossed his brain: “I sought Caesar’s wife and I have ended with a female version of Attila the Hun.” And then, “Maybe we were made for each other! She is my lamb chop.”

  “So, nobody leave this room.” Guy went into the kitchen and brought out grocery bags to triple bag the heavy load of cash. “This tempting bundle is going directly to the bank. I’ll rent a deposit box, then keep a few of the coins for sale.”

  “You shouldn’t jostle them around so,” Mary said. “It takes away value.”

  “True, but the gold is gold.”

  The following day, Guy made the trip to Raleigh, the state capitol a few miles away, and came back with the astounding news that two pieces of Spanish gold had been enough to finance their trip to San Villafranca.

  “And pay for the citizenship and passports?” Courtney asked.

  “Yes. It was so easy that I suspect I was ripped off. I’m going to let Mary try to sell four doubloons on E-Bay.”

  “What’s E-Bay?” Percy asked.

  “What are you talking about?” María asked.

  “Yes, speak Spanish,” Doria chimed in.

  He told them in Spanish and English that he was going to use the telephone, charter a plane, call San Villafranca and make arrangements for their trip. With luck they could depart the following morning. Meanwhile, Mary would explain E-Bay.”

  Everyone was still tired and suffering a type of time-travel shock, so it was no pleasure to have their evening meal disturbed by a knock on the door. Guy was apprehensive, but decided to answer. It was Ed Kellerman, a doctoral candidate in Guy’s department and his chief rival at the university. He insisted on coming in, a bottle of wine in hand.

  “I heard you were back,” Kellerman said. “So I dropped by with a peace offering.”

  Guy was certain Kellerman was simply nosy about his early return. The man had no conscience and was certainly not a generous spirit. Guy accepted the wine and attempted to block Kellerman’s view, but he had already seen the visitors. “And who might these be?”

  A temptation to tell him it was none of his business was overcome and Guy said, “Visitors to campus. Actually re-enactors. They have studied the Armada era and I hope to get some sort of financial help for them to do a series of lectures.”

  “Well, welcome,” Kellerman said over Guy’s shoulder, then addressed them in Spanish. “I’d like to have a talk with you all.”

  “And they with you, but not tonight. We’re all tired and there are many details to attend to. We’ll get together soon.” Guy almost pushed Kellerman out the door. He was certain this weasel of a man smelled a rat. When he was gone, he told the group that getting legal was of major importance. They would leave for the airport in his and Mary’s cars at first light, even though the plane wouldn’t be ready until 8:30 a.m.

  Poncho bristled. He had met Kellerman more than once before and neither trusted nor liked the man. If he had good teeth he would be tempted to bite him. To calm himself the dog dwelled on the Zen thought that we are directly connected to, and dependent on, all living beings and everything that exists. Compassionate concern for the welfare of others and for the environment flow freely with this thought fixed in our mind.

  “I could take care of that one for you,” Jesus said, sensing Guy’s mood.

  “No, not that way, unless it becomes necessary. But thanks for the offer. Hang onto your dagger, but don’t carry it. With the money I see coming from these coins we have, you and Doria can have your own apartment soon.” He didn’t add that Doria would have to find something other than her old occupation. She had a certain magnetic charm about her, as did Jesus. They would have no problem making a go of it. Possibly an authentic Spanish restaurant.

  The flight to San Villafranca took only a few hours, and the process of fingerprinting, photographs, and selecting new birth dates went quickly by. Then they were told that a tattoo of San Villafranca’s coat of arms could be had in the next building for $35. Both Jesus and Doria thought that would be grand, and the group adjourned to the tattoo parlor accompanied by a member of the country’s foreign service who told them the history of the small island.

  The story goes that the first foreigners came on a longboat with a tattered lateen sail. They were deserters from the second voyage of Columbus, upset because the great captain had hung not only a favorite shipmate, but also the ship’s cook.

  On the island, they could eat by picking fruit from trees and netting fish and shellfish from the sea. Through the years they were joined by an assortment of pirates, would-be pirates, misfits from all nations and degenerate blackguards. It was a rich history and one of which the San Villafrancans were justly proud. So Guy’s people were welcomed warmly to the fold.

  The coat of arms itself was a complicated design that included the skull and crossbones, a couple of naked (of course) mermaids, three flasks representing distilled spirits and a cross to remind islanders forevermore of the importance of the confession.

  When the tattooing was done and Jesus and Doria sported large bandages over the wounds on their arms, which they had to keep sanitary for a couple of weeks, the group realized that Percy had vanished.

  There followed a frantic search since they were due back to the chartered aircraft. Finally, in the bar down the street, it was learned that Percy had asked and been given directions to a gay bar known as the Jewel Box.

  The afternoon sun was hot and the streets dusty and studded with palms, but the group plodded across the capitol city to that destination. But no Percy was to be seen either on a barstool or at a table. Upon inquiry, the bartender said, “You must mean that drunken man. He collapsed between the ATM and the men’s room. To much booze. I called the police and they hauled him off to the station. He’ll sleep it off.”

  Back on the dusty streets the group made their way to the police station where they found a multilingual sergeant on duty. San Villafrancans spoke a mixture of Spanish, French, English and Creole. Percy, they were told, was slumbering in the lockup.

  “It’s $500 a head for tourists to get out of jail,” the sergeant said with a twinkle.

  “How about citizens?” Guy asked.

  “Oh, we let them out free for just being drunk. It’s something of an island tradition. But I’ve never seen that man before. He was picked out of that gay bar and I’m familiar with most of the fags on the island. Definitely a tourista.”

  Guy had their documents, pulled out Percy’s passport and placed it in front of the sergeant. There was his picture, fingerprints, date of birth, a native and citizen of San Villafra
nca.”

  The sergeant gave Guy the fisheye, then rose wearily to his feet. “OK. You can have him if you can carry him.”

  In the cell, Jesus picked up Percy like a sack of flour and draped him across his broad shoulder.

  “We better get a couple of cabs and head for the airport,” Guy said, checking his watch. “I know you’re all going to miss your homeland, but there’s no avoiding it.”

  Percy woke up as they reached the U.S. coast. His head was splitting and he asked, “What was that stuff I was drinking?”

  Guy laughed. “They’ve made considerable progress in the distillation process since the 1500s. You better stick to malt beverages.”

  Back in the States, there was cash to get Courtney and Percy settled in an apartment in Mary’s building. Frenesi remained with Mary, and Jesus and Doria were pleased with the fold-out couch in Guy’s condo. Mary had work to do at UNC, and Guy was technically still on sabbatical. During odd hours they washed away culture shock with tours to the mall and Long John Silver’s. And there was a new world of confusing messages on TV.

  The newcomers were drilled as a team of re-enactors, veterans of the Armada era with rich details of everyday life and court life in the warring kingdoms. This was a historian’s dream come true.

  At one point Guy visited the UNC president to lay out his plan. He found that Ed Kellerman had been there before him.

  “Kellerman tells me you have a bunch of illegals in your apartment,” Dr. Falkner said before Guy had even begun his pitch.

  “I think Kellerman would like to chair my department,” Guy replied.

  “That’s obvious. He’s your standard sneak. But we can’t be keeping illegals who even appear to be sponsored by the university.”

  “They aren’t illegal. They’re citizens of San Villafranca and they are all experts on the Spanish Armada era. There are six of them, and they’ve worked up quite a routine that would amaze any university history department even slightly interested in that era.”

  “Check their papers, Guy. Kellerman’s out for blood. He said he was going to alert the immigration people just in case.”

  “Just in case,” Guy scoffed. “Just in case he wants my job, or just in case he’s a good citizen, or just in case he’s a weasel scumbag.”

  “Let’s just leave it at just in case. I’d sooner see Mary McKay head the department than Kellerman.”

  “Both are equally qualified,” Guy said. “Neither has a doctorate.”

  “Kellerman’s close. But if you assure me these folks are in the country legally, let’s talk about the dog-and-pony show.”

  “They are legal because there’s never been a visa agreement between the U.S. and San Villafranca. Citizens from both countries can come and go as they like.”

  “For limited periods of time.”

  “True. That could be a problem. They came over by private charter and there’s no record of their being here. But that doesn’t make them illegal.”

  “True. Go ahead with some sort of seminar for your department. We’ll put the word out faculty wide. I for one would like to sit in. As you know, history was my first love, and the story of the Armada is fascinating. It was an incredible adventure.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Guy said, rising to leave.

  “I’m ready to be educated,” Dr. Falkner said with a grin.

  For the next few days Guy was busy punching up the Armada routine and trying to clean the uniforms as best he could. Doña María would wear a period costume and appear as a Spanish noblewoman, a role she relished. Doria would dress as a common soldier’s wife. She thought it beneath her station, but would make the most of it. Of that, Guy was certain.

  Frenesi would play the role of Francisco, a male cadet, then surprise the audience at the end of the show by revealing her true sex. Guy was well pleased with the production and was confident the important question-and-answer session following the presentation would succeed.

  Then another cloud appeared on the horizon. Mary called to say the North Carolina attorney general’s office had contacted her about the four doubloons for sale on E-Bay. They were museum quality, and the bidding had reached an almost fantastic $40,000 each. A collector had alerted the authorities to the possibility that they might have been stolen.

  Guy was staggered by the offered price. “You must mean $40,000 for the lot.”

  “No,” Mary insisted. “I have good photos of the coins on the web, both sides. I offered them individually with the high bidder having the option to take one, two, three or all. The money’s there, Guy. That’s the way E-Bay works.”

  “That’s wonderful news. But proving ownership is something else. I suppose there should be some sort of invoice, sales receipt, whatever.”

  “Why not have an assistant attorney general come over, assemble the Armada crew, and let them explain.”

  Guy pondered how that might come out, but had to agree. He could think of no other solution. Mary said she would call and schedule a meeting either in Guy’s apartment, or if necessary in Raleigh, it was only a few miles away. It was agreed.

  About the same time Guy got a call from U.S. Immigration stating they had an anonymous report that he was harboring a flock of illegals.

  “That mysterious report comes from a UNC instructor named Ed Kellerman,” Guy said. “And the illegals are actually citizens of San Villafranca.”

  “I’m familiar with that corrupt little island,” the immigration agent said. “How long have they been in the States?”

  “Only a few days.”

  “The date’s stamped on their passports?”

  “No. They came over by private charter to a small private airport.”

  “That in itself is illegal if they failed to contact immigration.”

  “I don’t think they were aware of that.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We can deport them.”

  “But then they can return legally,” Guy said.

  “Not if their passports are stamped deported. It would take some doing to get around that.”

  “What’s the procedure?”

  “There will be a hearing. They must show up, or we’ll come looking for them.”

  “These are honest people. All scholastics. You name the date. I’ll be there with them. They have an important role to play in this country.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Guy’s head was swimming. Stolen coins and illegal aliens. Damn Kellerman and damn coin collectors. But the money! What a windfall. That night, Guy slipped away alone with Poncho under one arm. With the canine’s approval he had decided to discard the old name of Pierre forever.

  They found a cozy corner in a shadowy bar and Guy opened his heart to the dog. Poncho listened with interest. The dog thought the charge of stolen coins was capricious. If coins were stolen they would have to be stolen from someplace. So bring forward the true owner with his or her proof! The immigration mess was something else, but not beyond Poncho’s agile brain. He jumped to the chair across the table, placed his front paws on the table and stared at his master. Guy stared back, stopping now and then only for a sip of beer.

  The waitress dropped by. “What are you two guys up to? You dating a dog, professor?”

  Guy laughed. “No. It’s an unusual dog and he’s trying to convince me to buy him a drink. Would you bring him a saucer of red wine?”

  “You kidding?”

  “No. Merlot will do. But nothing too sweet.”

  “You got it. He’s an adorable little fella.”

  A day later Guy sold a few of the English coins to a local dealer and booked a commercial flight for himself to San Villafranca. He would try to pull another rabbit out of the hat.

  In the next few days the group seemed to come together. They expanded their shopping tours to Wall-Mart and the mall at nearby Durham. They hiked in a park owned by Duke University and strolled the campus area at NCU, stopping occasionally at campus hangout bars.

  Guy, Mary and eve
n Courtney were ever watchful to keep Lord Percy under control. Guy had more than one fatherly talk stressing the risk of death with AIDs and explaining safe sex. The eight plus Poncho would often have dinner together at Guy’s place, sometimes cooking Spanish dishes, shying away from English suggestions and trying to eat before the Spanish preferred dinner hour of 10 p.m. to midnight.

  Guy managed to drag Doña María to a doctor on the promise that the two of them would confer with an RC priest regarding their pending marriage.

  Poncho had been right about the coins. The assistant attorney general, faced with four Spaniards and two Brits from San Villafranca who told them the coins had been in their families for generations, could only puzzle who the coins might have been stolen from. So he gave them a clean bill of health. He issued one caveat: The Internal Revenue Service would take a lively interest in their profits.