by Anne B. Cole
Lorenzo’s mouth dropped.
“Two Russian boys. The oldest is fifteen. Both are smaller than you,” Jozef added with apprehension as Lorenzo slid out of the cell and drew himself upright. Peter grabbed his arm to steady him. Standing was incredibly difficult.
“Lubber is the captain of the ship. He is smart but has three faults—greed, arrogance, and love of rum. We will mutiny after his afternoon tea. I’ll be adding the sugar,” Jozef added with a snicker.
Lorenzo wondered exactly what Jozef was going to add and if he had enough to poison them as well.
“I have the book,” Jozef mumbled to Peter.
“Where?” Peter demanded.
“Hidden on deck. I replaced it with one that I bought in Athens.”
“Prove it,” Peter growled.
“In due time, my friend.” Jozef took a step toward the stairs, then turned back to them. “Old Benny is mending a sail. Lubber’s at the wheel. Once he feels the effects of his ‘sweetened tea,’ we’ll strike. Listen for my signal. It is one, then two quick blows on deck. God be with you.”
Jozef left them free, with the key dangling on the rusty nail. Lorenzo slid against the wall to the wooden floor, exhausted.
“Do you trust him?” Lorenzo muttered, wondering about the contents of this book.
“I have nothing to lose and everything to gain,” Peter declared.
“Who says Jozef won’t kill you after he takes over the ship?” Lorenzo needed to show Peter he wasn’t naïve or stupid.
“Who says I am not going to kill him first?” Peter flashed a wicked grin.
“Do you trust me?” Lorenzo searched Peter’s dark eyes for honesty.
“A young American sailor whose stupidity got him into this hell hole?” Peter laughed. “Trust? No, but you’re in bad shape, so we’re in this together.”
“What about this Captain Lubber?” Lorenzo inquired.
“His mates call him, Captain. Others insult him with the name Lubber, but never to his face.”
“I want my cut,” Lorenzo said bluntly, ignoring the pain coursing through his chest.
Peter avoided his stare. “If Jozef has the book, we must act fast. He cannot read the language. Once he has the information needed to find the treasure, he may try to get rid of us.”
Lorenzo eyed Peter suspiciously, sweat beaded on his brow.
“You have my word. We’ll split the loot equally, three ways if Jozef stays true.” Peter offered his hand and Lorenzo shook, sealing the deal.
Chapter 4
Mutiny
“Lubber’s coming.” Peter shoved Lorenzo back into the cell, then reached for the padlock.
“No.” Lorenzo pushed the lock beyond Peter’s fingertips. Boots thudded down the steps as Lorenzo nodded to the wall where the key hung. Peter slid his leg over the lock.
“Sssstuuupid fools.” The pirate kicked the bars, jarring every battered bone in Lorenzo’s body. “Stuuupid, stupid fools.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Captain. I do apologize for my actions. As for the boy, you’re right. He is quite stupid.”
Lubber growled, slurping from a teacup. Lorenzo took a ragged breath, opening his eyes to the fullest extent the swelling allowed. Bracing himself against another blow, he dared to scrutinize the pirate.
Eyes, black as coal, darted around the room. Dark, stringy hair, hung to his shoulders. A tattered scar, running along his left cheekbone gave him a frightening appearance, with a hint of fallibility. Gold rings graced his fingers, and an assortment of chains adorned his neck. His attire was a hodgepodge of mismatched articles topped with a featherless Spanish Capitano. Lorenzo’s heart thudded at the sight of fine, black boots, poised to displace yet another one of his ribs.
Lifting the cup with his pinky extended, Lubber daintily held it between his forefinger and thumb, admiring the hand-painted yellow flowers around the brim. Tea, not grog, scented the air. Lorenzo mentally compared him to a cross between the infamous sixteenth-century Barbarossa and Mad King George III.
“Thirsty?” Lubber offered his cup.
Peter eyed Lorenzo, then hesitantly reached his right hand through the bars. The cup grated against the rusty iron, shattering the delicate china. Peter groaned as he jerked his hand back into the cell, revealing a large shard embedded in his palm. He yanked it out, clutching his hand to his chest.
Lubber howled uncontrollably and staggered smack into a thick beam adjacent to the cell. “Excuse me,” he muttered then realized it was a wall, and remembered he had an audience. “War. British, French, Spaniards, the hell with all of them. I own this sea.” He stumbled backwards, deposited himself on a crate, and stared into the air. A minute passed. Just as Peter shifted to escape, Lubber’s dark eyes blinked.
“Power is revealed in times of war.” Lubber stood, clicked his boots together in attention, drew his sword, and poked it through the bars at Peter’s chest. Sniggering at Peter’s ashen face, he withdrew, placing it back in its hilt.
“Power is also in the written word, waiting to be revealed.” He slipped a black book from his coat and leaned his pointy nose through the bars. “While those fools battle each other, I will reap the wealth of my sea. Read, sailor boy.” He grabbed Lorenzo by the neck and thrust the book into his face. Peter braced the unlocked cell door closed with his foot.
“Speak,” Lubber demanded, “or are ye sssstupid?”
Lorenzo scowled. He glanced at the title, weighing his options. The book, written in German, was well-known and definitely not material read by pirates.
“Go on, boy,” Peter encouraged.
“Read, American,” the pirate growled.
The words etched on the cover in gold sparkled in the dim light. Lorenzo took a deep breath. “Children’s and Household Tales,” his voice rang distant, sounding quite unlike his own.
Peter waited for Lubber’s reaction, holding his breath in anticipation.
Lubber released his grip. Squaring his shoulders, he tucked the book back into his coat. “A proper sacrifice, one of strength, intelligence and beauty,” he mumbled, appearing even more dazed. “You see, fools, the treasure we are all after is cursed. A worthy sacrifice of one man and one untouched woman must be made before anyone may claim it.” A smile crept on his face. “In Rhodes, I will trade one of you for a beautiful maiden. Either way,” he hiccupped, “dismal outlook for you both.” Lubber took a step, then teetered. He remained upright, staggering his way to the stairs. Holding on to the wall for support, he climbed back on deck. Peter relaxed, allowing the door to open.
“Do you think he drank enough tea?” Peter whispered.
“Doubtful.”
“You know the language the book is written in?” Peter glanced at Lorenzo’s blonde hair and fair skin before crawling out of the cell.
“Some,” he lied. Feeling guilty, he continued with the truth, “My grandmother read the same book to me when I was about nine or ten. She was born in Germany.”
“Lubber knows several languages: Arabic, Greek, Italian, English. I don’t know about German.” Peter smiled. “He needs you to translate.”
Sweat dripped down Lorenzo’s face. He wondered how he was going to translate words he could not read. His grandmother had read that book to him, but not in German. Peter helped Lorenzo out of the cell, then poked around the hold. He picked up the broken handle of the teacup. It was sharp, their only weapon.
Lorenzo dragged himself to a crate, which contained full bottles of wine. He picked one up and extracted the cork. Peter looted other crates and then joined him with a round of cheese. Using the broken handle, he cut a hunk for himself and one for Lorenzo.
“We need a sword or a dagger,” Peter uttered, his mouth crammed full.
Lorenzo took a bite and scanned the opposite wall. Nets covered
several barrels and crates, which were crammed under the stairs. Following his gaze, Peter took a swig of wine and scrambled over, pushing the nets off. Two rats scuttled out from behind the crates. One dashed across the floor. The other ran straight up Peter’s leg. Lorenzo chuckled when Peter let out a low howl, flinging the varmint to the floor. The creature’s claws scratched the floorboards, which suddenly slanted hard port side.
Clunk! Lorenzo’s head slammed against the ship’s side. Dazed, he watched a barrel, nets, and the rat sliding toward him. Peter clutched the stack of crates and knocked two over. Oranges spilled, pelting Lorenzo’s already battered body. The rat climbed over Lorenzo’s chest. He flung it off as chaos filled the musty air. The ship righted, then overcorrected, sliding its contents and the squealing rat to the other side. When the listing ceased, Lorenzo spotted an oar. Using it as a crutch, he took a step toward Peter. Gasping for air, he lunged over the oar, clutched his ribs, and hacked up blood.
Suddenly, a vile stench of stale rum and smoke filled the air. Terror replaced his pain. He knew without looking that Old Benny towered above him.
The pirate roared in Arabic, then hissed in English. “Trying to escape, are ye?” This display actually made Lubber appear pleasant. Now he knew why the floorboards smelled like urine. “Didn’t get beaten enough on shore?”
Old Benny’s huge hands curled into fists. Lorenzo swung the oar hard at his knees. The pirate didn’t flinch. Lorenzo fell to the floor, avoiding the first punch. Old Benny loomed above, brandishing a dagger. Glass and wine crashed into his turban. The pirate landed hard beside Lorenzo. The dagger sunk deep into the floorboard, inches from his cheek. Peter tossed the broken bottleneck to the floor.
“Waste of good wine,” he muttered and hauled Lorenzo to his feet. “Alert Jozef. I’ll take care of Old Benny.” Peter dragged the disoriented pirate toward the cell while Lorenzo grabbed the dagger and struck the deck boards above his head three times with his trusty oar.
Swords clanged above.
Lubber roared, “Benny, get up here and take the wheel.”
Lorenzo climbed to the top of the steps. Jozef was battling his captain, sweat pouring down his face. Lubber appeared amused, parrying blows with ease. Even in Lubber’s semi-drugged state, Jozef was no match.
Across the deck, two young pirates untied a small boat. Taking advantage of the opportunity, they made their escape. Lorenzo grinned. Three down, one to go.
“How do you desire to perish, quickly or slowly?” Lubber taunted.
“Your concern should not be for me but for the whereabouts of the book,” Jozef sneered.
Sword blades scraped, then locked. Lubber’s eyes narrowed. He pushed Jozef hard, landing him on his back. Crouching behind the mast, Lorenzo prepared himself to attack.
“Get up here, Benny,” Lubber roared. He lost his footing when the ship listed.
Jozef scrambled to his feet, pointing his sword back at Lubber. Neither Peter nor Benny emerged from the hold. The wheel remained unattended. Jozef’s eyes caught Lorenzo’s. He advanced with renewed strength. Stepping out from behind the mast, Lorenzo clenched his oar for support.
Lubber parried. With each powerful blow, Jozef backed up until he reached the rail. A flick of Lubber’s wrist sent Jozef’s sword sailing overboard into the water. Lorenzo froze as Lubber’s sword pierced the threads of Jozef’s thin shirt.
“He has the book.” A shaky finger pointed in Lorenzo’s direction.
Pathetically propped up on the oar, Lorenzo didn’t have the strength to run. Jozef’s shirt was starting to show blood where the tip of Lubber’s sword had cut his skin.
“You.” The vein in Lubber’s temple pulsed. “Where is my book?” he demanded, shaking his head to clear his vision.
Lorenzo stumbled and repositioned the oar with a soft thud on the deck. The signal. He hit the deck twice more, praying Peter would help. Lubber guffawed at the sight.
“I don’t have it.” Lorenzo leaned against the oar, pushing two ribs back into place before taking another breath. “But I know where it is.”
Lubber became infuriated at Lorenzo’s arrogance. He took his sword off Jozef, walking briskly in Lorenzo’s direction. Jozef slumped to the deck.
“Where is my book?” Lubber repeated, pressing the sword’s cool blade against Lorenzo’s throat.
“In your coat, my captain,” Lorenzo replied. An odd sense of calmness waved over him.
Lubber clutched his breast pocket. Relief spread across his face before he raised the sword to the tip of Lorenzo’s nose. “Of course it is.”
Lorenzo inhaled the scent of the steel blade that was sure to end his life. “My orders, captain?” The words rolled off his tongue as the dagger slipped from his hand in surrender.
Lubber began to snicker. He lowered his sword, sticking the point into the deck before theatrically leaning against it. “My orders, captain?” he mocked, slipping as the blade buckled under his weight. The boat rocked, sliding the dagger toward Jozef.
“It appears you need a crew.” Lorenzo viewed the sea, pretending to ignore Lubber’s clumsiness. The two Russian boys rowed furiously in the far distance.
Lubber straightened, adjusting his coat. He placed a hand on Lorenzo’s shoulder. “Aye, my fool of an American. But you stole my rum.” He grabbed Lorenzo’s arm and shoved his back against the side of the ship, laughing triumphantly. He twirled the sword, then slammed the hilt into Lorenzo’s ribs. Lorenzo crumpled to the deck in horrific pain.
Lubber faced Jozef. “Now, what did you find? A sword against a dagger,” he drawled. “A captain against a pathetic, mutinous sailor?” Jozef raised the dagger higher in defense. “What do you say American, two minutes?” He withdrew a gold timepiece from his pocket, frowning as if it didn’t work.
Lorenzo’s injuries took their toll. He didn’t have two minutes. The pain began to diminish, yet the ability to breathe escaped him. If this was death, he truly welcomed it. Within a hazy fog, Lorenzo heard the clash of a sword against Jozef’s blade. Lubber’s relentless taunting faded into the distance.
“Coward,” A voice sounded directly in front of Lorenzo. He searched and saw nothing. His spirit detached and hovered above his battered body.
“Go back,” the firm voice demanded.
An unseen force pushed Lorenzo back into his body as a wave of urgency flowed through him.
“Why?” Lorenzo called.
Silence.
Lorenzo found himself on the deck, doubled over with the oar under his right leg and arm. Horrific pain returned, throbbing through every inch of his body.
Jozef backed away from Lubber, brushing Lorenzo’s shoulder with his boot. He waited until Jozef passed, then thrust the oar out, tripping the pirate. Lubber nimbly caught himself, then laughed. Lorenzo expected another blow to the ribs, welcomed one that would send him back to the pain free darkness. Then, he could tell the faceless voice to go to hell. No doubt he would meet him there.
Lubber chortled, “Oh, but excuse me, American.” He turned to Jozef. “Now, fight like a man, or I’ll take you down piece by piece. Very painfully, I might add.”
“Piece by piece, you say?” a familiar voice from across the deck called out.
All heads turned as Peter stood by the steps wielding a long, curved brass sword. Lubber jumped back, avoiding Jozef’s attempted lunge.
“You interrupted my play,” Lubber called. With little effort, he flicked Jozef’s dagger across the deck, placing the sword on his chest. “Sorry, mate.” He tipped his hat before thrusting the blade through. Lorenzo watched Jozef’s eyes bulge as he crumpled to the deck. Lubber took out his watch. “Minute and a half.” He glanced at Peter with a crooked smile. “I give you one minute.” He placed a foot on Jozef’s chest, pulling out the sword. Jozef took in a gurgling breath as blood poured out of his chest
and trickled from his mouth.
Lubber eyed Peter as he stepped over Lorenzo. It didn’t take long for Lorenzo to see that Peter was twice the swordsman as Jozef. With determination, he dragged himself to the dying man. Jozef reached a hand into his coat, drawing out a black book, slightly more worn than Lubber’s.
“My share, give it to my sister, Tatiana, in Milos.” He thrust the book at Lorenzo, staring hard into his eyes until life within him ceased.
“I will.” Lorenzo lowered Jozef’s eyelids. He propped himself up against the side of the ship before gazing at the book. A hand suddenly snatched it from him so fast he leapt to his feet despite searing pain. Lorenzo gasped in amazement when he realized no one was near him.
“Gold,” the word sounded faint but clear. Lorenzo looked down into Jozef’s wide, open eyes, then at the book in a bloody hand. “Bands. Find the bands.”
“What?” Lorenzo knelt down.
“Iron,” Jozef mumbled.
Gold, bands, iron. This made no sense to Lorenzo. “Where’s the gold?” He shook Jozef by the shoulders.
Lubber and Peter parried toward them. Metal clashed. Sweat poured off both. Lubber deflected blow after blow. He worked much harder than he had to against Jozef, yet confidence remained on his scarred face. The two passed, continuing their battle toward the stern.
“Where’s the gold?” Lorenzo repeated.
Jozef thrust the book at him. “Promise.”
At that precise moment, an unearthly shriek rang in Lorenzo’s ears. Lubber’s sword clanged to the deck. The pirate appeared shocked as if this was the first time he ever lost a duel. Peter backed him to the rail, placing his sword on the captain’s chest.
“The book,” Peter demanded in a voice so frightening Lubber fell to his knees.
Overhead, a parrot screeched, then flew from the foremast to the shoulder of its master standing at the top of the stairs. Old Benny seethed with anger and waved a gun in Peter’s direction. Blood and wine stained his shirt and face. The pirate screamed in Arabic as he strode to Peter. Lorenzo slumped over Jozef as Old Benny’s boot brushed his leg.
