Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866)

by Havig, Chautona

  “Justice—revenge. We give others what the law cannot or will not.”

  “But if the law does not agree—”

  “The law can be corrupted by power and wealth. Innocents can be tortured like Hector or killed like—others that I have known. Someone must advocate for the helpless. I do this, Sebastian. I do it.”

  “You cannot do it better from within Europe than so far away over here?”

  “I will not be helping many Europeans anymore, I grant you. However, I imagine that there are those here who are imposed upon by the governors from Spain, Portugal, or France. I will be their advocate and restore their fortunes.”

  “Is that why you only fired on Spanish ships on our way here? I heard Hector complaining, but Spain took his fortune, did it not?”

  “That is correct. Why should Portugal or France pay for the sins of their enemy? I did not steal from Spain to further my own lust for gold. I stole to return that which was already taken…” He shrugged, with a hint of chagrin. “Well, and for a fee. I must be able to feed my crew and provide for my son. I consider it interest.”

  He had not asked in many years what caused his mother’s death. Rumors about the ship had left him with various theories—foremost being that she died in childbirth. Now he wondered if there was more to it than that. “Papa?”

  “Yes?”

  “What—that is, how did my mama die?”

  The moment he asked the question, Sebastian regretted it. The pained look in Nicolo’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped and his hands shook as he moved to sit on the bed told Sebastian that some things should not be asked. Perhaps someday he would know but not today.

  “I can’t talk about it, son. Someday, maybe, but I don’t—I can’t—”

  “I’m sorry, Papa. I’ve heard so many things, but it doesn’t matter. You loved her… didn’t you?”

  “That I did, Sebastian. I can’t talk about it, but know that I did love her more than anything or anyone—except perhaps you.”

  The look in his father’s eyes cut him. He left the cabin, calling out that he’d return in just a moment, and ran for his charred stick. He slowed after nearly impaling himself as he tripped over his own feet.

  “Look what I can draw.”

  It felt like a diversionary tactic—perhaps because it was—but it worked. Nicolo watched with apparent interest as Sebastian drew the hull, deck, masts, sails, and even oars of the ship. The oars didn’t have the polish or accuracy of other elements of the drawing, but the rest looked very good, even to his own inexperienced eyes.

  “That is very good. What do you think is wrong with those oars?”

  “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.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  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.”

  Hours later, Hector stood on deck, staring out to sea. He didn’t turn when a shadow appeared next to him. “It went well, I think.”

  “Will they welcome you, or will they tolerate you?”

  “At first,” he admitted, “I think they might have merely tolerated me. They do not seem inclined to harm, but they have been attacked. They are suspicious—or were.”

  “Were?” Nicolo’s voice sounded excited.

  “By the time I left, I felt as if I had formed tentative friendships with a few of the men, and the governor said he would be thankful for any aid you offered in case of pirate raids.”

  “He knows that if you come to harm, we will slaughter them…”

  “I think that frightens him the most. Should I get a strange fever here or killed by an animal or spider, no matter how innocent, it will seem suspect.”

  “That is my goal. They will fight to protect you for that reason.” Nicolo turned, leaned against the railing, and crossed his arms. “Without that kind of provision, if someone sees where you have hidden your money, they will kill you for it, or say something to someone else who will. I cannot leave you unprotected.”

  “You will visit often then?”

  “For the first few years, yes. Once you’ve made good friendships and the settlement has grown—you are an essential part of this place—then I will come less often, until I hear you have died. I will go to the governor and tell him I want everyone in their homes for twelve hours or I will ransack and destroy every inch of it. During that time, I will take your money and leave.”

  “How will—”

  Malo, one of the large African rowers, stepped close and interrupted. “I would like to stay. I would like to be Senor Hector’s overseer. I want off the boats, and I can protect him.”