"Maneuvering one of these hulks in a light gale with empty cargo holds takes ten years off a helmsman’s life. Trying to keep her upright in winds that can tear the skin off your face would have been near impossible." He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Even if she took in all her sails she would have had no choice but to go where the weather took her."
Eva watched, quietly fascinated as he moved his finger around the chart, muttering calculations to himself, arguing against several possible conclusions and formulating more.
"Three days and three nights in heavy wind. Add to that, in a storm there is no difference between the sea and the sky, they're both gray, with no stars, no sun for navigation."
Eva watched his fingers tapping the chart. She followed them to his wrist and up his sleeve, then from the bearded chin to the profile he presented as he partially turned to gaze out the gallery window. Most of the damage to his face was on the left side, and she found herself contemplating the fact that he might actually be quite handsome under all the fuzz and bruising. She had noticed earlier, when he had yawned widely, that he was missing a tooth on the rear upper left, but the rest were white and even. His hair could benefit from a good washing and a sharp pair of scissors, but the chestnut waves were thick and fell in a natural curl to his broad shoulders.
It was difficult not to think of the two times she had been cradled in those arms and held against that chest. The first time she had been addled by fear and half-drowned, but the second time... last night... when he had lifted her and carried her to the bed, there was no mistaking that he was all solid muscle.
She sat a little straighter and moistened her lips. "Does that mean you believe me now, Captain? You believe my coin is real and that my father may have found the lost treasure ship?"
"It wasn't that I did not believe you, I just..."
"Did not believe me."
He turned toward her and laid his hands flat on the chart again. "Mistress Chandler... when you have lived in this firepit of rumors and tales of lost ships, of ghost ships and treasure galleons found in ten feet of clear water, yes, you tend to become a bit of a skeptic. And you must admit your story was more than a little fantastical. A letter from a baker's son. Coins sent in a wax disks. A merchant turned treasure hunter. A beautiful woman sailing three thousand leagues on her own to find him."
She smiled shyly and touched the oily tangle of her hair. "Hardly beautiful, Captain. More like the little squirrel you called me yesterday."
"I called you a squirrel?"
"Yes, you did."
He grunted softly under his breath and tried not to stare at her mouth like a gawping schoolboy. The smile had changed the entire composition of her face and revealed dimples in both cheeks.
"I am not saying I discounted the story entirely, but you must see why I had more questions than answers. And I still do, for that matter."
"But at least you believe me now," she said.
"Let us just say I am less skeptical."
"For someone to have sketched the coin," she pointed to the Spaniard's letter, "would that not imply that someone else has seen some of the treasure salvaged from the Nuestro Santisimo Victorio? Someone who has held one of the coins, has studied it long enough to note all the markings? Markings which you, yourself, said would be unique to those minted specially for the king's portion of the treasure."
He peered at her across the desk. "I also tend to dislike people who throw my own words at me."
Eva could not help but grin again at his sour expression. "It only proves that I listen to everything you say, Captain, and that I consider everything you say to be of immense value."
He growled softly, detecting more sarcasm than flattery. "Consider this then: Supposing the Victorio was indeed, ahead of the fleet, and supposing she was blown off course, but not west, as was originally supposed, but in an easterly, circular direction."
Eva leaned forward as he swirled his finger across the chart.
"The storm was monstrous and, according to my father, came up fast during the dark of night and struck with little warning. If the almirante was caught on the outer edge of the maelstrom and if they were blown into the Providence Channel and carried south, they might have ended up in the approximate area where we are now—" his finger traced a line down a wide passage marked as The Tongue of the Ocean and paused where more wavey lines were marked with big letters warning of a jagged reef. It followed alongside the large island of Espiritu Santu, which was shaped rather like a drooping sleeve that had been broken into three main sections.
His finger stopped and he stared hard at the chart. One of his pistols was snugged against the rolled end, holding the side flat. He moved the gun aside and used his hand to smooth out the rest of the rolled sheet, showing more of the area.
Whatever memory had caused his frown to deepen suddenly, it had no chance to surface, for in the next instant young Eduardo, flushed and panting, burst through the door without bothering to knock.
"Trouble on deck, Cap'n. Master Stubs said to fetch you and damn the pox."
Gabriel scraped to his feet, nearly tipping the chair backward. His hands came up off the chart letting the unweighted side spin back into a tight roll.
His first damning thought had to do with the threat of mutiny Stubs had warned him about, and although he did not want to believe it of his crew, he snatched up his pistols and tucked them into his waist.
"Stay here," he ordered Eva as he strode to the door. "Throw the bolt and let no one in but me, is that clear?"
She managed a quick nod before he was gone. She hurried to the door and slid the iron bolt across, then looked up at the wooden ceiling as the weight of pounding footsteps on the deck above sent a glistening flurry of dust motes falling through the crevices.
~~
Gabriel followed Eduardo up onto the quarterdeck, half-expecting to see the crew broken out in fisticuffs. Instead he saw Stubs at the rail, calmly staring through the spyglass he held to his eye.
"Topman saw 'em. Four ships, low on the horizon, northeast off the stern."
Dante felt a flush of relief course through his veins as Eduardo handed him his own glass. "Four ships, you say?"
"Aye, comin' on fast."
Gabriel snapped his spyglass open and focussed on the distant horizon. He had to scan the sharp edge of the sea a moment before he saw them: Four tiny pyramids of white sail presenting their silhouettes against the blue sky.
"Double-masted," Gabriel murmured, "and riding high in the water. India guards?"
"Pretty far out of Havany to be a patrol."
Gabriel nodded grimly. "They could be hunting."
He looked up at the Endurance's sails, which were barely holding a curve in the light wind.
"Four knots," Stubs supplied, guessing the next question. "Wind started fallin' off bout an hour ago."
"They have undoubtedly seen us and...yes... look... two of them are peeling away to come have a look."
"Three," Stubs grunted, noting the third galleon beginning to turn.
The ships were much smaller and faster than the Endurance and Gabriel knew he could not outrun them, not with the wind dropping off. He swung the glass forward, searching the sea ahead. "I don't suppose...?"
"Ha'n't seen the Rose since day afore yesterday. Cap'n Juliet likely 'as her almost at the Cay by now."
"Another day," Dante muttered. "One more day of clear sailing was all we needed. How do we stand for shot and powder?"
"Plenty o' both, an' ye've heard the men runnin' through drills so they know the lay o' the guns. Won't be the first time we've been outnumbered."
Dante glanced down into the belly of the main deck. Most of the men were there, leaning on the rails, or hanging like insects from the shroud lines. All of them were silent, looking to him for orders... or answers. Some undoubtedly were thinking this was just one more curse against them for bringing the girl on board.
He had to quash that before he could deal with anything else.
"We all knew this was a possibility," he said loudly, moving to the quarterdeck rail. "We all knew the Spanish would set their dogs after us. But we have silver in our holds, gentlemen. Twelve crates full, Master Stubs tells me. And I for one will be damned before I hand it back without a fight. We earned our prize, by God. You earned it and I say here and now that I relinquish my captain's share so that it can be divided equally among the most loyal and brave crew I have ever had the pleasure and honor to lead."
Those with a head for figures were first to lose their sullen expressions and raise their voices and fists in a cheer. A ship's captain was entitled to six full shares of any captured booty, which amounted to seventy percent of the prize. The quartermaster received one and a half shares, the master gunner and lesser officers accounted for another share, with the remainder... usually less than five percent of the total... divided amongst the crew.
As the excited whispers and murmurings spread, more voices joined in the cheering and foot stomping.
Dante raised his hands to call for silence.
"Our biggest advantage at the moment is the fact we look like one of their own. If we can keep up that appearance, they might just sail on their way." He turned to Stubs. "What did we do with the helmets and armor?"
"Eh?"
"Helmets? Armor? Surely we captured enough Spanish clothing and armor to outfit the men?" He turned back to address the newly galvanized crew. "I want every man on deck to be in scarlet or black and looking as Imperial as possible. Have the sheet taken off the stern and give light to her original gloriously gilded name, the Santa Maria. Haul the Catholic canvas onto the mainmast and put up the Spaniard's colors along with the king's leopards, but keep ours handy in case our little ruse goes sour and we need to bare our teeth."
Another cheer went up before the groups of crewmen broke apart and scrambled to obey the orders.
Dante watched a moment, breathing through another small wave of relief, then heard Stubs come up beside him.
He was smirking. "Clever, that. They'll be thinkin' o' silver not the pox.”
“We all need incentive at times. Eduardo!"
"Here, Captain!"
Dante glanced over his shoulder. Eduardo had just passed his thirteenth birthday and was one of Geoffrey Pitt’s twelve children. He bore a striking resemblance to his Spanish mother, Christiana, with his dark eyes and olive complexion. Despite his age, he had been in the thick of the battle with the Spanish fleet. He had been tied in the shrouds alongside his crewmates and used as a human shield by his captors, yet not once had he faltered, whimpered, or shed a tear, all three of which some of the grown men had done.
"Aye, Captain?"
"Return to my cabin. There is a Spanish signal book on the desk; fetch it and bring it here. If those ships come closer enough to challenge us, we will need to know what flags to raise in response."
"Aye sir." The boy turned and bolted back down the ladderway.
"Stubs, have the master gunner, Giddings, order all able hands on deck and gun crews at their posts, but tell them to keep low and do not open the outer ports until I give the word. Master Rowly!"
The helmsman stepped smartly forward. "Aye, sir!"
"How much speed can you give me?"
The bristled face creased deeply with concern. "She's bottom heavy an' slow to give ye what ye want... much like my fourth... or were it fifth wife?" He chuckled, snorted. "Sails were set all wrong but I've had the lads working on the rigging. Strung some new lines, loosened some cleats and pins so we have a bit o’ play. Even so, she'll not move above four knots, not in this lack o' wind."
"I want six."
"Impossible, sir! We've used every trick we know to adjust the sails shy of takin' the yards apart pin by nail and rebuilding them!"
"Six knots, Master Rowlandson." Dante clapped the stout Scotsman on the shoulder to cut short another protest. "Do your best."
"Sir!" Eduardo was back, panting and out of breath. "The lady won't open the door. She says them were your orders, to keep it locked. Says she has a loaded gun and knows how to use it."
Dante closed his eyes briefly, realizing that Eva would have no way of knowing what 'trouble' had brought him on deck. "Very well, I'll fetch it myself. Stubs...?"
The quartermaster was already relaying Dante's orders to the gunners. They, in turn, swarmed to obey, stowing any loose objects like casks, buckets, and hammocks. Each cannon had a crew of eight men, the youngest assigned to fetch shot and powder, loading the former into the brass monkey's that crouched beside each monstrous gun. Buckets of sand and ash were filled and placed beside the gun carriages, ready to be spread across the decking to keep them from becoming slippery with blood. Pikes, grappling hooks, and cutlasses were stacked against the gunwales. The Dante colors of crimson and black were lowered and those belonging to the former Spanish commander were run up in their stead. The main foresail was quickly furled and tied and twenty men working in unison replaced it with the canvas sheet bearing the Catholic red cross. The sail was riddled from shot, like a sieve, but from a distance it might pass.
~~
Dante left the remaining preparations in Stubs hands and returned to his cabin. He rapped twice on the door and rattled the latch. "Let me in, if you please."
"Who is it?"
"The captain of this ship, madam, now open the door and let me in before my boot does it for you."
He heard the bolt sliding through the lock and this time when he tried the iron latch, the door swung open. Eva was standing in the middle of the cabin. Her eyes were wide and dark, her face pale as snow apart from two burnished spots high on her cheeks. The pistol she was holding was aimed straight and true for the center of his chest; the serpentine hammer was cocked, the pan brimmed with powder.
For a very long moment, neither one of them moved.
"Eva," he said gently, "you are perfectly safe, you can put the gun down."
"The boy said there was trouble on deck," she whispered. "I heard a lot of footsteps and shouting. You were gone so long, I thought..."
"I can imagine what you thought, but I can assure you the crew has other things on its mind than feeding the sharks. The trouble young Eduardo referred to is four Spanish galleons on our beam."
"Spanish galleons?"
Slowly, by inches, she lowered the pistol. Her hand, steady up to then, started to tremble as if the weight of the gun had suddenly become too much to bear. Dante stepped quickly forward and caught the heavy weapon before it slipped out of her hand, and in the next instant found himself being hugged by a quivering, shaking armload of femininity. He wrapped one arm around her while he uncocked the pistol and deposited it on the desk, then he wrapped his other around and held her secure against his body.
"I didn't know what to think," she said, her voice muffled against the padding of his doublet. "I had visions of the door bursting open and men dragging me to the rail and tossing me overboard."
He unwrapped one arm and tucked a finger under her chin to tilt her face up to his. Her eyes were huge and dark, shimmering with tears, so full of fear it made his heart trip and skip over a beat.
What he did next was not planned, nor was it likely the wisest thing to do, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the moment and so he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
Eva gasped softly at the touch of his lips. Throwing herself into his arms had been purely a reaction to the relief she felt seeing him standing there instead of angry crewmen come to throw her overboard. Feeling his lips on hers, she should have flinched back, should have pulled away, but instead, her hands tightened around his shoulders and she kissed him back. It was only when he pulled away himself that she realized what she had done.
She touched shaking fingertips to her lips and felt her blush grow hotter.
"I am so sorry, Captain. I... I don't know what came over me. I don't usually act so... so foolish."
He smiled crookedly, not entirely certain what had come over himself.
"No need to apologize. I'm just glad you didn't shoot me when I came in."
"Oh." She glanced at the gun on the desk. "Yes, well… I didn't know what to expect. Or who to expect. And I am truly tired of playing the helpless victim and I vowed not to be dragged out of here without putting a hole in someone first."
Dante arched an eyebrow, recalling his first impression of Eva Chandler, seeing her sitting with her back stiff and her ankles primly touching. He had envisioned her in a courtly drawing room sipping tea out of tiny cups. After only two days in her company he was coming to realize there was more to this slender wisp of a girl than he had supposed.
His thoughts were interrupted, thankfully so, by the sound of a commotion in the companionway. Eduardo came into the cabin with another lad, the pair carrying a heavy sea chest between them.
“Master Stubs said to bring it here.” Eduardo puffed out a breath as they set the chest at the foot of the bed. He opened the wooden lid and began laying out various articles of clothing: white silk stockings, pleaded scarlet-and-black slashed trunkhose with a red peascod doublet that descended in a deep vee in front and ended with an aggrandized codpiece striped in gold. Two embroidered sleeves along with a starched white neck ruff were added to the pile, as was a velvet pillow cap with a long white feather.
“Cap’n is going to look a treat in these,” Eduardo whispered through a giggle, holding up the ribboned garters used to tie the stockings.
“I heard that,” Gabriel said, looking up from the entry he was making in his logbook. “And I will expect both of you to be all prettied up with just as much pomp and frivolity. Off with the pair of you now. Be on deck in ten minutes looking like Spanish blow-boys.”
The lads ran out, managing to hold their laughter in check until they had exited the cabin.
The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) Page 11
