The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) (14 page)

Instead of answering right away he smoothed the lower half of the letter flat so that she could see the rough sketch that filled one of the quadrants. Eva did not need to open the locket to know the drawing was almost an exact replica of her Spanish escudo.

"Or... it could mean the sharks have already begun circling.”

CHAPTER TEN

Gabriel spent the remainder of the morning pouring over charts, making calculations in his head, drawing sketches of wind and water currents. More than once he wished Geoffrey Pitt was on board, for the man had sailed the Carribee with Simon Dante for thirty years and his head was a vast book of knowledge, filled with facts and minutia that he could recite upon the instant. Gabriel could remember, fairly clearly, most of the rumors and legends that surrounded the mystery of the vanished treasure galleon, but solving a mystery was all in the details.

It was not aiding his concentration that Eva insisted on helping. As it turned out, however, she could read Spanish quite well, flourishes and all, so he had been able to set her the task of pouring through the sack of personal letters.

Unfortunately she was sitting directly across from him and each time she leaned forward to reach for a new document, his attention strayed from the charts to the open vee of her shirt. Twice his stealth had been rewarded with glimpses of soft, rounded curves. Once, when he had inadvertently craned his neck slightly to see further down the dusky valley, she had chosen that moment to ask him a question. He had averted his gaze so quickly he had nearly impaled his chin on the graphite pencil.

When he looked up now, she was twirling a strand of hair around her finger and when she let it go, it formed a perfect curl around her breast.

He cleared his throat and frowned. "All of the reports suggest the fleet was caught here." He touched a fingertip to the map and traced a light circle around the area west of the Biminis. "Just about the area where the lead ships would be beginning their run up through the Straits. The vanguard would have known to stay well clear of the shallow banks, especially with a storm approaching, but they also would have tried to remain where the strongest currents would keep pushing them north. Winds blow in a circular direction during a hurricane, so most of the ships in the fleet were blown west, toward the mainland of Florida. I am almost damn certain I read somewhere, in one of the reports, that the
Victorio's
pilot was an arrogant bastard who boasted about the ship's speed and stability. If he had tried to outrun the storm, they could have ended up on the wrong side of the eye and been swept in an easterly direction.

"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.

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.

He looked up at the
Endurance's
sails, which were barely holding a curve in the light wind.

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."

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."