Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (16 page)

“You are all blind. I trusted this man. I
trusted
him. What kind of idiot trusts a pirate! I must be
mad!”

“He said it. I didn’t,” Nicolo muttered.

Eduardo’s hand rested on Nicolo’s shoulder.
“Let me try something,” he murmured. To the rest of the group he
said, “I should tell you all that I knew we were going to the
Americas. I agreed not to tell you.”

“Why!” This time Turk shouted out the
question. The young boy, not much older than Sebastian, looked
terrified.

“Because I agreed that it was safest for us
if no one could accidentally mention where we were going.”

“We haven’t seen anyone!”

Eduardo shrugged. “But we could have. That
is the point.”

“What about the
Victoria
?” Hector
whined. “You let those Spanish dogs live!”

The captain nodded. “That I did. To a
novice, that probably seems foolish. However, what your
inexperienced mind cannot fathom is that we left them forced to
limp back to Spain. They will look foolish. They will be forced to
admit that pirates overtook them. What do you think will happen
then? What will the Crown do to those who allow pirates steal from
it?”

“You think you have an excuse—”

Jaime shook his head. “Hector, this man
risked his life to help you. Either be grateful and shut up or jump
overboard.”

A cheer arose from the crew, showing that
their annoyance had shifted from Nicolo to Hector. This Nicolo
would not fight. He answered questions as some of the men shuffled
below deck. The group thinned slowly, and as it did, he
relaxed.

“Is Sebastian safe?”

Jaime nodded. “He got in his room and locked
himself in.”

“How did he do that?” Nicolo’s eyes narrowed
suspiciously. When Jaime didn’t answer, he prodded, “Jaime…”

“I showed him how to pick the lock.” The
young man snickered. “It seems he’s unable to get himself out, but
he did manage to lock himself in.”

“Why would you do that? Why did you not ask
me?” The attempt to control his temper failed, but at least he had
tried.

“Because he’s old enough to know. He’s old
enough to get himself out if we’re captured. It seemed as if he
needed the tools to help himself if we got ourselves killed.”

“You should have asked me first.”

“Yes,” Jaime agreed. “I should have been
able to ask and have you consider it rationally. We both know you
would have said no and not thought of it again until he was old
enough to figure it out himself or until he died because we didn’t
prepare him.”

“That is—”

“The truth,” Eduardo interjected, climbing
back up the steps.

Jaime seemed to ignore the quartermaster as
he added, “You don’t like to acknowledge it, but he isn’t a child
anymore. He’s not a man, but he will be one before you know
it.”

Nicolo ignored the comments of his men and
stormed to his cabin, slamming the door. He gripped the table,
closing his eyes as he fought to control the rage that threatened
to overwhelm him. Too many years of giving in to Jaime had come to
this. The man had stepped much too far over the line.

He could find what the boy used to pick the
lock. He could take it away. If he didn’t, Sebastian would be sure
to use it at the wrong time. Had not Siracusa proven that? Why
didn’t Jaime remember these things when he made these
decisions?

Sticking his head out the door, Nicolo
called to Jaime, “Bring Sebastian here.”

The young man nodded and hurried to the
boy’s cabin. When they returned minutes later, Jaime said,
“Remember, Nicolo. I showed him. That wasn’t his decision. Don’t
take out your anger with me on him.”

Nicolo shut the door, gesturing for
Sebastian to be seated. “I give that young man too much
leeway.”

“He means well, Papa.”

His fists clenched until his hands went numb
as Nicolo tried to control the rage that smoldered within him. “Why
didn’t you tell me that he’d taught you how to pick a lock?”

“He said not to—that it was his
responsibility to confess. I thought—”

“That you’d have time to learn it before he
did, I presume.”

Sebastian’s head dropped. “Yes, Papa.”

He sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of
all of his responsibilities at once. “I know he means well, son,
but he is young yet. He can see where I am blind, but he cannot see
with the eyes of experience. He thinks only of the simplest
scenario. You are locked in the room, we are overrun, and you could
get out to save us if you knew.”

“That’s what I thought!”

“But, Sebastian, he ignores that you have
already proven yourself willing to disobey orders meant for your
safety. What would prevent you from trying to ‘help’ during a
battle? You do not know how to look in six ways at once while
wielding a cutlass.”

He saw the full import of his words settle
on Sebastian’s shoulders. Perhaps now the lad would see that there
was responsibility with this kind of knowledge. Some good might
come of the mess.

“I did not think—”

“Nor did Jaime, it seems.”

The boy did not speak for some little time
and then he raised his eyes to meet Nicolo’s. “I understand, Papa.
When would I use the hairpin?”

So it was a hairpin. At least Jaime had been
resourceful. A hairpin would help the boy in more situations than
just when locked in his cabin. “That is an intelligent question,
Sebastian. Did you ask Jaime that?”

Sebastian’s face flushed. “No. I just wanted
to learn how to do it.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you when.”

Excitement flooded his son’s face. “Really?
I thought you’d make me give back the hairpin.”

Nicolo dug into a trunk at the foot of his
bed. He pulled out a lock and passed it to the boy. “Practice with
that. It’ll be easier than using your door latch, but it is a
harder lock. If you can pick this, you can pick any lock.”

A new shout went up on deck—one that sounded
full of fury. “Papa?”

“Stay here. Hide if I don’t return
soon.”

Nicolo flung open the door, his hand on his
cutlass, and then stepped back inside. “The pig is done. The men
are celebrating.”

Sebastian grinned. “Do you think Jaime would
have a story for us? I want to see if the others made it across to
Calais without trouble.”

“I think he will indeed.”

The Legend: Part Four

Fat with pork, and more than a few men
heaving up the excess that their starved bellies could not handle,
several sailors gathered on deck to hear the next installment of
Jaime’s story. He settled himself with a large mug of wine, leaning
against the mast, and continued his tale.

One by one, Joseph ben Saolomon gave all of
his children and their families a similar sendoff. Each month as
they feasted, the group grew smaller as the next family left for
refuge in Calais. Joseph blessed the children and grandchildren,
gave them their necklaces, and made them promise never to forget
their faith or their family. Within just a few months, only two
more branches of their family remained—Joseph and his wife and his
youngest daughter Miriana, her husband, and their child.

On the night Miriana’s brother—only ten
months her senior—left with his family—her family joined Joseph and
Rebekah for yet another meal. It wasn’t the usual jolly feast they
expected. No, a nervous tension filled the air that night that
ended the party early.

Miriana, her husband Aaron, and their only
child, Levi, went home, Rebekah took herself to bed, and Joseph
locked himself in his counting room.

Southeast of them, a boat sailed across the
channel. Yvo huddled with his pregnant wife in the storage room of
the boat while Ingelby tried to sail through fog that descended
without warning. Panic rose in Robert Ingelby’s face as he tried to
follow the compass. If another ship were caught—The moment that he
thought it, one of the men cried out the dreaded words, “Ship
ahoy!”

He jerked the wheel leeward, but despite his
best efforts, the sickening crunch of wood on wood and the jarring
of two colliding boats knocked out Ingelby and his first mate.
Their minimal crew scrambled to the deck, rolled the two men into a
dory, and the rest piled in. The overloaded dory began to sink. A
few men began to push Ingelby and the other man over the side, but
the rest refused. Three jumped overboard—still not enough. Two more
followed. The terrified cries of a man and woman confused the
crew.

“
Let’s go back. We can take the other
dory,” one of the swimming sailors cried. “It’ll get us out of this
freezing water!”

So, while the still-overladen dory limped
its way back to Dover, settling a few miles south of their
destination, the other men swam back to the ship, trying to
determine if the cries came from their boat (which seemed unlikely
to them) or if they were of someone trapped on the other boat.

Ingelby revived just before they landed. His
head pounding, he asked after the crew, if the boat had sunk or if
there was hope for it, and settled back to rest until they reached
land. Someone commented on hoping the others had found a boat,
sending Robert into panicked rantings that made no sense to anyone
else. He cried out, demanding they return to the boat—to save a
couple locked in the storage room—obviously delusional and possibly
suffering from brain trauma.

The moment the boat pulled to shore, the men
tried to help the two injured men out and on land. Robert Ingelby
broke free and fought to return. The others stopped him, dragging
him away, promising that the others had gone back to see if someone
needed help. They pointed out the fog, the choppy water, and the
unlikelihood of success, but nothing consoled him. He ranted wildly
of passengers locked in storerooms. The others ignored him.

Robert awoke the next morning with an
inexplicable feeling of dread in his heart. He glanced around the
familiar room, snuggled under the thick, warm covers, and wondered
what disturbed him so. It must have been a dream. What had he
dreamed about? It seemed as though he’d been surrounded by cold
blankets, smothering him in the frigid air. Something, some evil
monster, rocked the bed, trying to spill him out of it. Even still,
the dream remained elusive—buried deep within his mind.

He sat up, eyes wide, and retched. A servant
hurried to assist him while another ran to fetch help. In the
confusion, he could do little but murmur, “Did they survive? Did
anyone get them out? Oh, what will Joseph say?!”

The doctor assured the family that a blow to
the head had caused swelling of the brain which caused the illness
and delirium. Alas, no one listened as he insisted that he was
rational. Each attempt to escape—to try to deliver the terrible
news to Joseph—failed. Joseph expected him within days, but the
doctor, the servants, and even his father kept him in bed against
his will, often with medications that made him drowsy and
muddleheaded.

Desperate, he tried a new tactic. It would
work. It had to work.

“
I’m tired, Martha. I’d like some quiet
so I can sleep. Is there any of that sleeping draught that the
doctor left?”

“
I’ll get Thomas. He’ll help, I’m
sure.”

And the plan worked perfectly. Thomas
stirred the powder into his water and hurried to fetch another
blanket while Robert poured the drink out into the pitcher near the
bed. He snuggled down, begged for someone to extinguish the lamps
and to bank the fire. Then he waited. Hours passed while the house
settled down for the night. Twice, Thomas came through to check on
him before whispering to Martha that she could go to bed. “He’ll
sleep until morning.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Every minute, each tiny step—agony. Despite
his protests, Robert was weary, and his body craved rest. His head
jostled against the carriage wall, aggravating his headache even
more. Never had the trip to London seemed so horribly long and
uncomfortable. The ride home wouldn’t be any easier, but the dread
in his heart would be gone—if he were still alive.

Cold, shivering, and sicker than he’d ever
imagined, he nearly crawled through the streets to the house of his
creditor. The servant led him to a chair near the fire and promised
to return with Joseph. When Robert said not to hurry, he meant it.
The fire felt wonderful.

Joseph entered, eyes steely and cold. “What
has taken you so long? I expected you days ago.”

“
I’ve been ill. There was a collision. I
was knocked out. I tried, but...”

“
Yvo?”

“
Gone.”

Without a word, Joseph reached for his
ledger. Slowly he turned the pages as Robert’s mouth went dry with
dread. After what seemed an age, he scribbled something in a column
and then passed the book across the table and held out the pen for
Robert to sign.

The man’s hand shook as he accepted the
proffered pen and looked at the ledger. To his astonishment,
payment in full had been recorded and signed by Joseph. “Wha—”

“
Sign and get your bloody hands out of my
house!”

“
I did try, Joseph. Why are you wiping
the debt clear?” Even as he questioned, Ingelby thought he knew why
and his heart clenched at the thought. “They wouldn’t let me go
back, but two men died trying to save the—”

“
I never want to see your face again,
Robert Ingelby. You have the blood of my family on your head. Live
with that.”

“
You’re not going to kill me?” The
question was unnecessary. Robert could see that the moneylender had
no intention of murdering him or hiring the job done for him, but
he couldn’t understand why.

“
No.”

Robert signed the ledger and pushed it
across the desk. “I—”

“
Will get out of my sight now. That is
what you will do.”