Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) Read online

  Nicolo stood and nodded. “We have a deal. Be ready at any moment to leave. You may only hear four knocks and no one is there. No matter what time of day or night, be ready and come immediately. We do not wait if we must leave quickly. You will have at most an hour.”

  “Surely not today—”

  “Likely not, but it isn’t impossible. I hope to be here a week. Come when you are bidden or we leave you and will not return. You have one chance at your revenge—one.”

  Without another word, Nicolo strode from the little house and back toward the town. He had other business to attend to—business that didn’t involve fools who thought fortune or spirits would ease their pain. He knew what they did not. Only the soothing power of carefully and successfully executed revenge would bring the kind of numbness that they craved.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Nicolo watched as Jaime left the church. As usual, it had been the first place his friend went upon landing. It sickened him to see the young man so taken with religion. Religion was an evil, cruel master. It would rip the lad’s heart out of him and stomp on it for play. How many times had he thought to forbid the visits? It wasn’t possible. What his men did on their own time was their business. As long as Jaime kept those fables out of the stories he told on ship, Nicolo had no authority to stop him.

  As expected, Jaime strolled through the marketplace, arranging for oranges, lemons, limes, meat, flour, wine, and other supplies to be delivered to the ship. Satisfied that Jaime would purchase all that they needed, he chose to find the quartermaster, Eduardo, and inform the man of the success of his mission. Hector Castillo would join them for their next voyage and would find himself wealthy once more and with the knowledge that he had struck a financial blow to the animals who had stolen everything from him.

  Small groups of children played in the side streets, occasionally darting out to retrieve a rag ball or to evade being tagged. The fleeting but familiar regret came and left faster than it ever had. His son was too old for such games now. That was something anyway.

  A new thought niggled at him. Should he have brought Sebastian to port with him? The boy spent nearly every moment of his life on The Vengeance. Perhaps he was now old enough for short trips into a town now and then. He should consider it anyway. Not this time. They needed to be ready to go within the week. He simply had too much to do without worrying about what trouble Sebastian might find.

  As he rounded a corner, a sedan chair passed. The woman seated in it gave a startled cry. His eyes met hers briefly—as if frozen in time—and then he looked away again. Before she could cry out his name, Nicolo dashed around the chair, between two buildings and was out of sight. A commotion behind him told him the servants carrying the chair now pursued him. Quickly, he tossed his hat into the back of a wagon as he ran past, worked himself out of his coat and threw it into a yard, and then rounded another corner at a full run.

  At the wharf, he wove through the men as if in an obstacle course. Once he reached the rowboat, he hesitated. If he took the boat, a few men would have to row back for the others. It was also huge—too large for one man to row swiftly enough. Hesitation over, he fought to get out of his boots and dove into the water. A cry went up from the end of the dock as his head surfaced for his first gulp of air. The servants. He glanced back to see if they’d follow, but it seemed that neither of them swam. To his relief, they turned and hurried back to their mistress.

  Heart pounding, he sliced through the water, his strokes long and powerful until he reached the side of the ship. “Ahoy, Giorgio! Drop me a ladder.”

  Several crewmen leaned over the side, startled to see their captain in the water. “Wha—”

  “Just get me aboard and fire the gun.”

  The moment he swung his tired, soaked body over the side of the ship, Giorgio asked, “We’re leaving?”

  “Now! Someone must swim to call Hector Castillo to the boat. Who will go?” Nicolo’s eyes swept over the men before him.

  Without hesitation, one younger man pulled his boots off and jumped overboard. They all watched anxiously until he surfaced again and began swimming. By the time he reached the docks, several men from their crew, running to the rowboat, paused only long enough to hear that they were indeed leaving.

  Satisfied that they could leave within the hour, Nicolo hurried to his cabin to plan their escape. Would it be worth the risk to stop at Malta? Valletta would have everything they needed. Or, was it too close? Would Signorina Lucia—she was probably Signora now—send someone to chase? Did she have the resources? The power? Would she send word to his family? Had she recognized what he must be?

  He shook his head to clear it. This was all unnecessary and irrelevant. He must plan. Jaime would know best. Eduardo would bluster a bit, make alternate suggestions, and finally agree to whatever Jaime suggested. They had no time for power games. Malta or straight to Tunis?

  He stuck his head outside the door. “Get me Mac.”

  Feet scuttled in the direction of the galley, giving him satisfaction in how swiftly his men obeyed orders. That one thing had kept them alive more than anything else. Well, he also had a fierce determination to keep Sebastian alive and yet did not care whether he lived or died. It was a dangerous combination, or so Jaime always told him.

  A knock sounded before Mac opened the door. “You called for me, Cap’in?” Most of the men found the Scotsman’s thick brogue difficult to understand, but Nicolo had a secret liking for it.

  “Yes. How long can we survive on what we have on ship now?”

  “On board? Why I dinna ken… mebbe a fortnight? Three weeks at most, I’m thinkin’.”

  “That’ll do. Good. Water. Send another boat for more water and wine though. Go now. They have thirty minutes to get back here with whatever they can.”

  “Thirty minutes? They canna do much—”

  “Do you think I don’t know that, you blind fool? Get out there and send them. We hoist anchor soon. Go.”

  To an outsider, the ship would have appeared to be lost in chaos. Men raced from side to side, the crew that had not yet had a chance to make it to port heard the news with a general rumble of disbelief and anger. Nicolo stood in his cabin, listening to Giorgio’s report, his fingers rolling his telescope on the desk as he thought. “I’ll be back. Stay here. I might need you.”

  He raced below deck to where the men were settling the oars of the Xebec into place, shouting their displeasure with threats even Nicolo knew they didn’t mean. “I understand you are dissatisfied with your position on this ship.”

  “We didn’t get a chance at shore!” one man protested.

  “I got very little time there myself—certainly none of pleasure. However, we must leave immediately. The lad is in danger here. If you wish to go, I will pay you off and you can leave immediately, but we sail within the hour.”

  As if magic, the words, “the lad is in danger,” calmed the men immediately. They settled into their places, stretched, took great swigs of wine, and assured him that all would be well.

  Only one man asked to leave—one that Nicolo had suspected would never return to the crew once he reached land. Nicolo led the man to his cabin and told him to wait outside. He had Giorgio watch as he counted out every piece of gold and silver the sailor was entitled to and then put away the rest. “Come in.”

  Twice they counted the coins, ensuring that the man was satisfied. The man struck his name from the articles of the ship and made his mark beside the line, acknowledging his removal from their boat. Nicolo nodded to both men as he rolled up the documents and sealed them back in the corked jar once more. “Follow him to get his things, Giorgio. Thank you for your service with us. May you be prosperous here.”

  By the time the man jumped ship and swam for shore, the first rowboat full of men bounced across the water on its way back to the boat. Jaime climbed aboard first. He strode to the quarterdeck where Nicolo stood. “What happened?”

  “I was recognized.”

  “Who?”<
br />
  “Signorina Lucia of Parma.”

  Jaime’s face drained. “We must leave immediately.” Before Nicolo could continue, Jaime asked another question. “Why is Sebastian not pestering us with questions?”

  Chapter Three

  The Search

  Nicolo raced from place to place on the ship—every spot that the boy enjoyed, he searched thoroughly. It seemed as though Sebastian had vanished. True and overwhelming fear gripped the pirate’s heart. Was it possible that anyone could have climbed aboard the ship and spirited away his son?

  Before he could question the crew as to the last time they saw Sebastian, a shout from Jaime sent him racing to the bow. “What?”

  “I think our lad has developed a new sense of adventure. His boots are in his cabin and—”

  “You or me. Who should go? I could be recognized, but you could take care of procuring more supplies…”

  “Let’s both go. You know you need to hide. They won’t expect you to return. You’ll find him faster, and I know how to bargain.”

  Nicolo pointed to Giorgio. “Get me six of the strongest rowers from below. Now.”

  Every second that ticked past increased his level of fury a hundredfold. By the time they lowered the boat, his insides shook with rage—and the overwhelming desire to throttle his son. Nicolo’s fingers looked calm and steady to those who watched as he stared across the water to the wharf that grew nearer with each powerful stroke. It was an illusion borne of sheer willpower. Inwardly, those fingers twisted, drummed, balled into fists, and then drummed some more. He grew more anxious—frustrated—terrified—with each passing second.

  “Jaime?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have to do it. It’s time.”

  “Yes.” The younger man’s eyes said what his lips could not in present company. “We’ll take care of it as soon as we are safe again.”

  “Will we run like we did three years ago?” The muscular man, a former slave freed when they’d captured his master’s ship, peered into Nicolo’s face for the answer he sought.

  “We’ll run.”

  Fearful resolution washed over the dark face. “Pull harder, men!”

  At the dock, Nicolo whispered something to Jaime and then sprinted toward the town. Once again, he wove in and out of merchants, shoppers, and townspeople. He’d learned to be nearly invisible when necessary—to blend into crowds at a moment’s notice.

  When a cursory stroll through the main streets yielded nothing, Nicolo tried again. This time he spoke to vendors, children, and women. He kept his tone apologetic—almost differential. All traces of the commanding captain were gone. In their place, a concerned father nearly begged passersby to consider if they’d seen a boy with dark ruddy hair and a tall gangly body.

  At each query, a regretful shake of the head, “I’m sorry,” or other apology made him question his search. Was the boy really on board ship after all? Perhaps he’d used the rope to swing out over the water as he sometimes did. Then again, no one had heard a splash or a squeal. That didn’t make sense.

  Try as he did to convince himself that the search was wasted, Nicolo’s gut told him the boy was on land, but where? A small road led from the town into the countryside. Surely Sebastian wouldn’t wander that far, would he?

  Unsure what else to try, he half walked, half ran up the road, occasionally calling. Just as he was ready to give up and return to town, a woman stuck her head out of a doorway. “Did you call for Sebastian? Tall, skinny boy with red curls? Oh, wouldn’t I love to have those curls.”

  “Yes! You have seen him. Where is he?”

  “I sent him up to my son. Up there on that hill.”

  “How long ago?”

  The woman hesitated, glancing at the sun, thinking, and finally shrugged. “Two hours? Maybe three? He seemed interested in art so I thought—”

  “Thank you!”

  His mind focused on his mission, Nicolo did not notice the cuts and scratches on his feet as he ran through trees and up the hill, off the well-traveled paths that had been kinder to them. At the top, he leaned his hands on his knees, panting from the exertion, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of his son. “Did… you see… a b…boy,” he gasped between gulps of air.

  “Sebastian? He brought me lunch and stayed to—”

  Nicolo interrupted eagerly. “Where did he go? When? Did he say?”

  “He went back to town—said he couldn’t stay out long—that his father would worry.”

  “I’ll worry his backside; that’s for sure.”

  “He’s a good boy. An artist in his soul. Look—” The man tried to show Nicolo the canvas he was working on, but the captain ran back down the hill without a backward glance. “You should see—” the artist called once more.

  “I must find him.” Nicolo stumbled, rolling down the last few yards and picking himself up at the bottom.

  “Try near the shore,” the man called. “He was talking about the children; they like to play there.”

  Waving his hand to show he heard, Nicolo sprinted a dozen yards before his run slowly dwindled into a fast walk. The shore. It was a terrible place for a boy like Sebastian—so easy to find him there. Easy to take him away. He must not be taken away—not again.

  Walking along the sand was a dangerous proposition. Would Signorina Lucia have anyone watching the shore? It was possible. She might have had time to send out searchers. Would she notify Pier Luigi Farnese? That could take weeks. As long as they escaped, they were safe. This time.

  He reached into his shirt and pulled out his neck scarf. With practiced skill, he wrapped his head in it and rolled up his sleeves and breeches. Nicolo glanced down at himself, trying to see his baldric with the eyes of a local. Was the coltellaccio on it menacing enough? Should he move a hidden dagger into sight as well or was the short sabre enough of a threat? He had to inspire enough fear and awe, but not incite an attack.

  Nicolo stopped and took a few deep breaths. Think. What to do next? Where to go? How best to find the boy? Those were the important questions. The rest were distractions from his purpose.

  Children played in the sand on the long strip of shore, but Sebastian was not a part of any group. Twice he started to ask, but the children ran from the pirate in their midst. No doubt, their mothers had warned them of the horrors they would face as slaves to a pirate.

  Two passes—including through the docks and back—made the point clear. He was not on shore. Nicolo’s mind whirled with possibilities. The woman said he had taken food to the artist, so they had fed him, but the sun was warm. He might be thirsty. Perhaps he went to find something to drink.

  With that thought, he strode back to the town, hesitating at the corner of a building. Should he work his way through as the ruthless pirate Nicolo or the concerned father? As a well-dressed captain, he had been recognized.

  The precious time he had wasted galled him as Nicolo strode into the streets. Find the boy and get out of there. Second-guessing himself was futile and dangerous. He wandered in and out of vendor carts, his eyes darting from person to person, building to building, in stores and out of taverns. Then he heard something.

  Laughter.

  His heart lightened and feet quickened as he dodged people and animals on his way to that sound.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  A hand clapped over his shoulder, startling him. Sebastian whirled, ready to slug the fool who dared to interfere with the son of Nicolo Soranzo. Meeting his father’s eyes damped the fire in his own. “Oh!”

  “Come. Now.”

  “But—”

  Without another word, his father’s hand wrapped around his scrawny arm and dragged him through the streets. The other children mocked him—children who moments before had been impressed with his skill and speed. Mortification tinged his cheeks a red that rivaled his hair.

  “I was just—”

  “We’ll talk on the ship. Go.”

  “Why are you dressed—”

  Sebastian�
�s ear exploded as his father boxed it smartly. “I said on ship. Silence.”

  Never had he imagined that his father would be so angry with him. He had expected to be caught—eventually. It was impossible to have such an exciting day without leaking out some kind of hint of what he’d done. For all his failings, Sebastian was not stupid.

  A raft was nearly at the ship when he and his father reached the rowboat. His father pointed to the raft. “Jaime went?”

  “Yes—to pay for the wine and fruit. That’s all he could get—and a few barrels of water.”

  “It’ll do for now. Let’s go. Did you see anyone?”

  “Two men came asking about you. We told them we didn’t know but that we were going to try to sign on. Promised to meet them at a tavern near the wharf.”

  “Good. They’ll be waiting there.”

  Sebastian listened, curious. He had learned young that to know what he should not, he must keep silent and let others talk. The men rowed faster than he’d ever seen—faster even than when they had races near ports. Something important was happening, but what?

  The moment he set foot on deck, Jaime rushed him to his quarters. “Stay and do not argue with your father.”

  “What is happening?”

  Jaime shook his head. “Of all the days,” he began as he shut the door behind him, “you pick this one to assert your independence. You’ll be back in skirts and braids after this.”

  Alone in the cabin, Sebastian could see nothing of the bustle around him but he could hear it. He heard the grunts of men loading the barrels onto the ship and rolling them down into the hold. He heard the calls for this person or that, but he sat with wide eyes and dry throat when he heard his father order, “Hoist anchor!”

  Movement. It was unmistakable. The difference between the gentle rocking of a tethered ship and the equally gentle rocking of a free one was something he’d never understood but always recognized. What did it mean? Why were they leaving so quickly? He’d expected at least one—maybe two—more trips to the town. He’d hoped to see more work of the artist.