Legends of the Vengeance : The First Adventure (9781310742866) (9 page)

“Yes, her son Angelo. I met her.”

Curious, Sebastian stared up at his father.
Why was he so tense—so bothered by it all? “You did? Did you meet
Angelo too? He is an artist. He showed me so much. He had me pose
for him. I learned…”

Nicolo’s eyes closed and Sebastian watched
as he swallowed deliberately. “What did you learn, son?”

Never had Sebastian heard such dread in his
father’s voice. “I learned about drawing. While he told me how to
pay attention to light and dark, shadow and highlight, he sketched
me. He said I had the soul for art—that my face had something in
it. Longing, I think he said.” Sebastian dropped his head. “The
drawing was good, Papa. It looked just like me. He made me promise
that I would return for it someday. He told me to practice,
so…”

Nicolo’s shoulders relaxed a little as he
urged his son to continue. “So… what?”

“I took a stick with a charred end. Look.”
He jumped from the bed and grabbed the stick and the rag. “I was
practicing. I thought you wouldn’t like it, so Jaime showed me how
to lock the door so no one would see…” Again he hung his head,
shamed. “I am sorry for hiding it from you, Papa.”

Laughter reverberated around the room, first
confusing and then frustrating Sebastian as Nicolo howled so loud
that he wiped tears from his eyes. “You—were—drawing?” he gasped
between guffaws.

“Yes. I am not very good,” he admitted. “I
want to do it, though. I need to, Papa.” Those words stopped him,
and Sebastian frowned. “It is true—I do
need
to. I know
this. But I don’t know
why.
Is that not strange?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nicolo wanted to forbid his son from such
foolishness, but Jaime’s words echoed in his mind. “Show me.”

“What?”

Smiling, something Nicolo knew he needed to
do more often, he pointed to the floor. “Show me your drawing.”

His son pulled a boot from the pile in the
corner and set it in the light and knelt on the floor. He watched
as Sebastian struggled to put lines in the right order to make a
recognizable reproduction of the boot. It was pathetic, really, but
the focus his son exuded while the picture emerged, was something
he had seen only while the boy practiced with his daggers.

He started to protest as Sebastian grabbed
the rag to wipe it away and then relaxed as only a small section
disappeared. The buckle, in particular, was unimpressive, but as
lopsided and simple as it was, the satisfaction on Sebastian’s face
was unmistakable.

“I did it. Look at the heel. It looks
right.”

Nicolo could not argue with the lad. The
heel did indeed look like an accurate representation of the actual
boot—even if the rest did not.

“It does.” He watched his son, the delight
on the boy’s face warming his heart. “You enjoy this, don’t
you?”

Sebastian did not respond—not at first. He
looked at the unsatisfactory results before him and shrugged. “I
don’t enjoy not having a good picture. I want to draw and paint
like I saw in the church—like he did. I want to make things
bea—that look like they should.”

“Do you think you can do it? Can you learn
without someone showing you?”

The shock on his son’s face amused him.
Sebastian expected him to forbid the drawing—to demand that such
foolishness stopped. It was foolishness too. The boy would be a man
in a few years. He should spend those years preparing for manhood
and to take his place in the world. Then again, he had such a
confining existence. Would it really hurt the boy to have something
to do?

“I want to try.”

It took every bit of self-control he could
muster for Nicolo not to say what he really thought. Instead, he
nodded slowly, searching for words that would not alienate his son
any further. “Try then. You don’t have to lock the door or hide it
though. It isn’t wrong to draw. Just keep up with your practice
with the daggers, and we must teach you how to navigate now that
you are older, but there is still much time for you to work on it.
Perhaps someday you can paint the portrait of Nicolo Soranzo—
Pirate Captain of
The Vengeance
.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before they were expected to land
at Formentera, Jaime went to bed with a raging headache. Eager to
do his part to entertain the men, Sebastian pulled out his flute
and played the songs the men loved best. They danced, joked, and a
few even tried to tell stories, but none could rival Jaime’s
talent.

“You try it, Sebastian,” Eduardo urged.
“Maybe you have a hidden talent. You listen better than any of
us.”

His eyes sought his father, looking for some
kind of encouragement. Nicolo nodded. “Go ahead. Retell the story
that Jaime has been telling. Let’s see how well you listened.”

Their styles were very different—something
that Sebastian noticed right away. In his mind, he could see the
room where Joseph ben Saolomon sat listening to Charles de Gyll. He
described the heavy draperies, the carved chair, and the woolen rug
on the floor.

When the man pulled out the ledger, Jaime
had described the crack of the pages and the suspense in the air
while Sebastian focused on the cover, the ink stains on Joseph’s
fingers, and the way Charles licked his lips to see that number
reduced. It was as if Jaime lived the story while Sebastian set the
stage. Even as he retold it, detail by detail, the boy realized
that together they made a complete picture.

Just as he reached the place where Ingelby
was summoned, one of the ship’s cats chased a rat over Sebastian’s
feet. Startled, he jumped, doing a half-jig to get out of the way
of the vermin. The men roared.

“My son is now frightened of cats and mice.
He can hit a man in the heart at fifty feet, but a rat too close
sends him scrambling.”

Sebastian’s face flushed, but thanks to the
darkness, no one saw it. “I was startled. It’s not like I haven’t
had rats crawl over me in my sleep like the rest of you.”

“How would we know,” Hector complained.
“That father of yours keeps you tucked away from everyone. You’re
just a boy and he treats you like royalty or something.”

“He
is
just a boy,” Nicolo said, each
word measured carefully for best effect. “My son does not need the
influence of men who are slaves to drink or other undesirable
behaviors.”

“Aw, come on, Nicolo. He’ll have to become a
man someday,” one of the other men wheedled. “Let ‘im learn from
the best!”

“If you think that is you,” Nicolo snapped,
“then you are much more delusional than I had imagined. He’ll have
to take on the responsibilities of a man before he is introduced to
the vices of them. Keep your distance. You know the rules.”

As his father chastised the men, Sebastian
crept away from the circle and went to stand at the bow. While the
boat sailed across the water, the jib boom made strange shadows on
the water in the moonlight. It reminded him of games he and Jaime
had played when Jaime was young enough to have time for games with
the captain’s son.

His father found him there a short while
later. “What brought you up here? The story isn’t finished.”

“I was.”

“You were what? Finished?”

Still fuming from his most recent
humiliation, Sebastian nodded. “Yes.”

“I can see that you are upset. Will you tell
me why?”

At first, Sebastian shook his head,
unwilling to talk any more. Eventually, however, his father’s
silent presence unnerved him enough to bring the frustration and
confusion boiling over and out into the open. “What is wrong with
you?”

Nicolo stared at him, astounded. “What is
wrong with
me
? I am not the one pouting in the middle of the
night.”

Unable to contain his frustration any
longer, he whirled and exploded. “What is wrong with you? Yes! What
is wrong with you? You came to my cabin and did not demand I tell
you what I was doing. You wanted to. I could see it but you didn’t.
You let me draw! When have you ever let me do anything that is not
preparation for this wretched life? Why?”

“Sebastian…”

“No! This is not fair. It is not right. You
mock me and embarrass me in front of the men and then defend me and
isolate me further from them. They will hate me when the time comes
for me to join them. Who could blame them?”

“You will not speak to me like this,
Sebastian.”

“How will I speak then? Huh? What must I do
to appease the wrath of the great pirate Nicolo?”

Again he turned back to stare out over the
water.
I wish I had lost myself in Siracusa so I could be rid of
this life.
His fury had engulfed him so completely that
Sebastian didn’t realize that he spoke the last words aloud—not
until his father’s breath caught.

“Go to bed, Sebastian. I’ll have Jaime bring
you breakfast there in the morning.”

Buried Treasure

Dawn would come in less than half an hour.
Even now, hints of light announced the coming arrival of day. He’d
waited as long as he could. Sebastian opened his cabin door and
peeked out, looking for any sign of the crew, but all were busy
elsewhere or asleep. Just how he wanted it.

He crept along the gangway, around the edge
of the quarterdeck, and lowered himself onto a small platform below
the railing. Once more, he glanced around to ensure no one saw him.
Once certain he was completely alone, he dropped his breeches and
squatted over the edge of the platform, grateful the wind was in
his favor.

Business accomplished, he hurried back up to
the quarterdeck, around the edge, and barely made it to the gangway
before he saw Giorgio headed his way. “What you doing out this
early, boy? Your father wants you in your cabin.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he whined,
deliberately ignoring the question.

In his room, Jaime waited with a bowl of
gruel and half a lime, smirking. “Wind’s good today, isn’t it?”

Sebastian ducked his head. “Thanks. Yes. How
close are we?”

“Didn’t you see? We’re not three leagues out
now. Your father will have you dressing soon. Actually, let’s do it
now. Things are going to get busy at sunup.”

The last thing Sebastian felt like doing was
putting on the dress again, but he pulled off his shirt and reached
for the offending garment from the box beneath his bunk. “I can’t
wait to burn this thing.”

“If you weren’t such a delicate featured
boy, we could never get away with it.”

“Then I wish I looked like Mac,” he
grumbled. “Can you imagine what an ugly girl Mac would have
been?”

“He was an ugly boy, I’m sure of it,” Jaime
agreed. The young man frowned as Sebastian pulled the combs from
the box. “You need to wash and comb your hair. No girl would let it
look like that.”

“She would if she was stuck on this ship for
weeks or months. I don’t have time to wash my hair!”

Jaime conceded Sebastian’s point but shook
his head once more as the combs refused to stay properly where he
wanted them. “Well, it’ll have to do. I guess I should just lock
you in now. Do you have a bucket or need a quick—”

“I’m fine unless you plan to keep me in here
forever.”

“Just a few hours. We should have the jars
buried and enough loot to get us on our way within a few
hours.”

“Will Papa come?”

Jaime shook his head. “I don’t know.
Maybe.”

“I was rude to him last night.”

“Yes.”

Sebastian wanted Jaime to argue—to tell him
that his anger was justified, but it didn’t happen. After waiting
for longer than was comfortable, he shrugged. “I just told him how
I felt.”

This time, Jaime nodded. After a moment, he
added, “I suppose no father wants to know that his son does not
think him the most wonderful man and best father there is.” He gave
Sebastian a small smile and said, “I’ll suggest he comes soon. Be
kind to him.”

“I wasn’t kind last night,” the boy
admitted. “I said I wished I had been left in Siracusa.”

“He risked his life to find you himself. He
could have sent me, but he went where he could be recognized so
that he could find you. He loves you. Love is what makes him do the
things he does—the good and the frustrating.”

The door closed and locked behind him,
leaving Sebastian frustrated and near tears. “Just like the girl
they want me to look like,” he muttered.

Light broke over the water, filling the
cabin with the morning glow. In his current mental state, Sebastian
was irrationally grateful when the light of a new day erased the
pink of dawn. Anything remotely feminine had begun to nauseate
him.

The ship became aflutter with activity. From
his cabin, he heard the men scrambling to finish their meal and
seat themselves at the oars, at the rigging, and at the canons on
the cannon deck. The squeak of the pulley told him they were
lowering the dory in preparation for their arrival at the
islet.

Ammon called the rowing cadence in the hull,
and the ship sped through the water swifter than ever. With each
minute that passed, Sebastian grew certain his father would not
come. But he was wrong.

Just as he decided that they must be near
the islet, the lock turned in his door and his father stepped into
the room. “Fetching as always, Sebastiana.”

“Very funny, Papa.”

“I shouldn’t tease.”

The words hung between them for several
seconds until Sebastian could bear it no longer. He dragged himself
off his bunk and hugged his father. “I am sorry, Papa. I was rude
and ungrateful. I do not know what is wrong with me sometimes.”

“And in exchange for your apology, I can
admit that I do sometimes antagonize you. It is also wrong, and I
too am sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“What didn’t you mean?”

Sebastian hung his head, pressing his cheek
into his father’s shoulder. “About Siracusa. I don’t wish I had
stayed—not without you or Jaime. I wish
we
had stayed
perhaps…”