…
THE WIND CHANGED, and the stern of the galleon swung around toward Sanson. He tied up beneath the gilded transom and began to scale the rear bulkhead toward the captain’s cabin. He heard the soft sound of a song in Spanish. He listened to the obscene lyrics but could not locate the source of the song; it seemed to drift in the air, elusive and faint.
He stepped through a cannon porthole into the captain’s cabin. It was empty. He moved outside, on the gun deck, and down the companionway to the berth deck. He saw no one. He looked at the empty hammocks, all swinging gently in the motion of the ship. Dozens of hammocks, and no sign of a crew.
Sanson did not like this - an unguarded ship implied a ship without treasure. He now feared what they had all feared but never voiced: that the treasure might have been taken off the ship and stored elsewhere, perhaps in the fortress. If that were true, their plans were all in vain.
Therefore, Sanson found himself hoping for a good-sized skeleton crew and guard. He moved to the aft galley, and here he was encouraged. The galley was deserted, but there was evidence of recent cooking - a bullock stew in a large cauldron, some vegetables, a cut lemon rocking back and forth on the wooden counter.
He left the galley, and moved forward again. In the distance, he heard shouts from the sentry on deck, greeting Lazue and the Moor as they approached.
Lazue and the Moor tied up alongside the midships ladder of the galleon. The sentry on deck leaned down and waved. “Questa faire?” he called.
“We bring rum,” Lazue answered in a low voice. “Compliments of the captain.”
“The captain?”
“It is his day of birth.”
“Bravo, bravo.” Smiling, the sentry stepped back as Lazue came aboard. He looked, and had a moment of horror as he saw the blood on her tunic and in her hair. Then the knife flashed through the air and buried itself in his chest. The sentry clutched the handle in surprise. He seemed about to speak. Then he pitched forward onto the deck.
The Moor came aboard, and crept forward, toward a group of four soldiers who sat playing cards. Lazue did not watch what he did; she went below. She found ten soldiers sleeping in a forward compartment; silently, she shut the door and barred it.
Five more soldiers were singing and drinking in an adjacent cabin. She peered in and saw that they had guns. Her own pistols were jammed in her belt; she would not fire a shot unless she had to. She waited outside the room.
After a moment, the Moor crept alongside her.
She pointed into the room. He shook his head. They remained by the door.
After a time, one of the soldiers announced his bladder was bursting, and left the room. As he came out, the Moor crashed a belaying pin down on his skull; the man hit the deck with a thud, just a few steps from the room.
The others inside looked toward the sound. They could see the man’s feet in the light from the room.
“Juan?”
The fallen man did not move.
“Too much to drink,” somebody said, and they resumed their cards. But soon enough one of the men began to worry about Juan, and came out to investigate. Lazue cut his throat and the Moor leapt into the room, swinging the pin in wide arcs. The men dropped soundlessly.
In the aft quarter of the ship, Sanson left the galley and moved forward, running right into a Spanish soldier. The man was drunk, a crock of rum dangling loosely from one hand, and he laughed at Sanson in the darkness.
“You gave me a fright,” the soldier said in Spanish. “I did not expect to see anyone.”
Then, up close, he saw Sanson’s grim face, and did not recognize it. He had a brief moment of astonishment before Sanson’s fingers closed around his throat.
Sanson went down another companionway, below the berth deck. He came to the aft storerooms, and found them all hard-locked and bolted. There were seals on all the locks; in the darkness, he bent to examine them. Unmistakably, in the yellow wax, he saw the crown-and-anchor seal of the Lima mint. So there was New Spain silver here; his heart jumped.
He returned to the deck, coming up on the aft castle, near the tiller. He again heard the faint sounds of singing. It was still no more possible to locate the sound than before. He paused and listened, and then the singing stopped, and a concerned voice said, “Que pasa? Que esta vous?”
Sanson looked up. Of course! There, in the perch above the mainmast spars, a man stood looking down at him.
“Que esta vous?” he demanded.
Sanson knew the man could not see him well. He stepped back into shadows.
“Que?” the man said, confused.
In the darkness, Sanson unsheathed his crossbow, bent the steel spring, fitted the arrow, and raised it to his eye. He looked at the Spaniard coming down the rigging, swearing irritably.
Sanson shot him.
The impact of the arrow knocked him free of the rigging; his body flew a dozen yards out into dark space, and he hit the water with a soft splash. There was no other sound.
Sanson prowled the empty aft deck, and finally, satisfied that he was alone, he gripped the tiller in his hands. A moment later, he saw Lazue and the Moor come abovedecks near the bow. They looked back and waved to him; they were grinning.
The ship was theirs.
…
HUNTER AND DON DIEGO had returned to the magazine, and were setting a long fuse to the powder kegs. They worked swiftly now, for when they had left the cannon, the sky above them was already beginning to lighten to a paler blue.
Don Diego stacked the kegs in small clusters around the room. “It must be this way,” he whispered. “Otherwise there will be one explosion, which we do not desire.”
He broke two kegs and sprinkled the black grain over the floor. Finally, satisfied, he lit the fuse.
At that moment, there was a shout from outside in the fortress yard, and then another.
“What is that?” Diego said.
Hunter frowned. “Perhaps they have found the dead watch,” he said.
A moment later, there was more shouting in the yard, and the sound of running feet. Now they heard one word repeated over and over: “Pirata! Pirata!”
“The ship must be in the channel,” Hunter said. He glanced over at the fuse, which sputtered and sizzled in the corner of the room.
“Shall I put it out?” Diego said.
“No. Leave it.”
“We cannot stay here.”
“In a few minutes, there will be panic in the yard. Then we will escape.”
“It had better be a very few minutes,” Diego said.
The shouting in the courtyard was louder. They heard literally hundreds of running feet, as the garrison was mobilized.
“They will check the magazine,” Diego said nervously.
“Eventually,” Hunter agreed.
And at that moment, the door was flung open, and Cazalla came into the room, with a sword in his hand. He saw them.
Hunter plucked a sword from the dozens that hung in racks along the wall. “Go, Diego,” he whispered. Diego dashed out the door as Cazalla’s blade struck Hunter’s own. Hunter and Cazalla circled the room.
Hunter was backing away.
“Englishman,” Cazalla said, laughing. “I will feed the pieces of your body to my dogs.”
Hunter did not reply. He balanced the sword in his hand, feeling the unfamiliar weight, testing the whip of the blade.
