~ For a friend ~

EL CORAZÓN DEL PIRATA

-THE HEART OF A PIRATE-

Chapter 1 : Expect the Unexpected

The day was still young, but the omens were unclear.

In fact, nothing else was clear at all, not even their location. They were somewhere in the south of Europe, that was all he knew. Probably el Mediterráneo by now. He could tell from the tightness of the air around him, the way the sun seemed to glare down upon the ocean, the calm and clear water rippling as they raced past.

South was good. South was safe. Few knew of them here, and those who did might not recognize them at first glance. And many from these countries, he had heard, were fairly wealthy. That was a point in their favor. After the past few days some luck was definitely in order.

If Fate had been kinder to them they wouldn't be here in the first place. At least, he liked to think it was Fate, since she always accepted the blame without any argument. Thanks to her a small victory had been theirs, but the English diablo always had tricks up his sleeve. He was the reason why they were fleeing now—no, not fleeing, simply taking an alternate route. However one looked at it, though, being anywhere within a hundred leagues of Spain was now completely out of the question. They had cruised too far and committed one too many blunders.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, captain of the Trinidad, thus had a problem.

It was a problem all new pirate captains had to face—how exactly to organize men who had, a few days since, still been his almost-equals. The recent loss to the English had cost the former captain his title, and his life. Antonio had taken his place fairly quickly, because he was accepted and friendly to the others. And because no one could see through the friendliness in his green eyes to the man within. He had helped remove the last captain in the quickest, most painless way possible. Now they were probably expecting him to kill half his men and recruit more as soon as they got ashore.

Effortless intimidation. A point in his favor, now, that was.

It would work if he played his cards right.

Antonio was one of those men who rarely, if ever, passed up opportunities. And the former captain's failure had been a golden one. Not a soul had expected him to directly challenge the captain's leadership, although he had been the quartermaster for quite a long while. Perhaps that was why they had chosen him, because Antonio knew better than anyone else how things went on aboard the Trinidad; because he kept tempers even and spirits high; because he didn't cultivate resentment among the crew.

At least, he thought he didn't. From a captain's standpoint, the men below him were little more than a pack of snarling hounds. The trick was to keep them moving and distracted so they wouldn't sharpen their claws. But one false move and they would be at his heels, snapping to bring him down; and Antonio's was as precarious a position as any. There were always more plots afoot on this ship than he could count—that meant anything could happen in these first few days to depose him.

Antonio was smarter than he looked, however, and that was saying much. Nothing would catch him unawares if he could help it.

Late afternoon, and they were still sailing. But the sun was slowly beginning to set, which meant their time was short, and Antonio did not wish to attempt landing by nightfall. The dark provided cover, but the rocky coasts were never worth the risk.

He had half a mind to yell for Santiago, the navigator, when unusually soft footsteps sounded at his doorway. Sure enough, it was him, the ever ruffled-looking man with dark eyes and spectacles askew. He could pass for an unassuming scholar by most standards, but Antonio knew better from his days as quartermaster.

"Cap'n," said the short navigator, with a deferential almost-bow, what looked to be a map still rolled up in one hand. The captain beckoned him inside good-humoredly.

"Come in, come in. Did you find out where we are?"

"Nearing Italy, cap'n," Santiago answered. "My calculations say we're off the coast of Sicily."

Then all was well. They would have somewhere to land, at last. Not only that, but Italy was a rich place and they were very much in need of rich places after days of costly, uneventful sailing. Antonio was fairly sure the Italians had not been visited by Spanish pirates very much. He would make it his job, then, to reacquaint them with that experience.

"I believe I found where we can land, cap'n, I'll show you," Santiago suggested, interrupting his thoughts.

How nice, the navigator knew just what his captain wanted.

Antonio watched from nearby as he unrolled the map slowly, bringing him within view of a neatly drawn Italian peninsula. He could see the places the navigator was referring to, and in a glance took in the marked-off Sicilian coast. They had been sailing southwards through open ocean for too long, which accounted for days without seeing land. At least, that was what Santiago seemed to be saying.

But the details escaped the captain's attention, because the way Santiago was opening the parchment, slowly, while clutching the other end closed, gave him an ominous feeling. A sinister air clung to him as he talked. It was almost as if he was hiding something there, with his other hand...

Just as Antonio's warning instinct told him to step back, the map unraveled, and the familiar glint of metal set off a red alert in his mind, immediately confirming his suspicions. And then, suddenly, the navigator was lunging towards him, dagger in hand.

Antonio had not moved a moment too soon. The blade sliced through the air inches away, just penetrating the loose fabric of his sleeve, before Antonio knocked it out of the other man's grip and it clattered to the floor. A well-aimed kick with his boot rendered the navigator harmless, and as Santiago writhed in pain on the floor, Antonio held him down with one foot on his chest and the edge of a cutlass at his throat.

"You were saying?" he asked, with no trace of humor. "I believe we were talking about where we would... land."

Santiago choked and struggled still, giving no appreciable reply.

"... Really, I expected better of you, mi amigo." Antonio sighed. "Trying to kill your poor capitán on his third day? Who else is in on this?"

"N-no one," the navigator gasped.

The captain gave him a sad smile. "I hope so. I hate replacing people, but you've left me no other choice..."

The man's struggles only intensified as his eyes widened in horror. Evidently he remembered what had happened a few days prior.

"N-no...! Please, cap'n, spare me! Por favor...! I won't do it again, I promise—"

The cutlass dug just a bit deeper into his neck, drawing blood.

"Would you now?" Antonio gave the lowest of chuckles. "We'll have to see then... some other time. Take him down to the hold!"

As if on cue, two of his crewmen stepped in to collect the new prisoner, even as he shouted and begged for mercy. Antonio had seen enough of this to know the routine. There never was any mercy to be given. Only the softhearted landlubbers were foolish enough for such forgiveness, and that was their loss. To forgive, on a pirate ship, was to admit inferiority, and in doing so accept certain death.

Antonio, for one, would not opt for it as long as he remained captain.

As for what would happen to Santiago...

The hold was never a pleasant place to be, especially on such a large ship as the Trinidad, but it was doubly true when seen from a prisoner's point of view. A few days of torture below decks in that damp, smelly, rat-infested enclosure and the man would spill everything, or die in the attempt. The results never varied. At any rate he would no longer be returning to the ship as before. Perhaps they would throw him overboard afterward, or abandon him on a deserted island; it was no concern of Antonio's.

The captain watched them go, then closed the cabin door and resumed his post at his window. One navigator short, and the possibility of more mutiny ahead. This would be more difficult than he had previously thought.

"Land ho! Land ho!"

The long-awaited cry roused the ship, and the silence reigning over the Trinidad was quickly broken. Crewmen sprang to action, directing the large vessel through the now shallow waters to the rocky coast, fighting against the setting sun. They dropped anchor just a short distance from a small beach, and Antonio sent several men ashore to scout about. It seemed Santiago had, at least, been telling the truth about where they were.

Antonio himself watched from the bow, taking in the new sights. So this was the Italy he had heard so many tales of. At the moment it didn't look like much except a field of sunbaked sand interspersed with rocks; in fact, very much like the beaches back home in Spain. But once they sailed northwards and reached the cities things would be different. The stories of Venice's gilded splendor had been with Antonio as long as he could remember. He had seen it for himself, after all, many years ago. And in just a few days some—or much—of that wealth could be his.

Then sudden yelling shattered the quiet.

"Pirates! Pirates! Run, sorella! Don't fucking wait for me, go!"

Italian. An Italian man yelling. Antonio could just understand what he was shouting. A girl's terrified scream sounded from off to his right, followed by the sound of a scuffle, and the captain attempted to catch a better look.

By the time he found a good vantage point, the scene was largely deserted. The girl who had screamed was nowhere in sight. But his men on the beach were clustered around someone, who, judging from his voice, was probably the Italian man. He was still putting up a hearty fight as they struggled to tie him up and load him into the boat, and it looked about as tough as lifting a sack of gold. Antonio suppressed a smile at that.

In any case, this was something new. Another prisoner added to their quota, which already included the ship's doctor, the cabin boys... but better than that—someone well-informed about Italy, which meant that this time they would actually have a guide to help them find their treasure.

Yes, Fate definitely was with them today. He was thankful for being wrong. Those English pirates could sink in a whirlpool for all he cared. He went back to his cabin and waited for his crew to deliver the prisoner.

It was only a matter of minutes before his men returned with their Italian cargo, although, Antonio observed sadly, the girl was not with them. Oh well. Men could be made to obey just as well as women, and Antonio was more aware of that fact than most.

"Well, now, what have we here?" he said jovially as the Italian was brought in and deposited none-too-gently on the floor. A pair of murderous-looking hazel eyes fixed upon him, and the man suddenly unleashed the worst verbal assault Antonio had ever heard from a captive.

In Italian.

"What the hell, you piece of shit!? Why the fuck am I here? You'd better let me go, you fucking pirate, or you'll fucking get it!"

Antonio burst out laughing.

It was some bravery this Italian had, to cross a pirate captain in this way. And in all Antonio's many years of raiding the high seas he had never, not once encountered a hostage quite like this one.

If it had been anyone else he might have killed them for such open defiance, but this prisoner was actually useful. And somehow all he wanted to do here was laugh. Laugh, he certainly did. Such a welcome feeling it was. It took him a long time to recover, and when he did he had to make a huge effort not to guffaw at the Italian's indignant face.

"A feisty one, I see!" Antonio exclaimed once he had regained control of himself. "You'll enjoy it here, then! Welcome!"

Now it was the Italian's turn to look shocked, and comically so. His mouth fell open as he gaped at Antonio with eyes the size of saucers.

"... How the fuck do you know Italian!?"

"That's a story for another time," Antonio said cheerfully, as though speaking to a small child. Indeed the Italian was small. And indeed he was having a fit of temper, just like a child. And—it was hard to deny—he was rather attractive too. Judging by appearances the Italian certainly wasn't from a poor family. His face looked soft and not at all thin, his now-red cheeks seemed to ask to be pinched. And he had an unruly strand of hair shaped like a curl. Antonio rather wanted to touch it.

"Anyway, I'm Antonio Fernández Carriedo, captain of the Trinidad!" He introduced himself with a bow and a flourish. "What's your name, mi amigo?"

"I'm not your fucking friend," snarled the Italian, as though he hadn't heard the 'captain' bit, struggling valiantly at his bonds. "And I'm not fucking telling you my name. Let. Me. Go."

Antonio had no intention of complying, of course. It was humorous, playing around with this man.

"Lo siento, but I couldn't do that! You're Italian, sí? We'll need you to help us find treasure!" he said in the happiest voice he could muster, which wasn't all that difficult given the situation. "And do tell me your name, or I'll have to call you Rotten-Mouth, and I'm sure that won't sound as nice as your real name!"

The Italian's face darkened in response. Success.

Oh, this was the best amusement he had had in years.

"... My name," said the Italian through gritted teeth, "is Lovino. Lovino fucking Vargas. Get it right. And I'm not helping you steal from my own damn country."

Lovino Vargas. An uncommon name. And how very endearing, too. But he certainly was difficult to convince. Antonio would have to work on that before they reached Venice... there was time for that later, however.

For now, his primary concern was what to do with such a fiery captive as this one. Throwing him in the hold with Santiago would be too much of a waste, but letting him run around on deck would be equally disastrous, if not more.

Decisions, decisions...

The Italian glared at him, as though he'd like nothing more than to murder Antonio in his bed. The captain sighed inwardly. Having Lovino around would cause no end of problems, unless he thought of something soon. But judging from the way things had started out, whatever happened next was bound to be interesting.

And Antonio lived for interesting.

x X x

Translations

El Mediterráneo (Spanish) – the Mediterranean (Sea)

Diablo (Spanish) – devil

Trinidad (Spanish) – Trinity

Mi amigo (Spanish) – my friend

Capitán (Spanish) – captain

Sorella (Italian) – sister

Lo siento (Spanish) – sorry

Sí (Spanish) – yes

Pirate things/etc

Quartermaster - Essentially the second-in-command. He made most of the decisions on the ship and kept things nice among the crew, although the Captain still had authority in battle.

Navigator - Basically determined locations and suchlike.

Landlubber - People living on land. X'D Or people with no experience in seafaring.

Hold - The lower deck of a pirate ship, where cargo or prisoners were kept. It was pretty nasty down there, and yes, there were many rats.

Bow - The front part of a ship. (I think.)