WHERE PONCE DE LEON FAILED...
Chapter 2: The Truth
***
John Smith shouted orders and jumped in wherever he was needed, overseeing his men load the last of their provisions for his latest adventure. His cool exterior contrasted visibly against the excited enthusiasm of his busy crew. They chattered like parakeets about their brave quest to a new world… and Smith stood back, thinking. Something was troubling him and he couldn't quite figure what. He had a generous backer for this voyage providing all the supplies they could possibly need… and free range to do whatever they pleased. By rights, he should be in high spirits… however…
"John…" a familiar voice called from the distant right. Smith turned and saw a former comrade approaching with his trademark smile and friendly wave. He'd served under Smith several times over the years, originally meeting him on their voyage to the Virginia.
"Lon!" the Captain returned the smile, though he was somewhat confused. Firstly, the sailor looked somehow different - even sounding slightly off. Secondly, he was supposed to be at sea. "What brings you out this way? I thought you went on some important quest for the King a few years back…"
"I did. Just got in yesterday." Lon shook his former Captain's hand, still smiling. "Let me tell you it's good to be home!"
"I never thought I'd hear you say that…" Smith reluctantly released his friend's hand. John couldn't think of Lon as an adventurer, but he was definitely a drifter. He could never stay anywhere for more than six months without becoming restless and moving on. He'd never married or had children, having wanderlust. He'd lived among the settlers in Jamestown for three months before returning to England and enlisting for another experience. If Lon was thankful to return to the motherland… something was up. "What's wrong?"
The sailor's smile took on an air of ironic sadness as he sighed. "Well, John… I'll tell ya this. The rain forest wasn't worth the horrors of working under that madman again."
John's jaw dropped. "You… you can't be serious, Lon!" It was all too ironic. He was surprised he hadn't assumed sooner. "I-"
Lon was shocked. "I assumed you'd noticed. I mean, look at me, John!"
Smith didn't understand this comment, but he had to admit Lon had never looked so good. He couldn't place exactly what was different about the man, but he'd certainly changed for the better. As an afterthought, the scandal struck him. "Then, you must know all about Ratcliffe's scam firsthand."
Lon blinked, surprised. "Scam?"
Smith realized Lon hadn't been among the ragtag crew behind the trained boy. "Ratcliffe hired a young actor to…"
"Good GOD!" Lon interrupted, shocked and staring.
Smith assumed his friend had just put the pieces together and was thunderstruck. "Yes, he actually thought he could pull it off. He-"
"John! LOOK at me!" Lon grabbed him and shook hard. "Look, dammit!"
Smith, startled, stared at his former comrade. The handsome drifter seemed to have taken temporary leave of his sense. Then it struck the skipper hard. Handsome? Lon wasn't just suddenly attractive - he had physically changed! He seemed slightly younger, more attractive…
"You're…"
"I only took a swig, John. Just a sip of the stuff."
"OH… MY… GOD…"
***
They slumped in the condemned shack Lon was temporarily crashing in as he waited to be reassigned. As a man who was at sea for years at a time he had no official residence. He just drifted from friend to friend, host to host, abandoned shed to shed. Lon sat at a filthy table he'd just set upright. He silently sipped some heavy liquor, understanding why he hated his people.
Smith sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, head down. He wasn't sure if he believed his comrade's story. It was impossible. Yet, it wasn't the thought of a fountain of youth that was so unbelievable… it was the fact… that charming Adonis really HAD been Governor John Ratcliffe.
He glanced up, blond strands slipping into his blue eyes. He wanted to speak, ask a thousand questions… but he couldn't. He just looked at Lon, living proof. Smith was to set sail at first light… yet, he knew he couldn't leave now.
Lon broke the silence, "I just assumed everyone would believe. I mean, the crew was all living proof the claim was God's truth. Their families will vouch for that. Friends and acquaintances too. I never figured the English so stupid…"
Smith's expression darkened, "How could any of you have expected us to believe? Not only is it unimaginable… it… it was Ratcliffe… The man's a pathological liar. A fool too!"
"But-"
"Lon, the fountain of youth has never been associated with enhancing appearance! Think about it. These men of living proof? Their families won't recognize them! They aren't just young again… they look entirely different. Their appearance had changed. Ratcliffe has no proof! He wasn't a shred the same. He wasn't even a shadow of the same man! Everyone in the room, including myself, knew what a young Ratcliffe would look like… and… that boy wasn't it."
Lon was silent, understanding.
"The fool was so concerned with his moment of glory and rubbing it in our faces… he didn't explain… didn't clear things up. He should have explained it all before showing his face. He's a idiot! An idiot!" John thumped the back of his head against the wall in frustration. He sighed, adding as a softer afterthought, "He deserves to hang…"
Lon sighed. "I hear the reward for turning him in alive is pretty handsome. Shame they'll never believe the boy they've already captured is their man. They'll have a price on the Governor's head long after it's lobbed off."
Smith sighed and thumped the back of his head against the wall again, gently this time. He sat in quiet contemplation, wrestling with himself. He wasn't always the most moral man… but it seemed wrong for a man to die for a crime he didn't commit - even if he deserved to die for past crimes he'd never been punished for. He debated even this. Did Ratcliffe deserve to die for the things he'd done to him over the years?
His train of thought changed entirely. He returned to images of a tropical rain forest, though he never seen one before. His mind couldn't part with adventure for long. He pictured it very green and somewhat damp. He'd heard it was horribly humid. He closed his eyes and wondered why an undeserving fool like Ratcliffe would be granted such an experience? Someday he would brave that ancient terrain… and it would be the adventure of his life.
His day dream shifted as he began to fall asleep… the forest was filled with the relaxing sounds of a babbling brook. As he scanned this imaginary forest… it all looked similar - green. As he skimmed he almost passed something unexpected, something unusual and grayish brown. He stopped and slid back. What was it? There was the stream and hanging before it, from the ancient trees… hung a rotting skeleton.
John cried out, snapping back to reality. The hollow horror in those empty sockets… the startling concept… His blue eyes darted about the room until they came to rest on a confused, concerned Lon. "John, what's wrong? Drift off?"
"Sort of." John held his head. "I think… I don't know." He wanted to tell the sailor he'd had some sort of vision - a premonition. Unfortunately, he knew such things were deranged and dangerous to speak of. Too many people were punished for straying for the Lord's flock.
He finally added, "Do you know the spring's location?"
"No." Lon hesitated. "No, I don't."
"The secret will die with him."
Lon sighed sadly, "I'm afraid it will."
***
Ironically, young Ratcliffe was sitting in the very same position as Smith - only in a cell. He leaned against the dripping stonewall, cold and apprehensive, alone in the King's dungeon. Head hanging, his black hair looked wet yet dry and was handsomely disheveled. His dark eyes were to the floor. He looked distant… lost. His trail had yet to be scheduled, but when he did… he was certain they'd make quick work of him. They're only debate would be on the form of execution.
He'd spent many hours in the dark debating which way was easiest. Wondering which end he should hope for. A bitter, crazed darkness was filling his soul… and he knew before he'd ever see a judge and jury he'd be completely mad.
He felt like quite the tragic hero. In fact, his acquaintance Will Shakespeare couldn't have written a better tragedy then he was currently living. The boy sighed, feeling as though he'd been elevated towards glory… rising towards Act Three with such potential… just able to see all his dreams about to come true. Unfortunately, his tragic flaw (ego) was now bringing about his unexpected downfall. He sat in the darkness knowing once the curtains closed on Act Three… there was no turning back. The downward slide began. The fall from grace. Avalanche - get the hell out of the way.
A few months earlier, he'd been the happiest man alive, no question. After a miserable life… all his dreams had finally come true. He'd discovered the secret to eternity. He had been granted the beautiful face and form he'd never dreamed possible. He'd been given a second chance. A new life, a new youth. He expected to finally have his glory. In his mind, his moment had finally come. For years he'd ecstatically awaited for the time when he could return to England and finally have his dreams become reality. He'd expected to become the most beautiful, rich and famous man to ever grace the globe.
Instead, he was the opposite in every way but one … and staring blankly… he knew external youth and beauty couldn't save him from death or insanity…
***
Few people stood on the docks to watch Samantha's Sunset set out on her voyage. In fact, the seagulls were louder then the farewells. Smith preferred a small ship, crew and send-off. He didn't broadcast his plans, unlike certain Governors. However, as he briskly cut through the crowd, his mind was focused on only one thought. For the good of the world, he had to get the hell out of the country.
"John, listen to me…" a handsome sailor chased his former leader up the plank. "You can't go!"
Smith turned to Lon, his belongings slung over his shoulder. "We've talked this to death. You know it's the only way. If I stay here I'll go mad. The temptation will be too great and I'll talk. Now, get out of England as quick as you can. Though no one would believe any of it from you… you'll go crazy sticking around."
"But-" Lon stopped, watching John go. He sighed sadly, turning. As he wandered back down to the docks, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Smith wrestling with himself again. He looked as though he might drop his bag and jump overboard. He called up, "Go, John. You're right. You're right about everything."
"I know." John replied. "It's just so hard!"
They stood in silence… the fate of the world in their hands…
Lon sighed, "God's speed, John."
"Bye, Lon. Take care."
***
Count William Wexford-Smyth II chattered cheerfully with his new attendant. A bright boy of pleasuring face, but slight form. He was incredibly intelligent and refreshingly cheerful. His professional, yet uplifting air was exactly what he'd been hoping for as he searched for a new friend and footman.
Smyth was what many would call a "rich, half wit son". His father had died early and he preferred to think of himself as a young successor with little experience. Reasonably attractive, the young man was always smiling and quite popular. He unfortunately failed to see this popularity was due to the fact he constantly threw money away, especially to those around him. Everyone wanted to be close company with a "rich, half wit son".
As the carriage halted, the attractive attendant hoped from the carriage and assisted his master with perfect poise, style and smartness. Fanfare sounded his arrival, but unlike some, the Count failed to even notice it. He was so conditioned to such routines he couldn't see or hear them anymore.
Approaching the ship, he waved cheerfully to a confused John Smith. The gallant Captain met the Count on the dock, unsure of what to expect. "Captain Smith, pleasure. I'm sure you remember me." he jested lightly. "How are you, dear fellow?"
"Fine, your lordship. And yourself?" Smith showed appropriate respect, but an uneasy feeling arouse within him. He hoped the Count was merely present to send him off.
"I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for your, John."
Smith's heart sank. The half wit son had blown their budget.
"It seems I miscalculated, dear fellow, and spent the money set aside for your voyage. I'm afraid I've no choice but to put the entire thing on hold. I'm sorry." The careless count was incredibly honest. Any other noble would invent some excuse, lie for dignity's sake. Not Wexford-Smyth. He cluelessly confessed his foolishness without a second thought.
"It's quite all right, your grace." Smith lied. He really needed to escape England and now he was stuck until the fool accumulated more money. They had ships and supplies that weren't paid for. They had no budget for the road. Fortunately, with all the businesses Wexford-Smyth owned… it wouldn't be too long before he racked up the cash… as long as he didn't spend it again.
"I do hope everything will turn out alright… considering the delay." Smyth wasn't sure what Smith would do now. "Will the supplies store? Will the ship and sailors…"
"Don't worry, sir. Everything will be fine. I'll handle it all personally and we can set sail when you give the word." Smith was an old hand with such scenarios. They were unpleasant, but workable.
"Oh, your such a capital character, Smith! Such a card." He shook Smith's hand as though they were equals and turned to bid adieu. However, an afterthought hit him and he stopped, smiling. "Smith, I'm having a ball this evening. I would be thrilled if you attended."
Knowing it was in his best interest, Smith forced a smile and respectful bow. "I would be honored, m'lord."
"Excellent! My dear attendant will leave you with the details… Cheerio!" With that, the scatter brained nobleman strolled cheerfully along the red carpet towards his awaiting carriage.
The young servant standing behind his master remained, holding an invitation. Yet, he stood staring at Smith, as though expecting something. Confused, the captain extended his hand for the invite. The boy's highlighted red-brown hair was the length of his own… but with charming volume, framing his face.
Realizing he was mistaken for expecting an exchange of words, the servant released the letter. He gave a small, respectful bow and hesitantly returned to his waiting master.
Smith sighed, realizing he had to inform the crew and make countless arrangements immediately. Shortly after he would have to prepare for the Count's party - a smooth social move that would ensure future financial backing - and then he'd have to find another solution to his original problem. He had to resist the temptation of the greatest adventure of all the time - the quest for the fountain of youth… and the remarkable gift it offered.
***
John Smith, dressed in his best, stood along the sidelines, feeling out of place and wondering why he'd bothered to attend the Count's ball. He had so many other matters on the mind. He was sorely tempted to speak with the "Governor" and discover all he could about the fountain of youth. A few words with Wexford-Smyth and he could change the coordinates for this quest…
The captain shook his head, scolding himself. He'd been over it several times… and the world would be better off without such a power. It would bring out more war, hatred and greed then anything else every before. Many men would life forever. Perhaps all men would live forever. Simply put - it was wrong. Downright dangerous!
However, at the moment he found it difficult to debate anything. The Count's young attendant was making him uneasy - something about his eyes - such a startling shade of blue. Throughout the evening he and the strange servant had made eye contact repeatedly. In the corner of his eye, Smith often caught the aide staring at him! His eyes somehow made the sailor uncomfortable…
Eventually, the young stranger made his way across the room towards him. The ordeal on the dock returned to Smith, the boy approaching expectantly. What was he expecting? Especially attractive this evening… the boy stopped before him. "Good evening, Captain Smith." His voice was melodious, charming.
"Good evening. Can I help you?"
"Captain, I've come to beseech your help in a matter of utmost importance…"
Smith interrupted, "Well, could you have been a little less creepy about it? Sakes alive, man!"
Awkwardly, the boy apologized, "I'm sorry, sir. It took me the full day to work up the nerve to speak with you. Years ago we parted on wretched terms and the matter I wish to discuss…" He trailed off and seemed to force himself to get to the point:
"I know you know the truth, sir."
"What?" Smith blinked.
"You know about the fountain. I saw you speaking with Lon when we arrived this morning."
Smith froze, mortified. "I- who are you?"
The youth avoided the question. "Please, you know the Governor is telling the truth. I realize he's a monster… but he's going to die for all the wrong reasons and… and… take the secret with him."
"One could discover the secret without saving his life. Nice try."
"But… he… please, I owe him my allegiance and I can't save him!"
"Allegiance? But…"
It was Wiggins.
Chapter 2: The Truth
***
John Smith shouted orders and jumped in wherever he was needed, overseeing his men load the last of their provisions for his latest adventure. His cool exterior contrasted visibly against the excited enthusiasm of his busy crew. They chattered like parakeets about their brave quest to a new world… and Smith stood back, thinking. Something was troubling him and he couldn't quite figure what. He had a generous backer for this voyage providing all the supplies they could possibly need… and free range to do whatever they pleased. By rights, he should be in high spirits… however…
"John…" a familiar voice called from the distant right. Smith turned and saw a former comrade approaching with his trademark smile and friendly wave. He'd served under Smith several times over the years, originally meeting him on their voyage to the Virginia.
"Lon!" the Captain returned the smile, though he was somewhat confused. Firstly, the sailor looked somehow different - even sounding slightly off. Secondly, he was supposed to be at sea. "What brings you out this way? I thought you went on some important quest for the King a few years back…"
"I did. Just got in yesterday." Lon shook his former Captain's hand, still smiling. "Let me tell you it's good to be home!"
"I never thought I'd hear you say that…" Smith reluctantly released his friend's hand. John couldn't think of Lon as an adventurer, but he was definitely a drifter. He could never stay anywhere for more than six months without becoming restless and moving on. He'd never married or had children, having wanderlust. He'd lived among the settlers in Jamestown for three months before returning to England and enlisting for another experience. If Lon was thankful to return to the motherland… something was up. "What's wrong?"
The sailor's smile took on an air of ironic sadness as he sighed. "Well, John… I'll tell ya this. The rain forest wasn't worth the horrors of working under that madman again."
John's jaw dropped. "You… you can't be serious, Lon!" It was all too ironic. He was surprised he hadn't assumed sooner. "I-"
Lon was shocked. "I assumed you'd noticed. I mean, look at me, John!"
Smith didn't understand this comment, but he had to admit Lon had never looked so good. He couldn't place exactly what was different about the man, but he'd certainly changed for the better. As an afterthought, the scandal struck him. "Then, you must know all about Ratcliffe's scam firsthand."
Lon blinked, surprised. "Scam?"
Smith realized Lon hadn't been among the ragtag crew behind the trained boy. "Ratcliffe hired a young actor to…"
"Good GOD!" Lon interrupted, shocked and staring.
Smith assumed his friend had just put the pieces together and was thunderstruck. "Yes, he actually thought he could pull it off. He-"
"John! LOOK at me!" Lon grabbed him and shook hard. "Look, dammit!"
Smith, startled, stared at his former comrade. The handsome drifter seemed to have taken temporary leave of his sense. Then it struck the skipper hard. Handsome? Lon wasn't just suddenly attractive - he had physically changed! He seemed slightly younger, more attractive…
"You're…"
"I only took a swig, John. Just a sip of the stuff."
"OH… MY… GOD…"
***
They slumped in the condemned shack Lon was temporarily crashing in as he waited to be reassigned. As a man who was at sea for years at a time he had no official residence. He just drifted from friend to friend, host to host, abandoned shed to shed. Lon sat at a filthy table he'd just set upright. He silently sipped some heavy liquor, understanding why he hated his people.
Smith sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, head down. He wasn't sure if he believed his comrade's story. It was impossible. Yet, it wasn't the thought of a fountain of youth that was so unbelievable… it was the fact… that charming Adonis really HAD been Governor John Ratcliffe.
He glanced up, blond strands slipping into his blue eyes. He wanted to speak, ask a thousand questions… but he couldn't. He just looked at Lon, living proof. Smith was to set sail at first light… yet, he knew he couldn't leave now.
Lon broke the silence, "I just assumed everyone would believe. I mean, the crew was all living proof the claim was God's truth. Their families will vouch for that. Friends and acquaintances too. I never figured the English so stupid…"
Smith's expression darkened, "How could any of you have expected us to believe? Not only is it unimaginable… it… it was Ratcliffe… The man's a pathological liar. A fool too!"
"But-"
"Lon, the fountain of youth has never been associated with enhancing appearance! Think about it. These men of living proof? Their families won't recognize them! They aren't just young again… they look entirely different. Their appearance had changed. Ratcliffe has no proof! He wasn't a shred the same. He wasn't even a shadow of the same man! Everyone in the room, including myself, knew what a young Ratcliffe would look like… and… that boy wasn't it."
Lon was silent, understanding.
"The fool was so concerned with his moment of glory and rubbing it in our faces… he didn't explain… didn't clear things up. He should have explained it all before showing his face. He's a idiot! An idiot!" John thumped the back of his head against the wall in frustration. He sighed, adding as a softer afterthought, "He deserves to hang…"
Lon sighed. "I hear the reward for turning him in alive is pretty handsome. Shame they'll never believe the boy they've already captured is their man. They'll have a price on the Governor's head long after it's lobbed off."
Smith sighed and thumped the back of his head against the wall again, gently this time. He sat in quiet contemplation, wrestling with himself. He wasn't always the most moral man… but it seemed wrong for a man to die for a crime he didn't commit - even if he deserved to die for past crimes he'd never been punished for. He debated even this. Did Ratcliffe deserve to die for the things he'd done to him over the years?
His train of thought changed entirely. He returned to images of a tropical rain forest, though he never seen one before. His mind couldn't part with adventure for long. He pictured it very green and somewhat damp. He'd heard it was horribly humid. He closed his eyes and wondered why an undeserving fool like Ratcliffe would be granted such an experience? Someday he would brave that ancient terrain… and it would be the adventure of his life.
His day dream shifted as he began to fall asleep… the forest was filled with the relaxing sounds of a babbling brook. As he scanned this imaginary forest… it all looked similar - green. As he skimmed he almost passed something unexpected, something unusual and grayish brown. He stopped and slid back. What was it? There was the stream and hanging before it, from the ancient trees… hung a rotting skeleton.
John cried out, snapping back to reality. The hollow horror in those empty sockets… the startling concept… His blue eyes darted about the room until they came to rest on a confused, concerned Lon. "John, what's wrong? Drift off?"
"Sort of." John held his head. "I think… I don't know." He wanted to tell the sailor he'd had some sort of vision - a premonition. Unfortunately, he knew such things were deranged and dangerous to speak of. Too many people were punished for straying for the Lord's flock.
He finally added, "Do you know the spring's location?"
"No." Lon hesitated. "No, I don't."
"The secret will die with him."
Lon sighed sadly, "I'm afraid it will."
***
Ironically, young Ratcliffe was sitting in the very same position as Smith - only in a cell. He leaned against the dripping stonewall, cold and apprehensive, alone in the King's dungeon. Head hanging, his black hair looked wet yet dry and was handsomely disheveled. His dark eyes were to the floor. He looked distant… lost. His trail had yet to be scheduled, but when he did… he was certain they'd make quick work of him. They're only debate would be on the form of execution.
He'd spent many hours in the dark debating which way was easiest. Wondering which end he should hope for. A bitter, crazed darkness was filling his soul… and he knew before he'd ever see a judge and jury he'd be completely mad.
He felt like quite the tragic hero. In fact, his acquaintance Will Shakespeare couldn't have written a better tragedy then he was currently living. The boy sighed, feeling as though he'd been elevated towards glory… rising towards Act Three with such potential… just able to see all his dreams about to come true. Unfortunately, his tragic flaw (ego) was now bringing about his unexpected downfall. He sat in the darkness knowing once the curtains closed on Act Three… there was no turning back. The downward slide began. The fall from grace. Avalanche - get the hell out of the way.
A few months earlier, he'd been the happiest man alive, no question. After a miserable life… all his dreams had finally come true. He'd discovered the secret to eternity. He had been granted the beautiful face and form he'd never dreamed possible. He'd been given a second chance. A new life, a new youth. He expected to finally have his glory. In his mind, his moment had finally come. For years he'd ecstatically awaited for the time when he could return to England and finally have his dreams become reality. He'd expected to become the most beautiful, rich and famous man to ever grace the globe.
Instead, he was the opposite in every way but one … and staring blankly… he knew external youth and beauty couldn't save him from death or insanity…
***
Few people stood on the docks to watch Samantha's Sunset set out on her voyage. In fact, the seagulls were louder then the farewells. Smith preferred a small ship, crew and send-off. He didn't broadcast his plans, unlike certain Governors. However, as he briskly cut through the crowd, his mind was focused on only one thought. For the good of the world, he had to get the hell out of the country.
"John, listen to me…" a handsome sailor chased his former leader up the plank. "You can't go!"
Smith turned to Lon, his belongings slung over his shoulder. "We've talked this to death. You know it's the only way. If I stay here I'll go mad. The temptation will be too great and I'll talk. Now, get out of England as quick as you can. Though no one would believe any of it from you… you'll go crazy sticking around."
"But-" Lon stopped, watching John go. He sighed sadly, turning. As he wandered back down to the docks, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Smith wrestling with himself again. He looked as though he might drop his bag and jump overboard. He called up, "Go, John. You're right. You're right about everything."
"I know." John replied. "It's just so hard!"
They stood in silence… the fate of the world in their hands…
Lon sighed, "God's speed, John."
"Bye, Lon. Take care."
***
Count William Wexford-Smyth II chattered cheerfully with his new attendant. A bright boy of pleasuring face, but slight form. He was incredibly intelligent and refreshingly cheerful. His professional, yet uplifting air was exactly what he'd been hoping for as he searched for a new friend and footman.
Smyth was what many would call a "rich, half wit son". His father had died early and he preferred to think of himself as a young successor with little experience. Reasonably attractive, the young man was always smiling and quite popular. He unfortunately failed to see this popularity was due to the fact he constantly threw money away, especially to those around him. Everyone wanted to be close company with a "rich, half wit son".
As the carriage halted, the attractive attendant hoped from the carriage and assisted his master with perfect poise, style and smartness. Fanfare sounded his arrival, but unlike some, the Count failed to even notice it. He was so conditioned to such routines he couldn't see or hear them anymore.
Approaching the ship, he waved cheerfully to a confused John Smith. The gallant Captain met the Count on the dock, unsure of what to expect. "Captain Smith, pleasure. I'm sure you remember me." he jested lightly. "How are you, dear fellow?"
"Fine, your lordship. And yourself?" Smith showed appropriate respect, but an uneasy feeling arouse within him. He hoped the Count was merely present to send him off.
"I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for your, John."
Smith's heart sank. The half wit son had blown their budget.
"It seems I miscalculated, dear fellow, and spent the money set aside for your voyage. I'm afraid I've no choice but to put the entire thing on hold. I'm sorry." The careless count was incredibly honest. Any other noble would invent some excuse, lie for dignity's sake. Not Wexford-Smyth. He cluelessly confessed his foolishness without a second thought.
"It's quite all right, your grace." Smith lied. He really needed to escape England and now he was stuck until the fool accumulated more money. They had ships and supplies that weren't paid for. They had no budget for the road. Fortunately, with all the businesses Wexford-Smyth owned… it wouldn't be too long before he racked up the cash… as long as he didn't spend it again.
"I do hope everything will turn out alright… considering the delay." Smyth wasn't sure what Smith would do now. "Will the supplies store? Will the ship and sailors…"
"Don't worry, sir. Everything will be fine. I'll handle it all personally and we can set sail when you give the word." Smith was an old hand with such scenarios. They were unpleasant, but workable.
"Oh, your such a capital character, Smith! Such a card." He shook Smith's hand as though they were equals and turned to bid adieu. However, an afterthought hit him and he stopped, smiling. "Smith, I'm having a ball this evening. I would be thrilled if you attended."
Knowing it was in his best interest, Smith forced a smile and respectful bow. "I would be honored, m'lord."
"Excellent! My dear attendant will leave you with the details… Cheerio!" With that, the scatter brained nobleman strolled cheerfully along the red carpet towards his awaiting carriage.
The young servant standing behind his master remained, holding an invitation. Yet, he stood staring at Smith, as though expecting something. Confused, the captain extended his hand for the invite. The boy's highlighted red-brown hair was the length of his own… but with charming volume, framing his face.
Realizing he was mistaken for expecting an exchange of words, the servant released the letter. He gave a small, respectful bow and hesitantly returned to his waiting master.
Smith sighed, realizing he had to inform the crew and make countless arrangements immediately. Shortly after he would have to prepare for the Count's party - a smooth social move that would ensure future financial backing - and then he'd have to find another solution to his original problem. He had to resist the temptation of the greatest adventure of all the time - the quest for the fountain of youth… and the remarkable gift it offered.
***
John Smith, dressed in his best, stood along the sidelines, feeling out of place and wondering why he'd bothered to attend the Count's ball. He had so many other matters on the mind. He was sorely tempted to speak with the "Governor" and discover all he could about the fountain of youth. A few words with Wexford-Smyth and he could change the coordinates for this quest…
The captain shook his head, scolding himself. He'd been over it several times… and the world would be better off without such a power. It would bring out more war, hatred and greed then anything else every before. Many men would life forever. Perhaps all men would live forever. Simply put - it was wrong. Downright dangerous!
However, at the moment he found it difficult to debate anything. The Count's young attendant was making him uneasy - something about his eyes - such a startling shade of blue. Throughout the evening he and the strange servant had made eye contact repeatedly. In the corner of his eye, Smith often caught the aide staring at him! His eyes somehow made the sailor uncomfortable…
Eventually, the young stranger made his way across the room towards him. The ordeal on the dock returned to Smith, the boy approaching expectantly. What was he expecting? Especially attractive this evening… the boy stopped before him. "Good evening, Captain Smith." His voice was melodious, charming.
"Good evening. Can I help you?"
"Captain, I've come to beseech your help in a matter of utmost importance…"
Smith interrupted, "Well, could you have been a little less creepy about it? Sakes alive, man!"
Awkwardly, the boy apologized, "I'm sorry, sir. It took me the full day to work up the nerve to speak with you. Years ago we parted on wretched terms and the matter I wish to discuss…" He trailed off and seemed to force himself to get to the point:
"I know you know the truth, sir."
"What?" Smith blinked.
"You know about the fountain. I saw you speaking with Lon when we arrived this morning."
Smith froze, mortified. "I- who are you?"
The youth avoided the question. "Please, you know the Governor is telling the truth. I realize he's a monster… but he's going to die for all the wrong reasons and… and… take the secret with him."
"One could discover the secret without saving his life. Nice try."
"But… he… please, I owe him my allegiance and I can't save him!"
"Allegiance? But…"
It was Wiggins.
