Author's note: Thanks to everyone for the comments and kudos! I really appreciate it :) Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

The stars twinkled affably in the transparent blackness of a moonless sky and the lazy waves of a dozing, restful sea licked the hulls of three ships of the line as they were slowly, almost leisurely making their way south - east, to the port of Havana. With barely any wind to carry them and the current under their keels slack and indolent, they couldn't hope to make port in less than two days, but that didn't seem to matter. Sterns illuminated brightly by lights flickering playfully on the slightly foamy wave crests and old sailor's songs flowing from their decks and echoing cheerfully across the endless vastness of the Caribbean, they seemed to be on a pleasant and relaxing jaunt, with no fear of ambush and no caution of chance encounters. Because, for the first time in decades, the odds of a pirate ambush or a privateer chance encounter were slim to none. The sea was finally pure and both the merchant and military Spanish fleets were free to ride the winds from one end of their vast empire to the other without fear.

"At least for a little while" – admiral Cabrera thought with a smile, sipping his wine and smiling as he listened to the happy chatter of his officers, gathered in his quarters aboard the "Estrella Del Mar" for a small celebratory dinner he decided to hold in honor of "a master of the sea and Spain's best and truly invincible captain" as he dubbed Salazar after hearing and, most importantly, believing every word of his dry, but detailed report.
Perhaps it was foolhardy to let his guard down too much and practically advertise their position to anyone who'd be interested to know, Don Juan mused, but his gut told him that nothing would happen tonight. And, with the 'Brotherhood' destroyed, nothing would happen in these waters for quite a while yet.

Of course, it is impossible to eliminate the pirate threat completely, Cabrera thought, barely listening to Miralles who was excitedly reciting some poem called "Devil's Tide", which the young fool seemed to think, would be perfect to honor the Matador's stunning victory against the pirates and even the sea itself and the fulfillment of his promise to the king and his holy oath to "end the plague".
It is impossible because, in truth, piracy as a phenomenon is nothing more than human nature. It is as natural for petty, selfish, lazy men to take the easy path in life and steal rather than earn and lollygag rather than serve as it is for hyenas to steal prey from a mighty lion and eat up scraps. It is a way of life that many men of all nations and casts have chosen for thousands of years and no doubt will be choosing again until the very end of time. The vicious cycle of killing, looting, whores and cheap, undrinkable liquor was a temptation that Diablo had perfected and successfully inflicted on every poor soul, foolish enough to think that fleeting pleasures had anything to do with real happiness and anarchy had anything to do with real freedom. And there is nothing in the whole wide world that anyone can really do about that. It is a known truth.
However… the best and worst thing about a 'known truth' is that, sooner or later, there always comes a 'somebody' to doubt it, to say 'No!'. Every once in a while, a man, no doubt blessed by God, would rise up to put common sense to shame, defeat known truths and bring true greatness into the world. Such a man was Fernando Magellan, the first captain to circumnavigate the globe many men believed to be flat.
Could Capitan Armando Salazar also be a man chosen by God to shame the Devil and within years do what others failed to do in decades - end the Golden Age of Piracy? Perhaps... His successes in drowning pirates in their own blood to date were unprecedented and he's already won at least one fight against the Devil. Maybe it truly was his fate to break the magic that Diablo made…There could be no denying that there was something within the Matador, Cabrera had never seen in anyone before. A drive… A light… A fire…

The old Admiral's thoughts were interrupted by a burst of cheers and applause from his officers as Miralles finished his recital. Don Cabrera smiled and praised the young captain graciously, but the joy faded from his face as soon as his gaze turned to the hero of the evening. Pale and weary, Salazar was staring absently into the distance, barely registering what was going on and taking no notice of his surroundings. His eyes, endless and fiery, had suddenly become glassy and darker than usual, his piercing gaze dulled by an invisible shroud of pain. His strong, but lively face turned still, becoming a ghostly, white mask.
For a split second Don Juan felt his heart stop in between beats by a strange, icy fear. He'd never seen Salazar like this before and neither had anyone else. It was well known that the Matador had a high tolerance for pain and always made an important point of never showing weakness of any kind. What in the world could have happened to change that? Had he been wounded in battle with the pirates and was now rapidly losing blood? Or was there something else ailing him… something to do with his battle against a far more dangerous opponent…
Luckily, the other officers didn't really seem to notice the sudden change in their companion's demeanor. They were laughing and conversing lively amongst themselves, toasting the Matador's victory and no doubt dreaming of their own. All except Salazar's faithful side - kick and childhood friend teniente Lesaro, who was also looking at his captain with concern.

"Salazar?" – Don Juan asked, bending over to whisper in the captain's ear – "Are you unwell, mi amigo?"

The flickering lights of candles lit abundantly in the admiral's quarters were spinning faster and faster before Capitan Salazar's eyes, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy as though he were drunk. The sweet and spicy smell of freshly cooked food and uncorked wine suddenly became so strong it was suffocating and the happy chatter of the officers began to fade rapidly from his ears. Salazar cursed silently as the world began closing into blackness all around him and tried to keep himself from fainting by gripping his chair. He knew the onset all too well.
In a few minutes the right side of his head will be burning and throbbing with a pain that made flesh wounds and broken bones seem like a minor inconvenience. Hemicrania. A malady that started with an explosion at the siege of Toulon. An explosion that took Lesaro's eye and left him with severe headaches that came without warning and usually lasted for a few hours, but could sometimes go on for days on end. They have tormented him for near ten years, becoming the bane of his existence and his greatest secret. There was no cure, no way to alleviate the agony even a little. It was so bad, Salazar even thought about ending it by blowing out his brains the first time the hemicrania came. But as the years passed he learned to bear it and not show it. It would never do to let his men see him in that kind of state. Only Lesaro, his best friend and most loyal officer, knew of this affliction.

"Perfect fucking timing!"- Salazar grumbled to himself gulping down a strong bout of nausea. He took a deep breath and tried his best to maintain focus among the sickening gayety of his fellow officers, but his mind was rapidly going numb and he could barely register what the exited men were saying.
No doubt something ridiculous, judging by the smug look that pompous idiot Miralles had on his face, Salazar thought meanly. He could hardly stand the man, who was yet to see a single battle, but was always glad to voice a useless opinion on anything and everything. No doubt, he was convinced that success and glory as well as admiration were his birthright and that anyone would be flattered by an offer of friendship from a charming and gracious fellow like himself.

"With your permission, Almirante, a toast" – a slightly drunk Miralles said enthusiastically as he rose with a glass of red wine in his hand – "A poem called "Devil's tide". For the man who cheated the Devil himself"

"Go on then, let's hear it" – Cabrera laughed, taking a sip out of his glass.

Miralles began his recital with artistry and passion worthy of a poet or an actor… or a court jester, the Matador could've added, but the young man's words were lost on the hero of the evening, who was gritting his teeth to refrain from groaning and hurling silent curses at the bomb, the English, and the entire world as, once again, the right side of his head exploded with the fires of hell. They throbbed and burned his eyes and all but cracked open his skull. His vision became blurred and clouded and suddenly Salazar felt like he was still lost somewhere in the violent storm of the Devil's Triangle, gripping the wheel and drowning in the greedy sea as it swallowed the 'Maria Silenciosa'. His world turned black and white and for a moment he thought he heard a distinct voice of the young pirate ring loudly among the thunder of the gale.
"You surrender to me now and I shall let you live!" – it laughed – "I shall let you live!"
The taste of cold, salty water filling his mouth turned his stomach, but the strange vision passed as suddenly as it appeared, leaving nothing but the disgusting, constant nausea that always came with the pain.

"Salazar? Are you unwell, mi amigo?"

The sound of Cabrera's calm, concerned voice whispering in his ear felt like a cold compress on the captain's burning forehead. Never before had it seemed to be so gentle, so full of wise sympathy and kindness. Salazar almost didn't recognize it.
I must be looking pathetically bad for the admiral to address me in such a way, Salazar thought anxiously.
He couldn't possibly allow his pain to show, especially in front of his peers and his admiral. Only the strong and proud command respect. Only the strong and proud can lead and know that they'll be followed. Without his strength… what else was there?

"Not at all, mi Almirante" – Salazar replied quietly, trying to move only his lips and let his head, burning with infernal pain, stay as still as possible.

"Are you sure about that?" - Don Juan asked, eyeing his captain searchingly.

"Yes sir"

"Capitan, if you need to excuse yourself, go back to your ship and send for the surgeon, I will understand" – the admiral told him forcefully, annoyed at Salazar's useless, stubborn pride and feeling afraid for him. An emotion that was entirely new and rather strange, though not at all inexplicable – "I need you now more than ever and you're no good to me sick"

"That won't be necessary, Almirante" – Salazar replied through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to accept the old man's offer, go back to his cabin, lie down and stay completely still.

"Very well then" – Cabrera replied, unconvinced and worried as he'd ever been, but determined to let Salazar be the master of his own fate and at least try to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Time stopped for Salazar as he sat motionless, trying his best to focus on the company and conversation, but failing at it miserably. The pain in his head was getting worse than it had ever been, weakness and lassitude were swallowing him like a deadly swamp and the nausea was unbearable. He couldn't stand the flickering lights, the smells and the sounds of laughter, somehow they made him even sicker.
Cabrera was sitting at the head of the table meditatively, lost in thought and pretending to listen to Miralles, who was making most of his opportunity to shine by telling some absurd, made up story of a duel for the honor of a pretty lady he got himself into while still unmarried and living in his parents estate near Barcelona. If it weren't for the pain in his head, Salazar would've rolled his eyes. But now he was afraid of doing even that.

"Oh, and… Speaking of good fortune" – the captain's ears registered the admiral's happy voice reluctantly, the words making no sense in his chaotic and inflamed mind, feeling a lump of food slowly, but surely making its way back to his mouth instead of forward to his stomach.

"The formalities of adoption have now been completed" – Don Juan said joyfully. And before the Matador knew what was happening, he found himself looking at what he believed to be a small portrait of a young girl, shoved into his hands by Don Cabrera. He could see nothing, but blurred spots of white and blue and brown where the girl's face and gown and hair ought to have been, but Salazar willed himself to focus on the picture and nod, hopefully, with a convincing enough grunt of approval. Saying nothing, he passed the picture on.
Of course, he knew the story well enough. Despite two marriages and goodness knows how many mistresses, Don Juan Cabrera was still childless. None of his women ever got pregnant by him, although some of them later had children by other men. A fact the old admiral had reluctantly accepted but refused to comply with. And now, apparently, he was trying to cheat fate by taking in some poor relative or other.

"Ah, she is a very handsome young lady" – he heard lieutenant Rivero say as he passed the picture to Lesaro, who complimented the girl lavishly. As did the rest of them.

"Yes, she is" – the admiral said proudly, his voice echoing in Salazar's ears and bringing new and violent jerks of pain with it – "And so accomplished…"

But captain Salazar never got to know which of his new daughter's qualities Cabrera was about to praise. His head was spinning violently with mind – numbing pain, exploding incessantly inside him like the barrels chock full of gunpowder all those years ago in Toulon and filling him with agonizing fire that took away almost all his ability to see, to hear, to concentrate and put together a coherent sentence in his mind, much less his mouth, yet somehow increased every sensation by a thousand fold. The room, the lights, the faces of his fellow officers, the stench of food and bodies and seawater, the sounds of voices, waves, and music coming from the deck were flying all around him in a weird haze of mixed, incoherent sensations. But among all that chaos, there was one thing that Salazar could see and hear and take in perfectly – the vision of the pirate boy shouting at him from the crow's nest, mocking his power, inviting him to admit defeat and race forward to his death. His face and voice were mercilessly sharp and distinct, almost as though they were being deliberately carved into the captain's mind and memory with endless, piercing pain.
Whether or not it had something to do with the storm or the Devil's Tirangle, Salazar didn't know, but he couldn't remember the last time he had had a fit that was so bad and strange. The pain and nausea could go on for days, but the impaired senses and incoherence of thoughts and speech never lasted for more than twenty minutes. Maybe there was something to this curse business after all, he felt himself think. Or was it mere coincidence… or… was his illness merely getting worse…

Suddenly Salazar realized that the room was filled with a thick, dark silence that was getting heavier by the second. The faces of his fellow officers were illegible to his eyes, as though he were seeing them through water, but he knew they were all looking at him expectantly and with growing suspicion.

"Erm… excuse me, senores" – Salazar finally said, trying to sound as natural and carefree as possible while staying as still as possible – "I'm afraid I got caught up in my own thoughts. I beg your forgiveness"

"It's all right, Capitan" – Don Juan replied casually, coming to his rescue – "We all know you don't care about such things. The sea and naval warfare is El Matador's first and only interest"

Strictly speaking, that wasn't entirely true, but Salazar was certainly not going to argue.

"That's why by your age, Capitan Miralles, he was already a masterful sailor with a reputation for insane bravery and quite a few victories under his belt" – the admiral added in a slightly snide tone, chosen especially to put the obnoxious young captain in his place.

"I'm afraid you give me too much credit, sir" – Salazar replied with a labored grin on his lips, displaying the humility which was certainly expected of him – "I do the best I can to learn and perfect every aspect of my craft, but a lot of it is just experience. As you know I've had the good fortune to be recruited as a midshipman during the very first days of the war. And in fourteen years of constant fighting, you cannot help but learn"

"Mi Capitan is too modest" – Cabrera reciprocated with a gracious little smile, as, also, was expected in such situations – "But it is true that no amount of learning can replace experience. And vice versa. Wouldn't you agree, senores?"

The officers quickly joined the conversation, but Salazar could feel them throwing furtive, wondering looks at him.

"Salazar, you're excused" – Cabrera told him in a quiet whisper bending over as closely as he could – "Go deal with whatever is the matter with you"

"Sir, I…" – Salazar tried to protest reluctantly.

"That is an order, Capitan" – the admiral cut off.

Leaning heavily on the tabletop, fighting the weakness that seized his muscles and willing his eyes to focus, Salazar got up.

"Pray excuse me, Almirante. Senores" – he said with a slight nod, gripping his chair to maintain balance more than to get it out of the way.

"Of course, Capitan" – Don Juan replied casually, waving him off and returning his focus to his conversation with the officers. Obviously, they had noticed that Salazar wasn't himself, but the less they saw of it or thought about it, the better.

By the time Salazar came aloft he could scarcely decipher anything in the whirling chaos the world around him had turned into. His head was spinning violently and the sickening sensation didn't stop even when he closed his eyes, on the contrary, it only got worse. Weakness and unbearable lassitude filled his entire body like lead and it took all of his strength and willpower to keep himself moving, gripping for whatever support he could.
Finally, his buckling knees gave way and he felt himself fall onto the deck. He tried to get up, but his body was too weak to obey him. All he could do was stare at the mesmerizing dark sky above lit up brightly by the huge twinkling stars, that seemed to be going around in glorious diamond like circles. Their pale glow everlasting and eternal, so remote and yet so close… He could feel them looking at him, winking at him… laughing at him… like the boy in the crow's nest…

"Santa Maria!" - an unknown voice cried from somewhere afar. Salazar couldn't guess the direction even if he wanted to. Then came the thumping sounds of hurried footsteps echoing all around him. All of a sudden he saw the face of a young man hovering and rocking over his own.

"Capitan!" – the young man gasped, his big brown eyes blinking and wide with fear.
– "Capitan! What's wrong? Are you ill, sir?"

Salazar wanted to answer, but his tongue and throat had gone completely numb. A quiet groan was all he could manage to get out of his mouth.

"God Almighty, have mercy on us" – the young man whimpered.
"Help! Someone!" – he cried out loudly. Too loudly for the captain's inflamed, overly sensitive hearing.
Immediately, the air was filled with echoing footsteps, a cacophony of loud whispers and distant cries, bright, flickering lights and an endless blur of rough, tanned faces that came and went and turned in circles all around him. Then, suddenly, his world went black.

When Salazar woke up, he found himself lying limply on the deck of the "Estrella Del Mar" in Lesaro's arms with no idea of how or why he got there. Feeling weak and drowsy, he tried to get up, but his friend's firm grip stopped him.

"Easy, Capitan. I've got you" – Salazar heard Lesaro say quietly, almost tenderly – "You just rest here easy"

"What happened?" – the Matador uttered, his voice completely alien. High – pitched, quiet and quivering, it sounded like it came from a distance.
Maldito sea! What's the use of speaking like that, Salazar thought angrily, feeling completely mortified, embarrassed and humiliated by this spectacular show of his own powerlessness. As though lying helplessly on the deck, surrounded by the men who were supposed to look up to him and respect his authority wasn't bad enough. He'd rather not say anything at all if this pathetic, whimpering tone was all that he could muster.

"You don't remember?" – Lesaro asked him worriedly.

"I remember sitting at table with Cabrera and the rest of you… and then nothing until I woke up here" – Salazar replied after clearing his throat. His voice sounding a little better this time.

"It's the curse" – whispered an unknown voice from somewhere behind him. Deep and husky and full of fear – "The Devil's cursed him… The Tirangle… No one is supposed to leave it alive…"

"Silence!" – Don Juan's commanding voice rang out across the deck, quenching the superstitious, panicked murmurs – "There's no such thing as the curse of the Triangle. There's nothing magical about that place, it's merely a natural phenomenon that most of you fools are too illiterate to comprehend. If anyone dares to repeat this superstitious nonsense out loud or even silently in his own mind, they will be punished severely. No one! I repeat, no one is to speak of this incident or the captain's illness. On pain of death!"