Their departure had not gone nearly as smoothly as the captain had intended. Following seas could very well be a dangerous business, and Antonio had been regretting his decision for a while as the boat tossed itself about and leaned far too steeply to the right and crashed into the coming wave, causing some of the men to stumble about and fall. Soon thereafter, however, the vessel evened itself and a fair wind carried them far from the harbor and captivity of land. This continued for many days; consequently, the crew's boredom festered under the open sky rapidly. Though he'd been through it many times, Spain was still thunderstruck at how alike his crew sounded to a pampered rich child not three days into their voyages. By all means, the Spaniard himself could feel it picking away at his very sun-bleached bones. He craved some form of action, any form, beyond the dank, sweat-scented fights between the crew members. It was unfortunate, really, how much the rest wanted to believe they were real, but after having been in many battles, it was painfully obvious how staged they were. People had even placed bets beforehand. Perhaps a third into their journey were their prayers finally answered. Mamello had been keeping a careful eye on their inventory without the knowledge of the crew. This job was mostly to keep track of the water stores; but the man had made a most interesting find.
"The oranges are going missing?" Antonio asked, somewhat skeptical of his first mate's caution. He had requested the dark-skinned man to keep track of the water and did not think that he'd go so far as to count the oranges in their inventory.
"Aye," Mamello replied seriously, "the oranges. I was unconcerned at first as well, but I noticed that a full row had been depleted between when I checked the stores at midnight and when I returned a few hours later." He glanced about the chart room where he had chosen to confront the captain about the sudden fruit shortage and moved slightly closer. In a lower voice, he continued, "I do not believe the crew are thieves, but I wonder if we may have a stowaway." Antonio huffed:
"This ship was picked over twice in search of stowaways! You could not possibly be suggesting that after such careful work - my own careful work included - there is a little dirty thief hiding in my ship!" Somewhat irate, he did as his first mate requested, calling the crew to attention. They converged on the main deck and Antonio addressed them from the elevated one above, the quarter deck. After calling to them, they were quick to gather, most hopping up from where they snoozed against the masts while the others scrambled down from they were inspecting the sails or keeping an eye out for land.
"There have been speculations," he began in a raised tone so that they may hear him, "that we have a stowaway on board." To this, some, such as Alonso, demonstrated shock that their captain had missed such a thing. Others raised their brows, and a select few snickered at the predicament. To these, Spain continued irritably: "It is no laughing matter. Along with fruits to keep scurvy away, water has been going missing, which as you all know is a resource we cannot spare. José, inspect the front corners of the orlop deck and the stores. Isidoro, the galley and then the brig. Alvaro, check near the magazine. The rest of you continue your duties as usual. That is all." Antonio dismissed them with a flourish of his scarlet yet sun-faded coat as he spun and ascended the steps to the helm at the sterncastle deck. He'd ordered José to search the same area that he himself had before ransacked sloppily for prisoners. With an inward flinch, he recalled that he had been careless, making quite the ruckus. To soothe himself, Antonio shouldered some of the blame onto the crew. After all, if their stowaway was located in the cargo hold or around the stores, it would have been the crew's own stupidity keeping them from discovering their little sneak in the area that was their living quarters by night.
After the crew dispersed, the ship was abuzz with questions as to just who the stowaway might be and if there was more than one. As the wind was blowing strong in the direction of the Azores and no steering was needed, Spain amused himself with listening to these rumors. As the day wore on, they grew wilder and more outlandish, ranging from fabled sirens playing a little trick to the great English Captain Kirkland himself, whose feud with their captain was no secret. Spain chuckled at this one, coming from the cheery Alonso who was attempting to convince his friends among the crew that he was right. What a sight it would be, the damned Englishman walking directly into his enemy's claws, into the thick blade of his axe.
Soon thereafter, Mamello strode up the steps to the helm with information about the stowaway, Antonio suspected. He turned to the man, about to ask about this, when his first mate cut him off.
"You heard Del Rio's proposal?" he interrogated in a serious and low tone, staring unwaveringly at his captain. In response, Antonio gave a hearty laugh.
"Now, Mamello," he began in an incredulous tone, "you could not possibly believe that Kirkland would be so stupid as to come aboard my ship and think that he would remain undetected?" The idea itself was ludicrous and everyone thought so, which perhaps was why there was so much burly laughter coming from those that Alonso was trying so desperately to convince. Mamello shook his head in reply, denying such a thought with impatience.
"Of course not, though I would not put it past him to endanger a hired spy." He spoke cautiously and deliberately, as though to stretch the importance of what he was saying while remaining simple for the captain's sake. This did not help poor Antonio, however, who was still quite dumbstruck by the notion. It took him a number of rapid heartbeats to make sense of it. England could very well do such a thing and it was no lie to say he and his citizens were rather gifted in the art of espionage. It was a dirty trick, to infiltrate the ship of another instead of face them with the open warfare of the seas. With this, his confusion began to boil into an utter loathing. The empire disguised piracy as "privateering", as a means to both attack other nations such as himself and win the heart of his government, and through that, avoided any possibility of arrest. He would relish the opportunity to launch an ambush right as the Azores came into view and joy was instilled in the crew, turning a festive occasion into a horribly somber one, both costing Spain a fortune to replace the dead members of his crew, and hindering him with his injured ones. His face darkening significantly as cheer was swept off of it, the captain commanded:
"Search the ship over again, in your very own quarters, station day and night patrols if you must but find that fugitive!"
I am terribly sorry for how long this chapter took. I do hope you'll forgive me. Also not my best work, I'm positive, another very forced chapter. It should start running much more smoothly after this one, I hope. It's just one of those chapters that goes about telling the actions more than anything else. Ahh, I suppose those always pop up now and again. Thank you for reading, especially if you've still stuck with it. – Domingo P.