Chapter 6 : The Albatross Takes Flight

Crack went his whip.

Swish went his sword.

Wooden planks shattered as he removed his pirate's axe from the wall.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had at last reached the high point of his life.

His first voyage of conquest had led him here, to a small city on the Italian coast, a most viable destination—this would be his first major test. Antonio's status as a captain depended on it.

And thus failure was not an option.

An abandoned old sack lay in the corner of his cabin, halfway tucked beneath his bed; he reached for it with his good hand and tossed it in the air. Then he grasped his axe, testing his left arm.

It had been several days since he'd received the injury, but he was pleased to observe that the wound had started to close over, without infection. To be sure, it wasn't completely healed, and still rather uncomfortable to move, rather like a heavy block of wood; but it was the best Antonio could ask for, and he would need both arms where he was going.

In a gleaming arc the axe swung, slicing cleanly through the fabric, before what was left of the bag fell to the ground with a loud clunk.

Satisfied, Antonio knelt to examine the contents. Colorful stones spilled through his fingers, emeralds and rubies and other precious gems, glowing by the light of his dying candle. These he remembered well—relics from past days of glory, days he had spent as an underling, always watching and waiting in the background. But those days were over now. Now was the time for him to do the same for himself, conquer and destroy and make his mark.

Now was the time.

As though sensing his silent elation, the ship seemed to race ever faster through the water, the shouts of his men growing increasingly excited. And then came the triumphant cry, lancing through the darkness.

"LAND HO! LAND HO!"

Antonio's candle blew out, and he suddenly found himself in darkness; but it didn't matter. Outside the sky had begun to lighten, first slowly and then more substantially. A faint bluish light entered his cabin, the dawn of a new day. He straightened up, re-sheathed his sword, picked up his other trusty weapons and left the room.

Out on deck his crew were already frenziedly preparing the Trinidad for landing. A rather anxious-looking Eduardo rushed up to him.

"Sì, what is it?" The captain made sure to conceal his anticipation beneath a show of indifference. Whether he was fooled or not, Eduardo looked equally unmoved.

"Cap'n, they tells me we be landin' in less than an hour."

"Good."

"Any orders, Cap'n?"

"Yes, but I'll give them myself." Antonio turned and addressed the others. "Get ready to drop anchor! Avoid rocks, we won't be going too close to shore—we'll take them by surprise! They won't even know what hit them."

This was met with guffaws from all around, and the pirates immediately fell to work. Antonio took his place at the ship's wheel and stared ahead at the rushing water. There over the horizon, barely visible through the morning dimness, was the silhouette of a strip of land. Then appeared the buildings, the tall spires of a city.

Gallipoli, he thought with a little thrill.

They were almost there...

Finally the moment came when he heard the heavy clunk of the anchor as it hit the seabed, turned the wheel one last time, and set the ship to rest a little ways from land. They were partially hidden behind tall boulders near the coast. All was quiet save the hushed whispers of the crewmen and the stirring of the waves.

The Trinidad had made it. She was here.

It was now Antonio's job to make sure no one ever forgot what was to happen next. He could practically taste the victory, made all the more sweet in that it would belong not to the English, but to the Spanish.

That was the way things were meant to be.

Eduardo and several pirates were readying a small boat, while a few others went to fetch the best blades they could find. The air was thick with anxiety and anticipation; Antonio could practically feel the eagerness radiating off his fellow mates in waves.

Distantly, he heard a splash from the stern of the ship.

A long moment passed and Antonio tried to think. Unexplained splashes near his own ship couldn't be anything good. He was just about to send some of his crew to investigate, when he was interrupted by a loud, excited shout.

"Man overboard!" yelled a wiry young sailor, running forward and waving his arms ridiculously. He was soon followed by a burlier pirate who confirmed his statement.

"Ye dummy—it's the prisoner!"

Antonio froze.

"... What did you say?"

The second pirate shook his head.

"It's the prisoner. He escaped!"

"... Escaped."

"Aye, he did. Jumped right off the damn ship."

"Mierda. And you let him go just like that?"

"... Lo siento, Cap'n."

The captain turned to him, his expression dangerously cold.

"Get him back. Right now. Don't hurt him, just bring him back. Go."

"Aye, Cap'n."

Antonio watched until the two vanished around a corner, and then he smashed his fist against the wall. Eduardo and the first mate Emilio glanced at him in concern, but Antonio ignored them.

He should expected something like this. He should have known.

Looking back, it had all been clear enough. Lovino hadn't gotten angry with him for no reason. It was obvious the Italian had hated it here. Hated plenty of things, Antonio included, if his outburst gave any indication.

And what did prisoners do when they hated their surroundings?

They escaped.

How had he managed to be so careless?

It wasn't that he cared about Lovino—the Italian was probably safe where he was going, anyway. The one problem was his escape from a pirate ship. And that meant the whole operation here was compromised: Lovino might warn the other Italians, they might gather a small force to attack the Trinidad, the pirates would have to leave, and what then? Antonio would have to bid farewell to his role as captain, and possibly even more.

He couldn't let that happen.

Breaking into a run, he reached the stern just as the sailor and the burly pirate emerged from the railing, both dripping wet. There was no Italian in sight.

"Where's the prisoner?" Antonio demanded.

"He—he was too fast, Cap'n," panted the sailor, wiping his brow. "Methinks he's got himself ashore by now—agh!"

In his fury Antonio nearly throttled the poor man.

"You are useless, you hear me?" he roared. "Useless, perfectly useless! So we came here for nothing, then!"

Angrily, he let go of the now choking sailor and stormed back to the aft of the ship, where Eduardo and the others had successfully landed the small boat in the water. The quartermaster allowed Antonio to draw him aside and whisper to him.

"Bring as many people as you can," Antonio ordered. "We'll have strength in numbers if we can surprise them. Leave the useless ones here. Don't tell them where we're going. I'll sail the ship farther off so it's harder to reach."

With an "Aye" and a nod, Eduardo set to carrying out his instructions with unnatural haste, and the rest of the pirates anxiously followed suit. It seemed everyone had at last understood the seriousness of the situation.

Indeed, it might well mean life or death for many of them—especially one.

Now was not the time to reflect on how he'd shirked all his swimming lessons from his childhood days, but he couldn't help remembering; the screaming of his limbs was proof enough of that. The only thing that had kept him going was the thought of his possible recapture, and almost certain death, at the hands of those two pirates. So he'd swum for his life, and not even the chill of the water could get in his way.

It did now, though. Lovino had purposely led them into the maze of rocks by the shore, hoping the scoundrels would eventually give up and return to the ship. He had been right, and now he was safe; the ship couldn't navigate large boulders anyway.

But as he stopped for breath, the cold waves seemed to seep into his bones, and before long the Italian was shivering violently. With the last of his strength he pulled himself to shore and collapsed on the sand.

"Hey, what're you doing out here? Swimming? It isn't even morning yet!"

Lovino lifted his head and looked back. A few yards away, sitting on a flat rock, fishing pole in hand, was the oldest, gruffest-looking man he had seen in a long time (aside from Nonno, of course). Grey hair, grey eyebrows, grey beard, many wrinkles, sharp dark eyes.

A fellow Italian.

Ah, how he'd missed the sight of his own countrymen.

"Get off of there," Lovino croaked.

The man shook his head in disapproval. "Young'uns nowadays... no manners, no manners at all." But he did get off the rock, and after what seemed like ages Lovino felt surprisingly strong hands grabbing ahold of his arm and helping him up. The old man gave him another displeased look.

"Now tell me why you're here, alone, and half-drowned. What in the world did you do?"

"N-nothing," managed Lovino, doing his best to stand. "Signore... take your things. We need to leave. There's people after me... they might get you too."

"Che?" His savior looked alarmed, but followed. "Who are they?"

Lovino opened his mouth to speak, but the image of a hurt-looking, green-eyed Spaniard rushed into his head and he hesitated.

If he told, the villagers and city-dwellers would most certainly band together to fight off the pirates. Then what would happen to them... to Antonio?

The Italian shook his head to clear it.

Why the fuck did he care?

These were fellow Italians. His own people. He couldn't let anything happen to them. Not at the hands of a few law-breaking assholes.

"They're pirates," he said finally, and the expression on the old man's face was worth it all.

"Pirates."

"Sì."

"Good Lord. Then we need to tell everyone. And quickly. They're here already, aren't they?"

Lovino could only give a mute nod.

"Flesh-and-blood pirates, you say..." the man muttered to himself. Quickly he retraced their steps and erased their footprints as best as he could. Then he returned and rushed Lovino along. In a few moments they had reached a small village.

"Never would have dreamed of something like this... but we can fight them off. Thank you for warning us... By the way, what's your name?"

"Lovino," said Lovino.

"Ah."

"That's my name, of course," he felt obliged to explain.

There was a pause.

"... Are you Lovino Vargas, by any chance?"

"Wait, how the fuck did you—" Lovino almost bit his tongue trying to take back his words. "H-how did you know?"

"News," said the old man, waving off the colorful language. "Your family sent people to ask around and look for you. We heard how you were captured in Sicilia. The couriers warned us about pirates, but I never thought they'd actually come here... Anyway, call me Tommaso. You've got my help for sure, young lad. I'll be damned if I let a bastardo touch any one of my children."

Lovino wasn't sure if that meant he was automatically one of those children, but at the moment he couldn't have been more grateful. He had actually escaped that dratted pirate ship, made a willing and able friend, and quite possibly they could check the pirates' advance before they did any lasting damage.

Things were going fairly fucking well.

"Grazie, signore," he said, and meant it.

Then he collapsed.

"¡Vamos! Hurry up!" Antonio repeated for what must have been the thousandth time that day. But the pirate with the oars couldn't seem to row fast enough. Finally Eduardo knocked him out of the way and took his place, and they went much faster from there.

Soon they reached the shore, and, after making sure the coast was clear, joined the other pirates, who had pushed inland and congregated by a small wood.

"Cap'n, we didn't find the prisoner," said first mate Emilio, running to meet them. "But these here might be his footprints."

Antonio looked where he pointed, and sure enough, there were a few faint indentations in the sand in the shape of feet. Most of them had been rubbed out, but not completely.

"Think they're goin' that way." Emilio pointed in a northeasterly direction.

"So he's gotten away," said Antonio aloud. "He probably knows this place well, too. That means he'll warn everyone in no time."

"What should we do?" asked a young pirate.

The captain looked around. They were just concealed by the trees' shade, but the sun was fast rising, and after that they wouldn't have much cover at all.

Going back to the ship was out of the question. If they moved deeper into the woods, they would have to stay put for much of the day without food or drink, and possibly risk discovery. And if they were to push forward...

He could see the city had walls. And towers.

Lots of them.

"Let's get to the villages and rob them first. Kill them, take their clothes and disguise ourselves as civilians. Then we'll slip into the city and teach them how to fear real pirates."

His men looked excited and ready enough; they were hardened killers, after all, every single one of them, and most were experienced enough to successfully disguise and deceive. They could do this, as long as their timing was right and they proceeded with stealth.

And, Antonio thought to himself, they might just find the Italian in the process.

Even if Lovino had insulted and shouted at him before—he was simply too adorable to die. Antonio rather missed him already, missed all his little quirks and blushes and frequent usage of swear words. He was definitely coming back with them when they found him. And by that time he might just reconsider his dislike for the Trinidad's captain. He just might.

Antonio hoped so, anyway. If everything went well, it would all be resolved in the end.

And now, to make the first move.

x X x

Translations

Mierda (Spanish) – Shit

Lo siento (Spanish) – I'm sorry

Signore (Italian) – Sir

Che? (Italian) – What? (From "Che cosa," but "Che" is commonly used in central and southern Italy while "Cosa" is in the north.)

Bastardo (Italian) – Bastard

Grazie, signore (Italian) – Thank you, sir

¡Vamos! (Spanish) – Come on!

Albatross: a wonderful large seabird. The myth goes that harming or killing one will bring bad luck.