The Seven Serpents Trilogy Read Free Page A

and three nights. When the wind did blow again, it barely filled the smallest sails. Another five days of these calm airs went by, with the result that, in two weeks of sailing, we had logged less than eighty Roman miles.
    At this time Captain Roa became worried about the state of our water casks. He spoke his fears at the eve ning meal.
    â€œBy my reckoning,” he said, “we need four weeks of good winds and fair weather until we can hope to make a landfall. Before that time we will run dangerously low on water. It is the mules that consume the water.”
    It was true about the mules. They drank more than all the men aboard.
    â€œWhat do you wish to do,” Don Luis said, “—toss them overboard?”
    â€œNo,” the captain answered. “But it would be wise to double back to Grand Canary, refill our casks, and pur chase more. A dozen casks, if possible.”
    â€œAnd lose time. Days. A week,” Don Luis said. He looked at me. “Julián, I put you in charge of the casks. See that the crew gets half rations of water. The same for our men. You have good powers of persuasion.”
    Captain Roa shook his head. “It will cause trouble. Not with your men, but with the crew. All are jailbirds. Within an hour they will be at our throats.”
    Jailbirds they were, fresh from Seville’s stone prison, men who had taken advantage of the royal edict that of fered pardons to all who enlisted for a voyage to the New World. Their leader was Baltasar Guzmán. Señor Guzmán had a round head with close-cropped hair. A thin white scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his right ear, which was adorned with a gold ring. He looked as if he had been hacked from a tree trunk. With his iron fists he kept the men in line.
    As I gathered up my supper and went on deck to eat it, my appetite quailed at the prospect of facing the cut throat crew with the news that their rations of water had been reduced by half. But as events turned out, I had no need to face them.
    Â 
CHAPTER 3
    T HE NEXT MORNING, SHORTLY BEFORE SUNRISE, WE SUDDENLY CAME upon what appeared to be a rocky pinnacle. It lay directly in our path, some quarter of a league off our starboard bow, shrouded in morning mist. But as we drew close upon it, our lookout reported it to be a two-masted, square-rigged carrack drifting slowly eastward under two slack sails.
    Our spirits were greatly lifted at the sight, for it was the first vessel we had seen since leaving Spain. Wild cheers went up from the crew, and at once Captain Roa called through his speaking tube a long
hola
.
    There was no answer. He hailed the drifting carrack three times, but not a sound came back to us. Nor could we see a soul anywhere upon her battered and salt-encrusted decks or in her rigging. I noted her name,
Santa Cecilia
, in faded gilt across her sterncastle.
    We were barely a ship’s length from the carrack when Captain Roa said, “There is a look about her that I do not like. There may have been a mutiny aboard. The mutineers can be hiding below deck.”
    As we moved away, Don Luis took charge and or dered the helmsman to circle back and come upon the carrack from our port side, where we had three cannon in position to fire a volley of round shot.
    â€œI will take a few men and board her when we come around,” Don Luis said. “She seems seaworthy enough.”
    â€œHer sails are in tatters,” replied Captain Roa. “Her masts are badly sprung. My advice is to stand off and give her a shot or two. She is not worth the risk of an ambush.”
    â€œThat risk I will take,” Don Luis said, drawing his sword. “We may have a prize in our grasp.”
    At the last moment, as we came broadside and were moving away, one of the crew tossed a boarding hook over the
Santa Cecilia’s
rail. The two ships bumped and then settled side to side. Don Luis leaped aboard, shout ing, “Santiago!” His six musketeers,