To the Edge of the World Read Free

with a cleft lip and a pate so bald it reflected the candlelight. “He seeks to recruit you for an ocean voyage.”
    Another man with blackened teeth nodded. “Take my advice, boy, don’t go. They pay only enough to buy a few mouse turds at the end of it, that is if you make it back at all. You’d be better off to embark on a short voyage, a voyage whose destination is no secret. At least you’ll come back alive.”
    The room resounded with grunts of agreement.
    “Tell me,” said Espinosa, “how old are you?”
    I opened my mouth to say seventeen, but instead the truth came out. “Fourteen.”
    “Where are your parents?”
    I opened my mouth to say I had no parents but told the truth once more. “They died of pestilence,” I said softly. Immediately upon my words, the room exploded with cursing, and all except Espinosa either left the inn or rushed to sit at the opposite end of the table.
    Now we were quite alone.
    The woman returned with a pot of rabbit stew, bubbling and fragrant.
    As if loathe to come too close, she flung the pot on the table, along with bowls and utensils. We jumped back as stew slopped onto the planks. “Serve yourselves,” she snapped. “That’s six reals you owe me. I should charge you double, triple even. Thanks to you, I’ve lost my best customers.”
    Espinosa tossed the coins at her, and she scooped them off the dirt floor, muttering curses under her breath.
    The stew tasted delicious. I closed my eyes to savor its goodness. Food, I thought. I finally have food. Real food. Food like my mother used to prepare. For a moment I pretended I was home and that her voice danced as she read me poems.
    Instead of my mother’s voice, I heard Espinosa’s. “I am sorry,” he said.
    “Sorry?” I opened my eyes.
    “About your parents.”
    A sudden lump formed in my throat, and I blinked back tears. That he should see me like this made me ashamed. My father never cried. Never. And I could not stop the grief inside my chest, bubbling like rabbit stew, hot and scalding.
    “Have you no other relatives?”
    I shook my head and tears fell like rain.
    “Your father’s family?”
    “They are dead, too.”
    “Your mother’s family?”
    “I do not know who they are.” I hesitated. “There is no one.”
    With a square, scar-ridden hand he reached out and patted my shoulder. For a long while he said nothing and I began to eat again.
    “You are hungry, and yet you grieve. It is a hard combination for any man. I am sorry life has dealt you such a cruel blow, Mateo. But perhaps I can help you. I do seek men for a voyage. Strong, courageous men like you, built hard and tough, able to raise sail if need be or row a boat through rough waters. It matters not that you have no experience, for I need you also for your music. For your guitar.”
    I wiped my nose on my sleeve and looked at him.
    “That will be your job. Cabin boy, yes, but also musician. During such a long voyage, the men need music.”
    “How long a voyage?”
    “Some recruiters tell the men four months. But, like you, I will be honest.” Espinosa took a deep drink of his wine, paused, and looked straight at me. “I require two years of your life, Mateo Macías de Ávila. Two years that I cannot say will be easy, for we go to a destination unknown. You will have no luxuries. No special privileges. But you will have food, companionship, and work, and that is more than you have now. Perhaps you will forget your sorrow. I leave in the morning for Seville, and by then you must decide.”

III
    August 10, 1519

    The heat rose in waves and sweat trickled down my chest and under my arms. The stench of sewage hung in the air. Five ships, their hulls freshly blackened with tar, creaked and swayed.
    Beside me, Ugly stretched and yawned, then sat on his haunches and looked at me, panting. I stood on the docks of Seville in a crush of men. I had been told there were Africans, Portuguese, Sicilians, French, Germans, Greeks, Flemings, English,