by Anne B. Cole
The pirate’s shirt, bloodstained front and back, revealed the exit wound from the bullet Lorenzo had shot. Lubber lowered his sword from Peter to the jars.
“This treasure must be replaced until a sacrifice is made.” He turned to Lorenzo in a hoarse whisper, “We’ll split it, you and me, American.”
The earth began to shake again, this time longer and more intense.
Lorenzo fell to his knees in the sand. Lubber grabbed the neck of the headless centaur. Peter stumbled into the pile of broken junk. As suddenly as it started, the quake ended. Dust rose among them.
Peter let out a terrifying scream, advancing with the dagger held high.
Lubber braced himself against the strike.
The clashing blades echoed in the cavern. The sheer force of his blow caused Peter to lose his footing, and with one quick flick of Lubber’s sword, the dagger flew out of his hand. Peter pushed up on his hands and knees among the rubble, shaking his head.
“The gods are angry. Replace the treasure,” Lubber called to Lorenzo, climbing over Peter as he claimed the jeweled dagger.
Lorenzo scanned the pile. A stone staff caught his eye. It must have been part of a statue at one time. He lifted the heavy piece with both hands.
“Three strangers fight, a favor done, in return a treasure won.” Lubber recited the entry in the black book. He studied the dagger’s intricate handle as if in a trance.
Peter and Lorenzo exchanged glances, confirming a partnership against the pirate.
“Three strangers fight.” The pirate grinned, then continued, “A favor done.” He quickly tossed the dagger to his left hand and lunged. Lorenzo turned hard to the right, but Lubber buried the dagger deep into his left shoulder.
Burning pain sliced through him as if the blade had been placed in hot coals. Lubber released the jeweled handle. Drawing his sword, he placed the tip on his own wound.
“Now we are even. Favor is this. I let you live, American.” He turned to Peter. “I have no need for you.” Peter instinctively reached for his sword, coming up empty handed. Lubber laughed. “I’m in need of a woman, not a blundering fool.”
Lorenzo’s hands remained clenched around the stone staff. He heaved it to Peter seconds before Lubber’s sword swooped down. Peter gripped the staff, blocking the blow. Lorenzo fell back to the sand, writhing in pain. The burning dagger remained embedded in his shoulder.
Lubber attacked fiercely, breaking Peter’s staff in two, and then pulverized it with a third blow. Lorenzo rolled on his side, clutching the sand to combat the intense pain. His right hand gripped a round stone as his knees bent to his chest. Thrashing among the rubble, he thought he was losing his mind when the stone in his hand appeared to have fingers around it. Concentrating on the stone instead of the pain, he realized it was a carved apple held by three fingers and a thumb.
The pirate crashed his sword decidedly into what was left of Peter’s staff. “Any final words?”
Peter stumbled backwards.
Lorenzo managed to uncurl himself enough to hurl the stone apple at the pirate’s head. Not knowing if it hit its mark, his mouth filled with sand as his cheek buried into the earth. Lubber groaned, falling face first into the pile of junk.
Pain overtook Lorenzo. A dark shape hovered over him, holding a sash.
“Hold still,” Peter commanded. He yanked the dagger out and tossed it to the ground. He pressed the sash firmly against the wound. Lorenzo felt himself being dragged through the narrow pass of rocks, then fell into the shallow hot water. He cringed at the heat. His shoulder, arm, chest, and left side of his neck burned as if on fire. Peter eased Lorenzo’s wound into the water. The cry that escaped his lips echoed off the stone cliffs.
“Burns?”
Lorenzo nodded, wondering how Peter knew.
“Lubber won’t be out long,” Peter stated dryly.
Lorenzo dragged himself to his knees. With Peter’s help, they returned to the pile of debris where the pirate lay, unmoving. Ignoring him, Peter approached the two jars.
“What about the sacrifice?”
“Killing is wrong,” Peter announced without hesitation. The old jar lay broken at his feet. He squatted down and picked up a piece of jewelry. “Diamonds,” Peter giggled as he picked up another. Lorenzo nodded to the second jar.
Peter opened the lid, reaching a shaky hand into the clay pot. He picked up a coin, bit it, and then grinned.
Scattering pottery turned their attention. Peter dropped the coin as Lubber staggered to his hands and knees. Before he could turn around, Peter grabbed the nearest piece of debris and slammed it over his head. The pirate landed in the rubble.
Lorenzo scrambled over to the dagger. It was at the foot of the suit of armor, which remained standing at attention. He noted his blood on the blade.
“Leave it,” Peter yelled, still holding the human skull he used to knock out Lubber. “Bad blade.” The skull landed back on the pile with a sickening thud.
Wondering why Peter considered the dagger ‘bad’, Lorenzo watched him tie the jewels in his shirt and reseal the jar of gold.
“What about him?” Lorenzo called, nodding to Lubber.
Peter glanced back, shaking his head. “I won’t kill a man in cold blood.” He paused, eyeing the unconscious pirate. “Not even him.” Peter slipped through the rocks. Lorenzo grabbed a pottery shard. Hatred pulsated through his body. He stepped toward Lubber, then stopped.
“Enzo,” Peter called from behind the rocks.
Lorenzo stumbled to Lubber, who remained still. He kicked his side. Nothing. The pirate’s neck was exposed. Death would be quick, painless, and easy.
“Enzo,” Peter squeezed back through the rocks. “It’s not in you, American.”
The portly man eyed the suit of armor and the bloody dagger, then quickly disappeared.
Lorenzo pursed his lips, fighting back the urge to kill. The jagged piece of pottery hit hard against the rocks, landing beside the dagger at the armored feet. Stumbling to the entrance, he slipped through.
Holding the heavy jar, Peter began trudging back to their rowboat. Lorenzo entered the water to float back to his shoes. Holding his arm close to his side, he eased his shoulder into the soothing water. Within the warmth, Lorenzo felt his muscles relax and the tension, anger, and hatred ebb with the tide. The salty water kissed his lips, welcomed his body into its healing depths. Holding his breath, he submerged, wanting nothing more than to become one with the water.
‘Breathe, damn it.’ The voice in his head repeated the command until Lorenzo reluctantly obeyed. Surfacing, he took in the air required by his lungs, then relaxed back under water. The warmth took away his pain, his need for air, and his desire to surface again.
‘She needs your help.’ Stupid voices. Lorenzo shook his head, clearing the dripping hair from his eyes. Chilly air bit his face, neck, and torso as he emerged out of the pool to shallow water. Horrendous pain returned to his wound. Clutching the boulder on which his shoes and shirt rested, he heard scraping against the rocks with the rise and fall of the gentle waves.
“Fortunate for us, Lubber found our boat.” Peter set the heavy jar into the rowboat with a clunk.
Lorenzo picked his shirt and shoes off the rock. The gun was gone.
“Stupid American,” Lorenzo muttered to himself. He collapsed into the boat as Peter pushed into deeper water.
A third tremor shook both the land and the sea.
Nearby, a lone dolphin swam through the water, leaping effortlessly before disappearing beneath the surface. Lorenzo watched Peter eye the shore. He began to whistle, but Lorenzo knew he remained nervous. Peter’s gaze fell upon the jar of gold, which sat between them. His whistling grew louder as he fumbled with the oars. Lorenzo scanned the shore and listened for any sign that Lubber was coming after the
m. The splash of the oars and the whoosh of the water beneath the boat calmed his nerves. Lulled by Peter’s eerie tune, Lorenzo allowed himself to relax as Peter rowed back to the ship.
Chapter 7
The House of Tatiana
“Escudo eights,” Peter exclaimed, dancing around the shack.
“Spanish doubloons, dozens of them,” Lorenzo cried, stacking the gold pieces in columns of ten on the hard packed dirt floor.
“Es-cu-do eights,” Peter drawled out emphatically. “Stupid American. These are worth three, maybe four times as much as a Spanish doubloon.” His brow furrowed as if he doubted his figures. “Don’t be fooled, Enzo. This gold is worth more than you think.”
Lorenzo continued stacking coins with thoughts of what he would do with his share. Thunder rolled. Rain poured from the skies. A young goat bleated, then nudged Peter’s leg. He pushed the animal aside. The little goat scampered to the far end of the shack. The previous evening, Peter had anchored the ship on the north shore of Milos. In the morning, they made their way to a small farm, supposedly owned by distant kin of Peter. A few goats met them, but no human was in sight.
The jewelry glimmered on a flat stone. Four necklaces, two bracelets, and three rings captured the dim light. The first necklace held a large diamond pendant, which was encircled by sapphires. The other three contained diamond, ruby, and emerald clusters. The bracelets were single strands of diamonds. The rings were small, all made for a woman’s finger. The first contained a square emerald in a gold setting. The second, also gold, held two opals offset with several small diamonds. The third was a single, oval-cut garnet in a tarnished setting of a lesser grade of gold or perhaps brass.
“Nine pieces, one of us will get an extra,” Peter cried out.
“Divided three ways, it is even,” Lorenzo corrected.
Disgruntled, Peter plopped beside the jewelry. “If we cannot find this sister by the end of the week, we split her share.”
Lorenzo scowled. “Two weeks.”
“Deal.” Peter held his hand out as if victorious. Lorenzo gripped firmly, feeling a twang of betrayal.
Heavy rain encouraged two more goats into the shed. The larger one nibbled on Peter’s coat. The men continued counting and stacking until the goat tore Peter’s collar.
“Damn goat,” Peter swore.
Lorenzo laughed.
The goat munched.
“Hey.” Lorenzo lunged toward the other goat, which had a necklace dangling from its mouth.
Peter drew his dagger. The goat bolted, scattering the jewelry. Lorenzo grabbed it by the neck, but it kicked free, racing across the shed. Gold coins scattered as the two goats ran from one end of the shed to the other. Amid the chaos, the smallest goat began running with the others, bleating frantically.
Several minutes passed before Peter managed to straddle the goat and raise his dagger. A small voice cried out. Lorenzo grabbed Peter’s wrist as a dark-haired boy stood in the doorway. Peter muttered a few words in Greek to the shoeless child. He responded nervously.
“Who is he?” Lorenzo demanded.
“Says he owns the stinking goats.” Peter brandished the blade.
The boy trembled as the other two goats gathered around him. Peter pressed on with his questions, releasing his grip on the goat. The boy replied bravely, standing his ground.
“He is the second son of my cousin who left to fight the war,” Peter stated. The boy easily removed the necklace from the goat’s mouth and handed it to Peter.
Lorenzo winked at the boy. “Peter’s afraid of goats.” The boy grinned as if he understood. He herded the goats easily out the door and bolted it shut. Together they picked up the coins and restacked them. There were twenty stacks. Peter and Lorenzo divided them equally: three ways with two coins left over. Peter then divided the jewelry. Each pile of coins contained a necklace, and two piles had a bracelet as well.
“She gets that one.” Peter snorted.
The third pile received the goat-chewed necklace.
The boy stared with wide eyes at the piles of treasure.
Lorenzo glanced at Peter, who silently agreed. Peter spoke kindly to the boy as Lorenzo handed him the three rings and the two extra coins. The boy gaped at the items in his small hands before running to the door. He turned and waved, disappearing into the pouring rain.
“Sixty-six pieces of gold each,” Peter whispered in awe.
“Diamonds, too,” Lorenzo added.
They carefully wrapped their jewels and gold in cloth, tucking them into their coats. When Lorenzo reached for Jozef’s share, pain shot through his shoulder. He felt Peter’s eyes upon him. Lorenzo knew that Peter could easily overtake him and claim all of the treasure. He needed to establish trust.
“Will you hold Tatiana’s?” Lorenzo pushed her share to Peter.
After a moment of consideration, Peter nodded.
Lorenzo smiled as they made their way back to the ship.
Peter set sail westward along the north coast of Milos and headed toward the harbor town of Adamas. Lorenzo quietly went below deck to look through Lubber’s quarters. He returned with a bottle in both hands.
“Your arm could use some of that,” Peter announced from the wheel. “Ah, Milos. She is beautiful. Stay out of trouble boy,” he warned in a fatherly voice. “Many good people in Milos.”
“Many bad ones, too.” Lorenzo recalled the few times the Warren had docked there.
Peter sighed. “I will stay here to protect my ship. You find Jozef’s sister.”
Lorenzo scowled, more than a little annoyed.
Peter grinned. “I cannot be protecting my ship and your sorry—”
“I’ll find her,” Lorenzo barked, knowing Peter would not look for Tatiana.
Peter laughed, then became serious. “Get that shoulder looked at. There’s a store on the west end of the market. The owner is Alec, big Greek man. Tell him I sent you. If this sister exists, Alec will know.”
“Does this ‘Big Greek Man’ speak English?”
Peter hesitated. “Aye, he can speak, but he hates Americans.”
“Wonderful.” Lorenzo winced against the throbbing pain.
“Tell him I sent you.”
Lorenzo studied the harbor village, which spread out to the east away from high cliffs. It would be a short walk filled with the dilemma of trusting Peter. He stumbled down the stairs. A few minutes later he returned with a plan and a pistol in his hand.
“Nice piece,” Peter announced suspiciously.
“Not bad,” Lorenzo answered in a flat tone. “You have your sword. I have a gun. I hid my gold below. Protect the ship and my gold. If it is all here when I get back, the ship is yours upon my return to the navy. I ask for nothing but protection.”
Peter’s chin dropped in disbelief.
Lorenzo tapped the end of the gun against his left hand then began loading it. “If you or my gold disappears, I will have you hunted down and sentenced to death for illegal piracy.”
Peter shook his head grimly. It appeared he had not made plans beyond finding the treasure. The harbor was quite large with the dock several hundred meters in the distance.
“Going back to your navy?” Peter asked tentatively.
“My commitment is three years. It’s my duty to complete this last year and leave honorably or sign back on,” Lorenzo stated with pride.
“Where is the Warren?”
“Escorting merchant ships in the Mediterranean. My tour will end this winter.” Lorenzo smiled at the thought of seeing his family again, but the image of reuniting with them was interrupted by the vision of a lovely young woman with deep blue eyes and curly hair. The desperation in her face was evident. She needed his help.
“Stupid American,” Peter spat as he turned the wheel and
headed to the dock. “I get this ship and you get nothing? Only a fool would believe that.”
Lorenzo refocused his thoughts and placed the last bullet into the gun. With a snap, it was loaded. “Only a fool would sail in foreign waters without protection. You have my word. Protect me and my gold, and the ship is yours.” Lorenzo placed the gun in his belt, offering his hand. Peter grabbed it enthusiastically.
“Aye, I knew I picked the right man.” Peter began to hum as he expertly docked the ship. “We need food, water, some rope.” He eyed the foremast. “A new sail can wait.”
“I won’t be long,” Lorenzo called over his shoulder as he jumped to the dock. Sweat beaded up on his forehead despite the cool April morning.
“If you’re not back by dawn, I’ll come save you,” Peter teased.
“I’ll be back by dark.” Lorenzo gingerly walked away from the ship. The pain in his shoulder intensified with every step.
“Milos, her women are the most beautiful in the Aegean. I give you until dawn.”
“Aye, dawn it is,” Lorenzo called back as he headed toward the village. The only woman he wanted to see was Tatiana.
Finding the market was not difficult. Several people were roaming about, buying and trading goods. All of them appeared to be islanders. No pirates. A shop on the westernmost end of the market was quite busy. Lorenzo stepped inside.
The store held crowded shelves of nautical supplies along both side walls. At the back, an opened bottle stood on the counter. Lorenzo’s mouth watered. A small table with three chairs stood in the center of the main room. A man of about fifty sat drinking. In the far corner, two other men bartered with a tall, solid man who appeared to be the owner of the establishment. He nodded to Lorenzo, uttered a few words in Greek, and then continued his business with the men.
The room began to sway. Items on the shelves blurred but didn’t fall. Lorenzo squeezed his eyes closed, then reopened, finding the occupants carrying on as usual. Wiping sweat from his brow, he stumbled into the chair across from the lone drinking man.