Origins: Discovery

by Mark Henrikson

  Hastelloy concluded that the situation had deteriorated beyond his ability to control it any longer and took action. He placed a hairpin he palmed from the bonnet of a fellow passenger into his mouth. He then stepped forward to the meanest, knurliest looking crewman in proximity to the ship’s captain and punched the bear of a man in the jaw with a right hook.

  He followed the initial blow with a halfhearted jab to the nose with his left before letting the enraged crewman get ahold of him. Hastelloy took three blows to his face before crumpling to the deck, where the crewman proceeded to kick him in the rib cage a few more times before the captain stepped into the ruckus.

  “Enough! We won’t be in the passenger business for long if we get a reputation for beating the hell out of our paying customers,” the captain exclaimed as he wrapped up the raging bull of a crewman from behind in a hug that pinned his arms at his side.

  “I did nothin’. He jus’ walked up an’ swung,” the crewman exclaimed as he tried to wrestle free from the hold.

  “And for that he’s going to jail,” the captain fired back with a nod toward two other crewmen who came over to help. “Put him in irons, lock him in the brig below, and remain with him until he’s handed over to the authorities when we reach port. And for the love of God, keep Gorn here away from the prisoner. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the two men responded in unison and proceeded to lift Hastelloy to his feet.

  His face was battered and bruised, but the captain was still able to recognize him as his men ushered Hastelloy by him. “You, you made your way to the west and back only to end up in prison for brawling? You can learn navigation I suppose, but you can’t do anything about stupidity. It’s there to stay.”

  Hastelloy paid little mind to the captain and his taunts. On his way below deck, they marched him past Juan who looked on in a state of surprise and confusion, so Hastelloy clarified things for him. “Behind bars and under guard, what a tragic turn of events for me.”

  “I’ll be sure and give the king your regards when I meet with him while you rot in your cell,” Juan hollered back.

  Below deck, the guards tossed Hastelloy into an iron cage only three feet wide and four feet tall with the added pleasantry of being located next to the bilge pump. Hastelloy had just enough room to sit upright with his arms holding his knees to his chest. When the door locked shut and the guard took up his position, Hastelloy leaned his head against the jagged metal bars and fell asleep straightaway.

  Chapter 20: Jail Break

  HASTELLOY WAS ROUSED awake by the sensation of warm water pouring over his head. He opened his eyes in time to see Gorn standing just outside the cage, urinating on him.

  “Wakey, wakey you li’l maggot,” Gorn announced with great delight.

  “We’re not touching him while he’s drenched in piss,” a port authority official said to the captain with his companion nodding in agreement.

  “You’ve had your fun, Gorn, now pinch it off,” the captain ordered.

  The warm trickle from Gorn was soon replaced by a freezing deluge tossed on him by three successive buckets of seawater. Next, the cage swung open and the guards dragged Hastelloy to his feet and handed him over to the authorities.

  “There, the man’s probably more clean than he’s been in years,” the captain grumbled before leading the way above deck to the boarding plank.

  Hastelloy noticed along the way that the ship was completely devoid of passengers. His imprisonment left him rested and with a clear head again, but it also put him several hours behind Juan in their race for an audience with King Henry. Recalling how long he had to sit and wait outside the English king’s throne room before giving his own presentation to the royal, Hastelloy held out hope that he was not too late.

  He allowed the authorities to load him into the back of a caged wagon without struggle or incident. He was greeted inside by four others who had their own difficulties with the law that day. Hastelloy waited for the cart to begin moving before he reached into his mouth and retrieved the hairpin he had concealed before his imprisonment.

  The other occupants looked at Hastelloy with a glint of hope in their eyes as he worked free from his wrist shackles and moved on to the cage’s lock. The lock had a specific key, but the rudimentary tools of the day meant that almost any piece of metal could do the job just as well. Hastelloy had the lock undone within a minute and took nearly as long opening the door to prevent a single clink or screech being audible for the driver and guard to hear.

  He looked back at his fellow inmates and raised an index finger to his lips to emphasize the need for silence while they all made their escape. Hastelloy was the first to exit the cage and jump down onto the cobblestone road. Several peasants milling about the road and shops alongside saw what was happening but said nothing. They simply looked on the situation as if they were rooting for their favorite knight in a jousting tournament.

  One by one, the prisoners made their escape from the cage and melted away into the streets of London. When a rut in the paved road finally jostled the cage enough to make the open door crash against the side, the guards looked back to find nothing but air in the cage and laughter from the crowd.

  By the time sounds of the guard’s abject humiliation reached Hastelloy’s ears, he was already inside a shop changing out his attire. The authorities would be looking for a man wearing drenched clothing that reeked of sea salt and urine, so a change was necessary to walk the streets of London without harassment by the authorities. Besides, one did not wear traveling rags to an audience with the king. A garment reflecting the height of English fashion was required.

  To that end, Hastelloy donned a white linen shirt with tiny ruffles around the neckline. Over that, he wore a doublet with matching sleeves cut to allow the fabric of the undershirt to show through. Next, the shop clerk layered on a jerkin with puffy sleeves cut low to the waist in front to reveal the doublet beneath along with a matching skirt reaching only to his knees. To cover his legs Hastelloy wore white stockings held up with garters and to top it all off he added a German beret hat with a turned-up brim.

  He felt and looked utterly ridiculous. The shopkeeper seemed quite pleased with himself, though, which gave Hastelloy comfort that he now looked the part of a high-society Englishman. He paid the owner his exorbitant fee and tipped him well for disposing of the original clothing with no questions asked. Hastelloy then strutted back into the streets of London.

  The city itself was rather small, measuring a mile and a half square, encased by walls on three sides with the River Thames protecting the fourth. The one truly unique feature of the city was the lone bridge stretching across the Thames to the south. This was no rickety wooden construct or even a sturdy stone fixture to simply use in crossing the river. The London Bridge served as the center of commerce for the city and all the surrounding regions.

  The bridge stretched a quarter mile in length and was supported by twenty arched piers made of stone rising sixty feet above the water and standing thirty feet broad. The stout footings were necessary because the engineering marvel supported more than two hundred buildings, most reaching five stories or higher, flanking both sides of the road and overhanging the river by up to ten feet. It was as if the narrow, crowded streets of London continued across the river uninterrupted.

  Hastelloy walked past the bridge and paid it little mind since his destination was farther to the east. A fortress, better known as the Tower of London, situated along the riverbank, served as King Henry’s royal palace. He kept his pace brisk enough to navigate the filthy streets quickly, yet not so fast as to induce sweating in his layered garment.

  A moat surrounded the perimeter of the palace with a single gatehouse as the only entry point. Four yeomen warders, better known as Beefeaters, stood watch in their crimson uniforms accented with gold trim and the royal crest emblazoned on their chest. They were supposed to serve as the king’s elite bodyguards, but the reality of their role was mostly ceremonial since they were al
l retired military men with long, gray beards.

  “Master astronomer and mathematician Paolo Toscanelli is here at the request of the king,” Hastelloy announced in a pampered voice with a fashionable effeminate lisp on his way across the drawbridge to reach the cluster of Beefeaters. “He requested my presence forthwith.”

  A confused look from all four guards prompted Hastelloy to clarify his meaning as he strode between them with his hands held out wide as if carrying delicate flowers in them, “It means immediately.”

  He was nearly through the gate before the last Beefeater found the nerve to step in front of him and stop his progress. “Hold on there you. His Majesty is already entertaining a visitor, and you have no papers to be here.”

  Hastelloy pranced right up to the man’s extended hand until his palm rested upon Hastelloy’s chest. He then glowered at the guard as if he were not worthy of the privilege to lay hands on him. Then in a soft, condescending voice laced with a feminine pitch he declared, “I am well aware that Juan Ponce de León of Spain is meeting with the king about Christopher Columbus’ voyage to the west. His Majesty also knows that I, Paolo Toscanelli, served as navigator on that voyage. He requests my knowledge on the subject as well.”

  “You are not registered on today’s visitor log.”

  “Of course not. It was only during the course of his meeting with de León that His Majesty deemed my input necessary.” When the guard did not immediately step aside, Hastelloy rolled his head in disgust and raised his voice to a masculine shout. “Check your visitor log on October 2 of last year. I was here presenting to the king on this very subject. I am the expert and he wants my counsel, now step aside. His Majesty was quite insistent,” he concluded with his voice back to its original volume and feminine tone.

  One of the other guards stepped inside a tiny office to verify the claim while Hastelloy continued to make a show of his perceived indignation. “He speaks the truth,” came a voice from the office.

  “Search him,” the lead guard instructed another.

  “Well I never,” Hastelloy huffed as the guard felt on and around his clothing. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “He has no weapons.”

  “These two will escort you to His Majesty’s chamber, where the keeper of the door will decide to let you in or not.”

  “Well, I shall return after that for an apology from you for the atrocious treatment I’ve received,” Hastelloy declared before falling in step behind his escort.

  On their way to the throne room Hastelloy took measure of the men escorting him. If they deemed him any threat at all, they would have marched him down the corridors with one guard in front and the other behind. Instead, they both led the way with their backs to the assumed delicate fairy of an individual.

  When they finally arrived at the throne room, Hastelloy found the keeper of the door to be the same arrogant man wearing a floppy hat that he had met a year earlier. The man straightened his posture noticeably upon their approach but could not be bothered to look in their direction.

  “This man, Paolo Toscanelli, claims he is here at the king’s request to provide counsel and advice during his current engagement,” one of the guards announced.

  “His Majesty has made no such request,” the doorman replied, which sent Hastelloy into action.

  He grabbed both guards by the head from behind and smashed them together with all the force he could muster. Both sentries crumpled to the floor like puppets that suddenly had their strings cut, leaving the doorman standing all alone. “I believe the king is expecting me, don’t you?”

  “There are at least ten guardsmen surrounding the king in his chamber; you will not make it far with this,” the terrified man found the courage to say.

  “Let’s let them do their job by you doing yours. Open the door,” Hastelloy ordered as he rotated the man to face the set of double doors and gave him a not-so-subtle nudge forward.

  The doorman leaned into the heavy oak barriers and gave them a shove to open into the throne room. Inside, Juan stood giving his presentation before the king’s elevated throne amid a crowd of advisors seated on either side of the aisle. “. . . and the peppers they brought back are unlike anything we have ever seen.”

  “They are unlike anything you’ve ever seen, Boy!” Hastelloy bellowed from the open doorway before strutting down the aisle as if he owned the room. “This child hasn’t lived long enough to make any such judgment, Your Majesty.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” King Henry demanded of his keeper of the door.

  “Master astronomer and mathematician Paolo Toscanelli at your service,” Hastelloy responded with a polite bow. “Your Majesty no doubt recalls my presentation to you and this royal court on our proposed voyage west before you sent me to Spain amid a chorus of laughter. If you are now seeking counsel from this child about my exploits, can I assume that the subject is no longer a laughing matter for you my lord?”

  “Is that why you now enter this chamber without permission, to gloat?” King Henry fumed before motioning with his right arm for his guards to arrest the unwelcome intruder.

  “Not at all. I am here so that you may still profit from the new trade route we’ve discovered,” Hastelloy answered with confidence, even though two guards now had him restrained by both arms and on his way out the door.

  “Stop,” the king ordered. “What do you mean? How? Why? What’s in it for you?”

  “This man is a fraud!” Juan exclaimed. “He . . .”

  “I’ve heard enough about your theory. I’d now like to hear the opinion of a man who’s actually been to this new world you describe,” King Henry barked to render Juan silent.

  “It’s not a new world, Your Majesty, only the Far East. The lands this boy reports as yours for the taking belong to the Chinese and Japanese empires. This boy would have you spend your treasury barren in wars with those great nations that reside half a world away. I offer you trade and the potential for profits instead,” Hastelloy announced while stepping in front of Juan to take command of the chamber.

  “How do you intend to do that?” the king asked with growing interest. “Your Spanish masters own the trade rights.”

  “They have the right of first refusal,” Hastelloy amended. “Take it from a man who was there. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, there is far more opportunity for trade than Spain has ships to handle. That leaves opportunity for other nations such as yourself.”

  “Why come to me with this . . . opportunity?” the king asked.

  Hastelloy flung his hands out wide in a gesture of disbelief at having to explain the obvious. “Profit. Admiral Columbus and I hold the rights to ten percent of all trade income earned using this new route. We care not whether the Spanish, English, French, or even Portuguese merchants conduct that trade. Any profit enhances our own.”

  The king held his chin in silent contemplation for several minutes before responding, “What do you propose?”

  “Another fleet, a much larger trade fleet, is being assembled as we speak by the Spanish monarchs. Admiral Columbus and I will sail that fleet west once more with the intent to set up permanent trade arrangements. I propose that I make that voyage holding your authority to negotiate agreements that the Spanish are unable to establish,” Hastelloy offered.

  “I’m intrigued,” the king admitted with a glint of greed in his eye. “I’d love to hear more of your ideas, Master Toscanelli.”

  “I would love to share them with you, Your Majesty, but not in the company of such youthful ignorance,” Hastelloy answered and stepped aside to reveal Juan standing in his shadow, looking smaller by the second.

  King Henry shifted his gaze to the fuming boy. “Juan Ponce de León, I believe I have heard enough from you today. You are excused.”

  Hastelloy did not even bother gloating. He paid Juan no mind as the guards ushered him out of the chamber and closed the doors behind him while Hastelloy began the specifics of his fictitious trade rights deal with the king of Engla
nd.

  Chapter 21: Secrets No More

  THREE DAYS AFTER his arrival, Hastelloy left the Tower of London with a trade deal in hand signed by King Henry VII, and a decidedly uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was under no illusion that young Juan had just slinked away to lick his wounds after the British monarch rebuffed him. A day, a week, a month, it did not matter how long the negotiations took. The boy and his friends would be waiting for Hastelloy to emerge from the king’s protection, and that day of reckoning had come.

  He gave serious thought to asking the king for a royal escort back to the docks, but decided against it. The hubris of asking more of the king aside, admitting Hastelloy feared a twenty-year-old boy made for a weak showing in front of his new trading partner. No, Hastelloy was on his own to deal with Juan and his henchmen.

  Hastelloy waited long enough to dull the attention span of those waiting for him outside, three days spent inspecting every single person who left the palace tended to do that. He did not, however, wait so long as to wear out his welcome with the king, nor invite Juan’s men to find a way back inside.

  On his way out the main gate, Hastelloy joined a group of ten well-dressed noblemen and their respective entourages. He had long since disposed of his flamboyant attire in favor of common dress to blend in with the nobility’s supporting cast. In addition, he made sure to position himself in the middle of the large mob and kept his head down.

  Hastelloy spotted Juan in his peripheral vision. The boy looked tired and flustered, as did the rest of his men. This was Hastelloy’s best chance to slip past the dragnet since Juan and his men were outnumbered twenty to one by the masses of men leaving the Tower of London all at once. They could not inspect, nor follow everybody. It was up to chance.