by E. W. Clarke
Cover
Title Page
Code Page
Hystorian File
Shipwrecked
Acknowledgments
Copyright
You’re about to uncover the secrets behind some of history’s most pivotal moments.
And with knowledge comes a special reward.
The seven Infinity Ring Secrets stories each contain a fragment of a code. Collect the fragments in order to assemble a complete ten-digit code. Then:
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Hystorian File #1503018077
Only Hystorians know the real story of what happened aboard the Santa María: Thanks to time travelers Dak, Sera, and Riq, a mutiny against Christopher Columbus failed.
But what happened next?
Columbus went on to make landfall in the West Indies, a group of islands off the coast of what is now called North America. It was the beginning of an era of exploration and colonization that would change the world forever.
But it was not all smooth sailing for Christopher Columbus. After a triumphant return to Spain, his next two voyages would prove even more difficult than the first.
And on Columbus’s fourth and final voyage to the New World, disaster struck.
THE SON of Christopher Columbus hated to travel.
Ferdinand knew that people seemed to find that funny. They laughed at the idea that Admiral Christopher Columbus could raise a son who would rather stay at home with a book than sail the seven seas.
But it wasn’t funny to Ferdinand.
Christopher Columbus was his father. That much was true. But the admiral hadn’t raised Ferdinand, not really. The boy had hardly seen his father in the decade since the man’s fateful voyage of 1492.
That’s why Ferdinand had decided to come along on his father’s fourth voyage west.
It had proven the greatest mistake of his young life.
Climbing the riggings was easier now. On his first attempt, Ferdinand had nearly been thrown back to the deck of the ship. He’d clung tightly to the ropes, stuck halfway to the crow’s nest and swaying dramatically as the ship sailed on, uncaring. It hadn’t occurred to him that the movement of the ship would feel more intense the higher he went.
It had taken practice, but he had grown used to climbing. Over many long months at sea, he had grown used to a lot of things. He had grown used to eating poorly, and to being exposed to the elements, endless wind and rain and sun. He had almost stopped noticing the stink of the unwashed crew. His hands had calloused over so that hard labor no longer left his palms pink and raw.
He was fourteen years old now. A man.
But he should have known better than to challenge the cabin boy in a race to the top.
Rio had won easily. He grinned down at Ferdinand from the crow’s nest. “Ye climb with a donkey’s skill,” he called down.
“Come now,” said Ferdinand. “I’m getting the hang of it.”
“Yer grip has improved. But, then, our fair ship sails a calmer sea than most.”
Ferdinand clambered into the crow’s nest and looked out upon the sea. Then he looked down at the beach. The ship was wedged firmly in the sand — and had been for months.
“You speak the truth,” he said, and sighed. “I missed the solid ground while at sea. Now I would give anything to be off this island.” He pulled a spyglass from his belt and gazed out to the east, toward Hispaniola. Toward civilization. But he could see nothing but water.
Rio harrumphed. “Spoken like a true Columbus,” he said. “Always chasin’ somethin’. Never quite content with what ye have.”
Ferdinand did not look away from the horizon even then. He continued to peer through the spyglass. “We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?” he asked.
Rio paused for a long moment. “Yes,” he said at last. “Seems likely t’me.”
They had run aground in June. It would have been the most frightening experience of Ferdinand’s life, if not for the tempest they had barely survived earlier in the year. That storm had clouded the skies for weeks. Weeks without sunlight, weeks in which it was impossible to get dry or even to know whether the other ships in their small fleet had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. After that experience, running aground on an isolated beach as the hold filled with seawater and the wood around them warped . . . well, it had hardly taken him by surprise. They’d had to take turns bailing out the water, and even working in shifts, their arms burned with the effort. They almost didn’t make it, and yet Ferdinand had been more exhausted than frightened.
Perhaps a sailor’s heart could callous in the same way as his hands. Perhaps Ferdinand was simply immune to terror now.
They had been stranded on Santiago for eight months. In all that time they had held out hope for rescue, but hope was wearing thin.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for!” he called up from belowdecks. Although belowdecks didn’t mean much when most of the deck had rotted away over the last eight months.
Rio was still in the crow’s nest. He was looking through the spyglass, but not out at sea. Instead he faced south, looking out over the island of Santiago, 11,000 square kilometers of mountains and forests . . . and natives.
“Yer lookin’ for anythin’ the Taíno might want,” Rio responded. “Anythin’ we might trade for food.”
“There’s nothing left,” Ferdinand said, softly now, to himself. He leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. There was a hole in the plank near his ear, big enough to stick his thumb through. He peered through the hole at the beach beyond.
Shipworms. The termites of the sea. He hadn’t even known such a creature existed before they had begun eating away at his father’s ship.
“Uh-oh,” Rio said from high above, just barely loud enough to be heard over the surf. “Hey, Ferdinand! We’ve got some trouble.”
Ferdinand shot to his feet. “What? What is it?”
“Somethin’s happenin’ back at camp.”
Rio was the oddest boy Ferdinand had ever met. But that hardly came as a surprise. After all, Ferdinand had grown up at court, a royal page in service to the Spanish prince. Rio, on the other hand, was a commoner, the son of a sailor father and a butcher mother. He’d worked the docks of Palos de la Frontera from the moment he could stand, and he’d already forgotten more dirty jokes and curse words at the age of ten than Ferdinand would ever learn.
It wasn’t surprising that Ferdinand should find Rio so odd. What was surprising was how much he had come to like the younger boy.
Their friendship had begun their very first day at sea. It was a small boat, and as the admiral’s son, Ferdinand knew he would be under some scrutiny. He was determined to prove that he could contribute. He didn’t want anyone to think that he was spoiled or pampered or useless.
But he’d been laid low with sickness within an hour of leaving port.
It had been humiliating. It wasn’t as if it were his first time on a ship. He’d visited Seville with his father and older half brother, Diego, only a couple of years before. But some combination of the tides, his nerves, and his mother’s rich farewell feast the previous night had left Ferdinand completely defenseless when nausea struck.
It was then that Ferdinand first set eyes on Rio, a scrawny kid with an eye patch who walked with sure footing despite the relentless swaying of the ship. He stepped right up to where Ferdinand leaned over the side.
“Ye gotta keep yer eye on the horizon, landl
ubber,” he said.
The ship pitched, and Ferdinand made a gurgling sound.
“I know, I know,” said the younger boy. “Funny, a one-eyed boy tellin’ ye what t’do with yer own set. But look here.” He lifted his eye patch then, revealing the perfectly healthy eye beneath. “It’s me pa’s patch. I only wear it for luck. Me pa’s a right silly tub of grease and snot, but he’s a fine sailor. An’ the best advice he ever gave was t’keep an eye on the horizon. Helps yer brain remember which way is up, no matter which way the sea tips ya.”
“Thanks,” Ferdinand said. He looked out at the line where the sea met the sky, and he took a deep breath of crisp, salty air. Maybe it was all in his head, but he felt a little better already. “My name is Ferdinand.”
“Dakario,” the other boy said. “But me mates call me Rio.”
Ferdinand and Rio burst through the trees and into the Spanish campsite, but the adults didn’t pay them any mind. All eyes were on the center of the clearing, where four men faced off, pointing fingers and shouting at one another.
Ferdinand’s eyes fell on his father first. Christopher Columbus was angry, which was not an unusual sight. But he also looked tired. His posture was not as rigid as it had once been. His fine clothing was tattered and soiled. For the first time, it struck Ferdinand: Christopher Columbus was getting old.
Standing next to their father, Ferdinand’s half brother, Diego, radiated menace. An imposing young man with broad shoulders and a permanent scowl, Diego seemed to have grown this past year as their father had shrunk.
Opposite the Columbus men were two Taíno men whom Ferdinand recognized.
One was the cacique, the local chieftain. He wore a cotton tunic over his shoulders and a headdress of bright parrot feathers. That meant he was here on official business. The anger on his face meant that the business was not good.
Next to him was the bohique, the tribe’s wise man, healer, and teacher. Much of his skin was bare, revealing the tattooed glyphs upon his olive-colored arms, chest, and shoulders.
“You must leave here,” the bohique said in flawless Spanish. The chieftain standing at his side nodded solemnly.
“You do not understand what —” began Ferdinand’s father.
“You’re not listening!” Diego cut in. “Do you think we want to be on this miserable rock? We’re stuck!”
Ferdinand flinched at his brother’s harsh words. The cacique didn’t know Spanish, but there was no mistaking that tone. Diego’s temper was a universal language all its own.
The Taíno men conferred for a moment, and then the wise man spoke once more. “We cannot continue to feed you. Perhaps if you were to join us. Work our fields —”
“No,” said Diego. “No, the arrangement stands. You continue to bring us tribute, or there will be trouble for your people.”
The bohique stood firm. “We have grown used to your kind of trouble. Come to our village, and you will find us ready.”
With that, the Taíno turned and walked away.
“Why, those no-good . . . How dare they?” Diego fumed. “I’m sick of yucca anyway. Come on, men.” He turned to the ragtag collection of sailors who had watched the argument. “We’ll hunt.”
Ferdinand knew that was next to useless. While birds and fish were plentiful enough, Santiago had no real game to speak of. Aside from a small rodent called the coney and scores of bats, there weren’t any mammals on the island. How long could the castaways survive without the crops that the Taíno had been providing them with for months?
While the rest of the men gathered their meager collection of sharpened sticks, Ferdinand and Rio approached the admiral.
“What’s happened, Father?”
Christopher Columbus looked upon his youngest son with tired eyes. “The Indians have grown as weary of our presence as we are of theirs. They claim they can no longer continue to support us. But what options do we have?” He sighed. “Asia is indeed a strange and foreign land.”
Ferdinand could almost feel Rio rolling his eyes behind him. Word had begun to spread that another explorer, Amerigo Vespucci, claimed that the West Indies were not off the coast of Asia but instead were part of a previously unknown continent. Vespucci called it the New World. The idea made sense to most people, but Columbus insisted that Vespucci was wrong.
Wherever they were, they would be doomed without the aid of the local people, who were skilled at agriculture and fishing. The castaways were accomplished sailors, but they had no idea how to live off the land.
“We’ve got to talk to them,” Ferdinand insisted. “We have to work something out.”
But his father was no longer listening.
Ferdinand and Rio had made the trip to the nearby Taíno village many times before. While the adults seemed content to stay clear of the locals except when begging or threatening them for food, Ferdinand was fascinated to witness such a foreign way of life. He and Rio had even made a friend: Tinima, the daughter of the bohique.
The men and women of the village went about their tasks, some nodding at Ferdinand and Rio as they passed. Either word of the argument hadn’t reached most of the people yet, or the growing animosity toward the Spaniards didn’t extend to the boys.
Still, Ferdinand noted the weapons on display throughout the village. There were fearsome spears made of sting ray spines. There were bows and arrows, some of which were treated with poison. There were macana, swords made of wood that were sharp enough to cut flesh.
Typically, the Taíno used these tools for hunting or working in their fields. But Ferdinand could imagine the weapons being put to another use if the castaways did anything foolish.
They found Tinima by the plaza in the center of the village. She was watching a game of batey, in which two teams knocked a rubber ball back and forth. The ball was large and heavy, and Ferdinand winced as one young athlete rammed it into the air with his head.
“Get me in there,” Rio said. “I’ll show ’em how it’s done.”
Tinima smiled. “It is a rough game. But there will be an archery competition later. Perhaps you would like to compete?”
Rio huffed. “Truth told, I’m not much of a shot.”
Ferdinand laughed. “Yes, he might actually need the eye patch after that.”
The boys sat beside Tinima upon a wooden bench and watched the game. Tinima had to explain much of it to Ferdinand, who still didn’t understand some of the finer points. In fact, he enjoyed watching the spectators as much as the athletes. He hoped to write about his experiences one day, and that meant he needed to develop a keen eye for all that happened around him.
As Ferdinand settled into the comfortable silence of a spectator, Rio told Tinima about the confrontation they had witnessed back at camp.
“It appears our fathers have little love for each other,” Tinima said to Ferdinand.
“It’s my brother I’m worried about,” he replied. “Diego can be difficult in the best of times. And these are not the best of times.”
“If only me own pa were here,” Rio said. “He’d straighten them all out. When me an’ me sis were little, we’d fight like cats an’ dogs. Pa’s solution was t’lock us outside one night, leavin’ us t’fend for ourselves. Had t’rely on our wits an’ on each other, huddlin’ together for warmth. An’ we never did fight again.” Rio thought for a moment. “Ma an’ Pa sure had a row after that one, though. Ma was none too pleased with his ‘parentin’ skills,’ as she called it. Mebbe Sis an’ I should have locked them out then.”
“Anyway,” Ferdinand said, turning back to Tinima, “I don’t know how much longer this can go on. Your father and the chieftain are right. We can’t just expect your people to feed us forever. And I have a hard time imagining a crew of sailors and explorers planting a crop and settling down here. We have to get off this island.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Tinima.
“We need your people’s help one more time. We need to borrow a boat. What do you call them? The little boats made out of a tree trunk.”
“Kanoa,” said Tinima.
“Right. We need to borrow a canoe.”
The next morning, Ferdinand, Rio, and Tinima met on the beach. They’d each brought what provisions they could sneak away with. Rio was pleased to see that Tinima had brought several ears of corn.
“A marvelous food,” he said. “Ye can eat it in mere minutes, then spend hours findin’ morsels in yer teeth. A portable feast!”
Ferdinand ignored his enthusiastic endorsement, and simply thanked Tinima.
“I brought some berries I gathered,” he said. “I’m hoping you can tell us what’s safe to eat.”
Rio grabbed the satchel off of Ferdinand’s shoulders. “’Tis awfully heavy for a bag of berries,” he said, and began rummaging around. He pulled out a stack of books. “Are ye expectin’ t’get bored of our company, then?”
Ferdinand shrugged. “I don’t go anywhere without something to read.”
Rio held up a particularly thick book. He lifted his eye patch and squinted at the cover. “¡Caramba! I can’t even read the title of this one.”
“Ephemerides,” Ferdinand said, taking the book back. “It’s by Johann Müller, a German astronomer. My dad uses it to measure lunar distance and determine what longitude we’re at.”
Tinima blinked. “My Spanish is not as good as I’d thought.”
Rio patted her on the shoulder. “Yer Spanish is fine. Ferdinand is speakin’ some other language t’confuse us.”
Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “Anyway, it’s the only book I haven’t already read three times.”
“Truly, we’re all sufferin’ here,” Rio said, and as if on cue his stomach growled.
Together they dragged a canoe through the sand. The canoes were marvels to Ferdinand, like a ship carved out of a single piece of wood instead of the thousands of planks and boards that had made up the vessels he’d been on. He had seen some canoes large enough to hold well over a hundred people.