The song of the sails

Chapter 1

It was no coincidence that Captain Balsano had chosen "freedom" for his new expedition.

The magnificent boat, 300 metres long, was built to withstand heavy storms and accommodate a crew of 90 sailors. Its three clear chain masts supported 8 sails that had turned yellow in the weather. The hull is also made of chain, designed to make it one of the most manoeuvrable and safe ships of the time. When the ship was in port, it was a real eye-catcher.

The ship's captain was in his twenties and had the haughty and distinguished posture of people used to power. His curly brown hair matched perfectly with his impeccably trimmed brush beard. Not a thread protruded from his beautiful navy blue, almost black uniform. He is a very impressive man.

But the captain's austere and haughty appearance was not to be trusted. He was born on a ship and had never been off it since: he knew the seas on his fingertips, the oceans almost as well. He kept a good, frank and paternal eye on his sailors, and there was not a member of his crew who did not give him deep respect.

It was the day of the departure, and all Buenos Aires had gathered around the quay where "freedom" was, so as not to miss anything of the spectacle it offered. The cargo was loaded, the sailors were on board. The commander of the expedition, a young scientist from the nobility, had just embarked with all his instruments and spreadsheets crammed into trunks threatening to explode at any moment.

All that remained was to choose a new recruit from among the crowd of volunteers, who would have the honour of joining the crew to learn the tricks of the trade (and act as a whipping boy). This was the tradition.

Karol was part of that group.

At five feet tall, she could have passed for a teenager if her slender size and shape had not propelled her into adulthood. Charmed by her surprisingly bright green eyes, the unfortunate ones would soon find themselves pushed back with the woman's hand on their face or if they were too insistent with a sharp knee bump in the wrong place.

She had just turned eighteen and knew that because of her age and sex her chances of being hired as a sailor were close to zero.

But she couldn't care less. She was still convinced that a woman could do a man's work and she was determined to prove it.

Unfortunately, as she found out every time she tried her luck, her feminine condition earned her the laughter of the audience and even a few insults. She probably should have formalized a long time ago, given up and gone back to serving drinks at the harbour inn where she had been rotting since she was nine years old, except that she had never formalized it.

She had the right to want the job. The President himself had decreed a few years earlier that women were now free to pursue the studies of their choice if they fulfilled the required conditions, i.e. to prove their aptitude to carry out the trade they were interested in by proving significant experience in the field in question. In her case, Karol had to spend a year with a crew before she could hope to enter the naval academy.

No one really knew where this revolutionary law came from. Some said it was a birthday present for the president's daughter, who wanted a career in football. The worst tongues went so far as to openly doubt the mental health of their sovereign.

In any case, this decree was indeed there, still in force for more than five years, and that's all Karol was interested in.

Thanks to him, she could look forward to a better future. She could leave this city, discover the world and take the reins of her destiny; she could study.

But in order to do that, she had to be able to integrate a crew first. This one or another. Of course, discouragement was lurking, vicious, but her determination had never wavered. Not even when Rey was her boss, he would take out sermons on her place in society and st on the husband she had to think about finding.

Today was a special day. Karol could smell it. She had this strange feeling of safety, this feeling of warmth that surrounded her with a reassuring cocoon, which told her that everything would be fine. It would never be just her forty-first attempt, after all. She was used to it. She kept up. But a nervous spasm waved her hands before she hid them with her arms crossed. The wait was beginning to be long, her tension was increasing. A slanted look informed her that the onlookers had already spotted her. She sighed, hoping to relieve the stress that preceded each attempt, but, as with each attempt, the other suitors at the foam post were far too noisy for her, and the importance of the issue prevented her from concentrating.

Karol was thinking about all the positives and negatives she could say to sell herself to the crew. The fact that she was the only woman to have ever attempted to enter the Marine Academy could also play in his favour. Karol sighed again and looked down. This occasion was by far the most beautiful of his life; the scientist was rich and had hired the services of the crew without time limit, with substantial wages. In exchange, the sailors just had to agree to sail into the unknown. Everything she wanted.

The ocean had always fascinated her, attracted her magnetically without them being able to explain it. Consuming curiosity or irresistible call of adventure, difficult to say. She just knew that her place was in the open sea, far from the greyness of Buenos Aires. Where the world regained its colors. It was his only certainty.

She wanted to be part of that expedition. She had to be part of it.