Pirates of the Caribbean:The Spanish Prisoner (Book 2 King's Messenger Series)

Parley

I stared at Maroto, dumbfounded by his appearance---so obviously alive and yet so changed! I heard a quick movement from the berth and turned to find Hector on his feet, aiming his pistol at Maroto.

"Well, if it ain't the Padre!" he said, in tones he usually reserved for Jack's name. "I heard ye was dead."

I glared at Maroto. "You let me mourn your death, and all the while you were shamming! You owe me some answers."

"Forgive me," he said. "I could not do otherwise. Please believe that I come as a friend. And that..." he gestured towards Hector's weapon "...is not sufficient, in any case." He paused, then revealed the extraordinary truth. "Like my uncle Juan, I can die, but I cannot be killed."

I felt the blood leave my face as I took in the implication of his words. "You've been to the Fountain," I murmured.

"Well? What d' ye have t' say fer yerself?" Hector's voice was a dangerous growl.

Maroto spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "The stolen years keep us alive. We have no choice. Towards the end, our strength fades and we age. But we endure. Once my body had recovered from the loss of blood, my senses returned, and I joined my uncle on the Santiago. He was already chasing the Medusa."

"So what d' ye want with us?" Hector's eyes narrowed. "If it be the map yer after, ye've come up empty. It's gone to the bottom."

"It's not that simple." Maroto took a step forward and removed his helmet. He gave me a pleading look. "I need your help to free my uncle from the Fountain's power."

Hector gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "So you an' yer uncle want t' give up eternal youth."

Maroto looked down for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he raised his eyes, he said simply, "I have lived a quarter of a millennium, longer than any man should. I made my peace with death long ago. " He extended his hand. "Señora? Will you come with me?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm the Captain's partner and wife, Padre. It's both of us or neither one---and we'll have the truth from you first. Whatever you've kept back, now is the time to tell it."

Maroto studied our faces with his dark, sad eyes. Then his shoulders drooped and he nodded. "You are right." He approached the table with an unsteady gait, and seated himself wearily.

"You see before you the last living member of the Santiago's crew. There are no more. I sailed with my uncle in 1521, on his final voyage. I took part in everything---the theft of the chalices, the capture of the victims, the torture of the mermaids by which we acquired their tears."

Cold horror began to creep over me. It was one thing to read of these exploits in the old journal, but quite another to find myself face to face with a living participant.

"I have seen the Fountain consume its victims," he said. "And felt the rapture of new life flooding through my veins. I thought to enjoy the years I had stolen and, when they ran out, to die a contented man."

He paused and his mouth curved into a wry smile. "But we hadn't understood the Ritual. The Fountain traps all who drink from the chalices---one is destroyed, and the other becomes its servant. We thirsted endlessly for the Elixir, tormented by fears that we would lose our way back to the Fountain or find it had run dry."

I stole a look at Hector and thought it would break my heart if this proud man were to become the Fountain's minion. Did he understand what was at stake? His expression was unchanged, but he stared intently at the white-haired Padre.

"I vowed to save my uncle," Maroto went on, "I have spent more than a lifetime hunting for his journals and seeking a way to free him. If he is persuaded to give away the Sword of Triton, he will have no way to sail back to that evil place."