1670, Caribbean Sea. She's the daughter of a legendary pirate. He's a Spanish captain. Their countries are at war. Their fathers killed each other. And they were destined to follow on their steps.
But sometimes destiny isn't written in stone: it's w...
The sky was clearing slowly over Tortuga when the Phantom sailed into Cayona's bay. It was still raining, but the clouds dissolved in fat dark rags, revealing patches of bright blue sky above. The storm had pushed peddlers, traders and fishermen away, along with the usual crowd stuffing the docks. Marina was grateful to see the port deserted. The last thing she wanted was seeing people.
She had the Phantom moored near the shipyard's headland, considering the next day her ship would visit Lombard and his craftsmen. She wanted the Phantom repaired anew, no traces whatsoever of the last battle. She would've liked to know about a shipyard for her soul, too. But she trusted that a couple of weeks at home, with her mother, would work the same magic Lombard's men would work on the Phantom.
Morris insisted to leave Briand in charge of the pending chores to go ashore at once. He had the smallest boat ready and boarded it with only Marina, Maxó and De Neill. The pirates had noticed the girl's gloomy mood, but Morris had warned them to keep from asking about it.
However, Marina's wish for solitude was thwarted when they saw a man leading his horse to the dock in the fog, bringing another horse by the bridle.
"Claude?" Morris ventured. "Maybe the road to your house is bad after the rain and that's why your mother didn't send the coach."
Marina shook her head, swallowing a sigh. "That's Laventry."
The corsair welcomed them unusually serious, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. He threw the reins of the second horse to Marina.
"Go see your mother, child," he said in a grave tone. "She's sick worried."
Marina jumped on the saddle and spurred her horse, galloping away.
Laventry dismounted and headed with the three pirates to the nearest tavern. By nightfall, everybody in Cayona commented on how the Phantom had defeated the infamous Lion of the Windward Fleet, who had scared all pirate captains to no end over the last three years.
Isolated from tavern gossiping, Cecilia gave her daughter a long, tight hug. She noticed the girl had a little fever, and the sorrow clouding her beautiful black eyes. She convinced Marina to lay down and try to rest. She would've wanted to ask what was torturing her, but she knew Marina would tell her if she needed to. And if she didn't, it wasn't Cecilia's place to stalk her with questions. All she could do was stay sharp and willing to listen.
Marina slept in the next morning, and woke up to find her home buzzing like a beehive. Her mother had hired two maids, women from the harbor brothels looking to change their line of work, and when Marina left her room, they worked tirelessly in the dining room under Tomasa's directions.
The girl found her mother in the kitchen, with Colette and her older daughter, who had joined the house's service a couple of weeks ago. They were cooking as to feed an army.
"You know Laventry's place is rather small, and he has only old Manfred to assist him," Cecilia explained, kneading eagerly. "So I offered him to have his meetings about the Maracaibo expedition here." She noticed her daughter's face and smiled. "They're using the dining room. We won't even notice they're here."
"Sure, until they decide to try their ambush tactics on our wine cellar," Marina replied, grunting. She grabbed an apple and nodded to the door. "I'm going to Lombard's. Do you need anything from town?"
"No, dear, thanks. Are you coming back for lunch?"
"Yes." Marina met her eyes dead serious. "On this side, with you."
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Lombard greeted the girl with his usual flurry of laces and led her to the inlet, where she found Morris talking with the master carpenter. The Phantom was already there, moored between the maintenance docks.
"Morning, pearl!" Morris greeted her with a big smile despite her moody frown. "Jacques here says his men can be done in a week."
"A whole week?" she grumbled, and explained, "My house's going to be Laventry's headquarters."
Morris patted her shoulder, chuckling. "Patience, pearl. You better get used to them, 'cause you're going to have them around all the way to Maracaibo and back."
She signaled Morris to go with her toward the Phantom. "We're not going to Maracaibo, Morris," she said as soon as they were alone. "Make sure our men know, in case they decide to enroll on another ship to take part of the expedition."
He didn't hide his surprise. "We're going to miss it?"
"L'Olonnais picked the city clean four years ago, and Morgan did not two years ago. The plunder won't be much and they're not going to like it. So they're going to pick on the prisoners. Hand to heart, I'm not the least bit interested in helping them take a city and then sitting to watch them rape and torture over a handful of doubloons."
Morris could only agree. They climbed up the hull ladder to the Phantom and found a swarm of workers onboard, moving above and below deck.
"I'll go check on the hold repairs," said Morris.
"I'm going to fetch my chest. Meet you down there."
The cabin furniture was covered with tarps, ready for the painters to start working the next day. Marina got a crate for her books and a bag for the cushions and curtains, which could use a visit to the laundress. She took everything to the door, and was back for her chest, when she spotted a white cloth fallen between the seat and the bookshelf.
She kneeled and reached out to grab it, curious. When she pulled it out, she saw it was the Lion's flag, stained in powder but still in one piece. On the side of the cords to hoist it, somebody had embroided a few words: "With the blessings of His Majesty Carlos II to His warship Lion." She noticed a corner was stained in blood. That was the end she'd unwillingly dragged when she'd showed it to her crew, still on the Lion's bridge.
