Lions of the Sea

48

Looked like he'd fallen asleep again, for the day was already done when he opened his eyes. He sat up so roughly that he felt dizzy for a moment. The cabin was empty. The bulkhead and the canopy were back to their invisible places and Marina's clothes were gone.

On the table, he found a tray with slices of bread, cheese and a clay mug, with tea threads floating in still-smoking water. By the seat where he'd slept, on the side he'd rested his feet, a chamber pot, a china washbasin and its matching jug full of fresh water waited on a stool with another clean cloth smelling of lavender. He got up, cursing under his breath. His personal assistant had never waken him up to anything like that.

After going, washing his hands and face, and having breakfast, he stuck out his head.

The whole crew had taken a break from their work to gather on the weather deck, and they stood along the sides, facing the masts. They kept their eyes down on the line of closed hammocks containing their dead brethren.

Marina was by the foremast, before the first bulk. She wore clean clothes that included one fine black coat, and her hair was neatly braided. She too kept her eyes down, her face reflecting her sorrow. By her side, the blond giant read aloud from the Good Book. When he closed the Bible, Marina looked up and said a name. Two men stepped up to grab the first sack at her feet, placed it on a plank resting across the gunwale and let the body fall into the water. She called one last time every fallen pirate. When the last body dived into the deep, she faced the sea and unsheathed her sword, holding it high.

"Now they are the sea," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

And the pirates repeated, loud and clear, "Now they are the sea!"

"Long live the Brethren of the Coast!"

The pirates hailed her words on top of their lungs with their fists in the air.

A moment later, without needing a single order, they were all back to work. Castillano would've liked to know that trick. He set his jaw, enjoying his foul mood. It was a gray, windy day. The clouds promised more rain, and maybe even a squall.

Marina wasn't surprised to find him outside the cabin. There was no trace of tears left in her face when she walked toward him, the Bible in her hands.

"You'll be on your way soon, Captain," was her morning greeting.

She looked to the starboard side and Castillano saw the pirates lowering a shallop away. Only when he got that she intended to walk into the cabin, did he realize he'd left a mess in there. He tried to stop her.

"I— I still don't clean up," he murmured.

Her face asked clearly if he was kidding. "I live with a hundred men, Castillano," she said. "Do you think a used pot and some breadcrumbs scare me?"

He had no choice but to let her in and lingered there, not knowing what to do, other than fighting the habit of going to the bridge. She was back out soon and waved for him to follow her to the starboard side. The shallop floated by the hull, tied to the ladder. Two man worked on it, setting the small mast and the only sail.

Pierre came with a basket of supplies, the neck of an Oporto bottle showing among the food. Maxó tied the basket to a rope and lowered it to the boat. Marina and Castillano waited together in complete silence.

Meanwhile, he wondered how he would say goodbye to her. His guts twitched by only entertaining the idea of shaking hands with a pirate captain and thank them for the courtesies. But that would've been the right thing to do, considering the way she'd treated him. Any other thing felt rude and out of place. And anything that wasn't rude felt out of place when dealing with such a dangerous bandit. Behaving even slightly friendly with her was simply out of the question.

His eyes slid to Marina's right hand, resting on the gunwale. No, he wouldn't shake it in front of that host of scums. Before he could help it, he remembered that same hand showing from behind the canopy the night before, as she got undressed only steps away from him. After tucking him in.

He cleared his throat.

"We're east of Patuca Point," she said then, pointing to the west. "Keep your course north and you'll surely find your Armada right behind the horizon."

He only nodded. Before he could say or ask anything he might regret later, they had to step back to give way to the pirates climbing from the shallop.

"All set, pearl."

"Thanks, Oliver."

The pirate nodded with a sideways glance at Castillano and headed for a hatch.

Marina pointed at the rope Maxó had used. "That'll make it easier for you to climb down the ladder," she said.

Castillano set his jaw. Of course she'd kept his wounded arm in mind. Would she climb down with him to set his sail and tuck him in again? He just grabbed the rope and headed down to the boat.

Morris joined Marina as Castillano reached it, and handed her something soft wrapped in a strip of tarp.

"It'll take only a moment," she said. "Then we're getting the hell out of here as fast as we can."

Morris nodded. "We'll be ready."

Castillano forbid himself to look up. Especially after he found his own coat and a blanket neatly folded on a bench. He turned to loosen the line tying the boat to the ship and found Marina's boots, only a step above his head. So he had to straighten up, serious and stiff, to see what she wanted now.

Marina didn't board the shallop. She stood at the last step and gave him the tarp wrapping.

"This belongs to you, Captain," she said, always distant and even cold.

He accepted the object, not even glancing down at it. "You know you're too dangerous to let you go. I'll hunt you down till I catch you." The words just popped out of his mouth when he met her black eyes.

Her lips pursed, halfway to a smile, and she loosened the line holding the boat. "I'll take it as a compliment, coming from the Lion. As for me, I hope we never meet again. It's about time the Velazquez and the Castillanos part ways for good. May you have good winds, Captain."

She pushed the boat away from her ship and climbed up the ladder nimbly.

Castillano watched her reach the deck and disappear behind the gunwale. Only then he looked down at what she'd given him. The wind had blown the tarp open, exposing what was inside: a Spanish banner. He unwrapped it and felt a sudden lump up his throat. Because that wasn't just any Burgundy Cross. It was the Lion's flag, clean and whole as if it had never been captured.

He looked up at the Phantom, still grasping his flag. The pirate ship was a stark bulk against the sun rising behind it. Tall and mighty, yet so swift. It hardly left any wake as it sailed away to the south.

At the same time that the Phantom's shadow slid past him, he spotted two people on the bridge. The Pearl of the Caribbean and her blond lover. But he couldn't tell whether they were looking back or ahead.

"Don't you think that was a low blow?" asked Morris, glancing back from over his shoulder.

Castillano looked like he'd turned to stone, standing on the boat by the mast, with his flag in his hand and his face turned up to them.

Marina frowned. "Low blow? I gave him back a war trophy many would pay a little fortune to have. And in better shape than when we captured it."

"But you reminded him that you defeated him."

"Jeez, you men and your pride!" Marina grumbled. "I just wanted to—I don't know. Clean the slate? Let him go in peace and for good."

Morris chuckled, amused. "Clean the slate. Gone for good. Castillano. Sure. You know all that Kraken stuff I told you about when you were a child is but a myth, right?"

She chuckled too, poking his chest. "You silly!"

"Jesus, child. How can you be so naïve?"