For I could not lie abed with the wind blowing at such strength. Awakening, I dressed to be prepared for any emergency and was about to go on deck when the door to Guadalupe’s cabin opened a crack. “Tatton? Is the storm very bad?”
“It is bad,” I said, “but we’re in as good a place to last it out as there is along this coast, the vessel is a strong one, and her captain an excellent seaman. If there is serious trouble I will come to you.” Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “Will you wait, Guadalupe? I have something for you.”
Hastily I returned to my cabin where all was battened down and secure and took from among the chests the one containing her clothing. It was the largest of all, but not heavy for one of my strength, and I took it to her.
When she saw what I had she drew back the door, remaining behind it, and I placed the chest just inside the room. I showed her hooks upon the wall, low down. “Lash it, or it may break a leg for you. The lines are there.” Stepping out, I went on deck quickly and after a moment heard the door close just as I was leaving the passage.
Sheets of driving rain swept the deck like volleys of grapeshot, and the sky was weirdly lit by continuous flashes of lightning. Grasping the ladder, I went to the poop deck where Dabney stood, his legs spread wide to take the roll of the ship.
He saw me and lifted a hand. When I drew near he shouted above the storm, “She’s holding well. I think we may have no trouble.”
Several men were about the deck, but no more than would be around on any watch. Dabney was sparing of his men as of all else.
Standing beside him, I watched the rain and spray blow through the rigging and sweep the deck and thought of those far out at sea-or worse, those who had been caught sailing off the shore. Many a fine ship would go down this night, or be beached out yonder, and torn apart by the waves. In such a gale as this the safest place, unless one lay as we did, was far at sea. Often I’d heard landlubbers talking of ancient seafarers staying within sight of land, which was absurd, as it was by far the most dangerous place to be, what with rocks, sandbars, shoals, and contrary winds or unexpected capes on an unmapped coast.
During a lull in the roar of the wind I said, “I thought you might need a hand so I came on deck.”
“Kind of you, Captain. But I suggest you go below and have your rest. By the look of you when you came aboard I’d say you need it.”
He glanced at me. “How is the lass making it?”
“Fine enough. She heard me in the passage and asked if all was well. I assured her we had a sound ship and a sounder master. I hope she went back to sleep.”
“Aye.” He seemed pleased at my confidence. “You do the same, Captain. I might add that our trading to date has been profitable, very profitable.”
Below I did not lie down at first, being too much awake. Catching hold of the table, I eased myself onto one of the settees against the bulkhead and took a book from the shelf, where they were held in place by a strip of molding. It had been long since there had been time or opportunity to read and I sorely missed it.
The books upon the shelf were not the same as those it held when last I was aboard. Evidently those had been replaced by a store the captain maintained below decks.
One was called Tafrikh al-Hind, and the language was strange to me. I was just replacing it when Dabney came in, stripping off the cloak he had been wearing on deck.
I held it up. “What is it?” I asked.
“A book about India,” he said, “written by Al-Biruni, one of the greatest Islamic scholars.”
He draped his cloak over a chair back and dropped to another settee. “My man will have some hot chocolate here at once.” He indicated the book. “We do wrong in the Western world to ignore the scholars of the East for they have much to teach us. He was one of the greatest and long resided in India. This book was written about 1030 or so … I am not sure of the date. But very good, very good, indeed.”
“You have been there?”
Dabney glanced up. “I am well past fifty years of age, young man, and nearly twenty of those years were spent in the Indian Ocean … the Arabian Sea, if you will. Men were sailing those seas before ever a Greek prow cut the waters of the Aegean.
“Hippalus, we Europeans say, discovered the monsoon winds that will take a ship across the Indian Ocean from the coast of Africa to India. Alexander found pilots from India who knew all those waters three hundreds years earlier. They showed his admiral Nearchus the way to the Persian Gulf.”
A man entered bearing a covered pot. Taking cups from a rack, he filled two of them with steaming chocolate.
“The days are long at sea, Captain Chantry, and when one has an efficient crew there is time on one’s hands.
“I read … I replenish my books often, yet a few I always keep for they are like old friends. Once I read them through; now I dip into them from time to time and read a few pages.
“When I was a lad I went out East on a voyage with my father. Our ship was wrecked there and we remained for many years. First my father and then I myself were masters of ships there.”
We drank our chocolate and talked, the ship rolling with wind and sea. At last he returned to the deck, and I to my bunk.
All night long the wind blew hard and strong, the roar of the winds a mighty sound in the night. Then of a sudden there was no wind and the silence awakened me to a yellow, awesome dawn. There was no sound. Suddenly we were caught in a world empty of it, and my throat caught with fear. Then I realized. We must be in the eye of the storm. If so, the winds would return, but from another direction.
I dressed and started for the deck, but Guadalupe was there before me. “I need the air,” she said. When I started to explain about the hurricane she told me she understood. She had experienced such storms before.
She stood beside me and we watched the sailors, tightening up all that might have come loose, preparing for what was to come.
“Did you live in Lima?” I asked.
“In the mountains and at the sea, and then in Cuzco. Only at the last was I in Lima. There was much that was different. I remember the bullfights, and I remember once there was a new viceroy or some official and they decorated all the balconies with greenery. We went to a play given by the Society of Jesus entitled The Prince of Fez.
“There were many duels, for there was much talk of honor. And scarcely a week went by when someone was not killed, or so it seemed to me.
“My mother died when I was eleven and my father was killed … It was said to have been done by thieves but I did not believe so. I believe he was killed by assassins, for my mother had told him much and they thought to find among his papers what he would not tell them.”
“And they did not?”
She smiled triumphantly. “They did not. There were papers and maps also. I hid them.”
“They may have been found since.”
“They will never find them. The house where we lived was very old. My mother had once lived there with her grandmother, who was the daughter of a brother to the Inca. She showed me a secret place.”
We went below and Gonchita served us breakfast. Silliman Turley came aft, but would not listen to moving aft with us. “I’ve a good bunk for’ard an’ I like it there. What about that Leckenbie? You think he’s through?”
“No.” I was sure about that. “He’s not through.” What would he do? Would he dare an attack under cover of the storm? How badly hurt was the pinnace? She did not seem too badly damaged, but if she were damaged beyond repair he would have a double reason for attacking us. He would need a ship.
What had become of Don Diego? And where was Don Manuel’s ship, which was expected at any moment? Had the hurricane destroyed it? Or was it lying up in safety somewhere down the coast?