Page 22 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

Sidney smiled wryly. “Not I alone. This has been a shared endeavour among friends for years — each contributing different pieces, different insights.” His expression grew more serious.

“That’s why Blackwell’s interference is so concerning.

He’s been tracking our research, somehow piecing together information about our quest.”

The mention of threats brought a chill to Docila’s spine. “How did he learn about it?”

Sidney’s jaw tightened. “We’re not entirely certain. But he’s proven himself dangerous. My friend Lincoln was threatened recently, though thankfully nothing came of it. That’s when we realized how far Blackwell might go to claim the treasure for himself.”

Docila sat back in her chair, absorbing this information. The romantic tale of lost Spanish gold had suddenly taken on a darker aspect.

“And yet you’re still pursuing it,” she observed. “Despite the danger.”

“It’s not merely about the gold,” Sidney said, his voice lower now, almost confessional. “Though I won’t deny its appeal. The treasure represents something more significant — a chance to secure a future beyond the constraints of birth and circumstance.”

He gestured around the cabin. “I love the sea, the freedom of this life. But I’ve seen enough storms and battles to know it can’t last forever. Sooner or later, every sailor must find a safe harbour.”

The vulnerability in his admission caught Docila off guard. In this moment, Sidney Peters wasn’t the stern captain, the suspicious interrogator she had come to know. He was simply a man with dreams and uncertainties, not so different from herself.

“I understand,” she said softly. “More than you might think.”

Their eyes met across the cluttered desk, and something shifted in the air between them — a recognition, perhaps, of kindred spirits despite their differences. The moment stretched, fragile as spun glass, before Sidney cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well,” he said, his businesslike tone returning.

“Now you know the truth of our voyage. It’s far more dangerous than an ordinary trading expedition, with enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to harm anyone connected to our quest.” His gaze returned to her, searching.

“If you wish to leave at our next port of call, I would understand completely. I could arrange passage on a reputable vessel, provide you with funds sufficient to establish yourself somewhere safe, far from your uncle’s reach. ”

Docila considered his offer, knowing it was generous, knowing it was the sensible choice. But sensible choices had never appealed to her, not when adventure beckoned.

“And miss discovering whether El Dorado’s treasure is real?” she replied, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I think not, Captain. Besides, I’ve already demonstrated my utility in dangerous situations — or have you forgotten the intruder I subdued?”

Sidney rubbed his jaw, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “My cabin boy is still finding brass paperweight fragments embedded in the floorboards.”

“A small price to pay for protecting your secret maps,” she countered lightly, then grew more serious.

“In truth, Captain, I have nowhere else to go. No family who would welcome me, no friends I could trust not to betray me to my uncle. This ship, improbable as it seems, has become my sanctuary.” She straightened in her chair, meeting his gaze directly.

“I would rather face known dangers at your side than unknown ones alone.”

The captain studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed — a sound balanced between resignation and something that might have been relief.

“Very well,” he said. “But if you’re to be truly part of this venture, you should know all of it.

” He reached into the strongbox again and withdrew a smaller document, carefully unfolding it to reveal what appeared to be a partial map, different from the others.

“This is the final piece — a fragment of Alvarado’s original chart, showing the precise location of the hidden cove and the placement of the treasure within it. ”

Docila leaned forward, studying the faded ink and weathered parchment.

The drawing showed a distinctive coastline with a narrow entrance leading to a sheltered bay.

Within the bay, a series of symbols marked what she presumed were landmarks — a rock formation shaped like a sceptre, a tree split by lightning, a cliff face marked with three crosses.

“The entrance is treacherous,” Sidney explained, “navigable only at high tide and with precise knowledge of the hidden shoals. That’s why the treasure has remained undiscovered for so long.

Most ships would run aground attempting to enter, especially those with the deep draft of a treasure-hunting vessel. ”

“But the Seraphim could manage it?” Docila guessed.

Sidney nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. “She’s swift but shallow-drafted — perfect for coastal waters. And I’ve studied these waters for years. If anyone can navigate that passage safely, it’s us.”

“Us,” Docila repeated softly, the word hanging between them like a question.

Sidney’s eyes met hers, and for once, there was no suspicion in his gaze, only a cautious acceptance. “Yes, Miss Archer. It seems you’ve become part of this quest, whether either of us intended it or not.”

She smiled then, a genuine expression of pleasure that brought colour to her cheeks. “Then we should get to work, shouldn’t we? These maps won’t organize themselves.”

To her surprise, Sidney returned her smile — a brief flash of warmth that transformed his usually stern countenance. “Indeed not. And they’re in dire need of organizing after our hasty departure.”

Together, they began sorting through the scattered charts and documents, establishing a system for their arrangement that would allow quick access while sailing.

The work was mundane but oddly satisfying, creating order from chaos while the ship surged forward beneath them.

Docila found herself enjoying the simple collaboration, the quiet exchange of ideas as they determined the most logical arrangement.

“Your knowledge of cartographic principles is impressive,” Sidney commented as she correctly identified a Portuguese coastal chart from the mid-17th century. “Most educated young ladies I’ve encountered would struggle to distinguish a map from a landscape painting.”

“Most educated young ladies didn’t spend their formative years tracing shipping routes with their fathers,” Docila replied without looking up from her task.

“Besides, I find maps fascinating — each one tells a story, reveals the cartographer’s understanding of the world.

” She carefully aligned the edges of a stack of charts before rolling them together.

“My father collected them. He had a special cabinet built in his study just for housing his favourites.”

“Had?” Sidney asked gently, noting her use of the past tense.

Docila’s hands stilled momentarily. “My uncle sold most of them after Father’s death. Said they were taking up valuable space.” The bitterness in her voice was impossible to disguise. “Some had been in our family for generations.”

Sidney’s expression darkened. “Your uncle sounds like a man of remarkably poor judgment, in multiple respects.”

The understatement surprised a small laugh from Docila.

“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it, Captain.

” She tied off another rolled chart with practiced movements.

“In any case, I learned to appreciate cartography early. Father believed knowledge of geography was essential for anyone who wished to understand the world properly.”

“A perspective I share,” Sidney said, carefully placing a weighted brass anchor on a corner of the main map. “Though I confess my interest has always been more practical than scholarly. A ship’s captain lives or dies by the accuracy of his charts.”

“As does his crew,” Docila added soberly.

Sidney glanced at her, a new respect evident in his expression. “Precisely.”

They worked in companionable silence for a time, the only sounds the creaking of the ship around them and the distant calls of the crew above.

Docila found herself sneaking glances at the captain when his attention was elsewhere, noting the careful precision of his movements, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that suggested long hours scanning horizons in bright sunlight.

There was something compelling about his quiet competence, the absolute certainty with which he handled each precious map.

“These final markings,” she said eventually, indicating the symbols on Alvarado’s fragment, “they seem familiar somehow. Almost like astronomical notations.”

Sidney looked up sharply. “You have a good eye. Alvarado was apparently an amateur astronomer — many sailors were, using the stars for navigation. We believe these symbols indicate specific celestial alignments that occur only at certain times of the year.”

“Marking when the entrance to the cove is safest to navigate,” Docila surmised.

“Or perhaps when certain landmarks cast shadows in particular directions, revealing the precise location of the buried treasure,” Sidney added. “My friend Pierce — the astronomer I mentioned to you once — has been working to calculate the exact dates when these alignments occur.”

“And?” Docila prompted when he hesitated.

“And if his calculations are correct, we have less than a month to reach our destination before the optimal conditions pass. After that, we would need to wait another year.”

“Hence your urgency to depart,” she realized. “And Blackwell’s determination to delay you.”

Sidney nodded grimly. “Every day lost at port was a victory for him. If he could have entangled us in administrative inquiries, kept us detained while he pursued the treasure himself...”

“But he didn’t succeed,” Docila reminded him. “We escaped. We’re on our way.”

“For now,” Sidney qualified. “But Blackwell is resourceful and determined. He’ll follow, and he may have other agents ahead of us.” He straightened, rolling his shoulders to ease tension. “We’ll need to be vigilant, prepared for interference at every stage of our journey.”

Docila considered this soberly. The adventure that had seemed so exciting moments ago now revealed its true nature — a dangerous game with potentially lethal consequences.

And yet, strangely, she felt no fear, only a growing determination.

This quest offered not just escape from her uncle but purpose, a chance to prove her worth in ways society rarely allowed women.

“Then we shall be vigilant,” she said simply. “Two sets of eyes are better than one, after all.”

Sidney regarded her thoughtfully. “You continue to surprise me, Miss Archer. Most women would be terrified at the prospect of pirates and treasure hunters.”

“I’m not most women,” she reminded him with a small smile. “Besides, I’ve already faced my own personal pirate in Uncle Hugo. At least Blackwell’s motives are straightforward — simple greed rather than malicious control.”

The captain’s expression softened slightly. “A fair point. Though I wouldn’t underestimate Blackwell’s capacity for malice when thwarted.”

“I won’t,” she assured him. “But neither will I cower in fear of him. If we’re to reach El Dorado’s treasure first, we must focus on our goal, not on looking over our shoulders.”

Sidney nodded, a glimmer of what might have been admiration in his eyes. “Well said. Now, if you’ll help me secure these charts in the strongbox, we should join the crew for the evening meal. Fletcher will be wondering if we’ve fallen overboard.”

As they carefully gathered the precious documents, Docila felt a strange sense of peace settle over her.

For the first time since her father’s death, she had a clear direction, a purpose beyond mere survival.

The danger was real, certainly, but so was the camaraderie forming between her and the captain, the tentative trust building with each shared confidence.

“Captain,” she said as he locked the strongbox, “thank you for telling me the truth. I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

He looked up, his expression reflective.

“It wasn’t,” he admitted. “But I’m beginning to think it was the right one.

” He slipped the key back beneath his shirt, the gesture oddly intimate in the confines of the cabin.

“You’ve earned your place on this voyage, Miss Archer, unexpected though your arrival was. ”

The simple acknowledgment warmed her more than she could explain. “I’ll continue to earn it,” she promised. “Every day until we find Alvarado’s treasure — or prove once and for all that it was merely a sailor’s tale.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Sidney said with absolute conviction. “The question is whether we’ll be the ones to claim it.”

“We will be,” Docila replied, surprising herself with her certainty. “I feel it in my bones, Captain. This is our destiny.”

He raised an eyebrow at her sudden declaration. “I didn’t take you for a believer in destiny, Miss Archer.”

“Perhaps not destiny, then,” she amended with a small smile.

“But I do believe in determination, skill, and the occasional stroke of good fortune. Between your knowledge of these waters and my...” she paused, a mischievous glint in her eye “…my talent for unexpected interventions with brass paperweights, I fancy our chances are quite good.”

That startled a genuine laugh from the captain, the sound rich and warm in the close confines of the cabin. “When you put it that way, Miss Archer, how could we possibly fail?”

The moment of shared humour lightened the weight of their earlier conversation, transforming the atmosphere in the small cabin.

As Sidney moved to unlatch the door, Docila realized with sudden clarity that something fundamental had shifted between them.

She was no longer merely a stowaway to be tolerated or a burden to be managed; she had become a confidante, perhaps even the beginning of a friend.

And as they made their way to the main deck, where the setting sun painted the horizon in shades of gold and crimson, Docila felt a surge of exhilaration that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with anticipation.

Whatever dangers lay ahead, whatever obstacles Blackwell might place in their path, they would face them together.

The hunt for El Dorado’s treasure had truly begun.