Page 47 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
“Yes,” he acknowledged, troubled. “Based on the historical accounts, the shipwreck descriptions, and the partial coordinates found in Alvarado’s journal, we had identified this southern promontory as the most likely observation point.”
“Could one of the sources be wrong?” Docila suggested, trying to reconcile the conflicting information. “The historical accounts, perhaps, or the journal entries?”
“Possible,” Sidney allowed, though doubt crept into his voice. “Or the medallion’s markings might have been misinterpreted — either by us now, working from your memory, or my previous calculations might have been faulty.”
The tension that had briefly dissipated during their collaborative exploration of the clues began to return, though in a different form — not the personal conflict of their earlier confrontation, but a shared anxiety about the reliability of the information they had pieced together.
“They can’t both be right,” Docila said, stating the obvious but necessary conclusion. “One of these locations must be incorrect, or at least misunderstood in terms of its significance.”
Sidney pulled both charts closer, comparing the details with meticulous care.
“The southern promontory aligns with the shipwreck accounts,” he mused aloud.
“Survivors described a rocky outcropping visible from where El Dorado ran aground. But the medallion’s coordinates point to a location that would offer a clearer view of the night sky, with fewer obstructions on the horizon. ”
“Which would be more important for astronomical observations,” Docila noted, seeing the logic in his analysis.
“Yes,” Sidney agreed, still studying the charts intently.
“But there’s something else — a detail in Alvarado’s journal that never quite fit with our understanding of the southern location.
He mentioned a ‘stone sentinel’ standing watch over the approach to the hidden cove, a natural formation that marked the path to where the treasure was concealed. ”
Sidney pulled yet another chart from the scattered papers, this one more detailed in its depiction of the coastal features.
“There,” he said, his finger tapping a spot near the northern promontory indicated by the medallion’s coordinates.
“Historical surveys mention a distinctive rock formation here, one that local fishermen called ‘The Guardian’ because its silhouette resembled a hooded figure when viewed from the sea.”
Docila leaned closer, excitement building once more as the pieces began to align despite the initial discrepancy.
“So, the medallion’s location might indeed be correct,” she said, the possibility bringing renewed hope. “It would align both with the celestial requirements and with Alvarado’s description of the landmark.”
“But it contradicts the shipwreck accounts,” Sidney reminded her, unwilling to dismiss the discrepancy too readily. “Unless...”
He fell silent, staring at the charts with such intensity that Docila could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, connecting fragments of information in new patterns, testing possibilities against the evidence before them.
“Unless the shipwreck was a diversion,” he said finally, the words emerging slowly as the theory formed.
“A deliberate false trail created by Alvarado to mislead anyone who might learn of his plan. He sacrifices a ship — perhaps not even El Dorado at all, but another vessel made to look like the treasure galleon — while secretly transporting the actual bounty to the true hiding place.”
The audacity of such a scheme was breathtaking, yet it aligned perfectly with what they knew of Alvarado’s cunning and his determination to ensure the treasure remained hidden until he could return for it — a return that historical records suggested had never occurred, due to his capture and execution by Spanish authorities who had discovered his betrayal.
“It would explain why no significant wreckage has ever been found at the southern location, despite numerous attempts over the centuries,” Docila observed, warming to the theory.
“If there was a ship, it might have been largely empty — a shell containing just enough cargo to convince observers that it was indeed El Dorado, while the actual treasure had been moved elsewhere.”
Sidney nodded, excitement evident in his voice as he continued to develop the hypothesis.
“Alvarado was known for his elaborate precautions. The celestial key, the coded journal entries, the medallion with its disguised coordinates — all part of an intricate scheme to ensure that only someone with the complete set of clues could ever locate the true treasure.”
“And now we have those clues,” Docila said, the realization bringing both exhilaration and apprehension. “Thanks to your research and the medallion my father possessed.”
Sidney looked up at her, genuine warmth in his expression for the first time since their confrontation.
“Your father,” he acknowledged, giving credit where it was due. “Without your memory of the medallion, we might have continued pursuing the false trail Alvarado left, searching the southern promontory where no treasure has ever been hidden.”
The acknowledgment touched Docila deeply, not merely for its recognition of her contribution but for what it represented — Sidney setting aside his pride, his need to dominate the quest, to genuinely share the discovery with her as an equal partner in their joint enterprise.
“We should change course immediately,” she suggested, already calculating the adjustments needed to reach the northern promontory before the equinox.
“If we’re right about the astronomical alignment, we have only days to reach the observation point and locate the treasure before the opportunity passes. ”
Sidney nodded, his mind clearly following the same path.
“And before our pursuers catch up to us again,” he added, the reminder of the danger still tracking them sobering his excitement somewhat. “They may still be searching the waters near the inlet where we gave them the slip, but it won’t take them long to realize we’ve moved on.”
“Do you think they know about the medallion?” Docila asked, suddenly concerned that their discovery might not be unique. “About the astronomical key?”
“Blackwell likely knows as much as I do about the historical accounts and maybe even Alvarado’s journal,” Sidney replied, his expression troubled.
“But without the medallion or its coordinates, he would still be focused on the southern promontory, following the false trail like everyone else who has sought the treasure over the centuries.”
“Unless he has other sources of information we’re not aware of,” Docila suggested, the possibility dampening her enthusiasm somewhat.
Sidney’s jaw tightened at the thought.
“We must assume he’s pursuing the same goal with whatever knowledge he possesses,” he said grimly. “Which means we need to move quickly, decisively, before he can interfere further.”
He began gathering the most crucial charts, organizing them with the efficient movements of a man accustomed to making rapid decisions under pressure.
“I’ll give orders to change course immediately,” he said, his voice taking on the crispness of command once more, though without the cold distance that had marked their earlier confrontation. “We’ll make for the northern promontory with all possible speed.”
Docila rose, ready to assist with whatever preparations might be necessary for their change of course. But as she turned toward the door, Sidney caught her arm gently, halting her.
“Docila,” he said, his voice softer now, personal rather than commanding.
“I need to say this properly. I apologize for doubting you, for questioning your motives when you were only trying to help. Your discovery — your memory of the medallion — might well be the key to everything I’ve sought these past years. ”
The sincerity in his eyes, the genuine contrition in his voice, melted the last of Docila’s lingering hurt from their earlier argument.
“And I apologize for examining your papers without permission,” she replied, matching his honesty with her own. “It was wrong, regardless of what I discovered in doing so.”
Sidney’s hand lingered on her arm, the touch conveying a connection that went beyond words, beyond the formal apologies they had exchanged.
For a moment, Docila thought he might say more, might give voice to the changing nature of their relationship that had been evolving through shared danger and mutual respect.
But before he could speak, a tremendous crash sounded from above, followed by shouts of alarm and the pounding of feet across the deck. The ship lurched violently, sending both of them staggering, Sidney automatically steadying Docila with a protective arm around her waist.
“Captain!” Fletcher’s voice bellowed down the companionway, urgent and strained. “Captain, we’re under attack! The second ship — it’s found us!”
Sidney’s expression hardened instantly, the brief vulnerability of moments before subsumed by the immediate needs of command.
“Stay here,” he instructed Docila, already moving toward the door. “Secure the charts — they’re more valuable than ever now that we know their true significance.”
But as he reached the threshold, he paused, turning back to her with an intensity that took her breath away.
“We’re not finished,” he said, the words carrying a weight of promise that transcended the immediate crisis. “This conversation, this discovery — what it means for both of us. Remember that, whatever happens next.”
Then he was gone, racing up the companionway toward the chaos erupting on deck, leaving Docila amid the scattered charts that might lead to El Dorado’s treasure — if they survived the confrontation now unfolding above.
Another crash shook the ship, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood and the shouts of men preparing to repel boarders.
Their pursuers had found them, had managed to close the distance while Sidney and Docila were absorbed in their discovery.
And now the Seraphim was out of options, forced to face an enemy that had tracked them with relentless determination across miles of open sea.
Docila gathered the crucial charts with trembling hands, securing them in the strongbox as Sidney had instructed.
But even as she worked, her mind raced ahead to what awaited on deck — the confrontation they could no longer avoid, the danger that threatened not just the treasure but the lives of everyone aboard.
And Sidney, whose last words to her had contained both a command and a promise, now faced that danger directly while she remained below, sheltered but separated from whatever fate awaited the Seraphim and her captain in the desperate minutes to come.