Page 53 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
He glanced around the tavern, his gaze settling on several individuals who had been listening to the conversation with poorly disguised interest. “Five or six could be found, I think, for the right incentive.”
Sidney produced one of the gold coins, allowing it to catch the light as he placed it on the table.
“A gesture of good faith,” he said quietly. “There are more for those who join us, and the promise of fair treatment during our journey.”
By mid-morning, an agreement had been reached.
The Santa Clara – a sturdy sloop that had seen better days but remained seaworthy – would be made ready for immediate departure.
Mateo and four other experienced sailors would form her crew, supplemented by Sidney and Docila themselves.
Provisions for three days were being assembled, and the tide would favour their departure by early afternoon.
It was more than they could have hoped for given their desperate circumstances, yet as the fishermen dispersed to make preparations, Docila sensed a lingering doubt among them – a natural caution about joining an expedition led by a clearly injured captain and his unusual female companion, bound for an unspecified destination with obvious urgency.
“They’re not convinced,” she murmured to Sidney as they followed Mateo toward the beach where the Santa Clara lay at anchor in the shallow bay. “They’ve accepted your gold, but not your leadership. Not yet.”
Sidney nodded, having recognized the same undercurrent of scepticism.
“They’ll need to see strength, not just wealth,” he agreed. “These are independent men, used to making their own judgments about sea and weather, about risk and reward.”
As if to confirm their assessment, Mateo slowed his pace to allow them to catch up, his expression serious as he turned to face them directly.
“My friends and I have agreed to your proposal,” he said without preamble, “but there are questions that deserve answers before we sail. You offer good money for a simple coastal voyage, yet you yourselves show every sign of having survived some recent calamity. The senorita speaks of urgency, of reaching a specific point by the equinox. There are rumours in the settlement of ships fighting at sea, of men swimming ashore in darkness.” He fixed Sidney with a direct gaze.
“We are simple fishermen, Captain, not fools. What voyage do we truly undertake?”
The forthright question demanded an equally honest response. Sidney met Mateo’s gaze steadily, weighing the risk of disclosure against the necessity of securing the crew’s full commitment to their cause.
“A rival captain has stolen something of great value from my ship,” he said finally, offering a simplified version of truth that omitted the specific nature of their quest. “Charts, navigational instruments, documents essential to an expedition I’ve spent years preparing.
He holds my vessel and most of my crew, and even now makes for a location that should rightfully be mine to claim first.”
Mateo’s expression remained neutral, neither accepting nor rejecting this partial explanation. “And what do you hope to accomplish with the Santa Clara and five fishermen who know nothing of your rival or his intentions?”
“To reach our destination before him,” Sidney replied simply. “To reclaim what was taken through treachery and force. To complete a journey that represents not just my future security but the culmination of efforts by many good men who trusted me with their investments and their loyalty.”
It was Docila who stepped forward then, her quiet voice carrying unexpected authority as she addressed not just Mateo but the other fishermen who had gathered within earshot.
“I understand your concerns,” she said, her gaze moving from face to face with direct sincerity.
“You see strangers asking for your trust without offering full disclosure in return. But Captain Peters is a man of his word, a commander who earned the loyalty of his crew through integrity and skill, not mere authority. What we ask of you involves risk, yes – but also the chance to be part of something extraordinary.”
Sidney’s eyes met Docila’s across the small space that separated them, a moment of silent communication that conveyed more than words could express. Then he turned back to Mateo, his decision made.
“You deserve more than partial truths,” he said, lowering his voice though they stood apart from the general activity of the beach.
“What we seek is the treasure of El Dorado – not the mythical city of gold, but a Spanish galleon that vanished with a king’s ransom in its hold.
For years I have pursued this quest with trusted companions, piecing together clues that others overlooked or misinterpreted.
Now, on the verge of success, I face betrayal by one who once called himself my friend. ”
The revelation sent a ripple of reaction through the small group of fishermen – widened eyes, exchanged glances, murmured comments too low to distinguish. But it was Mateo whose response mattered most, and he simply nodded slowly, as if Sidney had confirmed something he had already suspected.
“Treasure,” he said, testing the word as one might test the edge of a blade. “Many have sought such prizes along these coasts, Captain. Few have found anything but disappointment or death.”
“This is different,” Sidney insisted, his certainty carrying the weight of years of research and careful preparation.
“We know where to look, when to look. The equinox alignment is crucial – a celestial key that will reveal what has remained hidden for centuries. But we must reach the observation point before Blackwell, before he can use the stolen charts to claim what rightfully belongs to those who solved Alvarado’s puzzle through honest effort rather than theft and violence. ”
A long moment of silence followed this declaration, the men exchanging glances that communicated unspoken assessments and reservations. Then, to Docila’s surprise, a slow smile spread across Mateo’s weathered features.
“My grandfather used to tell stories of El Dorado,” he said, an unexpected warmth entering his voice. “Of Alvarado’s great deception, of treasure hidden where only the stars could guide its recovery. I thought them mere tales to entertain a child on long winter nights.”
He studied Sidney’s face intently, as if searching for some final confirmation of his decision. “If even half of what you say is true, Captain, this voyage will be worth undertaking for the story alone, regardless of its outcome.”
The other fishermen nodded agreement, their earlier scepticism giving way to a mixture of excitement and determination that transformed them from reluctant hirelings to committed allies.
By early afternoon, as the sun reached its zenith in a sky of flawless blue, the Santa Clara was ready for departure.
Provisions had been stowed, sails unfurled, the improvised crew assembled on deck awaiting their captain’s command.
Sidney stood at the wheel, his bearing that of a man born to command despite the borrowed vessel beneath his feet and the makeshift nature of their expedition.
“The tide turns in our favour,” he observed, nodding toward the pattern of currents visible in the harbour mouth. “We sail with it, and with fortune’s blessing if the wind holds steady.”
His gaze swept over the assembled men, including Docila who stood ready at her assigned position.
“Our course is north by northeast, following the coastline toward the headland visible on the horizon. Speed is essential, but so is caution – these waters harbour reefs and shoals that have claimed unwary vessels since Spanish times.”
The men nodded understanding, professional fishermen who knew well the treacherous nature of the coast they navigated daily.
With practiced efficiency, they moved to their stations, ready to execute Sidney’s commands with the disciplined coordination of experienced sailors regardless of their unfamiliarity with this particular vessel.
“Cast off,” Sidney ordered, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had always characterized his command. “Full sail while the wind favours us. We race not just against Blackwell now, but against time itself.”
As the Santa Clara slipped her moorings and moved gracefully toward the harbour mouth, Docila made her way to Sidney’s side, her presence a silent affirmation of the partnership that had evolved through shared danger and gradual trust.
“Three days until the equinox,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the northern horizon where their destination lay. “Will it be enough?”
“It must be,” Sidney replied simply. “For the sake of my crew held captive, for the future we’ve worked toward, for the truth of Alvarado’s puzzle that we’ve solved through honest effort rather than theft.
” His eyes met hers, warm despite the gravity of their situation.
“For all that might lie beyond this final challenge, if we’re bold enough to claim it. ”
The Santa Clara gathered speed as she cleared the harbour, her sails billowing with the freshening breeze that seemed to herald success as much as propel them toward their destination.
Standing side by side at the wheel, Sidney and Docila faced the horizon with shared determination, their course set not just toward El Dorado’s treasure but toward whatever future awaited them beyond this most unexpected of journeys.