1670, Caribbean Sea. She's the daughter of a legendary pirate. He's a Spanish captain. Their countries are at war. Their fathers killed each other. And they were destined to follow on their steps.
But sometimes destiny isn't written in stone: it's w...
For many years, Marina would remember that week as the happiest of her life. She spent the time in a constant state of awe and excitement, proud to be able to work like the men and eager to learn as much as she could about the ship, the currents, the wind.
Wan Claup had found it hard to stay aside and keep himself to only watch her from the bridge, while she came and went, climbed, worked and even swam like any other man of the crew. But soon he felt his little pearl was fine, and she didn't need his supervision around the clock.
On her second day onboard, Maxó dared her to climb up the ratlines to the maintop. They were only minutes away from coming about. At that moment, the crew assigned to the rigging would have to trim the sails, to help the Sovereign cross before the wind and start the next tack. Marina and Maxó needed to reach the maintop before that, to keep from interfering with the maneuver. The girl accepted without hesitation and the pirates started betting on who would win.
While Marina climbed to the starboard gunwale to grab the shrouds, Maxó glanced back over his shoulder. De Neill saw him from the helm and turned to Morris, with him on the bridge. And the young man traded a look with Wan Claup by his side.
The corsair nodded, smirking. He'd been wondering whether they'd dare to do it.
Maxó saw his nod and caught up with Marina on the gunwale in two jumps. "Ready, pearl? Up you go! Tonight I'm drinking all these blockheads' rum."
They started climbing nimbly. Maxó because of his years of experience. Marina because of her youth and her lightness. They were only a few feet up their way when De Neill spun the wheel fast.
"Helm's alee!" Morris shouted, fighting back his laughter.
Everybody grabbed anything secured at hand and looked up at the rigging. The Sovereign slowed down when it faced the wind and leaned to the right in a sharp turn. Halfway to the top, Maxó clutched at the lines. Marina, taken by surprise by the sudden turn, didn't get to hold on. Sixty heads looking up came down together, following her short flight in the air before falling into the water.
"Pearl overboard!" Maxó shouted.
De Neill held the helm, to keep the rudder as it was, so the Sovereign would use the inertia to go a full circle around Marina, who floated nearby, still trying to understand what had happened. Then she saw the crew looking out the gunwale and laughing out loud, and Maxó waving at her from the shrouds. They threw a few lines to her. She got to one in a few strokes and climbed back on board, soaking wet and laughing like them. Morris waited for her by the ladder.
"Welcome to the Sovereign, pearl," he said, still chuckling. "Now you can say you're one of the crew. Go change." He turned to Jacques Briand, the new bosun, and nodded.
Briand clapped his hands and shouted everybody back to order.
Marina went down the fore hatch while the pirates worked the rigging. She left a trace of water behind as she moved through the supplies up to the aft chasers. There, past the companion way, she'd hang her hammock at night. Her small chest was secured to the base of one of the cannons, to keep it from bouncing all over the ship. She was more than happy with the spot she'd been given to sleep, on a narrow hammock with an old blanket. But the pirates on the night watch wouldn't feel comfortable, coming and going only steps away from where she slept. So they'd closed her corner with a spare sail, which hung from some hooks in the beam, completely isolating it from the rest of the ship. Marina had thought it lovely, coming from those rough men. She called it 'her cabin', and it reminded her of the paintings she'd seen of tents in the oasis of distant Arabia.
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On her fourth night at sea, Marina was invited to have dinner with Wan Claup, Morris and Briand in the captain's cabin. She knew she shouldn't expect any kind of privilege because Wan Claup was family, or because she was a girl, which she thought only fair. But she could also understand that treating her at all times like an ordinary seaman was hard for her uncle. And that was why that evening he broke the rules, to make sure she was fine.
After dinner, he invited her to the bridge. It was a gorgeous night and they were only a day away from the Mona Passage, where Wan Claup had told her they would turn around and head back to Tortuga. Once they did, the tailwind would take them to Cayona in only two days.
They lingered near the wheel De Neill steered, smoking his pipe. Some men had gathered by the mainmast to enjoy their daily ration of rum. The surgeon Bones played the violin, and they were singing a son full of curses and salacious rhymes that had made Marina blush the first time she'd heard it. Further forward, near the foremast, others played dice. The night watch kept their posts, but they also sang or joked with the players while patrolling.
Marina rested her hands on the starboard bulwark. Just behind the horizon, the shores of La Hispaniola bent southwards. They hadn't spotted a single sail since they'd left Cayona.
Wan Claup followed her in silence. He could tell something was bothering his niece, and that was why he'd invited her over for dinner, to have a chance to ask her about it.
"Did Diego Castillano have any children?" Marina asked out of the blue, her eyes on the waves spreading out from the Sovereign's wake.
Wan Claup tried to sound casual to reply, "Yes. One, as far as I know. A boy."
"How do you know it?"
The corsair breathed deep. "Because I saw him the night your father died."
She turned to him, frowning. "You saw him? He was there?"
"Just like your father was there when Castillano helped slay your grandfather and your uncles," Wan Claup replied curtly.
Marina shook her head, turning to the sea again. "How old was he?"
"Ten or twelve."
"Poor thing, so young."
"Your father was nine the night of the riot."
"And history repeats itself," the girl muttered. "Do you know what became of him?"
Wan Claup lied without a blink. "No."
Marina sighed and said no more. Wan Claup studied her, reading on her face the questions that brief conversation had risen. It was only expectable that knowing about Castillano's son would upset her. She wondered what would happen if they came across each other.
The corsair set his jaw. He wished he could ease her mind, tell her that it would never happen. But Marina had a thing to spot lies, and he'd already taken a risk with his last answer. However, he was determined to give her no further information. As long as he held his peace, Marina wouldn't find out, since not even Laventry and Harry knew.
He himself had found out only out of chance, because he was at the governor's office when D'Oregon received the last report from his spies in New Spain. The report included the names of several of the new officers with the Windward Fleet. Among them, one Hernan Castillano, master and commander of a twenty-gun three-mast warrior called Lion.
