Lions of the Sea

57

Alonso woke up in the middle of the night and got off of his hammock out of habit. Castillano's was empty, but that was no surprise. He walked out of the cabin and up to the gunwale with his eyes barely open. He was tying his trousers up when he saw several guards gathered by the bow. They held lanterns up and leaned over the gunwale by the bowsprit. He strolled toward them in no hurry as he looked around for his friend, but didn't see him. Surely he was still at the riving.

"What's going on?" he asked.

The soldiers turned to him, tipping their hats.

"It's the Lion, sir," one said, and the others pointed out and down.

"He climbed down to the beak two hours ago and he refuses to come up."

"We think he is—" The man lowered his voice. "Drunk, sir."

"We're afraid he's asleep and he may fall, sir."

Alonso grunted. "Go back to your watch."

He grabbed a stay to step over the bow. From there, he took careful steps among the catheads to one of the curved beams by the figurehead. Castillano was sitting under the bowsprit, his back against the stem, one leg folded and the other hanging in the air. Alonso grabbed a knight head to sit astride in front of him. It wasn't their first time there. That was their favorite hideaway back in their Academy days, when they got sick and tired of living in a two-hundred-soul flock around the clock and sought a little solitude.

"I'm not drunk, Luis." Castillano's slurred words contradicted their meaning. He shook the bottle of Oporto in his hand, confirmed it was empty and threw it to the sea.

"Fine, you're not drunk. But you're worrying the night watch."

"Up theirs," Castillano growled.

Alonso chuckled and wondered what he could say next.

"She's a virgin."

Alonso grasped the trail board to lean forward. "What?"

"She's a—!"

"Shush! I heard you the first time!"

Castillano moved the hand resting on his knee, as if those three words explained it all, even though he wasn't even sure what all meant. Alonso tried to find a better position, foreseeing the sun would find them there, like back in the Academy days.

"And she's never been kissed."

"Didn't you tell me—?"

Castillano snorted, his hand sweeping the question away.

"Hernan, you know there's nothing you can do," said Alonso, his voice oozing logic and sense.

Castillano let out a bitter chuckle. "Of course I can. I can take her to the gallows in Maracaibo. That's what I'm bloody doing, right?"

"That's what's right, Hernan."

"It's the law. Right?" He raised his eyebrows.

"And what would you do, if it were up to you?"

Castillano shot a sideways glance at him. Alonso nodded, inviting him to speak up. He sighed.

"Nothing, Luis. A cell in San Carlos castle to spend the night and a short drop from the noose in the morning. It's what she's earned. But I wouldn't want her tortured or abused just because she's not a man. She deserves a quick, clean death, like any other dog."

Alonso grimaced. "I could use a drink."

Castillano fished through his pockets and handed him the key to the locker. "The upper shelf on the left. Don't wake her up."