The Golden Sea,
1688
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The sun was like a burning coin in the sky, and the sea sparkled like molten gold. That's why they called it the Gold Sea. Pedro del Santo Bello stood on the deck of El Coruña, the war galleon of the Esparanza Empire. The ship was huge, one of the biggest in the empire, with cannons lined up like teeth, ready to tear into any enemy that came close. Pedro was the right hand of Captain Alonso, a man everyone respected.
Pedro didn't like the heat, but the sea? The sea felt like home. It was better than the life he'd left behind. His mom was gone, and his uncle Jasper had taken him in. Jasper was a good man, but he wasn't exactly warm. Joining the navy was Pedro's way of making a living, and he was good at it.
The crew was gathered near the mast, their voices loud. They were talking about the pirate captain they'd captured a few days ago. The man was locked in the brig, but the crew couldn't stop talking about him.
"Apuesto a que no sobrevive una semana," one sailor said, laughing.
"I bet he doesn't last a week."
"¿Una semana? No seas tonto. Ese tipo es duro como una roca. Sobrevivirá un mes, fácil," another argued.
"A week? Don't be stupid. That guy's tough as a rock. He'll last a month, easy."
The crew loved to bet on anything, even something as dark as how long a man would survive. It was their way of passing the time at sea.
"¿Y tú, Pedro? ¿Qué piensas?" someone called out.
"What about you, Pedro? What do you think?"
Pedro shrugged. "No sé. Depende de cuánta sed pueda aguantar."
"I don't know. Depends on how much thirst he can handle."
The crew laughed. Pedro didn't join in. He didn't like betting on a man's life, even if that man was a pirate.
"Dicen que ese tipo tiene un tesoro escondido en alguna isla," one sailor said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"They say that guy has a treasure hidden on some island."
"¿Tesoro? ¿Y qué? Aunque lo tenga, no le servirá de nada donde está ahora," another whispered.
"Treasure? So what? Even if he has it, it won't do him any good where he is now."
The sea stretched out like a vast beautiful and endless blue blanket. But it was also dangerous. The Gold Sea was full of pirates, smugglers, and who knew what else.
The crew's laughter stopped as Captain Alonso appeared on deck. The men stood straight, their laughter replaced by silence.
"¿Qué están haciendo ahí parados? ¡A trabajar!" Alonso shouted.
"What are you all standing around for? Get to work!"
The crew scattered. Pedro stayed where he was, his eyes on the horizon. The sun began to set, painting the sky in orange and pink. Pedro got back to work.
As he walked across the deck, he passed Vargas, the man who always seemed to be watching him. Vargas didn't say anything, but his cold eyes followed Pedro. Pedro ignored him, focusing on the task at hand.
The crew was busy, some scrubbing the deck, others checking the ropes. Pedro gave orders as he walked.
"¡Aseguren esos cabos! No quiero que nada se suelte en la noche."
"Secure those ropes! I don't want anything coming loose in the night."
The men quickly obey. Pedro was respected, not just because he was Captain Alonso's right hand, but because he worked as hard as anyone else. He checked the cannons, making sure they were clean and ready. Everything had to be perfect.
When he was done on deck, Pedro went below. The air grew cooler as he went into the bottom of the ship. The brig was dark, lit only by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. The pirate captain they'd captured days ago sat in the corner of his cell, his hands chained to the wall.
The man looked up as Pedro approached, his eyes sharp and angry. His clothes were torn and dirty.
"¿Qué quieres ahora, muchacho? ¿Vienes a burlarte de mí?" the pirate growled.
"What do you want now, boy? Come to mock me?"
Pedro crossed his arms. "No. Solo vengo a ver cómo estás."
"No. Just checking on you."
The pirate laughed with a bitter sound. "¿Cómo estoy? Estoy encadenado como un perro. Si tienes algo de honor, dispara y acaba con esto."
"How am I? I'm chained up like a dog. If you have any honor, shoot me and get it over with."
Pedro shook his head. "No soy un asesino."
"I'm not a killer."
The pirate kept mocking him. "Entonces, ¿qué eres? Un niño jugando a ser marinero."
"Then what are you? A boy playing sailor."
Pedro ignored him and asked, "Dicen que tienes un tesoro escondido. ¿Es cierto?"
"They say you have a hidden treasure. Is it true?"
The pirate smirked. "¿Tesoro? Claro que lo tengo. Pero nunca lo encontrarás. El mapa se hundió con mi barco."
"Treasure? Of course I do. But you'll never find it. The map went down with my ship."
Pedro tried to see if he was lying. The pirate's face gave nothing away.
Just then, two guards approached. One of them held a piece of paper, a bounty poster.
"Mira esto, Pedro," the guard said, handing him the poster.
"Look at this, Pedro."
Pedro took it and glanced at the drawing. It was the pirate, his face frowning under the words: "Jacques Torres. Recompensa: 500 platas."
"Jacques Torres. Bounty: 500 silvers."
The guard chuckled. "500 platas. Es una broma, ¿no?"
"500 silvers. It's a joke, right?"
The other guard shrugged. "No sé. Tal vez deberíamos tirarlo por la borda. No vale la pena alimentarlo."
"I don't know. Maybe we should just toss him overboard. He's not worth the food."
Pedro disagreed. "No lo haremos. A menos que el capitán lo ordene."
"We won't. Not unless the captain orders it."
The guards exchanged a look but didn't argue. One of them turned to Torres, mocking him. "¿Qué crees, pirata? ¿Te ves como un noble? ¿Comes mucho? ¿Festejas mucho?"
"What do you think, pirate? You look like a noble to us? Eat a lot? Feast a lot?"
Torres laughed, a deep mocking sound. "¿Noble? Claro que sí. Tráeme un banquete, y verás cómo como como un rey."
"Noble? Of course. Bring me a feast, and you'll see me eat like a king."
The guard's face turned red, and he slammed his fist against the bars of the cell. "¡Cállate, perro!"
"Shut up, dog!"
Pedro stepped between them. "Basta. Vamos al comedor. Es hora de comer."
"Enough. Let's go to the mess hall. It's time to eat."
The guards grumbled but followed Pedro as he led the way to the mess hall.
One of the guards, a man named Ruiz, nudged Pedro as they walked. "Oye, Pedro. ¿Qué piensas del pirata? ¿Crees que realmente tiene un tesoro?"
"Hey, Pedro. What do you think of the pirate? Do you really think he has a treasure?"
Pedro kept walking. "No sé. Y no importa. No es nuestro problema."
"I don't know. And it doesn't matter. It's not our problem."
Ruiz frowned. "Vamos, hombre. Solo es una pregunta. ¿Qué te pasa?"
"Come on, man. It's just a question. What's wrong with you?"
Pedro stopped and turned to face him. "Basta. Vamos al comedor. Estamos hambrientos, ¿no?"
"Enough. Let's go to the mess hall. We're hungry, aren't we?"
The other guard, Luis, chuckled. "Tiene razón, Ruiz. Deja de molestar. Mi estómago está vacío como el mar en calma."
"He's right, Ruiz. Stop bothering him. My stomach's as empty as a calm sea."
Ruiz grumbled, and the three of them continued to the mess hall. The crew was already inside, their voices loud and cheerful.
Sancho, the ship's cook, pouring stew into bowls. He was a man who always seemed to be smiling.
"¡Hola, Pedro! ¿Listo para comer?" Sancho called out, waving him over.
"Hello, Pedro! Ready to eat?"
Pedro smiled. "Siempre, Sancho."
"Always, Sancho."
He took a bowl of stew and found a seat at one of the long tables. The crew around him was already eating, the room full of laughter and chatter.
"¡Este estofado es mejor que el de la *Santa María*!" one sailor exclaimed, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.
"This stew is better than the Santa María's!"
"¡Claro que sí! La comida de Sancho es la mejor del Imperio," another agreed, raising his bowl in a mock toast.
"Of course! Sancho's food is the best in the Empire."
Sancho humbled down. "No, no, no es nada especial. Solo un poco de sal."
"No, no, it's nothing special. Just a little salt."
The crew laughed, and Pedro chuckled along with them. The stew was hearty, filled with chunks of meat and vegetables. It was simple, but it was good. Better than anything he'd eaten on other ships.
Captain Alonso sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding but not intimidating. He glanced at Pedro and nodded, a silent acknowledgment. Pedro returned the nod, then focused on his food.
After a while, Alonso asking about the prisoner, his voice low. "¿Cómo está el prisionero?"
"How's the prisoner?"
Pedro shrugged. "Enojado. Pero está bien. No causará problemas."
"Angry. But he's fine. He won't cause trouble."
Alonso nodded. "Bien. No podemos bajar la guardia. El mar está lleno de peligros."
"Good. We can't let our guard down. The sea is full of dangers."
Pedro agreed, but his response was cut off by Ruiz from across the table. "Capitán, ¿qué haremos con él? ¿Lo llevaremos a puerto o lo arrojaremos por la borda?"
"Captain, what will we do with him? Take him to port or throw him overboard?"
Alonso's eyes narrowed. Suddenly, the room fell silent. "Lo llevaremos a puerto. No somos piratas. Seguimos las reglas."
"We'll take him to port. We're not pirates. We follow the rules."
The crew mostly agreed, though a few looked disappointed. Pedro didn't blame them. The bounty on Jacques Torres was a joke — 500 silvers for a man who'd caused so much trouble. But rules were rules.
As the meal continued, the crew's spirits lifted again. They joked and laughed. Pedro listened, smiling. For all the hardships of life at sea, moments like these made it worth it.
Outside, the sky was dark now. Pedro finished his meal and stood. The crew was still lively. He look at Sancho, who was busy cleaning up.
"Gracias, Sancho. La comida estuvo excelente."
"Thank you, Sancho. The food was excellent."
Sancho grinned. "De nada, Pedro."
*"You're welcome, Pedro."*
Pedro nodded, then made his way out of the mess hall. The night air was cool. The ship creaked softly as the waves moving pass the hull. Pedro adjusted his coat and began his patrol.
He was tired. More tired than he'd been in a long time. Sleep had been hard to come by lately, and when it did come, it was restless and filled with strange dreams. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness out of him.
The deck was quiet, most of the crew either asleep or resting in the mess hall. Only the glow of a lantern near the helm broke the darkness. The sea was calm, but he knew better than to trust it. Calm seas could turn deadly in any moment.
As he walked, his mind began to wander. The lack of sleep was getting to him, and he could feel his vision blurring. He shook his head, trying to focus, but the fatigue was relentless.
Then he saw it.
A shadow moved. Pedro froze, his hand instinctively going to his sword. He turned and examine the darkness. There was nothing there. Just the empty deck and the glow of the lantern.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and continued his patrol. But the shadow wandered in his mind.
A few minutes later, he saw it again. This time, it was clearer. A figure, standing near the railing. Pedro's heart raced as he approached as he half-drawing his sword.
"¿Quién está ahí?" he called out.
"Who's there?"
The figure turned. It was a woman, her face pale and her eyes dark. She wore a dress that seemed to sparkling in the moonlight, and her hair flowed like water.
Pedro blinked, and she was gone.
He stood there, his heart pounding, his sword still in hand. The deck was empty, the railing untouched. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
"Estoy cansado," he muttered to himself, lowering his sword.
"I'm tired."
But the image of the woman haunting him. He knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but it felt so real. He continued his patrol, forcing himself to focus. The night was quiet, the sea calm. But Pedro couldn't sleep with the feeling something was watching him.
Finally, he heard footsteps approaching. It was Mateo, one of the guards, coming to relieve him.
"Hola, Pedro. ¿Todo bien?" Mateo asked, his voice cheerful despite the late hour.
"Hey, Pedro. Everything okay?"
Pedro nodded, his face was pale. "Sí. Todo está tranquilo."
"Yes. Everything's quiet."
Mateo clapped him on the shoulder. "Bueno. Ve a dormir. Te ves como un fantasma."
"Good. Go get some sleep. You look like a ghost."
Pedro forced a smile and nodded. He made his way below deck. The crew's quarters were vaguely lit by a lantern. He found his hammock and collapsed into it. But sleep didn't come easily. When it finally did, it was restless and filled with strange dreams.....