upright, opened the window a crack, and peered down at the port. Dozens, maybe hundreds of colorful figures were muddling through morning fog, rolling barrels up long ramps onto the three ships anchored across the way.
The sight threw me into a minor frenzy. I kicked off the sheets that had knotted themselves around my ankles and slung my bag over my chest. “It’s the Santa María !” I said to Jinniyah, who was busy praying on the floor. I yanked her up by her elbow. “Come on! They’re going to leave without us!”
As we ran out of the attic, Jinniyah transformed into a curly-haired peasant boy wearing a simple linen gown and feathered cap. “Oh, Bal,” she said in her chiming voice, “they won’t leave without us. The Baba Yaga said we’re going west, so we’re going west!”
I wondered if things could be that simple. It would only work if we weren’t too late. The Baba Yaga had said we’d meet Antonio de Cuellar at dawn, but once outside, I had no idea how we would find him. On every side of us men were rushing about in a blur, barely giving us a moment to catch a glimpse of their faces. Many I could tell had been sailors for years; others appeared to be servant boys who had never even seen a ship before. While most of the men wore linen shirts and plain cloth hats, there were others too, wearing embroidered doublets, silk gowns, and fur-lined mantles. And it seemed that everyone was barking some order to the poor man just below him in rank.
“Load that one on the Pinta !”
“Dry up the deck, you lout!”
“Get the cabin ready for the admiral’s arrival!”
Somehow one command managed to stand out from the rest: “You tell your brother the next time he makes an ass of you in public, he’ll have to have a long conversation with Antonio de Cuellar!”
And sure enough, not too far from where I was standing, a stout, grizzled man was clapping a hand over his belly. Antonio de Cuellar. Sure, the man was rough, drunk, and possibly acriminal, but I couldn’t be happier to see that mottled, bearded face. Here was my ticket out of Spain, my balding savior from the Malleus Maleficarum!
Antonio was currently guffawing with a handsome young nobleman with shoulder-length black hair. “Speaking of that brother of yours,” Antonio said as Jinniyah and I made our approach, “he and Colón still at each other’s throats?”
Traces of pity and amusement lined the nobleman’s voice as he answered. “More than ever. I don’t understand it. They were on such good terms to begin with! But Martín refuses to believe that Colón’s calculations are anything but faulty. According to him, we’re all going to die of thirst in the middle of the Atlantic unless Colón starts doing things Martín’s way. My brother’s just lost the adventure in his heart! I keep telling him, even if he’s right and the trip is longer than Colón thinks, who’s to say there’s only sea in the way? Marco Polo spoke of far-off islands east of Cathay, filled with all manner of food and jewelry and drink!”
“Knowing our luck, we’ll run into man-eating barbarians,” Antonio said.
“And beautiful women with bones pierced through their noses!”
As excited as the nobleman sounded when he said that, I was growing more and more concerned. Faulty calculations? Man-eating barbarians? Dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean?
Just what kind of mission was this, anyway?
But I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about it, so I stepped up to the old carpenter and said, “Excuse me. Señor de Cuellar?”
The carpenter’s eyes smiled under ratty eyebrows. “Now, looky here, Vicente!” he said to the nobleman. “A native of dear Palos if there ever was one.” The carpenter clapped a sturdy hand against my back and said, “Now if I could only remember where I know you from!”
“We met the other day by the Santa María,” I said. “You said I should look for you at the Dark Sea Inn?”
“Yes, of course! My young
The sight threw me into a minor frenzy. I kicked off the sheets that had knotted themselves around my ankles and slung my bag over my chest. “It’s the Santa María !” I said to Jinniyah, who was busy praying on the floor. I yanked her up by her elbow. “Come on! They’re going to leave without us!”
As we ran out of the attic, Jinniyah transformed into a curly-haired peasant boy wearing a simple linen gown and feathered cap. “Oh, Bal,” she said in her chiming voice, “they won’t leave without us. The Baba Yaga said we’re going west, so we’re going west!”
I wondered if things could be that simple. It would only work if we weren’t too late. The Baba Yaga had said we’d meet Antonio de Cuellar at dawn, but once outside, I had no idea how we would find him. On every side of us men were rushing about in a blur, barely giving us a moment to catch a glimpse of their faces. Many I could tell had been sailors for years; others appeared to be servant boys who had never even seen a ship before. While most of the men wore linen shirts and plain cloth hats, there were others too, wearing embroidered doublets, silk gowns, and fur-lined mantles. And it seemed that everyone was barking some order to the poor man just below him in rank.
“Load that one on the Pinta !”
“Dry up the deck, you lout!”
“Get the cabin ready for the admiral’s arrival!”
Somehow one command managed to stand out from the rest: “You tell your brother the next time he makes an ass of you in public, he’ll have to have a long conversation with Antonio de Cuellar!”
And sure enough, not too far from where I was standing, a stout, grizzled man was clapping a hand over his belly. Antonio de Cuellar. Sure, the man was rough, drunk, and possibly acriminal, but I couldn’t be happier to see that mottled, bearded face. Here was my ticket out of Spain, my balding savior from the Malleus Maleficarum!
Antonio was currently guffawing with a handsome young nobleman with shoulder-length black hair. “Speaking of that brother of yours,” Antonio said as Jinniyah and I made our approach, “he and Colón still at each other’s throats?”
Traces of pity and amusement lined the nobleman’s voice as he answered. “More than ever. I don’t understand it. They were on such good terms to begin with! But Martín refuses to believe that Colón’s calculations are anything but faulty. According to him, we’re all going to die of thirst in the middle of the Atlantic unless Colón starts doing things Martín’s way. My brother’s just lost the adventure in his heart! I keep telling him, even if he’s right and the trip is longer than Colón thinks, who’s to say there’s only sea in the way? Marco Polo spoke of far-off islands east of Cathay, filled with all manner of food and jewelry and drink!”
“Knowing our luck, we’ll run into man-eating barbarians,” Antonio said.
“And beautiful women with bones pierced through their noses!”
As excited as the nobleman sounded when he said that, I was growing more and more concerned. Faulty calculations? Man-eating barbarians? Dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean?
Just what kind of mission was this, anyway?
But I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about it, so I stepped up to the old carpenter and said, “Excuse me. Señor de Cuellar?”
The carpenter’s eyes smiled under ratty eyebrows. “Now, looky here, Vicente!” he said to the nobleman. “A native of dear Palos if there ever was one.” The carpenter clapped a sturdy hand against my back and said, “Now if I could only remember where I know you from!”
“We met the other day by the Santa María,” I said. “You said I should look for you at the Dark Sea Inn?”
“Yes, of course! My young
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