The Seven Serpents Trilogy by Scott O’Dell

everything.”
    The barber glanced in the direction of the sun, which was hidden behind a bank of clouds. He asked Captain Roa if he knew the day of the
Santa Margarita’s
launching.
    â€œThe 21st of May,” said the captain. “In 1491. There’s a plaque on board that gives that date and year.”
    â€œAt what hour?”
    Captain Roa thought for a while and said that she had slipped down the ways exactly at noon, a detail he must have made up on the moment.
    Pacheco mumbled something to himself, saying, “A happy placement of the planet Mercury.”
    My grandfather, God elevate and preserve his soul, was devoted to the art of astrology, even though he was a devout man. In fact, the movements of planets, of the sun, moon, and the stars as they swung through the heavens controlled his earthly life from hour to hour and day to day.
    If in the morning, having studied his charts, he found there to be danger connected with fire, he would not light the kitchen stove nor go near it. If the stars said that the day was poor for planting, he would remain in the house, far from the fields. Keen was his disappoint ment that I showed only a small interest in the subject.
    Pacheco looked at the sky. A bluish green light sifted down from above, spreading over the sea and the ship and the faces of all the men. He paced back and forth, staring at the surging waves and lowering sky, at the slow rise and fall of the
Santa Margarita’s
prow.
    â€œCome,” he said. “The crew shows too much curios ity.” The barber, with his quill and inkhorn, started toward the cabin. When I didn’t follow, Don Luis said to me, “You also, Julián.” He motioned Captain Roa and Guzmán away.
    I went with the greatest of reluctance. The idea that these two men held in their hands the fate of the ship and of all our lives appalled me. That our fate could rest upon the movement of heavenly bodies and the barber’s readings thereof was against all the teachings of the holy fathers in my seminary.
    The cabin was in shadow. Little light came through the window, but that little had the same strange cast as the light that fell upon the sea and the ship.
    From somewhere, Don Luis brought forth a small book bound in red leather and handed it over to Pacheco. In Arroyo the barber had a book of his own filled with astrological lore, a tome as big as a loaf of bread, which, when it was not in use, he wisely kept out of sight under a pile of moldy straw in the straw loft.
    He now seated himself at the table, removed the stopper from the inkhorn, spread out a soiled square of parchment, and put down several notations, apparently the details that Captain Roa had just given him.
    I had the impression as I stood watching Pacheco that he had done this many times during the voyage. It was probable that some or all of Don Luis’s pig-headed deci sions had been based upon information Pacheco had drawn down from the starry skies.
    As the barber continued with his writing, Don Luis grew impatient. He brushed me aside, went to the win dow, and glanced out, saying over his shoulder, “What do you find, not about me but about the
Santa Margarita
?”
    â€œAt this time,” said the barber, “you are the
Santa Margarita.
I am also. We all are. At this hour, ship and man share the same fate.”
    â€œ
Hombre
, this I know,” said Don Luis. “Don’t be fancy with your readings. We lack time for fanciness; for quibbling, likewise.”
    I went to the door and looked out. The ship had been moving on a light wind that came upon us in gusts. Now the wind had faded and the sails hung limp. I heard be neath me the groan of the heavy rudder, the creak of planks and oaken ribs.
    Pacheco continued with his writing.
    Don Luis left the window and, again brushing me aside, glanced out the door. “
¡Venga!
” he shouted. “Tell me what you see and do not put a pretty face on