New Story!

Chapter One


The year was 1678. The sky was a dull gray, the air muggy, stifling. The clouds above were dark and heavy with rain, and yet it refused to pour. Through the windows could be seen the muddy cobbled streets, the stately mansions lining the wide lane. Passing carriages and the few pedestrians still hurrying home could be glimpsed out parlor windows.

At the dock, the air tasted salty. The waves hurled, crashing against one another and lapping at the boats resting in the harbor. The port was alive with activity. Sailors bustled around, some lugging large crates and barrels onto and from the ships, swearing loudly, their laugher and voices raucous as the cries of the circling seabirds.

Many people crowded round the port as a dark ship came into bay. The rowdy, hard-worked people of the little port town of Ravenhill would use any excuse for a celebration, and the arrival of the Monarch from her long, seaward voyage was the perfect occasion for a hullabaloo. As the ship neared the dock, Captain Tobias Horatio could be seen yelling orders, the crew flying around, completing their various duties. Soon the men were swooping from the ship, disappearing to their various destinations. Carlo stood on the dockyard, his small face grimy with soot and mud. He smiled, waving at a tall, thin figure standing on the deck of the Monarch.

Enrique Cossaire heaved a deep sigh as he watched Carlo. As relieved as he was that he was at long last going to once again stand on land, he felt that a heavy burden was weighing him down, as though a great stone were resting atop his heart. The other men glared at him as they passed, some muttering curses under their breath. Enrique knew the only thing that was keeping him alive was the fact that Captain Horatio had a strange affinity for him, which led him to protect Enrique from the many threats of the men.

“And whither shall you be going once on land? Have you ever been to Ravenhill before this?” The Captain’s booming voice shocked Enrique out of his gloomy contemplations.
“Captain,” Enrique cried, his dark face full of admiration. “No, sir, I’ve never been before. I suppose I’ll look around for a bookshop, perhaps get some new quills and paper. But nowhere in particular.”
The captain, a broad, tall man, wore scuffed, brown high-topped boots and a once-fine blue vest that was now beginning to look shabby and old. He had rough, scraggy features, unkempt black hair, and dark piercing eyes. Yet, something about him bespoke superior intelligence and an active, informed mind. Never had Enrique heard him use the rough language of a common sailor. He spoke and stood like a gentlemen.
“That’s what I love about you, Enrique,” the Captain laughed, staring at Enrique in amusement. “The bookshop, whilst your companions visit saloons and drink till they drop.”
Enrique hung his head in embarrassment, his cheeks red.
“Nothing at all to be ashamed of, my friend,” Captain Horatio added, giving Enrique a heartening nod.
“If only the others saw it that way…they seem to think rather differently,” Enrique muttered, more to himself than to the Captain.
Captain Horatio laughed.
“If every fellow put much store on what others thought, the world would be a dismal place indeed. Now get ye to the nearest bookshop, young man, and be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

As Enrique stepped onto the dock, he breathed deeply, taking in the aroma of fish and salt that he was so accustomed to smelling.
“Enrique, Enrique!” Carlo rushed toward him, his boyish face rosy and flushed.
“Shh, not so loud!” Enrique murmured, glancing around to see if any of his fellow crew members were nearby. Then, grinning broadly, Enrique laughed, “My young cousin, how are you?” Ruffling Carlo’s hair, he added, “And how is your mother?”
At this, a shadow passed over Carlo’s ruddy face.
“Much worse. She’s been having aches and pains all over; she’s not been herself for days. She’s been calling for someone… ‘Edouard.’ I think he might be my father.”

The cottage was small and shabby; it seemed as though it was tilted to the side. As Enrique passed through the doorway, he found himself praying that there would not be a strong gust of wind, for fear that the little shack might topple over. Inside, the prospect was no better. It was a one room cottage, containing little more than a rickety table and chairs and a small bed with a straw mattress. A woman lay on the bed, covered in a threadbare quilt, shivering. She was flushed and feverish, muttering in her sleep.
“Colette?” Enrique whispered, kneeling down beside his aunt. “Can you hear me?”
Enrique jumped back in surprise when Colette’s blue eyes flashed open, her hand suddenly reaching out and clutching his shirt in a startlingly strong grip.
“Edouard?” she cried desperately.
“No, Colette. It’s I, Enrique, your nephew. Don’t you recognize me?”
Colette’s grasp slackened, her hand dropped to her side, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
“Good gracious, what is the matter with her?” Enrique whispered, his eyes wide and fearful. He suddenly felt Carlo’s hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the young boy’s large brown eyes filled with tears.
“Carlo, Carlo!” Enrique turned, hugging his cousin. Planting a kiss on his head, he grasped him firmly by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You must not be afraid, no matter what happens. You are a brave young scallywag, I know. You must simply trust. She’ll get better, you’ll see.”

Enrique soon sent Carlo out on some errands, thinking it best if the boy be out of the house for a while, free of its shackling misery. As he sat on a shaky chair by his aunt’s bedside, his head nodded with fatigue. Suddenly his eyes shot open. Colette’s skeletal hand was gripping his knee.
“Enrique. You’re here. I knew you would come.”
“Yes, Aunt, yes, I’m here!” Enrique grasped Colette’s hand, his eyes shining with tears.
“Listen to me. I know my time is finally coming, thank God. The timing is right; you are here. When I die – no, said no words against it, we both know it is undeniable – when I die, you must take care of Carlo. Take him on the Monarch with you, take him to sea!”
“Aunt, I can’t –”
“Promise me, Enrique!” His aunt’s blue eyes were indomitable, her chin set. For but a moment, Enrique looked into the face of his aunt from years before; the same determination, the same lust for life. But then it disappeared, her eyes went glossy and her breathing grew thin. “Edouard, Edouard…”