Chapter Four

 

“Oy, mate!” said Jones as he saw Martin Smith making his way slowly up the ramp of the Gypsy. “It’s about time your sorry ass turned up. A bit late in the day, don’t you think?”

Martin grabbed at his head as he stepped on deck and raised up his other palm to shush Jones. “Don’t yell. My head is poundin.”

“Serves you right. Fletcher waited here for you until about nine, then took off. Got tired of hangin around.”

Martin leaned against the rail. “What? He’s already gone?” He looked up at the sky, but it was too bright, so he squinted his eyes painfully and asked, “What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s about noon, mate.”

Martin was slow to respond but was clearly stunned. He wrinkled his brow. “You’re jokin. It’s really that late?”

“Yes, it is. What’d you get up to last night, anyway? You look like hell.”

“I went off with that girl . . . Was having a pretty good time, too, and then I passed out, I reckon.” He grabbed at his head again, then stretched his neck from side to side and front to back in an effort to get some relief. “I wonder if she put something in that wine.”

Jones shrugged. “Who knows?” He chuckled. “Heh. Never had a girl do that before.”

“Me neither.” He leaned over the rail and inhaled deeply in an effort to get some fresh air into his lungs. “Don’t know why she’d do something like that, anyway. I was completely willing and able.”

Jones rolled his eyes. “You idiot! Have you checked your pockets?”

Martin’s eyes grew wide. He quickly thrust his hands into his pockets but found that none of his money had been stolen. He knew she was a “woman of the town,” and although he had never been asked to pay for companionship, he was still fully prepared to give her a coin or two before he left if she asked.

She must have really liked him, he thought.

“How long ago did Fletcher leave?”

“I told you,” said Jones, “he left about nine.”

“This is very bad. Very, very bad,” said Martin as he started to pace back and forth on the deck.

Just then Charlie boarded the vessel. “What are you two rascals up to?”

“Smith pulled one on last night. Now he’s having a fit because Fletcher’s gone off without him.”

“Fletcher left already? Where’d he go?” asked Charlie.

“Said he was going to the Plaza Vieja. He and Smith were supposed to have gone there this morning, but Fletcher got tired of waiting around,” said Jones. “I don’t reckon it would have made much of a difference if he had been here on time. He’s in a right state, this one.” He tipped his head towards Martin.

Charlie leaned his tall, slender frame against the mast and watched his shipmate. “I sure hope that little señorita was worth it. You better pray Adam don’t get lost out there wanderin around Havana. It ain’t like he speaks any Spanish.”

He and Jones laughed heartily.

“You two laugh. This ain’t funny, though. This is bad . . . really, really bad.” Martin kicked at the ground and growled in frustration.

Jones wrinkled his brow, as though he couldn’t understand why Martin was reacting so badly. “You’re takin this kind of hard, mate. What’s the problem? Afraid he’s goin to have a good time or something?”

“Settle down, Smith,” said Charlie. “He’ll be back by tonight. He has to be. My brother’s doing a head count at nightfall.”

“Well, I’m not waiting around here until tonight to see if he turns up. I’ve got to go find him . . . I swanny! That boy is so damned impatient. Why didn’t y’all tell him to wait for me?”

“Why should he have to wait around for you?” asked Jones. “You said you’d meet him at eight. You weren’t here. He gave up on you at nine. It’s noon now. Speakin o’which, I better go. I told that rope maker I’d be back at his shop before one to pick up the lines for our repairs.”

He excused himself and left the Gypsy to head into town.

“He’s right,” said Charlie. “This is no cause for concern. We’ve all got a bit of freedom until tonight. No reason Adam shouldn’t be able to enjoy it.”

“You don’t understand,” said Martin. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s never been on one of these trips before. He’s Emmanuel’s responsibility, since he’s barely eighteen and still an apprentice. Emmanuel specifically made him my responsibility on this trip. If we end up losin him here in Havana, how do you think that will go when we get back to Beaufort?”

“Lose him?” Charlie scoffed at the notion. “He’s not a child, Martin. Anyway, you knew this was important to him. You can’t expect that he’d wait around for you all day. He’s been runnin his mouth constantly about looking for this man ever since he knew we’d be makin the trip. And you know how he is. He ain’t one for waitin around on nobody. You remember what happened last year, don’t you?”

Martin was annoyed that Charlie would bring that up. He rolled his eyes and said, “Of course I do! How could I forget? And that’s exactly why I’m worried right now!”

“Well, if you’re gonna be mad at somebody, you need to be mad at yourself. If you’da been here when you said you would, none of—”

Martin held up his hand to silence him. “I know! Now be quiet for a minute while I try to think about what we need to do!”

“What do you mean, you need to think about what we need to do? There’s only one thing for us to do,” said Charlie. “Let’s go find him. He can’t have gotten too far. Maybe he’s still around the plaza somewhere. And if not, maybe someone there has seen him.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “Fine. We were supposed to meet each other down at the northeastern entrance. Maybe he’s just hangin around down there. I know he wanted us to ask around about a . . .” He tapped his foot as he tried to recall the name. “Alonso Cordova—nickname’s Poncho.”

“Alright then. Let’s head down to the plaza right now and ask around about this Mr. Cordova.”

The two of them began to walk down the ramp towards the docks. “This should be interestin,” said Martin. “Neither of us is really all that great with Spanish.”

“Oh really?” Charlie laughed down the ramp at Martin. “You sure didn’t have any problem talkin to that little lady and gettin her to take you home last night.”

Martin rolled his eyes as he made it down to the dock. “We really didn’t talk all that much.”

Charlie made it to the dock as well. “How were you plannin to help him out if y’all went down to the plaza to ask around for this Mr. Cordova?”

“I don’t know. This is a port town. I reckon we figured there ought to be somebody down there who can speak English and Spanish. We could get them to help us.”

“Fine,” said Charlie, “let’s do that then.”

The two went to the plaza and asked around with Martin’s limited Spanish, but after an hour of searching they had no success.

Finally, Charlie said, “Listen, it’s a waste of time tryin to find him this way. I think we need to just go on and tell my brother what’s happened.”

“Let’s look a little while longer,” Martin said.

Charlie reluctantly agreed.

 

 

FOR THE NEXT HOUR THEY continued asking around in and near the plaza, but they still had no luck. They were pretty sure that a few of the people they approached did speak English and Spanish, but they must not have wanted to get involved in whatever Martin and Charlie were up to.

“Maybe he’s already gone back to the Gypsy,” Charlie offered.

“Maybe so,” agreed Martin.

They went back to the sloop, but no one had seen Adam.

Captain Phillips knew his little brother. He could tell right away something was amiss by the way Charlie and Martin were acting.

“What’s the problem, boys?” he asked.

Charlie and Martin exchanged worried glances, and then Charlie began to explain, “We’ve been lookin for Fletcher. He and Smith here were supposed to go lookin for that man this mornin, but he was late gettin there, so Adam took off without him. Now we don’t know where he’s gone or when he’ll be back.”

“We’ve been lookin for him for the last two hours,” said Martin.

“You were supposed to go with him, Smith. I know you were, because I heard y’all talkin about it myself when we were leavin the tavern last night.” The captain closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose before he looked up at Martin and said, “Why weren’t you here this mornin when you said you’d be?”

Martin took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders before responding. “Can’t really say, Cap’n. I guess I lost track of the time.”

“Mm-hm.” The captain narrowed his eyes at Martin, but all he said was, “Where all were you two were plannin to go to look for that fella?”

Charlie intervened. “They were just goin to go ask around down in the Plaza Vieja to see if they could find anybody who might know the man.”

The captain nodded. “Hmph. Well, daylight’s burnin, boys, and it’ll be nighttime before we know it. I reckon y’all better try and get some local help so you can track him down.”

“Local help? Do you know anybody here?” asked Charlie.

The captain lowered his head and thought for a moment. He disappeared into his quarters and came back out with a slip of paper. “Here, take this.”

He handed the paper to his brother.

Charlie looked at it. “It’s a name and address.”

The captain nodded. “Yep. Another one of Emmanuel’s friends. He’s a local fellow. I’ve never met him, though. Got one of them long names . . .” He strained to read the writing, then said it aloud: “Santiago Velasquez de Leon. He’s captain of La Dama del Caribe.”

Martin’s eyes got big. “Captain Velasquez? Of course! I know him! We did business with his ship just last year—right after Adam joined the company as a matter of fact.”

“Good,” said Charlie. “Let’s go then.”

“Hopefully, y’all will be able to track down this captain and then find the boy. And if you go to that address and the captain ain’t around, I’m sure they can find somebody else who can help you.”

Charlie and Martin wasted no time getting back to the dock and running into town to look for the address on the piece of paper.