Treasure of the Dead

Начало книги

Alonso Sanchez paced the deck of the El Señor San Miguel. He scanned the waters ahead of them, searching for signs of the other ships in their fleet. The captain’s decision to leave Havana for Spain after taking on supplies had seemed to be a sound one, for the terrible storms in this part of the world known as hurricanes were not usually known to happen this early in the year. Yet here they were, barely two days out of port, and the weather had taken a severe turn for the worst, heavy rain pelting the ship’s wooden decks, thunderclaps booming in the distance.

They had first lost sight of the fleet about half a day ago, when one of the smaller masts had snapped in the storm. Unable to fully control the ship, they had slipped off course. At the time it had seemed an event of little consequence. All of the fleet’s dozen ships — eleven Spanish and one French — were heading for the same destination, after all. The San Miguel’s crew would make repairs as soon as weather allowed and they would catch up. Sanchez had lost count of the times inclement weather had caused them to become separated from their sister ships. But those separations from the fleet were usually a few hours at most. To lose sight of eleven ships for half a day could mean only one thing: they had fallen irretrievably off course and were now lost. Separated. On their own.

Читать дальше →