Fifteen ninety-eight…
"This is over four hundred years old?"
Tom nodded. "The original is. It's parchment and barely holding together as it is. I wasn't about to take it out on the Atlantic."
"What's "Sombra"? And what the hell is the Lilitongue of Gefreda?"
Tom held up a hand. "Let me start at the beginning. When I was in private practice I joined a firm and inherited this client from one of the partners who was retiring due to ill health. The client's name was Allan Wenzel, a sweet old guy who was a devoted antiquities collector—especially maps." He tapped the sheets in Jack's hand. "This was one of his favorites. He told me it'd been found in the ruins of a Spanish monastery and had languished in various antique shops for years before he discovered it."
"How did he know he wasn't buying a Brooklyn Bridge?"
"He had the parchment dated and it's from the late sixteenth century. The details—the distance and the precise latitude reading—point to someone who was on the spot and knew what he was talking about."
"But who is that someone?"
Tom pointed to the signature on the lower right sheet. "This Jesuit named Mendes, I'd guess. Wenzel's guess was that he must have been a passenger."
"On what?"
"The Sombra—a Spanish cargo ship."
Jack couldn't help laughing. "Don't tell me: It's a treasure ship laden with gold and jewels."
Tom shrugged. "Could be."
"Okay. I'll bite: Where's this Isle of Devils?"
"It's the old name for Bermuda before she was settled."
He and Tom were headed for the Isle of Devils. Why did that set off a warning bell?
Tom was pointing to the map again, this time at the tip of the nipple.
"That latitude crosses the northern tip of St. George's—Bermuda's northernmost island. The line runs three-oh-eight degrees northwest and intersects the latitude of the map's star right here."
"Why no longitude?"
"Longitude was iffy in those days. They were pretty good at telling how far north or south they were, but the science of east-west location hadn't been nailed down yet. But longitude isn't necessary here. Run eight-point-five miles from the tip of St. George's to this latitude and you'll find the Sombra."
"If there ever was such a ship."
"Oh, there was. I did some research: Sombra was making a run to Cartagena."
"So how'd it end up in Bermuda?"
Tom shrugged. "No one knows. She left Cadiz on March sixth, 1598, and that was the last anyone ever saw or heard of her. Maybe a storm blew her off course, maybe she caught fire, maybe an onboard emergency forced her to seek land. But whatever the reason, the Sombra hit the northern reef—those wavy lines around the star indicate reefs—and went down, probably like the proverbial stone."
"Why do you say that?"
"Her class of ship had a deep draw—six feet. The reef out there is about three feet deep. If the Sombra was making decent speed, she probably traded damage with the reef: carving a path through the coral as the reef tore her open. She broke up and sank, and that was the end of her."
Jack waved the sheet. "I don't get the point."
"Simple: Someday I'm going to find her."
"If she hasn't already been found."
Tom shook his head. "The Sombra is not on any map of Bermuda wrecks, and believe me I've checked them all."
"So you've got a map of a wreck that isn't there."
"No, I've got a map of a wreck that no one else knows exists."
"How can you be so sure?" Jack tapped the big sheet. "The map maker knew. And if there were any survivors, wouldn't they talk up the wreck?"
"To whom?"
"I don't know—the Bermuda government?"
"The island wasn't inhabited at the time. The Brits didn't colonize it until 1612, and even then it was considered part of the Virginia colony."
Jack was confused. "Then how…?"
Tom smiled. "How did the map wind up in a Spanish monastery? Good question. That's what makes the Sombra so interesting. Someone drew the map, then hid it away."
"Doesn't make sense."
"Does if the Sombra went down with something valuable—very valuable—that you someday wanted to go back and retrieve. And here's another little tidbit: Sombra means shadow. Isn't that cool?"
So cool it gave Jack a chill.
"Did you find a manifest or anything like that?"
Tom rose and went to the cooler. "Want one while I'm up?"
"I'll take a Yuengling."
Tom returned and handed him a green bottle.
"No… no manifest."
Jack sipped and considered how little sense this made.
"Without a manifest, what makes you think the wreck holds anything of value?"
"Because of another ship of the same class named San Pedro that went down two years before the Sombra. It was discovered back in the fifties and yielded gold bars, emerald-encrusted jewelry, and a couple thousand silver coins."
"Which must have kicked off a massive treasure hunt."
"It did. The gold rush turned up three hundred fifty different wrecks. And those are just the documented ones."
"But not much treasure, I'll bet."
Tom shook his head. "Not a whole hell of a lot. Most were just rotting wood."
Jack sighed. He didn't get this.
"What makes you think you'll find any more than that?"
"Wenzel. He did a lot of research and learned that the Sombra was carrying a very special cargo—the Lilitongue of Gefreda that Mendes mentioned."
"Which is?"
Tom's brow furrowed. "He didn't know, and couldn't find out. All his research yielded only a few veiled references. But apparently it was considered something of great value."
"Just what is a Lilitongue?"
"Haven't the foggiest. I Googled it and came up empty."
"Think it's shaped like someone's tongue?"
Tom made a face. "The word 'tongue' has a load of meanings besides that incessantly wagging muscle in your mouth. It can be anything from a spit of land to the pin on a belt buckle to the clapper inside a bell to the pole that runs between the horses on a stagecoach."
"So which is it?"
"I have no idea."
"And Gefreda?"
"Same thing. I assume it's either the name of the maker or the town where it was made. But I've got my own theory about the Lilitongue of Gefreda. I think it's some sort of jewel, or a unique piece of jewelry, and I'll bet it's worth a fortune."
Yeah, right, Jack thought. And I'm Captain Hook.
A lost jewel. Sheesh. Had Tom really bought into this?
The reefs Tom had mentioned, however, were apparently real, and they worried him.
"Three hundred and fifty sunken ships. Maybe those stories about the Bermuda Triangle are true."
"Don't tell me you believe any of that balderdash."
Jack had come to believe a lot of things he'd once considered "balderdash." He didn't want to add Bermuda Triangle lore to that list. At least not while he was sailing through it.
"Well… easier to believe in than the Lilly Lips of Gandolfini."
"The Lilitongue of Gefreda. And forget the Bermuda Triangle. No one can even agree as to where the 'triangle' is supposed to be. But the wrecks are real. All three hundred and fifty of them have been mapped, but not one of them is called Sombra. And not one location matches the location on my map."
"So what's that tell you?"
"That it's waiting to be discovered!"