“Seven A.M. will be adequate, gracias.”
“Since it has been many years since you have seen the finca, may I provide you with a map?” Pilar nodded her thanks. With a snap of his fingers at a servant standing by, the count ordered pen and paper. On the large table in the foyer, he quickly sketched a map, pausing only briefly toward the end before scratching an X on the wavy line of the diagram. “Excuse this crude article, but I think it will suffice.”
The count handed Jack the map. “Would you please hold this for your parents, señor?”
“Of course, with pleasure.”
De Silva then turned to Paul. “Will you be accompanying the O’Reillys on their journey tomorrow?
“No, that will not be my pleasure. I must continue my duties on the Perdido Star,” Paul answered simply.
“Pity.” The count grinned. To Pilar and Ethan he said, “Your carriage is here. I shall see you back at the villa shortly.” The couple nodded and made their exit, the two young men following.
During the ride back, Jack heard his father ask Pilar, “Why so thoughtful, dear? We will be guests in this house of plenty and we are on the eve of seeing your old homestead. And best of all,” he stated facetiously, “I’m on the verge of becoming a farmer. Working in the fledgling red cane fields from dawn to dusk. Plowing out an existence for my beautiful Pilar with the help of my willful son. Before long, the crops will be yielding a rich return.”
He abruptly ended his halfhearted attempt at humor, for his wife was weeping softly. “It is nothing, my love,” she said. “I am tired from the long trip.”
As the carriage came to a halt in front of the great doors of the villa, Jack asked Paul, “What do you say we take a stroll before heading to bed and troubled dreams?”
“Dreams are the stuff of life. Troubled or calm, it takes all kinds to be fulfilled.”
“Paul and I are going to walk awhile,” Jack told his father.
“Don’t be long,” answered Ethan, as he helped his wife out of the coach. They bid farewell to Paul and went into the house.
The two young men walked in silence. “Do you think I went too far tonight?” Paul finally asked.
“Maybe a little. The count strikes me as dangerous. Still, that puffed up jackanape needed taking down a notch or two.”
There was a wonderful peace about the deserted streets. An occasional dog bayed in the distance. A window clicked nearby, closing against the cool night air. The moon cast a soft light over the white buildings, melting them into the cobblestone street. They were both lost in the night’s events and failed to hear the whistle of the wind as two heavy boards struck them on the back of their heads.
Paul bowed at the waist then plowed face first into the street. Jack spun with the blow, instinct sending him crashing into the door of a shop, his hands protecting his face from another strike he knew was coming—he could hear Paul’s cry from the ground and wondered how badly his friend was hurt. The man who hit Jack immediately took another swing and missed; Jack caught the man’s coat sleeve and twisted his arm quickly around in back of him. With a scream of pain, the man was forced to his knees. Using his free hand, Jack slapped him violently across his ear. The second assailant tried to swing at Jack without striking his fellow assassin.
Jack kicked out blindly and caught the man squarely in the groin. The attacker dropped his weapon and bent over, retching. Both men stumbled away in the dark street.
Jack caught up to the larger of the two men. “You’re a clumsy fool,” he hissed in his ear. “If you’re to survive as a thief, you must learn your trade.”
He spun the man around and with a resounding boot in the rear, sent him scurrying. The second man, his hands still dug deeply into his crotch, limped down the street; he looked back occasionally, shouting empty threats. When Jack took a couple of steps toward him, he dropped his belligerent attitude and hobbled after his vanishing partner. Paul sat up, blood streaming down his face.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked.
“Yes, of course. I’ve never felt better.” Paul breathed through swollen lips, rocking back and forth in a great deal of pain.
“I’m going to lift you. Are your ribs hurt?”
“No. Just my face, head, and pride.”
Jack helped Paul into a standing position. “Well, my friend, if you think you can make it, I’ll walk you back to the Star.”
They started slowly toward the waterfront.
“It was a fine evening.” Jack said. “We’ve dined grandly, had an eyeful of beautiful women, a lively exchange with a count, and, best of all, been set upon by a pair of incompetent thieves.”
“I’d agree,” Paul said, cheering up. “The food was fine, the wine delicate, the women breathtaking, and the count a worthy adversary.” He brushed the dripping blood from his nose. “But those weren’t thieves. Someone sent them to shut my uncontrollable mouth.”
“That seems a particularly violent attack just for an argument.” Jack looked quickly up the street; the ruffians had long since disappeared.
Paul rubbed a spot on the back of his head. “In any case, I think we can agree that the count doesn’t take well to differences of opinion.”
Jack wondered if the count was responsible for this. If so, what else might he attempt in the weeks to come? He suddenly wondered if his parents had made it to the villa safely.
The two friends stopped at an intersection. They could see the Star’s bow peeking from behind a building at the end of the street. Paul drew up his shirt and brought out two small books, tucked in by his belt.
“I realize you’ve never read a book, O unlearned one, but the next time I see you, I’m going to quiz you on these.”
Jack brought the two books close to the lamplight: Paradise Lost and The Pilgrim’s Progress. “Paradise Lost was required reading in school last year but I spent so much time helping Pa with the rifles that I never finished it.” He kicked a rock down the cobbled street, the noise reverberating off the buildings. “I envy you, Paul, sailing away so blissfully. A part of me wishes I were going with you.”
“We’ll probably be shoving off in a day or two.” Paul looked down, reluctant to go on. “I hate repeated good-byes, so why don’t we say our adieus now. I’m sure I’ve created enough tension between your family and the count so the less I’m seen around the Hacienda del Bull Droppings the better. You’ve been a good friend. As for my sailing away, I, in fact, envy you, old friend—starting a new life with people whom you have nothing in common with, working in the fields as a laborer from sunup to sundown. Feeling the rich earth in your hands, shoes, hair, and down the back of your neck… yes, I truly envy you. I, of course, will enjoy none of that. I’ll be slaving away on some exotic South Sea island, being fanned by naked maidens as I weave baskets and drink coconut milk.”
“Nos divertimos como locos!” Jack laughed.
“Yes, a crazy time we’ve had, indeed. Au revoir.”
“Vaya con Dios.”
Paul ambled down the street toward the Star, Jack toward the villa. Jack clasped the two books to his hip. It had been a wonderful gesture on Paul’s part. He wondered when Paul had the time to buy these books—then it came to him in an instant. That little thief! He stopped and laughed. Paul stole these from the count’s library! Jack turned to shout at him but he had disappeared.
Jack moved onto the street that led to the count’s house and heard a sound in a doorway. A dark figure sitting in a narrow doorway and wearing filthy clothes sat on the floor swaying and mumbling.