Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis

[geekmama]

Chapter Ten: Spanish Night

Part 2 - The Cathedral



Michael Owens straightened, and turned away from Charles and Lucia, looking toward the hills where Don Esparza’s estate lay. The Captain and his wife were headed there; indeed, might already have arrived. The same bright stars and sickle moon shone down on them all, and the estate’s grounds were no doubt planted with the same sorts of herbs and night blooming flowers that made the air around the cathedral here a joy to breathe.

It seemed very unfair that such a night might be fraught with danger for those he loved.

Charles set a hand on his arm. “Michael…my father is with them. You know he’ll protect Jack, if he can.”

“I know it,” Michael said, slowly. He looked at Charles. “And Don Corozón: he too seems to be a friend, and has influence among the Spaniards.”

“That’s right!” said Charles, encouragingly. “Jack’s been in tighter spots than this and come through unscathed. He’ll be fine.”

Michael nodded. He summoned a slight smile for Lucia’s benefit, and said in Spanish, “In any case, we can’t let this turn us from our goal. Señorita, are you still willing to show us the secret way into the sepulcher?”

“Oh, sí! Sí! Come: I will show you both. It is over here. Be very quiet, if you please. There is a night watchman inside the cathedral.”

The two young men quietly followed Lucia toward the back of the cathedral, the wall of the building looming dark before them. They emerged briefly from the shadows of the trees and crossed quickly to a recessed area directly against the building, where a stone stairway led down to a sheltered alcove.

“Here it is!” Lucia said.

In the dim light they could barely make out where a square opening in the ground was covered by a barred grate. It was something over a foot on each side, but too narrow to allow a man to gain entrance.

“It leads directly into the sepulcher,” Lucia whispered. “It lets in a little light and air, and there is an ingenious system built into it to collect the sweet rain and divert it to a stone cistern, which is blessed and provides Holy Water for the cathedral.”

Charles looked at the opening in dismay. “It’s too small! Neither of us would fit.”

Lucia frowned. “Perhaps I…”

“No!” exclaimed Charles. “You’re a dainty piece, but… no. I’ll not have you take the chance. We’d need someone half your size.”

Owens looked up at that. “Y’know who would fit, don’t you?”

Charles gaped in silence for a second, then hissed, “You’re mad! Jack’d never allow it, and Harry’d have a fit!”

“We’re not going to ask.”

“Michael! He’ll murder the both of us!”

“Only if Tom came to harm - but he won’t, Charles!”

“Of what do you speak?” Lucia asked.

Michael said to her, “We know someone half your size, señorita. It’s Tom Sparrow, the Captain’s son. He’s out on the Black Pearl, our ship.”

“He is a young boy?” Lucia said. “Sí… it might work. But… he must be a brave and very quiet boy: as I said, there is a night watchman, and in the sepulcher are… well… tombs! I was a little afraid, even during the day, when there was light coming from this opening. At night I think it would be much more frightening.”

Michael frowned and was silent for a minute as he considered every aspect of the scheme. But finally he said, “I believe he could do it. I’ll go fetch him from the Pearl, and some rope, and a lantern as well. Is the case that holds the cup locked up at night?”

“I do not know,” said Lucia.

“I’ll bring a tool or two, just to be on the safe side.”

Charles said, uneasily, “We’re going through with it? Tonight?”

“Aye,” Michael said, firmly. “We may not get another chance, Charles. Who knows what’s happening at that reception.”

Charles frowned. “That’s true enough. Lord, I wish this whole thing were over and done, and all of us safe, back aboard the Pearl.”

“Well, we ain’t,” Michael retorted, “so we’d best get on with it. It’s tonight or never, I’m thinkin’. Will you stay here with Lucia while I go for the necessities?”

“Of course. But you’ll be hours!”

“Only a couple…or three at most,” said Michael. He turned to Lucia. “My friend will stay with you while I go for the boy, and some equipment. Charles may be trusted, I think, though he is likely not the sort of escort to which you are accustomed.”

Lucia chuckled. “No, indeed. And yet, as you say, I think he may be trusted.” She put her hand out to Charles, in a gesture of friendship, but then blushed when he caught it and brought her fingers to his lips.

When he lifted his head, he said, “I will protect her with my life, if need be.”

Michael said, wryly, “Just make sure she don’t need protection from Charles Norrington, mate. If she cries foul when I return I’ll murder you, before Jack has his chance!”

o-o-o

“Tom! Tom, wake up, lad.”

There was a gentle hand shaking him, and Tom struggled up from the depths of a dream, a lovely one in which he was finally allowed to climb up to the crow’s-nest with his Da, higher and higher up the ratlines, wind and sun on their faces, the sparkling sea spreading out wider and wider as the Pearl shrank below them. But the hand did not desist, and he groaned, and muttered, “Michael, stop it! I was nearly there,” his voice slurred with sleep.

“You’ll make it another time, lad. I need a favor of you.”

Tom sat up, and rubbed his eyes, then looked around. There was a bit of light, from the small lantern Michael carried, but Tom could tell right off it wasn’t near morning. “A favor? What do you mean? Where’s Da?”

“He and your mama are gone to a reception - there’s talk and music and dancing and suchlike. They’ll be havin’ a grand time.” Michael said a swift, silent prayer that he spoke the truth. Then he went on, “But Charles and I, we came across a lady friend who’s shown us a way to get the Chalice! The only thing is, we need you to help us.”

“Me!” Tom exclaimed, immediately thrilled at the prospect of being involved in a scheme vital to their purpose here in Santiago. Learning to tie knots and studying navigation were no doubt useful to a sailor, but he longed with all his heart to be adventuring along with his parents and friends. But… “Does Da know? Did he send you to fetch me?”

Owens gave him a sober look. “No, Tom. He don’t know anything about this. But… well, it would take a long time to explain the whole thing, but the short of it is, we may not have another chance. It has to be tonight, if we’re to get the cup, and we need you to do it.”

“Why me?” Tom asked, worriedly.

“The cup’s in a room under the altar - the sepulcher. There’s only one door to it, and it’s locked and there’s a guard stationed in the cathedral. But our lady friend’s shown us another way in - a big air shaft, like, only not big enough for any of us. But you, bein’ littler, could get in right smart, get the cup, and be out before anyone’s the wiser!”

Tom’s intrepid heart swelled, but then faltered, thinking of his father’s words. “But… Da ordered me to stay on the Pearl, Michael. And he’ll leave me behind if I don’t. When they go to Italy, I mean.”

“I know what he told you,” said Michael, rather gently. “And I can’t lie to you: you’ll be takin’ a risk - and us too, for I’m not sure what he’ll say about it when he finds out. I believe if he knew, he’d want you to help us. But it’s your decision, and I won’t hold it against you if you refuse.”

Tom was silent for a minute as he weighed the certainty of clandestine adventure and the opportunity to play the hero against the chance of paternal wrath and the possibility of a long separation from both his parents. It was a terrible choice.

But then, just as he was about to say no, he hesitated, and began to consider what would happen if he refused. Owens wouldn’t argue. He’d pat him on the shoulder and bid him goodnight, and go back to tell Charles and their friend that, so sorry, they could not rely on Tom Sparrow’s help. And Tom Sparrow, why, he’d be left alone in the cabin, staring into the dark and feeling like the veriest coward!

He couldn’t do it! He couldn’t. And especially if they failed to get the cup, as Owens feared would happen: it would be Tom Sparrow’s fault, and no mistake. And then it wouldn’t only be a matter of begging his father’s forgiveness.

Do the right thing, whether the order’s given or not.

Tom looked up at Owens, and nodded. “I’ll get dressed, then, shall I?”

o-o-o

“You lied to Mr. Gibbs, Michael.”

Michael Owens looked at the little boy sitting so quiet and serious across from him in the jollyboat as he rowed them back across the bay. The Pearl was fading behind them, and the only sound for some time had been the dip of the oars in the silver and black of the water. Now Owens knew why.

“No, Tom,” Owens said. “I told him your Da needed you, and so he does. It’s just that your Da don’t happen to know it.”

Tom digested this. “Then… it wasn’t a lie?”

“No,” Owens said, slowly. “Of course it wasn’t the whole truth, either. But that’s best kept to ourselves, if we’ve a chance of getting the cup tonight. It’ll be all right.”

Tom seemed to accept this, and was a little easier with things, after that. He began to look around more, at the beauty of the stars and the moon, now low in the sky, and at the other boats and ships that were moored in the harbor, shadowy, distant shapes in the faint light.

After a little, Tom turned to Owens again. “You think there’s ghosts down there with the cup?”

Owens gave a little chuff of laughter. “No, Tom. Or if there are, they’ll be benevolent ones. Their earthly remains have been buried on hallowed ground for some time now. Bound to’ve had a good effect on their souls, don’t you think?”

“Aye,” agreed Tom. “Like the ones on the Pearl. They’re good ones, too.”

“The ones on the Pearl?” Owens frowned.

“In the brig.”

“There’s ghosts in the brig?”

“Aye.”

Owens nodded slowly. Tom began to look around again, and Owens decided to let the matter drop. For now.

They reached the city docks a few minutes later, tied off the jollyboat, and climbed ashore.

Tom gave a little skip as they started off up the road to the cathedral. “Wish it was daylight. Are there markets and parks and dogs and boys and things?”

“Shhhh! And keep to the shadows. Aye, there are all kinds of things here. It’s a great city.”

“How far’s the cathedral?”

“About a mile. Let’s be quiet now. Best we don’t alert half the town to our presence, eh?”

“Aye, Michael.” Tom skipped along lightheartedly, though he was quiet and kept to the shadows as commanded. Michael couldn’t help but chuckle at him. Oh, he was Jack’s son, all right.

The boy was moving a bit more slowly by the time they reached the cathedral, for it was quite a walk from the docks, and uphill at that. But when Owens led him through the garden and then down the steps to the alcove, he perked right up again.

“Charles!” Tom said, excitedly, though he remembered to keep his voice down.

Charles and Lucia had just got to their feet, and Charles gave Tom a swift hug. “Tom, old son! You’re a game one, and no mistake. This is our friend, Señorita Lucia Delma Fuensantos.”

Tom bowed, and said, in Spanish, “I am honored to meet you, Señorita Fuensantos.”

Lucia chuckled, delightedly, and curtsied deep. “The pleasure is mine, señor, truly.”

Owens said, “There’ll be time to flirt with her later, young Sparrow. Señorita, did Charles take good care of you?”

“Oh, sí!” said Lucia, and looked up at Charles, her eyes alight. “The best of care.”

Charles said, provocatively, “We got on handsomely. You might have stayed away even longer: we wouldn’t have minded.”

Tom looked from Charles to Lucia, and said, sagely, “Ah, like that, is it?”

The others laughed (as quietly as possible), even Lucia, who got the gist of it from Tom’s tone, but then Owens said, “All right, enough o’ that, you precocious young varmint. Are you ready to try this?”

Tom turned around to face the looming cathedral, and then went to study the shaft into the sepulcher. “Aye. It’s plenty big.”

“You think so?” Owens looked at the opening, and at Tom, sizing them up. “I think you’re right. Let’s get it done, then.”

o-o-o

It wasn’t quite as easy as Tom had thought it would be.

For a start, it took Michael and Charles forever merely to get the grate off the opening. Apparently it hadn’t been moved in a long time, and was, moreover, latched down somehow. Tom stood fidgeting while the two worked on it with the few tools Michael had brought from the ship, but Lucia’s serenity and faith in their ability to succeed went some way toward calming him. He chatted quietly with her, off and on.

“You speak my language very well, Tomas,” Lucia said at one point. “I find it most surprising! How did you learn?”

Tom shrugged. “I’ve always known it. Michael speaks it, and my father, and some of the others on the Pearl. My father reads it to me, sometimes, too: Don Quixote!” He grinned.

“Ah!” Lucia nodded, and smiled back.

Then Owens exclaimed, “There! Finally!” and was lifting the heavy grate and setting it aside.

After that, Owens swiftly tied a line in a double loop bowline. “See, this is why you need to practice your knots, Tom.”

“So’s ye can break into cathedrals an’ such?” Tom chuckled.

Owens laughed softly. “Aye. Or rescue a man that’s hurt, or any number of other useful things. A rope’s one of the simplest and best tools a man can have. Come here, now.”

Tom obeyed, and Owens held the loops open so he could step into them, and then slipped them up his legs.

“You’ll only be a minute in the dark-we’ll drop the dark lantern down soon as you’ve reached the floor. I’ll leave the panel open, but if you hear the watch coming you must shut the panel up right away. If he comes, I’ll pull you back up, if there’s time, or you may have to hide, still as a mouse. Lucia says there’s alcoves, and some raised tombs you could hide behind. But if all goes well, you’ll be able to get the cup and be back up here in no time.”

“What if the case is locked? Shall I take some o’those tools with me?”

“No. Senorita Fuensantos says it didn’t seem to have a lock on it when she saw it. If she’s wrong about that, I’ll drop the tools down, then. I’m hoping we won’t have to: it’s like to make more noise if you have to fool with a lock. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Here.” Owens reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, carved wooden cup. “Doña Corozón gave me this, and it’s pretty close in size and shape to the Saint’s cup, from what we could tell, though it’s a sight newer. You’ll take St. Francis’s cup out of its holder, and put this one in its stead. Hopefully it’ll be a while before anyone’s the wiser.”

Tom nodded, and took the little cup, stuffing it into his own pocket.

“You ready?” asked Owens.

“Aye,” said Tom.

Owens gave him a swift hug. “Be careful. No noise, now.”

Tom sat down at the edge of the opening, took hold of the rope and then eased off the edge into the dark shaft and began his descent. Small as he was, his shoulders brushed the walls of the shaft on both sides as he was lowered, but he did clear them easily enough to make the descent without too much need of squirming about. The air grew cooler the lower he went, and when he finally came out of the shaft and into the room, his heart was thudding uncomfortably at the still, cold blackness of the place. Gripping the rope tight, he looked back up, and could barely see Charles’s head silhouetted against a patch of starlit sky.

“You all right?” Charles whispered loudly.

Tom swallowed hard. “Aye! Lower away.”

Owens complied, and, after a few more moments there was a stone floor beneath Tom’s feet and the tension of the rope eased. He could see nothing, but then the little lantern was being lowered down the shaft, its light a cheery sight as it descended. Tom swiftly removed the rope loops from about his legs, and then caught the lantern as it came level with him.

Owens hissed, “How is it?”

“Fine,” returned Tom, untying the lantern. He held it up and cautiously looked about him.

The room was so large that the light of the lantern did not reach the walls to either side. Tom could see the one at the back, though, and it was painted with bright, beautiful pictures and patterns: animals, birds, twining vines, and then people in odd clothing and haloes. Saints, he thought, remembering some vaguely similar ones he’d seen in Italian churches.

To his left, a few feet away, there were shadowy, boxlike shapes of stone, with writing carved on their heavy lids: tombs. He’d seen raised tombs like these in a church in England, near Fairlea, the Fanshawes’ estate, where they’d stayed with the Duke, his mother’s cousin by her first marriage; only those had lids carved with the likenesses of the people within, as they’d appeared in death, supposedly. Mostly they’d looked asleep. But Tom was glad these Spanish tombs were just plain, anyway.

Although… there was that feeling. Like in the Pearl’s brig.

He squinted into the darkness and deep shadows, but nothing stirred. It was most eerily silent in fact.

Tom swallowed again, and looked back up the shaft. “You’re still there?” he called to Owens.

“Aye!” came the quick reply, to Tom’s relief.

“I’ll get the cup then,” Tom said, and turned away, quickly.

He looked to the opposite side now, where there were some statues, and more designs on the walls, and a huge crucifix, nearly life size and most gruesomely rendered, like some of those he’d seen in Italian churches, but even worse. The suffering Christ riveted his attention for a long minute, and when he finally was able to drag his eyes from it he had to give a nervous chuckle, for directly under it lay the marble pedestal and the ornate case he had been told to look for: the cup’s resting place.

Firmly reminding himself that they were here to get the cup so they could return it to its rightful owners, Tom tried to ignore the awful image above and kept his eyes on the gold and jeweled box as he approached. It was very beautiful - worth a king’s ransom, no doubt - but to his relief, there did not appear to be any lock on it. He put his fingers around the handle and pulled, and sure enough, it opened immediately.

But not silently. Whether by neglect or by design, the door gave a most audible squeak of unoiled hinges, and it sounded horribly loud in the gloomy stillness of the sepulcher.

Tom’s heart stopped, then lurched to a frantic start. He could hear Owens’ hissing concern at the noise, but Tom ignored this, and reached in for the chalice in its holder. It was heavy in his hand as he quickly squatted, setting the lantern and the chalice down on the cold stone floor. Hands shaking, he took Doña Corozón’s little cup from his pocket. The richness of the holder made little impression on him; he was merely thankful the cups were so much of a size that the exchange was made with ease. But as he put the Saint’s cup in his pocket, the faint sounds he had been dreading came to his ears: echoing footsteps, and the noise of a door being unlocked, up a flight of stairs that opened to the corner of the room that lay before him.

Quick as thought he put the false chalice back in the case, closing it quickly and wincing at the repeat of that squeak. Then he picked up the lantern and hesitated, for a moment, before deciding it was too late to get clean away. He went over to where the shaft let in faint grey starlight.

“I’ve got it, but hide the rope!” he hissed imperatively to Owens, whom he could see looking down at him. “Someone’s coming and there’s no time!”

Tom heard Owens swear, and the rope began to disappear as Tom turned toward the side of the room where lay the silent tombs. It was a matter of moments to scurry in among them, and, choosing the second to the last, he sat himself and the dark lantern down on the far side. Leaning back against the cold stone, he slid the panel shut on the lantern, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Sounds were dreadfully clear, however: the opening of the door, the footsteps coming down the steps. Then there was light again, as the watchman’s lantern, larger than Tom’s, cast its glow even over to the far walls. Tom held his breath, not moving a muscle, and said a silent prayer to the Saint whose hands had held the cup that lay against his side.

The blasted watchman took his time looking around, and Tom finally had to breathe again, and gritted his teeth at the noise of it, though he made every effort to be quiet. There was the now familiar squeak as the watchman checked to see if the chalice was safe. Another squeak, and then more footsteps and brighter light as the man came closer to where the tombs lay. Tom’s heart thudded in his chest, but he didn’t move, and willed the man not to hear his breathing.

And it worked. After a long minute, the watchman turned away, his light and his footsteps fading as he left the chamber and climbed back up the stairs. Tom closed his eyes and said another prayer, of ecstatic thanks this time. It was hard to wait until the man went out, relocked the door and walked away on his rounds, the sound of his footsteps fading, but Tom did it.

Finally, he stood up. He had the cup. He could see the faint light coming from the shaft. He snatched up the lantern and made for it, walking quiet as his father’d taught him, and then, standing beneath the shaft once more, he called, soft but imperative: “Michael!”

The rope began its descent, even before Michael called to him. “Here it is, Tom lad. Quick now! Let’s get you out!”

Tom didn’t need to be told twice. He caught the rope as it reached him, and, setting the dark lantern on the floor, slipped the loops over his feet and up his legs. Owens was already drawing up the rope and Tom clutched it as he was hoisted up to the opening in the ceiling, struggled a bit to position himself, and then was drawn through the shaft, rough and quick, emerging into the night air where Owens and Charles grabbed his arms and lifted, setting him on his feet.

“I got it!” he said triumphantly, again.

Michael pulled him into a fierce hug. “You almost got it, didn’t you? Lord, that was too close.”

Charles was pounding his back. “Good lad, Tom! A true Sparrow!”

Tom, released from the hug, turned and grinned, and said, “Of course! What did you…” But he broke off, his eyes widening in dismay. “Oh! Oh, no! I… “ Tom turned to Owens. “Michael! The lantern! I’ve left it!”

There was silence for a long moment.

Tom finally said, “Let me back down. I’ll fetch it.”

But Michael said, “No.”

“No?” Charles exclaimed.

“No. There’s no markings. They won’t know it’s ours. We’re leavin’ it.”

“But…” Tom began.

Michael cut him short. “No, Tom. You’re not going down there again.” Quickly he began to coil up the ropes, and the others, seeing he was adamant, picked up the tools and prepared to depart.

Tom felt awful, as though he would explode from vexation. To have come through all that with the cup, and then to leave such obvious evidence behind! What did it matter if the lantern wasn’t marked? They’d realize immediately what had happened, and who knew what the consequences might be?

“Tom, lad.”

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Tom looked up at Michael.

“It’s all right. They were bound to notice the exchange, anyway. They’ll just know a little sooner, is all. You did a fine job, lad, and never think otherwise. All right?”

Tom scowled, but saw the sense of his friend’s words. Grudgingly, he growled, “All right. But next time…”

“What?” Michael smiled.

“Next time I won’t forget anything!”

“That’s right!” Michael gave Tom’s shoulder a shake. “A successful adventure, and a lesson learned. Congratulations, Tom: you’ve done a good night’s work.”

o-o-o

The good night’s work had taken far longer than any of them had anticipated. It was another long walk, through the quiet town, and up into the hills. The sky was paling to a rosy dawn by the time they were on the last leg of their journey to the Corozón estate.

Charles was carrying Lucia’s bag in one hand, and had his other around her waist, “lest she stumble”. Michael had offered to carry Tom, piggyback, but Tom had refused, though his feet were growing heavier, and his heart, too, the niggling dread of facing his father weighing on it in spite of the (mostly) successful mission.

“Almost there, now,” said Michael, encouragingly.

Tom nodded, and turned around, walking backwards for a few steps to look at the view of harbor from here. But…

Tom stopped in his tracks. Where was the Pearl?

Michael turned back to him. “Shall I carry you, lad? What is it?” He looked up, and out at the bay in the direction of Tom’s startled gaze. And then he exclaimed: “Jesus, Mary, an’ Joseph!”

Charles and Lucia turned, and Charles demanded, “What?”

“The Pearl!” Michael exclaimed, pointing. “She’s leaving the harbor - without us!”

~.~

On to Chapter Eleven