Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 159: Liberation (Part Two)

The Sea-Devil and I all started here, in the West Indies...

1630, The Past
Essequibo, Guiana
South America

In 1630, Hendrik Van Der Decken was not yet Jones; he was still Hendrik. His ship was not yet De Reiger, but De Zeemeermin, fondly named after the nicer sea-folk: the mermaid. Whatever decade, however, Hendrik was a consummate son of the sea. All of his forty-one years, so far at this point in time, and three and twenty of them were spent aboard a ship. It was in his blood, he boasted, for he came from humble fishermen. But he, out of the Van Der Deckens of Volendam, was the sole brave sole who dare venture out of the Markermeer Lake's safe embrace hugging the shores of their home.

His many adventures took him to the Orient, to the West Indies. He undertook the tests and trials a seasalt of his age would have been expected to meet: the Horn, the Forties, Fifties, even the Pacific-although he dared only cross the great ocean once and vowed to never be a fool again. If one should live to make a mark, one should live first, after all.

This is the conversation he found himself in that one, damp evening in a tavern at the mouth of the large Essequibo river thatcopens into the Atlantic, and Zeemeermin was safely tucked at port. The colony bears the name of this river. His countrymen has since captured this town completely, and God knows where they put the people who once lived there.

Van Der Decken was most grateful for it; his venture in the Caribbean has not been promising, and the Americas are just as hostile. His poor Zeemeermin was beaten, and his crew grumbling at the pithy contracts they managed to have. Without support from the Company, they were effectively cut off from richer prospects, no matter how hardworking they were.

No matter how masterful the captain was.

"That couldn't be true!"

"But it was!" He happily raised his mug to the young sailor at the other end of the tavern. All night, he had been sharing his tales-a balm of comfort after the Company has denied him entrance into their ranks once more. "When you have truly seen it all, the ship becomes you, the sea melds with you-" His loftiness went over the head of the newly-baptized sailors, but the older ones eye him with suspicion. "There are no miracles, but sheer hard work. Be diligent on your lots and you'd find yourself commanding a ship through a storm with your eyes closed, your throat throbbing and hoarse from screaming over the wind and the rain and Death breathing over your neck!"

He slammed the mug on the table to roaring cheers, from his crew and the tavern crowd. Hendrik relished them all. He might not have the post, but what he had was far pricier, something no man could steal nor buy: his skill as a seafarer.

"Was it true?"

He sat back down and met the wide eyes of his Quartermaster, Ruben. "True?" Hendrik laughed. "Like you and I don't know each other."

Ruben shrugged. "I did see you kiss your rosary before."

"God's grace can only go so far, dear friend." Hendrik downed the mead greedily and chose to ignore Ruben's terrified eyes. "See, if you were God, would you help a useless pansy? What would the pansy learn, hm? Bah." He waved the man off and laughed. "Seafaring relies on the wit and strength of man just as man seeks his gods once he is in the mercy of forces beyond his comprehension."

"And you are willing to bet on that, good sir?"

And unfamiliar voice spoke above the chatter. Hendrik and Ruben shared a look and met the stranger: a tall man dressed in robes of black, with his shirt of bright blue-like they were freshly dyed, but crumpled by wear. He had bright blue eyes and streaks of silver in his tousled curls. The face was rugged with lines and sharp planes, his eyes set deep behind a rather large nose, with thin brows and a moustache over dried lips. He grinned at them and clasped his hands behind him. "Kapitein Van Der Decken," he greeted with a nod and an offer of his hand, "I half-expected an old wolf. You surprise me."