Pierre noticed Morris' questioning frown when he brought dinner before Marina joined them, and shook his head slightly. Morris stood up, excused himself and left the cabin.
Marina wasn't in sight on deck. Castillano was, arms folded on the starboard gunwale, head down.
He saw Morris come marching on and nodded up, to the foretop.
"I can't wait to leave you in Santiago!" Morris snarled, climbing to the gunwale to grab the shrouds. He stopped before stepping on the first ratline and leaned toward Castillano, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You have two minutes to get out of my sight."
Castillano stiffened, taken aback by his open hostility. When he didn't move, Morris put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow, like inviting Castillano to stay there and see how it went. Castillano could only step back, turn around and start to the fore hatch in no hurry.
Morris climbed up the rigging, grunting under his breath.
He found Marina at the foretop. The girl was sitting like she used to, face to the wind and her feet hanging in the air. But he spotted the bottle she held against her thigh.
"What're you doing, drinking?"
"I don't know. This is disgusting."
Marina took a long sip and threw the bottle.
It didn't fall far. It crashed where Castillano was about to set his foot, one step before the hatch. He looked up, wondering whether it'd been an accident or it was time to start fearing for his life. But he couldn't see the top from where he was.
Morris grabbed Marina's arms to make her face him. She pushed him away roughly. It was the first time she drank, and she'd had half a bottle of strong wine with an empty belly. She felt her mouth gooey and her head cloudy. The bitter aftertaste in her throat only matched her heart's. Her faced crashed against Morris' chest, when he held her and kissed her short raven mane.
"Hush, my pearl. Just one more day," he whispered. "Tomorrow night everything will be fine. This isn't you."
"I know this is not me," she grunted, pushing him to have room to breathe. "But sometimes I get sick and tired of being me. Why can't I be you? Things are always simple and clear for you, even if they're not yes or no, but maybe."
Morris sat down by her side, smiling. "If you were me, you wouldn't have my affection. And you'd be lost."
She giggled. "But I'd have mine."
"And lice."
He scratched her hair and she shrank, giggling again.
"You're a shame. I'm delousing you first thing tomorrow, else Dolores won't look at you again."
"See? If you were me, you'd be ashamed."
"You're impossible. I can't even try to get drunk like all of you do, to see if it's so great as you say, and you're all over. You and your lice."
"Come. You can't live without me."
"Of course I can't. What's new."
They lingered up there until Marina's head was clear enough to climb down without tripping, and they headed for the cabin together. By then, Alonso had gone to sleep, Pierre had cleaned the table, and Dolores and Alma set the hammocks to sleep. Morris stopped outside the door.
"Go to bed. You didn't sleep last night," he said to Marina, poking the tip of her nose.
"You too because you neither," she replied, smiling. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Night, my dear brother."
"Shush, don't be silly," he grumbled, but his grin was about to push his ears out of his face at her words. "Night, my pearl."
Alma and Dolores smiled, watching them, and the former nanny understood why the other woman didn't feel the slightest hint of jealousy about the bond between the other two. They didn't ask any questions to Marina, but they both celebrated Cecilia's design when they saw her open the bulkhead and close her corner with the canopy.
A few minutes later, Marina was sound asleep.
Morning brought her a nice surprise. Strange as it was, the wind had changed. In that area, it usually blew from the northeast the whole year, squeezing into the Windward Passage toward Jamaica. But overnight, Cuba had blew its own currents, and the wind blowing from the island pushed off course the air coming down the strait, which made a little turn to the south between Santiago and Cape Cruz. Enough to spare the Phantom from the tacking. Philip was on watch at the helm and had noticed right away, correcting the course. So with breakfast, Marina had the news that they'd be in Santiago by noon. Which improved her mood.
For a few hours.
The crew hurried to finish cleaning the ship and took their battle stations as soon as they approached San Pedro castle at the access to Santiago bay. Spain and France were in peace, but that was Europe. Across the ocean, in the Caribbean, a warrior with French colors crossing before a Spanish castle could lend to misunderstandings. The kind of misunderstanding that would be settled with cannons.
Alonso had the name of the castle commander, and an acceptable level of confidence that he wouldn't meet there anybody who could recognize him. So off he went, all alone, with the letter of his future employer, to see the military authorities in order to enter the bay peacefully.
Castillano and Alma waited at the bow together. Across the Phantom, on the bridge, Marina waited too, with Morris and Dolores.
"He's coming back!" Oliver announced from the maintop.
The girl opened her telescope. Yes, Alonso was coming back, alone and apparently free. And his smile forecast everything had worked out fine.
Marina waited for him to board the Phantom again, as enthusiastic as she'd never seen him before, and signaled him to follow her to the cabin.
Alonso joined her there. "They were waiting for me!" he said happily. "Don Carlos is friends with the commander, and he told the man we might arrive on a French ship. They even volunteered to send word to Don Carlos to wait for us at the port."
"Great!" Marina said, opening the cupboard.
Alonso was about to say something more, but he trailed off when she put a small chest full of pieces of eight on the table, no doubt a part of the Trinidad smuggler's payment. He tried to refuse but she raised her hand to cut him off.
"Find a nice house and a couple of women to help Alma, so she won't feel lonely when you're away," she said. "I promised I'd do all I could to help you rebuild your lives, Captain. And this isn't even the least I can do." She closed the chest and gave him the key. "Please, tell me what more I can do for you."
Alonso held her eyes, lips tight together to keep from smiling.
Marina snorted. "Don't abuse my good will, Captain."
"You asked," he replied softly.
"And I regret doing it."
They headed back to deck together. And Alonso carried that chest that held more money than he'd seen in his whole life.
"Will you come for Christmas?" Marina asked as they walked out.
Alonso chuckled under his breath. "You're your mother's child, pearl. If I'm not at sea, I'll be glad to honor the invitation your mother made before I left Tortuga."
"And bring Alma."
"Only Alma?"
Marina snorted again. "No, please, or my mother will throw me out of the house so she can welcome your friend. I can already picture the scolding I'm getting for coming home without him."
They found Alma saying goodbye to Dolores by the steps to the bridge. Marina held her tight, thanking her yet again for all the woman had done for her since they'd met. Maxó and De Neill knuckled their foreheads at her. Alma kissed Marina and joined Castillano back.
He waited alone by the ladder, feeling a sudden resistance to boarding the shallop that waited for them at the end of the ladder. He certainly wasn't interested in warm goodbyes from that host of lowlifes, but he'd harbored the faint hope that Marina would at least approach him to bid him farewell.
When Alma joined him, moved to tears, they still had to wait for Alonso to be done shaking hands and patting shoulders and smiling like he were best friends with the dogs.
Then Marina went back to the bridge and stayed there, face to the bay. Not even glancing at Castillano.
He let Alonso go down the ladder and help Alma to the boat, while he kept a hand on the gunwale and his eyes on the bridge. On Marina. He tried to decide whether he should go to her and say something. But he couldn't come up with anything memorable, or at least adequate to say. A wave coming from the shore rolled under the Phantom, that swayed to larboard first, as to launch him down to the shallop he resisted to board.
He took a deep breath and patted the gunwale softly. "Take care of her," he whispered to the ship, that swayed to starboard as to keep him onboard. "Drop it, this is already hard enough," he grunted.
Morris, Maxó and De Neill traded suspicious looks, seeing him talk to the Phantom, which seemed to answer while Marina kept her black eyes on the castle on top of the hill, ignoring him.
Castillano could only hurry down the ladder. As soon as the shallop moved away from the Phantom, he stood by the mast, face to the ship. And Marina spun on her heels and went to the other side.
Seeing her turn her back on him, Castillano dropped himself on a bench, while Alonso held tiller and sail. Alma saw his troubled frown and took his hand. He frowned when she put something in his palm and closed his fingers on it. He opened his hand and found the gold ring with the pearl that Marina had given Alma to seek her men out in Campeche. A sad smile touched his lips. He glanced up at Alma and nodded, the lump up his throat choking his words.
On the Phantom, Morris and Briand set everybody in motion with a few claps and orders. Time to get away from their as fast as they could.
From the helm, De Neill elbowed Maxó and nodded to the starboard side of the bridge. Marina remained there, resting her arms on the gunwale, hands tightly crossed, head down. Her shoulders shivered.
"Look, mate: the Pearl of the Caribbean weeps."