Destination Paraguay Read online

Destination Paraguay

  Emily Asad

  Copyright 2004, 2012 Emily Asad

  All Rights Reserved

  3rd Edition

  Cover Art © Emily Asad 2012

  Cover model - Luis Tilano-Fernandez, Jr.

  Code Name: Whatever

  Survival in Style

  Dedicated to my husband Babur,

  whose passion for his small country made it live in my own dreams

  Special thanks to my favorite Paraguayans:

  Nadia and Zubia Asad; Nathalie and Juan José Miniello; Sven and Sabine Pfannl Petrovic and Liliana and Ivana Alvarez Lopez Moreira; Manuel Bogado and Alessandra Carcheri; Hugo Javier Torres Trigo, Ruben Alcaraz Brizuela, and Christian Magrini. Also to Romina Badgen and Luis Anibal Ferreira - maybe you’ll read this to Mia and Lia someday.

  To the entire Fernandez family, though I’ll only list a few of you: Adriana Formby-Fernandez, Crisskay Suarez, “Junior” Luis Tilano, Joenna Fernandez, “Téréré Joe” and the two who started it all: Leni and Luciano. Thanks for treating me like family!

  To my 6th students from Asunción Christian Academy, who read the first draft all those years ago: Bailey Carrick, Da Sol Yang Park, Esther Shi Eun Lee, Faith Eisenberg, Laura Green, Laura Steel, Christian Ko, Fermin Liu, Hector Chu Wu, Nathan Donaldson and Pedro Nasi.

  Finally, this book wouldn’t exist without the Wiley-Segovias, including Kika and Juanita, but especially Jerome Wiley Segovia for all his support through the years.

  * * * * *

  Author’s Note:

  I am a storyteller, a person who takes a single fact and explodes it into colorful detail. My husband, however, is a fervent historian who believes that facts should be represented in their most accurate form, especially where history is concerned. It is with humility, therefore, that I ask my readers to realize that although this story is based on historical facts during the years 1537 to 1542, this is a work of fiction. While the characters of Cabeza de Vaca and Domingo Irala were real people, I created fictional personalities to suit my story. Also, I squeezed the timeline; events that covered several years in history only take a few months in this book. It is my desire that the reader be left with a pleasant essence rather than a dry lecture. I hope you enjoy my story!

  * * * * *

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Sleepy Sailors

  Chapter 2: The Escape

  Chapter 3: Alone

  Chapter 4: Arazunú

  Chapter 5: Between Here and There

  Chapter 6: Phantoms

  Chapter 7: Pa’i Shumé

  Chapter 8: Jungle Comforts

  Chapter 9: Chiefs in Disgrace

  Chapter 10: Outbreak

  Chapter 11: Caretaker

  Chapter 12: Recovery

  Chapter 13: River Pirates

  Chapter 14: The Great Fire

  Chapter 15: Silver Fever

  Chapter 1: Sleepy Sailors

  Sebastian Segovia didn’t even flinch as a large green wave whacked into the side of the tiny caravel. After several weeks on board, he knew enough to flex his knees so he wouldn’t lose his balance and cause the captain’s dinner tray to spill. It had become an automatic reflex, like ducking under ropes that swayed in the breeze or hustling out of the way when the sailors turned grumpy. Still, with the weather growing worse each minute, Sebastian wished that the captain would hurry and call for his dinner.

  When he first set out from Spain in August, Sebastian’s hair had been dark brown with copper highlights. Now it was sun-bleached and totally auburn. At fifteen years old, he was a big boy. He was tall, true, but also rather chubby. When she was still alive, his mother had called it baby fat and reassured him that he would grow into his height. Everyone else back home just called him fat. And spoiled. And lazy. Nobody ever said he was brave or adventurous or clever, like his father.

  Behind the closed wooden door, voices were muffled. Whatever could the officers be talking about for so long? Life on the ocean was so boring. What could possibly be more important than a hot meal?

  Sebastian glanced down at the food on the tray and gulped. Meals grew more disgusting each week. When they first left Spain, bread was fresh and soft. Now, weeks later, not were the hard biscuits stale and covered with moldy blue spots, but nasty white maggots had developed, too. It had grown so bad that Sebastian preferred to eat in the dark, where he couldn’t see his food squirm.

  He shuddered. I hate ships, he thought. I can’t wait until we reach Asunción.

  Asunción! Just the name sent shivers down his spine. Its full name was Nuestra Señora Santa Maria de la Asunción, but Sebastian’s father never called it by its full name. Especially not while writing a letter, since paper and ink were still scarce in the New World. Sebastian grinned to think that he would not have to read any more letters from his father. To be sure, he loved to receive letters, but it was such a struggle to read those messy squiggles that were supposed to represent words. Soon he would finally join Don Segovia in the New World, and then they could talk face-to-face.

  Sebastian’s father was an experienced treasure-hunter. He set out on an expedition in the winter of 1535 with the great explorer Juan de Salazar in hopes of finding a mysterious and elusive treasure. So far, nobody knew where it was, but there were so many stories that it had to be true - and Don Segovia was dedicated to sharing in the glory.

  It all started with Alejo Garcia’s expedition of 1524. His army of Spanish soldiers and two thousand friendly Guarani warriors overcame floods, draught, and vicious cannibals before penetrating the Chaco, a hot, humid green hell which killed half the party. But they found what they were looking for – massive amounts of silver. Two years later, Sebastian Cabot and his team explored a dangerous estuary on the River Parana. They discovered enough gold and silver to astound the royal courts of Europe. Soon, everyone caught treasure fever, including Don Segovia.

  So far, Sebastian’s father had not yet found any treasure, although he helped establish the fort of Sancti Spiritu in 1527 and most recently Asunción in 1537. Since that time, Don Segovia had sent plenty of letters describing strange animals that could talk like humans, strange warriors who used bows and arrows instead of rifles, and strange flowers that were twice the size of the ones that grew in Spain. Always he mentioned how close he was to discovering gold and silver, and in each letter he told Sebastian how much he missed him. Of course, Sebastian only received the letters when a ship arrived from the New World, which did not happen very often, so sometimes there were eight or nine letters at a time.

  This last letter, dated January 16, 1542, was brief. Much of the ink had been smudged to the point of being unreadable, but two sentences were clear: “I’ve built a home for us. Come join me.” It was now nearing the end of September, and Sebastian carried it with him everywhere.

  Home. It was something he craved, since his no longer existed. His uncle had never made him feel very welcome, and yet Spain was the only home he knew. Would he like Asunción? Would he recognize anything over there or would the very trees and animals be different?

  These were the thoughts that gnawed at him as he stood there on a small caravel entering the giant mouth of the Río de la Plata. While he waited, he glanced down at the enormous dinner tray with its neat, cloth-covered basket of hardtack, the dry biscuit that the officers would dip into their stew. They had no choice; if they did not soak the biscuit, it was so hard it could break teeth. A small round of waxed cheese rested near the edge of the tray, keeping a bottle of wine from rolling around. The food wasn’t as heavy as the plates, utensils, and pewter mugs, all engraved with the captain’s elaborate seal. Sebastian counted them again, just to make sure he had enough for all the officers, just in case the coo
k down in the galley had missed something.

  When that no longer amused him, he watched the other sailors performing their duties, from mopping the deck to tightening and loosening ropes to checking the wooden boards to make sure they were still sound. Although he had been aboard for several weeks, he still did not understand all the business to running a ship. Neither did it interest him. He was not fond of ships.

  A man in a high, ruffled collar and puffed sleeves strode over to Sebastian and folded his hands behind his back. “The meeting is going a little long today?”

  It was Alvaro Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, the most annoying man on earth. At least, he annoyed Sebastian. The man was always asking obvious questions, interrogating someone or another, and usually making people feel guilty for something. He was one of the King’s favorites, a very wealthy and powerful man, who fretted and complained and griped about the “tiny little ship” that had “all the luxuries of a stable” and “smelled like a pig sty.” Not a day passed that he did not insult the Santa Clara and her crew. Sebastian tried to avoid him whenever possible.

  “Sebastian, you’re an intelligent lad who reads lots of books. What have you read lately?”

  “Amadis de Gaula, sir,” he replied through clenched teeth.

  “Oh. An adventure story. You would do better to read saints’ legends, boy, or at least the Sublimis Deus. Holy books for holy thoughts, to build character. None of that adventure trash you young people are so fond of nowadays. Or perhaps you’d like to read my own book, the one I wrote about the Indians in North America? I have a copy in my quarters.” At Sebastian’s lack of reply, he held out his copy of the Sublimis Deus. “Would you like to borrow this one for the remainder of the voyage? You do read Latin, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cabeza de Vaca fairly forced the book into the boy’s outer vest pocket. “Good boy. I’m sure you’ll agree with the Pope when he says that the natives of the New World are rational beings with souls who must not be enslaved or robbed. You do believe that, don’t you, son?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “There are many good Spanish men who have fallen for the trap of free labor here in the New World. They think the natives are here to serve them, instead of it being the other way around. You see, it is our duty as good Christian men to teach the pagans about God. We can only do that by meeting their needs…”

  Here we go again, thought Sebastian, but kept his thought to himself.

  “…but there are some men who abuse their trust and use them as free labor. Especially that preposterous governor Irala. Did you know that he actually encourages his men to take pagan wives? Shameful! A proper marriage in the eyes of God is between Spaniard and Spaniard, not Spaniard and Indian. Don’t you agree, boy?”

  A small spark of defiance burned in Sebastian’s eyes but he was careful to keep his jaw closed. His own father had recently taken an Indian wife. Although she spoke a pagan language, she was learning Spanish like a proper woman. Could his father be wrong to have married a native? He had converted her to Christianity before marrying her.

  “…don’t know why those men love Irala the way they do. He must be weak, to give his men what they want all the time. When I’m governor of Asunción, I’ll set down some rules and then there will be order instead of chaos. Why, I remember one time when I was living among the Indians in North America…”

  Sebastian suppressed a groan of agony. Cabeza de Vaca had spent ten years living with natives in North America, and it was all he talked about. Originally, he was supposed to be part of an expedition to explore Florida to chart potential treasures there, but his party had been split up and then disaster upon disaster befell them. Only four of the original two hundred men survived, Cabeza de Vaca being one of them, and when he finally returned to Spain, it was in disgrace. To save himself from losing all his titles, lands, and positions of respect, he wrote about his ten-year ordeal as if it were a spiritual blessing to have been gone for so long. He told about how he had a chance to preach the gospel to the Indians, and how he had become a faith healer. By turning his monetary failure into a spiritual success, he managed to regain respect from the royal court – so much so, in fact, that he had been granted a new position as governor of Asunción, to take the place of the present and very popular governor, Domingo Martínez de Irala.

  Sebastian wondered how his father would handle the news; it seemed that all the men who followed Irala adored him and would gladly follow him to certain death if he asked them to do so. Sebastian doubted that any of the soldiers would ever love Cabeza de Vaca.

  “…so that’s why they avoid eating fish. Are you listening to me, boy? Did you even hear a word I said?” Cabeza de Vaca heaved a heavy, patient sigh. “Sebastian, you’ve been a perfectly bland and polite person this entire voyage. You never rebel, you always follow regulations. You’re almost boring. What exactly is it that you wanted to do with your life?”

  Sebastian swallowed the growing lump of anger in his throat but kept his face neutral. Ignoring Cabeza de Vaca would only make him stand here longer, so Sebastian answered him. “I want to live a nice, quiet life, get married, have children, and see my grandchildren.”

  “So you’re not an adventurer like your father? You don’t take risks? You don’t gamble?”

  Sebastian kept his answer as short as possible. “No, sir.”

  “Hmm. What a remarkable young person. I, on the other hand, always strive to improve myself. I gained my estate by being shrewd with money, and I only invest in worthwhile ventures. Do you know why I came on this little ship? Aside from saving the Indians from Irala’s selfish desires?” He did not wait for a response. “There’s gold in the New World, boy. I can feel it. I’ve been lucky that it has eluded all the others, but it will not elude me. I’ve talked with the foremost explorers about the best ways to reach the land far to the west.” He winked at Sebastian. “When I get to Asunción, my men and I will take some volunteers through the Chaco to the land of wealth. I plan to triple my estate!”

  Sebastian kept his gaze fixed solidly on the cabin door, waiting for the captain’s order. Cabeza de Vaca did not seem to notice; he had entered his favorite subject of conversation: himself. He could talk about himself until he starved to death.

   “… and that’s the kind of life you need to aspire to, Sebastian. I say this for your own good. You need to have ambition in your life.” He patted Sebastian on the shoulder and gave him a fatherly smile.

  Sebastian gave him his best fake smile. “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Cabeza de Vaca smiled as if he had bestowed a kingship upon Sebastian. “That’s right. You’ll make a fine naval officer someday, boy. Just got to get some personality. And don’t forget to return my copy of the Sublimis Deus before we dock.” He wandered off to encourage some of the other sailors, leaving Sebastian to brew in quiet anger. His arms ached even worse now, but he would never show his fatigue to that annoying man.

  Several more minutes passed. Finally, Sebastian heard Captain Ramirez call him in.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting ,” he said, beckoning Sebastian toward him.

  All the officers looked tense. It was not his place as cabin boy to ask for details, so he set down the heavy dinner tray in front of the officers. Rolling his shoulders in small circles so nobody would see his relief, he arranged the plates and food on the table. Then he carefully poured some wine into each of the officers’ glasses. He returned the bottle to the tray and stepped back behind the captain’s seat, ready to serve again if he was needed.

  “That’s all,” said Captain Ramirez. “Go eat your dinner and come back when you’re done. We’re going to be here a while longer.”

  Sebastian gave a little half-bow and silently left the room, glad to be out so soon. At the same time, he was worried. Private business among the officers could mean trouble aboard ship. He decided to ask Father Gustavo, who often knew things before the captain did. But since his stomach was growling from hunger,
he decided to ask after dinner.

  The cook often made fun of Sebastian for being a chubby boy, but Sebastian was careful to eat no more than any of the other sailors. He never asked for more than his share of rations. It was true that his stomach rolled over the belt of his pants, but he was by no means as fat as the monks and bishops who prayed in the monasteries.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking, boy,” said the cook as he slopped watery stew into Sebastian’s plate. “Take your biscuit and get out. You’re the last one to eat; I’m waiting for you so I can clean up. And only take one biscuit, now. We don’t want you sinking the ship because you’re too heavy for it.” He laughed at his own mean joke.

  Sebastian frowned at cook’s cruelties. He took a biscuit from the wooden barrel and went to a corner to eat in peace. The stew tasted strongly of salt port and lime, and the biscuit was dry and crunchy and extremely hard. He longed for the day when they would reach Asunción and he could be on dry land again. Not that he was prone to seasickness, but sharing a caravel with forty men and twice as many animals made him feel claustrophobic.

  After taking one bite of the heavily salted stew, he gagged and made a face. It tasted awful, even more rotten than usual. Sebastian’s homesick mood grew and couldn’t help but thinking about his mother’s beef and vegetable stew back home. The more he thought about it, the more the idea of eating cook’s stew made him sick, so he decided he could skip a meal.

  “I’m going up deck,” he said.

  Cook shrugged. It made no difference to him what the boy did or did not do. He was too busy eating the rest of his stew to care about one overweight boy.

  Knowing that Cook would explode in anger if he threw food away, Sebastian took his plate and biscuit with him. Sailors who wanted to eat their dinner in the fading sunshine beckoned Sebastian to join them, but he did not feel like talking tonight. He made his way to the captain’s cabin and sat down outside the door. Nobody would bother him if they thought he was still on duty.

  Thoughts of his mother’s stew brought on a sudden bout of homesickness. Sebastian hated being pudgy, but since he was not an active boy, he accepted his soft arms and a flabby stomach. Yet his figure was by no means unattractive. If he ever did lose his chubbiness, he had broad shoulders that could support strong arms and a muscular back. He was tall for his age, almost as tall as his father, and he shared his father’s sharp nose and clefted chin. However, he got his auburn hair and hazel eyes from his mother, and her soft pouty lips too.

  He also inherited his mother’s favorite pastimes: reading, studying, drawing, playing music, and writing poetry – perfect activities for the cramped lifestyle aboard the ship. His gentle nature and intelligent answers made his a favorite of the officers although it drew criticism from the other shipmates when he was alone. They called him “my daughter” and “sweetheart” and often made him cry.

  Doña Segovia had spoiled him, he knew, but he loved her for it. She had good reason: all her other sons were dead, and Sebastian was the baby of the family by ten years. The Segovias were hidalgos, descended from an ancient royal bloodline, but so poor that they had to put aside their nobility and work for their food just like commoners. All the Segovia boys except Sebastian had chosen a naval career and became captains of their own ships. But war is cruel, and all three of them were killed protecting their country. Doña Segovia had grown overly protective of her youngest son and never would have let him set foot on the Santa Clara if she had been alive, not even as a cabin boy. But she had died two years ago, just after Don Segovia left for his second trip to the New World. Since then, Sebastian lived with an uncle who mostly ignored him.

  He fingered his father’s letter, tucked inside his shirt. I’ve built a home for us. Come join me.

  “I can’t wait until we land,” he muttered to himself. He leaned up against the cabin door. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture what his new home would be like and what new animals and plants he would have to learn. He wanted to draw everything he could, perhaps even someday be a famous scientist like Copernicus or Andreas Vesalius. He kept his eyes shut, trying to forget that he was in the middle of an empty ocean. Slowly, the noises of the caravel faded. Men ceased talking, the cook below stopped clanging his pots, and even the captain and his men inside the cabin made no sounds. Sebastian smiled to himself behind closed lids. “Powers of imagination, never be conquered,” he whispered aloud.

  His own whisper startled him. Often, to escape the lonely days, he would imagine himself elsewhere. But the reality of this imagination caused him to open his eyes. He looked around and saw that the sailors had indeed ceased talking. In fact, they were sleeping – and some of them began to snore.

  Frowning, Sebastian sat up a little bit straighter. The creak of a ladder caused him to turn his head, and he saw the ugly, weather-beaten face of Rodrigo Lopes peeping up at the sleeping crew. Sebastian closed his eyes again, sensing that he was in danger.

  “Hello?” called Rodrigo, timidly at first and then much louder. “Hello?”

  There was no answer. Rodrigo climbed up the ladder onto the main deck. “They’re all sleeping,” he announced. “It worked!”

  “Don’t just stand there talking!” hissed another sailor named Santino Ayala. “Check to see that the captain and the officers are out.”

  “I put the powder in their wine myself,” said Rodrigo. “A dose in their stew, and one in their wine? Of course they’re sleeping.”

  “I said go check.”

  Rodrigo sniffed but did as he was told. Sebastian kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep while Rodrigo carefully opened the cabin door. “Yep, they’re sleeping.”

  “Where’s Gato?” asked Santino, stepping over sailors as he walked the deck. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Gato!”

  “On my way, sir,” replied Gato, a short, scrawny man whose cat-like footsteps made no sound as he approached from behind. “Everyone below is asleep.”

  Santino rubbed his hands together. “Perfect. I can’t believe how easy this was! We’re right on schedule, and about to become rich. Congratulations, gentlemen!”

  “And to you, Captain,” replied Rodrigo, stressing the title. “What do you plan to do with your own ship?”

  “Paint her black and pillage my heart out,” laughed Santino, pinching the end of his beard.

  “Just how long is the potion supposed to last?” asked Gato.

  Santino kicked the sleeping body of the sailor closest to him. “As long as we need. Maybe four or five hours. Of course, Cook will probably sleep an entire day, with the way he eats.”

  Gato scanned the empty ocean uneasily, looking for a pirate ship named the Blue Sparrow. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

  Santino shrugged. “She’s coming. Give it time. She’ll be here.”

  “But what if she doesn’t come? What if everyone wakes up before she gets here?”

  “Then we follow our emergency plan, remember? We pretend to be asleep, just like everyone else, and we blame it on rotten food.” Santino grabbed Gato by the collar and pulled him so close. “You did remember to hide the bag of sleeping powder, didn’t you?”

  Gato nodded, eyes wide in fear. “I have it right here in my pocket, sir. Captain.”

  Santino released his hold. “Good. Then we have nothing to worry about. Let’s go get some early rewards, shall we?” He laughed again and climbed down the ladder that led to the crew’s sleeping quarters.

  Gato furrowed his eyebrows. “Early rewards?”

  Rodrigo sighed and spoke as he would to a child. “We’re supposed to pay fifty percent to the Blue Sparrow, right?”

  “Right…”

  “So what they don’t know we have, they won’t miss, right?”

  Understanding dawned in Gato’s eyes. “Oh, right!”

  “Just make sure it fits in your pockets so they don’t search you. I’m gonna see what Cook’s been hiding all this time. You go check the sailors on this deck. But leave the cabin f
or Santino.”

  Gato waited for Rodrigo to climb below before he muttered, “Why does Santino get all the good stuff?” Then he walked to the front of the Santa Clara and methodically began to check the sleeping sailors for gold pieces, necklaces, medallions, rings, and any other trinkets that could be safely hidden within his pockets.

  Sebastian let out a breath he had been holding. His neck ached from being held in a bad position for so long, but he did not dare move for fear that Gato would suspect something. Then again, Gato seemed like a real idiot, so Sebastian thought he could risk moving his head just a little bit, and very slowly.

  Mutiny! It was a mutiny! No, Sebastian corrected himself, it was worse. It was piracy. His own crewmates had turned pirate. And apparently they had been planning this for quite some time, probably before they set sail from Spain. Sebastian’s blood ran cold to think how helpless they were. He had heard tales of the Blue Sparrow, and none of them were comforting. Probably they would be sold into slavery – or simply murdered. He began to panic. He imagined himself being thrown overboard and forced to tread water until he died of exhaustion. Or got eaten by sharks. Or maybe they’d tie an anchor to his legs and he wouldn’t even get the chance to tread water or be eaten by sharks.

  He had to force himself to calm down and think. What could he, youngest pampered son of the Segovia family, do? Should he try to rescue the crew somehow? Should he escape? Could he take the captain’s dinghy and sail away in it? Night was falling and it would be dark soon. What if someone noticed he was missing? Would they pursue him? Would they torture him to death instead of just letting him walk the plank?

  Gato had forgotten to close the cabin door, and now Sebastian peered inside. The officers were indeed sleeping, their wine glasses completely emptied. Sebastian himself felt slightly drowsy, and he had only taken one bite of stew.

  I bet that’s how they got the rest of the crew, he thought. I’m glad I didn’t eat the stew.

  It was eerie to be on such a silent ship. Gato muttered to himself from time to time as he played pickpocket. Finally he joined the other mutineers below deck.

  Sebastian saw his chance to slip into the cabin and try to rouse the captain, but he was afraid. He had never been a brave boy. Once, when the family was all together for a holiday, his oldest brother had captured some mice and set them in Sebastian’s bed. Sebastian fell asleep and woke up screaming as furry little bodies with sharp toenails scampered over his body and ran away. His parents had come to see what was wrong, of course. Doña Segovia cradled ten-year-old Sebastian to sleep as if he were a baby, all the while scolding his older brothers. Don Segovia, however, stared at Sebastian with such disproving eyes that Sebastian felt so ashamed of himself that he wet the bed, which made his father even more upset. “That boy will never amount to anything great,” he had said. “He’s as much a mouse as the ones that made him scream.”

  It was the memory of his father’s keen disappointment that drove Sebastian to enter the cabin. Since that day, he had tried to earn his father’s approval, but somehow he always failed. Sebastian did not want to die tonight with his father still thinking him a coward. He must survive! And he must save his crew!

  He crawled over to the captain’s chair. “Captain,” he whispered. “Captain.”

  Nothing happened. Nobody moved, nobody stirred. It felt like being a room with dead men, except for the occasional snores. He dared not raise his voice above a whisper, and he dared not stay in the cabin too long lest Gato return and find him missing. He hesitated, and then did something dreadful – he pinched the captain as hard as he could.

  The captain moved, but just a little bit. Sebastian pinched him again.

  This time, he woke up. He swatted at his leg lazily, like a man swatting at a mosquito during naptime. “What’s that? Who’s there?”

  Sebastian chose his words carefully, knowing that he must have the captain’s full attention if possible. “It’s me, sir.  We’re under attack. The Blue Sparrow is about to kill us all!”

  “Blue sparrow? Attack?” Captain Rodriguez turned his head so it rested more comfortably on his arm. “No birds here, boy…” He dozed back to sleep. Another pinch woke him up, this time with more alertness. He glared at his cabin boy. “Sebastian! What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry, sir. You’ve been drugged. You all have. I’m the only one awake, and a pirate ship is coming to take all our cargo. What do I do?”

  Captain Ramirez struggled to sit up. “Do?” He looked dazed. “Pirates?”

  Sebastian shook him, hoping to clear his head of the potion. “There are three mutineers on board, sir. What do I do?”

  It was no use. The captain fell back on the table, his cheek cushioned on a hard biscuit.

  Sebastian crawled back to his original “sleeping” position, his heart pounding in his throat. He was scared, he was outnumbered, and he felt like crying. Stop it, he told himself. Stop acting like a little child.

  A tear slid down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away. As he stared at the sleeping sailors, he saw that Father Gustavo’s body was among them. He had no time to go to his friend, because Gato was returning. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep again while Gato rechecked pockets to see if he had missed anything.

  Every morning Father José greeted Sebastian with a smile and the words, “Be the man you want to be.” He repeated those words again before Sebastian fell asleep. Now, as Sebastian gazed at his friend through slitted eyes, the words began to pound in his brain. Be the man you want to be. Be the man you want to be.

  The words suddenly made sense to Sebastian. Well, he thought, I can either sit here feeling sorry for myself, feeling scared, and wanting to cry… or I can do something brave to save us all. But what?

  No ideas sprang to mind. All he could do was wait.