Sailor followed Mowsel’s gaze with his own eyes. “Does Pello know we will be leaving?”
“Yes. He is at peace with it. You will not offend him. Pello, Arrosa, and I will attend to Unai, Usoa, and Kepa. Still, it is your choice. Each of you must decide what you must do.”
For Sailor there was no choice. His decision had already been made, and without asking, I knew Ray felt the same. In my heart, so did I. We were going after the Fleur-du-Mal and that was that. The guilt of breaking a promise and not saying a proper farewell to our friends would have to be the price. All paths of action have a toll. Revenge has several.
Pello and Arrosa walked with us to the docks. Awkwardly, we all embraced in a great rush. I would miss Arrosa and told her so, then thanked her for everything she had done. She smiled and said, “I think it is I, señor, who should be thanking all of you. Especially you,” she added, dropping her smile and looking straight at Sailor. Sailor nodded in silence. Pello told me I would have to come to the Pyrenees when our business was concluded and I promised I would, for Kepa’s memory and my own peace of mind. Mowsel said he expected to rejoin them on the train “somewhere between here and Zaragoza.” Then Pello and Arrosa were gone, into the streets of Barcelona and eventually into the mountains of northern Spain.
“Come,” Mowsel said, “we have much to do.”
The last rays of sunlight were fading fast by the time we had transferred and loaded everything we needed onto the Emme, our new ship and home at sea. At first glance, she appeared to be a simple, somewhat altered, small schooner, maybe sixty-five or seventy feet in length and no more than twenty across. In reality she was something else entirely. She had been cleverly refitted on and belowdecks with hidden state-of-the-art navigation equipment, armaments, diving accoutrements, and bolted down between two central bulkheads, a specially built lightweight Rolls-Royce engine that powered two concealed propellers in the rear. She had a shallow draft and could sail close to the wind. Painted dark blue and black, and almost invisible in deep water or at night, the Emme was beautiful, fast, and dangerous. I was impressed, as was Sailor, who commented that his favorite vessel to sail had always been the schooner.
It was obvious the ship had experience in clandestine missions. However, it was difficult to imagine from the appearance, attitude, and manners of the ship’s three-man crew and captain. The crew was young, late twenties or early thirties, and the captain looked to be only a few years older, yet they all were extremely polite and at ease around us. They each spoke softly, in English laced with varying degrees of a French accent. Two of the crew had neatly trimmed full beards, the third was clean-shaven, and the captain wore a goatee, which was sprinkled here and there with gray. Mowsel introduced him simply as “Captain B” and the others went by nicknames. Together, they made an efficient unit, practiced and precise, but relaxed.
We were given private cabins and Captain B led us on a short tour of his ship, pointing out everything we would need to know. Then he mentioned that if we got to the Balearics by midnight we might catch a good ride on a little breeze coming out of Africa. I looked at Ray to see if that could mean a storm was brewing, but he shook his head and mouthed the word “nothin’.” Captain B said we should leave soon and Trumoi-Meq asked if we could have a few minutes alone before we set sail. We gathered in Sailor’s cabin and Mowsel spoke to him first.
“This Giza, Captain B, is aware of who we are and can be trusted completely.”
“I assumed as much,” Sailor said.
Mowsel paused, staring into Sailor’s “ghost eye.” “I think we should attempt to contact Zeru-Meq.”
“No, no, please. A waste of time, I tell you, an absolute waste of time. That tree will not bear fruit, old friend. Ask Zianno. He remembers how troublesome that can be.”
I looked at Sailor, then Mowsel. “How can Zeru-Meq help?”
“Have Sailor tell you about the death of Aitor, your grandfather, Zianno.”
I stared at Sailor and my mouth dropped open. ”What do you know? Why have you never mentioned this before?”
“You never asked,” he said flatly.
Instantly, blood came rushing to my face. I was glaring at Sailor. “That is no excuse!”
“Damn, Z,” Ray interrupted. “Settle down, will you? I believe you kept a couple of things from me, if I’m not mistaken.” He grinned and tapped me on the forehead.
“You’re right,” I said. I felt foolish and caught. “I’m sorry, Sailor.”
“Forget it, Zianno. Apology is unnecessary. I will tell you what I know in the next few days, then you decide for yourself how Zeru-Meq can help.”
I nodded and turned back to Trumoi-Meq. “Please get word to Owen Bramley, as soon as you are able. Tell him everything. They are expecting us back in St. Louis. They’ll want to know.”
“I will.”
“Mowsel?” Ray asked in a tone unusual for him. He almost sounded meek. “Try to find somethin’ out about Nova, would you?”
“I will.” He smiled and I stared into the gap of his missing tooth. “Hail Hadrian,” he said, then laughed and turned to go ashore. “Good luck,” he added, “it will likely be in short supply. By the way, in case you might need to know, the captain’s real name is Boutrain. And, Zianno, once you return and have the time to teach me, I want to learn to read the ‘old script.’”
I raised my hand and held it palm out, fingers slightly spread, facing Trumoi-Meq. “I will,” I said. He shut the door behind him and in a matter of seconds was off the Emme and disappearing into the early evening crowds that would only increase and swell through the night, from the waterfront all the way up Las Ramblas until early the next morning. By then the Emme would be well on her way through the Balearics and Mowsel would be somewhere on board a train for Zaragoza. And I would have dreamed of a young man wearing a faded red beret. He looked exactly like my papa, but he was not. His name was Aitor and he was reaching into a pool of water. He was reaching for the Octopus. It was the dead of night and he was not alone. Someone was behind him, whispering his name, laughing. Something long and shiny was in his hand.
The first four days on board the Emme went smoothly. We sailed far to the south, then caught the “breeze” Captain B was expecting out of Africa. We rode it east through the Strait of Sicily and nearly all the way to Gozo. Captain B proved to be a consummate sailor and it became clear his crew respected his ability as well as his authority. I learned early when I first went to sea with Captain Woodget that a sailor honors few things more than good seamanship. Even Umla-Meq, an expert and veteran at sea for centuries, watched and praised Captain B for maintaining maximum speed while exercising minimum maneuvering. “Using this complex rigging, keeping the speed he is keeping,” Sailor said, “one has to know what one is doing.”
I kept waiting for the moment Sailor would get around to telling me about the Fleur-du-Mal and the death of my grandfather. However, I also knew he was once again trying to teach me patience, and I was trying to learn. I just wasn’t a very good student.
Ray enjoyed this type of ship and this way of sailing. He and Captain B made fast friends and Ray spent most of his time alongside him at the wheel. The air was clean, the food was good, and the whole experience seemed to sharpen his mind and bring out the “Weatherman.” He began sensing something in every gust of wind, change of light, or shape of cloud. He sounded a little crazy at first, but I assured Captain B that Ray was authentic and dependable. If Ray said we were heading into trouble, I told Captain B he should heed Ray’s advice. And that is precisely what happened.