their brains for shipping routes and cargos for more reasons than polite conversation. Between the knowledge gleaned from boastful lips and his own private resources, he knew exactly where ships full of treasure would be and how to take them without a single loss of life. If one must pirate, why not pirate with style?
But with rank came added burden. Willie and the others were blissfully unaware that their quarry’s charred hull would soon wash up on a sandy beach some fifty miles away. That awareness of the future ate at Ian’s conscience. These poor souls were doomed, but he was powerless to intervene—the consequences of interfering could be dire. The past could not be changed; it was a rule he dared not break again, and the reason he and his crew only raided vessels already destined to never see port again.
Ah, look at the sky. Time to go.
“Lads, there’s a storm brewing,” he yelled into the rising wind. “We must hurry and take our leave.” His crew carried their spoils back to his ship.
With a jaunty tip of his hat to the galleon’s tied captain, he followed the last of his men back to the Maid. They readied the sails run before the gale. They’d be long gone before the galleon’s crew worked free of their bonds.
His blood pounded in his veins. At moments like these he lost himself in the role he played. They’d taken on a larger, better armed ship, and won, filling their hold with the spoils of battle. And he’d led the way. He, Ian Lewis, a pirate captain. Who would have thought?
“Take us to Kingston, Mr. Martin,” he instructed Willie. “I’m going below to inspect our cargo.”
Boot heels clicking against the deck, Ian descended into the hold, locating a lantern in the darkness and lighting the wick with a device that would have his men screaming and running in fear if they saw its use. With the mere flick of a finger, an inch-long flame appeared, and a casual observer might think it sprang from his very hand. He concealed the device in his waistcoat, hidden away from even the nimble fingers of the accomplished pick-pockets above deck. How different the world would be if his band of rogues got their hands on his butane lighter. Perish the thought.
Bags and chests of gold coins and other valuables filled the hold, waiting to be divided among the crew. Ian rifled through the most recent pile. Gold, gold, and more gold. The crew would be happy. Jewels. Those would bring a pretty penny. The bangles once worn by common folks of a lost civilization would be good enough for pirates. Ian was of a more discerning mind.
He checked and double-checked, heart pounding out a heavy beat. Damn it! The statue wasn’t here! That could only mean–the sister ship. Damn it! Ian sighed. He’d chosen the wrong fucking ship.
A pre-Colombian artifact of the finest gold, suspected to have been melted down for depicting two male lovers old records had claimed of the joining statue from the time of Inca Emperor Huayna Capac. And yet, time and again on dig sites Ian had tuned in to rumors, whispers of how the statue survived. Who were the men? Persons of importance, no doubt, to be so immortalized. Ian had his own theories. Damn the invading Spaniards for looting and destroying everything in sight.
Why did conquering armies always insist on wiping out centuries-old cultures? Cultures men like Ian would spend countless hours trying to decipher and preserve? He closed his eyes, picturing a peaceful village high in the Andes mountains, torn asunder by greed and the search for glory. He couldn’t save those people any more than he could save the crew of the Spanish galleon.
But what he could save, he would.
Time was running out. He needed to find that piece, and soon, if it even still existed, before it was lost forever.
No help for it. He’d have to make at least one more raid before slinking off into the proverbial sunset.
But for now, he had prizes to divide.
Hmm… Pirates could never fully appreciate such rare antiquities, seeing only finely wrought gold and stones they couldn’t name. The ornate earrings, heavy with turquoise, would have been reserved for a high ranking Inca, perhaps even the emperor himself, or his family. Those perfectly matched lapis arm bands were extraordinary.
What was this? Pottery? He held a particularly elaborate piece up to the light to get a better view. Oh, naughty, naughty. The