F. Paul Wilson - Infernal

"No… no manifest."

Jack sipped and considered how little sense this made.

"Without a manifest, what makes you think the wreck holds anything of value?"

"Because of another ship of the same class named San Pedro that went down two years before the Sombra . It was discovered back in the fifties and yielded gold bars, emerald-encrusted jewelry, and a couple thousand silver coins."

"Which must have kicked off a massive treasure hunt."

"It did. The gold rush turned up three hundred fifty different wrecks. And those are just the documented ones."

"But not much treasure, I'll bet."

Tom shook his head. "Not a whole hell of a lot. Most were just rotting wood."

Jack sighed. He didn't get this.

"What makes you think you'll find any more than that?"

"Wenzel. He did a lot of research and learned that the Sombra was carrying a very special cargo—the Lilitongue of Gefreda that Mendes mentioned."

"Which is?"

Tom's brow furrowed. "He didn't know, and couldn't find out. All his research yielded only a few veiled references. But apparently it was considered something of great value."

"Just what is a Lilitongue?"

"Haven't the foggiest. I Googled it and came up empty."

"Think it's shaped like someone's tongue?"

Tom made a face. "The word 'tongue' has a load of meanings besides that incessantly wagging muscle in your mouth. It can be anything from a spit of land to the pin on a belt buckle to the clapper inside a bell to the pole that runs between the horses on a stagecoach."

"So which is it?"

"I have no idea."

"And Gefreda?"

"Same thing. I assume it's either the name of the maker or the town where it was made. But I've got my own theory about the Lilitongue of Gefreda. I think it's some sort of jewel, or a unique piece of jewelry, and I'll bet it's worth a fortune."

Yeah, right, Jack thought. And I'm Captain Hook.

A lost jewel. Sheesh. Had Tom really bought into this?

The reefs Tom had mentioned, however, were apparently real, and they worried him.

"Three hundred and fifty sunken ships. Maybe those stories about the Bermuda Triangle are true."

"Don't tell me you believe any of that balderdash."

Jack had come to believe a lot of things he'd once considered "balderdash." He didn't want to add Bermuda Triangle lore to that list. At least not while he was sailing through it.

"Well… easier to believe in than the Lilly Lips of Gandolfini."

"The Lilitongue of Gefreda. And forget the Bermuda Triangle. No one can even agree as to where the 'triangle' is supposed to be. But the wrecks are real. All three hundred and fifty of them have been mapped, but not one of them is called Sombra . And not one location matches the location on my map."

"So what's that tell you?"

"That it's waiting to be discovered!"

Jack shook his head. "Tells me it's probably not there. Or it was there once and the tides carried it off."

Jack refolded the sheet and tapped it against his thigh.

"I don't get it, Tom. This treasure map thing… where's it going?"

"Nowhere at the moment. But someday I'm going to dive that wreck and find the Lilitongue of Gefreda."

"When? I thought you were going to disappear."

He shrugged. "Maybe someday I'll sneak back."

Yeah, right.

"Speaking of disappearing, it's no easy thing these days. You'll need help."

"Like who?"

"Me. I can put you in touch with folks who can fit you for a new identity."

Tom looked touched. Maybe even a tad guilty.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah," he said, but knew he was really doing it for Dad.

Afiaza Harbor—Tenerife

March 14, 1598

Brother Francisco Mendes smelled the rot, heard the scuttling of the rats as he picked his way through the oaken beams, braces, and knees of the Sombra's midship cargo hold. Had this been a galleon, the hold would have been crowded with rows of cannon and bins of shot and powder. Not so an unarmed merchant nao .

Francisco had suspected that the ship was running light, and indeed it was. As much as he had wanted to, no opportunity to inspect the hold had presented itself until now.

He had guided the Sombra along the first leg of the established merchant route: out from Cadiz into the Atlantic, past Gibraltar, then hugging the African coast, keeping land always in sight. The planned route led south to Cape Verde, where they would turn due west and head for the Caribbean.

But Francisco had seen to it that Captain Gutierrez fell sick as they approached the Canary Islands. The first mate, a wisp of a man named Adolpho Torres, had argued for a return to Cadiz but the captain had forbidden it. A matter of pride.

Francisco had guided the Sombra to Afiaza Harbor on Tenerife where they had anchored and had the captain taken ashore for treatment.

And now, here in the hold, his suspicions were confirmed. Sombra was indeed running light. He'd found bolts of fabric, worked iron, samples from many of Spain's manufacturing sectors… but only samples.

Why? Merchant ships unfailingly set sail with their holds packed floor to ceiling, leaving no space, no matter how small, empty. That was why their crews usually slept on the deck. They slept on the Sombra's deck too. Not because of lack of space below, but by captain's orders.

Yet to Francisco even this half-empty hold seemed too crowded, the air too thick. He felt his throat closing.

He forced himself forward. He had a description of the relic—or rather its container—but so far had had no luck finding it. He wanted to locate it before the ship got under way again. Moving belowdecks with a lamp held high was difficult enough on a docked ship. But once at sea the pitching and rolling might cause him to drop the lamp. The greatest threat to a ship—greater even than running into one of England's race-built galleons—was fire. Once they put to sea again he would need another pair of hands to help him. Those would be Eusebio's, but Francisco could not risk anyone learning of their connection. Not yet, at least.

Eusebio had been conducting his own clandestine searches, taking turns with Francisco while the ship was in port. But it would not be there much longer.

His search so far—nearly an hour—had yielded nothing. Could the cardinal have been wrong? Was the relic on another ship, perhaps?

But then, as he lifted a bolt of dark blue fabric, he spied a small chest tucked into the forward port corner. It perfectly fit the description: small, almost square, with teak sides and brass fittings.

The Lilitongue of Gefreda… what was it? What was its dark power?

Better not to know.

And now, God forgive him, he must take the next steps in the plan.

"Senor Mendes?"

Francisco started at the sound of his name and dropped the fabric. He turned and found one of the crew hanging from the rope ladder to the deck.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Senor—I mean, Captain Torres wishes to see you immediately."

"Captain Torres?"

"I am afraid so, senor."

Eusebio had told him that the crew did not like the first mate. But from the sound of it, he was now in charge. Francisco hoped that Captain Gutierrez had not died. He had grown to like the man during the short time he had known him. He had intended to give the captain only enough poison to make him sick. He prayed he had not miscalculated the dose.

With uncertainty gnawing at his viscera, Francisco climbed the ladder and headed for the officers' quarters.

He found Torres standing in the middle of the captain's cabin. Everything about the man was thin: thin physique, thin lips, thin face, thin hair.

"I was informed that you were in the hold. What were you doing down here?"