The Santa Carmen continued to sail across the calm Caribbean waters like a golden wooden colossus beneath the warm light of sunset. Her sails, fully unfurled, caught the gentle, steady breeze that swelled the canvas with a whisper almost reverent. The surface of the sea, smooth as a polished mirror, reflected the fiery tones of the sky: deep oranges, creamy pinks, and fading blues that dissolved into night. Every flap of the rigging and creak of the hull sounded like the ship's slow, confident breathing.
Yet on deck, sailors and officers watched with unease the silhouette of the vessel steadily approaching them. The lookout did not take his eyes off it until, finally, details emerged through the spyglass. That was when he sounded the alarm.
The young woman lay back, dozing off as she read the latest pirate novel written by Balin under a pseudonym, until she slipped into a deep sleep, lulled by the ship's gentle motion, the creaking wood, and the sea breeze that had begun to cool the cabin. At that moment, the ship's bell began to ring. A flurry of hurried voices echoed through the corridor, prompting the marchioness to sit up and step outside, followed by the countess, the confessor, and the notary, all eager to see what was happening as officers rushed about giving orders.
Margarita stopped the aide Luis Carlos, who was hurrying past.
"Don Luis, what's going on?" she asked, just as the countess arrived, her face pale.
"For Holy Mary's sake! What is happening? What is all this commotion on deck?" the countess exclaimed, visibly distressed.
"The ship we spotted is getting closer, and we suspect there may be a situation," he said.
"What kind of situation?" Margarita asked.
The officer cleared his throat. "We haven't confirmed yet, but... it might be..."
"For the love of God, just say it!" cried the countess, now terrified.
"Pirates," the admiral said as he arrived.
Upon hearing the word, the countess felt her legs give way and had to be supported by the officer and a nearby sailor. The notary looked utterly horrified, his face as white as wax. It was as if his whole life were flashing before his eyes—perhaps wondering why he had traded the safety of his office in Madrid for being aboard a ship in the middle of the ocean.
"But we're not sure, right?" he murmured nervously.
"Holy Mother! Our Father—Don Diego... Father..." the countess babbled in terror. The priest arrived moments later, and upon hearing the news, began crossing himself repeatedly.
"Could it really be pirates?" he asked.
"We're not sure yet, but we're taking the necessary precautions. I recommend you all return to your cabins. Marcial," he said, calling a sailor, "escort our distinguished passengers to their quarters."
"We'll stay together in one," the chaplain suggested.
"Would it be possible for me to go down to the cargo hold? I'd feel safer there," the notary asked.
"If the ship goes down, you'll be trapped there," Margarita replied.
Looking like he had seen a ghost, the notary ran back to his cabin and locked himself in, trembling.
Margarita, the chaplain, and the countess were escorted to their cabin and the door was shut. The countess and the priest dropped to their knees and began to pray, while Margarita rushed to the porthole. She saw the strange vessel approaching under full sail, and by the course it was taking—according to what she had read in pirate novels—it was clearly maneuvering to stay out of cannon range.
"No doubt about it. They're pirates," said the marchioness with a smile.
The comment made the countess and the priest tighten their prayers.
Aboard the Santa Carmen, the entire crew was on alert, watching the ship close in like a predator. The admiral and the captain glared at the vessel, which was speeding toward them. Suddenly, it began to reef one of its sails to slow down. Silence fell over the galleon. When the ship came close enough, all doubts were dispelled. From the mainmast, a black flag was hoisted—bearing a skull with red eyes and an Elvish symbol on its forehead.
The captain and officers looked at the admiral, who gestured for them to prepare for battle. The bell rang, drummers began to beat the signal, and the crew rushed to their muskets as the cannon ports opened.
The vessel came close enough that its name could be read through the spyglass. A collective sigh of relief spread through the crew when they realized it wasn't The Infamous, but another ship named Gárnor, whose crew stood on deck ready for combat and boarding, their cannons already in position.
The Gárnor drew nearer and came to a halt at a short distance. Then Captain Skippy raised a megaphone.
"Ahoy, you aboard the galleon!" he shouted. "We are the Gárnor, and we're here to negotiate. We seek no fight—if you agree to transfer your cargo."
The captain of the Santa Carmen took the megaphone and replied, "And what if we refuse?"
Captain Skippy smiled.
"Then there will be hell on earth."
A murmur rippled through the crew. The admiral took the megaphone from the captain.
"This is Admiral Don Gonzalo de Vera y Montenegro, commander of the Viceroyal Fleet. I remind you that the Santa Carmen is armed with over seventy cannons. We carry cargo belonging to His Majesty the King of Spain, and we will not negotiate with any pirate. You are offered the chance to turn back the way you came—or you will regret it."
There was a pause, then the Gárnor's captain replied:
"You leave me speechless. Facing that many cannons on such a beast sounds intimidating and frightening—but the King's cargo… sounds worth it."
The admiral clenched his jaw. The man's sarcasm, turning his words back on him, enraged him.
"You have been warned, scoundrel... If you come within two cables of us, you'll get what you deserve."
Mocking laughter rang out from the Gárnor, in stark contrast to the sepulchral silence aboard the Santa Carmen.
"Since the peaceful option was rejected… we have nothing more to say but: prepare to be boarded," Captain Skippy declared, lowering the megaphone and giving the order to attack.
Chaplain Don Diego, who had climbed up to spy on the situation, returned to the cabin in terror, rushing to the marchioness's room. The countess had retreated to a corner, weeping in fear, while the marchioness kept watching through the porthole.
Then the cannons roared.
The shouts of pirates and Spaniards rang out from both ships, followed by the explosions of cannonballs hitting their marks. Musket fire rang out, and the masts creaked as they were struck by chain shot spinning from the Gárnor's cannons, slashing through the galleon's rigging. The Santa Carmen returned fire, but the lighter, nimbler Gárnor moved like a wolf circling a mammoth. With each pass, the gap narrowed, until the ships were side by side, and the pirates prepared to board through a dense fog of smoke from the volleys of both ships.
The pirates took their positions, armed with cutlasses, axes, and swords, gripping ropes to swing across. When the distance was right, the captain gave the order:
"Board them!"
The boatswain echoed the command, and the first wave of pirates—led by a burly Black man named Nigel Knox—readied to leap. A collective cry rose like the howl of a steppe wolf pack, chilling the blood of many Spaniards. It could even be heard in the cabins, where the countess, the confessor, and the notary trembled in terror, wishing they could vanish with a pouf.