latest entry: the floor plans to the Alcazar-the viceroy of the Indies' mansion-and the governor's palace. With a sigh of dissatisfaction, he carefully placed the journal at the bottom of his trunk, beneath his finest silk hose. Although he had been successful in gathering his information, he felt only contempt for himself. At times he felt as if he were betraying a friend. He had come to enjoy his long conversations with Don Rodrigo. They had found tha t they had much in common, despite their different nationalities and faiths. He respected the Spaniard, and he despised himself for sneaking up to his room like some thief in the night and recording all that Don Rodrigo had confided to him.
Sir Basil found it hard to meet his own eyes in his reflection in the mirror as he cleaned the ink his fingertips with a dampened cloth. Even the sad-faced Madonna staring down at him from the painting hanging above his bed seemed to be accusing him of some heinous crime. Rather than remain in his room any longer, which was his custom as well as that of the other occupants of the casa at this time of the day, he decided to seek a diversion from his guilty thoughts. Giving a last cursory glance at his appearance, he left the room, pausing for a moment to admire the brilliance of the exotic flowers in the courtyard. As he stood there staring down, he became aware of a child's voice raised in conversation. He searched the courtyard and was rewarded by a movement near a tall potted palm. Lily Christian was sitting cross-legged in front of a large wooden cage filled with brightly colored birds. The larger parrots and macaws with their scarlet, yellow, and azure plumage and strident cries caught and held the child's attention. Sir Basil smiled, wishing for a moment that he could join Lily in her childish amusements. It was then that he heard the commotion below, little realizing that his life was about to change drastically because of it.
Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro, captain of the Estrella D'Alba , which had just docked, and former captain of the Maria Concepción , which was now on the bottom of the sea courtesy of Geoffrey Christian, looked around the entrance hall of Casa del Montevares with annoyance.
"¿Qué es esto?" he demanded in growing anger as he continued to stare at the empty entrance hall. "¿Como está? ¿Como està?" he called out but received no response. "¡Madre de Dios!" he muttered, not having missed the amused glances that passed between the two gentlemen standing just behind him.
"Pedro, por favor!" Catalina pleaded, not wishing for their arrival to be marred by an unpleasant meeting between her husband and her father, both of whom could be so unreasonable at times.
"You would think we were English raiders come to dine the way those servants ran and hid when they saw us," Don Pedro exclaimed, aware that his scornful words carried to the two gentlemen behind him, but unaware of how close to the mark his words really were.
"No me siento bien, Madre," the little boy holding on to Catalina's hand whined. " Me siento mareado."
"¡Dios mio! If you get sick on my gown again, Francisco . . ." his harassed mother complained, thinking that was all she needed with Pedro fuming, one daughter sulking while the other two traded pinches, her mother ill, her father disappeared, and, now, Magdalena coming down the stairs-
"Aaaah!" Catalina cried out, scaring poor Francisco into a fit of hiccups, her daughters into high-pitched squeals, and causing Don Pedro to spin around, his sword drawn and at the ready only to have its tip caught and pulled out of his grasp in the stiff folds of Catalina's gown as she hurried past him.
"¿Qué?" she said, spinning around just as Don Pedro made a futile reach to recapture his elusive sword. The laughter of the two gentlemen, not to mention the strangely muffled sounds coming from the deeply cowled priest standing just behind them, did not help to lessen Don Pedro's growing frustrations
Sir Basil found it hard to meet his own eyes in his reflection in the mirror as he cleaned the ink his fingertips with a dampened cloth. Even the sad-faced Madonna staring down at him from the painting hanging above his bed seemed to be accusing him of some heinous crime. Rather than remain in his room any longer, which was his custom as well as that of the other occupants of the casa at this time of the day, he decided to seek a diversion from his guilty thoughts. Giving a last cursory glance at his appearance, he left the room, pausing for a moment to admire the brilliance of the exotic flowers in the courtyard. As he stood there staring down, he became aware of a child's voice raised in conversation. He searched the courtyard and was rewarded by a movement near a tall potted palm. Lily Christian was sitting cross-legged in front of a large wooden cage filled with brightly colored birds. The larger parrots and macaws with their scarlet, yellow, and azure plumage and strident cries caught and held the child's attention. Sir Basil smiled, wishing for a moment that he could join Lily in her childish amusements. It was then that he heard the commotion below, little realizing that his life was about to change drastically because of it.
Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro, captain of the Estrella D'Alba , which had just docked, and former captain of the Maria Concepción , which was now on the bottom of the sea courtesy of Geoffrey Christian, looked around the entrance hall of Casa del Montevares with annoyance.
"¿Qué es esto?" he demanded in growing anger as he continued to stare at the empty entrance hall. "¿Como está? ¿Como està?" he called out but received no response. "¡Madre de Dios!" he muttered, not having missed the amused glances that passed between the two gentlemen standing just behind him.
"Pedro, por favor!" Catalina pleaded, not wishing for their arrival to be marred by an unpleasant meeting between her husband and her father, both of whom could be so unreasonable at times.
"You would think we were English raiders come to dine the way those servants ran and hid when they saw us," Don Pedro exclaimed, aware that his scornful words carried to the two gentlemen behind him, but unaware of how close to the mark his words really were.
"No me siento bien, Madre," the little boy holding on to Catalina's hand whined. " Me siento mareado."
"¡Dios mio! If you get sick on my gown again, Francisco . . ." his harassed mother complained, thinking that was all she needed with Pedro fuming, one daughter sulking while the other two traded pinches, her mother ill, her father disappeared, and, now, Magdalena coming down the stairs-
"Aaaah!" Catalina cried out, scaring poor Francisco into a fit of hiccups, her daughters into high-pitched squeals, and causing Don Pedro to spin around, his sword drawn and at the ready only to have its tip caught and pulled out of his grasp in the stiff folds of Catalina's gown as she hurried past him.
"¿Qué?" she said, spinning around just as Don Pedro made a futile reach to recapture his elusive sword. The laughter of the two gentlemen, not to mention the strangely muffled sounds coming from the deeply cowled priest standing just behind them, did not help to lessen Don Pedro's growing frustrations
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