Thomas’ brow furrowed in bemusement, his eyes moving from between the scrap of paper and the First Mate’s scarred but angelic face. His surprise was genuine, and only amplified through the lens of Nicolette’s advice of secrecy from earlier. Parchment, and the charcoal upon it, was a traitorous instrument, and he did not trust it even in the hands of those he held in the highest esteem. 

Leaning forward, Thomas softened his expression, and looked at the First Mate. [i]It is late, and we are all off our best lines,[/i] he thought as he rested a hand gently over hers, staying her fingers from pressing the charcoal against the paper. He hoped that the tenderness of his touch would calm her, and would convey that his initial surprise held no malice.

“I can’t tell you who commanded the fleet,” Thomas said, “but I know she sailed with thirty-eight other ships, all bound for Havana, and Cádiz after. The galleons were laden with the usual cargo of gold, silver, gems, spices, sugar, and tobacco. Though my sources are not certain, the lost ship is said to be the [i]Madre Santisima[/i], commanded by a man named Gonzalo Martin. I myself have never heard of the man, but I assume that if he was in command of a ship carrying such treasure that he is not a complete dullard.”

It was then that Luc came to the table, laden with the cut pieces of cake. The sight brought a smile to his face. The simple joy of being among new and exciting company shone on the boy’s face like the sun off the waves of the Atlantic. It was a face filled with innocent hope and the trusted promise of better things to come. Thomas wondered if he had looked that way to Lightfoot as a young lad, and truthfully he hoped he had. 

Thomas withdrew his hand from the First Mate’s and began taking large bites of the moist cake, all the while watching Luc with a glint in his copper eyes. By the time the boy stood before him with his aunt’s hands upon his shoulders, resigned to his fate of bedtime at last, Thomas had downed the cake, and was washing it down with the last of his wine. With a final swallow and a sideways grin, Thomas pulled the old gold coin from his pocket. He took Luc’s hand in his own, placing the gold into his small palm before curling the boy’s fingers around the coin. 

“Goodnight, little master. Perhaps I shall see you on the morrow.”

He stood then, his smile moving up to Antonia, and his eyes looking to her with words of their own. [i]Another night, and not soon enough.[/i] 

Thomas adjusted the pistols and dagger on his back, and gathered up his plate and mug. “It is late, and there is much to do tomorrow. I will find my way to bed as well.” He gave the helmsman, the First Mate, and Antonia each a nod of farewell in turn before turning to place the stoneware into a large basin behind the bar. 

Before leaving the Parakeet, Thomas moved back the table almost as an afterthought. 

“Lieutenant,” he said, “if you wouldn’t mind meeting me on the [i]Skate[/i] in the morning at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it.” He looked up, addressing them all now. “I bid you all a good night.”

With that, Thomas turned on his heels, giving Antonia an affectionate squeeze of her hand as he walked past her, and out into the night. The morning promised much, and her kiss was scant hours away.