Galleon's Gold Read online

  Galleon’s Gold

  (Alicia Myles #5)

  By

  David Leadbeater

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  The Matt Drake Series

  A constantly evolving, action-packed romp based in the escapist action-adventure genre:

  The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)

  The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)

  The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3)

  The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)

  Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)

  The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake #6)

  Blood Vengeance (Matt Drake #7)

  Last Man Standing (Matt Drake #8)

  The Plagues of Pandora (Matt Drake #9)

  The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake #10)

  The Ghost Ships of Arizona (Matt Drake #11)

  The Last Bazaar (Matt Drake #12)

  The Edge of Armageddon (Matt Drake #13)

  The Treasures of Saint Germain (Matt Drake #14)

  Inca Kings (Matt Drake #15)

  The Four Corners of the Earth (Matt Drake #16)

  The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake #17)

  Weapons of the Gods (Matt Drake #18)

  The Blood King Legacy (Matt Drake #19)

  Devil’s Island (Matt Drake #20)

  The Fabergé Heist (Matt Drake #21)

  Four Sacred Treasures (Matt Drake #22)

  The Sea Rats (Matt Drake #23)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  Caribbean Gold (Alicia Myles #3)

  Chasing Gold (Alecia Myles #4)

  The Torsten Dahl Thriller Series

  Stand Your Ground (Dahl Thriller #1)

  The Relic Hunters Series

  The Relic Hunters (Relic Hunters #1)

  The Atlantis Cipher (Relic Hunters #2)

  The Amber Secret (Relic Hunters #3)

  The Rogue Series

  Rogue (Book One)

  The Disavowed Series:

  The Razor’s Edge (Disavowed #1)

  In Harm’s Way (Disavowed #2)

  Threat Level: Red (Disavowed #3)

  The Chosen Few Series

  Chosen (The Chosen Trilogy #1)

  Guardians (The Chosen Trilogy #2)

  Heroes (The Chosen Trilogy #3)

  Short Stories

  Walking with Ghosts (A short story)

  A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)

  All genuine comments are very welcome at:

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @dleadbeater2011

  Visit David’s website for the latest news and information:

  davidleadbeater.com

  Contents

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  ROGUE - Excerpt

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Year 1733

  Gabriel had sailed with many ships since he was thirteen. Now, at twenty eight, he thought of himself as a seasoned sailor, and pretending to be a cabin boy aboard the Santa Azalea was hard.

  She was nearing the end of her four-month journey from Manila to Acapulco. Spirits were high and plentiful aboard the four-deck, 2100 ton vessel. She was a heavy beast, drawing over forty feet of water and wallowing beneath the plentiful riches that she carried from coast to coast.

  Gabriel was a tall, striking, blue-eyed man that many found hard to forget in these dark times. He’d sailed aboard two previous Manila galleons, but this was the first he’d traveled in as a spy. The Santa Azalea was a proud ship, short and broad but adorned with all the latest fineries. They reckoned she cost well over 2,000 pesos to build. Gabriel enjoyed her. If it weren’t for his subterfuge, he’d have had the voyage of his life.

  The crew were agreeable for the most part. Mostly old sea dogs telling stories and enjoying their lives at sea. But there were slaves too, and cutthroats. Gabriel often wondered if he were the only spy aboard. He probably wasn’t.

  He kept a diary describing his exploits, which he secreted upon his person at all times. Gabriel loved to write. He was self-taught at sea and pronounced the words as he heard them, which often confused those scholars who would later follow his exploits. But Gabriel didn’t care about any of that. As far as he was concerned, the diary was for his eyes only.

  Sailing aboard a Manila galleon bound for Acapulco was one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. Many sank with the loss of all hands. Many were set upon by pirates. Many more were attacked by Spain’s plentiful enemies. But they were also the largest ships of their time, often sailing in twos and threes and protected by an armada of warships. Gabriel found that, for the most part, probably due to the length and peril of the voyage, those sailors aboard the family of ships grew close and looked out for each other. Those that didn’t succumb to any debilitating diseases anyway.

  Which, again, made him feel like a fraud.

  Three weeks from Acapulco they fought a great storm. The decks listed, rose and dove like crazed seagulls. Waves swept the wooden planking of anything that wasn’t fastened down. Diego, a bearded man with a great belly laugh, fell from the top mast and was never seen again. The Santa Azalea took damage, and the sailors shivered below decks, but it was only cosmetic and she came through to calmer seas intact. In fact, all the ships survived and the next two weeks passed in a kind of contented delirium. Because, no matter how much a sailor loved the sea, he knew in his heart that she was an inconstant, uncaring mistress and might claim their lives at any moment.

  Less than one week away from Acapulco, even those men who’d been press-ganged into the voyage were looking cheerful. They knew that once they reached harbor there was very little to stop them going on the run again, this time in Mexico, far from home, where they might make a new life or sink into old habits. Either way, they would be their own masters, at least for a time.

  Gabriel too, was looking forward to docking. Though largely uneventful, it had been a long voyage, disease was running rampant, and the weather had not been on their side. The Pacific Ocean, whilst pleasant to look at along the coastline, was a black and blue killing machine, always hungry, always angry, never satisfied. Firm footing sounded good to Gabriel for a while—even the dirty, deadly port of Acapulco—and he couldn’t wait to see her coastl
ine.

  Two days from port it all changed. Gabriel was heading below decks as the sun began to set. The sky was looking turbulent, alive with scudding black clouds. The sails were flapping so loudly they sounded like enormous flocks of birds circling the decks. The ship was falling down troughs and peaking over crests in time to his stomach, battered from all sides. Gabriel reached one of the luxury cargo rooms where his masters had hidden their priceless treasures. He needed to check that they were safe before sailing into port. In truth, he knew that they would be—they were well hidden, and nobody was allowed down here during the voyage—but Gabriel was a cautious, proud man and he wanted to set his mind at rest.

  Proceeding cautiously down the stairs, he met the stone-faced guard stationed in front of a heavy oak door, paid the man once more, and headed inside. The cargo room was vast. Of course, most of this galleon was made up of storage space for goods. He shouldn’t be surprised. It made his cramped quarters, sleeping with three other men, a sad and laughable compromise.

  Gabriel looked around. Stacks of crates marched away in every direction, all moored to the flooring, all creaking and shifting several inches at a time. The ropes were strong and would hold, at least Gabriel hoped they would.

  “Make it quick.” The guard gave Gabriel a fright, appearing at his back.

  “We’re almost to port.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t enjoy betraying the Crown.”

  The Crown was the Spanish Empire, Gabriel knew. Often called “the empire on which the sun never sets.” Gabriel worried about it too, but he wouldn’t class their mission as a betrayal of the Crown.

  “We’re not stealing,” he said. “We’re not involved in subterfuge. All we’re doing is protecting a man’s assets, ensuring they arrive safely in port.”

  “That man paying you is not of the Crown. He’s not even Spanish.”

  “No, he’s American.” Gabriel shrugged. “And he’s our employer. I fail to see how that changes anything.”

  The guard shivered, as if a ghost had settled across his grave. “And I don’t like the sea when she’s like this.” He glanced sideways at the swaying timber walls, the ever-moving room. “She feels angry tonight.”

  Gabriel knew what he meant. Any sailor worth their salt would. The sea... she had a way about her. She let you know when she was disgruntled.

  “That, I understand,” he said. “Let’s get this over with quick.”

  Gabriel made his way between the unstable crates, counting the right rows one by one. When he reached the eighth, he turned left, following a dangerous, shifting path for a further twelve feet. Then he turned right. The crate, marked by a light brown lick of paint on the left side, stood before him. It was firmly fastened down. The lid, nailed shut, was untouched, undamaged. Gabriel was satisfied. The goods he had been paid to protect for the Americans were safe inside the Spanish galleon. Gabriel started to wonder about the port they were bound for and the man that would meet him there to receive his report.

  And then? What would he, Gabriel, do next?

  Gabriel was a pragmatist. He guessed every good sailor had to be. He believed life was never really under control and accepted it. The fair-weather winds would take him to wherever they chose. The sudden shouts of sailors were ironic then, he thought. Gabriel listened to their cries whilst meeting the guard’s eyes, then hurried out of the room.

  “What is it?” the guard hissed.

  Gabriel didn’t answer. He didn’t know. He retraced his earlier steps, stumbling from wall to wall. The floor was heaving beneath his feet. The galleon must have crested a peak, for it suddenly fell, smashing down a big wave and hitting the bottom of the trough with an almighty crash. Gabriel lost all control, sprawling, then was suspended briefly in mid-air before hitting the floor with a crash that broke his nose. The coppery smell of blood filled the air along with the heavy salt smell of the sea and tarred timber. Gabriel pulled himself up the stairs and onto the third deck.

  Sailors were running for their stations, colliding as the ship shifted; even the veterans looked scared.

  “What is it?” Gabriel grabbed the first man he recognized.

  “Hurricane.” The man’s mouth was twisted with fear. “Four months at sea. Then, less than a day out of port we’re beset hard. The sea loves her fucking jokes.”

  Gabriel hesitated, watching the chaos on deck, feeling the panic soak through his pores, absorbed from every passing man. Through the door ahead he saw the lashing rain, the rolling decks. He saw timbers snapping, the mainsail backing horribly. He saw the evil blackness of the skies and the winds and water that pounded and flogged the Santa Azalea.

  In his heart, he saw only death and destruction on the horizon for this night.

  And his loyalty now lay with his employers: the Americans.

  If he rescued the treasures from this storm, they would pay him handsomely.

  Gabriel hurried below decks.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Year 1733

  Gabriel found the guard sweating, his eyes small and terrified in the loose flesh of his face.

  “What is it, Gabriel?”

  “It is the end of this voyage. A hurricane. Help me with the goods.”

  The guard gaped. “Are you kidding? I’m getting off right now. Acapulco is close enough to make the swim.”

  “No, it isn’t. You’ll need a boat, otherwise the sea will claim you.”

  “You have a boat?”

  “Not yet. But I will get one.” Gabriel was itching to get on with it but recognized that he needed help.

  “I’m not the best swimmer,” the guard admitted.

  “But you’re a sailor,” Gabriel said.

  “No, I am a soldier of Spain. I didn’t ask for this post.”

  Gabriel nodded. In truth, many of the sailors he knew were poor swimmers. They lived their lives on ships, not splashing around in the waves. Luckily, he was not.

  “Come,” he said again. “Help me. If we save the cargo, we will be richly rewarded.”

  The guard looked convinced at last. Together, they pushed into the luxury goods room and found the precious crate with the brown striping. Gabriel climbed on top, grasping two edges as the decks lifted and the wooden containers shifted. He slid two feet to the right and then three feet back again. The guard held his breath, hoping he wouldn’t get crushed.

  “Iron crow.”

  The guard passed him a heavy crowbar, which Gabriel used to lever up the lid. When he was done, he threw planks of wood to the floor and jumped inside the crate. It was dark and musty in there, full of scuttling things, but Gabriel knew exactly what he was looking for. He had seen it the night before they loaded it.

  “Someone’s coming,” the guard whispered.

  Gabriel ducked back inside the crate. “Get rid of them.”

  Crouched in darkness, he listened as two men approached the guard, speaking in guttural voices. It was clear from the beginning that they were here to steal goods before the ship was destroyed by the killer hurricane. The guard was forced to kill one with his pistol, the other with his blade. When there was silence, Gabriel popped his head up to see the guard on his knees.

  “Are you okay?”

  The guard turned. Blood covered his hands where one of the men had cut him, but he nodded.

  “Yes. I am good.”

  Gabriel jumped up on to the edge of the crate, careful not to rip his hands to shreds on the sharp edges, a large gray sack thrown over his shoulders.

  “That’s it?” The guard’s eyes were hungry and glinting, like the edge of a rapier.

  “Yes.” Gabriel was no fighter and didn’t want violence. He switched tacks to his great strength: friendliness. “What is your name?”

  “Juan.”

  “Help me, Juan, and I will make sure you are paid more than you can dream.”

  “It is a long way to port.”

  “Easier together.”

  Juan nodded, understanding. Gabriel used his arm for support a
s he jumped back down, sent sprawling when he landed as the deck fell away as it struck yet another trough. The timbers were groaning. Leaks were getting larger.

  Up they went, finally emerging through a door and into the nightmare hurricane itself.

  Gabriel clutched his sack like a lifeline. The wind struck at him like the hand of God slapping him in the face. He was drenched almost instantly. Rain scoured his exposed flesh. The seas around the ship were roaring like an age-old monster; roaring and rolling and black with malevolence. The skies, at sunset, were blacker than hell’s foulest abyss, but even they were having a last laugh on the foundering Santa Azalea.

  At the horizon, where western land met the ocean, precisely above the point where Acapulco should be, the sun was dying in a fiery red ball. Its crimson fingers stretched out toward the galleon as if beckoning, or taunting every sailor that stared into its bloody mien. It was the last sight many of them would ever see.

  Gabriel planted his boots on deck, blasted from all sides. Sailors struggled everywhere, about the mast, about the rails, about the fore and stern castles. The weather fought them like an army, resisting them, killing them.

  “Where to?” Juan cried.

  “The workboats,” Gabriel replied. “We have to hope at least one of the four is still serviceable.”

  “They’re barely seaworthy!” Juan shouted in his face, rain dripping off the end of his nose and chin.

  “They carry people and cargo all the time,” Gabriel said. “We have to hope.”

  It was their only chance and, Gabriel knew, a slim one. The Santa Azalea was going down, of that there was no doubt. She was being plucked from wave to wave and thrown around like an old rag doll. The sea was toying with her, the weather a malicious conspirator. Men fell from the masts to the deck as Gabriel watched, smashing their bones, their heads open, and losing limbs. Many disappeared overboard, plucked from their stations by an invisible hand. Gabriel thought he saw faces in the wind and sea spray, old sailors long dead, ghosts that once rode galleons and merchant ships and war galleys, reaching up from terrible depths to drag new companions down to join them.