"The linchpin that got America discovered."
The figurehead, a voluptuous lady reaching for the distance with her velvet blue dress slipped beneath her boobage, rose high into the air for the prow to slam down into the scattered waves of the high sea. A man with a two-month old beard, grime stained pants, and torn shirt was bending over a net. The man was chubby from malnutrition and out of shape from being trapped on the boat. His bare feet with yellow toes stood on the algae green and rotten black planks.
"I can feel my canines wiggling. It's about say another two days before another one falls out."
He was talking to another man who was sitting on the ground sorting through the same net, a net that had many knots to fix the frayed strings. The sitting man was silent and didn't look up, as if he had grown accustomed to letting the other man talk.
"You know why I'm on this boat? The judge gave me a choice. See the ocean or go back in the shoe. What did you do anyway to end up in jail?"
The sitting man kept fumbling on the net with grime blackened fingers and calluses of hard labor.
"I can tell you what I did. I bit a pig. Yeah, I bit a life pig. This rich faggot in his chariot told me that he can eat pig any day. The three ladies in his carriage were laughing at me with their high-pitched squeals and waving their slender glove covered hands in the air. So, I turned around. I saw a pig in a pen. I went over the fence and bit right into it. It was muddy, dirty, shit covered little piggy. I didn't even break the skin. The pig grunted and struggled. Then the gendarme came and took me to the slammer."
Three months earlier, a commoner dressed in his borrowed clothes, sprint-walked through the hallway lined with many columns as fast as his legs would carry him without running. Tears were welling up in his eyes. His fist punished a parchment paper with a tormenting grip. The guards in their pompous, oiled armor and banners stared straight ahead letting the nobody push the heavy wooden door held by heavy iron. Once outside, a throng emotions rushed over him to make his mouth quiver in pain - "How could they not see?"
He threw the parchment onto the street ground. It landed in a puddle of fresh lady piss. As was common in Leon, Spain in April 1492, the commoners pissed wherever they were standing. The parchment unrolled to reveal a fictions map of the world's oceans.
The commoner pressed through the crowds to get away from the Spanish Court to the little hovel where he had rented a stable for his donkey and a bedding of straw for himself. The donkey welcomed him with a warm hee-haw. The commoner replied by swatting the friendly donkey on the behind and sending the animal scurrying outside.
"Your services are no longer needed."
Tears welled up in his eyes as he threw a rope over the central beam in his hovel. The tender work of tying a hangman's knot consoled him. He carefully coiled one loop after the next around the central line. His fingers pushed the coils snug and tight. He even smiled a little at the aesthetic appeal. He put in a thirteen's coil. He whispered to himself at the extra coil about the customer six to eight.
"You deserve it."
A soldier barged through the door. He had a helmet with a nose protection beam. He wore chain mail. He had the red color of the Queen Isabelle over his shoulder. He had to lower the wooden spear with the fire hardened tip to get through the low hovel door. The man stood uneasy with the hangman's noose in his hands. The soldier ignored it and belted out an announcement for the whole hostel to hear.
"The queen Isabelle has heard of your rejection by the Catholic court. To demonstrate her independence of the Catholic Church, she wishes to sponsor your voyage. In the name of the queen Isabelle, I pronounce you, Christopher, admiral of the seas. Here are five hundred silver coins. There is a barge in the harbor. Her name is Santa Maria. You have your free pick of the cursed in the dungeons. If you don't accept, I'll behead you right now."
Back at current time on the high seas, Christopher was standing high on the quarterdeck looking down at his ship both hands on the railing. The fresh ocean air was blowing across his face. The sails had a healthy belly of wind. His crew was laying on boxes and piles of ropes. Their limbs languidly followed the motion of the sea. The rags on their bodies were torn and tar stained.
His personal guard was hammering plank across the stairs that led up to the quarterdeck. The wooden beam went from one railing to the other. A second plank was nailed to it to keep anyone from crawling under the first one. Nail by nail, the access to the quarterdeck was barricaded. A sailor nearby watched with a coal blackened eye and pearly white eyes, making a dark grimace.
"Nail a spear to it as well," commanded Christopher. "So, anyone who comes rushing spears himself."
The personal guard nodded and left to retrieve a spear.
The headman of the sailors respectfully held his bicorn in his hands. He was the only other man on the ship who wore a black vest with gold buttons and gold shoulders. The facial features were obviously more refined, displaying a studied man. The worry furrows had grown deeply into his forehead. His face looked gray.
"Christopher, we can slam down another small mutiny with executions. Once the whole ship rises, we won't be able to stand our ground. Let's turn around. We've been lost at sea for three months. If the course were true, we should have fallen off already," said the headman.
"So, it's you as well. I'll hang you on the highest mast. Don't worry. I have not yet used my trump card. I'll keep that for last, when the hour feels like it's a minute to noon. And no minute earlier will I pull out my trump card," replied Christopher.
"I would never doubt your wise counsel," said the headman bowing deeply to the point of staring at Christopher's boots, where the small toe was looking out of the worn boot.
