Thread: The City of Gold

Normally, James didn't give any credence to such things as curses and witchcraft. So when word spread about how the vial of ground maize powder attached to the old bound volume of parchment was a heathen curse, he merely scoffed. Besides , he said, Marcos de Niza was a priest, and a Spanish one at that, and everyone knows how vigorously the Spanish go after anyone who so much as thumbs thier noses against the teachings of the Popish Church . That was before the hurricane struck, washing 10 men overboard, and grounding the ship on a reef. It took three days to refloat the vessel and pilot it into the harbor. As soon as the ship was tied up, the first mate and well over half the crew simply walked off the. They refused to sail under a cursed captain. James was left with barely enough men to sail. Then the rumors started spreading. James was a damned captain, who had stumbled up some sort of Aztec curse while pillaging a Spanish vessel. The heathen gods were after him, already having dragged 10 men off to Hell. In a town where sailor's superstition mixed with African folklore, and where many wierd tales about the savage races of America were swapped over bottles of rum, the story was spreading like wildfire. James would be lucky if he got any men to join him. The remainder of his crew was just enough to keep the bilge pumps working to float the ship, and slowly patch up some of the leaks with pitch, though damage from the storm was left unrepaired - the town did not possess a dedicated shipwright, nor were there enough crewmen to make all the repairs necassary. Today was another unsuccessful day. James had given up trying to gather a crew, and was focusing all his attention on getting his ship sea-worthy again. Though it seemed as he repaired the damage from the grounding, he was uncovering more and more flaws with the ship. Today, he found an old cannon ball wedged in the hull, just below the water line. It was acting as a plug, albeit a loose, leaky one the only thing keeping the ship from flooding entirely. He'd had to move the ship to a stretch of beach used as a make-shift dry dock, and sent his one remaining carpenter - an apprentice, really - to see if he could find enough wood to repair the hole. That was going to cost a pretty penny. James was already dipping into his private horde of money, and this latest expense was really going to hurt him. With a resigned sigh, James shuffled into the tavern where he was renting a room, and bought a bottle of rum. By now, most people knew him on sight, and let him pass. They were weary of him and that so-called curse of his. They cleared a path for him toward the corner booth, like the Red Sea did for Moses and the Israelites, then quickly closed back up again. James knew he should be with his ship, where he could at the very least find some free shelter for the night. But what the hell - he'd lost enough money already, and after all, what sort of pirate would be if he didn't blow it all on women and strong drink. So much for settling down to a nice life in America before I die , he thought. I was so close! If de Niza's account was correct, I could have not only had enough to by a plot of land, but to pay for my sister to come out here too. There really isn't much for in England either . He opened his bottle, and started to drink, hoping to get himself drunk enough so when he finally crawled upstairs to his rented room, he'd just collapse into a stupor. He didn't want to get restless and start thumbing through that accursed tome that told the tale of an impossibly wealthy city of gold and gave tantalizing hints as to how to find it.