La Joya Del Sol was a three mast monstrosity, the pride of the Queen of Spain for over fifty years, then the unthinkable happened: the crew mutinied. As the harbour master for the only pirate haven in the Caribbean, the sight of a Spanish Galleon sent shivers down my spine, I was sure I would die. It was not until they weighed anchor that I began to suspect that something was different about this ship. Its colours were not those of the Spainish Kingdom, they were bones of white on a black field. But, what I felt was that it was not that the crew was lucky to be free of the yoke of military service, but that the ship was cursed. My son, Sam, was fifteen and had always dreamt of following me to the sea. He joined on with the new pirates as a deckhand. I had taught him all I knew of ship craft, and the crew was glad to have him. They set sail shortly afterwards, my son and 200 others aboard, hunting for treasure.
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When next the La Joya Del Sol sailed into the harbour of Tortuga in front of a dark storm with every sheet of canvas stretched taught before the wind. It was months late, there was no one on deck, except for the lone man at the helm. The ship was moving too fast for the harbour, at least 10 knots; it was going to strike the docks. There was no way of stopping it.
The ship bore down on the docks, which it would smash through and in to my office. Needless to say I was frozen with fear. This was the second time it had hove to in Tortuga’s harbour, and it was, again, looking as though it would end in my death.
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