A New World

By Steven Popkes

On his first voyage seeking the Far East, Columbus finds a new world occupied by intelligent dinosaurs.

The expedition does not go as planned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Popkes
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781636320632

Steven Popkes

Steven Popkes lives in Massachusetts on two acres of land where he and his wife garden, grow bananas and breed turtles. His day job consists of writing support software for space and ballistic systems. He insists he is not a rocket scientist. He is a rocket engineer.

Book preview

The Admiral

Juan Niño watched the Santa Maria across the water. He could see Admiral Colón deep in conversation with the representative of the crown. Juan looked for his brother, Pedro, and saw him aft, watching the shore. Juan could not read his face. Surely, as pilot of Colón’s flagship, Pedro must know something. Give me a sign.

Juan swore softly. He had wagered the Niña against a sixth of the profits. Once they reached Cipangu, he had expected a harbor, a city, boats, throngs of odd-looking people. A place of opportunity. Of money to be made. Not a small island in a vast sea with a handful of naked savages standing on the beach watching them.

There was no money to be had in savages.

Vicente Pinzón clapped a hand on his shoulder. We have made it at last. Cipangu!

The eternal optimism of the Pinzón brothers. Vicinte and Martín Pinzón could afford optimism. The Pinzón brothers stood to gain from fully half the profits. Martín owned the Pínta. Juan owned the Niña but Vicente commanded it—one of the conditions placed upon him by the Admiral and, by extension, the King and Queen. Probably instigated by the Pinzóns. The return had seemed worth it at the time. Before the long weeks at sea where the Pinzón optimism had worn thin. Perhaps even the Admiral found them tiresome and it was intentional that neither Pinzón served on Colón’s ship, the Santa Maria.

They’re nearly as dark as you are, chuckled Vicente. Perhaps the Africans came here before us.

Juan held his tongue. As the saying went, money had no color.

Francisco climbed up beside them. Will we be docking soon?

Eager for your share? Juan shook his head and smiled at his younger brother. Two Pinzóns on the Pínta and one on the Niña. Two Niños on the Niña and one on the Santa Maria. Three brothers versus three brothers. Juan had made sure the Niño family was as well represented as the Pinzón.

Vicente laughed. You’ll get your share soon enough, boy. Besides, where would you spend it?

Cipangu! said the boy, eyes shining.

You must at least wait for a proper harbor.

Juan ignored them both and watched the shore. These people were dark. That was unremarkable. Dark skins were found the world over. But the color of these people did not come from Africa. Instead, their skin seemed to share the color of tarnished copper. They seemed to show a hesitant enthusiasm as if they were unsure if the presence of three Spanish ships in their tiny harbor was good fortune or bad. Juan wondered if any of them had ever seen a Spaniard. Ever heard of Spain. Ever seen a white or black man.

Most of them were naked—even the women. That Juan hadn’t counted on. He had twenty sailors who hadn’t seen land, much less a woman, much less a naked woman, for over two months. Juan could feel their tension as if the Niña were vibrating. Every seaman leaned over the eastern side watching the shore. The ship tilted towards the island. Juan didn’t like forcing his men into submission but it was his ship, by God, and he would have order if he had to bust their heads, Vicente or not.

Being closer to the island, the crew of the Santa Maria had an even better view. Juan didn’t envy the Admiral. Juan glanced towards the Pínta a bit further out from shore. He wondered if the proximity of riches might cause the excitable Pinzón brothers to dance on the deck. At least Vicente had the grace of a serious mind.

He could see preparations being made on Santa Maria. Finally. Juan watched as one of the boats settled into the water. He suppressed his misgivings and let himself relax into anticipation. Perhaps Vicente was right. Perhaps they had made it to the Cipangu. Perhaps they really were going to be rich.

oOo

Luís de Torres was a Jew among Christians. This was, he thought, similar to being a bloodied lamb dropped among lions. If the lamb was quiet enough to escape their notice he might just avoid being eaten.

He sighed, thinking of Spain. Translating for the Murcian Governor had been a sweet position. An advantage here and there. He’d been able to save for small comforts. Enough he could afford a house. A tiny estate. A wife.

Then, Granada had fallen and the expulsion order came a few months later. Who knew things could fail so fast? Luís shook his head. The writing had been on the wall for a century. He’d wanted to emigrate to Anatolia before the ink on the Queen’s order was dry—living under Islamic rule was not easy but would be a better life than under Isabella. Catalina would not have it. Convert as I did, she said. Now is your chance to embrace the one true faith. As if he felt the same way.

After all, the fact of the matter was that he’d converted solely to be allowed on the Santa Maria. He’d been told it was necessary. Even Colón could not go against the Queen in this matter. Every member of the Admiral’s crew must be Christian. Luís had been born a Jew and had no desire to do anything but die a Jew. Of course, he’d planned to put death off as long as possible.

A conversion in name only was precisely what most interested the Inquisition.

But not in Cipangu. If they had managed to reach it, Luís would not be required for the return. But maybe he could be left behind to help a small delegation representing the crown. At least long enough to send for his wife. And so, he converted just before the voyage. At least there were no Inquisitors aboard.

When Luís closed his eyes, he could see the massive flotilla carrying Jews bound for Africa or England or Anatolia that had accompanied the Admiral’s ships out of Palos Harbor.

Luís looked up at Colón giving orders to prepare the boats. Two boats, twelve men, Luís included. He licked his lips. Luís was fluent in Arabic, Portuguese and Spanish, Aramaic, Hebrew, and the scattering of pidgins and bastard patois that grew around the coasts like weeds. The Admiral was convinced they’d find relics of the Lost Tribes of Israel in Cipangu. Luís had no such belief. What common ground could possibly lie between his knowledge and the languages of Cipangu? He reassured himself: he would figure something out. How many times had he accomplished an intricate trade with a foreigner who barely knew the words for yes or no or money? It was only necessary to discover the common ground.

Luís closed his eyes in the sunlight. This place was like nothing he had ever known. The taste of the air. The feel of it—like someone touching you with fur. With silk. Everywhere he looked, the water was a different color ranging from translucent aqua to deep blue. The air was like nowhere else. Not in the Canaries where they’d actually begun the journey. Not Spain. Not in the Mediterranean. Was this why people admired the East so much?