No Expenses Paid

By Al Urbonavicius

Juan Rodriguez was one of the first men to circumnavigate the globe. Five hundred years later, John Rodrigo is about to follow in his ancestor's footsteps. But first, he has to make his way across the Atlantic, disperse his father's ashes, and fend off the spirits of Ferdinand Magellan and Christopher Columbus.
As the magic of Seville works its charm on him, John finds it increasingly difficult to distinguish between fantasy and reality. The only person that can provide some aid and comfort is his girlfriend back in New York. After all, she planned the entire trip to Spain. So why did she abandon him moments before departure, and why is she refusing to join him on his adventure around the world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Al Urbonavicius
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781738676002

Al Urbonavicius

Al Urbonavicius was born and raised in Canada, except for thirteen years spent in Tokyo, Japan as an ESL instructor. He has shot several short videos and printed a book of photographs on life in Japan and travels through Europe, the Middle East, and the Orient. He has a Liberal Arts degree from the University of Guelph and lives in Toronto.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Today was the day, Matias told himself as he sat on a rock and mended his nets. Today he'll leave behind his rusted hooks, and leaking skiff for a life of adventure and prosperity. Three masts or four, a solitary vessel or part of a fleet, commanded by a foreigner or local; it made no difference.

His older brother had shipped out and returned with enough earnings to buy a grand house in the city. Another brother purchased two dwellings with his sizable reward for services rendered. One was for his wife, the other for his native mistress. Juan, the youngest by two years, was still at sea. There were rumors of mutiny, ferocious storms, and capsized vessels, but it was only a matter of time before he returned home with sacks of riches and captivating tales of foreign lands.

Most of the men Matias grew up with had sailed down the river into the Great Ocean Sea. Bored, restless men following in the footsteps of their fathers and grandfathers. Others were too lazy, or too dull to learn a trade. More than a few signed on to avoid jail or the debt collector or Torquemada and his band of inquisitors. He heard of a man three towns over who had made his way down the coast of Africa to the Congo in search of the Fountain of Youth. A few brave souls had reached the New World where it was said, they now lived like royalty, draped in gold, native servants tending to every whim. So many men were leaving Seville, it was becoming a city of grieving widows and indolent prostitutes.

He'd been to the markets, overflowing with new and exotic foods, spices, slaves, and tobacco. He had tasted a nut the size of a cannonball and had spent countless hours imagining himself sitting under a palm tree on an endless golden beach, a harem of tropical beauties feeding him slices of the white, brittle flesh, the cool sweet juice dripping down his chin. Yes, today was the day. He had put it off long enough.

The ship broke through the dense fog just after sunrise. Matias splashed water on his face and ran his eyes over what appeared to be a carrack, eighty or eighty-five tons, pitch black with a faded cross painted on the tattered mainsail. It was being towed up the river to Millstone docks. Whatever crew remained on board was down below manning the pumps. A steady stream of water flowed over the side of the patched hull, gouged along the waterline from countless encounters with reefs and storms. He strained to see the name on the stern of the crippled vessel, but all that was visible were the letters 'o' and 'a'.

The men in the rowboats wouldn’t respond, but he tried regardless. Hello. No reply. Their silence was understandable. They wanted to reach the docks before the withering heat drained them of energy.

Matias had been hauling in his nets and monitoring river traffic every day for the past fifteen years, yet he had never seen a ship in worse condition. It looked as if it had done battle with a Portuguese galleon, and would undoubtedly be scrapped once it arrived in Seville. If it made it to Seville.

The morning stillness returned once the vessel disappeared around the bend. A prized spotted bass broke the calm as it lunged for a dragonfly hovering just above the surface. Matias hadn’t seen a fish that large in months. Maybe I’ll sign on to a fleet next week, he told himself as he continued mending his nets.

..........

Alvaro ran through the bustling streets of the city. He had been playing by the riverside when he first saw the ship, pointing it out to his father, who told him to go to the cathedral to fetch the priest.

Alvaro arrived at the massive basilica, where he stopped to catch his breath. Father Simon was most likely sleeping off his wine on the first or second landing of the bell tower. Not pleased with being woken from his drunken slumber, he would most likely demand the boy fetch a pan and hold it so that he could relieve himself. Good training for the priesthood, his father assured him.

He passed through the Door of Baptism, crossed the central nave, scurried past the golden altarpiece of the Capilla Mayor, and made his way to the Giralda, the landmark bell tower and former minaret, where he found Father Simon intimately engaged with a female member of the kitchen staff. The creaking steps gave the boy away.

Who goes there? a hoarse voice called out.

Too late to turn and run.

Oh, it's you.

Alvaro stood frozen, doing his best to ignore the bestial groans echoing off the walls.

What do you want?

The Victoria, Alvaro replied.

Victoria? the priest asked, panting.

From the armada bound for the Islands of Spice. The boy glanced upward at the sound of feet padding up the tower. It’s returned.

The Victoria... Father Simon repeated, seemingly unconcerned over being caught in flagrante delicto.

Towed up the river from San Lucar. They say the crew's more dead than alive.

A sudden jolt of recognition sobered the cleric. Clubfoot’s armada, he mumbled, scratching his privates. It's about time. The incense and lust in the air barely masked the wine on his breath. Astrid, isn't it?

Alvaro.

A gnarled hand slid up the boy's arm as the priest stood and bore his full weight on him for support. I'm told you'll be joining us soon. Never too early to start your training.

Startled by the sound of bells, Father Simon looked up, drew his hand away, wiped his mouth, and made the sign of the cross.

It's good you came by, my son. Now get home to your family.

Alvaro took several steps as the bells grew louder.

But first... I need you to fetch me something.

The boy stopped and turned round for his expected penance.

Go to the sacristy, the priest said, adjusting his garments and examining a rip in the armpit of his cassock. "Take as many candles as you can, put them in a sack, and bring them to me. If I'm not here, you'll find me at the docks. Go!"

..........

Millstone Docks were busy despite the early hour. Carpenters, caulkers, and blacksmiths worked on galleys, caravels, carracks, and other vessels large and small. Laborers hauled crates up long gangways as sails were being painted, provisions loaded, supplies pilfered. All activity ceased once the phantom ship staggered in.

The moment it tied off, the Harbormaster went aboard, his nose covered with a cloth to mask the odor of death and disease that permeated the deck. He counted eighteen men and three natives. A skeleton crew manning the remains of a skeleton ship. Despite advance notice of its poor condition, he was shocked by what he saw. Thirty years on the docks, and never a sight more pitiful.

He made his way below, where shafts of light pierced the damaged hull and the stench of bilge water mixed with the smell of cloves. The Victoria was slowly sinking under the weight of the precious cargo and needed to be unloaded as soon as possible.

Up on deck, the emaciated crew gathered their meager possessions and hobbled barefoot across the gangplank, leaving behind their floundering, ravaged home of three years. Father Simon greeted them with a blessing and a candle. Alvaro stood by his side, coaxing a flame from a mix of plant fiber and lint.

All of Seville had gathered to witness the return of the lone remaining vessel of the once proud Armada of the Moluccas. People stared in disbelief at the small band of sailors, mumbling prayers of gratitude as they slowly made their way to the cathedral. The 'magnificent eighteen'. The first men to circle the globe.

One member of the crew remained on board. As his mates disembarked, Juan Rodriguez, apprentice seaman from the outskirts of Seville, made his way to a small cannon fastened to the deck railing, swiveled it around, and gestured for Alvaro to bring over his tinder. The boy had never been on a sailing vessel and the one before him looked like it might sink at any moment. Father Simon gave him a nudge and urged him to carry the flame to the sailor.

Alvaro inched his way over the gangplank and approached Rodriguez, who had collapsed under the gun. The dazed youngster stood over him, horrified by what he saw. Severely malnourished, tongue swollen, teeth rotted and body covered in painful boils, the scrawny seaman lacked the strength to take the glowing embers, or even to speak. He rolled his eyes up toward the cannon.

Alvaro lit the wick and the weapon thundered across the river.

With trembling fingers, Juan Rodriguez removed a small white wooden box from an inside pocket of his mangled trousers and unwrapped the twine that held it together. He opened the lid, took out a single clove, and swallowed it as he watched the boy run to shore.

1. THE GREAT OCEAN SEA

John Rodrigo examined the wooden box. The size of a small jewelry case, it was bare of adornment except for a few flecks of white paint on the inner part of the hinged lid. Re-purposed into a first aid kit, it held a dozen dark brown, aromatic cloves meant to boost his immunity and ease a host of travel-related illnesses. Old wives’ tales, John thought as he stuffed it back into his carry-on. Medicine from the Middle Ages.

He adjusted the overhead fan to maximum, shook an empty can of ginger ale, and searched for a flight attendant. Never around when you need one.

1:26 p.m. Five more hours to Madrid.

He slid the window shade up a few inches and peeked at the North Atlantic 35,000 feet below. Twenty percent of the earth's surface, the largest body of water after the Pacific. The Great Ocean Sea, his father had called it. Nothing down there but treacherous currents, sunken ships, and discarded naval ordnance. He craned his neck, but there was no sign of land. No farmer's fields, interstate, or abandoned airstrip to land on in case of emergency. America was three time zones behind. Spain and the uncertainty of a bygone land that still retained a monarchy lay another three time zones ahead.

He closed the shade and scanned the cabin.  Everyone was on laptops, cellphones, or fast asleep. A few people chatted. All 391 passengers on United Flight 453 out of New York were relaxed. Only John was convinced that barreling across the Atlantic at five hundred miles per hour in a seventy-ton steel and aluminum tube was a recipe for disaster.

Blood-shot eyes searched for something or someone to help pass the time. The woman in the aisle seat was a possibility. Dressed in a black trench kimono style cardigan, short gray hair on the brighter side with a few edgy dark streaks, she reminded him of his aunt on Long Island and summer in Montauk. Sandcastles on the beach, bicycling to the lighthouse, hiking along the dunes. Harry Potter and a Golden Retriever next to a crackling fireplace.

The woman in the aisle seat was glued to her paperback. The young couple across from her nodded to the music on their headphones. Their child watched a video on a tablet.

John clenched his buttocks ten times and imagined himself enjoying the flight, reading a book, chatting with fellow travelers, and purchasing a bottle of duty-free Hennessy XO and a carton of cigarettes. But the diversions did little to mitigate his anxiety, and it showed. He was a potential risk to others. Someone to keep an eye on.

He swiped through the dozen retro-style arcade offerings on the in-flight entertainment system before settling on level five of Interstellar Explorer on his phone. It was a beta version of a role-playing game he was testing for Parse Wizards and would occupy his twitching thumbs for as long as the battery held out or the plane plunged into the ocean. Unfortunately, his laptop was somewhere below with the checked-in luggage. He was certain. Where else could it be?

Sir, would you like chicken or pasta?

John was so consumed with feelings of imminent doom, that he hadn't noticed the flight attendant come up the aisle.

Would you care for the chicken or the pasta? she repeated in a clear, steady voice while examining his sallow complexion.

I... I didn't order a meal. But I’d like another ginger ale.

The meal is complimentary on our overseas flights, the attendant explained, busying herself with items on her cart. You'll be getting a small breakfast as well, just before we land. We have chicken in lemon sauce or Pasta Alfredo.

John massaged his abdomen and thought of asking if there was any possibility of a third choice; a lean ham sandwich, hold the mayo, a bowl of rice, perhaps some steamed asparagus tips. I guess I’ll have the chicken.

The attendant handed him a full tray and turned to the woman in the aisle seat. You reserved a kosher meal?

That's right.

It'll be just a few minutes.

I'm in no rush. The woman folded the page and closed her book.

The attendant pushed her trolley forward after throwing a sideways glance at John. Food should calm him down, she thought. It almost always did.

John peeled back the cover of the hot dish and fondled the bread roll. The anti-nausea pills were having little effect. Past their expiry date, he had forgotten to refill the prescription. Nevertheless, he was willing to take a chance and was thankful for the distraction. A way to keep his mind off a misplaced laptop, the freezing waters below, the argument with Sylvia just before departure...

He noticed the woman in the aisle seat remove a plastic knife and fork from her purse. You brought your own, he blurted out.

Pardon?

You brought your own cutlery.

That’s right, she whispered. Some airlines re-use theirs. Trying to save money.

Sylvia brings her own chopsticks when we go out for Chinese. She likes the feel of lacquered sticks.

Sorry? Who?

Sylvia, my friend. She couldn’t make it today.

She fell ill?

It took a few seconds for him to formulate a response. Yes, was all he could come up with.

John glanced at the vacant seat separating them. A painful reminder that the passenger meant to occupy it was back in New York, packing up her belongings and searching for an apartment on Craigslist. It was supposed to be their first flight together, their first trip abroad as a couple. It certainly wasn't their first argument. Far from it. The trip they had been planning for the past six months fell apart before they reached the airport and had a chance to remind one another to pack toothbrushes and passports. All because of a message on the answering machine.

Nothing serious, I hope. the woman said.

What's that?

Your friend.

She’ll be fine. He was eager to change the subject. I’m John. John Rodrigo.

Helen. Nice to meet you. 

He felt a little uneasy while she waited for her dinner, but he was tired of nibbling on peanuts and sipping ginger ale. I've never been on a long-haul. Never had a meal on an airplane. I mean, a hot one. One I didn't have to pay for.

They can be quite tasty, responded Helen. But of course, not as good as they used to be.

My father told me about the great service on trans-Atlantic flights. But he usually flew first class. John rarely spoke to anyone when traveling for work. His laptop was a constant companion. Without it, he opened up like a wired teenager on a first date. His brain resisted, but the words tumbled out. Dad traveled for business. Sort of. He was a second mate in the merchant marine.

That sounds exciting.

He didn’t think so. Preferred taking the train or flying. He was bumped up from economy once and got a real taste for it. He flew to Spain once a year. Born there. My mother as well.

It's a wonderful country.

That's what I hear. It's my first trip to Europe, he admitted pensively. I'm really looking forward to it.

Anyone could tell he wasn't.

Are you staying in Madrid? Helen asked.

Only for a couple of days. Then I go to Seville.  That's where dad... my father was from. Have you ever been?

Yes. A beautiful city, she said. You'll be visiting family?

"Not exactly. I'm traveling with my family. He paused before revealing more. My father's ashes. He requested it in the will. I've been putting it off for... well, for a long time."

The attendant returned with two trays. One kosher. She placed it in front of Helen. And one vegetarian for... Oh, the seat's empty.

I'll take it, John exclaimed. My friend. She couldn't make it. Last minute.

Sorry to hear. The attendant set the meal on the middle seat tray. I'll be back with coffee and tea.

Thank you. John noted her name tag. Anne.

Anne responded with a well-trained smile. She squeezed Helen's shoulder gently before leaving to serve dinner to the other passengers.

I trust your friend has insurance, Helen asked while wiping her hands with a moist towelette.

Yes, of course. He paused. You mean travel insurance?

"A shame if she forfeits the cost of the flight because of