Solimar, page 11
Lázaro squawked from a nearby banana tree in the midst of its enormous leaves.
Berto ran to the tree, stood on tiptoes to reach one of the lower stalks, and tugged on it until it broke off. He brought it to Solimar. “This will serve as a sombrilla.”
She held it above her head and had to admit it made a decent sunshade.
Berto pointed to the top of the hill behind them and scrambled up. “Come on!”
“I’ll follow,” she called. “First, I have something to do.” Solimar lowered the banana leaf and removed the rebozo. She unfurled it, held it out to the sun, and turned in a slow circle, infusing the fabric with warmth and energy until the patterns began to shimmer and pulse.
“Solimar, come take a look!” yelled Berto.
She carefully rolled the rebozo and tied it around her waist again, then headed uphill. At the crest, Solimar gasped. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.
The sun was low and there was more sky than earth, the clouds streaking orange and pink and violet above the great port town of Puerto Rivera on the massive Río Diablo. Far below them in the enormous horseshoe harbor, a half dozen three-masted sailing ships anchored on the outskirts. Smaller boats moored closer in. Rowboats and skiffs hugged the long wooden docks that jutted above the water.
Berto untucked his binoculars from his shirt and slowly scanned the panorama. He stopped. “El Gran Mercado. Look.”
Solimar took the binoculars and tracked through the town and the harbor and farther to a massive field where hundreds of tents crowded together. She handed the binoculars back to Berto. Now she had tears in her eyes. “We’re almost there,” she said, smiling.
Berto nodded. “We still have a long hike tomorrow. We have to get down through these foothills, take the main road to town, and find the marketplace. Let’s start now, while there’s still light.”
“What if we run into someone?” Solimar studied their soggy clothes, sand-caked river shoes, and the huge banana leaf. “We look like river rats.”
Zarita nodded. “You don’t exactly…blend.”
Berto squinted into the binoculars again, focusing on something downhill. “I can fix that.”
Solimar followed him on a narrow horse path until they came to a fenced pasture. At the far end was a small stable where two horses dangled their heads over the half doors, nodding and snuffling. A tack room sat next to the stalls. Beyond that, there was a yard, and a house, and a clothesline full of laundry.
“Berto!” said Solimar. “Do you mean to steal someone’s horses?”
“Absolutely not. Horse thieves are immediately hunted down and arrested. I only intend to borrow some clothes. Wouldn’t your father be grateful if it helped save the kingdom?”
“Yes,” said Solimar. “And he’d repay them generously, of course. But what if someone comes out of the house and we’re caught?”
Berto peered into the binoculars. “I don’t think that will happen. The horses are already put to bed. And I can’t see anyone out and about. Regardless, you’re not getting caught.” He handed her the binoculars. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Berto, no!” But before she could protest further, he was gone, running along the pasture fence and in front of the horse stalls until he reached the edge of the yard. He quickly ducked behind the bedsheets dangling from the clothesline.
Solimar grumbled and paced. Within a few minutes, though, Berto was back, balancing two pairs of boots on top of a bundle of clothes.
Solimar took the boots. “Where did you find these?”
“In front of the tack room. And that’s not all. I borrowed some apples and carrots, too. Come on.”
The sun had set. Solimar lowered the banana leaf and followed Berto down the horse path. They hiked until darkness crept in and they could no longer safely see the road.
Berto ducked into a heavily wooded area. “We need to stay here until there’s enough light in the morning.” He plopped the bundle on the ground, apples rolling from the pile.
Lázaro stopped one with his foot.
Berto laughed. “It’s all yours, Lázaro.” He knelt to pick through the clothing. “The boots look a little big, but they’ll be less conspicuous than the river sandals.” He tossed Solimar several pairs of socks. “These will help.” He stood up. “There were only work shirts, trousers, and knit caps.” He handed her a long-sleeved shirt.
She held it to her chest. “That’s a good thing.”
Berto tilted his head and frowned. “What do you mean?” Then his eyes widened. “You’re right. King Aveno’s guards will be looking for the princess-to-be and her pet bird—”
Solimar nodded. “—not for two boys.”
In the faintest morning light, Solimar tied the rebozo safely under the blue work shirt, slipped Zarita into the chest pocket, and pulled a knit cap over her head and ears. She picked up the banana leaf and studied it. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself. And this—”
“—basically screams, ‘Look at me!’” said Zarita.
“I agree,” said Berto. “To be safe, we should all try to be as inconspicuous as possible.” He pointed at Zarita.
Zarita crossed her heart.
Lázaro landed on Solimar’s shoulder.
She reached up to pet him. “The guards are looking for you, too. You need to hide, and no singing. You can follow us tree to tree.”
Lázaro nuzzled her hand, then flew to a nearby oak, almost completely concealing himself in the leafy branches.
“It will be overcast for a few hours,” said Berto. “Then we’ll stay in the shade as much as possible.”
Solimar tossed the banana leaf aside and followed Berto, clomping along in the boots that were still a little too large, even with extra socks.
“So, Solimar, how exactly are we going to do this? Is there a plan?” asked Berto.
Solimar’s brow furrowed. “We know that my father and Campeón are both being watched. And King Aveno’s guards and spies will be alerted to anyone who is curious about their whereabouts. So we can’t just ask around.”
Zarita popped up from the pocket. “We don’t know who is friend and who is foe.”
“True,” said Berto. “We can’t trust anyone.”
“First, we need to find the tent where San Gregorio is selling their goods and watch for my father and brother,” said Solimar. “Then follow them. And hopefully figure out how to get a message to them. What do you think?”
“It’s as good a plan as any,” said Berto.
All morning as they hiked through the foothills, they didn’t pass anyone except for a farmer herding sheep and a few stray dogs. By midday, though, they had reached the road to town and encountered more foot traffic and the occasional wagon or cart.
They crossed over to the shady side of the road, but the more people they passed face-to-face, the more Solimar’s confidence faded. She felt self-conscious, convinced that everyone was a spy and would recognize her. Every polite nod or cheerful hello made her panic.
For the rest of the afternoon, Solimar kept close to Berto with her head down and avoiding any eye contact with strangers. When they stopped for a moment’s rest, she asked, “How much farther to Puerto Rivera?”
“It’s taking longer than I thought,” said Berto. “If we had horses, we’d be there by now. Don’t worry. We’ll make it in time.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said. But doubts crowded her thoughts.
It was dusk by the time they reached Puerto Rivera and the center of Main Street. Berto pointed toward a half dozen young men crowded around a public notice board—the Port of Call sailings.
Solimar edged into the crowd until she was close enough to read it. She scanned down the list of ships. Her heart jumped when she saw La Quinta.
She hurried to Berto. “La Quinta sails at dawn. And they’re soliciting deckhands, just like Campeón said. That means he will sneak away sometime late tonight as planned.”
“Good. This way,” said Berto, pointing toward the end of the street where the colored tents loomed.
Solimar froze as two of King Aveno’s uniformed guards came toward them.
Berto moved closer to her and muttered, “Keep walking.”
But Solimar panicked and spun around to run, bumping into a woman and upending her shopping bag. “I’m so sorry!” cried Solimar.
The guards walked by, paying no attention to her.
Berto picked up the goods and handed them back to the woman, then pulled Solimar aside. “I thought the idea was to not draw attention?”
Solimar’s eyes darted at each person on the road. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. There’s not much time. And King Aveno’s guards could be anyone, and anywhere.”
“But they’re not looking for us,” said Berto.
“Breathe in. Breathe out,” whispered Zarita. “Portray calm and confidence and no one will be the wiser. Besides, people are focused on themselves.”
Berto nodded. “Ditto to what she said.”
Solimar took a deep breath and looked around. Everyone did seem to be going about their business without giving them a second look.
“Try to look…casual,” said Berto.
“Casual,” she repeated.
“Nonchalant,” he added.
“Like I don’t have a care in the world.” She tried to smile, but it was halfhearted.
When they finally entered the main aisle of El Gran Mercado, they paused to take it all in. It was more like a grand fiesta than a grand marketplace, and the party was in full swing.
Even though it wasn’t yet dark, lanterns, already aglow, crisscrossed the aisles from the tops of the tents and swayed in the gentle breeze. Guitars strummed. The delicious aroma of food cooking wafted in the air, and vendors called out to anyone walking in the aisle to buy something. El Gran Mercado was a concert of people talking, bartering, eating, laughing, and clapping to music.
Solimar relaxed a little. It was much easier to disappear within the milling crowds than it had been on the main road. Here, everyone was preoccupied. She and Berto walked up the center row slowly, stopping briefly at each booth as if they were shoppers.
A woman wearing a long apron stepped from a stall, holding a bowl of watermelon, papaya, and pineapple chunks sprinkled with chili powder and salt crystals. A bamboo pick was stuck in the pyramid of fruit. She offered it to Solimar. “For you, young man?”
Solimar’s mouth watered, and her stomach cramped. She reached out to take it but remembered she had no money. Jerking her hand back, she said, “No, thank you.”
“That was close,” whispered Berto, taking her elbow and steering her away.
“I know,” whispered Solimar. “She would have yelled thief, and all eyes would have been on us. Better to stay focused on the task at hand. Let’s find San Gregorio’s tent.” Solimar stopped and slowly turned. The market was a dizzying panorama of color and people and flags. “If I could just get up higher.”
When they reached the end of the aisle, Berto considered a large pile of empty crates. “I can fix that.” He quickly upturned them and made a base and then stacked them against a pole in four levels in stair fashion. “I’ll steady them so they don’t wobble.”
Solimar scrambled up and gazed across the tent tops. The market was massive, with row upon row of vendors. When she spotted San Gregorio’s flag, she was overwhelmed with a yearning for home. Tears filled her eyes. “Father and Campeón,” she whispered. They were so close. She clambered down. “Six rows over.”
Solimar and Berto sat at one of many picnic tables crowded beneath open-air tents on a grassy area across from San Gregorio’s tent. From this spot, they had a good view of who went in and out. Solimar studied their setup: the huge tent lined with shelves filled with muñecas de trapo, table upon table of butterfly-themed arts and crafts, racks of jackets, and shawls embroidered with monarchs. But she didn’t see Father or Campeón.
A man carrying mesh bags filled with groceries and heading toward a food tent struggled by them. He stopped to shift the weight.
Berto jumped up. “Señor, can I help you?”
“Sí, por favor. Your kindness will be repaid.”
Berto leaned toward Solimar and winked. “That’s what I’m counting on. I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, he returned, grinning, with two burritos and kicking a ball in front of him.
Amazed, she shook her head. “Still borrowing things?”
“He gave me the food for helping him, and asked if I wanted the ball, too. Said it had been left behind days ago and he had no use for it. It might come in handy.”
They ate quickly, keeping an eye on the San Gregorio tent.
“Any sign of your father or brother?” asked Berto.
Solimar shook her head. “So far, it’s just villagers who are working and customers roaming the tent. We need to find the encampment. It would be a site where they could corral the animals away from the market but close enough to walk back and forth.”
“When I helped the man with his groceries, I noticed a road behind the tents.” He grabbed the ball. “I’ll show you.”
They slowly wandered down the road in one direction until they reached a dead end. They doubled back until they had almost reached the edge of the forest, kicking the ball between them, passing any number of campsites, until Solimar stopped and nodded to Berto.
San Gregorio’s encampment was an enclave down a wide dirt path at the far end of a grassy field. The entire site was surrounded on three sides by forested hills.
At the edge of the grass, Solimar and Berto paused and kept the ball moving between them so they could get a good look at the camp.
A dozen tents dotted the site, the largest bearing the royal crest. Stakes and ropes penned the horses and donkeys in temporary corrals, and the dogs were tethered on long ropes beneath the surrounding trees. Several villagers milled about, tending a fire and feeding the animals.
Berto passed the ball to Solimar and raised his eyebrows. “Do you see them?”
She shook her head, picked up the ball, and came closer. “Don’t be too obvious, but check out the other side of the road.”
Berto glanced across the way, where two men sat at a tall barrel at the back of a tent. They appeared to be playing cards, but with a keen eye on the field and San Gregorio’s site. A little farther away, it was the same thing—two cardplayers who were more interested in what was going on in the encampment than their game.
Berto whispered, “Aveno’s guards.”
Solimar pulled the knit cap lower. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
When they were far enough away, Solimar stopped and rubbed her forehead. “We’ll never get in there unnoticed. And even if we did, Juan Pedro said there were spies everywhere. My father thinks he’s going to the secret meeting with Campeón tomorrow morning. But Campeón will already have left on the ship at dawn, and he’s the only one who can get a message to Father. We need to intercept Campeón. If he sticks to his original plan, he will leave to board La Quinta tonight after Father goes to sleep.”
“Won’t the guards see him?” asked Berto.
Solimar shook her head. “He disguises himself and knows how to slip out without anyone noticing. And”—she paused, smiling—“there’s only one road that leads to the harbor.”
Solimar and Berto found a sheltered spot on the forested side of the road to the harbor.
They were hidden, but there was enough moonlight to see anyone heading their way toward the ships and docks.
Lázaro, their lookout, perched in a tree.
They’d been waiting since midnight, and with each passing minute, Solimar’s hopes of diverting Campeón dwindled.
“Maybe he was caught trying to leave camp by King Aveno’s guards,” said Berto.
“Let’s think positive,” said Zarita.
Solimar shook her head. “No. He’d be extra careful tonight. He’s been waiting for this chance for a long time.”
As the night wore on and Campeón didn’t appear, Solimar’s mind raced with all that might have happened. He could have changed his mind. But in her heart, she didn’t think he would. Father could have woken as he was leaving. But that didn’t seem likely. If Campeón didn’t show up, then what? The worry and emotion of the last few days gripped Solimar. She sat on the ground next to a tree and leaned her head back.
“Relax,” said Zarita. “Láz will alert us.”
“I can’t.” Solimar sighed. “I’m too worried.”
“Listen to the sound of my voice,” said Zarita. “Imagine all your troubles on one puffy cloud, floating away from you. Isn’t that lovely? Now close your eyes and breathe in to the count of four. One, two, three, four. And out—two, three, four. That’s it…”
Zarita’s voice droned on. A blanket of fatigue covered Solimar, until finally, she dozed.
She startled awake when Berto shook her arm.
“Lázaro whistled. Someone’s coming.”
Solimar stood up. The road was empty except for a lone figure in the distance walking toward them. The person wore rumpled work clothes and a wide-brimmed straw hat, and carried an old mesh shopping bag. It could have been a stable hand or a vendor from the marketplace. As they drew closer, Solimar didn’t need to see their face to recognize who it was. Campeón’s stride gave him away. She nodded to Berto.
Berto stepped into the road. “Hey there! Are you heading to La Quinta?”
Campeón stopped. “Hello. Did you sign up, too?”
“Yes,” said Berto, then he lowered his voice. “But not for what you think. Prince Campeón, right?”
Campeón looked around to see if anyone was near. “Who are you? And how do you know my name? Did my father send you? Because—”
“No. Not your father.” Berto stepped closer. “Your sister, Solimar. Come with me.”
Campeón jerked back. “What is this? Some sort of trick? I have nothing of value!”
