Christopher Columbus' Slutty Secret

"The linchpin that got America discovered."

The figurehead, a voluptuous lady reaching for the distance with her velvet blue dress slipped beneath her boobage, rose high into the air for the prow to slam down into the scattered waves of the high sea. A man with a two-month old beard, grime stained pants, and torn shirt was bending over a net. The man was chubby from malnutrition and out of shape from being trapped on the boat. His bare feet with yellow toes stood on the algae green and rotten black planks.

"I can feel my canines wiggling. It's about say another two days before another one falls out."

He was talking to another man who was sitting on the ground sorting through the same net, a net that had many knots to fix the frayed strings. The sitting man was silent and didn't look up, as if he had grown accustomed to letting the other man talk.

"You know why I'm on this boat? The judge gave me a choice. See the ocean or go back in the shoe. What did you do anyway to end up in jail?"

The sitting man kept fumbling on the net with grime blackened fingers and calluses of hard labor.

"I can tell you what I did. I bit a pig. Yeah, I bit a life pig. This rich faggot in his chariot told me that he can eat pig any day. The three ladies in his carriage were laughing at me with their high-pitched squeals and waving their slender glove covered hands in the air. So, I turned around. I saw a pig in a pen. I went over the fence and bit right into it. It was muddy, dirty, shit covered little piggy. I didn't even break the skin. The pig grunted and struggled. Then the gendarme came and took me to the slammer."

Three months earlier, a commoner dressed in his borrowed clothes, sprint-walked through the hallway lined with many columns as fast as his legs would carry him without running. Tears were welling up in his eyes. His fist punished a parchment paper with a tormenting grip. The guards in their pompous, oiled armor and banners stared straight ahead letting the nobody push the heavy wooden door held by heavy iron. Once outside, a throng emotions rushed over him to make his mouth quiver in pain - "How could they not see?"

He threw the parchment onto the street ground. It landed in a puddle of fresh lady piss. As was common in Leon, Spain in April 1492, the commoners pissed wherever they were standing. The parchment unrolled to reveal a fictions map of the world's oceans.

The commoner pressed through the crowds to get away from the Spanish Court to the little hovel where he had rented a stable for his donkey and a bedding of straw for himself. The donkey welcomed him with a warm hee-haw. The commoner replied by swatting the friendly donkey on the behind and sending the animal scurrying outside.

"Your services are no longer needed."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he threw a rope over the central beam in his hovel. The tender work of tying a hangman's knot consoled him. He carefully coiled one loop after the next around the central line. His fingers pushed the coils snug and tight. He even smiled a little at the aesthetic appeal. He put in a thirteen's coil. He whispered to himself at the extra coil about the customer six to eight.

"You deserve it."

A soldier barged through the door. He had a helmet with a nose protection beam. He wore chain mail. He had the red color of the Queen Isabelle over his shoulder. He had to lower the wooden spear with the fire hardened tip to get through the low hovel door. The man stood uneasy with the hangman's noose in his hands. The soldier ignored it and belted out an announcement for the whole hostel to hear.

"The queen Isabelle has heard of your rejection by the Catholic court. To demonstrate her independence of the Catholic Church, she wishes to sponsor your voyage. In the name of the queen Isabelle, I pronounce you, Christopher, admiral of the seas. Here are five hundred silver coins. There is a barge in the harbor. Her name is Santa Maria. You have your free pick of the cursed in the dungeons. If you don't accept, I'll behead you right now."

Back at current time on the high seas, Christopher was standing high on the quarterdeck looking down at his ship both hands on the railing. The fresh ocean air was blowing across his face. The sails had a healthy belly of wind. His crew was laying on boxes and piles of ropes. Their limbs languidly followed the motion of the sea. The rags on their bodies were torn and tar stained.

His personal guard was hammering plank across the stairs that led up to the quarterdeck. The wooden beam went from one railing to the other. A second plank was nailed to it to keep anyone from crawling under the first one. Nail by nail, the access to the quarterdeck was barricaded. A sailor nearby watched with a coal blackened eye and pearly white eyes, making a dark grimace.

"Nail a spear to it as well," commanded Christopher. "So, anyone who comes rushing spears himself."

The personal guard nodded and left to retrieve a spear.

The headman of the sailors respectfully held his bicorn in his hands. He was the only other man on the ship who wore a black vest with gold buttons and gold shoulders. The facial features were obviously more refined, displaying a studied man. The worry furrows had grown deeply into his forehead. His face looked gray.

"Christopher, we can slam down another small mutiny with executions. Once the whole ship rises, we won't be able to stand our ground. Let's turn around. We've been lost at sea for three months. If the course were true, we should have fallen off already," said the headman.

"So, it's you as well. I'll hang you on the highest mast. Don't worry. I have not yet used my trump card. I'll keep that for last, when the hour feels like it's a minute to noon. And no minute earlier will I pull out my trump card," replied Christopher.

"I would never doubt your wise counsel," said the headman bowing deeply to the point of staring at Christopher's boots, where the small toe was looking out of the worn boot.

"If anyone tries to lower the sails, shoot him with the bow. As long as the sails stay up, and we control the rudder, those rebellious, lazy fucks can twiddle their thumbs. Nobody touches the sail!" hollered Christopher with a raised voice, so that the whole crew would hear him.

That night, the sailor with the case of scurvy was tossing the net over the side of the boat. He liked staying bow of the ship, away from the miscreants and the captain. His hands were running the net down to where the water splashed up the bow into whitewater.

"Maybe, I'll catch myself a little fish and a shark comes swimming to eat it. And then I eat the shark. There must be lots of sharks around the ship. They can smell the death on the ship looming, like vultures in the desert. Their noses most tingle them irresistibly like a sneeze, they must be licking their sharp teeth. I can't blame 'em. I'm licking my lips at the thought of eating one of them."

His buddy spoke for the first time with a hoarse voice, dried by the salty air and rationed water. Fear, god fearing fear, was twitching on the man's face. "Shouldn't there be demons and creatures from the underworld this close to where the world ends? What are you going to do if a fiery demon, glowing hot like coal, gets caught in your net? Aren't you worried about your soul? Maybe, we should all jump of the ship for it is better to drown a sailor's death at high sea than to fall of the world and drop straight into hell, still alive!"

"I'm not worried," replied the man with scurvy with an unusual steadfastness.

"How can you not be worried? Half the crew can't sleep, because they are tormented between uprising against the captain or falling into hell. Jonathan died at the sword of the captain. Henrik's blood is still on the deck. The sea gulls have eaten his innards that have fallen out of him after the sword cut him open. How can you not be worried?"

"I know things," replied the man with scurvy squeezing a sinister and superior smile between his lips.

"Don't tell me that you believe in the Ancient Greek ideas that the world is round? How could that be? I don't feel like I'm leaning forward. You should have gone to mess at least once in your sinful life."

"No, I'm a simple man. I only belief what I see. The night before we left harbor, I was the night guard. I saw something. Christopher came up behind me. He told me to look straight at the lighthouse. If my eyes were blinded, I were doing it right. Then, I heard footsteps behind me. A small group of man was moving very fast. All the light in my eyes made me sneeze. I couldn't help myself and doubled over. For a moment, I got a glimpse," said the man with scurvy.

"What did you see?"

"Well, they were carrying a bag, the size of a pig or a big dog maybe. It was alive inside. I saw it moving. I saw it struggling. They were very quick to hide it in the captain's cabin. The captain has a life sacrifice to pay the ferryman to the netherworld. We will go to hell. That is for sure. But, we have our fare to make it back out."

Three months earlier in the port town of Cadiz, Christopher was walking down a road, freshly turned into mud from a heavy rain, with a corpse rotting in the open and blackbirds picking on the body. A shady hooded figure in a dark overcoat was sharpening a dagger peering into the road. Scrawny, raggedy figures were living underneath a canopy of a sailcloth right in the street. The stench of the canalization was heavily mind-numbing. An open canal dropped sewer into the main drainage channel. Turds of feces were floating in it.

"Did the church's assassin leave us?" asked Christopher.

"Yes, sir," said the soldier at his side. The soldier was covering his face with a robe. His eyes were darting worried into all the dark corners and treacherous allies. "Yes, he left us three blocks away. The sewage canals are too dangerous. I'm afraid I will have to leave you as well. The Queen Isabelle has ordered me to protect you from earthly dangers. Death himself may be walking here. If that wooded man with the dagger would come here, I would not know if I fight man or demon. You've achieved your schemes goal to get rid of the assassin. I beg you with all my heart for the sake of my family, let us leave right now."

"My scheme wasn't to shake the assassin. I have an important meeting here for safe passage. If you are a mere soldier and not a warrior, you may go now. With the church's assassin gone, I don't require your services anymore," replied Christopher.

Not a word said more, the soldier dropped his spear and went running in full speed the opposite way. The footsteps splattering the mud puddles rang out. As Christopher's ears adjusted to the silence, he could hear the moans of the sick in the street. A tavern wench was moaning in ecstasy as a patron fucked her for a quarter silver coin. She would have lifted her ruffled skirt to let him fuck the filthy, sperm coated pussy. A man was doubled over in an alley silently bleeding out, a hapless person who had said no to a mugger and yes to a dull, rusty blade to his stomach.

Christopher gripped the metal rung of a ladder with his hand. The twisted iron was rusted and grimy. Step by step, Christopher descended down to the main sewage channel. The stench was so overpowering that his thoughts were wiped clean. His belly was revulsing. He threw up a little green bile as he descended into the darkness. The splattering sound of water sent shivers up his spine at the imagination of what refuse was falling down.

"Who is there?" asked an old man on a chair. His eyes had been gouged out. The closed eyelids were fallen back. The man was bald. He was wearing a Jesuit monk garb, a brown robe with the emblem of a cross torn off. His feet were bare. The white hair on the back of his hands with the age spots painted him old.

"My name is Christopher. My counsel tells me that you sell the Spanish Dragon," said Christopher.

"Oh, yes, the Spanish Dragon. Why else would a surface man come visit me? You didn't come to see if I was alright. You didn't come for my wisdom. It's give me the Spanish Dragon, and I'll be on my way," replied the old man bitterly.

"It is the crowning achievement of your life's work, even if the church doesn't see it that way. You were their chief alchemist, and they banished you into this abysmal place, as bad as purgatory could be," replied Christopher.

"Ha, no you insult my home. Didn't the aboveground people teach you if you want something you must charm the man, smear honey around his mouth, until he feels like the most desired and amazing person in the world. And here you come to insult me," the old man spat on the ground. The white of his spit was a welcome respite from the layers of most despicable filth.

"My honorable saint, how can I right the insult?" said Christopher coyly.

"Have a seat with me," said the old man pointing at the ground.

Floods had covered the floor over and over with diluted human feces. Christopher sat down on it, his butt cheeks denting into the feces. His nose was perking up as high as he could. A candle was throwing fickle light on the stones that formed a dome over the canalization, a long tunnel that was running from the depth of the city to the shore.

"The Spanish Dragon, yes, I discovered it. I still remember the day. The snow had recently melted. The roses in the monasteries garden were budding to open soon into a soft pink. The priest had brought me another altar boy for my experiments. I gave him a tea spoon of these local herbs with an herb that a trader had brought from the orient. It was a strange herb. It looked like a black root. Yet, it stained red. It was a terrible stain. A soft touch and my fingers were red. I could not rub it off. So, I gave that lad a spoonful of black stew. When I asked him to open his mouth, his whole mouth was red," spoke the old man.

"The hallucinations were terrible. My voice could not reach his mind anymore. I had to put him inside of a box. The darkness of that box was a blank canvas that made his hallucinations only more vivid. A bad experiment, it may have been. That's maybe that was all to it. I had gone through half the monastery town's children on my quest. The children were clogging up the cemetery. The local bishop kept encouraging me. The funerals brought in a lot of donations. There was something else to it. That oriental herb..." the old man trailed out.

"The altar boy got aroused. The arousal had turned him mad. He chased all the nuns around. The Spanish Dragon is the world's most powerful aphrodisiac. Kings have sent messengers down here to buy a little vial. I never sell it to Kings even if they offer me a trunk of gold, because I know what would happen to me if a King took it and went insane," the old man shook his head.

"You should have seen the state of the monastery after that altar boy's rampage. You can't imagine how horny a man can be. When the church send an inquisition party, half the monastery had to be put down, because their minds were too damaged by what they had seen. The monk with the golden helmet came with an axe. And he was chopping down my dear friends, priests, monks, nuns. That blade went down over and over. The whole monastery was drenched in blood. When the monastery was purified, the bishop came. He had me put in chains and banished down here. Death would be too good for me," the old man lifted his hands out of the lap to show the heavy iron chains that tied him to the wall. He rattled them to send an echo down the tunnel. He laughed at the scare that they put into Christopher's heart.

"Haha," the old man broke into a bitter laugh. "I know your little heart is racing, trying to get the Spanish Dragon into your hot, sweaty hands. Did your consult tell you the price? It's your soul and 400 silver coins."

Christopher got on his knees and bowed his head down. With an earnest face, he looked down. His breath was tight. He shut out the filth of the place to feel the moment of offering allegiance. "I'll give you my soul."

The old man took Christopher's head onto the old man's lap. He pressed the cheeks against the thighs. He got a knife out and cut a lock of hair from Christopher.

"I'll take ownership of your soul. I'll let you keep it for the length of your life. This lock will be my deed on your soul. When you breathe your second to last breath, I'll come and take your soul. You shall die a soulless man. And I will sell your soul to the highest bidder. There are many a non-human bidders paying handsomely for a soul," said the old man. Then he reached into the folds of his robe to hold up a thumb sized vial. "May you die a swift death if you are fool enough to drink this magic potion."

Back in present time at high seas, a sailor was standing over an empty water casket. His fist hit down on the casket over and over. Bam-bam-bam... His face was fiery red with anger. His face was full of unshaved hair. The skin on his head was peeling. His teeth were yellow. He was missing two front teeth. He had a plain face of someone who was told what to do all his life.

"Blood of my blood. We have been pushed down by the world. Everybody gives us less respect than a dog. Yes, they make us eat dog feces for sport," he hollered across the crowd of grim sailors who were looking on to him.

"Today is the night that we rise up. Today, we claim our rightful spot on the world." The men around him grunted in approval.

"When I look at you, I see respect. I see love from one brother to another brother." The men rattled whatever stick and hanger they had in their hand.

"Against all this love and respect is one man, only one man. And he is up there in the captain's cabin. He is eating juicy chicken and drinking wine right now. He is writing denigrating poems about us, while we toil." The men screamed in anger and pain.

"I say we take this ship. It is ours. We are seaman. He is a land man. Land man don't belong on ships. I say we toss him over the railing and make him find the ground a mile beneath!" The men broke out in excited screaming.

Christopher looked coolly over the mutiny brewing in the night. The headman had the look of a haunted animal in his eyes. Christopher grabbed his hand forcefully.

"Don't jump," said Christopher. "We have until sunrise. I will play the trump card then."

The headman looked longing for the ocean. "Let us die right now. The sea is so peaceful. She will embrace us. Those monsters down in the belly of the ship will tear us apart, torture us, and feed us to the seagulls."

"Have nerves as steel! When a bear charges you, you must hold your position until he is in striking range of your sword. I can see the red in his eyes already. He still has a few paces to charge. Have nerves as steel!" encouraged Christopher.

A year earlier in the province of Andalusia, the court room with its white marble rock was packed with people. The judge with a might wig of curls was presiding high above the stammering crowd. He knocked the gavel to rouse the crowd to order. A young woman was thrown on the cold marble floor in front of him. Her white ruffle dress was torn exposing her rosy skin. A nobleman was standing high in his finery with an indignant face. His wife was screaming from the gallery at the top of her lung.

"I want to hear the young woman's story. Start with your name," ordered the judge.

"Slut," screamed a heckler from the back.

"My name is Maria. I was born Carmona. My parent worked at a flour mill. When I was eighteen Visconde de Atamaria took me in his service. He was riding through our village on a return from a hunt. He spotted me pulling a water bucket up from the well. He sent one of his hunters on horse to retrieve me. The hunter caught me and pulled me onto his horse," recounted Maria her voluptuous breasts were shaking. Her arms were waving wide and graciously. Her motion exposed the skin on her leg and little glimpses of her tender belly through the tears in her white ruffled dress.