Throwback Thursday: What the Wind Brings by Matthew Hughes

In What the Wind Brings by Matthew Hughes, we meet three fascinating protagonists whose lives intersect in remarkable ways. Through a braided narrative, this sweeping slipstream historical epic tells the story of African slaves who were shipwrecked on the jungle coast of 16th-century Ecuador. They allied with local indigenous people and together outfought and out-thought Spanish conquistadors to preserve their freedom.

Excerpted in Pulp Literature Issue 23, Summer 2019, and again here, this outstanding novel was recently named a finalist for the 2020 Endeavour Award!

And, in other exciting Hughes news, we are delighted to announce Matthew as this year’s judge for our 2020 Raven Short Story Contest! Open now until 15 October, this is your chance at the $300 top prize and publication in Issue 30, Spring 2021. For submission guidelines and to enter, visit our website. 

For now, step aboard the mighty Virgen and set sail for an incredible adventure …

What The Wind Brings

by Matthew Hughes

Alonso Illescas

Today the sea is flat, stretching away to the west like a dancing floor of green marble, veined and figured, until it meets a line that does not really exist yet is strong enough to demarcate world from sky. Yesterday, the wind blew fitfully from the south and made the ocean dance to its arrhythmic medley. The heavily laden galleon tacked continually, making scant progress as it alternately slanted toward the dense, forested shore with its strip of white beach then turned and beat its way out to sea again.

But today La Virgen has scarcely moved a furlong since the offshore wind died in the morning watch, like the last breath of a dying man, leaving … nothing. The sails hang inert, with not so much as a baby’s fart to fill them. The expression is Mendoza’s, speaking to Esquivel, the Basque mate, a moment ago. And now the stitched canvas actually billows a little backwards as the northbound current carries the galleon along against the resistance of the moist, dead air.

Alonso would like to know what is going on now as the captain confers with the Basque on the other side of the raised afterdeck, both of them staring fixedly at the south-western horizon. They must see something that eludes Alonso’s unsailorly gaze, because some quality in the flat line has energized the two men. Mendoza is asking the mate a question, and Esquivel is tugging at the filthy ruff that rings his neck above the sweat-stained doublet. It is a habitual gesture; Alonso has seen him do it whenever the mate feels that responsibility is being thrust upon him. Esquivel will never be a captain, he thinks; he is a man always in need of someone to tell him what to do. He would make a good slave, Alonso is thinking, and then he turns the thought on its head and examines its other end. Does that mean that I am a bad slave, since I enjoy having a wider scope?

The captain has come to a decision, and now the mate is moving to carry out his superior’s will. Esquivel is charged with energy now that the thinking has given way to doing. His shouts bring men running to the mid-deck, where La Virgen’s two boats are tied down. Hands untie and loosen the ropes on one of the boats, and in seconds it is turned right side up, revealing the oars stored beneath the thwarts. More shouts, all in Spanish but in half a dozen accents — Genoese, Venetian, Greek, even red-bearded Irish — more ropes, more coordinated bustle, and the boat is efficiently lowered over the rail to sit lightly upon the sea. In even less time, the second boat is in the water, and seamen are jumping down, seizing the oars. They row toward the bow, where their shipmates cast heavy lines down to them to tie to cleats on the boats’ transoms. 

Soon, Alonso sees the two boats pull out ahead of the galleon, the men at the oars bending and straightening in a slow rhythm, the wooden blades biting into the green-marble water, the thick, corded hemp tightening, spraying drops that sparkle in the sunlight as it lifts from the sea. Other seamen are brailing up the sails, and now La Virgen is turning, slowly, in a wide arc towards the open sea.

Alonso looks east to where a thin smear of green marks the unnamed land, a realm of impenetrable jungle and muddy rivers that lies between the port city of Panama and the even newer port at Lima that serves the realm that the Pizarro brothers have won from the barbarians for the glory of His Most Catholic Majesty, Philip of Spain. He approaches Mendoza and says, “Señor Captain?”

Mendoza’s back is to him. He looks south-west, squinting.

“Señor Captain?”

One of Mendoza’s shoulders twitches beneath the heavy cloth of his doublet, but he does not answer.

Alonso speaks softly. “Why are we turning north-west? My patrón was very clear. The cargo is needed urgently in Lima.”

Mendoza says something Alonso cannot hear then half-turns his head and says, “A storm is coming. There is no shelter on this shore. We must have sea room.”

Alonso looks at the horizon then up to the sky, which is blue and innocent of clouds except for some high wisps far out to sea. He is not sure what to say, and so he says nothing.

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Issue 23, Summer 2019 here, or What the Wind Brings here! 

Matthew Hughes writes in many genres under many names including Matt Hughes and Hugh Matthews. He has won the Arthur Ellis Award from the Crime Writers of Canada and has been short-listed for the Aurora, Nebula, Philip K Dick, Endeavour (twice), AE van Vogt, and Derringer Awards. He was recently inducted into the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association’s Hall of Fame. His work appears in Pulp Literature Issues 13, 23, and 26. Visit Matt at matthewhughes.org for updates on his many projects.