The Dust of 100 Dogs - A. S. King [86]
She went through a few more crates of gold doubloons and one filled solely with gold seal rings, cast in different designs. She tried on a few of them, admired her hand held flat in front of her, then took them off and put them back in the crate.
Emer went back to work on the locked chests. Surely this was where her real riches would be, so she dug into their hinges with great fervor and determination.
When she opened the nearest one and removed the top layer of fabric, Emer saw that it was filled to the very top with jewelry. Gemstone rings in gold settings, elaborate necklaces strung with precious rubies and diamonds, various-sized jewel-encrusted crosses, and a single sapphire pendant necklace so big Emer could barely figure who was meant to wear it. It seemed it would look best on an animal the size of a horse rather than a human, and a vision ran through her mind of a rich Spanish man whose carriage horses wore jewelry.
She pulled the huge pendant over her head and moved over to the next chest, which was filled with native artifacts. What sort of culture had made these evil-looking figurines? Two were the size of a forearm, solid gold creatures with two heads. One little figure had only one head but a long rolled tongue and searing eyes. Beneath them were four matching solid gold daggers, with smoothed emeralds set in the handles, and below them was a heavy surprise for King Philip’s birthday—which Emer unwrapped quickly. Then she sat staring at it in the lamplight as if she’d just unearthed a spaceship.
This emerald was twenty times the size of any gem she had ever seen, brighter and clearer than cut glass. But it wasn’t its size or luster that Emer marveled at most. It was its color. Only once in her life had she seen this shade of green before—and as she peered into the emerald, it showed her an image of her early home, her little verdant valley by the river. She wrapped it again, gently, and put it into an empty crate.
The next chest was full of a mish-mash of things—snuffboxes, more Inca and Aztec trinkets, a few prize pistols, and a small sack of carved jade pendants. The last chest held forty perfect black pearls, larger than musket balls. Emer returned to the chest that held the figurines and removed them. She found the four matching daggers and removed them, too, adding these things to the crate with the emerald.
The crate was now full, so Emer reached for a second, smaller one and emptied its sparkling contents onto the floor. She had little interest in mixed gems or pistols, so decided to pick out a few beautiful pieces of jewelry—the four-string rose-sapphire-and-ruby necklace, two large jade rings, several crosses, an enameled snuffbox, a handful of larger gemstones. She removed the sapphire horse necklace from around her neck and put it, with the jewelry, into a sack, which she tied and placed in her second crate.
Emer looked around for anything else she might want, adding the small sack of red gemstones to her collection. She placed lids on her boxes and stood up. After putting the lamp back on its hook by the door, she extinguished its flame and left the cargo hold. She carried the two crates to her room—where Seanie sat eating a grapefruit—and then returned to lock the cargo hold door. Three marines were standing there now, peering in, their jaws hanging open in amazement.
“You could buy a lot of pigs with that, Whitaker, I reckon. A lot of bloody pigs.”
“I reckon I could buy all the pigs in the world with that much loot, aye.”
“Stand aside men,” Emer said, key in hand, hurrying. The men stood in drunken attention. Emer locked the door.
“There’s plenty there to go around, lads. You’ll have your share by the time we get to port.”
“Whitaker reckons he could buy all the pigs in the world with that, sir. What do you think?”
“I suppose he could,” she said. “Or at least all the pigs he could want, no doubt.”
Whitaker saluted. “Aye, sir.”
When Emer returned to the room, she kissed Seanie and peeled a grapefruit. “Good morning.” When he looked at her