How to Catch a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale Read Free Book Online Page A

the presence of Father Monty couldn’t sour the Baron’s mood.
    As the priest yammered away about the success of the confessional booth he’d set up in the makeshift chapel, the dearth of reliable maps for this part of the world, and the main course on the night’s dinner menu, the Baron simply tuned him out.
    The businessman returned his gaze to the rocky shoreline.
    If everything went according to plan, by late afternoon, the ship would have found the elusive entrance to the bay.

Chapter 11
    A STYLISH MATE
     
    THE SAN CARLOS continued up the California coast, bobbing like a tiny cork in the bathtub of the Pacific. It was a blustery, unforgiving day. Bullying waves pummeled the boat’s sides and washed over the deck.
    Captain Ayala muscled his weight against the steering wheel, struggling to keep the ship on course, while Isabella manned her stool, chirping advice. Ayala hated to admit it, but he was relying far more on Isabella’s instincts and guidance than that of his first mate Humphretto.
    It wasn’t that the first mate wasn’t trying to be helpful; he was just ill equipped to do so.
    Humphretto was a petite man, with delicate hands and a slight build. Prone to worried hovering, he lacked the most basic of nautical skills. He had yet to master even a limited understanding of the
San Carlos
’s complicated network of pulleys and ropes. He was utterly confounded by how to adjust the new ship’s sails to adapt to changing wind conditions.
    Luckily, Humphretto was useful in other ways. He was a wiz with a pair of scissors; his haircutting expertise easily matched that of the finest fashion designers in Paris. Particularly during extended voyages, Humphretto stayed busy in his off-hours maintaining the many coifs of the crew. For this reason alone, he was a sought-after member of any sailing team. The commodore on Ayala’s previous ship had petitioned for Humphretto to stay on his galleon—to no avail.
    Likely, it was the Baron’s anticipated presence on the
San Carlos
that had caused the commodore’s request to be denied. The man’s face had turned purple with frustration, but he had been powerless to stop the transfer. Indignant, he had insisted on one last haircut before Humphretto left for the
San Carlos
.
    Ayala allowed himself a short smirk of triumph. Then he grimaced at the memory of a recent conversation with his first mate.
    Humphretto was greatly concerned about the captain’s image, particularly his hair. He was convinced that Ayala could become a world-renowned sailor and explorer, as famous as Sir Francis Drake—if only he took a little more care to his physical appearance.
    Frowning up at the captain’s head, Humphretto had posed the following question.
    “You know what Sir Drake had, Captain? The thing that put him over the top?”
    “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
    “Style, panache . . . and a traveling barber.”
    —
    IN ADDITION TO his hairstyling expertise, Humphretto was also an amateur tailor, a skill that came in handy on long deployments. He carried onboard a portable sewing machine capable of performing a wide range of stitches. He could mend the most severely rendered garment so that no one could determine where the hole had been.
    The first mate designed his own clothes from scratch. His most recent creation was a horsehair coat whose thick waterproof fabric he hoped would shut out the cold wet weather that was anticipated for their northern excursion.
    The verdict was still out on the coat’s effectiveness. With a shiver, Humphretto pulled up his collar as yet another wave splashed onto the deck.
    Then there was the matter of aesthetics. Ayala thought the coat made his first mate look like a beaver—an opinion that hadn’t been well received by the coat’s wearer.
    “I’m telling you, Captain, this is the latest rage in Madrid.”
    Ayala had grunted his response.
    “All you need is some oversized teeth.”
    —
    AND SO, AS Humphretto called out a warning