Read Online Lorenzo's Secret Mission by Lila Guzmán - Free Book Online Page A

moment.
    Calderón’s profile bore astounding similarities to the king’s.
    Suddenly, it all fit together. Calderón was related to King Carlos—probably his nephew. Colonel De Gálvez once told me Calderón had powerful friends at court. Did he mean the king himself?
    I tugged gently at Calderón’s bandage. Dried blood and pus made it stick to his skin. It looked bad. It smelled even worse. A sour taste came to my mouth.
    Calderón’s eyes slowly opened and peered up at me. “Where are we now?”
    â€œAbout a week away from Fort Arkansas. If we could go as straight as a bird could fly, we’d be at the mouth of the Ohio by now.” I cleaned his wound.
    Calderón clenched and unclenched his jaw.
    â€œThis is nothing,” I said offhandedly. “I’ve seen worse.” I pointed to the scar over my left eyebrow that I had earned fighting Saber-Scar.
    â€œThat little scratch? I’ve got a rapier wound that puts it to shame.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and attempted to rise.
    My hands on his chest, I forced him to lie back. “I believe you. You’re not strong enough to get up yet, Calderón.”
    â€œDon’t you think it’s time you called me by my first name?”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œHéctor.”
    â€œHéctor?” I nearly choked on the name. The image of a wizened old man leaped to mind, not a big-nosed lout.
    â€œDo you find something amusing?” Calderón asked.
    I didn’t answer. Instead, I focused on changing his bandage. “Where on earth did you get a name like that?”
    Calderón stiffened. “The king himself gave me that name.”
    â€œAre you related to King Carlos?”
    â€œYes,” he answered in a subdued tone.
    A tiny breath of moist air blew through the open window and brought a spicy smell from the forest.
    â€œWhat was your father like?” Calderón asked.
    My chest ached at the sudden question. I still missed Papá and didn’t want to talk about him. “He was my father,” I said, lifting a shoulder.
    â€œWhere’s your home?”
    â€œSan Antonio … I guess.”
    â€œYou guess? Were you born there?”
    â€œNo. I was born in Virginia.”
    â€œAnd you grew up in San Antonio?”
    â€œNo. Papá and I traveled around a lot.”
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œSaltillo, Mexico City, Albuquerque, Havana.”
    â€œSounds like you two were running from the law.”
    My eyes jerked up and held him. Was he making fun of me? Insulting Papá?
    â€œMy God, Lorenzo,” Calderón said with the hint of a smile. “It was a joke. A feeble one, but a joke nonetheless.”
    Unknowingly, Calderón had touched a nerve. Sometimes I regretted our frequent moves. No sooner did I make friends than we pulled up stakes again. On the other hand, I had been lots of places, seen lots of things.
    â€œPapá worked for the military hospital in Saltillo and often visited patients at frontier forts. His work required him to travel from fort to fort, and we never stayed more than a couple of months in one place.”
    â€œSo how did you end up in San Antonio?”
    â€œWhy all the questions?”
    He shrugged. “Just a way to pass the time.”
    â€œPapá was in Saltillo when he grew ill. He wrote my grandfather. I think he missed Virginia and longed to be buried in the land of his birth. Papá and my grandfather were estranged for years. My grandfather wrote back and agreed to let Papá return home. We were on our way to Virginia, but stopped in San Antonio, when Papá grew too weak to travel on. Papá is buried there.” Overcome with emotion, my voice cracked.
    Calderón didn’t say anything for a long time. “What did your father die of?” His tone was soft.
    â€œConsumption.”
    â€œWhat will you do in Virginia?”
    â€œI’ll stay with my