Pirate Latitudes

Chapter 26

FOUR DAYS LATER, they sighted the monster.

It had been an uneventful sail, down the chain of the Lesser Antilles. The wind was fair and the sea calm; Hunter knew he was now nearly a hundred miles south of Matanceros, and with each passing hour he breathed more easily.

His crew was busy making the galleon as seaworthy as possible. The Spanish crew had kept El Trinidad in a lamentable state of repair. Rigging was frayed; sails were thin in places, torn in others; decks were filthy and the holds stank with refuse. There was much to do as they sailed southward, past Guadeloupe and San Marino.

At noon of the fourth day, Enders, ever watchful, noticed the change in the water. He pointed off to starboard. “Look there,” he said to Hunter.

Hunter turned. The water was placid, with only a slight chop to mar the glassy surface. But barely a hundred yards away, there was a churning beneath the waves — some large object moving toward them, and at incredible speed.

“What are we making?” he demanded.

“Ten knots,” Enders said. “Mother of God . . .”

“If we are making ten, that thing is making twenty,” Hunter said.

“At least twenty,” Enders said. He glanced around at the crews. No one had noticed it.

“Move to landward,” Hunter said. “Get us in shoal water.”

“The kraken don’t like it shallow,” Enders said.

“Let us hope not.”

The submerged shape moved closer, and passed by the boat some fifty yards away. Hunter had a glimpse of dead gray-white, a suggestion of tentacles, and then the thing was gone. It moved off, and circled, then came back again.

Enders slapped his cheek. “I’m dreaming,” he said. “I must be. Say it is not true.”

“It’s true,” Hunter said.

From the nest of the mainmast, Lazue, the lookout, whistled to Hunter. She had seen the thing. Hunter looked up at her and shook his head, to keep silent.

“Thank God she didn’t give out the cry,” Enders said, “that’s all we’d be needing, isn’t it?”

“Shoal water,” Hunter said grimly. “And quickly.” He watched the churning water approach once more.

Up in the mainmast nest, Lazue was high above the clear blue water, and she could see the approach of the kraken plainly. Her heart was in her throat, for this was a legendary beast, the stuff of sailing songs and stories for the children of seafarers. But few had ever seen such a creature, and Lazue was not glad of the experience. It seemed to her that her heart stopped as she watched the thing approach again, with frightening speed, plowing up the surface as it came toward El Trinidad.

When it was very close, she saw the entire animal clearly. Its skin was a dead gray. It had a pointed snout, a bulbous body at least twenty feet long, and trailing behind, a tangle of long tentacles, like a Medusa’s head. It passed beneath the ship, not touching the hull, but the waves from the creature’s movements rocked the galleon. Then she saw it emerge on the other side and plunge down into the blue depths of the ocean. She wiped her sweating brow.

Lady Sarah Almont came on deck to find Hunter peering over the side. “Good day, Captain,” she said. He turned and gave her a slight bow. “Madam.”

“Captain, you are quite ashen. Is all well?”

Without replying, Hunter rushed to the other side of the aft deck and peered over the side again.

Enders at the tiller said, “You see it?”

“See what?” asked Lady Sarah.

“No,” Hunter said. “It dived.”

“We should have thirty fathoms beneath us,” Enders said. “That’s shoal for the thing.”

“What thing?” asked Lady Sarah, pouting prettily.

Hunter came back to her.

Enders said, “It may be back.”

“Aye,” Hunter said.

She looked from Hunter to Enders. Both men were drenched in cold sweat. Both were very pale.

“Captain, I am no sailor. What is the meaning of this?”

Enders, tense, exploded. “God’s blood, woman, we have just seen—”

“—an omen,” said Hunter smoothly, with a sharp look to Enders. “An omen, my lady.”

“An omen? Are you superstitious, Captain?”

“Aye, he’s very superstitious, he is,” said Enders, glancing out toward the horizon.

“It is plain,” said Lady Sarah, stamping her foot on the deck, “that you will not tell me what is amiss.”

“That’s right,” Hunter said, smiling. He had a charming smile, even through his pallor. He could be most exasperating, she thought.

“I know I am a woman,” she began, “but I really must insist—”

And at that moment, Lazue shouted, “Sail ho!”

Straining his eyes to the glass, Hunter saw square canvas directly astern, coming above the line of the horizon. He turned back to Enders, but the sea artist was already barking orders to run out all the canvas El Trinidad possessed. The topgallants were unreefed; the foresprit was run up, and the galleon gathered speed.

A warning shot was fired to the Cassandra, a quarter of a mile ahead. Soon after, the little sloop also let out her full canvas.

Hunter looked through the glass again. The sails on the horizon had not grown larger — but neither had they diminished in size.

“God’s blood, from one monster to another,” Enders said. “How do we fare?”

“We’re holding,” Hunter said.

“We must come off this course soon,” Enders said.

Hunter nodded. El Trinidad was running free before an easterly wind, but her course carried her too far west, toward the island chain to their right. Soon the water would be too shallow; they would have to alter course. On any ship, a course change meant at least a temporary loss in speed. Short-handed, the galleon would be especially slow.

Hunter said, “Can you wear her?”

Enders shook his head. “I dare not, Captain. We are too short-manned.”

Lady Sarah said, “What is the problem?”

“Quiet,” Hunter said. “Go below.”

“I will not—”

“Go below!” he bellowed.

She backed off, but did not go below. Standing some distance away, she watched what she viewed as a strange spectacle. The man Lazue came down from the rigging with catlike grace, almost feminine in his movements. It was with a shock that Lady Sarah noticed the press of the wind against Lazue’s blouse, clearly outlining breasts. So the gentle man was a woman! She had no time to ponder this, however, for Hunter was standing with Lazue and Enders, and all were engaged in fierce conversation. Hunter showed her the pursuing ship, and the island chain to the right. He pointed to the cloudless sky, and the sun, already on its downward arc as afternoon wore on. Lazue was frowning.

“What island will you make for?” she said.

“Cat,” Enders said, pointing to a large island down the chain.

“Monkey Bay?” she asked.

“Aye,” Enders said. “Monkey Bay.”

“Do you know it?” Hunter said.

“Yes, but it was years past, and this is a windward port. How is the moon?”

“Third quarter,” Hunter said.

“And there are no clouds,” Lazue said. “Pity.”

At this, they all nodded and shook their heads very gloomily. Then Lazue said, “Are you a gambler?”

“You know I am,” Hunter said.

“Then make your course change, and see if you can outrun the ship. If you do, well and good. If not, we will manage.”

“I trust your eyes,” Hunter said.

“Do,” Lazue said, and she scrambled back up the rigging to her lookout post.

Lady Sarah could make nothing of this conversation, although she recognized the tension and concern well enough. She remained by the railing, looking toward the horizon — where the sails of the pursuing ship were now clearly visible to her naked eye — until Hunter came over to her. Now that the decision was made, he seemed more relaxed.

“I did not understand a word of that,” she said.

“It is simple enough,” Hunter said. “You see the ship following?”

“I do.”

“And you see the island downwind, Cat Island?”

“I do.”

“There is a harbor there, called Monkey Bay. It is our first refuge, if we can make it.”

She looked from the pursuing ship to the island. “But surely you are close to the island, and there will be no problem.”

“You see the sun?”

“Yes . . .”

“The sun is setting to the west. In another hour, it will gleam off the water with a brightness to cause pain to the eye. And we cannot see the obstructions beneath, as we make for that bay. In these waters, a ship cannot sail into the sun unless you risk tearing out the bottom on coral.”

“But Lazue has entered the port before.”

“Aye, but it is a windward port. Windward ports are exposed to the storms and strong currents of the open ocean, and they change. A sand bar can shift in days, weeks. Monkey Bay may not be as Lazue remembers it.”

“Oh.” She was silent a moment. “Then why make for port? You have not stopped these three nights past. Sail on into the night, and lose the ship in darkness.” She felt very pleased with this solution.

“There is a moon,” Hunter said gloomily. “Third quarter, it will not be up until midnight. But it will be enough for the ship to follow us — we will have only four hours of true darkness. We cannot lose her in so short a time.”

“Then what will you do?”

Hunter picked up the glass and scanned the horizon. The pursuing ship was slowly gaining on them.

“I will make for Monkey Bay. Into the sun.”

“Ready about!” Enders shouted, and the ship came around into the wind, slowly, cumbersomely changing course. It took a full quarter of an hour before they were cutting through the water again, and during that interval, the sails of the pursuing craft had grown much larger.

As Hunter peered through the glass, he felt something about those sails was depressingly familiar. “You don’t suppose . . .”

“What, sir?”

“Lazue!” Hunter shouted, and pointed to the horizon.

Up above, Lazue put the glass to her eye.

“What do you make it to be?”

She shouted down: “Our old friend!”

Enders groaned. “Cazalla’s warship? The black ship?”

“None other.”

“Who commands her now?” Enders said.

“Bosquet, the Frenchy,” Hunter said, recalling the slim, composed man he had seen board the ship at Matanceros.

“I know of him,” Enders said. “Steady and competent seaman, he knows his trade.” He sighed. “Too bad it’s not a Don at the helm, we might have better luck.” The Spaniards were notoriously bad seamen.

“How long to landfall now?”

“A full hour,” Enders said, “could be more. If the passage is tight, we’ve got to get in some of this canvas.”

That would cut their speed even more, but it could not be helped. If they were to have control over the ship in confined waters, they would have to shorten sail.

Hunter looked back at the pursuing warship. She was changing course, her sails tilting as she wore to leeward. She lost ground a moment, but soon was moving ahead at full speed.

“It will be a very near thing,” he said.

“Aye,” Enders said.

Lazue up in the rigging stretched her left arm. Enders changed course, watching until she dropped her arm. Then he held steady. A short time later, her right arm was held out, half-bent.

Enders again corrected course, turning slightly to starboard.