They worked straight through the night, the exhausted men going without sleep in their frantic haste to finish work on the ship. A heavy guard was posted, making the work slower, but Hunter felt it was necessary.
At midnight, the drums began to pound once more and they continued for the better part of an hour. Then there was an ominous silence.
The men were unnerved; they did not want to work, and Hunter had to urge them onward. Toward dawn, he was standing alongside a seaman on the beach, helping him to hold down a plank of lumber, when the man slapped his neck.
“Damn mosquitoes,” he said.
And then, with an odd look on his face, he collapsed, coughed, and died.
Hunter bent over him. He looked at the neck, and saw only a pinprick, with a single red drop of blood. Yet the man was dead.
From somewhere near the bow, he heard a scream, and another man tumbled to the sand, dead. His crew was in confusion; the posted guards came running back toward the ship; the men working huddled under the hull.
Hunter looked again at the dead man at his feet. Then he saw something in the man’s hand. It was a tiny, feathered dart with a needle point.
Poison darts.
“They’re coming,” shouted the lookouts. The men scrambled behind bits of wood and debris, anything that would afford protection. They waited tensely. Yet no one came; the bushes and cactus clumps along the shore were silent.
Enders crept over to Hunter. “Shall we resume work?”
“How many have I lost?”
“Peters, sir.” Enders looked down. “And Maxwell here.”
Hunter shook his head. “I can’t lose more.” His crew was cut to thirty, now. “Wait for the dawn.”
“I’ll pass the word,” Enders said, and crawled away. As he did, there was a whine and a thwack! And a small feathered dart buried itself in the wood near Hunter’s ear. He ducked down again, and waited.
Nothing further happened until dawn, when, with an unearthly wail, the red-painted men came out from the brush and descended on the beach. Hunter’s men answered with a round of musket-fire. A dozen of the savages dropped on the sand, and the others fell back into hiding.
Hunter and his men waited, crouched and uncomfortable, until midday. When nothing occurred, Hunter cautiously gave word to resume work. He led a party of men inland. The savages were gone without a trace.
He returned to the ship. His men were haggard, weary, moving slowly. But Enders was cheerful. “Cross your fingers and praise Providence,” he said, “and we’ll be off soon.”
As the sound of hammering and construction began afresh, he went to see Lady Sarah.
She lay on the sand and stared as Hunter approached.
“Madam,” he said, “how do you fare?”
She stared at him, not answering. Her eyes were open, but she did not see him.
“Madam?”
There was no reply.
“Madam?”
He passed a hand in front of her face. She did not blink. She gave no sign of recognition.
He left her, shaking his head.
They floated El Trinidad on the evening tide but they could not depart from the cove until dawn. Hunter paced the deck of his ship, keeping an eye toward the shore. The drums had started again. He was very tired, but he did not sleep. At intervals through the night, the air whined with the deadly darts. No man was struck, and Enders, crawling over the ship like a sharp-eyed monkey, pronounced himself satisfied, if not pleased, with the repairs.
At first light, they hauled the stern anchor and backed and filled, making for open water. Hunter watched, expecting to see a fleet of canoes with red warriors attacking. He was able, now, to give them a taste of cannon shot, and he was looking forward to the opportunity.
But the Indians did not attack, and as the sails were raised to catch the wind, and No Name Cay disappeared behind them, the entire episode began to seem like a bad dream. He was very tired. He ordered most of his crew to sleep, leaving Enders at the tiller with a skeleton crew.
Enders was worried.
“By God,” Hunter said, “you’re eternally worried. We’ve just made off from the savages, we have our ship beneath our feet and clear water before us. When will you find it suffices?”
“Aye, the water’s clear,” Enders said, “but now we are in the Boca del Dragon, and no mistake. And this is no place for a skeleton crew.”
“The men must sleep,” Hunter said, and he went below. He immediately fell into a tormented, restless sleep in his heated, airless cabin. He dreamt his ship was capsized in the Boca del Dragon, where the waters were deeper than anywhere else in the Western Sea. He was sinking into blue water, then black . . .
He awoke with a start, to the shout of a woman. He ran on deck. It was twilight, and the breeze was very light; the sails of El Trinidad billowed and caught the reddish glow of sunset. Lazue was at the helm, having relieved Enders. She pointed out to sea: “Look there.”
Hunter looked. To port, there was a churning beneath the surface and a phosphorescent object, blue-green and glowing, came streaking toward them.
“The Dragon,” Lazue said. “The Dragon has been following us for an hour.”
Hunter watched. The glowing creature came closer, and moved alongside the ship, slowing in speed to match El Trinidad. It was enormous, a great bag of glowing flesh with long tentacles stretched out behind.
“No!” shouted Lazue, as the rudder was twisted from her hands. The ship rocked crazily. “It’s attacking!”
Hunter grabbed at the rudder, took it in his hands. But some powerful force had taken hold of it and seized control. He was knocked back against the gunwale; the breath went out of him, and he gasped. Seamen ran on deck, drawn by Lazue’s shouts. There were terrified cries of “Kraken! Kraken!”
Hunter got to his feet just as a slimy tentacle-arm snaked over the railing and twisted around his waist. Sharp, horny suckers tore at his clothing and dragged him toward the rail. He felt the coldness of the creature’s flesh. He overcame his revulsion, and hacked with his dagger at the tentacle that encircled him. It had superhuman strength, lifting him high into the air. He plunged his dagger again and again into its flesh. Greenish blood flowed down his legs.
And then, abruptly, the tentacle released its grip, and he fell to the deck. Getting to his feet, he saw tentacles everywhere, snaking over the stern of the ship, coming up high over the aft deck. A seaman was caught and raised, writhing, into the air. The creature flung him, almost disdainfully, into the water.
Enders shouted: “Get belowdecks! Belowdecks!” Hunter heard musket volleys from somewhere amidships. Men leaned over the side, firing at the thing.
Hunter went to the stern and looked down at the dreadful sight. The bulbous body of the creature was directly astern, and its many tentacles gripped the ship in a dozen places, whipping and snaking this way and that. The entire body of the animal was phosphorescent green in the growing darkness. The creature’s green tentacles were snaking into the windows of the aft cabins.
He suddenly remembered Lady Sarah, and rushed below. He found her in her cabin, still stone-faced.
“Come, Madam—”
At that moment, the lead-paned windows shattered, and an enormous tentacle, as thick as a tree trunk, snaked into the cabin. It wrapped itself around a cannon, and hauled at it; the cannon came free of its chock blocks, and rolled across the room. Where the creature’s horned suckers had touched it, the gleaming yellow metal was deeply scratched.
Lady Sarah screamed.
Hunter found an ax and hacked at the waving tentacle. Sickening green blood gushed in his face. The suckers brushed against his cheek, tearing his skin. The tentacle backed off, then snaked forward again, wrapping like a glowing green hose around his leg, throwing him to the deck. He was dragged along the floor toward the window. He buried the ax into the decking to hold himself fast; the ax pulled free, and then Lady Sarah screamed again as Hunter was torn through the already broken glass of the window and outside, over the stern of the ship.