One of these, equipped with a loaded harquebus and a little tinder ready in an iron box, approached their small forge. Another with a saber approached from the opposite side, as if they wished to outflank Manuel and Reynard. The pair stopped their work on the brackets and closely studied the unhappy men.
“El maestro quiere hablar contigo con ustedes,” said the soldier with the saber.
Manuel led Reynard to the beach.
el maestro sat on a barrel near the bow, in the shadow of the galleon, as sailors came and went on the ramps. The biggest man on the ship, he had lost a notable amount of his bulk in the night, but his hair showed just a shade grayer. He pointed to Manuel. “The English boy told us he knew this place.”
“It was to make himself useful,” Manuel said. “He did not wish to be thrown overboard.”
el maestro shrugged. “I know thee, Manuel. Thou art a sailor with much experience, not an easy man to deceive, and my little ears have heard thou speak’st to this boy as if ye wouldst share secrets.”
Reynard did not want to learn too soon that they were about to be executed, and his mind wandered in a kind of self-defense to other matters—to an observation that there were no mosquitoes here, and no biting flies. And all the fleas and lice had died! Perhaps it was the wrong season. But it was summer, no? So where were the insects? Drake and other travelers had observed that the seasons reversed only as one moved south beyond the equator. Was there another equator as one sailed farther north?
And what did the ship-crawling lobsters prey upon when they could not climb up on galleons? Were there other predators in the woods, natural predators, and not just spirits? Predators that resented hunters taking down their hreindyr…
“What was it that visited us in the night?” el maestro asked Manuel. “These gente de vidrio.”
“I do not know their names,” Manuel said.
“Vampires, of a kind? I have read Lucius, Culo de Oro. I know of spirits who drink blood, but never of a land where they still live—except perhaps the Indies.”
Reynard listened closely, trying to understand.
“el capitán tells me this boy is Gitano, like thee. Is that true?”
“I am not clear on his ancestry, or mine own, for that matter—but there are many such in Spain, and who can know?”
“Hath this place an ancient Gypsy name, old man?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“How about the boy? Would he know?”
“Nor him,” Manuel said.
“He nameth it ‘the land where the wind sleeps.’ Doth he still believe?”
“That was my translation, señor. Clumsy at best.”
Reynard said nothing.
“Deceit and ignorance. How like Gitanos!” el maestro said. “I would soonest get back to sea. But el capitán doth wish to stay and find towns and people he can pillage. Since he never reached London and hath no victories to his name, he thinketh this could be his Mexico or Peru… But many died in those far lands, and I prefer to support his conquests from beyond… away from los vampiros and out from under those eagles—if they are birds at all. My ship hath had enough of large ambitions.”
Manuel listened with a humble frown.
el maestro spat in disgust. “Finish the hardware for the patch. Soon we will have felled enough of these damned trees to free my ship at high tide, or when the land doth breathe again. Thy choice will be stay with el capitán or go with my ship. But for now, thine only choice is to work.”
Blunters
A SHOUTING ROSE at the tree line.
Reynard and Manuel covered the fire and moved through a tightening crowd of unhappy sailors and cabin boys. In the middle of the gathering, ten or twelve paces off, they saw two middle-aged men with dark brown hair flanking a lone woman with a broad face, wide green eyes, and black hair, slightly younger—and all wearing leather jackets and pants. The three appeared healthy and strong and carried thick leather satchels.
Soldiers surrounded this trio with half-pikes presented, but despite the ominous greeting, the newcomers surveyed the galleon’s complement with an alert equanimity, as if expecting anything, but assured they would prevail. The sailors and soldiers were exhausted and near panic, but el maestro urged all to maintain their wits. Here were people who might have answers.
Manuel kept his eyes on the leather satchels.
el maestro approached the newcomers with hands open and empty, though his sword and three knives were slung on his waist. They exchanged words Reynard could not hear at that distance, soldiers relieved them of their satchels, and el maestro then called for Manuel to come forward.
The woman eyed the spiked head of the deer with apparent disgust, then spoke first—to Manuel. The old man glared a sharp warning at Reynard to stay silent, and shook his own head in response. The woman took a breath and tried again. This came out, Reynard thought, as Dutch or German, which Manuel knew well enough.
“She says we should not be here,” Manuel translated. “And we should not have killed the deer. It belongs to important people and is forbidden.”
“How sad,” the cook said, sure of el capitán’s favor.
The woman spoke some more. Reynard heard and half understood only “Als wij nog een nacht willen leven.”
“If we want to live another night,” Manuel translated for all, “we should return to our ship and go home.”
el maestro said in passable Dutch that the ship had a great hole in one side, but they would soon have it patched.
The woman now focused on Reynard, her brows knit, and called out, in English, with an Irish lilt, “Thou art not of them?”
Reynard shook his head.
“Thou hast come on a ship filled with weapons. Thy weapons?” She looked with a frown at the few soldiers in their armor and helmets, the sailors in homespun and canvas—all thin and wan. Desperate and afraid.
“Not mine,” Reynard said.
“What we learn is that there hath been a battle—a war,” the woman said. “Other ships packed with soldiers arrived in recent months. Maybe thy leader will find them out there, maybe not. Because of the Eaters, I think few remain. Fix thy ship. Get ye home whilst ye can.”
“Chronophagos,” Manuel whispered to Reynard. “Eaters of time. For me, useful.”
“Why art ye here?” el maestro asked them. “Why come to this beach? To spy?”
“We blunt dragons,” the woman said, lifting her satchel. At a flick of el maestro’s finger, two soldiers took charge of the bag and emptied it, showing a mallet and a kind of chisel.
el maestro raised a bushy brow.
“This is the season their nymphs rise from the waves and hang in trees. We must find them and blunt them, spike the exitus, the ostium of their sacks, or when they split and emerge, they will fly free and kill and eat whom they will.”
The soldiers returned the bag and the implements.
“We saw them!” el maestro said. “Under the sea, following our ship—was it one also, hanging from a tree on the little island?”
The woman nodded. “We have no time to waste.”
el maestro took Manuel aside, and they spoke more.