Pirate Latitudes

“Perhaps. But lead is dull on the surface, and this is not. I warrant that this silver is mixed with platina.”

This news was greeted with groans. Platinum was a worthless metal.

“How much of it is platina, Don Diego?”

“I cannot say. To know exactly I need better measures. I guess as much as half.”

“The damned Dons,” Sanson said. “Not only do they steal from the Indians, they steal from each other. Philip is a poor king to be so openly cheated.”

“All kings are cheated,” Hunter said. “It is in the nature of being a king. But these bars are still worth something - at least ten thousand pounds. We have still captured a great treasure.”

“Aye,” Sanson said. “But think what it might have been.”

There was other treasure to be accounted. The holds of the ships contained household articles, fabrics, logwood, tobacco, and spices such as chili and cloves. All these could be auctioned on the docks of Port Royal, and they would amount, in total, to a substantial sum - perhaps two thousand pounds.

The accounting ran long into the night, and then the counting team joined the others in drunken songs and revelry. Neither Hunter nor Sanson participated; instead, they met in Hunter’s cabin.

Sanson came directly to the point. “How is the woman?”

“Prickly,” Hunter said. “And she cries a good deal.”

“But she is unscathed?”

“She is alive.”

“She must be accounted a part of the king’s tenth,” Sanson said. “Or the governor’s.”

“Sir James will not allow it.”

“Surely you can persuade him.”

“I doubt it.”

“You have rescued his only niece…”

“Sir James has a keen business sense. His fingers cling to gold.”

“I think you must try, on the part of all the crew,” Sanson said, “to show him the correct way of thinking.”

Hunter shrugged. He had, in fact, already thought of this, and was planning to argue the case before the governor.

But he did not wish to make any promises to Sanson.

The Frenchman poured wine. “Well,” he said heartily. “We have done great things, my friend. What is your plan for the return?”

Hunter sketched his intention to travel south, then to stay in open water until they could reach northward for Port Royal.

“Do you not think,” Sanson said, “that we will be safer if we divide the treasure between the two ships, and separate now, returning by different routes?”

“I think it is better we remain together. Two ships present a formidable obstacle, seen from a distance. Singly, we might be attacked.”

“Aye,” Sanson said. “But there are a dozen Spanish ships of the line patrolling these waters. If we separate, it is most unlikely we would both encounter warships.”

“We need not fear Spanish warriors. We are legitimate Spanish merchantmen. Only the French or the English might attack us.”

Sanson smiled. “You do not trust me.”

“Of course not,” Hunter said, smiling back. “I want you in my sight, and I want the treasure beneath my feet.”

“So be it,” Sanson said, but there was a dark look in his eyes, and Hunter promised himself he would remember it.

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.