178 A Handful of Corn (1/2)
It was Morales himself who ordered the landing. At that point, he and everyone else had spent over ten hours in the boat. Everybody was glad to stretch their legs, and several crewmen also had other pressing needs. They disappeared into the bushes beyond the beach while the rest of the crew made the boat secure.
”We could rest a little, and then sail up the coast a little before it gets dark,” the captain told Morales. ”When we were getting close, I spotted the ideal spot to spend the night.”
”Oh? What makes it better than this spot here?” asked Morales. He didn't really want to board the boat again, at least not until the next morning.
”A stream,” said the captain. ”Fresh water.”
Morales nodded.
”I see,” he said. He could, of course, order everyone to set up camp where they were. They had enough drinking water for a full day, and could refill their water bottles when they passed by the stream in the morning. No, he couldn't do that. It would be a sign of weakness.
Morales sighed, and said:
”Please tell me when we're ready to leave.”
”Of course, senor. I estimate we'll be ready to leave in something like ten minutes.”
”Excellent,” lied Morales, and sauntered away walking along the water's edge. The coast sharply swerved west just beyond the beach, and he tried to spot the stream the captain had noticed earlier. But he couldn't see it, not even when he reached the end of the beach and climbed onto higher ground.
He remained standing there for a while, scanning the horizon. There was no sight of the ship that had pursued them earlier. They'd lost visual contact a good couple of hours before they reached the island. La Flecha was truly an arrow, and Morales decided he'd order the construction of several more pirogues. A pirogue with outriggers and a platform could carry a serious cargo load, too. Yes, the pirgoue was the ideal water craft for operations in the bay. Much better than the lumbering ship that had foolishly attempted to chase La Flecha.
He turned and began to walk back to his men, and not a moment too soon: he saw that the captain was waving, signaling their approaching departure. Well, they'll be stopping again, this time for the night, in less than a couple of hours. He'd survive.
He raised his arm, and gave his captain a cheery wave.
* * *
”That's Mount Livermore. Angel Island, sir,” captain Craw said, pointing at the horizon.
Kirk blinked, then blinked again. He couldn't see a fucking thing.
”I'll take your word for it,” he said. ”How much longer is it going to take to reach Fort Ayala?”
”We won't get there before dark, sir. We'll have to stop outside the port, anyway. I don't want to risk of running us aground.”
”That's correct, sir.”
”Jesus!”
”We wasted a couple of hours chasing that boat,” Craw said. ”And when we changed course, we lost the stern wind.”
”Why did we change course? Aren't we sailing to Angel Island?”
”We are. But Alaya Bay and Fort Alaya are on its northern shore. That boat we were chasing was sailing south by southeast. It took us off our course.”
”Why the hell did we locate our settlement there? It should be on the western shore. Shorter travel time, better communication.”
”Alaya Bay is the best natural harbor on the island. And it's just three miles off the Tiburon Peninsula, under an hour's sailing time with good wind.”
Kirk knew better than pursue that argument. He decided to be partially honest. A little honesty - not too much, just a little - a little honesty had often helped him get out of awkward situations. Kirk said:
”Hell, I was hoping to lie down in a bed tonight.”
”You could retire to your cabin, sir,” Craw said helpfully. ”I know there are two bunks in there, but it's all yours.”
”Ah, my cabin,” said Kirk. ”Yes, of course.” He dimly remembered the narrow, grave-like space that he was shown after stepping on the board of Albatross. It really wasn't much bigger than a grave; the dim light coming through the single tiny porthole had revealed two narrow racks set against the opposing walls. If Kirk lay down on his side, he just might fit in provided his knees were slightly bent.
”It promises to be a beautiful night after a beautiful day,” he said to Craw. ”I think I'd like to sleep under the stars. Could I have a hammock slung out on the deck?”
Craw looked uncomfortable.”
”We don't have any hammocks, sir,” he said. ”I was told there was a shortage of rope.”
”Everyone sleeps on bunks?”
”Yes.”
”And they're rested in the morning?”
”Well, we haven't really tried it out, sir. This is the first time we're going to spend a night out on the water.”
”Ah,” said Kirk, making a mental note to conduct an close examination of the cog's crew in the morning. He smiled at Craw.
”The cabin it is, then,” he said.