179 Under Cover, Out of Sigh (1/2)
His head hurt. His head was fucking splitting! He had been unable to sleep most of the night. He had stayed out on the deck until he was so tired he was tripping over his own feet. Then he gritted his teeth and went inside his cabin, and spent ten minutes carefully arranging his body on the narrow bunk before finally falling asleep.
He woke up in the middle night with a headache of monumental, I-got-really-drunk-last-night proportions. The stink of tar and wood resin in the tiny cabin made it difficult to breathe. He got out of his bunk forgetting about the low ceiling, and hit his aching head hard enough to raise a bump.
Cursing under his breath, Kirk exited the cabin and climbed the short staircase to the deck. His sudden appearance greatly discomfited one of the two night watchmen who had been discreetly masturbating on the poop deck. Hurriedly stuffing his gear back into his pants, he took a look at the dark figure approaching the gunwale, and called out softly:
”Hey there! Is everything all right?”
”I'm fine,” snarled Kirk. His voice made the watchman realize who he was talking with. He froze, with one hand still stuck inside his pants. Kirk glanced over his shoulder at the motionless silhouette standing on the poop, and repeated:
”I'm fine. Carry on with whatever you've been doing.”
”Yes, sir,” said the watchman in a shaky voice. For a moment, he wondered about taking the governor's remark literally. But no; the old coot was still on deck! And anyway, the magic moment had passed: he had lost his erection. He'd just have to wait for the old bastard to get back into his cabin.
But the old bastard had no intention of returning to his stuffy cabin. Kirk stood with his hands resting on the railing that ran atop the gunwale, staring out into the night. Angel Island loomed darkly about half a mile away. Small waves splashed rhythmically against the hull: there was a breeze coming from land, carrying a faint, tart scent.
Craw had ordered the crew to drop both anchors even before the sun had set completely. They anchored a mile away from the entrance to the narrow strait between Angel Island and Tiburon Cape, with Kirk protesting mildly.
”Surely there's enough light left to keep sailing a little longer,” he'd said to Craw. ”We must be quite close to Alaya.”
”We are, and that's the problem,” Craw told Kirk. ”It's easy to run aground in those waters. True, it seems the bay is much deeper than it is back home. I guess there isn't so much silt. But I don't want to take the risk. This literally is a new world. Who knows, there might be a few rocks underwater. We'll get going again at dawn, as soon as the lookout in the bows can see what things are like.”
The introduction of tobacco into the New World had been a divisive issue. Many people argued it was the height of stupidity to introduce the devilish, poisonous plant into the pristine paradise of the New World. A tumultuous meeting at the Lander mansion had discussed the subject, and ended with Kirk saying:
”I'm fucking sick of this. Get this into your heads: wild tobacco grows naturally in this part of the world. It's most likely present in the corresponding part of the New World, too. Lung cancer? You think that burning all that wood and charcoal won't cause cancer, but smoking a pipe will? You're out of your fucking minds.”
”But that doesn't mean we should add another health hazard,” piped up Karen. Kirk looked at her with hate. Karen was always after him to give up cigars, and was given to enacting small dramas whenever she entered his study and found it full of smoke.
”I am importing tobacco seedlings into Fort Baker,” he'd said. ”And I know Bernard will be importing some into Fort Lander. You can ban smoking in that settlement of yours, Karen, if you like. See where it gets you.”
Karen didn't speak to him for a couple of days after that.
Yes, a cigar would have done a lot to relieve Kirk's misery as he waited for the sun to come up. He sat down, then tried to lie down on the deck, but when his head was next to the wooden boards the tar-and-resin stink hit his nostrils again. In the end, he sat down on the steps leading up to the poop deck on the starboard side of the ship.
The single most important trait of any leader was an infinite patience. Kirk reminded himself of that repeatedly while he waited for the night to end.
A dozen miles to the southeast, Morales and his men were engaged in a similar activity. Untroubled by the dangers of running their boat aground, they got aboard and resumed their journey as soon as the dark sky began to lighten.
When the sun came up, they had already traveled a considerable distance. The mood on the boat, initially subdued after the night's events, gradually returned to normal. But it didn't improve much for Morales.
Morales was worried. It was increasingly clear that there was a morale problem. Killing a thief wasn't a valid reason for the air of despondency that hung over the crew earlier that morning.
And they had all been so enthusiastic at the beginning of the expedition! They'd even played a little game as the pirogue sailed out into the waters of the bay. Everyone tried to guess what they'd find while exploring. Someone suggested a settlement inhabited solely by young, attractive women, and everyone agreed the right course of action would be to have plenty of sex with them, by force if necessary, and subsequently turn them into slaves. They had all been full of merriment when they arrived at this conclusion.
The captain of the pirogue touched Morales' arm, interrupting his thoughts.
”Pardon, senor,” he said. ”I think I can see something interesting. Could I ask you to come with me to the front of the boat?”
They moved to the bows of the pirogue, stepping awkwardly over the legs of the men catching up on missed sleep.
”There,” said the captain, pointing.
Morales looked in the indicated direction. About a mile ahead, the coast curved out west and ended suddenly with a sharp tip. Morales said:
”Where's the settlement?”
”A settlement?”
”I thought you spotted a settlement. I thought you wanted me to have a look.”
”No. I spotted a ship.”
”A ship!”
”Yes. It's too far away to make out any details, but I think it may be the ship that tried to chase us yesterday.”
”Where is it? I can't see it!”