* * *
One after another each man’s mouth fell open revealing their surprise and the fact that the noble science of dentistry hadn’t yet made it to the spice isles. They leant forward as one, curiosity overcoming their natural fearfulness.
Yards away, silhouetted against the dancing flames of the tar-dipped torches at the mountain entrance, a sight greeted them that left all trembling and bewildered.
“Yon cannae be a dog,” cabin boy Tom murmured in awe. “It’s too large.”
“And too tall,” the beer-bellied buccaneer next to him agreed.
As if sensing that it was being talked about, the giant feral vision turned blazing crimson eyes towards them and snarled, sniffing the air hungrily.
Jake gulped. The lads were right. This was no mere mutt. The burly beast wasn’t covered in hair, but gleaming fur. It was a wolf – and a particular mean looking specimen. He’d seen plenty of the deadly predators before and this one easily dwarfed any of those.
Staring transfixed at the drooling, rumbling creature, two questions nagged at him.
What was a wolf doing in these alien, tropical parts? He’d only ever encountered them on voyages to the chilly lands up north – and only then in deep woodland.
And more puzzlingly – why was it standing on two legs instead of being on all fours?
For a full minute Jake’s brain refused to accept the obvious then he let his gaze rise up to the dazzling white orb hanging high in the night sky, the wide full disc.
Not just a wolf then…
…but something much worse. An abomination that shouldn’t exist outside of legend.
He frowned. This put a whole new complexion on things. Part of his brain warned that trying to seize Mad Morgan’s pension pot was suicide. Yet, the other part, where greed lurked, whispered seductive words about how the pirates outnumbered the monster twenty to one.
“Okay, boys. On the count of three we’re going to charge it,” he whispered down the line.
He couldn’t tell which scurvy cur replied cheekily: “How much?” and didn’t have the opportunity to find out. For at that instant, the beast took matters into his own paws and, bellowing loud enough to shake the trees, surged forward, covering the ground in supernaturally long strides. There wasn’t time to flee before it was upon them.
It should have been a battle to go down in the annals of bandit lore, a derring-do action guaranteed to inspire a dozen rousing boozy ballads, but as the creature easily tore its way through the sobbing sabre-waving rabble, the muddled melee quickly descended into a rout.
Savage snarls mixed with screams as the men went down one by one. It ripped through them like rag dolls, crunching bones, tearing out throats and hurling lifeless bodies over its shoulder.
Jake had often been asked if he had a pirate’s chest and at this moment his madly thumping heart was trying to burst clean through it.
He tried to run but his legs were paralysed in fear. Instead, he raised the flintlock and took careful aim. The gun thundered, firing the musket ball with deadly velocity. The searing metal sphere spun through the air with a sizzle, seeking its target with murderous intent and made solid contact.
But, to Jake’s astonishment, it bounced harmlessly off the wolf-man’s rock-hard pelt. At that instant he knew it was over. He was booked on a one-way trip to Davy Jones’ locker.
He’d heard that when facing death a person’s whole life flashed in front of their eyes. Yet not much of the blurry, double vision pictures racing across his pupils seemed familiar. Especially not the episode with the harem girls, the whipped cream and the penguin.
A split second later, he felt sticky fetid breath upon his face and his arm jerked violently as his hand, still holding the weapon, disappeared between the beast’s jagged yellow teeth. The jaws snapped shut in one brutal movement, and he felt everything below the wrist detach – bone, flesh and nerves parting from the rest of his body in a burst of bloody agony.
Looking up in dismay he watched the monster gobble down its meaty prize in one gulp, and lick its strangely human lips at the tangy taste.
Steeling himself for the inevitable, Jake prayed death would be mercifully quick. However, it wasn’t the creature that acted next but a bizarre hopping dervish.
Out of nowhere, the Contessa’s one legged pot-stirrer bounded unsteadily into the fray and, swinging his crutch like a mighty cudgel, walloped the nightmare animal squarely across the skull.
Although Jake had no idea how the cook has survived the slaughter, he wasn’t complaining about the help or the distraction.
“Whack it in the goolies,” he urged, sharing the experience of a score of bar room brawls.
The man obliged and the werewolf bellowed in pain and fury as its privates suddenly blazed – suffering almost as much nether region torment as those who'd sampled the cook’s incendiary asparagus and chili wine.
There was no third blow. This time as cookie went to swing the oak prop the towering brute leapt upon him.
Jake guessed it was a desire for symmetry that made it yank off the chef’s remaining leg. The poor soul’s doomed shriek reverberated so loudly that Jake went to put his hands over his ears, before remembering that his bloody pumping stump wasn’t likely to block out any sound.
Then, without warning, the beast froze in mid gorge, startled. Dropping the mangled leg half eaten, it gave a strangled bark, clawing madly at its throat. And lurching forward, the monster crashed to the ground, lifeless.