There being none of the enormous quantities of carrion they had encountered in the immediate vicinity of their first camp currently available, the men had trapped a strange crocodilian in a nearby stream. After saving the best part, the tail, for themselves and proceeding to grill it over a hot fire, they had quartered the rest of the carcass and were preparing to offer the sections one by one to their most prized prisoner. Dead, it would still bring them money, Smiggens avowed. Alive, it might well make all their fortunes.
Blackstrap’s call for volunteers to feed the captive devil was met with thunderous silence. “What be you all afeared of? Look at the poor blighter! Why, it can hardly move, with its arms and legs and, yes, even its tail so tightly strapped down. On top of that ’tis tied fair and square to a tree big enough around to do for a clipper’s mainmast. What more protection could a man want?”
“Why not feed it yourself, Cap’n?” suggested an anonymous voice.
“What’s that, what say you?” Seeking the speaker, Blackstrap encountered nothing but hard-bitten visions of angelic innocence. “Who dares to suggest that I don’t do my share? No one? Come on, then, speak up! Be there not a man among the lot of you?”
“I will feed the dragon.” Chin-lee, the smallest among them, stepped forward. Picking up a haunch of croc in both hands, he dragged it forward. Halting at what he perceived to be a respectful distance, he swung the heavy piece of meat back and then heaved it directly at their captive.
With a single snap of powerful jaws that sounded like a sack of wet mud striking pavement after falling from a height of several stories, the young tyrannosaur plucked the gobbet from the air. Swallowing jerkily in much the same fashion as a large bird, she gulped the chunk down. Eyes of feral topaz glittered as she gazed hungrily at the rest of the carcass.
Chin-lee stuck out his chest as he confronted his shipmates. “See! Smart man can even teach dragon tricks.”
“Not dragon,” corrected Smiggens softly. “Dinosaur.” Chin-lee ignored him. He knew a dragon when he saw one,
and no white devil was going to disabuse him of that notion. He tossed a second hunk of reptilian roast at the beast, noted with satisfaction how easily it caught the heavy piece.
“Nothing to it, then.” Stepping out of the semicircle of onlookers, Mkuse duplicated the Chinaman’s effort. Their captive took meat as readily from him as from his predecessor.
“Best sell it to someone who can afford a zoo’s feed bill, Captain.” It was with no little awe that Andreas admired their prisoner’s capacity.
“Me, I’d like to see it jump for its dinner,” avowed Copperhead.
“Now, there’s a stroke of brilliance.” Smiggens gazed across at the seaman. “You, of course, will do the honor of untying its legs, Mr. Copperhead.”
The sailor chuckled. “Not I, Mr. Smiggens. This is near enough to those claws for me, thank you.”
“Bragh! There’s nothing to be afraid of here. You’re all a lot of mewling babes.” These words from Guimaraes, the big Portuguese, as he stepped forward. Shouldering Mkuse aside, he hefted the last section of crocodilian in one big, callused fist.
Striding boldly up to their captive, he stopped to stare directly into its ugly, blood-smeared face. The two adult struthies squealed a warning that, of course, none of the humans present either understood or appreciated. Tilting his head to one side, the Portuguese considered unbound jaws and teeth. With the captive sitting back on its haunches, the seaman actually towered over it by a full foot.
Satisfied he’d stared the creature down, he raised his right arm and waved the chunk of meat close to its snout. Accepting the offering meekly and with delicacy from the sailor’s fingers, the tyrannosaur tilted her head back and swallowed with what almost amounted to a certain decorum.
Guimaraes glanced back at his comrades. “There, you see? There is nothing to it. Hobbling an animal like that will tame it quick.” He sniffed scornfully and then committed the unfortunate error of turning his back on the subject of his contempt.
He managed half a step before that vulpine skull darted forward like a snake’s and serrated teeth clashed. A number of the pirates had grown bored with the show and had turned to other tasks. Guimaraes’s scream drew their attention back to the feeding session right quick.
Mkuse and Treggang hurried to help their wounded colleague. But when they descried the nature of his injury, their initial concern and fear turned quickly to amusement, which soon melted into uncontrollable laughter. Blackstrap could hardly contain himself, and even the usually dour Smiggens was momentarily overcome with merriment.
“Hold still, man!” Still chuckling, Mkuse had removed his shirt and rolled it into a bandage. With the injured Guimaraes twitching about, it was difficult to secure the fabric over the wound, which bled copiously but was in no way life-threatening.
The vicious bite had removed a piece of flesh some six inches in length and five across but fortunately not very deep from the Portuguese’s left buttock, leaving a gaping hole not only in his backside but his trousers. Being the nearest thing on the Condor*to a physician, it was left to Smiggens to further treat and bandage the injury.
Through it all, the young tyrannosaur simply stared and watched, her hunger appeased but by no means sated. Crocodilian or human, it was all the same to her. Her appetite was as democratic as it was ravenous. It was difficult for some of the onlookers to believe she wasn’t laughing along with them, though they knew by now that the strangely sinister smile on her face was a function of her physiognomy rather than her temperament.
Stepping forward, the stocky Thomas tossed the remnant of his share of crocodilian tail to their captive. “There you go, old chap. That’s a sight worth an extra feed! Have another piece of tail.” This jest brought forth renewed guffaws from the men.
Only one among them was neither smiling nor laughing. Guimaraes glared at the West Indian. “When I get up from here I am going to stick you head in its mouth. Then we see who laughs, yes?”
Thomas was not impressed. “You got to catch me first, man.” White teeth flashed in a broad grin. “And somehow I think you not going to be doing much running anytime soon, you know?”
“True enough,” declared tall Samuel. “Be grateful for small favors, Guimaraes. You’re lucky it waited till you turned your back!” Gales of laughter followed.
All of which affected the unhappy Guimaraes far more deeply than the pain behind him. Far rather would he have suffered the kiss of a saber’s blade than his shipmates’ laughter, though it was at heart good-natured. The Portuguese was no stranger to pain. He was missing half his right ear, carried away by a bullet fired from an obstreperous merchantman they’d cornered against a reef in the South China Sea. An imposing scar ran crosswise down the upper half of his chest, a gift from a now deceased sailor on a Dutch spice ship.
Those were wounds he could display and boast of. What was there to boast of in this? Fortunately, most would never see it. But he knew it was there, as did his comrades-in-arms. The louder their laughter, the more it seared his soul and the hotter his anger blazed.
That night he was unable to sleep until it was his turn on watch. Though the moon was three-quarters full, its lambency was significantly diluted by the incessant clouds that masked the heavens.
There was just enough light to enable him to find his way to the far side of the camp, where their captives were secured to a trio of stout rain forest trees. The four svelte dinosaurs slept squatting on their haunches, their heads resting on their backs like so many chickens on their nests. They neither awakened nor looked up at his approach. He thought this odd, but who was he to speculate on the sleeping habits of such creatures?
He glared unblinkingly at the beast that was the source of his dishonor. Dragon, the Chinaman had called it. Dinosaur, the first mate had instructed them. Guimaraes had since invented a number of other names for the creature, many prefaced by or embellished with coarse profanities.
His tone was soft and dec
eptively cordial. “Hello, little devil-beast. Are you awake?” One yellow eye flickered open, followed quickly by its counterpart. “Ah, good.”
Though the creature was once more thoroughly and completely bound, Guimaraes kept his distance. Once bitten, he thought bitterly ... The hawser rope once again circled several times around the strong jaws, preventing them from opening. The beast was harmless and helpless. He could do anything he wanted to it, anything at all, and it would not be able to resist.
He dare not act now, however, in the midst of his shipmates. Blackstrap would have him drawn, quartered, and fed to the next monster that came along if he so much as damaged a single scale of that precious, vicious hide. No, Guimaraes knew that despite the desire for revenge that simmered deep inside his heart he would have to bide his time.
Until then he would have to content himself with planning it in his mind, and periodically visiting the source of his discontent.
“Sleeping well?” The beast did not reply. It could not, with its jaws securely bound. But it could stare at him, which it did. “Hate me, do you? That’s good. That’s very good. We understand one another, then. When I come for you in the night the final time, I will have no regrets, no sorrows.” His bandaged backside burned, but not as badly as his shipmates’ laughter.
Walking was painful, and for a while he would limp. He didn’t mind. Every step reminded him of the incident, every stride fueled the flame of his hatred. Every new joke made at his expense helped to solidify his determination.
Not much longer, he told himself. The right place will come and the right time present itself. Then .. .
“You think you are smart, don’t you? Taking that meat so carefully and then waiting for me to turn my back. Do you feel smart now, with your legs hobbled and your mouth tied shut? Do you?” His voice rose slightly as he jabbed at the tyrannosaur’s snout with the muzzle of his rifle.
A sharp hiss issued from the captive’s throat. Guimaraes held his ground and grinned. “Yes, go on and sputter at me. I’ll bet you’d like to take another bite out of me, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?” He wiggled his fingers tauntingly beneath the prisoner’s lower jaw. Aware of its bound condition, it wasted no strength trying to bite.
Again the Portuguese jabbed teasingly with the rifle. “See this, little devil-beast? This is my tooth, and it bites hard. Next
time I won’t have my back turned to you. Next time it is I who will do the biting.” He was very close now, all but eye to eye.
The captive twitched forward, trying to head-butt her tormentor. Guimaraes was ready this time and jumped back. His smile widened. “You are very quick. Very damn quick. Your mother was a cobra who mated with a tiger. You know, I have seen both, in India. They are deadly, but the Hindoos kill them anyway. They die just as quickly from a knife or bullet as any duck or pheasant.” His grin twisted into something highly unpleasant.
“I wonder what you’d taste like. How will you like it when I take a bite out of you, eh?”
A shuffling noise made him whirl sharply. He knew it wasn’t the captain. When he wanted to, Blackstrap could sleep like a dead man. But that damned inquisitive Smiggens was always about and underfoot, snooping and sticking his long nose in where it didn’t belong. Trouble was, the first mate was as smart as he seemed. Seeing Guimaraes so close to their prize prisoner might set the mate to thinking, a dangerous proposition.
For long moments the Portugese waited without moving, relaxing only when it became apparent no one was sneaking up on him. Then he turned a last time toward the captive.
“You had your fun. Soon enough now, I will have mine. You will see. There will come a certain moment when no one else is looking, when no one else is around. It will be just you and me. Then you’ll catch an accidental bullet in one of those bright eyes, and maybe a few more elsewhere.” For a second time he stepped close.
“Look at me close, little demon. Look at me well. Because someday soon, I am going to be the death of you.” He prodded the young tyrannosaur in the neck with the muzzle of his rifle, and she drew back as far as she could, hissing. Grinning nastily and thoroughly satisfied with his visit, he turned and walked back toward his guard station.
Prettykill was elated. A formal challenge! And from a human. Though she couldn’t understand a word he’d said, his actions and attitude had left no doubt as to his intent. A challenge from something as puny as a human would be meaningless to an adult tyrannosaur, nothing more than an amusing diversion. But this one was her size. He would do. She had accepted his challenge and would have replied appropriately had her jaws not been bound.
The prodding she’d received from the long tool had clinched it. Normally she was only challenged by others of her own kind, or the juveniles of some of the other carnosaurs. Such scuffles were entered into solemnly and in full accord with ancient conventions. In keeping with the natural temperament of the participants, such contests were sometimes bloody affairs, though only rarely fatal. It would be interesting to see how a human would do. She’d been told by her parents that humans, while not very strong, were very tricky and often made use of artificial devices to compensate for their small stature.
So be it. She was ready, even eager, for the confrontation this particular human seemed to promise. It would be a character-building experience. Much more interesting than the endless talking and reasoning humans usually preferred. If only she could free a foreleg or her jaws, she could slice through the ropes that restrained her and fulfill this accommodating human’s desire.
She spotted one of the young struthies peering in her direction and glared back. The juvenile quickly turned away and made a pretext of returning to sleep. If only she could free her jaws, she could shred the rest of her restraints in minutes. Alas, the tricky humans knew how to handle such implements. She could not slip free.
Well, the human was obviously willing to wait for the right time to consummate his challenge. Could she do less? Settling herself back on her haunches, she shut her eyes and concentrated on going back to sleep. Around her, the rain forest hummed its familiar discordant lullaby. . . .
THE PARTY WAS ADVANCING THROUGH THE TREES the following morning when Mkuse stopped and pointed. “That’s odd. Look at the sails.”
“Sails!” Anbaya let out a whoop and rushed forward. “Boats, commerce, people!”
“Wait up there, man!” Smiggens tried to restrain the Moluccan, but the smaller sailor was too quick for him.
Through a gap in the tree line they could see the sails plying the surface of a broad lake, the slim, arching shapes weaving slowly back and forth in the wind like the triangles of rough brown linen that propelled Arab feluccas. The silhouettes of these were distinctive and unusual.
Peculiarity of design was not sufficient to explain the shout that next reached them, followed by a short scream. It suggested that not everything was as it seemed, a condition they were becoming accustomed to the longer they remained in this outlandish country.
Anbaya burst back through the short brush. His shipmates gathered around the swart Moluccan, whose eyes were wide and whose breathing was agitated.
“Not boats,” he gasped. “Not boats, not people!”
A deep-throated growl caused everyone to turn toward the opening in the forest. The massive perpetrator of that intimidating noise shoved its upper body forward through a cluster of branches. Jaws parted to reveal sharp teeth dripping with saliva. Two nearly identical monsters crowded behind.
The trio closely resembled the dinosaurs the pirates had previously observed feeding on carrion, as well as the singular monster they had chased from the boundaries of their bone-fenced campsite. What differentiated these from their predecessors were the large, leathery sails that protruded from their backs. Supported by bony spines, these astonishing structures did indeed resemble the sails of small ships. They quivered slightly with each step. When their owners were crouched down in the vegetation only the “sails” would be visible. Hence Mkuse and then Anbaya’s understan
dable error of perception.
Given the nautically embellished creatures’ ferocious appearance, it quickly became apparent that more was at stake than a little visual confusion. Nearly twelve feet tall, a second monster snarled at them. Sails and all, the three lurched in the direction of the travelers.
Spinosaurs, thought Prettykill. Three of them would make short work of the humans and their captives as well. Would they dare to attack her? She was bound, helpless, and without adult protection. Not that she could defend herself for long against a fully grown spinosaur in any case. But fighting back would be a better way to depart life than wrapped up like one of the human’s bundles.
“This way, for your lives!” Mkuse whirled and sprinted for the nearby foothills.
Blackstrap had drawn his cutlass and was backing away from the newly arrived nightmares. “Hell and damnation! Will the devil never let us rest? Do not his minions have other tasks to attend besides troubling us?” Though he was the last man to turn and run, he did not fall behind. Blackstrap could move with surprising speed for so large a man. Also, he had no intention of abandoning a single one of their hard-won prizes to the slavering, sail-backed predators and was as determined to shepherd them to safety as he was any of his men.
He gripped both pistols tightly. Not to threaten the pursuing carnivores, which were still struggling to ascend the slight slope that led down to the lake where they’d been dozing, but to cajole his crew.
“First man who abandons his pet post is dragon—no, dinosaur food!”*With blows and words he coerced the men handling the tethers that led their captives. As they were far more afraid of their captain than any beast of the forest, the men hewed to their assignments, alternately dragging, leading, and bullying the creatures forward. Very little effort was actually required, since neither the struthies nor the young tyrannosaur had any desire to linger in the vicinity.