Arcanzola

The wind had changed during the night, and in the morning the Blue Heron was becalmed, lying in the trough of the sea. There was not the slightest whisper of wind, not the faintest breath of air to move the sails, which hung limply from the yards. The sun was fierce and merciless, and the crew sat about in the shadow of the forecastle, listless and silent, the perspiration streaming upon their faces and their eyes fixed moodily on the empty seas.

At the tiller stood Arcanzola, who, without moving, stared out at the hot and brilliant seas like a graven image. Her face and body gleamed with perspiration, and her long hair was as limp and listless as the sails. Suddenly her body tautened as a bowstring and she stared intently out toward the sea.

The crew on the deck had all sunk into a drowsy silence, but they saw her tense, and they heard her murmur a few words. They turned and followed her look. They had no idea what it was. All they could see was a strange, sinuous shadow in the water, like an arm of sea mist, that seemed to be advancing in the direction of the ship.

The strange shadow in the water was moving very slowly, and it was like to something alive, moving on purpose and with intelligence. Some of the crew gave vent to exclamations-not of alarm, for as yet they did not understand what it was they saw, but of amazement and curiosity.

Arcanzola was the first to know the danger. When she saw the shadow, she knew what it was and that it was drawing near, and with a sudden cry she turned and called out, “Leviathan!”

Even as she spoke, she leaped from the tiller to the deck and looked up to the rigging, as if to call for help. The crew on deck had been staring at the strange appearance on the sea with uncomprehending wonder, but they started in alarm when they heard her cry, and then they saw her gesture.

All on the ship were aroused in an instant; everyone was calling out: “Leviathan!” and “A monster!” At the same instant, the men began to run toward their arms and their ammunition.

The port town of Mar de Guadancia was a small town in a wide bay, a town built of old timbers with mud and brick houses of one or two stories, and streets paved with shells or covered with sand. These houses were all built at different times and in different styles; some were high with turrets and pinnacles, and some were small and low, with little windows. There were also many tents and huts made of canvas, and many hovels of straw and rough poles.

The whole life of the port town was piracy, to which every business and every occupation was adapted. Pirates thronged the streets, swaggering in their gay jackets and bright garments, their boots with flashing spurs, their head-clothes gay with ribbons and lace, their weapons flashing in the sunlight.

Arcanzola was making her way through the streets in the glare of an African mid-day. She was walking through a narrow street lined with gay tents, which flapped in the wind and shone blindingly in the rays of the sun. The street was almost deserted; almost everyone was indoors because of the heat, and Arcanzola felt that the glare of the sunshine was enough to turn her brain to fire.

For all that, she was glad she had come. She had to see a man about a ship; not to buy a ship, but to obtain certain information about the movements of a merchant vessel. There was little information to be had in Mar de Guadancia for which some pay did not have to be tendered before hand; one had to buy news about ships as one bought food.

Arcanzola came to a halt in front of a tent that stood against the side of a building. She pushed open the canvas door, and, as the tent was not very large, she found herself almost immediately facing the man to whom she came to speak.

“Good day,” said Arcanzola. “I understand you have some information about the movements of certain ships.”