I emerged from a nightmare of my time overboard—of losing grip of the rope, of my marooning, of the sky beast and my fantastical trip into the air. Something had woken me.

A strange sound—between a growl and a hoot—low and very close. Something touched my leg.

The moon was behind the clouds and all I could make out was a shadow at my feet, a patch of greater darkness big enough to frighten me. Very slowly, I pulled back my foot. Mr. Darwin had told me that when faced with a wild animal it was best to remain still so as not to startle it further. I tried to slow my thumping heart. Well, Mr. Darwin wasn’t here, was he. And he hadn’t seen the gigantic sky beast sweep me into the air, so his knowledge wasn’t awful helpful right now.

Neither the shadow nor I moved. This was a standoff—who would strike first? I slowly clutched two handfuls of black dirt, then sprang up with a scream, hurling it in the direction of the animal. I was about to run when the moon left the clouds and I got a better look.

At first, I thought it was one of the marine iguanas. In the moonlight I could see it was a reptile but smaller than I had thought, more like the size of a large house cat. I blew out a long breath of relief; this creature wasn’t going to kill me, at least not easily, though small animals could be surprisingly vicious.

It was using a pair of front claws to rub the dirt from its eyes, and its face was tapered, like a fox’s. It was definitely some kind of lizard, but it stood high on its legs, which were beneath its body rather than splayed to the sides like the other reptiles of these islands. The moonlight shone off its smooth green scales, more like those of a snake, and a spiked ridge ran the length of its back right to the tip of its long tail. Although I didn’t have the education to keep up with all of Mr. Darwin’s ideas, I’d paid close attention over the last two and a half years as his servant, collecting and observing thousands of animals. I was certain this was not a species of lizard we’d set eyes on before.

I edged back, cradling my fiddle. We stared at each other. Its eyes were large and round, and shone copper in the moonlight.

It took a step toward me, tossed its head, and released that sound again, between a hoot and a growl.

All the creatures we came across either responded to us with blank fear or disinterest. If they knew mankind well, they sensibly fled for their lives. If they had young to defend, they might attack. This lizard did none of those things. It shook its head and released a strange little sneeze. I suddenly wished I hadn’t thrown the dirt in its face.