“Francisco,” he said. “Francisco … stabbed …”

“What?”

Someone pulled the sailcloth off, Elvira maybe.… It was hard to see in the dark. He felt her fingers, fumbling with his shirt, and then heard Nat exclaim, “Oh, Jesus Christ!”

“Okay. Better now,” Will murmured, as the waves of pain subsided, at least for the moment. But he felt very tired now, and colder. He shivered.

Luis lashed the tiller to keep the ship on course while he lit a lantern, which he now held over Will.

“Jesus Christ!” Nathaniel cried out again as he looked at the makeshift dressing, the pale skin around it smeared with blood, shockingly red in the light. He removed the dressing, puzzled by the bundle of leaves it contained, and was transfixed by the small perforation from which blood seeped with slow but relentless pressure.

“Francisco? Is that what he said?” he inquired of no one in particular. “That Francisco stabbed him? Is that what he said? Stabbed him?”

“I saw him talking to Francisco just before we shoved off,” said Drew, in a tremulous voice. “But I didn’t see … They weren’t arguing or anything.…”

“Why would Francisco stab him?”

“I don’t know.” The sight of the wound brought on an incipient panic, and Drew fought to contain it. “Nat, we’ve got to boil water. That’s got to be disinfected.”

Nathaniel turned to Luis.

“Water?” he asked. “Ah, I mean agua. Agua?” He had learned a few Spanish words during the stay in Cárdenas. “Agua? You have?”

“Sí. Tengo,” Luis replied, and setting the lantern down, moved away to fetch one of the clay jugs stowed in a box in the stern. “Agua,” he said, uncorking the jug, handing it to Nathaniel.

“No. Hot. Must be hot. Boiling. Understand? Jesus, what’s the Spanish word for hot?”

Luis’s natural scowl deepened.

“No comprendo. No hablo inglés,” he said.

“This water must be hot. Boiling. Stove? Galley? You have a galley stove on board?” Nathaniel lowered his face to Will’s. “What’s the Spanish word for ‘hot’? Will? Will?”

Will opened his mouth and started, “Cal … cal … cali …” but he could not get the rest of the word out.

“C’mon, Will, what is it?”

“Leave him be,” said Eliot. “Don’t try to talk, Will. Take it easy.”

“Then what is it?” pleaded Nathaniel. “The Spanish word for ‘hot’?”

“How the hell do I know?” Eliot said, regretting every bad thought and feeling he had ever had about Will, wishing he could make it up to him now.