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Updated: May 10, 2025
Ah, 'tis deep fathims under the Savonarola, me lad " Bedient had not been listening for a moment. A carometa was moving slowly toward him, down the Calle Real, and he fancied the flutter of a handkerchief from its side window. It was nearly noon. The dazzle of sunlight upon the glass of the carometa was in his eyes, so he could not see the face within, but a slim hand signaled again.
The words of old Monkhouse repeated often in his brain, "Ah, 'tis deep fathims under the Savonarola." He slipped a little steel key from the ring, smiling because it was the key to one of the Carreras cabinets at the hacienda, and placed it in his mouth. He had done the same with a nail when in the small boat with Carreras, the only boat that reached shore from the Truxton. It started the saliva.
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