Opening Atlantis Read Online Free Page B

fowl’s—but what a fowl it was!
    When the honker—the name flashed into Edward’s mind—spread its wings, the fishermen laughed. Those tiny appendages could never lift it off the ground. He wondered why the bird had them at all.
    It reached down with its beak and pulled up a mouthful of grass, then another and another. “So that’s where you got your great drumstick, is it?” Edward said.
    â€œIt is indeed,” Kersauzon replied. “The poor, foolish things have no fear of man—another reason I think there are no natives here. You can walk up to one and knock it over the head, and it will let you. It will lie dead at your feet when it should be running or kicking.”
    â€œI’ll do that right now, then,” Hugh Fenner said. Half apologetically, the master salter turned to Radcliffe. “You get tired of even the best fish after a while. If we roast that overgrown goose, we’ve got a feast for the whole crew.”
    When we come to a new land, do we mark it by our first kill, the way Cain did? Edward wondered. But his stomach growled at the thought of meat, too. “Go on if you care to,” he told Fenner.
    The master salter advanced on the honker. Fenner’s confidence grew with every step. Sure enough, the monster bird seemed curious at his approach, but not afraid. He had a stout bludgeon on his belt. One good wallop with that ought to shatter the stupid thing’s skull….
    A flash in the air, a harsh screech, a shriek from Fenner, and then he was down and thrashing with a great hawk or eagle clinging to his back and tearing at his kidneys with a huge, hooked, slicing beak. The honker might not fear men, but the sight of that eagle sent it running back for the shelter of the—redwoods, Kersauzon called them.
    Shouting and waving their arms, Englishmen and Bretons rushed to Hugh Fenner’s rescue. The eagle screamed harshly but flew away, blood dripping from bill and long, curved talons. Hugh lay where he’d fallen. He didn’t move. A sharp stink said his bowels had let go. Edward grabbed for his wrist, then let it fall. The master salter had no pulse.
    â€œHe’s gone.” Radcliffe heard the dull wonder in his voice. Man could kill—but so could Atlantis.

II
    F rançois Kersauzon seemed as upset about Fenner’s death as Edward Radcliffe was. “As God is my witness, friend Saoz, I’ve seen those eagles take honkers before, but I never dreamt they would take men,” he said.
    â€œWe probably look like honkers—a good name—to them,” Henry said.
    â€œExcept smaller and maybe easier to kill,” Edward added, staring into the trees where the eagle had flown. That was a formidable bird, bigger and fiercer than any golden eagle or sea eagle he’d ever seen. And if its prey walked on two legs…
    As Kersauzon had said, the honkers seemed to have no fear of man. But that one had disappeared into the woods as soon as the eagle struck Hugh Fenner. Men might be an unknown quantity, but the birds that struck from the sky were enemies. Honkers had no doubt of that.
    â€œPoor Hugh. He died unshriven.” Richard crossed himself. So did the other fishermen, English and Bretons. Edward’s younger son went on, “We have to bury him here. We can’t very well salt him down and take him home.”
    â€œI’ll say the words over him,” Edward said. His sons and the other Englishmen nodded. He’d had to do that before, more than once, when someone on the St. George took sick and died or perished by some mischance. He was no priest, but he could hope his prayers helped a soul win through at least to purgatory. “A little piece of Atlantis will be English forevermore.”
    He’d spoken his own language, but Kersauzon, as he’d seen, could follow English. “Atlantis?” the other skipper echoed. “We’ve just been calling it the Western Land, but