The Spanish would have no idea how a fire could have started in the bilge. Long before they could get near the Nina again, the wood that the incendiaries were attached to would be ash, and the metal shells of the charges would drop to the bottom of the sea. They would give off a faint sonar pulse for several days, allowing Kemal to swim back and retrieve them later. The Spanish would have no idea that the burning of the Nina was anything but a terrible accident. Nor would anyone else who searched the site of the wreck in future centuries.

Now everything depended on whether Pinzўn remained true to character and brought the Pinta back to Haiti. If he did, Kemal would blow the last caravel to bits. There would be no way to believe it an accident. Everyone would look at the ship and say, An enemy has done this.

Chipa was frightened when Guacanagari's women brought her forward. Hearing about the bearded white men was different from coming into their presence. They were large men, and they wore the most fearsome clothing. Truly it was as if each of them wore a house on his shoulders -- and a roof on his head! The metal of the helmets shone so brightly in the sunlight. And the colors of their banners were like captured parrots. If I could weave a cloth like that, thought Chipa, I would wear their banners and live under a roof made of the metal they put on their heads.

Guacanagari was busy plying her with last-minute instructions and warnings, and she had to pretend to listen, but she already had her instructions from Sees-in-the-Dark, and once she was speaking Spanish with the white men, it would hardly matter what Guacanagarl's plans might be.

"Tell me exactly what they really say," said Guacanagari. "And don't add a single word to what I say to them beyond what I tell you. Do you understand me, you little snail from the mountains?"

"Great Cacique, I will do all that you say."

"Are you sure you can really speak their awful language?"

"If I can't, you'll soon see it by their faces," Chipa answered.

"Then say this to them: The great Guacanagari, cacique of all of Haiti from cibao to the sea, is proud to have found an interpreter."

Found an interpreter? Chipa was not surprised by his attempt to cut Sees-in-the-Dark out of things, but she was disgusted by it. Nevertheless, she turned to the white man in the most flamboyant costume and started to speak. But she had hardly got a sound from her mouth when Guacanagari pushed her from behind with his foot, throwing her facedown on the ground.

"Show respect, mountain slug!" shouted Guacanagari. "And that's not the chief, anyway, stupid girl. It's that man, the white-haired one."

She should have known -- it wasn't by the volume of his clothing, it was by his age, by the respect his years had earned, that she could recognize the one that Sees-in-the-Dark had called Colўn.

Lying on the ground, she began again, stammering a bit at first, but still making the Spanish words very clearly. "My Lord Cristobal Colўn, I have come here to interpret for you."

She was answered by silence. She raised her head to see the white men, in wide-eyed astonishment, conferring among themselves. She strained to hear, but they spoke too rapidly.

"What are they saying9" asked Guacanagari.

"How can I hear when you're talking?" answered Chipa. She knew she was being impudent, but if Diko was right, Guacanagari would soon have no power over her.

Colўn finally stepped forward and spoke to her.

"How did you learn Spanish, my child?" he asked.

He spoke rapidly, and his accent was different from Sees-in-the-Dark, but this was exactly the question that she had been told to expect.

"I learned this language so that I might learn about Christ."

If they had been flustered before by her command of Spanish, these words brought consternation upon the white men. Again there was a flurry of whispered conversation.

"What did you say to him?" demanded Guacanagari.

"He asked me how I came to speak his language, and I told him."

"I told you not to speak of Sees-in-the-Dark! " Guacanagari said angrily.

"I didn't," she said. "I spoke of the God they worship."

"I think you're betraying me," said Guacanagari.

"I'm not," said Chipa.

Now when Colўn stepped forward, the man in the voluminous clothing was beside him.

"This man is Rodrigo Sanchez de Segovia, the royal inspector of the fleet," said Colўn. "He would like to ask you a question."

The titles meant nothing to Chipa. She had been told to talk to Colўn.

"How do you know of Christ?" asked Segovia.

"Sees-in-the-Dark told us to look for the coming of a man who would teach us about Christ."

Segovia smiled. "I am that man."

"No sir," said Chipa. "Colўn is the man."

It was easy to read the expressions on the white men's faces -- they showed everything they were feeling. Segovia was very angry. But he stepped back, leaving Colўn alone in front of the other white men.

"Who is this Sees-in-the-Dark?" asked Colўn.

"My teacher," Chipa answered. "She sent me as a gift to Guacanagari, so he would bring me to you. But he is not my master."

"Sees-in-the-Dark is your mistress?"

"No one is my master but Christ," she said -- exactly the statement that Sees-in-the-Dark had told her was the most important she could make. And now, with Colўn looking at her, speechless, she said the one sentence that she did not understand, for it was in another language. The language was Genovese, and therefore only Cristoforo understood her as she said words that he had heard before, on a beach near Lagos: "I saved you alive so you could carry the cross."

He sank to his knees. He said something that sounded like the same strange language.

"I don't speak that language, sir," she said.

"What's happening?" demanded Guacanagari.

"The cacique is angry at me," said Chipa. "He will beat me for not saying what he told me to say."

"Never," said Colўn. "If you give yourself to Christ, then you are under our protection."

"Sir, don't provoke Guacanagari for my sake. With both your ships destroyed, you need to keep his friendship."

"The girl is right," said Segovia. "It won't be the first time she's been beaten."

But it would be the first time, thought Chipa. In the white men's land, were they accustomed to beating children?

"You could ask for me as a gift," said Chipa.

"Are you a slave, then?"

"Guacanagari thinks so," said Chipa, "but I never was. You won't make me a slave, will you?" Sees-in-the-Dark had told her that it was very important that she say this to Colўn.

"You will never be a slave," said Colўn. "Tell him that we are very pleased, and we thank him for his gift to us."

Chipa had expected him to ask for her. But she saw at once that his way was much better -- if he assumed that the gift was already given, Guacanagari could hardly take it back. So she turned to Guacanagari and prostrated herself before him as she had done only yesterday, when she first met the cacique of the coastlands. "The great white cacique, Colўn, is very pleased with me. He thanks you for giving him such a useful gift."

Guacanagari showed nothing on his face, but she knew that he was furious. That was all right with her -- she didn't like him.

"Tell him," said Colўn behind her, "that I give him my own hat, which I would never give to any man but a great king."

She translated his words into Taino. Guacanagari's eyes widened. He reached out a hand.

Colўn took the hat from his head and, instead of putting it in the cacique's hand, placed it on Guacanagari's head himself. Guacanagari smiled. Chipa thought he looked even stupider than the white men did, wearing such a roof on his head. But she could see that the other Tainos around Guacanagari were impressed. It was a good exchange. A powerfully talismanic hat for a troublesome disobedient mountain girl.