Gregoire poked his way slowly through the scrub brush and trees that formed the curtain of foliage at the edge of the jungle, demarking it from the beach as a separate sphere of nature. The island was quiet and Gregoire was on edge. Nature was never more silent than when man was about to wreak havoc in it; how the creatures of the earth knew this had always been a mystery to Gregoire, but it was a fact he had long-since grown comfortable knowing. The lack of noise was the loudest indication that trouble was about, that someone was intent on causing a storm.
He paused and listened again, stilling his breath and ignoring the gentle whoosh of blood through his eardrums. His eyes peered through the darkness at the moonlit shapes, trying to recognize patterns in nature, evidence of man. Nothing.
And then he heard a creak, borne in by the wind from the beach, and he turned his head and stepped to the very edge of the tree line. A hundred yards off shore floated the wooden sloop, its sails dropped, the fog low on the water, barely glowing in the moonlight. Gregoire stared out at it, the words “ghost ship” suddenly materializing in his mind. Although, to be sure, he had also seen it in broad daylight earlier that day, so if it were a ghost ship, it was one capable of spooky and not-so-spooky sailing. Gregoire smiled to himself at the notion of “not-so-spooky” sailing and gazed at the fog-enshrouded sloop offshore. Definitely spooky at the moment, so he hoisted his weapon in his hands and re-affirmed his connection to it.
Then a small rowboat rounded the bow of the sloop, a team of shadowy figures at work on the oars, all of them in synch. The crash of the waves on the beach drowned out any noise from the boat, and Gregoire watched it steadfastly as it slowly cut through the water toward the shore. He glanced back at the boat and could see two silhouettes standing along the railing of the ship, watching the rowboat’s departure. How many more were aboard the sloop? And, what were they doing rowing ashore to an island that did not exist?
Gregoire looked around at the island, certain it did exist. Also, certain it was not on the map on his boat. Gregoire readied his weapon and began creeping along the edge of the scrim of underbrush and trees, keeping himself to the shadows and avoiding the columns of moonlight that stabbed through the jungle.
Gregoire watched as eight figures clambered out of the boat. One of them separated from the group and began waving a small object toward the jungle line. Another gathered a couple of the others to himself and appeared to give instructions to the remaining four, who pulled … swords? … out of the inside of the rowboat and took guard positions up around the boat. Gregoire watched as the other four ventured off into the jungle and shrugged to himself, concluding he might as well continue following them.