"His Honored Priest said it! You have one night and one day to come up with a workable way to salvage the 8-pounder Cannon! Think of one and you live. Fail to think of one, and it'll be chop, chop, chop, chop, chop!..."
"Don't even think about running! This island is all our people. With that tender skin and soft flesh of yours, you wouldn't get far at all... If the savage Red-hair Warriors catch you, they'll dip rattan strips in chili-salt water and whip you until you wish you were dead!... And that black-hearted, ruthless red-haired captain might even smear real devil chilies on the vital spots front and back below your waist! That deadly, terrifying taste—hiss!... I don't even dare imagine it. No one could withstand that!..."
"What? You're asking what chili is?... Once you survive, you'll get a chance to eat it. It's wonderfully fragrant!..."
Night lay deep. The sailing ship had moored at the village, and the lamplight accompanied the whole tribe's celebration. The aromas of all kinds of food drifted over from afar, while the laughter of men and women rang through the entire night, filled with the simple joy of having driven back Demons!
And as the "Noble Chief" among the captured Demons, the scholar Martin was locked up alone in a crude pit dwelling. A rope tied in a dead knot was fastened around his feet, bound to two heavy stones. Two Taino Militia guarded him, constantly alert against his escape.
"Lord above! Is this the hell from the Divine Comedy? And that so-called devil 'chili'... It sounds like a punishment from hell, like the Heretic cages of the sixth circle, those terrifying, scorching stone coffins!..."
At this moment, under the threats of the Castile Sailors, in a pit dwelling with no freedom,