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“What is to happen?” Hunter said.
“Watch,” the Jew said, smiling for the first time.
A moment later, the bottle exploded. Flying glass and metal blasted out in all directions. Hunter and the Jew ducked to the ground, hearing the fragments tear through the foliage above them.
When Hunter raised his head again, he was pale. “Good God,” he said.
“Not a gentleman’s apparatus,” the Jew said. “It causes little damage to anything more solid than flesh.”
Hunter looked at the Jew curiously.
“The Don has earned such attentions,” the Jew said. “What is your opinion of the grenadoe?”
Hunter paused. His every instinct rebelled against a weapon so inhumane. Yet he was taking sixty men to capture a treasure galleon in an enemy stronghold: sixty men against a fortress with three hundred soldiers and the crew ashore, making another two or three hundred.
“Build me a dozen,” he said. “Box them for the voyage, and tell no one. They shall be our secret.”
The Jew smiled.
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