Once more he was back in the square. The Indian with the glittering eyes was pointing at the sky, where the jungles of the Sierra Nevada seemed to hover in the clouds. But each time Beck tried to move, a giant wave crashed down on him, flooding the square. And then the crowd turned into huge shoals of fish darting back and forth. Chasing them this way and that, the carnival effigies had become sharks with bared teeth and staring eyes. And Don Gonzalo, his mouth leering in a ghastly grin, his teeth jagged, was no longer chasing the fish. It was Beck he was after now. Lungs bursting, fighting for air, Beck struck out desperately towards the sky. Somewhere above him he could hear the dull sound of the church bell ringing above the waves. He could see the spire clearly above the surface, shining in the bright sunlight. If only he could escape those vicious teeth. If only he could reach the surface before they ripped into the soft flesh of his legs. If only— Beck sat bolt upright in his bed.
