Chapter 9
The coastline began to take shape. The rugged cliffs of Spain rose up from the ocean, a formidable wall that had repelled invaders for centuries. Rocky outcroppings gave way to sheltered coves here and there. Seagulls wheeled overhead in greater numbers with raucous cries. Structures became discernible on the shore and on the hills above the bay of Corunna, and masts of other vessels in port poked the sky, their canvas furled.
It seemed to take forever—tacking back and forth, their forward momentum slowing as more and more sails were furled—but at last the Wind Dancer neared her slip on the quay. Jack grabbed a line and nimbly swung down to the dock, caught the line Flynn tossed from the bow, and made it secure on the bollard. They hurried to the stern and repeated the exercise
