"But—"
"And believes the world is flat and if you sail far enough west you'll fall off?"
"But I—"
"Then you're coming with me aboard the Nina!"
Columbus gasped, "What did you say?"
"She's coming with me, on the Nina. If you don't want to find the western route to the Indies, we will. Right, Nina?" he said, taking her hand and moving to where the rope-ladder dangled over the side of the Santa Maria to the skiff below.
"Don't take her from this deck," Columbus ordered.
Danny ignored him. "Don Juan!" cried Columbus, and the peg-leg came toward Danny.
"I'm sorry, Don Martin," he said, "but—"
Still holding Nina's hand, Martin stiff-armed him out of the way and ran for the side. Someone jerked the rope-ladder out of reach and someone else leaped on Martin. For, he was Martin now, Martin Pinzon. His own identity seemed submerged far below the surface, as if somehow he could look on all this without risking anything. He knew that he was merely a defense mechanism, to ward off fear: for, it wasn't true. If Martin Pinzon were hurt, he would be hurt.