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river sat a primordial monster that could have been descended from fire-breathing dragons of legend.
    “Holy Mother,” Higgins breathed, staring at the enormous beast.
    The Orinoco crocodile was longer than the boat. Jack stared at the magnificent monster in awe, but Trahern took one look at it and picked up the nearest Baker rifle.
    “No.” Jack stopped him, but the beast’s instincts were equally defensive, and with a wicked speed that sent a chill down all their spines, the crocodile launched into the water with silent power, barely making a splash.
    How something that big disappeared so completely was impossible to say, but its leathery hide was superbly matched to blend in with the olive-drab river. The crewmen looked around at one other, the unspoken question on everyone’s minds.
    Trahern cleared his throat. “Are those things, er, ever known to attack boats?” he asked their pilot somewhat nervously in Spanish.
    “
Si
, a veces.”
    “Sometimes? I see. Well, that is most reassuring,” Trahern muttered to Jack, who grinned. “You should’ve let me shoot it.”
    Trahern huffed off to check the other side of the boat.
    With the lieutenant gone, Jack stood alone at the railing on the blunt prow of the boat, lost in a rare sense of wonder at the strange and beautiful yet fearsome world unfurling all around him. The bright blooms of a passion flower caught his eye on the banks, and as he stared, a zooming flash of blue appeared as if by magic at the flower’s lip and hovered there, a delicate miracle.
    For the space of only a few heartbeats, the hummingbird fed on the blossom’s sweet nectar; when thunder rumbled in the distance, it was gone. A breeze moved through the thick, rubbery palm fronds like the subtle stirring deep within him of a hunger for something all his gold could not buy nor all his power command… something he had long since ceased to believe in.
    But the warm wind brought with it a baptism of soft, silver rain: Jack tilted his head back and welcomed its caress.
     
    High in the treetops, Eden always had her best ideas, and today was no exception. Gazing out over the jungle, she had been inspired with one last-ditch scheme to save her father from himself. The solution was simple.
    Perhaps they did not have the money for all three of them to travel back to England, but she could go alone, taking with her a sampling of her father’s most important discoveries; in London, she could meet with the new Lord Pembrooke, their former patron’s heir, and personally present to him the wonderful cures that Papa had found.
    If she could convince the rakehell earl of the importance of her father’s work for the good of all mankind, then perhaps His Lordship would see fit to reinstate their grant. But even if the thoughtless rake refused, there were many rich philanthropists in London . Surely, she reasoned, given her father’s fame and the strength of his work, she could find
someone
willing to fund his research.
    That way, Papa could remain here, in the relative safety of the Orinoco jungles, rather than chasing certain doom into the Amazon. As for her, she could stay with Aunt Cecily and Cousin Amelia as soon as she arrived in England , so there would be no worries over her being chaperoned. All in all, it sounded to her like the perfect answer: Everyone would win.
    Of course, knowing Papa, he’d probably find some fault with it; nevertheless, the mere possibility lifted her spirits. For now, there was nothing to do but wait until he got back so she could ask what he thought of her plan. Pleased with her inspiration, she climbed down to a lower branch and got to work on her orchids.
    With her shin-length cotton walking dress hitched up a bit, she settled herself astride a thick, mossy bough that arched over the river; her booted feet swung idly as she became absorbed in her scientific studies.
    Eager as she was to return to civilization, she was honest enough to admit that her life in the Delta