I will return at dawn. My people will see to the needs of your ship. Tell the captain we mean no harm to you." He
paused. "I must ask you to do something for me, Ben."
Squeezing the padre's hand lightly, the boy nodded. "Anything for you, Padre Esteban. What is it?"
The old man took the cross and its cord off and placed it about Ben's neck, tucking it inside his shirt. "Wear this. It
will protect both you and your dog from the one who pursues you. Remember it when you are in danger."
Ben took the cross in his hand. It glistened in the firelight. The depiction of the figure upon it had been carved
carefully into the wood and outlined with dark plant dye. When the boy looked up again, the old man had gone.
Ben told Thuron of his encounter with Padre Esteban, but he did not tell him of the cross or what the old man had seen
in his eyes. The Frenchman warmed his hands by the fire. "See, I knew that you two were lucky to me. Don't worry,
I'll pay the padre for anything he can give to us in the way of supplies. Well done, lad. You and Ned get some sleep
now. There's lots to do once day breaks!"
Dawn's first pale light was streaking the skies over a smooth and tranquil sea, and the Diablo Del Mar was little more
than three miles off the coast of Mayagüez. Rocco Madrid was roused from his cabin by a shout from Pepe, the
lookout. "Sail off the stern to starboard!"
The Spanish pirate captain hurried out on deck and clapped the telescope to his eye. "A fishing vessel! Portugee, come
about to meet it. I'll have words with the skipper."
Fear was the first reaction shown by the thin, tombstone-toothed Carib who skippered the small schooner-rigged
fishing craft. He knew he was facing a pirate vessel whose guns he could not outrun. The man had dealt with those of
The Brotherhood before. Hiding his terror behind a huge grin, he held up two large fish, shouting, "A good day to you,
friends. My fish are fresh caught during the night, the finest in all these waters. Will you buy some and help to feed my
poor wife and ten children, amigos?"
The Diablo loomed up alongside the small craft, dwarfing it. Rocco Madrid leaned over the midship rail and looked
down at the skipper. Producing a gold coin, he spun it toward the fisherman, who caught it with great alacrity and
waited in respectful silence to hear what the dangerous-looking pirate had to say.
Madrid held up another gold coin meaningfully. "Keep your fish, amigo. Where have ye been trawling? I mean you no
harm—all I want is information."
The skipper swept off his battered straw hat and bowed, testing the gold coin between his teeth as he did so. "What
can I tell you, señor? We are bound for Santo Domingo on Hispaniola after three days and nights fishing the waters
round the Isle of St. Croix. Ah, it is a hard life, yes?"
Madrid nodded. "Never mind your life story. If you want to earn that gold piece, and the one I have here, tell me: Did
you see any other ships since you've been out? I'm looking for a French buccaneer named La Petite Marie. "
Holding the hat flat against his chest, the skipper bowed again. "I cannot read the letters, señor, but we sighted a
vessel. Not as grand and large as your ship, but round in the bow and very fast-looking. She flew the skull and blades,
just as you do. A Brethren vessel, eh?"
Rocco's eyes lit up. "That's her! Where was she when you saw her, amigo? Tell me!"
The skipper waved his hat back over his shoulder. "Sailing toward the southeast coast, I think, maybe to Ponce,
Guayama or Arroyo, who knows ?"
The Spaniard stroked his moustache, slightly puzzled. "What would Thuron want around there? Hmm, maybe he has a
secret hiding place. I'll soon find out, though!" He pocketed the gold coin and drew his sword, pointing it at the
hapless fishing-boat skipper. "I know Hispaniola well. If you've lied to me, I'll find you. Ten children is a lot for a
widow to support, remember that."
Dismissing the fishing boat, he turned to Pepe. "Get my charts, I'll take charge of this operation!"
Pepe hurried off to the captain's cabin, where he gathered up charts, muttering to himself, "When did he never take
charge? But who am I to mention this, nothing but a donkey."
Aboard the Devon Belle, Captain Redjack Teal was also studying his charts whilst taking breakfast. His new cook, an
undersized seaman named Moore, stood nervously by, watching as Teal forked a minute portion of fish into his mouth.
The privateer captain pulled a face of disgust and spat the food onto the deck, then glared balefully at Moore. "Curse
your liver'n'lights, man, do ye call this cooked, eh?"
Moore tried to stand his ground and look respectful at the same time. He saluted and spoke with a thick Irish accent.
"'Twas boiled t'the best of me ability, Yer Honour!"
"Boiled!" Teal remarked, as though the word were an obscenity. "Boiled? Who the devil ever told ye I take boiled fish
t'break me fast, eh? Not another word, sirrah. Stand to attention! Clean this mess up. Take that demned fish out o' me
sight! Report t'the gunner for six strokes of a rope's end and thank your ignorant stars 'tain't the cat across your back. If
ye ever bring me boiled fish again, I'll have ye boiled alive in your own galley. Get out of me sight!"
After the unfortunate Moore had left the cabin, Teal quaffed several goblets of Madeira and stalked out on deck in
high bad humour. He called the mate to attend him. "You there, has land been sighted yet?"
The man tugged his forelock. "Nary a sightin' yet, Cap'n, but we should spot somethin' by midmorn, sir."
Teal could think of nothing to say except, "Well... well, make sure ye do! An' report t'me, straight off, d'ye hear?" He
thrust his telescope viciously at the mate. "Take this up t'the crow's nest, tell that lookout to keep his confounded eyes
skinned for land. Move y'self, man!"
He stalked off, exclaiming aloud, "Boiled fish? Can't abide the foul stuff. Worse than boiled mutton, if y'ask me, far
worse!"
By midmorning the entire crew of the Devon Belle were fervently hoping their captain would stay in his cabin until his
temper had calmed. Gillis, the captain's dresser, sat in Cook Moore's galley, sharing some boiled fish with his shipmate
and complaining bitterly. "Cap'n, is it? I've seen better cap'ns in charge of a saltfish barrow. Kicked me, he did, aye,
kicked me, an' for what? 'Cos one of his buttons was loose. Ain't nothin' in regulations says a man has t'get kicked for
a loose button, is there, cookie?"
Moore rubbed his rear end, still smarting from the gunner's knotted rope. "Only a kick? Sure now, weren't you the
lucky one. How does that boiled fish taste to ye?"
Gillis was about to reply when the call came loud and clear. "Land ho! East off the for'ard bow. Land hoooooo!"
The feeling of relief that swept over the Devon Belle was almost tangible in the air. Smiling faces were seen as
crewmen lined the bows to catch a sight of the headland when it became visible on the horizon. Shortly thereafter,
Redjack Teal strutted out onto the deck, freshly attired by Gillis in his favourite red hunting jacket and pristine linen
accessories. A naval officer's sword, complete with brass scabbard, clanked at his side.
Before all hands could busy themselves at their chores, Teal caught them with their backs to him, scanning the horizon
for land. He gave his crew a brisk lecture, like a schoolmaster censuring a class. "Nobody got any work t'do, eh?