waters on their way to the Gulf of Mexico. Flying fish taste good, grilled with butter and oatmeal."
Ned went back to tackling his coconut. "Flying fish! Huh, who does he think he's fooling?"
Thuron pointed a stubby finger at the bows. "Look!" A flying fish was clearly visible, soaring level with the ship.
Ben leapt up. "There's another! Ned, did you see that?"
The black Labrador stood on his back legs, with his front paws on the rail. He pulled back sharply as another fish flew
briefly by and skimmed over the bow wave. "Whoops! Seems a shame to catch them. Do they really taste good? Ask
the cap'n to teach us to catch a few, Ben!"
Most of the morning was spent leaning over the prow, watching the flying fish trapping themselves in a net that
Thuron had spread from the peak to the bowsprit. Anaconda sang cheerily in his rich deep bass as he supervised the
cook in the galley. Ben listened as he pulled a fish from the net and marvelled at the huge spreading fins it used to soar
over the waters.
"Come on, come on, you flyin' fish,
Fly up here into my dish.
Birds is birds, that's how they act,
Fish is fish, an that's a fact.
Foolish thing, I bet you wish
You knew if you was bird or fish!
Fly fly o'er the sea,
Spread your fins an' come to me.
You flyin' fish, come on, come on,
I'm a sailor an' a hungry one.
In the air you sure look great,
But you taste much nicer on a plate.
Cook in the galley, warm that dish,
Here comes another little flyin' fish!
Fly fly o'er the sea, Spread those fins an' come to me."
They had passed the Isle of Mona and Mayagüez when the cook hammered his ladle against a stove lid and shouted to
all hands. "Fish is done, all cooked to a turn. If ye don't come quick, the Anaconda will eat 'em all!"
Ned raced ahead of Ben, sending a thought back to him. "Move yourself, youth. I believe every word the good cook
says. Hope Anaconda saves a few for me!"
Thuron and the boy raced side by side, following Ned to the galley. All hands were jostling one another in line. Still
relieved to have escaped both their foes, the men laughed and joked with one another.
Ben exchanged a thought with Ned. "What a difference between this and our first trip together with Vanderdecken
aboard the Flying Dutchman. "
The black Labrador bristled. "Don't even mention that hell-ship or mad Cap'n Vanderdecken and his crew of bullies.
I'd sooner be aboard a good honest pirate ship like the Marie any day!"
Bowing to the dog's wisdom, Ben washed all thoughts of the accursed Dutchman from his mind. Instead, he
concentrated on the bright sunlit Caribbean day, his friend Raphael Thuron, the merry bustle of crewmen and the
anticipation of tasting his first cooked flying fish.
Rocco Madrid was in deep trouble. The privateer had chased the Diablo Del Mar straight into the shallows of Puerto
Rico's palm-fringed shores. The Spaniard paced his cabin, wondering what the Englishman's next move would be.
Cowering in a corner with a rope around his neck that was secured to a deck ring, Ludon, former mate of the Marie,
watched him with wide, frightened eyes. Both men knew they were in a fearful situation.
Through his cabin window Madrid could see the Devon Belle, not three ship lengths away. She was broadside on to the
Diablo, cannon bristling, almost daring the Spaniard to take the first shot. Rocco Madrid had more sense than to try.
He felt like a rat in a trap—it would be plain suicide to attempt any show of aggression. Redjack Teal had an awesome
reputation for slaughter.
Portugee and Boelee came skulking into the cabin like a pair of naughty schoolboys about to be punished for some
misdemeanour.
Boelee looked sheepishly from the privateer in the bay to his captain. "What are we going to do, Capitano?"
Madrid answered with a lot more confidence than he felt. "Do, amigos? We do nothing for the moment. The first hand
is up to the Englishman to play."
Portugee remarked with a scowl, "The only cards Redjack deals us will be wrapped around cannonballs. Unless you
plan on makin' a move, Capitano, we are all dead men!"
There was a rasp of steel leaving scabbard, and Portugee was suddenly backed against a bulkhead with the Spaniard's
sword at his throat. Madrid hissed venomously at him, "You'll be a dead man sooner than you think if you let your
tongue flap foolishly, amigo. I do the thinking aboard this ship without the advice of idiots. Leave this to me, I have a
plan. Meanwhile, both of you get out on deck and close all the cannon ports. Boelee, run up a white flag of truce.
Portugee, lock up all the muskets and swords. Keep all hands below deck, tell them to make no noise. Now go!"
The Spaniard aimed a kick at Ludon. "You! Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to talk. I have plans for you."
Rocco Madrid came smartly out on deck the moment he saw a white flag fluttering from the Devon Belle's masthead.
Captain Redjack was standing amidships with a long, trumpet-ended megaphone to his lips. His voice carried clearly
across the space between the vessels. Crewmen stood by with cocked muskets, ugly cannon snouts poked menacingly
at the Diablo as Teal called out. "One false move an' I open fire. Comprende?"
The Spaniard cupped both hands round his mouth and shouted back. "I understand English, señor. What do you want?"
Teal's reply was sharp and officious. "I am Captain Jonathan Ormsby Teal of His Majesty's ship Devon Belle. I carry
letters of marque an' reprisal as a privateer. I require your complete an' unconditional surrender. Immediately!"
Madrid kept his voice normal, though he was inwardly fuming at the foppish Englander's high-handed manner.
"Capitano, you have my word as a Spanish grandee that the first shot will not come from my vessel!"
Teal snorted contemptuously as he raised the hailer to his mouth. "Fire at your peril, sirrah! I'll blast your lungs'n'lights
to perdition an' dye this bay red with your foul blood! Answer me! Do ye surrender now ... eh?"
The Spaniard spread his arms placatingly. "I surrender, Capitano—only a fool would refuse your offer. But first I
would talk with you. I have a proposition, amigo. One that could make you a very rich man—will you listen, señor?"
Teal took a moment, whispering orders to his bosun, mate and master gunner, before making a reply. "A rich man,
y'say? Stand fast, I'm comin' over. Blink an eye an' a dozen musketeers'll blow it out!"
Rocco Madrid bowed elaborately. "No tricks, I promise! Let us talk like civilised men. I will await your arrival in my
cabin with some fine wine for both of us. With your permission, Capitano, I will retire now."
Twenty crew, armed with muskets and rifles, packed into the Devon Belle's jolly boat. Teal sat in the stern, behind
them. In his cabin, Madrid held tight to the scruff of Ludon's neck as he loosed the rope. Thrusting Ludon to the
window, the Spaniard pointed to Teal as he instructed his captive. "Hearken to me carefully. See the red-jacketed one?
He can save both our lives. When I tell you to speak, you will lie to him, lie as you've never lied before, amigo. Tell
the Englishman that La Petite Marie is carrying a vast fortune in gold. Ten, twenty times more than he took from me
at Cartagena. You saw it yourself, with your own two eyes. Do this and you may live to be a rich fellow. Understand?"