The Angel's Command fd-2

  The Angel's Command

  ( Flying Dutchman - 2 )

  Brian Jacques

  Ben and his Labrador, Ned, castaways from the legendary ghost ship Flying Dutchman, swore never go to sea again-but a mishap in South America lands them aboard a French pirate ship with not one, but two villainous sea captains in pursuit. To make matters worse, Ben is still haunted by visions of Captain Vanderdecken, whose ghost seeks vengeance on the former cabin boy. And that is only the beginning of their adventures!

  The Angel's Command

  by Brian Jacques

  Back at the helm

  Ben and his Labrador, Ned, castaways from the legendary ghost ship Flying Dutchman, swore never to go to sea again

  —but a mishap in South America lands them aboard a French pirate ship with not one, but two villainous sea captains

  in pursuit. To make matters worse, Ben is still haunted by visions of Captain Vanderdecken, whose ghost seeks

  vengeance on the former cabin boy. And that is only the beginning of their adventures!

  "Jacques has . . . come up with another page-turner. Readers who enjoyed the first book will find this sequel even more

  exciting."

  — Booklist

  "This big, sprawling adventure will win new fans for Jacques's series."

  — The Horn Book

  "The threads of this action-packed adventure include magic, a wicked witch, and a good dollop of nail-biting danger,

  all finally weaving back to the good captain, closing the loop of these two tales. Fans of the first book, Jacques, and

  old-fashioned adventure could find this book to be just their cup of tea."

  — VOYA

  "As in all of Jacques's books, he conjures a colorful, fully realized world (particularly the gastronomic delights) and

  injects the pages with plenty of snappy repartee ('Cease cackling like a market goose, you old relic,' the nobleman calls

  affectionately to his cook). Readers can once again take satisfaction in the fact that virtue is rewarded, evildoers get

  their comeuppance and good triumphs over evil in Jacques's universe."

  — Publishers Weekly

  THE REDWALL BOOKS

  Redwall

  Mossflower

  Mattimeo

  Mariel of Redwall

  Salamandastron

  Martin the Warrior

  The Bellmaker

  Outcast of Redwall

  The Pearls of Lutra

  The Long Patrol

  Marlfox

  The Legend of Luke

  Lord Brocktree

  Taggerung

  Triss

  Loamh

  Rakkety Tarn

  The Great Redwall Feast (picture book)

  A Redwall Winter's Tale (picture book)

  OTHER BOOKS

  Seven Strange and Ghostly Tales

  Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

  The Angel's Command

  The Tale of Urso Brunov (picture book)

  The Ribbajack and Other Curious Yarns

  PADRE ESTEBAN

  "Peace be with you, my son. I am Padre Esteban. I hope that you and your friends mean no harm to me or my people."

  Ben returned his smile. "No, Padre, we only need food and fresh water, so we can continue our voyage."

  A thought from Ned flashed into Ben's mind as he saw Ned returning, dragging a large dead tree branch along the

  sand: "I felt your fear. Who is the man? Where's he from?"

  Ben replied mentally to the Labrador. "Come here and take a look at his face, Ned—he's a friend, Padre Esteban."

  Ned released the branch and came to sit by Ben. "Padre Esteban, eh? He's more like a statue of a saint than a man. I

  like him!"

  The padre reached out a hand that was the color of antique parchment. Stroking Ned's offered paw, he was silent for a

  while. Then, staring at Ben, he shook his head in wonder. "Who taught you to speak to an animal?"

  Somehow, the boy was not surprised....

  THE LEGEND OF THE FLYING DUTCHMAN is known to all men who follow the seafaring trade.

  Captain Vanderdecken and his ghostly crew, bound by heaven's curse to sail the world's vast oceans and seas, for

  eternity! The curse was delivered by the angel of the Lord, who descended from the firmament to the very deck of the

  doomed vessel. Vanderdecken and his evil crew were bound, both living and dead, to an endless voyage. Only two

  were to escape the Flying Dutchman—a mute, ragged orphan boy, Ben, and his faithful dog, Ned. They were the only

  two aboard who were pure of heart, innocent of all wickedness.

  The angel had washed them both overboard in a storm off Cape Horn—castaways of the Flying Dutchman! Barely

  alive, they came ashore at Tierra del Fuego, the tip of South America. Unfortunately, they, too, were casualties of the

  angel's curse, destined to live endlessly, without growing older by a single day. However, heaven, being merciful,

  decreed that Ben was granted the power of speech in any language. Additionally he could communicate with the dog

  by process of thought. Thus began a friendship that was to last through many centuries. Given refuge by an old

  shepherd who lived on Tierra del Fuego, the two remained with the old man until his death, three years later. It was

  then that the angel commanded them to travel on—their mission, to do good and help others wherever the need arose.

  And so they went forth, this strange blue-eyed lad and his faithful black Labrador, orphans of the mighty waters,

  travelling the world together. Never stopping too long in one place, where folk they befriended would grow older and

  die, for Ben and Ned were eternally young. Wandering endlessly, commanded by an angel. Haunted by

  Vanderdecken's spectre, they went north, up into the wild and untamed jungles, mountains and savannahs of South

  America's wild continent. What adventures, untold sights and perils awaited our friends! This narrative follows their

  rovings after several years. Fate landed Ben and Ned back again near the sea, the Caribbean, whose coasts were home

  to lawless men. The buccaneers!

  I take up my pen to tell you the tale.

  Book One

  LA PETITE MARIE

  1

  CARTAGENA, 1628

  GREAT AND GOLDEN, like an enormous, newly minted doubloon, the Caribbean sun presided over the waterfront.

  Ships of all nations, from salt-crusted skiffs to stately galleons, bobbed on their moorings, each craft facing bow onto

  the harbour wall. Children clambered and played upon the bronze cannons fronting the jade and aquamarine waters of

  the wide Caribbean Sea. Along the dusty quayfront fishing boats unloaded their catches straight to the stalls. Noise and

  bustle were everywhere. Women sold plantains, melons, coconuts and an amazing variety of exotic fruits and

  vegetables. Parrots squawked and monkeys chattered from their cages of split bamboo. Men squatted in the shade,

  bargaining for spices, rum, snuff and tobacco. Young girls danced and sang to the music of guitars and drums, cajoling

  coins from passersby. High in its ornate tower, the bell of Santa Magdalena clanged dully over the red-tiled and palm-

  thatched dwellings, which ranged from austere Spanish architecture to bedraggled local hovels. Taverns, bodegas and

  inns were packed to the doors with laughing, brawling, arguing and drunken seafarers, pirates, freebooters, corsairs and

  buccaneers, known collectively in Cartagena as The Brotherhood—those beyond the law of honest men.


  Ben and Ned sat among the trees, where it was relatively peaceful and free from trampling feet. After travelling alone

  in sparsely populated regions of South America for so long, they had been watching the teeming life of the quayside

  for fully an hour, both rather taken aback by this sudden surge of noisy humanity. The big black Labrador passed a

  single thought to his tow-headed young companion.

  "Well, are you hungry enough to go and explore yet?"

  The boy smiled into his friend's moist, dark eyes. "It would be a nice change to eat something cooked by somebody

  else besides myself. Come on, Ned, let's take a look."

  The dog pondered his companion's thought for a moment, then rose gracefully and returned the mental comment.

  "Hmph! If I had hands instead of paws I'd make a wonderful cook. I can't help being a dog, you know."

  Ben patted Ned's head affectionately, answering the thought. "I'll wager you'd be the world's best cook, just as you're

  the the nicest dog on earth!"

  The black Labrador's tail wagged. "Oh, you're just saying that because it's true. Follow me. I'll sniff out the place

  where the food smells good."

  People did not pay much attention to the pair as they strolled along the harbour street, a tow-haired lad of about

  fourteen years, dressed in an old blue shirt that lacked buttons and a pair of once-white canvas trousers, tattered and

  frayed at the hems, walking barefoot alongside a big black dog. Ned threaded his way between crates of live, clucking

  chickens and barrels of still-slithering, silver-scaled fish. They skirted a crowd who was watching an entertainer wrap

  live snakes about his body. Ben stopped to watch the performance, but Ned tugged at his shirt-tail. "What d'you want

  to do, watch street shows or eat? Come on!"

  Ben obediently followed the dog, his eyes drinking in the colourful spectacle of crowded humanity as he went.

  Ned halted at the front doors of Cartagena's biggest waterfront tavern and winked one eye at Ben. "Someone's roasting

  beef in there, my mouth's watering!"

  Ben's strange, clouded blue eyes stared up at the swinging sign. Crude artwork depicted a grinning jaguar taking a bath

  in a barrel of rum. Below this in scrolled lettering was the name Rhum Tigre. The whole aspect of the tavern was that

  it might once have been the home of some prosperous Spanish merchant, now converted into a drinking den with

  upstairs accommodations for paying guests. Ben hesitated, doubtful as to whether he should enter. Sounds of a fiddle

  and hoarse voices discordantly singing rowdy ditties emanated over the babble of gossiping seamen within. Ned sat

  scratching behind his ear with a blunt-clawed back leg, communicating mentally.

  "Enter callow youth, if thou art not afeared!"

  Ben shifted from one foot to the other, and he shrugged. "Easy for you to say, mate, but I'm the one who'll get thrown

  out if they find we have no money."

  Ned was still in a playfully encouraging mood as he replied, "Tut tut, m'boy, leave this to your trusty hound!"

  He rose and trotted inside, with Ben sending urgent thoughts after him. "Ned! Come back here ... wait!"

  The dog's mental answer floated back to him. "Money's never stopped us so far, Ben. Faint heart never won roast beef.

  Woof! Just look at that carcass on the spit!"

  Ben shouldered his way in through a gang of departing men. The moment he stepped inside, he froze. Faces were all

  around him, faces like those he had encountered aboard the Flying Dutchman, unwashed, unshaven, gap-toothed,

  tattooed and brass-earringed. Scowling, grinning wickedly, slit-eyed, broken-nosed, knife-scarred ruffians—faces like

  those which returned sometimes to haunt his dreams. Ben stood rooted to the spot, seemingly unable to move, until

  Ned tugged at his shirtsleeve, growling as he mentally reassured his friend. "Step lively, mate, they won't harm us. I

  felt the same as you when I came in here, but my stomach got the better of me. Look over there!"

  The object of Ned's desire was a cavernous old fireplace where, over a bed of glowing charcoal, two cooks were

  slowly turning a spit on which was transfixed an entire side of beef. Juices and fat from the roasting meat popped and

  sizzled as they dripped onto the flames. Every now and then, the cooks would stop turning the spit. Using long, sharp

  knives they would slice off a chunk of beef for a customer, pocketing the coins they were given. Ben felt his stomach

  grumble aloud at the sight. He was very hungry.

  Ned chuckled mentally at him. "Ho ho, I hear a gurgling gut, a sure remedy for any fears."

  Ben stroked the Labrador's silky ear. "So you do, but a gurgling gut with empty pockets isn't much use. What d'you

  suggest?"

  The fireplace was constructed in the centre of the room. Through the flames could be seen a bar area and some tables.

  Something was going on at the largest table, where onlookers were gathered round to watch whatever it was.

  Ned began tugging Ben toward the table, passing a message. "Let's see if we can't pick up a coin or two over yonder."

  The crews of two pirate ships, the Diablo Del Mar and La Petite Marie, were watching their captains gambling. Rocco

  Madrid, master of the Diablo, was winning, and Raphael Thuron, master of La Petite Marie, was losing, heavily.

  Rocco's sword, a fine blade of Toledo steel with a silver basketed handle, lay on the table. Behind it was an ever-

  growing pile of gold coins from many nations. The Spanish captain played idly with his long, grey-streaked black

  curls, smiling thinly as he watched Thuron. "Make your choice, amigo, where is the pea?"

  Thuron, the French captain, stroked his rough brown beard with heavy, club-nailed fingers, his eyes roving over the

  three down-turned walnut shells lying on the table between them. He flicked Rocco a hate-laden glance, growling,

  "Don't hurry me, Madrid!"

  Sighing heavily, Thuron looked from the dwindling pile of coins, which were stacked behind the blade of his cutlass

  on the opposite side of the table. He bit his lip and concentrated his gaze on the three walnut shells, while Rocco

  Madrid drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

  "I am not hurrying you, amigo. Shall I take my siesta while you try to find our little friend the pea, eh?"

  The Diablo's crew chuckled appreciatively at their captain's witty observation. The more gold Thuron lost, the slower

  and more deliberate he became.

  The French captain spoke without looking up from the three nutshells. "Huh, the little pea might be your friend, but

  she's no friend o' mine, not after ten losses in a row!"

  Rocco twirled his waxed moustache, enjoying his opponent's discomfiture. "Who knows, the little pea, she might

  change her mind and fall in love with you. Choose, amigo."

  Thuron made a snap decision. He turned up the shell that lay in the centre of the three. It was empty, no pea lay under

  it. A cheer went up from the Diablo's, crew, and groans from the men of La Petite Marie. Thuron separated five stacks

  of gold coins from his meagre pile, swiping them toward the Spaniard with the back of his hand.

  One of the coins fell from the table and clinked upon the floor. Ned was on to it like a hawk on a dove. Diving beneath

  the table, he took the coin in his mouth. Madrid held out his open hand to the dog, rapping out sharply, "Here! Give!"

  Ned ignored the Spaniard, turning his big dark eyes toward Thuron. The Frenchman liked the dog immediately. He,

  too, held out his hand, speaking in a friendly voice. "Who owns this good fellow?"

  Ben moved up alongside Thuron. "I do, sir. His name's Ned."

/>   Communicating mentally with the Labrador, Ben sent him a message. "Give him the coin. I like him better than that

  other one."

  Ned wagged his tail. "So do I. Here you are, sir!" He dropped the coin into the French captain's palm.

  The Spaniard snarled as he reached for his sword. "That's mine, give it here!"

  Thuron grinned and winked at Ben. Taking a fresh gold piece from the small pile, he flicked it to Rocco Madrid.

  "Take this one. The boy's dog earned that gold piece. You, lad, what's your name? Speak up."

  The boy tipped a finger to his forehead. "Ben, sir!"

  Thuron took the coin and spun it in the air. Ben caught it deftly and awaited orders. The Frenchman nodded

  approvingly. "Get me some of that meat and some ale, too. Keep the change. Get something for yourself and the dog."

  Ben thanked Thuron and passed a message to Ned. "Come on, pal, let's sample the beef!"

  Ned replied as he stood on his hind legs, placing both front paws on the table alongside the French captain. "You go,

  Ben, I'll stay here and watch. That Spaniard is too lucky for my liking. See if you can get me a bone, with plenty of

  meat and fat on it."

  Captain Thuron stroked the black Labrador's silky ears. "Leave Ned here with me, Ben. I've got a feeling he's lucky."

  Ben elbowed his way through the tavern customers and went to get the food. The cook gave him two healthy slices of

  roast beef, laying each one on a crusty slice of bread. He added two large ribs dripping with hot fat and thick with

  meat. Ben purchased the ale and pocketed the small coins that made up the change. When he returned to the table he

  noticed that the Frenchman's pile of gold had grown even smaller. Ned's thought informed him, "He's lost again. That

  Spaniard's cheating."

  Madrid eyed the food and stood up. "Excuse me, amigo, that meat looks good. Let's take a break while I get some."

  Rocco's bosun, a thickset Portuguese, interrupted. "I'll get it for you, Cap'n."

  The Spaniard picked up his sword. "No, I'll get it myself. I like to select my own meat. You keep an eye on my gold."

  Members of the two crews went along, tempted by the sight of the beef. There was a lull in the game. Ned explained