The Angel's Command fd-2 Read online

  to Ben about Rocco Madrid's dishonesty. "My eyes are quicker than most—I saw him palm the pea. After he's shuffled

  the shells about, there's nothing under any of them. Then when he has to pick up his own shell, he palms the pea back

  onto the table, as if it had been lying under the shell. That Spaniard is quick and clever."

  Thuron had been watching the boy and the dog looking silently at each other. He finished chewing and spoke. "I was

  hoping your Ned would change my luck, Ben, but it seems I'm bound to lose. Blast his eyes, Madrid has all the luck

  today! Hey, boy, are you listening to me?"

  Moving slightly closer, Ben murmured out of the corner of his mouth so that the remaining crew members of the

  Diablo Del Mar, at the other side of the table, could not hear. "Don't look at me, sir, keep your eyes straight ahead and

  listen to what I say..."

  Rocco Madrid had carved the beef with his own sword. He ate it at the bar and drank a glass of red wine. Fastidiously

  wiping his lips on a silk kerchief, he returned to the gaming table, where Thuron sat waiting. Placing his sword back

  on the table, Madrid smiled affably. "So then, my good amigo, you wish to continue playing. Bueno. Maybe the little

  pea will come your way this time."

  Madrid placed the pea upon the table and covered it with the centre one of the three down-turned walnut shells. Ben

  watched closely as the Spaniard's long fingers began deftly moving the shells, right to left, left to right, centre to side,

  side to centre. Then he saw the trick. The shells were moving so fast that he almost missed it. Rocco shifted the shells

  so skilfully that at one point the shell with the pea beneath it went slightly over the lip of the table. The pea was

  flicked out into his lap, almost faster than the eye could follow.

  Ned's thought cut into Ben's mind. "See, I told you! Now all he has to do is drop his hand and jam the pea between his

  fingers, while our friend is sitting there deciding which shell to choose. When he makes his pick, there'll be nothing

  beneath it. The Spaniard will make his choice then, skilfully dropping in the pea as he overturns the shell, and there he

  has it, a winner again, eh?"

  Ben patted the black Labrador's head. "Not this time though."

  Rocco sat back, the same thin smile on his lips as he announced confidently, "Make your play, Capitano Thuron. How

  much this time?"

  Thuron's first mate and his bosun had edged their way around the table until they were standing on either side of

  Rocco Madrid. Thuron leaned forward, eyeing the sly Spaniard levelly. "That gold there, your side o' the table. How

  much d'ye reckon you've got there, my friend?"

  Rocco shrugged. "Who knows, amigo, it would take quite a time to count it all up. So, are you going to play?"

  Thuron smiled then. "Aye, I'm going to play. There's more gold aboard my ship, you know that. So let's stop messing

  about with small wagers. I'm going to bet all I've got against what lies on this table. One chance, winner takes all!"

  Rocco Madrid could not resist the invitation. "You are a real gambler, amigo. I accept your wager, eh!" He looked up

  to his crew for approval, immediately sensing all was not well as he saw the bosun and first mate of La Petite Marie

  hemming him in.

  Thuron had one hand beneath the table. He smiled roguishly at his adversary. "There's a dagger either side of you and

  a loaded musket pointed at your belly from my side. I'm betting there's no pea under any of those three shells. Don't

  move a muscle, Cap'n Madrid! Ben, lad, turn the shells over!" The boy swiftly did as he was bid. There was, of course,

  no pea. Sweat ran in rivulets down the Spaniard's sallow face.

  The entire tavern had grown silent. All that could be heard was the crackle of beef drippings spilling onto the fire.

  There was death in Thuron's voice. "Sit still, Madrid. You don't want to get that pea lying in your lap covered with

  blood. You, Diablo crew, don't be foolish. There's no sense in dying because your captain's a cheat. Stay still and you

  won't come to any harm. The game's over, I win! Anaconda, pick up that gold!"

  Captain Thuron's steersman, Anaconda, was a black giant with a huge shaven head. He shrugged off a linen shirt,

  displaying awesome muscles. With a few swift moves he swept the gold coins inside his shirt and knotted it into an

  impromptu carrier.

  Rocco Madrid's lips scarcely moved as he sneered at Raphael Thuron. "You will not get away with this, my friend!"

  Thuron stood, his musket still pointed at the Spaniard. "Oh yes I will... my friend. Right, lads, back out, stern first.

  Anybody makes a move, take no notice of them. Just kill their capitano. Ben, you'd best come with me, for the good of

  your health. Bring my lucky dog too!"

  Ben felt Ned's thought penetrate his mind. "Do as he says, mate. This place isn't safe anymore!"

  Once they were out on the quayside, the entire crew of La Petite Marie took to their heels and ran for it. Ben and Ned

  found themselves up front, with Thuron and his giant steersman. A cart of oranges was overturned, and some chickens

  broke loose from their cages as the mass of fleeing pirates dashed through the crowd. The singing girls began

  screaming, and the snake performer dropped his reptiles.

  Thuron bawled toward a trim three-masted vessel lying bow onto the harbour. "Make sail! Make sail! We're coming

  aboard! Make sail there!"

  As he clattered up the steep gangplank, Ben could see the crew members on watch clambering into the rigging, whilst

  others loosed the ship's headropes. There was a small culverin in the bows. The captain roared out orders for it to be

  loaded. He knelt by the little swivel cannon, beckoning Ben to his side. "We'll blow them off the quay if they try to

  follow. Hand me that tow!"

  Ben saw the thick, smouldering rope end and passed it over to Thuron.

  Ned sent a thought to Ben. "I hadn't figured on going to sea again, ever!"

  The boy replied mentally to his dog. "We've no choice. It's either that or stay in Cartagena and get killed." He turned to

  Thuron. "D'you think they'll follow us, Cap'n?"

  The Frenchman held the burning tow near the culverin's touch hole, nodding. "Maybe not right away, boy, but he'll be

  coming after us. Rocco Madrid lost a lot of face today. By the way, how did you know he was cheating? I just thought

  I was extra unlucky today."

  Ben knew it would be futile trying to explain about Ned, so he lied. "I've seen that game played before. As soon as I

  came to your table, I saw Captain Madrid palming the pea. Where are we bound, sir?"

  Raphael Thuron threw an arm around the boy's shoulder. "Home to la belle France, thanks to you. I'm finally set for

  good. This pirating life is too dangerous, my friend!"

  2

  ONCE LA PETITE MARIE HAD BEEN POLED AWAY from the harbour wall, Anaconda swung her about to face the

  freshening breeze, taking the ship out into the Caribbean. The all too familiar memory of a swaying deck beneath his

  feet brought back dreadful memories of the Flying Dutchman to Ben. He lay flat on the deck facedown, pictures of

  Vanderdecken and his villainous crew flashing before his mind. Ned lay down beside him, flashing urgent thoughts.

  "Don't let it get the better of you, Ben. Vanderdecken's a bad thing to think of. Cap'n Thuron's our friend, a good man."

  One of the passing crew put a hand to Ben's back and shook him. "What ails ye, lad? Come on now, up on yer feet!"

  Ned stood over Ben, the dog's hackles bristling as he growled viciously. Thuron pushed the man aside.

>   "Leave the boy alone. Maybe he's seasick already. Ben, are you feeling ill?"

  Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Ben lifted his head. "I'll be alright, Cap'n. I was frightened back there."

  The Frenchman nodded. "I was too, boy. Rocco Madrid has a formidable reputation. He's also got almost twice as

  many crew. Only a fool wouldn't have been afraid. You'll be alright. Go aft, take Ned with you, lie down in my cabin.

  I won't let anything happen to you, Ben, you're my luck. Both of you."

  The big cabin at the ship's stern was cool and comfortable. Ben lay down on the broad, velvet-quilted bed and fell into

  a dreamless slumber. Ned jumped up beside him and laid his head across the boy's feet. "Hmm, I wonder how far away

  France is. A good distance, probably."

  La Petite Marie was now under full sail, plowing the blue-green waters of the mighty Caribbean Sea.

  Evening rolls of purple cloud were striping the crimson sky as the sound of an opening cabin door roused Ben. Ned

  nuzzled his leg. "Wake up! Here's food!" The crewman who followed Thuron into the cabin placed a bowl of fresh

  water down alongside a plate of stew. He loaded the rest onto the bedside table before leaving.

  Thuron sat by the table. "Ben, here boy, eat up, I made the stew myself."

  Ben sat on the edge of the bed alongside the table. There was a bowl of stew, some fresh fruit, and water to drink, and

  he tucked in heartily.

  Thuron watched him eat. The Frenchman chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Not feeling ill anymore, eh? 'Tis hard to

  tell who has the better appetite, you or old Ned there."

  The dog, who was licking a plate clean, shot Ben a thought. "Huh, who's he calling old? I'm nought but a pup yet."

  Ben replied mentally. "Aye, a fat hungry pup!"

  Ned growled. "Fat yourself, tubby youth!"

  The captain's stubby finger turned Ben's chin until their gazes met. There was sea in the boy's clouded blue eyes—

  ancient deeps and far horizons lurked in them. Raphael Thuron stared into the young fellow's calm face. "You're a

  strange lad, Ben, where are ye from?"

  Ben averted his eyes and picked up a slice of pineapple. "From the Tierra del Fuego, sir."

  The Frenchman raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The land of fire down at the tip of this big country! That's a great

  distance from Cartagena, lad. How came ye to travel so far?"

  Ben did not like lying to the captain, but necessity had forced him to be untruthful with anyone who wanted to know

  of his mysterious life. "I was a shepherd boy helping an old sheepherder down there. He told me that he had found me

  on the shores, after a shipwreck. I worked with him . . . Ned was his dog. Early one spring the shepherd died in an

  accident, so I wandered off with Ned. We've been travelling over four years. We visited many places before reaching

  Cartagena."

  Thuron shook his head in wonderment. "You must have been little more than a babe when the sheepherder found you

  on the shore. What was the name of the ship you came from?"

  Ben shrugged. "The sheepherder never told me. He said that the vessel must have sunk in a storm. I don't remember

  anything, apart from living in his hut, rounding up sheep with Ned and enduring the awful weather down there. Have

  you always been a seaman, Cap'n?"

  Ned's thought flashed through Ben's mind. "I liked the way you changed the subject there, mate. That was a clever

  touch, too, saying I belonged to the old shepherd. What our friend doesn't know can't hurt him."

  Ben kept his eyes on Thuron, who began telling of himself. "Aye, I've been seafaring since I was younger than you,

  Ben. I was born in a place called Arcachon, on the French coast. I didn't want to be a poor peasant like my father, so I

  ran off one day and joined the crew of a merchant ship. On our voyage to Cadiz we were attached by Spanish pirates.

  They slew most of our crew but kept me as galley boy. Since then, I've spent most of my life aboard one vessel or

  another. If I'd been weak, I'd be dead by now. But here you see me, Raphael Thuron, master of my own ship, La Petite

  Marie, a French buccaneer!"

  Ben looked up at the captain. "You must be very proud of yourself, sir."

  The Frenchman poured himself a glass of water, swirled it about reflectively, then shook his head. "Proud, d'ye say?

  I'll tell ye something now, Ben, that I've never told any living soul. I'm ashamed of what I've made of my life.

  Ashamed!" He kept swirling the water, his eyes fixed on its motion. "Me, the older son of an honest, religious family.

  Oh, I was a wild one, not like my younger brother Mattieu. It was my parents' hope that one day I would reform and

  make them proud by becoming a priest. My younger brother Mattieu was more suited to that sort of thing. He was a

  good boy, though I often got him into trouble. Being a farmworker like my father was a gloomy alternative. So I ran

  off to sea, and here I am all these years later, a man living outside of the law, buccaneering. But no more. This wicked

  trade has seen the last of Raphael Thuron. I'm done with it all, boy. Finished, d'ye hear!"

  This came as a shock to Ben. "What made you decide that, sir?"

  The Frenchman quaffed his water, slamming the glass down so hard that it cracked. "I saw ye today, Ben, standing

  there with Ned. You reminded me of what I was once, a cheery lad with a trusty hound at his heels. 'Twas you spotted

  Madrid's cheatin' ways. I knew then my life had to change. You're my lucky boy, you and Ned. I've been storing

  wealth away. Now, with what I took from Rocco Madrid, I'm a rich man. I'll make up for my buccaneering ways, Ben,

  you'll see. I'll return to Arcachon and help my family. We'll build a chateau, Ben, and buy a big vineyard. I'll give

  money to the church and the poor. Folk will speak of me like ... like—"

  Ben interrupted the captain. "Like a saint?"

  A huge smile spread across Thuron's heavy face. "Aye lad, that's it, lad, like a saint. Saint Raphael Thuron!"

  He burst out laughing, Ben joined in, and Ned set up a howl. The Frenchman wiped tears of merriment from his eyes

  onto his brocaded sleeve. "And you two will share in it. Young Saint Ben and good Saint Ned. How does that sound to

  ye, eh?"

  Convulsed with mirth, the black Labrador chortled away. "Hohoho, good Saint Ned? I like that, I'll wear a collar of

  gold, like a halo that's slipped down round my neck!"

  Ben returned his thought. "And I'll wear a long, flowing shirt and a pointed hat, like a bishop. Hahahaha!"

  Thuron remarked through his laughter. "Oohahaha, look at you two, anyone'd swear you were gossiping together.

  Hahaha!"

  Ben slapped the Frenchman's back so hard that it stung his hand. "Heeheehee, that's a good 'un, gossiping with a dog,

  hee-hee!"

  The proceedings were interrupted by the bosun, Pierre, bellowing from the sternmast lookout point. "Vessel astern,

  showin' over the horizon in our wake!"

  The captain dashed out onto the deck, with Ben and Ned hard on his heels. Crewmen with worried faces clattered up

  from the mess deck, carrying weapons and priming muskets as they made their way to the stern rail. Thuron pulled a

  telescope from his coat lining and sighted on the dark smudge to the rear, which was all they could see of Cartagena.

  He swung the glass to and fro, halting as he caught sight of sail.

  "Rocco Madrid and the Diablo Del Mar! Well, he didn't waste much time, did he? Stand by all hands, we're in for a

  sea chase. Load those cannon, Anaconda, I'll take the wheel. Come on, Ben, bring Ned too—I'm going to need all the

  luck ye can br
ing me!"

  Captain Rocco Madrid called up to his lookout. "Have they sighted us yet, Pepe?"

  Loud and clear, the lookout bellowed back. "Sí, Capitano, they are piling on sail to escape us!"

  Rocco's bosun, Portugee, handed the wheel over to his captain. "Shall I roll out all the cannon an' give 'em a full

  salute? Capitano, we can outgun the Marie easily."

  Madrid narrowed his eyes until they were wicked slits. "No, no, Thuron has the gold. He is of no use to me on the

  bottom of the sea with his ship. Diablo will outrun them, we'll take the Marie an' her crew alive. I want to sail into

  Cartagena with everyone aboard that ship hanging from their own yardarms. Our Brotherhood on shore will know then:

  No man takes gold from Rocco Madrid and lives to tell the tale!"

  Rocco's first mate, a fat Hollander called Boelee, spoke up. "Even the brat an' his dog?"

  The Spaniard drew out his telescope and scanned the distant ship. "Especially the brat an' his dog, amigo. Lessons must

  be taught by making hard examples."

  Aboard La Petite Marie, Thuron was roaring orders. "Pile on every stitch of canvas there! Up the rigging, every man

  jack of ye! Pierre, Ludon, climb out onto the bows an' chop away those rope fenders. She'll cut the waves cleaner with

  a sharp prow!"

  Pierre, the bosun, and Ludon, the mate, scrambled over the bows with cutlasses held in their teeth.

  Ben looked anxiously at the Frenchman, voicing his thoughts aloud. "Are you sure we can outrun them, Cap'n?"

  Thuron smiled grimly. "We've got to, or we're all dead men. Don't worry, boy, my ship may be smaller, but she's

  faster, I'm sure of it. With me at the helm, Madrid will get a run for his gold. That big, awkward tub of his was never

  built for sea chases. Our Marie will show him a clean pair of heels, providing he doesn't use his cannon. 'Tis my job to

  keep us out of his range until he tires of the chase, though I'm certain that Spaniard doesn't want to sink us. If Madrid

  does get us within distance, he'll try to snap off our masts."

  Ned was struck by an idea, which he imparted to Ben. "It'll be dark in an hour or two, so why don't we make sure the

  ship isn't showing any lights to give away our position?"

  Ben immediately passed on the suggestion to Thuron. The Frenchman was wholly in agreement. "A good thought, lad.