Skull and Bones. John Drake

men on deck, plus the lieutenant. But that is still dangerously few for so great a ship as this.”

      “Aye!” said Billy Bones. “I’d want fifty at least, just to sail her, and a hundred or more to man the guns.”

      “Indeed, Mr Bones.” Flint looked out to sea. “Ah!” he said. “See those ships?”

      “Aye, sir. Thems are Bounder and Jumper, the sloops in company with us.”

      “Each having some fit men still aboard.”

      “The which we can employ, Cap’n?”

      “Yes. But we must avoid gentlemen with long coats.”

      “Officers, Cap’n?”

      “Indeed, for they might think it their duty to remind the hands of what I am.”

      “What about them below? Cap’n Baggot and the rest?”

      Flint smiled. “Those unfortunate officers who are ‘bad sick but still alive’?”

      “Aye, Cap’n.”

      “Why, Mr Bones, you and I shall visit them…to ease their suffering.”

      Billy Bones bit his lip and looked at his boots.

      “Especially,” said Flint, “we must visit Lieutenant Hastings and Mr Midshipman Povey, those old shipmates of ours who were witnesses to our past actions, and thereby have the power to put a rope around my neck.” He nodded: “And yours, too, Mr Bones. We must see to Hastings and Povey first of all, for our lives depend upon it!” He smiled. “What a blessing it is that we have them safe aboard this ship, laid in their hammocks and awaiting our visit!” He even laughed.

      “Oh!” said Billy Bones, suddenly remembering something.

      “What?” Flint frowned. Billy Bones radiated guilt.

      “Well, Cap’n…I meant to say…”

      “Say what?”

      “Well, Cap’n, it were a great struggle, a-gettin’ of the squadron to sea…”

      “Yes?”

      “What with so many sick aboard all three ships…”

      “So?”

      “So Bounder, there –” Billy Bones looked at the distant sloop “– well, she had no navigating officer, and what with Mr Povey being so clever a young gentleman, and all others laid on their backs…”

      “So?”

      “So Mr Povey was given command of Bounder and is aboard her now.”

       Chapter 7

       Afternoon (there being no watches kept nor bells struck)

       18th March 1753

      Aboard Venture’s Fortune

       In the latitude of Upper Barbados

      Silver glared at McLonarch and reached up to pet his squawking bird.

      “See here, mister,” he said, “I’m in my own bloody service. Mine and these hands aboard, and no other man’s, be he lord, king or pretender!”

      “But, Cap’n,” said Allardyce, “all’s changed. There’s a new way! All we have to do –”

      “Stow it, you lubber!” said Silver. “Did you not hear what he said?” He jabbed a finger at McLonarch: “‘Put the dollars back in the hold’ – Huh!” he sneered, “Shave mine arse with a rusty razor!”

      “Captain Silver,” said McLonarch, “may I sit?” And with that he placed himself in one of Captain Fitch’s cabin chairs, and drew it up to face Silver.

      Fast losing his temper, Silver slammed a broad hand on the desk in front of him and yelled at Allardyce: “Get up on deck and send down some good lads to drag this bugger –” he pointed at McLonarch – “out of my sight. And stick the irons back on him, too, for I’ve had enough of his long, ugly face!”

      But Allardyce turned nasty. “No!” he cried, scowling at his captain. “Not a step will I take, till you hear what he’s offering!”

      “Hear what? He ain’t got bloody nothing that I want, and that’s gospel!”

      “Not even a pardon,” said McLonarch, “and the chance to be an honest man?”

      Silver stopped dead. He looked at McLonarch, who sat calmly in his chair in the well-furnished stern cabin that even had carpets, pictures in frames, and candlesticks. It had books too, and musical instruments: all fixed to the bulkheads in shelves with wire-mesh doors so the ship’s motion shouldn’t unseat them, for Captain Fitch lived in style. So it was a fine, heavy chair with carved arms that McLonarch had chosen, and which he occupied like a throne, while gazing down his nose at John Silver.

      “Pah!” said Silver.

      But McLonarch, the consummate politician, having pumped Allardyce beforehand for knowledge of Silver, smiled at him.

      “Captain,” he said, “I hear that you were a decent man before you were forced into piracy.”

      “Maybe,” said Silver, frowning.

      “And even now,” continued McLonarch, “you are renowned as a man of honour, and a beloved leader whom men trust. And one who permits no cruelty to prisoners…” He paused and had the satisfaction of seeing Silver blush. Nodding in emphasis, he continued: “Thus you are still – even now – a decent man.”

      “Huh!” said Silver, but such was the power of McLonarch’s personality, and the aura of aristocracy that hung about him, that Silver had the feeling that he’d just heard the definitive, official pronouncement upon himself, as if a judge in court had spoken.

      “Captain Silver,” said McLonarch, “what I offer you is my master’s royal pardon, together with such pension as shall enable you to become again the honest mariner that you once were, washed clean of all past offences, of whatsoever kind or description.”

      There was silence. The words were magical, mystical. They were a dream. Silver thought of Selena. He thought of the normal life she wanted, and he was drawn into McLonarch’s web, and dared to believe. But then he frowned.

      “What about my lads?” he said. “Them what chose me, under articles.”

      McLonarch beamed.

      “God bless you, John Silver!” he said. “Had I entertained the least doubt, it would now be gone. Only such a man as I believed you to be would think first of the men he leads, and it is my pleasure to assure you that the same free pardon shall extend to them.”

      “See, Cap’n?” said Allardyce. “Didn’t I tell you?”

      “There could even be more…” said McLonarch.

      “Oh?” said Silver.

      “Are you a Catholic?”

      Silver shrugged. “I was raised that way, my father being a Portugee.”

      McLonarch nodded.

      “Then know that I am empowered by the Holy Father to reward those who assist my sacred mission.” He paused as one does who makes a mighty offer. “I am empowered to grant the rank and dignity of the Order of the Golden Spur!”

      “A papal knighthood?” said Silver, and twisted under deep emotions. But he looked McLonarch in the eye. “See here,” he said, “Bonnie Prince Charlie’s shut up in Italy. He had his chance at Culloden, and got beat!” He shook his head. “Give