the food. There was plenty of tough rind left from the salt pork, sometimes the hands used it for bait to fish over the
side at sea.
While the dog ate, Neb took a rag and some warm water with salt in it. The dog allowed him to bathe its eye.
Freed from the crust and debris of some old infection, its eye gradually opened—it was clear and undamaged. Neb
was pleased and hugged his newfound friend. He was rewarded by several huge, sloppy licks from the dog's tongue.
Knowing the effects of salt-pork rind, he gave it a pannikin of fresh water. As the dog curled up by the galley stove, a
fierce affection for the ownerless creature burned within Neb. He decided there and then that he was going to keep it.
Spreading some old sacks under the far corner of the table, he pushed the dog onto them, all the time petting
and stroking it. His new friend made no fuss, but went quiet and willingly into the hiding place, staring at him with
great trusting eyes as he covered it with more sacks. Neb peeped into the secret den. He looked warningly at the dog
and held a finger to his tight-shut lips. It licked his hand, as if it understood to remain silent.
A sound from behind caused Neb to scuttle out from beneath the table. Captain Vanderdecken stood framed in
the galley doorway, his teeth grinding as his jaw worked back and forth. Neb cowered, expecting to be kicked.
Normally he slept beneath the galley table, but only when told to go to bed. The captain's voice had the ring of steel in
it.
'Where's Petros and the rest, not back yet?'
Wide-eyed with fear, the boy shook his head.
Vanderdecken's fists clenched and unclenched, and he spat out the words viciously. 'Drinking! That's where the
useless swine will be, pouring gin and ale down their slobbering faces in some drinking den!' He stamped off, raving
through clenched teeth, 'If I miss the floodtide because of a bunch of drunken animals, I'll take a swordblade to
them!'
Neb knew by the captain's frightening eyes that there was going to be trouble, no matter whether the crew
arrived back early or late. For refuge he crawled back under the table and hid with his dog. A warm tongue licked his
cheek as he huddled close to the black Labrador, staring into its soft, dark eyes and stroking its thin neck. Neb wished
fervently that he could talk, to speak gently and reassure the dog. All that came from his mouth was a hoarse little
sound. It was enough. The dog whimpered quietly, laying its head on his lap, reinforcing the growing bond between
them.
Less than an hour later, hurried and stumbling footsteps rang out on the jetty. Neb peered out. The five men
who had been sent for provisions came tumbling aboard, followed by Vanderdecken like an avenging angel. He laid
about them with the knotted rope end that he had snatched from Petros, thrashing them indiscriminately, his voice
thundering out with righteous wrath.
'Brainless gin-sodden morons. Half a day lost because of your stupidity! Can't you keep your snouts out of
flagons long enough to do a simple task? Worthless scum!'
The Dutchman showed no mercy. He flogged the five hands with furious energy, savagely booting flat any man
who tried to rise or crawl away. Neb could not tear his eyes from the fearful scene. The captain's coattails whirled
about him as he flogged the miscreants. Knotted rope striking flesh and bone sounded like chestnuts cracking on a
hearth amid the sobs and screams of his victims.
When Vanderdecken had exhausted his energy, he flung some coins at the chandler's assistant, waiting by the
jetty with a loaded cart. 'You, get those supplies aboard before we lose the tide!'
Whilst the materials were being transferred, Petros raised his bruised and tearstained face. He had spotted
something none of the others had noticed. The emerald glinted on the deck where it had fallen from the captain's
pocket when he was beating the crewmen.
Slowly, carefully, the fat cook stretched out his grimy hand to retrieve the gemstone.
'Eeeeeyaaaargh!' he screeched as the Dutchman's boot heel smashed down on the back of his hand.
Vanderdecken snatched the emerald, continuing to grind Petros's hand against the deck, thrusting all his weight onto
the iron-tipped heel.
'Thief! Drunkard! Pirate! No man steals from me! There, now we have a one-handed cook. Back to work, all of
you, cast off for'ard, aft and midships! Make sail, leave no lines drifting, coil them shipshape. Seamen? I'll make
seamen of you before this voyage is out!'
He stormed off to take the steersman's place at the wheel.
Whimpering and moaning piteously, Petros crawled into the galley, falling flat on Neb's outstretched leg, which
was still chained to the stove. Raising his tearstained face to the boy, he sobbed piteously. 'He broke my hand, see.
Petros's hand smashed, an' what for? Nothing, that's what for. Nothing!'
Neb felt sick just looking at the hand. It was wretched beyond healing, a horrific sight. Blubbering into his
greasy beard, the cook looked to Neb for help. 'Fix it for me, boy. Make bandage for poor Petros's hand.'
Neb felt no pity for the fat, wicked cook. He was secretly glad that the hand that had often beat him was now
useless, but he had to get the man upright before he looked under the table. The boy made his muted noise and pointed
at the chain, indicating he could do nothing until he was freed.
Amid much groaning and wincing, Petros found the key with his good hand and unlocked the shackle. Neb
helped him up onto a bench, where he sat weeping and nursing his hand.
