The Angel's Command

along the deck, he stopped to admire the sun rising through a pink and pearl misted cloud. Mounsey sighed. He loved

the Caribbean and its exotic climate. That was when he saw the ship rounding the tip of the headland beyond the cliffs.

The cook dashed for'ard, still balancing the tray. He kicked at the two crewmen who were sleeping away their watch.

'Charlie! Bertie! Look, a ship!'

Captain Redjack Teal was seated at his dining table, clad in a silk dressing gown and a tasselled hat, awaiting his

breakfast. However, this morning proved a little different from others. Instead of the cook's gentle tap to warn him of

the meal's arrival, the cabin door burst open and the cook was pushed to one side as the two watchmen hurtled into the

room shouting, 'Cap'n! Cap'n, sir—!'

Teal sprang up in a fury, his finger pointing at the doorway. 'Out! Out of my cabin, confound your eyes, or I'll have

the hides flogged from your oafish backs. Out I say!'

Bertie spoke up hesitantly. 'But, but, Cap'n, beggin' yore—'

The captain fixed him with an eye that would have frozen Jamaican rum on a warm day. 'Outside ... now!' Both

crewmen knew better than to argue and stumbled out. Still standing outside balancing his tray, Mounsey gave them a

knowing look, then tapped gently on the door, which he had just shut behind them. Teal's voice called out languidly,

'Come.'

The cook glided in smoothly, setting the tray carefully on Teal's table and rearranging a lemon slice as he spoke. 'A

very good mornin' t'ye, sir. H'l wish to report two h'of the crew's watch, waitin' outside to see ye, sir.'

The privateer captain poured himself some Madeira, moderating his voice to its usual aristocratic drawl. 'Really, two

of the watch, y'say. Send the fellows in, please.'

Mounsey called to Charlie and Bertie, both standing outside. 'H'enter, an' close the door be'ind yew!'

Teal glanced over the rim of his goblet at the pair, standing awkwardly in his presence. Before either of them could

speak, he held up a hand for silence and began lecturing them. 'Never taught to knock politely, were we? Now, repeat

after me: Bumpkins should always knock before entering the cabin of a captain and a gentleman of breeding. Repeat!'

Charlie and Bertie stumbled over some of the words, but they managed, after a fashion. Teal wiped his lips by dabbing

at them with the serviette.

'Politeness is the first rule to one's captain. Now, you there.' He picked up his fork and pointed at Charlie. 'What

exactly was it you wanted to report, eh? Speak up, man.'

'Ship off the starboard bow, Cap'n, passin' the 'eadland. Looks like a French buccaneer, sir!'

Teal's fork dropped, clattering upon his plate. 'Demn ye man, why didn't you say?'

Bertie piped up. 'We was goin' to, sir, but you said—'

The gimlet eye froze him to silence as Teal reprimanded him. 'Excuse me, but did I address you?'

Bertie shuffled his bare feet and stared hard at them. 'No, sir.'

The captain nodded. 'Then hold y'tongue, sirrah!' Teal made it a point never to know the names of his crew. Such

things were beneath him. He stared at Charlie. 'A demned froggy, eh? Buccaneer, y'say? Still in range, is he?'

Charlie kept his eyes front and centre. 'Aye, sir!'

Redjack Teal rose from his chair. 'Well, I'll teach the scoundrel to cross my bows. Cook, send in me dresser. You two,

report to the master gunner and tell him to turn out his crew on the double and await me orders.'

Rocco Madrid had been wakened and called up on deck at first light. His three top crewmen, Pepe, Portugee and

Boelee, were grouped sheepishly on the afterdeck, avoiding their captain's disgusted looks.

Madrid drew his sword and prodded the long spar, which still smelled of oil and burnt canvas. He pointed the sword at

Portugee. 'When was this thing found, and where exactly was it?'

The bosun tried to sound efficient. 'Capitano, it was found less than a quarter hour ago. We pulled it from the water,

Boelee and I. Pepe knows exactly where it was.'

Pepe cleared his throat nervously. 'Si, Capitano, the spar was drifting in our wake, I was lucky to spot it.'

Turning on his heel, the Spaniard strode to the rail. He sheathed his sword and stared pensively at the water. The trio

watched him apprehensively, trying to gauge his mood. Much to their relief, he was smiling when he turned to face

them. 'A decoy, eh, very clever. That spar tells me two things. One, the Marie is not headed for Jamaica and Port

Royal. Two, they were sending us the wrong way. So, what does this tell you, amigos?'

The three stared dumbly at him as his smile grew wider.

'Donkeys, you have not the brains among you to make a capitano. Thuron would not be fool enough to turn and sail

back to Cartagena. No, I think he's taken off at an angle, east, out to the sea. So, he will head for one of two places,

Hispaniola or Puerto Rico. Here's what I plan on doing. We will sail east also, right through the strait between the two

islands and out into the Atlantic. It doesn't matter which island he's chosen—when Thuron puts out to sea again, we'll

be waiting for him. Boelee, bring me my sea charts. Portugee, take the wheel and head Diablo due east. The French

fox will not escape me this time!'

Pepe stood by Portugee at the wheel, speaking in a low voice as the captain walked away. 'How do we know Thuron

won't sail for the Leeward or the Windward Isles, or maybe for La Guira, Trinidad, even Curacao, or right out to

Barbados?'

Portugee turned the wheel steadily, blinking as the sun caught his eyes. 'We don't know, Pepe. Didn't you hear him?

We're donkeys with no brains, he's the capitano. So whatever he decides must be right. Unless you'd like to go tell him

you know better!'

Pepe shook his head vigorously. 'I have no desire to be a dead man, amigo. The capitano knows best, this donkey will