The Angel's Command

much to be had.'

Ben smiled into his dog's dark eyes, returning the message. 'No sign of rain either, or we could've collected some by

spreading a sail and catching it. I wonder how far off Hispaniola and Puerto Rico are.'

The black Labrador picked up the cup in his jaws. 'I don't know. Let's go and ask the cap'n.'

Thuron was standing in the bow with the glass to his eye. Ben and Ned went around by the starboard side, avoiding

those still in line for their water. Ned stopped at the back of the canvas-sheet galley, alerting Ben with a swift thought.

'Don't make any noise, mate. Come and listen to this.'

Ludon and Grest were whispering to a man named Ricaud as they served him water. 'When we were moored at Santa

Marta, Thuron kicked me, just because I tried to stop that cur from barking!' Ben overheard Ludon complaining. He

also heard Ned's indignant mental reply.

'Cur? Huh! Listen to that scurvy mongrel!'

Grest was in agreement with Ludon. 'Aye, if that lad an' his dog are so lucky, then why are we runnin' from a

privateer, with hardly a bite to eat nor a drop to drink? Call that lucky?'

Ricaud was a whiner, Ben could tell by his voice. 'A drop is right. How can a man survive on only this lousy dribble

of water? How much is left in that barrel, Grest?'

They heard Grest swish the water as he tipped the barrel. 'Not enough to get us through tomorrow. We might be

sightin' land about then. I'll tell ye one thing, though, Thuron's out to cause trouble for me. I'm not staying aboard this

ship. Once I'm ashore I'll be off. There's plenty more vessels lookin' for crew round those two islands.'

Ludon's voice answered him. 'Let me know when ye jump ship. I'm not stayin' aboard to be kicked around. How about

you, Ricaud?'

There was a chuckle from Ricaud. 'The great Cap'n Thuron wouldn't be so high'n'mighty without a crew. I'm with ye,

an' I'll put the word round. I wager there's more'n a few among us who'd be wanted by the authorities back in France.'

Ludon sounded cautious. 'You're right, mate, but don't let Pierre or the Anaconda know, they're loyal to Thuron. Just

ask around, easy-like, but make sure you talk to the right men.'

Ned stared at Ben, transmitting his thoughts. 'You go and see the cap'n. I'll keep my ears and eyes open around here.

Tell him what you've heard, Ben.'

Thuron was scanning the horizon through his telescope and had his back to Ben. On hearing the boy's footsteps behind

him, the Frenchman turned. Ben felt embarrassed at having to tell his friend what he had heard. 'Cap'n ... I... er ...'

The buccaneer stared into his companion's mysterious blue eyes: he saw ageless honesty mingled with storm-clouded

distant seas. He smiled to ease the boy's discomfort. 'Speak up, lad. What's troubling you?'

Ben tried again. 'It's the crew. They're ...'

The Frenchman nodded knowingly. 'Planning to desert the Marie when we make landfall. Don't look so surprised, Ben

—it doesn't pay for a captain to be ignorant of his crew's feelings. No doubt you've heard the muttering and spotted the

hard glances. I've watched them, too, for a while. Ah, they aren't bad men, really, but they get like that from time to

time. Well, look at it their way. We've run from Rocco Madrid, been attacked by the privateers and now we're about to

run out of rations. What right-thinking seaman wouldn't want to leave such a vessel? The Caribbean isles' are friendly

and sunny, and there's other ships in their harbours for a man to make his berth in. Besides, some of this crew are

wanted men in France, most in the pirating trade are.' He laughed. 'I probably am myself, but I'm rich and willing to

take my chance.'

Ben could not help but admire his friend's wisdom and easygoing outlook. Even so, he felt bound to ask the question,

'What do you plan on doing about it, sir?'

Thuron faced the sea and put the glass back to his eye. 'Oh, I've made my plans, lad. The first is to sight land and get

all hands ashore in a place where I can keep my eye on them. Not some waterfront town full of taverns, but a nice

quiet cove with running water and a native village close by where we can trade for most of what we need. Trouble is

that I haven't spotted land yet. I know we've run a bit off course in the last day or two, but the islands can't be too far

off. Here, you take a peek. You're my lucky boy—mayhap you'll spy something.'

Ben took the telescope, focussed it and searched the horizon bit by bit.

Thuron chuckled. 'That's the way, use those lucky blue eyes of yours. I'll go and find Ned. Hope he hasn't signed up

with the deserters.'

Ben kept his eye to the glass. 'Shame on you for thinking such a thing, Cap'n. There's none more faithful than my

Ned!'

A distant speck on the horizon caught Ben's attention. He felt as though ice water were trickling down his back. Some

sixth sense told him that it was the Flying Dutchman. Swiftly he angled the lens away southward. A dark-purplish

smudge on the far skyline dispelled his fears. The boy's spirits soared. 'Cap'n, I can see land! There, over to the

southeast!'

Thuron took the telescope and clapped it to his eye. 'Where, Ben, where? I can't see a thing.'

He returned the instrument to the boy, who immediately found the far-off smudge. 'Crouch down, Cap'n, I'll keep the

glass steady. See it way over there?'

The Frenchman screwed his eye hard to the brass aperture. 'Your eyes must be a lot better than mine, Ben, I don't see

a thing. No, wait . . . Aha, there 'tis! Tell Anaconda to alter our course two points south, then dead ahead. Ben, Ben,

my lucky shipmate, you've done it again. Land ho!'

The black Labrador sat stoically, listening to most of the crew grumbling and disputing over the stern rail.