The Angel's Command

The Spaniard looked disdainfully at the bowl, from which he had only taken a single small taste. 'Good stew, no!'

The sudden explosion of a musket shot set parakeets to squawking in the trees. This was followed by a scream. Rocco

Madrid leapt up, sword at the ready, knocking the bowl from Pepe's hands. 'Go and see what that is, quick!'

He signalled to three other crewmen. 'Go with him!' Pulling a loaded musket from his broad belt, the Spaniard looked

at the old man, who was standing by the fire. 'Who is out there?'

The old fellow licked stew from his fingers. 'How would I know that, senor? I cannot be in two places at once.'

Turning to the two women, the Carib said something in a completely strange tongue. The women smiled and nodded.

Rocco guessed it was some kind of insult, or fun they were poking at him. He pointed the pistol toward the old man's

head. 'Speak again without my permission and I will kill you!'

The old man did not appear frightened by threats. 'Death comes to us all sooner or later. We cannot escape it.'

The pirate captain was about to pull the trigger, when Pepe came hurrying out of the thickets behind the huts.

'Capitano, look who we've found. Bring him out, Portugee!'

With his own belt knotted about his neck, Ludon, the former mate of the Marie, was dragged out of the bushes by

Portugee and the search party. Boelee gave Ludon a kick in the back that sent him sprawling at the Spaniard's feet.

Ludon let out a terror-stricken whimper. 'Don't kill me ... please!'

Portugee yanked on the belt. 'Shut your face, worm!'

Boelee put a booted foot on his prisoner's body. 'Three of 'em, Capitano, they bumped right into us out there. They

tried to run away, but Maroosh shot one an' Rillo chopped the other one down with his cutlass. We saved this piece of

scum for you. Remember, this was the one who put a blade to your neck in the tavern at Cartagena.'

Madrid grabbed Ludon by the hair and smiled into his face. 'Of course! Welcome to our camp, amigo.'

Tears cut dirty patterns through the dust on Ludon's cheeks. 'I wouldn't have harmed ye, Cap'n. I ran away from that

accursed Thuron. I never wanted to be one of his crew, I swear on my life I didn't. Don't kill me, I beg ye!'

Madrid's smile grew even wider. 'I won't kill you, amigo ... not yet. Put more wood on that fire, Pepe. This one is

going to tell me where Thuron and his ship are.'

Ludon screamed and sobbed. 'Oh don't, Cap'n, please don't! I'll tell ye where they are, ye don't have t'do that to me!'

Madrid turned away and spoke conversationally to his bosun. 'They always lie, but the flames bring out the real truth.

Haul him over to the fire while I continue our little talk.'

The old Carib man's voice cut across Ludon's moaning and pleading. 'Senor, you will not do this in my village. You

will leave now, all of you. Go to your ship, or die here!'

Madrid gave the old man an insolent smile as he repeated, 'Die? You dare to say that to me? Maroosh, blow that old

fool's brainpan out with your musket!'

Before Maroosh could raise the gun, he gasped and pulled a brightly feathered object from the side of his neck. It was

a dart, made from a long, sharp thorn. He stared stupidly at it and dropped the musket. His legs began to tremble, and

he sat down in the dust.

The Carib patriarch glanced at the treetops surrounding the village. His voice became flat and stern. 'We saw your ship

long before you came here. Only fools do not take precautions. My hunters are hidden all about our village— they

never miss with their blowpipes. You, senor, I have suffered enough of your bad manners. Take your men and go.

Leave that one behind, he is already dead. Just as you will be if you choose to stay.'

The pirates stared in horrified fascination at Maroosh, who was still sitting on the ground, trembling fitfully.

Rocco Madrid put up his sword and musket and began walking backward out of the village. 'Boelee, get the crew

back to the Diablo. We can't stand against invisible Caribs with poison darts.'

Dragging Ludon with them, all hands from the Diablo backed out of the village. What galled Rocco Madrid most was

the way the patriarch and his people carried on with their work, completely ignoring the Spaniard and his retreating

men. Rocco was inwardly seething, for the blood of Spanish grandees ran in his veins. Keeping face and demanding

respect, repaying insults and avenging slights were ingrained into his character.

Boelee watched his captain's face the moment they were back aboard ship. From the way a tic started up in Madrid's

left eyelid and his teeth began making a grinding sound, the mate knew Rocco Madrid had vengeance on his mind.

Scowling dangerously, Rocco strove to keep his voice normal. 'Weigh the anchor and put on sail, load all portside

cannons. Portugee, take her round the headland, but don't set course for Guayama straight away. We're going to settle

accounts with those heathens and blast their village to splinters! Cannonballs are the best answer to poison darts. I'll

teach those savages a lesson in manners!'

There was thunder in the afternoon as the cannons of the Diablo Del Mar pounded the pitiful little settlement. Huts

disintegrated, palm trees snapped like matchsticks, and destruction, flames and smoke were everywhere. The Spaniard

laughed at the sight of high-flung debris still falling on the flattened ruins.

'Stand off and take us down the coast, Portugee. Bring our prisoner to my cabin, Boelee. Now I'll have words with

him!'

The patriarch and his people had deserted their village the moment they had first sighted the Diablo Del Mar rounding

the headland. Now they wandered out and stood onshore watching the stern of the departing pirate ship. It was not the

first time Brotherhood vessels had wrecked their huts. Nobody was harmed, for it was easy to hide from big,