The Angel's Command

Ben elbowed his way through the tavern customers and went to get the food. The cook gave him two healthy slices of

roast beef, laying each one on a crusty slice of bread. He added two large ribs dripping with hot fat and thick with

meat. Ben purchased the ale and pocketed the small coins that made up the change. When he returned to the table he

noticed that the Frenchman's pile of gold had grown even smaller. Ned's thought informed him, 'He's lost again. That

Spaniard's cheating.'

Madrid eyed the food and stood up. 'Excuse me, amigo, that meat looks good. Let's take a break while I get some.'

Rocco's bosun, a thickset Portuguese, interrupted. 'I'll get it for you, Cap'n.'

The Spaniard picked up his sword. 'No, I'll get it myself. I like to select my own meat. You keep an eye on my gold.'

Members of the two crews went along, tempted by the sight of the beef. There was a lull in the game. Ned explained

to Ben about Rocco Madrid's dishonesty. 'My eyes are quicker than most—I saw him palm the pea. After he's shuffled

the shells about, there's nothing under any of them. Then when he has to pick up his own shell, he palms the pea back

onto the table, as if it had been lying under the shell. That Spaniard is quick and clever.'

Thuron had been watching the boy and the dog looking silently at each other. He finished chewing and spoke. 'I was

hoping your Ned would change my luck, Ben, but it seems I'm bound to lose. Blast his eyes, Madrid has all the luck

today! Hey, boy, are you listening to me?'

Moving slightly closer, Ben murmured out of the corner of his mouth so that the remaining crew members of the

Diablo Del Mar, at the other side of the table, could not hear. 'Don't look at me, sir, keep your eyes straight ahead and

listen to what I say...'

Rocco Madrid had carved the beef with his own sword. He ate it at the bar and drank a glass of red wine. Fastidiously

wiping his lips on a silk kerchief, he returned to the gaming table, where Thuron sat waiting. Placing his sword back

on the table, Madrid smiled affably. 'So then, my good amigo, you wish to continue playing. Bueno. Maybe the little

pea will come your way this time.'

Madrid placed the pea upon the table and covered it with the centre one of the three down-turned walnut shells. Ben

watched closely as the Spaniard's long fingers began deftly moving the shells, right to left, left to right, centre to side,

side to centre. Then he saw the trick. The shells were moving so fast that he almost missed it. Rocco shifted the shells

so skilfully that at one point the shell with the pea beneath it went slightly over the lip of the table. The pea was

flicked out into his lap, almost faster than the eye could follow.

Ned's thought cut into Ben's mind. 'See, I told you! Now all he has to do is drop his hand and jam the pea between his

fingers, while our friend is sitting there deciding which shell to choose. When he makes his pick, there'll be nothing

beneath it. The Spaniard will make his choice then, skilfully dropping in the pea as he overturns the shell, and there he

has it, a winner again, eh?'

Ben patted the black Labrador's head. 'Not this time though.'

Rocco sat back, the same thin smile on his lips as he announced confidently, 'Make your play, Capitano Thuron. How

much this time?'

Thuron's first mate and his bosun had edged their way around the table until they were standing on either side of

Rocco Madrid. Thuron leaned forward, eyeing the sly Spaniard levelly. 'That gold there, your side o' the table. How

much d'ye reckon you've got there, my friend?'

Rocco shrugged. 'Who knows, amigo, it would take quite a time to count it all up. So, are you going to play?'

Thuron smiled then. 'Aye, I'm going to play. There's more gold aboard my ship, you know that. So let's stop messing

about with small wagers. I'm going to bet all I've got against what lies on this table. One chance, winner takes all!'

Rocco Madrid could not resist the invitation. 'You are a real gambler, amigo. I accept your wager, eh!' He looked up

to his crew for approval, immediately sensing all was not well as he saw the bosun and first mate of La Petite Marie

hemming him in.

Thuron had one hand beneath the table. He smiled roguishly at his adversary. 'There's a dagger either side of you and

a loaded musket pointed at your belly from my side. I'm betting there's no pea under any of those three shells. Don't

move a muscle, Cap'n Madrid! Ben, lad, turn the shells over!' The boy swiftly did as he was bid. There was, of course,

no pea. Sweat ran in rivulets down the Spaniard's sallow face.

The entire tavern had grown silent. All that could be heard was the crackle of beef drippings spilling onto the fire.

There was death in Thuron's voice. 'Sit still, Madrid. You don't want to get that pea lying in your lap covered with

blood. You, Diablo crew, don't be foolish. There's no sense in dying because your captain's a cheat. Stay still and you

won't come to any harm. The game's over, I win! Anaconda, pick up that gold!'

Captain Thuron's steersman, Anaconda, was a black giant with a huge shaven head. He shrugged off a linen shirt,

displaying awesome muscles. With a few swift moves he swept the gold coins inside his shirt and knotted it into an

impromptu carrier.

Rocco Madrid's lips scarcely moved as he sneered at Raphael Thuron. 'You will not get away with this, my friend!'

Thuron stood, his musket still pointed at the Spaniard. 'Oh yes I will... my friend. Right, lads, back out, stern first.

Anybody makes a move, take no notice of them. Just kill their capitano. Ben, you'd best come with me, for the good of