The Angel's Command

your health. Bring my lucky dog too!'

Ben felt Ned's thought penetrate his mind. 'Do as he says, mate. This place isn't safe anymore!'

Once they were out on the quayside, the entire crew of La Petite Marie took to their heels and ran for it. Ben and Ned

found themselves up front, with Thuron and his giant steersman. A cart of oranges was overturned, and some chickens

broke loose from their cages as the mass of fleeing pirates dashed through the crowd. The singing girls began

screaming, and the snake performer dropped his reptiles.

Thuron bawled toward a trim three-masted vessel lying bow onto the harbour. 'Make sail! Make sail! We're coming

aboard! Make sail there!'

As he clattered up the steep gangplank, Ben could see the crew members on watch clambering into the rigging, whilst

others loosed the ship's headropes. There was a small culverin in the bows. The captain roared out orders for it to be

loaded. He knelt by the little swivel cannon, beckoning Ben to his side. 'We'll blow them off the quay if they try to

follow. Hand me that tow!'

Ben saw the thick, smouldering rope end and passed it over to Thuron.

Ned sent a thought to Ben. 'I hadn't figured on going to sea again, ever!'

The boy replied mentally to his dog. 'We've no choice. It's either that or stay in Cartagena and get killed.' He turned to

Thuron. 'D'you think they'll follow us, Cap'n?'

The Frenchman held the burning tow near the culverin's touch hole, nodding. 'Maybe not right away, boy, but he'll be

coming after us. Rocco Madrid lost a lot of face today. By the way, how did you know he was cheating? I just thought

I was extra unlucky today.'

Ben knew it would be futile trying to explain about Ned, so he lied. 'I've seen that game played before. As soon as I

came to your table, I saw Captain Madrid palming the pea. Where are we bound, sir?'

Raphael Thuron threw an arm around the boy's shoulder. 'Home to la belle France, thanks to you. I'm finally set for

good. This pirating life is too dangerous, my friend!'

2

ONCE LA PETITE MARIE HAD BEEN POLED AWAY from the harbour wall, Anaconda swung her about to face the

freshening breeze, taking the ship out into the Caribbean. The all too familiar memory of a swaying deck beneath his

feet brought back dreadful memories of the Flying Dutchman to Ben. He lay flat on the deck facedown, pictures of

Vanderdecken and his villainous crew flashing before his mind. Ned lay down beside him, flashing urgent thoughts.

'Don't let it get the better of you, Ben. Vanderdecken's a bad thing to think of. Cap'n Thuron's our friend, a good man.'

One of the passing crew put a hand to Ben's back and shook him. 'What ails ye, lad? Come on now, up on yer feet!'

Ned stood over Ben, the dog's hackles bristling as he growled viciously. Thuron pushed the man aside.

'Leave the boy alone. Maybe he's seasick already. Ben, are you feeling ill?'

Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Ben lifted his head. 'I'll be alright, Cap'n. I was frightened back there.'

The Frenchman nodded. 'I was too, boy. Rocco Madrid has a formidable reputation. He's also got almost twice as

many crew. Only a fool wouldn't have been afraid. You'll be alright. Go aft, take Ned with you, lie down in my cabin.

I won't let anything happen to you, Ben, you're my luck. Both of you.'

The big cabin at the ship's stern was cool and comfortable. Ben lay down on the broad, velvet-quilted bed and fell into

a dreamless slumber. Ned jumped up beside him and laid his head across the boy's feet. 'Hmm, I wonder how far away

France is. A good distance, probably.'

La Petite Marie was now under full sail, plowing the blue-green waters of the mighty Caribbean Sea.

Evening rolls of purple cloud were striping the crimson sky as the sound of an opening cabin door roused Ben. Ned

nuzzled his leg. 'Wake up! Here's food!' The crewman who followed Thuron into the cabin placed a bowl of fresh

water down alongside a plate of stew. He loaded the rest onto the bedside table before leaving.

Thuron sat by the table. 'Ben, here boy, eat up, I made the stew myself.'

Ben sat on the edge of the bed alongside the table. There was a bowl of stew, some fresh fruit, and water to drink, and

he tucked in heartily.

Thuron watched him eat. The Frenchman chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. 'Not feeling ill anymore, eh? 'Tis hard to

tell who has the better appetite, you or old Ned there.'

The dog, who was licking a plate clean, shot Ben a thought. 'Huh, who's he calling old? I'm nought but a pup yet.'

Ben replied mentally. 'Aye, a fat hungry pup!'

Ned growled. 'Fat yourself, tubby youth!'

The captain's stubby finger turned Ben's chin until their gazes met. There was sea in the boy's clouded blue eyes—

ancient deeps and far horizons lurked in them. Raphael Thuron stared into the young fellow's calm face. 'You're a

strange lad, Ben, where are ye from?'

Ben averted his eyes and picked up a slice of pineapple. 'From the Tierra del Fuego, sir.'

The Frenchman raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'The land of fire down at the tip of this big country! That's a great

distance from Cartagena, lad. How came ye to travel so far?'

Ben did not like lying to the captain, but necessity had forced him to be untruthful with anyone who wanted to know

of his mysterious life. 'I was a shepherd boy helping an old sheepherder down there. He told me that he had found me

on the shores, after a shipwreck. I worked with him . . . Ned was his dog. Early one spring the shepherd died in an

accident, so I wandered off with Ned. We've been travelling over four years. We visited many places before reaching

Cartagena.'

Thuron shook his head in wonderment. 'You must have been little more than a babe when the sheepherder found you