Create successful ePaper yourself
Turn your PDF publications into a flip-book with our unique Google optimized e-Paper software.
James Blade’s quarters were in a frightful state. He was not a neat man to
begin with, hurling objects in his terrible temper, and letting dropped items lie
where they fell. The storm had added to this disarray. Possessions and
bedclothes were strewn about the deck space, and a crystal decanter of brandy
had shattered. Books had toppled from the shelving and lay open, the paper
soaking up the brown liquid.
Samuel rescued the books first, out of a feeling that they were more precious
than anything else in the room. Although he could not understand the strange
symbols on their pages, he suspected that the volumes revealed a world less
harsh than this one. A world where life held more than suffering, violence, and
greed.
Lying in the twisted bed linens was the captain’s snake whip, its baleful
emerald eye glowing from its setting in the carved whalebone handle. Samuel
drew back. This was the object he hated more than any other — almost as much
as he hated Captain Blade himself. The image of Evans the sail maker, Samuel’s
only friend, brought tears to the cabin boy’s eyes. The poor old man had tasted
this whip many times. Those floggings had brought on the terrible circumstances
in which Blade had pushed Evans to his death.
He was about to make up the captain’s berth when the cry came:
“Sail ho!”
A ship! The fleet!
By the time Samuel reached the companionway, seamen were flocking to the
port gunwale, and an excited babble rose from the deck. Samuel joined the rush,
careful to avoid stepping on the rats that any shipboard stampede was sure to
stir up.
Captain Blade strode to the rail. “Well, come on, man! Is she one of ours?”
“She’s square-rigged, sir! I’m looking for a marking.”
With a practiced flick of the wrist, Blade snapped open his brass spyglass
and put it to his eye.
“A galleon, by God! She’s a Spaniard!”
York pushed his way forward. “One of the treasure fleet?”
“Aye!” roared the captain. “Storm-damaged and helpless. Take up your
swords, lads! This night we’ll be counting our plunder!”