John Drake - Skull and Bones

"Trying to disappear, Mr Bones."

"What? In a city full o' people?"

"Oh, Billy," said Flint, "where better?" He pointed at the gleaming river. "It is also a great seaport, offering the chance of clean and entire escape."

"But we have escaped."

Flint sighed, despairing.

"Imagine, Billy, a man hanged off a great tower. He falls with a long rope round his neck. While he falls, he lives… and enjoys false hope. But when he reaches the end of the rope, he dies. Yes?"

"Yes, Cap'n."

"I am that man. And so are you." "Oh."

"Ah," said Lennox, coming back still buttoning the falls of his breeches, "that's better! Fine view, is it not?"

Later, when the horses had rested and the moon was shining and night fallen, they were just about to get into the carriage again when the thudding of hoofbeats sounded and four horsemen emerged from the wood behind them, faces masked and black.

"Oh, buggery and 'ellfire!" said the coachman. "Get aboard, gents!"

"Damnation!" said Lennox. "Highwaymen!"

"Pistols, Billy!" said Flint, leaping for the coach.

But it was too late, the horsemen came in at a thundering gallop, two getting between their victims and the coach with ready firelocks, and two swinging round into the lead horses of the coach, which whinnied in fright only to drop in their tracks as -

Bang! Bang! gunshots sounded, bright flashes seared the shining horseflesh, and the two leaders were dead in their harness, the remaining pair shrieking and kicking and the coach going nowhere.

"Stand and deliver!" roared one of the horsemen, and his horse reared in the night as his three mates got themselves around Flint, Billy Bones, Lennox and the coachman, as smoothly and efficiently as drilled dragoons. Between them they had several brace of pistols, a double coaching carbine, and a blunderbuss.

"On your knees, you sods! Get down, or I'll have the eyes and bollocks off you!"

"Down!" said Flint, and dropped, and Billy Bones followed him.

"Down, I said!" And another pistol boomed. Lennox and the coachman promptly knelt. "That's better! Now, behave your bleedin' selves and I'll leave you alive, but one cough and you're croaked! For I'm Captain Lightning, knight of the road, and I'll have your watches, your rings, your gelt, and anything else that might stop me pulling a trigger!"

A throaty snort came from Flint, whose shoulders shook and shook, and he bent his head forward that his face might not be seen. Then he took hold. He looked up and lifted his arms in supplication.

"Oh, sir," he begged, "take pity on a poor man afflicted with the stone such that he can barely breathe, and who suffers more than can be borne, being crouched as I am!"

Lennox and Billy Bones gaped in astonishment at this cowardly snivelling, for they knew Flint. The coachman was merely surprised.

"Fuck you! Fuck your fucking stone!" said Captain Lightning. "Stay on your fucking knees!" But Flint risked all and got unsteadily to his feet.

"Oh, sir! Oh, sir!" said Flint, staggering towards the highwayman, pulling coins from his pockets and holding them out. "Take! Take all! But do not condemn me to my knees and the tortures of the damned, I beg you." The moonlight showed the tears that streamed down his face and on to his trembling lips.

"Nyaaaah!" said Captain Lightning in contempt as Flint fell against him, clutching his knee, weeping and moaning, and wouldn't be shaken off. Clutching the reins in his left hand, Lightning swung his carbine with the right, and clouted Flint with the butt. But Flint just moaned and hung on, whining and slobbering. "Solly!" cried Lightning. "Come here and get rid o' this cove. I ain't got a free hand. Stick him if you have to, but get him off!"

One of his men holstered his pistol, drew a long knife and rode forward. He got between Flint and the rest so they couldn't see… and then there was a scuffle and a jump, and a yell from Captain Lightning, and both horses were rearing and plunging and three men were struggling on the ground under the hooves… then the horses bolted, and Flint leapt up with a carbine – which was a double – and fired twice.

"Uh!" said one of the surviving horsemen, and fell from the saddle, with an ounce ball gone in at his right eye and out through the back of his head.

His companion did better, for Flint's shot whistled past his ear and he managed to let rip with his blunderbuss, drilling many holes in empty air, before going over the head of his horse, which was bucking and kicking in a frenzy. He landed heavily, face down, with Flint darting forward to sit squarely on his shoulders, where he settled himself, leaned forward, took his man by the chin, pulled upwards to expose the dirty grey throat, and slit it nice and deep with the dagger-point, razor-edge knife that lived in his left sleeve, and which had already seen off Captain Lightning and his friend Solly.

Later that night the Berlin pulled up, behind two horses at the home of Sir Frederick Lennox.

"God-damn-me, God-damn-me!" he cried, as servants dashed to and fro, and passers-by looked on, and luggage was whisked from the Berlin's trunk and into the house. "All four of 'em? And Captain Lightning too?"

"Yes! Yes!" cried little brother. "By himself alone!"

Thus Flint's reputation in London was assured. Flint smiled, Billy Bones put aside all earlier thoughts of desertion and swelled with pride, and Sir Frederick slapped his thigh and damned himself deeper as he shook Flint's hand. A red-faced man in his forties, running to fat and dressed in the extreme height of fashion, with magnificently embroidered clothes, a coat with elaborate skirts and multiple pleating. Sir Frederick was by far the elder brother, the son of a previous marriage and heir to the family fortune. He took to Flint something wonderful.

"D'you know what the reward is for Captain Lightning?" he said.

"Reward?" said Flint.

"Yes, from the Meteoric Diligence Company – five hundred in gold!"

"So much?"

"Aye, m'boy. And all yours!"

Hmm, thought Flint, for there would be a need for ready money.

"I'll take you round the town tomorrow," said Sir Frederick, "bold dog that you are! By God, the ladies'll love you!"

Slapping Flint on the back, he led them all into the brilliant, candle-lit interior of a house stuffed to the ceilings with objets d'art, and paintings, porcelain and gilt.

"This way!" he cried. "To the library!"

It was a long night and vast quantities of port were consumed as Sir Frederick explained that his house – which was on the corner of Russell Street and the Covent Garden Piazza – though not in the most fashionable part of London, was well placed to take in all the life of the city, with its theatres, print-shops, taverns and restaurants…

"And the finest whores in town!" he cried.

It was late in the small hours by this time; many confidences had been shared, and Frederick's secret store of erotic prints had been brought out to be ogled… at least by Sir Frederick, for little brother and Billy Bones were merely embarrassed, while Flint had special needs in this matter, though he smiled and pretended enthusiasm.

"Look, sir!" cried Sir Frederick, and staggered up under a load of drink to wave from a window. Even at that hour two well-dressed ladies in the piazza below waved back at him.

"Look! Look!" he cried. "A fine pair: all plump and bouncy!" Then he laughed and laughed, and sat down again and reached for the decanter. "I've got a bloody wife somewhere in the country, but she don't trouble me here." He winked at Flint. "So if you're in need of a good, hard poke – which you must be, being a sailor…" He laughed some more, spluttering port. "… then I'll take you to the best house in London, where it ain't cheap, mind, but you can take your pick: fourteen to forty, black, white or piebald, and never a fear o' the clap!"