John Drake - Skull and Bones

Cowdray looked him in the eye. "How did Norton do it? How did he really do it?"

Silver scowled.

"I told you. He broke free, got a knife from his boot… and did him!"

"And King Billy's men shot Norton?"

"Aye!" said Silver. "Nice drink, this coffee, ain't it? Right tasty."

Cowdray shut up and looked away. He kept quiet after that, and took refuge in the London newspapers that were lying about the table. Silver ignored him and glowered out of the window, and looked at the bustling heart of London, and ignored that too, and thought his own thoughts.

Then Cowdray sat bolt upright.

"Good God Almighty!" he said. "Flint's in London!"

"What?" said Silver. "How d'you know?"

"Look!" said Cowdray, showing him a copy of the General Advertiser.

"Where?" said Silver.

"Here… under 'Reported Explosion of the Lexicographer'."

"What?" said Silver. "Is that a ship blown up?"

"No! It's Flint, being clever, at a salon in Bramhall Square, last week."

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Read it!"

Silver peered at the article and read aloud from it: '"Such subtlety of expression as won the approval of Johnson himself, for Lieutenant Joseph Flint, whom we had previously been led to believe was a mutineer and a rogue'… It's him all right!" said Silver. "Him as knows where the goods lies. Well, bugger me!"

"If you insist, sir!" said a laughing voice, and a waft of perfume rolled across the table. Cowdray and Silver looked up at the eye-blinding sight of a creature as different from themselves as it was possible to be and yet still remain a human being. Silver recognised him instantly from King Billy's description.

"Mr Jackson?" he said. "Flash Jack the Fly Cove?"

"The very same, sir! At your service, sir," said Flash Jack, and smiled beautifully and delivered the quintessence of a bow.

Hub! thought Silver. At least he flies his colours from the mainmast. No mistaking what he is.

"And would you be the seafaring gentlemen who wished to speak with me?"

"Aye," said Silver. "I'm Cap'n… Hands… and this is Dr Cowdray."

"Gentlemen!" said Flash Jack, and sat down.

They spoke for an hour, but achieved little. Flash Jack knew of no such girl as Silver wanted, and he knew every new arrival in town. The best he could do – for the promise of a hundred in dollars – was to alert Captain Hands aboard the good ship Walrus anchored off Wapping Stairs at such time as his young lady should appear.

The one-legged captain and his friend, who had remained silent for the most part, were getting up to leave when the latter spoke:

"Mr Jackson?"

"Yes, Dr Cowdray?"

"What do you know of Flint – Lieutenant Joseph Flint? I believe he is in town…"

"Flint?" said Flash Jack, and his shutters closed with a slam. "Who would that be? Flint the bookseller? Flint the juggler? I know several gentlemen of that name."

"He is a seaman," said Cowdray. "An old shipmate."

"Back your topsail, matey," said Silver, and laid a hand on Cowdray's arm. "We shan't go bothering Mr Jackson with old tales o' the sea." He smiled. Flash Jack smiled. Cowdray shrugged his shoulders… Then Silver tipped his hat to Flash Jack and led the way up the aisle, hopping his leg and bumping his crutch, and out through the front door with Cowdray astern of him.

Well, gentlemen, thought Flash Jack, and looked at the long-case clock that stood by the serving counter, and which showed that it was nearly noon, if only you'd stayed a little longer! And a short time after, Flash Jack's heart fluttered as the door opened and Lieutenant Flint himself came in, and smiled his wonderful smile and came to sit with Flash Jack, whose every nerve tingled and whose eyes shone like stars.

"Jackie, my boy!" said Flint. "Have you found me a ship?"

Flash Jack smiled.

"For you… it can be done," he said. Flint looked into Flash Jack's eyes, and Flash Jack nearly swooned. He was so transported with delight that he missed Flint's next few words, and only recovered when Flint shook his arm.

"… how much?" Flint was saying. "What's it going to cost?"

"Ah!" said Flash Jack, and named an enormous sum. He might be in love, but business was business. Flint laughed and Flash Jack nearly swooned again. Then Flint thought fast and made a series of promises about great monies hidden in strange places.

"Hmm," said Flash Jack, when this discussion of finance ran quite entirely aground. "Someone was asking after you this morning. A sailor with one leg."

"WHAT?" said Flint, and Flash Jack was astonished at the strength of his reaction, and was forcibly pumped dry of all memory of his conversation with a man who Flint assured him was called John Silver. The inquisition was utterly thrilling to Flash Jack, and he loved every moment of it, for it felt as if Flint was physically laying hands on him. When Flint was finally done with him he was so exhausted that he had to lie down with his dreams.

Flint frowned all the way back to Sir Frederick's house. His mind was galloping. Freedom would be his only if he could find ready money: the fatuous, ludicrous, ridiculous Flash Jack wouldn't move without it! Meanwhile, what did Silver want? Damn, damn, damn Silver! Thus Flint was so occupied that he failed to notice there were people waiting for him at Sir Frederick's. Perhaps it was because the Piazza was especially crammed that day. So he failed to observe the four blue-jacketed, canvas-trousered tars who were following him with pistols and cutlasses in their belts. And more of the same were waiting round the corner, just out of sight – his sight but not theirs – by Sir Frederick's house. And a good many more persons were waiting inside.

Flint, blissfully unaware of this, leapt up the stairs, hammered on the knocker, and only knew anything was wrong when the door swung open to reveal Mr Midshipman Povey with a pair of sea-service barkers in his hand, and the barkers levelled at Flint, and a couple of gold-laced grim-faced lieutenants behind him, and a lobby-ful of marines and Bow Street men behind them, and a scraping and ringing of steel behind Flint, and a dozen tars at the foot of the stairs with blades leaping out of scabbards and points twinkling in his face.

Flint could fight any man who ever lived, and the wise chose not to face him. He was unnaturally quick and uncannily accurate in every blow he struck. But even he had his limits. He couldn't fight thirty armed men with nothing in his hands.

Someone had taken careful measure of Flint, and come with sufficient force and more.

Povey stepped forward. He looked like death. His face was spotted with little scars. His eyes were sunken. He was thin and ill, and his hands were like birds' claws. But he gripped his pistols hard and glared at Flint with sizzling hatred.

"Flint!" he said. "Got you, you bastard!"

The evening performance Saturday, 17th November 1753 Croxley's Odeon Theatre Drury Lane London

The applause hit Selena like the blast of a siege gun. It bellowed and echoed from the pit and the four tiers of galleries of the biggest theatre in London, which supposedly held an audience of six thousand, but on a night like this, when the bodies were crammed, jammed and rammed into the groaning boxes and on to the endless rows of benches, there were far more – dangerously more – bodies in the house.

They clapped and roared and cried encore, and the smiling company pushed Selena forward in her boots and spurs, and she strutted and slapped her thigh and stamped her feet, and the cheering rose to yet more deafening heights. Then she took up position, front and centre stage, and raised a hand for silence… which came… and she nodded to the orchestra and the conductor waved his baton… and the jolly, jaunty music started up again…