John Drake - Skull and Bones

"All the tart shops we been in an' out of these past months!" he said, shaking his head. "We been wasting our time."

"And Mr Joe, wearing himself out!" said Israel Hands.

"And you too, Israel," said Silver, and he sighed. "The thing is, I'd always imagined seizing her away: at pistol point if need be! Coming to the rescue, like."

"Aye," said Hands.

"And herself grateful, and the two of us happy together."

"Aye."

"But now… if she's rich and famous, what'd she want with a cripple like me?"

"Cripple? Not you, John! You're Long John Silver, gentleman o' fortune!"

"Aye! That's the trouble, Mr Hands."

Israel Hands shook his head.

"She's your wife, John. She knows that."

"Does she? D'you think she even thinks about me?"

"'Course she does!"

But Silver simply groaned and looked away. Searching for something to cheer up his friend, Israel Hands grinned merrily:

"Well, at least we can look forward to seeing Flint do the hornpipe! He gets his dish of hearty-choke and caper sauce one week next Monday."

"Bah!" said Silver. "Where's the fun in that? If the bastard dies, then the greatest treasure in all the world is lost. For none can find it but him!" 11 a.m., Sunday, 18th November 1753 The Chapel Newgate Gaol London

Flint, Flash Jack and Billy Bones sat among the public in the viewing gallery that looked down upon one of the most famous sights of London: a fenced-off enclosure some fifteen feet by twenty, containing a table and a pair of benches, where a dozen wretches – in the extreme of religious devotion – wrung their hands, beat their brows, sang hymns mightily along with the congregation, and screwed up their eyes in passionate invocation. For these were the chosen ones… who would be hanged tomorrow. And in case they'd forgotten it, a nice big coffin was laid open on the table before them as a handy reminder.

And all around, the curious, the morbid and the seekers- after-sensation who'd paid to come in for the fun, goggled and gaped, laughed and chattered, and comprehensively ignored the sermon preached by the bewigged and white-robed

Ordinary – the prison chaplain – as he discharged his impossible task of redeeming the unredeemable, while comforting himself with the thought that he was well paid and a good Sunday dinner awaited him.

Flint leaned close to Flash Jack, and pointed out the celebrities among those lost in prayer.

"From the corner, clockwise, we have: Uriah Kemp, utterer of base coin; Mrs Tetty Hammond, the Dover Square abortionist; Mrs Alice Whitebread, poisoner of three husbands; Will Stuart, the butcher who divided his wife with a cleaver; Mrs Sal Porter, who drowned unwanted infants, farmed out by the Parish of Bednal Green…" he smiled "and sundry others who are merely common thieves."

Flash Jack blinked, awestruck by the close proximity of Flint, whose shoulder was actually rubbing against his own.

"You seem…" he searched for words "… comfortable, here, Joe."

"Oh yes," said Flint, "I have a pleasant room, good food, good clothes. And as you can see," he said, smiling at the worshippers below, "the company is splendid!" Then he shrugged and looked down. "Of course, there are these -" he clanked the manacles that joined his wrists and were fastened by chain to the irons about his feet "- and them," he said, casting a glance at the pair of gaolers waiting by the door: heavy men in black hats, with keys and cudgels hanging from their belts. He nodded at them, and they touched their hats respectfully.

"Cap'n!" said their lips.

"Money," said Flint, "buys everything here… almost."

"And you have money… from Sir Frederick?"

Flint nodded. "He advanced me five hundred against my reward money."

"Is the Lennox family still behind you?"

"Only Sir Frederick. The rest were thrashed in court and went away bleeding."

Flash Jack shuddered at the recollection of Flint's trial. It had been poor, nasty, brutish and short: deeply disappointing as a spectacle. The Hastings clan had easily found others beside Mr Povey who'd seen Flint's mutiny: common seamen of no consequence, but whose sincerity was obvious, and whose testimony – beside the stellar performance of the midshipman himself – had assured Flint's doom. The only point of interest was a legal squabble over rights and place of execution, what with Flint being – all in one man – a mutineer, a pirate and a felon, falling under three jurisdictions: the sea service, the Lord High Admiral, and the civil judiciary.

The result – in the opinion of Flash Jack – was a true British Compromise, whereby the civil authorities would hang him at Tyburn, but preceded by the Silver Oar of the Lord High Admiral, and with a bosun's mate actually putting the halter round Flint's neck and making all secure: in which matter the sea service's special proficiency with knots was acknowledged by all parties – except the public executioner, who thereby lost his fee. But this was immaterial since he had no great or powerful friends, and his misery was lost in the joyful expectation of a massive turnout for one of the most notable hangings of modern times.

"Joe," said Flash Jack, "what are we going to do?" He looked at the condemned down below. "Shall you be among them… next Sunday?"

Flint laughed in contempt, and Flash Jack was overwhelmed at his masculinity and his wonderful beauty. "Never!" cried Flint. "I'll face the devil alone when my time comes!" He saw how Flash Jack looked at him. "Listen," he said in a low voice, and Flash Jack tingled, "what about my ship"

Flash Jack dithered as the worship of money fought a mighty alliance of true love allied with lust.

"Perhaps…" he said.

"I haven't the sum you need," said Flint. "Not here in England."

"I know."

"What else will you take… instead of money?"

Flash Jack fluttered his long eyelashes, bit his lip, took a firm grip of his courage, and with madly beating heart, leaned close to Flint and whispered in his ear. Flint listened. He said nothing. Finally he nodded and squeezed Flash Jack's hand, who once again nearly died of pleasure, and trembled to the roots of his toenails. "But first I must remain un-hanged," said Flint.

"I can't get you out of here," said Flash Jack, falling from Heaven to Earth in one bump. "Money won't do that."

"I know," said Flint. "So this is what you must do." He pointed at Billy Bones, gawping miserably at the condemned. "You and him – if there's enough of him left for the task! Now listen closely: you must seek out John Silver, whom I believe you already know…" 11 a.m., Sunday, 18th November 1753 12 Bramhall Square London

"The first Whig was the Devil!" cried Johnson, massively filling a flamboyant chair by Foliot of Paris, which supported his weight only by the triumph of French genius over British beef, while the company applauded, being Tories through and through. "And it is Devil's work that has been performed upon Lieutenant Flint!" he added with a roar.

"Bravo!" they cried: the three dozen privileged favourites attending Lady Faith's salon this day, and Lady Faith and her sisters clapping white hands in a fury of agreement.

"I tell you all," said Johnson, "that this entire business is much rooted in the political hatred of the Whiggish House of Hastings for the Tory House of Lennox!" He smiled graciously at Lady Faith, who was a Lennox by marriage.

"Bravo!" they cried… except for the Brownlough brothers, Reginald and Horace, who leaned forward in their chairs, nodded grimly at one another, and waited for whatever Johnson should say next.

"But there is more!" said Johnson. "Those who know the Caribbean say that so great is the fear in which the Spanish and French hold Captain Flint that his mere presence at sea is enough to offset the rivalry to England's trade which otherwise they would inflict upon us!"