John Drake - Skull and Bones

Savannah was the youngest port of the youngest colony in British America: hacked out of virgin forest, and in constant fear of the Cherokee, the Cree and the Chickasaw. It was also the most southerly colony, just a hop and a spit from Spanish Florida, and in fear of that too: mortal fear, because the Spanish – if they came – would come not with mere hatchets and scalping knives, but with cannon and the Inquisition. So Savannah was rough; King George's law ran only on Sundays, and today was a Thursday and there was business to be done.

The anchors went down with a rumble. Sail was taken in, topmasts struck, all made snug and proper, and Walrus was jolly from stem to stern. For one thing it was warm, and all hands remembered the freezing, murderous passage across the Atlantic, and staggering ashore like cripples, not fit to be called seamen. But now they were fattened up on Virginian beef, soothed by the tropics, and they had a lively cruise behind them, the tarts of Savannah in front of them, and a prize astern to prove their manhood.

"Three cheers for Long John!" cried Israel Hands. "Three cheers for our cap'n!"

And they bellowed and roared, and waved their hats, and the people up on the banks cheered too. It was a merry time… even for Selena, standing on the quarterdeck in her seagoing rig of breeches, boots and shirt, with pistols in her belt as natural as if they'd grown there.

"Well, ma'am," said Silver, and hopped forward with his parrot on his shoulder.

"Well, ma'am!" said the bird, and Selena and reached out and stroked it.

"Ah," said Silver, "there's few as can do that and count five fingers!"

"I know," she said, and smiled. She smiled straight into his eyes, and the sun shone bright for John Silver, and he sighed with pure happiness, and all the merrier since the past weeks hadn't been easy.

Washington had sent forth Walrus as a licensed privateer, to spy out what the Spaniards were doing at sea, with a war coming. In return, the Colony of Virginia would quietly ignore King George's law, and provide safe haven for Walrus and her people, and a legal share in any prizes taken: which delighted the crew. The crew, but not Silver. Left to himself, he might – just possibly – have taken the ship and Selena, and sailed over the horizon… Which he couldn't, not with a crew that wanted it all ways: any prizes they could take, plus the treasure, for they knew all about the divided papers and the rendezvous with Flint.

So, even on a ship at sea, Silver was trapped, and had no choice but to do what Washington wanted… at least in the matter of taking Spanish prizes: which – and for the moment – wasn't such a bad thing. Not at all. Not with her smiling at him.

"This is better, ain't it?" he said and dared, just as she had dared, by touching her cheek.

"If it really is legal," she said.

"I've told you. I've shown you the papers. Letters of marque from Washington!"

"Yes," she said. "If you say so." And she laughed again.

"And ain't I all sweet and kindness to them as we takes?"

"Yes," she said. For it was true. Inez de Cordoba had tried to run, been easily caught by the sharp-hulled Walrus and had surrendered at the first salvo, which had been fired to frighten not kill. Then Silver steered for the coast of Florida, and put the prisoners – who included two women – into the Spaniard's longboat, within easy pulling distance of land. And none were touched nor their possessions despoiled. All this she had seen, and she knew that it was done for her.

Only the Spanish captain – Ibanez – was still aboard. He'd tried to fight, and had been cut down by Mr Joe and sewn up by Dr Cowdray, but had been too weak to go into the longboat with his mates.

And so she smiled and went to the rail to wave at some children capering and dancing on the bank up above.

"That Washington," said Israel Hands softly, looking at Selena.

"Aye?" said Silver, likewise staring at the small, beloved figure.

"Are you really sure that Washington can write letters of marque?"

"It wasn't him. He got 'em from the governor of Virginia."

"Aye… but can he?"

"Clap a hitch, Mr Gunner," he said, and raised his voice, looking at the brig: "Pork and biscuit, wine and salt, fish and rice." He smiled. "And the ship herself, with all her tackles and gear!" Selena heard him and came back.

"Of which a good share goes to the governor," she said.

"Of course. That's what makes us legal!"

She laughed in his face at that, and Silver shrugged. What did he care? She was here with him and not off with Flint. That was enough. She'd come aboard when the ship left Alexandria, fed up with the back stairs and folk treating her as less than them. But to Silver it had been like those days when he was first courting her, aboard this very ship, and before she turned against him. She was still slinging a hammock alone, though, and wouldn't be his wife.

"Cap'n!" said a voice, and Silver jumped. "Cap'n!" It was Israel Hands again.

"Mr Gunner," said Silver.

"Boat's alongside for to go ashore, Cap'n!"

"Thank you, Mr Hands," said Silver, formally.

"And we've swayed the Dago aboard. Dr Cowdray says he's well enough."

"Well and good," said Silver, and moved over to the rail. He looked over the side, and saw the heavily bandaged Captain Ibanez, laid in the stern, made fast to a plank. He turned to Selena, "Will you not come?" he said.

"Like this?" she said, looking at her clothes. Silver shrugged.

"Put women's clothes on!"

"No," she said. "Not here. I was a slave here."

So it was Silver and Israel Hands who met the authorities of the port of Savannah, taking with them Mr Warrington, who, when sober, was convincing as ever in his role of honest mariner. But aside from passing some dollars to officials who needed help to look away, and getting the Spanish captain a berth in the fort – where the militia had what passed for a hospital – there was little for Warrington to do.

And so to Jimmy Chester's grog shop that had once been Charley Neal's, and before all else inquiring after Joe Flint, who'd not yet arrived in Savannah. Then, leaving Mr Warrington in a happy corner with a bottle and a mulatto girl, the real business was done with Jimmy Chester, who proved to be very like Charley Neal, except he was thin where Charley had been plump. But he had the same skills with money. He could digest a ship and cargo, and make guineas appear in bank accounts far away. So Inez de Cordova was swiftly dealt with, right down to setting aside a share for the governor of Virginia. And beyond that, Chester was deep into politics.

"We used to be a Trustee Colony, and now we are a Royal Colony," he said.

"Oh?" said Silver, bored, sitting in Chester's private room with Israel Hands and a jug and some glasses.

"But we await our first governor from England, and so in the meantime govern ourselves," he said. "And we have an assembly, of which I am a member…" He smiled "… and its president."

"How cosy," said Silver, and Israel Hands yawned.

"So I correspond with other colonial officials… including George Washington."

"Oh?" said Silver, sitting up.

"And I know why he sent you to sea." "Oh?"

"Oh yes! He's acting for all the colonies. We need to know what the Spanish are doing at sea. He's desperate to know. We all are, and so we use who we can to find out!"

"What about the navy?" said Silver. "Washington never mentioned them. Ain't they spyin' out the Dagoes?"

Chester shifted in his chair, understanding Washington's reluctance to mention so delicate a subject as the need for the colonies – occasionally, and of course in the Greater British interest – to act independently… even contrarywise… to the policies of the beloved mother country…

"Hmmm," said Chester, "you, see, Captain Silver, the king's navy acts on orders from London… which does not precisely share our interests." Chester dismissed this awkward matter with a shrug. "So," he said briskly, "what've you found out about the Spanish?"