John Drake - Skull and Bones

"Flint!" cried Silver.

"John!" cried Selena, and rushed towards him, to be swiftly embraced then pushed out of harm's way into his wake.

"Silver!" said Flint, standing over the bloodstained form of Billy Bones, who lay on his back with feebly moving hands and staring eyes… waiting for Flint to smash out his brains with a heavy candlestick.

"Avast!" cried Silver. "Don't move an eyelash, you poxy sod, or I'll shoot you dead!"

"Kill him!" said Flint, turning to the half-breeds, who raised their guns and fired. Darby McGraw fell, and then Flint's half-breeds went down under a tremendous hail of shot from

Silver's men, while Black Dog – who remembered who'd offered him a pistol instead of rest, and who'd heard what Flint planned to do with Selena – ran forward and knelt at Silver's feet and clutched the tail of his coat.

"I'm with you, Cap'n Silver!" he cried. "Don't shoot poor Black Dog!"

"Traitor!" gasped Flint, and stood with his chest heaving: sweat-soaked and exhausted from the fight against Billy Bones. But he recognised the still-twitching body that lay beside Black Dog. "And is that Mr McGraw there beside you, John? The celebrated drunkard?" He sneered and mocked. "Bring aft the rum, Darby McGraw!"

"Shut your trap," said Silver, glaring in venomous hatred, his pistol levelled square at Flint.

"Are you safe, lass?" he said over his shoulder.

"Yes!" she said, as Silver hopped close to Flint with the pistol outstretched.

"But did he touch you? Did he lay hands on you?"

"No." She stepped forward and pointed at Billy Bones. "He saved me – Mr Bones saved me."

"Did he, though?" said Silver, amazed. "More o' that later, my lass." And he fumbled in a pocket and reached out a small package tied up in oilskin. "Here's my half, Joe Flint," he said, and threw it on to a table. "So where's yours?" Flint blinked and gaped, and breathed deep.

"Well?" said Silver.

"Here," said Flint at last, and he took the silver porte-crayon from his pocket, and laid it beside Silver's little package.

Then Flint and Silver looked at one another… they who'd been the dearest of friends, then the foulest of enemies, and then friends for a while… and now this, and each looked at the woman that each, in such different ways, loved more than life or wealth, or the world entire.

"There's only one of us can walk away from this," said Silver.

"Yes," said Flint. "It's time the matter was settled."

"Aye," said Silver. For nothing stood between them now. Whatever it was that had always stopped them coming to blows… it was washed away, and swept away, and gone forever.

"Then shall you shoot me down, John? You that believes himself to be a gentleman o' fortune?"

The pistol quivered… and then came down. Silver put it and its partners on the table beside the package and the porte- crayon.

"No," said Silver. "We'll settle this, man to man!"

"No!" cried Selena.

"No!" cried Mr Joe.

"No…" said even Billy Bones in a slurred voice, battered and bloodied as he was. "Shoot him down, Cap'n Silver, shoot him like a dog!"

"Avast!" yelled Silver, and glared at them all. "Listen here, and listen good!" He looked at Flint. "He's mine, the evil sod! He's all mine, and don't none of you lift a finger to him!" There was uproar in the room, but Silver ignored it, as did Flint.

"Huh!" said Flint, and blinked, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. And then he stood tall, and bowed like a courtier and smiled Flint's smile. For he'd got a bit of his breath back, and saw only a one-legged man in front of him. "Shall it be swords or pistols then?"

"I'll see the liver of you, you bastard!" said Silver.

"Does that mean swords?"

"It does, God damn you," said Silver. "One o' you swabs give him a blade!" and he threw off his hat and baldrick and coat, and rolled up his sleeves, and drew his cutlass from its sheath and tried the blade on empty air, balancing neatly on his one leg and crutch. He was a fine, big man who towered over all present, and there were few that would choose to fight him. But still… he hopped on one leg while Flint danced nimbly on two, and all who cared for John Silver begged and implored him not to fight, and Selena hung on his arm shouting loudest of all.

But Flint, oblivious, breathed deep, calmed his thundering heart, and stood up in shirtsleeves, with Tom Morgan's cutlass in his hand, and bowed to Silver like a French fencing master, and saluted with the heavy blade.

"Bollocks to that, Joe Flint," said Silver, and "Argh!" he cried, and swung a blow at Flint that would have split him to the breastbone had it landed, which it didn't because Flint was elsewhere and slashing at Silver's one leg, which blow Silver blocked with a grinding of steel and a shower of sparks in the moonlit room, and Flint leapt back, surprised at his own slowness, for he was still tired from fighting Billy Bones.

Then clash-scrape-clang, the blades met in the air, to left and to right, and Silver laid on with incredible speed for a crippled man, and Flint slid back in the face of his attack, but tired as he was, still he met Silver's blade at every stroke. Then:

"Ah!" cried the room, as Silver swung the oaken length of his crutch and caught Flint a cracking blow on the knee that sent him hopping out of range with Silver following but slipping from going too fast. He nearly measured his length but, clang-bang, saved his throat from Flint's slash with a swift recovery in the uttermost split second before the death-stroke fell.

And then it was hammer and tongs, thunder and lightning, blood and sweat and a fight that leapt, barged and rolled around the room, more nearly equal than any man could have dreamed between two such opponents, except that Silver was losing the flush of his strength, while Flint, by hanging back just a little, and relying on the uncanny reactions that God – on a very bad day – had given him, was recovering. And the more John Silver faded, the more Flint rejoiced.

Because Flint knew that he must win.

And John Silver knew it too.

And so did every creature in the room.

Night, 20th July 1754 Jimmy Chester's house Savannah, Georgia

Silver slipped and skidded. He was barely upright and the notched, dinted cutlass was heavy in his tired hand. He took a grip of his crutch. The sweat was blinding his eyes, and Flint was grinning. He was pointing his blade at Silver's face, poised and ready to strike.

"Where shall it be, John?" he said. "Shall we take off an ear or two? Or a piece of nose?" Then he laughed. "Or shall we put out your eyes?"

"Cap'n!" cried Mr Joe, leaping forward with his cane cutlass.

"No! No! No!" cried Silver, and he beat the floor with the oak of his crutch. "None but me, say I!"

"But he'll kill you, Cap'n!"

"Aye!" said the men at his side, bristling with arms.

"Stand back, by God!" said Silver. "None but me!" And he surged forward again, and Flint laughed, and stepped aside from Silver's charge, all slippery smooth and easy, and struck a blow that sent Silver's cutlass spinning and ringing from his fingers, and Flint laughed, and laughed and laughed… and then blinked… and his face froze into hatred, and Silver looked at death, and raised a feeble hand against it, and

Flint's eyes went white, and Flint took a grip of his blade, and drew back to strike…

Boom! A heavy pistol thundered loud in the room, spitting fire and smoke and glowing fragments of cartridge paper… that and a lead ball that smashed into Flint like a horse- kick, and sank him to his knees, and then full-length, facedown on the floor, with Tom Morgan's cutlass still firm in his hand, and such a look of hatred on his face as froze the souls of those who saw it.

Silver gasped. He turned to see who'd fired. Mr Joe turned. They all did. They saw Selena, in swirling powder smoke, with one of Silver's own pistols held out in two slim hands. Her arms trembled at the weight of it, and she let it fall, to clatter and bump on the floor.