The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

Captain Redjack straightened his cravat. “Put on all sail, Mr. Mate. Take her due east in pursuit. Let me know when the Frenchman’s sighted. Er, by the way, what was that fellow we just put down, eh?”

“That was Percival, Cap’n,” the mate replied.

Teal looked faintly mystified. “Percival who?”

“Mounsey, your cook, sir.”

The captain shook his head sadly. “Cook, y’say! Hmm, rather inconvenient. See if y’can find a good man to replace him.”

Three days had passed aboard La Petite Marie. The weather had stayed fair and the winds steady. Ben stood in line, carrying two bamboo drinking cups. Beneath the makeshift canvas galley awning, Ludon and a crewman named Grest were serving the water ration out to all hands. Ben held out the first cup, and Grest filled the ladle two thirds and tipped it into the tow-headed boy’s cup. Then Ben held out the second cup.

Grest eyed it, glaring at Ben. “One man, one measure, that’s all anybody gets!”

Ludon whispered something to Grest, who wordlessly dipped the ladle and gave Ben a second measure.

Captain Thuron strode up. “Are you having any trouble, lad?”

Ben shook his head. “No trouble, Cap’n, just getting the water for me and Ned.” The boy walked off, followed by his dog.

The captain poked a thick finger in Grest’s shoulder, making the man flinch. “That dog gets water, the same as any man aboard. Make sure you serve him the proper measure, d’you hear?”

As Thuron strode off, Grest muttered. “Water for a dog? There’s hardly enough to go round for ourselves!”

Thuron turned, having heard the remark. He smiled at Grest. “Hand me that ladle, friend.”

Grest did as he was ordered. Thuron bent the metal ladle handle easily in his powerful hands. Still smiling, he placed the bent ladle round Grest’s neck and twisted both ends together. It was like an iron collar round the man’s neck. Thuron allowed the smile to slip from his face.

“The day you want to be captain, just let me know!”

Ned licked his bamboo cup dry. “Funny how you take a simple thing like a drink of water for granted, until there’s not much to be had.”

Ben smiled into his dog’s dark eyes, returning the message. “No sign of rain either, or we could’ve collected some by spreading a sail and catching it. I wonder how far off Hispaniola and Puerto Rico are.”

The black Labrador picked up the cup in his jaws. “I don’t know. Let’s go and ask the cap’n.”

Thuron was standing in the bow with the glass to his eye. Ben and Ned went around by the starboard side, avoiding those still in line for their water. Ned stopped at the back of the canvas-sheet galley, alerting Ben with a swift thought. “Don’t make any noise, mate. Come and listen to this.”

Ludon and Grest were whispering to a man named Ricaud as they served him water. “When we were moored at Santa Marta, Thuron kicked me, just because I tried to stop that cur from barking!” Ben overheard Ludon complaining. He also heard Ned’s indignant mental reply.

“Cur? Huh! Listen to that scurvy mongrel!”

Grest was in agreement with Ludon. “Aye, if that lad an’ his dog are so lucky, then why are we runnin’ from a privateer, with hardly a bite to eat nor a drop to drink? Call that lucky?”

Ricaud was a whiner, Ben could tell by his voice. “A drop is right. How can a man survive on only this lousy dribble of water? How much is left in that barrel, Grest?”

They heard Grest swish the water as he tipped the barrel. “Not enough to get us through tomorrow. We might be sightin’ land about then. I’ll tell ye one thing, though, Thuron’s out to cause trouble for me. I’m not staying aboard this ship. Once I’m ashore I’ll be off. There’s plenty more vessels lookin’ for crew round those two islands.”

Ludon’s voice answered him. “Let me know when ye jump ship. I’m not stayin’ aboard to be kicked around. How about you, Ricaud?”

There was a chuckle from Ricaud. “The great Cap’n Thuron wouldn’t be so high’n’mighty without a crew. I’m with ye, an’ I’ll put the word round. I wager there’s more’n a few among us who’d be wanted by the authorities back in France.”

Ludon sounded cautious. “You’re right, mate, but don’t let Pierre or the Anaconda know, they’re loyal to Thuron. Just ask around, easy-like, but make sure you talk to the right men.”

Ned stared at Ben, transmitting his thoughts. “You go and see the cap’n. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open around here. Tell him what you’ve heard, Ben.”

Thuron was scanning the horizon through his telescope and had his back to Ben. On hearing the boy’s footsteps behind him, the Frenchman turned. Ben felt embarrassed at having to tell his friend what he had heard. “Cap’n … I… er …”

The buccaneer stared into his companion’s mysterious blue eyes: he saw ageless honesty mingled with storm-clouded distant seas. He smiled to ease the boy’s discomfort. “Speak up, lad. What’s troubling you?”

Ben tried again. “It’s the crew. They’re …”

The Frenchman nodded knowingly. “Planning to desert the Marie when we make landfall. Don’t look so surprised, Ben—it doesn’t pay for a captain to be ignorant of his crew’s feelings. No doubt you’ve heard the muttering and spotted the hard glances. I’ve watched them, too, for a while. Ah, they aren’t bad men, really, but they get like that from time to time. Well, look at it their way. We’ve run from Rocco Madrid, been attacked by the privateers and now we’re about to run out of rations. What right-thinking seaman wouldn’t want to leave such a vessel? The Caribbean isles’ are friendly and sunny, and there’s other ships in their harbours for a man to make his berth in. Besides, some of this crew are wanted men in France, most in the pirating trade are.” He laughed. “I probably am myself, but I’m rich and willing to take my chance.”

Ben could not help but admire his friend’s wisdom and easygoing outlook. Even so, he felt bound to ask the question, “What do you plan on doing about it, sir?”

Thuron faced the sea and put the glass back to his eye. “Oh, I’ve made my plans, lad. The first is to sight land and get all hands ashore in a place where I can keep my eye on them. Not some waterfront town full of taverns, but a nice quiet cove with running water and a native village close by where we can trade for most of what we need. Trouble is that I haven’t spotted land yet. I know we’ve run a bit off course in the last day or two, but the islands can’t be too far off. Here, you take a peek. You’re my lucky boy—mayhap you’ll spy something.”

Ben took the telescope, focussed it and searched the horizon bit by bit.

Thuron chuckled. “That’s the way, use those lucky blue eyes of yours. I’ll go and find Ned. Hope he hasn’t signed up with the deserters.”

Ben kept his eye to the glass. “Shame on you for thinking such a thing, Cap’n. There’s none more faithful than my Ned!”

A distant speck on the horizon caught Ben’s attention. He felt as though ice water were trickling down his back. Some sixth sense told him that it was the Flying Dutchman. Swiftly he angled the lens away southward. A dark-purplish smudge on the far skyline dispelled his fears. The boy’s spirits soared. “Cap’n, I can see land! There, over to the southeast!”

Thuron took the telescope and clapped it to his eye. “Where, Ben, where? I can’t see a thing.”

He returned the instrument to the boy, who immediately found the far-off smudge. “Crouch down, Cap’n, I’ll keep the glass steady. See it way over there?”

The Frenchman screwed his eye hard to the brass aperture. “Your eyes must be a lot better than mine, Ben, I don’t see a thing. No, wait … Aha, there ‘tis! Tell Anaconda to alter our course two points south, then dead ahead. Ben, Ben, my lucky shipmate, you’ve done it again. Land ho!”