up in the oven, this made a stodgy pie. There were no complaints, in fact, one of the hands remarked that it was an im-
provement on the Greek's efforts.
Neb decided to call his dog Denmark, that being the country from which they both came. There was a marked
change in the black Labrador. Overnight under his young master's care he had grown bigger, sleeker, and healthier. A
very intelligent dog, quiet and obedient. At a quick nod from the boy, Denmark would immediately go to his place
under the table.
Neb worked hard around the galley. As long as the crew got their meals, they seldom came near the place. In
the forecastle of the Flying Dutchman was a big cabin, where the crew ate and slept; Neb had to go there every day,
usually in the evening. He would brew fresh coffee in a large urn—it always had to be on tap for any hands to drink
hot, night or day.
They were sailing through the English Channel—the white cliffs of Dover could be glimpsed from the fo'c'sle
head. Crewmen coming off watch were bustling in, pale-skinned from the cold. At the urn, they guzzled down
earthenware mugs of the cheap coffee. It was strong and black. Made from roasted acorns, chicory, and a few coffee
beans, it tasted bitter, but it was a hot drink.
Neb was pouring boiling water into the urn, the crew ignoring him completely. Because he could not talk, they
treated him as deaf, dumb, and dim-witted, a thing people did to anyone not the same as themselves. Neb could see
their faces in the surface of the copper urn, which he had polished earlier. Though they whispered, the boy heard
every word of the conversation between Scraggs, Jamil, and the Burmese scarface, whose name was Sindh. They
were plotting against the captain.
"You go into his cabin with a blade while he sleeps."
"Oh no, not Jamil. They say the Dutchman never sleeps."
"Stay out of that cabin, my friend. He keeps a sharp sword there, always near at hand. If we want to finish
Vanderdecken, it must be done by us all, swiftly, out on deck. That way he can be thrown right over the side an' we
sail off, eh?"
Scraggs sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Aye, you're right, Sindh . . . when 'tis good and quiet. When he comes
out to check on the night watch before turning in. That's the best time."
The scar on Sindh's face twitched. "Good, me an' Jamil will change watches with the two out there later tonight.
You can hide yourself on deck."
A stiletto blade gleamed as Scraggs laid it on the table. "You two grab him, I'll give our cap'n a swift taste of
this beauty, then we strip the body and he's ready for the fishes!"
Sindh traced his blue scar with a cracked fingernail. "When the kapitan is gone, what then, Scraggs, my friend?
One green stone is hard to split three ways."
Scraggs winked at them both. "Then I take command. We sail her to Valparaiso and I as cap'n pick up the rest
of the stones. There should be plenty to go 'round twixt three then."
Sindh thought about this for a moment before replying. "Why can't I be kapitan, or Jamil here?"
"Because I'm an Englander, I look more like a Dutchy than you two ever could, an' I speak the lingo. Any
objections?" Scraggs toyed with the dangerous-looking stiletto, watching them. Jamil smiled and patted the mate's
hand.
"Of course not, my friend, it is a good plan. But I do have a harmless little question. What happens when we
have both the ship and the stones? We cannot sail back to Europe."
"Simple, we follow the coast up north until we sight a place called Costa Rica. Anchor up there to take on fresh
water and fruit. While the crew are busy doing that, we jump ship. Other side of the mountain there is the Carribean
Sea, His-paniola, Cartagena, Naracaibo, beyond the reach of law. Sunny climes, blue seas, golden sands, an' we three,
rich as kings. Think of it—we could build our own castles, own ships, employ servants, or buy slaves. That would do
me fine, never to feel another cold day for life!"
Petros came stumping through from a cabin that led off the main one. The conspirators nudged one another and
fell silent. The Greek cook clipped Neb's ear with his good hand. "You never brought me any coffee. Get on, boy,
leave some on the table by my bunk!" Obediently Neb poured a bowl of coffee and hurried through to the other cabin,
with Petros following, berating him. "After all I do for you, save your life, feed you, teach you how to be sea cook.
This is how you treat Petros. I should have left you for the fishes. Don't spill that coffee, put it down there. Not there ...
there! Get out of here and leave me now. Nobody wants a poor sea cook with one hand. I'm in pain night and day,
with not a soul to care. Out, out!"
Neb retired gratefully to his galley.
Sitting beneath the table with his dog, Neb stroked Denmark as he pondered his dilemma. Three crewmen were
planning to murder the captain! From what Neb had seen of the Dutchman's crew, he knew they were lawless
drunkards and thieves. Vanderdecken was a hard and cruel ship's master, but he was the only one aboard who could
keep the vessel running in an orderly and disciplined manner. Without a proper captain the alternatives were bleak.
Neb doubted that such a wayward bunch would take orders from Scraggs, nor was he sure the Englander would be
able to bring them to their destination safely. Even if he did, what then? How could he warn the captain of the plot on
his life? Vanderdecken would take scant notice of his crew's lowliest member, a dumb, mute boy. The dog watched
Neb with its soft, dark eyes. As if sensing his dilemma, it licked the boy's hand and gave a single low whine.
Later that evening footsteps sounded out on deck. Neb nodded to Denmark, and the dog vanished beneath the
table to its hideout. The boy peered around the galley door. There was Vanderdecken, emerging from his cabin at the
stern. Coming toward him from midships were the two hands, Jamil and Sindh. The boy's stomach went into a knot of
anxiety. He could feel a pounding in his chest.
Somewhere between the captain and the two crewmen, Scraggs was waiting in hiding, holding the stiletto ready.
A thousand things raced through Neb's brain, silly inconsequential ideas. He dismissed them all. What could he do?
The captain halted in front of Jamil and Sindh, eyeing them suspiciously. He knew the watch order. "What are
you two doing out here? Ranshoff and Vogel are the late-night watch."
He caught Jamil looking over his shoulder toward the rear of the galley. Vanderdecken turned as Scraggs broke
cover and ran toward him. Jamil and Sindh threw themselves upon the captain from behind, grabbing him by his neck
and arms. Neb saw the blade flash upward as Scraggs covered the last few strides. He could not see the captain
murdered.
Flinging himself out the galley door, Neb collided with Scraggs. Carried forward, they bulled into
Vanderdecken, with Scraggs bellowing, "Hold him tight, I'll deal with the lad!" Caught between the captain and the
mate, Neb gave out a mute cry as the stiletto blade arched overhead.
There was a deep, mumbling growl as a black shadow flew through the air. Landing on Scraggs's back, the dog
Denmark sank its fangs into the mate's shoulder. As Neb went down, he grabbed for the two crewmen's legs and held
on tight.
Vanderdecken was a tall, powerfully built man who could hold his own with any crew member. Shrugging off
the two who held him, he grabbed Scraggs's knife arm with both hands. The captain swung hard, whirling the