screaming, and the snake performer dropped his reptiles.
Thuron bawled toward a trim three-masted vessel lying bow onto the harbour. "Make sail! Make sail! We're coming
aboard! Make sail there!"
As he clattered up the steep gangplank, Ben could see the crew members on watch clambering into the rigging, whilst
others loosed the ship's headropes. There was a small culverin in the bows. The captain roared out orders for it to be
loaded. He knelt by the little swivel cannon, beckoning Ben to his side. "We'll blow them off the quay if they try to
follow. Hand me that tow!"
Ben saw the thick, smouldering rope end and passed it over to Thuron.
Ned sent a thought to Ben. "I hadn't figured on going to sea again, ever!"
The boy replied mentally to his dog. "We've no choice. It's either that or stay in Cartagena and get killed." He turned to
Thuron. "D'you think they'll follow us, Cap'n?"
The Frenchman held the burning tow near the culverin's touch hole, nodding. "Maybe not right away, boy, but he'll be
coming after us. Rocco Madrid lost a lot of face today. By the way, how did you know he was cheating? I just thought
I was extra unlucky today."
Ben knew it would be futile trying to explain about Ned, so he lied. "I've seen that game played before. As soon as I
came to your table, I saw Captain Madrid palming the pea. Where are we bound, sir?"
Raphael Thuron threw an arm around the boy's shoulder. "Home to la belle France, thanks to you. I'm finally set for
good. This pirating life is too dangerous, my friend!"
2
ONCE LA PETITE MARIE HAD BEEN POLED AWAY from the harbour wall, Anaconda swung her about to face the
freshening breeze, taking the ship out into the Caribbean. The all too familiar memory of a swaying deck beneath his
feet brought back dreadful memories of the Flying Dutchman to Ben. He lay flat on the deck facedown, pictures of
Vanderdecken and his villainous crew flashing before his mind. Ned lay down beside him, flashing urgent thoughts.
"Don't let it get the better of you, Ben. Vanderdecken's a bad thing to think of. Cap'n Thuron's our friend, a good man."
One of the passing crew put a hand to Ben's back and shook him. "What ails ye, lad? Come on now, up on yer feet!"
Ned stood over Ben, the dog's hackles bristling as he growled viciously. Thuron pushed the man aside.
"Leave the boy alone. Maybe he's seasick already. Ben, are you feeling ill?"
Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Ben lifted his head. "I'll be alright, Cap'n. I was frightened back there."
The Frenchman nodded. "I was too, boy. Rocco Madrid has a formidable reputation. He's also got almost twice as
many crew. Only a fool wouldn't have been afraid. You'll be alright. Go aft, take Ned with you, lie down in my cabin.
I won't let anything happen to you, Ben, you're my luck. Both of you."
The big cabin at the ship's stern was cool and comfortable. Ben lay down on the broad, velvet-quilted bed and fell into
a dreamless slumber. Ned jumped up beside him and laid his head across the boy's feet. "Hmm, I wonder how far away
France is. A good distance, probably."
La Petite Marie was now under full sail, plowing the blue-green waters of the mighty Caribbean Sea.
Evening rolls of purple cloud were striping the crimson sky as the sound of an opening cabin door roused Ben. Ned
nuzzled his leg. "Wake up! Here's food!" The crewman who followed Thuron into the cabin placed a bowl of fresh
water down alongside a plate of stew. He loaded the rest onto the bedside table before leaving.
Thuron sat by the table. "Ben, here boy, eat up, I made the stew myself."
Ben sat on the edge of the bed alongside the table. There was a bowl of stew, some fresh fruit, and water to drink, and
he tucked in heartily.
Thuron watched him eat. The Frenchman chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Not feeling ill anymore, eh? 'Tis hard to
tell who has the better appetite, you or old Ned there."
The dog, who was licking a plate clean, shot Ben a thought. "Huh, who's he calling old? I'm nought but a pup yet."
Ben replied mentally. "Aye, a fat hungry pup!"
Ned growled. "Fat yourself, tubby youth!"
The captain's stubby finger turned Ben's chin until their gazes met. There was sea in the boy's clouded blue eyes—
ancient deeps and far horizons lurked in them. Raphael Thuron stared into the young fellow's calm face. "You're a
strange lad, Ben, where are ye from?"
Ben averted his eyes and picked up a slice of pineapple. "From the Tierra del Fuego, sir."
The Frenchman raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The land of fire down at the tip of this big country! That's a great
distance from Cartagena, lad. How came ye to travel so far?"
Ben did not like lying to the captain, but necessity had forced him to be untruthful with anyone who wanted to know
of his mysterious life. "I was a shepherd boy helping an old sheepherder down there. He told me that he had found me
on the shores, after a shipwreck. I worked with him . . . Ned was his dog. Early one spring the shepherd died in an
accident, so I wandered off with Ned. We've been travelling over four years. We visited many places before reaching
Cartagena."
Thuron shook his head in wonderment. "You must have been little more than a babe when the sheepherder found you
on the shore. What was the name of the ship you came from?"
Ben shrugged. "The sheepherder never told me. He said that the vessel must have sunk in a storm. I don't remember
anything, apart from living in his hut, rounding up sheep with Ned and enduring the awful weather down there. Have
you always been a seaman, Cap'n?"
Ned's thought flashed through Ben's mind. "I liked the way you changed the subject there, mate. That was a clever
touch, too, saying I belonged to the old shepherd. What our friend doesn't know can't hurt him."
Ben kept his eyes on Thuron, who began telling of himself. "Aye, I've been seafaring since I was younger than you,
Ben. I was born in a place called Arcachon, on the French coast. I didn't want to be a poor peasant like my father, so I
ran off one day and joined the crew of a merchant ship. On our voyage to Cadiz we were attached by Spanish pirates.
They slew most of our crew but kept me as galley boy. Since then, I've spent most of my life aboard one vessel or
another. If I'd been weak, I'd be dead by now. But here you see me, Raphael Thuron, master of my own ship, La Petite
Marie, a French buccaneer!"
Ben looked up at the captain. "You must be very proud of yourself, sir."
The Frenchman poured himself a glass of water, swirled it about reflectively, then shook his head. "Proud, d'ye say?
I'll tell ye something now, Ben, that I've never told any living soul. I'm ashamed of what I've made of my life.
Ashamed!" He kept swirling the water, his eyes fixed on its motion. "Me, the older son of an honest, religious family.
Oh, I was a wild one, not like my younger brother Mattieu. It was my parents' hope that one day I would reform and
make them proud by becoming a priest. My younger brother Mattieu was more suited to that sort of thing. He was a
good boy, though I often got him into trouble. Being a farmworker like my father was a gloomy alternative. So I ran
off to sea, and here I am all these years later, a man living outside of the law, buccaneering. But no more. This wicked
trade has seen the last of Raphael Thuron. I'm done with it all, boy. Finished, d'ye hear!"