Page 131 of Storm over the Caribbean
“No idea. But by the way he’s shouting, you don’t wanna be late.”
Now didn’t that sound ominous? Quickly throwing on an overcoat I had stole– ehem,borrowedduring yesterday’s raid, I strode out of the tent and down to the shore, where the rest of the pirates were gathered around Gaptooth’s barrel throne in a half-circle. On the other side, I caught a glimpse of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his cool gaze sweeping over the area, probably wondering what was going on. I certainly was.
“What’s going on, boss?”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. I glanced over at the man who had spoken and who, judging by his scrunched-up expression, was severely regretting how much he drank last night.
The pirate leader narrowed his beady eyes at the man. “Enjoyed yourself last night, did you?”
“Um…well, aye, I did.” The man scratched his head—then winced and stopped. “We’ve gotten a good haul! It’s only right to celebrate!”
“Gotten a good haul, have we?” Gaptooth let his eyes sweep over the assembled crowd. “Wanna know exactlywhatwe got yesterday?”
Royally rogered, a thought flicked through my mind. I chose to not say that out loud, however.
The pirates cheered, eager to hear about their booty.
“You wanna know? Well, let me share the list, then. We got six-hundred rifles, two dozen cannons, thirty casks of gunpowder, a dozen military maps with the locations of secret bases and supply stations, tools for land clearing, telegraph equipment, several tons of building materials, and six hundred sets of bloodstained, perforated military uniforms.” Gaptooth gave his men his foulest and least friendly smile. “Anyone wanna try and go to a market and pay with that? Wanna eat it? Wanna spend it?”
The pirates’ cheers abruptly subsided.
“You mean…” The pirate with the hangover paled.
“Aye.” Gaptooth nodded. “One of us will have to go meet the fence.”
I blinked. They wanted to meet my dog? How did they even know about him?
Then my not-quite-awake-yet brain suddenly decided to start working, and I realized: they didn’t want Fence. They wantedafence. As in, someone to sell their stuff. A prospect none of them seemed to be very eager about.
“All right!” The fat man snapped his fingers. “Volunteers!”
Deafening silence answered him. Oh my. I thought only Mr Ambrose could do that.
“I said,” Gaptooth ground out, “Volunteers!”
“Err…sorry, I think I drank a little bit too much last night.” Scratching the back of his head, Mr Hangover retreated into the crowd and ran off the instant he was out of sight.
“Um, me too!”
“Me too!”
“I’ve gotta go take a piss!”
“I’ve gotta go take a dump!”
“I’ve gotta…um…do something! Yes, definitely something!”
“Don’t you frigging move, you bloody cowards!” Gaptooth roared. His glower made the pirates who were about to skedaddle freeze in place. “You just won a bloody battle against the British Navy! And you tell me you’re afraid of some stuck-up, stingy moneybags? Don’t you have any guts?”
“Err…” One of the pirates raised his hand like a shy schoolboy. “You’re talking about the old man, right? The one on Antigua?”
“Aye.”
“Then no, I don’t have any guts.”
The man had to duck out of the way fast to avoid the whiskey bottle that was hurled at his head. “Bloody cowards!”
“Oy, boss, it ain’t really our fault!” One of the men protested. “Remember last time? We went to sell a few barrels of booze to that old bastard, and the old man got us drunk on our own whiskey! We came back with nothing but our underwear, and I still don’t remember what the hell happened exactly! And you wanna send us there again?”
