Disclaimers: and associated apologies and what-not on the introduction page.

Author: annezo @ fastmail

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We begin with a taste of the days and a feel of the times as they should have been.

Far, far away, there is a land ripe with milk and honey, with endless fields of green breaking across traveled roads of brown. A land of golden harvests and infinite summers where prosperity flows like sunshine through the years. A land of apple-cheeked farmers and dimpled dairy maids, of rotund merchants and rosy-faced children. A land of laughing maidens in their Sunday finery flashing their eyes at sturdy boys with dusty knees; of sober-faced clergy preaching sermons of abundance to plump, satisfied parishioners. A land of roguish barmaids serving pints of ale to weathered coachmen who pass through with a smile, a wink, and a pinch of a blushing chin. A much-blessed land of peace and plenty.

Our story is not about that land. Because that is a place of sunshine and laughter and our story has more to do with the star-studded sky and the darkness of the sea and the foaming of water under a ship's prow as she sails through uncharted water.

At the same time that all of those things above are taking place, somewhere on the open sea a ship flows through midnight waters under sails as dark as the night. Fitful wind slaps her canvas and runs shivering up the mast to flutter the pennant above the tallest sail. A gleam of moonlight against the cloth and for an instant the dread sign is exposed--the bloody skull and crossbones, banner of the fabled pirates of the Caribbean.

This story is mostly about them.

Although it's also about a certain broad-shouldered Cap'n of a proud-masted Man O'War. I'd introduce you to him first, since he might turn out to be the Hero (we can't be sure of anything yet), but he's sleeping, a faint smile curving those firm lips as his dreaming mind registers the easy rolling of the anchored vessel under his bed. Little does the stern Cap'n know of the temptations and adventures that await him when next his ship sails the billowing seas....

* * * *

Aboard the Crafty Cavalier the Captain was in his cabin, looking his problems squarely in the eye. (Actually, he was lounging on a leather couch and enjoying a glass of most superior wine, but a large portion of his brain was also engaged in contemplating the ship's assets and liabilities. And wondering if he'd done the right thing in assuming command of a pirate ship with no more experience than a few half-heard stories in sleazy ale-houses.)

Most of the ship's experienced hands had been lost through desertion, battle, and planned career changes. In fact, that's how the Captain acquired his command. (It had begun as a simple shore-raid and when the guards proved to be more numerous than the raiding pirates had anticipated, quickly spiraled out of control into a free-for-all.) In the heat of the skirmish, no one noticed when the man stepped into the fray, discarded his own civilian attire (no point in being associated with the losing side, after all), and appropriated the dead pirate Captain's coat and hat.

It was a hard battle and the surviving crew was too dazed with various blows to the head to realize that the man ordering them to pile the unconscious bodies to one side and the plunder into the ship's boats was, in fact, a complete stranger.

By the time they gathered their wits to protest, their self-appointed Captain had a plan for re-manning the ship and two or three very neat ideas for enriching his crew at the expense of the merchant ships plying the southern Caribbean Seas. He was elected captain by unanimous vote. Which would have been more impressive, if the remaining crew hadn't consisted of only four people.

The Captain's first duty was to provide a full complement of men aboard the ship. (The remaining crew members were agreed in the wisdom of abandoning their defeated crewmates for some unknown reason.) The idea of sneaking ashore and press-ganging a load of unwilling civilians wasn't original but his crew greeted the suggestion with enthusiasm. The next moonlit night, they had landed off the southeast coast of England and started lurking.

At first, Captain Alex (His crew hadn't managed to come up with an appropriate and terror-inspiring nickname yet. One man had suggested Dread Alex, which could then be shortened to D'Alex for everyday use, but the Captain had disallowed the nomination on the grounds that it had been done.) (The crewman's additional suggestion of painting the ship a bright, police-box blue was also absurd. Although, as the man had pointed out, if you were going to perpetrate an anachronism, a time-traveler was the most plausible one.)

(Someone else, and the Captain was pretty sure who it had been, had suggested Dread Krycek, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what that would soon be shortened to. As soon as he had some proof, the Captain intended to inflict a suitable punishment for the suggestion. Anyhow, the floor was still open for suggestions. But I digress.)

(Where was I? No idea. We'd better start again....)

At first, Captain Alex thought he'd hit the jackpot when he and his four surviving crew members heard a large group of young men coming down the deserted road toward them.

He and Delgado, the ship's new First Mate, peered through the bushes while his other two men hung back and inspected their heavy clubs with bloodthirsty satisfaction.

"Nice strong group." Delgado stroked his heavy beard and nodded. Of all the current crew, he was the one the Captain most relied on to fill in his (the Captain's) own gaps of knowledge. Which were considerable, but we'll get into that later.

"True." Captain Alex inspected the young men by the light of the pale moon shining in the sky. They looked to be 18 to 22, all well-fed and full of energy if their pushing and shoving and occasional tree-climbing was anything to judge by.

"They'll make bully pirates, Gov'nor," another crewman enthused, but the Captain ignored him. Black Jack had been compelled to assume duties as the ship's cook and everyone knew he considered the assignment to be beneath his dignity. (Black Jack's nickname, before his cooking days, had been Bloody Jack, but after a few charred meals, the rest of the crew had voted for the change.) Captain Alex doubted they'd find anyone with more experience in the crowd coming down the road, but it would be hard to find anyone with less aptitude.

"Get ready," the Captain warned. He waited for the crowd's approach then, at his signal, he and his men jumped into the road, spreading themselves across the smooth path and confronting the young men with all the meanness and scowling and glaring at their command, which was considerable.

A volley of shrieks and shouts met their appearance and the startled youngsters crowded together, the ones in the middle of the group squealing that they were being squashed and watch your elbows, thank you.

"Stand!" Captain Alex said thunderously. "You're taken!"

"Ooooh." One young man huddled back into the group, his attractive face frozen in shock. The Captain eyed the curly black hair and broad shoulders with passing interest and waited for a response.

There was a wave of whispers and murmurs and quiet-voiced complaints.

"Ask them what they want," suggested some brave soul from the back.

One of the larger youngsters was elbowed to the forefront. He touched his forehead respectfully, blonde curls shimmering in the moonlight. "Please, sir," he said very politely. "What is it that you want?"

Captain Alex looked at the young man and his friends, then drew himself up, and assumed a forbidding expression. "Press gang. You're caught."

"What is it?" Another impatient voice from the back of the group.

"I don't know," someone else said. "Something about laundry, I think."

"Laundry?" There was a chorus of mocking voices. " Doesn't like the quality of the sheets? Tell him to see the landlady. He can file complaints with the office between one and two, alternate Tuesdays."

"Silence!" The Captain felt the first faint stirrings of a pain in his head. He cleared his throat and raised his voice to a gruff, threatening tone. "You're all press-ganged, men. The crew of the Cavalier and I are needing a few new hands and you're elected. Anyone else have jokes to make?"

"Cavalier?" The same peevish voice from the thick of the crowd. "There isn't an HMS Cavalier."

"Too right!" another voice chimed in. "Pull the other one, buddy."

"Maybe he's from the circus," a hopeful candidate offered. "Jamsie said we should be getting there by now."

"Here!" The attractive blonde, we presume it was Jamsie, assumed a voice of authority. At least, he tried, but his innocent face gave the lie to the stern expression. "Are you men from the circus? Because, if you are, we've been looking for you."

"Why?" The Captain was glad he hadn't been the one to ask the weak question but he gave First Mate Delgado a quelling look anyhow.

"We've come to join up," was the cheerful response. Jamsie smiled at the Captain winningly. "Old Smitty cancelled games today, for the fifth week in a row, and replaced it with extra prep time for Latin declensions. We're showing him you can't treat the Modern British Schoolboy that way. Right, men?"

A volley of cheers met this explanation. The noise was quickly organized into a formal chant and here and there a few hats were tossed into the air. Cries of circus, rang out from some of the young men, intermixed with shouts about lions and tigers and bears, oh, my.

The Captain tried to shout over the bedlam but eventually he had to discharge one of his pistols into the air to get the boys' attention.

"That was a gun," one brain informed the rest of the crowd.

"Sure was," someone else confirmed. "Do you think he's shooting at us?"

"We might have been a bit loud," a voice said uncertainly. "But not even Smitty offered to shoot us. D'ya think this circus gag is such a good idea?"

"He didn't shoot at us," someone else corrected. "Just into the air, like. Probably a starter pistol, you know? They use them on the lions."

"Silence!" Captain Alex shouted furiously. "This is not the damned circus," he told the quiet crowd.

Not a sound greeted the announcement.

"We're pirates." He couldn't believe that five men, four of whom were lightly tattooed and all of whom sported decorative gold rings in one or more ears, had to introduce themselves formally. There was more than enough light under the full moon for anyone with half a brain to figure it out for themselves.

What the hell are they teaching them in school nowadays? "This is a press gang," he continued. "You young men are being pressed. Is any of this ringing any bells with any of you?"

"Pirates?" The voice sounded doubtful. "You're sure, then? You're not the circus?"

"Of course I'm sure." The Captain was beginning to wonder if shooting one or two of the prospective recruits might not be necessary. Or even just fun.

"Pirates," Jamsie mused thoughtfully. "Yo ho ho, and all of that?"

"We don't actually say that," Delgado said curtly. The Captain knew the first mate's tastes ran more toward Queen and the later Stones albums. "But you're on the right track."

"Pirates." The word floated through the group and there was a silence while the young men absorbed the idea.

"What is it?" Another boy, impatient of the delay, shoved his way toward the front of the mob. "Cooee . . . it's pirates," he said in amazement.

Alex made a mental note of his face, pleased to find at least one of the group who wasn't hopelessly dense.

"Pirates?" The whisper rattled through the group. "Stefan says it's pirates."

"Hey!" That same pushy voice from the back of the crowd. "Pirates, guys! This is WAY better than the circus!"

A cheer of agreement went up from the crowd and while the astonished Captain and his four hardened crew members watched, the boys pushed and shoved into some semblance of a line.

"We're ready, sir!" One slight redhead with a broad grin made an attempt to salute. "Can we assume the usual knocking on the head and tying up routine?"

"Well, I'm not sure that's necessary." Captain Alex realized that marching the now docile crowd on-board beat the hell out of carrying forty-plus limp bodies back to the ship.

"Hey! -- Cheat! -- Gyp! -- No way!" A chorus of groans and protests met the announcement.

"How do we know you're pirates if you don't follow procedures?" the redhead demanded. He glared at Alex and the other four men from his place in the line. "I, for one, will refuse to be pressed unless it's all done according to regulation."

"Captain?" Delgado's confused voice whispered at him gruffly.

"Knock 'em all on the head," Captain Alex said tiredly. He thought with regret of the circus mentioned earlier, wondering if it might not be wiser to leave the boys and press-gang the entertainers instead.

"Right." Delgado faced the giggling group of youngsters. "The beach is to your right, men. Those wishing to be press-ganged will proceed, in an orderly fashion, to where the rowboats are waiting."

Damn. I'd better give that man a raise. They'd still have to row and carry the young men onto the ship, but Delgado had saved them the effort of hauling the limp bodies the quarter-mile to the boats.

The move was accomplished with surprising quickness, the boys marching in double-time and chanting what the Captain could only assume was their version of a nautical tune. All he could distinguish was an occasional chorus of, "Rolling over the rivers, rolling over the sea," which didn't sound much like any pirate tune he'd ever heard.

On the beach, Delgado, Black Jack, and the two as-yet-unnamed crew members (I'll get around to it eventually) stationed themselves at the head of the line and hefted their clubs.

"Not too hard," Captain Alex ordered hastily. He didn't want to be saddled with a bunch of corpses in half an hour.

"Now, look 'ere, Guv'nor," Black Jack objected. Now that it came right down to it, he seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for the project.

"Do it," the Captain told him. The last thing he needed was a mutiny on the part of the existing crew. Aside from complicating things, it would give entirely the wrong idea to the recruits.

"Right, ho." Black Jack lifted his club, looked at the first boy in line, and then tapped him on the skull lightly. His victim gave a piercing shriek and collapsed. Black Jack bit the ends of his moustache, looking at his victim in surprise.

Delgado brought up the sack and fished out a couple of ropes, handing them to Black Jack and waiting while the crewman tied up the first recruit.

"Don't take all night about it," the Captain tried to ignore the giggling from the waiting crowd. "We need to be under sail before dawn."

His men nodded and set up an assembly line, Black Jack patting the young men on the head with his club and the other three following after him, tying up the victims until they ran out of rope.

Captain Alex, as befitting his lofty station, didn't participate in the work of hoisting the limp bodies into the boats. He stayed on shore, silencing the remaining boys with a few stern words as they waited for his men to row the first batch to the ship and manhandle them up the ladders.

On the other hand, after the third trip, he was getting bored and five of the conscripts had left the line to stretch out on the sand, promising sincerely to rejoin when their turn came.

Captain Alex made an executive decision. He pointed to six of the tallest young men. "You, men. Help the crew with this lot."

"Here, now!" His original questioner, Jamsie, objected. "We haven't been properly pressed yet! You can't put us to work!"

"I just did," the Captain said curtly. "Get to it."

"I want to be pressed," a stocky brunette sulked. It was the same boy with the curly black hair and broad shoulders who had attracted the Captain's attention earlier. "We're as good as the rest of them, aren't we?"

"I tell you what, men," Captain Alex offered desperately. At this rate, not only would they not be under sail by dawn, but he was going to have the world's worst headache by the time he got his too-willing captives on board the ship. "How about if I knock you six on the heads and carry you onto the ship myself when we're done?"

"Personally?" The irrepressible Jamsie eyed him with unmistakable interest.

"Promise."

"Fall to, men!" Jamsie nudged his companions and they got to work. With their help, the rest of the new crew was soon transported.

Captain Alex waited with the last six boys, hearing cries of protest from the ship. Just as he was beginning to wonder if the new crew had changed their minds and if Delgado was coping with a mutiny, one of the small boats was launched and rowed back to shore.

"Sorry fer the delay, Chief." Black Jack handed him a handful of ropes.

"What was it?"

"The new chaps gave us a bit of bother," Black Jack said with embarrassment. "About being untied. Said it weren't regular 'til the Captain give his speech."

Captain Alex's head gave a wicked throb. "How did you deal with it?"

"Delgado handled it, Guv'nor. 'E told 'em to tyke their choice and the next bloke that gave 'im any cheek would be left be'ind."

A big raise , the Captain decided. "Get the boat ready," he ordered. He took Black Jack's club and turned to the waiting group.

The first four weren't that bad. (The Captain was in good shape, after all.) The fifth one was a noticeable effort. By the time the Captain loaded the squirming Jamsie onto his shoulders and staggered toward the small rowboat, he was cursing himself and wondering what schools fed the boys these days that made them so damned brawny. The young man's muscles, which Alex had noted and approved of half an hour before, seemed to be weighted with lead when they were draped across his shoulders.

He dumped Jamsie into the bottom of the boat, accidentally bouncing the young man's head off of one of the wooden seats in the process.

"Yow!" The offended youngster rubbed his head with his bound hands and glared at the Captain resentfully. "Why did I have to wait for last?"

"Shut up," Alex panted. He climbed into the ship and nodded to Black Jack, letting the other man do the work of rowing the boat back to the ship.

The Captain pulled himself together during the brief rest and got the first four boys up the twisting rope ladder with difficulty. A lot of difficulty. He had to stop and rest several times before he got the fifth one up and into Black Jack's waiting hands.

Alex slid back down the ladder for the last time and surveyed his remaining burden with dismay, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him to save one of the comparatively smaller boys for last.

Jamsie wriggled up onto a wooden seat helpfully. "You wouldn't drop me or anything, would you?"

"You're supposed to call me sir," Alex ordered. He was glad of the pause for a rest. "And I'll drop you if I bloody well feel like it, right?"

"Asshole." The remark was barely audible, but loud enough for the Captain to catch it.

"What did you say, sailor?" He glared at the uneasy young man furiously.

"Nothing. Sir."

"I don't believe nothing was the word I heard." Alex tried his most threatening smile. "I've had about enough of you already. As soon as you're untied, report to the Captain's cabin for ship's discipline."

"Okay," Jamsie said uncertainly.

"Okay, what?" The Captain said with silky malice. He eyed Jamsie with appreciation. Assuming he got the boy on board the ship in one piece, teaching him a few things about ship's discipline might prove quite enjoyable.

"Okay, Captain, sir."

Captain Alex's building irritation gave him the strength to drag the young man over his shoulders and even got them half-way up the ladder before he had to stop and catch his breath. Jamsie stayed quiet while the Captain made his way onto the ship.

This time he waved off Black Jack's help and dumped the youngster on the deck roughly. Jamsie gave a muffled whoosh but didn't speak.

Captain surveyed the deck of the ship, covered with bodies, moaning and wriggling and giving entirely unconvincing squeals of dismay.

"Where the hell is Delgado?" At the sound of the Captain's voice, the First Mate stumbled out of the shadow of the forecastle, pushing one of the conscripts to the deck with a quick shushing movement.

Captain Alex shook his head and decided to ignore the breach of discipline. "Let's address the crew, then get under way," he ordered.

"Very good, Guv'nor." Black Jack squared his shoulders and faced the boys. "'Ere! Batten down yer hatches while the Captain speaks!" he bellowed.

"Men," the Captain used the word for the tenth time, with the same sense of unreality as he surveyed the attractive, but far from bloodthirsty group he and his crew had acquired. "This is the Crafty Cavalier. She's a pirate ship, and one of the best. You're on board unwillingly, but as of this moment, you're all full members of the crew. Subject to the same rules and discipline as the more experienced men," he nodded toward his four original crewmembers, noticing with irritation that Delgado was winking at one of the boys. "The work is hard, but the rewards can be enormous. Any questions?"

There were a few murmurs from the bodies laying and sitting on the deck, but no one seemed willing to be the first to speak.

Black Jack nudged him and whispered. The Captain nodded and turned to face his new crew again. "Two weeks vacation a year for any who stay with us beyond the first six months. Bonuses for performance above and beyond. Sundays, holidays, and my mother's birthday off.

"But, you don't have a mother," one voice objected."

"Yeah!" A chorus of agreement. "You were born out of a tidal wave and a hurricane, you eat nails for breakfast and can whip any four King's men barehanded and blindfolded.

"You're the meanest, roughest pirate captain in the South Seas," another boy added. "And this is the blood-thirstiest ship in the fleet."

"You killed fifteen men before you were out of school, one for copying off your paper during an exam," another boy contributed. "And you have more gold buried on desert islands than any other pirate in history."

Captain Alex thought of his nine days' experience as a pirate. "Where did you get this stuff?" He glared at his men who all shrugged.

"Well . . . ." one boy offered doubtfully. "I heard it from Dickie, myself."

"I made it up." Dickie (the curly-haired brunette the Captain had noticed before) grinned at him from the center of the group. "We got bored, waiting for everyone to finish being pressed."

"Come here," the Captain ordered.

The young man struggled to his feet and picked his way through the bodies until he was standing in front of the Captain. "Yes, sir?" The tone was respectful but the look in his eyes was a challenge.

"Did you hear the part about discipline, sailor?" Captain Alex asked him calmly.

"Yes, sir," Dickie said enthusiastically.

Alex was tempted to send the boy to his cabin, but he remembered that he had a previous appointment with the blonde and muscular Jamsie. He thought for a moment. "I'll deal with you tomorrow," he said coolly. "That will give you some time to consider your mistakes."

Dickie looked disappointed. "Tomorrow, sir?"

"Tomorrow. My cabin." The Captain waved the attractive young man away before he could reconsider. This entire process wasn't going the way he'd expected, although he wasn't quite able to put his finger on the problem. "Now get back to your position. He watched Dickie settle gracefully back on deck.

"Any more questions?" That was Delgado, who seemed to share the Captain's opinion that this had gone on too long.

When no one else offered anything, Captain Alex nodded to his original crew. "Let's get them settled and get under way."

He glanced down at Jamsie where the young man was sitting at his feet, then reached down and untied him. "My cabin, sailor. Now."

Jamsie made a noticeable attempt to look worried, as though he felt it was expected under the circumstances. As the young man made his way past his friends still strewn about the deck, Alex noticed him receiving several dark looks. With any luck, the others would take note of the Captain's willingness to apply discipline and they would fall into line.

What seemed like hours later and the new crew was finally stowed into their berths. Keeping his men in check, Captain Alex dealt almost patiently with complaints about the hard beds, the lack of hot showers, and the poor quality of oil in the bathroom lamps that made it difficult for the young men to see to wash their faces and clean their teeth.

As soon as they were far enough from shore that none of the conscripts would be tempted to swim for it.... No, they were raw recruits, Alex told himself. They'd soon settle in.

The Captain waited while Delgado and the others each grabbed two likely looking boys to stand night watch with them and start their sailing education.

Francois, another member of the ship's original crew, tried to draft Dickie but the stocky brunette refused. "Here now," he objected. "I'm on for Captain's discipline tomorrow, don't you know? I have to save my strength."

Francois tried to complain to the Captain but Alex had had all he could take for one night.

"Choose another one," he said curtly. They'd get all this sorted out soon. As least, he hoped they would. Surveying the hammocks swinging with their load of young, strong, if not too bright, male bodies, Alex tried to decide if being a pirate was all it was cracked up to be.

"Delgado." He pulled the First Mate aside once they returned to the deck.

The burly sailor dragged himself away from his trainees reluctantly. "Yes, Captain?"

"We're going that way," Alex pointed south. "When I come on deck in the morning, I expect to still find us going that way, right?"

"Captain!" the man protested. "There's no need for that. Sure, and don't the men and I know how to sail the ship? Haven't we done well so far, in spite of being so short-handed that that blackguard Jack has been able to almost poison the lot of us and us with no time to work on our revenge?"

"Knock it off." The Captain scowled at him. "You're not even Irish. Just watch where you're steering. And two of you need to turn in and get some sleep before the day watch."

"Francois and Black Jack will be taking the day crew," Delgado assured him, his expression mutinous. "Will there be anything else, Captain?"

"Yes." Captain Alex frowned thoughtfully. This was a strange bunch of enlistees, but all the same.... "These are gently nurtured, sheltered youngsters, so treat them with care at first. We'll break them in as we go."

"That we will, Captain," Delgado agreed. His enthusiasm was suspicious but the Captain was in no mood to deal with it.

"Call me if there's trouble." Alex headed for his cabin, hearing squeals and giggles from behind him. The noise made him hesitate, then he shook his head and went on to his cabin where another problem awaited him.

In the turmoil, the Captain had almost forgotten about Jamsie. The young man was waiting at attention in the center of room. (He'd either been that way for the past hour, or he'd heard the Captain's approach. Take your pick.)

Captain Alex bent his mind to the question of a suitable punishment. Something definite, but not so severe that it broke the spirits of the boy, or incited a mutiny. He was just too damned busy to deal with a mutiny these days. Which still left him with Jamsie, standing at attention in the middle of the room.

While he thought, the Captain walked around the cabin, lecturing Jamsie on Pirate Tradition (or, at least as much of it as the Captain himself had been able to soak up in the past nine days).

The young man seemed to be taking the lesson to heart, nodding and giving a sober 'yes, sir' when it seemed appropriate. On the other hand, his eyes were sparkling in a manner wholly unsuited to someone who was in the Captain's black books.

Captain Alex decided to make an example out of him. A lot of other, more entertaining ideas had presented themselves as his eyes had roved over the broad shoulders and tight hips, but discipline was discipline, after all. If he had any chance of whipping this crew of insubordinate youngsters into a seasoned fighting unit of fierce pirates, he needed to start as he meant to go on.

On the other hand, he circled behind Jamsie again and surveyed the territory with a warm tingle, there was no point in making an enemy out of the young man, was there?

The Captain settled onto his couch and contemplated his victim thoughtfully. He remembered his own prep school days before he was expelled for bookmaking and 'inappropriate familiarity' with the boot boy. (The youngster was called DB, which Alex assumed was an abbreviation for 'da boy, although he had never been certain.) The Headmaster gave him the choice between giving the school a 70% cut on Alex's profits and giving up DB (the Headmaster had his eye on da boy himself) or expulsion. Alex took expulsion and left the school. Out of sheer spite, he also took the boot boy. (He eventually abandoned the youngster in a secluded corner of Victoria Station with his brushes and shoe black and a new straw pallet. The last he'd heard, the boy was doing a thriving business shining shoes during the day and turning tricks at night.)

Anyhow, childhood reminiscences aside, he decided that what this insubordinate young pirate needed was a good prep school style thrashing. He mentioned the fact to Jamsie, watching the reaction.

"Yes, sir." The blue eyes gleamed as Jamie approached the couch, shimmying out of his clothes and onto the Captain's lap in one fluid movement.

Alex stared down at the firm expanse of creamy skin, feeling another more localized twinge. His own headmaster had always used a cane but no doubt these things varied from school to school. This would be the appropriate time to say...something impressive and memorable, but the one coherent thought in Alex's head was that maybe being a pirate was going to turn out to be a better gig than he'd expected.

"Is this...." he tried to clear his mind. "You understand you're being disciplined, sailor?"

"Yes, sir." Jamsie's thighs parted a few luscious inches. "For insubordination, sir. I understand."

"Right." Captain Alex tapped the pale skin experimentally, threw his mind back to his school days, and started spanking. Jamsie wriggled pleasantly, not particularly distressed, and his movements were rapidly becoming reminiscent of things wholly unconnected with ship's discipline. Alex spanked harder, watching the creamy skin turn pink. Jamsie begin to squirm, panting breathlessly. Eventually his body went rigid, then limp across the Captain's lap.

Captain Alex decided the young man had learned about as much as he was going to from this particular type of discipline. He pushed Jamie onto floor and ordered him get a damp cloth and sponge the mess from the Captain's breeches.

Jamsie worked slowly, his eyes fastened on the bulge in the Captain's trousers. When his mouth started to follow the path of the damp rag toward the area, the Captain pushed him away. Discipline. He counted to ten, keeping his eyes fixed on the far wall of the cabin.

Jamsie made a disappointed noise, then used a clean corner of the rag to wipe his face. "Can I stay here tonight, sir?"

Captain Alex looked at the tear-stained face, pretending not to notice the smug curve to the young man's mouth. Can't send the boy back to face his friends that way. "Yes." He kept his voice controlled.

Jamsie tumbled into the bed, still naked. The Captain thought about objecting, but there didn't seem to be much point. He wasn't about to give up his own blankets so that the young man could sleep on the couch. Or the floor. Or, wherever the hell you were supposed to make an insubordinate sailor with a pink but beautiful backside sleep while his Captain lay awake in frustration. He pulled off his own clothes and slid under the blankets.

Tomorrow would just have to be easier.

Something drew him awake during the night, something connected with a pleasant vibration happening somewhere under the blankets. Before the Captain could gather his sleepy wits and try to decide whether or not he should be objecting, the vibration tightened to a hot suction and rational thought ceased for several consecutive seconds. When his head stopped spinning, he felt Jamsie sliding back up next to him. By the moonlight streaming through the porthole, he could see the young man licking his lips and smiling. The Captain made a mental note to dole out some more discipline as soon as he got his strength back, then gathered the young body against his and let sleep claim him.

The offense seemed less important the next morning when he woke up to the feel of Jamsie's warm body cuddled against his under the blankets. Sailing off of England's shores in the late winter was a cool enough proposition to make the extra warmth welcome. Not that the young man's body didn't offer other compensations as well. It took a lot of control for the Captain to get himself out of bed and back into his trousers before he woke the young man up.

It also took some effort to get Jamsie out of his cabin without a repeat of last night's events but Alex managed to bundle the youngster off to rejoin his friends, ignoring the sulky face.

Captain Alex occupied the time before breakfast with reviewing the maps and trying to remember enough of his recent lessons to plot a course toward the Caribbean where a steady stream of merchant ships was reported to provide tempting targets for a pirate crew determined to make a quick fortune.

Breakfast brought Dickie, or rather the cheerful youngster brought breakfast. From the first second, it was clear that Black Jack was no longer in charge of the cuisine.

Captain Alex eyed buttered eggs, crisp bacon (well, salt pork, but sliced thin, fried, and drained thoroughly, it made a good substitute), and steaming toast with complete approval. Dickie looked delighted at the Captain's obvious approval and set about serving the dishes.

All went smoothly until the young man spilled a few drops of coffee on the white tablecloth. The Captain frowned in irritation (those damned tablecloths took a LOT of cleaning) and two seconds later the boy was babbling apologies, dropping his pants, and draping himself across Captain Alex's lap hopefully.

The Captain didn't bother to object. I suppose he's entitled. He felt unusually generous after the good meal, so he gave the obligatory spanking, then made the boy clean up the resulting stickiness from the Captain's clean breeches. I'm going to have to start carrying a towel for these occasions.

In spite of his suspicions about the oddness of his new crew, the Captain arrived on deck feeling rather cheerful.

He took charge of the wheel, sending Black Jack and his two tired-looking assistants to the deck to join in the day's lessons. Captain Alex watched the horizon and kept an eye on deck where Francois was teaching the prospective pirates to swab and polish and mend and knot and splice ropes and do all the other manual work of keeping a ship afloat.

In one corner, a grizzled veteran of the seas (he was named Elbows Ned for reasons no one remembered) was shouting and jerking on his scraggly beard as his class struggled to learn a square knot. As the Captain watched, the boys managed to tie themselves together in one impossible tangle of rope.

Elbows, which is what they called the man for short, shouted instructions and danced around the edge of the mass until an unlucky surge of boy and rope knocked him off his feet. Captain Alex could hear him swearing and screaming colorful pirate oaths in the approved fashion. Then the center of the boy-rope equation shifted and the shouting stopped.

The Captain leaned over the rail, wondering if one of his four experienced men had been suffocated. A few seconds later, the voice rang out again, this time offering encouragement and praise.

Whatever was happening, it didn't sound associated with knot-tying, so the Captain sent a couple of jealous spectators over with the First Mate to resolve the problem. At long last, the Gordian knot of boys was solved and they all pulled away--leaving their erstwhile instructor sprawled on the deck looking dazed, but happy. Alex noticed with disapproval that the man's clothes were loosened and wrinkled.

As Francois, ever a stickler for protocol, pointed out, the man was dressed in a manner wholly inappropriate to the poop deck before sundown.

It was going to be a long voyage.

* * * *

Now we must introduce the HMS Heroic where Cap'n Walter S. Skinner stands listening to the waves lapping against the bow of the ship and smiling in officer-like satisfaction. Salt air was in his nose and the gleam of the sun on the water in his dark eyes. The Cap'n was a happy man.

The gray-green sea was wrinkled with whitecaps and under the sound of sailors' voices, he could hear the water slapping gently against the bow. All was well in Cap'n Skinner's world.

Soon his vessel would be provisioned and outfitted and he could return to his mission of engaging and defeating the bloody pirate hordes until the sea was wiped clean of their noxious influences.

He looked around the gleaming deck. Near the aft rail, a young and healthy sailor (the Cap'n would have no other kind aboard his ship. Healthy, that is. He had no bias toward the young although it was true that climbing the riggings and hoisting the mainsail in a gale were young men's work. Not that you'd hoist the mainsail in a gale of course, not unless you wanted to founder with all hands on board. But I digress.) bent over the aft rail, his immaculate white trousers stretching in a most fascinating manner across his trim....

Cap'n Skinner averted his eyes delicately and cleared his throat. Such observations were unworthy of the man about to lead the HMS Heroic into battle against the civilized world's least civilized, and most depraved pirates.

Discipline required that ship's officers remain aloof from the enlisted men who did the manual labor about the ship, fought with bravery and gallantry when faced with the enemy (his eyes wandered aft again), and were about to split the seams of those white breeches at any moment.

Skinner stiffened (his spine, you pervert) and swung his back to that portion of the deck, looking out majestically over the harbour. His new clerk was due at any moment. (A boy being sent to sea in the hopes that a few months on the open waters would restore health damaged by too much study and poring over old books.)

Cap'n Skinner's pleasure at the assignment wasn't lessened by the fact that the youngster was the only and beloved nephew of Admiral Highgain, pre-eminent Admiral of HM's entire fleet. Restoring the boy to the bosom of his family (meaning, of course, the Admiral) in good health in a few months would add a welcome boost to Cap'n Skinner's already lustrous career.

He was being given a young life to mold. An awesome responsibility. Cap'n Skinner would oversee the youngster's naval education, listen to him recite the duties and rights of the various officers and enlisted ranks, and of course make sure the boy got plenty of that fresh air and exercise so abundant on the modern sailing ship.

The Admiral had sent a letter, on his own stationary, asking Cap'n Skinner to take the youngster under his care personally. The note had stressed the boy's restricted upbringing and his complete innocence. With that in mind, Skinner had the Quartermaster clear out the huge closet in Skinner's quarters (his predecessor had used it for his leisure clothes, but Cap'n Skinner had never found the need to own more than his seven well-starched uniforms) and prepare it for the newcomer. The tiny space, no more than seven by four, would be enough for one small boy. And, of course, he would spend a great deal of his time in Skinner's cabin, about his various duties.

Cap'n Skinner rocked to and fro on his heels, unconsciously mimicking the roll of the ship in a heavy sea, and surveyed his kingdom with pleasure.

He stood alone on the quarterdeck for of course it was the Captain's Privilege to inhabit this small section of the deck in solitude when he appeared on deck. All around him, lithe and nautical young men heaved at casks of salt beef and best pickle, bronzed muscles gleaming in the sunlight. Here and there a few sailors bent over the piles of rigging and coils of rope. Skinner's eyes sought out the previous object of his attention and he told himself he was pleased to see that the young man had disappeared below deck. That distracting influence out of the way, Skinner made a mental note to have the quartermaster issue the sailor a much larger size of trousers.

Growing boys , he thought approvingly. All around him, the ship was stocked with young, healthy boys--eager for the experiences of life.

The Cap'n cleared his throat again in approved nautical fashion and took a few careful steps around the quarterdeck, wondering if he was putting on weight himself. His own sharply creased trousers felt a bit snug around the hips.

He made another mental note, this one to remind himself to add an extra ten minutes of jogging in place to his morning routine, and turned back to watch the dock where a small boat was being launched and making its way toward the HMSH.

This would be the clerk. As soon as the boy was on board, the ship could get under way. Skinner waited with veiled impatience for the boy to arrive and the formalities to be done with, his thoughts already turning to the open sea.

A scuffle behind him and First Mate Matsen coughed importantly. "Cap'n Skinner, sir?"

The Cap'n turned with becoming grandeur and met the eyes of his new Cabin Boy and Clerk.

"Cap'n Skinner, I present Fox Mulder."

Matsen's voice reached the him through a fog of celestial flutes that piped sweet, manly strains of purest gold. The air was perfumed with salt and tar and a hint of exotic musk. Prickles of St Elmo's fire danced an exuberant hornpipe along his nerves.

The young man, the apparition of perfection, smiled. A hint of radiance to rival the northern lights and the world dissolved into brilliance.

"Sir?" A smooth, masculine burr played along Cap'n Skinner's ears.

The Cap'n stretched out his hand, an unheard of condescension to a lowly cabin boy but he could no more have resisted touching the young man than he could have given up the sea.

"Welcome aboard, Fox." His own voice was gruff, with a raw husky grating by comparison. Skinner winced and made his third mental note in the past hour--to gargle with soothing honey-water for three minutes every morning in the future.

This beautiful, innocent creature was the 'boy' with whom he had planned to share his cabin space? The thought of the long, lazy tropical evenings to come gave him a mingled throb of trepidation and excitement.

Warm smoothness slid into Cap'n Skinner's hand. Silken skin over lean muscle wrapped around his quivering fingers. "I'm pleased to be here, sir." Another fleeting smile accompanied the brief handshake and the grasp was withdrawn, leaving Cap'n Skinner's body to mourn the loss of that exquisite sensation.

"Cap'n Skinner?" This time Matsen's voice was tinged with a hint of impatience. "Shall we take her out, sir?"

Take her out? The Cap'n gazed at Matsen, knowing the words should mean something to him. Ah, yes. The ship. They were supposed to be going somewhere, weren't they?

The thought galvanized him--not so much clearing the emotion possessing him as transmuting it into a wild, possessive joy. His ship. They would sail out beyond the traveled seas and he would take this young man with him. Together, they would tackle pirates and brigands and the Customs Inspectors of a hundred ports. They would win prizes and renown and the fame of the HMS Heroic and her Cap'n and his....

Skinner's dreams crashed about him in ruins. His...what? Cabin boy? Ship's clerk? He stared at the deck in despair. He was the Cap'n of this vessel. There were rules against fraternization between officers and crew. Skinner himself had nailed copies of the announcement at the foot of the gangways connecting each deck to the one below. As long as Fox was a member of the crew, he was untouchable.

New dreams filled the his brain. If he refused to take Fox on board as a crew member, the impediment would disappear.

Cap'n Skinner frowned, bringing his massive intellect to bear on the problem and soon discovered the fatal flaw. The Cap'n and his ship would be a thousand miles away from the disconsolate young man in a few days.

Which brought up yet another new idea, and he wondered wistfully if Fox would be disconsolate without the Cap'n by his side. Skinner searched the young man's face hopefully. It might almost be worth it, except that a separation without any foreseeable reunion would be no prize at all.

A passenger? It was, of course, unusual for a Man O'War to carry passengers but the Cap'n thought he just might be able to carry it off. He smiled, suffused with a warm glow. As a passenger, and the nephew of an influential Admiral, Fox would be entitled to dine at the Captain's table every night.

His powerful brain, still functioning, offered another problem. A passenger couldn't be expected to sleep in a converted closet in Skinner's quarters. He'd have to turf out Matsen and give Fox the man's cabin.

Of course, Matsen would complain and maybe even file a union grievance but that was an issue to be dealt with later.

On the other hand, his mind threw out the image of himself and Fox--alone together behind closed doors every night. They could talk, share a companionable drink and the day's concerns.

And there would be bed, of course. Skinner thought of dressing and undressing and the donning of pajamas with a purely carnal shudder. Not something to be given up lightly. And no one would know. He was ashamed to find himself contemplating with satisfaction that what transpired in Skinner's quarters after the lamps were doused would be very private.

"If we've not leaving port today, sir, perhaps you'd care to give the men additional liberty." This time the first mate's voice jerked him back to himself. "The ocean, sir, is that way." Matsen pointed helpfully.

Cap'n Skinner drew himself up to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back, trying to look as though his mind had been occupied with the cares of command. "Mr. Matsen," he said awfully. "Are you offering me sarcasm?"

Matsen deflated. "Not at all, sir," he answered smartly. "Merely wishing to discover your intent, sir."

Cap'n Skinner nodded coldly, trying to watch the effect of this lordly behavior on Fox. "Perhaps you would be good enough to show Fox," he tried to keep his voice from lingering over the name, "To his quarters while I get us under way."

The Cap'n paused for effect. "I do believe I can find the ocean with both hands and without your assistance." His heart swelled with joy at the quick gleam of amusement he spotted in Fox's eyes.

"Very good, sir." Matsen saluted crisply, spun on his heels, and marched off with Fox trailing behind him, looking around the deck.

With his new clerk's distracting presence out of the way, Cap'n Skinner's brain settled into a path close enough to his usual thoughts to permit him to get the ship under sail and headed toward their destination.

He occupied himself with his duties for the next several hours, keeping almost all his mind on the tasks at hand. He even sat and made polite conversation through the dinner hour, an occasion that had never before seemed as intolerably prolonged as it did on that night.

At long last, with the care of the ship turned over to the Second Mate and the night crew, the Cap'n was free to go where his heart had been clamoring to be for most of the day. To the privacy of his cabin where Fox would be waiting for him.

He stepped through the door with a smile on his lips that faded as his disappointment grew. The empty cabin filled with shadows as his breathless anticipation thudded out of him. Skinner's heart sank into his immaculately polished boots.

Something must be wrong. Wild visions of Fox injured or ill and alone in some deserted area of the ship floated through his mind.

And then, thoughts of the innocent young man backed into a dark corner and set upon by some lustful crew member. (Well, actually Cap'n Skinner's mind boggled at the idea of someone on his ship behaving in such an unsportsmanlike manner. And, after all, the men had all just enjoyed a lengthy stay in port.)

The inexperienced crewman might have fallen overboard. Cap'n Skinner was gripped by a sense of panic and he pictured himself throwing himself into the sea in a last-minute rescue. The crew would cheer and applaud as he dragged the unconscious body back onto the ship and administered the Kiss of Life. (Here the Cap'n realized he was licking his lips and he took his tongue sternly to task for the liberty.)

Then he found himself contemplating his ship lined from stem to stern with young, healthy, and attractive men. (Yes, he had noticed--the man wasn't made of stone, no matter what his reputation.) A black mist descended over his eyes as he wondered which of his crewmen might have attracted Fox's attention.

Before his thoughts could travel too far down that path (although the memory of a certain cuddly looking redhead in too-tight white breeches did spring to mind), the door behind him opened.

"Cap'n Skinner." The caress of a smile in those hazel eyes, a touch of respect in the smooth voice and the Cap'n was almost gone again.

However, in the intervals of setting the ship's course, seeing to the stowing of certain personal supplies he had ordered in port, and conducting inspections, he had had time to marshal his strength. He had his emotions, well, if not under control, at least under wraps. There would be no repetition of his babbling, vacant-eyed behavior on deck earlier in the day.

"Fox." He nodded and permitted himself a small smile. "I hope you're getting settled in and finding your way around?"

"I am, sir." Fox looked around the cabin. "I wasn't sure what you wanted me to do...."

His duties. Of course. "There will be plenty of time for that," the Cap'n told him comfortably. A new awareness of the delightful dangers inherent in this intimate setting swept through him. The innocent young man, waiting to be instructed, the quiet solitude of their surroundings. And, most dangerous of all, Cap'n Skinner's own emotions. He swore to himself he would not abuse the trust.

"I am anxious to get started sir." Fox's chin firmed with determination. "I understand that this is a working vessel, a Man O'War. I'm prepared to do my share of the work as you see fit, sir." Sincerity shone from the young man's eyes.

The Cap'n nodded with satisfaction. His personal problems aside (and abandoning with regret a sudden flash of himself and Fox lolling with pleasant indolence on some sun-bleached island) it was important that the young man understand the nature of their journey and of the dangers they could encounter.

"Very good, Fox." The Cap'n motioned toward the comfortable couch, ignoring the tiny voice inside his head that said the desk would be a more appropriate venue for this interview. Dammit, a man was entitled to some relaxation after hours!

Fox settled on one edge of the couch and the Cap'n seated himself next to his new clerk, careful to keep a discreet distance between them. A quiver of anticipation ran through the less well-disciplined portions of his anatomy and was instantly repressed.

Cap'n Skinner allowed himself the luxury of watching Fox's expressive face as he explained the vessel's history and her mission.

Fox listened attentively, asking intelligent questions and picking up the naval slang and terminology without a problem. Skinner found himself enjoying their conversation. So much so that he allowed it to continue until late in the night, turning the subject to the young man's own personal history and ambitions.

The Cap'n learned a great deal about his new clerk, about his sheltered upbringing by two maiden aunts, about the excitement of the annual visits by his indulgent uncle. He grew familiar with the restless, driving intelligence that had pushed the boy into endless hours of study, poring over books and maps and tracts, taking lessons and reading into the long hours of the night.

Finally the uncle, although swollen with pride at the boy's achievements, had called a halt, fearing for his nephew's health. So, Fox was here, on Cap'n Skinner's ship for the next several months. Ordered to study and read less, to be more active, to make himself useful in whatever way the Cap'n required.

Those were the young man's exact words. In whatever way you require, sir.

The Cap'n frowned at the bulkhead and took a drink of the excellent port he'd poured for himself earlier. (He seemed to be having a problem with his hands that night, the unoccupied one sometimes wandering to the cushions and in the direction of his companion. So, the Cap'n had poured himself a drink or three and kept both hands wrapped around the fragile glass.)

"Bed," he said abruptly.

"Sir?" Fox looked startled.

"Tomorrow is your first day at sea, Fox." The Cap'n savored the unusual name, thinking how well it suited his young charge. Quick-witted, intelligent, and a hint of wary shyness. "We're both going to need our rest."

"Of course, sir."

He'd have to do something about Fox's tendency to call him sir in every sentence. No one was a bigger stickler for protocol than the Cap'n but enough was enough.

"We'll be getting up at six bells," he told Fox, remembering that he hadn't given the youngster any instructions about his duties during the course of their conversation.

"Yes, sir." Fox looked around the cabin. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

"First order of the day is to wash up and dress." Not all of HM's Captains were as rigid as Cap'n Skinner about cleanliness but he always insisted that his crew be as clean and spotless as the ship. Which is going some if you know anything about the sparkling, polished condition required of a ship of HM's fleet.

"Then you'll bring and serve breakfast." The Cap'n stopped to think about what his former cabin boy had done during the day. "Once I've left the cabin, you eat your own breakfast and clean up. Then you attend to your duties as clerk."

"And those would be...." Fox's eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"We'll get to that in the morning," the Cap'n told him.

"Very well, sir," the young man agreed cheerfully. He headed toward his sleeping space, the converted closet and sat down to wrestle off his boots.

The silence of the ship (except for the creak of the timbers and the snap of the sails and the muted sound of the night watch cursing each other for dozing on watch and letting the coffee get cold and sundry other normal ship's noises) settled around them.

Skinner felt his mouth go dry and he tried not to stare as he went about his own undressing. He unbuttoned his tunic, unable to keep his eyes from straying as his cabin mate began to slide out of his clothes. By the time Skinner was out of his tunic, shirt, and boots, Fox was pulling off his breeches. When Fox's hands went to the buttons on the flannel undergarment, Cap'n Skinner's blood began to sing in his ears. He fumbled at the fastenings on his own breeches with clumsy fingers, staring entranced out of the corner of his eyes as Fox stepped out of his underwear and stood gloriously naked for a moment, his pale skin warmed to soft cream by the flickering light of the lantern.

The young man turned, revealing the deliciously firm curve of one hip, then he slipped a soft flannel nightshirt over his head. As the material skimmed down the long body, hiding the lamp-lit curves and planes, the Cap'n managed to turn his head, and his own body, away and pull off his too-tight breeches. He managed to get out of the rest of his clothes and under the blankets without either falling over, or having to turn so that his interest in Fox's movements would be revealed.

"I'm very much looking forward to working with you, sir." Fox's happy voice wafted to him out of the darkness a moment after the Cap'n had blown out the lantern. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Fox." The Cap'n stared into the darkness toward the ceiling of the cabin. Engraved on his brain was that brief revelation of the other man's beauty, the caress of the flames as they traced the highlights of muscle and bone. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

And it was. The next morning, he was awakened from his fitful sleep by the sound of his cabin mate humming tunelessly as he moved around the room. Skinner peered over the edge of his blankets, about to snarl a reprimand when he remembered the identity of his tormentor.

Fox had gotten to the point in his morning routine where he'd gotten into his trousers and boots, but that was about all. To Skinner's stunned gaze, the sight of his clerk in a pair of skin-tight white trousers, glowing in the dawn that peeped through the portholes, was yet another revelation. Fox was pouring steaming water into a basin, a clean towel over one shoulder and a set of razors laid out on the wash table.

Skinner's eyes were drawn to where the material stretched dangerously over the smoothly rounded buttocks. He squinted and tilted his head, looking more closely. A shadow defined the cleft between the mounds and...yes, as Fox turned toward the sunlight, another shadow was revealed where the fabric struggled to contain an impressive....

Cap'n Skinner closed his eyes and tried to remember his multiplication tables. Or navigation charts. Or supply requisitions. Anything that would get his unruly body under control. Anything except the though of Fox's ripe, inviting body clad only in a pair of trousers and gleaming black leather boots, no sign of the previous day's sensible and concealing underclothes.

I can't, 10.0pt'> his brain whimpered. It was too much to ask of any man that he be faced with the daily temptation of the young man's beautiful face and alert, intelligent mind. If what lay so inadequately concealed beneath the thin white cloth was going to be flaunted in his face, it was too much to expect that any red-blooded British sailor would be able to ignore the temptation.

But you're not a sailor, his mind told him coldly. You're a Captain. A highly trusted Captain in HM's Navy. You know the rules.

Fuck the rules, was his first, rebellious response (well, his second, but I think his first one is pretty clear), but years of training snapped into place. Well, not really. But they tried to, making a serious effort to overcome Skinner's awed fascination with the way Fox's rump flexed and shifted as the young man went about his duties.

"Good morning, sir!" The irritating humming, which had transfigured itself into more of the same celestial music that had caressed Skinner's ears yesterday, stopped as his companion noticed that the Cap'n was awake.

Cap'n Skinner pried open his eyes and moaned silently, watching those trousers stretch and rub across the enclosed flesh as Fox made his way to the bedside.

There it was. Not more than a few inches in front of his mouth which was watering in a most unbecoming, and un-Captain-like way as he eyed the tempting mound.

"Huhn." It wasn't his most professional moment, but it was all the Cap'n could manage.

"Would you like some coffee, sir?"

The Cap'n dragged his eyes the rest of the way open and forced them up past the expanse of Fox's bare chest to the other man's face. Sparkling hazel eyes and an eager smile met his dazed stare. "Uhn?"

Fox stepped closer to the bed, making Skinner's stomach churn with excitement. "Coffee, sir?" the younger man coaxed. "It's fresh and hot."

I'll bet it is, the Cap'n thought lustfully. Hearing the words growl through his brain brought him back to his senses like an ice-cold wave breaking over the ship's bow. "Coffee," he croaked, slumping against the pillows in relief as Fox moved away from the bed.

Fox delivered the coffee with another of those brilliant, early-morning smiles that felt like deliberate temptation.

He perched on the edge of the bed and reached for Skinner's pillows. "Aunt Mildred is always groggy in the morning, too," he offered chattily. With less effort than might have been expected, the young man lifted Skinner's shoulders and pushed the pillows into a firm stack behind them.

He smelled clean. Fresh. Young. Cap'n Skinner closed his eyes and suppressed a longing whimper.

"Drink your coffee, sir." Fox stood up and slipped into his shirt. "I'll have your breakfast shortly."

Fox left the cabin and the Cap'n was alone for a few precious minutes.

The hell with discipline. Cap'n Skinner ignored the cup of steaming coffee on the bedside table. He slid his hands under the blankets and wrapped them around the hardness between his legs. It took only a few seconds as he thought about putting his hands, his mouth, against the front of those white trousers.... When his breathing steadied, he cleaned himself off and dropped the rag into the pile of dirty laundry.

By the time his unwitting tormentor returned, Cap'n Skinner had pulled on his clothes and was sitting at the table drinking his coffee.

The Cap'n managed to get through breakfast, even shaving without cutting himself while he kept one eye on the mirrored image of Fox tidying the cabin behind him.

He was almost grateful for the moment when it was time to go on deck and check the ship's progress. Standing on deck, watching the freshening breeze billow the sails, tasting the salt on his lips and watching the waves crash and disappear under the bow of his ship...in a few hours, the Cap'n was very nearly himself again.

Days, weeks passed in the same pattern which soon became routine.

The Cap'n had his duties on deck. The Heroic sailed before the breeze which daily carried her closer and closer to the sea lanes where rich merchant vessels plowed their way between the islands and their home ports and dastardly pirates attacked and despoiled so many of those same ships of their priceless cargoes.

He saw Fox from time to time as his clerk moved about the ship or appeared at Cap'n Skinner's elbow with questions or papers to sign. Cap'n Skinner indulged himself with the privilege of dining alone with Fox in his cabin once or twice a week. (More would have caused comment, but the ship's officers were well aware of Fox's distinguished relative and not one of them would have passed up the opportunity to get into his good graces.)

Under the guise of exercise Cap'n Skinner also invited Fox to walk the deck with him for a while every night and to enjoy the evening breeze before the two men turned in. Fox was a willing audience to his tales of a seafaring life, what it was like to live on board ship all the time, and the bloody crimes of the pirates the ship was commissioned to pursue. The Cap'n knew he was downplaying the danger they were in, out of modesty for his own past accomplishments, but mild as his stories were, they were enough to enthrall his audience of one.

The Cap'n lived in a pleasant kind of torment. He could see no sign that Fox was spending an inappropriate amount of time with anyone else on board the ship. Fox did seem to have struck up a friendship with one of the younger men (he of the red hair and too-tight trousers, naturally) but their interaction seemed to be based far less on any inappropriate carnal plane than on Ensign Pendrell's self-imposed task of guiding Fox through the maze of naval customs and life on-board the ship.

Unfortunately, there were also no signs that the innocent young man had any of the idea effect of his presence on the Cap'n. The one time Skinner had ventured on the familiarity of an arm around Fox's shoulders, his companion had smiled up at him with perfect trust and thanked him for his care and protection during the journey.

That abrupt reminder of his duty had kept Cap'n Skinner's thoughts properly in place (well, most of the time) for several days.

There were days when the Cap'n felt he was nearing the end of his patience and self control. Admiral or no Admiral, his admiration for Fox, his warm regard had grown day by day. Moonlit walks as the ship carried them over the tropical seas, long conversations about life and the world around them, the intimacy of sharing a cabin, Fox's evident pleasure in Skinner's company, these things were combining to drive the Cap'n to some rash declaration.

Before that happened, Matsen appeared at Cap'n Skinner's breakfast table one sunny morning and announced that the ship was approaching pirate waters.

* * * *

We return to the Crafty Cavalier where our intrepid Captain Alex is, at long last, seeing the results of his weeks of hard work and patience.

As expected, the discipline necessary to the crew of a sailing ship had been a problem. At one point several of the boys, bored with the endless routine of work and lectures, banded together and demanded to be set down on one of the many lush islands the ship was skirting during its journey.

They claimed seasickness, scurvy, housemaid's elbow, inner ear imbalances, and a host of other feeble excuses that didn't quite explain the longing glances at the cool green trees and sparkling blue waters that decorated most of the islands.

This was a problem. The Captain called Delgado to his cabin for a consultation on the matter.

"Wot's up, Captain?" The First Mate sauntered into the room cheerfully.

The Captain outlined the matter tensely. "What do you suggest?"

Delgado scratched his beard and frowned. "Weel, I noo a chappie nymed Jako 'oo 'ad ter...."

"Knock it off," Captain Alex said impatiently. "You can practice music hall routines on your own time. This is serious."

"Sorry, sir." Delgado looked embarrassed. (The Captain had mentioned more than once that he found it unsettling to have his First Mate dropping into incomprehensible dialects every hour or two, but Delgado could rarely resist the impulse to try out a new one.)

"So you have any useful suggestions?"

"Step on 'em," Delgado said brusquely.

"Excuse me?"

Delgado gave him a look. "It's a test, Captain. If you don't get your foot on the men's necks at the first sign of trouble, you've no chance at all."

Alex thought about his freshly-scrubbed, exuberant crew. "Step on them?"

The First Mate nodded. "Fist of iron, sir. Now or never."

They discussed the problem for a few more minutes, then the Captain dismissed Delgado and sat down to go over a plan of action.

The key was to move quickly to suppress the incipient mutiny. That same evening (on Delgado's advice), the Captain made an unscheduled appearance in the hold where the boys were quartered. After a harsh speech (well-rehearsed) on the consequences of non-cooperation, he demanded to know who was responsible for the movement.

The culprit turned out to be Stefan, a hot-tempered blonde who had already been in trouble often enough to make the Captain decide to make a public example out of him the next morning.

Under the awed eyes of the rest of the crew, Alex ordered Stefan to be tied to the mast while the Captain retrieved his dreaded leather cat o'nine tails. He faced the assembled crew and gave a rousing speech (unrehearsed) on the glories of life at sea, the potential for rich rewards, and the necessity for everyone to pull together. Teamwork. That was the key, he told them.

It was annoying to discover that Stefan had been tied to the boom instead of the mast. As the wind shifted, the boom swung and the boy was dragged on tiptoe across the deck. Twice during his speech The Captain had jump out of the way to keep from getting knocked down by the prisoner. Once, a shift in the breeze even carried the boy out over the water and far out of reach. Stefan's voice could be heard over the splashing of the waves, protesting and threatening to file a complaint at this highly irregular treatment.

Captain Alex glared at Delgado who had supervised Stefan's confinement, but the sailor pretended to be absorbed in the antics of a flock of seagulls off the starboard side of the ship.

Finally Alex had the crew station themselves to grab Stefan as his body was pulled back over the deck and he was retied to mainmast, to await the Captain's discipline.

Somehow, the whole thing didn't have quite the atmosphere it probably should have, but the crew and recruits were gathered around, whispering to each other as they waited to see what the Captain would do, so he was pretty much committed. He surveyed the massed spectators and sighed, then stationed himself behind Stefan's back.

"Count!" He ordered gruffly.

"Yessir." Now that he was no longer being towed across the deck like the tail of a kite, Stefan seemed resigned to his punishment.

Alex let the whip fly.

"Ouch!" Stefan yelped. "One! Sir! Please, sir!"

Drama queen , Captain Alex told himself, tightening his jaw.

"That was one," someone behind him muttered.

Another blow, another squeal. "Oh, sir!" Stefan wriggled against the mast. "Two! Sir!"

"That was two," someone echoed.

Alex wondered if all ship's captains were made to feel like idiots by their crew, or if this was some special treat just for him.

Another series of lashes, none of which landed hard enough to color the flesh. Stefan responded to each one with more enthusiasm than seemed to be quite appropriate and every count was echoed by someone in the crowd.

Alex narrowed his eyes and raised his arm again. The last four blows fell harder, each leaving a pink stripe across the prisoner's bare butt. Stefan shouted again, his cries sounding more sincere this time, and lost count. The crowd picked up the slack, the word fifteen! bursting from their throats in unison as the Captain's arm rose and fell for the last time.

A spattering of applause raced through the crowd and there were cries of, Give 'im hell, Captain!

Stefan, pressed against the mast and sniffled woefully and that was about all the Captain could take.

He gave up, tossing down the whip and ordering the prisoner untied. Delgado, trying to make up for his earlier mistake, even sluiced the boy off with bucket of cold water, soothing whatever sting the barely perceptible whip marks might be creating.

I'm really not cut out for this shit, Alex decided. He withdrew to the quarterdeck and stared out along the ship's course. After a couple of hours, during which time the crew carried out their duties in an unusual silence, Alex withdrew to his cabin, tied a cool, damp cloth around his forehead to facilitate thinking, and called for a pot of strong coffee.

Ten hours later the Captain was cursing himself because he couldn't get to sleep, but he had a new training program. (Jamsie, who had presented himself earlier in the evening, jealously demanding his fair share of any punishments being handed out, had fallen asleep hours before)

The Captain called the crew together again the next morning and made the announcement. There would be, he told them, a new schedule of promotions.

There was, he explained (avoiding Francois' shocked expression), a little-used system of training for pirates and it was being implemented immediately.

Boys mastering the six basic seaman's knots would achieve their apprenticeship. Those who went on to conquer the next six important knots would be awarded journeyman status. The sails, including all the rigging, and use of the sextant and other maritime instruments would be taught under the same program.

There was some confusion until Francois stepped in and explained that it was similar to the ranks of nobility, with the Captain at the top (like his Majesty, the King), and the lesser ranks arranged beneath him (so to speak). An apprentice was like a commoner, a Journeyman a Baron, the Master an Earl, and of course the Captain was the King.

When even the slowest recruit had the new system drummed into his skull, when even the thick-witted Elbows understood the plan, Captain Alex was treated to a rousing cheer by the assembled crew.

"Brilliant, Captain," Delgado whispered enthusiastically, his arms waving in time to the noise of the crowd. "That's something these boys can understand."

"Eh, bien, but it is not regular," Francois protested. He stood on the Captain's other side, biting his nails. "C'est impossible. There is no such system, you know?"

"Do you have a better plan?" The First Mate scowled at Francois. "It's the Captain's plan. If he says it's a system, it's a system."

"It's a system if it works." Captain Alex ended the argument. "We'll be in rich waters soon and we'll need a decent crew if we want to avoid being sunk by the first King's ship that crosses our path."

And it was working, the Captain decided with satisfaction, a few weeks later. Certain people who considered themselves witty had developed a tendency to refer to the Captain as King Krycek, although never to his face, but most of the recruits were picking up the basics of seamanship with astonishing speed.

Rapacious for new skills to learn, the crew had petitioned for extra fighting lessons. The Captain had granted the request and Black Jack was holding regular classes on the aft deck, twice a day.

The older man was anything but happy about the assignment and he'd taken to standing a full twenty feet from the enthusiastic amateurs, shouting his instructions through cupped hands. By now, the ends of his ragged, dirty blonde moustache had been chewed to nothing, a reflection of the strain he was under.

To-date, only minor injuries had been inflicted by the inexperienced swordsmen, mostly on each other although one genius had somehow managed to stab himself in the back with his cutlass.

Freddie, the wounded martyr, was now languishing on the foredeck, soaking up the tropical sunshine and watching the rest of the morning's class with envy. As soon as he was recovered, he had fourteen days of swabbing the deck to look forward to, a prospect that seemed to be extending the healing process far beyond what the three inch gash in his back seemed to require.

The Captain made a mental note to have Delgado start the youngster off with a bucket and a mop the next morning, then turned his attention back to the class. By now, Black Jack had the boys lined up and was running them through the basic moves.

"Up, yer lubbers!" The burly pirate bellowed. The double row of recruits raised their blades over their heads in response and Alex held his breath. This was where the inept Freddie had almost managed to skewer himself by letting the awkward weight of his small blade droop over his back.

"Slash!" Black Jack screamed. Twenty blades snicked through the air more or less at the same moment. "Back'and!" Elbows cocked, the class jerked the wickedly sharpened backsides of the blades against the stomachs of twenty imaginary opponents.

"Blimey!" Black Jack stomped up and down the deck, scowling blackly at the recruits. "Yer soft! Sloppy! By the time I finish wit yer, yer going to know these moves by 'eart. You're going to do 'em 'til every mother's son of yer is perfect! You'll be practicing 'em in yer sleep!"

The idea of his forty recruits, armed and slashing their way through the crowded hold flashed across the Captain's mind and he shuddered, making a mental note to have Black Jack lock up the weapons room after class from now on. Some of them were just dumb enough to try it. They were a remarkably literal-minded group.

The first day of class, the boys had objected to the razor sharp blades, submitting a request that they be allowed to practice with wooden substitutes until they got used to the idea of getting hurt. Black Jack, about to pull his hair out with rage, had shouted them down, telling them that they'd have to learn to be so scared they could piss in their pants and keep on fighting.

Seventy-five percent of the class had taken the threat for an order and that afternoon's classes had had to be cancelled because of the sheer volume of dirty laundry drying on every surface of the deck.

An ear-splitting shriek sliced the air. The Captain leaned over the rail and scanned the class. Sure enough, on the far end of the row, Stefan was backed against the rail and Timson, one of the younger boys, was brandishing a bloody forearm in Stefan's face.

"Now see what you've done, you idiot, Stefan!" the victim shouted bitterly. "I told you you were standing too close!"

"Why didn't you move back, then?" his attacker defended himself. By now most of the boys were accustomed to watching not just their own moves, but those of their nearest neighbors as well. "I don't have eyes in the back of my head, you moron!"

"Yer will 'ave." Black Jack loomed over the two threateningly. "In a fight, you're 'spected to know where yer allies are. In't that what I bin telling yer?"

"Yessir," the boys chorused. They shot each other dirty looks, but dropped the argument.

Captain Alex could see Dickie's curly dark head as the ship's self-appointed doctor pushed through the crowd. Timson was led off, still sulking, and Black Jack called the rest of the class to order.

The Captain shook his head and left the other man to his task, turning his own attention to the problem of their future. They had, maybe two weeks (more or less, depending on the accuracy of the Captain's calculations) before the ship entered the well-traveled merchant shipping lanes that lay between the rich Southern markets and home.

Two weeks in which to get the crew trained and ready. What they needed was a dry run. A practice session.

Alex wandered toward the prow, pondering the question of where in that vast ocean he was going to find a civilian ship willing to take it easy on his novice crew while the boys practiced their storming and boarding skills.

He took the wheel, dismissing Delgado and that morning's sextant class and smothered a yawn as he looked out over the empty sea in front of the ship.

For some reason, Jamsie continued to present himself in the Captain's cabin every evening for discipline. At first the new crewman had provided a daily litany of minor infractions of ship's rules. Before that had time to get boring, he'd stopped arming himself with excuses and had just appeared one night, skimming out of his clothes and tumbling happily into the Captain's bed. (He still required discipline, but they had settled on once a week as a more reasonable schedule and Jamsie considered himself under orders to memorize each of his misdemeanors during the week so that the Captain could take appropriate action.) (On especially slow weeks, the boy's creativity in coming up with what he considered a sufficient number of offenses was one of the high points in the Captain's schedule.)

Between Jamsie and Dickie (who had given up on breakfast the first time he found Jamsie still in the Captain's cabin in the early morning, and who was now delivering lunch and a lot more, on a daily basis), the Captain was...tired. Not that he was complaining or anything but he was beginning to wonder if it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

But none of those memories, pleasant as they were, were getting him any closer to solving the problem of blooding his inexperienced crew without getting 98% of them killed in the process.

A week later, the opportunity presented itself.

"Ship, ho!" Freddie's delighted voice shouted out from the crow's nest. "I see another boat! I mean a ship! Sir! There's someone else out here!" He hung over the edge of the small platform, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Anyone listening?" He waved his arms frantically. "Lookee there!"

"Merde!"

Standing next to the wheel, Alex picked up the spyglass and focused it on the starboard horizon, ignoring Francois' bitter curse. While Black Jack struggled to teach the obedient crew the rudiments of fighting, Francois had taken it upon himself to turn them from an undisciplined mass of prep school boys on a holiday outing into something resembling the bloodthirsty crew that had originally manned the Crafty Cavalier.

Freddie's excited outburst was the type of thing that drove the excitable Frenchman to mumbling dire threats under his breath

(Francois was facing an uphill battle. While the boys were willing to listen for hours on end to his stories of pillaging and looting and rampaging through a hundred foreign ports, they didn't seem to get the connection to their new lives.)

If the ship appearing off the starboard bow turned out to be a suitable target, it looked as though the crew was going to get the hands-on experience they needed. At least, the ones who survived were.

The entire ship had heard Freddie's insistent shrieks and the deck was a seething mass of humanity as everyone struggled against the crowd to get someplace they weren't. Half the crew was trying to squeeze down the narrow ladder to the hold, shouting for the Captain to wait for them while they changed into their good clothes. Others who had been below decks when the warning came were fighting to get on-deck and find out what the excitement was.

Alex leaned over the rail that surrounded the small deck area on top of his cabin and watched his crew, feeling his head start to pound. Delgado was wading through the fray, making his way to the Captain's position.

"Do you plan to take her, Captain?" the First Mate asked. He glanced over his shoulder at the pushing, shouting crowd, then gave Alex an apologetic look.

"What do you think our chances are?" Captain Alex looked Delgado straight in the eye, prepared for the worst.

"Och." Delgado scratched his beard thoughtfully. "And us with nae time tae school the young 'uns on thae cannon, ayther, sair."

"Stop that," Alex said automatically, almost inured to Delgado's constant and unconvincing attempts peculiar dialects. (The Captain had learned that Delgado's original ambition had been to go on the stage, either as a stand-up comedian or doing 'character' parts in musical comedy.)

(Alex had gone so far as to ask the man how he had managed to wind up as First Mate on the Cavalier. Delgado and blushed and scowled and mumbled something about his mother. The Captain hadn't pressed the matter.)

Anyhow, after a lengthy meeting some weeks before, the Captain and the more experienced crewmen had decided that their young crew wasn't quite ready to be trained on artillery. (Truthfully, Black Jack had refused to teach the class and had further insisted he'd prefer to be put ashore before anyone gave their new recruits the opportunity to experiment with gunpowder. After Freddie's mishap with the cutlass, the rest of the men had agreed with him.)

"It's a little late to be counting the things we can't do," Alex quelled the First Mate's regrets "There's the ship." He waved toward the distant sails of their victim. "Can we do it?"

"Oof." An unexpected surge in the crowd behind him drove Delgado against the wall of the cabin at the Captain's feet.

"Capitaine!" Francois appeared at his side, glaring down at the confused crew milling around on deck. "Je regrette, but I will suggest, sir, that we let this one pass."

"They aren't going to get any better without practice," Alex offered. Privately, he thought Francois was probably right but the Captain wasn't sure how the excited crew would accept such a tame ending to their adventure. Part of him hated to disappoint the boys after they'd worked so hard for their new skills.

"Oui, Capitaine." Francois looked defeated. "If it is your wish that we all die today, then today we shall die."

"I don't think it's quite that bad, Captain," Delgado interrupted. He glared at Francois who pretended not to notice. "What type of ship is it we're to be facing?

Captain Alex handed the First Mate the spyglass. Delgado focused the slender glass, frowning through it, then lowered the instrument and grinned at the Captain. "I see."

The Captain nodded. "See if you can get them settled." He nodded at the crew. "And try to keep them from killing each other before the battle starts.

"I will." Delgado's face brightened. "I'll have Elbows stack the cutlasses and we won't hand them out until they're ready to board the other ship."

Alex tried not to think about everything that could go wrong. "Very well. Prepare the crew."

The First Mate pivoted to face the crowd. "Listen up!" he bellowed. Reaching out, he grabbed the shoulders of two crew members, shoving them back against the wall. Then he started wading through the crowd, shouting to get the boys' attention and pushing them into a rough line. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the crew was quiet and ready for further orders.

"Men! The Captain will address the crew!" Delgado stepped back and gestured to Captain Alex.

Alex took his place in front of the line. "Men." He looked at the freshly scrubbed faced doubtfully. "You're about to see your first action as members of this crew. I know you've all studied hard for this moment and I'm sure you'll make us proud." It wasn't much, but he hadn't anticipated having to make a speech. "You've been working hard...."

A desperate shriek from above startled everyone and Alex swung around, reaching automatically for his sword. High overhead, a small body dangled from the riggings, one foot hopelessly entangled in the ropes.

"It's that idiot Freddie," Alex heard one of the boys say. "He's gone and fallen off the platform again. Someone will have to go up and cut him loose."

"That's the third time this week," someone else added. "They ought to tie him on or something."

"Delgado." The Captain waved the First Mate to his side.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Send someone up to rescue the boy," Alex told him, conscious of a certain discouragement. "Have the rest of the crew stand by. I'm going to go take the wheel."

"Very good, Captain."

As he made his way back to the wheel, Captain Alex could hear Delgado giving orders behind him, directing two crew members to rescue the hapless Freddie and sending a score of others to their places in the riggings. The men would await the Captain's orders to change the Cavalier's course and overtake their unsuspecting victim.

"Shall I run up the colors, Capitaine?" Francois stopped him as Alex entered the wheel.

"I was thinking of leaving them down," the Captain said, avoiding Francois' scandalized gaze.

The crewman's face set into a definite sulk. lang=FR style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-ansi-language:FR'>"Il est important, the flag."

Captain Alex was getting a little tired of hearing the expatriate Frenchman quote protocol at him.

"Let me ask you, Francois," he demanded. "If you saw this ship, this crew, coming at you flying the Jolly Roger, what would be your reaction?"

"Fear," Francois offered tentatively. "Massive terror. Shaking in my boots."

"Really? Look at them." Captain Alex waved to where the unoccupied crew members were pretending to duel with imaginary swords. Francois surveyed the happy crowd, looking pained.

"Oh, what the hell." The Captain gave in and nodded to the waiting Francois. "Go ahead. Run up the colors." Maybe the other crew will laugh themselves to death.

The Cavalier was a worthy vessel and even with her half-trained crew, she overtook the other ship in a bare fifteen minutes.

From the bloodthirsty shout that went up from the deck, you would have thought they had come upon a three-masted man O'War instead of a lonely, battered Norwegian fishing boat.

Captain Alex was impressed by the businesslike way wave after wave of crewmen swung from the Cavalier over to the deck of her victim. The boys handled the boarding as though they'd done it a hundred times.

Of course, getting on board was just half the job. As the Captain grabbed an unoccupied rope and prepared himself for the trip, the shouting and the harsh clang of metal on metal from the other ship made him offer a quick prayer that whatever opposition the Norwegian crew was putting up wouldn't be too much for his young pirates' abilities.

The scene on the deck of the fishing trawler was even worse than he expected.

The Cavalier's crew was fighting with enthusiasm and even a certain amount of style. What Captain Alex couldn't understand was why they were fighting each other. There was nothing resembling a Norwegian in sight.

The Captain scanned the crowd until he spotted Jamsie who was sparring in exaggerated slow motion with the hot-tempered Stefan on the foredeck. Ignoring the rest of the crew, although not so much as to forget to duck several wild swings that came his way, Alex stormed over to the pair.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, glaring at both boys.

Stefan looked guilty, but Jamsie gave the Captain a proud smile. "We've captured the ship, Captain!" He flourished his cutlass in a salute and Captain Alex jumped out of the way of the blade, narrowly avoiding losing an arm.

"Captured it?" He stared around the deck. "How?"

"How?" Jamsie looked surprised. "Why, we did what you taught us, Captain. We boarded her and then we fought." He seemed to feel that was enough explanation for anyone.

Alex had to remind himself of all the really excellent reasons he had for overlooking Jamsie's less-than-agile thought processes.

"Fought who," the Captain demanded. "Where is the crew of this vessel?"

"The crew?" Stefan looked around. "They were here a minute ago," he offered doubtfully. "Maybe they went below deck."

"Who was guarding them?" Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked.

"Guarding," Stefan mused. "Well, the last time I saw them, Dickie was talking to them, so I guess he was."

"Let's go find them." Jamsie's face brightened. "Lead the way, Captain. We're right behind you."

Actually, Alex would have preferred to have both boys in front of him so he could keep an eye on their weapons. (On the other hand, the way things were going, maybe getting spitted by a member of his own crew wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.)

"Very well." He led the way to the narrow gangway, stopping four more crew members from hacking each other to pieces with misplaced enthusiasm and ordering them to follow.

Once down the ladder, their next step was obvious. From an open door at the other end of the passageway he could hear strange voices babbling in what had to be Norwegian. Alex motioned his followers to silence and led the way down the hall.

When Captain Alex rounded the door into what proved to be the galley, he found the trawler crew he had been searching for. He also found Dickie and two more representatives of the Cavalier's crew. No doubt, he should have expected to find them and the Norwegians sitting together at a table, drinking coffee and getting better acquainted.

"Would anyone care to explain to me what the hell is going on here?"

At the sound of the Captain's angry voice, the animated conversation faded from the room.

Dickie jumped up and gave him a crisp salute. (All the boys loved saluting.) "All present and accounted for, sir!"

"All of what?"

Dickie looked surprised. "All of the prisoners, sir." He threw in another salute."

The Captain motioned Dickie over to him. "Was there anything in your instructions about taking prisoners?" He tried to keep his voice down. By now the naïve boys had no doubt told the Norwegians everything there was to know about the Cavalier and her unusual crew. If he freed the fishermen, the story would be blown across the Caribbean on the wind and any chance the Captain and his crew had of easy riches would be blown away with it. They'd be laughed out of the water.

"No, sir." Dickie scratched his head. "It all happened so suddenly. We were on deck, and there they were, surrendering." He gave the Captain a reproachful look. "You didn't want us to attack a group of unarmed men, Captain?"

That's the best kind to attack. They don't fight back. Alex kept that thought to himself and made a note that later, when he had time, he'd curse whatever misfortune that had thrown a bunch of idiotic, high-principled schoolboys in his path instead of a band of outlaws or a caravan of mercenary merchants who knew how to keep their eyes on the bottom line.

"I understand." It was too late to change it and he didn't have the heart to blame Dickie for what it was clear had been a group decision.

Delgado stormed into the room, his cutlass at the ready. He glanced around at the peaceful scene, and let the blade fall. The Captain could have sworn that a twinkle lay in the back of those black eyes.

"Ship secured, sir," Delgado ignored the prisoners who were still drinking coffee and smiling around vaguely, clearly under the impression that the entire encounter had been some kind of fraternity hazing prank.

Alex turned to look the fishing crew over, wondering what his next move should be. Various alternatives, including ordering the four men tossed overboard, dashing forward and slicing each of them open with his own sword, or telling Delgado to do it for him passed through his head. (Actually, he really liked the sound of that last one.)

The best kind of problem is somebody else's problem. He glanced at Delgado out of the corner of his eye. Delgado's face went blank and he looked away. A decent pirate captain would probably do it himself.

(An interesting thought. Would a captain more committed to random bloodshed have managed to instill the proper attitude in the Cavalier's half-trained crew by this time?)

Alex had been wavering, but the First Mate's who, me? attitude annoyed him. "Delgado," he snapped.

"Aye, Captain?" The first mate shuffled his feet, looking rather unhappy.

"No witnesses. Scuttle the ship when you're finished." Alex gave the unpleasant order in a firm voice, then beat a hasty retreat.

Back on deck, it was easier than the Captain had anticipated to get the attention of his unruly crew. A few of them were still engaged in listless sparring matches. The rest of the boarding party was sprawled around the deck wherever they could find a patch of shade, struggling to be heard over each other as they each told their own version of how they had captured the entire ship single-handedly.

For a single, dispirited moment the Captain wondered how many of his crew had even seen their opponents. "On your feet," he yelled. He glared around the deck until the tired, sweaty boys were all more or less at attention. "Back to the ship."

Delgado had nine members of the pirate crew below decks with him to deal with the four Norwegians. The Captain decided not to leave any other guard on the doomed vessel. He waited until most of his crew had made their way back to the deck of the larger ship, then swung himself down into one of the waiting longboats and made the trip himself, heading back to his own cabin.

He had choices. He could revise his training program with more emphasis on fighting, not that that would teach this shipload of peaceable innocents anything that might change the outcome of the next battle. His mind boggled as he contemplated the task of trying to instill the proper kill or be killed attitude in the minds of this particular crew. If there was a way to do that, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

Francois probably knows. That thought was almost more depressing than all the rest. The Frenchman had nobly volunteered to hold the rearguard aboard the Cavalier. Captain Alex could only imagine what the gesture must have cost, based on Francois' enthusiastic stories of boarding parties he'd led in the past. The outcome of this 'battle' would break his spirit.

The Captain had spent the last few weeks trying to ignore the bloodthirsty Frenchman's continual suggestions for regulating the unorthodox ship. The Captain was all for tradition, providing it didn't get in the way of anything else he wanted to do, but his single experience with the whip had proven to him that he wasn't cut out for that kind of discipline.

In addition, he'd had to order Francois to stay out of the crew's quarters after several of the boys complained that his stories of pirate history and traditions were giving them nightmares.

Well, unpleasant as it had been to give the order to execute the Norwegians, the Captain had bought himself and his crew some valuable time to solve this particular problem.

In the meantime, he should be plotting the course that would take the Cavalier down the same fishing lane that the Norwegian vessel had been sailing. Maybe we'll run into a Spaniard, next.

The thought cheered him up. England was waging a kind of low-key war with Spain over who would control the lucrative Caribbean trading market. It was possible that what his novice crew needed was an enemy they could attack without scruple.

Alex bent over his desk, spreading out his maps and charts, and began laboriously calculating winds and tides and weather patterns. He lost track of the time, but it seemed like quite a while later that a knock on the door interrupted a particularly delicate calculation, making him lose track of whether or not he'd carried the '3' already.

Cursing, the Captain snapped out permission to enter.

Delgado stepped into the room and gave him an uncharacteristic salute. "It's all taken care of, Captain."

Beheaded? Shot in the back with a single musket ball? Thrown overboard as food for the sharks? Alex decided not to ask. He wondered if he'd been working so hard that he'd missed lunch. That would explain the unusual queasy sensation from the region of his stomach.

"Very good."

Delgado seemed to expect something more. The Captain searched his mind, trying remember what else he should be dealing with. Before anything came to mind, the ship shuddered and lurched under their feet and muffled thunder boomed out from the region of the foredeck.

"Ship scuttled, sir. As per orders." Delgado snapped him another salute, making Alex wish that the First Mate would spend just a little less time with the crew. There were times when it was hard to tell who was teaching who. (Whom? Alex was never sure about that one.)

As the days passed, the rough-and-tumble atmosphere aboard the Cavalier had been giving way to something a bit more civilized. Not that the Captain had any objection to edible food, baths, or even the occasional sing-along. And yet, he couldn't help but feel that there was something essentially un-piratical about an enthusiastic rendition of Surfin' Safari, no matter how off-key.

And, no matter who tried to insist otherwise. When the Captain had filed a protest about the unorthodox recreation, Jamsie had showed up in his cabin with a compelling argument for letting the chorus continue uninterrupted. True, his evidence had had nothing at all to do with singing, but it had been impressive, nevertheless.

With a start, the Captain realized that Delgado was still waiting for his response to the cannon fire. "And, the crew?"

"Zee meen ees-a back on-a zee sheep, Capteen." Delgado might have just misunderstood, but it didn't seem worth arguing about. "Do you hafa any furder orders?"

The Captain quelled Delgado's lapse into dialect with a frown. "Tell the helm to return to our previous course." The Captain turned back to the litter of papers on his desk. "Until further notice."

"Very good, sir." Delgado forgot the salute, but the Captain wasn't inclined to argue about it. To tell the truth, he was fairly impressed by this first evidence of the hard-heartedness of the original pirate complement. Between the choir practice and the new crew's preoccupation with tan lines and properly tailored trousers, it was difficult for the Captain to remember that at least four members of his crew had done their share of fighting, killing, looting, and general mayhem. (He sometimes suspected that the four crew members had the same trouble remembering their own history.)

The Captain soon forgot the morning's events in the larger problem of figuring knots per hour and allowing for windage to set a course that would take the novice ship through Spanish shipping lanes and toward Port Royale where they could drop anchor for a few days.

By the time another knock on the door interrupted him, the Captain was just realizing that his newly-plotted course would either take them to Port Royale or land them in Holland. It was that '3' that worried him. Had he, or had he not already carried it over before Delgado showed up in his cabin?

The Captain cursed and threw the papers onto the floor. He'd have to start over, that was all. "Come in."

Higher maths had never been Alex's strong point. He was much better with shillings, pounds, and pence than he was with longitude and latitude and lassitude and whatever other 'tudes it took to run a ship. After the morning's exertions, he was quite in the mood for whatever creative plan Dickie might produce with today's lunch.

So much so that when his visitor turned out to be Timson, instead of the cooperative Dickie. Alex was freshly annoyed.

"Lunch, sir." It didn't help that the boy was out of breath and seemed to have pulled on his clothes any which way. Whatever was happening on deck, delivering the Captain's lunch was obviously an unwelcome interruption.

"So nice of you to stop by."

Sarcasm was wasted on the literal-minded Timson. "My job, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Not at all," Alex grouched. "Please, don't let me keep you."

Once again, Timson seemed to miss the point. "Very good, sir. Thank you, Captain." With a hasty salute, he was out of the cabin, the room echoing with the force of the door shutting behind him.

Alex stared at the tray in dissatisfaction. Not that bread and cheese, salt beef, and cold pickle wasn't what he'd been expecting, it was standard fare on an ocean vessel. It was just that he'd become accustomed to a more interesting second course. Which he was obviously destined to do without today.

Alex found himself regretting that he hadn't taken a chance on letting the other ship go free after all. It wasn't as though the battered trawler had been likely to show up in Port Royale or anywhere in the pirate-infested Caribbean and spread stories about the ludicrous crew of the Crafty Cavalier.

On the other hand, Alex took a moody bite of bread and frowned into space, he was the Captain. And, dammit, this was supposed to be a pirate ship. As much as he hated to admit it, Francois was right. There were certain standards that had to be upheld.

It's time they all understood just what they're in for, Alex decided with an uncomfortable pang. Some part of his brain kept trying to point out that Alex hadn't been able to get off the Norwegian vessel fast enough after he'd ordered the death of its crew, but he ignored the small voice. That was different.

Practice makes perfect, and it took only 3-1/2 hours to start from scratch and re-figure the ship's new course. The Captain took a moment to wash some of the accumulated ink off his hands and face (wishing peevishly that someone would invent a fountain pen so that he could throw the damned metal quill and inkpot out the nearest porthole) and headed up on deck to deliver the course corrections to Francois.

He was conscious of a certain tension in himself as he walked. Scattered about the deck, various members of the crew appeared to be working hard at whatever it was that they were doing. The Captain's knowledge of just how everyone else on the ship occupied their time was sketchy. Under the guise of "planning" he spent at least three hours a day in his cabin, checking and re-checking the ship's course in an attempt to prevent them from winding up in the Black Sea.

Not that he had anything against the Black Sea, per se, because everyone said it was a beautiful area, if a bit harsh in winter. It was just that there wasn't much going on there in the way of rich merchant ships to pillage. And, if anyone thought Alex was going to deliberately sail a ship into that area just for the pleasure of looting a few private yachts of their supply of borscht, well...they were in for a big surprise.

Gold. 10.0pt'>Alex had his heart set on a shipload of gold. Not that he'd turn down diamonds or pearls or any other portable source of wealth, but he had a personal preference for the soft, rich gleam of bars and bars of gold.

That train of thought kept him pleasantly occupied until he reached the foredeck and gave Francois the course corrections. "How's she sailing?" His mood much improved, the Captain decided to overlook the crew's earlier sulkiness in the matter of that damned fishing boat.

"Pas si mal, Capitaine. Very well, indeed." Francois didn't salute, but then traditionally the man at the wheel was advised to keep both hands on the wheel, as well as his eyes on the sea ahead, so Alex didn't take offense.

"Anything spotted?" he asked chattily, glancing around at the empty ocean with interest.

"No, sir." Francois eyed the paper the Captain had given him, then shouted up to the sailors in the riggings, directing them to make the necessary changes. "Je regrette," he added politely, leaning to look around the Captain's back. "You!" he bellowed. "On the mains'l!" Having gotten the crew's attention, he gave another set of incomprehensible instructions (Really, it's impossible to understand all that nautical jargon about jibs and booms and fores'ls and whatnot, so we'll just pass over it), then dodged back around the Captain to fix his eyes on the sea ahead again.

"Was there anything else, Capitaine?" The voice was respectful, but not what you would call welcoming.

The Captain's good mood evaporated. Fine.

"Not at all," he said crisply. "Carry on." With what he hoped was the proper amount of decorum (but what he suspected looked more like sulking) he gave the surly Frenchman a casual nod and spun about on his heel, heading back to his cabin.

I should have stayed in England. Alex threw himself onto the leather couch. When he'd impulsively taken command of the Cavalier a few weeks before, he'd thought about treasure, about freedom, about a carefree life on the open seas.

Hours and hours spent poring over charts and maps, the blandness of salted beef (or pork, or fish, it was all the same after a while), the tedium of the empty ocean, and a bad-tempered, whiny crew of underdeveloped half-wits hadn't occurred to him as even the remotest of possibilities,.

The life of a buccaneer just wasn't what it had looked like from the pictures on the posters, that was for sure.

Alex thought back to his previous career as a highwayman with a certain nostalgia. True, he hadn't had time to check it out thoroughly, the opportunity of commandeering the Cavalier having presented itself to him a bare two months after he'd taken to the roads, but in retrospect he was beginning to think that he hadn't given the life a fair chance.

On the one hand, sitting around atop some mangy horse for hours on end, waiting for a coach full of suitable victims to appear had been awesomely boring.

On the other hand, he'd always liked working nights and, say what you would about the brotherhood of the highway, they all pulled their own weight. None of this sitting around doing long division day after day while everyone else aboard ship stayed on deck and enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine.

As the shadows in the room began to lengthen, the Captain pulled out a bottle of vodka he'd hidden away in a desk drawer and poured himself a stiff drink.

That was another thing. It was all very well to keep up the image and everything the way that idiot Francois was always boring on and on about, but all that damned English beer was just too much. Alex took a drink, then cast a suspicious eye over his midsection. It was hard to be sure, but he might be developing a beer belly.

That's all I bloody well need . When and if he ever made it back to England, he'd be too fat for a saddle, making a return to the freedom of the roads an impossibility.

What the hell would he do with himself then? Alex tried to remember what it was that the average, law-abiding citizen did to earn a living. Things in offices, he remembered. There were lots of people in offices, doing god-knows-what day after day. Store clerks, too. Hundreds, thousand of stores all over the country with those pale, undernourished fellows standing wanly behind the counters, ticking off the seconds until their miserable lunch breaks.

The Captain wanted more than that. He wanted adventure. Excitement. Gold.

None of which he was going to get with the Crafty Cavalier unless he came up with a better plan for training the crew.

Or a different crew. He considered that over his fourth drink. Not a bad idea, he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. He could ditch the current lot of misfits and staff the ship with a proper crew of hard-bitten pirates, ready for blood and action at any moment.

Jamsie's smiling face drifted into his mind, giving Alex a distinct twinge someplace below where the vodka was warming his stomach. There were things about the current crew he might miss, of course. Alex licked his lips unconsciously, picturing the swell of tight trousers over Dickie's plush rump.

For a moment Alex considered the possibility of keeping Jamsie and the adventurous Dickie with him, even after he got rid of the rest of the group. He abandoned the idea regretfully. With the kind of crew the Captain was hoping to hire, the boys would be more trouble than they were worth.

By the time dinner showed up, the Captain was sitting in the darkened cabin, glaring hatefully at the far wall and planning various and vile punishments for the crew he'd taken under his care and taught (or, caused to be taught, which was all the same thing, wasn't it?) the arts and crafts of seamanship and pirating.

A brief knock on the door, then it swung open and Stefan stepped into the dimness cautiously. "Captain?"

"Put it on the desk." Alex toyed with the idea of ignoring the tentative voice, but on the whole he preferred that the boy leave the tray and leave the room. He wasn't in the mood for company. At least, not Stefan's company.

"Yes, Captain." Stefan picked his way through the cabin and managed to find a clear space for the tray on the desk.

Alex could see the boy's quick glance at him, but he ignored it. Stefan lingered to light the lamp swinging over the desk, and it gave the Captain some satisfaction to see the boy's startled look when Stefan turned to see the Captain glowering at him from across the room.

"Out," Alex ordered sullenly. If he says one word.... style='mso-tab-count:1'>    

Fortunately for Stefan, idle conversation was the furthest thing from his mind. He saluted half-heartedly, then scrambled for the door.

Is that any way to treat your Captain? Alex glared at the closed door. Not a word about how I've been, have I been working too hard, where have I been all day. Ungrateful little shits.

In spite of the vodka, the Captain couldn't help but notice that whatever was on the tray smelled delicious. Dickie must have scavenged the galley of the fishing trawler before it was scuttled, since Alex was certain he'd never smelled anything like this before.

Thoughts of Dickie and that morning's action tangled up in his brain for a minute until the Captain was confused about whether he was the victim or the one to blame for his current predicament. Eventually he gave up the entire train of thought, convinced that someone had been done an enormous injustice and determined to think it all through again from the beginning in the morning.

In the meantime, the smell of the food wafting through the cabin was making him hungry. He'd have to remember to give Dickie his compliments. Which, in turn, reminded him that Stefan had delivered the tray. That was normally Jamsie's job, but the Captain hadn't seen Jamsie since the morning.

He's not coming. Alex ate his dinner sadly, contemplating the large, empty bed on one corner of the cabin.

Between the two of them, Jamsie and Dickie had fairly well managed to absorb the Captain's limited amount of free time and certainly any extra energy he had left after poring over charts and maps all day. Absorbed them in the most delightful possible ways. Alex smiled to himself with remembered pleasure. With a crew like his, being a pirate was an outright pleasure.

Not tonight, of course. They were all mad at him right now. Alex sighed and finished his dinner.

He reached for the bottle again, then pulled his hand back. Wallowing in self-pity isn't going to accomplish a damned thing.

Alex recapped the vodka bottle and locked it back inside the desk. It was early, but if he turned in now he'd be able to get enough sleep to allow him to face the crew tomorrow. (There was every possibility that a mutiny was brewing and he'd need all his wits about him to deal with it.)

He ignored a final twinge of self-pity at the sight of the unused second pillow on his bed, turning his back on it and closing his eyes.

It was too late for useless regrets and, his empty bed aside, he couldn't say he regretted that morning's decision. Maybe there had been other choices, maybe there hadn't. But he was the Captain and his word was supposed to be law. Tomorrow he'd make certain his crew understood things were going to be run a little differently in the future.

It was amazing what an uninterrupted night's sleep could do for changing your perspective.

The sun was blindingly brilliant as it knifed in through the portholes and he could hear the raucous squawking of gulls fighting over bits of fish and garbage on deck. The same old morning irritations that he was usually able to ignore in the warmth of Jamsie's company. A brief cuddle (an interlude that Jamsie persisted in referring to as "getting the day's orders") and a good breakfast usually carried the Captain through the simple tasks of inspecting the ship and agreeing with whatever corrections Delgado suggested for their course that day. (The Captain spent, as we've said, quite a lot of time working on the course himself, but he was always ready to accept the more experienced man's opinion. He had the feeling that Delgado's casual, 'glance at the position of the sun' method was far more reliable than the Captain's own painstaking mathematical calculations.)

With nothing better to look forward to, the Captain decided to get dressed and make an appearance on deck. The sooner the better.

He mounted to the deck and surveyed the crew, assuming a confidence that was quite a bit more than what he was feeling.

Aft, the usual morning complement of young bodies swayed and stretched and jumped in response to Black Jack's shouted commands. (The ex-cook was a fiend for physical fitness, although the Captain suspected that the sight of forty young, strong bodies bending, twisting, and sweating attractively in the sunshine was a large part of the charm. Certainly he couldn't remember any morning exercise sessions in the days before they had pressed this benighted crew.)

The Captain went back to show himself to the group and prove that he had no regrets, and no second thoughts.

The sweating, bouncing group ignored his presence, their eyes fixed on the relentless drill instructor putting them through their morning calisthenics. At first, the Captain tried not to stare, then he gave up and stared. Then he admitted to himself that he wasn't seeing things, and this wasn't a vodka-induced hallucination.

The most obvious point was that his barely adequate crew had increased by four in last 24 hours. And the next most obvious was that the new recruits bore a suspicious resemblance to the trawler crew that should have been resting at the bottom of the ocean.

Alex waited until he caught the unlucky Black Jack's eye, then motioned the man over grimly.

"Aye, Guv'nor?" Nothing in the world could have rivaled the look of newborn innocence that struggled to make itself seen through a tangle of dirty blonde hair.

The Captain pointed to the nearest brawny, sea-bronzed newcomer. "What is that man's name?"

Black Jack winced, then wiped all expression from his face. "That there boy's name is Sven Winchester, Chief.." He sneaked a glance at Alex's face. "I 'ear tell he's from Devonshire County," he added hopefully.

Alex stared at the burly pirate in disbelief. Black Jack's eyes narrowed and he made a show of scanning the horizon while he waited for the Captain's response.

"I see." Alex walked off thoughtfully, heading back to his cabin. The way he saw it, he could take up to an hour to decide what, if anything, he should do about this latest development. He could either flog the entire crew, keelhaul the four experienced men who should have known better, and order the Norwegians thrown overboard; or he could pretend to believe that a thirtyish blonde sailor who spoke barely a dozen words of English was a pampered, teenage British schoolboy.

He settled down at his desk and began to think the problem over. Before he could make a decision (It was harder than you might think. Yes, a proper pirate captain would have gone with his first impulse and wrought death and destruction among the crew. But Alex wasn't a standard-issue pirate captain and as he was more and more aware every day, his was not a standard-issue pirate crew. This was going to take some heavy thought.), someone knocked on the door.

It would be Delgado. Or Black Jack. One of them, with some feeble argument about needing the experienced sailing hands in order to properly man the ship. Alex could feel it coming and he wasn't in the mood. If that was their idea, why in the hell hadn't they come up with it before the Captain had ordered them to dispose of the strange crew the day before?

One thing about his crew, they never did quite what you expected. When the door opened, it was Jamsie who came through it, carrying the almost-forgotten breakfast tray. (In retrospect, of course, the Captain realized that Jamsie's appearance was exactly what he should have expected. And he couldn't deny that the sight of the muscular, tanned youngster gave him something much more interesting than mutiny to contemplate.)

Jamsie dawdled around the room, tidying up the evidence of the Captain's previous night's binge. Somehow, in the course of events, he managed to shed his clothes, one piece at a time. Which made an interesting accompaniment to cereal and the inevitable salted pork (fried up to imitate bacon, of course). By the time Alex reached the coffee-and-stretching stage of the meal, his companion was naked. Which was definitely more interesting than mutiny.

"Please sir," Jamsie presented himself with a familiar, contrite expression.

For a moment, Alex was tempted to order Jamsie out of his cabin. That would teach him, and the rest of them, that the Captain wasn't so easily manipulated.

On the other hand... He eyed Jamsie thoughtfully. That wouldn't hurt anyone except himself. It might be more dignified to ignore the slight to his dignity. It might be better to rise above the insult, after all.

Bowing to the inevitable, Alex pushed his chair back from the desk and crossed his arms. He gave Jamsie a severe look. "Yes?"

"If you please, sir, I've been ordered to report for discipline." Jamsie made an effort to look worried. (He was always careful to maintain his role during this part of the game.)

An energetic two hours later Alex had been convinced that if Delgado and the rest of the original crew (especially Francois) had no problem with the unexpected pressing of a crew of Norwegian fishermen, the Captain should view the addition of four experienced men to the crew as a bonus.

Jamsie's sincere, if muffled assurance that no mutiny had been intended (together with the convincing evidence of his personal regard he offered a few minutes later) gave Alex the excuse he had needed to accept the unusual solution to his unpopular order to, 'leave no witnesses.'

In any event, the decision was taken out of his hands.

"Captain!" An excited voice accompanied the thunderous pounding on his cabin door. "Ship ahoy, Captain!"

* * * *

And what of the HMS Heroic and Our Hero? (Or, at least, the man we think will turn our to be our hero, it's just too soon to tell, don't you think?)

Aboard the Heroic, things are going well as Cap'n Skinner stands on the quarterdeck and watches his well-trained crew sprint to their assigned stations in preparation for their upcoming battle. (You do remember where we left them, don't you? Entering pirate waters? Well, it seems that they found one. A pirate, that is. Not a water, although there was quite a lot of that, as well.)

It was a pleasure to see the tight discipline of one of HM's sailing ships snap into place as the crew took their places in the riggings and at the guns. A pleasure that Cap'n Skinner hoped to witness again and again over the next few months as he and his crew single-handedly (he dreamed) searched out and sank every last pirate ship that infested the cerulean Caribbean waters.

The anticipation of the upcoming battle even managed to drive his preoccupation with Fox's presence out of Cap'n Skinner's head temporarily. His eager cabin boy stood all-but forgotten at his elbow as the Cap'n directed First Mate Matsen to shout this or that order toward some portion of the ship.

In less than two minutes, the turmoil on deck resolved itself. Lining the rails, manning the riggings, waiting with obvious tension by the cannon, Cap'n Skinner's crew was ready for battle.

Cap'n Skinner cast an eye toward the horizon where the pirate ship, having spotted the Heroic, strained to throw on more canvas and elude her pursuer.

Above his head, the sails billowed and filled as they gathered the wind. The Heroic leapt forward, as eager as her Cap'n to overtake the marauding ship and send it to the bottom of the sea.

Cap'n Skinner leaned over the rail that divided the quarter-deck from the sea deck below, proud and anxious to show off his ship and crew in front of Fox. (He hadn't entirely forgotten his companion, after all.)

"Ready the guns!" he called, barely beating First Mate Matsen to the order. He ignored the other man's frown at this breach of protocol.

Closer and closer the ship drove until the tiny figures scurrying about the pirate's deck resolved themselves into distinct bodies.

The Heroic was up to any challenge, even though her crew could see the desperate attempts the other crew was making to unlock and swivel their guns to defend against the threatened attack.

"Are our guns ready, sir?" First Mate Matsen's voice was almost shrill with excitement as he called down to the gun deck.

"Ready!" a voice boomed.

"All hands stand by!" The man's hands tightened on the rail, knuckles turning white.

Cap'n Skinner made a conscious effort to look calm and collected by comparison, not wanting Fox, or any of the crew, to think that the Cap'n was at all worried about the outcome of the battle. "Tell the men to fire when ready, Matsen," he said grandly.

"Yes, sir!" Matsen's eyes sparkled as they eyed the Heroic's victim. At the right moment, just seconds before the two ships were positioned perfectly side-to-side, he finally gave the order. "FIRE!"

BOOM! BAM! BOOM! BOOM!

Cannon thundered in obedience to his command and the deck of the ship shuddered and heeled under their feet.

The pirate vessel trembled under the impact as heavy iron slammed through her sails, tearing canvas and rope and spilling broken bodies to the deck. Chaos erupted as one cannon ball rolled near to the stores of gunpowder and a group of foolhardy, but brave men jumped after it and directed the smoking hot metal away from the volatile explosive.

"Bring her about," Cap'n Skinner ordered calmly.

Matsen relayed his words, waiting until the ship was positioned broadside to the crippled schooner again, then glancing at Cap'n Skinner for permission to give the order.

Cap'n Skinner nodded.

"FIRE!" The word rang out again and again a cannonade echoed the words.

BOOM! BOOM! BAM! BOOM!

This attack hit the pirate vessel lower, just above the water line. From the quarter deck of the Heroic, Cap'n Skinner could see the sea's white-capped waves lapping into the schooner's depths. It wouldn't be long....

Before she foundered in the rough waters, the Heroic's crew would have to board and storm her, putting the living pirates to the sword (unless they surrendered first, of course) and reclaiming any stolen booty hidden in the bowels of the sinking ship.

"Boarding party," Cap'n Skinner called out. "Take her!'

Twenty ropes tightened, twenty bodies took the leap at the same moment and the first wave of the Royal Navy's sailors swung over to clear a path in the wreckage.

Again and again, until fully seventy or eighty of the Heroic's crew were engaged in combat with the bloodthirsty survivors of the crippled pirate vessel.

"Are you going to board, sir?" The eager question broke Cap'n Skinner's concentration and reminded him of his audience. "Are we going to board?"

Cap'n Skinner was torn. He was, after all, a Very Important Man. Cap'n of the HMS Heroic, one of the finest of HM's fighting ships. It wasn't...it wasn't regular for a man in his position to dash about on the deck of a captured pirate.

Of course, there wasn't anything in the rules that prohibited it, either.

Cap'n Skinner mused on the question. It had been quite a long time since he had taken part in a boarding party personally, at that. There would be a certain danger, of course. Cap'n Skinner didn't care personally, but he did wonder what Admiral Highgain would think if he knew....

The hell with it. The boy had been given into Cap'n Skinner's care for teaching. This could legitimately be considered a part of his education, couldn't it?

"Certainly." He answered Fox's question, ignoring the scandalized expression on First Mate Matsen's face. "We'll all go," he added maliciously, giving the First Mate a hard look.

"Yes, sir," the man said, looking dissatisfied.

Cap'n Skinner didn't care how unhappy the First Mate was. He looked Fox over quickly, satisfying himself that the young man was properly attired for the adventure.

The usual crisp, white shirt topping well-fitted heavy trousers. (Not that fashion was important when you were storming a ship full of bloodthirsty pirates, but Cap'n Skinner rarely lost an opportunity to feast his eyes on Fox's delightful form.) Heavy canvas shoes, quite suitable.

"Are you ready?" He stopped himself just in time to avoid adding an avuncular son to the sentence. His feelings for the young man were anything but fatherly but there was something about the boy's face, glowing with excitement, that made him feel...almost old.

Yes, sir!" There was no doubt about Fox's enthusiasm for the adventure.

Cap'n Skinner led the way down and commandeered two of the boarding ropes. He grasped his own rope tightly and prepared to swing over to the deck of the other ship. (Done properly, it was as graceful and manly an action as any, but done incorrectly a man stood a better-than-average chance of stumbling upon landing or, worse yet, landing on his rump with a solid thud.)

"Wait for me," he called sternly. Adventure or no adventure, Cap'n Skinner had no intention of letting Fox get close to any real danger.

Years of practice stood him in good stead and seconds later Cap'n Skinner released his rope and dropped the last two inches to the deck of the pirate vessel with just the softest thump as his heavy boots met the wood.

The advantage of youth, and canvas shoes, showed as Fox landed next to him soundlessly. The two men surveyed the carnage around them for a few silent moments. The remaining pirates were huddled together in the bow, awaiting transport to the Heroic. And there had been casualties, of course. The deck was awash with the blood of the vanquished and the slain.

The Heroic's crew was already about the business of searching the captured ship and a substantial pile of booty was being transferred to the longboats that rocked restlessly near the foundering vessel.

"What do you think?" Cap'n Skinner couldn't resist the question. From his perspective it was as clean a capture as any on the seas. The Heroic had taken the (admittedly smaller) other ship neatly with a minimum of damage to the Naval crew and no damage at all to HM's ship.

"It's...." Fox's voice trailed off.

Cap'n Skinner gave him a sharp look, noticing the way the boy's attention was fixed on the bloodstained decks and the limp bodies scattered here and there.

"Not a pretty sight is it?" he asked more gently than was his custom. He'd very nearly forgotten.... Memories of his own first battle returned in full force. The stench of gunpowder, the rancid smell of blood drying in the tropical sun. The horror of what had once been men reduced to limp piles of lifeless rags to be stumbled over and cursed and kicked aside.

"No, sir." Fox swallowed hard, looking a bit green.

"It's war, Fox." Cap'n Skinner looked at his young charge seriously. "This is what all the stories and the medals and the commendations come down to in the end."

"I know." Fox seemed to take courage from his obvious concern. "I'll be fine, sir."

"I know." Cap'n Skinner dared to lay a comforting hand on Fox's shoulder for a moment. "It takes us all the same way, the first time," he admitted. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know it isn't, sir." Fox's jaw firmed and he managed a slight smile. "I can take it."

"You can," Cap'n Skinner reassured him. He let his hand drop and gave Fox an answering smile. "To tell the truth, I'd have been more worried about you if you hadn't reacted this way."

"Really?" Fox looked surprised, then disbelieving.

"Absolutely." The Cap'n glanced around the ship's deck again. "This is not a sight for any but the strongest of men and even we," and he noticed how Fox's shoulders squared up at the implication that the young man was among that group, "Don't ever get used to it. We fight for god and crown, and country, Fox. We do what must be done. But...." Cap'n Skinner's voice trailed off as he realized he was perilously close to making a speech.

"Well." He cleared his throat. "We'll take a look around, then return to our own vessel."

"Cap'n Skinner , sir?" First Mate Matsen, forgotten until that moment, appeared at his side.

"Yes?" The Cap'n wasn't sorry to be interrupted.

Matsen touched his forehead respectfully. "It's the Captain, sir. The pirate Captain. We found him hiding below. What shall we do with him?"

Cap'n Skinner frowned. "Bring him up and I'll question him. Then we'll take him in irons to Port Royale. They have a prison to hold the scoundrel and his crew until their transport back to England can be arranged."

"Yes, sir." Matsen motioned to a group of sailors standing nearby. They moved forward, dragging a battered and unwilling captive with them.

"Your name, sir?" All softness forgotten, Cap'n Skinner glared at the pitiful figure before him. A man who would hide below while his crew and his ship died around him was beneath contempt.

"Begging the Captain's pardon, sir," and the shaking man managed a travesty of a salute. "But I'm just Rodriquez, sir. And I'm not the Captain, sir. I was pressed into service with these heathens and I've been praying to the good Lord every night for deliverance. You're the answer to a man's prayers, sir. You and your ship."

Cap'n Skinner eyed the other man thoughtfully. Underneath the torn clothing, the man was well-fed and sleek. His eyes were narrow and shifty and Cap'n Skinner put a great deal of faith in the honesty of a man's gaze.

"Really?" he answered mildly.

"As I'm standing here, it's the truth, Captain," his prisoner said eagerly. "You don't know how long I've suffered under the lash of these monsters." He made a pathetic attempt to look mistreated. "Starvation and beatings, all because I wouldn't join them attacking defenseless and harmless merchants." Rodriquez, if that was indeed his name, wiped an imaginary tear from one eye. "The stories I could tell, Captain. The things these men have done...." He shook his head and raised his eyes to heaven. "But the good Lord has answered my prayers at last and here you are to deliver me from evil."

Cap'n Skinner, always willing to give a man the benefit of the doubt, wasn't even close to believing this rogue's tale. A moment later, as though God himself had felt compelled to prove Rodriquez's guilt, the fabric on one torn pocket of the man's coat gave way and a shower of golden doubloons spilled out across the deck.

Fox, who had watched the entire episode wide-eyed and breathless, gave a surprised gasp. "Gold!"

"Yes, gold." Cap'n Skinner drew himself up and stared at the miserable Rodriquez. "Strange cargo for the pockets of an unwilling captive, wouldn't you say?"

The other man understood that any slim chance he might have had of escaping his crimes had disappeared with the first golden chime of the coins against the bloodstained deck. "Damn you all," he snarled. "For hounding and chasing and destroying a good ship and her crew!"

"Take him away," Cap'n Skinner ordered sharply.

The last thing he was in the mood for right now was yet another story of good men gone wrong. Some weak tale of righteous men taking to the seas and a life of piracy because of high unemployment, or a sad childhood, or because their wives didn't understand them, or because, because, because.

They always had some story, but the truth never changed. They roamed the seas looking to loot a fortune from the work of other men because they were too lazy, or too inept, to earn one honestly.

Cap'n Skinner took a last look around the deck of the all-but deserted ship, then turned to Fox. "Let's go," he said abruptly.

"Yes, sir." Fox's face was serious. It was easy to see that he was taking this particular lesson to heart.

A minute later, both them were ensconced in one of the longboats waiting next to the sinking ship and their small craft and all the others started the short journey back to the HMS Heroic.

Once he and the remainder of his crew were aboard, Cap'n Skinner gave the order to set sail again, and to put some distance between the Heroic and the wrecked pirate vessel. Even a ship as large as his might be pulled into the dangerous undertow caused by the sinking of a full-sized schooner.

There was much to be done. Sorting and valuing and storing the captured treasure. A few of the seamen had minor wounds to be tended and the watch schedule had to be revised to replace those who were removed from active duty for the next few days. Cap'n Skinner ordered the cook to break out some extra stores (supplemented by what the crew had had time to unload from the other ship) and give each man his usual ration of grog and a healthy glass of rum with his dinner that night.

What with one thing and another, he and Fox were getting ready for bed by the time he had the opportunity to discuss the day's events with the young man again.

By now, Cap'n Skinner had become, if not casual about Fox's presence in his bedroom, at least better-able to continue thinking while he resolutely ignored the fact that the younger man was stripping naked just a few feet away. (With practice, anything is possible.) (Besides, he usually kept his back turned. Although, he had noticed several weeks ago that if he stood in just the right place, he could still see his cabin mate, reflected in the small shaving mirror on the wall. He made sure not to stand in that place any more after making that discovery, of course.) (Sure he did. We all believe that, don't we?)

Anyhow, he was either sneaking glances at Fox's cute buns or he wasn't, depending on what you believe, as he pondered what additional words of wisdom to offer to his young charge. Also, part of his brain was occupied with wondering just what type of comfort a young man might need (or, just be in the mood for) after witnessing bloodshed and death for the first time.

He made up his mind, and cleared his throat gently. (And surely it was a coincidence that by the time he'd finished thinking, Fox was safely and comfortably clad in the flannel nightclothes he wore, wasn't it?) "Do you have any questions?"

"About today, sir?" It was obvious where Fox's thoughts had been.

"Yes." Cap'n Skinner waited for Fox to consider the day's events again.

"No, sir." Fox wandered around the cabin, fiddling with a few small objects absentmindedly.

Outside of the necessary tidying, Cap'n Skinner hated having his possessions handled by others, but he ignored his automatic irritation this time. "How are you?" Always a direct man, Cap'n Skinner went straight to the point.

"I'm not sure." Fox put down the quilled pen he'd been dismantling and came over to lean against the bedside table, facing Cap'n Skinner across a few, brief inches of space.

The young man's proximity, the inevitable whiff of clean sweat that was laced with the bite of gunpowder this time, made Cap'n Skinner's mouth water. A condition he was getting used to.

Not for the first time, he told himself valiantly that he could and would control this dangerous attraction.

"Nervous?" he offered. "Tense? Worried?" (He didn't want to use the word "frightened" even if he did suspect that a very natural fear was a large part of Fox's unusual restlessness.)

"Not exactly." A faint frown creased the perfection of Fox's brow. He leaned forward, obviously unaware of his own movement. "I feel...wide awake. As though I want to....I don't know." He looked frustrated. "Maybe it is nerves. I just...."

"I understand." Cap'n Skinner smiled at Fox's look of surprise. "You feel excited. Tense. Ready for action. But there's nothing to do."

Fox nodded.

"It's as though a man's body gets pitched up for the fight, ready to face danger. It takes a while to relax." The Cap'n thought of his own early years in the navy. "What would you like to do? We could take a walk on deck."

Fox bit his lip and glanced away, then looked at him oddly.

Cap'n Skinner looked into the confused hazel eyes, watching them warm and darken as a hint of something he couldn't name came into them. As though in a dream, he felt himself leaning forward, spanning those last few inches until he was kissing the younger man.

A storm roared in his ears and his heart pounded. When he pulled back, his lips were burning. The startled look in Fox's eyes pour sanity over him like a bucket of cold water.

Cap'n Skinner stepped back sharply. Fox opened his mouth to speak and the Cap'n cut him off, afraid to hear the accusations, the anger that Fox must feel.

"That shouldn't have happened." He forced himself to act more calmly than he felt. "We'd better get some sleep. It's been a long day." He turned away. "You'll feel better in the morning, Fox."

Fox tried again to speak.

"Go to bed," Cap'n Skinner ordered. He wanted to say something more, to explain, but he knew that if he relaxed his control for a moment, he'd start babbling.

A few seconds later, he could hear his companion move away, toward the cubby where he slept.

Cap'n Skinner's conscience didn't let him forget his transgression for an instant. When he opened his eyes on the new day, the memory hit him with gale force. Oh my God. How could it have happened? He still wasn't certain. One moment he had been talking with Fox, as much under control as he'd been for the last several weeks. And the next....

As much as he wanted to, there was no way to hide from what he'd done. Nor, as long as he was sharing a cabin with Fox, was there any way to avoid the young man.

Cap'n Skinner waited until breakfast was on the table and Fox was moving around the cabin fulfilling his usual duties.

He cleared his throat. "Fox. About last night...."

The sounds of movement behind him stilled. Cap'n Skinner knew it was the coward's way, to refuse to meet the young man's eyes as he tried to explain his transgression, but all the courage he had left wasn't enough to allow him to turn around.

"Yes?" Fox's voice sounded strained. No wonder. He must have thought that Cap'n Skinner had lost his mind.

The Cap'n cringed at the thought. "What happened last night," he said carefully, "was quite natural. Quite a normal result of the tension after the battle. That sort of thing happens now and then but I promise you it won't happen again in this cabin. We'll just forget about it. Do you understand?"

It wasn't the apology that he owed Fox, but as an honest man, Cap'n Skinner found that he was unable to pretend that he was sorry the incident had happened. And Cap'n Skinner, being a man of outstanding honesty, couldn't say what he didn't believe.

"Just tension?" He wasn't certain what that note in Fox's voice meant. It wasn't anger, so possibly he hadn't entirely lost his companion's regard and respect. "It won't happen again?"

Cap'n Skinner rushed to reassure him. "Never again." He waited, but Fox didn't speak. "Shall we consider the incident closed?"

"If that's what you say, sir," Fox said slowly. "It's closed."

"Excellent." Cap'n Skinner felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been right to address this immediately, no matter how tough it had been.

On the other hand, he thought it might be better if he went on deck as soon as possible and made the effort to stay out of Fox's way for the rest of the day. Give the young man some time to forget.

As much as Cap'n Skinner pretended that nothing had changed, the days that followed that impulsive kiss were miserable for him.

It had been difficult to spend time with Fox, having to keep his growing attraction to him hidden but that was nothing compared to the awkwardness Cap'n Skinner felt now. It was fully three days before he was able to walk within arm's reach of the other man without feeling as though Fox was braced against another attack.

And that wasn't his worst problem. Cap'n Skinner had said that they would forget it, that it would be as though the kiss hadn't happened. And he had meant what he said. Unfortunately, both his mind and his body seemed entirely unable to comply with the order. At intervals through the days, when he would see Fox unexpectedly, or if there was a lull in his duties and his mind was unoccupied, Cap'n Skinner found himself dwelling on those precious seconds. Reliving the pressure of Fox's lips against his own. Sometimes he managed to convince himself that Fox had been responding to him that night.

The more he struggled not to think of it, the more he thought of it. He knew that Fox hadn't forgotten either. He could see the knowledge, the memory in the other man's eyes sometimes. Cap'n Skinner wanted to bring it up, whether to try and apologize again, or to explore Fox's feelings about it, he just couldn't decide.

Some instinct told him that Fox knew of his struggle, and that the younger man was waiting for the moment when Cap'n Skinner broached the subject again.

The single break in his suffering came when the shout of ship, ahoy! rang out over the deck again one morning. Sailors ran to their posts, prepared to be told that they had sighted another pirate and that battle was imminent.

As the Heroic overtook the strange ship, they saw that she was flying the British colors from her highest mast.

Cap'n Skinner didn't allow his men to relax. Crafty pirates had been known to fly false flags from time to time, taking in the unlucky and the unwary with the ruse.

As the Heroic sailed closer, they were able to see the men moving about on the deck of the other ship, and the bales and cartons that identified her as a fully loaded merchantman, headed for home waters.

Sightings of friendly ships being almost as rare as pirates, the Captain of the merchantman hailed the Heroic and offered to come aboard with the latest news.

Cap'n Skinner knew that the other man and his crew, no doubt absent from British waters for six months or better, would also be hungry for any news of home. He accepted the other man's offer and Captain Henry (as his name turned out to be, not that it matters because he's about to disappear over the horizon and we won't be seeing him again) came aboard.

He confirmed the Heroic's position, telling Cap'n Skinner that they were less than a day out of Port Royale, if they should be looking for a place to drop anchor.

In response to Cap'n Skinner's dutiful inquiry about pirates, Captain Henry admitted that he hadn't been troubled with them himself, but added that they had seen a strange ship that might have been the marauders off their starboard bow the day before. The other vessel had been a distance away and since Henry's ship was not equipped to fight a pitched battle, they had considered themselves lucky not to have been sighted.

Cap'n Skinner thanked Captain Henry for the information and offered to stand host to the Captain and his officers at a midday mess. Captain Henry thanked him for the expected courtesy, but explained that he wanted to take advantage of the favorable afternoon wind to help them on their journey home.

As soon as Captain Henry left the Heroic and was back on board his own vessel, Cap'n Skinner gave the order to retrace the merchantman's path, bearing port (Because, of course, they were turned around and starboard to the merchantman was port to the Heroic. But then, you knew that, didn't you?) in search of the unidentified ship

All the rest of that day and the next, the crew of the Heroic stayed at the alert, the men never more than a few feet from their assigned posts and even those off-duty and sleeping keeping one eye open, and one ear peeled, for the call to arms. The men on duty polished and scrubbed and checked the cannon stores and their muskets, making certain that all was ready for battle.

At long last, a sail was sighted in the far distance. The order was given to pile on all sails and the Heroic plowed forward, straining to overtake her quarry.

Cap'n Skinner was a wise man and skilled in the managing of his ship. First Mate Matsen was one of the finest first officers in the fleet and had as many or more years' experience sailing a ship as the Cap'n. And still, in spite of their combined expertise, the sails they were chasing pulled ever farther away, then disappeared below the horizon.

The Heroic had lost the race. Cap'n Skinner was furious, but he tried not to let it show. It was not the fault of the ship or crew, or even of Matsen or himself that they had been unable to overtake the other vessel. They couldn't even be certain they had been chasing a pirate ship and not some other merchantman, or some private ship sailing on private and quite legal business through the warm Caribbean waters.

After a consultation with Matsen, the Cap'n announced that, in spite of their movements over the past three days, the ship was still within distance of Port Royale. They would make for the famous port to turn over their prisoners and, weather permitting, allow the crew a limited taste of shore leave.

As Matsen shouted the cheering crew back to their duties, Cap'n Skinner had a quiet moment to admit to himself that shore liberty might be the answer to his own, private problem. On land, away from the restrictive discipline of the ship, it might be easier for him to find a way to talk to Fox.

For what seemed like hours on end every day, he would turn to find Fox either at his elbow, or standing very near to him, not doing anything, but just there. And then the young man would disappear and Cap'n Skinner wouldn't see him for hours on end, until he caught a glimpse of Fox walking and talking (and usually laughing) with Ensign Pendrell or some other member of the crew. Cap'n Skinner sometimes had the feeling that if something didn't change, and soon, he might lose his mind.

The next morning, the HMS Heroic sailed into the huge, open bay that was Port Royale. Fox was on deck so soon after Cap'n Skinner that the Cap'n knew the younger man couldn't have taken time to eat breakfast. Fox had probably skipped most of his other morning duties as well.

Not that it mattered. This was not the day that Cap'n Skinner would choose to lecture Fox on the necessity of discipline.

The Heroic dropped anchor and longboats were lowered. The crew selected to enjoy the first hours of liberty would be rowed to shore and then the boats returned to the ship. By Cap'n Skinner's standing orders, no more than one third of the crew were allowed off the ship at any one time. Port Royale might be technically a British colony, but that was no guarantee of safety. In reality, it was an open port where every pirate, every rogue, every criminal in the sea found their way sooner or later. And an open port, meant an open town. Wide open. There was gambling, drinking, and all manner of loose moral behavior.

In spite of his reputation as a stern disciplinarian on-board ship, Cap'n Skinner was looking forward to visiting Port Royale again. Although it was always necessary to uphold the honor of HM's navy, it was also true that a man had to take time to relax from time to time.

And when it came to relaxation, Skinner (Skinner, the man, as opposed to Cap'n Skinner, you understand) had nothing at all against a few hands of poker, a few drinks, and some loose moral behavior.

In fact, loose moral behavior.... But no, we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?

Cap'n Skinner invited Fox to accompany him to shore, but the invitation was hardly needed. Fox had appeared at his elbow a few minutes after the liberty was announced and had stayed there, eyes sparkling, as the Cap'n saw to the necessary task of anchoring the ship (Well, he oversaw it. He didn't actually do any of the work, you understand. He's Upper-Level Management, after all.) and conferring with Matsen about the transfer of the prisoners.

He (Cap'n Skinner) was determined to work the situation with Fox out once and for all. (We have no idea what Fox was thinking.) They landed at the pier and he suggested, oh-so-casually, that they secure a room for the night. Fox agreed so they found a decent inn and paid in advance to hold their room.

"What would you like to do?" Cap'n Skinner thought that Fox might want to spend some time looking over the town. He decided that the discussion could wait for later, after the two of them had relaxed for a while.

Fox smiled, looking almost shy. "Well...actually, this is the first foreign city I've ever seen. I don't want to bore you, sir, but I'd like to go around and see everything." He glanced at Cap'n Skinner quickly. "I'm sure it's old to you, so if there's something else you'd rather be doing...."

"Not at all," Cap'n Skinner denied hastily. "In fact, that's just what I was thinking we might do."

"Really?" Fox looked pleased. "That's very kind of you, sir."

"Nonsense." Cap'n Skinner patted Fox companionably on the shoulder. For an instant, his muscles locked up as the urge to slide his arm around the young man's shoulders fought with his impulse to jerk away. He compromised with another pat and let his hand drop. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Contrary to expectation, Fox didn't seem either worried or annoyed at the friendly touch. "That's great." He looked around from where they were standing in the doorway of the inn. "Which way shall we go first?"

"We came up from the ship, so why not go on down the street and see what this place has to offer?" Cap'n Skinner suggested.

The two of them set off, Cap'n Skinner enjoying the familiar sights of Port Royale, and getting an extra enjoyment from Fox's obvious interest in everything they saw. There were shops full of strange and exotic goods. Merchants from every corner of the world. And all the while, the yelling, laughing, half-drunken crowd spilled around them as they walked. It was hard to say if the people or the merchandise were more fascinating to Cap'n Skinner's companion.

Indulging Fox's obvious desire, Cap'n Skinner steered the two of them in and out of a dozen or more shops, helping pick out suitable gifts for the all-but forgotten maiden aunts in addition to a few exotic purchases that Fox decided would make perfect mementos for himself.

Cap'n Skinner paid a boy a pence to run Fox's purchases back to the inn and, tired of shopping, suggested that they eat.

Fox looked surprised, then looked around the streets and realized that the afternoon was wearing into evening around them. "I can't believe it's this late." He smiled at Cap'n Skinner, a charming apology. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to make you spend the entire day with me this way."

"Don't apologize, Fox." Cap'n Skinner looked at his companion's happy face with pleasure. "I had no other plans for the day and I enjoyed myself thoroughly."

Fox looked a little embarrassed. "That's very kind of you to say, sir."

"And now," and Cap'n Skinner changed the subject quickly, "How about that dinner we were talking about?"

"Now that you mention it, I'm starved," Fox agreed. "What shall we eat?"

"Any of these places will do." Cap'n Skinner waved an arm at the row of cheap restaurants lining the packed dirt that passed for a road. "And anything will do, as long as it's not salted fish, right?" He laughed at Fox's expression. "When you've been at sea for a few years, you get used to it, but I admit that the idea of a meal that hasn't been pounded and preserved sounds good right about now."

They chose an eating establishment at random and found an unoccupied table. Fox insisted on ordering an exotically named wine to go with their meal, and on Cap'n Skinner joining him.

"You deserve it, sir. After all," he grinned, the most open smile he'd given in several days, "You can't say you haven't earned it after today."

"I will admit that sailing a ship fifty miles is easier work than walking five, and I'm sure we've walked that today," Cap'n Skinner agreed ruefully. Not that he regretted a moment of the delightful day, but a pair of leather knee boots weren't the most comfortable footwear for a man on foot.

They finished their first drinks before their dinner arrived, and Fox ordered another to go with the meal. Then a pint of ale with his steak and another drink after the meal.

Fox's eyes sparkled. He talked nonstop about their day, what they had seen, how good the beef tasted, and whether or not Cap'n Skinner thought they would find pirates again soon after they left port. (And that part of the conversation made the Cap'n very nervous because, after all, there was no telling who might be sitting at the next table in one of these places and it might be those self-same pirates that Fox was talking about).

Fox also chattered about the length of time they had been at sea, where else the ship might travel before returning home and on and on until Cap'n Skinner realized, with a sinking sense of doom, that his companion was well and truly drunk.

"M'sorry, sir. Don't usually drink." Fox was trying his best to cooperate, slinging one arm over Cap'n Skinner's shoulders and leaning against him as they stumbled down the road.

"It's fine, Fox. Don't let it worry you." Cap'n Skinner couldn't blame Fox, he should have paid more attention to what the young man was ordering. Although, he did feel inclined to wish that Fox wouldn't try to sing.... They were attracting rather a lot of amused attention from the scattering of other drunk or half-drunk men scattered along their path.

He was grateful that he managed to get his tipsy burden back to the inn and up the stairs without actually being confronted by any of the laughing men who were watching their progress.

Grateful, that is, until they were alone in the room together. He lit the lamp, then turned back to his companion.

Fox was pulling at his shirt. "Maybe get some sleep," he slurred, nodding unsteadily. "Bes' thing for me, right?"

"It is." Cap'n Skinner watched as Fox stumbled out of his clothes, leaving them where they lay scattered around the floor. In what seemed like an appallingly short amount of time, he was completely nude.

"Forgot my nightshirt," Fox offered cheerfully. "You don't mind?"

"Mind?" Cap'n Skinner fought and failed to turn his eyes away. "No, of course not," he managed to say.

"That's good." Fox gave him a brilliant smile. "You're always great, you know?"

"I am?" Cap'n Skinner stood there, staring at his drunken companion stupidly.

"Always," Fox confirmed. Without warning, he stepped forward and threw his arms around Cap'n Skinner's shoulders.

"Always," Fox repeated. He smiled at Cap'n Skinner angelically, then leaned in and gave the Cap'n a warm, slow kiss.

The room seemed to spin around Skinner's head and the unsteady burden in his arms felt like the most solid thing on the planet. Fox seemed to melt against him. Cap'n Skinner's grip tightened and he raised his head to look at the other man in disbelief.

Somewhere between the kiss and the look...Fox had passed out completely, leaving Cap'n Skinner standing there holding a naked, but very heavy ship's clerk and suffering from complete frustration.

Cap'n Skinner had not thought it was possible to be more frustrated than he had been for the past few weeks. Now, of course, he realized that he hadn't even known what frustration was until this moment.

He managed to get his burden onto the bed without incident. Looking at the beaming smile that was fading from the oblivious face, he felt his irritation begin to disappear. Cap'n Skinner's eyes wander down the gloriously nude body. For the first time, he could simply indulge himself in looking.

After a long, dazed minute, something inside of him (that damned sense of honor) spoke up to insist that what he was doing was wrong. Cap'n Skinner sighed, but obediently averted his eyes. He pulled off his own clothes, folding them neatly and leaving them on the room's single chair, then crawled in next to the unconscious body. (There was no help for it. the room had only one bed.) Then, he closed his eyes and ordered himself directly to sleep. Eventually, it worked.

Cap'n Skinner was up and dressed before Fox stirred the next morning. He looked, not unsympathetically, at the heavy eyes and pale face. "Here." He handed Fox a foaming pint of ale that had just been delivered to the room.

Fox shuddered and turned away. "No, thank you, sir." The sight of the tankard seemed to make his condition worse.

Cap'n Skinner understood that, but he also understood something that Fox didn't. That the only cure for what ailed the young man was the famed hair of the dog. "Drink it," he ordered.

Fox gave him a pitiful look, enough to soften the hardest of hearts. "Sir...."

"It will make you feel better," Cap'n Skinner assured him. He couldn't stand the miserable look in the other man's eyes. "Trust me, Fox. I know what I'm talking about."

"Yessir." Fox looked unhappy, but he accepted the metal tankard and, holding his breath, took a deep draught. When he lowered the cup, he looked even more miserable, if possible, but Cap'n Skinner ignored it. In a very few minutes the cure would begin to work.

"Drink it up," he said, not unkindly. "You don't have to rush. Then we'll go down for breakfast."

"Why don't you go on without me?" Fox's complexion went from pale to green. "I'm not that hungry this morning."

"The food will make you feel better," Cap'n Skinner promised. "You'll be hungry in a few minutes."

A look of polite disbelief was at war with his illness on Fox's face. "Yessir," he repeated.

Cap'n Skinner moved around the room, picking up the clothes that Fox had discarded the night before and trying to shake the worst of the wrinkles out of them. He smoothed each garment and laid it neatly at the foot of the bed. Then he sat in the chair, and waited.

Eventually, Fox did manage to finish the pint. The second half went down easier than the first. By the time he reached the bottom, he was even able to offer the Cap'n a wan smile. "I am feeling a bit better, sir."

"Why don't you get dressed?" Cap'n Skinner suggested. "We'll get some good bread and cheese in your stomach and you'll be a new man."

"It would have to be an improvement." Fox dragged himself out of the bed and into his clothes. This morning, he was such a sad figure that Cap'n Skinner had no trouble keeping his unruly eyes fixed on the other man's face.

Fox didn't manage much breakfast, but Cap'n Skinner did manage to bully the young man into eating enough bread to help settle his stomach. Fox also got through another half-pint of ale. While he was clearly feeling better, he was also eager to leave the scene of his debauch.

"A nice, long walk would do you some good," Cap'n Skinner suggested hopefully. Technically, he should return to the ship this morning, but he was willing to stretch a point of protocol for the opportunity to talk with Fox. Especially after what had happened last night.

"No, thank you, sir." Fox stepped out into the road, wincing at the bright sunlight. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I believe I left some of my duties uncompleted yesterday. I should return to the ship."

Cap'n Skinner started to object, then shut himself up. In truth, there was little chance that Fox would be feeling strong enough for the discussion that Cap'n Skinner wanted to have. He agreed with good grace (under the circumstances), and the two men separated.

Cap'n Skinner decided to indulge himself in a walk on shore. (All things considered, maybe it would be best if he didn't see Fox for a few hours.)

He walked, and brooded a good deal, until hunger drove him back to town. A quick meal restored most of his good humor, allowing him to see the funny side of Fox's first encounter with the temptations of a foreign port.

By the time Cap'n Skinner, returned to the ship he was actually cheerful. By means of dwelling on Fox's impulsive embrace the night before, he'd managed to convince himself that it was just a matter of time, waiting for Fox to feel a bit better then getting him alone for a few minutes and everything would be solved.

Exactly when he had gone from determination to maintain a strict distance from his too-attractive charge to a burning desire to get a close as possible, Cap'n Skinner wasn't certain. But when he thought about it, it made perfect sense. (As it does to us, of course.)

More good news awaited him on-board the Heroic. Matsen met him at the top of the ladder, with news that there was a rumor of a pirate sighted less than a day's journey from port. From the description, it might very well be the same vessel they had pursued, and lost, a few days before.

Cap'n Skinner's mood brightened even more. This was what he needed. Another foe to vanquish, another triumph for the Heroic and her fine crew. "Call back the men," he ordered. "Cancel the liberty and we'll set sail as soon as possible."

Matsen saluted. "I anticipated your order, sir. The word has already gone out and the last group of men are returning to the ship already. We can leave within the half-hour."

"Excellent." Cap'n Skinner left Matsen to his duties and went to linger near the wheel. They would be getting under way in the teeth of the evening breeze but, once out of port, they should find a more favorable wind quickly.

And so it was. Night wind filled the Heroic's sails and she set forth in search of the vermin of the seas.

* * * *

The Crafty Cavalier sailed through blue-green Caribbean waters, everything about the ship reflecting her Captain's complete satisfaction with life. Ignoring Francois' glare, Captain Alex leaned back and smiled. (His celebrating crew had fashioned a sort of deck chair out of leftover bits of canvas and rigging, padding it with cushions looted from their latest conquest.)

Admittedly, the Spanish brig hadn't been the most formidable of foes, but the Captain was proud of the way his half-trained crew had swarmed aboard and grappled with the bewildered crew on board the smaller vessel. (The fact that Black Jack had littered the Spanish deck with a handful of lethal grenades before the Cavalier's crew boarded didn't hurt, of course.) (Black Jack was ecstatic. Ever since he'd been a child, anything that made a really loud noise was a thrill for him. Although his childhood was long in the past, his love of explosions wasn't.)

There had been little that was of use to the Captain's ship on the other boat, aside from a half-full hold of fish that Alex's complaining crew was even now cleaning and salting and packing into barrels.

Captain Alex thanked whatever god watched over pirates (surely there was one) that the Cavalier's second opponent had been Spanish. An enemy any good British citizen would be proud to fight.

In addition, the excited boys had cleaned out the Spanish captain's cabin before the Cavalier abandoned the brig to its fate. (Someone had objected to putting their brother pirates to the sword and Captain Alex had been too wise to make an issue of it this time.) The youthful crew had salvaged the cushions for Captain Alex's chair, a variety of weird spices in a wooden chest and a fair quantity of extra canvas that seemed to have been stored there for lack of any better place to stash it.

The canvas was gradually reappearing, some of it on the Captain's new chair. (Which he thought was a huge improvement over standing on deck for hours on end, no matter what Francois mumbled to the contrary.) Other pieces had shown up as broad brimmed hats, upon which some talented soul was embroidering a skull and crossbones and the proud advertisement CC. All in all, they were turning into a rather stylish group. A fact that was sending Francois completely mad with fury.

Personally, Alex had never heard of a pirate crew that wore sun hats, but after all, this wasn't the most unusual feature of his unorthodox crew. (The Captain wasn't acquainted with a lot of pirates but he sometimes caught Delgado surveying the crew with a sort of dazed, disbelieving expression that didn't need interpretation.)

Alex frowned (and hid a smile) as he remembered the turmoil that had surrounded their latest conquest. When the other ship had been sighted, half the boys had disappeared below deck. They're straggled back, one by one quite a while later, buttoning and tucking and smoothing their new clothes.

Where they'd found the time (or fabric) to sew themselves each a pair of natty black breeches and red-striped shirts was anyone's guess, but it was obvious by the way they lined up for inspection that they expected to be commended for their initiative. The Captain hadn't had the heart to chastise them.

Possibly, with practice, the crew would learn that sighting the enemy meant all hands on deck immediately. No matter how they were dressed. But, probably not.

Anyhow, by the time they overhauled the small brig and the Captain shouted a demand that the other vessel stand by to be boarded, most of the boys were beside themselves with excitement. Actually, they'd thrown themselves into the task with such enthusiasm that three of them had to be fished out of the ocean. (They'd misjudged the gap between the two ships.)

The unlucky Freddie had become almost hysterical and had to be sent below to lie in a darkened room with a cool cloth on his head.

(And he missed the excitement of the battle, whereupon his crewmates voted him, "Most likely to get left behind at the next port" and took his uniform away.)

The rest of the crew had thrown themselves onto the deck of the other ship with such abandon, and such a lack of discipline, that they seemed ready to start fighting each other again in the absence of any more formidable enemy.

The shocked crew of the Spanish vessel was finally located huddled together in one corner of the mess room. Confusion reigned until Dickie discovered that he and a member of the Spanish crew shared a limited knowledge of Cantonese. (Long story, don't ask)

Dickie told the Captain that since the Cavalier was flying the Jolly Roger, the Spaniards had decided she wasn't a threat, even though their two countries were at war. The crew had been debating the odds of trading some of the fishy cargo for a supply of gold when they were attacked. (They'd been more than unlucky in the matter of finding merchant ships this trip.)

The brig's men had been smartly surrounded and disarmed by fully twenty of Alex's proud crew. Then the fifteen Spaniards were crammed into a room that had been designed to hold no more than ten at the outside, and a very friendly ten at that. By the time they could free themselves, the Cavalier was far away.

The one injury to Alex's crew came when Stefan was scratched (deliberately, he swore) by Timson's cutlass during the boarding process.

The Cavalier's crew had been disappointed when Captain Alex refused to award Stefan a medal of valor, but they had settled for an outsized bandage and a sling which inspired them all to wait on the self-satisfied Stefan hand and foot.

(In addition to ordering his crewmates around, Stefan used his sick time to spend hours composing dirty limericks on the subject of Timson's general cowardice, one of which the crew set to music and sang incessantly until Black Jack threatened to throw them all overboard if he ever heard the tune again. The effect of this teasing on Timson was predictable but we won't get into what that subject since it has little to do with the story and we seem to have wandered rather far afield.

Where were we? Oh, yes. The Captain has a deck chair and his natty crew is wearing tastefully embroidered sun hats. And they needed them.

The Cavalier had left the chilly northern waters and was now making her way through the silken southern seas. The air was warm and balmy and the crew had taken to sleeping on deck, tossing their blankets onto any clear spot and spreading themselves comfortably under the soft rays of moonshine that bathed the sailing Cavalier.

The Captain had other good reasons to smile. Dickie and the pliant and insatiable Jamsie had gotten together to work out some special way to thank the Captain for their latest adventure. He was quite looking forward to the evening. Based upon the amount of whispering and giggling, it was going to be a night to remember. The list of props was rather intriguing. While the Captain could think of any number of uses for twenty feet of rope and a pint of oil, he was still working on what they planned to do with pieces of his oldest silk shirt, fifteen candles, and an unused piece of canvas, seven foot square.

In the meantime, they were less than a day out of Port Royale and the announcement had already been made that the ship would drop anchor there for three days' liberty for the entire crew. This would be the first shore leave for the boys since they'd assumed their new identities and they were determined to make it an event to remember.

Delgado had already had to issue strict orders regarding the acquisition of earrings (acceptable, as long as they were in the ears), tattoos (required permission of a superior officer first), and fighting (strictly forbidden unless the Cavalier's crew outnumbered their opponents by at least three-to-one). (While the boys were making great strides in Black Jack's weapons class, they were doing less well in Elbows' hand-to-hand dirty tricks class. They would be mincemeat for most of the battle-hardened men they would encounter ashore.)

The Captain had also fended off a demand by Francois that the long-delayed Rules of Conduct be presented to each new member of the crew for signing before the boys were allowed ashore.

The Captain had reviewed a sample of the Rules that Francois had thrust under his nose. His jaw dropped on reading such articles as #I ("Every man has a vote in affairs of moment; has equal title to fresh provisions or strong liquors at any time seized and can use them at pleasure unless scarcity makes it necessary for the good of all to vote restraint.), which would undoubtedly result in a crew who was drunk eighty percent of the time; or #VI (He that shall desert the ship or his quarters or exhibit cowardice in time of battle shall be punished by death or marooning on an island.), which should take care of most of the rest of the crew who would be lining up to admit to cowardice and get marooned the next time they were bored.

It was impossible to explain to the insistent Frenchman the unwisdom of putting these types of ideas n the minds of this too-suggestible crew. So far, the Captain was managing to avoid the entire issue fairly well, though, so that was all right.

Darn it. That's not what we were talking about, was it? Oh, yes. Captain Alex's happy crew was, at long last, lined up on deck so that Delgado and Black Jack could teach them the most important lesson of all. How to fight. With cannon.

This is going to be a mistake. Captain Alex took a thoughtful sip of vodka and surveyed the ship's deck ruefully, wondering how he'd been talked into this particular disaster.

* * * *

The HMS Heroic was gliding with the proper naval stealth, through the deserted Caribbean Sea.

Cap'n Skinner lingered on deck far beyond his usual time. Not that he wasn't eager to see Fox but, all things considered, he'd decided to leave any discussion of their future relationship, until after the upcoming battle.

Under those circumstances, the fewer hours he spent cooped up alone with Fox, the better off they would both be. He waited until long after the time when, based upon the severity of Fox's hangover earlier that day, the younger man should have been in bed and sound asleep. (It was no part of the cabin boy's duties on Cap'n Skinner's ship to sit up until all hours, waiting on the Cap'n to finish his duties and turn in for the night.)

Darkness spread around the ship as the last rays of the sun's light disappeared. Fortunately there was a full moon to steer by, the light swelling until the sea shone silver underneath its glow.

The Cap'n knew there was no chance they would overtake their prey that night and he finally gave in to his own need for sleep and retired to his cabin.

He was quite understandably surprised when he found the room deserted. The pallet where Fox should have been fast asleep was deserted. The blankets were tumbled, indicating that the younger man had managed to find the time for at least a short nap that day.

At first, Cap'n Skinner simply didn't believe it. In all the weeks, the months that they'd been at sea, he had never once returned to his cabin at night without finding Fox in it. Not since that first night.

He was...astounded. Although he knew it was pointless, the Cap'n even went to the extreme of pulling aside the little-used curtain that separated Fox's tiny cubicle from the main cabin. Not that he expected to find the young man lurking behind it, but...dammit! Where was the boy?

An hour later, he was pacing the floor, still fighting his first impulse which had been to have the ship searched from stem to stern. The only thing stopping him was the suspicion that in doing so, he'd be making a colossal fool out of himself.

It was painfully possible that Fox had befriended (so to speak) one of the crew members (no doubt that little sneak, Pendrell who had been lurking around, waiting for the chance to sully Fox's innocence) and was curled up in some distant corner of the ship. Cap'n Skinner ignored his own innocence-sullying impulses and brooded over the fate of the unknown sailor darkly.

He settled on a course halfway between a full search of the ship and just ignoring Fox's absence, which he was completely unable to do. Rousting the enlistee who traditionally slept at the foot of the ladder to the Captain's cabin, he demanded to have Matsen waked and sent to his cabin immediately.

When the First Mate showed up, he looked rumpled, sleepy, and distinctly worried. It wasn't often that something aboard the well-regulated ship was allowed to interfere with the officers' pursuit of a good eight hours nightly. "Sir? Is there a problem?"

"Possibly, possibly." Cap'n Skinner scratched his head awkwardly, then attacked the matter headfirst, as was his habit. "Tell me, Matsen, have you seen my clerk since the ship left port?"

"No, sir." Matsen looked a bit insulted. It was not, after all, the duty of the First Mate of a Man O'War to keep track of the lower ranks.

Cap'n Skinner paid no attention to Matsen's displeasure. "Neither have I," he said bluntly.

A moment later, the First Mate's face cleared as he understood what the Cap'n was implying. "Not at all, sir?"

"No." Cap'n Skinner ignored the implication that he might have stumbled across Fox at some point in the past six hours and merely have forgotten. Every moment he'd spent with the young man was engraved on Cap'n Skinner's memory. But that was none of Matsen's business.

Matsen glanced around the cabin, then his face went blank. "Of course," he said carefully, "It is a rather large ship. Sir."

"Dammit, I know that, man! It's my ship, after all." If all the First Mate had to offer was idiotic remarks, Cap'n Skinner would soon regret having wakened the man.

Matsen plowed ahead stubbornly. "With a full crew, of course."'

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Cap'n Skinner drew himself up and glowered at the First Mate. If Matsen thought that just because it was the middle of the night that the Cap'n would overlook this behavior, he was sadly mistaken.

"Has the young man made any," Matsen licked his lips uncomfortably, "Special friends since he has been with us?"

Now Cap'n Skinner understood what the other man was implying. It didn't help that this had been his own first fear. "Not that I'm aware of, no."

"Or," and here Matsen's gaze locked onto a dark corner of the cabin's ceiling, refusing to meet Cap'n Skinner's eyes, "If, by chance, he was...wanting to talk about something to do with his position here, would there be anyone he might turn to for...advice?" Nothing could have exceeded the delicate probe into the precise relationship between the Cap'n and his clerk, a subject that had been of much interest to the rest of the ship's officers.

Cap'n Skinner sent up a prayer that his embarrassment wasn't showing and that the heat he felt in his face was not being reflected in a tell-tale coloring of his cheeks. "I understand you," he said stiffly. "There is nothing in Fox's position under my command that would...." He didn't know how to finish the sentence, but Matsen seemed to understand.

"No?" He looked startled. (In fact, he was elated. Bets had been taken at the officer's mess, a sad but true fact, and Matsen's faith in Cap'n Skinner's adherence to regulations had been well-placed.) (We won't tell Cap'n Skinner that, of course. We fear he'd be anything but appreciative to know that his silent struggle against Fox's charms had been watched with interest by any of the crew with the leisure, and the brain, to notice it.)

"Possibly someone else, then?" Matsen almost held his breath. Fox's connection with the highly placed Admiral Highgain was well-known throughout the ship and Matsen had a week's wages riding on the opportunistic Pendrell. (That sweet, helpful manner hadn't fooled Matsen since the first time he'd caught the sharp, calculating expression on Pendrell's face, directed at Fox's retreating back one day early in the voyage.)

"To the best of my knowledge, Fox has not become...excessively well-acquainted with any of the ship's crew," Cap'n Skinner said woodenly. "As a matter of fact, it is my understanding that Fox has never...formed any close friendships

"Never?" The First Mate's eyes almost popped out of his head at the idea.

Cap'n Skinner pretended to tidy some of the already-neat papers on his desk. "You understand, Matsen, that before his journey with us, Fox was raised very much in seclusion. He had his books and the company of his family," and Cap'n Skinner thought of the two maiden aunts. "Fox has not been in the habit of spending much time with young men his own age."

Matsen swallowed whatever else he was going to say. Shocking as the revelation was that a young man could have reached the age of manhood without experiencing...the memory of Fox's lush mouth and the soft swell of...well, it was just unbelievable, that was all.

With an effort, the First Mate filed those thoughts away for a later time. "I understand, sir." He didn't, but there you were. Cap'n Skinner said it as though he had reason to know.

"In any case, Cap'n, a discreet search of the ship might be in order, nevertheless. It's possible that the young man has merely forgotten the time and is sitting in some quiet corner talking to one of the crew."

They both understood what he meant, without having it spelled out. The thought made Cap'n Skinner's stomach roll with fear and jealousy, but that sensation was overwhelmed by his relief. Matsen was going to order the search that Cap'n Skinner had wanted to suggest himself.

"It is, at you mentioned, a rather large ship, Matsen," he pointed out. "There are a number of corners where two young men might be...sitting and talking at any particular time."

Matsen scratched his ear, looking a touch embarrassed. "Actually, Cap'n, I believe I might know of the more likely spots...."

Discipline kicked in and Cap'n Skinner gave his First Mate a sharp look. He could smell the hint of unauthorized fraternization in the air. For the time being, he said nothing but.... Matsen, of all people! Cap'n Skinner was disappointed in the man. "See to it," he snapped.

A sharp salute and a promise to return quickly, and Matsen left to conduct his search.

Cap'n Skinner's own excess energy had to find an outlet somewhere. The frustration and worry that he had been suppressing transformed into a righteous frenzy. He paced the floor again, picturing Matsen and the crew. No doubt even that little redheaded ensign, the young man looked ripe for any kind of trouble. Cap'n Skinner had never trusted the boy. He should have warned Fox against him the first day.

And, a further insult, his own order that the Ensign be issued a more suitable uniform had been ignored. Pendrell had continued to flaunt himself around the ship in those tight white pants. Even in the midst of his own absorption with Fox, the Cap'n had found himself reacting to the sight more than once.

The knowledge of his own chaste battle against temptation fueled his indignation with Matsen. Dammit, what right did the man have treating one of HM's ships like a floating brothel? Did he think that His Majesty (Cap'n Skinner paused for a quick but respectful salute in the direction of a small painting on one wall) had gathered together a shipload of the world's finest sailors just so Matsen could.... Cap'n Skinner's mind boggled as he thought of below-decks orgies, drunken debauches, and a parade of ripe and willing young men in and out of the First Mate's cabin.

By the time Matsen returned, Cap'n Skinner was beside himself with resentment. His own long weeks of frustration pushed him into giving the helpful First Mate a curt, unfriendly greeting.

Matsen saluted crisply, looking surprised at his reception. "I'm sorry, sir. No sign of your clerk."

The subject of Matsen's relations with the crew (which seemed absurd, all of a sudden, as Cap'n Skinner eyed the man's calm, professional demeanor) receded into the arena of the irrelevant.

Cap'n Skinner tried to mask his disappointment and worry. "Then he must have been left ashore."

Matsen nodded. "It seems likely, sir. I did run into Ensign Pendrell and he mentioned that Fox had planned to return to shore this afternoon."

"How long will it take us to get back?" The idea of abandoning the AWOL sailor never even occurred to the Cap'n.

"We're sailing before the wind, Cap'n." Matsen looked upset. "Making excellent time. It would take us two days to return." He didn't mention their search for the reported pirate ship, knowing that duty was never far from Cap'n Skinner's mind.

"Matsen," Cap'n Skinner said majestically. "Admiral Highgain himself commended that boy to our care. Unless you plan to return to England and report to the Admiral that we were too busy to watch out for his nephew, I would suggest that you see to turning the ship about immediately."

Matsen saluted. "Yes sir." He frowned, staring at the floor thoughtfully. "We might be able to catch a suitable crosswind tomorrow morning, sir."

Cap'n Skinner nodded. Naturally he wasn't unaware of the difficulty of sailing a large ship into the teeth of the prevailing winds. "We'll hold our position until dawn."

"Very good, sir." The First Mate had his hand on the door latch when Cap'n Skinner's voice stopped him again.

"One thing more, Matsen." Cap'n Skinner frowned. The matter had to be addressed.

"Yes, Cap'n?"

Cap'n Skinner squared his shoulders and looked his First Mate in the eye.

The Cap'n delivered a short, pointed lecture about the dangers of illicit fraternization, his discomfort growing as the surprise in Matsen's eyes turned to indignation. (Possibly Cap'n Skinner's imagination had run away with him during the tension-filled wait for the results of the First Mate's search of the ship.) Still, it was better to be on the safe side, the Cap'n decided.

He refused to let Matsen answer the lecture, dismissing the man abruptly at the end of his speech.

Dawn woke the Cap'n, that and the feel of the ship's sails straining to catch a new wind. By the time he made it on deck, the Heroic had been turned and was heading back toward the port she had left the evening before.

If their outbound journey had been on the wings of fortune, the return more than compensated. The Heroic all-but wallowed in the sea, turning and shifting to catch every available wisp of the unfriendly wind refusing to help her to her goal. All the sail they crowded on fluttered aimlessly against the mast.

The morning of the second day of her labored journey, the shout went up from the crows' nest. Ship ahoy!!

The officers turned out to scan the horizon, all of them spotting the prize at almost the same moment. Taking advantage of a momentary breeze, the Heroic changed course and overtook her quarry.

Cap'n Skinner eyed the prize in disdain. Pirates, yes, but this ship was a pitiful wreck. She'd been in a fight, that was certain, and had come off much the worst from the encounter. Her sails were patched and torn, the deck scarred with dents and holes. Her rigging had been cut, which explained why she hadn't tried to escape. She couldn't, because she couldn't sail.

It was an insult to the capabilities of the Heroic to ask her crew to fight such a ruin. However, duty was duty.

Matsen hailed the other ship, watching with disgust as she promptly struck her colors, a sign of surrender.

The Cap'n ordered a boarding party and, anxious for any kind of diversion, personally accompanied his men onto the deck of the Spanish vessel. For, Spanish she was indeed, based upon the look and the language of the crew gathered sullenly on her deck.

In a short time, the Spanish Captain was brought before Cap'n Skinner to surrender his sword. (Well, nothing so formal, of course, because that was a gesture allowed only to honorable men, but they did let him carry it up and hand it to the Cap'n.) Brought before Cap'n Skinner to tell his tale, let us say. And it was quite a satisfying tale, at that.

The Spaniards had been attacked by English pirates. The foreign Captain was full of curses about those who did not honor code of brotherhood among thieves. He claimed that his ship had approached the other in a spirit of good fellowship, all unawares, and that they had been devastated by an underhanded, sneak attack.

At the conclusion of his tale, Cap'n Skinner ordered the man taken away and put in irons with his entire crew to await their return to port. Matsen had overseen the incarceration of their previous prisoners and would see to it that this group joined them in the ponton, the converted ship's hull that was Port Royale's most secure prison. At some point, a British prison ship would stop by the colony and pick up the felons, taking them back to England to stand trial and be hung.

There was little of value aboard the captured ship. Cap'n Skinner's men searched her thoroughly, then allowed the ship's carpenters to take a look at her. They reported to Matsen that the wreck was hardly worth saving. However, there was good timber aboard her, so the Heroic took their prize in tow and started off once again on her slow voyage back to port.

Cap'n Skinner didn't argue about the wisdom of salvaging the Spaniard. Seasoned timber was in short supply in this part of the world. If there wasn't already an English vessel in port needing a spare mast, there would be soon. Failing that, the ship could be sold to a merchant company who had the necessary funds to restore it and use it to haul valuable merchandise between the islands.

Now, had she needed it, the Heroic had a legitimate reason to return to port so soon after her last visit. But she still didn't have a favorable wind.

Cap'n Skinner made an effort not to haunt the wheel. He knew that Matsen and the crew were doing all they could to get the Heroic back to port. It would be unusual, to say the least, for him to hang over their shoulders and second-guess his First Mate's orders.

With nothing else to occupy his time, Cap'n Skinner retreated to his cabin, announcing that he was going to get caught up on some of the endless paperwork that came with his position and responsibility.

As he stared at the stacks of untouched vellum on his desk, Cap'n Skinner found himself contemplating the Spaniard's report. He acknowledged to himself that a man could almost forgive a pirate with the sense to confine his depredations to other criminals and enemies of the crown. Officially, of course, this ship that the Spaniard reported was no different than any other pirate who lurked on the seas, but privately the Cap'n rather admired her unidentified Captain.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?"

The door swung open and the much-despised Ensign Pendrell stepped in. As he offered the Cap'n a smart salute, the older man found himself feeling guilty for the private suspicions he had harbored about the young sailor.

"Sir." Pendrell swung the door closed behind him. "I thought that as long as Fox was missing, you might be needing some assistance. Someone to cover some of his duties, temporarily. I'd like to volunteer."

As Cap'n Skinner looked at the guileless smile, his guilt tripled. This helpful, smartly turned-out youngster was the fiend he'd been imagining stealing Fox's affections? He was ashamed of himself.

He didn't need, or want, anyone taking Fox's place but after the way he'd treated Pendrell (even if just in the privacy of his own mind), Cap'n Skinner found himself unable to refuse the offer. "That would be very helpful, Ensign. Thank you."

What with one thing and another, mostly technical stuff involving winds and the lack thereof, and the strain of towing the smaller yet still-substantial Spanish brig behind them, it took almost three more days for the Heroic to return to Port Royale.

It seemed like a year to the anxious Cap'n. The hot rays of the tropical sun seemed to mock him as they glittered on the windless sea.

Between his worry about the fate the innocent Fox might have suffered, abandoned in the midst of one of the roughest, least-civilized places in the Empire, and, yes, let us admit it, the unwanted attentions of Pendrell, the Cap'n was going out of his mind.

Not content with tidying papers, bringing meals, and keeping the cabin neat, Pendrell was all-too-willing to take on other duties that Fox never handled. Not that he said anything directly. But it was there. In his eyes, when he looked at Cap'n Skinner.

Cap'n Skinner's original suspicions returned. If Pendrell was this eager...was it possible he'd made overtures to Fox? Unwelcome ones (the thought was joy and anger to the love-struck Cap'n) that had contributed to Fox fleeing the ship and, presumably, searching Port Royale for Cap'n Skinner who had, all unknowingly, returned to the Heroic himself and given the order to set sail?

That's rather confused, but we all know what it means. Unaware of Matsen's suspicions about the lengths the Ensign was willing to go to to secure promotion, Cap'n Skinner assumed that Pendrell's interest in Fox was personal. Carnally personal.

Torn between hanging around on deck with nothing to do for hours every day, and remaining in his cabin and being faced with Pendrell's temptations, the Cap'n was ready to tear his remaining hair out (no bald jokes, please) with frustration by the time the Heroic sailed back into port.

Against all reason, Cap'n Skinner had more than half-expected to sight Fox, standing at the end of the largest pier and scanning the horizon for the Heroic. Needless to say, he wasn't.

In a remarkably short amount of time, Cap'n Skinner turned over the responsibility for the new load of prisoners to Matsen, gathered together and instructed fully half of the Heroic's crew, and had himself and the search party rowed to shore.

Fox had to be someplace on this cursed island, and Cap'n Skinner was going to find him.

* * * *

The Crafty Cavalier had sailed into port three days before. (Well, you knew it had to happen, didn't you?)

Her exhausted Captain had offered (really, insisted) that Dickie and Jamsie take shore leave with the rest of the crew. Much as he appreciated the boys' enthusiasm, what he wanted most was to sit in the quiet corner of some sleazy bar, drink a few pints of ale (if nothing better could be ordered) and not be responsible for anything for a few hours.

Most especially, no matter how enjoyable the last twenty-four hours had been, he wanted to avoid any more expert and explicit demonstrations of gratitude from his crew. At least until he was thoroughly rested.

His crew was already disappearing into various shops and taverns, and one group toward a place that promised horses to rent for "Wilderness Treks" into the forested interior of the island. Smelling adventure, they had made a beeline for the sign, chattering excitedly about rainforests (this wasn't one), wildlife (and if they met any, they wouldn't enjoy the experience), and getting a little exercise for a change (the Captain made a note of that, mentally assigning that bunch to two extra hours in the riggings daily for the next two weeks). Most of the boys were just eager for the new experience. For, as we said, the adventure.

Don't they ever get enough? Consigning the remainder of the group to Black Jack's nervous care, Captain Alex stepped into one of the taverns. This one was, if not cleaner, at least marginally quieter than the others they'd passed.

Captain Alex ordered a pint of ale (one look at the so-called "wines" advertised on a chalked sign being enough to convince him that beer wasn't that bad) and looked around the room for a place to sit.

The only possibility looked to be at a table in a shadowed corner of the room. The Captain took his tankard and threaded his way through the crowd.

The table's single occupant turned out to be a young and (Alex felt a surprising twinge, something he wouldn't have thought possible after last night) amazingly attractive man.

"Excuse me," and Alex gave his most convincing smile. "This place seems to be full, do you mind if I join you?"

Fox (you knew it, didn't you?) raised his head and looked at the newcomer. "Sure." He sounded indifferent.

Alex was a little annoyed. (He was used to being greeted with a little more enthusiasm.) ''Thanks." He slid into a chair (carefully) and took a drink, eyeing his companion over the rim of the tankard. "You here alone?" Not his most brilliant opening, but it would have to do.

Something sad, almost lost flitted over the other man's face. "For the moment, it seems."

"Too bad." Alex was careful to keep his own voice casual. Besides which, he wasn't trying to pick the guy up. Just...passing some time, right? "I'm Alex, by the way."

"Fox." His companion gave him a half-hearted smile and returned to his brooding contemplation of the scarred table-top.

"Can I offer you a refill?" Alex motioned toward the young man's almost empty glass. "We'll call it rent, for the chair." He tried another smile, this one a bit warmer, wondering what the other man's problem was.

"No." Fox looked embarrassed. "I've pretty much had my limit."

Alex watched Fox's distant expression for a moment. Playing hard to get? It didn't look like a ploy. If he was trying to attract company, it would have been easy with that face. Fox didn't need to put on some kind of act, a smile would have gotten him anyone in the room.

Alex hadn't seen his companion smile yet. Suddenly, he wanted to see it. A harried waiter came by (no, they didn't have waiters in those places, but Alex wasn't about to give up his seat and risk losing it, so, voila, there was a waiter) and Alex ordered another drink.

"Are you sure you won't have one?" he asked again.

"No, thank you." Fox looked uncomfortable.

"Bring two," Alex told the waiter. He looked at Fox again, once they were alone. "If money's the problem, I could loan you a couple of pounds to tide you over," he offered casually. He wouldn't normally have made the offer, and certainly not so bluntly, but something was telling him that this naïve youngster was for real and not a con artist who had been waiting for a victim.

Fox's expression went wary. "I'm fine," he said. He shoved back his chair. "Thanks for the offer, but I've got to go."

It seemed he'd been offered money before. And hadn't cared for the payback terms.

"Where?" Alex asked bluntly. He looked up at Fox, taking a second to admire the attractive body attached to the beautiful face. "You said you were alone."

"I said for the time being." Innocent he might be, but not a fool. "I'd better be going."

Alex looked Fox in the eye. "I'm not looking for more than just someone to talk to, maybe have a drink or two with. I'm here on my own, and you seem to be as well. Seems like we could both use a little company."

Fox hesitated, looking torn. "I have money," he said aggressively.

He probably did too. Alex figured that the young man had money in his pocket for another night's lodging, and maybe a couple of meals. His somber face had been that of a man close to, but not quite at, the end of his rope.

"Very good," Alex said cheerfully. "Then it's not an insult for me to offer you a drink, right?"

At that moment, the waiter returned with the two drinks. He swept up the coins Alex had left on the table and disappeared.

"How long have you been at sea?" Alex ignored the fact that Fox was still standing. He took a pull at the fresh tankard, suppressing a gag at the soapy contents.

Fox wavered for another moment, the slid back into his chair. "A few months." He eyed the second tankard, then pulled it toward himself. "You?"

"About the same." It was a pleasure not to have to pretend to be more than he was, Alex had to admit. He'd been at sea nine days longer than most of his crew, and that was about it.

Fox nodded and took a careful drink with the air of a man who expected it to hurt.

Alex waited until they had both almost finished their drinks, watching the way Fox relaxed as the level of ale in the pot sank.

"I think I could use a bite to eat." He smiled at Fox carelessly. "Since we've agreed to spend the evening together (although, of course, they hadn't, but that was just Alex's way -- to assume he was going to get what he wanted. It usually worked.), let's see if we can find some place better than this, what do you say?"

"Sure." Fox looked surprised, then uncertain, but Alex's unaggressive behavior over the past hour seemed to have allayed a lot of his suspicions.

They searched the meager selection of taverns and restaurants, selecting one that Alex had heard had a decent cook. He overrode Fox's objections and ordered them each another tankard of ale with their dinners.

Fox relaxed even more as the surprisingly good food (Alex would have to remember to thank Delgado for the recommendation) and the ale filled his stomach.

The two men didn't talk much, but from what Fox did say, Alex understood that his companion had been left behind, by accident Alex was certain, when Fox's ship had left port the day before.

Fox seemed to be surprised that the ship hadn't returned for him immediately, but Alex had picked up enough about the disorder aboard ship to suspect that it could be a full day before a missing crewman was discovered. Although, looking at Fox, he had to admit that he couldn't imagine how anyone could leave this particular sailor behind and not be aware of it.

The night breeze off the ocean had cooled the air by the time they finished their leisurely meal. (Not that the food was that good, but having no particular place to go, the two men had sat over their drinks for an hour or two.)

"It's going to be a chilly night," Alex said thoughtfully. He glanced at Fox. "If you haven't already made arrangements, why don't we double up and save warmth?" He made the offer, fully expecting it to be rejected.

The suggestion didn't seem to surprise Fox. "Sounds like a good idea," he said. He glanced at the sky where clouds were fast-obscuring the stars. "It's going to rain, too."

By the time they made their way to the most respectable-looking inn the port had to offer and secured a room, Fox's prediction had come true. An unpleasant, cool drizzle was beginning to turn the dirt and dust of the town to mud.

They undressed by the light of a single lamp. Alex was disappointed to see that his companion modestly retained his underwear. He'd been looking forward to taking a much more personal look at Fox's obvious charms.

On the other hand, the modesty was quite in keeping with what he'd come to know of the young man's character.

He let Fox climb into bed first, then followed him, stopping to blow out the lamp before he curled up behind the young man.

"Night, Fox." He made certain his voice sounded casual.

There was a long silence. "Good night, Alex." Fox sounded uncertain in the darkness.

Alex smiled to himself again and waited until he could sense Fox beginning to relax. The truth was, he was still tired enough after his previous night's exertions to welcome a night of just sleeping.

He'd have to move slowly. Alex wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone quite this naïve in his life. Not since the age of nine or ten, anyhow.

He closed his eyes. That was a challenge for tomorrow. For tonight, the warmth felt good and that was all that seemed important.

He woke with his face pressed against the curve of Fox's neck, the hair on the back of the younger man's head tickling his nose slightly.

The strong, unfamiliar body in his arms gave him some ideas, but Alex hadn't forgotten his plan to move carefully to capture this wary prize.

Alex eyed the gentle curve next to his mouth, then couldn't resist the impulse to press the lightest of kisses against the nape of his sleeping companion's neck. It was rather interesting to be the pursuer for a change. Alex had gotten so used to Jamsie and Dickie and their direct approach to the subject that he'd almost forgotten how exciting the chase could be.

Regretfully, he rolled out of bed and pulled on his clothes. As soon as he was dressed, he wakened the still sleeping Fox.

"Rise and shine." He smiled down at the groggy face framed by tousled hair. "Breakfast in five minutes."

"Mmph." Fox yawned. "Brea'fast?"

Alex jerked off the blankets cruelly, letting the cool morning air wash over Fox's sleep-warmed body.

"Hey!" Fox grabbed at the blankets and for a moment he almost laughed in response to Alex's rough teasing. The smile Alex had wanted to see danced on the edge of Fox's face, then faded.

Alex turned away, letting Fox pull on his clothes in privacy.

Dressed, the two men went down and found an open tavern that offered breakfast. Afterwards, they walked around town, Alex enjoying his first sight of the town while not letting Fox know that he'd never been there before. (Alex almost regretted having told the young man how limited his experience of the sea was since Fox was so obviously looking for someone older, and wiser, to guide him)

Just after lunch, the rain started again, heavier this time. The street was soon running with mud and both men's clothes were plastered to their bodies. Alex thought briefly, and not without satisfaction, of his crew members who had ridden off on a dilapidated selection of mules, bound for "adventure" in the forest. He hoped the troublesome mob was cold and damp and miserable.

Alex remembered something else he'd been told about the port. He grabbed his companion and pulled Fox against the inadequate protection of the side of one building. "How about we try something different?"

"Like what?" Fox almost had to shout to be heard over the rain and the thunder.

Alex looked around. "Follow me." He dove into the nearest shop, which happened to be a clothing store. In a few minutes he had picked out some clean, if not new, clothing. He even paid extra for a bit of tarp to wrap the dry cloth in.

He'd expected Fox to object when he'd picked out clothing for both of them, but the other man was too interested in finding out what Alex had in mind to pay attention to details.

They waded through the rain until Alex spotted the large, barn-like structure he'd been told about.

Fox followed him in eagerly, laughing when he realized they were in a bathhouse. (No, they didn't have bathhouses in Port Royale. Actually, all fresh water had to be hauled in overland or by ship. Those of you who object to historical inaccuracies will want to skip this section.)

Alex looked at Fox's glowing face and felt a smile curving his own lips. "You have any objection to being clean and warm?"

"Not at all." Fox ran one hand through his own wet hair and looked at it with disgust. "The truth is, it's been so long since I've had a fresh bath, I don't know if I'll know how to behave."

"I'm sure it will come back to you."

A small bribe secured a lavish amount of the water the proprietor had been heating in the vain hope that some of the port's unkempt sailors might take it in their heads to have a nice bath.

The tubs were large and, in the interests of sharing the hot water fairly, the two men climbed into one together in a snug corner of the building.

Alex glanced around and grinned. The position of their bath made it almost impossible for the proprietor to see what the two men were doing. Not that the man cared. With the weight of Alex's money in his pocket, he wasn't likely to complain about anything they did, short of destroying the place.

Which wasn't at all what Alex had in mind. He took his time, letting the hot water and the quiet of the deserted building relax both of them. "This is what we should have done hours ago," he said lazily, watching the water ripple as Fox's hands moved busily under the surface. "Don't you agree?"

Fox smiled at him, a genuine look of pleasure. "I do." The pale chill on his face was being replaced by a rosy flush as the water warmed him. "I hadn't realized how cold I was before."

"And filthy." Alex splashed a little of the soapy water toward his companion, laughing quietly. "Don't forget to wash behind your ears."

"Yes, Aunt Mildred." Fox made a face and him before soaping and ducking his head.

Alex washed his own hair, then stretched out, letting his leg graze Fox's under the water. "I could stay here all day."

Fox slid down until he was covered to the neck in the hot water. "Me, too," he agreed.

They soaked in silence for a while, then Alex let his foot nudge Fox's hip. "Hey."

"Yeah?" Fox barely reacted.

"Warm up the water," Alex ordered lazily.

Fox took a can of hot water waiting next to the tub and poured it in. "This is going to be great until the water cools off," he said happily

If he looked closely enough, Alex could almost see the other man's body through the warm liquid. "Yeah," he offered absently. "It sure is."

A few minutes of quiet, then Alex moved over next to Fox. "Hold on," he said. Reaching over the side of the tub, he grabbed the remaining bucket of water and poured it slowly into the already steaming tub.

"Watch it." Fox didn't move. "You're going to burn us."

"No, I won't." Alex dropped the can and settled back down, his shoulder brushing Fox's. "Just keeping the water warm."

"It does feel good." Fox smiled at him, his eyes wandering over Alex's face thoughtfully.

Something told Alex the time was ripe. He slid one arm around Fox's waist. "So do you." He made sure to keep his smile casual.

Fox watched him, but didn't say anything.

Alex relaxed against the wooden side of the tub again, leaving his arm around Fox's waist. After a minute, Fox relaxed next to him. Whatever he'd been thinking, it had obviously been resolved in Alex's favor.

It didn't take long for Alex's grip to pull Fox close against his side. The other man didn't object, even when Alex's intentions became clear.

The tub was deep enough for Alex to almost-float Fox half onto his lap. One hand curled behind the younger man's head and pulled it toward his own.

The kiss was warm and slow. After a moment, he felt Fox's hands come forward to grasp his waist, holding the younger man steady across Alex's lap.

When the kiss ended, Fox pushed himself back onto the floor of the tub, this time sitting close enough so that he could rest his head back against Alex's shoulder.

It was really rather sweet. Alex pillowed his cheek against Fox's head and the two of them sat quietly.

They stayed that way as the water cooled around them, kissing occasionally, touching one another under the water and just enjoying their closeness.

Eventually it was obvious to both of them that it was time to leave. The water was beginning to feel chill around them and the noise of the rain on the roof had disappeared as the storm moved past.

Leaving the drafty barn, Alex didn't want to turn loose of the mood he'd created with the warm baths, but he wasn't sure there was any way to avoid it. Dinner at one of the port's noisy restaurants was inevitable.

Fox seemed to accept that Alex was going to be paying for the meal. He did try to offer an objection to the ale the older man also ordered, but Alex waved his protests aside.

Other than Fox's increasing cheerfulness, there was nothing memorable about the meal. It took each of them over three pints of ale to wash down the tasteless food. The tavern never got very busy and Alex assumed it was the quality of the food, bad even when judged by Port Royale's not-high standards that kept the crowd away.

They walked off some of the effects of the ale after dinner, but the air was still too cool, and the roadway too muddy, to make walking for pleasure sensible. As they drew near to the inn where they were staying, Alex touched Fox's elbow and steered them both inside.

He kept his hand on the other man's arm as they climbed the rickety stairs to their room. Using the candle they'd been given at the front desk, he lit the single lamp by the bed, and then turned to face Fox.

Again, Alex thought that some people he knew could learn a little from Fox's restraint.

No hiding this time, the other man undressed slowly, watching Alex with a hint of a frown on his face. As with the evening before, he stopped before he was completely nude, then slid into the bed.

Alex shook his head mentally. His crew might not be the world's most apt pirates, but they were still years ahead of Fox when it came to sophistication about these matters. However, it happened that Alex was in the mood for something different, and tonight Fox's boyishness was twice as alluring as Jamsie's too-obvious eagerness.

And there was no doubt that the room was cool. Alex stripped down to his own underwear, then crawled into the bed, blowing out the lamp.

Fox came into his arms without hesitation this time. They fumbled in the dark for a second before they found each other's mouths for a kiss.

Alex was elated. He curled up next to Fox under the blankets, their two bodies warming the bed. Occasionally Fox would caress or explore the Alex's body for a shy moment before retreating. The pressure, the urge for more was held pleasantly at bay for Alex by the novelty of Fox's inexperience.

It was obvious that Fox was willing, but still too nervous to be enjoying himself as he should be. Before things went too far, Alex gave Fox a last hug and pulled the dark head to his shoulder, settling both of them in for sleep.

A satisfied smile curved his lips. One more day should do it....

The next morning, Alex was too wise to mention what had happened between them the night before. He did indulge himself with one kiss as Fox was waking up, then rolled out of bed and into his clothing, letting the other man follow his example at his own speed.

At Fox's suggestion, they walked down to the pier after breakfast. Alex noticed his companion scanning the ships at anchorage. Alex watched a couple of ships raise anchor and sail gracefully out of the harbor with an unexpected pang. As much as he was enjoying his shore leave, he had the feeling he wasn't going to be sorry to be back on board his own vessel.

Alex felt Fox's tension as two ships made their way into the protected bay and dropped anchor.

"Expecting someone?" Alex asked casually.

"No," was the quiet reply. Fox's disappointment seemed almost more than he could stand. He dropped back into silence.

Alex was bored long before Fox seemed to be ready to leave the harbor. At last he decided that it must be time and past time for lunch. Surely they'd been sitting at the pier for most of the day.

"You look hungry," he said cheerfully, ignoring the obvious cause of Fox's dejection. "Let's get some lunch."

"Sure." Fox dragged himself to his feet with one last, longing look toward the bay.

A little cheerful company was what they two of them needed. Alex steered Fox toward a building where shouts and laughter were spilling from the doors and windows.

As they walked, Alex tried to decide how to turn the situation to his own advantage. With his so attractive companion feeling lost and abandoned by his friends, it should take only a small effort to get Fox...well, to get him. Alex felt a tingle of anticipation, remembering the smooth, firm curves he'd had the chance to inspect so briefly the day before.

It was a shame he couldn't suggest another bath, Alex decided with regret. Fox's habit of wearing nightclothes was a nuisance, but he had stripped off readily enough the previous afternoon when confronted with a tub of steaming water.

Inside the noisy tavern, two rough-looking men were hoisting their dead drunk companion over their shoulders, no doubt headed back to their ship. Wherever they were going (and it doesn't matter, because we won't be seeing them again), it was enough for Alex that he and Fox managed to slide into the vacated chairs an instant before another group of drunks claimed the table.

There was a moment of tension as one of the thwarted men glared at Alex suspiciously. Fortunately he was distracted by the delivery of a full tankard of ale and by the time he'd argued with the waiter (back for a return engagement, due to popular demand) about the cost of the drink, he'd forgotten about Alex and Fox.

"Here." Alex forced a few coins into Fox's hand. "I'll hold the table. Why don't you go get us something to eat?"

"Sure." Fox pushed himself to his feet and started working his way toward the bar.

Alex watched in amusement as a hand came out of the crowd and fondled the curve of Fox's rump. Fox jumped and stepped away from the rough caress, bumping into another man who spun around clumsily, ready for a fight until he got a good look at Fox.

As Alex watched, the strange drunk smiled and slid an arm around Fox's waist. Fox's face flushed with indignation and he pulled away, backing away through the crowd until he received another friendly pinch. After that, he paid a lot more attention to where he was going, at least until he disappeared from Alex's view.

Alex allowed himself a soft laugh. At least he'd accomplished one thing. By the time he got back to the table, Alex was willing to bet that Fox would have been forced to drop his annoying brooding in favor of protecting himself from the admiration of the crowd.

Which worked nicely in Alex's favor. Alone in a strange place (and Alex was willing to bet that this was the first time Fox had been on his own in his entire life), assaulted on all sides by crude drunks, who could the young man turn to?

Alex licked his lips and toasted himself silently. Who, indeed?

Fox's face was flushed with indignation by the time he juggled the two wooden bowls back to the table. He also looked charmingly disheveled, proving that he'd had quite a bit of trouble getting back to the table with his virtue intact.

The thought made Alex grin again.

"Eat up." He didn't comment when Fox moved his chair around toward the wall. "It's probably better while it's hot." He spooned up a bite of the soup. "Warm," he corrected. The food was edible, but that was about all.

The elusive waiter reappeared near their table. Alex ordered two fresh tankards, suspecting that it would be a while before Fox was willing to brave the crowd around the bar again.

"What was all that about this morning?" he asked, deciding that it might be time to display a little sympathy and, not incidentally, keep Fox's attention focused on his lunch companion instead of on his anger at the crowd .

Fox explained his situation, which was pretty much as Alex had suspected. He hadn't known that one of HM's ships was in the area, but it made sense that Fox hadn't been aboard any rougher sailing vessel. The young man's innocence wouldn't have survived a voyage on even the most sedate merchantman. Only the Royal Navy would have allowed such a prize to escape. He shook his head in disgust. Well, their loss was his gain, after all.

The name of Cap'n Skinner interested Alex. Fox's admiration for the man was obvious, as were his confused feelings for his absent protector.

Alex encouraged Fox to tell the entire story of his voyage from England to this distant British port.

First, Alex wanted the information the story would provide about Fox himself. Second, he didn't want to spend the rest of the day sitting at the pier, staring at the empty ocean. Third, and most important, he wanted to give Fox time to drink all the ale Alex had so thoughtfully provided.

It wasn't, you understand, that Alex wanted to get Fox drunk. Just...relaxed.

And it worked, of course. A few hours later, Fox's dejection had disappeared as he laughed in response to some of Alex's wry tales about his own life aboard ship. He even offered a few stories of some of the less-official, but quite traditional, naval customs he'd been introduced to by the treacherous (although, of course, Fox didn't know that) Pendrell.

The crowd thinned out marginally, allowing the two of them to make it out the door unmolested for a change. (While we haven't talked about it, of course we all realize that Alex had received his own share of attention from the men in town. It's just, you understand, that he's rather accustomed to that sort of thing and didn't think it worth mentioning.)

Alex steered Fox back to the darkening street, not at all surprised to see that the sun was setting. That had been part of his plan. (Not that the sun would set, of course, because we all know it would do that without his encouragement, but that the two of them would have stayed in the tavern, drinking, until sunset.)

"Let's stop by the inn," he suggested. He slid one arm around Fox's waist and guided his smiling companion across the road.

"How about another drink?" Fox gave Alex a brilliant smile, something Alex had become accustomed to seeing that afternoon but which still had the power to warm him. "It's too early for bed."

It's never too early for bed. "We have to pay for our laundry," Alex lied. (When he sent his muddy clothes out for laundering the day before, Alex had insisted on Fox's clothes being washed with his own, pretending he had to pay for a full load anyhow.)

His timing was impeccable. (Things were certainly going Alex's way today.) The man was just leaving as they arrived at the inn.

Alex took care of the payment, then handed Fox the bundle. "We'd better take it upstairs." He put his arm back around Fox's waist, ignoring the innkeeper's knowing grin, and moved toward the stairs.

Once he had Fox in the room, Alex had no intention of letting him leave. He'd spent hours listening to boring tales of the HMS Heroic, her admirable Captain's many virtues, and Fox's shy forays into the life of the crew. The way he figured it, he'd earned a reward and he knew exactly what he wanted.

Alex lit the lamp, then pretended to share Fox's serious interest in unpacking their clean clothes. "I don't know about you," he suggested, "But I'm about ready for a nap."

"A nap?" Fox looked confused. "It's too early." He glanced out the window. "Too late," he corrected.

"Too much lunch," Alex said with a grin. Too much ale, was what he meant. "I'm still a bit under the weather from all those drinks last night," he added. "We can always go out again, later, if you want."

Not that he meant it or anything. Alex had plans for the rest of the evening that didn't include any more taverns. He had Fox alone, even a bit drunk, and feeling lonely. In other words, right where he wanted him.

As he'd intended, the mention of the drinks they'd had made Fox realize his own condition. "I guess I should lay down for a while," he agreed. "Not that I'm tired, but it might feel good for a few minutes."

"At least we have fresh clothes to put on," Alex reminded. He stripped out of his own garments, then paraded over to the pitcher and bowl full of fresh water waiting in the corner.

He could feel Fox's eyes on him as he splashed some of the water over himself, wiping off the day's grime with a sponge.

"You want to wash up?" He grabbed the other sponge and tossed it to Fox.

The suggestion had its hoped-for effect. "I guess so." Fox stared at the sponge for a moment, then laid it down and started undressing.

Subtlety wasn't part of Alex's plan for the evening. Still naked, he slid onto the bed and propped himself up with the pillows. He made no secret of his interest in seeing what Fox was revealing.

At first, Fox didn't notice Alex's appreciative stare. When he did, he froze, looking uncertain. Whether it was some idea in Fox's own mind, or the sight of the inviting smile Alex offered that turned the tables in Alex's favor, was hard to know, but eventually Fox finished undressing.

Alex didn't care. By the time Fox got to the point of rubbing his pale skin to a rosy glow with the coarse towel, the impromptu show had had its effect on Alex's libido.

The fading rays of the sunset streaming in through the window highlighted the planes of Fox's muscles, hardened by his life on-board ship but still with that soft padding of youth. As the sun faded, the lamplight took over and threw its rays dimly toward Fox's corner, warming the pale skin and casting sparkling reflections into the young man's eyes.

Damn. 10.0pt'>Alex was already imagining the feel of Fox's body under his hands. A sight like this was enough to make a man poetic. And impatient. Although Alex had no intention of rushing either of them through the night's agenda. Nor of wasting his careful preparation.

Alex was pleased to realize that his open approval was having its own effect on Fox. The young man's eyes flickered toward the swelling length of Alex's organ and away again, but with each glance, his own body responded in kind.

Fox glanced toward the piled-up clothes, then to where Alex was sprawled naked in the bed. The moment of truth, so to speak. Alex waited for Fox to make the obvious decision.

Which he did a moment later. He crawled modestly (or as modestly as a young man in his condition could crawl) over Alex toward the side of the bed next to the wall.

Determined to make his intentions plain, Alex reached up and let one finger trail along the length of Fox's growing erection as it swung over him, chuckling at Fox's hiss of surprise.

Fox collapsed onto the bed awkwardly, trying not to look as though he'd felt the touch of another man's hand on his nakedness for the first time.

Although he didn't want to spook his nervous companion, Alex couldn't resist another feel of the soft-hard flesh. Fox shuddered and gasped, encouraging Alex to continue his explorations.

Alex rolled onto his side, and took Fox into his hand again. His own eyes moved between his hand where it was caressing the virgin body and Fox's face. Fox's dazed expression was almost more arousing than finally being free to touch him. Alex slid his hand along Fox's erection, pulling gently at the skin and squeezing the hardness underneath until Fox was thrusting eagerly against his hand.

When he released the hot flesh, Fox moaned in disappointment, and rolled closer for a kiss. "I didn't want you to stop," he whispered.

Alex smiled at him and gave him another kiss. "I know." He tugged Fox over to lay against his shoulder, then pulled one of Fox's hands against his mouth. He pressed a kiss against the callused palm, then guided it down until Fox's fingers closed around Alex's erection.

"My turn," Alex teased gently. He stroked Fox's forearm and pushed against the grip. "Touch me. Like I did for you." You had to tell some people everything.

It didn't take long to convince Fox that this new activity had its own charm. He was tentative at first, the novelty of holding another man's flesh, the familiar-unfamiliar feel of the hardness against his finger absorbing all his attention. Slowly enough to drive Alex almost mad with frustration (surely the boy had experience with his own body and understood how this should go), Fox's touch came firmer, the stroking more insistent.

He figured out, all by himself, how to vary his grip and the speed of his caresses to keep Alex dancing on the edge of fulfillment.

Some endless time later, Alex bit his lip, choking back a growl of frustration when he was teased to the verge of completion and disappointed yet again.

His fingers closed around Fox's wrist, holding it steady. "Let me show you something," Alex suggested.

Alex guided Fox up to kneel over him, then pushed him back to his knees. He sat up and took Fox's erection back into his hand, running his other hand underneath to cup the soft sac at the base. He worked his hands slowly. Fox sighed, a smile curving his lips, and wrapped both hands around Alex's shoulders, leaning in to offer a passionate kiss. The temptation to keep going was strong but Alex's own arousal was too insistent at the moment. He forced himself to stop a minute later, pulling Fox's hands down to his body and laying back against the pillows.

Fox didn't need any encouragement. Kneeling over Alex that way, his face flushed with excitement.... Alex moaned and closed his eyes, savoring the firm touch. Fox learned fast, memorizing which movements made the man beneath him squirm with pleasure and which ones made Alex's body arch and push against his hand.

"Don't stop." Alex was ready this time and it was so close.... Fox murmured something quietly, it didn't matter what, and matched the frantic thrusts of Alex's hips into his hands.

"Ahhh...." A louder cry of need and Alex felt the shooting pleasure, the mind-numbing rush of bliss that flooded through him. That first ecstatic moment was succeeded by waves of slowly ebbing pleasure.

Alex floated in the aftermath of his climax, feeling the warmth of Fox's hands still cradling him.

When he looked, Fox's face was flushed even darker, his breathing short and shallow as he looked at Alex's sated body.

Alex untangled the warm fingers and pulled the young man down to him for a satisfied kiss. "That was incredible," he whispered. He smiled, reading Fox's pleasure at having pleased his new lover.

Alex reached down and stroked Fox's hip. "Are you ready?"

"Touch me," Fox said eagerly, pushing against Alex's hand.

And more. Alex guided the other man back down to the bed, and then onto his back, kneeling over him in the same position he'd shown Fox such a short while before. He took his time, leaning down to claim a few heated kisses, caressing the naked chest and arms thoughtfully. There was so much more....

But there would be time for that. For now, Alex showed Fox how it felt to lie there and see another man's hands teasing pleasure from your body. He taught him how it felt to have someone else search out and pleasure all the most sensitive spots, lingering on one until the sensation was almost too intense, then moving on to brand another piece of flesh with the print of strange fingers.

Fox was squirming and moaning under him, his body gleaming with sweat before Alex was satisfied with his work. Eyes, gleaming almost fever-bright begged silently for more and for an end to the torment all at the same moment.

There was just one more thing Alex wanted to teach his no-longer virgin lover before they finished. Something as much for Alex as for Fox.

Giving in to the temptation that had haunted him since he had met the handsome young sailor, Alex bent down and took Fox's hardness into his mouth. Fox gave an inarticulate cry and, out of the corners of his eyes, Alex could see the other man's fingers knotting and twisted at the coarse blanket.

He circled his tongue around the sensitive tip of Fox's erection, tasting the sticky, bittersweet moisture, then began to work the length into his mouth.

A hand fumbled at his shoulder, and then his head, then Fox's hands were stroking his hair, urging himself deeper into Alex's mouth.

None of that. Alex shook his head, earning another garbled cry of pleasure, and reached up to brush away the interfering touch.

Fox whimpered, then went back to tearing at the blankets, his hips thrusting into the wetness of Alex's mouth. In seconds, Alex could feel Fox going over the edge as the body twisting under his hands went rigid and his mouth filled with the hot, sweet taste of sex.

Alex released Fox slowly, smiling at the last, quiet moan of pleasure, then moved up and gathered his lover into his arms for a kiss. Fox's mouth came up to meet his own, apparently entranced by the taste of himself in Alex's mouth.

Alex relaxed, pulling Fox's head back against his shoulder with a private smile. It had been worth the wait, not that he'd doubted it. Lazy thoughts of the other things he would be the first to teach the young man floated through his head.

With a start, he remembered his ship. For the first time in hours, it occurred to him that the Cavalier expected to see her Captain back aboard tomorrow afternoon.

Well, that was no problem. On his particular ship, no one should be surprised if the Captain returned from shore leave with a recruit in tow. Especially, and Alex looked at Fox's beautiful, content face with please, such an attractive one.

"Your ship hasn't returned," he said quietly.

Fox's breathing stilled and Alex could see him frowning. "No," Fox said reluctantly.

"Come with me," Alex invited. "We'll check again tomorrow. If your friends aren't back in port, then they were obviously detained." Alex knew what kind of business would have detained a ship of HM's fleet and sent up a short prayer of gratitude that the Cavalier and her inept crew hadn't been at sea when the Heroic (such a pretentious name for a ship) had set sail in search of pirates.

"I have to wait for them," Fox objected. He looked stubborn. "They'll be back."

He'll be back , is what Alex heard and he knew that Fox was thinking of the tiresome Cap'n Skinner.

"Of course they will," he said matter-of-factly, knowing that his acceptance would reassure his companion. "But until then...."

"Do you need another crew member?"

Alex understood that Fox thought he was being offered charity. Either that, or a place on board ship as the Captain's...whatever you'd call it. (What would you call it?) Surprisingly, he found himself admiring the pride that prompted the question.

"Actually, yes." Alex pressed a kiss against Fox's forehead. "As much as I'm enjoying this, the Cavalier is a working vessel," and Alex avoided the word "pirate," even though he'd used it often enough earlier, "and we're in need of experienced hands."

Fox seemed to debate with himself, then he looked up at Alex with guileless honesty. "I wasn't a regular member of the crew before. I don't know how much I know about...."

"You have experience aboard a ship, and that's enough," Alex lied. "I'm sure you'll pick up the details quickly." That was true. Not only was Alex anxious to continue the new acquaintance, but Fox's recent shipboard experience made him almost an expert in comparison to the rest of the Cavalier's crew.

"I don't know." Fox frowned.

"You'll be a full member of the crew," Alex promised. "Earning the same wages as the other men." Which meant, of course, damned little until they found a ship with something other than fish and canvas to loot.

Fox was still hesitating, so Alex played his trump card. "I know you have money," he said casually, "but it won't last forever and, after all, food and inns cost."

Fox looked worried. "I don't have that much," he admitted.

"King's ships have duties and schedules to keep," Alex pointed out relentlessly. "There's no telling when yours will be back to port. I'm sure you know that it's common for a sailor without a ship to sign up on another outbound vessel at the first opportunity?"

"I've heard of that." Not surprising, since it was, unlike some of the things Alex had told Fox, quite true. Of course, going from a ship of the Royal fleet to a pirate was a usually a choice made by those facing criminal charges either on board, or as soon as their vessel made it back to England. Alex didn't think it was quite necessary to mention that at this moment.

"Who knows," he said. "We might run across her on the seas." (He sincerely hoped not.) "If not, we return to port regularly and can ask for news of her," he promised insincerely.

"Really?" Fox looked more cheerful immediately.

"Of course," Alex assured him. "After all, we don't have any schedules to keep," he coaxed. "We sail where we want, when we want. You might enjoy it."

Fox remained reluctant and Alex suspected (accurately) that the young man was thinking of stories he'd been told of the bloodthirsty pirate ships of the Caribbean.

"I think you'll enjoy the Cavalier." He decided to take Fox's acceptance for granted. "Grant you, she's a bit unusual for a freebooter, but a fine ship."

"Unusual?" Fox looked at him alertly.

"Perhaps you've heard tales of sea-rovers?" (Alex was still avoiding the word 'pirates' whenever possible.)

Fox looked embarrassed. He nodded quickly.

"All quite exaggerated," Alex told him. "To hear some people talk, you'd think that we spend our days killing and maiming and generally running amok over any ship we pass on the seas. It isn't like that at all."

At the moment, Fox seemed to be balanced between suspicion and belief. "Really? But people say...."

Alex was willing to bet he knew who those people had been and he cursed the absent Cap'n Skinner generously. (Why couldn't the damned Navy just declare war on Spain and go off about their business, instead of hanging around and filling impressionable young minds with slanderous tales about a band of harmless sailors just out to gather a bit of gold?)

"People say a great many things," he said coolly. "Wild tales to pass the hours, exaggerations to prove their own bravery, and general lies they've heard from others." He smiled at Fox. "Now, tell me, do I seem at all to you like the stories you've heard?"

"Of course not." Fox smiled back. "Not at all."

Alex gave him a kiss of approval. "It's agreed then," he said generously. "We'll wait through the morning tomorrow and if your ship doesn't return, you can try a short journey aboard the Cavalier and see if you like the life."

"Agreed." Fox looked pleased.

"And now," Alex said, stealing another quick kiss, "About that nap we were going to take."

Fox laughed and Alex could have sworn that he was blushing. "You said you were tired," Fox accused.

"I am, now," Alex told him with a grin. "Let's get to sleep. We need to be up early to get everything done in the morning."

What they needed to do besides sit on the pier for hours (and that was obviously what Fox thought Alex meant by waiting to see if the Heroic arrived), Fox didn't ask.

Alex woke up with Fox in his arms for the second day in a row. For a moment, confused about his whereabouts, he had the impression that Jamsie had somehow lost a great deal of weight over the night hours. A moment later and the sight of soft brown hair where he expected to see rich, gold curls reminded him of where he was, and who his bed partner was.

Alex felt a strong inclination to wake the other man and convince Fox, in the most pleasant possible way, that what would do both of them the most good was a long, leisurely morning in bed.

Since he did have quite a lot to do, he forced himself out of bed instead, knowing that the only way he was going to resist temptation was to remove himself from it before he had time to think.

They ate breakfast, then Alex walked Fox to the pier. He stole a kiss (Fox seemed to be shy of exchanging caresses in such a public place) and promised to return soon, after, he explained, he ran a couple of errands that the pleasure of Fox's company had made him forget before.

He worked his way through the town slowly, stopping at every inn and tavern, looking for the crew of the Cavalier and telling those of them he found to round up their shipmates (no one from Alex's crew was going to get left behind) and take themselves back aboard, immediately. (His experience of his crew was that a demand to do something immediately was practically guaranteed to produce results in not much more than three hours or so.)

He found Stefan, surprisingly alone and snoring in one dingy tavern. The sight of Delgado's favorite made Alex stop and remember, really remember, Jamsie and Dickie for the first time in days. It occurred to him that they might be less than thrilled with the Captain's new acquisition.

At first Alex had assumed that the two boys were...he didn't know, currying favor or had lost a lottery or something, when they showed up in his cabin day after day with no encouragement.

(Well, with only certain kinds of encouragement, anyhow. I mean, he didn't tell them to "come back again some time" or send a note inviting them to drop round, or anything. Of course, he never actually threw them out, either. Well, except for Jamsie, who still had to be urged out the door every morning and occasionally came back in the evening still pouting so obviously that Alex was completely unable to resist.... Not that that's relevant at this point and my goodness we seem to be getting rather obsessed with sex, don't we? We'd better return to the story.)

Odds and ends of thoughts like this kept the Captain's mind occupied as he searched the town. He might not have finished on schedule if he hadn't found Black Jack early on. The Captain waked him up, gave him enough money for a tankard of ale to cure what the sailor claimed was a severe case of food poisoning, and ordered him to help round up the crew.

Black Jack, being one of those lucky souls who could both read and write (at least enough to know whether or not he was being paid as he should and/or cheated at poker), accepted the task of standing at the end of the pier and counting off the boys as they were rowed back to the Cavalier.

Alex had a lucky find when he found twelve of his crew sleeping the sleep of the exhausted in an unused stall of the "Wilderness Treks" barn. When that group was groggily on their feet and headed, more or less, in the direction of the pier, Alex was free to turn his attention back to Fox.

Black Jack would keep track of the returnees and since Delgado, for unexplained reasons, had been discovered at tangled up with three or four of the boys at the center of the Adventure barn group, everyone was accounted for.

Francois was still on-board, having volunteered for ship's duty during this visit. (A necessary, but usually much despised duty that kept a man from the taverns and gambling and other, unnamable moral laxity of a shore leave.) Alex had been surprised, expecting the man to be the first to want to land in the rowdy, fighting, hard-drinking port but he had been too relieved to have the duty taken care of to worry about it. (He hadn't been at all certain if there was some rule about the Captain having to take the duty if no one else could be found, and there was no way Alex had been prepared to stay on board the ship while everyone else enjoyed themselves on shore.)

Elbows, as the man had explained to everyone carefully, at least twenty times, could be found in whatever tavern was the first to hand as he left the ship. If someone, the seaman had told the Captain, would just be kind enough to gather him up when it was time to board, he promised not to give any trouble.

The mischievous Timson was given this task, along with five of his messmates. The Cap'n wondered about the muffled glee with which the boys greeted this assignment and hoped that they didn't have anything too unpleasant planned for the seaman.

There was the hustle and bustle of boarding, counting the crew and then recounting because the excited boys would not stand still. There was the loading of the supplies that Delgado had ordered before he went off on his toot (although he bitterly disputed that description of his shore leave). Also, stowing away various treasures that the crew had accumulated, showing Fox to his own cabin and clearing out a bit of space for the young man's scanty belongings, and all the other work of getting a ship ready to raise anchor. (Things involving the sails and whatnot, Alex left to Delgado and Black Jack who seemed to enjoy it.)

A spot of excitement ensued when Timson and his mates returned bearing the unconscious body of someone they swore solemnly was the missing Elbows. The clothes were familiar, but that was about all.

It seemed that the boys had taken advantage of the man's helpless condition to give him a much-needed haircut and a shave. Everyone on deck dropped what they were doing and ran over to stare at their morose crewmate who stood (well, lay, actually) revealed, not as the grizzled veteran that they had become accustomed to ignoring most of the time, but a baby-faced youngster, scarcely older than most of the crew. Even with the drunken smile on his unconscious face, this new Elbows bore a stronger resemblance to a choir boy than a hardened and bloodthirsty freebooter.

At first, the crew was so distracted by this revelation that the business of stowing their cargo, was completely forgotten, but, as luck would have it, there was the most appalling smell hanging about Elbows' clothes that discouraged anyone from lingering too closely in his vicinity. By unanimous consent, his limp body was wedged in among some crate on the aft portion of the deck so that the odor would be confined to the seas behind them as the Cavalier sailed.

Just about the time that Alex was convinced that his ship never would be ready, Delgado gave the up anchor! command, one or two small sails were unfurled to take them out of port, and they were on their way.

The Captain could see Fox surveying the ship and the crew with a look of surprise.

Alex glanced around over the deck. As far as first impressions went, there weren't many members of the Cavalier's crew who were up to the challenge of tying their shoes today, much less anything more complicated. They weren't exactly showing at their best.

Black Jack was hanging wanly over the railing, staring at the waters with the air of a man who had already lived too long. The First Mate was combing his beard near the wheel, ostentatiously ignoring Stefan who was slumped against one mast, picking at the embroidery on his hat.

Elbows was probably the happiest member of the crew. He was still unconscious on the aft desk and even over the sound of the wind and the sea, his unmelodic snores could be heard all over the ship.

Francois had taken one look at the returning crew and stomped off to his cabin, cursing fluently. It was lucky that he had reverted to his native language and only those crew members who hadn't spent their time in French lessons learning to fold the perfect paper airplane had any chance of understanding his words. (Which, in Alex's estimation, left about three of the boys capable of being insulted by the furious Frenchman. And they didn't seem to be listening.)

Neither Jamsie nor Dickie were in sight, something to be thankful for. Introducing his two...assistants...cabin boys...bedmates... whatever, to Fox had seemed a lot less complicated when it was still just a distant possibility. Alex was beginning to wonder (heck, he knew, but he was still trying not to think about it) if Fox's reception was going to be quite as warm as he would have liked.

"Things are a bit unsettled." He cursed again, this time at the prudish look on Fox's face that compelled Alex to offer an apology for his unsteady crew. "By tomorrow, they'll all have shaken down."

"Of course." Fox's voice was too polite. It didn't take much imagination to understand that he was making comparisons to his previous ship and regretting that he'd signed up with Cavalier.

A hell of an attitude for someone dumb enough to get left behind when his last ship left port. After all, Fox wasn't such a prize (in terms of shipboard experience) that he had any room to be passing judgment on anyone else. (Alex easily ignored his own part in coaxing Fox aboard the ship.)

The sun slipped out from behind a cloud, brightening the sorry scene on deck. Like a field of flowers, the crew lifted their faces to the warmth, pulled themselves together, and began to go about their duties.

Like hell they did. To a man, they cursed the brilliance of the light and crawled away below decks to sleep off the last of their hangovers.

Alex decided that the less Fox saw of the crew for the next few hours, the happier they'd all be.

"I think we have some time," he said coolly. "Why don't we go below and I'll explain your duties?"

"Fine." Fox swallowed hard and tried for a smile. "I'm sure things will be...."

Neither of them were quite sure how that sentence should end, so Alex left it alone. He led Fox down the gangway and to his cabin, shutting the door gratefully. At least here, in his cabin, they could both pretend that the scene on deck hadn't happened.

If he'd had any sense, Alex thought, he would have told Fox to stay here and wait for him to finish getting the ship under way. Of course, this having been his first shore leave with this particular crew (truthfully, his first ever shore leave, as we all know), Alex hadn't had any way of knowing what kind of mess he was facing. (We all know, of course, that he should have anticipated something like this, but who among us hasn't been caught flat-footed by the obvious a time or two?)

"Now." Alex cleared his throat and motioned Fox to a chair, trying to assume an air of authority and competence he was far from feeling. "Let's see where you fit in." He sat down behind the desk and picked up a pen in a businesslike fashion. "In terms of your actual duties aboard your previous vessel, what did you do?"

Alex felt ridiculous, but as he'd expected, the formal atmosphere seemed to reassure his new recruit.

Fox gave him yet another explanation of his duties aboard the Heroic and Alex pretended to take notes. He wore an interested, thoughtful expression, but inside he was racking his brain to figure out just what to do with his new acquisition. He didn't need a clerk, the paperwork aboard a pirate ship being almost non-existent for one reason or another. Jamsie usually handled tidying up after he delivered the Captain's dinner.

The Captain's clothes didn't require that much care except for his boots. Their twice-weekly polishing was a sore point between Jamsie and Stefan. Jamsie claimed they were his responsibility and Stefan (who had an amazing touch with a polishing rag, giving Alex a twinge of homesickness for the long-abandoned DB) insisted that an officer's boots should be the high point of his wardrobe. He pooh-poohed Jamsie's idea of a shine as fit solely for a ragpicker.

With a start, the Captain realized that all that would have to change. (Well, maybe not the boot thing, which he could just assign to Stefan and he wasn't going to miss the sight of Jamsie and Stefan standing over his feet, glaring at each other, and demanding that he make a choice.)

Jamsie would need to be eased off to some other tasks. And, unless Fox showed an amazing aptitude for some other shipboard duty, it was going to be hard to keep him busy.

As far as that went, those lunches with Dickie were probably a thing of the past, too. (Something told Alex that Fox was the one-on-one type. Or, did he mean one at a time? Either way, Alex could feel a stint of monogamy in his future.)

Of course, there was monogamy and there was monogamy. He eyed Fox's intent face with a private smile. He wasn't going to miss his two previous companions while he had the delightful innocence of Fox to play with.

Fox was looking at him expectantly. Alex pulled himself together and looked down at the paper in front of him. "Yes. Well...." Where had he been? Oh, yes. Trying to find a job for Fox.

In times of emergency, he always thought fast. "That all sounds great." Not well, but fast. Fortunately, at that moment, inspiration struck. "What you need," he said cheerfully, "Are some job-specific courses."

For the first time that afternoon, Fox looked interested. "You have a training program?"

"Of course," Alex said proudly. "I think we'll start you out with basic training." It was sad, but true, that after all these weeks at sea, there were still some of the boys who had yet to master the six knots necessary to achieve the lowly status of apprentice. And as for their showing in weapons training, it was better not to think about it. Black Jack had taken a few pieces of wood salvaged from the Spanish brig and was busy carving wooden cutlasses for that particular class. (There hadn't been any serious injuries among the group yet, but it was just a matter of time.)

"You can move ahead as fast as you learn the material," he reassured Fox. "I'm sure you'll do well."

The revelation that the motley crew he'd seen on deck was the product of some kind of formal training seemed to astound Fox. (As well it might.) "When are the first classes?"

"Tomorrow morning," Alex told him. "Why don't you take some time to settle in between now and then?"

Damn. The last thing he wanted was Fox roaming around the ship, taking a good look at the crew in their present condition. Or, worse yet, meeting Jamsie or Dickie who had no doubt heard about the Captain's recruit, by now.

"Do you have any other skills that might be useful on-board ship?" Alex asked hopefully.

"Other skills?" Fox looked doubtful. "Like what?"

Alex was delighted. "I don't know. It's hard to predict what might come in useful." He stood up and gestured to his chair. "I tell you what, why don't you make a list of what you know." That should keep him below decks for a while. "I'll review it over the next few days and see if there's anything suitable."

"Everything I know?" Fox looked at the small piece of paper left on the Captain's desk.

"Everything." Alex fished in a drawer and came up with some large pieces of vellum (covered on one side with the confiscated drafts of Stefan's recent limerick output) and laid it on the desk. "While you're doing that," he said gratefully, "I'll just go on deck and see how things are settling in."

It was a little annoying to have to fill every second of Fox's time. None of the other boys seemed to find it necessary to have their day outlined for them hour by hour. However, as he escaped to the fresh air on deck, Alex decided that Fox would soon have his own duties to perform. He'd be available nights, which was the important thing. (Alex licked his lips and made a mental note to tell the First Mate not to schedule the new recruit for night watches, just in case Delgado didn't have the brains to assume that on his own.)

"Do you have any orders, sir?" Jamsie's voice interrupted Alex's train of thought.

"Um, no." Captain Alex gave the young man a harassed look. That particular suggestion from this particular crewman was normally reserved for the privacy of the Captain's cabin. "Don't you have duties to perform?"

"Class was canceled for this afternoon," Jamsie said reproachfully. "BJ has food poisoning."

That was the first time Alex had heard the cheap wine at Port Royale's taverns referred to as a food group. "Does he?" he growled. Damn it, that meant all forty boys were going to be loose on deck. "How about hand-to-hand?" he said hopefully.

"Ellie is being sick on the back of the ship." (The boys had started referring to the newly shaven crewman by that nickname several hours before.)

"Off the back of the ship," The Captain corrected absently. (Some of the shipboard terminology still gave the boys trouble.)

"On the back of the ship," Jamsie insisted. He frowned. "I'm not cleaning it up, either. It smells vile."

"Jesus." Captain Alex fought the desire to jump overboard and leave the entire mess. "Where is Delgado?"

"Making up with Stefan." Jamsie had no illusions about his crewmate's relationship with the First Mate.

The Captain wanted to ask what the problem had been -- finding the two spending their respective shore leaves apart, instead of arm-in-arm, had been surprise to him. You could bet Jamsie knew. He always knew that kind of thing.

Alex took a quick look the young man's sulky face and decided not to ask. "I guess that means...."

"I don't have anything to do," Jamsie said mournfully.

So far, neither of them had mentioned the Captain's new acquaintance. If not for Fox, the obvious suggestion would have been for the two of them (the Captain and Jamsie, not the Captain and Fox, or Fox and Jamsie) to retire to the Captain's cabin and see if they could find some way to pass the long hours remaining before dinner.

"Work on navigating by the stars. I'm sure you have constellations to memorize," Alex suggested.

"It's daytime," Jamsie objected. "The stars aren't out yet."

"Improvise," the Captain said firmly. He gave Jamsie a gentle nudge toward the other side of the ship.

Jamsie's face set mutinously, he gave Alex a hard look (or, as much of one as he could manage, not easy for such a sweet-tempered young man), turned on his heel, and stormed off.

Alex watched him disappear. Well, that went better than it might have.

* * * *

The HMS Heroic's crew hit the shores of Port Royale and split up, each group under the command of one of the ship's officers. They were under orders not to stop for anything until they'd searched each and every building and room in town.

Cap'n Skinner headed off alone, convinced that he'd be the one to find his AWOL clerk. He started by retracing their steps from that fateful shore leave. (Was it only three or four days ago? It felt like months.) Naturally he began with the inn where he and Fox had stayed. It was the logical place.

The innkeeper was paring his nails with a wicked-looking knife, a habit he'd developed to keep his guests from arguing about the room rates. "I remember the boy," he told Cap'n Skinner slowly. "He kept the room for a couple of nights was all."

"Did he have it last night?" Cap'n Skinner asked eagerly. His search might already have ended. "Is he still here?"

"No." The innkeeper pared another nail. "And, no."

His careless attitude infuriated the stricken Cap'n Skinner. Can't the fool tell how important this is? Cap'n Skinner gave up the idea of tipping the man (he would have offered a doubloon at the least if Fox had still been on the premises) and continued his search.

His next stop was the tavern where he and Fox had enjoyed that ill-fated dinner. The taverner was more forthcoming. Of course he remembered Fox. It wasn't often that a piece of goods that fine was to be found loitering, all alone and friendless in a town like Port Royale.

The reference to his clerk in such disparaging, or at least disrespectful, terms, made Skinner's jaw clench, but he held on to his temper. "Where is he now?"

Well, now, the taverner wouldn't know that, of course. He spent his days tending to his own business, didn't he?

The glare in Cap'n Skinner's eye seemed to spur the man's memory.

The man leered reminiscently. Now that he thought about it, he also remembered the handsome, dark-haired man who had been successful in picking the boy up a couple of days before. A tasty enough piece in his own right and the two of them had brightened the place up considerably.

Cap'n Skinner (conscious of a certain homicidal urge) demanded details, but the taverner shrugged. The two sat together, then they left. He assumed they were going to...after all, the handsome stranger was buying the pretty boy drinks....

Cap'n Skinner was beside himself. Rage, fear, and jealousy tangled together inside of him. His heart pounded and his face flushed as he pictured Fox, the innocent dupe of some slick con artist, being filled with alcohol, then taken off to some filthy room and....

Or, not so innocent, of course. Skinner hadn't forgotten that the taverner had described Fox's seducer as being extremely attractive. Maybe Fox had made his decision knowingly. Maybe he'd chosen the stranger, his absence from the Heroic not an accident but a deliberate plan to leave Cap'n Skinner behind and go off with his new love?

A room. Surely they'd had a room. Storm clouds gathered on Skinner's brow and he headed back to the inn with a determined stride.

One look at Cap'n Skinner's face and the innkeeper grabbed for the knife that he'd stored away under the counter. Not giving the man time to arm himself, Cap'n Skinner grabbed the rogue by the tattered edges of his frayed collar and dragged him halfway across the counter, shaking the man like a terrier with a rat.

When he turned loose, the innkeeper pulled himself off the counter, still shivering with fear, and began to offer information. Cap'n Skinner didn't even have to ask the question.

No, the boy hadn't registered with him the third night, because he was sharing a room with a very attractive (here the innkeeper gave the Cap'n a scared look) and very respectable looking gentleman who had registered on his own. They'd stayed for two nights, leaving early that morning. He wasn't sure, but he thought they were headed for the dark-haired man's ship. Certainly they'd taken their belongings, which indicated that they were shipping out that day.

The fury in Cap'n Skinner's eyes reduced the innkeeper almost to tears. He swore, that was all he knew. They'd had laundry done, they'd returned a bit...not drunk but certainly cheerful one night. The youngster hadn't seemed to be coerced or bullied in any way. He'd seemed to be very pleased with the company he was keeping.

All of which, naturally, only went to fuel Cap'n Skinner's rage.

Gone. 10.0pt'>That was the main thought in Skinner's mind as he stood on the step outside the inn. Fox was gone. Not alone, not sitting abandoned and friendless on the dock, but gone off with another man. He simply didn't know what to do.

Second Mate Peterson came down the street, hailing the Cap'n breathlessly. (He's one of the Heroic's officers we haven't had occasion to meet before today.)

He threw the Cap'n a snappy salute and announced that he had information. Obviously mistaking the dazed look in Cap'n Skinner's eyes for interest, he went on to say that his interrogation of shopkeepers had revealed that a confirmed (well, nearly confirmed) pirate vessel had dropped anchor in the harbor three days ago. A ship with a very unusual crew.

The Cap'n wasn't interested in unusual crews. After all, what was unusual about a sneaking, skulking, cabin boy-stealing Captain? The seas were littered with them.

He pulled himself together and, with a passable imitation of his usual crisp delivery, demanded to know what that meant.

Peterson scratched his neatly trimmed beard and frowned. "We're told that it was an unusually youthful crew, sir. The boys claimed to be pirates but, well, they didn't act like any pirates these merchants have ever seen before."

Everyone knew that the merchants of Port Royale had more than a passing acquaintance with most of the pirates in the Caribbean. That meant that Peterson's information was almost enough to get even the lovelorn Cap'n Skinner's attention. Almost.

"Really?" he said politely. He wished Peterson would go away. What did the man mean by it? Coming around and babbling of shopkeepers and pirates just when Skinner was trying to decide whether to slit his own throat with a knife (he'd taken the innkeeper's blade for just that eventuality) or to hunt Fox down, tell him what he thought of him, and then kill himself.

"Well," and fortunately Peterson didn't need much encouragement, or this would be a very different story, "The youngsters didn't steal anything. They seem to have had very decent manners, they didn't get into any fights, and no one at all got killed." Peterson shook his head in wonder. "They're not making pirates the way they used to, that's for sure."

That did catch Cap'n Skinner's attention. "No deaths? None at all?"

"Not even a minor one," Peterson said cheerfully, pleased to have gotten a response to his astounding news."

"What else did you find out?" the Cap'n demanded. Something told him this was important.

Peterson shrugged. "They all left this morning. A dark-haired man who was said to be their Captain was seen going around town and gathering them all up early this morning and the ship lifted anchor not long after, heading toward the north." (That's incorrect, of course, because the Cavalier hadn't left port more than two hours or so before the Heroic had arrived, but time-telling was hardly an exact science in those days. Besides which, asking a group of drunks about something that happened when they were still hung-over hours before was always a waste of time.)

"And...." The Cap'n could feel it coming.

Peterson fixed his eyes on the horizon, seeming unwilling to meet Cap'n Skinner's eyes. "Reports have it, sir, that the Captain of the alleged pirate vessel picked up a new crew member while he was in port. By all accounts, an extremely attractive young man who had been hanging around alone in one of the taverns. I hear that the Captain bought the young man a set of clothes before they went on-board."

Peterson looked at the Cap'n sadly. Not only had he chosen to back the Cap'n/Fox combination in the officers' lottery, he was a romantic at heart and had thought they made a delightful couple. "I'm afraid there's not much doubt that it was Fox, sir."

"Pirates?" the Cap'n asked in disbelief. "You're expecting me to believe that Fox, that Admiral Highgain's own nephew would take off with a shipload of filthy, marauding, low-life pirates?"

Now, by all accounts, the shipload of youngsters had been characterized not just by their good manners, but by their unusually attractive appearance, but Peterson wasn't about to mention that.

"He might not have known," he said helpfully. "Lured onto the ship under false pretenses, don't you know? Maybe told they were taking him home to his mother or something?"

"Of course!" Cap'n Skinner's heart leapt at the thought. Fox had been kidnapped! His innocence, that trusting disposition had led the boy to put himself in the hands of a gang of hardened criminals. The world brightened around him. They would have to rescue Fox, of course, but at the moment, that didn't seem that difficult.

"We'll leave immediately," Cap'n Skinner said briskly. He gave Peterson a sharp look. "Round up the search parties and get the crew on-board as soon as possible."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Peterson saluted again, feeling very pleased. This was more like it! A brisk and adventurous chase across the tropical sea. His romantic heart warmed at the thought.

"And, Peterson." Cap'n Skinner's voice stopped him at the first step.

He turned back to the Cap'n, ready for more orders. "Yes, sir?"

"Make sure we have them all this time, before we leave, right?" Cap'n Skinner delivered the snide (and unfair) order with considerable bitterness, then turned and headed back for his ship. If the pirates were headed north, then the Heroic would go north.

Fox was on a pirate ship. It was Cap'n Skinner's mission to hunt for pirate ships.

Simple, no?

No.

* * * *

The Crafty Cavalier was a week out of port, her crew was recovered from the ill effects of their first shore leave, and the Captain was still finding his new companion exceptionally pleasant. (Most of the time.)

Fox had begun to settle in as Alex had hoped, attending classes three times a day (he had a lot of catching up to do) and appearing back in their cabin promptly every evening for further, and more interesting, lessons from the Captain.

He'd seemed a bit surprised by some of the crew's habits. In one of their rare conversations, he tried to explain to the Captain, some of the things he thought should be changed.

"It's kind of a mess," Fox said vaguely. "I mean, everyone's just wandering around without any real plan. In my experience, (he sometimes spoke of his experience as though it spanned two decades, instead of about two months) things run a lot better if you have some kind of schedule. To make sure everything gets done."

The Captain knew that Fox was referring to the duty schedule. While Delgado was conscientious about posting it every Sunday evening, it was often Tuesday, or even Wednesday, before any particular crewman stopped by to read it and discover that he'd been scheduled for the six a.m. watch, or to help out in the galley during lunch on Monday.

Things were a bit slack, now that Fox mentioned it. The longs months at sea with little excitement had produced a kind of lassez faire attitude in the crew that covered pretty much everything except taking daily naps and mealtime.

"You may be right," The Captain said agreeably. (He'd personally had the inconvenience of Dickie delivering lunch at ten a.m. the day before so that the boy would be free at noon for his place in the ongoing shuffleboard tournament that some enterprising soul had organized on the aft deck.) "I suppose things could be a bit more organized."

"Exactly." Fox looked pleased. "Nothing drastic. Just a few minor changes."

That out of the way, Alex had something not drastic but much more important he wanted to concentrate on for the rest of the evening (there was a little trick he'd learned from the enterprising Dickie that he'd been wanting to show to Fox) so the conversation was dropped.

Deciding that Fox's suggestions made a lot of sense, and willing to do anything that wasn't too inconvenient to himself, the Captain instituted a few more rules than his lax crew was accustomed to. Like a regular mess schedule. The crew now ate in shifts, no more just wandering into the galley whenever they felt a bit peckish. (Reviewing the inventory at the end of two days, the Captain had to admit that Fox had been right, they were saving quite a bit on food. Which was important....)

There was some grumbling below decks when the new procedure was announced, but the Captain wisely ignored it. Crews had to have something to complain about, it was a tradition of the sea. And it wasn't like it was going to hurt any of them to sit down to a balanced meal occasionally.

When the Captain had discussed the crew's reaction with the First Mate, Delgado had scratched his bead and said (in a surprisingly convincing Jamaican lilt) that he didn't think the boys had been doing any harm and sometimes a man liked a bit of a snack between meals.

Delgado and Stefan were more inseparable than ever now that whatever had divided them on the recent shore leave had been resolved. Assuming that Delgado was just repeating his protégé's complaints, the Captain paid no particular attention to the remark.

Francois was delighted with the change, of course. He even suggested to the Captain that a schedule of regular inspections might be useful. That was even farther than Fox had suggested the crew might be willing to go, but the Captain hated to squash the Frenchman's enthusiasm.

He agreed to take the matter under advisement, and ordered Francois to prepare a memorandum (in triplicate) outlining such inspections and being sure it was comprehensive to cover all the ship's watches, together with some suggestions of what, specifically, the Captain might inspect for. The completion of such a project would take Francois a month but he was content and delighted to assume that the Captain was interested in the idea.

In the meantime, Alex was very satisfied with his own private life. Fox's continuing naivete and his willingness to be led, to be taught by the more experienced man, was a delightful novelty. (Most of the time. Sometimes Alex found himself wishing that Fox would take the initiative just a bit more...show a bit more of an inclination to use some of the knowledge he was absorbing. On the contrary, Fox seemed quite happy to remain passive, accepting each of Alex's suggestions with enthusiasm but never offering any of his own.)

Because it seemed to be expected (by Fox, of course), Alex instituted a kind of schedule for himself, as well as for the crew. He started rising (more or less) early each day and following (when he thought about it) a regular agenda for getting through his day's admittedly not heavy schedule.

The early morning hours didn't agree with the Captain, he was more of a night person. In retribution, and in a fit of bad temper, he started demanding that the rest of the crew show up for watch changes on time. And properly dressed. (He added that caveat when the luckless Freddie had shown up in his nightshirt one evening, announcing that he was ready for lookout duty.)

As might be expected, there was more grumbling and some dark looks were cast at the Captain's back as he "inspected" the ship every day. (A good excuse for getting away from his desk for an hour or so and taking a leisurely walk on deck. Nothing as elaborate as Francois was suggesting, but an "inspection" of sorts.)

Still, the Captain was convinced that they'd all get used to the changes. They might even grow to enjoy them.

One or two of the boys were even attempting to interest the others in a competition of sorts. The group assigned to clean the brass rails that ran the circumference of the ship had challenged the ones responsible for swabbing the deck to a contest (with prizes) for whomever (Whoever? There was that pesky question again. The Captain resolved to avoid it in the future.) produced the best results. Reaction to the challenge was lackluster so far, not even the prospect of a kind of "cleaning olympics" being sufficient to fool the boys into thinking of their daily duties as anything but housework. Still, in time, the idea could catch on.

In any case, the Captain had bigger problems on his mind than a few complaints from lazy crew members.

The Cavalier's funds (which included what the Captain had found stashed in his predecessor's cabin when he moved in, and the remaining profits of his own previous career) were beginning to run low. One day he counted the remaining coins and realized that they could make one more payday. After that, they were fairly well out of money. It was an interesting problem and one he hadn't quite figured out how to solve.

Rich merchant ships foolish enough to fall victim to his inept crew seemed to be in short supply. Whenever he thought about it, the Captain cursed the false reports that said the warm southern seas were packed with treasure-laden ships just waiting to be plundered.

In addition, the Captain faced the temptation of Jamsie on a daily basis. Alex's current infatuation with Fox wasn't so strong that it erased the memory of those long, lazy weeks on the journey from England to the Caribbean. He had to admit that Fox's skills weren't quite the equal of some of Jamsie's talents. That first Friday, he even missed having Jamsie show up in his cabin with a litany of absurd misdemeanors for which he was happily anticipating being punished.

The memory rather got to the Captain one day. (Having finished his "duties" early that day, he'd been at leisure to contemplate the changes in his lifestyle. With, we're sorry to add, some regrets.) Alex waited until the aft deck, where Fox was taking his first turn on watch, was deserted, then slid up behind his bedmate.

"Good afternoon." Alex slid one arm around Fox's waist and kissed the side of his neck. "Busy?"

"I'm on watch," Fox said proudly.

Alex glanced at the horizon. "Not much to see out there."

"Not yet." Fox's face set in a look of determination. "But if anything appears, I'm ready."

Ready for what? Alex rolled his eyes. Even if another ship were sighted, it would take fifteen (or thirty, or more) minutes for them to overtake her. Surely glancing over at the sea from time to time would cover things.

"I've got an idea," Alex offered suggestively. He tried to slide his hand down the front of Fox's trousers, frowning when the young man grabbed his hand and pulled it away. Of course, Fox was still very shy about public demonstrations

"Why don't we go over next to the wall?" The back wall of the galley was just a few feet away and it would have the advantage of shielding them from any prying eyes.

"I can see from here." Fox peered at the horizon tensely, then relaxed as a distant speck resolved into a flock of birds.

"You can see from over there, too," Alex coaxed. "And we can...."

Fox interrupted him with a disbelieving stare. "I'm on duty," he explained. "Surely you don't expect me to...."

Well, actually, Alex had expected him to.... He didn't any more, though.

"Forget it." He stomped off and returned to his cabin where an unexpected roll of the ship seemed to have slopped ink all over his papers and ruined two hours worth of work.

Both of which occurrences put him into an even worse mood than he'd been in before.

They'd been scouring the seas for a over a week with no prey in sight. Alex still had some time before his crew started to wonder when payday would happen, but not much.

At Delgado's suggestion, the Cavalier dropped anchor at a small port the next day. According to the First Mate, fresh fruits and vegetables could be purchased here at a fraction of the price they would have had to pay in Port Royale. (Delgado just objected to being cheated, he had no idea how his penny pinching delighted the Captain.)

With the previous experience fresh in his mind, Alex refused to grant shore leave. There were fewer complaints about that than he'd expected. (The crew had taken one look at the sleepy village and decided that it had nothing to offer like their previous debauch. Only one shore leave under their belts, and they were already becoming connoisseurs.)

Black Jack took a selected party ashore to bring aboard the vegetables that Delgado bargained for and to pick some of the fruit growing bountifully, and free, on the trees.

Bored, Elbows suggested that some of the rest of the crew indulge in a bit of fishing. There were a lot of complaints about that from the boys who were sick to death of the salted fish from the Spanish brig, but they came around. (And their fresh catch turned out to be a popular item on that night's dinner menu.)

On the second day, Delgado scored a triumph when he talked one villager into trading a couple of dozen chickens (including some laying hens) for an armload of unused canvas.

Getting the birds on-board the ship was harder than it sounded. The group of boys delegated to build a cage for the noisy, smelly birds voted to wring all their necks immediately and have a fry-up, but the Captain overheard them voting and vetoed the suggestion instantly. style='mso-tab-count:1'>               

Other than that, the only excitement of the stopover came when the Captain spotted an excited villager standing on-shore and shouting in the direction of the ship, waving his fists furiously.

The Captain, taking an extra walk on deck because he was bored, peered over the railing and saw Freddie, balancing precariously in one of the ship's longboats, engaged in trying to tie a calf to the end of a line.

Following the rope upwards, Alex saw two other interested crew members waiting to pull the young cow up. (They were destined for a long wait, since Freddie was one of those who still hadn't quite mastered the basic six knots.)

Glad to find someone on whom he could legitimately take out his bad temper, the Captain stormed over and gave both of the boys on deck a chewing out that neither of them were likely to forget any time soon. As soon as he'd shut the two of them up (predictably, they were full of excuses about how it was someone else's fault entirely and anyhow they'd just been passing by at the time and weren't actually involved), the Captain leaned over the rail and shouted down to the oblivious Freddie to, "drop that damned cow immediately."

Which order frightened the youngster so much that he lost his grip on the terrified animal and almost upset the longboat in his hasty scramble to escape its wrath.

Alex ordered Freddie's two accomplices into the longboat and swung down after them. He sat in the stern, glaring so furiously at the boys as they tried to row to shore that they were entirely unable to establish a rhythm and the longboat made at least two 360 degree turns on her way to where the furious owner was still screaming for the return of his calf. A piece of farce that did nothing to cool the Captain's temper.

It took some time to calm down the rabid farmer. A few coins would have taken care of it quickly, but the Captain didn't have any coins to spare at the moment, so he had to get by on charm and apologies.

It worked, but it was a lot of effort. At one point, the Captain even turned back to Freddie and the other two and chewed them out all over again. The severity of his words seemed to go a long way toward soothing the villager (who couldn't understand a word the Captain said but knew when someone was getting their butt chewed when he saw it).

Alex gave the man a sincere and heart-felt promise to discipline Freddie (as the most guilty of the three) and ordered the three boys back into the boat. He refused to speak to them at all as they rowed him (less erratically) back to the ship.

Once on board, the Captain was confronted with the tradition-bound Francois, who had witnessed the entire incident. When he heard that the boys were to be punished, his eyes lit up and he suggested that they hadn't had a good, public flogging in quite a while.

Freddie heard the suggestion and, to the Captain's amazement and embarrassment, burst noisily into tears.

Standing there with the scowling, bloodthirsty Frenchman on one side and the weeping Freddie on the other, Alex was conscious, for the first time in years, of a desire to run away from home.

In the end, he ignored both of them. Pretending not to hear Francois' enthusiastic suggestions, and walking past the sobbing Freddie without a glance, the Captain went back to lock himself in his cabin and take a much-needed drink. (Actually, he took several. Things were simply not going the way he'd planned.)

It took a knock on his door a couple of hours later to rouse him from his depression.

Contrary to expectation, Dickie was still delivering lunch. Sadly, that was all he was delivering. (More than once, it had occurred to Alex that since Fox was never in their cabin over the lunch hour, he could get away with it. But Dickie didn't offer, and he seemed deaf to the Captain's hints on the subject. After a few days, Alex had given up.) Today, he ignored the first tentative knock, then shouted at Dickie, or whoever it was, to go away when the noise was repeated.

By the time Delgado himself returned from shore a few hours later, the Captain was much calmer.

The First Mate reported that he had asked around for news of any passing merchant ships. Unfortunately, the local yokels didn't know anything about shipping lanes or merchants. One man had suggested, and others had agreed, that there was a place farther north where "sometimes big boats come and sit for a while" but that was as much as Delgado had been able to learn.

It wasn't much, but it was the best lead they'd had in quite a while, so the Cavalier raised her anchor and headed north.

The prospect of riches cheered the Cavalier's Captain enormously. Her crew was always cheerful, having no idea about the money thing and still being more than half-convinced that the entire voyage was being put on as one big party for their amusement.

If Alex could just have convinced Fox that taking an hour or two out of his duties during the day and spending some 'quality time' in the Captain's cabin was a good idea, Alex would have been completely content. (Fox's devotion to duty was beginning to get on his nerves.)

Still, as the Captain looked the situation over, things were definitely looking up.

When Fox appeared in their cabin the next evening, dressed in the striped shirt and nattily cut trousers that were the crew's adopted uniform, he seemed quite pleased with himself.

Alex made all the appropriate responses. Any sign that Fox was beginning to think of himself as one of the crew had to be good news. (On the other hand, it has to be admitted that the outfit didn't do a thing for Fox. Alex rather preferred those tight, white trousers that the young man had been wearing when they'd met.)

"You should try it," Fox offered chattily, trying to see his profile in the cabin's mirror. "There's nothing like a decent uniform for helping to instill discipline."

Alex was willing to bet he knew whose words Fox was quoting so glibly. "Really?" He made an effort to be polite. "I don't think the ship's officers require striped shirts to enforce discipline."

"You could try something else." Fox's face brightened. "How about gold braid? We could get some the next time we're in port. It would go on that black jacket of yours."

As it happened, that jacket was a particularly prized possession and Alex had no intention of letting some fumble-fingered sailor stick gold braid all over it so that Fox could squint and pretend Alex was that damned Cap'n Skinner.

"This is a pirate ship, you bloody fool, not a fashion parade." The instant the words left his mouth, Alex regretted them.

"Of course it is," Fox said after a moment. "I know that." He took off his clothes and hung them up neatly. (Another fussy habit he'd brought on-board with him and one that Alex also blamed on the absent Cap'n Skinner.)

"I'm kind of tired." Fox slid into bed. "I think I'll have an early night."

Alex was relieved. "Sounds like a great idea." He started unbuttoning his own shirt happily.

Fox rolled over to face the wall. "Good night." There was no mistaking what that tone of voice meant.

Damn it. Well, it was his own fault, Alex supposed. He rubbed his aching head and decided to take a walk on deck. Maybe some fresh air would make him feel sleepy.

It took three hours, but eventually it worked. Alex slid in next to his sleeping bed mate that night, looked at the stiffly turned back, sighed, and mentally added "sulky" to the list of faults he had been compiling against Fox. Not that any of them were serious, of course. Just odds and ends of irritations that he sometimes wished could be eliminated.

Still, no life is perfect, right? And there was a great deal to like about his new companion.

Fortunately, it only took a day for the Cavalier to reach the bay the villager had described to Delgado. The Captain commandeered one of the longboats and had himself rowed to shore. A nice, quiet walk, away from his crew and the still-sulking Fox might do him a world of good.

Fox had been doing well at his lessons but both Black Jack and Elbows had come to the Captain in private to complain that the new recruit wasn't putting his heart into it. Black Jack had objected that Fox just didn't have the spirit he liked to see in the crew.

It wasn't as though their other students were all that proficient, as Alex had been at pains to point out to both of them. Elbows had defended the rest of the crew, insisting that enthusiasm counted for a lot.

It wasn't, as they explained, that Fox wasn't taking in what he was being told. It was more a matter of attitude. He disapproved of Francois' tales of glory that were supposed to fire the crew to enthusiasm about the process of risking life and limb for a small share of (so far nonexistent) treasure. Black Jack's "dirty tricks" fighting lessons had made the young man shake his head in dismay and lecture endlessly on honor and integrity.

The peaceful walk did the Captain a lot of good. If the ship's officers could learn to deal with Freddie's almost daily spill from the crow's nest, if they could accept sing-alongs, canvas spread to form a tent for a "pajama party," and a crew that looked upon style as more relevant than bloodshed in a battle, then they would eventually accept Fox.

The quiet time did him good and it was a calmer, happier Captain who returned to the ship late that afternoon.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a Captain braced for yet another disagreement with his cabin mate almost the moment he returned to his quarters.

"I've been wondering." Fox was sprawled into one corner of the couch, pretending to do his homework. He fiddled with a piece of rope he'd been using to practice tying some of the more complicated knots. "When are we going to be back at Port Royale?"

"We just left," Alex reminded him. Surely even Fox understood that a ship, especially a pirate ship, couldn't spend all its time in port. (Not that it didn't sometimes feel as though it had been months...but the Captain stopped that line of thought almost before it started. He had what he wanted. He was happy. Right?)

"You said we'd be making regular stops," Fox said stubbornly. To check on the whereabouts of the HMS Heroic, was clearly implied.

"I said 'regular' and I meant 'regular'," Alex said irritably. "Regular doesn't mean weekly."

Fox left the cabin without another word.

Somehow, Alex wasn't surprised two hours later when Delgado told him that Fox had requested a temporary assignment to night watches, "for the experience."

Alex cursed privately, but he gave permission for the change. (He had no intention of advertising his personal problems around the ship.)

On the other hand, he had no intention of submitting tamely to that kind of obvious blackmail, either. As soon as Delgado left the cabin, the Captain started out in search of the obliging Jamsie. If Fox didn't want to spend his nights with Alex, then Alex knew someone who did.

An hour later, he determined that the young man was nowhere on board. Timson, caught sneaking a handful of bread and cheese out of the galley, said guiltily that he thought Jamsie was on shore with the rest of the crew, having a picnic.

The Captain didn't remember giving permission for any picnics, but by then, he didn't care. If only Fox had been on shore with the rest of them, he very well might have done his best to raise the ship's anchor and sail away without the crew.

He went to bed early, and alone. Lonely, a bit frustrated, and feeling somewhat abandoned.

As it happened, he was in the perfect mood to be awakened in the wee hours of the morning when a warm, supple body curled around his in the bed.

"Did I wake you?" Fox's voice came to him through the darkness very quietly.

"Mmm hmm...." A smile curved Alex's lips as he felt the direction Fox's hand was taking. "Not a problem."

"That's good," Fox breathed in his ear.

"How was night duty?" Alex remembered to ask.

"Boring," Fox said succinctly.

Well, that explained his unusual aggressiveness, but Alex wasn't about to argue with it in any case. He stayed where he was, letting Fox do all the work for a change and reveling in the firm touch that was quickly bringing him to full arousal. "You had something in mind?" he teased finally.

Fox laughed quietly. "You might say that."

By the time Alex rolled over to take Fox in his arms for a kiss, then press the young man back against the sheets to finish what Fox had started, their recent disagreements were the furthest thing from his mind. Some sweaty and ecstatic time later, the two of them curled up together again.

Just before he dropped off to sleep, Alex decided that maybe he'd been too hard on Fox. In the future, he'd try to make more allowances for how strange this new life must be to the young man.

The morning brought its own problems, of course. Or, rather, it highlighted the old ones. It was payday. An event looked forward to with much glee by his novice crew and no less so by the more experienced hands.

The Captain set up the usual counting table on the quarterdeck and one by one the hands came up to receive the stack of coins that was their reward for the dangers they had faced over the past couple of weeks.

It occurred to the Captain to wonder just what the men thought they were being rewarded for since (with the exception of Fox's presence on-board the ship) the last two weeks were about as boring as anything he'd ever lived through, but he stifled his objections and paid out the salaries.

The Captain looked at each stack of coins being carried away in grubby fist with regret. (The crew of the Cavalier, while no means deficient in personal hygiene, were far from being the spotlessly groomed advertisements for life at sea that those sailing aboard the Heroic were expected to portray. A fact that Fox had been at pains to point out to the Captain. Since it was clear that his apprentice had no idea of the dangers inherent in encouraging over forty half-wits to jump overboard for a bath on a regular basis, the Captain had ignored those not-subtle hints.)

The Captain kept the canvas bag, referred to by the crew as the "treasure bag" in his lap as he worked, preventing anyone from seeing its limp condition. Scooping it into his pocket, the Captain told the First Mate to have the table returned below (where it served as desk, card table, and breakfast table in the crew's quarters) and went back to his cabin where he locked up the ten silver coins that were all that remained of the ship's treasury.

He consoled himself with the thought that the time spent lingering in the deserted bay wasn't all wasted. True, no ships had appeared and volunteered to turn their cargo over to the Cavalier, but on the other hand the boys had returned to the ship every evening so full from the day's foraging that they were saving a fortune on the ship's supplies. Between the fruit dangling off of every tree, the abundance of turtles (the boys had unanimously developed an overwhelming obsession with fresh turtle soup), and the wild birds and other game prolific on the island, they were eating better than they had for the entire voyage.

Even now, the crew was filling the hold with as much fruit and as they thought they could reasonably eat before it spoilt.

From the porthole in his cabin, the Captain could see the sandstone cliffs and caves that dotted the shore. In a pinch, he decided, they could abandon the Cavalier and live well off the land.

On the other hand, and he turned his back on the view irritably, if he'd wanted to live in a hovel like some impoverished peasant, he hadn't had to leave England to accomplish that.

Once they had loaded all the supplies they thought they could use (including a cranky handful of turtles destined to grace the dinner table over the next week) the Cavalier raised her anchor and sailed on north.

Alex spent much of his spare time locked in his cabin, poring over the maps and trying to remember every scrap he'd heard about merchant routes and companies making regular runs to and from the area. Somewhere out there, there were rich vessels waiting to be plundered. If they could just find them.

He was also, let us admit it, hiding from Fox. The Captain's cabin mate seemed to have come to the end of the adjustments he could (or would) make with life aboard the Cavalier. Standing watch was boring. (Well, everyone knows that. The rest of the crew passed the time playing cards, practicing shuffleboard techniques, and trading malicious gossip but Fox wasn't interested in doing those things.) He didn't care for climbing among the riggings either. (Another source of amusement for most of the boys who considered that a sporting chance of falling to the deck and getting their brains bashed out was just what they needed for excitement most days.)

Fox had long since worked his way through all of the limited reading material on-board the ship (which consisted of a tattered copy of The Pyrate's Manual with any pages Delgado thought unsuitable torn out, two anonymous and badly written pornographic works, and a murder mystery with the last ten pages missing), he didn't like suntanning, and he wasn't interested in elaborate plans for breaking into the galley and stealing bottles of rum so they get the remaining turtles drunk and have races. Other than that, most of the boys spent their time making up, or telling, ghost stories, trading tales about their old school, and talking about places and people that Fox didn't know.

Fox might have been ripe for the Captain's previous suggestion of a quick (but not too quick) afternoon nap to wile away the hours, but by this time the Captain was too involved in worrying, planning, and chewing his nails to notice Fox's (not really) uncharacteristic moping around the ship. He (the Captain) was taking more care than ever with his calculations and was becoming almost proficient at long division as a result.

Besides, the Captain and Fox just didn't have that much to talk about, since the Captain was unwilling to admit to his newest recruit that they were on the verge of bankruptcy.

Alex had tried to talk about his previous career, his days (well, nights) as a highwayman. About the excitement of the open road, the sense of adventure. Fox yawned and didn't approve.

Alex tried to discuss some of the other ship's problems--assuming that Fox would be willing to offer more of the "expertise" he had learned aboard the Heroic. Fox suggested they should all stop being pirates and take up regular careers.

It didn't take much of this before Alex stopped trying to have an intelligent conversation with his cabin mate at all. (Okay, outside of bed, they had very little in common. But it's certainly possible for a relationship to work on those grounds, right?)

The days wore away, as did the Captain's nerves. The Cavalier continued sailing north, for lack of any other specific course to pursue. Because they were moving slowly (no point in being in a big hurry if you aren't going anywhere in particular) even the lazy Freddie had time to see, identify, consider, and share the news that there was a castle sitting atop and back a ways on one of the cliffs they were passing.

Any change being for the better, the Captain came on deck as soon as he heard the news. A few brisk orders and the crew (also brightened by the thought of either another shore leave, or at least a break in the routine) anchored the ship just out of sight of the castle.

A longboat was lowered and the Captain and Delgado had themselves cautiously rowed to where they could use the spyglass to take a closer look at the residence.

"Sure enough, Captain, it's a castle." Delgado was delighted.

"What do you think?" Alex slid the spyglass into its leather case. Speaking lower, he added, "Do you think we can do it?"

"I don't know, Captain." Delgado eyed the large stone building thoughtfully. "It's likely they're guarded against the event, being so close to the sea and all," he said thoughtfully.

"But they aren't in the middle of a shipping lane," the Captain pointed out. Since they hadn't seen another vessel for almost two weeks, that was a safe bet. "We might be able to surprise them."

They'd have to. With his current crew, the Captain knew that was the only way the Cavalier would be successful. A sneak attack, and the advantage of surprise.

"Are they likely to be armed?" he asked casually.

"Cannon, you mean?" Delgado eyed the shore for a moment. "I don't know, Captain. The building itself is too far back from the waters for a cannonball to reach. I'd say muskets and flintlocks for the guards, but no more."

The Captain thought about Black Jack's favorite grenades. He considered the surprising proficiency some of the crew had demonstrated with muskets. (The boys in question explained that they were accustomed to hunting and, therefore, not novices to the treachery of gunpowder.)

"Right," he said firmly, his mind made up. "We'll give it a try."

After all, he thought, even if they weren't successful, it all counted as experience, right? And more experience was needed for his never-hardened crew after the past two lazy weeks.

"Aye, aye, Captain." Delgado managed to look almost enthusiastic. "Tonight?"

The Captain balanced the need for speed (for the surprise part) against the time it would take to get his crew together and prepared for an entirely new type of assault. "No. Tomorrow night."

They headed back to the ship, cautioning the rowers to silence. (A needless precaution, since the entire boatload had been deathly quiet during the entire foregoing conversation, in an attempt to eavesdrop on what the Captain and First Mate were discussing.)

The crew was also ordered to remain quiet, as soon as the longboat returned to the ship. Even such a small item was enough to excite the bored crew. The sound of voices whispering, speculating, arguing in low undertones, and generally going mad with curiosity rustled over the ship.

Ignoring the rampant nosiness displayed by several crew members the ship's officers followed the Captain to his cabin, shutting the door in the face of the excited Timson who was attempting to slip in unnoticed.

Fox was there, sitting on the couch and staring out the porthole with a moody expression. He took one look at the assembled ship's officers and sat up, looking interested.

Of course, the Captain knew he should kick Fox out like any other crew member. On the other hand, he spared a moment to consider that a happy Fox was a lot more fun than a sulky one. As long as the young man had the sense to remain quiet, the Captain decided it wouldn't do any harm if he was allowed to stay.

The Captain didn't fail to notice the disapproving expression when Fox realized that the Cavalier was about to attack a civilian settlement. He also noticed the moment when, in spite of himself, Fox became interested in the intricacies of planning, the scheduling of night patrols to scout the territory and find suitable paths, spies to check out the castle's armament and count the guards, and all the other necessary preparations.

Fox even volunteered to accompany the squad being assembled to scout their target and evaluate the defenses. The Captain, figuring that he'd done enough by allowing the young man to attend the highly secret meeting to earn some goodwill for quite some time to come, refused (quite politely).

There was, as he pointed out, an entire class for covert operations that Fox had declined to attend. (Granted, the members of that particular group spent most of their time stealing blankets from their sleeping crew mates, creeping up behind the duty staff each night and scaring them half to death by pretending to slit their throats, and other tricks, but still....) Consequently, Fox wasn't qualified for the job. That answer was far from making Fox happy but, one bonus from his reverence for discipline and procedures, he was forced to accept it.

The stealth mission that night produced the expected results. There were half a dozen guards, some armed with muskets but most carrying thick cudgels with which to fight off any attack.

Delgado explained that the expense of providing a musket for each man, not to mention the constant drain of buying powder and balls to replace those wasted by shots fired at shadows, passing birds, or imaginary targets (either out of boredom or as a result of drinking on duty) would discourage most landowners from investing in firearms for their guards.

Of course, when the guards disappeared, as they did regularly either as a consequence of that same boredom or because they'd gotten the offer of better employment elsewhere, they had the naughty habit of taking their guns, uniforms (when provided), and other accouterments with them, which added to the expense and provided the landowner with the frustration of knowing that he'd contributed handsomely to the protection of his neighbor's, and frequently rival's, estate.

All of which, of course, is completely beside the point.

(Which is just as well, because I made it all up while I was bored at work one day. I was going to offer an amusing description of how early attempts to robe the guards in livery that approximated that of wealthy households back in England before the previously mentioned employee-piracy became common resulted in a hodgepodge of uniforms, complete and incomplete, that failed to provide anyone with any idea of a guard's actual employer, but that seemed to be just too far from what I was trying to accomplish here, which is to explain how the picked members of the Cavalier's invasion party crept up the cliff by a handy goat path, surrounded the confused and tipsy guards, and disarmed them before they knew what was happening.

And how eighteen of the Cavalier's crew were left to guard the prisoners while the remaining four members of the group did the actual invading, a fact that didn't occur to the boys until a short time later and was the subject of much discontent until they realized that no one on board ship would know any more about the evening's activities than they were told, upon which they put their heads together, invented a story of a bloodthirsty and heroic battle against a legion of armed guards, and spent the rest of the night memorizing it until they were word-perfect.

They were helped along when four over-grown dogs appeared out of the darkness, spreading terror through the pirate group until it became clear that they were interested in nothing so much as having their ears rubbed and getting a share of the bread and cheese that Dickie had brought on the excursion, just as a hedge against things taking longer than expected and him needing a bit of a snack at some point during the night. He was despoiled of these foods which were shared among the canines and the boys promptly added a large pack of half-wild dogs to their tale.

The subsequent admiration of the crew unfortunate enough to miss the adventure was enough to go to the group's heads and they spent so much time polishing the details and re-telling the story over the next month that fully half of them started believing the story themselves, resulting in a great deal of confusion years down the road when one crewman decided to write a book out of the Cavalier's adventures, publish it, become rich, and retire to Sussex to keep bees. An idea which another, and much more famous literary character took for his own centuries later.)

The guards were few and not well-armed, which was all that the Cavalier cared about. Now that they were under control (see how neatly I handled all of that?), the group selected to actually infiltrate went ahead to explore the castle. Since that group consisted of the Captain, Fox (yes, he'd managed to wangle himself a place on the invasion party, to the Captain's annoyance since he would have preferred the experienced and bloodthirsty Francois who must now be left behind owing to the fact that there was a limited amount of room in the longboats and straws had already been drawn for the other empty places), Delgado, and Stefan. (Those two really were becoming inseparable, which was beginning to be a bit annoying to the Captain. He sometimes wondered if it might not be time to give Black Jack or someone else a chance at the First Mate's duties. He was always prevented from acting on these impulses by the knowledge that Delgado seemed to be the one man on board with a really thorough grasp of navigation.)

Anyhow, it promised to be a sedate and well-run sort of occasion.

Which it was, proving once and for all that things don't always go wrong. A handy window was found, jimmied open, and the four men crept in to commence the search for treasure. Delgado and Stefan volunteered to take the upper level and the Captain and Fox set out to search the main floor.

Although not tall, the building was large and sprawling and the Captain and Fox agreed to split up and take each room separately. The Captain tried to impress on Fox that what was wanted were portable, valuable items. Anything containing gold, silver, or precious jewels would do just fine. (Actually, let's just be honest. The Captain didn't think that Fox had so much as a spoonful of larceny in his soul. What he told the young man was to call the Captain if he spotted anything that looked valuable. We didn't want to say that because it just doesn't flatter poor Fox, but we think it's clear by now that the boy was warped by his early training aboard the Heroic and that the chances of him making a decent pirate were slim and shrinking daily.)

The first three rooms that Alex searched were depressingly free of valuables, but he reasoned that it might not be logical to hope to find a discarded handful of gold and diamond necklaces dropped on the dining table, and encouraged himself to keep looking.

He checked in with Fox and found him brooding over a fireplace in an empty room. "What is it? A hidden panel?" The Captain moved over and inspected the rough stone carefully, seeing no sign of any secret compartments or trick latches.

"No." Fox sighed and reached out to lay his hand against the mantel. "It's a fireplace."

"Right." The Captain wondered if he was missing something important here. "I'm afraid it's too big to carry."

Although the Captain rarely stooped to sarcasm with him, Fox ignored the not-so-subtle hint. "It reminds me of home."

"I see." Alex understood, or thought he did. A touch of homesickness. "Did you have a fireplace like this when you were growing up?" he asked gently. Fox's timing was bad, but a man never knew when these moods would take him.

"No," Fox shook his head. "This is the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

Alex agreed, it really was a hideous monstrosity, which didn't go far to explaining Fox's fascination with the thing. However, if it was merely a question of aesthetics and not tender memories of Fox's childhood, they didn't have time for that right now.

"Valuables, sailor," he said, trying to recall Fox to a sense of his duty. "We have a mission here."

"I know." Fox gave one more inexplicable look at the fireplace and turned away, drifting vaguely through the rest of the room and into the next with no sign that he was interested in finding any what you might call 'treasure' on his journey.

That, finally, is what pissed the Captain off. It was a big house. There were bound to be valuables, things that could be turned into gold (if they weren't already) and used to provision the Cavalier, pay her crew's salary, and support the Captain in a style to which he was anxious to become accustomed.

The Captain realized that he'd had just about enough of Fox's ethics, his tedious stories of Skinner's perfections (which seemed to consist of standing around looking stern and managerial while everyone else did most of the work), and Fox's boring childhood.

It might be, he decided, very good practice for that boy to stand night watches for an extended length of time. Say...six months. In the meantime, just to make him feel more like a part of the crew, you understand, his belongings could be moved into the hold where the rest of the boys slept.

In short, the honeymoon was over. Given a choice between Fox's very real charms and the idea of incredible wealth (not forgetting that Fox's banishment would open the door for Jamsie's return), the choice was simpler than you might think.

It was while he was musing hopefully on this plan that Alex wandered almost unknowingly into another room. He glanced around and saw something interesting in the corner. Unfortunately, before he could investigate, he glanced another way and found himself face-to-face with a red-haired spitfire who was holding a musket leveled straight at his stomach.

"Good evening," he offered tentatively. Not the most intelligent of remarks, but he was taken off guard, you understand. Whatever dangers he had been prepared to face, short women holding big guns hadn't been on the list.

"Good evening," she responded. The Captain had to admire her savoir faire. She seemed not at all worried about being faced with an armed and undoubtedly dangerous intruder. Of course, he reflected, she did have that big gun...which surely went a long way toward giving her confidence. He knew, for instance, that had his own gun been in his hand instead of stuck uselessly through his belt, he would have felt a lot more up to dealing with this particular situation. But it wasn't, so he'd have to improvise. Fortunately, the Captain (as we've seen) was rather good at improv.

"Census Bureau," he said briskly, giving her an impersonal smile. "Can you tell me how many adults and how many children under the age of 18 are currently domiciled in this abode?"

She cocked the rifle with an air of someone measuring the distance to a target. "I could. But I'm not going to."

"I see." He backed toward the door, giving her another smile. "I'll just put down that there was no one home"

"If you take another step," she offered, "I'm going to shoot you dead."

Somehow, he believed her. "I'm not alone," he warned. "There's another of my crew in the other room, and fifteen more on the premises." (Which was very nearly true, and might be completely true, as far as he knew. It was more than possible that the boys set to guard the prisoners had gotten bored with the task by now and had decided, all uninvited, to join the looting party, assuming, as they usually did, that the more of them there were around, the merrier things would be.)

"If they're all like him," and she nodded toward the room where Fox was presumably loitering with no intent of theft, "I don't think I'm going to lose much sleep over the idea."

"I see." This was a bit trickier than convincing an outraged farmer not to sue over the theft of a small cow, of course. In fact, a lot trickier. "In case you were wondering, they aren't. He's rather a special case."

"He does seem to be unusual, for a housebreaker," she agreed.

"We aren't housebreakers," the Captain refuted the insult instantly. "We're pirates."

"Find a lot of merchant ships in people's living rooms these days?"

Bitch. 10.0pt'>"We had some time on our hands," he told her coolly. Two could play at this game. "We thought we'd make ourselves at home, maybe pick up a few souvenirs. You know how it is."

He hadn't expected that to make her laugh. "Have you taken a good look at this place?" she demanded. "Do you see anything worth stealing?

Which explained quite a lot. "Business not so good recently?" He wondered what her husband did for a living.

"I'm a widow," she said shortly.

"My sympathies," he said automatically. It somehow wasn't surprising that they'd chosen what was probably the sole large estate on the island with a bankrupt owner.

"Thank you, but that's unnecessary." She frowned and, to the Captain's relief, moved the gun an inch or two so that it wasn't pointed quite so directly at his chest. "He died shortly after our marriage."

Widowed on her honeymoon? That was a tragedy, even aside from the obvious fact that her late husband had left her, well, practically nothing.

"My lady," he said with warm sympathy. (Alex had quite a history of success with widows.) "I'm shocked to hear it. It seems a crime that such a young and beautiful woman

should be left alone this way." (He always said that, and they always believed it, no matter how old, or ill-favored they were.)

"Bullshit." She glared at him. "Anyhow, when I say 'shortly after' what I mean is about two hours after."

"You don't seem that broken up about it." Alex wasn't going to waste his time, or his best material, on an unsympathetic audience. "What did you do? Poison the cake?"

That earned him a quick glare. "We weren't acquainted," she said primly. "It was an arranged marriage."

Alex glanced around the drafty, almost bare room. "If I were you, I'd sue whoever made the arrangements."

"Don't I wish." She sounded bitter, but since Alex was obviously not supposed to have heard the remark, he ignored it. 'You might as well collect your men and leave."

"There must be something of value," he objected. Not that he had many hopes, but returning to the Cavalier empty-handed seemed so anticlimactic after all of their work getting prepared for this excursion.

"I don't think so." She lowered the gun another few inches and thought about it. "I think there are some blankets we aren't using in one of the closets," she offered.

And yet, there was something tense in the set of her shoulders that warned Alex she was keeping a secret. Every sense alert, he pretended to consider the idea, playing for time. "I don't think so."

She shrugged. "That's about it. There are rocks. Some trees. A few chickens. That's about it."

The Cavalier didn't need any more livestock. The ship smelled like nothing on this earth already and Alex suspected that, deprived of his cow, that idiot Freddie had somehow managed to smuggle a pig aboard at the last stop.

"Why do you stay?" He asked the question partly to buy more time, and partly from real curiosity.

"Do you think I have a choice?"

"Why don't you go back to England?" The obvious answer occurred to him an instant later. "Money?"

"If I had the price of a ticket...." She looked depressed. "Or if I could find someone to take this place off of my hands...."

Now she was eyeing the Captain thoughtfully. Not wanting to be stuck with a massive and unprofitable white elephant of a castle, Alex moved to change the subject.

"Tough to find a buyer in this market," he agreed. "Now, about those valuables."

"There aren't any." She was glaring at him again. "If there was anything here worth selling, don't you think I would have sold it by now?"

Under the heading of 'good new and bad news' the Captain spotted Fox looking at them from another room. Before he could signal the young man to join them (and improve the odds to 2-1, increasing their chance of persuading this irritating woman to cough up the goods), Fox seemed to have decided that the Captain was involved in a private conversation with the householder and he retreated politely.

Whether he didn't see the large, lethal-looking weapon in the woman's hands, or didn't consider it to be any of his business if the Captain was being held at gun-point was difficult to know.

The Captain realized that, with very little practice, he could learn to really, really dislike Fox.

At which thought, the inspiration he had been searching for burst upon him.

"Do you know," he said thoughtfully, ignoring the weapon entirely, "That when you get home, you're going to be a bit out of touch with things." He shook his head. "People move about, fashions change. You've been out of touch. It's going to bit a bit tricky for you to get back into the swing of things."

"I'll worry about that when I get there," she said grimly. Accurately deciding that whatever the Captain's plans were, they didn't include bodily assault, she laid the gun down on a nearby table.

"And the money thing will be a problem," he added.

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?"

"What you need," he said with an air of inspiration, "is a wealthy husband."

"Of course," she agreed calmly. "Let me just make my choice from the vast selection of candidates in the area."

That was what Alex had hoped to hear. Apparently, no matter what other natural wonders it offered, decent husband material was in short supply on the island. Excellent.

"How about him?" he asked bluntly, nodding toward Fox's distant figure. "I know he hasn't impressed you so far, but he does have his advantages."

"None of which are apparent from where I stand." She gave him a suspicious look, which Alex ignored. "Name one."

"He's young," Alex pointed out. "Malleable (actually, Fox was as stubborn as a pig, but with luck she wouldn't discover that until it was too late), impressionable."

"You didn't say 'rich'," she mentioned.

"The best for last," Alex assured her. "He has a wealthy and influential uncle who will be grateful, more than grateful, for the boy's safe return." He watched her consider the idea. "The boy is, of course, his uncle's heir," he added.

"None of which explains what he's doing sailing around with a bunch of cheap cutthroats," she said pointedly.

That smarted. They weren't cutthroats and they were anything but cheap. Broke, but not cheap. Apples and oranges. "You know this younger generation," he explained. "Always looking for adventure."

She didn't seem to be believing that, so Alex tried something a little closer to the truth. "The boy was abandoned the last time his original ship left port. A Royal Navy vessel. We took him on for his own protection. He didn't seem," and Alex chose his words carefully, "Quite suited to life on his own in Port Royale."

In the other room, Fox could be seen bouncing on one of the chairs, presumably checking the softness of its cushions. Of course, he might be checking for gold stashed under the upholstery, but it seemed unlikely that a boy who couldn't be bothered to check desk drawers or open closet doors would go to those extremes. For the first time, it occurred to Alex that Fox, in spite of his intelligence, might be just a bit crazy. (And that his abandonment in Royale had been less of an accident than the boy's story had indicated.)

"I see what you mean." She watched Fox for a moment, then shook her head.

"He doesn't quite fit with the rest of the crew," Alex said delicately. "And yet, I can hardly abandon him again. What he needs is someone to sort of stand by him and take care of him."

"Are you pirates or white slavers?" She gave Alex a long, level look. "If this is some kind of sale, I'm not interested."

That was worse than the cutthroats insult. "I'm just arranging for a way for the boy to return to his home. If you get some good out of it for yourself, that's not a crime." Alex looked hurt. "I haven't asked you for any money. What the hell do you think I am?" (The Captain actually was quite insulted that anyone would think he'd sell Fox off to the highest, or most convenient bidder just because he was annoyed with him.)

"Then you just want...."

"Someone to take custody of him," he explained. "Make sure he gets home safely."

"I still don't have any money."

"Not a problem," Alex said triumphantly. "As the nephew of Admiral Highgain, and his wife, there's not a ship in the Navy that won't volunteer to carry you back to England free of charge!"

"Then you could just drop him off in port," she said logically. "And he could leave on the next ship. He doesn't need me."

That was a bit embarrassing. "Actually," Alex cleared his throat uncertainly. "I'd prefer not to drop anchor too close to any of HM's fleet, you understand."

"Of course." Her suspicious expression disappeared. "You did say you were pirates, didn't you?"

Alex wasn't sure why this seemed to be in question, but he wasn't prepared to argue the point. "Why don't you go introduce yourself," he suggested.

She hesitated, chewing her lip and glancing between Alex and Fox who was now stretched out and apparently catching up on his sleep in the other room.

"Take the gun if it will make you feel any better." Alex motioned toward the discarded musket.

Having achieved his goal, which had been to get the woman out of the room, Alex made a show of wandering around the room casually while she woke Fox up and tried to start a conversation with him. Gradually, the Captain worked his way toward one corner, pushed aside some draperies, and found himself face-to-face with a locked cupboard.

Being an experienced thief, he carried a set of picklocks and it was a matter of seconds to jimmy the ancient lock and swing the door open.

Maybe as a reward from the fates for everything he'd suffered for the past hour (not to mention the past few weeks, but let's not hold a grudge), the entire contents of the cupboard consisted of a small, heavy, locked casket.

Gold. 10.0pt'>The Captain's heart swelled in gratitude and he forgave everyone for everything. It was the work of a second to lift out the chest, drop it out the nearest window to be retrieved later, and re-lock the cupboard, replacing the draperies carefully.

By the time his unnamed hostess returned to the room, the Captain was seated in one chair, pretending to read a three-year old copy of the Tattler (it's been in existence a very long time) and laughing at the malicious gossip it contained.

"Agreed," she said abruptly. She gave the Captain a hard look. "I don't know if marriage is the answer, but I don't think he belongs with a pirate crew."

Since that had been his own conclusion, the Captain didn't bother to take offense. "Excellent." He tossed his magazine back onto the table. "Before I leave, are you sure you don't have any valuables?"

She shrugged. "You can search the place all week if you want. If there's anything here worth stealing, I wouldn't know where it was."

Liar. 10.0pt'>Alex didn't feel the slightest bit of sympathy for saddling her with Fox's tedious company for the months-long journey back to England.

"In that case, there's no point in my remaining." He headed toward the door. "I'll gather my men and we won't be troubling you any further."

"That would be a good idea." She didn't follow him, but Alex didn't forget that she was still carrying the musket with that same air of competent familiarity.

Fortunately, Delgado and Stefan had already finished with the top floor and were waiting in the hallway.

"Did you find anything, Captain?" Delgado didn't look hopeful.

"Nothing to speak of," Alex told him, aware of the woman standing a few feet inside the other room. "Actually, I've been talking to the lady of the house, who has explained to me that, owing to the early death of her husband, she's not as wealthy as the size of this place might indicate."

"I thought as much," Delgado sighed. "We didn't find so much as a farthing."

"Let's get out of here." He stepped back to the doorway of the other room and motioned the woman over.

"Yes?"

"You might want to go and talk to him again," Alex said uneasily. "I mean, I'm sure he'll be delighted to return home. God knows he talks about the place enough. At the same time...."

"He might not care for being left behind again?" she guessed accurately.

"Exactly." Alex was relieved that she understood so quickly. "It's been a pleasure," he added, edging back toward the hallway. Now that they'd been caught, Alex didn't see any reason to avoid the front door that was so handy.

"Captain," Stefan protested, hurrying after him. "What about Fox?"

The Captain was prepared for the question. "Well," he began. "You know how he is."

The other two men nodded. Everyone knew how Fox was.

"He's decided to stay and offer his protection to the lady," Alex explained, "On her upcoming return to England."

Whether the other two believed the story (and, knowing Fox, it was perfectly plausible) or if they just didn't care, the Captain wasn't sure. He made them wait while he slipped around the corner of the house and retrieved the locked casket, then the three of them collected the rest of the crew (refusing Dickie permission to bring one or more of the dogs back with him), and returned to the ship.

Dawn had long since faded from the sky which was now a brilliant blue, foretelling yet another in a long string of fine days. (All of this took much longer to do than it does to tell about it. That bit with Dickie befriending the guard dogs alone took nearly an hour.) The Captain gave the order to raise anchor and set sail immediately.

He wanted to be out of the area before that short, but somehow formidable woman discovered her loss.

Also, well, he wanted to leave before he had a chance to feel guilty about what he'd done to Fox. This was the best solution. Fox might not understand it now, but when he was back in England with his aunts and basking the glow of his Uncle's approval, he'd have to admit it.

Hell, for all the Captain knew, Fox and the little redhead might hit it off! By the time they reached England, there might be wedding bells in the boy's future. (Not a bad idea, considering the fact that Fox clearly needed a keeper, and the cool, efficiency displayed by whateverinthehell her name was, Alex had forgotten to ask and she hadn't volunteered the information.)

It was a cheery thought and plausible enough to allow the Captain to forget his lingering guilt over abandoning one of his crewmen, however annoying the boy had been and regardless of their personal relationship.

Fortunately, the Captain had a long history of ignoring unpleasant realities for practice.

The first thing to do, he decided, was to get things back to normal. A leisurely trip around the deck, chatting with various idle or under-employed crew members took the edge off of his nervous energy. After an hour or so, he decided that a nap might not be out of the question.

On his way, he stopped by the aft deck where Jamsie was staring at the empty sea and tormenting (by poking a straw in between the sticks and then pulling it away before the irritated reptiles could snap at it) the cage-full of turtles that hadn't yet made it to the dinner table.

Courage, 10.0pt'> Alex decided. If it was going to be done, he'd better get it done now. (Owing to his interrupted education, he had no idea of the classical source he was misquoting, but that's hardly relevant here, is it?)

"Good morning," Alex offered tentatively.

Jamsie gave him a sidelong look. "Good morning, Captain," he said politely. He let one of the turtles grab the straw, then jerked it away rudely. "May I help you, sir?"

"Actually, yes." Alex searched his brain, but couldn't remember anything in the Pyrate's Manual about the correct procedure for ordering a sulky crew member to come to your cabin that evening and fool around with you for a few hours. Those damned manuals were written by idiots, he decided. They never told you the things you really needed to know.

"Yes, sir?" There was a patent lack of interest in the young man's voice that told Alex this wasn't going to be simple.

He cleared his throat. "I need...I mean, I wanted to ask you...." No, those weren't right. He swore to himself, wishing that Jamsie would pay less attention to the animals and more to his Captain. (It was strangely hard to apologize to a man torturing a turtle.)

He took his courage in both hands. (Not literally, of course, but figuratively. I thought I'd point that out, in case you had some idea he was carrying it in his pocket like a spare toothbrush.)

"Why don't you stop by tonight?" That was the ticket. Short and to the point.

"Having a party?" Jamsie threw the straw aside and straightened up.

"Not exactly." Apparently he hadn't heard about Fox. "I mean, just you. And me, of course," Alex added quickly.

Jamsie looked at the deck mournfully. "I don't think so, sir, but thank you for asking."

"Why not?"

Jamsie shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

"You're mad at me," Alex guessed. (Brilliant insight, there.)

"Yes," the boy said, with devastating honesty. "You hurt my feelings."

"I didn't mean to," Alex coaxed. "You know that."

"No I don't." Jamsie's lower lip came out in a pout and he gave Alex a bitter look. "I think you just didn't care if you did or not."

Well, Alex hadn't cared much, of course. At least, not at the time. Since today seemed to be the day for feeling guilty, he felt a definite pang of remorse now.

"I wasn't thinking," he offered hopefully. "And, anyhow, I didn't think you'd care." (Which was very nearly true and thus the best kind of lie to tell.)

"Liar." Jamsie looked at him defiantly.

Now that was a bit much, Alex decided. Hadn't he practically apologized? Hadn't he come straight (or, nearly straight) to Jamsie after Fox left and tried to make it up with him? And then, after all that, to be called rude names. It hardly seemed fair.

Fortunately, experience told him exactly how to deal with this particular discipline problem. "Crewman!" he said sternly. "Did you just offer an insult to the Captain of this vessel?"

"Yes, sir." Jamsie didn't appear at all concerned. Actually, he looked like a man who was thinking of repeating the offense, with details.

Alex gave the young crewman a steady glare. "Report to the my cabin tonight, for discipline," he ordered. "After dinner. And don't make me come looking for you!"

Jamsie looked surprised, then his eyes brightened and he gave Alex a glowing smile. "Yes, sir!"

And that took care of style='mso-tab-count:1'>         that. Alex checked the position of the sun (he was getting rather adept at telling time that way) and decided that he had just enough time for a nap before lunch.

It took Dickie's knock on the door to wake him up four hours later. The boy brought the tray over and deposited it on the bedside table, eyeing Alex's position on the bed with an odd little smile on his face. Alex looked at the gleam in the young man's eyes and felt a familiar warmth spreading from the general region of his stomach.

"Did you have something to say?" he invited.

"Actually, sir." Dickie rearranged the items on the tray needlessly, giving Alex that same wicked glance. "I heard that the Captain might be planning a celebration tonight and I was wondering if he'd like anything special?"

Unlike Jamsie, Alex had no intention of playing hard to get. "What did you have in mind?" He pushed the blanket aside and slid over to make room for Dickie next to him.

After all, Alex thought happily, it was a long time until dinner.

* * * *

The HMS Heroic , still under the command of Cap'n Skinner (of course) was still searching for her lost crewman.

The problem is, you see that telling you how the Heroic and her lovelorn Cap'n scoured the seas for two full weeks before putting to shore for supplies and (naturally) dropping anchor next to the very same village that the Cavalier had visited where the Cap'n, upon hearing that the natives were thrilled to death at the appearance of one of HM's ships, pulled himself together, dressed in a clean uniform, and went ashore to do the right thing as an ambassador of England, thereby giving him an opportunity to converse with the mayor of the little town and hear about the "lovely pirates" that had also visited them not long before, before sailing north to look for merchant ships, whereupon the Heroic raised anchor and set out in search of the pirates, missing the bay and the castle and having to come back around and eventually winding up in the exact same spot that the Cavalier had vacated less than a week before--the problem is, you see that I'm just not in the mood to try and make that sound interesting.

Let's pretend that I told you about it in detail (and for several pages), leaving you hanging at the point where the Heroic is anchored offshore (the castle's guards having been quadrupled and heavily armed after the Cavalier's incursion, since the owner of the property, poor or not, objected madly to having swarms of strange men invading the place at all hours of the day or night without so much as the hint of an invitation) while the ship's crew wonders what the point is and her Cap'n broods darkly in his cabin.

Trust me -- it's better this way.

* * * *

The Crafty Cavalier , on the other hand, was finally in luck. She had found a merchant, an honest-to-god, treasure-bearing Spanish merchant ship!

Even as we join her, she's pulling up beside her prey and the Spaniard, having given up on trying to escape (which it hadn't been making a particularly good job of), was preparing to meet its fate.

The Cavalier's cannon thundered, heavy iron balls spitting from the guns and sailing with terrifying intent toward the other ship. Unfortunately, someone had set the sights too high and, beyond making a mess of the sails, the cannon balls did no damage to the ship, but it was an impressive display of power anyhow.

With their victim so near to hand and with no return fire to contend with (They were close enough to verify there was no one manning the cannon that dotted the Spaniard's deck. An odd way to run a battle, but the crew of the Cavalier wasn't about to complain.), the shouting, excited crew of the Cavalier made short work of boarding.

By way of variety, they launched the longboats and rowed to the other ship, with Black Jack in the lead. He and three of the boys made their way up the vessel's side, using their aptly named boarding axes as a climbing aid. (There had been much debate among the ship's officers about these tools, with Elbows and Francois joined in insisting that they were essential and the more cautious Black Jack and Delgado doubtful about the wisdom of arming the crew with such potentially lethal (to each other) weapons. The Captain had voted with the former two, reasoning that, picturesque as it was to watch the boys swinging across to the deck of another ship, it left them vulnerable to attacks by musket or pistol from the other crew.)

Black Jack gave a warning shout to the crew waiting in the boats beneath him, then the advance team pulled out the grenades they were carrying for just this purpose, lit them (each boy was smoking a pipe for just that purpose and one of them was frightfully ill for hours after, but he's not that important to the plot so we'll just leave him where he is, curled up in a corner and feeling sorry for himself), and tossed them overhand onto the unseen deck above.

A crescendo of smaller explosions...Bang! Bang! Bang! (Breathless anticipation while we wait for that last, longest fuse.) Bang!

A chorus of confused yells answered each detonation and through the shuddering echoes of the last blast, the boarding crew could hear the heavy bootsteps of the Spaniard's crew as they thudded toward some unseen point in the center of the deck.

"Naow!" Black Jack's excited yell was answered by a chorus of cheers from the boats below and the Cavalier's crew swarmed aboard her victim.

Just watching them made the Captain proud. The first men on deck set themselves as guards. The second wave dropped ropes to their comrades below, then helped each crew member up and over the ship's railing until the entire boarding party was on deck and ready for action.

They scattered across the deck, then an unfortunate gust of wind rippled through the Spaniard's limp sails and swung the boom across the Captain's view. He listened for a few tense minutes, hearing his crew's shouts, the clang of cutlass upon cutlass, and the discharge of pistols, until the suspense got to be too much for him.

A quick order and the Cavalier's remaining longboat was lowered. The Captain insisted on Francois' company, reasoning that there was no danger on the Cavalier and that the Frenchman's expertise and experience could be of value in the current battle.

He silenced Francois' protests about tradition (requiring that at least one of the ship's officers be on board at any time), telling him that while he (the Captain) appreciated Francois' devotion to duty, there was a battle to be won and that he (Francois) had been forced to remain on the sidelines far too often.

The Captain had a good idea of what it cost the excitable Frenchman to always be left behind and, custom or no custom, the Captain didn't intend to allow Francois to miss this, by the sounds of it, their first real battle.

"We've done it, sir!" Stefan was waiting as the Captain swung up onto the deck. (Francois seemed to be quite a ways behind him, but the Captain couldn't wait.)

Stefan saluted briskly, brown eyes shining with excitement. "We've taken her!"

"I see you have." Captain looked around the deck to spot crewmen guarding each gangway that led to the lower decks, others slashing the riggings and loosening the ropes on the sails to foil pursuit. They just all looked so professional. He was so proud.

He looked at Stefan. "Excellent job."

Stefan drew himself up and saluted again.

From below, the Captain could hear the sound of muffled shouts and desperate thumping. "What's that noise?"

Stefan glanced toward the deck. "The Spaniards, sir," he said proudly. "We've locked them in the hold to wait for your orders."

"Injuries?" the Captain asked briskly, prepared for the usual litany of boarding party injuries (pulled muscles, twisted ankles, splinters, and the like) as well as his first brush with the kind of wounds that the boys would have received fighting a desperate and bloodthirsty enemy. (The Spanish nation had quite a reputation.)

"Not a one, Guv'nor." Black Jack stepped up next to Stefan and answered the question for him.

None? 10.0pt'>"None? None at all?" This was the Captain's first indication that things might not quite be what they seemed. No matter how much improved his crew was, he knew the odds against setting a group of them climbing aboard a rickety wooden ship, armed to the teeth with firearms and sharp cutlasses without any injuries resulting.

"T' boys 'ave done fine, Chief." Black Jack understood what the Captain was thinking. "A right wonderful bit o'work." He smiled around the deck proudly.

"Where's Delgado?" (One thing you had to say about the First Mate, leaving aside his soft spot for Stefan, the man didn't sugar-coat things. The Captain might, just might believe his over-eager, anxious, and inept crew had accomplished this miracle if the First Mate verified it.)

'I'll take you to 'im, Guv'nor." Black Jack nodded at Stefan. "Gather the crew and d'yer see what's in the corners o'this tub, mate."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Stefan saluted the man and, just to be thorough, gave the Captain another salute before he marched off, calling for help.

Alex followed Black Jack below, giving the boys guarding the door to the hold a salute and a well done that made each of them glow with pleasure before he motioned Delgado aside.

"The boys did fine, sir," the First Mate assured him. "They couldn't have done better."

"I'm not doubting that," the Captain waved away the remark. "I just want to know...."

"The rest of the story?" Delgado suggested.

"Exactly." The Captain nodded. "What happened?"

"Well...." Delgado scratched at his beard thoughtfully. For a moment, he had that gleam in his eye that meant he was about to drop into some unintelligible dialect but, catching the Captain's glare, he managed to suppress the impulse. "I have had a bit of talk, through the door, with one of the prisoners," he admitted.

"The ship's Captain?" the Captain guessed.

"Not exactly." The First Mate shook his head in wonder. "Seems that this lot got a bit peevish with the officers. You know how it goes, sir. Tempers get to running a little high, things get said or done that maybe shouldn't be...."

"Yes?" The Captain couldn't imagine why Delgado was taking so long to get to the point.

"They pitched them overboard," Delgado said bluntly. "Apparently she dropped anchor in a bay to fill her water casks and the crew got together and took a secret vote. Then they banded together, surrounded the officers, and tossed them over the side."

"I see." Of course, these things did happen. The Captain would have preferred that his already high-strung crew not be exposed to such seditious (and extreme) ideas, but it was too late now. "What did they do then?"

"Near as I can figure," Delgado told him, "They started getting drunk. And that's where they've been ever since. Just sort of cruising along, drinking, and having a party."

Which went a long way toward explaining why the Spaniard had made such a poor job of trying to outsail the Cavalier.

"Did they offer a fight when we boarded?"

"Not so much a fight...." Delgado seemed to be searching for words. "It's those grenades of Black Jack's," he apologized. "This lot said the noise gave them a headache. So, they came below to get away from the racket."

That the rum and ale they'd been swilling for the past week might have contributed to the problem didn't seem to have occurred to the Spaniards.

"What did happen? Did they lock themselves in the hold?"

Delgado's face brightened. "No, sir. The boys captured them right enough. Seems that they found the bunch cowering at the bottom of the gangplank or in the galley, searching for a little something for their headaches. When we approached, the prisoners, having forgotten to arm themselves, started shouting filthy insults at us." Delgado looked proud. "And that sir, made the boys so mad that they pitched in, rounded up the lot of them, and tossed them in the hold."

"You mean, they actually fought with them?" The Captain wanted to be clear on this one point.

"As near as," Delgado said enthusiastically. "They whacked a few of them on the head and punched one in the nose for saying something derogatory about English Motherhood."

Ah, well. You took what you could get. In any case, the Captain reasoned, the Spaniards' cowardice didn't invalidate the undoubted bravery displayed by the Cavalier's crew.

He and Delgado discussed the matter, and decided that once they'd despoiled the Spaniards of whatever valuables the ship held, they'd abandon her and her drunken crew to their fate.

The treasure was less than the Captain might have hoped, mostly consisting of a small chest found tucked under the bed in the Captain's cabin. It seemed that most of the crew, as well as the ship's officers, had spent every farthing in their pockets on a recent shore leave. (Leading the Captain to wonder, knowing how much his own crew had spent, exactly why port towns were always so dirty and poor. It wasn't as though there weren't thousands of pounds being poured into the towns with the landing of every ship. He decided it probably had something to do with taxes.)

The Captain ordered the chest to be deposited in his own cabin. He also pulled Delgado and Stefan aside and ordered them to salvage any remaining liquor and anything good to eat aboard the Spanish vessel. (The Captain intended to throw a party that night and thought that a few foreign delicacies might add a festive note to the occasion that salted fish and overripe bananas couldn't offer.)

Black Jack was thrilled to discover large stores of cannon and musket balls, together with a score of kegs of powder. (No more thrilled than the Captain, though, who realized that the Cavalier was now quite well-supplied with armaments, all at no cost to her Captain.)

They left the Spanish crew locked in the hold. Black Jack decided that when they sobered up, the men could break through the door in an hour or so and, in the meantime, they'd have a prime opportunity to consider their sins and misdemeanors. Who knew? They might even come to the conclusion that ships' officers have their uses and sail back to wherever they had abandoned their own.

(It occurred to the Captain that this wasn't necessarily a good thing, considering the hostilities between England and Spain, but he kept quiet on the subject.)

The boys went to work off-loading everything of interest from the merchantman, then the Cavalier poured on all sails and left her hapless victim behind in minutes.

Once Delgado determined that they had put enough distance between themselves and the enemy, the Cavalier sailed close to shore, dropped anchor, and prepared to party.

The Captain was naturally on-hand to open the festivities and he started with a toast to the crew of the Cavalier for uncommon bravery in the face of an uncommon enemy. (It might not sound like much, but that took him quite a long time to think up.)

In any case, it served the purpose, thrilling the crew who offered three cheers and a fifteen minute round-robin version of For He's a Jolly Good Fellow that saluted the Captain, then each of the ship's officers in turn, ending up with a rousing cheer by the crew, for the crew.

I'd rather be lucky than good any day, the Captain decided, surveying the happy faces of his crew.

Once the party was well under way, he slipped away for a few minutes, wanting to inspect and count their looted treasure and add it to the contents of the casket he'd lifted from the castle and hadn't yet had time to open.

On the whole, he would have been better off staying at the party and leaving the money counting until the next day. That way, he wouldn't have been standing there alone in the center of his cabin half an hour later (it takes a while to break into a locked iron box, you know), staring with stunned and growing fury at the bits of old pig iron, twisted wire, and other rubbish that spilled out when he opened the casket.

His first thought, naturally, was that he'd been cheated. The treasure chest he'd looted from the castle was worth, optimistically, about a pound (the price of boxes with broken locks not being high that year). But the truth was that he'd just been fooled by the lock.

What kind of idiot locks up their trash? He wondered indignantly. Various notions of revenge occurred to him, including burning down the castle (impractical for a stone building), laying siege to the place (even more impractical since they'd already proven there was nothing valuable to be gained), and just returning for the pleasure of yelling at the landowner (a bit awkward since he'd have to start by admitting that he'd been rummaging through the closets behind her back).

It was fortunate for the unnamed woman that the contents of the Spanish chest were much more satisfactory. A delightful mix of gold (alas, not as much as there might have been) and silver. The Captain counted and found that they had enough (between payroll, groceries, and the surprisingly high expense of sundries like mops and buckets) to last the ship for a couple of months.

He brooded over the situation as he locked up the money. Not perfect, but better than the imminent bankruptcy he'd been facing a few days before, right?

About that time, a pounding on the door to his cabin told the Captain that his absence from the party had been noticed. Putting a smile on his face (and still musing idly on the possibility of revenge), he unlocked the door and rejoined the festivities.

The crew's gratitude, and high spirits, didn't stop with singing. When the Captain returned to the party on deck, it wouldn't have been far from the truth to say that an orgy was in progress. The crew had already shown a tendency to abandon unnecessary clothing under the influence of the soft, balmy air of the tropics. Tonight, they were taking the process one step further.

Elbows was curled up in one corner of the deck, swilling rum from the largest tankard the ship had available. (The man never joined these festivities. So far, he hadn't been able to bring himself to forgive Timson and the other for their prank and he had announced that he never would forgive them until his beard grew back. Delgado had told the Captain that it had taken Elbows over five years to grow the first mangy beard, so it seemed as though peace among the crew was still a long way in the future. On the other hand, the Captain had seen one of the boys, a young charmer named Dan that we haven't had the opportunity to become acquainted with prior to this, eyeing Elbows speculatively, so it was always possible that the surly crewman would be persuaded to leave his young, but very attractive face on display. I mean, assuming that Dan was thinking what the Captain thought he was thinking, which is a pretty safe bet.)

Delgado was sprawled out on the roof of the hold, instructing a fascinated class in the intricacies of strip poker. (You might think that such an adventurous crew had already mastered such a basic game, but the truth was that the boys had confined themselves to spin the tankard in the past, poker being quite a new invention and, in its earliest days, primarily a diversion for drawing rooms and parlours. The idea that cards could be a suitable, and entertaining, pastime for a group of men was quite a novelty to the boys. Delgado was having quite a lot of trouble explaining to his students why they couldn't just take off their clothes and get on with the rest of the agenda.)

The rest of the crew was broken up into smaller groups around the deck, variously engaged in writing a song to commemorate their recent victory (Stefan was in this group, which explained why he wasn't at Delgado's side as usual), trading massages, and in a few cases just having sex.

Rather a lot of them, as the Captain looked more closely, seemed to have chosen this last alternative. Dickie (why are we not surprised) seemed to be gathering a sort of daisy chain of interested participants and in the center of that group, there were four unidentified crew members (the Captain was squinting, but we'll admit he wasn't looking at their faces) doing something complicated to a fifth boy with a large coil of rope and a handful of feathers.

The Captain decided that he might as well start his personal congratulations to the crew with the last-named group. As he approached them (apologizing as he cut through the daisy chain and fending off, with very good humor, several invitations to join the fun), things seemed to be approaching a sort of climax (so to speak), so the Captain waited politely for a minute or two and then, realizing that by the time all five boys had had their turn, it was going to be sunrise, left them to their fun.

Alex spotted Jamsie, lining up for a spot in the daisy chain. The creativity being displayed by the crew had inspired Alex with a few ideas of his own that he was eager to explore. It didn't take a lot of effort (a smile and a wave) to separate Jamsie from his friends and convince him that a private party in the Captain's cabin would be the perfect end to the day.

Among the other things the Captain had had moved to his cabin were a couple of bottles of a rather decent wine the Spanish crew hadn't had time yet to drink. Alex poured two glasses and turned back to his companion, not in the least surprised to find that Jamsie had already wriggled out of what little clothing he'd been wearing.

He was, as always, a magnificent sight. Curly blonde hair, hanging to his shoulders (most of the boys had decided that pirates wore their hair long and had refused to have theirs trimmed for several months), and guileless blue eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. Alex let his eyes drift down, enjoying the rest of the view. Broad shoulders, well-defined planes and angles of muscle still covered with the slightest soft padding of extra flesh. Lower still...and the Captain was feeling decidedly overdressed, as though there was a lot less room in his pants than there had been a few minutes before.

Jamsie seemed to agree. "You could take those off," he suggested, eyeing the Captain's shirt and trousers.

All in all, it sounded like a wonderful idea. Alex wasn't pleased when, just about the time his pants joined the pile of discarded clothing, there was a knock at the door.

"There he is," Jamsie murmured. Ignoring Alex's startled look, he opened the door and Dickie came bounding into the room.

"Hello." The brunette eyed Alex with appreciation, the turned and waited for Jamsie to lock the door before he gave the blonde an enthusiastic kiss.

Alex was conscious of an entirely unexpected pang of jealousy. On one memorable occasion, the two boys had combined forces to provide him with one of the more exhausting, and pleasant, experiences of his well-traveled life, but it was becoming clear that Jamsie and Dickie were a lot closer than he'd known.

Where in the hell do they get the energy, was his next thought. Or the time?

Before he could decide if he should be objecting, he was on the receiving end of Dickie's enthusiasm himself. He was passed from Dickie's arms to Jamie's and somewhere in the process decided to table any objections for the time being.

He was in the middle (rather vaguely) of a comparison of Dickie's ebullience and Jamsie's quiet intensity (and not quite decided as to which suited his mood better that night although discovering a preference for Jamsie that rather surprised him in its sincerity) when a new and interesting sensation was added to the embrace.

Warm, firm, and definitely in the mood, Dickie's naked body pressed against Alex's back and the brunette reached over his shoulder to give Jamsie another warm kiss.

"You said something about a party," Dickie breathed into Alex's ear.

"I hope you don't mind." Jamsie was nibbling on the other ear and rapidly ruining Alex's concentration. Not that either of them cared because it certainly had to be clear to Jamsie that Alex was quite focused on what was really important.

"Not in the least," Alex assured them, trying to sound calm and in control for some reason. "The more the merrier."

"No." Jamsie's voice was definite. "I think the party's big enough just the way it is."

"Oh, I don't know." Alex gave in to the temptation of Jamsie's bare neck and shoulder, making his next words a bit indistinct. "I get the impression that some parts of it are still growing."

Dickie chuckled, nuzzling the back of Alex's neck warmly. "We missed you, Captain," he said. There was a reproachful note in his voice. "When you were...too busy for us."

"I'm not busy now," Alex invited. At the moment, he wasn't in the least interested in memories of Fox.

"You shouldn't have been busy before." Jamsie's teeth closed painfully around the lobe of Alex's ear and tugged. "If you're busy again," Jamsie warned, an unusually serious note in his voice, "I'm going to be very unhappy."

Standing there, sandwiched between the two of them, Alex was a little unclear on exactly what it had been about Fox that had been so attractive only a few days before. "Is that a threat?"

Jamsie chuckled. "Not tonight," he said, wriggling to remind Alex of the pleasant results of Jamsie's occasional forays into disobedience.

Alex gave him a kiss, then allowed Dickie to pull his head back for another one.

"How about less talking and more partying," Dickie suggested. One knee nudged Alex's thighs, then slipped in between them.

"Excellent suggestion." Alex cuddled Jamsie closer, if possible. "Do we have a plan?"

Not surprisingly, they did. In fact, the two boys had several novel ideas and by the time the three of them had explored all the variations, dawn was glowing in the window.

But there's always trouble in paradise, and by the time the Captain appeared on deck the next morning (okay, it was afternoon, but no one else was moving very quickly that day either), new problems were rearing their heads.

From somewhere, a rumor had started that Fox might not have been completely willing to be left behind at their last stop. In spite of the quite believable story of Fox's chivalry, a large portion of the crew seemed inclined to believe that he had been callously abandoned by the Captain for some unclear reason.

The knowledge that the Captain had originally ordered the deaths of the four Norwegians who had made themselves popular members of the crew tended to add plausibility to the report.

In short, the Captain was being given the fish eye by the crew. As soon as he noticed the crew's odd looks (it took about an hour since the Captain needed coffee and a light breakfast before he was feeling anything like himself again), the Captain tracked down Francois (the most notorious gossip on the ship) and demanded to know what was going on.

Francois told him, with embellishments and enthusiasm.

The report made the Captain predictably bitter. Less than twelve hours after he'd squandered a lot of valuable rum and some very weird (but no doubt salable) food supplies to throw the crew a party, and they had already forgotten. (Of course, we know this wasn't quite true. After all, most of the boys and certainly all of the officers had headaches and upset tummies that made it impossible for any of them to forget their indulgence on the previous evening.)

It wasn't, the Captain thought, that they had even seemed to be that fond of Fox when he was aboard. Which was true, since Fox had failed to endear himself to anyone on the Cavalier except Francois who naturally approved of the young man's obsession with regulations and tradition.

On the silver lining side of the cloud, it occurred to the Captain that an order to turn the ship around, return to the shore near the castle, and 'rescue' Fox would no doubt be met with a great deal of enthusiasm.

It also occurred to him that removing the redhead's best chance to return to the shores of England in style (and possibly make an advantageous marriage into the bargain, although the more Alex thought about that, the more he doubted it) was a suitable revenge for her inability to produce any valuables to contribute to the upkeep of the Cavalier.

(Of course, we know that she wasn't in any way responsible for the maintenance of the pirate ship, but Alex tended to think otherwise, which is how most criminals seem to view other people's money, so he wasn't acting out of character or anything.)

Even better, with a few modifications, the abduction...rescue...whatever you wanted to call it of Fox could be made to work to the Cavalier's advantage. After all, what was ransom except for treasure from a different source?

The plan sprang almost complete into the Captain's head and while the bloom of enthusiasm was still with him, he shared with idea with the ship's officers and received their complete agreement.

One tiny fly in the ointment was Jamsie's reaction to the news. When he showed up, coming as close to breathing fire as Alex had ever seen the good-tempered youngster, Alex knew he was going to have to think, and talk, fast. His memories of the night before were sweet enough to make Alex willing to go to quite a lot of trouble to prevent any more trouble between himself and Jamsie. And Dickie, of course, although Alex was beginning to suspect that Dickie's abstinence during Fox's sojourn aboard the Cavalier had been due more to Jamsie's influence than to any real objection to Fox's presence on Dickie's part.

"You're going to get him back?" Jamsie marched into the Captain's cabin and planted himself stubbornly in the middle of the floor. "Why?"

"It's not what you think," Alex coaxed.

"Then what is it?" Jamsie was always reassuringly direct, you never had to wonder what he was thinking. "You said he wanted to go. Why are you going after him if you don't want him back?"

'Back' of course, in Jamsie's mind meaning back where the two of them were at that moment, in the Captain's cabin. Or, more specifically, in the large, comfortable bed, still rumpled from the celebrations the night before. (Fox had had sort of a fetish about making beds, with hospital corners and sheets pulled so tightly that they strained at their seams, but Alex rather liked the graphic reminder of the wrinkled sheets and pillows still dented from the weight of his companions' heads.)

"It's a plan," the Captain tried to explain to his unhappy lover. "Trust me, it's going to make a fortune for us."

"He wasn't worth a fortune the last time," Jamsie pointed out logically.

With what he thought of as commendable patience, the Captain explained the plan to Jamsie, stressing the money motif in his elaborate (and quite imaginary) descriptions of the vast wealth possessed by Fox's uncle.

Jamsie wasn't interested in complicated questions of high finance. Dealing with things like that was what officers were for. He waved aside Alex's calculation of the ransom they could expect to receive and went straight to the heart of the matter.

"Where is he going to sleep?" he asked bluntly.

Actually, that was a lot more detail than the Captain had considered up to this point. Where, he found himself wondering, did you bunk a valuable prisoner being held for ransom? There was the lower hold, of course, but the lock on the door was a bit iffy and it wasn't quite sanitary down there owing to a few small leaks here and there in the hull. Besides, was a former crew member, now being held for ransom, exactly a prisoner? He'd have to consult Francois.

"Not here." Alex knew that was all Jamsie wanted to hear.

There was a hint of suspicion in the blue eyes for a moment, but then Jamsie relaxed, reassured by the Captain's tone. "All right, I guess." Maybe not that reassured, something in his tone told Alex that Jamsie would be watching for any sign of personal interest in their prospective guest.

Well, he'd be happy when Fox got here. The Captain had a very strong suspicion that being kidnapped after having been abandoned was not going to bring out the warm, affectionate side of Fox's personality.

* * * *

The HMS Heroic was still anchored outside the small bay next to the castle, but owing to a moment of inattention on the part of her lookout (and a thick cloud cover that blocked the moonlight, as the guilty sailor was at pains to explain to the duty officer when his dereliction was discovered the next morning), she didn't notice the Cavalier dropping anchor nearby.

The Crafty Cavalier (owing to the lateness of the hour) was unusually quiet as well, and Timson (stuck, as usual, with the midnight to four shift that no one else wanted) was snoozing peacefully in the crow's nest, rocked to slumber by the gentle swaying of the ship.

Thus it was that it came as a complete surprise the next morning when the respective crews of the separate ships wandered sleepily on board, munching on toast and sipping coffee (if they were aboard the Cavalier) or smoothing the wrinkles in their shirts and reciting the Naval Code of Honor by way of a brain-loosener (if they were on the Heroic) and spied each other across the bare fifty feet of water separating the two vessels.

Probably the fact that the Cavalier wasn't showing her colors (which she rarely did unless in active pursuit of a victim since the ship's officers were in agreement that there was no need to borrow trouble) was the only thing that kept war from breaking out immediately. As it was, the sailors (and pirates) had to wait for their officers to finish breakfast and make their appearances on deck before any plan of action could be formulated.

For his part, the Captain of the Cavalier thought bitter thoughts about the night watch and ordered the unlucky Timson to be roused out and put to swabbing the deck with the smallest bucket and rag that the ship could provide.

The Cap'n of the Heroic didn't think about it at all. The night watch wasn't his responsibility after all, he had a staff to deal with those things. He merely stood on deck, eyeing the other ship through his brightly polished spyglass and tried to decide if he was faced with friend or foe.

What he saw, through the small glass, was another man, obviously the Captain of the other vessel, peering back at him through an identical (except for the bright polish) glass.

The two men stared at each other that way for a minute until, suddenly feeling foolish, they lowered the glasses and stared at each other without the magnifying lenses. Which was quite simple and both crews had had sufficient time to look each other over and gain quite an accurate picture of each other without the aid of spyglasses by this time.

The Heroic's crew (with one or two unimportant exceptions) decided that they were faced with a band of lazy, undisciplined slackers. (Had the crew of the Cavalier been sporting their natty pirate uniforms, the Heroic's men might have changed that opinion, but it's unlikely since no one aboard the Cavalier was up to the high standards of tailoring that were considered de riguere aboard the Heroic.) The Heroic's crew pulled themselves up smartly and made quite a show of attending to their duties with almost military precision, all the while peeking glances at the other crew out of the corners of their eyes to see if their example was having any effect on the visitors.

The Cavalier's crew gathered into excited groups and compared notes on the other ship's size (which compared quite favorably with the Cavalier's own, being a full one third longer), crew (they looked a bit stuffy but no doubt would be great fun at a party), and uniforms. (The plain white of HM's lower ranks was declared quite dull compared to the boys' own striped splendor. Someone put forth a motion that they should don their own uniforms and show the other ship what stylish was, but that was voted down as too much work so early in the morning. Again, quite fortunate since the revelation of the Cavalier's piratical status at this delicate point in the relationship would undoubtedly have had an adverse effect on everything that followed.)

Everyone's coffee cup being empty by then, the Cavalier's crew decided to adjourn to the galley en masse (that 'eating in shifts' thing hadn't lasted a day beyond Fox's disappearance from the ship) and discuss the matter over a substantial breakfast.

Which explains, you see, why the young, attractive, and quite memorable pirate crew that Cap'n Skinner had heard so much about was not in evidence when, half an hour later, he ordered a longboat to be launched and had himself rowed over to the Cavalier.

Cap'n Skinner was met on deck by Delgado (in his official capacity as First Mate) and Black Jack, who had an insatiable curiosity about the armaments of the other ship and hoped to hear some valuable gossip on the subject.

Francois, not looking his best that morning, no doubt as a result of something he'd had to drink the night before, was at the wheel. Timson, also not as crisp as you might like to see a sailor owing to the large quantity of wash water he'd managed to splash over himself, was being supervised by Elbows to the extent that the veteran had volunteered to have a late breakfast so he could keep the sleepy and disconsolate youngster company on deck. (The Captain assumed that this was in the nature of a peace offering, considering that Elbows had appeared on deck the day before, freshly shaved and with a smug-faced Dan in tow. Even though the man hadn't shaved again this morning, the Captain was hoping for the best.)

Anyhow, that's all beside the point, isn't it?

No, it's no wonder that the Cap'n didn't recognize that he'd found the ship he'd been searching for, is it? Elbows, unshaven and still occasionally glaring at the sullen Timson. Delgado, nicely groomed but that full beard spoke for itself. Black Jack, well-meaning but hardly anyone's idea of the perfectly attired sailor.

Two of the Norwegians, undeniably attractive (although we deny that this had any bearing on the crew's original determination to save them from a watery grave) but not especially young, were standing guard at the foot of the gangway and outside the door to the Captain's cabin. They saluted and one of them held the door open.

Cap'n Skinner entered and, for the first time, met Captain Alex Krycek, a man to whom, if Skinner had known it, he owed both curses (for making off with Fox) and gratitude (for teaching Fox quite a number of interesting things that Cap'n Skinner had more than once wished the boy knew).

Oh dear, what to report next? Shall we dwell on the quite favorable first impression that Alex made on the Cap'n? After the quite ordinary showing made by the few crew members that the Cap'n had seen, the sight of Alex's fit body, tousled black hair, and big green eyes (currently wearing an expression of determined honesty and forthrightness) came as quite a pleasant surprise.

Of course, the Cap'n was still brooding over the absent Fox, but there's no denying that finding himself alone in a cabin sporting a large, comfortable looking bed and quite the most attractive man he'd seen in weeks (And a peer, you know. Another ship's Captain and not one of the off-limits members of Skinner's own crew.) gave the Cap'n a distinct and very enjoyable twinge somewhere in the region of his belt buckle.

Of course, the Cap'n being the Cap'n, his mind took his body to task, arguing that there was no reason he should instantly think of sex the moment he met Captain Alex. (During this time, Alex was introducing himself, wondering about the odd look on the other man's face and not failing to appreciate on his own the amazingly fine view that Cap'n Skinner presented in his crispest uniform).

"Cap'n Skinner." Alex offered his hand and the Cap'n took it and if the sensation wasn't quite the same as the celestial moment his hand had first touched Fox's, there was still a quite perceptible thrill that came very near to distracting the Cap'n again.

Was it possible that his defenses were down after his long weeks of abstinence and then Fox's unhappy disappearance?

Possibly Alex was just looking darned sexy that morning. (Earlier, Jamsie had expressed his complete confidence in Alex's sworn word that Fox meant nothing to him any more in such a satisfactory way that the Captain was still feeling the pleasant afterglow hours later.) Who knows?

The point is, they both liked what they saw. From that moment, good relations between the two ships were practically guaranteed.

Some time was, we won't say wasted, never that, but rather invested in casual talk. With a touch of his hand to the other man's elbow, Alex steered Skinner toward the comfortable couch in one corner of the room and they took their places on it in complete equality. (Well, not complete equality. Not having Jamsie to indulge him, the Cap'n was more than a little taken off-guard by Captain Alex's undoubted charm and, let's just admit it, rather obvious sex appeal. For his part, Alex was using every trick he knew, having correctly identified the gleam in Skinner's eye and knowing that he and his crew were doomed unless he could establish harmony before the inevitable revelation of the Cavalier's identity.)

Still, Alex didn't mean any harm, after all. He was just trying to survive and, the fates willing, make a bit of money into the bargain, so charming the Cap'n was quite a part of his duties and not at all the sort of thing (really) that Jamsie was likely to object to, even in his current, possessive mood.

What with one thing and another, the 'getting acquainted' portion of the Captains' chat was prolonged far beyond what either man (or their respective crews) had anticipated.

The Heroic had sent word over twice to ask after Skinner's well-being and finally, in a totally unwarranted fit of suspicion, actually loaded another longboat with three officers and fifteen crewmen and sent the craft wallowing (it was designed to hold no more than twelve) toward the Cavalier to board and demand to see the Cap'n.

I doubt that it's a surprise to anyone to know that the crew of the Cavalier was amused by this behavior. Stefan (in a spirit of practical joking) and Timson (taking a break from the endless stretch of dirty deck and in a spirit of pure meanness) hung over the rail and invited the Heroic's representatives to lunch. By way of illustration, they held one of the remaining turtles over the rail and then (quite by accident, we know) dropped the subsequently enraged animal into the small boat.

Lord knows what the Heroic's crew was afraid of. They'd faced pirates (real ones, not this lot), enemy warships, the possibility of drowning (a particularly bad storm during a previous voyage), and other terrors with less consternation than they viewed the addition of a turtle to their numbers. Granted, it was an exceptionally large and fine specimen. And, granted, it was madder than hell. But let us not lose sight of the essentials here--it was still a turtle.

One might think that there was very little reason for six of the crewmen to instantly throw themselves into what, for all they knew, could be shark-infested waters to escape the wrath of the reptile.

Again, the possibility of war seemed imminent. This time we can only think it was forestalled by the Cavalier's silent reception of the spectacle.

Truth be told, the boys aboard the Cavalier were stunned into silence by the sheer magnitude of the damage they'd done. (They, you see, did not lose sight of the fact that a turtle is just a turtle. Of course, they'd been living with the things aboard the ship for several days now and were more blasé about the situation than others might have been in their position.)

Certainly there was nothing blasé about the longboat's reaction to the animal. Nothing lassez faire, either (just to remind you that I know other French words).

It took Dickie's appearance on deck, his swift appraisal of the situation, and his demands that the Cavalier offer assistance to the terrified longboat crew to resolve the situation in favor of peace.

It was the work of minutes to get the Heroic's crew members on-board the Cavalier, offer them warm blankets and warmer sympathy, and somehow out of the disaster create a feeling of kinship, of bonding, between the two crews. (Although some of that might have been either Dickie's imagination or just the bond he was pretty sure he was forming with a certain redhead wearing tight breeches and seeming to be in need of more of Dickie's personal attention than most of the rest of the Heroic's representatives put together. Certainly we wouldn't call the Ensign a tramp, but there's no denying that his failure to woo Cap'n Skinner from the memory of Fox had left him ripe for seduction by the first dark-haired, broad-shouldered sailor who wandered along and offered to massage any particular portion of the Ensign's anatomy that happened to be in need of a rubdown.)

We should turn our attention back to the Captain and the Cap'n at this point. By now they've gotten acquainted, talked about their respective problems in shepherding their young and energetic crews very briefly (the Cap'n, as we've said, having a staff who dealt with those issues and the Captain anxious to stay away from the subject), and turned the conversation to the subject of why they were each anchored in this one, small, bay.

Captain Alex donned a serious expression, suitable for a man with a weighty problem. The sort of idle chitchat that they'd been indulging in didn't take that much attention to maintain and he did have a noticeably knotty problem to resolve. To wit, how was he going to reconcile his intention of kidnapping Fox and holding him to ransom while Fox's long-absent protector was standing at his elbow?

The answer was simple. He wasn't. (It's a relief to know that Captain Alex has good sense, isn't it?) Being, as we've said before, fast on his feet in a crisis, the Captain instantly formulated a brand-new story to explain the presence of the Cavalier.

"I don't know...." he said slowly. "I'm kind of worried about one of my crewman, to tell you the truth, Cap'n Skinner."

This was exactly the way to get Cap'n Skinner's attention. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered.

"It's a bit complicated, Cap'n," the Captain admitted. "Actually, the young man was left behind the last time we stopped in this area." He saw Cap'n Skinner's eyes widen with interest. "He wasn't quite comfortable aboard the ship. At the time, we naturally assumed that the landowner, who seemed to be a very capable and sensible woman, would be able to take care of him and make certain that the young man found transportation home, but the more I think about it, Cap'n...." The Captain shook his head.

Not surprisingly, the parallels between this story and Cap'n Skinner's own (as-yet-untold) tale of woe instantly earned Cap'n Skinner's sympathy. "What do you suspect has happened?" (He was assuming that Alex's fears matched his own for the absent Fox.)

"Please," he added generously, "Call me Skinner." He patted the Captain's knee soothingly, and daringly. "You're not a member of my crew, after all." (He'd already been invited to the freedom of Alex's first name.)

"It could be anything," Alex said with a worried frown (but secretly delighted by the progress he was making). "Such an impressionable young man. He was my responsibility," he bravely. "I should have taken better care of him."

"It's not always easy," Skinner told him with sturdy sympathy. "Especially with headstrong boys."

'No, it isn't." Alex sighed. "It's been bothering me, so we decided to come back and check on him. We arrived late last night."

"Had he been on board long?" The Cap'n asked gently, thinking of his own too-brief journey with Fox.

This was a danger point. What Alex wanted to imply was that he'd rescued Fox from danger at some point, which would, he was certain, lock in Skinner's support. There were difficulties, of course. He didn't know how much the Cap'n knew about the ship that Fox had left Royale on. On the whole, it seemed wiser to stick as closely to the truth as possible.

"Not long at all," Alex said. "In fact, just for a few weeks."

"Really?" The merest hint of a ghost of a suspicion began to cross Skinner's mind. "Where did he join you?"

"That's an interesting story in itself," Alex said easily. He poured Skinner a second glass of the excellent Spanish wine. (They'd gotten to the point of wine and biscuits and Alex was about to suggest that Skinner might as well stay for lunch.)

"Is it?" Skinner paid no attention to the wine, although he was usually against drinking in the morning. He was too interested in Alex's story to object to anything so trivial. Besides, and he took another generous sip, it really was an excellent wine.

Alex sighed and leaned back, letting his shoulder brush against Skinner's lightly. "Shore leave," he said abruptly. "We stopped into Port Royale a few weeks ago. I was in a restaurant (it was more than charity to describe the filthy tavern as an eating establishment, but Alex was understandably anxious to make everything look as good as possible) and saw the young man, sitting alone. He seemed," and here Alex began to choose his words even more carefully, "An unusual person to find on his own in a place like that."

Alex took a sip of his wine and smiled at Skinner. "You know Royale," he said with that us men of the world tone that implied vast experience.

"Yes, I do." By now, Skinner's pulse was racing and he had to force the words out past an unexpected lump of anticipation in his throat. "Go on."

"Not the most civilized of ports," Alex said with feigned regret. "And the young man in question seemed more than out of place, alone in such surroundings. I fell into conversation with him (fell into lust would be more accurate) and discovered that by some accident he'd been forgotten or left behind by his own vessel."

He shrugged and gave Skinner a strong, manly look. "What would you have done? It wasn't Christian to leave such a lamb in the hands of the wolves that infest Royale,"

Skinner winced noticeably, since that was exactly what he had done, no matter how inadvertently.

(Although we find it humorous to hear the Captain mouthing such platitudes in his own defense, we admit that we're beginning to think he's going to get away with it, aren't you?)

"So I invited him to join my crew. It was our plan," Alex added slowly, "To help the young man search for his vessel but, after all, it's a big ocean. In the meantime, as I said, he simply didn't seem to be suited for life aboard a less formal and disciplined ship (Alex was treading very carefully here) and I was forced to decide that he would be better off ashore."

Skinner didn't even know whether or not to ask the name of the missing sailor. On the one hand, he was absolutely positive that it was Fox. On the other, he didn't know if he could take the disappointment if it wasn't. "Why have you changed your mind about the woman?" he asked distractedly, just for something to say.

This was a subject that Alex could let himself go on. He was, as we all recall, still pissed off about that casket full of trash where he had expected to find gold and jewels.

"I've done some investigating," he lied coolly. "And it appears that the young woman, whom I appear to have misjudged, first appeared on the island as the fianceé of the previous owner of the property. It seems," he added dropping his voice fractionally, "That the man died rather unexpectedly. On their wedding day." He raised his eyebrows at Skinner and nodded significantly.

Not that Alex actually thought there was anything suspicious in the woman's story, but what the hell, you know?

"It's been brought to my attention," he added, "That she's currently in need of transportation back to England, her new, or rather her late husband not having proven to be as wealthy as she thought he was before he so unexpectedly passed away."

It's all in the way you say it, isn't it? By now Skinner's brow was beginning to darken with suspicion.

"There's even a rumor," Alex kept the lies coming, "That she's looking for a new husband. Someone with a bit of money and some highly placed connections that she can make use of when she gets home."

Skinner's mind flashed to Admiral Highgain, not only as Fox's "highly placed connection" but as the man who would personally break Cap'n Skinner back to an ensign if the Admiral's beloved nephew returned to England married to some gold-digging harpy.

(Really, it was just too bad of Alex, wasn't it? The woman in question, who was far from being a harpy, hadn't done a thing to Alex besides pointing a gun at him which Alex quite deserved, and it was wrong of Alex to blame her for being poor. Lord knows, she didn't want to be poor. Probably it will never occur to Alex that if the house had been full of valuables that he and his men were in danger of scooping up and making off with, the rightful owner of those valuables would have been a little quicker on the trigger, you know?)

Alex poured each of them a third glass of wine. "And how about yourself," he asked comfortably, pretty sure he'd covered all the bases. "To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit by one of HM's ships?"

Well, now, that was awkward. Skinner realized that if he came out with his own story of a missing crewman, this very intelligent and conscientious man would think he was at fault for leaving Fox behind. Not that he wasn't, Skinner knew.

He squared his shoulders and bit the bullet. "As it happens, I believe we're on the same errand," he said bravely.

"Really?" Alex sat up and looked interested. "She has one of your crewmen as well?" He shook his head. "She does get around. I wonder how many other vessels have left men here?"

"No," Skinner said in some confusion, "I mean that I believe your missing crewman is mine."

"I beg your pardon?" Alex, wickedly enough, was enjoying watching Skinner try to explain the situation. Cap'n Skinner's transparent honesty was a source of considerable amusement to him.

Skinner cleared his throat, frowned in concentration, and explained how the Heroic had come to be missing a crewman who was likely to be the very same man that Alex had rescued (and don't think Alex didn't hear Skinner choose the word rescued instead of the less-pleasant shanghaied, or even kidnapped with relief) and subsequently dropped at this location.

It was, as you can imagine, one of Skinner's primary concerns to keep any hint of his personal feelings for Fox out of the conversation, which necessitated careful choosing of words and a lot of thinking carefully before he spoke.

In fact, it was after lunch before he finished. Whenever Skinner found himself approaching too closely to personal matters, he tried to distract Alex with some clumsy side story of ship's activities on the day in question, or the food on the table, or something else irrelevant. Since most of Skinner's story (in his mind) revolved around his personal and intimate feelings for Fox, it took quite a long time to get even the bare bones of the story told. Alex did manage to confirm, big surprise, that they were both looking for a crewman named Fox.

Alex couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a meal more. Knowing, as he did, the way that Fox and Skinner felt about each other, it was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud as he listened to Skinner's stilted narrative.

Reading between the lines, it was also more obvious than ever to Alex why Fox would never have made a decent pirate. If this stiff, tongue-tied Ajax was Fox's idea of perfection, then.... Alex shook his head mentally.

Another thing he was beginning to understand was how these two had spent three months or so on the same ship, sharing a cabin night after night, and never gotten to first base. (Although, of course, they didn't call it first base back then, baseball not having been invented yet.) He smothered a private smile, thinking about a few of the things Fox had learned aboard the Cavalier. Remembering the boy's enthusiasm, Alex had a feeling that things were going to be a lot different in Skinner's cabin from now on.

"This is excellent!" He clapped a friendly hand on Skinner's shoulder and left it there. (Lunch being finished, he had suggested that they adjourn back to the comfortable couch and the two men were once again sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, drinking some more of Alex's excellent wine.)

"Then I can leave matters in your hands," he suggested. "I'm sure that one of HM's finest Captains and his crew (a bit of flattery never hurts) can handle one scheming redhead."

At first, the mention of a redhead made Skinner frown as his mind went automatically and jealously to Fox's friendship with the ubiquitous Ensign Pendrell.

Then he looked embarrassed. As a matter of fact, he'd been about to suggest that Alex's crew might want to handle the rescue themselves. While he had full powers to take any violent means necessary to put down piracy on the open seas, the Heroic's mission technically ended where the shore began. And we all know how rigidly Skinner adhered to regulations and technicalities.

Of course, this Captain Alex was a good man, Skinner decided hopefully. Surely he'd understand.

We're not really sure whether or not the association between the charming Alex and the "very unusual pirates" said to have spirited Fox away had sunk into Skinner's mind, you know? I mean, isn't he supposed to be sinking pirate ships? What on earth is the man doing lunching, drinking, and all-but cuddling (Alex's hand had unaccountably strayed from Skinner's shoulder to the couch behind it. It's just a matter of opinion as to whether or not you could say that he had his arm around the unsuspecting but really very attractive Cap'n.) on a couch with a pirate?

Honestly, we just don't know.

Alex leaned over, pouring Skinner yet another drink and smiling guilelessly into those soft, brown eyes. "Is there a problem, Skinner?" Almost imperceptibly, his arm curled around Skinner's shoulders. "Something I can help with?"

Skinner admitted his difficulty, which Alex immediately understood. He suggested that they discuss the matter further and by some process that Skinner's wine-fuddled brain never quite sorted out, he wound up with his head pillowed on Alex's shoulder as the two men discussed the castle's defenses and talked about various ways and means of breaking and entering into the property.

Every time Skinner's training and instincts tried to warn him that he was getting into deep and unregulated waters, Alex would refill their glasses and give Skinner's shoulders a manly and distracting squeeze. It didn't help, of course, that a large part of Skinner's mind was still celebrating the fact that he had actually found Fox, making it hard for his conscience to get a word in edgewise. (Honestly, he really was thinking about Fox quite a lot of the time.)

Added to all of that, Skinner's long abstinence was definitely contributing to the situation. First the distraction of Fox and then the emotional upheaval of the young man's disappearance. Then the Ensign's less alluring but more deliberate temptations. And now, the sinfully attractive Alex, with his ready sympathy and those big green eyes. Can we really blame Skinner for being more than a little confused?

The Heroic's strict attention to naval regulations hadn't prevented Skinner from sending a "foraging party" to shore for fresh water and fruit, he explained distractedly. If that "foraging party" had, quite coincidentally, done a thorough job of scouting the castle's exterior, well that could always be called an accident, couldn't it? He described the number and placement of the guards, giving Alex a good idea of the improvement in the defenses in the past couple of weeks.

Alex asked about a certain narrow path that his crew had used on their last "visit" to the area. The Heroic's crew had found the path which had unfortunately been blocked by

boulders, either by accident or as a part of the improved security.

Alex gave Skinner's thigh a reassuring squeeze and assured him that they'd think of a plan.

I think we all see where this is going, don't we? I mean, we're all intelligent adults. I'm sure I don't have to spell it out for anyone.

I could, of course. I could tell you all about how, by slow degrees the head that Skinner had snuggled so comfortably into the curve of Alex's neck was brushed with a sympathetic kiss which turned into several that worked their way down to those chiseled lips and how a warm and insinuating tongue slid between those lips and coaxed a dreamy response from Skinner.

How that one reassuring squeeze on Skinner's muscled thigh turned into a gentle rubbing that climbed higher and higher until it was exactly where it needed to be to keep the tipsy Cap'n cuddled against Alex and smiling through the kisses.

How that rubbing moved from a pretense of casualness to a forthright carnality that shattered what little was left of Skinner's doubts, making him sigh and reach up to pull Alex's head closer for a longer kiss.

How Skinner's body, so long ignored, sat up, looked around to see what was going on, and then threw itself wholeheartedly into the fun so that when Alex tugged at the ties on Skinner's breeches, Skinner didn't even think about his duty or even about his beloved Fox.

We could talk about how Alex slipped to his knees in front of the couch and how his mouth was so hot and wet and welcoming that Skinner arched into the wanton sensuality of it, his hands cupping the back of Alex's head for the added joy of feeling the other man's movements as Alex pleasured him.

We could describe how Skinner felt the long-delayed ecstasy of the moment sparking lights behind his closed eyes and melting him into compliance so that when Alex's hands turned and twisted and pulled and positioned until Skinner was naked on his back on the couch with Alex's fingers doing something new and quite amazing, Skinner's treacherous body didn't even pretend to resist the invasion.

We could describe how Skinner watched Alex sliding out of his own clothing with no feeling except for pleasure and the urgent desire to explore the newly revealed territory.

How Alex indulged Skinner's desire, their bodies rubbing and sliding against each other's until they nearly tumbled to the floor, whereupon Alex pulled Skinner deliberately to the carpet, spread Skinner's legs and slid in between them and into a hot tightness that made both of them shudder and moan with sensation.

Not just once, but twice as the long afternoon slid into evening, Skinner found himself with his arms around Alex's shoulders, moaning encouragement as Alex's mouth covered his with kisses and Alex's body pushed and plundered and thrust until only the pressure of each other's mouths kept them from crying out aloud their final pleasure.

We could talk about all of that, but it would be pointless. It didn't happen.

Not that Skinner didn't think about it. In even more explicit terms, you can be sure. However, in the end, Love and Duty kept him on the path of virtue. (Don't you just hate it when that happens?)

What actually happened was that Alex managed to cop a few feels, thinking very flattering thoughts about Skinner and less flattering ones about Fox who had lived with the man for months and never taken advantage of his opportunities.

And Skinner allowed it, since it was so subtly done that it was always over before he was sure it was happening and since Alex never quite acted as though he were aware of what his hands were doing and in any case Skinner rather liked it, so he just couldn't quite bring himself to object.

At this point, it should come as a surprise to no one to hear that they ultimately decided to join forces, combine their two crews, and assault (although the Cap'n preferred to say 'visit') the castle together.

And so, they did.

Cap'n Skinner returned to the Heroic to gather a couple of his officers and the appropriate crew members to form a visiting party.

In his absence, Captain Alex told Delgado to call Black Jack and Francois to his cabin. While he waited, Alex splashed a good quantity of cold water over his face and the back of his neck to counteract the wine he had been drinking and started thinking about how to use the Heroic's crew as an outside guard, leaving the Cavalier's crew free to visit the interior of the castle and do a better job of searching for any valuables that might be laying around unattended.

As might be expected, both Delgado and Francois were quite helpful on this topic. Black Jack, being better at implementation than at planning, was put in the corner and told to make a list of suitable crewmen for the upcoming adventure. He was also, we hardly need add, quite firmly told that the excitable Freddie and Timson (still in disgrace for falling asleep during his watch and throwing turtles) were not to be included. While the Captain didn't go so far as to say that Black Jack should try to compile a list of crewman that wouldn't embarrass them in front of the Heroic's men, he did try to hint at it. He also took Black Jack aside and mentioned, quite privately, that maybe it would be better if Jamsie stayed on board, as well.

"M'seur," At the conclusion of the planning session, Francois faced the Captain bravely and saluted. "The unpleasant task of the rearguard aboard the Cavalier, Capitaine. I will volunteer for this duty, bien?"

"Absolutely not," the Captain said absently, still reviewing the fine points of their plan mentally. "You've done more than your share. We'll leave Elbows in charge."

"Capitaine!" Francois looked shocked. "Eet ees not correct!" (He always became very French when he got excited or upset.) "That one, he ees, how do you say, barkless?"

"What?" That was a new one. The Captain automatically turned to Delgado for an interpretation.

"I think he means, sir, that Elbows is a fine crewman in his way," the First Mate said diplomatically, "But he doesn't quite have all his dogs barking, if you take my meaning."

"Precisement!" Francois said triumphantly. "Barkless!"

"It's not like anything's likely to happen," the Captain pointed out logically. "Are you really expecting any trouble while we're anchored fifty feet from one the Royal Navy's warships?"

"Eet ees for the unexpected that we guard," Francois said darkly. "Eef eet ees another turtle, then maybe thees Elbows, he eez okay for eet. Eef eet ees a treacherous, low-dog, sneak attack by thees other crew (meaning, of course, the Heroic, although certainly nothing could be further from the truth than to suspect that such an upright, honest ship would stoop to dirty tricks), then maybe he ees not so good, oui?"

"Speak English," the Captain told him. "And take this." He gave Francois a list of names. "This is your squad. Get them together and meet us on deck in ten minutes."

Delgado and Black Jack were given their lists and in fifteen minutes the landing party was assembled. (Really, it was too much to expect that at this late date the boys would start taking deadlines seriously. Actually, their mass appearance on deck no more than five minutes late was unusually prompt, indicating their excitement about the upcoming night mission.)

The Captain waited for the longboats to be lowered, fending off yet another plea from Francois that he not leave the Cavalier in the incompetent hands of Elbows. (Quite an unfair description of the junior officer who accomplished his own duties aboard ship with about half the fuss and bother than the rest of the crew, including the other officers, seemed to find necessary.)

"Cheer up," the Captain told Francois. "There may be a fight. You wouldn't want to miss it, would you?"

lang=FR style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-ansi-language:FR'>"Mais, non, Capitaine." Francois smiled weakly. "But of course I do not wish to miss the fighting." He slunk away to join his squad and soon was heard trying to impress upon them the importance of teamwork, of staying together in the dark, and most of all of protecting their squad leader from treacherous sneak attacks.

Taking the castle...well, well, well. What shall we say about that? Considering that members of the Cavalier's crew were involved at critical points, it went a lot more smoothly than you might have expected. Fortunately for the Captain's dignity, this was the Heroic's crew's first taste of storming a land-based position, so they had no basis for comparison and believed every tale of derring-do and midnight bravery that the boys from the Cavalier regaled them with.

It had been the Cavalier's plan that the men of the Heroic would be used as a sort of rearguard, leaving the Cavalier's crew to do the work of entering the castle and rescuing Fox. Once it was explained to the Cap'n that, since his men weren't actually entering the castle they technically weren't in violation of their duties, he agreed to the plan.

With one change. He insisted, positively insisted that he accompany the Cavalier's crew into the stone building. No matter how the Captain argued with him on the subject, the Cap'n declared bravely that, orders or no orders, he was not the man to leave others to run the risk of death in his place.

All of which sounded very grand and noble, but since the Captain knew that the most they were likely to face was one or two lazy servants and one very small (although determined) woman, he would have preferred that the Cap'n keep out of the way. After all, what would Skinner think if he saw articles of value falling casually into the pockets of the Cavalier's crew as they made their way through the castle, ostensibly looking for Fox? The Captain had the feeling that the Cap'n wouldn't understand the concept of souvenirs at all.

Naturally, the Captain was forced to give in, once it became clear that Skinner's inclusion in the search party was a deal-breaker. No Cap'n, no Heroic's crew to take the brunt of the battle and handle the outside guards. (It might be mentioned that the Captain had a sort of plan of taking Fox aside and smoothing over any potential hurt feelings before the young man found himself back in Skinner's company. That wouldn't be possible with the Cap'n standing at his elbow, of course. Which was a shame and might cause a few problems later, but it couldn't be helped right now.)

The first part of the plan actually went very well. The invasion party made its way up the small path and squeezed by the boulders that had been put into place to block just such a move. Francois and his group, being the last to be rowed over from the ship, would be joining them later.

Once atop the cliff (really, more of a hill, but the boys from the Cavalier insisted on exaggerating the height they were scaling, as they exaggerated most things), the guard stationed at the top of the hidden path was the first casualty of the evening. Now, he was laying on the soft grass beside the path with both Stefan and Dickie sitting next to him to prevent any attempts at escape or of raising an alarm.

"If you please, sir." That was Dickie, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"Yes?" The Captain stopped the Cap'n with a touch on the arm and the two men waited to hear what Dickie had to say.

"We don't know where Fox is inside," Dickie pointed out. "It would help if you had some information on where to start looking."

You could always count on someone from the Cavalier to make a production out of stating the completely obvious. "Very true," the Captain said, mindful of their audience. "Did you have a suggestion?"

"Yes, sir!" That was Stefan, his blonde hair glowing in the dim moonlight. "We think the best thing to do is to torture this guy," and he gave the guard's leg a pinch, "Until he tells us."

"He might not know," the Captain objected. It said a great deal for how well he knew his crew that not even the word torture gave him a moment's thought that the guard was going to be seriously hurt in any way.

"Here, now!" The Captain turned to see the Cap'n looking appalled and his men looking shocked.

Great. 10.0pt'>"I might point out," the Captain said, "That we have a limited amount of time and this is a large building."

"Yes, but, torture?" The Cap'n looked distressed. "It's hardly sporting, you know."

"War is not a sport," the Captain retorted. He gave up with a sigh. "They'll go as easy on him as he allows them to," he added with a menacing glare at the prone prisoner.

The Captain drew the Cap'n to one side and spoke quietly. "I should imagine that if they just threaten the man seriously enough, he'll probably tell all. That type has no concept of loyalty."

"Very true," the Cap'n agreed dubiously. In his own defense, now that they were so close to finding Fox...he just couldn't bear not to succeed. We like to think he'd have felt differently if any really serious torture had been threatened....

Before anyone else could be ordered to take the unpleasant duty, Dickie and Stefan volunteered (which should surprise no one) and bundled the protesting man off some distance into the trees.

Having a fairly good idea of what was going to come next, Delgado and the Captain started talking more loudly, although not so loudly as to invite discovery. The rest of the Cavalier's crew took their cue from their officers (for a change), broke into smaller groups, and surrounded the Heroic's men, talking busily.

The noise they made fairly well covered the sound of giggling from the direction Dickie and Stefan had taken with the guard.

The Captain was beginning to wonder if a quick investigation of their progress might not be in order when Dickie reappeared, brushing off some leaves that had somehow accumulated in his hair.

He looked quite cheerful, for a young man who was supposed to have been torturing a suspect for information. "We have what we need, sir," he reported with a crisp salute.

For the first time, Captain Alex was happy that his crew had developed such a fondness for salutes and official titles. It wasn't much, but it at least gave the appearance of a ship with more on its mind than looting and plunder (and sex, although that's not relevant at the moment). The Captain was anxious to keep the minds of the Heroic's crew from dwelling on the fact that they were, currently in cahoots with the very type of people they'd been sent to this part of the world to battle.

"Report," Captain Alex told Dickie with an assumption of professionalism.

"The missing crewman," Dickie said with rare diplomacy, "Is being held in one of the castle's dungeons, sir."

Captain Alex didn't miss the murmur of excitement from his crewmen. A dungeon. Just the sort of thing guaranteed to appeal to his crew's love of adventure. Shit. There was no way he was going to turn this lot loose in the castle. Not with that crazy woman waving a gun around all over the place. (Someone could get hurt.) Besides...well...he just wasn't, that was all. They wouldn't take the right attitude about looting, he was sure of that. Pillaging a sailing ship was one thing. Walking into someone's house and lifting the silverware and a few expensive knickknacks...no, Captain Alex couldn't picture it.

"Ensign Stefan has volunteered to guard the prisoner and keep him out of sight until we're ready to leave, Captain," Dickie volunteered.

Ensign? 10.0pt'> Captain Alex wasn't about to start bestowing naval rankings on his crew, just to satisfy their love of pomp and circumstance, but this wasn't the moment to point that out.

The Captain didn't miss Cap'n Skinner's frown at the breach of protocol, and he hurried to cover it up. "Why is the crewman in the dungeon?" As he'd suspected, returning the conversation to the subject of Fox made the Cap'n instantly forget everything else.

"It's an outrage," the Cap'n growled. "A member of HM's Navy being locked up like a common criminal."

The Captain didn't care for the word, 'common' but he resisted mentioning that Fox hadn't exactly been a representative of the Crown at the time he'd been introduced to his current position.

He nodded at the Cap'n wisely. "As I was saying..." he said delicately, reminding the Cap'n of their previous (slanderous) conversation about the castle owner.

"What excuse could the woman possibly have had for such behavior?" the Cap'n said irritably. You could see he was picturing Fox in a dripping, dark dungeon, surrounded by bars and stone and rats and whatnot.

Dickie cleared his throat. "The prisoner had information on that point, sir," he offered.

The Captain didn't care for the gleam in Dickie's eye. "Never mind that," he said hastily. "The question is, how do we release him?"

"No." The Cap'n waved aside the Captain's question. "I want to know," he said stubbornly. "Tell us."

Dickie clasped his hands behind his back and planted his feet on the ground, a sort of 'parade rest' position that he'd obviously copied from watching the Heroic. (The Captain took a moment to decide that if he woke up some day soon to the sound of one of those stupid whistles that the Navy used to tell everyone when it was time to eat or change watch or change your shoes or whatever else they used them for, there was going to be a war on-board the Cavalier.)

"Information received, sir," Dickie said. He took a deep breath, the wicked sparkle in his eyes getting stronger. "The crewman seems to have annoyed his hostess in a number of ways," he began. "The prisoner says...he was told that...." Dickie scratched his ear and gave up trying to put it delicately.

"She made a pass at him," he said bluntly. "And then Fox locked himself in his bedroom and demanded to be given a boat and allowed to leave. Then she invited him to go to town and do some shopping (get out, see the sights, you know) and he said she'd be better off saving her money for a ticket out of this hell-hole and he demanded to be returned to Royale. Then she cooked him up a lovely dinner with her own hands (and her last chicken) and he said it was tough and she'd better fire the cook," Dickie said in a rush.

"The guard says she decided Fox needed to mend his manners and she told him she wouldn't accept his help if he were the last man on earth, and that he could just sit there in the dark for a while until he learned to behave in polite company," he finished triumphantly. He looked at the Captain and the Cap'n, obviously expecting the men to share his amusement at Fox's predicament.

What a jackass , the Captain thought bitterly, although we're not sure if he was talking about Fox, about Dickie, or about both of them.

"That's enough," he said sternly to Dickie. "Rejoin your squad."

Dickie looked disappointed by the Captain's reaction but Alex was sure that the smothered giggles coming from where the Cavalier's crew had been listening to the story would soon reconcile Dickie to his failure to amuse the two Captains.

"Captain," Delgado motioned Alex to one side.

"Yes?"

"Dungeon maybe isn't the best word," Delgado said apologetically and, thankfully, in plain English. "It's true that the windows are small, but the rooms are perfectly dry, and they're all furnished quite nicely," he said helpfully. "I doubt the boy is having much fun being locked up, but it's not quite as bad as it sounds. There aren't any rats and most of the rooms we saw the last time had bookshelves and beds and comfortable chairs, you know."

"Shut up," Captain Alex hissed. "We need those damned navy sailors to concentrate on 'rescuing' Fox or we won't get the chance to search the place," he explained. (The last thing he wanted was for the Cap'n to get the idea that Fox was being held in some kind of Club Caribbean instead of being in desperate danger and in need of immediate rescue.)

"We tried that once," Delgado pointed out logically. "There isn't anything to steal." He was the only one Alex told there was no treasure in the casket they'd found on their last visit, so the First Mate was under no illusions about what they were going to find inside the building.

"We're going to try again," the Captain told him. He glared at the First Mate. "I owe that woman one, anyhow."

Delgado looked unconvinced.

"Do you think we should take her locking up Fox without a protest?" the Captain demanded.

Delgado gave him a look. "Now that you mention it," he said coolly, "I might just mention that Fox could be very irritating. I think the Captain knows that."

He refrained from pointing out that Fox's personality was exactly what got him dumped here in the first place, but they both knew he was thinking about it, and both know it was true.

"I don't want to talk about it," Alex told him.

Cutting short the conversation, Alex rejoined the Cap'n and in a few minutes the two men had delegated all the representatives from the Heroic and most of the boys from the Cavalier crew as rearguards. (Causing, as you might imagine, quite a bit of grumbling and mumbling from Alex's boys when they realized they weren't going to be allowed to see the promised dungeons.) They were told to send Francois and his squad to join the men inside as soon as they arrived.

The Captain directed Delgado to take his crew and circle to the right, and Black Jack to take his group and circle to the left. They were to take out any guards they found along the way, then return to where the Heroic's crew would be guarding their retreat and wait for the Captain and the Cap'n to re-join them with Fox.

Delgado and Black Jack set off, leaving one member of each of their crews behind to keep the Heroic's men company (and make sure no dirty tricks were planned) until Francois arrived. (The plan was for Francois and his squad to load up whatever booty the looting teams might have the leisure to accumulate and to circle around back toward the Cavalier without the formality of rejoining the Cap'n and his crew beforehand.)

The Captain and the Cap'n teamed up to search for the dungeons.

Finding them proved to be easy. Not far inside the front door (the Captain decided to avoid climbing in through windows this time, assuming that the Cap'n would be a lot more comfortable if they pretended they weren't breaking and entering) there was a hallway. At one end was the stairway leading up to the next floor. At the other end, a stairway that led down. Simple enough.

A nasty laugh from around one shadowed corner stopped the two men in their tracks as they made their way through the deserted corridor at the bottom of the stairs.

'She'll be down soon," a rough voice threatened some unseen prisoner. "If you're wanting out of this hole, you'd better be prepared with an apology, boy."

"I'd rather be locked up," Fox's clear voice answered almost immediately. He sounded tired, but stubborn.

Idiot 10.0pt'>, Alex thought. (It was pretty clear this time who he was referring to.) Predictably, he could see the Cap'n swelling with pride at this proper display of spirit and at the boy's bravery.

Alex rolled his eyes and sighed quietly. Whatever. Anyhow, the last thing he wanted to do was to meet Fox while they were in Skinner's company.

He nudged the Cap'n. "I'll go find the woman and distract her," he whispered. "You take out the guard and get Fox out of there."

"Here, now!" the Cap'n objected. He didn't seem happy about the prospect of attacking the guard.

"If she comes down," the Captain pointed out, "We'll have to lock her up. Are you prepared to assault her if it's necessary?"

The Cap'n was naturally horrified at idea of attacking a woman. "You're right, of course," he agreed instantly.

That taken care of, Alex slipped away to go look for the castle's owner (and anything valuable that wasn't nailed down). He made his way back up the stairs and along the main corridor, glancing into the various rooms quickly as he passed them.

He was on the verge of stepping back into the hallway from the library (disappointingly free of any valuables), when a noise in the hallway stopped him.

Alex assumed it was one of the castle's guards, the steps were too heavy to be those of the woman. The unseen person was moving cautiously the way you'd expect of a guard.

The Captain hid next to the open doorway, picking up a small statue, and prepared to defend himself. (Upon his own orders, the Captain and his crewmen had left their pistols behind so as not to spook the Cap'n and his crew.) (Anyhow he didn't want to raise the alarm or, really, kill anyone. He just wanted to show that woman she couldn't treat Alex or his crew in this off-hand way.)

Someone stuck his head around the corner and the Captain started to swing, then checked his arm, staring at the newcomer in surprise.

The man, a slender red-head in the uniform of the Heroic, stared back at him, his mouth open in amazement.

"DB!" Alex hissed. "What the hell are you doing skulking around here disguised as a Royal Navy sailor?"

Ensign Pendrell (yes, it was him) frowned, then looked dignified. "I'm not skulking," he huffed. "I was sent to help with the rescue. I'm on the crew of the Heroic." He looked the Captain over doubtfully. "What are you doing here?"

The Captain ignored the question, which really was too complicated to get into right now. "Who did you sleep with to get in?" he demanded with a lecherous grin.

DB blushed. "No one," he insisted. "I don't do that any more." (Little liar.)

Alex laughed. "Since when?" he demanded. He didn't know anything about DB's pursuit of Fox or the Cap'n, of course, but he knew his DB. "Come on." He coaxed DB into his arms and gave him a kiss. "Tell me how you did it."

DB let Alex cuddle him, but he kept looking around, obviously worried about being seen. He let Alex worm the story out of him, eventually revealing that he'd gotten into the Navy on forged credentials and what he referred to as a 'soft spot' of the recruiter's. It didn't take a genius to figure that one out. In spite of that inauspicious beginning, DB was very dignified as he explained that he was working his way up in the world. He had ambitions, DB explained. He had plans, big plans for his future.

Alex rolled his eyes and turned the sailor loose. He could tell that DB had a bad case of whatever it was that made the crew of the Heroic so tedious about duty and honor and all of that other garbage.

"Follow me," he ordered. For some reason, Francois and his crew hadn't shown up yet and the Captain wanted to recruit reinforcements before he ran into that gun-carrying wildcat again.

"You?" DB objected. "I'm supposed to be helping the Cap'n."

"And we've joined forces," the Captain pointed out. "I'm a Captain, too and I'm sharing command of this expedition. I'm ordering you to accompany me."

DB looked dubious, but he fell in behind the Captain obediently.

They continued on their way for several minutes, DB waiting patiently while the Captain made a quick search of each room they passed. (DB didn't ask what Alex was looking for, which was probably just as well under the circumstances.)

Footsteps from a side corridor alerted them to the fact that they were about to be discovered. The Captain motioned DB back around the last corner, whispering quickly for the man to make sure no one sneaked up on them from behind, then the Captain set himself to deal with the newcomer. This time, he had a feeling he knew who it was.

He was right. The woman came around a corner carrying, not a gun this time, but a dinner tray.

"Stop right there," the Captain ordered, although not too loudly. It occurred to him all at once that, other than repeating his previous demands for money or treasure, he really didn't have that much to say to the woman. How in the hell he was supposed to keep her distracted and away from the dungeon where Fox was apparently not languishing under appalling conditions was something of a problem.

"You again?" She didn't look surprised. "If you came for your crewman, you can have him," she said bitterly.

"We did," Alex told her calmly. "One of the men is releasing him right now."

"Well, don't expect any argument from me." She laid the tray down on a nearby table. "Of all the stubborn, pigheaded...."

"Doesn't sound like the two of you hit it off," Alex suggested. His brain wasn't offering him its usual instant solution to the problem. DB had gotten so damned moral, he would probably tell the Cap'n if he heard Alex shaking the woman down, so that was out. But he did have to keep her there until the Cap'n rescued Fox, which should distract the two of them (the Cap'n and Fox) for long enough to allow the rest of the Cavalier's search parties to finish scouring the castle and make good their escape.

Which, naturally, led the Captain to wonder where in the hell Skinner was and what was taking him so long. It was just a simple lock, for god's sake.

It may disappoint you to know that the Cap'n is still in the dungeon, lurking (with all due dignity, of course) around the corner from the guard outside of Fox's cell.

Skinner stood poised to strike the guard, he'd even found a handy stick of wood for the purpose. It's unfortunate but true that the Cap'n was waging a silent battle with his sense of honor, which objected to the idea of whacking a man who had his back turned.

The Cap'n was quite frankly torn. He knew that his long-lost Fox was just a few feet away. One blow and his missing crewman would be returned to him. But the Cap'n had to ask himself. Was he breaking regulations, striking down even an armed civilian on land?

The internal debate kept him motionless for quite a long time.

Meanwhile, back upstairs, a new element had entered the equation. Either from the impression that Alex had dealt with the intruder, or from nosiness, DB had abandoned his post and joined the Captain and the woman in the hallway.

Even as we watch, the Captain is seeing with surprise, and not a little amusement, DB's moonstruck stare at the (admittedly attractive) petite woman confronting the two men.

In her turn, the woman took a long look at DB and the crisp, well-pressed uniform and a slow smile crossed her face.

What can we say? Love at first sight.

And then, things began to happen.

In the dungeon, the Cap'n finally nerved himself up to do the dirty deed. He stepped around the corner and whacked the unsuspecting guard over the head. It was the work of a few seconds (the keys were hanging on a hook nearby) to open the door to Fox's cell and let the smiling prisoner loose.

"I knew you'd come." Fox's eyes were glowing as he looked at the Cap'n.

That was enough to make it all worthwhile. The Cap'n silenced his still-protesting conscience and, throwing regulations to the wind, gathered Fox into his arms and kissed him thoroughly.

Sweet, isn't it? True love triumphs, and all of that.

It's triumphing on the floor above too. DB and the woman, whose name turned out to be Dana, had withdrawn into a nearby room and were currently sitting primly on a couch, making goo-goo eyes at each other, giggling (that was DB), and holding hands (Dana's idea).

Alex could hear wedding bells in the future. Which interested him not at all, except that their distraction gave him time to rifle the desk. This wasn't a room he'd had time to search on their last visit, so he had high hopes.

Stuffed in the back on one drawer, he actually found a couple of small, locked boxes, the size of jewel cases, which was pretty exciting. If they turned out to be another load of rubbish, he decided, he was going to come back and...well, he didn't know. But he'd do something drastic, that was for sure.

Making certain that Dana and DB were still distracted, the Captain put his head out the window and whistled softly. A few seconds later, Black Jack and Delgado appeared out of the shadows.

The Captain handed out the boxes and the two men stuffed them into their pockets quickly.

"What did you get?" the Captain whispered. "Where is the other crew?" (He'd been a bit concerned when DB had shown up and had been wondering ever since whether or not he could expect to see the rest of the Heroic's crew or, worse yet, his own crew, at any moment.)

Delgado scratched his beard, a sure sign of embarrassment. "Well, Captain, it seems that our boys have decided that they rather like sailors," he said hesitantly. "They've got those Navy boys distracted."

Alex didn't even want to know the details.

"We picked up a few things, Guv'nor," Black Jack said cheerfully. "Some lengths of silk that ought ter be valuable. Some fancy, foreign spices."

Well, it was better than they'd done the last time. The Captain took a last look around the room, then grabbed a pair of tarnished silver candlesticks sitting nearby. He handed those out the window and then swung one leg over the sill, stopping to look back at DB and Dana.

He wasn't sure how the Cap'n would feel about regaining one crewman, only to lose another in the process, but on the whole Alex thought that these two deserved each other.

He slid out the window and the three men made their way back to where the boys were waiting, separating them from their new friends with some difficulty.

That finally accomplished, they made their way back to the Cavalier, raised anchor, and slipped out of the bay with their ill-gotten booty.

* * * *

The HMS sailed peacefully through blue-green waters, under a sun as bright and as warm as a lover's smile.

An apt simile, since, after a couple of days of frantic work settling the crew back down after their quite memorable encounter with the world's most unusual pirates, getting the deck and the holds shipshape again (someone among the crew seemed to have smuggled aboard four abandoned dogs, creating quite a lot of consternation in the galley when the refugees were found helping themselves to the luncheon stew one day. The animals' lives were only saved by the suggestion of a helpful crewman who thought they might be used in the lower holds to keep the rat population down. Which they did, quite nicely, also providing the crew with a great deal of unauthorized entertainment in the process.), the Cap'n and his newly recovered Cabin Boy were free to turn their attention to one another.

To tell the truth, the Cap'n was having a few last spasms of conscience. He'd allowed himself the pleasure of kissing Fox good-night (and good morning, and well-done, and thank you, and happy Tuesday) since they returned to the Heroic, but nothing more.

Before anything else happened, he was quite determined that they should have a Serious Talk.

So, here they were. Alone, at last, in Skinner's cabin with the next few hours all to themselves.

It seemed that Fox agreed that the two of them needed to talk, but his conversation didn't start out quite the way that the Cap'n had planned.

"I've had a very educational few weeks," Fox mused. He curled up on the foot of the bed and smiled at the Cap'n.

"How was that?" The sight of Fox reclining comfortably on the bed took Skinner's breath away, but he was just barely able to concentrate on the boy's words.

"It was very different," Fox said thoughtfully. "A complete lack of proper discipline, of course. I was a bit surprised by the casual way the crew and the officers approached their duties." He looked primly disapproving. "And the sex, of course. You'd be shocked to know how much sex goes on on one of those ships, Cap'n."

"Sex?" The Cap'n cleared his throat, which seemed to be tightening up on him. "Surely not?"

Fox nodded. "On deck, under the gangways, in the holds, on shore, even in the galley! And at all hours of the day or night." (We begin to think that, in the intervals between duty and Alex's bed, the boy found quite a bit of time to spy on the rest of the crew's nocturnal, or afternoon delights. Which is rather shocking and not at all in keeping with what we thought we knew of the young man's upright moral character.)

"Really?" The Cap'n cleared his throat again, wondering where that squeak was coming from. He felt hot and prickly all over, so maybe he was coming down with something? He struggled to adopt a professional, disapproving tone. "Tell me everything. I mean," he corrected, "Would you like to talk about it?"

"I think I might." Fox eyed him oddly. "That is, if you don't mind, sir."

"Not at all," the Cap'n assured him hastily. "Tell me all about it."

Fox stretched out and plumped a pillow under his head. "Would you like to sit down, Cap'n?" He moved his legs over and smiled an invitation.

The Cap'n perched himself next to Fox, leaning back stiffly against the footboard of the bed.

"I remember one occasion," Fox said slowly. "Two of the boys were in the hold during the middle of the day when they should have probably been on watch or something."

The Cap'n wanted to get a clear picture of the sinners in his head, so he interrupted to ask how old the young men were.

"I'm not sure." Fox frowned. "Maybe about twenty. One was Dickie, he had curly dark hair and he was about six foot or so. The other, Dan, wasn't as tall, 5'7", with soft brown hair." He thought for a moment. "Really, he was a rather nice young man, very attractive smile and very...." He pulled himself up short and left the sentence unfinished..

Skinner felt a twinge of jealousy and wondered what Fox was leaving unsaid about the youngster. "Go on," he ordered gruffly.

Fox described how he had seen the taller, dark-haired and shockingly promiscuous boy (the description gave Skinner another twinge) and Dan entertaining each other in an unused portion of the hold.

Fox rather skipped over the part of the story that explained what he was doing there himself, but we all know he must have had a good reason for it. Taking inventory or cleaning the floor or something else completely legitimate. Naturally none of us think he saw the two boys heading for a private corner and followed them just to see what he could see. Do we?

"There I was," Fox said virtuously, "Minding my own business and the next thing I knew those two were off in the corner taking their clothes off and getting ready to...well, you know."

Of course, the Cap'n did know, but he really wanted Fox to tell him about it. After all, it was a kind of therapy thing, wasn't it? Designed to keep Fox from brooding on the unpleasant experience? (At least, it would have been therapy, if therapy had been invented yet, which it hadn't been.)

"All of their clothes?" he asked encouragingly.

"Every stitch," Fox confirmed. "Which reminds me." He sat up. "I hope you don't mind, sir, but it's rather warm in here tonight, isn't it?" Fox started unbuttoning his shirt. "I think I'll just make myself a bit more comfortable, if that's all right with you."

"Of course it is." In fact, the Cap'n felt more than a little warm himself.

"You should join me," Fox said casually. "After all, you're off duty, aren't you?"

'Yes...yes, of course I am." Now, there was nothing that Skinner wanted to do more at the moment, as you can imagine. Well, maybe he wanted to hear the rest of Fox's story. Actually, the idea of hearing the rest of the story while he watched Fox strip would be ideal. The very thought raised Skinner's temperature noticeably.

Fox seemed perfectly willing to talk. "You'd be surprised,' he said mysteriously. "I mean, I never would have thought of it.

Since the bedspread was a clean one, Skinner decided it would be proper to remove his boots. "Thought of what?" Various vague and erotic images floated through his mind.

Fox followed his example, then stretched back out on the bed. "Have you ever heard of tying someone up before you...you know?"

Now, as attractive as the Cap'n normally found Fox's bashfulness, it did seem to him that since they were sitting alone and half-undressed in the privacy of their cabin, it would be appropriate to, so to speak, call a spade a spade. "You mean, before you have sex?" he said bluntly.

"Exactly." Fox nodded. "Have you ever had anyone want to tie you up before you had sex?"

Skinner had heard of that, as he'd heard of a lot of things, all of which he started to explain to Fox before the change in the wording of that question suddenly caught his attention.

"Who? Me?" (Not the most intelligent of responses, but let's cut him some slack. The quick shift to the personal surprised him.)

"Yeah. Have you?"

"Actually, no." At least he could answer honestly. No one had ever offered, that is to say, suggested, well, really, even mentioned such a thing. Not that the idea in and of itself was unattractive, now that he thought about it.

"Really?" Fox looked interested, but he turned his attention back to his story. Skinner wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. He wondered if Fox wanted to be tied up. If any of those sex-mad boys, or that dangerously attractive Captain might have offered to expand Fox's education in that direction. (For some unaccountable reason, Fox had neglected to mention that he'd been under the Captain's personal attention while on board the Cavalier, leaving the Cap'n a bit fuzzy on the details but somehow convinced that Fox had joined the pirate ship as a regular member of the crew.)

"As I was saying," Fox's voice broke into Skinner's thoughts. "Before I could figure out how to leave without being seen, you understand," he explained, "I saw Dickie tying Dan's hands together and then fastening them to one of the beams that supported the ceiling."

Fox's gaze looked impossibly innocent. "Well, aft first I really didn't know what to think. I mean, I thought maybe I'd been wrong about what they were doing, so I decided that maybe I didn't have to leave after all, you know."

He watched it all . The Cap'n thought about it. Fox, crouched in some dark corner, peeping into the circle of light of a single lantern, watching two beautiful young men stripping out of their clothes and fondling each other before one of them captured the other's hands and tied his willing victim to a post.... (As you can see, the Cap'n is starting to fill in a few details of his own.)

"Yes?" he asked urgently. "What did they do next?"

"It seemed to be some kind of game," Fox explained. "I mean, Dan didn't seem to mind at all, you know?"

Why should he ? The Cap'n suppressed the thought. "I don't suppose he did," he said honestly. It was still hot in the cabin and the iron posts of the footboard were digging a groove into his bare back. The Cap'n slid up cautiously and lay back against the unused pillow, feeling the coolness of the cotton blanket with relief.

Fox patted his arm. "That's better. Make yourself comfortable," he coaxed. "It's been a long day. Can I do anything for you?"

Oh, yeah. The Cap'n had a very good idea of what Fox could, and was probably going to do for him very soon, but right now, he wanted to hear the rest of this adventure. "Perhaps you should finish the story."

"Of course." Fox curled his fingers around Skinner's wrist, stroking his arm occasionally as he talked or squeezing the strong wrist gently. He described, with hypnotic accuracy, how he had watched Dickie fondling and tormenting the laughing, squirming Dan. With every detail of erotic excess, the temperature in the cabin seemed to increase until Skinner could feel the sweat prickling on his skin.

Fox admitted that he hadn't been able to see all the details clearly, but he speculated on the things he wasn't certain about with a freedom that shocked and aroused the listening Cap'n.

The air in the cabin grew hotter and hotter. At the end of the story, the Cap'n was half afraid to move, for fear that his tremendous arousal would be brought to Fox's attention. In the semi-darkness of the room, he could hear Fox's irregular breathing over the sound of his own heart's excited pounding.

"Did you...were you," the Cap'n tried to form a coherent sentence. "Were you 'bothered' by anyone that way yourself?"

"I'm not a child you know," Fox said quietly.

"I know that," the Cap'n hastened to assure him. "But I was worried about...improper moral influences," he added weakly.

Fox frowned at him. "I have quite enough sense not to be led astray by a lot of sex-mad boys."

Skinner thought about that, and not for the first time. The sheer potential of Fox and some of those boys.... He had noticed how attractive Alex's crew was even in the dim moonlit night. He hadn't mentioned it before, but at various intervals over the past couple of days he had found himself thinking about Fox in the middle of that crew. (More than that, Skinner had dreamed about himself in the middle of that crew the first night back on board the Heroic and woken up in such a state....)

"Is there anything new on board since I left?" Fox changed the subject abruptly.

"Here?" Skinner couldn't remember that much of the past few weeks. "No, not really."

"I'm sorry to have left my duties neglected for so long," Fox apologized. He rolled over to prop himself on one arm, watching Skinner in the dimness.

It was distracting to be the focus of that intent gaze. "It wasn't a problem," Skinner said absently. "Ensign Pendrell took care of things."

A frown darkened Fox's face momentarily, giving Skinner hope that Fox was jealous.

"Really? I haven't seen the Ensign around in the last couple of days."

Skinner's interest in the absent Pendrell was less than non-existent at the moment. He would much rather have been listening to the details of Fox's adventures aboard the Cavalier.

"The Ensign's term of enlistment was up this week," Skinner explained, almost impatiently. "We had expected him to re-sign, but for some reason the young man decided to stay behind at our last stop."

(Captain Alex had wondered how the Cap'n would feel about trading one crewman for another. Well, if he'd heard that casual statement, he would have known. The Cap'n didn't care in the slightest.)

Fox seemed to lose interest himself. "It was a rather interesting few weeks," Fox said. He sat up and leaned across Skinner to light the lantern swinging in a bracket next to the bed. "But I'm glad to be home."

For the first time in weeks, Skinner got a whiff of that clean, slightly musky smell that had haunted him during the first months of the voyage. "I'm very happy to have you home," he confessed.

Fox smiled down at him. "That's good." He leaned down and kissed Skinner, making his intentions unmistakable. "I think we should start where we left off, don't you?" he murmured.

Clearly he meant in the dungeon because this was definitely not where they'd left off on-board the ship before. Although, it was almost where they'd left off during shore leave. Skinner got almost dizzy trying to figure it out before he decided that it didn't matter, as long as they did start.

"During the day, of course," Fox announced, "I should resume my previous duties, but I think we should plan on spending several evenings on a full de-briefing of the past few weeks, don't you?" Skinner's pants were headed toward his knees as Fox spoke.

"Yes." Skinner felt Fox's hands sliding around his hardness and squeezing firmly. "Oh, yes. Absolutely." He had a suspicion he was babbling.

"Excellent," Fox purred. He slid Skinner out of his pants, then stood up, balancing himself carefully on the unsteady bed, and started peeling off his own trousers.

The blood was roaring in Skinner's ears as he watched the casual display. When Fox's naked body dropped down next to him on the bed, Skinner gathered Fox into his arms and kissed him passionately. "Do you...I mean, are you sure?"

Fox laughed quietly. "Quite sure."

His confidence told Skinner just how much his naïve, innocent cabin boy had changed over the past few weeks. The clear voice had an unfamiliar, husky note. He sounded self-assured. Even smug. Skinner shivered in spite of the warmth of the cabin.

"That, uh, was an interesting story, wasn't it?" Fox's hand wandered across Skinner's naked chest, stopping to tweak at the twin points of flesh that brushed against his palm.

It was a most delightful sensation, sending prickles of excitement straight into the heat pooling between Skinner's legs. "It certainly was," he said distractedly. "It's shocking how some people behave." (I think we can assume at this point that he's not as coherent as he might be.)

"Very true," Fox said absently. His hand curved down the broad chest toward Skinner's thighs, then he stopped and sat up.

"What's wrong?" Skinner tried to master his disappointment, reaching for Fox.

Fox reached into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a length of silk. He played with the heavy fabric, drawing it through his fingers and wrapping it around his wrist. Skinner's gaze was caught by the way the lamplight slid across the soft blackness of the material. Behind the fabric, alternately veiled and exposed by the movements of Fox's hands, Skinner could see Fox's arousal.

He remembered Fox's story and his breath caught in his throat. Did Fox want to.... Did he want Skinner to....

Skinner managed to meet Fox's eyes and something in that level gaze confirmed that there was a purpose to this delay. Something, shall we say, not entirely unconnected with Fox's story and the glittering silk in his hands.

Fox stared down at Skinner, his eyes gleaming, and let the heavy fabric trail down Skinner's chest and brush tantalizingly against the hardness between his legs. "I've learned a great deal in the past few weeks."

Skinner moaned softly, his imagination running wild. He nodded, his eyes fixed on Fox's serious face. (This was, quite frankly, not the way he had imagined that things would turn out back when he was shyly admiring Fox from afar. Not that Skinner was complaining....)

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely.

"This," Fox suggested. He captured Skinner's wrists, looping the silk around both of them and then pulling them up so he could fasten the trailing end of the fabric to the headboard. He sat back, trailing his hands across Skinner's chest again, his eyes eager as he looked down at the captive man.

"I should spank you," Fox teased. His fingers cupped Skinner's hardness, squeezing firmly. "For leaving me behind that way."

Yes. 10.0pt'> Skinner spread his legs, letting Fox's exploring fingers dip into the valley between his thighs. "If you want to."

"Actually, I do," Fox confided. He grinned wickedly, an expression Skinner hadn't seen before. It suited him. "But not right now. Maybe next time." His fingers slid and probed and pushed until Skinner felt the heat and the hardness of them slide inside.

Skinner moaned in happy captivity, his heels digging against the soft mattress as he tried to push himself down on the invaders. No, this wasn't the way he had planned this and, with every nerve in his body he was grateful that it had turned out this way.

And there was so much more to come. A sharp ache that gave way almost instantly to a throbbing pleasure robbed Skinner of his ability to speak (not that tough to do) and silence his still whispering conscience (a tougher job).

Fox's hands and mouth probed into him, stretching and stroking until Skinner was almost blind with need. A shift of the mattress, a blurred movement above him and Skinner was presented with the taste of Fox's arousal, against his tongue, filling his mouth, pushing almost too far against the back of his throat.

And then there was the feel of Fox possessing him, Fox's mouth against his while something hot and slick and impossibly hard insisted on entry, expanding Skinner almost beyond what he thought he could bear before his body adjusted to the invader. Skinner's world throbbed and ached and centered to one hot-lanced point of pleasure, then exploded into a crescendo of bliss.

He might have cried out. Later, he never knew, but he knew that Fox's echoing cry of pleasure was muffled against his throat as his love's own climax overtook him an instant later.

* * * *

The Crafty Cavalier continued upon her madcap journey with no real changes as the result of her recent brush with the law.

Actually, feeling a bit smug about the way he'd avoided meeting his discarded lover again, feeling a twinge of regret that he hadn't managed to get just a bit more time alone with the attractive Cap'n Skinner, and being grateful that no actual disaster had ensued from the introduction of the crew of the Cavalier to that of the Heroic, the Captain was feeling very much on top of the world as the Cavalier sailed out of the bay under cover of darkness.

That lasted as long as it took to break open the jewel boxes they'd carried away from the castle and find two perfectly ordinary pieces of jewelry inside. Not entirely worthless, Delgado was sure they could get a few pounds for each of them in port, but not what you'd call treasure.

Curses! Foiled again! If the Captain didn't actually think those precise words, what he did think wasn't far from it. It took some serious talking on the part of Delgado to convince the Captain that nothing was really to be gained from going back and laying waste to the castle and all of its inhabitants. First, there was no possibility that their crew would obey such an order and, second, it was the one move guaranteed to set not only the civilian population of the island, but representatives of HM's government (like the Cap'n of the Heroic) on their trail with blood in the pursuers' collective eyes.

In case you're wondering, Delgado felt that if they never saw that particular island again, it was going to be far too soon. During their hasty, midnight journey back to the ship, Stefan had unluckily sprained his ankle and bruised himself rather severely slipping down the narrow path and he was currently confined to sick bay. Delgado's personal opinion was that the damned island was cursed and that only a fool would tempt fate for a third time. (Not a particularly rational suggestion, but those were superstitious times and in any case he was in a lousy mood.)

Balked in his plan to take out his frustration on the castle's owner, the Captain turned his attention to the subject of Francois and his missing squad. (The Captain felt, quite rightly we're sure, that if they'd had the extra five men inside the castle helping with the search, they would have come away with a much more respectable haul.)

Some pointed questioning discovered that Francois had balked at the door to the castle, refusing point-blank at the last second to enter that dangerous abode of guns, dungeons, and mad dogs (he'd taken the stories of their last visit a bit too much to heart) unless the four boys in his squad promised to stand around him and protect him from murderous assault.

As you might expect, this revelation didn't do a great deal to improve Francois' standing with the crew. When they started referring to him as 'Francine' and the audacious Stefan composed a new limerick to celebrate the dapper Frenchman's dubious heroism, Francois retired to his cabin in tears and refused to unlock the door for anyone.

Elbows, who was daily more resigned to the loss of his beard by Dan's unfaltering admiration, was nevertheless depressed because the booty wasn't anything to drink and his mood tended toward a sort of sullen resignation.

Black Jack, normally fairly even-tempered, was depressed because everyone else was.

A quick stop at a port north of the castle turned the jewelry, the candlesticks, the spices, and the silk into money. There wasn't time (or funds) to afford another extended shore leave, so the Cavalier set sail again later that same day.

Robbed of their anticipated shore leave, the rest of the crew joined the officers in skulking and sulking about the decks for the next couple of days.

I think it's safe to say that the sweetness and light that permeated the Heroic upon the successful completion of the mission was not reflected aboard the Cavalier.

It had to be possible , the Captain brooded, to get rich this way. Didn't you hear stories of it every day? If he could only figure out what they were doing wrong....

He was counting their meager supply of coins for the forty-second time (trying to figure out a way to add up the figures that would result in a more satisfactory total) one evening as Jamsie tidied up the cabin.

"Put those away," Jamsie demanded, sliding his arms around Alex's neck. "Let's go to bed."

That was probably the only thing left on the globe that he could still afford to do any time he wanted, the Captain thought glumly. He abandoned the coins and let Jamsie coax him into bed, knowing that at least for an hour or two he'd be able to forget his problems.

"Can I ask you something?" Jamsie cuddled up against Alex.

"Of course." Alex tried to think of what might be happening among the dispirited crew that could have caught Jamsie's attention. The boy probably had some hair-brained plan to throw a party (that they couldn't afford) in order to cheer everyone up. Jamsie was always coming up with ideas like that. If Morale Officers had been invented yet, he would have been the Cavalier's.

"The money in the little bag," Jamsie said. "Is it enough? Or, are we still in trouble?"

Alex stared at the boy in shock. He had, quite frankly, had no idea that Jamsie was aware of their funding problem.

Jamsie looked back at him seriously, a slight, worried frown creasing his brow.

"You knew?" Alex couldn't get over his amazement.

"Of course," Jamsie said simply. "You've been worrying about it, haven't you? Worrying a lot. You even forgot...."

"Forgot what?" Alex searched his mind quickly.

Jamsie looked at him reproachfully. "It's Friday, you know."

Damn 10.0pt'>. Jamsie was right. The Captain had completely forgotten the scheduled session. "I'm sorry," he apologized. He gave Jamsie a kiss. "We can do it now," he offered.

"No. I'm not in the mood any more." Jamsie didn't look upset, so much as worried. "You're not either, are you?"

"No." In spite of the intriguing pressure of Jamsie's body, it had to be said that most of Alex's brain was still occupied with the problem of their non-existent finances.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Alex said honestly. He sighed. "Do you remember the bay we visited a few days ago?" (His earlier idea of dropping anchor in the area was starting to seem more and more practical.)

Jamsie's eyes lit up. "With the turtles? You should have come ashore with us! There was a waterfall at the head of the stream where we filled the water barrels," he enthused. "And a great beach for swimming. You should have come with us."

"Did the others like it?" Alex probed casually.

"Of course." Jamsie looked surprised. "What wasn't to like?"

"How would you like it if we dropped anchor there, lived there for a while?"

"That would be fun." Jamsie frowned. "Except that it's a nuisance rowing back to the ship every night. (Delgado had refused to let the boys camp on the beach each night, rightly assuming that they'd get into less trouble if they were on board with, so to speak, a limited field of action.)

Alex slipped his hand under the blankets and gave Jamsie a gentle pinch. "It will help keep you in shape," he teased. Jamsie's calm acceptance of his idea had already gone a long way toward reconciling the Captain to the (hopefully temporary) necessity.

"What's going to keep you in shape?" Jamsie responded. His fingers searched for something to pinch and the conversation almost ended right there. "Are you going to row yourself?"

"Not exactly." Alex relaxed into the gentle pressure of Jamsie's fingers for a few seconds. "Actually, I thought we might camp this time," he offered, watching Jamsie's eyes light up at the suggestion. "There were some caves on shore, weren't there?"

"Maybe we could," Jamsie said enthusiastically. "There was one nice, big one, but we'd have to clear it out first."

Alex pushed against Jamsie's hand, encouraging the slow caresses. "Would we?" he asked without much interest. The flotsam and jetsam of the tides didn't interest him.

"Mmm hmm." Jamsie nuzzled his neck. "It's all full of boxes and things."

A cold chill ran down the Captain's spine. "Boxes?"

Jamsie pouted, his hand squeezing Alex harder. "Don't stop."

Alex moved obediently, then cleared his throat. "What kinds of boxes?"

Jamsie shrugged. "Boxes. You know. Casks and crates and things."

Alex heard the distinct sound of a choir of angels. It has to be. Nothing else was possible. If there was a cave in a deserted cove and that cave was full of 'casks and crates and things', then there was only one explanation.

Pirates 10.0pt'>. Some fool had dropped a rich cargo there, no doubt intending to pick it up at their leisure. The Captain spared a moment for a pang of jealousy for a ship and Captain so successful they had to empty their holds out between raids, but it was a fleeting emotion.

He gathered Jamsie into his arms and planted an enthusiastic kiss on the surprised boy.

"We'll go take a look in the morning," the Captain said, his heart pounding with excitement. Rich. They were rich!

"That would be fun," Jamsie said. He looked pleased to see Alex's improved mood. (Jamsie didn't ask for much out of life. He was happy when the people around him were happy.)

"Now," Alex growled softly. "Where were we?"

Jamsie's eyes sparkled. "I don't remember. Why don't I just try a few things and you let me know if any of it seems familiar?"

Alex kicked off the blankets and sprawled out on his back. "That sounds like a plan," he agreed. A moan caught in his throat as Jamsie tried something undoubtedly familiar but nonetheless extremely pleasant. "Oh, yeah...that was it."

"I don't know," Jamsie said indistinctly. "It might have been this." His fingers pried Alex's thighs apart and the golden head bent to try something different.

Alex gasped, his hands tangling in the curly hair. Yesyesyes....

Jamsie nipped his thigh and smiled up at Alex. "Well?"

Alex tugged gently. "Don't stop," he insisted.

"Which one was it?" Jamsie asked innocently. "Can you remember?"

"Either one." Alex tugged harder. "Just do it."

Jamsie shook his head. "Stop that." He frowned at Alex, then a wicked grin spread across his face. "Put your hands behind your head," he ordered.

Alex did so reluctantly. Jamsie surveyed his outstretched body with a possessive smile that made Alex's body throb in anticipation. It was unusual, to say the least, for Jamsie to be so aggressive.

"I think I remember," Jamsie offered. He buried his head between Alex's legs and did something very unusual with his tongue.

Alex gasped as a warm, melting heat spread through him. Jesus. Where did he learn that? Alex wondered if there was anything he could do in the future to encourage this kind of creativity and initiative. A few seconds later, he wasn't wondering. He didn't even care, as long as the sensation didn't stop.

Which it didn't, until he was ready and past ready for the hard press of Jamsie's body pushing against him, without pain but keeping him relentlessly stretched on the edge of a protest until they were locked in each other's arms and Jamsie's tongue was probing Alex's mouth with the same intensity that he was plundering the rest of Alex's body.

The cabin filled with the sound of flesh against flesh, the soft whimpers of need and desire as the sensuous pleasure shuddered through both of them. There were moans and whispers barely heard by either of them as Alex's body moved in time with Jamsie's thrusts. Again and again Jamsie battered that magic place that made Alex's world splinter into an unbearable ache of pleasure and melt against his lover's body.

A soft growl of pleasure from Jamsie and his hand gathered up Alex's hardness, stroking it firmly and bringing them both to and then over the edge of climax.

Eventually, Jamsie lifted his weight from Alex's body and pulled Alex over to lay against his shoulder. "I'm glad we're back together.," he sighed. He hugged Alex gently and then his arms relaxed and his breathing evened into sleep.

He's been practicing . Alex had time for the thought before sleep claimed him as well. A satisfied smile curved his mouth. I wonder who's teaching that class?

The next morning, Alex woke with Jamsie's tale of 'crates and boxes and things' already replaying in his head. He got up immediately, sending a messenger for Delgado, washing up, trying to get dressed, and babbling about the cave to the still half-asleep Jamsie.

Jamsie finally crawled out of bed himself when he realized that this was not the morning for a leisurely cuddle. Disappointing, but on the whole he was pleased enough that the Captain's mood had improved to offset his disappointment at being kicked out a full hour before his usual time.

The Cavalier set sail for the cove. (Fortunately, they'd been headed in its general direction already, for lack of any other specific destination.)

In some unknowable fashion, the news that there were riches at the end of the journey spread among the crew.

By noon there was an unprecedented 100% turn-out of the crew assigned to the afternoon watch and every other member of the crew was lined up at the railing, straining their eyes to be the first to spot the familiar landmarks.

Of course, one small bay on an island looks pretty much like another, so there was at least one false alarm for every crewman as the day wore on. It took all the giddy high spirits that the crew possessed (which, admittedly, was considerable) to keep enthusiasm high until the point when they actually dropped anchor in the right place.

A fight nearly ensued when the boys realized that there was space on the longboats for only twenty crewmen and officers, meaning that over half the crew would have to remain on board. On this, their first actual experience with pirate treasure, most of the boys seemed to feel that it was only right that the full crew be allowed to join in the fun.

The Captain had quite a lot of sympathy for their position, as did Delgado (who was also cheered by Stefan's release from the sick list), but they were forced to order that the landing party be confined to six men (plus one officer) per boat.

Which might have started the long-anticipated mutiny, had Black Jack not shouted down the boys and explained furiously that if they loaded the boats to the waterline, there would be no room to bring back any treasure.

A variety of stupid alternatives were suggested (including shrill suggestion from Freddie that they tow the casks, laden with fragile fabrics or heavy gold bullion, behind the long boats on the way back to the ship) and rejected before officers and crew settled on a compromise plan that allowed the crewmen to be put ashore on a rotating schedule, with some moving treasure to the shoreline and others assigned to row the hopefully heavy treasure back to the ship.

It was all very complicated and there were a lot more details to be worked out (including the flat refusal of the shipboard party to be assigned to work under 'Francine's' authority) but eventually the two longboats were headed toward the cave.

The Captain had remained fairly quiet during the foregoing debates. It occurred to him, as it didn't appear to have occurred to anyone else on board that, (a) the treasure could be gone by now; or (b) the 'crates and barrels' might not contain anything of value; or (c) Jamsie might have imagined the entire thing.

As you can probably tell, by how near we are to the end of the story, none of those ghastly alternatives were the case.

The cave quite liberally stocked with crates and barrels and casks and cartons. And, once opened (as several of them were immediately, in order to verify the contents), they proved to be as full of treasure as you could imagine. Riches beyond the dreams of avarice. (Well, beyond most people's avarice, The Captain's share was going to be just about the amount that he always thought of when he thought of 'almost rich enough.')

Several of the barrels having been discovered to have been filled with a truly exceptional French wine, you can just imagine the party that was thrown once the cargo was on board. (Delgado insisted on raising anchor and moving a mile or two farther along the coast, reasoning that, with the Cavalier's luck, the treasure's original owner would probably show back up that night and demand the return of their plunder, but after that was accomplished, there was nothing left to interfere with the festivities.)

About half-way through the evening, the Captain climbed up onto a stack of crates and waved his singing, dancing, shouting crew to silence. In a (quite impromptu) speech, he announced the rough value of the cargo (pirates are pretty good at estimating the street value of just about anything), the amount of each boy's share (at which point his speech was interrupted by three cheers and a rousing rendition of For He's a Jolly Good Captain), and the news that, as soon as the cargo had been transformed into money, the Cavalier and her wealthy crew would be setting sail back toward England.

Well, that brought the party to a halt.

A dead silence spread over the deck and even in the moonlight (supplemented by scattered lanterns) it was possible to see the mutinous set of the crew's faces.

"Aye, Gov'nor, I s'pected you'd have trouble there," Black Jack murmured. He eyed the crew with some worry.

The Captain sat down on the crates with his back obstinately to the crew. "What the hell is the matter with them now?" he demanded thickly. Jesus, you just could NOT please some people. He poured wine down his throat (it was a fine enough vintage to have wooed him away from his preferred vodka for one night) and stared out at the ocean.

Behind him, Alex could hear low-voiced grumbling, punctuated with the occasional noise of someone whispering an impassioned speech, and then the sounds of feet shuffling against the deck.

"We beg the Captain's pardon, sir." Dickie's voice rang out, quite respectfully but firmly. "The crew would like to have a word with him if it's quite convenient at the moment."

"Tell the crew that the Captain said to go boil their heads," Alex told Black Jack.

"Now, Guv'nor." Black Jack looked at him reproachfully. "Yer should at least give 'em a listen. It's in the rules, arter all."

"Fuck the rules," the Captain said moodily.

Black Jack put a friendly hand under the Captain's elbow and hoisted him to his feet. "Do yer listen," he soothed. He urged the Captain back to his perch on top of the crates.

"Yes?" The Captain scowled at Dickie, who seemed to have been elected Crew's Representative for the time being.

"The men have taken a vote, Captain," Dickie said briskly. "And we don't want to go."

"Go where?"

"Back to England," Dickie said cheerfully. "We don't want to."

Well, that wasn't really that serious. "What do you want to do?" Alex asked curiously. "After all, you're rich men. It's not like you're going to keep risking your lives aboard some idiot ship."

"We like being pirates," Dickie insisted. A murmur from the gathered crew supported him. " We don't see why we have to stop just because we've made a bit of money, you know."

"Yes, but...." Alex started. You aren't pirates, not really. The Captain kept the rest of that thought to himself.

"First, though," Dickie said cheerfully, "We want to go back to port."

Black Jack nudged the Captain's knee. "Royale," he explained in a hoarse whisper.

The Captain tried to get that straight in his head. (He had a suspicion that the wine was making him hear things.) "You want to be pirates?" he questioned.

"Right!" The combined voices of his crew convinced him that he'd gotten that point right.

"Okay," The Captain nodded. "And you want to start with shore leave?"

"Right. Absolutely. You bet." Scattered responses this time, but it was still the unmistakably the popular choice.

"You're rich, you know," Alex tried to explain. "We don't have to do this any more."

"We like it." That was Stefan's voice from the corner where he and Delgado were....well, we don't know what they were doing in that dark corner, so we won't speculate.

"Exactly." That was Jamsie. He pushed his way through the crowd and smiled at the Captain with tipsy glee. "And then," he explained. "When we get back on the ship, we want to have an adventure."

An adventure. Alex wondered what the hell they called the past few weeks.

"Sell the treasure," The Captain ticked off the list on his fingers. (The boys hadn't mentioned that first item, but the Captain hadn't forgotten it for a minute.) "Then go to Royale, then go have an adventure. Is that it?"

You know, in some odd way, it seemed to make sense at the moment. After all, the Captain decided, if you were poor, maybe being a pirate was a lot of work. Alex took a drink and thought about it. If you were rich, it was more like a hobby or something, right?

"Delgado!" he shouted.

Delgado stuck his head out into the light. "Yes, Captain?"

"I," the Captain said grandly (and drunkenly), "Will be sailing us to Royale. I have decided to give the crew four day's shore leave."

There was some mumbling from the crew who had been envisioning something more along the lines of a month or two, but the Captain squashed the complaints with a scowl. (After all, who was in charge of this damned ship, anyhow?)

"Aye, aye, Captain," Delgado said cheerfully.

"And you," the Captain, who had had enough of that damned long division, "Will spend the time between now and our arrival in port, plotting our next course."

"Yes, sir." Delgado looked at him curiously. "Where will we be going, Captain?"

"To find an adventure," the Captain told him. He drained his tankard and held it out for a refill. "Plot us a course to adventure."

"Captain!" Delgado protested.

"Shut up," Alex said cheerfully. He toasted the crew and laughed at the resulting cheers. "That's an order."

So, Delgado did just as he was told. He plotted a course to adventure.

Of course, with the Cavalier's luck, she naturally ran into a few obstacles along the way, in the form of a hurricane, a marauding pirate ship that was stronger, faster, and better armed than she was (and don't think the Captain didn't need all his charm and his ability to think fast that time!), an island populated, as it seemed, entirely by half-naked islanders who seemed to be universally young, attractive, and very fond of pirates (the danger in that situation being to convince the crew to rejoin the ship at the end of a few days), and an armada.

That's right. An armada. An entire fleet of soldiers, sent out by the aggravated King of England who was determined to wipe out piracy in the South Seas once and for all. Things might have turned out very badly for the Armada if fully half of the crew hadn't been distracted by planning a surprise party in honor of Jamsie's birthday, you know?

Okay, so that last part didn't really happen. (But it could have, you know. We're quite sure the Cavalier was up to the challenge.) Anyhow, it was all quite an adventure.

* * * *

It's hard to be certain, but we strongly suspect that everyone lived Happily Ever After.