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the third of next month.”
    The Captain favoured Bulbous Bill with a smile and a nod. He reached inside his black coat and brought out a small book. A Jolly Roger and the words Ye Lett’s Pirate’s Diary were tooled in gold on its black leather binding. Captain Greybagges
thumbed through the diary.
    â€œWell, shiver me timbers, here is luck!” he exclaimed. “That night is a night of no moon. It’s just before the autumn storms, too, so there’s a good chance there will be an overcast sky. A moonless clouded night, and the silver fleet will be anchored over the bones of Sir Francis Drake, who was buried at sea in Nombre Dios Bay, stitched into his hammock betwixt two cannonballs, it is said. These are indeed good omens, me hearties!”
    The buccaneers sat back and grinned at each other, the prospect of plundering a vast pile of silver bars warming their piratical hearts like pints of hot rum-toddy.
    â€œLet us enjoy this moment,” said Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, “but let us not become complaisant. The treasure is vast, but it is not yet in our hands, shipmates. There is much plotting and planning to do if we are to take possession of this great fortune. To be sure, the King of Spain does not really need it, he has much wealth already, and he would only waste that fine silver paying Irish mercenary soldiers to keep Flanders in the Catholic faith. The quickest way of turning the Dutch Protestant is to tell them they must be Catholic, of course, but I wander from my point. The Plate Fleet will be at anchor in a secluded bay on the darkest of nights, thinking themselves safe because nobody knows that they are there. By careful planning we can take each ship in turn by stealth alone, and thus we need involve nobody else. We shall need no partners to ensure the success of this venture. No partners to share the booty. No partners to gossip and yakkity-yak, either, and that is important. The only ones who knows about this are us four - Bill’s mate Denzil and his witch-doctor both thinks the fleet carries crockery - so let us keep it strictly to ourselves until we are at sea. Look miserable, too. No grinning, no laughing, no dancing of jigs. Keep our good fortune hidden to yourselves alone until we are at sea again. If we does this venture right then we are in clover. Blue Peter will be able to raid the slave-masters of Virginny and Kentuck until he is satisfied that they are contrite, and pay for the expeditions out of his small change without thought of profit.”
    â€œYou jest, Captain, because you have never endured the pain and humiliation of slavery. I may very well do just what you suggest solely for the sheer vengeful joy of it,” said Blue Peter, a wicked smile revealing his pointed teeth.
    â€œAs I say, Peter, we must first take possession of this great bounty. That must be foremost in our minds from now on. If we thinks too much of the spendin’ of the loot we will not be thinking enough about the plunderin’ of it. I meself could
easily waste hours thinkin’ about how a certain jumped-up Welshman’s nose will be put properly out of joint, but I will forego that pleasure until the silver bars are safe in my hands. Well, then, let us drink a draught o’ rum to toast this venture,” said Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, “then return to the barky and gets ourselves an early night, shipmates, for it is now my intention to sail on the mornin’ tide.”

CHAPTER THE THIRD,
    or a Foregathering in Nombre Dios Bay.
    T he frigate Ark de Triomphe slowed as the foremast jacks cast off the sheets and the wind spilled from the sails. The night was as black as Indian ink. No moon. No stars. Two dim glimmers of red light showed from the loom of the land to the west, where the pirates had mounted lanterns in the jungle two days earlier as navigation beacons. The lanterns had four-gallon oil reservoirs to burn for a week, and were shielded