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state in the middle of the ocean. That is why I am no more afraid of the King’s justice than he is of mine.”
    George stiffens and catches Whitbourne’s eye. The admiral has been silent and rather plaintive so far.
    “And that is why,” Easton continues, “I have been trying to persuade Admiral Whitbourne to stay with me. I hope I may count upon you to consider such a course.”
    “Never!” he breathes aloud though he had promised himself he would follow the admiral’s orders.
    But Easton just smiles. “Your indignation, sir, does you much credit. I too despise law-breakers. But I rather hope a little time in my company will enlighten you to the fact that I am not one of them.”
    Easton looks up at the slave who has come back to circle the table and fill the admiral’s milk. The pirate wears an almost sad expression, like one who has been habitually misunderstood. George finds his own gaze now following the slave. There is something in her languid, graceful movements that attracts attention. For the first time she looks into his eyes. She has an open, half-curious expression, without the slightest shyness. It is a novelty to meet her gaze, and George finds himself wondering about the nature of such a being. He has no idea how to categorize her. He watches her replace the milk jug on a little side table, then move toward her hatch.
    “Do you have an intended back in England, Captain?” Easton’s voice breaks in just as the slave leaves the cabin.
    George winces from the implied comparison. Easton is surely not comparing his own feelings for the slave, whatever they might be, with a legitimate betrothal. The idea is too monstrous.
    “I have an understanding, sir,” he answers stiffly. “One which I fully intend to honour once I am free to do so.”
    “An understanding! Ah, how delicate language can be.” Easton says, smiling again, his own gaze fixed upon the slave’s hatch. “A woman is a splendid thing, my good sirs. She is the gold of a man’s heart. In her eyes, her graces and the fullness of her figure there is that lure to the soul that man finds in diamonds. A true man,” he continues significantly, fixing his gaze on the admiral and George in turn, “hesitates with neither gem. The bolder the touch, the more certain the yield.”
    Easton goes into a silent reverie while George stares at him in disbelief, his hands trembling with rage. This time he finds he is not alone. The admiral’s expression is also one of horror. Easton rouses himself, noticing at last. “I fear I have shocked you, gentle sirs,” he says with the hint of an amused smile. “I had only meant to venture that if either of you gentlemen require for your further comfort—”
    “Sir! Desist!” snaps the admiral.
    The show of force is so rare it takes George by surprise.
    Easton bows. “Admiral, your servant. I am truly sorry.” The smile has left his face and his voice is soft and submissive. Yet something is missing—perhaps the vague miasma of humility that pervades a room when a true penitent is present. A curious moistness in Easton’s eyes tells George he is simply veiling his character for the convenience of the moment. Or worse, that he is shamming for his own amusement as a cat plays at releasing the tail of a mouse. He merely wishes to draw the moment out so he may have the supreme thrill of pouncing afresh.
    Easton sighs slightly, then smiles. “May I suggest for your recreation, my good sirs, a turn around our deck. The weather is brisk but dry, and the sea air is bound to do you good.”

Chapter Four
    The sails bulge like living wings above George’s head. The
Happy Adventure
flies along, the bow dipping and rising like the bobbing neck of a horse. Sunlight glistens on the cresting waves. The air sweeps around George’s ears, pulling his hair in all directions. The crew works steadily, some scrubbing, some painting, some working with diligent fingers and sure footing as they adjust the ship’s ladders