With a sigh of regret he removed his hands and smoothed down my skirt. “All right, but I think we could make better use of the time. Come on. I want to show you Mongoose Isle, and I need to find out if there’s been any progress yet in locating Paul.”
“That’s well and fine, but I want to talk—”
“You can talk while I’m showing you around,” he said, gently pushing me out of the cabin to the main deck. “I’ve arranged for transportation. I think you’re going to like it. Hoy, Holder! Can I have a couple of minutes, mate?”
Holder gave me a knowing grin as he strolled past. I ignored him, walking over to stand at the railing next to Bas. A half hour ago, as I was just stepping into the tub, the ship had ported on Mongoose Isle, a bustling island about three times the size of Turtle’s Back.
Mongoose had a proper wharf, not just a rickety wooden dock like Turtle’s Back. Warehouses lined the long stretch of docks, with probably a good two dozen ships docked of varying sizes and types. The larger ships, like Corbin’s barque, the big, three-masted square riggers, and largest of all, the ship-of-the-line frigates, were too big to dock and were anchored in the deeper water of the large harbor. As Bas and I watched, two of Corbin’s crew clambered down a rope ladder to one of two rowboats that were bobbing up and down next to the barque.
“Big island, huh?” I asked Bas as I looked at the town that glistened a rainbow of colors in the bright midday sun. The town itself was much larger than ours, probably taking up five times the space, located on a long spit of land that jabbed out into the gorgeous turquoise water. Even at a distance I could see the busy activity around the wharf, with ships arriving and leaving with regularity.
Tree-lined avenues snaked around the town up to low hills blanketed in sugarcane fields. At the tip of the spit, built into the solid rock promontory, a large stone fortress watched over the town with a quiet assurance that no doubt brought much comfort to the residents of the town. Cannons bristled from the high stone walls running a third of the length of the deep channel into the harbor. I doubted whether any hostile ship would be able to make it past that gauntlet and survive. “It’s so pretty, too. Just look at those green fields. And the colors! It’s like someone took a painter’s palette and shook it over the town, coloring all the shops and buildings as brightly as possible. The Crayola people would love it here. This may be only a virtual setting, but this island and Turtle’s Back are truly the most beautiful spots I’ve ever seen. It’s so gorgeous, I just want to weep with the pleasure of seeing it.”
“I wonder what it would feel like to be shot with a cannon?” Bas asked, looking at the fort. “Do ye think ye’d feel it? Or do ye think ye’d be knocked out and wouldn’t know that ye’d been blown apart with a cannonball?”
I patted him on his non-Bran shoulder. “Thank you, Bas.”
“Eh?” the boy asked, giving me a curious glance.
“I was waxing poetic, and you brought me back from the edge,” I said, ruffling his hair and stroking Bran’s feathers before turning at the sound of Corbin’s voice. “Come along; we’re going sightseeing.”
I sat facing Corbin as he and a few crewmates rowed us to the dock, glancing over my shoulder at the ships anchored in the harbor. “Which ones are yours?”
He pointed at two more barques, a square rigger, and farthest away, a frigate.
“Those are my warships. The sailing sloops are docked. All but one, and you have her. Her sister ship is at the far end of the dock, there.”
Something struck me about his ships. I looked again at the ones he’d pointed out. “You’re flying red flags. All red flags, with no design or anything.”
“Aye,” he said, his face damp with perspiration as he hauled back on the oar.
“I thought you flew black flags?” I hesitated, torn between wanting to tell him about the plans Bart had for him in case it had some importance in finding Paul, and doing what I could to bring about a cessation of hostilities, not enflame them.
“I do, when the ship I’m attacking refuses to yield,” he grunted.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. I always offer quarter—that’s the red flag—first. If the ship refuses to yield peaceably, I run up the black flag, indicating there will be no quarter given.”
“Quarter being mercy?” I asked, thinking of Bart’s crew that Corbin had so ruthlessly wiped out.
“Yes.”
“Hmm. So if Bart was going to attack you again—”
“He’s always attacking me,” Corbin said, waving a dismissive hand.
“He is? Oh.” I bit my lip, still hesitant (I hate that). “So you wouldn’t be surprised if I told you he has more plans to attack you?”
His grin flashed at me for a moment. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t. Bart was programmed to create conflict in the game with the real players. In other words, his sole purpose is to declare war on me, and anyone else playing the game. You got pulled into his crew, so you’re excluded from that particular event, but you don’t have to worry on my behalf. Bart is the least of my worries.”
Whew. That relieved my mind. If Corbin wasn’t concerned, then I could do what I needed to do on my own to settle things between him and Bart—
assuming Bart’s programming allowed him to be peacable. “Er… did you program him so he’ll negotiate a peace treaty, too?”
“Yes. Here we go. You ready?” Corbin had arranged for a horse-drawn open carriage to be waiting for us when we reached the shore.
As the horses clip-clopped their way down the cobblestone streets, he pointed out various sights, from the best place to buy rum and cannon shot (both important parts of a ship’s stock) to the newly built governor’s palace that sat at the base of the spit of land.
