As it turned out, Morgan had sent Mandrake ashore further down the coast towards Ksar-es-Seghir - a fishing village half a day's ride to the west that the Portuguese had long since abandoned. This small party's purpose was to infiltrate Tangier from the landward side. Mandrake was to head this shore party in case Solomon Jones required some form of succour if the plan to liberate the Treasury of its contents went awry. They had been assisted in this task by old acquaintances in the port itself, like Da Silva, as well as some old friends among the Barbary Corsairs who masqueraded as local traders in order to keep an eye on the garrison.

Apparently, in case of some catastrophe, Solomon Jones was to have directed the shore party to Da Silva's residence, whereupon the cunning Portuguese was under instructions to conceal us and make good our escape. Fortune had smiled upon us when we had unwittingly found our way to his house.

Yet Jones had disappeared.

And so had the cart.

Whilst we had sweated bullets, concealed in Da Silva's root cellar, the girls had been about the town gathering such information on the night's events as their bountiful charms could inveigle.

The skirmish in the lane that we had escaped from was still a scene of confusion and devastation. Jones' grenados had proved most effective. Many men of the garrison had been killed or wounded. A house had burned to ashes, along with its residents. This had drawn the crowds who gawped at the dead and shook their heads. Maira and Natalia had aroused little suspicion mingling with the people of the town since it was only expected that they would be there.

It appeared that in the smoke and confusion, Jones had somehow spirited the cart away. He was known to the girls, and his body was not with those of our party who had been struck down. Those poor fellows were available for all to see; their cadavers swung beneath gibbets in the marketplace. Poor Two Tusks was subjected to the indignity of having his teeth pulled by the Town's Executioner and sold to the gleeful mob.

Now Mandrake was seething like a pot on the fire. He railed at Jack and Ramsbottom, his face flushing beneath the white lead of a lady's face paint, “What were you two fucking slack-arses thinking letting Jones run off like that? The man's mad and has been for years! Morgan had you come, Jack, because he thought you were a steady man!”

Rather than quail before this tirade, Jack simply folded his arms. “You weren't there, Mandrake, and if you were you'd have shit your breeches, if you were wearing any. It was a damned mess.”

“A mess you say? Of course it was a fucking mess, you daft cunny! Of course it was a mess because we haven't got the fucking money!” He pulled at the bodice of is dress. “And don't think that I'm wearing this out of choice. This was Morgan's idea to get me past the gates!”

“Well it suits you. You've never looked better. Get me drunk enough and I'd fuck you!” Jack said, then added wearily ” We were trapped! The Governor knew who we were and what we were about. We were sold out. Someone blabbed!”

Ramsbottom, Da Silva, Mandrake, Jack, the girls all turned their faces to Nathaniel, who had remained quiet through this. He blinked a couple of times, then realised what their staring implied.

“What? No! Absolutely not! I am true to this enterprise! You cannot possibly believe that of me!”

Mandrake's mouth twisted into a sneer, his fleshy jowls quivering. “Of course, how I do forget! Our inside man, Mr Broadbank. How would Governor Cholmeley know of our plans? How remiss of me not to think of the one man who has the Governor's confidence – his own secretary!” A pointed, pink tongue darted from his mouth and licked the corner of his lips. His eyes glittered like beads.

It fascinated me. The wet tongue slid slowly across the fat man's protuberant lips. I was reminded of the undulations of worms disturbed by a sexton as his spade drove into the earth. All that tongue had ever imparted was corruption.

He leaned forward in his chair, the chopines sliding beneath the hem of the skirts. Although bizarre in his matron's dress and veil, I did not find Mandrake appearance comical. No, despite the fire, there was a distinct chill. I feared what would come next from his lascivious mouth.

“Jack,” Mandrake said. “Persuade Mr Broadbank to enlighten us!”

“Now? Here?”

“Yes!”

“It'll get noisy.” Jack drew his knife, a wickedly sharp looking blade no longer than my index finger. I shuddered at the thought of what Jack might do with it. “What if someone comes to find out what's up?”

Nathaniel made a sort of strangulated cough and sank to his knees. An acrid odour filled the air.

“The Inglês bastardo, he has pissed himself, yes?” Maria laughed.

“Again! You would think the man had no p-piss left in him,” Ramsbottom added.

“You can't mean to use that on me!” Nathaniel cried out, clutching at Jack's knees. “I have been true! I have been true! I...”

Jack flicked the knife in his hand just once. A red stripe appeared on Nathaniel's cheek. For a moment, it remained only a thin line but then it quickly swelled and a trickle of blood sprang from the wound. Nathaniel seemed not to be aware of what had happened but in a moment his eyes widened with pain and he cried out.

“He lies!” said Natalia.

“He always lies, my dear!” said her father. “That is why Morgan chose him. He is a crooked little man whose arse puckered up for the Captain. Now we shall find out who else has been rogering our Mr Broadbank!”

“Hold fast, Jack!” I interrupted. It had been during the events of the night that I had made my mind up about Nathaniel. True, he had proved himself to be a grasping and craven little shit-eater but he had spoken to me with the utmost sincerity. “I believe him! I don't think he's done for us.”

“Give me a good reason why!” Jack snarled. His blood was up and I could see the lust for vengeance in his face.

“I can't. I just know he's telling the truth. I'm not sure that Morgan would like him harmed if he is telling the truth either. If he isn't then the Captain can decide. It's not for us to interfere with the Captain's schemes. After all, Cholmeley didn't seem to mind him being hurt.” To be honest, I regarded Nathaniel's future with the utmost indifference. Kill him, cut him or praise him, I didn't care! My friend was not as I had remembered him and part of me had died with those memories. However, I didn't think that Morgan would take too kindly to Mandrake squandering a precious resource like a secretary to a governor.

This stopped Jack in his tracks and Mandrake squirmed in his chair like some velvet clad slug. Ramsbottom's eyes darted between the two and the look of disappointment on his face told me that he knew that no more blood would be spilled here.

“Well, Mr West, seeing as you are so very well informed of the Captain's mind, perhaps you could enlighten us further?” Mandrake had quickly recovered his poise.

“Can any of us say that we know the Captain's mind? I do know one thing, though, and that is he'll want to hear of Jones' disappearance right quick. He'll also want to know something more than that Jones has disappeared. Is it possible that Jones has made his own way to Morgan?”

Mandrake shook his head. “Solomon knows our people in Tangier as well as anyone. None have heard from him – or even seen him. That cart is too big to have got out of Tangier – everything coming into the city, or going out, is being unloaded at the gates and searched. Solomon can't get the gold out on his own which can only mean...”

“He's made his own arrangements,” I finished off.

Jack whistled. “He must have been planning this awhile then.”

Ramsbottom sniggered, “I always thought he was a t-tricky b-bastard! Solly's only gone and bilked the C-captain!”

Da Silva looked furious. He got up from his chair and stormed about the room. “This is not possível! Bastardo, bastardo, fucking bastardo!” Leaning against the back of his chair, he gripped the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb, massaging it furiously. “The shame of this! How is that I, Rodrigo Leopoldo Armando Da Silva, can be fooled by such a pig! Inglês burro! Who is the burro now, eh? I will feed his fucking body to the goats, Maria!”

“Calm yourself, papai!” Maria went to her father, placing her slender arms around his shoulder. “We will find him but first we must get word to Capitão Morgan.”

Her father nodded once and then straightened up. “Sim!” He looked at Mandrake and then at us, his normally amiable demeanour replaced with a mask of resolution. “Sim! This is true, Maria. We must get these fucking heretic cockroaches away from Tangier. They cannot stay, their faces are known. They will carry word to Morgan. Is this fair, Senhor Mandrake? Will this be of service to the Capitão?”

“And your girls, Da Silva? What will they be about?”

“Maria, she will make the arrangements to get these goat-fucking lice out of my house. Natalia will go to our people in the town and put the word out on Solomon? Sim?”

“Who are you calling g-goat-fucking l-lice, you p-poxed P-p-portuguese t-t-turd!” Ramsbotom cried out. His bloodied face reddened still further with anger. He started forward towards Da Silva who merely glanced at him as if the irate Yorkshire boy was of no account. “You f-fucking say that again and I'll...”

“You'll what, menino?” Maria had stepped into the Ramsbottom's path and we had all heard the metallic click of the wheel-lock being cocked. They were so closely pressed together her lips almost caressed Ramsbottom' ear but there was no mistaking that this was not a loving embrace. The muzzle of the pistol pushed hard beneath the boy's chin. One more move toward Da Silva and what passed for brains in his head would accompany the fine plasterwork on the Portuguese's ceiling. “You'll what?”

I'm sure that Ramsbottom wanted to make some sort of impertinent comment importuning the lady's honour but that lady had taken things into her own hands. She pushed the pistol further up, which in turn pushed Ramsbottom's head back. A dreadful grinding noise from his teeth spoke of his frustration. It struck me how petite her hands were holding that old pistol: a wheel lock is a damned large gun. With a shove of the her free hand she sent the boy stumbling back. He careened into the still shaken Nathaniel, who yelped in fright and scuttled out of the way on hands and damp knees.

Ramsbottom crashed to his backside and glared up at Maria. “Y-y-y...”

“Hush, lad!” Jack broke in, his voice ringing loud like a bosun calling the hands aloft. “Peace, afore you foul your cable!”

“Why bother, Jack?” Mandrake cut in. His face gleamed with sweat and a glutton's eager expectation. “Let Maria finish him. He's a useless sod, barely fit to stand a watch, and that not without another officer. She'll be doing Morgan a favour, and ...with him gone...” his expression became fox-like. “...The shares will be larger!”

“No, Mandrake! I've done my best to keep these bonny rogues alive this last night past. I'll take it as a kindness to keep them all alive a little longer. At least until we are back aboard. Then Morgan can try and figure out this rat's nest.”

“So we are agreed!” Da Silva said with a slap to Mandrake's back, which knocked his headpiece askew. “We are to send word to Morgan? Natalia will set the hounds loose after that fucking Solomon so that we can toast his culhões and feed them to my blessed nannies. Sim, I would like to see the bastardo under Natalia's knife. He is causing me much ...inconvenience.”

Da Silva walked over to a long sideboard that almost took up one side of the room, upon which was displayed a considerable amount of plate – more than was seemly for a lowly pilot. He opened one cupboard, revealing a pisspot within, and unbuttoned himself. With his back to us he continued his summary as he filled the thunderjug.  “Now, Maria, how will you rid me of these hereticos?” he glanced back over his shoulder and nodded at Jack, Ramsbottom, Nathaniel and me before continuing, “What have you in mind, minha pombinha?”

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