"Ja, ja. We go. I hafe a wish to sleep."
"Sleep, is it?" jeered Flint. "That ye shall, my hearty! Come along o' me."
He led us aft, the others following, Darby in the rear almost in tears. We entered the poop quarters, stumbling over empty bottles, broken platters, discarded garments, boots, articles of equipment and weapons. At the end of a dark passage Flint unhooked a lanthorn from a wall and one of his men heaved up a trapdoor. Below was a pool of shadows that scuttled and swayed as if to escape the feeble light. There was an odor, also, none too pleasant.
I drew back.
"Certes, you could lodge us securely otherwhere than this," I protested.
"No, no," answered Flint. "There's not a door aboard hath a lock would hold Darby, let alone you two. I'm sorry for ye, lad, if it's no fault o' yours that you're here; but for tonight at least you must lie in the lazaret. Come, come; don't make me use force. Here, ye shall ha' the lanthorn to keep the rats off, and in the morning we'll manage different."
Peter pushed past me, and took the lanthorn from his hand.
"We go, ja," he squeaked. "Come, Bob."
I followed him without another word, already wondering at his extraordinary docility.
"Do ye see your way, my masters?" Flint called after us, mimicking the servile tones of a tavernkeeper to the considerable amusement of his body-guard. "Mind the low roof, an' it please ye, sirs. The beds ha' not been aired, but then we had no expectation o' your company."