“Tell it to the parson, Stubb, he’ll put it in his Sunday speech.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re the one who don’t understand. You think I’m married to the old man, but I ain’t. If he comes out on top, I’ll stand by him right enough. But if he don’t, he’ll learn that Toby Ballard is no man’s slave. Me, I sticks with the meanest dog, and when he’s killed I go my own way..... Oh, his Lordship didn’t like that. Here, loosen his gag. No one to hear him now but the walls.”
“---kill you myself!” cried the bound man. “So help me, Ballard, you won’t live to see the new year!”
“Ah, now, your majesty,” said the other, unconcerned. “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. For the time, though, I think you’d best concern yourself with yourself. It might trouble your father for a time if some ‘accident’ were to befall you while in my care. But he’d get over it.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
There was a sinister pause, in which the only sound was that of a saber being drawn, metal against smooth metal. Then with an icy menace such as Michael had heard only once before, in the stockade, the man put it to his throat and said bluntly.
“Try me.”
Again there was silence. The gag was refitted.
“He’s all yours, Stubb. Don’t leave him alone, even for a short time. I’ll send someone to relieve you in a day or two.” He turned again to face the young Captain.