“Olivia,” he said aloud, “will you let me get you a little wine and some fruit? This must be so awfully dull for you.”
“Oh, I like it,” she answered quickly. “I like it.”
“Do you, really?” said Margaret. “Well. We’ll go on. Let me see your map, Captain Cammock.”
He took the dirty piece of vellum from Captain Cammock, and examined the coast-line. There were manuscript notes written here and there across the Isthmus. Captain Margaret read: “Don Andrea’s Cuntrey.” “K Golden Cap went with Capt S from here.” “The Indians washes for Gold on this Side.” Mountains and forests had been added to the map in water-colours. A ship or two, under all plain sail, showed upon the seas. In among the islands a hand had added soundings and anchorages in red ink. He looked among the network of islands, remembering the many stories he had read of them, fascinated by the thought that here, before him, was one who could make that marked piece of vellum significant.
“Tell me,” he said. “These keys here. La Sound’s Key and Springer’s Key. Are they well known to your people?”
“Yes,” said the pirate.
“Do the Spaniards ever search among these islands? Do they send guarda-costas?”
“Not them. Not to hurt. They’ve no really organized force on the Main. Nor’ve they got any charts to go by. They aren’t hard any longer. Only soft, the Spaniards. Why, there’s often a matter of a dozen sail of privateers come to them keys, at the one time.”
“Why do they come there?”
“Water, sir. Then the Indians bring gold dust. Sometimes they land and go for a cruise ashore. Lots of ’em make money that way, where the Spaniards don’t expect them.”