"What's in it for me?"
"We'll strike an arrangement, sir. Word of honor." Ruyters look brightened. "To be settled later. When I can return the favor."
"Maybe you can do something for me now . . . if I agree."
"You can name it, sir."
"I've been thinking I could use a good bosun's mate. How about letting me have that crippled Spaniard on the Zeelander if you've still got him? What's his name . . . the one who had a limp after that fall from the yardarm when we were tacking in to Nevis?"
"You don't mean Vargas?"
"Armando Vargas, that's the one."
Ruyters squinted through the dim light. "He's one of the handiest lads aloft I've got, bad leg or no. A first-rate yardman."
"Well, I think I'd like to take him on."
"I didn't know you were short-handed, sir."