"Hold the musket on him, John. I don't know whether to trust these Africans." Again Portuguese. "Life for life. Agreed." He lowered the pistol, then slipped it into his belt. With an easy motion he pulled down a lantern hanging from the shrouds and struck a flint to it. A warm glow illuminated the open door of the fo'c'sle, and the tanned face of the branco woman. "Now. Atiba the Yoruba, you be gone and I'll forget you were ever here. Briggs would likely have you whipped into raw meat for his dogs if he ever found out about this." The branco was looking into his eyes. "But you probably already know that. I salute your courage, senhor. Truth is, I once thought about having you help me."
"Help you?" He studied the branco's face. "For what purpose?"
"If you weren't too stubborn to take orders, I'd planned to train you into a first-class fighting man. Maybe make you second-in-command for a little war of my own. Against the Spaniards." The man was outlined in the pale light. "I'd hoped we might fight together, instead of against each other."
"That is a strange idea for a branco. " He was studying the scar on the tall man's cheek. "But then you have the mark on your cheek like the clan sign of a Yoruba. Perhaps the place you got it taught you something of brotherhood as well."
"It was a long time past, though maybe it did at that. I do know I'm still a brother to any man I like. You were once in that category, senhor, till you came on my ship trying to knife me. Now you'd best tell me what you're doing here."
"I wanted to see your ship."
"Well, you've seen it. You also tore off some hinges."
"I will replace them for you." He smiled. "Wrapping a razor preserves its sharpness."
The man seemed momentarily startled; then a look of realization spread through his eyes. Finally he turned and spoke in English to the fat branco holding the musket. "John, fetch a hammer and some fresh nails from below decks. You know where ship's carpenter keeps them."
"What're you saying, Cap'n?" The fat branco had not moved. "You'd have me go aft? An' the musket I'm holdin' on the bastard? Who's to handle that whilst I'm gone?"