"I think so. All things in time."
"The branco in this place are very strange. Is it true they do not have slaves?"
"Slaves, no. Though they do have a kind of servant here, but even that's different from Barbados."
"How so, senhor?"
"Well, there've never been many women around this place. So in the old days a boucanier might acquire a matelot, to be his companion, and over the years the matelots got to be more like younger brothers than indentures. They have legal rights of inheritance, for instance, since most boucaniers have no family. A boucanier and his matelot are legally entitled to the other's property if one of them dies." He looked back toward the shore. "Also, no man has more than one matelot. In fact, if a boucanier does marry a woman, his matelot has conjugal rights to her too."
"But, senhor, if the younger man, the matelot, inherits everything, what is to keep him from just killing the older man? To gain his freedom, and also the other man's property?"
"Honor." He shrugged and leaned back against the railing,
inhaling the dense air of the island. He lingered pensively for a moment, then turned to Katherine. "Katy, do remember this isn't just any port. Some of those men out there have been known to shoot somebody for no more cause than a tankard of brandy. And underneath it all, Jacques is just like the rest. It's when he's most cordial that you'd best beware."
"I still want to go." She moved next to him. "I'm going to meet face-to-face with this madman who once tried to kill you."