The Blackbeard of Barbary El Capitán de Diablo was leaning heavily against the doorframe. ‘Fear me! The Blackbeard of Barbary!’ He laughed, way down in his throat. In his right hand was a sword, a jagged-edged boarding cutlass. His other hand groped for something to support him. He was as drunk as a toadfish, I could see. He had no hat on, just a red scarf wound around his head, with another at his waist. His coat was wet through. Jem and Cook just stayed quietly where they were, not moving. I did the same. ‘Who’s afraid?’ Diablo yelled. ‘Aye, you should all be afraid of me, every damn one of you!’ His fist slammed the wood above his head so hard that the candles spluttered in their lanterns. He glanced up, as if surprised to find himself below deck, instead of out in the open under a stormy sky. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed.’ He seemed to be talking to himself, but his gaze suddenly fixed on me. ‘Who the blazes is this?’ he shouted. At last, Jem took a step forward. ‘It’s the Santa Lucia girl, Cap.
