‘Where’s the enemy?’ called one of the crew.

‘There ain’t any attack…’ said another.

‘Quiet, men!’ ordered his father and the men were hushed.

The utter silence was unnerving.

‘Over here.’ It was Ginsel’s voice. ‘Piper’s dead.’

Suddenly it sounded as if all hell had broken loose. There was the crack of a pistol, followed by more shots. Men screamed.

‘THEY’RE IN THE RIGGING!’ came a cry.

‘My arm! My arm! My –’ screamed someone until his anguished cries were ominously cut short.

Swords clashed. Feet thundered across the decks. Jack could hear the grunts and oaths of hand-to-hand fighting. He didn’t know what to do. He was caught between two fears – fighting or hiding.

The sounds of battle were joined by the groans of the dying, but Jack could still hear his father rallying the men to the quarterdeck. At least his father was alive!

Then something crashed against the cabin door. Jack jumped up from the bed, startled. The handle was frantically jerked back and forth, but the lock held.

‘Help me! Please help! Let me in!’ came a thin desperate voice from the other side. It was Christiaan, his hands hammering on the locked door.

‘No! No! I beg you –’ There was a frantic scrabbling. A soft fleshy thump followed by a pitiful moan.

Jack ran to the door. Fumbling with the key, he dropped it before he could get it in the lock. Panicking, he picked it up again, turned it and flung open the door, his father’s knife in his hand, ready to defend himself.

Christiaan fell into the room, a small throwing knife sticking out of his stomach. Blood gushed on to the floorboards and Jack felt it run warm and sticky beneath his feet.

Christiaan’s eyes stared right up at him, terrified and pleading.

Jack dragged his friend into the cabin, ripping bedsheets from his father’s bunk to stem the bleeding. He then heard his father cry out in pain. Forced to leave Christiaan where he lay, Jack stepped out to confront the shadows in the darkness.

6

FEVER

Jack screamed in agony.

It was still night, but a glaring white light broke the darkness.

Strange voices encircled him, alien and confusing.

Jack could make out a man’s face hovering over him. One side was pitted and horribly scarred as though melted away. Curiously, the man’s eyes showed great concern.

The man reached out to him.

Jack’s whole arm suddenly flared white-hot and beads of sweat broke from his fevered brow. Gasping and writhing, he tried to pull away from the excruciating pain, but felt himself slipping away, weightless as if floating on a bed of soft straw…

He drifted in and out of consciousness… and dark memories took hold…

Jack was on the quarterdeck.

He could hear his father shouting. Men lay dead or dying, their bodies piled one upon the other. His father, still standing but covered in blood, was surrounded by five shadows. John Fletcher spun the ship’s grappling hook in circles round his head, fighting with the ferocity of a lion. The shadows, clad head-to-toe in black, a single slit for the eyes, couldn’t get near.