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truer man never paced the quarterdeck. Under him we founded a paradise, can ye believe it? Libertalia, it was called, right there hard off the east coast of Africa, exactly where the ancient prophecies said it would be. Free and easy those times were, I’d give an eye to have ’em back again. Every man same as every other man. Share and share alike. What a wild larksome crew we were, white and black and yellow and red and all the shades between. A nation of banded brothers slashing a lane of freedom through this shackled world. You should have seen the slavers running before us, hising up their skirts and scampering for home. And, do you know, not one escaped us. How can I explain to one so young the joy of the pursuit, the thrill of our cannons toppling those bloodstained masts, ripping through their ranks, the lead and splinters and screams, the jubilation of the slaves at their unexpected deliverance. Mental champagne I don’t look to taste again this side of the bar. And every one of those slaves eagerly joined our crew, best damn sailors in all the world’s navies. But what we would sometimes do to the captain and his mates would give a lad like you night fits for a month. One foul word to Captain Mission and off they’d go over the side to the fishies and the sharks. Once the slaves started talking we’d know who to do up right, haul ’em up to the yardarms, ‘sweat’ ’em around the deck. Not a pretty picture for delicate souls but, by God, the fun we had. And what was done to them devils was a precious kindness to what they done to the poor lads in the hold, but we rescued hundreds of ’em from the irons and I can live with that. Of course that’s why they was all after us so fierce, not a country with ships on the sea didn’t want to see us hanging in chains before the tide. This globe’s a prison, child, and those who wish to break out are the sworn enemies of all governments.
    “Now, from the look of your rigging and the company you keep, you strike this old dog as a lad enlisted on the side of malefactors one and all. And all you have to do to officially join up is place your mark at the bottom of the articles. Here.” He thrust the sharp yellowy nail of his soiled forefinger down upon the bottom of the page where was gathered a bizarre collection of illegible signatures.
    “But what shall I write with?” asked Liberty.
    Fife plucked a random twig from his hair, held one end to the candle flame until the wood smoked and blackened. “Nature’s writing implement,” he answered, passing the twig to Liberty who, as conscientiously as he could, spelled out his name in sooty flowing script on the brittle parchment.
    “Does this mean I am a real pirate?” Liberty asked.
    “Welcome aboard!” cried Fife, solemnly shaking the boy’s hand. “And now, lad, go and spread havoc throughout the main, always bearing in mind Captain Mission’s immortal words, ‘Death to all tyrants, freedom to all in bondage and to us a fat chest of glittering gold,’ eh?” Fife eased himself back onto a bed of moss. “Go, I say,” he repeated, making brushing motions with his hands. “Go, you’ve got important duties to be about.”
    Once home Liberty dared not tell his trusting parents he had from this day forth turned pirate. Let them continue to believe he still sailed under the old colors. That was how your true buccaneer operated, waiting until the gullible prey ventured too near to flee, then running up the Jolly Roger. This would be his special secret, a surprise to spring on unsuspecting malefactors everywhere once the time was ripe.

From the opening of consciousness Liberty had never known a home in which parents were not coming and going with casual regularity, so like all children he simply assumed that his life was the life of every child. Of course, he missed his mother and his father when they were away and though he had grown quite accustomed to their eccentric schedules, these frequent absences