The Angel's Command
Brian Jacques
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
BOOK ONE - LA PETITE MARIE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
BOOK TWO - THE RAZAN
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
PRAISE FOR The Angel’s Command
“Swashbuckling.”—The Columbus Dispatch
“[A] big, sprawling adventure . . . the story delivers nonstop action, pithy dialogue, and esoteric sea lore.”
—The Horn Book Magazine
“Rousing . . . vivid language, larger-than-life characters, and multiple story lines yield a sprawling, epic tale. Anyone, young and old, who enjoys being immersed in big, romantic adventures, will love this series. Readers hooked by Jacques’ storytelling magic in Castaways and the Redwall series are destined to be readers for life. May his readers be legion.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Once again, Jacques spins a rousing yarn that fairly bursts at the seams with exciting escapades, exotic locations, poems, shanties, treachery, and derring-do . . . the sheer storytelling vigor is hard to resist. [Jacques] conjures a colorful, fully realized world and injects the pages with plenty of snappy repartee.” —Publishers Weekly
“The plot is almost nonstop action, with lots of sword-play.” —School Library Journal Reviews
“There’s lots of swashbuckling adventure, suspense, intrigue, and some humor, much like Jacques’s beloved Redwall sagas. This new story will appeal to the same audience.” —KLIATT
“High adventure with memorable characters.” —Locus
“Another page-turner. Readers who enjoyed the first book will find this sequel even more exciting.” —Booklist
PRAISE FOR
Castaways of the Flying Dutchman
“Well known for his Redwall books, Jacques here turns his attention to the human world, and his fans will not be disappointed.” —Publishers Weekly
“In Castaways of the Flying Dutchman, Brian Jacques takes a bold and brilliant creative step. Using the legend of a never-ending voyage, he enriches, deepens and gives new meaning to it . . . [Jacques] combines ample measures of suspense, fantasy, and mystery . . . and the emotional impact is powerful and unforgettable. It’s exciting to see a front-rank author rise to a new challenge—and his readers are the fortunate beneficiaries.” —Lloyd Alexander, Newbery Medal winner
“Jacques is a master storyteller who knows just when to boost a book’s drama, suspense, or humor to move a tale along . . . It’s a rare reader who won’t race through the pages, trying to see what happens next.” —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“Jacques captures the details of nineteenth-century, small-town England and its people with great panache . . . Readers will come to care about the good-hearted immortal boy and his faithful black Lab.” —The Horn Book Magazine
“Vivid . . . haunting . . . will undoubtedly be loved by Redwall fans.” —Kirkus Reviews
“The swashbuckling language brims with color and melodrama; the villains are dastardly and stupid; and buried treasure, mysterious clues, and luscious culinary descriptions keep the pages turning . . . Older readers who enjoy Jacques will like this, too.” —Booklist
“Rousing.” —Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
“Colorful . . . engrossing.” —The London Daily Telegraph
“An appealing tale.” —Children’s Literature
Praise for the New York Times bestselling Redwall series
“Wonderfully imaginative.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“The medieval world of Redwall Abbey—where gallant mouse warriors triumph over evil invaders—has truly become the stuff of legend.” —Seattle Post-Intelligencer
“Readers will rejoice.” —Los Angeles Times
“Children are privileged to enter the rich world of Redwall and Mossflower. So are the parents who get to come along.”
—The Boston Phoenix
“A grand adventure story. Once the reader is hooked, there is no peace until the final page.” —Chicago Sun-Times
“Old-fashioned swashbuckling adventure.” —Locus
“The Redwall books . . . add a touch of chivalry and adventure reminiscent of the King Arthur stories.”
—Arkansas Democrat-Gazette
“Filled with rousing adventure, strong characters, and vibrant settings.” —The Boston Sunday Globe
“Packed with action and imbued with warmth . . . richly inventive.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Jacques’s effortless, fast-paced narrative gets its readers quickly hooked. He clearly loves this other world he has created—there’s a genuine sense of involvement and care (lots of lovingly descriptive passages), as well as an overflowing, driving imagination.” —Birmingham Post
“Great reading . . . entertaining. Classic confrontations between good and evil will never go out of style.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“A richly imagined world in which bloody battles vie for attention with copious feasting and tender romancing.”
—The Cincinnati Enquirer
Also by Brian Jacques
REDWALL
MOSSFLOWER
MATTIMEO
MARIEL OF REDWALL
SALAMANDASTRON
MARTIN THE WARRIOR
THE BELLMAKER
OUTCAST OF REDWALL
THE PEARLS OF LUTRA
THE LONG PATROL
MARLFOX
THE LEGEND OF LUKE
LORD BROCKTREE
TAGGERUNG
TRISS
CASTAWAYS OF THE FLYING DUTCHMAN
THE GREAT REDWALL FEAST
A REDWALL WINTER’S TALE
THE REDWALL MAP AND RIDDLER
REDWALL FRIEND AND FOE
TRIBES OF REDWALL: OTTERS
BUILD YOUR OWN REDWALL ABBEY
SEVEN STRANGE AND GHOSTLY TALES
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales in entirely coincidental.
THE ANGEL’S COMMAND
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with
The Redwall Abbey Company, Ltd.
Copyright © 2003 by The Redwall Abbey Company, Ltd.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-4406-2168-0
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THE LEGEND OF THE FLYING DUTCHMAN is known to all men who follow the seafaring trade. Captain Vanderdecken and his ghostly crew, bound by heaven’s curse to sail the world’s vast oceans and seas, for eternity! The curse was delivered by the angel of the Lord, who descended from the firmament to the very deck of the doomed vessel. Vanderdecken and his evil crew were bound, both living and dead, to an endless voyage. Only two were to escape the Flying Dutchman—a mute, ragged orphan boy, Ben, and his faithful dog, Ned. They were the only two aboard who were pure of heart, innocent of all wickedness.
The angel had washed them both overboard in a storm off Cape Horn—castaways of the Flying Dutchman! Barely alive, they came ashore at Tierra del Fuego, the tip of South America. Unfortunately, they, too, were casualties of the angel’s curse, destined to live endlessly, without growing older by a single day. However, heaven, being merciful, decreed that Ben was granted the power of speech in any language. Additionally he could communicate with the dog by process of thought. Thus began a friendship that was to last through many centuries. Given refuge by an old shepherd who lived on Tierra del Fuego, the two remained with the old man until his death, three years later. It was then that the angel commanded them to travel on—their mission, to do good and help others wherever the need arose.
And so they went forth, this strange blue-eyed lad and his faithful black Labrador, orphans of the mighty waters, travelling the world together. Never stopping too long in one place, where folk they befriended would grow older and die, for Ben and Ned were eternally young. Wandering endlessly, commanded by an angel. Haunted by Vanderdecken’s spectre, they went north, up into the wild and untamed jungles, mountains and savannahs of South America’s wild continent. What adventures, untold sights and perils awaited our friends! This narrative follows their rovings after several years. Fate landed Ben and Ned back again near the sea, the Caribbean, whose coasts were home to lawless men. The buccaneers!
I take up my pen to tell you the tale.
BOOK ONE
LA PETITE MARIE
1
CARTAGENA, 1628
GREAT AND GOLDEN, LIKE AN ENOR - MOUS, newly minted doubloon, the Caribbean sun presided over the waterfront. Ships of all nations, from salt-crusted skiffs to stately galleons, bobbed on their moorings, each craft facing bow onto the harbour wall. Children clambered and played upon the bronze cannons fronting the jade and aquamarine waters of the wide Caribbean Sea. Along the dusty quayfront fishing boats unloaded their catches straight to the stalls. Noise and bustle were everywhere. Women sold plantains, melons, coconuts and an amazing variety of exotic fruits and vegetables. Parrots squawked and monkeys chattered from their cages of split bamboo. Men squatted in the shade, bargaining for spices, rum, snuff and tobacco. Young girls danced and sang to the music of guitars and drums, cajoling coins from passersby.
High in its ornate tower, the bell of Santa Magdalena clanged dully over the red-tiled and palm-thatched dwellings, which ranged from austere Spanish architecture to bedraggled local hovels. Taverns, bodegas and inns were packed to the doors with laughing, brawling, arguing and drunken seafarers, pirates, freebooters, corsairs and buccaneers, known collectively in Cartagena as The Brotherhood—those beyond the law of honest men.
Ben and Ned sat among the trees, where it was relatively peaceful and free from trampling feet. After travelling alone in sparsely populated regions of South America for so long, they had been watching the teeming life of the quayside for fully an hour, both rather taken aback by this sudden surge of noisy humanity. The big black Labrador passed a single thought to his tow-headed young companion.
“Well, are you hungry enough to go and explore yet?”
The boy smiled into his friend’s moist, dark eyes. “It would be a nice change to eat something cooked by somebody else besides myself. Come on, Ned, let’s take a look.”
The dog pondered his companion’s thought for a moment, then rose gracefully and returned the mental comment. “Hmph! If I had hands instead of paws I’d make a wonderful cook. I can’t help being a dog, you know.”
Ben patted Ned’s head affectionately, answering the thought. “I’ll wager you’d be the world’s best cook, just as you’re the the nicest dog on earth!”
The black Labrador’s tail wagged. “Oh, you’re just saying that because it’s true. Follow me. I’ll sniff out the place where the food smells good.”
People did not pay much attention to the pair as they strolled along the harbour street, a tow-haired lad of about fourteen years, dressed in an old blue shirt that lacked buttons and a pair of once-white canvas trousers, tattered and frayed at the hems, walking barefoot alongside a big black dog. Ned threaded his way between crates of live, clucking chickens and barrels of still-slithering, silver-scaled fish. They skirted a crowd who was watching an entertainer wrap live snakes about his body. Ben stopped to watch the performance, but Ned tugged at his shirttail. “What d’you want to do, watch street shows or eat? Come on!”
Ben obediently followed the dog, his eyes drinking in the colourful spectacle of crowded humanity as he went.
Ned halted at the front doors of Cartagena’s biggest waterfront tavern and winked one eye at Ben. “Someone’s roasting beef in there, my mouth’s watering!”
Ben’s strange, clouded blue eyes stared up at the swinging sign. Crude artwork depicted a grinning jaguar taking a bath in a barrel of rum. Below this in scrolled lettering was the name Rhum Tigre. The whole aspect of the tavern was that it might once have been the home of some prosperous Spanish merchant, now converted into a drinking den with upstairs accommodations for paying guests. Ben hesitated, doubtful as to whether he should enter. Sounds of a fiddle and hoarse voices discordantly singing rowdy ditties emanated over the babble of gossiping seamen within. Ned sat scratching behind his ear with a blunt-clawed back leg, communicating mentally.
“Enter callow youth, if thou art not afeared!”
Ben shifted from one foot to the other, and he shrugged. “Easy for you to say, mate, but I’m the one who’ll get thrown out if they find we have no money.”
Ned was still in a playfully encouraging mood as he replied, “Tut tut, m’boy, leave this to your trusty hound!”
He rose and trotted inside, with Ben sending urgent thoughts after him. “Ned! Come back here . . . wait!”
The dog’s mental answer floated back to him. “Money’s never stopped us so far, Ben. Faint heart never won roast beef. Woof! Just look at that carcass on the spit!”
Ben shouldered his way in through a gang of departing men. The moment he stepped inside, he froze. Faces were all around him, faces like those he had encountered aboard the Flying Dutchman, unwashed, unshaven, gap-toothed, tattooed and brass-earringed. Scowling, grinning wickedly, slit-eyed, broken-nosed, knife-scarred ruffians—faces like those which returned sometimes to haunt his dreams. Ben stood rooted to the spot, seemingly unable to move, until Ned tugged at his shirtsleeve, growling as he mentally reassured his friend. “Step lively, mate, they won’t harm us. I felt the same as you when I came in here, but my stomach got the better of me. Look over there!”
The object of Ned’s desire was a cavernous old fireplace where, over a bed of glowing charcoal, two cooks were slowly turning a spit on which was transfixed an entire side of beef. Juices an
d fat from the roasting meat popped and sizzled as they dripped onto the flames. Every now and then, the cooks would stop turning the spit. Using long, sharp knives they would slice off a chunk of beef for a customer, pocketing the coins they were given. Ben felt his stomach grumble aloud at the sight. He was very hungry.
Ned chuckled mentally at him. “Ho ho, I hear a gurgling gut, a sure remedy for any fears.”
Ben stroked the Labrador’s silky ear. “So you do, but a gurgling gut with empty pockets isn’t much use. What d’you suggest?”
The fireplace was constructed in the centre of the room. Through the flames could be seen a bar area and some tables. Something was going on at the largest table, where onlookers were gathered round to watch whatever it was.
Ned began tugging Ben toward the table, passing a message. “Let’s see if we can’t pick up a coin or two over yonder.”
The crews of two pirate ships, the Diablo Del Mar and La Petite Marie, were watching their captains gambling. Rocco Madrid, master of the Diablo, was winning, and Raphael Thuron, master of La Petite Marie, was losing, heavily. Rocco’s sword, a fine blade of Toledo steel with a silver basketed handle, lay on the table. Behind it was an ever-growing pile of gold coins from many nations. The Spanish captain played idly with his long, grey-streaked black curls, smiling thinly as he watched Thuron. “Make your choice, amigo, where is the pea?”
Thuron, the French captain, stroked his rough brown beard with heavy, club-nailed fingers, his eyes roving over the three down-turned walnut shells lying on the table between them. He flicked Rocco a hate-laden glance, growling, “Don’t hurry me, Madrid!”
Sighing heavily, Thuron looked from the dwindling pile of coins, which were stacked behind the blade of his cutlass on the opposite side of the table. He bit his lip and concentrated his gaze on the three walnut shells, while Rocco Madrid drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
