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416 pages, Paperback
First published November 17, 1983
One of the great things about pirate ships in the good old days was that they were purpose-built – not for cargoes of crude oil or containers or package tourists, but for knavery and conspiracy and swashbuckling and, in a word, Romance.
Avery, in his cabin, is kipping away like an advertisement for Dunlopillo, eyes gently closed, hair neatly arranged, mouth perfectly shut and breathing through his nose. A smile plays about his mobile lips: he is dreaming of Vanity darning his socks in a rose-bowered summer-house, you'll be glad to know. Over the way Blood grunts and mutters in his sleep, one hand on the hilt of a dagger 'neath 's pillow – if you've a conscience like his you keep your hardware handy. And deep in the foetid orlop Sheba writhes restlessly on her straw, her fetters clanking dismally.
Ha, I know-a-yoor sort! You Eengleesh, you try-a to sneak-a into our country, try to take-a jobs from honest Spaneesh workeeng-pipple – like-a he wan’s to be a cabbage-lan’scaper, the old-a bum, an’ thee dame wan’s to be a topless waitress, mebbe, an’ you, wit’ your clarkie [Gable] moustache an’ your ‘Pliz’, you want-a to set up as peemps, I bet! You theenk,” he roared indignantly, “we don’t got cabbage-lan’scapers and topless waitresses an’ peemps of our own, who need-a the work, huh?