The captain took quite a heavy stroke during that fight. Let's see how he's getting along. By the way, if the intros and trail-offs start to get annoying, let me know. I'll understand.


Billy opened his eyes, blinked, and made a clumsy effort to raise himself. "Where's Black Dog?"

"There's no one by that name here," Boris replied. "You have been drinking rum and had a stroke, just as I said. Now listen, and listen well. One drink of rum von't kill you. But if you take one you vill take another, and another, and then you vill have another stroke. Keep it up, and you are a dead dog for sure! Understand?"

Billy nodded groggily as we helped him up to his room, where he immediately collapsed on the bed. "Come with me, Balto," said the goose. As soon as the door was shut, he turned to me. "He should be qviet for a while. He vill not be able to rise for a day or two, and it vould be best if he stayed where he is for at least a veek. No rum for him, do you understand? Another stroke like this one, and there vill be nothing I can do."

I agreed, but later the captain asked for rum when I went to check on him. I explained what doctor Boris had said and he scoffed. "Doctors is swabs, every blighting one of 'em," he growled. "Look at me, Balto m'boy, at how my fingers twitches. I be havin' the horrors, I am. I sees old Flint himself in the corner behind yeh, plain as print."

I turned, but there was no one behind me. "Flint?" I asked, turning to the captain again. "Who's Flint?"

"Not is, matey, was. He was a pirate, and a murderous one. Had him enough gold to fill a ship's hold and ballast and spillin' over the decks, he did. But I won't see him there if I has a little rum. E'en the doctor said one glass won't kill me." He reached in his pocket and fished out a gold piece. "I give ye this for a drink o' rum."

I didn't want his money anymore, but in the end I got him our smallest glass, with only a few drops of rum and the rest water to keep him quiet so he wouldn't disturb our other sick guest. He drank it greedily, too clouded up to know the difference, and said in a voice that was almost a gargle, "I best be off now." But just like Doc had said, he was too weak to get up. After several failed attempts he cursed and grumbled, "The doctor's done me in." He took a shaky breath and added, "If I can't get away and they tips me the black spot, they be after me sea-chest. Boy, if they tips me the black spot, run to this doctor swab and 'ave him pipe all hands. They'll find Flint's crew at the Admiral Benbow."

"The black spot?" I echoed. The only Spot I'd ever known was white and grey. Pretty friendly guy- for a Mastiff, at least.

"It be a summons, lad," he wheezed. "It be a black spot on a bit o' paper, meanin' the crew'll turn against me. They wants what's mine. I was Flint's first mate, and I be the only one that knows the place." With a raspy breath that sounded like carriage wheels on cobblestone, he added, "Only one alive, that is. Flint gave me the map when he lay dying." He grabbed my hand and gripped it with all of the little strength he had. "But don't go nowhere," he whispered. "Not unless they tips me the spot, or unless yeh sees the one-legged sailor."

I gave him my solemn promise. "Nowhere," I agreed.


Let that be a lesson to you: Don't drink and swordfight. Or drive. Or... hmm, come to think of it, there's not much that drinking does go well with, is there?

Things are getting pretty dangerous here. First fears of a one-legged sailor, then this Black Dog, and now Billy was pals with this Captain Flint? Who's next, Davey Jones?