Free The Sea Wolves by Christopher Golden Page A

philosophies, and perhaps Ghost enjoyed the debate so much that he would never allow it to end.
    â€œStripped of conscience, ‘survival of the fittest’ will make any man a monster.”
    â€œAh, now we get down to the crux of the matter,” Ghost said, savoring the argument. “Am I a monster? Or am I simply an animal? Let me ask you, Jack, what separates man from the animals?”
    â€œThe ability to reason,” Jack said instantly. “Self-awareness. Faith.”
    â€œFaith,” Ghost snarled, dismissing the concept with a shake of his head. He held up his hands and waggled his thumbs. “What of these, Jack? Are these what separate us from animals? They make us far more efficient killers, for sure. But apes have them.” He touched his fingers to his lips. “And what of this? The complexity of language? Though perhaps all we need to know we can learn from one another without words. No. We deceive ourselves with the idea that we are anything but beasts.”
    A lull in the wind caused the sails to sag. The guylines swayed and the blocks clanked, and Ghost stepped away from the railing and barked orders. The Scandinavians moved to obey, even as Maurilio and Tree appeared nearby to lend a hand. Jack studied them, and for the first time he noticed how edgy and skittish they seemed, like dogs sensing an oncoming storm.
    What do they know that I don’t? he wondered.
    â€œYou’d best go below and get some sleep, young Jack,” Ghost said. “You’ve only a few hours before you need to begin preparing breakfast. And you don’t want to see this crew if they’re not fed properly. They’re absolutely ravenous.”
    The captain’s eyes lit up with some private amusement and he turned away, watching his crew at work. Jack had given him the intellectual stimulation he wanted, and now he was dismissed. It was frustrating—he’d wanted to reason with Ghost to put the Umatilla prisoners ashore the next time the ship made port, him included. But the opportunity had not arisen. Ghost’s philosophy made clear that no logic would convince him to release them unless there was some benefit to himself. Jack had to figure out a way to persuade Ghost that it was in his best interests to set them free.
    He was beginning to think that escape would never be easy. For now, he needed rest. There’s time yet , he thought. Days, at least, before we make port anywhere .
    He would think of something.
    The fight broke out shortly after breakfast. The whole crew saw it start—heard shouting as the fat Demetrius dressed someone down for his sloppy reefing of the mizzen sail—and coming up from the galley, Jack turned aft to see what it was about. The sight of Finn brought him up short, and he stared in astonishment at the man.
    Finn had been keelhauled less than two days ago; much of his skin was torn and ragged, some of it stripped away entirely. He’d looked as though he might not survive the night. Now, the marks were still there, an angry pink, but his wounds had closed. He looked as though he’d been on the mend for weeks, not just a day and a half.
    Jack stared openmouthed, ignoring the men’s raucous shouting. He had compared Ghost to Lucifer, considered the Larsen a hell ship, the devil’s ship. Now he wondered if that might be more true than he could ever have guessed. That Finn should have healed so fully—that he could even be walking on his own two feet—was not possible. But Jack had encountered the impossible before.
    The rest of the crew finished reefing the sails to make the most of the diminishing wind, then drew into a circle around the fighting men. Finn had six inches on the fat Greek sailor and much longer arms. But despite his miraculous recovery, Finn had lost a step. As they faced each other across the blood-spattered deck, both men already bleeding freely, Finn feinted with a left and then swung with his