Free Scarface by Andre Norton Page B

somehow this tempest did not fit with the character of that pirate hunter as he had pictured him. Even Kandy had apparently deserted his post and there was nothing to do but wait for the disturbance to disclose its nature itself. Which it did soon enough.
    The hall door opened and Justin looked eagerly over his shoulder hoping to see the Major return. But at the apparition now advancing confidently into the room he could only stare in drop-jawed amazement.
    At first he thought that it must be a dwarf such as Quittance said was to be seen in the East Indies. And then, for one horrified moment, he even wildly guessed that he was watching an ape dressed up as a man. It wasn't until the thing spoke that he realized it was a child.
    “Strike me!” the shrill unbroken voice tittered. “Amos was right—there is a pirate here!”
    From the elaborately curled blond wig to the red-heeled,paste-buckled shoes, he was a miniature fop and when he saw Justin's eyes on him he strutted. Why, there was even a black patch by the sullen childish mouth and the small hand flourished a laced handkerchief with an air which Justin suddenly discovered to be vastly irritating.
    “A cut-faced cutthroat too. How came you by that scar, rogue?”
    “Who are you?” Justin snapped. Surely this—this—this person could not be of Sir Robert's family.
    “Sir Francis Hynde, at your service.” And the fop bowed with a sweep of arm and as pretty a leg as the finest gallant in Birdcage Walk might show. “Who are you, pirate?” The fine-gentleman shell cracked to allow natural, small-boy curiosity through.
    “I am Justin Blade and no pirate.” But he was as goggled-eyed as any cay fish and his visitor seemed to find in that the admiration he wanted. He swaggered a little as he came closer to the bed.
    “Amos said that you were a pirate whom it pleased my uncle to have here that he may question you concerning the evil you have done. And my mother asked why you were not put in the slave quarters where you rightfully belong and she wished to know by whose authority you lay in the best chamber. Then came my Uncle Humphrey and took her into the other room and he would not let me enter with them. So I came here to see you—though I have seen many pirates before, mark you, swinging by their necks. Are you not afraid of hanging?”
    “It is not pleasant.” Justin's long buried sense of humor began to bubble within him. After all, his first wild guesshad not been so far wrong—Sir Francis Hynde was a bit of a monkey. “No, it is not pleasant. But then, I wouldn't rightly know—I've never been hung.”
    “But you will be—straightway when Sir Robert arrives. He hangs all pirates,” observed Sir Francis with the round satisfaction of one who sees good entertainment promised for the future.
    “Only, I'm no pirate.”
    “But you were taken in the fighting on that ship in harbor. And pirate or no you had better leave that bed before my mother comes to you. No one sleeps there but by her asking.”
    “This is your house then?”
    “No. Do you think that the Hyndes would live in such a place?” Sir Francis’ voice took on the sing-song rhythm of one repeating something learned by rote. “A Hynde was cupbearer to King Richard the Third and we have always lived in Kings’ houses. No, this is the house of my Uncle Humphrey, but, since his wife be dead, my mother, out of her charity, has come to keep it for him. Though I'd rather we'd not left England. I don't like this place.”
    “Why not? Faith, you have the sea to swim and fish in and there must be hunting. And surely on this island there are other boys of your age—”
    Sir Francis drew himself up to his full four-feet-three and made answer with the haughtiness of a French duke addressing his tailor.
    “I am Sir Francis Hynde. I do not sport with colonials. They are not gentlemanly in their ways nor do they comport themselves as become men of birth.”

    Justin bit his lips to control his