When Anne was recruiting spies in Port Royal, she met a man with an estate in the wilderness, north of Spanish Florida.
A reform-minded man who uses convicts as laborers. Convicts he solicits from prisons in England where their treatment is far less humane. This man, we were told, found it profitable to offer his services to wealthy families, some of the most prominent in London on occasion, with a need to make troublesome family members disappear. Cared for, tended to, but never to be seen or heard from again.
I know too. Three men know the resting place of the chest, and one woman. He told it to me before we left home. It would be preferable if there were one voice to govern here tomorrow, but I don’t think it will be quite so simple. There will be no pirate king here. Of that much, I am certain.