Agree as a delaying tactic until you can turn the situation to your advantage.

Oh, you'll dance a measure with the governor's man.  And as soon as the tune changes...

But caution is in order now.  You know enough of the world to recognize that it's a canny man sizing you up from across the trestle.  You'll have to convince him that you're too greedy or stupid to attempt a double-cross.

"If I throw my lot in with you," you say - affecting a scowl - "I'll expect more remuneration on the other side."

"Aye, ye'll expect, will ye?"  His face twists in a parody of gentility.  "And a baby-white neck - that's poor porridge for yer lordship, now?  Ye can't do th' job withou' a pension and a baronetcy on th' table as well?"

"Well..."  You allow yourself a little theatricality and furrow your brow as though were you trying to force your brains out through your pores.  "What if...what if I got to keep a ship or two once Rackham's dead?  Then I'd be a captain."

"Aye..." says the agent, almost agreeably.  He traces a design on the grit on the table.  A skull, perhaps?  A noose?

"And I'd sail off, and you'd see neither hide nor hair of me again.  And the other way 'round."

"Very clever," says the agent.  "We might could see our way clear t' such."

"I have the governor's word on that?"

"Oh, aye," he says - much too quickly.  Well, it's good to know that the governor (or at least his agent) almost certainly plans to have you killed when you complete the job.  Best not complete it, then.

"I'm your man."  You extend a hand across the table, into which the agent shoves a black oilskin pouch.

"Yer orders," he says.  "Don't open 'em until yer treadin' th' Fortune's decks and full 'ware of the bearin' for th' Isla Retorcida." 

"And how will I get to the Fortune?"

"That's yer affair," says the agent, reclining as far as is safe on his stool.   "Run along now - ye'll find yer way out through th' other arm o' th' passage.   There's a bag waitin' there for ye with a bit in th' way of provisions inside."

"But —"

"Run along, Mr. Tredegar."  He laughs silently as he starts stuffing a pipe with tobacco.  "And don't think t' dawdle.  There's many eyes lookin' in yer direction."

You leave the agent to his pipe and make your way through the passage.  As you grope your way along the darkening walls, you begin to plan your next move...

The End

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