The Saint on the Spanish Main (The Saint Series)
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The Saint is a traditionalist. He knows what a good pirate story needs: gold, hidden treasure, smugglers, dastardly villains, and damsels in distress. From Bimini to Nassau, via Jamaica and Haiti, the Saint travels the Caribbean, interrupting his holidays to settle disputes, solve murders, overthrow governments, and hunt for treasure.
twitched the robe over her shoulders again, wrapping it tightly around her. “But you’re so right. And you do things so gracefully. Of course it’s impossible here. We’ve got to get away first, where we won’t have to feel tense. Will you come to Nassau?” “With you, tomorrow?” “No, that’d be too obvious, wouldn’t it? Clinton would be sure to make a scene, and either he wouldn’t let me go or he’d suddenly decide to come too.” She ran a hand through her burnished hair. “And you mustn’t stay here
enjoying a good joke. “My dear fellow! How you must have misunderstood me. But of course you’re new to these parts. Puerto Ricans are Latins, and they’re used to violent expressions. In fact, they don’t understand any other kind. And now and again you have to scold them, just like you would a child, and let them know you mean business. Certainly, I was putting the fear of God into Pedro, because that’s what he needed. But by this time he’s thought it over, and we’ll be able to work something out.
only genuine divine revelation. But the real truth is bigger than any one of them and includes them all!” “I’m sorry,” said the Saint. “I forgot that you were a convert.” “Lee told you that, of course. I don’t deny it.” The metallic-gray eyes probed the Saint like knives. “I suppose you think I’m crazy.” “I’d rather say I was puzzled.” “Because you wouldn’t expect a man like me to have any time for mysticism.” “Maybe.” Netlord poured some more wine. “That’s where you show your own
nigger—so long as I can use what he knows.” The Saint finished eating and picked up his glass. “And you think you’ll find something in voodoo that you can use?” “I have found it. Do you know what it is?” Simon waited to be told, but apparently it was not another of Netlord’s rhetorical questions. When it was clear that a reply was expected, he said, “Why should I?” “That’s what you were trying to find out at the Public Library.” “I suppose I can admit that,” Simon said mildly. “I’m a seeker
night,” Netlord said matter-of-factly. “But you know how to make ’em?” “Not yet. He belongs to the houngan. But I shall know before the sun comes up tomorrow. In a little while I shall go down to the houmfort, and the houngan will admit me to the last mysteries. The brûler zin afterwards is to celebrate that.” “Congratulations. What did you have to do to rate this?” “I’ve promised to marry his daughter, Sibao.” Simon felt as if he had passed beyond the capacity for surprise. A soft blanket