is. Me ol' shipmate, Captain Flint.”

“C-Captain Flint?” I asked.

“Aye,” he grinned, pointing to the bird as it came down again on his finger. Returning Flint to his shoulder, he clapped me on the back. “So, you must be the cabin boy, huh?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s fine. I started off as one myself when I was a pup.”

I began to smile a little. In the tavern Silver had seemed a little grim, but out in the sun and the fresh air he was much more friendly. I felt like we’d been best friends all our lives – or all my life, rather, since he looked to be about thirty years old.

We strolled down to the docks, where Mother stood by a small boat, which was occupied by a tan-yellow dog. She walked up and placed a paw on my shoulder.

“I still can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” she told me.

“Mother,” I protested, sensing that she was about to go into a mushy goodbye, “I’m thirteen. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” she replied, “But it’s not easy for me to let you do this.”

“Mother, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

She pulled me into a hug. “Just promise me that for once you won’t be like your father. Don’t disappear on me.”

“I won’t,” I promised, hugging her back. As I stood there, I tried not to think about the good chance that I might not be able to keep that promise. The reality that this might be the last time I ever saw her was there like an unwanted guest. But after a moment, I broke the hug and climbed down into the boat. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She nodded her goodbye, probably not speaking lest her voice should crack.

Mr. Silver climbed into the boat with surprising ease for a cripple and sat down facing the dog at the oars. I untied the rope and, moving carefully so I wouldn’t tip the boat, sat beside the cook.

As we maneuvered around the ships in port, Mr. Silver turned to me. “So, your mother’s a wolf?” he asked.

I nodded. “And a good one, too,” I added out of a habitual response to the way most dogs looked at wolves.

If I hadn’t been so preoccupied I might have noticed his slight scowl. “What about your father?”

“Husky,” I replied. “He disappeared a long time ago.”

“Probably found…” the yellow dog started to say, but a look from Mr. Silver stopped him.

After a moment, the husky patted me on the shoulder. “I never really knew my pa either,” he admitted. “Haven’t known many wolves, for that matter.”

“We get a lot of bad press,” I muttered.

Silver’s face softened. “Ah, don’t let it get to you, lad. You’re smart as paint, I can see that well enough. Now, here’s something to take your mind off your worries.” He lifted a paw and pointed out into the harbor, to a ship perched on the edge of the mass. “There she is, the Aurora herself!”

I stared in awe. A sleek two-masted schooner, sails billowing in the wind. Figures bustled around the deck or scurried through the rigging. She looked like a bird ready to take off!

As soon as we had climbed aboard, we were met by a black-and-white dog. Unlike Steele, this one was just a bit smaller and had much more black than white. I surmised from the trim uniform he wore that this was the captain.

“Well,” he noted, “You’re the last ones aboard. Balto Hawkins and Mr. Silver, and the one behind you is Kaltag, correct?”

“That’s right, Captain Orde,” I nodded. I was a bit surprised that the captain had called Silver by his nickname, but decided not to ask why.

The husky shook his head. “I’m not the captain, only the first mate. Mr. Silver, report to the galley and see that all is ready for departure. Kaltag, haul up that boat and see it's secure, then make yourself useful up on deck. Balto, you’re coming with me.”

As I parted ways with Mr. Silver, I fell into step behind the first mate. Well, maybe “step” isn’t the right word. “Stumble,” is a lot more like it. The waves moving the boat were small ones, but the deck pitched and shifted in a way that would definitely take some getting used to. “I, uh, don’t think I caught your name,” I told him as he walked along the deck with total ease.

“That’s because I didn’t throw it,” he retorted. “My name is Togo. You will address me as sir or Mr. Togo at all times on this voyage, understood?”

I nodded even though I was behind him. “Yes sir.”

I was so focused on keeping my footing that I never saw the furry form until I walked right into it. I fell backward with a thump as a huge wolverine stumbled one step, regained his footing, and turned to glare at me with an expression I hadn’t seen since my last nightmare. “Watch where you’re going, runt,” he growled deep in his throat.

I gulped. One thing you learn early on if you live long enough around shipyards: never upset a wolverine. They combine a skunk's bad odor with a grizzly's aggression, they're never in a good mood, and they’re not at all skittish about ripping off creatures' limbs - or heads - if they get mad.

“Mr. Scroup!” bellowed a call from two directions at once. One was from Mr. Togo. The other came from behind me. To my surprise, it was Long John Silver!

“I will tolerate no quarreling on board this ship!” barked Togo. “And if the captain hears of any such thing, you’ll be sent to the brig and put ashore at the first port we pass.”

Scroup scowled at Mr. Togo, then turned to glance at Silver out of the corner of one eye. “No harm done,” he rumbled, and stomped away muttering to himself.

Togo looked to Silver. “What happened to the galley?” he asked.

“Everything’s fine,” the husky assured him, “So I thought I’d come up to see the castoff.”

Togo nodded agreeably. “Very well,” he replied. “Carry on.”

Just then there was a shout from somewhere past my one-legged friend, and we looked to see a large weasel hanging over the deck by one leg, which had somehow become caught in a rope from the rigging.

“Oh, blast…” muttered Togo, but Silver stopped him.

“Nothing important, sir. I’ll see to it. You and the pup see to your business.”

Togo nodded firmly. “Thank you, Silver.”

As Steele went to see to the release the tangled sailor, Mr. Togo led me to a small group on the foredeck. The squire and Doctor Boris, complete with Muk and Luk, stood with a dog who had mostly dark tan fur and some white under his chin. The dog wore a three-cornered hat and a crisp blue coat that smelled so strongly of starch, I imagine it could have stood at attention with no one in it. He looked down at me with an expression like he was measuring me. “Balto Hawkins, I believe,” he said with a crisp British accent.

I nodded. “And you must be Captain Orde?”

“Correct on the first try.” He stuck out a paw, which I hesitantly took. After a quick, firm shake, he turned to the first mate. “All ready to cast off, Mr. Togo?” he asked.

Mr. Togo glanced back across the ship to where Silver and two other crewmen had just released the weasel and were signaling to us. “Everything’s ready, sir,” he replied.

Captain Orde drew himself up and bellowed out to all crewmen in earshot, “Anchors away!”

The shout was passed on, and in seconds the sailors were bustling about hauling up the anchor, making fresh adjustments to the sails, and doing about a dozen other things I couldn’t begin to understand. Within a minute of Orde’s shout, the Aurora was moving clear of the harbor, bound for adventure.

I looked out to the front and laughed as I took it all in: the waves breaking against our bow, the dolphins skipping across the water, the sunlight sparkling on the surface of the deep. The air seemed alive with the smell of places to be seen, possibilities to discover, adventures to be had. And most of all, treasure to be found!

I was broken out of my trance by a paw on my shoulder. “Lad, I want a word with you and the others in my cabin for a few minutes, and then you’ll be assigned to your duties.”

I followed Captain Orde and the rest of the group through a door and into the captain’s quarters. The furnishings were extraordinary! A globe sat on a table, cabinets lined one wall, and the bed was as good as any we’d had at the Admiral Benbow. Even the boards were engraved with designs of various things at sea.

Orde didn’t seem to be terribly interested in surroundings at the moment. “Mr. Trelawney, Doctor Livesey, we have a problem at hand.”

“What sort of problem?” inquired the squire.

“To begin with, there’s the crew. Quite frankly I don’t like them, or trust them.”

“And vhy not?” asked Doctor Boris.

“They’re too coordinated,” he answered. This surprised me. Wouldn’t he want an efficient crew?

“They were hired supposedly from all corners of the country, if not the earth, but a rank amateur can see they’ve sailed