he gun away. He lifted it. Parker found himself staring into
the muzzle.

"Get your hands up!" Retch snarled the words. "Mercedes, get that gun
out of his holster. Get your goddamned hands up or I'll blow your
blasted head off!"

The last was spoken to Parker as the dazed pilot tried to understand
what had happened. He could hardly believe his own eyes. Automatically
he lifted his hands. Mercedes slid past him, got behind him, taking no
chances on getting between him and Retch's gun. He felt her fingers go
inside his jacket. Expertly she lifted the gun from its holster.

"Toss me the gun!" Retch said. He caught the weapon the woman tossed
toward him, glanced at Parker. "You thought I was going to start
shooting at _them_?" He gestured toward the three approaching men. "You
made a slight mistake." The grin on his face was wolfish.

"What the hell have I got into?"

"You'll find out, if you live long enough," Retch said. "Just behave
yourself and do as you're told and maybe you'll stay alive." Again the
wolfish grin showed on his face but under the grin, the words were harsh
with meaning.

"Ho, Johnny!" the three men were drawing near the raft. "Ho, Johnny
Retch! What kind of a flying ship is this that you have brought back
with you?"

Retch turned to the three men. "Gotch! Peg-leg! Masterville!" Retch
greeted them as old friends. The one he had called Gotch had spoken. All
three of them stared at the raft and its occupants. Mercedes drew bold,
appreciative stares. Parker got blank looks. Standing lightly and easily
on the water, the three men surveyed the raft with doubtful contempt.

"Does this thing fly through the air like the Jez--" Gotch caught
himself. "It looks to me as if it were more fit for sailing on a mill
pond back in Devon."

"This is not the ship that flies through the air, that ship was wrecked.
This is a rubber boat that it carried."

"Wrecked?" Gotch spoke. "But where does that leave us?"

"Everything has been taken care of," Retch spoke quickly. "You can
always trust Johnny Retch to have two strings for his bow."

"Hmmmm. And who is this?" Gotch gestured toward Parker.

"The pilot of the flying ship that was wrecked," Retch answered.

"Ummmm. And what are we going to do with him?" Gotch glanced around
toward the still floundering and dying shark as if he regretted their
haste in disposing of what might have been a handy scavenger. "Um." He
moved around the raft and stood close to Parke