“By the end of that year, of course, we were more than valet and master. He was a pudgy little man, not at all fierce, as you would expect the Dread Pirate Roberts to be, and I like to think he was as fond of me as I of him. By then, I had learned really quite a great deal about sailing and hand fighting and fencing and throwing the long knife and had never been in as excellent physical condition. At the end of one year, my Captain said to me, ‘Enough of this valet business, Westley, from now on you are my second-in-command,’ and I said, ‘Thank you, sir, but I could never be a pirate,’ and he said, ‘You want to get back to that autumn-haired creature of yours, don’t you?’ and I didn’t even have to bother answering that. ‘A good year or two of piracy and you’ll be rich and back you go,’ and I said, ‘Your men have been with you for years and they aren’t rich,’ and he said, ‘That’s because they are not the captain. I am going to retire soon, Westley, and the Revenge will be yours.’ I must admit, beloved, I weakened a bit there, but we reached no final decision. Instead, he agreed to let me assist him in the next few captures and see how I liked it. Which I did.” There was now another R.O.U.S. following them. Flanking them as they moved.
Buttercup saw them now. “Westley—”
“Shhh. It’s all right. I’m watching them. Shall I finish? Will it take your mind off them?”
“You helped him with the next few captures,” Buttercup said. “To see if you liked it.”
Westley dodged a sudden burst of flame, shielded Buttercup from the heat. “Not only did I like it, but it turned out I was talented, as well. So talented that Roberts said to me one April morning, ‘Westley, the next ship is yours; let’s see how you do.’ That afternoon we spotted a fat Spanish beauty, loaded for Madrid. I sailed up close. They were in a panic. ‘Who is it?’ their Captain cried. ‘Westley,’ I told him. ‘Never heard of you,’ he answered, and with that they opened fire.
“Disaster. They had no fear of me at all. I was so flustered I did everything wrong, and soon they got away. I was, do I have to add, disheartened. Roberts called me to his cabin. I slunk in like a whipped boy. ‘Buck up,’ he told me, and then he closed the door and we were quite alone. ‘What I am about to tell you I have never said before and you must guard it closely.’ I of course said I would. ‘I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,’ he said, ‘my name is Ryan. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited from was not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either; his name was Cummberbund. The real original Dread Pirate Roberts has been retired fifteen years and has been living like a king in Patagonia.’ I confessed my confusion. ‘It’s really very simple,’ Ryan explained. ‘After several years, the original Roberts was so rich he wanted to retire. Clooney was his friend and first mate, so he gave the ship to Clooney, who had an identical experience to yours: the first ship he attempted to board nearly blew him out of the water. So Roberts, realizing the name was the thing that inspired the necessary fear, sailed the Revenge to port, changed crews entirely, and Clooney told everyone he was the Dread Pirate Roberts, and who was to know he was not? When Clooney retired rich, he passed the name to Cummberbund, Cummberbund to me, and I, Felix Raymond Ryan, of Boodle, outside Liverpool, now dub thee, Westley, the Dread Pirate Roberts. All we need is to land, take on some new young pirates. I will sail along for a few days as Ryan, your first mate, and will tell everyone about my years with you, the Dread Pirate Roberts. Then you will let me off when they are all believers, and the waters of the world are yours.’” Westley smiled at Buttercup. “So now you know. And you should also realize why it is foolish to be afraid.”
