Jim Morgan and the Pirates of the Black Skull

by James Raney

  “Something wrong with the gangplank, young Jim?” asked Janus. The black cat smiled and winked knowingly with one green eye.

  “Get away, you blasted cat!” Jim whispered as harshly as he dared. “You’ll get us all caught!”

  “Oh, I would never betray a fellow sneaker, my boy. Thieves honor and all that. In fact, I’m doing a bit of sneaking myself. The Spectre is just about dried up of good secrets, I think. So I’m off for more interesting fare. I just wanted to take a moment to remind you that I’ll be finding you some time in the not-too-distant future to collect that secret you owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” Jim snapped. He let go of the rope with one hand to shoo the cat away, but the moment he did, the scratch Janus had given him ignited in pain like a lit match. It burned so fiercely that Jim nearly lost his grip and dropped into the water. Janus Blacktail laughed his purring chuckle and leaned his face close to Jim’s.

  “You see, young Morgan, secrets really are like an itch you just can’t scratch. Toodle-oo for now, my friend. Don’t forget about me though, for I shall be seeing you again one day soon.” The cat scampered down the rope and onto the pier, where he disappeared into the bustling streets of Shelltown. Janus’s reappearance nearly spoiled Jim’s improving mood. But once all four of his friends joined him on the pier, without raising even the hint of an alarm, Jim’s spirit of adventure caught up once more in his blood. He, the Ratts, and Lacey wasted no time and stole off down the streets of Shelltown, in search of Egidio Quattrochi’s shop.

  Jim hated to admit it, but MacGuffy had been right - Shelltown was no place for children. Every sailor on the streets walked armed to the teeth, outfitted with curved knives, loaded pistols, and deadly cutlasses. All their blades were far too sharp, and their pistol grips far too worn, to have gone unused for any length of time. There were turbaned Corsairs like those that followed Splitbeard, round hatted sailors from the Far East with long braided mustaches like Wang-Chi’s, and seamen with peg legs, hook hands, earrings, tattoos, and cold eyes that warned of foul moods and dark deeds.

  Of course, all this meant that George and his brothers were having the time of their lives.

  “That’s right, mind your business, mates,” George announced, strutting with his chest stuck out ridiculously far, and his thumbs jammed in his lapels. “Dread Steele’s crew comin’ through ‘ere. Mind your distance and no harm shall come to ya!” Peter and Paul followed suit, lined up behind their brother. They sauntered down the street in their best imitations of the bow-legged sea walks of the brutish sailors they saw, greeting the passing buccaneers with hearty “Arrghs!”

  “Keep quiet, George,” Lacey said. She was quite fed up and walked as far away from the Ratts as possible, both to minimize her mortification and to keep her eyes peeled for trouble. “You have to be an actual pirate to be a part of Dread Steele’s crew, anyway – which…you…are...not!”

  “Well, good thing for us we’re startin’ up our trainin’ today, in’t it?” George replied. “With our thievin’ skills, we probably already have a leg up I’d wager. But I ‘magine Dread Steele can show us at least a thing or two, can’t he? We even already came up with our pirate names.” At this, Lacey rolled her eyes and looked as though she wanted to cover her ears with her hands. The threat alone of the forthcoming announcement was more than she could bear.

  “Here we go!” George announced. “I be One-Eyed George!”

  “And I’m One-Eyed Pete!”

  “And they be callin’ me Paul of the One-Eye! ARGH!”

  “The Pirates Ratt!” Peter and Paul shouted at the top of their lungs, hooting, hollering, and laughing so hard they nearly fell over each other. Jim could not help but laugh himself, but George ripped his hat from his head and waved it about emphatically, stomping his foot on the cobblestone street.

  “Did I not just say, only last night, to pick different names from me?” George yelled. He rolled his eyes as if the chore of being an older brother had finally reached a mind-boggling level of suffering. “We can’t all be one-eyed somethin’ or other – that’s stupid!”

  “Actually, George, if you listened, I said Paul of the one-eye,” Paul corrected. “Which is completely different.”

  “It’s not different at all, Paul!”

  “Well, I picked one-eyed first, George! Back when we was at the lighthouse. So really, you’re the one stealing my name!” Peter roared.

  “Besides, you have two eyes!” Paul yelled. This little spat was simply the last straw for Lacey, who suddenly exploded. She stomped her own feet quite loudly and turned nearly purple at the cheeks.

  “You all have two eyes!” She thundered at the brothers. “And two arms and two legs! On top of all that, Dread Steele is not going to train you to be pirates! He has far more important things to do, like helping Jim stop the Cromiers from getting the Treasure of the Ocean. So for goodness’ sake, shut it before you get us all caught!”

  “How do you know, Lacey?” George asked quite snottily, his brothers nodding right along with him, as though they had not just nearly come to blows a moment ago. “And what’s the worry? We just escaped from Dread Steele’s own ship with a huge man armed with a giant sword standin’ guard. If that can’t hold us, nothin’ can!”

  “I wonder what they even call an orphanage in a pirate town?” Paul said, cleaning his nails on his shirt. “I guess they don’t have Saint in the front of many of them, do they?”

  “Pirates don’t use orphanages, young one,” a crackly voice wheezed from beside the boys. They simultaneously whirled on the speaker, who was a homeless beggar lying in the shadows of a nearby alley. The beggar leaned against a barrel outside a broken door, seeking shelter from the morning sun. “Nor do pirates use prisons. Those be the ways of more civilized folk.”

  “If they don’t put you in an orphanage or a prison, then what do they do with you?” Peter asked, a small smirk playing on his lips. But the beggar just laughed - a sandy, choking, and mirthless laugh. He looked the boys over with a chapped and wind-burnt smile on his wrinkled face. “In Shelltown, when they catch a thief, they cut off his hands.”

  The Ratts considered this for a moment, trying to determine whether or not it was just another lie adults tell children to coerce them into such-and-such a behavior. They decided it was, and burst into laughter.

  “Cut off your hands?” Paul said. “If you lie do they cut out your tongue?”

  “He’s cracked,” George said, shaking his head with pity at the old man. “I’ve heard it all now.”

  “Have you?” The old beggar shrieked, staring the boys right in their laughing faces with his crazed eyes. “Have you seen it all as well?” The ragged man threw his arms up onto the edge of the barrel, revealing two stumps that had once been hands, wrapped in dirty, ragged bandages. The boys ceased laughing immediately and gaped at the empty places where the beggar’s hands should have been.

  “Right then,” Jim finally managed. He nudged his friends farther down the path, never taking his eyes off the old man. “Sorry about that. We’ll just be going now.”

  “Mind where ye walk and how ye talk, ya sea babes!” the beggar screamed after them. “Ye are no longer in the world! Ye are headed toward the deep ocean, where the laws and manners of men hold no sway!”

  The rest of the way through Shelltown the Ratts uttered not a single word, nor did Lacey even bother to say that she’d told them so. All five members of the clan had gone quite pale. If Jim had forgotten it, he remembered then that the pirates and villains he now faced did not play at games, nor did they fool about. They were very real, and they dealt in vile and deadly deeds.

  Fortunately for Jim and his friends, not every pirate in Shelltown was a complete scalawag. There was a merchant selling parrots of all shapes, sizes, and colors, who was helpful enough to point them in the direction of Egidio Quattrochi’s shop. All the merchant’s birds cawed the name “Egidio Quattrochi” over and over again in a squawking chorus as the small comp
any walked down the street.

  They found the shop not a few moments later, tucked beneath the remains of a derelict pier. The old walkway extended only so far as the rocky beach before coming to an abrupt, broken end. The rest of the boardwalk looked as though it had been smashed by a giant’s hand and tossed out to sea. But it was the shop itself that caught Jim by surprise and furrowed his brow so deeply. The red wooden door and quaint shingled walls upheld a roof built from the biggest tortoise shell Jim had ever seen - green and brown and easily as large as MacGuffy’s home beneath the lighthouse by the bay. It was the shell of an ancient monster of the deep.

  SIXTEEN

  lone shingle, laced in spiderwebs and dust, hung over the red wooden door. The sign read: Egidio Quattrocchi’s Magical Books and Artifacts. Taking care not to be seen, the clan snuck around to the side of the shop. George and Peter laced their hands together and hoisted Jim up by a foot to peek through a round window, placed in the hole through which the giant tortoise would have once stuck an arm or leg. It was dark inside the shop, and while Jim could make out a counter and a few shelves, he saw not a trace of Dread Steele or the man, Egidio. However, toward the back of the storefront, Jim found a short hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door, cracked ajar. Bright, flickering light snuck out from around the doorway’s edges.

  “Can’t see them from here,” Jim said, hopping down from his friends’ hands. “I think they’re in a room in the back. I can see the firelight from behind the door. It looks like we’ll need to head inside.”

  “Say no more, say no more,” said Peter, a devious smile breaking over his face. It had been a long time since Peter Ratt had employed his most valued possessions, a set of beautiful, silver pins he’d won from the ex-greatest lock pick in London. He cracked his knuckles and withdrew the leather pouch from a pocket inside his jacket.

  Quick as a flash, Peter went to work. In less than three twists the door popped open, swinging into the shop with a low creak. Jim cringed at the groaning door. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his teeth set on edge. The five former thieves leapt aside of the door, pressing themselves close to the building to avoid discovery. But when not so much as a ghost stirred inside the shop, Jim risked a peek. He saw nothing but shadows, and so he waved his friends inside.

  Cluttered tables and shelves lined the walls from end to end within the shop. They were covered and stacked with clay pots and jars, labeled in Italian, Arabic, and nearly every other language of which Jim had ever heard. Glass vials and bottles, rolled scrolls, bound leather books, and various bones and skulls from strange animals (only some of which seemed entirely natural to Jim) filled the spaces between. Wicker baskets of all shapes and sizes stood in corners or in random stacks about the floor. Jim and the Ratts soon discovered that some of them rattled and moved all on their own.

  The clan tiptoed to the hallway at the back of the shop and toward the door to the lit room. Bizarre paintings of mythical animals – unicorns, griffins, dragons and others of which not even Jim knew names or stories lined the corridor. The pictures seemed so real that the images all but stood out from the canvases. Paul nearly fell into a trance meeting eyes with a many-headed hydra. He leaned so close to the picture that he almost walked right into the wall before Jim caught him at the last moment.

  Don’t touch, Jim mouthed. Paul nodded in agreement, but he threw another mystified look at the painting before moving on. Finally, the children reached the door. Muffled sounds rumbled from the other side. The light creeping around the open crack flashed and changed colors from red to blue to green. Some magic was at work just beyond the doorway, Jim knew. His heart beat hard and his upper lip began to sweat. But curiosity provided Jim some measure of courage. He crept to the doorway, and carefully as possible, stuck his head around the corner to look inside.

  Brilliant flashes of light blinded Jim as he glimpsed the room beyond the door. He closed his eyes tight and tried to blink the dazzles away. For a moment, however, all he could do was listen.

  “These are difficult questions you have brought to my shop, Dread Steele,” Jim heard a man with a thick accent say. “But I fear the answers may be more daunting and deadly still.” The man speaking must be Egidio Quattrochi, Jim imagined. But as Jim’s vision cleared, he quickly became far more interested in what he saw than what he heard.

  A squat, round man stood in the center of the room, surrounded by several bowls, cauldrons, and baskets. He wore a shopkeeper’s apron and his white hair trailed off his head like wispy bird wings. Beneath a set of long, feathery eyebrows, a pair of the largest and roundest spectacles Jim had ever seen rested on the man’s pug nose, giving his eyes a most owlish appearance. Light and smoke in all manner of colors drifted from each of the containers at the shopkeeper’s feet. Into these vessels he reached with both hands, casting the enchanted contents onto the floor and into the air above his head. He threw a handful of sparkles at the roof, where they hung like stars in the sky. He tossed a fistful of dirt at his feet, which rose up like rocks from the earth. Out of the largest cauldron the shopkeeper fanned blue smoke over the floor, where it rippled and rolled like ocean waves.

  “It’s a map,” Lacey whispered over Jim’s shoulder. The glowing lights from the room danced over her face, and George’s as well, as they stared into the room with Jim. So much magic, Jim thought to himself, and how much more to come? But off to one corner of the room, Dread Steele stood still as black stone, wrapped in his cloak. Cornelius rested upon his shoulder and MacGuffy stood at his side. The pirates gazed upon the sorcerous goings-on with urgent intent.

  “You were right to say that no island lies beneath the stars from Lindsay Morgan’s map, my old friend,” Egidio continued. “At least no island that can be seen. Look here!” Egidio knelt down in the enchanted mist about his feet and pointed to a pair of rocks in the water. They curved up from the ocean and nearly touched each other at the top, forming almost a complete circle. “The Devil’s Horns,” Egidio whispered. “Gateway to the Veiled Isle. I might have known!”

  “The Veiled Isle?” Cornelius crowed, ruffling his feathers. “There are few enough islands these eyes have not seen, old man. But even this isle’s name has never fallen upon my ears. Has magic masked it from the world?”

  “Yes, master raven, yes. The gateway opens but one time a day, at sunset. It remains this way only from the moment the sun’s disc touches the horizon’s edge, and closes the instant it disappears below the sea. In that time alone might a ship, sailing into the face of the setting sun, reach the Veiled Isle. It is a magic place, Master Darkfeather, peopled by creatures both dark and light. It is said there is a mountain at the heart of the island. Beneath that mountain is a cave, a cavern full of paintings. In this cave is a chamber - home to an ancient terror. Lindsay would not have buried his artifact in the sand on the Veiled Isle. He would have hid it there, in the cave. Of this I am certain.”

  “We have faced such challenges before,” uttered Dread Steele. “We shall overcome them again.”

  “Yet you must beware, Steele!” said Egidio. “The Veiled Isle is protected by more than the Devil’s Horns and magical creatures. It is enchanted by a powerful curse. Any mortal that crosses the gate has but one day and one night upon the isle’s shores. At sunrise on the following morn, if he has not returned through the Devil’s Horns, he will be trapped there forever – prisoner of the Veiled Isle for all time.”

  “Is there a talisman you could give us to shield us from this curse?” the Captain asked. But Egidio shook his head in reply.

  “There are few enough items in the world powerful enough to protect a man from magic this deep. Not even old Egidio possesses them. I do have more fog seeds, though. Came in handy, did they not?” Egidio chuckled and produced a leather pouch from his apron. He shook the bag and the contents rattled within.

  “Fog seeds?” George whispered a little too loudly into Jim’s ear. “So that’s how he pulled that trick off on the beach! Brilliant that
was…wonder if there’s some of them seeds lyin’ around in here?” But Jim just shushed his friend with a wave of his hand.

  “Magic islands and curses be trouble enough, Egidio,” MacGuffy grumbled. “But know ye what might lie at the end of our search? We think mayhaps it be not the Treasure of the Ocean itself. But if not that, then what?”

  “Old Egidio may not know for certain, MacGuffy, but I do believe I have a very good guess. For it was I who told Lindsay Morgan of its existence.” Egidio reached out his hands and murmured some spell into the air. All of the magical fog and dirt and sparkles answered his call. They swirled before him in a glowing cloud until they came together in the floating shape of a large shell. The light from the shell shone in Egidio’s glasses, turning them to nothing but circles of molten color. “The Hunter’s Shell – the most powerful seeker in all the world. One need but speak the words engraved upon the shell, and no matter how deeply buried or how far away, the shell will guide the one who holds it to whatever he seeks. I believe the map leads to the Hunter’s Shell. I believe Lindsay made the map to ensure Jim could find the Treasure of the Ocean if ever he needed.”

  Egidio waved his hands once more and the luminous cloud before him whirled again. This time it formed a shape Jim had seen many times before: a trident with the circle of a pearl behind it. It was the symbol on the lid of his father’s box - the symbol of the Treasure of the Ocean.

  “Does the boy know, Steele?” Egidio asked. The shopkeeper’s voice was low and grave. His glowing eyes were fixed upon the shape before him. “Does Jim know why he must be the one to find the Treasure? Does he even know what the Treasure is? What it does? Perhaps if he knew what it did to Bartholomew all those years ago, or if he learned of the storm that guards it, he would not be so eager to seek it out.” Jim went cold where he crouched on the floor. His fingers and toes tingled and his mouth went dry. He strained his ears to hear what Dread Steele might answer to these questions he so longed to learn.