by James Raney
“Magic storms?” Lacey shook her head in dismay. “I don’t understand!”
“It’s the treasure, Lacey. The Treasure of the Ocean is more powerful magic than anything else in the world. I don’t know how, but when my father, Dread Steele, and Count Cromier first tried to use the Treasure of the Ocean, they somehow brought about this storm. The storm is after the Treasure. But I think it might also be after me!”
“Only figuring this out now, my young friend?” a voice snarled from the quarterdeck’s steps. Jim peered through the falling rain, but he already recognized that voice.
Count Cromier rose like a black wraith from the portside steps. In a flash of lightning, Jim saw his crimson wig darkened in the rain to the color of blood. The rainwater ran down his scar like a river pouring over a jagged cliff.
“I told you before that this was about more than silver and gold. The Treasure of the Ocean will yield unto me ultimate power. Kings? Armies? Those are but shadows of true power. Perhaps if you understood that you would join me, as your father once did.”
“I would never join you!” Jim shouted. “You’re a murderer!” Jim mustered all the defiance he had, even as he and the others inched away from the Count, looking for an escape. Yet escape would not be found. The way was blocked by a second shade, lurking on the starboard steps.
Bartholomew Cromier smiled in the blackness of the storm. His long hair whipped in the wind and his eyes burned at Jim. His red lips curled into a sneer on his pale face. His brandished sword gleamed in the lightning.
“It does my heart glad to hear you say that, Morgan,” Bartholomew seethed. “For I would never have you with me. We don’t need you! I shall find the Treasure for my father. I shall be the one to wield the power in his name. You will be nothing more than a memory!” Bartholomew lowered his sword toward Jim, the blade dripping with rainwater.
“Give me the shell, boy,” Cromier held out a black-gloved hand and curled his fingers, beckoning Jim to obey. “No one else need bleed here tonight. No one else need die.” Jim and his friends pressed themselves back against the rail as far as they could. But there was nowhere left to run. Percival was fighting the owls over the waves, and the Spectre’s crew was battling the Corsairs on the ship’s deck. Even if Jim and all his friends had swords, they would stand no chance against the Cromiers.
But the voice of the one who had time and again saved Jim’s life called over the storm.
“Cromier!”
Dread Steele swung over the wheel on rigging from the main mast. He landed between the Count and his son, sword drawn. He spun to face both men, standing as a shield for Jim and his friends.
“Well, isn’t this poetic?” said Cromier, laughing. The Count shook his head at the storm in the sky and then at Dread Steele. “Look at us. We are all that remains of the Pirates of the Black Skull. Our work is almost complete. So here we are, together again.”
“I no longer call myself a member of that order,” Steele spat. “The Treasure is Jim’s by right. The shell is ours, and with it, the Treasure that was once Lindsay Morgan’s. You lost your claim to it long ago.”
“In my dreams, I have seen you fall beneath my sword, Steele,” Cromier growled.
“I think you shall find the swords in your dream less sharp than those in my hands.” Steele drew a second blade from his belt. “Now come to me!”
The two Cromiers fell upon Dread Steele as one. But Dread Steele showed once more why he was Lord of the Pirates. The Captain of the Spectre dove into a roll and the two Cromiers swung over top of him, clashing their own swords together. Steele was on his feet again in the blink of an eye. He danced across the deck and took the fight to his enemies.
“Two at once, Jim!” George cried, slapping Jim on the back. He and his brothers shouted encouragement to the Captain over the rain.
“Let’s help!” Jim said. He and the Ratts ran to a stack of piled cannon balls. With mischievous gleams in their eyes, they rolled them across the deck, targeting the Cromiers’ feet.
“Be careful!” Lacey shouted. But she was never content to sit still herself. She crept over to one of Mister Gilley’s barrels and tipped it over. With all of her strength she kicked it hard toward the Count, who failed to see it and tripped over backward, crashing hard onto the deck.
“Well kicked, milady!” Squawked Cornelius.
Jim and George rolled a cannonball each over Bartholomew’s toes at the very same moment. The pale captain erupted in a howling stream of curses as he staggered back in pain. Jim and the Ratts leapt up with a cheer, celebratory fists in the air. But a screech then tore over the rain and thunder. A giant owl swooped out of the dark, talons bared, reaching for the shell in Jim’s arms.
“Look out, Jim!” Peter and Paul said together. The two younger Ratts tackled Jim out of the way just in time. The owl tore just over their heads. But Jim had no time to thank his friends, for Lacey screamed a second warning.
As the owl had hunted Jim, Percival hunted the owl. His great head crashed through the port railing. The monster’s body, many boat-lengths long, coiled about the Spectre as he fought the owl. His scaly bulk came to rest over the quarterdeck like an armored wall between the Ratt Clan and the battling pirates. Jim and his friends threw themselves against the aft railing as splinters and bits of shattered wood joined the water raining on their heads.
As Jim hit the deck, the shell was jarred loose from his arms. It tumbled across the wooden deck and nearly clattered over the starboard side and into the ocean.
“The shell!” Jim cried. He tore free of Peter and Paul’s grasp to chase it down.
“Jim, be careful!” George shouted as Jim slid across the slick wood to retrieve the powerful talisman. But just as Jim’s fingertips grazed the Shell’s curled edge, a pair of swarthy hands swooped down and snatched up the polished artifact for their own. Jim scrambled back on his hands and knees. He looked up to find Splitbeard the pirate, the Hunter’s Shell in his grasp.
TWENTY
h, it burns!” Splitbeard gasped. No sooner than he had gained it, the pirate took a start and nearly dropped the shell. The shell’s glow returned to life beneath his touch. The sorcerous captain stared deep into the magic flame, as though lost within it. “The shell burns with life. This is most powerful magic indeed, oh brave son of Lindsay Morgan.” As the shell’s aura strengthened in Splitbeard’s hands, so the storm’s thunder deepened. The wind slammed against the Spectre and the rain stung harder against Jim’s skin.
“It’s too powerful for you, Splitbeard,” Jim yelled, casting his eyes fearfully at the crimson clouds above the ship. “It brought this storm here, can’t you see that?”
Splitbeard threw back his head, howling with laughter. The pouring rain splashed in his face and fell into his open mouth. It slicked long strands of greasy locks to his face until he seemed more animal than man.
“Too much magic for Splitbeard the Pirate? There is no such thing, oh young son of Morgan. Do you think that I, master of the black arts, fear this cloud, with its pesky rain? Have you not seen what I can do? Or, perhaps, oh young and foolish one, did you see and not realize that you saw?”
Splitbeard put two fingers to his mouth and loosed a shrill whistle. It was so high and loud that it carried even above the battle and the storm. But there was something in the whistle, Jim thought, something familiar to the rising and falling tune. With a green flash, the pirate’s form warped and grew and burst into feathers. Splitbeard transformed his body again into a great owl. He spread his fearsome wings wide and clutched the shell in his claws.
“I know you bore witness to this form, young Morgan, but do you recall this one?” Splitbeard whistled again. His frame twisted and shrunk. The feathers molted down to scaly skin until all that remained was a lizard…a lizard with a twisted tail.
“Hmmm, good to see you took my advice and travelled through the crags, good sirs and lady,” the lizard said with a dry, cackling laugh. Jim felt his face grow hot, even in the cold rain
. George leapt to his feet behind him, fists clenched at his sides.
“You lied to us!” George raged. He lunged forward as though to charge the lizard and tear him apart with his bare hands. But his younger brothers and Lacey held him back, though it took all three of them to do so. “You lied to us and almost got us killed! You almost got me brothers and me best friends killed! Why do they all keep doing that to us?”
“Almost killed, oh little Ratt child,” the lizard said. “If Splitbeard wanted all-the-way killed, I could have done so with ease. Your good friend, Master Morgan, would have been dead long before this adventure even began, before he even left the beach near the pile of ash that had once been his home.” The lizard whistled once more. The creature’s body writhed and curled until it stood in Splitbeard the Pirate’s shape. But just when the pirate had reached full height, he changed again. He shrank shorter and shorter. His smooth, swarthy skin paled and wrinkled. His long black hair retreated into his skull, turning frail and gray. Lastly, his twin-braided beard took solid form and fell from his chin into his hand – a wooden pipe with two necks.
“Philus Philonius!” Jim cried.
“That’s the man who took your necklace, Jim?” Lacey gasped. She still held tight to George’s arm, though she too seemed more than ready to attack the little wizard who had hurt so many of her friends. “You liar! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Indeed I am, little lady,” said Philus, though he was smiling gleefully and twittling a little tune on his flute. He reached beneath his shirt and revealed Jim’s mother’s necklace, dangling it before his eyes. “A good thing I did, too. This little lovely protected me from all the evil enchantments of the island - even from the faeries themselves. I never even would have turned to stone with this around my neck. It is powerful magic, boy. And you gave it to me of your own free will! But nevertheless, you should not be angry. If anything, you should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” Jim seethed. “For what? Stealing my mother’s necklace from me? Sending us into the harpy’s nest? Snatching my friends up with your owls? Poisoning me with your cursed rose? You tried to murder me!”
“Murder you?” Philus said, an overly dramatic look of hurt on his face. “Believe me boy, I would have done nothing of the sort. I could have killed you there on the beach, could I not? And think of all the ways I helped you on your journey. If I had not sent you through the crags, the harpies would not have followed you out into the Sea of Grass and saved you from the Cromiers. When my owls captured your friends, they whisked them over the entire dark forest, full of deadly creatures and hidden pitfalls. Your trials were painful, yes, but murdering you? Oh no, Jim, oh no.”
Almost at once Jim understood. Philus Philonius wanted the Treasure of the Ocean for himself. But he was no Son of Earth and Son of Sea. He could not wield the Treasure’s power on his own. The truth of the rose thorn’s poison was more horrifying than Jim could have ever guessed.
“The poison would not have killed my body,” Jim said. “But it would have killed me…my soul. That’s why I couldn’t do what I wanted. I was doing what you wanted. I would have become your slave!”
“Slave?” Philus said, the false incredulity dripping from his face. “Partners, Jim. Partners! All those challenges on the Isle were but tests. Now I know what you’re made of, boy. And as for the rose, it fulfilled its purpose, just as I promised it would.”
“Fulfilled its purpose?” Jim said, desperately thinking of a way to catch Philus by surprise and win back the shell. “If you mean turning me into your puppet, then you’re wrong!”
“Oh no, young Morgan,” replied the little sorcerer. He tapped his flute against his chin as a slow, sly grin spread over his rain-slicked face. “The rose has given you the chance to strike revenge. It has given it to you now.” Philus stepped to the side, revealing the smashed timbers of the Spectre where Percival had broken through. There, dangling by the collar of his red coat, pierced with a splintered board, hung the unconscious Bartholomew Cromier. With a loud snap, the board holding Bartholomew splintered almost to the breaking point, and nearly dumped the angry, young captain into the sea.
“Oh-ho!” Philus said. He danced up and down as the board groaned under the strain of the weather and the weight of Bartholomew’s body. “Come with me, Jim. Think of all we can do with the Treasure in our grasp. We can turn the tables on your foes, just as I promised. You need not even strike. In truth, you need not even lift a finger. All you have to do is watch.”
The board cracked again, closer and closer to tumbling into the ocean and taking Bartholomew with it. A small ache pulsed from the palm of Jim’s hand. He held the hand up, the white rose bloom clearly visible in the lightning’s flash. The stem ran all the way to Jim’s heart, where the poison of the blackened rose had nearly killed him. Jim looked from his hand to Bartholomew. The pale captain once again seemed so young, not much older than Jim himself. The raindrops were falling down his face like tears.
The board finally snapped in two and Philus Philonius gave a whoop of joy. He threw one hand behind his ear and waited with gleeful anticipation for the loud splash to follow.
But no splash came, for Bartholomew Cromier never fell into the sea.
Jim caught him by the collar of his red coat.
Bartholomew’s weight nearly dragged Jim across the wet deck and into the ocean, but Lacey and the Ratts came to the rescue. Together, they pulled with all their might to bring both Jim and the raven-haired Cromier back on deck.
“You fool!” Philus raged. “Do you think he, Bartholomew Cromier, would have spared you? No, no, no! He would have run his blade through your little heart before watching you fall into the sea! It could have been ours, Jim. All the power in the world was yours for the taking!”
“I don’t want any power,” Jim shouted back over the wind. The storm was growing ever more violent. It tossed the ship back and forth on the waves amongst the rocks. “I just want to go home. But I won’t let someone like you or the Cromiers have it either.”
“Someone like me?” Philus sneered at Jim. “Look at me, boy! This is the real me. This is the me as I was over one hundred years ago. Do you think a man like this could stand up for himself in this world? I was a victim of all those bigger, stronger, and more powerful than myself.” Philus held up the flute, his eyes, half-mad and glazed with fury, fixed upon it. “Magic gave me power. It is that power alone that has kept me safe. Think of all that has been taken from you, Jim. With the power of the very ocean itself at your command, you could be safe from all your enemies for as long as you live. You need never fear again!”
Jim and George went silent. Jim looked to the eldest Ratt Brother, his best friend, and saw that he too considered all the sadness and loss that had befallen them. He too wondered what it might be worth to be so strong that one would never suffer again. Lacey, however, never paused at all. She stepped forward with her fists clenched, glaring at the small sorcerer. Her eyes blazed nearly as bright as the lightning in the air.
“You all try and make it sound like magic will just fix everything, don’t you? But every time we’ve crossed magic, every time, it has almost killed us!” Jim had only to remember the tortuous ache of his poisoned hand to know that Lacey spoke the truth.
“Lacey’s right. You talk about protecting us from liars, but you’re just another liar yourself.” Philus’s narrowed his eyes at Jim and his friends. His frail shoulders and hands shook with rage. He jabbed the flute toward Jim’s face, his teeth clenched in an animal snarl.
“So be it, Morgan,” Philus growled. “But mark my words, child. The day will come when you regret passing this one chance by. You will curse yourself a fool for your weakness!”
Philus Philonius backed away from Jim and his friends and dropped his angry eyes to the shell in his hands. Its glow brightened and cast deep shadows on Philus’s aged face. Entranced by the magic, Philus put the flute in his pocket so that he might place both hands on the shell. Its power c
oursed into his arms.
“As for me,” Philus said, his voice high and shrill with ecstasy, “I shall have no such regrets.”
The violet light pulsed and shimmered. It threw magic arcs of purple and blue into the sky. The shell’s thrum grew louder and louder, and Philus Philonius cackled higher and higher with it. Above Jim’s head, the red clouds of the crimson storm began to swirl tight and fast. Purple flashes bloomed within the billows, and thunder rolled over the ocean.
“Lacey, George!” Jim shouted. “Get to Peter and Paul!” He pointed to the two younger Ratt Brothers, clinging tight to the railing at the back of the ship. The swirling storm clouds lowered themselves toward the deck, drawn to the shell’s power. Jim had seen this storm before in his dreams. Somehow, in a way he did not fully understand, he knew the storm. He knew it would show no mercy.
“Philus!” Jim screamed as Lacey and George fought through the wind and rain to help Peter and Paul. “The storm! The storm is growing more powerful! Stop using the shell or you’ll destroy us all!”
“I cannot be destroyed, Jim Morgan,” Philus said, laughing as the shell’s power burned like a violet fire in his hands. “I am a master of magic. The shell will lead me to even greater power - the Treasure of the Ocean! Whether through you or Bartholomew Cromier, I shall—” But the last words of the magician’s boast were lost in a shuddering boom that shook Jim to his bones. The thunder clapped so sharply in the night that Jim was sure the sky had been split it two.
The truth was worse.
Jim’s hands dropped hopelessly to his sides as he stared into the storm. The swirling clouds spiraled down to the Spectre in a cyclone of fury. In the center of the funnel, a face formed of lightning like molten steel – the face of the skull from Jim’s dreams.
“Philus!” Jim tried one last time. “Stop this!”
But it was too late. Lightning bolts began to fall like arrows.
