The Buccaneers' Code

by Caroline Carlson

  The twitch returned to Admiral Westfield’s eyes. “Who says that?”

  “Oh, everyone,” said Hilary. “The queen. The Enchantress. Most of High Society.”

  “Nonsense,” said Admiral Westfield.

  “It’s true!” Claire chimed in. “Curtis seems very impressive to me. I’m sure he’ll win this battle.”

  “You can’t even see him!” said Admiral Westfield. “You’re facing the wrong way!”

  “We don’t need to see him to be impressed,” Jasper said calmly from behind the mast. “That’s how talented he is.”

  “The Pigeon has fired its cannon once more,” Mr. Gull was shouting over the din of the battle, “but Admiral Curtis has dealt another blow to the attackers! Will he manage to save the queen from peril?”

  “Of course he won’t!” said Admiral Westfield. His voice had grown louder, and a few of his officers turned to stare at him.

  “Even if Admiral Curtis doesn’t save the queen,” said Hilary cheerfully, “even if he only puts up a very good fight, he’ll still be the most famous hero in Augusta. They’ll install a plaque in his honor on the palace wall.”

  “They’ll build a statue in his likeness,” said Charlie.

  “They’ll name a dessert after him,” said Jasper, “or perhaps a type of cheese.”

  “They’ll hold parades in his honor!” the gargoyle cried. “They’ll sing songs and ballads!”

  “Yes!” said Hilary. The twitching had spread from Admiral Westfield’s eyes to the rest of his face; she could hardly stop talking now. “Everyone will speak for years to come about brave George Curtis, the finest naval admiral the kingdom has ever known.”

  “They’ll do no such thing!” cried Admiral Westfield. “That Curtis fellow is as useless as a horse in a railway carriage! He’s as spineless as a sponge! Why, he can hardly think for himself! Who do you think has been giving orders to the navy these past few months? Who’s been directing Curtis’s every move? Who’s been plucking freelance pirates off the High Seas like fleas off a mutt? Who had you scallywags captured?”

  The gargoyle thought about this. “You?” he asked.

  “Exactly! All the naval officers in the kingdom answer to me, and there’s not a thing George Curtis can do about it. He’s far too frightened to challenge me. When the Mutineers have sunk him, he’ll be forgotten within the week, and everyone will know who is truly the finest admiral in Augusta!”

  From behind Admiral Westfield came the distinctive swishing sound of six naval officers drawing their swords.

  Admiral Westfield put a hand to his mouth. He cleared his throat. He spun around to face his mates. “Gentlemen,” he said, “what I meant to say—”

  “We know exactly what you meant to say.” The officer with molasses in his boots pointed his sword at Admiral Westfield’s coat buttons. “You’re plotting against our admiral and our queen.”

  “That’s treason,” said another officer, “not to mention bad manners.”

  “You’ve misunderstood!” Admiral Westfield protested as the officers gathered around him. “The pirates tricked me into saying those things! I love Admiral Curtis! He’s as delightful as a daffodil, as charming as a chickadee—”

  “You know, Father,” said Hilary, “I don’t believe your mates are quite as dull-witted as you said they were.”

  Admiral Westfield looked from port to starboard and back again. He reached for his sword, then seemed to think better of it and picked up the golden urn from the deck. “Stand back, men,” he said, “or I’ll enchant you all overboard, and the sharks shall have you for lunch!”

  The officers’ swords wavered. Their eyes grew wide, and their feet hesitated.

  “He’s lying through his teeth,” Claire called to them. “He can’t possibly have enough strength left to use all that magic. Don’t let him frighten you!”

  The officers exchanged glances. They began to lower their swords.

  “Blast it all,” said Hilary, “what are you doing? A true pirate never backs down from his enemies!”

  “But we’re not pirates, miss.” At least the officer who said this had the good sense to look embarrassed. “And I don’t care to be a shark’s luncheon.”

  “I knew you’d see sense,” said Admiral Westfield. Drops of sweat gleamed on his brow as he edged over to the treasure chest he’d stolen from the Pigeon; he clearly didn’t trust his mates enough to turn his back on them. “Why don’t I give you each a handful of magic coins, and we’ll forget about this awkward conversation once and for all.” Still looking at his men, he reached over with one hand and opened the treasure chest.

  “Step away, you pickle-hearted scoundrel!” cried Sir Nicholas Feathering.

  With a shout worthy of any pirate, he launched himself out of the chest where he’d been crouched for hours, tumbled through the air, and crashed to the deck, bringing Admiral Westfield down with him. The admiral’s magic urn slipped from his hands, and Nicholas grabbed hold of it. “Release my sister and her friends,” he said, “or I’ll blast you into the next kingdom.”

  Admiral Westfield blinked up at him. “But, my lad, you’re a Mutineer!”

  “Actually,” said Nicholas, sitting back on his heels, “I’ve discovered I’m not.” He nodded to Hilary. “I’m a pirate.”

  IN A MATTER of minutes, the naval officers released the pirates from their bonds and used the long length of rope to tie up Admiral Westfield instead. He had turned purple with rage, reminding Hilary strongly of a tinned beet. “Please sail us into the harbor, officers,” she said, rubbing the lines along her arms where the ropes had bitten into her skin. “As you probably know, we’re running late for a battle. Once you’ve dropped us off, you can take the admiral to the Dungeons—but tell the guards there that he’s not to bribe his way out again.”

  The officers practically fell over one another in their eagerness to agree. “Of course, Terror,” they said. “We’d be happy to. Thrilled! Delighted!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Hilary, “you needn’t look so petrified. I promise you I’m nothing like my father.”

  As the Augusta Belle sailed into Queensport Harbor, the smoke from the battle grew thicker. The shore was a scramble of spectators, who peered through opera glasses, wrung their hands, and hurried away from the docks whenever a cannon blast shook the air. At the near edge of the harbor, the Dancing Sheep, the Blunderbuss, and most of Hilary’s other crewmates floated in a confused knot. “Ahoy!” she called to them. “Can any of you take a few more pirates on board?”

  “Hilary?” Cannonball Jack squinted at her over the side of the Blunderbuss. “Be it really ye? I knew ye couldn’t have been firin’ at the queen! Mateys, come quick; the Terror be here at last!”

  Worthington’s head appeared next to Cannonball Jack’s. “But why are you all on board a navy ship?” she asked. “And who’s sailing the Pigeon?”

  “I’d love to explain,” said Hilary, “but I’m not sure this is the best time. For now, we’d be grateful if you’d throw over a rope.”

  By the time Hilary and her mates had scrambled onto the Blunderbuss, her supporting ships had gathered around the houseboat. “Captain Wolfson and Mr. Stanley have taken their crews across the harbor to assist the queen,” Rosie Hatter reported from the Dancing Sheep, “and Miss Pimm’s gone with them to lend a hand with the magic. The rest of us are ready to follow you into battle, though.” She hesitated. “That is, if you’re still planning to fight Captain Blacktooth.”

  “Of course she’s planning to fight Captain Blacktooth!” The gargoyle flapped his wings so eagerly that he nearly rose off the deck. “Aren’t you, Hilary?”

  Truthfully, Hilary suspected she’d already had enough adventure to last her at least the rest of the week. Most of her mates seemed to feel the same: Jasper had sat down on the deck of the Blunderbuss without even bothering to look for a chair, and Miss Greyson kept looking over her shoulder at the sea as though she hoped a few bedraggled books might float up t
o the surface. Still, Hilary couldn’t take her eyes off the tall black galleon that skulked near the edge of the cannon smoke. “Captain Blacktooth and his Mutineers have sunk my ship,” she said. “They’ve blackened my name, turned the pirate league against me, threatened my gargoyle, and attacked the queen. If I don’t try to stop them, I might as well toss my pirate hat into the sea.” She turned to Cannonball Jack, who was polishing his hook rather nervously with a handkerchief. “Lead our fleet to the Renegade, please—and sail as quickly as you can. If we’re going to save the kingdom, we can’t lose another second.”

  * * *

  From

  The Personal Transcriptions of Horatio Gull

  Private Secretary to the President

  COURTESY OF THE VNHLP ARCHIVES

  A curious fleet approaches the Renegade. I study it through my spyglass and take up my pen and parchment once more, for I anticipate that my employer’s response to this sight is likely to be noteworthy.

  MR. GULL: Captain Blacktooth! A houseboat approaches!

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: A houseboat?

  MR. GULL: Yes, sir. It’s got daffodils in its window boxes, sir, and lovely checkered curtains. Aside from that row of cannons, it looks remarkably cozy—

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: Get to the point, Gull!

  MR. GULL: Of course, sir. (With trepidation) I’m not entirely sure how this is possible, but if I’m not mistaken—and I may be mistaken—Hilary Westfield is on board.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: What? Give me that spyglass!

  MR. GULL: I thought she was on the Pigeon, sir. Didn’t you say she was on the Pigeon?

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: It’s impossible. She’s supposed to be tied to a mast somewhere, blast it all!

  MR. GULL: Pardon me?

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: (Throwing the spyglass to the deck, showing a surprising lack of regard for VNHLP property) Georgiana! Philomena! Come here at once!

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HILARY HADN’T EXPECTED that she and her mates would receive a polite reception at the Renegade, but the Mutineers who looked down at her from the galleon looked even less pleased to see her than she’d imagined. Mrs. Tilbury wore a strand of pearls and a permanent frown, Philomena clutched the ship’s rail, and Captain Blacktooth sighed heavily as the Blunderbuss passed into the Renegade’s shadow. Next to him, Mr. Gull was fanning himself with a piece of parchment. “This day has been a disaster!” he said. “The queen is under attack, the Terror is in two places at once, and no one has paid an ounce of attention to the rules! Am I the only pirate here who has even bothered to read Leading the League?”

  Captain Blacktooth ignored this. “I’m surprised to see you, Terror,” he called down to Hilary. “Why aren’t you on your way to the Dungeons?”

  “Because Father is on his way there instead.” Hilary grinned up at the Mutineers, whose faces had fallen like cold soufflés. “You should be pleased about that, though. He wanted to arrange an unfortunate fishing accident for you.”

  Philomena leaned farther over the rail of the Renegade. “Nicholas!” she called. “Is that you? Oh, I just knew those horrid pirates had captured you! I told Mama—”

  “Er, actually,” said Nicholas, “I’ve decided to be a pirate myself.”

  “A pirate?” Philomena blinked. “Have you lost your wits? I can’t marry a pirate!”

  “And I can’t marry a Mutineer.” Nicholas edged closer to Alice, who nodded up at him. “Sorry about that.”

  Philomena began to shake, but her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. “Focus, my dear!” she said. “This is hardly the time for emotions. If you must cry, you may do it when the queen’s ship finally sinks.”

  Hilary’s own mother gasped into her glass of lemonade. Even Captain Blacktooth flinched. “There’s no need to sound so eager about it, Georgiana,” he said.

  “Do you regret attacking the Benevolence, then?” Jasper called up. “I wish you’d felt half as regretful about sinking the Pigeon.”

  “That wasn’t my idea,” said Blacktooth. “I don’t know why you pirates are looking at me so reproachfully. I did everything I could to keep you out of this battle! If you’d gone quietly into exile, Terror, there would have been no need for us to sink your ship, and we could have taken over the kingdom in a far more civilized fashion.” He shrugged. “Even this morning, I hoped you’d stay away, but James warned me you weren’t likely to give up so easily.”

  Hilary stared at Blacktooth. If what he said was true, her father had nearly paid her a compliment. She would have been less astonished if a sea monster had emerged from the harbor and invited her over for a bowl of porridge. “Well, he was right,” she said, “at least about that. Was attacking the queen his idea, too?”

  Blacktooth nodded, and Mrs. Tilbury aimed her frown in his direction.

  “I thought so,” said Hilary. “Now that he’s off to the Dungeons, though, I’m sure he’ll try to blame you for the whole affair. Why don’t you tell Oliver Sanderson to stop blasting cannonballs at the queen and surrender yourself to the royal guards?”

  “Surrender?” Blacktooth formed the word carefully, as though he’d never spoken it before.

  “Yes,” said Hilary firmly. “I don’t think you’re entirely heartless.”

  Captain Blacktooth stepped back from the rail.

  “Don’t be a fool, Rupert,” Mrs. Tilbury snapped. “Now that James is in the Dungeons, we won’t have to worry about sharing our magic with him—and no one will believe his tales in any case. Haven’t you always wanted to do what is best for the pirate league, and for your family?” She gestured to the sinking Benevolence. “Didn’t we agree that this is what’s best?”

  “It seems an awful lot like worst to me,” said Charlie.

  But Captain Blacktooth was nodding his head. “I’d rather sink my own ship than surrender, Terror,” he said. “I’m a pirate, after all, and pirates don’t simply give up.”

  Hilary sighed; she’d expected as much. “In that case,” she said, “we’ll stop you.”

  “That’s right!” cried the gargoyle. “We’ll roast you nicely, carve you up, and serve you on a bed of lettuce!”

  “Oh my,” Miss Greyson murmured.

  Mr. Gull stopped fanning himself with his parchment. “Are you ready to begin your battle, then?” he asked. “I thought this moment would never come!” He hurried away and reappeared a moment later with his thick copy of Leading the League. “Since the queen is busy with other matters at the moment,” he said, “I shall judge the competition. The usual rules apply, of course: the winner of this battle shall be president of the VNHLP, and the loser shall go into exile, et cetera. The winner shall also be granted ownership of that curious creature.” He pointed to the gargoyle, who hopped closer to Hilary’s feet. “And if I understand what you all have been chattering about, if Captain Blacktooth wins, he is likely to seize control of the kingdom, though I’m absolutely certain League rules don’t permit anything of the sort.”

  “When my daughter is Enchantress,” Mrs. Tilbury said to him, “perhaps she’ll turn you into a lamppost.”

  Philomena crossed her arms. “I don’t see why any of this is necessary,” she said. “If anyone should be surrendering, it’s Miss Westfield and her friends. Do you really think you can defeat my uncle, Hilary? Do you truly think you’ll be able to lead an entire league of pirates?”

  Hilary didn’t answer right away. She looked over at Charlie, with his wrists sprouting from the sleeves of a pirate coat he’d been swimming in only last year. She looked at Claire, who was meeting Philomena’s gaze without blinking, and at Alice, standing in front of Nicholas to shield him from the Mutineers. Jasper had drawn his cutlass, Miss Greyson had drawn her crochet hook, and Cannonball Jack had brought out a plate of homemade shortbread for the crew to munch on during the battle. The finishing-school girls let their hair ribbons blow defiantly in the wind on the deck of the Dancing Sheep, the water-ballet performers pointed their toes, the High Soc
iety ladies raised their forks, the gargoyle ground his teeth, and Mr. Twigget’s men sharpened their swords. All of them waited for Hilary to speak.

  “There are plenty of things I can’t do,” she said to Philomena. “I can’t sew a neat embroidery sampler, I can’t remember which spoon to use when I eat soup, I can’t bring my ship back from the bottom of the sea, and I can’t stop you from being cruel. But I do believe I can lead an entire league of pirates.”

  “I, for one, am relieved to hear it,” said Mr. Gull. “Please take your places, pirates, and let the battle begin!”

  HILARY HAD SPENT most of the previous night lying awake in her cot on the Pigeon and imagining each of the things that might go wrong during the battle. After all, no pirate clash in Augustan history had ever gone entirely smoothly. Cannons misfired; ships sprang leaks. Magic pieces slipped out of hands. Peg legs washed up on the shore, missing their owners.

  In all those wide-awake hours, however, Hilary had never imagined that everything might go wrong at once.

  From the moment Mr. Gull waved a Jolly Roger above his head to signal the start of the battle, all the pirates in Queensport Harbor were swept up in a raucous mess that not even the queen’s own housemaids could have tidied. Dozens of Captain Blacktooth’s men tossed ropes down to the Dancing Sheep and began to storm the ship, mocking the schoolgirls as they went. Their parrots flew in a feathery swarm over Hilary’s head, clawing at sails and pecking at ropes. One burly pirate swiped a tray of cucumber sandwiches straight out of Mrs. Westfield’s hands. Partridge accidentally started a small fire in the Blunderbuss’s galley, and Worthington nearly fell overboard when she ran too quickly in the wrong direction. Even the gargoyle kept getting tangled up in his cape.

  “Get me out of this thing, Hilary!” he yelped. “I think it’s trying to eat me!”

  As Hilary wrestled with the gargoyle’s cape, Claire ran up to her. “Most of our treasure is still on board the Augusta Belle,” she said anxiously. “The magic coatrack, the sacks of coins—nearly everything useful. I did manage to swipe this from the pile, though.” She held out the golden gravy boat. “I’m sure it won’t be as impressive as whatever the Mutineers have brought with them, but at least it’s something.”