Seven Dead Pirates

by Linda Bailey

  He took a deep breath. Then another. Catching his eye, Ms. Forsley asked him a question about the problem on the board. It was a yes-or-no question.

  Lewis felt the familiar heat race through his body. He felt the red in his skin.

  “Yes,” he said after a moment. His voice squeaked, but only a little. No one laughed.

  He sat up straight. Took another breath.

  The hot feeling eased.

  “Two?” said Abbie, breathlessly. “There are two ghosts?”

  He had ducked out of school quickly, but she’d caught up a block away. She must have run.

  He thought about saying yes, two. Then he thought—two, three, four, what was the difference?

  “Seven,” he said. “Altogether.”

  “Seven!” It was enough to make her sway on the sidewalk. “There are seven ghosts in your house?”

  “Actually, they’re in my room.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “They live there.” Lewis was surprised how good it felt to say it out loud. Exhilarating, even. He had kept the pirates’ secret for so long. Talking about them was like releasing a held-back sneeze.

  “They live there?” repeated Abbie. “You mean … like roommates?”

  “Well,” said Lewis, “yes. Sort of.”

  “But aren’t they … dead?”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s not like you expect.”

  “They seem almost—”

  “Yes,” said Lewis. “Exactly!”

  “And you’re not—”

  “Oh, no. I was in the beginning. But then I got used to having them around, and now they don’t scare me at all. Except maybe Jack the Rat. I guess he’d scare anyone. And one of them is just our age. Adam.”

  “Adam,” repeated Abbie. “How … how did he die?”

  “The same way they all died. Drowned at sea.”

  “Oh.” She nodded as if this were finally something she understood. “Fishermen.”

  Good guess, thought Lewis. Tandy Bay had a long history of fishermen lost at sea.

  He shook his head no. Now that he’d begun, it seemed impossible to hold back. “They’re pirates.”

  Her eyes widened. “Pirates?”

  He nodded.

  She searched his face, looking for signs of a joke. “You mean it, don’t you?”

  He nodded again.

  She let out a groan. “Lewis Dearborn, you are something! You sit there every day like … well, I’m sorry, but you’re probably the wimpiest kid on the planet. Meanwhile, when you go home, in your room …” She shook her head, unable to finish.

  “I know. It’s weird.”

  “This is beyond weird, Lewis. What do these ghosts of yours do? I mean, do they moan? Rattle chains? Do they—hey, you know what? I don’t even know what questions to ask!”

  So Lewis explained. He told her how it had begun, with Great-Granddad and Libertalia. Then he described how he’d met Crawley and the others. As he talked, they began to walk. The closer they got to his house, the more the wind picked up, and the more they had to huddle together so she could hear. When he told her about reading to the pirates, she smiled.

  “Geez. Sounds like storytime at the library.”

  “Yes!” he said, excited that she’d seen it, too. “That’s how I felt at first. But later, I started to really like the book myself. Treasure Island.”

  “Never read it,” she said.

  “It’s good. Old. But exciting.”

  She smiled again. He was surprised at how warm he felt, even with the wind howling through his jacket. It felt good to talk to a live human being his own age.

  But as they approached Shornoway, the old nervousness returned. Would he have to invite her in?

  She must have noticed. “I’d better go. Maybe I’ll stop at the library on the way home. Pick up a copy of that book. Treasure Island.”

  He nodded and walked away.

  She called after him. “Hey, Lewis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. For the pirate story.” She waved and broke into an awkward run.

  Which pirate story, wondered Lewis. Then he smiled, realizing she had meant for him to wonder.

  Up in Libertalia, the pirates were nowhere in sight. They were around, though. He could tell by the fishy smell. Hiding, thought Lewis. Because of Crawley’s stunt outside the school.

  Dinner that night was duck in cherry sauce, mashed potatoes and something called roasted Jerusalem artichokes. It was served with lavish explanations by Mr. Dearborn.

  “The food is excellent, Gerald,” said Mrs. Dearborn as her husband sat down, “but look at you! You’re still wearing your cooking apron! It has cherry stains all over it.”

  “Oh!” said her husband, whipping it off. “Yes, yes, of course. Sorry.”

  “Honestly, you’re beginning to look like my students. They dress as if they’re going to the beach—or to bed. One of the girls wears pajamas to class.”

  “Sorry,” said Mr. Dearborn again. “But, you know, that reminds me of something. I saw the oddest fellow today, out the window. Some kind of tramp, I suppose. He was roaming around the yard. If you think your students dress oddly, Charlotte, you should have seen this fellow.”

  Lewis, who was about to eat a forkful of duck, lowered it to his plate. “What … what did he look like?”

  Mr. Dearborn frowned. “Thin and hunched over. Pale as a mushroom. Poor soul looked as though he’d been living in a cellar. But the strangest thing was his clothes. Baggy striped pants and a frilly … well, I suppose it was a lady’s blouse. To top it all off, he was barefoot. In this weather!”

  Jack the Rat, thought Lewis miserably. His favorite outfit.

  “I went out to see what he wanted. I thought he might be lost or ill.”

  “That was good of you,” said Mrs. Dearborn. Then, “Close your mouth, Lewis. I can see your tonsils.”

  “Sorry,” said Lewis.

  “By the time I got outside,” Mr. Dearborn continued, “he was gone. Must have run off. Very odd.”

  Lewis let out a slow sigh. It was worse than he thought. The pirates had made at least two excursions out of Shornoway.

  “Well, never mind.” Mr. Dearborn shrugged. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful—like next Tuesday. Your class visit, Lewis! Mrs. Binchy and I have a few surprises.”

  “What do you mean?” If there was one thing Lewis did not need, it was more surprises.

  “You’ll see,” said his father mysteriously.

  “Dad, please!”

  “Okay, I’ll give you a hint. There’ll be some food surprises. Well, you probably guessed that. But I’m also going to make a little speech.”

  “What?” squawked Lewis. “Dad, you can’t make speeches on a school visit!”

  “Now, Lewis, I’ve already spoken to Ms. Forsley, and she thought it was an excellent idea. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. I’m sure your classmates will enjoy it.”

  “I imagine they might learn something, too,” added Mrs. Dearborn dryly.

  Lewis stifled a groan. Was there any possible speech his father could make that his classmates would enjoy? He racked his brain. None.

  And was there any way he could stop his father, without hurting his feelings? Lewis racked his brain again. Same answer.

  His feet felt like lead weights as he climbed to Libertalia that night. Things were getting out of control. He couldn’t stop his father, he couldn’t stop the real estate agents …

  But maybe he could still stop the pirates. He had to put an end to their excursions.

  He opened the door to see Crawley miming a tiptoeing walk. The other pirates were laughing. Lewis could tell what was going on—the captain was acting out his visit to Tandy Bay School.

  “For Pete’s sake!” he said. “Listen, Captain Crawley, if you want to get back to your ship, you’re going to have to start to behave yourself.”

  “Beeeeehaaaaave meself?” Crawley shouted with laughter, and the others joined in. “Laddie, I’m a pir
ate! A robber. A blackguard. A thief.”

  “Beeeeeeehaaaaaave!” chortled Moyle. “Now there’s a good jest, ain’t it?”

  “Beeeehaaaave,” repeated the others, mincing about like courtiers dancing a minuet.

  “We’re the scurviest villains who ever walked a deck,” shouted Crawley. “The scourge of the seven seas!”

  Before the others could take up the chorus, Lewis interrupted. “I don’t believe you.”

  The room went instantly quiet.

  “Pardon?” said Adam.

  “I don’t believe you were that bad,” said Lewis. “I mean, you say lots of awful things.” He remembered the liver-cutting threat. “But I don’t believe you did that many terrible things. I just don’t believe it.”

  The pirates glanced at one another. For a moment, Lewis thought they were going to agree. And then, with a horrific “ARRGGGH!” Crawley whipped out his sword. With lightning speed, he slashed the chilly air, just inches from Lewis’s nose. Lewis could feel the breeze as the blade sliced past. A second later, the whole crew was running amok, yelling foul words and waving their cutlasses.

  “Okay!” cried Lewis, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay! You’re scurvy. You’re bad!”

  Smiling sweetly, Crawley sheathed his sword. “Just so long as you knows.”

  “Aye!” shouted Jack. Reluctant to put away his dagger, he swished it back and forth in rapid figure eights, the metal glinting in the lamplight. He was wearing the ruffled blouse and striped pants Mr. Dearborn had described.

  Lewis reached for Treasure Island. He held the book in front of him like a shield.

  “Before I read,” he said slowly and carefully, “we have to talk about these little ‘practice’ trips you’re taking. Outside. Wearing your tourist clothes. You can’t do that anymore.”

  “Can’t?” snarled Jack, darting forward.

  “Shouldn’t,” corrected Lewis. “If you want me to help, you’ll have to trust me. No more going outside. And when my class comes to visit next week, please stay invisible.”

  Jack froze. They all did.

  “Class?” squeaked Skittles. “More strangers?”

  Uh-oh, thought Lewis. He’d forgotten to tell them.

  Deal with it, he told himself.

  Quickly, clearly, he explained the class visit. The more timid of the pirates continued to look anxious. Skittles glowed like a flashlight.

  “Don’t worry,” said Lewis as soothingly as he could. “The people in my class are kids. That’s not really the same as strangers, is it? And they’ll only be here a short time. It might even be good for you, a chance to see how regular people look and act. You could … you could watch and learn!”

  He was making it up as he went along. The logic sounded feeble, even to him. He was surprised when the pirates bought it.

  “The lad says true,” said Moyle. “Here’s a chance to learn the ropes.”

  Crawley perked up, too. “A chance to get ourselves more practice. I likes this plan. We puts on our new garments, like, and joins in the class. They won’t even notice us!”

  “Aye!” yelled a few bold souls.

  “NO!” cried Lewis, louder than he intended. “No dressing up! No joining in! Just watching! Please, please, stay invisible while they’re here.”

  He started to explain why this was important, but the pirates had lost interest.

  “Long John!” they shouted. “Give us Long John Silver!”

  Lewis sighed and opened Treasure Island. For the next hour, he forgot his problems. For the next hour, he was far away on a mysterious tropical island. For the next hour, he didn’t have to worry about a thing.

  On the day of the class visit, Lewis woke before dawn. He squinted at the glowing numbers on his bedside clock. 5:04 a.m.

  Closing his eyes, he tried not to imagine all the things that could go wrong with this day. His mother, for example, telling everyone how he’d learned to read while still in diapers. Mrs. Binchy grabbing kids’ wrists and calling them skinny-minnies. His father making some kind of … speech!

  As for the pirates? Might as well try to control a storm at sea.

  For Lewis, the strangeness started with the peculiar experience of going on a field trip to his own house. The class, including him, arrived mid-morning. As Ms. Forsley led her students up the driveway, she talked about Shornoway as if it were a museum, pointing out the gables, the wrought iron and the stained-glass windows. She didn’t seem to mind that some of the windows were cracked or boarded over. She just said it was a shame, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could be restored?

  When the door opened, it was Mrs. Binchy who rushed out to greet them. She looked just as Lewis had expected, dead-Fred slippers and all. Her dress, as always, was a saggy old thing. Beneath it, her old-lady bosom swayed, like a couple of animals trapped in a bag.

  The surprise was that she knew some of the kids.

  “Ryan, dearie, how’s your grandma? She wasn’t at choir practice last week. Is the cold worse?”

  “She’s better now, thank you, Mrs. Binchy,” said Ryan.

  “And Sophie Duval, is that you? Why, the last time I saw you, you were riding that little pink training-wheels bike.”

  Sophie colored slightly, but smiled back. “I have a full-sized bike now, Mrs. Binchy.”

  Well, of course, thought Lewis to himself. Of course, Mrs. Binchy would know other people. She had lived in Tandy Bay all her life, and it wasn’t a big place. For some reason, Lewis had never thought of her having a life outside of Shornoway, with people and activities that didn’t concern him.

  She shooed the class into the front hallway now, where Mr. and Mrs. Dearborn waited stiffly at attention. They were trying to smile and, in Lewis’s opinion, not having much success. His father, he was relieved to see, was hairnet-free. Mr. Dearborn looked a bit dull in his navy pants and beige sweater, but at least he wasn’t covered in tomato sauce. Mrs. Dearborn, meanwhile, was wearing her “professor” outfit—crisply ironed slacks and a dark jacket. Lewis had been hoping she’d be teaching at the university, but unfortunately she had a spare period this morning.

  The first thing that happened was this: Mrs. Dearborn asked everyone to remove their shoes, even though it wasn’t raining and nobody’s shoes were dirty. Then Mr. Dearborn hung up all the jackets while his wife showed the class the “facilities”—a word some kids didn’t understand until they were actually standing in front of the toilet.

  Following the crowd, Lewis tried to look on the bright side. What amazing luck that Seth had picked this day to get sick! Or play hooky? Lewis didn’t know or care which. Hearing the silence when Seth’s name was called for attendance, he’d felt light enough to float.

  “Well, Mr. Dearborn,” said Ms. Forsley with a smile, “shall we begin the tour?”

  Everyone turned to Lewis’s father, who cleared his throat for such a long time that Lewis’s stomach clenched. But when Mr. Dearborn finally started to speak, he sounded almost normal. He sounded, in fact, like a tour guide in a museum.

  “Well, boys and girls, the first thing to know is … this house is very old. It was built in the 1860s by Captain Jeremiah Douglas, a Scottish merchant who owned a fleet of sailing ships. Jeremiah built Shornoway for his wife, Elizabeth, who he met and married in England. She was just eighteen years old. Think of that! They came here soon afterward. Elizabeth, so the story goes, missed her family very much. Jeremiah built this house for her, on a cliff above the ocean, so that any time she wanted, she could look across the sea toward her home.”

  “Did it help?” asked a girl named Sarah. “Did it make her feel better?”

  Mr. Dearborn looked pleased to be asked. “Nobody knows, my dear. But we do know that Elizabeth Douglas stayed. She made a new home here and had thirteen children. So, I suppose—heh, heh—she missed England less in the end.”

  “You’re right about that,” grunted Mrs. Binchy from the edge of the crowd. “With thirteen kids, who’d have time to miss England?” />
  And that’s how it went. Mr. Dearborn led the class around the ground floor, offering bits of history that Lewis had never heard before. Ms. Forsley and the kids asked questions, while Mrs. Dearborn followed, surprisingly quiet. Mrs. Binchy tagged along, too, adding wry comments that made everyone laugh.

  As for Lewis’s father … well, Lewis was astounded. As the class straggled up the back stairs, he caught up and whispered, “Dad! How do you know all this stuff?”

  “Research,” said his father.

  “Re—what kind?”

  “I’ll show you later.”

  On the second floor, they moved room by room down the hall. Ms. Forsley kept letting out little cries of delight. “Oh my goodness, will you look at this? A coal oil lamp. Must be a hundred years old. And—oh!—look at this commode.”

  Slowly they worked their way to the end.

  And then, they were there—Lewis’s whole class, waiting outside Libertalia. Lewis watched as his father slowly turned the doorknob. Mr. Dearborn was saying something, but Lewis’s ears had stopped working, and all he could hear was rowrr-rowrr, like the slowed-down track of a movie. The door cracked open, sunlight beamed through and the kids filed inside. Lewis followed, holding his breath.

  His classmates were looking around. A few turned to stare at him.

  “This is your room?” said Alex Neeson. “Up here in this tower?”

  Lewis nodded.

  Alex walked over to the green glass cabinet. He stared at the tin soldiers on top. Then he squatted and peered at the old toys inside. Lewis waited for him to laugh. He waited for Alex to ask, “Don’t you have any real games?”

  But he didn’t.

  Mike Burrows wandered over to Lewis’s desk. “Hey, cool! A ship in a bottle.”

  Other kids gathered around. Mike asked how the ship got inside.

  As Mr. Dearborn started to explain, Lewis searched the room for signs of the pirates. He couldn’t see them. Nor could he hear their voices. But he was suddenly sure, beyond any doubt … they were there!

  It was the air. It had that unnaturally sharp feeling of coolness. And the fishy odor was strong. But most of all, Lewis realized, he could just … tell.