Seven Dead Pirates

by Linda Bailey

  And disappeared.

  The others cheered. In a wild howling rush, they followed. One by one, they hit the wall and faded.

  Lewis was left standing there alone.

  No! Lewis was not going home!

  Not a chance.

  He made his way to the front door of the Tandy Bay Maritime Museum, where a small crowd waited. Little kids, mostly, and a few adults. Lewis edged up closer.

  They looked like—yes, they were!—the kindergartners from his school. There was their teacher, Mrs. Sobowski, trying to herd them into a line. A few parent volunteers helped out. The wind was blowing the kids’ hair and flapping their Halloween costumes, making them screech with delight. At the edge of the group, Lewis spotted a familiar face—the little girl with the round red glasses, who had stood up to Seth. She was wearing a princess costume.

  Lewis glanced around the grounds. He hadn’t been here for several years, but he remembered the grassy lawn that sloped from the museum down to the edge of the ocean. It was home now to a couple of replicas of famous historical boats—a Viking longboat and a Haida war canoe.

  The big attraction, of course, was the Maria Louisa—inside the museum, behind a glass wall, facing the lawn and the ocean.

  The kindergarten line stirred as someone came to open the museum doors. The kids edged forward.

  Lewis stared at the entrance. A black-and-orange banner above the door read HALLOWEEN IN THE MUSEUM. A small sign in the window said Admission Fees. Several lines down, he read, Students: $1.50.

  Money!

  His wallet was in his jacket. His own jacket. The one he had left at home.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of Great-Granddad’s jacket, hoping to find change. Out came a single green peppermint, fuzzy with lint. He tried his jeans’ pockets. Nothing.

  A sick feeling hit his stomach. Why hadn’t he thought of this? Why hadn’t he remembered he’d have to pay?

  The door opened. With growing desperation, Lewis watched the kindergarten line snake forward.

  Something pulled at his sleeve. He glanced around. Then down.

  “Hi!” The little girl’s eyes were blurry behind her red glasses. “Did you come to see the ship?”

  Lewis stared for a second, then nodded.

  She held out her hand. “Come on.”

  She pulled him into the line, five kids from the end. With his heart pounding, he shuffled forward. The kindergarten class, which now included him, continued to move ahead.

  “Nice princess costume,” he told the girl as they walked through the door.

  She let out a snort. “Not a princess. I’m Mary, Queen of Scots.”

  “Sorry.”

  The cashier was just ahead. She was wearing a fuzzy orange wig and clown makeup. The walls behind her were covered in decorations—fake cobwebs, cardboard ghosts and witches.

  Lewis stared at his feet as they walked past. Another step, another …

  He was in!

  Lewis looked down at the little girl. “Excuse me. I have to do something.”

  She glanced around. “It’s over there,” she said, pointing to the men’s room.

  A laugh burbled up in Lewis. “Yeah, thanks.”

  He walked quickly to the front of the kindergarten line, still threading its way toward the main exhibit hall. When he reached Mrs. Sobowski, she frowned at him, clearly wondering who he was. That’s when he realized that although he hadn’t exactly planned to skip school, that’s what he was doing. Mrs. Sobowski started to speak to him, but a little boy in a Batman costume chose that moment to sit on a velvet museum cord, bringing down the metal stand it was attached to. She turned to help. Lewis darted past.

  Entering the exhibit hall, he did a quick visual scan. Everything looked normal. But he caught a strong whiff of the familiar fishy odor—along with a new pungent, sour smell.

  And, listening hard, he was sure he could hear muffled thuds.

  He walked over to where the Maria Louisa sat still and silent on her wooden scaffold. He stared up at the ship’s hull, its wood gleaming warmly in the sunlight. Above the hull was the deck, and above that, the masts with their complicated arrangements of sails.

  The museum was filled with light. In addition to the huge wall of glass at the front, there was another glass wall at the side, and also a glass ceiling. Looking out the front, Lewis could see—just a stone’s throw away down the slope—the Atlantic Ocean. It was so close to the ship that it was easy to imagine the Maria Louisa in her glory days, riding the high seas.

  Another thud. Louder. It was coming from inside the ship.

  “Crawley?” he whispered, feeling foolish.

  The only voice that came back was Mrs. Sobowski’s. “Davie, do you remember how we act in a museum?”

  “Crawley?” whispered Lewis again. “Bellows? Adam?”

  The next thud was strong enough to jolt the ship, and loud enough to catch the kindergartners’ attention. A crash followed. Then a series of thuds.

  Suddenly, a voice roared out, “You thinks you can keep our ship, does you? Through all eternity? Not while I carries a sword, you filth-ridden maggot! You weevil! You bucket of scum!”

  Lewis looked around. The kindergartners were crowding into the exhibit hall, wide-eyed with delight. Mrs. Sobowski and the volunteers were smiling, too. They thought the voices came from actors. They thought this was part of a show.

  There were yells now from the ship. Shrieks. More crashes. Mrs. Sobowski gave her class instructions that Lewis couldn’t hear because of the noise. The kindergartners lined up behind her—and started moving toward the gangplank.

  They were going on board!

  “NO!” howled Lewis.

  He launched himself like a missile, reaching the gangplank just ahead of the teacher. Blocking her entry, he shouted, “No! Don’t! Please!”

  The noise on the ship was growing louder, but Mrs. Sobowski’s voice carried clearly. “Excuse me.” She gave Lewis a look that would have flattened him under any other circumstances. “What’s your name? Aren’t you in Ms. Forsley’s class?”

  “You can’t go on this ship!” Lewis spread his arms and grabbed the guide ropes.

  Mrs. Sobowski pointed a stern finger. “You are getting yourself into serious trouble.”

  “I know,” said Lewis. “But you can’t go on.”

  A man in a museum uniform appeared. He was wearing a red clown nose, but he looked like he meant serious business. Seeing Lewis blocking the gangplank, he frowned and pushed past Mrs. Sobowski. “Step aside, son. Let—”

  “No!” Lewis took a step backward, but held on to the ropes. “You can’t!”

  The man shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He reached for Lewis. “You come off there. Now!”

  “No!” yelled Lewis, dancing backward up the gangplank.

  From up on the ship came a bloodcurdling scream, followed by a string of curses. The kindergartners went, “Woooooo!” and clutched each other. The museum man glanced at the ship. Then he frowned again at Lewis.

  Suddenly, there was a gasped “Ooohhhh!” from the kindergartners. Looking over his shoulder, Lewis saw the first pirates. There were two of them—Moyle and a stranger. They were dueling with swords up on deck. Moyle stood out in his lime-green Hawaiian shirt and white shorts.

  A hand came down heavily on Lewis’s wrist. It grabbed and held on. The museum man! He was pulling Lewis down the gangplank.

  Lewis wrenched his arm free. He scrambled back up toward the ship. When his right knee buckled, he hardly paused. Just lurched to his feet and staggered on. He didn’t stop till his path was blocked at the top—by a pair of worn black boots, streaked with sea salt. He looked up.

  A tall cadaverous pirate, his eyes sunk into a skeletal face, barred Lewis’s way. The stranger raised a blood-soaked sword. His mouth opened, exposing rotted stumps of teeth.

  “Be you one of Crawley’s men?” he cried.

  If Lewis had stopped to think, he would have seen th
at there was a right answer and a wrong one.

  “Yes!” he blurted.

  Down came the sword! Right where his head should have been. Except that—reacting for the first time in his life at lightning speed—Lewis actually saw the sword coming and dodged it, darting under the pirate’s arm onto the ship. Down in the crowd, someone screamed.

  Lewis glanced back, expecting to be pursued. But the tall pirate was still at the gangplank, raising his sword again—this time against the museum man! Lewis dashed to the ship’s railing. The museum man was crouched near the top of the gangplank, rigid with fear. The guide ropes trembled in his hands.

  “Get off!” Lewis screamed at him. “Run!”

  The museum man released the ropes. Scuttling sideways like a crab, he half-ran, half-fell off the gangplank.

  Lewis turned to survey the deck. Everywhere, pirates were leaping and scrambling, swinging swords, flashing daggers. Pistols fired in explosive roars, raising clouds of pungent smoke. Bodies flew and smashed with noisy thuds against the wood. The deck shook. The sails trembled. The air was thick with curses and screams.

  And Lewis was right in the middle! A bandy-legged pirate in rags ran at him, howling, sword in hand. In a flash, Lewis leaped sideways onto a sea chest. Bounding over a coil of rope, he skidded to the other side of the deck. Just ahead was Adam—no, Mary!—in a frenzied struggle with a bushy-bearded pirate twice her size. The pirate had his hands around Mary-Adam’s neck. The cabin boy—girl!—swung wildly with both fists.

  Lewis leaped onto the bearded pirate’s back. His nose was assailed by a stench so foul, he could hardly breathe. Crawley was right. Up close, Dire’s crew was rank! Lewis hung on, kicking and pounding till the pirate released Mary-Adam in order to claw at the boy on his back.

  Mary-Adam, now free, dived at the pirate’s legs. Whether she bit, punched or pulled, Lewis never knew, but the bearded ghost went down, taking Lewis with him. Scarcely had Lewis hit the deck, when a hand—Mary-Adam’s—dragged him away.

  “You mustn’t fight, Lewis,” shouted Mary-Adam in his ear. “You mustn’t!”

  “Why not?” Lewis was beginning to think he was doing quite well.

  “Don’t you see?” Her voice was pleading. “You’re the only one of us who can truly get hurt. You could die, Lewis!”

  Lewis looked around. She was right. He was the only one who wasn’t already dead. The others could fight through all eternity, and they might experience pain—maybe they’d even lose more body parts—but the worst had already happened.

  “Get yourself to safety,” shouted Mary-Adam.

  Lewis glanced back at the gangplank. The tall pirate was still guarding it, struggling now with … was that a policeman? Yes! Lewis could see the blue uniform clearly.

  “This way!” begged Mary-Adam. “Shinny up the mainmast. You’ll be safe there, in the crow’s nest.”

  Lewis looked where she was pointing. Way up, at the top of the mast, almost at the ceiling, was a tiny platform.

  Lewis’s stomach churned. “I can’t.”

  “You must!” said Mary-Adam. “Or you’ll end up like us.”

  At that moment, they were both knocked flat by a flying pirate. Not actually flying, Lewis realized as he went down, just thrown across the deck. Stumbling slowly to his feet, Lewis tried to focus. Mary-Adam was up again, battling the flying pirate, and he, Lewis, was facing—

  Captain Dire!

  He could tell by the hair, a long, white mane flowing down past the pirate’s shoulders. But not just the hair. Crawley had described Dire well. That cold stare. Those bleak, blue eyes. That absence of all feeling. Lewis knew what he was looking at. Evil itself.

  Slowly, Dire raised his sword till it was even with Lewis’s chest. He looked relaxed, almost casual, as if finishing off Lewis would be a moment’s work. Like squashing a wingless fly.

  “Back off!” cried Lewis. He knew it was absurd, even as he said it. He was small, unarmed, inexperienced and most of all …

  Alive!

  Yes, that was it. He was the only one who was alive—and he was going to stay alive.

  “Back!” he yelled again as the pirate came at him.

  Slowly, deliberately, almost insultingly relaxed, Dire pulled back his sword—and thrust!

  It pierced a cork float that Lewis had seized from the deck. He had moved so quickly and instinctively, he was hardly aware of the motion till it was over.

  The sword stuck. Without waiting, Lewis dropped the cork, spun and sprinted across the deck. Reaching the mast, he seized the rope rigging and began to climb.

  It was harder than it looked. He was wearing running shoes, and his feet slipped on the ropes so badly that soon he had to stop, expecting any second to feel Dire’s powerful grip on his ankles. Glancing down, he saw that Dire was indeed directly below. But he’d been cut off by Crawley, who yelled, “Stand fast and fight, bottom-feeder!”

  Lewis took heart. Looping his left arm through the rigging, he used his right hand to pull off his shoes and socks. His bare feet, sweaty with fear and exertion, did a better job of clinging to the ropes. He ripped off the Frankenstein headpiece, too. His red hair sprung free as if released from prison.

  Slowly, he climbed, telling himself, “One square, just one,” then reaching for the next and saying again, “Just one.” In this way, square by square of rope, he climbed the rigging. He didn’t look down, knowing that a single glance would drain his courage like water from a sink. Another square. Another. Beneath him, the shouts and thuds continued. Were the kindergartners still in the hall?

  Finally, he was there. Just beneath the platform. It took all his nerve and almost more strength than he had to curl his body over the top and flatten himself, like a sheet of paper, onto the small surface. Panting hard, he looked down.

  He was instantly, terrifyingly dizzy. His stomach wobbled. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. He looked again, willing his stomach to stay still.

  Oh! He could see everything! It was like being a bird. This was why it was called the crow’s nest.

  Below, the battle raged. He scanned the deck fearfully, expecting to see Crawley’s crew in retreat. But the more he saw, the more he realized that they were—somehow, improbably—hanging on. More than hanging on! They looked vibrant and bright now, colorful in their thrift store clothing, their skin glowing with excitement. Dire’s pirates, in contrast, looked shadowy and gray. Their faces were sinister, their eyes cold and blank.

  Lewis stared at his tower-mates, amazed. Here, Moyle fought a muscular rival, his cutlass flashing faster than Lewis could have imagined if he hadn’t experienced his own surprising speed under pressure. There, Jonas held two ghosts at bay. His bare feet agile as a dancer’s, he leaped from deck to rope to railing without a slip, his sword a sweeping, never-resting barrier. Jack, meanwhile, fought like the rodent he was named for. Seizing hard upon first this pirate, then that, he terrified them so badly they retreated to take on lesser foes. Even little Skittles held his own, hopping about in front of a lumbering tattooed brute.

  But it was Barnaby Bellows who did the bulk of the fighting. He strode the decks like the giant that he was, and whenever he spotted a weakness—an enemy pirate distracted by one of his crewmates—he stepped in and with a single smooth, powerful movement, seized the scoundrel and hurled him over the side of the ship. Glancing around, Lewis could see five or six of Dire’s men who’d been tossed overboard by Bellows. They were limping around the museum floor in various states of confusion.

  Not surprisingly, the spectators had scattered. Lewis looked for Mrs. Sobowski and saw her, herding her students—or trying to—out the door. He could tell, even from here, that she understood the danger now and knew it was terrible and real. She was waving and yelling at the kids. The problem was that, in the great tumult of firing pistols and yelling men, the kindergartners couldn’t—or wouldn’t—hear her. As fast as she herded them out the door, they ran back in. Lewis could understand why. It was the kind of show they wou
ld never see again, not if they watched action movies for the rest of their lives! For Mrs. Sobowski, it was a losing battle, even with the help of the volunteer parents. There were just too many excited kindergartners. They were running free among the dazed pirates of Dire’s crew.

  Watching them, Lewis felt a stab of fear. If Dire’s pirates posed a danger to him, what might they do to these kindergartners, scampering among them like rabbits in a lion’s den?

  And even if Dire’s pirates didn’t harm the children, they would certainly, once they got over their dazed state, reboard the ship. How long could Bellows continue to hurl them overboard? How long before they overpowered him and brought him down?

  Suddenly, there was a brain-numbing blast of noise, followed by a great cloud of smoke. Lewis looked down. A hole had been blown through the museum wall behind the ship. Cannons! The pirates were now firing cannons! Screams came from a hysterical volunteer standing near the hole.

  As Lewis glanced frantically from one peril to another, his worst fear came to pass. A kindergartner had managed to get up the gangplank and was standing on the ship’s deck—right beside Captain Dire. It was her! The little girl with the red glasses! She was dancing with excitement at seeing the show so close. Lewis watched, helpless, as the pirate spotted her. Head thrown back, Dire laughed. He plucked the girl up with one hand and held her above his head, ready to hurl her overboard.

  A sob escaped Lewis. Frantic, he searched the hall. Bellows was halfway down the gangplank, blocking Dire’s men as they tried to reboard.

  “Bellows!” screamed Lewis.

  Everything stopped. For Lewis, it was like watching a movie that turns suddenly into a still photo. Everyone was staring up at him, Lewis. Mrs. Sobowski. Dire. The little girl, her mouth open in an O of terror. And most important—Bellows.

  Lewis pointed. “There!”

  Bellows’s gaze shifted till he spotted the white-haired pirate, still gripping the wriggling girl. Captain Dire’s arm reached backward. Like a football player, he prepared to throw …

  Lewis watched it as if in slow motion. Bellows churned like a machine down the gangplank, flattening two of Dire’s men on the way. Screaming, the little girl flew through the air, over the side of the Maria Louisa. Bellows ran, stopped, gauged his position, darted forward until—