The Terror of the Southlands

by Caroline Carlson

  “What now, Terror?” Charlie asked as the landlady shooed them out the front door. “Is there anyone else who might know what Philomena’s been up to?”

  Hilary was pleased to see that her cutlass was still hovering in front of the inspectors; she retrieved it from the air and waved it in the inspectors’ direction a few times as they ran away down the lane. “I suppose we could speak to Sir Nicholas Feathering,” she said at last. “Philomena looked absolutely terrified when I suggested it. If he was with her on the night Miss Pimm disappeared, perhaps he knows something useful.”

  Charlie nodded. “If Philomena doesn’t want us to talk to this Feathering person, then it seems to me that he’s exactly the right person to talk to.” He sighed and dusted off his pirate hat. “Even if he is terribly rich and handsome.”

  “They say he lives in Feathering Keep,” said Claire, blushing a bit. “I believe it’s close to Queensport.”

  “Then we’ll track him down at once,” said Hilary. “And we’d better find a suitable pirate vessel for our journey. If we’re not on board a magnificent ship when we rescue Miss Pimm, I’m sure Captain Blacktooth will still be disappointed.”

  Charlie grinned. “That won’t be any trouble, Terror. If you’re in need of a first-class galleon, I know exactly where to find one.”

  * * *

  PIRATE HILARY WESTFIELD

  TERROR OF THE SOUTHLANDS

  Dear Captain Blacktooth,

  I understand that you are not the sort of pirate who often makes mistakes. When you accused me of unpiratical behavior in your most recent letter, however, I believe you were very much mistaken. I have been a model pirate ever since our meeting on the Renegade, and I hope that by the time you finish this letter, you will agree to take back your warning.

  You are quite right that pirates are not traditionally known for rescuing Enchantresses, and I suppose I’m not exactly a traditional pirate. I have, however, been trying my best to follow the VNHLP Rules of Conduct. That’s why I feel sure that assisting one’s friends when they are in trouble is entirely appropriate behavior for any scallywag. Wouldn’t you do anything you could to keep your own mates out of danger? And wouldn’t you want to do battle against any villains who threatened them? Of course you would—you are a pirate! Though Miss Pimm is not strictly one of my mates, she is a good friend, so rescuing her is a very piratical thing to do.

  As for your suggestion that I leave the search in the capable hands of the queen’s inspectors, all I can say is that I have seen the hands of several inspectors, and none of them looked very capable to me.

  You should be pleased to hear that I’ve followed your orders to find a seaworthy vessel. My mates and I have traveled to Wimbly-on-the Marsh, where we have located a most impressive ship; we shall be setting sail as soon as we make a few small repairs. I hope this will help you to see that I am every inch a pirate.

  Arr!

  Pirate Hilary Westfield, Terror of the Southlands

  P.S. I’m sorry, sir, but the gargoyle would like me to tell you that anyone who tries to call him Polly will be lucky to escape alive.

  * * *

  * * *

  From

  The Illustrated Queensport Gazette

  YOUR GATEWAY TO THE CIVILIZED WORLD!

  MISUSE OF MAGIC

  ALARMINGLY ON THE RISE

  QUEENSPORT, AUGUSTA—It has been less than a week since Miss Eugenia Pimm, Enchantress of the Northlands, disappeared from her Pemberton home without a trace, but the use of magic by the kingdom’s citizens has already begun to get rather out of hand. Without the Enchantress’s commanding voice pealing out across Augusta, all manner of magical pranks, crimes, and uproars have occurred. Two short days before the Little Shearwater Cabbage Festival, a person or persons unknown used magic to turn Lord Otto Braithwaite’s most impressive cabbage a shocking shade of pink and shrink it down to the size of a pea. “That cabbage was sure to win the grand prize,” Lord Otto lamented, “and now I can hardly see it! I’m afraid I’m not clever enough with magic to restore it to its proper size and color, but I believe I may still earn a ribbon for Most Unusual Cabbage. Still, I wish the Enchantress hadn’t chosen such an inconvenient moment to disappear. She would have given the scoundrel a stern talking-to, I’m sure.”

  Lord Otto’s tale may have a fortunate ending, but that is not the case for the sad story of Miss Elsie Carter, who attended a masquerade ball last Saturday at Westfield House. Miss Carter engaged the attentions of a certain young High Society gentleman for the evening’s first three dances, prompting a jealous guest to transform Miss Carter’s turkey-feather headpiece into an actual turkey, which began pecking at Miss Carter’s elaborate hairstyle without an ounce of concern for propriety or fashion. The High Society gentleman fled Miss Carter’s company at once, and Miss Carter herself is suffering from a nasty headache. The young lady responsible for the vicious prank has not been identified, however, and the turkey managed to escape into the halls of Westfield House.

  “My nerves are simply shattered,” said Mrs. Ophelia Westfield, who climbed into her wardrobe after the incident of the turkey and spoke to our reporter from the other side of the door. “I never cared terribly much for that Enchantress, but I do wish she could help me capture the vicious beast that’s been set loose in my house! I believe I hear it clucking at this very moment.”

  Mrs. Westfield may have reason to hope that the Enchantress will soon be recovered, for the Gazette has learned that her daughter, the pirate Hilary Westfield, has embarked upon a search for Miss Pimm. As the queen’s inspectors have not yet located the Enchantress, all the kingdom’s hopes for a return to polite society may hinge on Pirate Westfield’s ability to rescue her as quickly as possible. Some citizens have even reported that they are beginning to miss the sound of the Enchantress’s rhymes ringing out across the hills and valleys of Augusta. We wish Pirate Westfield well and look forward to celebrating her success—or mourning her failure, as the case may be.

  * * *

  * * *

  From the Humble Pen of

  ELOISE GREYSON

  Dear Hilary,

  Thank you for your letter. I must admit that I have had a few sleepless nights since I learned of your plan to rescue Miss Pimm. I know, however, that I am no longer your governess, so although I would dearly love to remind you to be careful, sharpen your sword, and eat a hearty breakfast before going into battle, I shall hold my tongue.

  I am sorry to say that I can’t be of much help to you regarding the identity of the Mutineers. I have never heard of them before, and all the reference books I consulted on the subject were entirely unhelpful. These Mutineers must be a rather new band of villains, for even the most recent edition of The Who’s Who of Augustan Scoundrels makes no mention of them.

  As you requested, I attempted to use my magic piece to search for Miss Pimm, but I’m afraid I had no luck with that task either. The crochet hook can only point me toward people who are close by, you see, and Miss Pimm must be quite far from Otterpool Harbor. For that, I rather envy her—it seems as though I have been moored here for ages! In the days since you left, three of Jasper’s old crewmates have arrived to help me take care of the Pigeon. They make for entertaining company, but I am still quite cross because Jasper has not yet replied to any of my letters. (I have sent six.) He is a dear pirate, but an infuriating correspondent.

  I look forward to hearing more news of your journey, Hilary, and I have every confidence that you shall bring Miss Pimm safely home. Please give my best wishes to your crew.

  With love,

  Miss Greyson

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE SHIP WAS called the Squeaker, and it was moored in the shallow cove behind Jasper’s back garden. Charlie had certainly been joking when he’d called it a first-class galleon: it wasn’t much larger than the Pigeon’s dinghy, its sails were torn and moth-eaten, and its hull badly needed painting. It was hardly the grand pirate ship Hilary had imagin
ed, but she supposed that with a little work, it would do perfectly well for the voyage to Queensport.

  For the next few days, Charlie painted and hammered. Hilary sanded and mended. Claire tried to use Cannonball Jack’s magic coins to help them along, but she only succeeded in exploding four coins in a row. After that, she disappeared into Jasper’s bungalow and, in a fit of sewing, produced an entirely new set of sails, though she still looked rather frustrated.

  At last, though the Squeaker creaked and groaned at the slightest provocation, Hilary decided it was seaworthy enough. When the pirates set off from Little Herring Cove, the ship’s fine new sails caught the breeze, and its Jolly Roger flapped so ominously that Hilary was quite sure no one on the High Seas would know it had once spent its life as Jasper’s flowered dishcloth.

  “Arr!” cried the gargoyle from his perch inside the fruit crate that Hilary had fashioned into a makeshift Gargoyle’s Nest. “All fear the Squeaker and its daring pirate crew! All fear their sharp swords—and their even sharper teeth!” The gargoyle looked over his shoulder at Hilary. “Did that sound all right? Do you think it’s impressive enough?”

  “I think it’s absolutely perfect. You’ll have all the villains in Augusta diving under their bedclothes to hide from us.” Hilary leaned forward to give the gargoyle a quick scratch behind the ears. The Squeaker was not exactly the most spacious pirate ship on the High Seas, and the Gargoyle’s Nest was only an arm’s length from the helm. There wasn’t any room for a cabin, so they would have to sleep on the deck under the stars, and although there was a plank for villains to walk, it was a rather short one. Jasper hadn’t had any spare cannons lying about, but Hilary had piled several armloads of cooking pots onto the Squeaker in the hopes that attacking ships would flee from the sight of a saucepan flying through the air in their direction. And Charlie had found a few pounds of hardtack, which were supposed to be used for breakfasts and suppers but could also serve as small, dense weapons in a pinch.

  Although the Squeaker was nowhere near as grand as the Renegade—or even the Pigeon—Hilary was happy to be back on a pirate ship at last. The sea breeze freckled her nose with salt and tugged her hair out of its braid as she sailed through Pemberton Bay. Hilary couldn’t think of a single thing she liked more, and for a moment she forgot all about Philomena and the Mutineers and Captain Blacktooth. She even nearly forgot about trying to find Miss Pimm. She was a pirate, the captain of her very own ship, and nothing in all of Augusta could be finer than that.

  A small bang echoed from the Squeaker’s stern. “That’ll be Claire again,” Hilary said to the gargoyle. “I knew I shouldn’t have given her that spare coin.”

  The gargoyle shook his head. “Poor Claire. I just hope she never wishes for something while she’s scratching my head. I don’t think I’d enjoy exploding into bits.”

  “Oh, drat!” said Claire as she walked a bit unsteadily toward the front of the ship. She had taken to wearing one of Jasper’s thick gardening gloves on her right hand to keep the magic coins from injuring her, but the palm of the glove was smoking a bit. “I was hoping to use some magic to improve my sea legs—it’s been ages since I’ve been on a boat this small, and I think the sea is remarkably wobbly, don’t you? But I believe I’ve been too hopeful once again.” She looked down at her smoking glove and sighed. “I just wish I weren’t quite so horrid at magic. Or at standing up,” she added, clutching the rim of the Gargoyle’s Nest as the Squeaker bounced over a wave.

  “The wobbling gets better after a while,” the gargoyle said, “but what you really have to watch out for is the moss. It’s very tickly when it grows behind your ears.”

  Claire looked up into the rigging, where Charlie was whistling a sea chantey. Then she took a few steps closer to Hilary. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she whispered, “if you think Charlie isn’t terribly fond of me. I should like to be his friend, but he looks dreadfully nervous whenever I talk to him, and I don’t think he liked it at all when I exploded those magic pieces.” She wrinkled her brow. “I’m not very good at making friends, but I believe I’m quite good at being one.”

  Hilary took one hand off the ship’s wheel and put her arm around Claire’s shoulders. “You are a wonderful friend,” she said. “Please don’t worry about Charlie. He’s a good friend, too, but I believe he’d be much more comfortable at the sharp end of a sword than he is around High Society girls. And you mustn’t blame him for being squeamish about magic—his parents were sunk for their magic treasure, you know.” Hilary decided not to add that it had been Admiral Westfield who’d sent their ship to the bottom of the High Seas. Perhaps if she didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be so terribly true.

  Claire squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, I didn’t know that at all!” she whispered. “How awful!” Then she opened her eyes and nodded. “By the end of this voyage,” she said firmly, “Charlie and I shall be the best of friends. If we’re not, you may make me walk the plank.”

  The very thought made Hilary tighten her grip on the wheel. “I’ll do no such thing!” she said.

  “You won’t?” Claire looked distinctly relieved. “But I thought that was the usual punishment for scallywags who break their oaths. Don’t you think your Captain Blacktooth has some sort of rule about it?”

  The Squeaker groaned as it tilted toward starboard. “He probably does,” Hilary admitted, “but I simply can’t be the sort of pirate who sends her dearest friends splashing into the High Seas, no matter what the VNHLP has to say about it.” Perhaps the Terror of the Southlands was heartless enough to send her father to the Royal Dungeons, but she would never, ever abandon her mates.

  THE HIGH SEAS seemed much larger than Hilary remembered, but then again, the Squeaker was very small. Even with the kingdom’s finest wind in its sails, it moved over the waves more slowly than Hilary would have liked, and using Cannonball Jack’s coins to nudge the Squeaker toward Queensport was out of the question if she wanted to have any strength at all left over for captaining. Larger ships passed them by at twice their speed, and once Hilary swore she saw a ship that looked very much like the Pigeon speeding along the horizon in the opposite direction. But it couldn’t be the Pigeon—it was anchored on the other side of the kingdom—and by the time Hilary had managed to dig her spyglass out of her bag, the ship had passed out of sight. Several hours later, she thought she saw a small boat full of red-jacketed gentlemen in the Squeaker’s wake, but when she looked again, the boat had faded into the coastline.

  They had been at sea for a few days when a small boat flying a white flag with the queen’s golden emblem scurried toward them. “Arr!” cried the gargoyle. “I think there’s a scallywag coming our way!” He leaned over the edge of the Gargoyle’s Nest and studied the boat. “Is the postal courier a scallywag?”

  “Probably not,” said Hilary. “Anyway, you’d better try not to bite him. Perhaps he’s got a letter of apology from Captain Blacktooth.”

  The postal courier’s boat was piled high with canvas bags and brown paper parcels, and the postal courier himself waved urgently when he caught sight of Hilary. “Ahoy, Pirate Westfield!” he called. “If you’d be kind enough to drop your anchor, I’ve got a few letters to deliver.”

  Hilary lowered the Squeaker’s anchor, and the postal courier burrowed into one of the immense canvas bags, emerging triumphantly after a few moments with two thick envelopes in his hand. Charlie leaned over the side of the Squeaker, causing it to wobble alarmingly, and the postal courier passed him the letters.

  Charlie studied the envelopes. “Both for you, Terror,” he said, handing them to Hilary, “but I don’t think they’re from Blacktooth.”

  Both letters were printed on fine, thick paper, but only one was addressed to the Terror of the Southlands. The other was addressed to the Esteemed Miss Hilary Westfield, Formerly of Westfield House, Currently of the High Seas, and Hilary sighed heartily as soon as she saw it. “It’s from Mother,” she said, tearing the envelope open with her cutlass and glancing
at the enclosure. “Another invitation to another tiresome ball. She says if I can spare a few moments from swashbuckling, I’m sure to make a splash in High Society.”

  “She’s probably right, you know,” said Charlie. “You’d definitely be the first High Society girl to strap a sword over her ball gown.”

  “That does sound tempting,” said Hilary, “but I’m not going. Poor Mother; I believe she would have been much happier with a daughter who could actually stand to wear a dress for more than half a minute.” She tucked the card away and turned her attention to the other envelope, which was addressed in an elegant hand and secured with blue sealing wax. “If this is another ball invitation,” she said, “I may scream.”

  * * *

  Dear Hilary,

  We have learned that you and your pirate crew have set out on a voyage with the intent of rescuing Miss Eugenia Pimm. As you might imagine, we are extremely displeased. We have put a great deal of effort into capturing Miss Pimm, and we are simply not prepared to give her up—especially not to a silly young girl who calls herself the Terror of the Southlands. You have been a dreadful nuisance to us for quite some time now, and we will not allow you to ruin our plans again. Therefore, we hope you will pay us a simple courtesy and abandon your quest for Miss Pimm at once.

  If you are foolish enough to ignore our request, we will be forced to take action, and we are not well known for our kindness. (Actually, we are not well known for anything at all at the moment, but please believe us when we say that that will soon change.) You would not want any of your friends to find themselves on the wrong side of our swords, would you, Pirate Westfield? We would so regret having to run them through.