The Terror of the Southlands

by Caroline Carlson

  Menacingly,

  The Mutineers

  * * *

  “What does it say?” The gargoyle hopped up and down in his Nest. “It looks very official. Is it good news? Has the queen declared a National Day of the Gargoyle at last?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not anything nearly as wonderful as that,” Hilary said. As she read the letter aloud, Charlie’s face grew stormy, Claire’s jaw grew tense, and the gargoyle’s stony wings beat more and more indignantly.

  “They think you’re a nuisance?” the gargoyle cried. “You’re much worse than a nuisance, Hilary. And they don’t even mention me! Those Mutineers have a lot of nerve.”

  “It’s quite unfair,” said Hilary, “that they should know all about me when I don’t know a thing about them.” She turned to ask the postal courier if he could remember what the person who posted the letter had looked like, but he had already scurried away.

  “They can’t know you that well,” Claire said in a comforting sort of way. “They call you a silly young girl, after all, and you’re not anything of the sort!”

  “That’s true enough,” said Charlie. “I don’t suppose the Mutineers specialize in being kind. But you know, the fact that they bothered to send a letter at all is awfully flattering. It means we’ve ruffled them somehow; they’re frightened we’ll find them out, and they want to give us a good fright in return.” He leaned down to study Hilary’s face. “What’s got you worried, Terror? You can’t be taking these villains seriously.”

  If the Mutineers were only trying to frighten them, Hilary didn’t care to give them the satisfaction of succeeding. She could feel the gargoyle’s heart thrumming fast in his little stone chest, however, and she realized with a start that her own heart was matching it beat for beat. “I’m not terribly fond of the way they talk about my friends,” Hilary said; “that’s all. I don’t want any of you to be hurt on my account.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” said Charlie. “Isn’t danger what being a pirate is all about?”

  “Yes,” said Hilary, “of course it is, but—”

  “Well, then, if we’re in danger, it means we’re better pirates than ever.” Charlie looked rather proud of himself for coming up with this argument. “Besides, we can take care of ourselves.”

  “If any Mutineer comes along and waves his sword at me,” said Claire, “I shall send him to the bottom of the sea.” She nodded vigorously. “I’m not quite sure how I shall do it, but I shall. Charlie is quite right; you don’t need to worry about us.”

  The gargoyle looked up at Hilary. “You can worry about me if you want,” he said. “I don’t think danger is what being a gargoyle is all about.”

  Hilary gave the gargoyle a squeeze. “I promise,” she said, “that whatever else may happen, I’ll keep you far away from the Mutineers’ blades.”

  The mood on the Squeaker soon turned cheerful as Charlie and Claire traded stories of what they would do to defeat the villains when they found them at last, but Hilary didn’t join in, for she was still thinking about the Mutineers’ letter. She hadn’t enjoyed the threat against her friends, of course, but she had no intention of telling Claire or Charlie about the bit that bothered her most of all. “We will not allow you to ruin our plans again,” the Mutineers had written in their elegant way. This meant that Hilary had ruined their plans at least once before, but how could she have done any such thing? The only villain she’d ever truly managed to thwart was her own father.

  Could Admiral Westfield be a Mutineer? It was unlikely that he’d be able to capture Miss Pimm from behind the bars and padlocks of Queensport’s Royal Dungeons, and it was even more unlikely that he’d bother to write a letter to Hilary afterward. Besides, the Admiral’s handwriting was hardly elegant; it hopped across his papers like a disgruntled toad, and Hilary felt sure the Mutineers’ letter hadn’t come from him. Still, she didn’t like the situation one bit. She knew she ought to hurry to the Dungeons and ask Admiral Westfield what he knew about the Mutineers—but perhaps the Terror of the Southlands wasn’t quite as daring or quite as bold as she’d hoped to be. She could fend off a whole galleon full of Mutineers if that was what it took to rescue Miss Pimm, but coming face-to-face with her father was a very different sort of battle, and Hilary wasn’t sure it was the sort she knew how to win.

  * * *

  THE QUEEN’S INSPECTORS

  KINGDOM OF AUGUSTA

  DILIGENCE, LOGIC, DISCRETION

  Report to H.R.H. Queen Adelaide regarding

  THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MISS EUGENIA PIMM

  Report No. 2

  FIELD INSPECTOR: John Hastings

  LOCATION: Pemberton, Augusta

  CASE STATUS: Rather Confounding

  Inspector’s Comments: Your Highness, I am sorry to report that the Enchantress of the Northlands still eludes us. I believe, however, that we have made some progress toward locating her, and I am proud to present to you the following theory:

  Miss Eugenia Pimm has been captured by pirates.

  We have a number of reasons to suspect that this theory is accurate. First, pirates are notoriously ill-mannered. It is extremely impolite to capture a person—especially a person who is both a High Society lady and a government official—but I am told that pirates do not care a bit for politeness.

  Second, when my inspectors conducted a thorough search of the Pemberton road, they found two items of interest approximately one mile from Pemberton Bay. The items were lying by the side of the road directly next to each other, as though they had been dropped (or perhaps tossed from a fast-moving carriage—there are deep wheel ruts in the road nearby). One of the items is a golden pin in the shape of a dancing sheep; we believe this piece of jewelry belongs to the Enchantress herself. The other item is a handsome black eye patch with ties of green silk. Its owner is currently unknown, but we believe this eye patch most certainly belongs to a pirate. I suspect that when this pirate attempted to capture the Enchantress, she put up a bit of a fight and tore off the pirate’s eye patch. In the struggle, however, her pin came loose, and the pirate overtook her and smuggled her into his carriage. (I have heard, Your Highness, that pirates usually travel by ship and not by carriage, but I have asked my men to investigate this point further.)

  Finally, my men tell me that the pirate Cannonball Jack—our prime suspect in this investigation—has disappeared from his usual waters in Pemberton Bay. I have sent several inspectors to search the High Seas for this scoundrel. Additional inspectors are still on the trail of the Terror of Something-or-Other, who is believed to be an acquaintance of Cannonball Jack. After creating a ruckus here in my office, she proceeded to mislead my men and threaten them with magical weaponry, so there is no doubt in my mind that she is both a scoundrel and a villain. She is currently traveling toward Queensport in a very curious ship.

  I believe, Your Highness, that we shall shortly crack this case.

  Signed

  John Hastings

  Captain, Queen’s Inspectors

  * * *

  * * *

  CITIZENS OF AUGUSTA!

  Are you

  TIRED OF WAITING

  for the Enchantress to reappear?

  Do you desire

  A RETURN TO ORDER AND PROPRIETY

  in the kingdom?

  Would you like to prevent

  FURTHER MAGICAL SHENANIGANS

  from taking place?

  Then join us as we ask the queen to

  APPOINT A NEW ENCHANTRESS

  WITHOUT DELAY!

  SAFEGUARD OUR KINGDOM’S MAGIC!

  SAFEGUARD OUR KINGDOM’S FUTURE!

  THIS PAMPHLET HAS BEEN PRODUCED BY

  CITIZENS FOR MAGICAL OVERSIGHT,

  A DIVISION OF THE

  COALITION OF OVERPROTECTIVE MOTHERS.

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FROM A DISTANCE, Feathering Keep seemed to rise up from the sea itself. Hilary supposed it had once been a grand building, guarding the cliff’s edge agains
t storms and scallywags, but now its stone walls slumped toward the waves, as though they had determined that being swallowed up by the sea was a far more dignified fate than crumbling to dust. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could truly live in such a damp and ancient place, but the Featherings seemed to be in residence, for atop each of the keep’s four turrets, a purple pennant flapped in the wind.

  As they drew closer to the keep, Hilary pulled out her spyglass and studied the cliff face. The rocks had been polished by waves, and there didn’t seem to be any footholds nearly large enough for a pirate’s boot. “I don’t know how we’re going to get up there,” she said. “Perhaps if we sail around the cliff . . .”

  Then a tremendous splash drenched her from her hat feather to her boot buckles, and the Squeaker rocked perilously from side to side. “Horsefeathers!” cried Claire as her feet flew out from under her. “What in the world was that?”

  Hilary blinked the seawater from her eyes and reached for her cutlass. Tendrils of smoke rose up from behind the cliff, and the air smelled strongly of gunpowder. “I might be mistaken,” she said, “but I’m almost sure that was a cannonball.”

  “Shiver me timbers!” said the gargoyle as he shook himself off. “Oh, Hilary, I think I’ve gotten some sea up my snout.”

  Charlie had already drawn his sword and was looking about for someone to duel, while Claire grabbed the heavy skillet that Jasper often used to prepare his morning flapjacks. “But who would want to blast us?” she asked. “Do you think it’s the Mutineers?”

  If the Mutineers had progressed from menacing notes to cannonball blasts in a matter of days, they were even more dangerous than Hilary had thought. “I can’t see who’s firing on us,” she called back, “but I think they’re behind the cliff. Oh, for goodness’ sake, duck!”

  Another cannonball splashed down in front of the ship, nearly grazing the Gargoyle’s Nest on the way down. The gargoyle yelped and buried himself as well as he could under his hat.

  Then a small, fierce voice rang out through the smoke. “Ahoy!” it called. “Who dares to approach Feathering Keep?”

  “Don’t answer the scallywag,” Hilary said to her mates. When both she and the Squeaker had stopped trembling, she took hold of the ship’s wheel and sailed directly toward the cliff face. Perhaps she didn’t have a cannon, but she could do a fair bit of damage with a well-aimed piece of hardtack if only she could get close enough.

  The small, fierce voice returned. “Drop your weapons,” it ordered, “or prepare to suffer a pirate’s wrath!” It paused. “And could you please drop your cooking pan as well?”

  Claire flushed and lowered her skillet, but neither Charlie nor Hilary put down their swords. Instead they stared at the elegant ship that was speeding toward them from the far side of the cliff. Its hull gleamed as white as the wave caps, and its spotless sails looked as though they’d never been sullied by a breeze. But atop its mast flew an imposing Jolly Roger, and along its deck stood a line of small iron cannons. Two of the cannons were still smoking from the blasts that had rocked the Squeaker.

  “They’re pirates?” Charlie frowned. “That’s the strangest pirate ship I’ve ever seen.”

  Stranger still, Hilary thought, was the girl perched on its bowsprit. She was small and sturdy, and she wore a ruffled white dress that made her look rather like an iced pastry from one of Queensport’s fine bakeries. But her feet swung back and forth in shiny pirate boots, and her red hair tangled cheerfully beneath her pirate hat. She certainly didn’t look much like a villain, but she’d nearly turned the Squeaker into a heap of rubble, and that was not a mistake Hilary intended to let her make again.

  “You must be a very bold pirate indeed,” Hilary called, “to fire your cannons at the Terror of the Southlands and her crew. But we’re twice as bold, and we won’t drop our weapons, so you’d better surrender at once.”

  The girl reached under the satin sash around her waist, pulled out a spyglass, and peered through it at the Squeaker. Then she gave a little gasp that nearly toppled her off the bowsprit. When she had recovered her balance, the girl pulled herself back onto her ship and hurried over to the other sailor on board, a tall, red-haired young man who was standing behind the row of cannons. She waved her arms ferociously for a few moments, and the young man laughed and nodded. Then the small white ship sailed directly toward the Squeaker.

  Hilary tightened her grip on her cutlass. “It doesn’t look like they’re surrendering,” she said. “They must be awfully foolish pirates if they think they can face the Terror of the Southlands in battle.”

  “You don’t think they’ll sink us, do you?” said Claire. “It would be terribly embarrassing to be shipwrecked by a girl in a party dress.” She squeezed water from her damp skirts, leaving them even more wrinkled and worn than usual. “I believe perishing at sea is dreadful enough without being mortified in the process.”

  “They wouldn’t dare sink us,” said Charlie, “and if they try, we’ll just have to sink them first.” He looked worried, though, and he kept shifting his sword from one hand to the other as the pirate ship drew nearer.

  It pulled alongside the Squeaker with a scrape of wood and a squeak of metal as the red-haired young man lowered the anchor. “You really can put down your swords,” the girl in the white dress said, “if you’d like. But you don’t have to, of course. Oh, I can’t believe I fired on Hilary Westfield! How awful!” She grimaced. “You are Pirate Hilary Westfield, aren’t you?”

  Hilary hesitated for a moment before lowering her cutlass. “Yes,” she said, “I am.”

  “I told you it was really the Terror!” The girl spun around, and her billowing skirts spun with her.

  “So you did,” said the young man with a smile. “But perhaps you’d better introduce yourself. I’m ever so sorry,” he said, turning to Hilary. “My little sister doesn’t always remember her manners.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you a thousand times,” she said, “that pirates mind their manners only when it suits them. But very well.” She leaned over the side of her ship and stuck out her hand for Hilary to shake. “I’m Alice Feathering, and this is my ship, the Calamity.” She patted the Calamity’s shiny white hull. “And this is my brother, Nicholas, but he’s old and dull. He thinks he’s supposed to look after me, even though everyone knows pirates don’t need looking after. I should have made him walk the plank ages ago.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Pirate Westfield,” said Nicholas Feathering. “Alice has told me you’re the finest buccaneer on the High Seas.”

  Hilary was so surprised that she nearly forgot to shake Nicholas’s hand. She had not quite expected to find the most eligible gentleman in Augusta floating about on a pirate ship, and she had certainly not expected him to be kind. Sir Nicholas Feathering looked, however, like a perfectly normal and rather friendly young man. He was paler than his sister, but he had the same cluster of freckles scattered along the bridge of his nose. His clothes were nearly as fancy as Alice’s, but without quite so many ruffles, and he had tied a handkerchief around his head in a dashing sort of way. “Are you a buccaneer yourself?” Hilary asked him.

  Nicholas laughed and patted his handkerchief. “Alas, I’m not,” he said, “but Alice won’t allow me on her ship unless I look the part. This is my father’s best pocket square—I’m hoping to replace it before he finds out, but I’m dreading ironing the thing.”

  Hilary nodded. “No good pirate enjoys ironing,” she said. “And it’s nice to meet you as well. This is my first mate, Pirate Charlie Dove. He’s hoping to be the Scourge of the Northlands soon. And this is Claire Dupree, pirate’s assistant.” Charlie raised his sword in greeting, and Claire curtsied. “And this—”

  But Alice Feathering interrupted her. “Oh, this must be your gargoyle!” she said. “Hello, gargoyle. I’ve heard lots about you. They say you’re the most fearsome beast in the kingdom.”

  “They do? Really?” The gargoyle leaned forward in his Nes
t. “Do they mention my hat?”

  Alice gave Hilary a shy smile. “I can’t believe you’ve come to Feathering Keep,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate, but my parents said it simply wasn’t done. And then you became a pirate, so I told them it was absolutely done, and by High Society girls, too! I can’t wait to join the VNHLP, but I’m not nearly old enough yet.” She gave the Calamity another fond pat. “So until then, I’m practicing.”

  “You’re certainly good with a cannon already,” said Charlie. He wiped away the water that was dripping off his hat brim and onto his nose.

  Alice’s face turned nearly as red as her hair. “I’m awfully sorry about that,” she said. “We don’t get many visitors poking around Feathering Keep, and I hoped you might be scoundrels.” She sighed. “I’ve spent ages waiting for a scoundrel to sail past us. It’s difficult to practice having a pirate battle when you’ve got no one to do battle with, and Nicholas isn’t fond of dueling with me.”

  “Alice is a much better pirate than I’ll ever be, I’m afraid,” said Nicholas, “but I’m a better host. Why don’t you all come inside and dry yourselves off? I’m almost certain the chimney in the great hall won’t collapse if we light a fire.”

  THE FEATHERINGS GUIDED the pirates around the cliff to a little dock, where they moored the Squeaker next to the Calamity. Someone had once carved a set of steps into the rock face, but they were badly worn from generations of wind and waves. Hilary did her best to scramble up them without jostling the gargoyle too unpleasantly.

  “Welcome to our beloved pile of rubble,” said Nicholas when they’d all reached the top of the cliff and gathered around the front door of Feathering Keep. A golden door knocker in the shape of a bear’s head stared out at them, but it was the only part of the keep that looked less than a thousand years old. “You’ll want to step lightly going through the entranceway so you don’t dislodge any bits of wall or ceiling. They’re mostly held up by magic, but every now and then we lose a chimney or a chunk of parapet.”