The Terror of the Southlands

by Caroline Carlson

  The gargoyle trembled, and Hilary gripped the iron bars to steady herself. It was probably a good thing that she’d had to leave her cutlass behind, for she wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist pointing it in her father’s direction. “Jasper,” she said fiercely, “is a far better sailor than you’ll ever be, and you know it. Now tell me what you’ve done.”

  Admiral Westfield stepped backward and raised his hands. “What I’ve done?” he asked. “My dear girl, you give me far too much credit. I’ve been locked behind bars ever since my treacherous daughter dragged my name through the mud, so I’m afraid I haven’t had time to run about after Enchantresses and pirates.”

  “You know who’s taken Miss Pimm and Jasper, though; I’m sure of it. Who are the Mutineers? Are they friends of yours?”

  “The Mutineers.” Admiral Westfield smiled. “It’s a good name, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, it’s terribly villainous,” said Hilary. “Tell me who they are.”

  With one calloused hand, Admiral Westfield reached out and unfolded Hilary’s fingers from the bars. “I imagine,” he said, “that they prefer to remain anonymous.”

  “And I’d prefer to send them to the bottom of the sea.”

  “That seems rather uncalled for,” said Admiral Westfield. “After all, they’ve been kind enough to refrain from doing the same to you. Don’t scowl so ferociously, my dear, or you’ll never be asked to dance at a High Society ball.”

  “Then I shall practice my scowling more often from now on,” Hilary snapped. “Do you know who the Mutineers are?”

  “Of course,” said Admiral Westfield.

  “And will you tell me a single thing about them? Where they are, or what they want with Miss Pimm and Jasper?”

  Admiral Westfield looked confused. “Why in the world should I do that?”

  “I know it’s not in your nature to be charitable or kind,” said Hilary, “but if you help me find the Enchantress, the queen is sure to be grateful. Perhaps you won’t have to spend the rest of your days sitting in this cell, watching the moss grow. If you don’t help me, though, I’ll see to it that the queen keeps you locked up for good—and I’ll tell Mother to stop wasting her time with her visits.”

  For a moment, Admiral Westfield was silent. “My dear,” he said at last, “I’d gladly tell you everything I know, but I’m afraid I don’t share information with the Terror of the Southlands.”

  Hilary clenched her teeth. She’d been utterly foolish to think she could wring even a drop of information from her father; they might as well have been captains of enemy ships facing off across a vast stretch of sea. “I suppose that means you won’t tell me what you’ve done with the rest of that magic you stole, either.”

  “You suppose correctly,” said Admiral Westfield. “Really, if those silly inspectors haven’t found it by now, I don’t think they deserve it, do you?”

  Hilary tried to imagine what Inspector Hastings might do with a wagonload of magic pieces. He’d probably wish for a new set of dusting brushes, which was sure to be preferable to anything Admiral Westfield or his friends might be planning. “It’s a shame you won’t tell me what you know, Father,” she said, “but I hope you don’t think that will stop me from finding your friends and sending them to join you in the Dungeons. It will be ever so nice for you to have a bit of company down here.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll try your best,” said Admiral Westfield. “But you can’t sincerely believe that you’ll stop the Mutineers from”—he coughed—“er, from doing whatever it is they plan to do.”

  Hilary glared at him. “I stopped you, didn’t I?”

  “A mere bit of luck,” said Admiral Westfield with a shrug. “You may have fooled Jasper Fletcher, but even underneath that pirate finery you can’t fool me. You are my daughter, after all—a Westfield, and a High Society girl!” He smiled approvingly at the notion. “But you’re certainly not a Terror.”

  Hilary stepped back from the cell. “You’re wrong,” she said.

  “Actually,” said the admiral, “I rather think I’m right. I can’t imagine that a truly terrifying pirate would bother to visit her father in the Dungeons—and yet here you are.” Admiral Westfield raised his eyebrows, as though an intriguing thought had just occurred to him. “Is it possible, my dear, that you regret locking me away?”

  For a moment, the Dungeons were as still and silent as the air after a cannonball blast. In his bag, the gargoyle tensed. So did Hilary. Then she turned on her heel to leave, snatched up her lantern, and swung it so ferociously that before she knew quite what had happened, the lantern had slipped free from her grasp and shattered against the wall. Shards of glass skittered underfoot, and the candle fell to the floor, where it blazed for a moment before snuffing itself out in the dirt. Hilary blinked into the darkness. Perhaps the smoke from the candle had stung her eyes, for they began to dampen at the corners.

  Then lights flickered in the passageway, footsteps crunched through the glass, and two royal guards took Hilary by the elbows. “There’s no damage to the queen’s property allowed, miss,” one of them said. “You’ll have to leave now—unless you’d prefer a cell of your own, of course.”

  “That’s perfectly all right,” said Hilary. “I don’t believe I can tolerate the Dungeons for another moment.” She turned to look over her shoulder at Admiral Westfield’s cell. “Good-bye, Father,” she said with as much dignity as she could scrape up. “I won’t be visiting again.”

  “No, I suppose you won’t,” said Admiral Westfield. “Run along, then,” he called as the guards escorted Hilary away, “and be a good little girl.”

  BEING MARCHED UP a staircase and down a hall by a pair of guards in unflattering mustard-colored trousers was, Hilary decided, a rather mortifying experience. The tongue click of disapproval that the clerk issued as Hilary passed her desk was more mortifying still, but worst of all was the gasp that Miss Greyson let out when the guards deposited Hilary at the Dungeons’ front entrance. “Here’s your pirate, ma’am,” said one of the guards to Miss Greyson, tipping his hat. “She’s not to come back to the Dungeons until she apologizes for the damage she’s done.”

  “Damage?” said Miss Greyson. “Oh dear, whatever happened down there?”

  “Father happened,” said Hilary. Perhaps if she took long enough slipping her cutlass back onto her belt, she wouldn’t have to meet Miss Greyson’s eyes. “And I suppose I may have broken a lantern. But I’d prefer not to discuss it, if you don’t mind.”

  Miss Greyson gave the guards a curt nod and guided Hilary out to the drive, where Charlie and Claire were waiting. “You needn’t discuss a thing,” she murmured to Hilary. “I happen to know for a fact that the Royal Dungeons rarely do much to improve one’s character.”

  As they walked back toward the Squeaker, Hilary told the others everything that Admiral Westfield had said—or very nearly everything. “He knows who the Mutineers are,” she said, “but he wouldn’t tell me a thing about them, except to say we’ve got no hope of stopping them.”

  “And,” said the gargoyle, “he called me a tiresome creature.”

  “But he’s wrong,” said Hilary. “Of course we’ll stop the Mutineers.” She was quite sure that if they didn’t, Admiral Westfield would sit in his cell and chuckle, and the thought of it was too infuriating to bear. “Perhaps I don’t know who the villains are, or where to find them, or what they’ve done with our friends. And perhaps I don’t have the slightest idea what they’re planning.” Hilary shoved her hands into her coat pockets and looked out at Queensport Harbor, where blue-and-gold flags flew from every mast in the Royal Navy’s fleet. “But I simply won’t give Father the satisfaction of being right.”

  CHARLIE HAD TIED up the Squeaker far from the other ships in the harbor, but when they returned to it, they found it had been joined by a gleaming white pirate ship with the name Calamity painted on its hull and Alice Feathering balanced on its bowsprit. She was dressed in a cloud of lavender frills, and her hair
flew in all directions underneath her pirate hat. The sight of her cheered Hilary immensely.

  “Ahoy!” Alice cried, giving the pirates a vigorous wave. “I request an audience with the Terror of the Southlands and her mates!”

  Miss Greyson raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

  “A High Society girl,” Hilary explained, “and a very fearsome pirate.”

  “Ah,” said Miss Greyson. “That explains the frills, then.”

  Alice jumped down onto the dock and ran to meet them. “I’ve been waiting for hours!” she said. “I saw your ship tied up here, and I hoped you’d hurry back. I worried you’d be too late.” She glanced over her shoulder and paused to catch her breath. “But you’ve gotten here just in time!”

  Claire knelt down and put her hands on Alice’s shoulders. “In time for what?” she asked.

  “Well,” said Alice, “there’s a bit of a story to it. I was sailing about in the Calamity this morning, only there’s not much to do out by Feathering Keep, so I decided to sail toward the city. And as I came into the harbor, I saw the most amazing thing.” She pointed out at the sea. “Do you see that ship with black sails that’s just going around the point? You’d better look quickly, or you’ll miss it.”

  Hilary squinted at the ship, which was hardly more than a dark smudge on the horizon. Then she pulled out her spyglass to get a better view of its sleek black hull and flaming torches. “That’s Captain Blacktooth’s galleon,” she said. “That’s the Renegade.”

  Alice beamed up at her. “That,” she said, “is the ghost ship.”

  Hilary nearly dropped her spyglass. “The ghost ship? Do you mean it’s the ship you saw on the night Miss Pimm disappeared?” She passed the spyglass to Charlie. “That is the Renegade, isn’t it?”

  He studied the ship for a few moments and frowned. “That’s Blacktooth’s ship, all right.” He lowered the spyglass and looked down at Alice. “Are you absolutely sure that’s the same ship you saw in Pemberton Bay?”

  “I’d recognize it anywhere,” said Alice. “Hardly anyone on the High Seas sails about with so many torches. It had people on board today, though. I thought of chasing them and asking them if they’d taken Miss Pimm, but I’m not an official pirate yet, of course, so I thought I’d better tell the Terror of the Southlands at once, because you’d know what to do.” She smoothed the front of her dress and curtsied. “I hope I did the right thing.”

  “You certainly did.” Hilary stared after the Renegade as it rounded the eastern point of the harbor. “But it’s rather curious. Captain Blacktooth told me just yesterday that he and his crew were on Gunpowder Island on Midsummer’s Eve. What was his ship doing in Pemberton?”

  “Perhaps someone stole it,” Claire offered, but Hilary shook her head. Not even the bravest of villains would dare to steal a galleon belonging to the president of the VNHLP—and in any case, the ship had clearly been returned to Captain Blacktooth’s possession.

  The harbor was bustling with naval officers and High Society pleasure boaters, but Hilary spotted a small band of pirates passing by in a dinghy and waved to get their attention. “Ahoy!” she called. “Scallywags!”

  The pirates looked in her direction, and one of them saluted her with his hook. “Arr!” he said. “Be ye needin’ a hand, matey? I’m afraid I’ve only got the one.”

  “Actually,” said Hilary, “I’ve got a question. Were you at the VNHLP picnic on Midsummer’s Eve?”

  The hook-handed pirate gave Hilary a yellowed grin. “Why, of course we were, matey. All pirates worth their breeches make sure to attend the League picnic.”

  “Of course they do.” Hilary sighed. “And did you happen to catch sight of Captain Rupert Blacktooth at the picnic? Or his mates?”

  The pirate scratched his chin perilously with his hook. “’Twas strange, now that ye mention it,” he said. “We were expectin’ the crew of the Renegade to wallop us in the swimmin’ relay, but they never showed up.”

  “I heard they all came down with nasty colds,” another pirate in the dinghy added.

  “Aye,” said the hook-handed pirate. “Ye be lookin’ at the first-place swimmers from the dread ship Matilda, and ye can thank Captain Blacktooth’s absence for that.”

  When the first-place swimmers from the dread ship Matilda had bobbed away in their dinghy, Hilary turned back to her mates. “I suppose that settles it,” she said. “Captain Blacktooth wasn’t on Gunpowder Island that night at all.” She knew perfectly well that pirates lied, but still, she was rather distressed that Captain Blacktooth had lied to her.

  “And I’ll bet,” said Charlie, “that he didn’t have a nasty cold, either.”

  Claire tugged at her cardigan. “Do you think Captain Blacktooth is a Mutineer, then?”

  Hilary crossed her arms. The idea seemed preposterous; whatever would Captain Blacktooth want with Miss Pimm and Jasper? His handwriting looked nothing like the elegant script in the Mutineers’ letters, and she couldn’t imagine that the president of the VNHLP would have anything at all to do with someone who hated pirates as ferociously as Admiral Westfield did. Still, Captain Blacktooth had been quite persistent about halting Hilary’s search for Miss Pimm, and his ship had been hidden very near the place where Miss Pimm had disappeared. The more Hilary thought about it, the more suspicious it all seemed. “I’ve got no idea what Blacktooth is up to,” she said, “but if we follow his ship, perhaps we’ll find out.”

  * * *

  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. 3

  FIELD INSPECTOR: John Hastings

  LOCATION: Pemberton, Augusta

  CASE STATUS: Truly Perplexing

  Inspector’s Comments: Your Highness, you have no doubt noticed that Miss Eugenia Pimm has still not reappeared. We regret the delay and offer our heartfelt apologies. In addition, we hope it will be some consolation to you to learn that we have made progress in our line of investigation regarding pirates.

  I have corresponded with Captain Rupert Blacktooth, the president of the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates, and his insights have proven to be most helpful. I described to Captain Blacktooth the eye patch that was found at the scene of the crime, and he identified it as belonging to Cannonball Jack—the very pirate who had arranged to dine with the Enchantress on the evening of her disappearance. Captain Blacktooth tells me that Cannonball Jack is an unpredictable buccaneer who may very well be responsible for all manner of villainous acts throughout the kingdom. My inspectors have tried to approach Cannonball Jack’s houseboat on the High Seas, but the pirate has an extraordinary number of cannons, and my men are armed only with their magnifying glasses. Would the Royal Armory be willing to provide my inspectors with weapons so that they might investigate this case without fearing for their lives?

  In my correspondence with Captain Blacktooth, I also made inquiries regarding the pirate who calls herself the Terror of the Southlands. Her name is Hilary Westfield, and Captain Blacktooth reports that she is not a pirate in good standing. Indeed, she is only inches away from being expelled from the League. The girl’s father, Admiral James Westfield, is a confirmed criminal mastermind, and I am confident that she has taken up his villainous ways. In fact, my men in Queensport tell me that Pirate Westfield was recently observed visiting the admiral in the Royal Dungeons, where the two were surely planning their next coldhearted scheme. My fellow inspectors are reluctant to apprehend the girl without firm proof that she is involved in the Enchantress’s disappearance, but I should very much like to see her locked up alongside her father. She has vexed me for quite some time, Your Highness, and she is doubtlessly guilty of some crime or another. The next time I lay eyes on her, I shall arrest her myself.

  Signed

  John Hastings

  Captain, Queen’s Inspectors

&n
bsp; * * *

  * * *

  WESTFIELD HOUSE

  QUEENSPORT, AUGUSTA

  Dear Hilary,

  I hope this note finds you safe and sound, but I fear it does not, for I read in the Gazette that you have embarked on a quest to find the Enchantress. While I quite approve of your urge to do something kind for dear Miss Pimm, I wonder whether your plan is entirely wise? It sounds rather dangerous. But then, I have become much acquainted with danger myself in the past few days, for (as you may have read) a thoroughly cruel turkey stalks the halls of Westfield House, and my cook has not yet managed to roast the villain.

  I know that you are busy with your piratical notions, Hilary, but as your mother, I must request that you accompany me to the event that will surely be the highlight of the social season. I have just received a lovely invitation from Mrs. Georgiana Tilbury, who is holding a grand ball at Tilbury Park for her daughter Philomena’s debut. Your name is not specifically included on the invitation, but I am certain that this was an oversight on Mrs. Tilbury’s part, for I believe Philomena is one of your darling companions from finishing school. Wouldn’t you enjoy watching her enter High Society? Mrs. Tilbury hints that a grand announcement will be made that evening as well, and I’m sure all of Augusta will be buzzing about it for days. Do let me know if you’ll come.

  Your loving

  Mother

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BY THE TIME Hilary and her mates had said good-bye to Alice and sailed out of Queensport Harbor, Captain Blacktooth and his ship were completely out of sight. Even Miss Greyson’s crochet hook couldn’t shove the Squeaker along quickly enough to overtake the Renegade. “It’s awfully hard to follow Blacktooth,” the gargoyle observed, “when we can’t even see him.”

  Such a small inconvenience was hardly enough to stop the Terror of the Southlands in her tracks, however. “On the way to the Salty Biscuit,” Hilary called from the helm, “Mr. Twigget told me that Captain Blacktooth was due back on Gunpowder Island any day now. If that’s truly where he’s headed, then that’s where we must go as well.”