Miss Greyson, who was resting after her most recent magical attempt to spur the Squeaker forward, nodded approvingly. “That’s quite a practical plan,” she said. “Perhaps my lessons have had some useful effect after all.”
“Do you think Blacktooth’s got Miss Pimm and Jasper locked up in the bowels of the Renegade?” Charlie asked. “Or could he have squirreled them away at League headquarters?”
“If Captain Blacktooth is a Mutineer,” said Miss Greyson, “there’s no telling what he might have done. And if we remain on board this vessel, we shall never find out, for we’ll be months behind him. If I might make a suggestion, Hilary, I believe we should remove ourselves to a ship that requires a bit less encouragement.”
As much as Hilary appreciated the Squeaker’s service, she had to admit that it wasn’t quite up to a lengthy High Seas voyage. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Do you have a particular ship in mind?”
“Of course,” said Miss Greyson. “The Pigeon should do nicely.”
“But it’s filled with treasure!”
“I suppose bringing half the kingdom’s magic along with us isn’t entirely wise,” Miss Greyson admitted, “but I don’t believe there’s anything else to be done with it. We haven’t got the time to pile it all into treasure chests and bury it for safekeeping.”
Losing Jasper to the Mutineers seemed to have made Miss Greyson a good deal more reckless than usual. “All right, then,” said Hilary, “we’ll take the Pigeon. Pirate Dove, set a course for Little Herring Cove.”
At Jasper’s bungalow, they were met by the pirates whom Miss Greyson had asked to watch over the ship and its treasure in her absence. There were three of them, and all were sturdy and bearded, though one wore a white coat, one wore a red coat, and one wore a black coat. They all bowed to Hilary and kissed Miss Greyson’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Eloise,” said the pirate in the black coat, “and to meet the Terror and her crew. Jasper speaks very highly of you, Terror. I am Mr. Stanley, and these are my colleagues, Mr. Marrow”—he gestured to the white-coated pirate—“and Mr. Slaughter. Perhaps you saw us at Jasper’s wedding?”
“I’m sure I did,” said Hilary, though there had been a great many pirates packed onto the Westfield House lawn. “You’re friends of Jasper’s, then?”
“Aye,” said Mr. Stanley, who seemed to be the group’s spokesman. “We were all crewmates once—we four and Nat Dove, who I hear was this good lad’s father.” He clapped Charlie on the shoulder, and Charlie looked stubbornly down at his boots. “But we’re retired these days, as much as old buccaneers can be. Perhaps you’d like our card.” He fished a stiff square of paper out of his pocket and passed it to Hilary. “In case you ever require our services.”
The card was engraved with a few words in jet-black ink:
* * *
MARROW, SLAUGHTER & STANLEY
PROTECTION • PIRACY • CATERING
* * *
“We focus mostly on the catering,” said Mr. Slaughter.
Hilary smiled and tucked the card in her pocket. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I believe I do have a job for you. We think we’ve identified one of the villains who’s kidnapped Jasper, but we’ve got to sail the Pigeon to Gunpowder Island to find out what he’s up to. We could use a few extra hands on deck—as well as some help guarding the treasure, of course.”
Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley frowned in unison. “Gunpowder Island,” said Mr. Stanley. “It’s a pirate you’re after, then?”
“It’s the president of the VNHLP, actually,” said Hilary. “I hope that won’t make things awkward for you.”
Mr. Marrow and Mr. Slaughter grinned. “Not at all,” said Mr. Stanley. “We’ve had nothing to do with the League since our retirement. If someone’s got it in for Jasper, we’d be pleased to give that someone a bit of trouble, no matter who he may be.” Mr. Stanley bowed to Hilary again, more deeply this time. “Terror, my colleagues and I are at your service.”
With the three hired pirates on board, the Pigeon fairly flew toward Gunpowder Island. The quarters were slightly cramped—Charlie, Slaughter, and Stanley all shared a small cabin, and Marrow slept in the bookshop—but having a surfeit of pirates made it easier for Hilary to divide the ship’s duties. In addition to the usual knot tying, deck swabbing, and watch keeping, Slaughter baked pies that rivaled Miss Greyson’s, and Marrow read aloud to the gargoyle when Hilary was busy at the helm. Stanley’s particular talent seemed to be for magic. He and Miss Greyson took turns using their magic pieces to summon up favorable winds, and both of them could work for hours before the magic drained them. Claire had settled in with a pair of Miss Greyson’s knitting needles and was busy repairing the sleeves of her cardigan, but Hilary noticed her studying Mr. Stanley and Miss Greyson over the tips of her needles: whenever they worked an enchantment, Claire’s brow went tight with concentration, her lips moved along with theirs, and she dropped dozens of stitches in her knitting.
On the third day at sea, Claire abandoned her cardigan and disappeared into the cabin she shared with Hilary. When she emerged again a few moments later, she was wearing Jasper’s gardening glove on one hand and clutching Cannonball Jack’s dwindling supply of magic coins in the other. “I’m sure I’ve figured out the trick of it now,” she said to Hilary; “I’ve been watching for hours, and I can’t imagine I’ll blow anything up again.”
“Are you sure?” said Hilary. “I don’t want to be discouraging, but I can imagine it awfully well.”
Claire patted her gloved hand. “I see what you mean,” she said, “but I shall do exactly what Miss Greyson does, and everything shall be fine; you’ll see.”
Charlie climbed down from the rigging, took one look at Claire’s gardening glove, and froze. “I don’t think you should be using magic here,” he said. “What if you blast a hole in the Pigeon?”
Claire frowned. “I never blasted a hole in the Squeaker, did I?”
“That was lucky for all of us,” said Charlie. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not the least bit interested in sinking to the bottom of the sea.” He turned away and headed toward the Gargoyle’s Nest. “Perhaps you High Society girls think being shipwrecked is thrilling and romantic,” he said as he went, “but I promise you it’s not.”
Claire looked after him and sighed. “I’m sorry to worry Charlie,” she said, “but now that we’re off after the Mutineers, I’ve simply got to learn how to use this stuff. How can I possibly help you all fight the villains otherwise? I can’t use a sword, I don’t know the first thing about battles, and Captain Blacktooth could most likely squash me flat under his boots in half a minute.”
Hilary didn’t care one bit for the thought of her friends being squashed under Blacktooth’s boots—or anyone else’s boots, for that matter. “I suppose a pirate’s assistant should be able to defend herself in battle,” she said at last.
“Exactly!” said Claire, plucking a magic coin from the bag. “Now, what did Miss Greyson say? Oh yes.” She cleared her throat. “I wish we might have a fair wind in our sails to speed our ship toward Gunpowder Island, please.”
A promising breeze brushed against Hilary’s ear, but she was fairly sure it had nothing to do with magic, for the coin was already starting to glow white-hot in Claire’s hand. Hilary sighed and ducked behind the helm for safety.
“Oh, crumbs!” Claire said as the coin exploded.
Miss Greyson and the three hired pirates jumped at the sound. Charlie groaned and buried his face in his hat.
“What was that noise?” Miss Greyson said. “Has someone opened fire on our ship? Don’t tell me it’s the Royal Navy; I’m simply not in the mood for a battle.”
“It’s not the Royal Navy,” the gargoyle called from his Nest. “It’s only Claire. She’s blowing up magic pieces again.”
“Blowing up magic pieces?” Miss Greyson crossed the deck and examined Claire’s smoking gardening glove. “But that’s not possible.”
�
��It’s not?” Claire looked worried.
“Well, if you’ve done it, I suppose it is possible, but I’ve never seen anything like it before,” said Miss Greyson. She turned to Stanley. “Have you?”
“Not in all my years at sea,” Stanley said. “How extremely curious.”
“Do you mean beginners don’t explode their magic pieces all the time?” Claire’s lower lip wobbled. “Do you mean it might never get better, and I shall be stuck exploding things for the rest of my life?”
“I’m sure that’s not what they mean,” said Hilary, but both Stanley and Miss Greyson were nodding.
“I’m hardly an expert when it comes to magic,” Miss Greyson said, “but I shouldn’t try to use any more of it if I were you.”
“That’s a relief,” Charlie muttered.
Claire flushed, pulled off her gardening glove, and thrust it into Hilary’s hand. “If you’ll excuse me, Hilary, I believe I’ve got to go back to our cabin and—um—attend to things.” Then, before Hilary could do a thing to stop her, Claire hurried back to the cabin and let the door slam shut behind her.
FOR SEVERAL DAYS afterward, Claire was much quieter than usual, and Hilary worried that the latest magical blast had nearly blown her spirit to bits as well. But the rest of the journey to the Northlands was happily free of explosions, and by the time the Pigeon arrived in Gunpowder Bay, the Terror of the Southlands and her crew had grown considerably more cheerful.
“Avast,” cried the gargoyle as they entered the bay, “and arr! That’s the Renegade ahead!”
The black galleon was anchored near the island’s west gate, and Hilary was relieved to see it: at least Mr. Twigget had not been villainous enough to lie to her about his captain’s destination. Against the gray sky and sea, with its deck empty of pirates and its hull creaking on the waves, the Renegade really did look rather ghostly. Even though she had once climbed all the way to its crow’s nest, Hilary had to remind herself sternly that this ship and its captain were entirely real.
“There’s no one on the deck,” said Charlie, setting down the spyglass. “At least, no one that I can see. Shall we go aboard?”
Hilary scanned the Gunpowder Island coast, where pirates bustled back and forth through the west gate, chatting and chortling and swinging their swords with wild abandon. “We’re sure to be seen,” she said, “and even if those aren’t Captain Blacktooth’s men, I can’t imagine they’ll be pleased if they notice us climbing aboard his ship.” She pulled her magic coin from her coat pocket and stepped away from the helm. “Pirate Dove, would you mind sailing us a bit closer to the Renegade?”
Charlie took the wheel, and Hilary made her way to the bow of the Pigeon. “Are we going to sink Blacktooth’s ship?” the gargoyle asked. “Can I shout ‘fire away’?”
Hilary laughed. “You may shout whatever you like, but I’m going to try to find out if Miss Pimm is on board. We should be close enough for the magic to guide us to her if she’s there.” She held her magic coin with two fingers and steadied herself against the Gargoyle’s Nest. “Magic,” she said, “could you please guide us to Miss Pimm, if she’s nearby?” She paused for a moment. “Or to Jasper Fletcher?”
Hilary’s heart beat faster as the coin began to twitch. It leaned to the left and then to the right. It tilted forward and back. Then, with an air of disappointment, it slid into Hilary’s palm and didn’t move again.
Hilary took a deep breath. “They’re not trapped in the Renegade, then. I suppose that’s a relief.”
Miss Greyson summoned up a thin smile, but Hilary was quite sure she was thinking about Jasper. “Very well, then,” Miss Greyson said, as though she were merely proceeding to the next order of business in the day’s lessons. “Where shall we search next? Or would you prefer to confront Captain Blacktooth directly? I believe I could get some answers out of him.”
Hilary was sorely tempted to watch Captain Blacktooth sweat under Miss Greyson’s unwavering gaze, but the pirates on board the Pigeon were hardly a match for Blacktooth and all his mates. Instead Hilary ordered her crew to lower the anchor and gather around her, just as Jasper always did when he was about to make a bold and daring suggestion. She hoped she could manage to be half as convincing as he was.
When her crew stood at attention in front of her—except for the gargoyle, who stood as attentively as he could in his Nest—she put her hands behind her back, lifted her chin, and began to pace back and forth across the deck. Then she glanced down the row of pirates and was pleasantly surprised to see that they all stood up a little straighter as her eyes passed over them. Perhaps this was why Jasper paced back and forth so often. “We’ve got to do two things while we’re here,” she said. “We’ve got to find our missing friends—or at least learn more about where the Mutineers might have taken them—and we’ve got to protect our cargo. I’m sure I don’t need to remind any of you that we’ve just sailed the largest treasure in the kingdom directly into a pirate stronghold, and pirates aren’t known for their scruples when it comes to treasure.”
Mr. Slaughter gave a knowing sort of nod, and Claire bit her lip.
“I’d like Mr. Marrow, Mr. Slaughter, and Mr. Stanley to stay on board the Pigeon and guard our treasure,” Hilary continued. “They’ve been doing a fine job of it so far, and I’m sure they’ll be able to fend off any curious scallywags who might pass by.”
“Aye,” said Mr. Stanley. “That should be no trouble at all.”
“Good. I’d like the rest of you to come with me. But first, could two of the pirates who are staying aboard please loan their coats and hats to Claire and Miss Greyson?”
Miss Greyson patted her hair bun. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. My attire is perfectly practical for adventuring.”
“But perhaps it’s not appropriate for the occasion,” Claire pointed out. “Gunpowder Island is swarming with pirates, isn’t it? I suppose they’ve got a very different idea of what’s fashionable.”
“That’s true.” Miss Greyson shook her head. “Pirates are a hopeless case.” She tugged on the white pirate coat Mr. Marrow offered to her, and Claire wrapped Mr. Stanley’s black coat around her like a dressing gown. When they had settled the pirates’ hats over their hair, they didn’t exactly look fearsome, but they wouldn’t be likely to draw unnecessary attention on Gunpowder Island. “Now,” said Miss Greyson, “may I ask where we’re going in this finery?”
“Certainly.” Hilary crossed her arms and smiled at her crew. “We are going to VNHLP headquarters, and we’re going to search Captain Blacktooth’s rooms. And,” she said, “we shall be very well dressed while we’re doing it.”
* * *
From
The Picaroon
BEIN’ THE OFFICIAL NEWSLETTER OF THE VERY NEARLY HONORABLE LEAGUE OF PIRATES
TIME FOR A NEW TERROR? In the pirate community, rumors are swirling that Pirate Hilary Westfield may not be bold and daring enough to keep her grasp on the title of Terror of the Southlands. Not only has Pirate Westfield embarked on a controversial quest to locate the missing Enchantress, but she was recently rescued from a groggery brawl by a governess, and she may soon be expelled from the League for unpiratical behavior. Who do you think should be the next Terror of the Southlands? Write to the Picaroon to share your view!
QUEEN’S INSPECTORS SUNK BY SCALLYWAG. In a dramatic showdown on the High Seas yesterday, two queen’s inspectors were drenched and humiliated when their boat was fired upon by the pirate Cannonball Jack. The gentlemen had been attempting to question Cannonball Jack after discovering his eye patch near the scene of the Enchantress’s disappearance, but the pirate refused to cooperate, although he did toss each inspector a packet of shortbread as they swam back to shore. Both inspectors have returned safely to the mainland, though Cannonball Jack’s current location is unknown. The shortbread has regrettably been lost beneath the waves.
HELP WANTED. VNHLP president Rupert Blacktooth is seeking pirates to assist the crew of the Renegade during a short-term assi
gnment in the Northlands. Candidates must be loyal to the League, must not indulge in gossip, and must be willing to dance if necessary. First-rate dueling skills are required. Pirates will be compensated generously from the president’s personal treasure chest. Please write to Captain Blacktooth directly for more information.
* * *
* * *
Dear Hilary,
We have noticed that you and your unusual friends have set a northern course for your voyage. Please stop it at once. May we recommend traveling south, east, or west instead? They are far lovelier directions, and we hear they are a good deal less perilous. If you continue to sail northward, you may find yourself in very rough waters indeed.
What a shame that your dear friend Jasper has not been able to join you on your journey. Wherever could he be?
Threateningly yours,
The Mutineers
* * *
CHAPTER TWELVE
ON THE HIGHEST point of Gunpowder Island, at the end of a steep cobblestone lane, the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates had built its headquarters. The whitewashed front porch was lined with rocking chairs and flaming torches, and above the porch was a pleasant balcony complete with spyglasses for looking out across the bay. Skull-and-crossbones flags flew from all four corners of the roof, and a real skull stood guard over two crossed cutlasses above the front door. A few pirates were wandering the grounds, swinging in the rope hammocks, and chatting by the rows of cannons that surrounded the building. It was a lovely headquarters, Hilary thought. She rather regretted having to break into it.
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