The Terror of the Southlands

by Caroline Carlson

  “And it’s a good thing you did,” said Hilary, “or we’d all be skewered on Captain Blacktooth’s sword by now, or locked up in Mrs. Tilbury’s mansion.” The very thought was enough to turn her stomach. “That woman makes Philomena look like a rosebud.”

  “A rosebud with plenty of thorns,” said Charlie, “who captures Enchantresses for sport.”

  Miss Greyson pushed her pirate hat out of her eyes. “To be perfectly fair, we don’t know that Philomena was involved. Perhaps her mother and Captain Blacktooth worked alone.”

  “I doubt it,” said Hilary. “Villainy seems to run in their family. But perhaps we’ll learn more when we get to Tilbury Park.”

  “And fight our way past dozens of Blacktooth’s hired scallywags,” said Charlie, “and rescue Miss Pimm, and find Jasper, and escape without getting ourselves run through.” He kicked at a loose cobblestone. “It’s an awfully difficult job for a shabby orphan boy.”

  “Then it’s fortunate,” said Hilary, “that you’re nothing of the sort.” She turned to Claire. “Don’t you think it’s rather strange that Philomena has a pirate for an uncle? I wonder if she’s as rude to him as she is to us.”

  Claire considered this. “I suspect,” she said at last, “that Philomena is rude to everyone. Except, of course, for Nicholas Feathering.” She sighed. “I hope he won’t be too distraught when he finds he’s betrothed to a villain.”

  When they climbed aboard the Pigeon at last, they found Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley standing guard with swords outstretched. “Did anyone give you trouble?” Hilary asked them.

  “Not particularly,” said Mr. Marrow. “We sold a few books, though.”

  “Oh, good,” said Miss Greyson.

  “And we think we saw some queen’s inspectors poking about,” Mr. Stanley said. “They’re the gentlemen in red jackets, aren’t they? They sailed over from the mainland, and they seemed quite interested in the Pigeon, but they didn’t stay long when they caught sight of our spyglasses.”

  “And our swords,” Mr. Slaughter added.

  “How peculiar.” Hilary set down her bag and placed the gargoyle back in his Nest. “But I’m afraid we don’t have any time to worry about inspectors. Please set a course for Nordholm.”

  Mr. Stanley raised his eyebrows. “And what shall we do there, Terror?”

  “We shall find our friends,” said Hilary, “and we shall trounce the Mutineers.”

  * * *

  From

  The Augusta Scuttlebutt

  WHERE HIGH SOCIETY TURNS FOR SCANDAL

  Are you a young High Society lady? Have you always wanted to be an Enchantress? If so, dear reader, your dream may soon come true! Sources close to Queen Adelaide tell the Scuttlebutt in strictest confidence that the queen is prepared to appoint a new Enchantress if Miss Eugenia Pimm, Enchantress of the Northlands, does not return to her post within the next few days. The queen’s inspectors have had their hands full with reports of stolen magic pieces and enchantments gone wrong, and royal advisers worry that the magical chaos will only get worse unless a new Enchantress takes charge.

  Before her mysterious disappearance, Miss Pimm herself had begun to search for a successor, but the Scuttlebutt hears she couldn’t find a candidate who was talented enough for the job. Will Queen Adelaide have better luck? We at the Scuttlebutt are simply dying to learn who the fortunate young lady will be.

  * * *

  WE ASKED, YOU ANSWERED:

  Do you think the queen should appoint a new Enchantress?

  “In the weeks since Miss Pimm disappeared, a pickpocket stole my magic coins, the mayor of our village accidentally turned himself a rather vivid shade of purple, and the local farmer used his magic piece to teach his pigs to sing opera arias. Finding a new Enchantress may be the only way to get those dreadful creatures to be quiet.”—H. THORNE, WIMBLY-ON-THE-MARSH

  “I suppose a new Enchantress would be a useful sort of thing to have about, as long as she’s not so awfully fond of rhymes.”—P. SCATTERGOOD, OTTERPOOL

  “I don’t care for Enchantresses as a matter of principle, but anyone would be an improvement over That Meddling Old Biddy. Thank goodness she’s gone at last.”—J. WESTFIELD, QUEENSPORT

  “Be ye kiddin’? ’Twould be the height of foolishness to go appointin’ a new Enchantress. The Terror of the Southlands will bring Eugenia back, ye mark me words.”—C. JACK, THE HIGH SEAS

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HILARY HAD NEVER seen anything like the city of Nordholm. It was bright and stark and very old, carved up by rivers and polished by waves until it was nearly more water than land. As the Pigeon wound around islands and slipped past drawbridges, Charlie pointed out the rocky shore where he’d lived with his mam and pa before their ship had sunk and he’d gone to stay with Jasper. “It was a good place to be a pirate,” Charlie said. “There were always plenty of ships to watch through the window, and Mam built me a raft to paddle around on. I tried to sail it through the city once, but I didn’t even make it past the bend in the river before I went overboard.”

  “You’re a much better pirate now,” said Hilary. “I’m sure your mam would be impressed.”

  “She was impressed any time I didn’t come home dripping wet,” said Charlie, “which wasn’t very often.”

  Claire had found Tilbury Park on one of the water-stained maps Jasper kept on board the Pigeon. “It’s on the edge of the city,” she reported, “close to the forest, and it looks nearly large enough to be its own village. Perhaps the map is mistaken.”

  But the mansion at Tilbury Park was just as grand and terrifying as the map had suggested. It stood high above the water, sheltered by trees, with columns and porticos and great glass windows that stared out at the sea. A low stone wall traced the boundary of the land, doing its best to keep the fields and gardens from sliding into the waves.

  The gargoyle started to call “Land ho!” but Hilary hushed him, for she didn’t want the residents of Tilbury Park to have any idea that the Terror of the Southlands had come for a visit. Instead she sailed the Pigeon into a cove half a mile away and asked Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley to keep watch while she rowed the dinghy ashore to take a closer look at the mansion. The gargoyle cleared his throat pointedly until Hilary agreed to take him with her, and Claire, Charlie, and Miss Greyson piled into the dinghy without being asked. “If you think we’re all going to stay on the Pigeon reading romances while you rescue Miss Pimm,” the gargoyle said, “you’re crazy.”

  Once they’d reached the shore, Hilary hid the dinghy behind a convenient bush, and the pirates tramped up the hill toward Tilbury Park. As they walked, Miss Greyson removed her crochet hook from her bun and held it straight up in the air. “Please direct me,” she said, “toward Miss Eugenia Pimm.”

  For a moment, the crochet hook stood entirely still. Then, slowly but unmistakably, it tilted in the direction of the Tilburys’ mansion.

  Hilary grinned, and Claire clapped her hands. “How wonderful!” she cried.

  “Quite,” said Miss Greyson, looking rather pleased with herself. Then she turned her attention back to the crochet hook. “And would you be so kind as to point me toward Jasper Fletcher?”

  The crochet hook wobbled from side to side, seemed to think better of the whole endeavor, and slipped out of Miss Greyson’s hand onto the hillside.

  Miss Greyson’s smile collapsed. “He’s not here,” she said briskly as she retrieved her crochet hook. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  Hilary squeezed her hand. “At least we’ve found Miss Pimm,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll find Jasper as well.”

  As they drew closer to Tilbury Park, the gargoyle began to squirm in his bag. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s my ears. They’re tingling almost as much as they do on the Pigeon. I think someone up there must have lots of magic.”

  “Oh dear,” said Claire, “really? I hope it’s not Philomena. She’ll enchant me into something dreadful—a centipede, perhaps, or a f
ungus—and it’s likely to ruin the whole afternoon.”

  When they reached the edge of Tilbury Park, Hilary knelt down behind the low stone wall and pulled out her spyglass. “Blast,” she said. “The place is positively crawling with guards.” Dozens of men in peacock-blue uniforms stood in straight lines at the front of the mansion. Most of them held sharp-looking swords at their waists, and Hilary thought she spotted at least one cannon. “Those must be the men Captain Blacktooth sent to guard Miss Pimm—and I suppose he’ll be sending even more. We’ll never be able to fight them off alone.”

  Charlie took the spyglass and studied Tilbury Park for himself. “You’re right,” he said at last; “there are too many of them for us to handle, and I bet they’ve got magic pieces as well.” He paused and adjusted the spyglass’s focus. “And if that’s not enough, it looks like someone’s coming up the drive.”

  The pirates ducked behind the wall and squinted through the cracks in the stones at the passing carriage. It was entirely black, with no family crest painted on its doors. Four jet-black horses pulled it through the gateposts, and dark curtains covered its windows. As Hilary watched, the driver tugged the horses to a halt, and a footman in peacock-blue livery hurried out of the mansion to open the carriage door for Mrs. Tilbury.

  “Hurrah,” Hilary whispered. “Our hostess is home.”

  “Hey!” said the gargoyle. “That’s the carriage that almost ran into us on the way to Pemberton! Do you remember, Hilary?”

  “I’d nearly forgotten.” Hilary thought for a moment. “And Miss Pimm disappeared that very night, didn’t she? Do you truly think it’s the same carriage?”

  “I’d know it anywhere,” the gargoyle said. “It almost turned me into pebbles!”

  Miss Greyson clicked her tongue. “It’s very peculiar. Why would a High Society lady like Mrs. Tilbury travel in an unmarked carriage?”

  “That’s simple enough,” said Charlie. “She doesn’t want folks to know who she is when she’s off lunching with pirates or kidnapping Enchantresses. Can you imagine the Mutineers spiriting Miss Pimm away in a coach painted all over with the Tilbury crest?”

  The gargoyle bared his teeth. “Just wait till I get my hands on those Mutineers,” he said. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  Hilary couldn’t see, though, how they would ever get past the lines of guards to rescue Miss Pimm. “There’s nothing more we can do right now,” she said at last. Her pirate hat felt heavy on her head, and the collar of her shirt was starting to itch. “And I’m not sure we’ll be fearsome enough to face all those guards even if we bring Mr. Stanley and his friends with us next time. Perhaps we’d better go back to the Pigeon.”

  The gargoyle looked concerned. “We’re not giving up, are we?”

  “No,” said Hilary, “a pirate never gives up. But sometimes a pirate isn’t quite sure what to do next.”

  They walked back toward the dinghy in silence. Miss Greyson’s brow was furrowed in thought, and Claire picked at the loose threads in her newly mended cardigan. “We could blast Tilbury Park to bits,” Charlie said at last. “A few cannonballs would get rid of those Mutineers in a hurry.”

  Hilary thought about it. “It would certainly be satisfying, but Miss Pimm is in there, and I don’t want to risk hurting her.”

  “We could alert the queen’s inspectors,” Miss Greyson suggested.

  “Do you really think they’d be a bit of help in a battle?” Hilary kicked a clod of dirt with the toe of her boot. “Anyway, I refuse to let Inspector Hastings take the credit for rescuing Miss Pimm. We’re here at the Mutineers’ hideout, and he’s probably back in Pemberton sipping tea and ironing his trousers.”

  Claire took a deep breath. “I know this might sound foolish,” she said, “but the Pigeon is absolutely full of magic. Perhaps if we each took a handful of coins, we could enchant Miss Pimm out of the house.”

  But Miss Greyson shook her head. “There simply aren’t enough of us for a task that powerful. Mr. Stanley and I could do part of the work, but”—she looked pointedly at Claire—“I don’t think it’s wise to encourage an accident.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Claire looked down at her bootlaces. “I do wish I weren’t still miles away from being in High Society. If I were grand and elegant, I could call on Mrs. Tilbury, and she’d have no choice but to invite me in.”

  Charlie had been looking glum all day, and now he frowned more deeply than ever. “Really?” he said to Claire. “You’ve spent weeks on a pirate ship, and you still want to be a High Society lady?”

  “Well, yes,” said Claire. “Of course I do!”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Claire stopped walking, and her voice was sharp. “What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s nothing.” Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Never mind.”

  “I believe I do mind.” Claire turned to face him. “I know you don’t care for High Society girls, but I don’t understand why they upset you so much.”

  “I’d think you of all people would understand,” said Charlie fiercely. “Haven’t you heard what people like Philomena and her mother say about us?”

  Claire’s cheeks flushed. “Of course I’ve heard what they say, and I’ve heard a thousand other nasty comments as well. I know High Society folks mock me; I know they look at me as though they’d like to scrape me off the bottom of their boots. But I also know how horrid it is to wrap fish every day, and if I’m given the chance to dress up and go to balls and enjoy myself, why shouldn’t I take it?”

  “Because High Society is dull,” Charlie practically shouted, “and it’s silly. Because High Society people never lift a finger to do anything kind for people like us. Do you really want to be one of those awful girls, waltzing around with your fine gown and your magic piece?” Charlie raised his eyebrows. “I suppose you’d have to wear that gardening glove as well.”

  Claire turned nearly as red as Inspector Hastings’s jacket. “I wish someone would turn you into a centipede after all. I believe the look might suit you.”

  Miss Greyson began to say something about calming down and being practical, but Claire and Charlie simply shouted over her, and Hilary closed her eyes. She suspected that doing battle against all the Mutineers single-handedly would be a thousand times more pleasant than listening to her friends argue. In fact, she almost wished that Mrs. Tilbury would hurry over and capture them, just to give everyone something else to talk about.

  “You may think High Society is dull and silly,” Claire was saying, “but I happen to like embroidery, and waltzing, and smelling of something other than fish for a change.” She glared at Charlie. “And anyway, it’s not half as silly as trying to be the Scourge of the Northlands.”

  “You think that’s silly?” Charlie went quiet. “Did you know I’ve been working for ages just to get scallywags like Captain Blacktooth to notice me? I trained with Jasper; I trained with the League. I helped find that blasted magic you love so much. And I’ve been trying to rescue Miss Pimm, who I don’t even like, because if we find her, maybe someone out there will finally realize that I’m a good pirate!”

  Claire crossed her arms. “But you’ll never be the Scourge of the Northlands,” she said, “because you’re scared.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Charlie. “A pirate is never scared.”

  “You’re frightened of High Society girls, aren’t you? And what’s more, I believe you’re frightened of using magic. You pretend you won’t touch it out of loyalty to your parents, but truthfully”—Claire took a breath—“I think you’re terrified.”

  For a moment, Charlie stood entirely still. Then he shook his head. “Any sensible person who comes within fifty miles of your exploding coins should be frightened of magic,” he said. “I honestly don’t know why Hilary invited you along in the first place.”

  “And I don’t know why she invited you,” Claire shot back, “unless it was to be thoroughly infuriating!”

  Hilary couldn�
��t stay silent for another moment. “I invited you both along,” she snapped, “because you’re my dearest friends, and I thought I’d enjoy your company. I suppose I was wrong, though, because I’m not enjoying this ridiculous duel one bit. If you two can’t behave like decent pirates, I’ll—”

  “You’ll kick us off the ship?” Charlie asked. His hands went slack at his sides, and he blinked at Hilary. “I suppose you are the Terror of the Southlands. You probably don’t need any help at all from a second-rate pirate who isn’t worth worrying about.”

  “I didn’t say that!” cried Hilary, but Charlie paid her no attention.

  “In that case,” he said, “I’ll be leaving.” He removed his hat and gave an exaggerated bow. “My apologies for bothering you all with my presence.”

  “Charlie, wait!” Hilary grabbed his arm. “You can’t just abandon your crew, you know; it’s completely unpiratical! What am I supposed to do without a first mate?”

  Charlie freed his arm from Hilary’s grip and wiped his coat sleeve across his eyes. “You’re a serious pirate, aren’t you?” he said. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Then he reached into his pocket, tossed a spider to the gargoyle, and walked away through the fields without looking back once.

  “I SHOULD HAVE stopped him,” said Hilary. “I should have chased after him, or held him at swordpoint.” She lay on her cot on the Pigeon and stared up at the wooden beams that crossed the cabin’s ceiling. “I’m the Terror of the Southlands! My first mate isn’t supposed to abandon me; he’s supposed to do as I say!” She looked over at the gargoyle, who had nestled into her pillow. “I’m not fearsome enough, am I?”

  The gargoyle thought about it. “I don’t think being fearsome is a good way to keep your friends.”

  Hilary and the gargoyle had waited for hours, hurrying out the cabin door every time they heard a creak or thump, but the sun had set and Charlie still hadn’t returned. “I thought he’d be back by now,” Hilary said. “I didn’t truly think he’d leave for good.”