Jem shrugged as if it’d been as easy as simple multiplication and pulled out Cutthroat MacPhee’s ivory and silver pocketknife. Scarlet’s eyes widened, and one of the twins gave a low whistle. Even Lucas’s mouth fell open.
“Hurray, Fitz!” Scarlet cried, then hastened to lower her voice. “I knew you could do it.”
“Well”—Jem knew it was only fair to give credit where it was due—“I couldn’t have done it without Smitty and Tim, of course. And Lucas.” Deep down, however, he suspected he could have done just fine without Lucas.
“Oh.” Scarlet looked a little disappointed. “Well, good for you, Lucas. How’d you help?”
Lucas, who’d grown fascinated with the puddle under his boots, glanced up at Jem just long enough to shoot him an unmistakable warning look. “Ah, it was nothing, really.”
“We’d best get back to the boat,” Tim spoke up, scanning the alley.
They all fell in line behind Scarlet, and Jem soon found Lucas at his side, going on about some planks he needed to repair the hull. Scarlet and Tim glanced back at them quizzically a few times, and Jem wished he were walking with them rather than Lucas. Although he didn’t always understand their logic, Scarlet, Tim, and Smitty seemed to have real friend potential.
But Lucas Lawrence? He wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“One, two, three, PULL!”
With the order hollered by their captain, over a dozen of the strongest Lost Souls bore down on ropes attached to the Margaret’s Hop’s mast. They’d beached her at dawn on the black sand of Castaway Cove for her monthly careen—a sailor’s term for a good cleaning. By yanking down on the ropes with all their might, the pirates could tilt the ship just enough to expose her underside, which they could then scrape clean.
“That’s it, mates! Just a little more!” Scarlet yelled from the sidelines as the Margaret’s Hop finally gave in with a groan and flashed them her dirty belly. Like old Scary Mary at bath time, reluctant to bathe her crusty feet. Scarlet giggled to herself, picturing the woman’s feet caked with the same treasures they’d find underneath the ship: barnacles, weeds, mold, and even the odd jellyfish.
“That looks jolly. Now, who’s on the first cleaning shift?” Scarlet asked.
Without waiting for the order, another half dozen pirates hoisted their scraping tools like battle swords and charged barefoot into the shallows, where they proceeded to attack the Hop as if she were a dragon and they were noble knights. Smitty, the shift leader, rallied his cleaning crew with yet another song:
Barnacles and tentacles,
Jellyfish and seaweed,
Clinging to the Margaret’s Hop,
Ready for careening.
“That doesn’t really rhyme, Averill,” Ronagh commented as she popped a barnacle off the hull with her knife.
“Oh, and I suppose you could do better yourself,” Smitty retorted. “And Averill’s not the name.” He pried a strip of rubbery seaweed off the hull and tucked it into Ronagh’s collar. She shrieked, picked up a long, snakelike piece of kelp, and started to whack her aggressor.
Scarlet laughed and joined in with her own tools. Cleaning could be such a chore, but not with these monkeys around for entertainment.
The pirates were in a particularly jolly mood that day, and who could blame them? Scarlet herself had barely slept a minute the night before, tossing in her hammock until Ronagh sleepily suggested she count sea turtles or pretend she was dead. That last one, the younger pirate swore, always worked for her. It hadn’t worked for Scarlet, though, and she passed the rest of the night imagining all the exciting things that might happen the next day. For at ten o’clock sharp, Jem Fitzgerald was going to present his mysterious map to the rest of the Lost Souls. Then they would embark on their hunt for the storied treasure.
Scarlet scraped at a clump of green mold. The Hop had to be as clean as possible for the journey. The more spotless her hull, the faster they’d sail. Today’s meeting would be good for everyone, she thought as she picked at the mold. Finally, the Lost Souls would feel like they had a real mission, and Scarlet would feel like a real captain. Ben Hodgins had left her some massive boots to fill, and so far she wasn’t convinced that she’d been doing a very good job. Ben had been so sure of himself, so capable, so much fun. Scarlet wanted to give her crew everything Ben had given her: a home, a family, an adventure, and a purpose.
If they found the treasure, surely everything would change. Legend had it the treasure would protect the finder from harm. The Lost Souls could certainly use that. And who knew how much money the king would give as a reward. They might be able to buy new boots for everyone! Or even a new ship!
Scarlet patted the Hop’s belly. “Not that we don’t love you,” she told it. “You’re just . . . nearing retirement, that’s all.”
The Margaret’s Hop had aged considerably in the last few years. She still sailed well, but many a worm had found a comfy home in her planks, and consequently her sides were a patchwork of mismatched scraps of wood. At this point, your average captain would start looking around for a better ship, then attack it and throw its crew overboard, thus acquiring a newer vessel. But since it would take a half dozen Lost Souls to throw a single grown-up pirate overboard, Scarlet didn’t have that option.
After a half hour of scraping, Scarlet handed off her tools to another pirate, who didn’t look quite so eager, and took a stroll around the ship. As she rounded the stern, she found Lucas Lawrence prying off a rotted plank and replacing it with one he’d snagged in Jamestown the day before. As happy as she was to see the boy doing such important work, she didn’t like to see her newest crew member working alongside him. Since yesterday, Lucas had glued himself like a barnacle to Jem’s side, and the arrangement didn’t sit well at all with Scarlet.
Jem looked up from the plank he was holding in place and waved at her. She waved back and walked over. Good old Fitz. He seemed to be doing just fine, despite losing his uncle to one of the worst fates imaginable. Or so he thought. Scarlet had tried now and then to discuss the likelihood of the Dark Ranger pirates actually sending Uncle Finn to feed the fish when they needed him alive and able to spew his secret. She’d even suggested they go back and look for him, but she didn’t push this. For one thing, it would slow the Lost Souls’ hunt for the treasure. And worse, it upset Jem every time she brought it up.
Jem had the makings of a jolly pirate. She’d known that the moment he tackled her to retrieve his map. And his daring escape from Deadeye Johnny the day before only reinforced her belief. Oh sure, Lucas played a minor role in the getaway, but Scarlet would bet her only pair of socks that Jem had done most of the work. Anyway, that was no average knife he’d stolen. She’d only gotten a glimpse of it—Jem kept it deep in his pocket and seemed reluctant to let anyone breathe on it, let alone test it out—but that one glimpse had told Scarlet the knife was something special. According to Jem, the original owner’s name was Cutthroat MacPhee. Just who, she wondered, was this Cutthroat MacPhee?
“Hello, Captain,” Jem greeted her as she approached.
“Hi, Fitz. Lucas.” Scarlet nodded at the other boy, who didn’t look up from the nail he was hammering. “This looks good. Any other spots need fixing?”
“One on the starboard side,” Lucas grunted to his hammer, then whacked it against the nail head with unnecessary force.
“Another rotted plank,” Jem added, watching them both with unease.
For a moment, Scarlet wondered if Lucas had been talking to Jem about her. Be a good captain, she told herself. Rise above it. She forced her mouth into a smile despite her growing urge to spit. “Looks like you’re doing good work. Everyone’s working hard today.”
Lucas let out a soft snort and met her eyes for just a moment. “Not everyone, apparently.”
Jem’s eyes widened, and Scarlet felt her cheeks
turn red.
“I’ve been working as much as you have, Lucas Lawrence,” she retorted, aware that the Good Captain McCray was quickly transforming into the Angry and Tongue-Tied Captain McCray that Lucas always managed to provoke. “I’m taking a break to check on my crew,” she added defensively. Then she turned and stalked away.
Honestly, just who did Lucas think he was, making a comment like that? It was . . . it was insubordination, that’s what it was. And in front of Jem Fitzgerald, too. Scarlet’s ears burned, and she had an urge to dunk her head into the drink right there. Or better yet, dunk Lucas’s fat head into the drink.
Instead she found a flat slab of driftwood and sank down onto it, resting her bony elbows on her bony knees and staring out at the sea without seeing it. This tension between her and Lucas was nothing new—the entire crew knew to expect at least one shouting match per month. Some days they even rated Scarlet and Lucas on the intensity of their glares and the creativity of their swear words. But lately, Scarlet had noted that whenever she happened upon Lucas and his followers—Gil Jenkins and a few other boys—they immediately clammed up and smirked at their boots. Something was up, and Scarlet wanted to make sure Jem Fitzgerald didn’t become a part of it, not least of all because he held the map that would change their lives.
It was hard to believe that she and Lucas had been friends once, long ago. They’d boarded the Margaret’s Hop around the same time, and for some reason, Lucas—who even back then was a boy of few words—saw her as a confidante. He came from a very poor family. His parents had sold him as a cabin boy to the King’s Men when he was nine. He didn’t want to go, but his mother was expecting another child and needed the money. Sold by his own parents—Scarlet still shuddered at the thought, although she could sympathize with the feeling of abandonment.
Although they let him apprentice as a carpenter’s assistant, the King’s Men treated Lucas no better than the mold on the underbelly of their schooner, and he quickly grew to hate anyone dressed in blue and brass. On his first day aboard the Hop, Lucas told Scarlet that he was meant to be a real pirate, attacking and pillaging naval ships, seeking revenge on the men who treated him like a slave.
And so, while the boy found it jolly to suit up and terrorize ships, he never seemed quite satisfied with his job. He envied pirates like the Dread Pirate Captain Wallace Hammerstein-Whatsit and Deadeye Johnny, who didn’t get scolded when they brandished their swords and who, he thought, had cabins full of stolen treasures to keep them happy.
Scarlet used to listen to him without arguing much, although from time to time she’d remind him that the ocean wasn’t really bluer on the other side of the sandbar. Even on board a grown-up pirate ship, he’d be expected to share the bounty, obey the captain, and vote when decisions needed to be made. Though they looked like wild animals and smelled like rotting fish, “real” pirates were for the most part a democratic bunch.
The trouble between Lucas and Scarlet began one day after they’d raided a merchant’s ship. Scarlet found the boy in his cabin, counting pieces of eight from a sack, which he’d kept for himself while they’d divvied up the rest of the booty.
“Lucas!” she hissed. “What do you think you’re doing? The Lost Souls share everything evenly. You know that.”
“Quit being so high and mighty, Scarlet,” he retorted, although his eyes looked scared. He dropped his voice. “Look, don’t tell anyone, and we’ll share the whole sack. Just you and me. No one will know.”
She hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “You know it’s not right. Ben would kill you if he found out.”
“Found out what?” Ben Hodgins rounded the corner at that very moment. “I probably won’t kill you, but you better tell me.” His kind brown eyes, suddenly somber, slid from Scarlet to Lucas and back again. Scarlet panicked at the thought of Ben angry with her—Ben who’d saved her in the first place. She bit her lip and tried to keep the secret inside, but it burst out, anyway.
Ben didn’t force Lucas to spend a night on the Island of Smelly Wild Pigs as punishment, but he did make him clean the long drop for an entire week and sit out the next two ship raids. Lucas stopped confiding in Scarlet and even stopped acknowledging her, except to shoot her the odd dagger glare. These escalated to cutlass glares—broadsword glares even—after Ben chose her over Lucas as captain of the Lost Souls.
Lately, it seemed he’d decided that glares weren’t enough. He’d taken to disagreeing, loudly, with her orders. Almost as if he planned to mutiny. Scarlet sighed. It was all too unsettling. No one had warned her that even as captain she would feel so completely out of control.
At ten o’clock, the Lost Souls collectively dropped their tools, gave their vessel a satisfied once-over, and scrambled up the shore to the shady forest edge. They clustered in a circle around Scarlet and Jem, and the twins passed around some bright orange star fruit they’d stolen in Jamestown the day before. After rubbing it hard on her shirtsleeve, Scarlet sliced off a piece with her knife and nibbled on it. She decided not to comment on, and tried not to remember, how the twins had stuffed the star fruit down their trousers to make their getaway. But in the end she couldn’t forget. She ended up burying her fruit in the sand when she thought no one was watching. Then she turned to Jem.
“Well, Fitz? Let’s see it.”
Jem pulled a roll of crinkled paper out of his pocket and spread it on the sand between them. The Lost Souls moved closer together, and some of the smaller pirates slipped forward for a better look. Ronagh draped herself over Scarlet’s shoulders for the best view.
An island roughly shaped like a cross—or, tilted slightly, an X—sat in the center of the map. Around it, Jem’s uncle had drawn all kinds of tiny numbers and letters and arrows—navigational marks, Scarlet figured. Not her forte. She concentrated on the island, which was also covered in tiny, precise directions.
In the southern and western arms, Uncle Finn had scrawled, “Jungle. Beware,” and drawn little illustrations of plants that Scarlet didn’t recognize but that didn’t look too menacing. In the northern arm, he’d written, “Two Peaks. Danger,” and sketched two jagged mountains. In the center of the cross he’d scribbled ominous things like: “Boiling Lake. Hot,” “Panther’s Lair. Hungry,” and “Ophidian aggregation. Keep right.” Scarlet made a mental note to ask Jem what an ophidian aggregation was. She had a feeling that “keep right” was an understatement.
Then she saw the most important, most exciting part of the map—a big X etched in dark red ink near the upper-right-hand corner of the eastern quadrant. She could barely breathe for the excitement of it all.
“So what do you think?” Jem asked. “Can you take us there? I can’t follow the nautical directions myself, but maybe Tim can.”
Tim set his pilfered spectacles on his nose and peered down at the little numbers and arrows that circled the island like sharks’ fins. He squinted, lifted the paper up to his nose, then looked skyward as if making calculations in his head.
“What do you think, Swig?” Smitty piped up from the crowd.
Tim nodded. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find. Actually, I don’t think it’s far away.”
A murmur rose among the pirates.
“Hurray!” Ronagh shouted, wrapping her arms too tightly around Scarlet’s neck. Scarlet peeled them off and was about to pick the map up for a closer look when a hand reached over her and grabbed it. Lucas pulled it away and began to examine it with Gil and a few other boys. Scarlet exchanged a look with Tim. She hoped there would be no trouble.
“Doesn’t look so simple to me,” Lucas commented. “Look at these directions on the island. They make no sense. ‘Ophidian aggre . . . something. Keep right.’ ‘Turn left at the Abicatus florificus?’ What the flotsam is that?”
Scarlet wished she’d never taught Lucas to read. He always had to be such a downer, even when he wanted the treasure more than anyo
ne.
“Um, actually, it’s a Latin name for a plant,” Jem said. Then he added, a little sheepishly, “My uncle was big on botany.”
Scarlet almost hugged him. But instead she grinned triumphantly at Lucas.
“See? Fitz knows. He’ll take us there.”
“Well, I—” Jem began.
“You will,” Scarlet cut him off. She’d had enough of this reluctance. She wanted her crew to be excited! To tackle this new mission with a passion they hadn’t felt since Ben left.
“What are we waiting for?” Smitty jumped up. “Let’s get to the treasure!” The Lost Souls cheered. Good old Smitty. Scarlet could always count on him to rally the crew.
“To the treasure!” Scarlet scrambled to her feet and plucked the map out of Lucas’s hands, ignoring his scowl. She passed it back to Jem, whose face had also brightened.
“To the treasure!” the pirates chorused.
The wind whipped Scarlet’s hair into a small tornado atop her head as the Margaret’s Hop bounced over turquoise waves toward their destination—the mysterious X-shaped island that might well harbor the storied treasure they’d all dreamed about. Scarlet felt dizzy at the thought of it.
High clouds floated across the sky. So far, it hadn’t been a bad day. Scarlet tapped her toes on the ship’s main deck, thankful that Tim had announced that the island was close by. She was also thankful to have a drivelswigger like him on board. He and a few other nautically inclined boys now clustered around the ship’s wheel with the map, deciphering Jem’s uncle’s navigational directions.
“What? That’s bilge. Where’d you hear a story like that?” Smitty and Liam appeared at Scarlet’s side on deck, apparently engaged in some important debate.
“It’s not bilge,” Liam retorted. “I heard it from my dad and his crew, long ago. I’m sure it’s true.”
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