Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves (33 page)

“I’ll check on everything outside and wait for you there, my boy,” the raven said at least half-confidently. “I’m sure I won’t have to wait long.” He was about to fly out when Jim called to him again.

“Cornelius!” The bird turned back to listen. “At least you saw me. At least you saw me this one time.” Jim tried not to let his voice tremble. “I figured things out on my own, and I didn’t run away. I wasn’t a disappointment…not this time, and you saw me, didn’t you?”

“Yes I did, Jim Morgan,” Cornelius said softly. “With my own two eyes I saw you, and were you ever a sight to see. And not for the last time, I’m sure.” And with that the bird hopped out the window and soared off into the cold night air.

Jim turned back to face the door, and with a shivering, deep breath, straightened his shoulders the best he could, turned the handle, and stepped through to face the final challenge.

THIRTY–ONE

hile Jim was barely escaping death amongst the traps and magic inside the Vault of Treasures, matters outside the little building on Farthing Street began to grow just as dire.

It all started with Butterstreet’s faithful deputy, Thomas, who had, as his constable had ordered, stood diligent guard across the street from the suspected pirate building, his knees and teeth knocking against their opposing sets in freezing, syncopated rhythm, and his poor nose running into an icky icicle that dangled off its tip. It was from there that Thomas saw a blue flash blaze down the street and come to a hovering rest before the building like a mad firefly, which made the poor deputy nearly swallow his half-frozen tongue.

Like some sort of broken mechanical man, Thomas ran on frozen joints and feet all the way back to the constable’s office, where Butterstreet sat in his stove-heated room drifting off into warm dreams of gardening.

“S-s-ir!” Thomas cried, shivering like a reed in the wind. “I-i-i-t-t-s h-h-a-ppening!” Butterstreet nearly fell out of his chair and immediately sent word to Captain Cromier, who had stationed himself near the city garrison, and who himself nearly fell out of his own chair when he got the word, and who then called up an entire platoon of marines. Together, the captain, the marines, the constable, and his deputy marched down the street to the Vault of Treasures.

This armed force, moving with great haste through the city, might have fallen on the small group of thieves waiting outside the Vault of Treasures completely unawares, but The King of Thieves, a practiced burglar nearly all his life, possessed a keen sense of danger. Whether it was a change in the cold wind, a scent on the icy air, or the slightest tremor of marching feet upon the cobblestone streets, the King recognized the threat before it ensnared him, and without so much as a word of warning to faithful Red and his Dragons, or to poor Lacey, he and Wyzcark slipped into a shadowy alley just as the marines rounded the corner. Red, the lunks, and Lacey might have been able to make a run for it, but Butterstreet and Thomas had rushed up behind them, and there was nowhere to go.

“Sorry, friends,” Butterstreet said, his big mustache drooping low around his face. “But it looks like it’s St. Anne’s for the lot of you.” Butterstreet clamped manacles around the children’s wrists, but he did it with such gentleness and sorrow on his voice, that Lacey felt almost compelled to tell him not to worry, that it would be all right. On the other hand, not a trace of pity, sympathy, or goodness ever touched Captain Bartholomew Cromier’s pale features. Instead his blue eyes flashed murderous lightning.

“Where is Jim Morgan?” he snarled at the children, his gloved hand squeezing his sword handle. Red, courageous lad that he was, gave Jim up immediately.

“He’s in there!” Red jerked his head toward the vault, and his lunks jerked their heads right along with him.

“Red, you coward!” Lacey shrieked, but Red was far too terrified to care, wondering instead if there was any way that he could talk himself out of this situation, then sadly realizing he wasn’t nearly smart enough for that.

“Men!” Bartholomew Cromier shouted to his marines. “Criminals against the crown lie just beyond that door. And I shall have them! Prepare to enter!” The marines lined up smartly at either side of the deathly pale captain, readying themselves to charge the little building. Bartholomew, his black ponytail flowing in the cold breeze, gritted his teeth, preparing to draw his sword and lead the attack.

But just as the young captain drew the breath to order his men forward, a throaty, graveled voice called to him from down the darkened street.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were ye,” the voice said. It chuckled happily as its owner stepped from the shadows and into flickering reach of the marines’ torchlight. It was MacGuffy, hands behind his back, walking through the snow as though taking a stroll on a pleasant spring evening.

“This is no concern of yours, old man,” Bartholomew said dangerously. “And mind your tone when you speak to a man who holds the king’s commission, or you’ll wish you’d never opened your ragged mouth!”

The insults only widened the toothy grin on MacGuffy’s face. “Oh, well, you see, this does concern me, laddie. You see, yonder buildin’, which you and your pretty little boys are plannin’ to raid, is private property.”

“This building is suspected to be the property of pirates and scum,” Bartholomew said, sneering.

“That it is, son,” MacGuffy agreed, his ruinous smile stretching wide, turning just as dangerous as Bartholomew’s sneer.

“Perhaps you failed to notice, fool,” Bartholomew finally turned to give the old man his full attention, strutting along his row of grim
faced marines. “But this is an entire platoon of his majesty’s marines at my back. And if you claim any ownership, love, or concern for this place, then that would implicate you as a pirate. And it would then be our duty to treat you to the justice you deserve.”

“Aye…” MacGuffy said, laughing again as though Bartholomew’s threat was a joke. The torchlight glimmered in his crazed old eyes, and he held up his gnarled fingers, snapping twice. “That it would, lad. That it would.” Into the light, one by one, summoned by MacGuffy’s signal, and smiling as madly as the old man, the sloop’s pirate crew appeared, pistols and cutlasses at the ready, the Ratt brothers in tow. Cornelius Darkfeather, who had seen the marines coming down the street from the air, and had warned the pirate crew, cawed in the night as black-bearded Murdoch, huge Mufwalme, Wang-chi, sleepy Mister Gilly, the fat organ grinder, and all of the rest plodded up the street.

The Marines, caught quite off guard, immediately shifted their formation from the door to face the oncoming pirates. Bartholomew and MacGuffy stood all but nose-to-nose in the snowy street, each with their men at their backs. The Ratts saw Lacey and ran, unchecked by the pirates, who were now more ready for a row than anything else, over to her side. The three brothers were so worried about Lacey and Jim that they didn’t even care when Butterstreet looped them into the chains that held their friend.

“Lacey!” Peter said. “We thought we’d never see you again.”

“Peter, Paul, George!” Lacey cried and, if it weren’t for the chains about her wrists, she would have pulled all three of them into a gigantic hug. “I thought I’d never see you again, either!”

“Where’s Jim?” George asked.

“That awful King of Thieves sent him inside, even though he knew there were dangerous traps in there. That coward!” Lacey nearly burst into tears at the thought. “He’s been in there for so long, I don’t know what’s happened to him. I don’t know if he’s ever coming out again.”

THIRTY–TWO

t first, the third room was far too dark for Jim to make out anything at all. He stood stock-still but a few steps inside the door, listening for any hint of danger, his nervous breathing and the steady drip, drop of water from his soaked clothes onto the stone floor echoing off unseen walls. Suddenly, without warning, torches flared to life all on their own. Jim gasped in surprise at the whooshing hiss and snapping pop that crackled with each flame, orange and gold glows flooding the room. The sudden light dazzled Jim’s eyes for a moment, but when his sight cleared and he took in the room around him, a low whistle escaped his lips.

The flickering firelight glimmered off shining edges and sparkling surfaces of mounds of treasure, silver vases and gold bowls packed old wooden shelves, bejeweled necklaces and suits of armor hanging from
great hooks, beautiful paintings leaned against piles of ancient manuscripts, and jewels the size of Jim’s fist spilling from great chests onto the floor.

“I’m in the vault,” Jim whispered aloud as though Cornelius was still perched upon his shoulder. “I’m in the vault!” He whooped loudly, his voice echoing in the chamber. “This is my father’s treasure. This is what he left behind – and he was right – it is a vast treasure!” With a broad smile on his face, Jim dashed through the cavernous room, staring at the loads of rich stuff and frantically searching for the Amulet of Portunes.

There were treasure chests full of doubloons, mannequins adorned in the crowns of foreign royalty, and emblazoned shields and swords of gold and silver with bejeweled hilts lying beside reams and reams of the finest silks from the world over. Jim had been born into one of the wealthiest families in all of England, and even he had never seen a horde as opulent and magnificent as this one. It truly was the greatest treasure in the world.

Jim wandered about the sparkling room for a few more moments when he finally saw it, hanging on a hook on the far wall, dangling over a table of dusty maps rolled into massive scrolls — the Amulet of Portunes.

Jim dashed over to where the amulet hung. He’d almost been crushed and impaled and drowned for this little necklace, and now it was within his grasp. He reached out for it, nearly touching it with his fingers, when a stab of fear pierced his mind.

“What’s the third challenge?” Jim asked himself out loud. “There’s supposed to be three.” He looked around, and as he feared, at the far side of the Vault of Treasures, a white door with a silver handle barred the way out, two torches lit on either side.

Jim left the amulet and made his way to the door. Like the others, a clue was chiseled into the wood, but this one was much shorter, carved more deeply and harshly than those before. It read:
Only that which you deserve
.