Jim Morgan and the Pirates of the Black Skull (39 page)

When Percival stopped rumbling, a more lasting hush fell over the ships. The shaken Corsairs held up their hands, as if surrender might stop the sea monster from tearing them to bits. With the enemy humbled, Percival lowered his head to the deck. Down jumped the Clan of the Ratt. They were absolutely covered from top to bottom in dirt and grime. Holes and tears split the tattered remains of what had been, only a few days ago, their nicest clothes. MacGuffy burst through the ranks of pirates, a cutlass and rapier held one in each hand. His thin white hair stuck in all directions, mussed and matted from the heat of battle.

“Jim! Lacey dear! Even ye sea Ratts! How in the devil…and…and what manner of malevolent beastie is that which ye have brought along?” Giant Mufwalme, Murdoch, and Wang-Chi all stood dumbstruck beside the old salt, their weapons held tremulously toward the unexpected monster.

“Have no fear, old MacGuffy,” assured George. He strutted forward beside his brothers with his thumbs stuck through two holes in his shirt as though they were suspenders. “Percival there in’t malleable at all!”

“That’s malevolent, Georgie,” said Peter, still supporting Paul under one arm.

“Exactly what I said, Peter,” said George. He nodded smartly at MacGuffy and then tossed his head back toward Percival. The water dragon still hovered over the deck, poised to strike at the cowering Corsairs. “He’s a bit of a personal of friend of ours, you see. I was even considerin’ inductin’ ‘im into the Clan of the Ratt, as an official member.”

“Oh you were?” said Lacey with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah we were,” said George, looking to his brothers. “Weren’t we boys?”

“I dunno, Georgie. ” Paul looked back and forth between his older brother and the scaly beast behind them. “I mean, he’s fairly handy in a pinch, I’ll give him that. But somethin’ tells me sneakin’ about and pickin’ pockets might come as a struggle.”

“What are ye sayin’, ye blasted sea mice?” MacGuffy finally snapped, waving his swords about excitedly. “That ye rode that beastie here? And from where exactly did ye pups acquire this new friend?”

“It’s sort of a long story, MacGuffy,” said Jim. He stepped forward with his bundle held tightly in his arms and a rascal’s grin splitting his face. “But maybe for now I might just skip to this.”

Jim pulled aside the folds of his ruined coat.

The pirates gathered about. They murmured and whistled and made oaths to the sea and the sky when Jim produced the shell. Even MacGuffy, who had seen more treasure and magic than most in his long life, took a step back, growling some unintelligible curse.

Dread Steele himself braced at the sight of the gleaming shell. He stepped quickly through the ranks of his men to cover it again with Jim’s coat, some whispered incantation on his lips. But before
the Captain could fully conceal the talisman, one last ray of fading daylight struck the shell’s polished surface. The shell thrummed to life in Jim’s hands. A violet glow swam over the smooth surface, until it coiled up and leapt into the sky. The pulse of magic streaked through the darkening air and disappeared far away into the night. The pirates of the
Spectre
fell back from the shell. Even from a distance, the Corsairs murmured amongst themselves, whimpering and moaning of magic and ancient curses.

“Beware, Jim Morgan,” Percival warned. “Like me, the shell has not tasted the air of this world for many years. And like me, it is not entirely tame, nor entirely safe.”

“Your scaled ally speaks true, Jim,” Steele said, casting a wary glance in Percival’s direction as he finally managed to cover the shell completely. A shadow passed over the pirate lord’s face. Jim could hear concern at the edges of Steele’s voice. “Keep the shell hidden for now, Jim. Magic draws magic. We must beware the attention of such forces.” Jim hardly knew what to make of such dire tidings, but he caught Steele’s eyes glanced skyward, as though some dark power might be lurking just overhead.

“And what became o’ those curs, the Cromiers and Splitbeard, I wonder?” MacGuffy asked, spitting on the deck. Jim looked back at the Devil’s Horns. The rocks were quiet and still, and the setting sun was about to wink out of existence below the horizon.

“I think we may have seen the last of them, MacGuffy,” he said. “If you stay too long on the island, you turn to stone forever. And their time is nearly over.” Jim’s own words caught him by surprise as he considered what they might mean. The men who had taken everything from him, his father, his fortune, his home, they were gone - gone forever.

“You faced the Cromiers and Splitbeard upon the Veiled Isle?” Steele asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Oh, they was there, Cap’n,” George chimed in. “Had us at the end of our ropes too if Jim and Percival hadn’t come bustin’ in at the last moment…well, between them and the giant owls…and the faeries…”

“And possibly being turned to stone,” Lacey said.

“And the harpies!” Peter and Paul added together. The corners of Dread Steele’s mouth finally twitched and pulled into a half grin on his dark and dangerous face. He looked down on Cornelius, his gray eyes laughing.

“Have you nothing to add, old friend, of such goings on? This seems a tale to rival even your own, exaggerated stories from the days of your youth.” At this, Cornelius cleared his throat and would have flapped up into the air, full of indignation, if his wings were strong enough to do so.

“I hardly exaggerate, Captain. But this time, I have the scars to prove the tale true!”

“The scars will be worth it if we can at last have some peace,” Jim said. He glanced down at his palm before looking up once more to the horizon. The last lip of the sun clung to the edge of the sea, a final finger of light losing its grip on the world.

“As long as I am able, I shall accompany you to the end of this journey, Jim. We may yet see more storms and bear more scars, but we shall also see the sun rise again on a happier day.” The Captain put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and let the smile linger on his face.

“Steele and Morgan, together again?” Jim asked.

“Morgan and Steele, to the end,” Steele agreed. For one brief moment Jim saw an easier road stretched out before him. But that daydream was shattered by a piercing scream.

“Look!” Mufwalme bellowed in his deep voice, his eyes wide and staring at the Devil’s Horns.

From the Devil’s Horns, just as the last crescent of burning sun fell beneath the waves, a trio of great owls burst from the gate in a flash of green magic. The leader screeched a battle cry as he arched into the air, leading his flock over the head of Percival the water dragon. Percival roared in rage. Atop two of the owls sat Count Cromier and Bartholomew, hateful glares in their eyes. Jim felt the malicious eyes of the villains fall upon him alone.

The owls circled low. The Count and Bartholomew leapt down from their mounts, swords drawn. They beckoned their pirate thugs
back to their feet. The winged hunters circled once over the decks and came to rest atop the
Spectre’s
masts, taunting the water dragon below. But the third owl landed at Count Cromier’s side. A pale-yellow light burned amongst its feathers. The giant owl shrank and twisted into the form of a man, smiling darkly as he stood in the dim light of evening.

Splitbeard the Pirate, sorcerer of the seas, had returned.

“I don’t believe it!” Jim sputtered.

“He controlled the owls when he took us, Jim,” said, Lacey, shrinking back into the small huddle of friends. “But I never thought he could become one!”

Splitbeard laughed with delight at Lacey’s revulsion.

“It is said upon the seas that Dread Steele is Lord of the Pirates, a master of the arcane arts. But it is I, Splitbeard of the Corsairs, who has plunged deepest into the depths of the black arts. I cannot be so easily undone.”

“You have something that belongs to me, Morgan!” Count Cromier cried, mad rage swimming in his eyes. “Fifteen years have I searched and waited – fifteen years since your father took from me what was mine. I shall have it, boy, even if it costs me everything. Even if I must bathe in blood to take it back. The Treasure shall be mine again!”

Bartholomew screamed then, beckoning the Corsairs behind him with his naked blade. “Charge!”

The battle before the Devil’s Horns began again.

Dread Steele and his men rushed into the fray, clashing with the Cromiers in the center of the
Spectre’s
deck. Jim and his friends fled to the safety of the quarterdeck. They watched as the remaining owls launched themselves into the sky to attack Percival with outstretched talons. Percival fought back, but the crafty owls flitted just beyond the reach of his snapping jaws.

Jim gaped at the battle before him. Pirates, sea monsters, and great owls were locked in combat. Who could believe such a thing that had not seen it with his own eyes? He was sure that nothing could surpass
such madness on the
Spectre,
until he looked back over the ocean, where the last of the evening light was fading away.

A shadow darker than night moved across the sky. It crawled through the air with purpose, a stalking animal hunting its prey. At the first flash of lightning Jim’s heart dropped into his stomach. His arms and legs went weak. A storm was coming. But this was no ordinary storm. The clouds churned pitch black, but the edges glowed blood red.

The Crimson Storm from Jim’s nightmares had come.

NINETEEN

he first drops of rain fell hard on the
Spectre’s
deck. They splashed on the railings and spattered Jim and his friends. Whipping winds, monstrous waves, and thunder followed. The storm’s fury quickly drowned out the sounds of the pirate battle. Jim huddled close together with Lacey and the Ratts, their backs pressed against the aft railing.

“Of all things,” George growled. He pulling his ragged coat tightly around his shoulders and threw the sky a nasty glare. “A storm on top of this fight.”

“The storm didn’t come out of nowhere, George,” Jim said, shouting now so that his friends could hear him over the thunder and
fighting. “It came here on purpose. I think it came because of the shell.” Jim nodded down to the bundle in his arms. He squeezed it to his chest as though afraid the storm might reach down with a hand of lightning and snatch it from his grasp.

“Storms don’t decide to go anywhere, Jim,” Lacey cried over the rain, her auburn hair dripping wet and slicked to the sides of her face.

“Magic storms, do,” Jim said. He looked down at Cornelius, who was still cradled in Lacey’s arms. “Don’t they, Cornelius?”

“I’m afraid they do, my boy. They do indeed.”

“Magic storms?” Lacey shook her head in dismay. “I don’t understand!”

“It’s the treasure, Lacey. The Treasure of the Ocean is more powerful magic than anything else in the world. I don’t know how, but when my father, Dread Steele, and Count Cromier first tried to use the Treasure of the Ocean, they somehow brought about this storm. The storm is after the Treasure. But I think it might also be after me!”

“Only figuring this out now, my young friend?” a voice snarled from the quarterdeck’s steps. Jim peered through the falling rain, but he already recognized that voice.

Count Cromier rose like a black wraith from the portside steps. In a flash of lightning, Jim saw his crimson wig darkened in the rain to the color of blood. The rainwater ran down his scar like a river pouring over a jagged cliff.

“I told you before that this was about more than silver and gold. The Treasure of the Ocean will yield unto me ultimate power. Kings? Armies? Those are but shadows of true power. Perhaps if you understood that you would join me, as your father once did.”

“I would never join you!” Jim shouted. “You’re a murderer!” Jim mustered all the defiance he had, even as he and the others inched away from the Count, looking for an escape. Yet escape would not be found. The way was blocked by a second shade, lurking on the starboard steps.

Bartholomew Cromier smiled in the blackness of the storm. His long hair whipped in the wind and his eyes burned at Jim. His red lips
curled into a sneer on his pale face. His brandished sword gleamed in the lightning.

“It does my heart glad to hear you say that, Morgan,” Bartholomew seethed. “For I would never have you with me. We don’t need you! I shall find the Treasure for my father. I shall be the one to wield the power in his name. You will be nothing more than a memory!” Bartholomew lowered his sword toward Jim, the blade dripping with rainwater.