Seven Dead Pirates (12 page)

“We’ll be off this road soon,” said Lewis. “Try to relax.”

Muckanutt Road, where they were walking, was more like a small highway than a street. It had no sidewalks for pedestrians, just gravel shoulders. Shown as a “scenic route” on maps, it attracted plenty of tourist traffic. Lewis could understand why the pirates had been frightened.

He hurried along the shoulder now, his ghostly shadow keeping pace. All went well until a woman in a blue tracksuit ran out of her drive. Before Lewis had
a chance to think, she charged straight at the place where Crawley was walking.

“Iiyy!” cried Lewis.

The woman stopped.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking into Lewis’s eyes. Her face showed concern, but no alarm. She had run right
through
Crawley! She hadn’t even noticed!

“Fine,” squeaked Lewis.

“Who’s afeared now?” whispered the captain as the woman ran off.

“Well,
I
don’t know how this stuff works. I thought she would—you know—hit you.”

“Not if I’m invisible, lad. Not unless I wants her to.”

“Well, how am
I
supposed to know that?” asked Lewis, thoroughly rattled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the bus stop across the street. Two old ladies in long coats huddled together on a bench, their feet not quite reaching the ground. They were pointing at Lewis and whispering.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” said Lewis out loud, giving the old ladies even more reason to stare. He broke into a slow run, determined to get off Muckanutt Road before a bus came along. The captain stayed with him; Lewis could tell by the drag on his arm.

Things got better when they could finally turn onto Highbury Lane—a quiet street, almost deserted.
Following a route of back streets to the town center, they managed to avoid all but three cars, and those were moving slowly. Crawley’s grip on Lewis’s arm relaxed, but he still noticed every vehicle.

“What about this grand white carriage, lad?” He jerked Lewis to a stop beside a parked delivery van. “Would this be faster than the others?”

“Not really. Probably slower.”

“Slower,” marveled Crawley. “Fancy that!”

A kid on a skateboard caught Crawley’s attention, then another on a bicycle. Everything had to be explained. It was as if the captain were from another planet. Thinking about this, Lewis realized that he actually
was
from another planet, in a way. The earth had been a different place back in Crawley’s time.

Rag Time was on the busiest section of Front Street, so the last block was a challenge. When a car alarm went off, Crawley threw himself—and Lewis!—hard against a building. Lewis stifled a yell as he hit the bricks. Beside him, the ghostly outline appeared, then vanished. Luckily, the few pedestrians nearby didn’t notice.

With his heart in his throat, Lewis opened the door to the thrift store.

“Thunderation!” The voice beside him spoke clearly, at a level far above the whisper they’d agreed on. “Look
at the
size
of this place! All them garments, already sewed up! Where’s the tailor?”

“Shhh!” hissed Lewis. “There
is
no tailor. Everything here was made in a factory.”

“A factory! Now what would that be?”

“Shhh!” said Lewis again. “I’ll explain later.”

They were already attracting attention. The cashier, a puffy-haired woman in a mustard-colored sweatshirt, stared at Lewis, her mouth open. Lewis knew just how she felt. He’d felt the same way, years ago, watching Great-Granddad talk to himself.

He waved awkwardly at the cashier. “Just looking for … er, men’s stuff.”

She pointed.

“Thanks.” Lewis swerved right, dragging Crawley behind him like an anchor.

The men’s area consisted of a wall of suits and jackets, a round rack of shirts and several rows of hanging pants. The only other customer, a large woman in turquoise stretch pants, was examining a display of neckties.

Lewis headed for the shirts.

“The small sizes are on this end,” he whispered to his invisible companion. “The big ones down there.” He wasn’t sure which direction to speak, now that Crawley had released his arm.

“OW!” said a female voice. Lewis turned.

The turquoise woman was storming toward him, cheeks mottled with anger. “Listen, kid! I do
not
find that funny!”

She pushed right up to him, nose to nose. She was practically breathing fire. “For two cents, I’d give you a wallop!”

Lewis could see individual eyelashes, thick with mascara.

“Sorry,” he bleated.

The woman glared silently, then stalked away.

“Crawley?” whispered Lewis. “What did you
do
?”

A chuckle came into his ear. “Just a wee pinch. By the powers, she’s a fine-looking woman.”

“Crawley!
Stop that!
No more pinching. I mean it!”

“Aye, lad, you’re right. We has work to do.” Pairs of pants started rising off the racks.

“No!” whispered Lewis. “Just tell me which ones.
I’ll
pick them up.”

Quickly they worked out a system in which Lewis picked up clothing items—sometimes his choice, sometimes Crawley’s—and held them up for inspection. Crawley showed a fondness for vivid colors.

“I’m not sure we should get such bright things.” Lewis frowned at a pair of lime green yoga pants. “
These
would be less noticeable.” He held up brown cords.

“Pah!” said Crawley. “Them breeches is the same as we’ve had all these years. No, lad, I wants a bit of color, and I’ll wager the boys does, too.”

Soon Lewis was struggling under a huge load that included Hawaiian shirts, fluorescent sports gear, tie-dyed T-shirts and an enormous pair of elastic-waisted, purple-flowered pants that must have belonged to a clown.

“For Bellows,” explained Crawley. “And these”—a pair of gold satin basketball shorts rose from the pile—“are for me!”

The shorts dropped to the floor and then slowly began to rise and expand. Crawley was trying them on!

“No!” whispered Lewis, jerking at the shorts. “Not here.” He glanced around. “There!”

A minute later, alone with Crawley in a changing room, Lewis piled the clothes onto a chair.

“Hurry,” he said. “Please. I have to get home.”

Crawley ignored him. Visible now, he was hauling on the shorts with an air of pride and satisfaction.

Lewis glanced away, into the mirror. He let out a gasp. The mirror didn’t show Crawley at all! Only him, Lewis, staring at himself.

Noticing Lewis’s consternation, Crawley grinned. “Looking glass don’t work on the likes of us. But it’s
good to be in this secret room, lad, where I can see meself properly.” He tugged at the shorts admiringly. “Now
these
are looking grand!”

“I … I’ll wait outside.” Lewis slipped out, then leaned against the door, catching his breath.

A sign caught his attention. “Costumes.” What Crawley needed most, Lewis decided, was an eye patch.

He was poking through a bin of costume scraps—cowboy hats, magic wands, plastic Viking helmets—when he heard a voice.

“Hey! Lewis!”

He whirled around.

Abbie. She was wearing some kind of … hat? Pink wool. Red wool braids hanging down the sides. Pointy top. She looked so friendly, he almost glanced over his shoulder to see who she was
really
talking to.

“Uh … hey. Hello.” Heat rose under his skin.

“Well,
this
is interesting. Did you follow me here? Or did I follow you?”

“Huh?”

She laughed. “Never mind. What do you think of this hat?” She twirled, holding up a braid.

He thought it made her look like an elf. The pointy top. Her wide mouth and too-big eyes. Would she
want
to look like an elf? He didn’t answer.

She held out a poodle-shaped rhinestone pin. “How about this?”

Lewis struggled for words. “Very nice.”

She laughed again, but not in a mean way. “What are
you
looking for?”

“I—um—gosh!” Suddenly, he remembered. Crawley!

He ran for the changing room and, without stopping to think, opened the door. There stood the pirate, resplendent in golden shorts and a red checked sports jacket, open to reveal a naked hairy torso. A thick ugly scar ran down his chest and disappeared into the shorts, emerging again above his left knee before vanishing into his boot. On his head was a neon orange baseball cap. “Tandy Bay Tigers,” it said.

“Ain’t I a picture?” Crawley threw out his arms and twirled, scraping his knuckles on the changing room walls.

Lewis froze in the doorway, aghast.

Crawley’s good eye focused on something behind Lewis.

“Mam’selle,” he said in an oily voice, with a surprisingly graceful bow.

“Oh …” said Abbie.

Lewis whirled. She was standing behind him, goggle-eyed.

“I’m …” she said, breathing hard. “I …”

It was the first time Lewis had seen her lost for words.

His mind raced. “This is … my uncle Craw … Crawford.”

“Your uncle?”

Lewis remembered the mirror. He threw out his arms to block her view.

“From Los Angeles,” he blurted. The pirate had to be from
somewhere
. No one around here looked like that.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr.… Crawford,” said Abbie. Lewis slammed the door.

Abbie continued to stand there, staring. “Whoa!” she said under her breath.

Lewis saw that he’d have to explain. “Los Angeles” provided an idea. “He’s in the movies,” said Lewis. “A stunt man.”

“Oh,” said Abbie, breathing a little easier. “So that’s how he got …” She ran a hand down her body to indicate the long scar.

Lewis nodded.

“And the …” She pointed at her left eye.

Lewis nodded so hard, he felt dizzy.

“Wow! Must be dangerous work.” Abbie peered again at the door.

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Dangerous.” He waited for her to leave, but she just stood there, twirling her braid.

“I’d better help … you know.” Lewis nodded toward the changing room.

“Oh. Okay. Is there anything special you’re looking for?” She waved at the racks. “While I’m shopping?”

“No,” said Lewis. “I mean, yes! A patch. An eye patch. For …” He jerked his head toward the changing room.

“Sure,” she said. “Good idea. I’ll keep an eye out … I mean …” She let out a giggle, then, to his surprise, colored red with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” said Lewis.

She nodded. Then she smiled, wide. “Glad I got a chance to talk to you, Lewis. Finally!”

“Uh, yeah,” said Lewis. “See you later.”

“Later,” she echoed, backing away. “Good-bye, Uncle Crawford!” she yelled at the changing room door.

Lewis watched her walk to the women’s section. He waited a few minutes longer till she left the store. Then he slipped into the changing room.

“We have to go! Now!” he told the pirate, who was pulling on a pair of tight black cycling pants. Crawley opened his mouth.

“No arguments,” said Lewis, surprising himself. “Now!”

“Aye, aye,” said the captain. Lewis waited as the pirate faded into invisibility. Then he gathered up
the clothing and walked, without stopping, to the cash register. He could tell the captain was with him by the pressure on his left arm.

“How much for all this?” he asked the cashier.

She stared at him suspiciously. He waited, breathing hard, while she added it up.

“$29.90,” she said. Lewis paid and accepted two bulging shopping bags.

Outside, he studied the street nervously. People were driving home from work. The traffic was heavier.

He set off briskly, hoping that if they kept moving, Crawley wouldn’t notice the cars. The bulky bags made it hard to walk, and he wished he could give one to Crawley. They were
his
clothes, after all.

They took the first quiet street. They hadn’t gone far when Lewis came to a halt.

Two boys were shooting hoops in the driveway of a low blue bungalow. Both were dressed in white. Even at a distance, Lewis could pick out Seth.

He darted behind an elm tree, dragging Crawley with him.

“Hey!” yelled Seth. “It’s Dearborn. Over there!”

Lewis heard the ball thump-thump to a stop. An instant later, the boys were in front of him. The second boy was Mike Burrows, also in his class.

Seth grinned. “What you got there, Lewisssser?” He reached into one of the bags.

Before Lewis could stop him, Seth whipped out the huge purple pants. “Hey, Burrows, check this out. Dearborn bought himself some cool—wow, I don’t
believe
this! Hoo-eee!” Holding the pants by the waist and stretching them as wide as they would go, he started shrieking with laughter.

Mike joined him, pointing and doubling over.

“These aren’t pants,” yelled Seth. “This is a tent! Someone could
live
in these pants.”

“A whole family!” howled Mike, grabbing one side of the pants and trying to stretch them further.

“Stop!” said Lewis, thinking of Bellows. “You’re going to rip them.”

That only made the boys laugh harder.

That’s when Crawley stepped out from behind the tree. The boys froze as he bore down on them, his good eye flashing. Seizing them by the backs of their necks, Crawley hoisted them into the air.

“Drop them breeches, dogs!” he roared.

The pants fluttered to the ground. Lewis stuffed them into the bag.

Crawley, meanwhile, had turned Seth, floundering like a hooked fish, around to face him. The pirate’s blind eye was up against Seth’s face.

“I am going to cut out your liver, boy,” he growled, in a voice like rolling thunder, “and I’m going to fasten it to the top of this tree! Does you think you’ll look
pretty
without your liver?”

He gave Seth a shake.

“Nnn—” said Seth.

“A liver is one of them things you don’t hardly think about. But I promise you, you’ll miss it when it’s gone!”

Crawley turned slowly from one captive to the other, breathing so heavily and with such rank fish breath that even Lewis could smell it. Both boys hung limp and terrified, unable to look away from the pirate’s missing eye. Crawley shook them as easily as if they were kittens, making harsh, animal grunts.