Seven Dead Pirates (4 page)

He awoke at the first hint of orange-red sun, rising above the sea. The middle window was open. He ran straight to it. And what a fine burst of feeling he had then, with all the friendly clutter of Libertalia behind him and all the bright, open promise of the horizon in front.

This was
exactly
where he was supposed to be. Even the thought of school didn’t scare him. Not if he had this room to come home to.

In the days that followed, he was happier than he’d ever been. His parents visited, but only twice. It was a long walk to Libertalia, especially for his mother, and they had a lot to do in the rest of the house. They
were relieved, too, to discover that the strange-looking device above Libertalia’s door was an old-fashioned intercom that linked to the kitchen. If they pressed a button in the kitchen, a bell would sound in the tower room.

“When you hear that bell,” said his mother, “you come downstairs immediately. Do you understand me, Lewis?”

It was almost like being an orphan, he thought—the
good
kind, the kind in books, the kind who has adventures. And his parents hadn’t even had to die! In his old house, his room had been right beside theirs. If he tried to read at night, they yelled, “Turn the light out, Lewis!” If he coughed, they hurried to his side with medicine. Both of them stomped in whenever they felt like it to check his homework or his temperature or his supply of clean socks. He might as well have lived in an airport!

But here? In Libertalia? It was like having his own apartment. He could run around naked!

Not that he’d want to.

He was so happy that when the noises began, he tried to ignore them. They came from behind the walls. Creaks. Thumps. Sometimes a low burble of voices. At first, the sounds were so quiet he could hardly hear them over the pounding of the waves. But as they got
louder, he realized that they were coming from behind the narrow red door. After staring at it for most of an evening, it occurred to Lewis that the key Mrs. Binchy had given him might work in
that
door as well. He tried it and was delighted when the red door sprang open. But all he’d revealed was a small, empty closet. It smelled of fish.

Lewis didn’t
want
to hear the noises. He wanted them to go away, and for the next few days, he did his best to block them out. But on his sixth day in the tower, after some particularly loud thumps, he went down to ask his father about it.

“It’s nothing,” said Mr. Dearborn. “Old houses are like that. Shifting and settling on their foundations. Especially with these winds.”

Lewis nodded. “But … sometimes it sounds more like voices.”

“Oh? Well, that would be me and your mother, I suppose. Our voices traveling through the pipes. We’ll have to watch what we say, won’t we? No more secrets from Lewis! Heh, heh.”

Mr. Dearborn’s jokes were almost always bad. But Lewis laughed at this one, out of relief. He returned to Libertalia feeling better.

The window was open. Again! He was about to close it when he heard a
thok
behind him. He turned. One
of the toy soldiers had fallen onto the floor. He went to pick it up. Before he could, the second soldier fell. Then the third.

The wind? It didn’t seem strong enough. He shut the window.

That’s when he heard the
ping
. Jerking around, he saw that a nickel—part of a handful of change he had dumped on his desk—had fallen to the wooden floor. As he watched, the rest of the change, one coin after another, slid off the desk.
Ping, ping, ping … ping
.

Holding his breath, Lewis walked to the desk. He slid his hand along its surface. It was slanted. It
must
be.

Or maybe the floor was slanted?

As he bent to retrieve the coins, he realized, with a hammering of his heart, that he was wrong. The floor wasn’t slanted.
Nothing
was slanted. Because, as he watched, one of the quarters on the floor rose slowly into the air. It hovered above the desk briefly before dropping slowly onto its surface. Then, as Lewis struggled to believe his eyes, a dime rose from the floor.

He let out a scream. At least, he
tried
to, but all that came out was the kind of thin, helpless squeak people make in nightmares.

He ran for the door and yanked the knob. The door wouldn’t budge. Frantic, he kicked it, still trying to
scream. But even the weak sounds he managed were muffled by something cool pressed against his mouth and upper body as he was pinned, with a thud, against the wall.

There was a swirling like mist all around, and a deep voice said in his ear, “Awrrr, laddie, there’s no need to be afeared.”

L
ewis froze, rigid with fear. Only his eyes moved, flickering like a wild animal’s.

There was no one there!

Cold air enveloped him, tinged with a whiff of fish. He exploded, without thinking, into terrified struggle, flailing his limbs. All in vain. He was pinned to the wall as securely as a fly beneath a swatter.

“Now, laddie, I just needs a wee moment, that’s all. I’m … well, let’s say I’m a friend of your great-granddaddy.”

Chest heaving, Lewis sucked in great mouthfuls of air. Where was the voice coming from? He lashed out again.

“He were a fine man,” said the voice, “and we was fond of one another, being two old sea dogs. Even if we quarreled now and then, it were a friendly sort of thing. He told me you’d be coming.”

The mist swirled again. The voice
seemed
to be coming from its movement.

“Me?” whispered Lewis.

“Aye, you. He said you were a bold ’un.”

“
Me
?” said Lewis again.

“Aye, but as I watches you, I has me doubts.”

The hair on the back of Lewis’s neck stood up. “You’ve been … watching me?”

“Aye, lad, and if there’s any of your great-granddad’s boldness in you, it’s well hidden. And that’s a worry to me, see. Because we needs someone with a sharp eye and a strong hand.”

Lewis’s heart was pounding so hard, he felt it would burst through his chest. There was a long moment when his mouth moved and no sound came out.

“Who
are
you?” he finally managed.

A rough laugh came back. “That’s it, lad. Ask away! I’m James Crawley, at your service—Captain James Crawley, although it be more than two hunnert years since I’ve walked the decks of me own ship. Still, lad, you’re here to fix that, ain’t you?”

Lewis was suddenly even more terrified. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I can’t fix anything. I don’t know you. I can’t even
see
you!”

“Ah, you wants to
see
Captain Crawley, does you?” said the voice. “Better be sure, lad. There were a time when I were as sweet-looking as you. But I’ve lost me best bits over the years, and I ain’t so pretty now. Are you brave enough to look on Captain Crawley as he be?”

Lewis didn’t feel brave at all. His whole body was shaking, his hands worst of all, so he clenched them in an effort to keep them still. But he couldn’t help thinking that, however awful it might be to see Captain Crawley, it couldn’t be worse than
not
seeing him and not knowing who—or what—he was talking to.

Lewis’s voice was uncertain as he replied, “Yes?”

He watched as the mist formed a grayish cloud. It circled like a tiny tornado and then slowly settled into the outline of a human body—transparent at first, then gradually becoming more solid.

“Aaaahhh,” said Captain Crawley. He was facing away, toward the sea. From behind, Lewis could see a mane of tangled hair that might have been brown once, but was now grizzled and gray. It looked like old rope that had come unstrung.

The captain shook out his shoulders, rolled his neck and strutted to the window. Lewis took this
chance to try again to break away from the wall. But something—what?—still held him there.

“There ain’t nothing in this world like a good salt breeze,” said the captain. He wore boots of worn black leather and a mottled, reddish jacket that hung almost to his knees.

Suddenly, he turned, revealing a face that would have made Lewis leap backward if he weren’t already plastered against the wall. It was pockmarked all over, with a lumpy nose, and a smile that revealed several missing teeth. But it was his eyes that caught Lewis’s attention. The right one, brown, glared at him fiercely. The left was nothing but a slit, showing white between half-closed lids.

Lewis forced himself to lower his gaze, bringing it to rest on the soft leather sash around the captain’s waist. Tucked into it were a cutlass, a knife and an old-fashioned pistol. And there, clutched in the captain’s right hand, was the last piece of the puzzle—a faded black three-cornered hat.

The hat was a dead giveaway.

“You’re …” he tried, and then again, “you’re … a pirate.”

“A pirate? Well, lad, that ain’t a word I likes. You may call me”—he bowed low, sweeping the ground with one hand—“a gentleman of fortune.”

Narrowing his right eye, he gave Lewis a searching glance. “And besides, a man cannot be a pirate without he has a ship. That’s why your great-granddad sent
you
.”

Lewis’s head was throbbing. “I—what do you mean, sent me?”

“Well, roughly speaking, it’s this.” Captain Crawley stroked his chin. “We needs you, young Lewis. Me and the boys.”

“The boys?” squeaked Lewis. “You mean, there are … more of you?”

“Oh, aye,” said Crawley, and he yelled back over his shoulder. “Come on out, mates!”

I
n front of the red door, a new cloud swirled and shimmered. As Lewis watched, it formed itself into a thin, ragged, hunched-over sailor with a long nose and a wide, wet mouth.

“Jack the Rat,” said Captain Crawley. “Make your bow to the lad, Jack. Nice and polite now.”

Jack didn’t bow so much as bend his knobby knees, visible through the rips in his pants. The knees, like the rest of him, were filthy. Narrowing his eyes, he peered at Lewis with a look that a spider might give a fly.

Lewis flinched, but his attention was drawn immediately to a third misty figure. It took shape as a
round-bellied man with pink cheeks and a greasy white beard. He looked almost like Santa, if you could ignore the jagged scar that sliced down his forehead and divided his right eyebrow in two.

“Is that ’im?” said the man.

“Aye,” said Crawley.

“A bit small, ain’t he?”

“Shut your trap, Moyle,” said Jack the Rat. “He’s big enough for what
we
wants.” He grinned wetly at Lewis, licking his lips in such a terrifying way that Lewis was convinced the apparition meant to
eat
him.

Lewis struggled again. But when a fourth pirate appeared, an arm’s length away, he was shocked into stillness. This pirate was
precisely
at arm’s length, and the way Lewis knew that was because this pirate—a terrifyingly large man—was the one who was pinning him to the wall. He’s a giant, thought Lewis. He’s out of a fairy tale! Easily eight feet tall, the pirate had black hair, a thick black beard and coarse black hair covering what could be seen of his body. His hands, big as roasting pans, rested on Lewis’s shoulders.

“You puts up a good fight,” rumbled the giant. “I had to use two hands to hold you.”

“See?” said Jack the Rat to no one in particular. “The lad’s big enough.”

“Big enough for what?” squeaked Lewis. Normally,
he was shy with strangers. But when a person is shocked to the bone, as Lewis was, and wondering if he’s about to be eaten, shyness is apt to get pushed aside.

“Now don’t be afeared,” said Captain Crawley softly. “Barnaby Bellows is like a big puppy, ain’t you, Bellows?”

The giant leered into Lewis’s face. “I likes the lad’s red hair,” he said, his breath reeking of dead fish. “Red hair shows spirit!”

And that was just the beginning. Three more pirates followed. There was Skittles, tiny, bald and missing an arm. Jonas came next, lean, brown-skinned and shivering. He, too, had missing parts—two fingers on his left hand.

Last of all, and slowest to manifest himself, was Adam.

“Why, look at these two,” said Moyle, glancing back and forth between Adam and Lewis. “They’re the same age, ain’t they? Two young lads as could be born the same day.”