Seven Dead Pirates (7 page)

The silence dragged on. Lewis knew what he looked like. Scarlet. His face was now the same reddish color as his hair. No. Brighter! Kids had
told
him how he looked when this happened. Like a human tomato.

At least he wasn’t crying. Sometimes when this happened, tears ran down his face.

At least he wasn’t doing that.

Finally, a voice spoke up. Seth Tyler’s voice, polite. “He can’t talk.”

“What do you mean?” said Ms. Forsley. “Of course he can. Lewis?”

“No,” insisted Seth, his voice not quite so polite anymore. “He can’t talk in class. He never does. We’ll sit here all
day
if you wait for him.”

Muffled giggles followed.

“That’s enough.” Ms. Forsley sounded rattled. “Lewis, we’ll give you another chance later. Now … um, Catherine?”

Another chance later. That was bad. It meant she would keep trying. Most of his teachers
did
keep trying. They thought it was their job to get Lewis to talk in class. They even gave grades for it. They called it participation. Or worse, oral presentation.

Lewis had seen a movie on TV once where the main character described himself as “terminally shy.” The phrase stuck in Lewis’s mind because that was exactly what
he
was. If it were possible to actually die of shyness, Lewis would have been in his grave long ago. Back in first grade, probably. That was the first time he had found himself in a class with other kids, his parents having kept him out of kindergarten because of a flu scare. Before first grade, it was just him and his parents and his nanny, Judith, who had looked after him when he was little. Judith was nice, but, like his parents, quite old, and looking back, Lewis figured that she must have been shy herself. At any rate, she never spoke to the other adults in the playground, so Lewis didn’t talk to the kids, either. Not until first grade.

By then, it was too late. He knew nothing. He got everything wrong. Clothes, of course. He wore a
coat
that first year—a long blue coat that came down past his knees.

You couldn’t play games in a coat! So tag and dodge
ball were among the things he got wrong. Some of the other things were lunch foods, recess, birthday presents, names of cars, taking turns, TV shows, sharing, Halloween costumes and talking.

Talking was the worst. He’d gotten that wrong immediately. He had talked way too much, he could see that now, and he didn’t talk the way other kids did or about the same things. So they had stopped talking to him. They had stopped listening. They had stopped even seeing that he was there. He couldn’t blame them, really.

But Lewis wasn’t stupid, and he understood—even at six—that the other kids didn’t like him, even if he didn’t know why. So, little by little, he had given up. Eventually, he had ended up like that guy in the TV movie—terminally shy. He couldn’t speak anymore in class. Not at
all
! In the past few years, he had said so little that his school voice had rusted right over. If he forced himself, what came out was the caw of a crow, or—like this morning—a rodent squeak.

When the recess bell rang, Lewis followed his classmates outside. He found a place to stand, beside the front stairs. Over the years, he’d developed a talent for finding corners of the schoolyard to hide in, walls to lean against. He was good at stillness, too—so good,
kids ran past without seeing him, as if he were a stump. If Danny Divers were there, they might stand beside each other. Two stumps. They might say a few words now and then.

But Danny Divers was gone.

Lewis kept his head down, as if he had a powerful interest in his own shoes. A picture of an ostrich popped into his head—he’d heard that ostriches hide their heads in the sand, believing this makes them invisible. He smiled to think that he was really no smarter than an ostrich.

“What’s so funny, Lewissssser?” said a voice to his right.

Seth.

Lewis didn’t answer.

“I guess he won’t talk to us,” said Seth. “Maybe it’s because he’s so
special
.”

Lewis stared at the shoes in the semi-circle around him. He knew Seth’s shoes well. White trainers, heavily scuffed, with a couple of blue stripes. White pants. Lewis knew without looking up that the T-shirt was white, too. This had been Seth’s uniform ever since he’d turned up after Christmas the previous year. White shirt, white pants, every day. Nobody had ever dressed that way at Tandy Bay Elementary before. But Seth was the opposite of Lewis. He made friends
easily. Soon there were two more boys dressing in white. And by June, two more.

Now, glancing around, Lewis could see, above the shoes, six pairs of white pants. Maybe they were on sale, he thought, and his mouth once again betrayed him with a smile.

“Must be hilarious, Lewissssser,” said Seth. “You’re a regular comedian.”

The other boys laughed.

“But guess what’s
not
funny. You’re standing in my square again.”

Yes, thought Lewis, this was how it started.

The front of the schoolyard was covered in paving stones, each about the size of a desk top. It didn’t matter which square Lewis stood on—that was the one Seth would want. It didn’t help, either, to leave the paving-stone area. Seth would draw a square around Lewis in the dirt if he had to. Just so he could claim it.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind
moving
, Lewisssser. I mean, I know you’re
fragile
and all, but even us ordinary guys who aren’t so
special
need a place to hang out. Know what I mean?” Guffaws from the other boys. The blue-and-white shoes took a step closer.

“Move!” ordered Seth.

Spotting a gap in the circle, Lewis darted through. He headed for the swings where Mrs. Reber, the playground
supervisor, had joined hands with a circle of little girls. If he got close enough to her, Seth might leave him alone. If he got
too
close, Seth would notice and come after him later, calling him a baby. There was a perfect distance—close, but not too close—if only he could figure it out. Last year, he’d spent a lot of time trying.

This year it would be worse. Six guys already in Seth’s white gang. And it was only the first day.

In the afternoon, Ms. Forsley tried him again with a question. An easier question—or so she thought. They were discussing what the class would do during gym time.

“How about you, Lewis? Do you like sports?”

Yes or no, thought Lewis. That’s all she wants. Answer!

But it was an impossible question. If he said yes, everyone would laugh. Lewis Dearborn, an athlete? Ha, ha. If he said no, it would make him a weirdo. Lewis Dearborn doesn’t like sports? It must be because he’s so
special
.

He said nothing.

Finally, it was over.

On the long walk home, Lewis had time to think. Not about school—there was no point. He thought about the tower instead. How fantastic it had been,
living there. In those first days upstairs, he’d been sure that nothing at school could touch him—not if he could go home to Libertalia. And now, instead, he’d go home to
more
impossible questions, this time from his parents and Mrs. Binchy. Did you have a good day? Did you have fun with your friends?

Why couldn’t the pirates just leave him alone? Why couldn’t they hang out somewhere else, as they had done when he first moved in? All he’d had to worry about then were a few noises.

He could
handle
noises.

His next thought stopped him in his tracks. What if the pirates
weren’t
in the tower? What if he was avoiding Libertalia for nothing? There’d been no sign of them when he went upstairs with his father. Was it possible that the pirates had left?

Longing swept through Lewis like a tidal wave.

He turned into the Shornoway drive. There it was—the tower. He stared till his eyes began to water from the wind. Then he decided.

He was going back upstairs.

Y
es!

They were gone.

Lewis had done a complete inspection, sniffing and searching the whole tower room, including under the beds. He’d even checked behind the red door. Everything was just as it should be. The air was fresh and sweet. The only sound was the sea.

“Yes!” he said out loud, pumping his fist in the air.

Looking around, he thought about what to do next. That was easy …

Anything he wanted!

He practiced handstands against the wall with his shoes
on
. He drew a time-traveling submarine and
named it the
Atlanticus
and attached it to the wall with tacks. He took the tin soldiers out of the cabinet and lined them up in battle formation on his desk, reds against blues, using the stone and shell collections as landscape.

He even had dinner upstairs. His parents were out, and Mrs. Binchy let him bring his lasagna up on a tray. As he ate, he wondered whether his parents might let him have a TV up here.

The answer came immediately.

Not a chance.

“We don’t believe in technology,” his mother always said when he asked about TVs, tablets, electronic games, smart phones—anything, in fact, that had a battery or a plug.

“We don’t think it’s good for you,” said his father. “We don’t believe it’s healthy for a developing mind.”

The result was that Lewis’s house had one TV (old, small) and two computers (his mother’s laptop and the old desktop in his father’s study). Even these were rationed. Seven hours a week of “screen time” was what Lewis was allowed, except when he was working on school projects.

It was medieval, that’s what it was. And it was one more way for Mr. and Mrs. Dearborn to make their son weird. It was like they were
trying
!

His piece of lasagna was huge, but he wolfed down every bite. Afterward, he walked to the middle window. Opening it as wide as it would go, he leaned way out, inhaling the air in deep sucking gulps. It was as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time he’d been away.

And then he felt it. That slight drop in temperature. Coming from
behind
.

“The lad’s back!” roared a familiar voice, so close Lewis felt the spray on his cheek. Crawley’s battered face loomed into view. “I
knew
he’d not let us down. Didn’t I say so, Skittles?”

Lewis whirled to face them.

“Aye,” agreed Skittles, emerging from his cloud.

The others were showing themselves, too. “The lad’s back, aye, he’s back.”

“I can smell him,” snarled Jack the Rat, pushing through to sniff at Lewis. “He smells like fear!”

It was true. Fear snaked up Lewis’s spine like an electric eel. He had forgotten how it felt to be closed in by these ghostly shapes, with their bizarre faces and pungent smells. His leg muscles tensed, ready to run.

The only thing that stopped him was the voice in his head. It told him that if he left now, he’d never come back.

Trembling, he held his ground. His fingers clutched the windowsill behind him.

“Now
that’s
the spirit!” Crawley clapped with delight. “Look at him, clinging there like a barnacle. He’ll be a grand help, he will.”

The captain did a strange little dance, leaping about as if his boots were on fire. It was like a signal to the others, who began cheering and smacking each other on the backs.

Lewis stared in shock. They were celebrating! They thought he’d come back to
help
them.

“Enough!” yelled Crawley. He turned to Lewis. “What’s the plan, lad? I likes a good plan!”

“Aye, tell us the plan!” echoed the others. They crowded in close, waiting for Lewis to speak.

For a moment, it was like being in school. Lewis felt his throat tighten. Then he remembered—they were adults. He was used to talking to adults. And they weren’t even
real
adults.

“I don’t … don’t have a plan,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Then, seeing their faces cloud over, he added, “Not yet!”

“Not yet?” Crawley took a moment to consider this. “Well, that’s fine.” He squinted at Lewis with his good eye. “But when?”

“I don’t know!” blurted Lewis. “I have to think!”

“Think?” shouted Jack the Rat. “What’s the use of
thinking
?”

“Hssst, Jack!” hissed the captain. “It’s good the lad is pondering it out. We doesn’t want a half-cooked plan, does we?”

Jack grimaced and scratched his armpit.

Lewis’s body stood rigid, but his mind raced. What if he
could
come up with a plan? One that would get the pirates to their ship all on their own? Without involving him?

He could get rid of them for good!

An idea flickered. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The pirates shifted to let him through. He raced downstairs and shuffled through a magazine rack. Seconds later, he was back.

“Here,” he said. “A map. It’s Tandy Bay. I can show you a way that avoids most of the traffic.” Opening the map, he held it out to Crawley.

Crawley glanced over, then crossed his arms. “That’s of no use, lad.”

“Why not?” asked Lewis. “I could mark it for you. Show you the whole route.”

The other pirates gathered to examine the map.