The Lost Prince (3 page)

D
ean studied Gentleman Jim Harper from across the crowded tavern. It wasn’t hard to see how the man had gotten his name. He was a handsome rogue, sharply dressed in a spotless black frock coat and brilliant blue doublet. His mustache and goatee were neatly trimmed, and his long, auburn hair was washed clean. Gentleman Jim took more pride and care in his appearance than any pirate Dean had ever seen. Dean watched him at cards with the other pirates at his table. Gentleman Jim cut a dashing figure, but he was tougher than he appeared at first glance. His shoulders were broad, his hands were quick, and his eyes were unafraid. He had a strong presence about him. Of course he did. One-Eyed Jack would never have made the man a captain otherwise.

Dean hung back in a corner of the room. Gentleman Jim hadn’t noticed him yet, and he wouldn’t, either, not until Dean wanted him to. The crowded tavern was the kind of place where it was easy for someone Dean’s size to get swallowed up by a crowd. It was also the kind of place Dean wasn’t old enough to be in yet, but rules like that didn’t apply on St. Diogenes. They did, however, apply on board Gentleman Jim’s ship. His crew was made up of kids who were all within a few years of Dean’s age, and their captain kept them out of establishments like this. Dean had counted on that. He needed to get himself a place on the
Reckless
if he was going to spy on its captain, and he didn’t have time to go through the Pirate Youth to do it. Gentleman Jim’s crew was known to be a tight-knit, territorial, and suspicious bunch. It would have taken months for Dean to work his way into their circle and build up enough trust to even get introduced to Gentleman Jim. But Dean had a plan.

The moment Dean had been waiting for arrived when the card game broke up. The pirates Gentleman Jim had been playing with got up to leave, and he was alone at last.
Time for part one.

Dean wove his way through the crowded room and took a seat at Gentleman Jim’s table. The young captain looked up at his uninvited guest and pulled the coins he’d just won a few inches closer to his side of the table. Dean leaned back and put his hands up, indicating he had no designs on Gentleman Jim’s gold. “Five
minutes of your time, sir. That’s all I ask. It isn’t much, really … five minutes to change your life?”

Gentleman Jim eyed Dean suspiciously for a moment, then chuckled and went back to counting his winnings. “What makes you think my life needs changing?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you’re on St. Diogenes. There’s only one man on this island who couldn’t use a change of scenery.”

Gentleman Jim took a swig from a pewter tankard and wiped the foam from his beard. “All right, lad. I’ll grant you that.”

Dean smiled. “No reasonable man could argue otherwise.”

Truer words had never been spoken. St. Diogenes was One-Eyed Jack’s private island. Its main port of Bartleby Bay was a dreadful place made up almost entirely of taverns and gambling halls. The dirty shacks and crumbling buildings that housed these seedy establishments were all on the verge of collapse, as were most of the pirates who frequented them. Men in town had far too much rum in their stomachs, and not a single night passed without a series of brawls, robberies, and murders. Bartleby Bay was not a safe place by any means, but it was safe from the law. Mountainous and inaccessible from the north, the island possessed a well-defended harbor that made it an ideal pirate haunt. St. Diogenes was a kingdom ruled by One-Eyed Jack.

Gentleman Jim dropped his coins into a velvet pouch and tucked it into a pocket inside his coat. Careful not to stare, Dean took note of exactly which one.

“What have you got for me, then? What’s going to change my life?”

Dean hunched his shoulders and looked around guardedly. Once he was sure no one was eavesdropping, he produced a small scroll that he had tucked inside his shirt. “A map. A map and a chance for a fortune in gold.”

Gentleman Jim was unimpressed. “You don’t say. A map to where?”

Dean looked around again. He made a big show of shielding the map from prying eyes. “Let’s just say it leads to an island in the Bermuda Triangle. A
golden
opportunity, if you get my meaning.”

Gentleman Jim stroked his beard. “I do indeed.… How did you come by this map?”

Dean gripped the map tight, holding it as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. “You have to understand, I wasn’t always the worthless street rat you see before you today, sir. I was once a deckhand on a shining ship, a golden vessel from a magic island … a trade ship from Zenhala.” He leaned in to whisper the last part for dramatic effect.

Gentleman Jim could barely hide his amusement. “The island where gold grows on trees? Truly? You’re native to the Golden Isle?”

“Born and bred, though I’ve not seen it for some time.”

“Why not? What happened to you, lad?”

Dean put on a sad face. “My ship was attacked by pirates. I
was knocked overboard. Lost at sea for days I was, but I survived and ended up here. Still can’t decide if that makes me lucky or unlucky.”

“I’d say a bit of both.”

“I’ll admit it hasn’t been easy, making it on these streets, but I won’t be staying much longer. You see, I know the way home.” Dean offered up the map. “From the looks of things, you’re a gambling man, sir. I’ll wager that where other men see risk, you see reward. Play your cards right with this hand, and the pot will be bigger than you can well imagine.”

Gentleman Jim sized up Dean for a moment before he took the map from his hand. He spread it out on the table and shook his head. It was a crude, worthless plot of lines scribbled down in haste, nothing more. “This looks like you drew it.”

“Aye, sir. I drew it from memory.”

“What am I supposed to do with it? It’s a mess.”

“I can read it for you.”

Gentleman Jim leaned back with a smile. “Now we come to it. That’s what you want in return for this, I take it? A ride?”

“Aye, sir, a place on your ship. Nothing more. It’s in your interest to take me with you. If we arrive together, you’ll be hailed as a hero bringing a native son home to Ze—” Dean stopped and looked over his shoulder again. He lowered his voice. “Home to Zenhala. If you go it alone, the welcome would not be warm, I assure you.”

Gentleman Jim leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Why do I get the feeling we’d never reach the island either way?”

“Sir?”

Gentleman Jim pushed the map back to Dean. “I know what this is, son. Either you have friends out there somewhere who would attack my ship off the coast of some godforsaken rock, or you’d rob me blind while I slept and set me adrift on the waves. Don’t let the fancy clothes fool you. I’m as much a pirate as any other man in this room. I know a con when I see it.”

“Sir, it’s not like that. I swear on the—”

“I’ll give you a bit of free advice, lad. If you’re interested, that is …”

Dean slumped in his seat and let out a sigh. “I’m listening.”

“Good. Smart boy.” Gentleman Jim took on the manner of a teacher with a lesson to impart. “You moved too fast with all of this. Your delivery had its moments, but overall it was over the top. You came to
me.
That’s no good. Better if you let the mark think he’s figuring the game out for himself. Even better if he thinks he’s figuring out something you don’t want him to know. And if you’re going to trade on this ‘lost son of Zenhala’ grift, you might as well say you’re the lost prince. You do know that part of the story, don’t you?”

Dean nodded. “Everyone knows that story.”

“Good.” Gentleman Jim leaned back and folded his arms. “Let’s hear it.”

Dean looked at Gentleman Jim, who was waiting patiently for him to begin. The moment had the feel of an audition. He went along and told the tale, heavy on the theatrics:

“Lots of ships have gone out looking for Zenhala over the years, but there’s only one whose crew ever lived to see its shores. A pirate ship with a bloodthirsty captain and a cutthroat crew. They fought their way across the Bermuda Triangle’s death-infested waters and made it all the way to the island—past sea serpents and squalls. When they got there, they stole every coin of the fabled golden harvest, but that wasn’t the most valuable treasure they took away with them. The pirate captain also took a hostage to cover his escape … the king and queen’s newborn son.”

“And that’s you,” Gentleman Jim cut in. “From now on, you’re the lost prince, and the man who brings you home will earn himself a rich reward from your father, the king. This deckhand-on-a-trade-ship business …” He shook his head. “It doesn’t fly. Not enough there. Small bait won’t ever catch a big fish, understand?”

Dean crumpled up his fraudulent map, unconvinced. “I always thought the lost prince con was a little hard to believe. It’s too much, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. That’s a common mistake. You
want
to offer too much. Never underestimate what the promise of gold will make a man believe. Small dreams don’t have the power to move men. They have to be big. Remember that.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And next time, get yourself a decent map. That was terrible.”

Dean nodded. “Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” He stood up, dejected.

Gentleman Jim sighed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It wasn’t all bad. Just keep at it and you’ll get there. Better luck next time, eh?”

Dean nodded and stood up from the table. A barmaid passed behind him, holding a tray filled with rum and grog. Dean turned to leave and walked right into the barmaid and her overloaded tray. The drinks spilled all over the pirates at the next table.

“GAH!” A mountain of a man cried out as if he’d just been stabbed with a harpoon. He shot out of his seat, ready to do at least that much to the person responsible. “Who’s the dead man who just poured a plate of drinks down my back?”

All eyes turned to Dean. He looked up, quivering, as the giant pirate peeled off his sopping-wet coat and stared him down, seething. The man towered over Dean. He was well over six feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds. His powerful muscles were tucked away beneath a thick layer of blubber, but the added bulk just made him more intimidating. He was like an ogre dressed up in a man’s clothes, only stronger and perhaps more prone to fits of rage. As the barmaid cursed Dean without end, Gentleman Jim came to his defense.

“Easy now. The boy didn’t mean for that to happen. It was an accident.”

The massive pirate Dean had spilled the drinks on wasn’t listening. He just scowled and drew back his hand.

Here it comes
, thought Dean.
Time to take a hit.
It was part of the job. The way he saw it, everybody took a hit now and then.

The rum-soaked pirate backhanded Dean with a meaty paw. Dean turned so that his shoulder absorbed most of the impact, but the blow still sent him flying back into Gentleman Jim. The young captain helped him up. “You all right, lad?” Dean shook his head clear and rubbed his eyes.

“I think so.”

“Good. Get out of here. Lively now!”

Dean nodded and scurried off. The enormous pirate took a step after him, but Gentleman Jim blocked his path. “All right, that’s enough. Enough, I say! It’s over!”

“What about my pint of—”

“I’ll get you another, just calm down!” Gentleman Jim pushed the man back and reached into his coat for a gold doubloon. “I’ll get you another myself. I …” He trailed off as he fished around in his pocket for the coin purse he’d put there a moment ago. He couldn’t find it. He checked his other pockets with a puzzled look on his face. It was gone. “I could have sworn I—” Dean was almost at the door when Gentleman Jim realized what had happened. From across the room, the pair locked eyes. Dean shrugged apologetically, held up the red velvet coin purse, and darted out the door.

CHAPTER
3

D
ean had barely gotten across the street when Gentleman Jim dashed out after him. He pointed at Dean and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“That boy’s got our loot! After him!”

A ragtag gang of boys loitering nearby looked up in alarm. Dean knew they were Gentleman Jim’s crew, the Pirate Youth. With their messy hair and ripped-up clothing, they looked just like Dean, only tougher. They had a little more meat on their bones, and a slightly larger chip on their collective shoulder. They looked angry as they sprang to their feet. Dean took off running, and the group chased after him. He ran down the street, leading them through a crowded maze of ramshackle sheds and squalid
hovels. He chose terrain that prevented them from ganging up on him, and it was a good thing too, for with each passing block, their numbers grew. Before Dean knew it, the Pirate Youth outnumbered him twenty to one.

Dean took them down narrow paths that ran through condemned buildings and burned-out inns. There was no shortage of such structures in Bartleby Bay. A first-time visitor to the town would have found it to be in a terrible state of disrepair, but the truth was it had never been in a state of “repair” to begin with. The buildings in town were crooked and bent, its dirt roads cleaner than most feet that walked them. As always, the town was noisy and alive with action, which worked in Dean’s favor. The pirates of St. Diogenes were a dangerous and unpredictable bunch. As he ran, Dean knocked into as many of them as he could, hoping his pursuers would be slowed down by the pointless squabbles that would erupt in his wake. Sure enough, men were soon cursing, arguing, and outright fighting in the street. Gentleman Jim’s boys were caught up in the scrum, and Dean broke for the relative safety of Fort Diogenes.