The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (27 page)

They hurried behind the nearest pink-striped umbrella, and Hilary peered past Charlie to get a better look at what had alarmed him. There, a few yards down the street, stood a man and boy in plain black clothes. They both looked damp and drippy, as though they'd recently gone for a swim, and their pants were torn and scuffed at the knees, as though they'd recently climbed over a city wall. Unlike the pirates around them, they were not chatting or challenging each other to duels; they were huddled close together, studying a seawater-stained square of parchment. The man glanced about uncomfortably, and the boy sneered.

Admiral Westfield (for it was he) pointed to the treasure map and mumbled to Oliver. Oliver looked over his shoulder at something around the corner and nodded. Then Admiral Westfield rolled the map up and patted Oliver's shoulder. “Well done, lad,” he said loud enough for Hilary to hear. “I'm proud of you. Shall we proceed?”

“Oh, they wouldn't dare!” said Hilary. In her arms, the gargoyle growled. She lunged toward Admiral Westfield, but she hadn't taken three steps before Jasper's hands clamped down on her shoulders, and Miss Greyson's hands pressed over her mouth. “Let me
go
,” she said, although the muffling effects of Miss Greyson's palm made it difficult to give orders. “We've got to go after them!”

“You're only half right,” said Jasper. “Someone must go after them, it's true. But I intend to be that someone.”

Admiral Westfield and Oliver hadn't paid any attention to the scuffle taking place behind them—there were at least two additional pirate scuffles on the street at that moment, so a third one must not have seemed worth noticing—and they had almost rounded the corner, out of Hilary's view. “They're getting away!” said the gargoyle, whipping his tail frantically to and fro.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Jasper wiped the sweat from his brow. “Which of us is the Terror of the Southlands?” He let go of Hilary's shoulders and handed her his spade. “Now, listen carefully. I will deal with the admiral and Oliver. While I am doing that,
you
must find the treasure.”

“But—”

“I'll hear no
but
s or
however
s,” said Jasper, sounding discomfortingly like Miss Greyson. This, Hilary supposed, was what came of letting governesses sail about on pirate ships. “It's perfectly simple: One of us has to distract them while the others dig up the treasure. You know the map better than I do, and besides, I think you'd be wise to keep your distance from your father. With Miss Greyson's crochet hook and Charlie's sword, you should all be perfectly safe.”

Hilary had never used a spade before—her mother's gardeners highly discouraged unauthorized digging on the grounds of Westfield House—and this one felt heavy and awkward in her hands. “But you can't fight them off singlehandedly, Jasper,” she said. “Oliver never fights fairly, and you know Father. He's stubborn as an ox.” An ox with a ship full of cannons at its disposal, Hilary thought.

“This whole plan is highly impractical,” Miss Greyson agreed, “and there's only one solution I can see. Mr. Fletcher, I will help you distract the evildoers.” She tugged her crochet hook from her bun, sending a shower of hairpins clattering down on the cobblestones. Even in her bathing costume, with her loose curls flowing over her shoulders, Hilary thought she looked terribly fearsome. “I'm useless at digging,” she said, “and I believe Mr. Fletcher would benefit from having a bit of magic on his side.”

Hilary stared at her. “You mean you won't come with me?”

In response, Miss Greyson behaved very oddly indeed: She bent down and kissed Hilary on the cheek. “I am confident,” she said, “that you will do wonderfully well without a governess. Now, for goodness' sake, hurry along and find that treasure!”

T
he
D
ancing
S
heep
A F
loating
D
ivision
of
M
iss
P
imm's
F
inishing
S
chool
for D
elicate
L
adies

Dear Hilary,

I must know at once: Is your ship still bound for Gunpowder Island?

If it is, you must tug on its reins and turn it around as fast as you can!

You will want to know why, of course, but a decent explanation would take far too long, and I'm afraid you would hardly believe it, so you will have to trust me when I tell you that something peculiar is going on, and Gunpowder Island seems to be at the center of it all. Oh dear, now Philomena is looking daggers at me, and I must get this message to the postal courier without her noticing. Do be careful, Hilary, and please— stay away from Gunpowder Island!

Yours in haste,

Claire

POSTAL COURIER COULD NOT DELIVER.

REASON: MISS WESTFIELD IS BELIEVED TO BE ASHORE ON GUNPOWDER ISLAND. IF SENDER THINKS POSTAL COURIER IS SETTING FOOT ON THAT GODFORSAKEN ROCK, SENDER MUST KINDLY THINK AGAIN.

O
NE MOMENT, THE
town square on Gunpowder Island was a pleasant, quiet open space. An elaborate marble fountain burbled in the center of the square; skull-and-crossbones flags hung cheerfully from open windows; pirates strolled past, singing sea chanteys; and statues of legendary sea captains watched over the whole scene. Near the fountain, a man and a boy studied a map. To a casual observer, they might have looked like travelers on a grand tour of famous pirate hideaways. To Hilary, however, they looked like danger. She would have been a bit less nervous if Oliver had still been dressed as a beet.

The next moment, all was madness. Jasper ran toward Admiral Westfield with his sword in hand, shouting all sorts of words that were impolite even to think about in High Society. Miss Greyson was hot on his heels, clutching her crochet hook in one fist and swinging a spade wildly with the other. Admiral Westfield and Oliver looked up from their map. They looked at each other. They looked back at Jasper and Miss Greyson. Then they unsheathed their swords and began to shout unsavory sentiments of their own.

“Fletcher, you fiend!” cried Admiral Westfield. “And—my goodness, aren't you that horrid governess?”

“This man,” Jasper called to the pirates who'd already gathered to watch the confrontation, “is the admiral of the Royal Navy, and an enemy to pirates everywhere!”

At once, several of the pirates in the square drew their own swords and leaped into the fray. Some of them fought alongside Jasper and Miss Greyson, but many of them didn't seem to care whose side they were on, and they brandished their weapons at anyone who happened to be within reach. Word traveled fast on Gunpowder Island, and within minutes the square was positively full of sword-waving pirates.

Hilary, Charlie, and the gargoyle watched the battle from behind a statue of a pirate who was portly enough to conceal all three of them. Hilary reminded herself that pirates were never squeamish, but there was something distinctly uncomfortable about watching Jasper and Miss Greyson go into battle against her father. She didn't want them to lose, of course . . . but what would happen to Admiral Westfield if they won? She shook her head in an attempt to clear that particular thought from her mind. Miss Greyson and Jasper had charged her with finding the treasure, and she did not intend to disappoint them.

The gargoyle poked Hilary with his tail. “What do we do now?”

Hilary closed her eyes and pictured the treasure map. “We've got to count out ninety paces from the statue,” she said, “heading north.”

“That sounds easy enough,” said Charlie. “But which statue?” Dozens of statues filled the town square, and none of them looked like a particularly suitable starting point for a treasure hunt.

“Maybe the Enchantress chose the statue she liked best. Like that one.” Hilary pointed to a polished stone sea captain a few yards away. “He looks quite trustworthy.”

Charlie coughed. “Trust me,” he said. “It's not that statue; I'm certain of it.”

“But you haven't even looked at it!” Hilary tucked her spade under one arm and the gargoyle under the other. Then she hurried through the crowd of battling pirates to the sea-captain statue and knelt down to examine the words carved into its base.

“‘Nat Dove,'” Hilary read aloud. “‘Scourge of the Northlands.'”

The gargoyle's ears drooped.

“The Enchantress wouldn't have known about this statue,” Charlie said behind them. “Pa only died ten years ago, and her treasure was hidden long before that.”

“Oh, Charlie, I'm sorry. He must have been a very great pirate.” Hilary looked up at the statue of Charlie's pa. His stone arms crossed his chest, and his stone mouth was pressed into a stubborn line, but she decided his eyes looked friendly. “He looks a bit like you.”

“Not really,” said Charlie. “Everyone said I looked more like my mam. She should have a statue of her own, but the VNHLP wouldn't allow it.”

“When you're Scourge of the Northlands someday, I'm sure they'll change their minds,” said Hilary.

“They'd better,” said Charlie. “But if I'm going to be Scourge of the Northlands, we've got to find that treasure. I don't want to embarrass myself with my pa looking on.”

“I understand completely.” The pirate battle had grown fiercer than ever around them, and a small part of Hilary wished she could abandon her hiding place and dash across the square with her sword glinting in the sun, like a hero out of a pirate yarn.
That
would have given her father and Oliver something to think about.

The gargoyle had apparently been thinking about something, too. “If the Enchantress hid her treasure a long time ago,” he said slowly, “shouldn't we look for a really old statue? That one over there is even more crumbly than I am.” He jabbed his tail toward a worn and weathered statue standing to one side of the town square.

“Good thinking, gargoyle,” said Hilary. The gargoyle bowed and looked terribly pleased with himself.

Jasper and Miss Greyson had managed to lead the battle down a side street, so no pirates gave Hilary or Charlie any trouble as they crossed the square to the ancient-looking statue. When they'd drawn close enough to make out its features, the gargoyle gasped. Then, quite without warning, he began to flap his wings and wriggle about.

“Whatever is the matter?” said Hilary.

“Don't you see?” The gargoyle wriggled so fiercely that he nearly tore a hole in Hilary's sleeve. “It's the Enchantress!”

Time and weather had worn away the statue's features, and generations of pirates had scraped their swords against its surface, but unlike the other statues in the square, this one wasn't wearing a billowing coat or breeches, and it certainly didn't have a three-cornered hat atop its head. In fact, it seemed to be wearing a gown. On its polished face, Hilary could just make out the trace of a thin-lipped smile. The smile was familiar, and why shouldn't it be? She'd passed that smile—or a stained-glass version of it, at least—nearly every day of her life in the halls of Westfield House. At the base of the statue, Hilary could just make out the faint imprint of a figure eight.