The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (6 page)

Several High Society families still own magical items that the Enchantress did not manage to collect, and it is rumored that a few magic coins are buried throughout the kingdom in pirates' treasure chests. Most citizens, however, have no magic at all, and recent attempts to retrieve additional magic ore from the hills of Augusta have been unsuccessful.

Readers of this guide, being young ladies of quality, are likely to encounter magic in their travels through High Society, but they must take care not to offend commoners by waving their magic about or by mentioning it too often. (Commoners, in this guide's experience, are quite easily offended.) Therefore, it is best to discuss magic in low voices in High Society sitting rooms. Remember: a polite magic user does not draw attention to herself and does not cause a ruckus.

A few words about PIRACY:

T
his guide is shocked—simply shocked!—that a young lady of quality would consult it on such a scandalous topic. This guide politely requests that the reader close its covers and place it gently on a nearby shelf before it falls into a swoon.

T
HE REST OF
the afternoon was filled almost entirely with frowning. Miss Greyson frowned at Hilary across the train compartment, and Hilary frowned into the haughty pages of
A Young Lady's Guide to Augustan Society
, which she felt sure were frowning right back at her. After the train, there was a carriage pulled by a gloomy-looking horse and barely large enough to accommodate all the frowns. The driver stacked Hilary's luggage behind the hard wooden seat, but Hilary insisted on keeping her canvas bag on her lap. Soft, pebbly snores escaped through the seams.

Finally, as the carriage clopped along Pemberton's winding main street, Miss Greyson's frown dismissed itself. “I really do think you'll enjoy school,” said Miss Greyson, “if you'll only give it a chance. Did you know I attended Miss Pimm's myself?”

Poor Miss Greyson. Hilary wondered what she had been like as a young girl, before finishing school had gotten to her. “No, I didn't know.”

“It wasn't so very long ago. I didn't particularly want to go either, but one can't say no to that sort of opportunity.” Miss Greyson tucked her crochet hook into her hair bun. “And in the end, I was quite glad I went. Miss Pimm is a wise woman.”

“She seems awfully fond of dancing sheep,” said Hilary, glancing doubtfully down at her cardigan.

Miss Greyson laughed. “That's true enough. But her deportment classes are not to be missed. You'll get started with those in your second year.”

The thought of a second year at Miss Pimm's, or even a second day, was more than Hilary could bear. “Does every girl at Miss Pimm's become a governess?”

“Some do.” Miss Greyson paused. “You know, Hilary, I don't intend to be a governess forever. In fact, I've just given your mother my notice.”

Hilary sat upright and studied Miss Greyson's expression; she didn't look like she was joking. She had a very governess-like face, with sharp blue eyes that saw too much and severe silver glasses that rested on the tip of her proper, intelligent nose. It certainly wasn't a face that could belong to a tightrope walker, or a botanist, or whatever Miss Greyson intended to be instead of a governess. “But what will you do instead?”

“I'm going to open a bookshop by the harbor. I'll have all the local papers available, of course, and tea and chocolate to drink, and comfortable armchairs for reading in.” For what might have been the first time in her life, Miss Greyson smiled. “I think your father will absolutely hate it.”

Hilary smiled back. “I'm sure he will.” Admiral Westfield disliked chocolate almost as much as he disliked books, and Hilary quite admired Miss Greyson for daring to fill a shop with things that would send the admiral into a rage. “But I think you'll do wonderfully well, choosing books for people and telling them all about the news of the day.” It seemed just right somehow—much more appropriate than tightrope walking, in any case. “Will you put in a section for pirate yarns? So the gargoyle and I can read them when we come to visit?”

“And romances,” the gargoyle mumbled sleepily inside his bag. “Don't forget the romances.”

“Of course there shall be romances, and pirate yarns as well.” The carriage came to a halt, and Miss Greyson bent down to adjust Hilary's skirts. “For the next ten minutes, however, I am still your governess, and I won't have you looking like a ruffian on your first day at Miss Pimm's.” She sighed. “After that, I'm afraid I won't be able to control it.”

The carriage door swung open, and the driver offered his arm to Miss Greyson. “Here we are, miss,” he said. “If you'll just come with me.”

Miss Greyson took the driver's arm and stepped gracefully out of the carriage, but Hilary climbed down herself, managing to get a stripe of grease on her new stockings along the way. Thankfully, Miss Greyson pretended not to notice. Instead, she reached for Hilary's hand and led her into the dark, vast shadow of Miss Pimm's.

The building was gray and heavy as the sky. In front of it stood a cold iron fence, punctuated every few feet with no-nonsense spikes that might once have displayed the heads of disobedient schoolgirls. The air hung thick with smoke, and Hilary wished she could cough. She gripped her bag tighter as Miss Greyson guided her through the iron gate, pulled her up several stone steps, took hold of the heavy-looking door knocker, and rapped three times.

“A pirate is never scared,” Hilary whispered to herself as the door creaked open in front of her. If only her sword weren't hidden away under layers of petticoats at the bottom of her traveling trunk. “A pirate is never scared.” She squeezed Miss Greyson's hand despite herself.

A pirate might not be scared of cannon fire or mutiny, but the glare on the face of the girl who opened the door was fierce enough to strike terror into the breast of One-Legged Jones himself. “Welcome to Miss Pimm's,” the girl said flatly. She looked Hilary up and down, ran her fingers through her long blond hair, and wrinkled her nose. “Are you Hilary Westfield?” She sounded like she hoped it wasn't the case.

Hilary nodded.

“Oh. Well, I'm Philomena. I have to show you to your room.”

Hilary looked wildly at Miss Greyson. “I'm Miss Westfield's governess,” Miss Greyson said, to Hilary's relief. Maybe talking politely to people like Philomena was something you learned at Miss Pimm's, or maybe getting past Philomena was a sort of entrance exam. “Is there any chance we could see Miss Pimm? We're old acquaintances. I used to go to school here, you see.”

Miss Greyson smiled for the second time that day—the world was getting stranger and stranger by the minute—but Philomena didn't smile back. “I'm terribly sorry,” said Philomena, “but Miss Pimm doesn't receive visitors. You can leave Miss Westfield with me, and the porter will collect Miss Westfield's bags.” She raised her eyebrows as the carriage driver deposited the golden traveling trunk on the doorstep. “I hope you have another pair of stockings in there.”

“I do.” Hilary met Philomena's stare. “I have nineteen pairs, in fact. And a sword.”

Miss Greyson groaned and put her hand to her forehead.

“Excuse me?” said Philomena.

“I'm afraid Miss Westfield is prone to fits of imagination,” Miss Greyson said quickly.

Philomena's eyebrows retreated. “I understand completely,” she said. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. Miss Pimm's will cure her of that nasty habit soon enough. Now, Miss Westfield, please come along with me.”

Hilary and Miss Greyson started to follow Philomena inside. “Only students and instructors are permitted inside the school building,” said Philomena to Miss Greyson. “With all the thefts breaking out in the kingdom these days, one really can't be too careful. But you're perfectly welcome to say your good-byes outside.”

Miss Greyson agreed and knelt down in front of Hilary. “A
sword
?” she whispered.

“I'm sorry, Miss Greyson.”

“All I ask is that you take care not to carve up your classmates. If I were not a governess, however, I might mention that the lovely Philomena is in need of a haircut.”

Hilary nearly laughed, but she suspected it might be against the rules to laugh on the grounds of Miss Pimm's, so she gave Miss Greyson her most solemn nod instead.

“Now,” said Miss Greyson, “you must promise to write. You must keep up with the news of the day and tell me all about it in your letters. And you'll come and visit me in my bookshop at the end of the term, won't you?”

“Of course.” Hilary's stomach was starting to feel very strange, and she didn't trust herself to say more than a few words at a time. This couldn't be right; pirates were hardly ever sentimental. Then again, neither was Miss Greyson. Yet here she was, leaning forward to hug Hilary, and Hilary found herself hugging Miss Greyson back. “Please don't tell me to be a good little girl,” she said.

Miss Greyson sniffed and stood up. “My dear,” she said, “I would never dream of it.” She gave Hilary's canvas bag an affectionate pat, nodded politely to Philomena, and walked down the steps and through the gate, back to the waiting carriage.

“Come along,” said Philomena, picking up the lightest of Hilary's bags. “And please don't dawdle. I have lessons to finish.”

H
ILARY FOLLOWED
P
HILOMENA
through a maze of dark stone walls and high archways. From the inside, the building seemed more like a fortress than a school, with small slits for windows and halls branching in every direction. “That's the library,” said Philomena, waving a hand toward one archway, “and that's the refectory. We eat all our meals together here.” She waved at an identical archway on the other side of the hall. All the rooms soon muddled together in Hilary's mind, but with any luck she wouldn't be at Miss Pimm's long enough to get lost.

At the end of the hall, Philomena made a sudden sharp turn and opened a small wooden door. Hilary followed her up a set of endless stairs. Every so often, the stairs paused for a while to make a landing, with another wooden door opening off of it. Unlike the other rooms Hilary had seen, these rooms were labeled with name plaques. “This is the dormitory staircase,” Philomena explained. “Most of us have been here for ages already. You and your roommate are the only two girls starting in the summer.” Hilary gathered from Philomena's expression that starting at Miss Pimm's in the summer was only slightly more socially acceptable than robbing the Royal Treasury.

“I didn't know I'd have a roommate,” said Hilary. With any luck, her roommate would want to escape from Miss Pimm's as badly as she did, but the only luck she'd had for the past few days had been the disastrous kind.

“Oh, yes.” Philomena stopped outside a door labeled “Miss Westfield & Miss Dupree.” “I had to move her in, too”—Philomena gave her hair an irritated flick—“and I think the two of you will get along perfectly.”

H
ILARY'S ROOMMATE'S NAME
was Claire, and she was thirteen years old, fourteen in November, and she had an older sister named Violet and a younger brother named Tuck and two very large brown dogs, and she loved climbing trees and hated boiled beans and had just arrived—only two hours ago!—from Wimbly-on-the-Marsh, which was quite close to Pemberton but not nearly as nice. “And I am so thrilled that I'm finally here,” Claire concluded, flopping down on her bed and taking a breath at last. “Now that you're here, too, everything will be perfect.”

“It's very nice to meet you,” said Hilary, and it was, especially compared to Philomena. After the porter had brought up the rest of Hilary's luggage, Philomena had disappeared, leaving only a vague warning that she might be back later.

“That girl's horrid, don't you think?” said Claire. “Old Philodendron, I mean. I hope the other senior girls aren't much like her.
I
certainly don't intend to be like her. I'm going to be a great actress someday.” She sat up on her bed and struck a dramatic pose for half a second. “Oh, would you like help unpacking? I've done all my bags already, so I can help with yours if you'd like.”