So what did Steele look like, then, since we know she didn’t look like either Captain Hook or Blackbeard? She was younger than you’d expect a captain to be, too, though the explanation for this is quite simple, as pirate captains are elected democratically and do not earn their posts after many years of rising through the ranks in the same way as in the Navy (though a certain amount of respect and experience is warranted in order to be elected—however, theoretically, it is quite possible to have a captain as young as two years old should the crew vote for it. Though what on earth the purpose of that would be, aside from novelty and momentary fame, I haven’t the foggiest).
In fact, Steele looked, well, very much like her great-great-great-grandmother, with whom Alex was more than familiar, having studied her portrait in the library in the house on the hill intently and for a long time. She had that same long, dark, wavy hair tied loosely back in a low ponytail. Her eyes were dark brown, not green like her ancestor’s, but the face was shaped very similarly. She was, to be concise, beautiful, though not typically so. Because typically beautiful women do not usually have a thin, white scar crossing their face from the top of their right temple down along to the base of the left side of their neck (although Steele wore it so well that if these typically beautiful women had seen her they would have probably rushed out to have their faces sliced open by a cutlass, as had happened to Steele, just to get the look), nor were these women missing a good chunk of earlobe. She wore a long, brown leather jacket, which was stitched together at the seams by thick black thread, over a plain white shirt and soft, brown leather trousers. These were held up by a wide black belt with a gold buckle and tucked into black boots, the soles of which Alex could see clearly.
Pirate Captain Steele looked at Alex’s expression and laughed, not unkindly.
“Ah, well, yes,” she said, pouring herself another glass of wine. “You can be forgiven for assuming I would be a man. For one thing, most people assume all pirate captains are male, and for another I am known just as Steele, and, well, that is no indication at all, now is it? It is terribly convenient, actually, playing on people’s, how should I put it, prejudices? Misconceptions? For years Her Majesty’s Navy has been trying to hunt me down. They don’t question why they are looking only at men. They don’t realize there is any other way to think. Makes my life incredibly easy. Funny, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” replied Alex.
“Well, not ha-ha funny, sort of . . . well, sort of ironic funny . . . Geoffrey, what sort of funny would that be?” she turned to Sir Geoffrey.
“I couldn’t say, madam, and I truly couldn’t care less,” he replied with one of his sniffs.
“Oh, go be self-important,” dismissed Steele, and Sir Geoffrey swept out of the room. “I enjoy analyzing what makes something funny, an interest that I fear is not shared by some members of my crew.” With a casual flick of her wrist she sent a dish of chocolates skating across the table to Alex. It stopped an inch from the edge. “Chocolate?”
Alex shook her head no.
“They aren’t poisoned, I assure you,” smiled Steele.
Alex looked at the plate. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she was tempted. Besides, it seemed rude to refuse, and she didn’t want to upset the so far rather pleasant Pirate Captain Steele. She tentatively picked up a chocolate, a large one with some sort of nut in the center. Instantly it was whisked from her hand, causing Alex to jump up from her chair. Behind her, a small dagger was sticking her chocolate to the back wall. “Except that one,” said Steele apologetically, “I had forgotten about that one.” Alex looked back at Steele. “Please sit down. I’m sorry to have startled you. Please sit, sit!” She extended an elegant hand toward Alex. Alex sat. “Please have another one. The rest are absolutely not poisoned, I promise.” She smiled. Alex picked up another one with a cherry in the middle. “That one might be poisoned.” Alex put it down. She picked up a flat square one. Steele stood up abruptly, “Do not under any circumstance eat that one!” she said loudly. Alex dropped it onto the plate. “You know what?” said Steele. “Here.” And she whisked over a sealed box of chocolates. “I think you would be best to have these. Unopened, you see. Less risky.”
Alex nodded, but she had by now completely lost her appetite. “I think I’ll just save them for later, thank you.”
“Of course,” replied Steele, “whatever you want.” And she sat down again. “So, Alex, do you think maybe we should just get down to business?”
Alex shrugged. “What sort of business?”
Steele smiled. “Alex, don’t be coy. I hate it when people act coy. You have something that I have spent the better part of my life in search of.”
“I’m really sorry,” said Alex, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t you?” asked Steele, leaning forward, eyebrows furrowed. “Really?”
“No, sorry,” replied Alex, her heart beating even faster now. Watching so many games of poker on the Valiant had taught her a little something about bluffing. Still, she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up.
“Nothing at all? Nothing to do with . . . cartography?”
Alex shook her head.
“Gosh,” said Steele. “I thought . . . that is . . . I was under the impression . . . Jack!” she called out.
The door burst open and Jack fell into the room. He scratched his arm nervously. “Would you mind asking Dr. Brunswick if we could relieve him of his patient momentarily?”
Jack nodded and giggled to himself as he left the room.
“Sorry about all this. It appears I have been misinformed,” said Steele, picking up the salt and sprinkling some on her steak. “I’m really rather put out by it,” she muttered. She sat for a few moments cutting the meat into small pieces. She took a bite of one and then looked up at Alex. “You are absolutely, completely, positively sure you have no idea what I’m going on about?” Alex nodded again. Her throat felt like sandpaper. “I’m talking about a map. A treasure map?” Alex offered a small shrug. “No?” said Steele. “This is so weird,” she said shaking her head. Alex heard the door open up behind her. “So weird. Look, I don’t mean to keep going on about this, but I just can’t understand . . . that is . . . Okay. You are telling me you are not in possession of a map, possibly . . .” and she stood up and sat on the edge of the table, “printed on a lady’s fan?”
Alex’s heart stopped beating. Just stopped. Only for a second. She didn’t die or anything, but there was definite heart stoppage there. How did Steele possibly know that bit of information? It seemed ridiculous to keep lying. And yet for some reason . . .
“No. I’m not.” Her voice was thin, not like her own.
“Well, now, that is super weird.” Steele laughed to herself. She gazed intensely at Alex as if she was trying to read her mind. Finally she said, “Because he swears you are.” At first Alex didn’t know who Steele was talking about as the Pirate Captain had not broken eye contact with her, but slowly it dawned on her that someone was standing behind her. She turned around.
“Coriander!” she blurted out before she could think.
“You admit you at least know who he is, then,” said Steele.
Alex nodded feebly and stared, wide-eyed, at Coriander, who was being held up by Jack and Sir Geoffrey. He looked horrible. He was covered in bruises and cuts and strange welts shaped like nothing Alex could identify. He had lost weight, which was alarming as the last time they had met hadn’t been so long ago. Coriander looked at Alex sadly. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t.
Steele walked over to Coriander. “Dr. Brunswick is quite the artist, isn’t he?” She gave Coriander a pat on the shoulder and he winced. “Coriander, Coriander, Coriander. You have been very naughty lying to me,” she said. “You told us that this charming young lady had the Wigpowder treasure map, and here she is firmly denying that she does. You don’t, correct?” said Steele, turning to Alex once more. Before she could answer, Steele added, “Alex, could
you pass me the salt?”
On autopilot, Alex leaned across the table and passed Steele the salt.
“Thank you,” said Steele with a smile, and she turned back to Coriander, stroking his face gently. “Someone is lying to me. I don’t know who . . . okay, let’s be honest here. I know who is lying to me, of course I know who is lying to me, but we are doing a bit of role-playing right now, so right now I am pretending I don’t know who is lying to me. And in order to find out . . .” she licked her finger and sprinkled some salt on it. “I am going to try asking nicely. Alex, do you or do you not have the Wigpowder treasure map?”
“I . . . ,” replied Alex.
“Poor darling Coriander . . . ,” said Steele, stroking his face again with her finger. This time Coriander let out a fierce yell. “Alex, did you ever hear the expression ‘rubbing salt in a wound’? Usually it’s used to mean making something that is already bad worse. Occasionally, though,” and she filled her palm with salt, “it can be more literal than that. The reason the adage exists in the first place is that rubbing salt in a wound, from what I understand, is incredibly painful, isn’t it, Coriander?” And she blew the salt in her hand into his face. He let out another yell.
“I have the map, I have the map!” yelled Alex, standing up.
“I know you have the map, you have the map,” Steele said, as Coriander began to weep quietly. “I already told you I knew that. But I appreciate your honesty. Would you like to try?” She offered Alex the salt.
“No, I want you to stop!”
Steele looked surprised. “Oh, okay then,” she said. She made a signal, and Jack and Sir Geoffrey dragged Coriander out of the room. “Maybe next time,” she said, sitting down at her end of the table. She brushed the excess salt from her hands onto the rest of her steak and began to eat again.
Alex watched her for a bit and then asked quietly, “Do you want the map?”
Steele looked at her. “No, not yet, maybe tomorrow we can have a look at it. It’s already quite late. Lights out at eight o’clock, you know,” she added.
“Really?” asked Alex, despite herself.
“Oh yes, we operate under a strict code of rules. All conflicts must be settled ashore, equal shares of booty to the crew, no one can have a second helping of dessert until everyone who wants some has had their first. That sort of thing. It’s all in the articles signed by every member,” she said, and tapped the table with her hand. She stood up and opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a long piece of parchment.
“Here, you can read this if you want,” she said, passing the parchment to Alex. She took it with shaking hands. “But now we should probably get you settled in. Unfortunately, as you are currently a prisoner, I am afraid your accommodations are not going to be all that pleasant, but hopefully, in time, we’ll have you better situated.” She ushered Alex out onto the deck. The night was black. Had she not seen it in the daylight, it would have taken serious convincing to prove to her she was on a pirate ship at all, it was so dark. Then she noticed that in the distance there was a tiny speck of light.
“Dude Hector!” Steele called out. The tiny light at the bow of the ship started to move over toward Steele and Alex.
“I thought you said lights out was eight o’clock,” said Alex.
“Oh, it is, but not for Dude Hector. He likes his fire, dabbles in arson, you see. It would be rude,” replied Steele.
A tall, lanky man appeared out of the dark. His narrow face was lit by the small flame he was playing with in the palm of his hand.
“Take Alex down to the hold,” said Steele.
Dude Hector looked at Alex with hollow, blank eyes. He nodded and turned and walked out into the darkness. “Follow him,” said Steele, giving Alex a gentle nudge.
Alex did so, and soon a vast darkness stood between her and Steele, enveloping the Captain so that her silhouette was only momentarily visible when she stepped through the door back into her cabin. Alex followed Dude Hector down the steps to the hold and into the small cage that was her cell for the evening. When he returned up on deck, Alex was left alone in utter darkness. Yes, as Pirate Captain Steele had said, the accommodations were most certainly not pleasant. They were wet and moldy, and squeaky animals scuttled across the floor in the dark.
Alex felt a great sadness, a weight heavy on her chest. She was so unbelievably confused and scared. Steele seemed to like her for some reason, which Alex supposed was a good thing, as strange and unexpected as it was, yet it was also quite disturbing to be treated with such kindness when Steele had proved herself at the same time staggeringly cruel. Then, of course, there was Coriander, who aside from being the last person Alex would ever have imagined to have seen on the Ironic Gentleman, had betrayed Alex in a most astounding manner. Worst of all was to see whatever it was they had done to him. Finally, to top everything off, she was now shivering in a small cage. It was too much. It was all just too much.
Alex crumpled the parchment Steele had given her and threw it to the floor. “It’s not fair,” she said out loud. She was not sure what wasn’t fair specifically, but she knew “it” wasn’t.
“Who’s there?” whispered a voice.
Alex froze. It couldn’t be. In all the fuss, she had completely forgotten the reason for her entire journey, the thing she had wanted to find more than anything in the world. It seemed impossible that she should have been capable of forgetting such a thing, and yet somehow she had. She stood up tentatively.
Quietly and with great trepidation she said, “Mr. Under-wood?”
THE THIRTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER
In which we witness a reunion.
There was a long silence. One of those long silences I have described many times in this book. The sort of silence where anything could happen, where you don’t really realize there has been a silence, it is so full of possibility. And it was broken by . . .
“Alex?”
“Mr. Underwood!” exclaimed Alex. Silent tears of joy began to replace the ones of distress. “You’re alive!”
There was a shorter silence. “Alex? Is that really you?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me!” laughed Alex. Her feelings tried to understand what they should be doing, but gave up.
“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here! Alex, this is horrible!” said Mr. Underwood.
“I’ve been trying to find you. I figured out that you were kidnapped by pirates and that I needed to go to Port Cullis, and then I met Captain Magnanimous, and he and HMS Valiant took me to find you and rescue you, but things went really wrong, and I think Coriander had something to do with it, but it doesn’t matter because you’re alive, and you can get us out of this, and it will be okay. And then we can find the treasure! Because, oh, because, Mr. Underwood, I found the map! It was in the house on the hill, and I would have come home sooner, but I was held prisoner by the Daughters of the Founding Fathers’ Preservation Society, and when I finally got out you had gone, and my uncle was dead and . . .”
“Your uncle is dead?” interrupted Mr. Underwood.
“Oh . . . yes,” said Alex, biting her lip. “Yes, he was . . . he was found under a pile of doorknobs . . . but I really don’t want to talk about that right now. Did you hear the other bit, though? I found the map! We can go for the treasure now, once we escape. Right now, what we have to do is make a plan,” said Alex quickly.
“Plan? What sort of plan?” asked Mr. Underwood.
“An escape plan, of course!”
Mr. Underwood laughed a hollow laugh. “And how do you propose we escape?” he asked softly.
“Well, I don’t know. I’m sure you can figure something out.”
“Alex, stop, just stop,” said Mr. Underwood. He sounded tired and very sad. “Alex, we can’t escape. Do you know where you are? Do you know who is keeping us captive? Oh, why are you here? Why did you come? Oh, how much I wish you hadn’t come!”
“Mr. Underwood, you don’t mean that,” said Alex. She was completely at a loss. This was not
the reunion she had expected.
“Alex, I mean it more than I have meant anything in my life. I can’t be responsible for you. If you get hurt . . . I just can’t bear the thought of you in so much danger! Why couldn’t you have stayed at home!”
Alex’s feelings suddenly found their feet again. They knew exactly what to do, and they did it. They seethed with rage. “Because I have no home!” she shouted furiously. “Because my uncle is dead! Because you are the closest thing I have to family! Because you are supposed to make everything better! I’m not strong enough. I can’t do this on my own! I’m ten-and-a-half. I am a kid. Mr. Underwood, please do something. You need to do something!” Her face was burning.
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, Alex. Either calm down, or we will have to talk tomorrow morning,” replied Mr. Underwood coolly.
“I will not calm down! You cannot treat this situation as though someone’s misused grammar! We need to come up with a plan! We need to come up with a plan!” she collapsed onto the floor. There was no reply from Mr. Underwood. Alex felt weak and very cold. She waited until her breathing had become more regular, then she said very quietly, “I brought your bike the whole way, you know. I dragged it all over the countryside. I was almost caught because of it. But now it’s at the bottom of the sea, and I’m glad.” She bit her bottom lip.
“Alex,” said Mr. Underwood, “I appreciate everything you’ve tried to do for me. I really do. It’s unbelievable. However, what remains is the plain and simple truth that you are now in considerable danger, and the thought of it makes me ill. This was never your responsibility, any of this. What’s more, you have now doubled mine. Before I only needed to take care of myself, but now I have to take care of you as well, and that is a heavy cross to bear.”
Alex stared out into the darkness in silence. “Well,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry that I’m such a burden to you.”
Alex and the Ironic Gentleman Page 20