by James Raney
“This letter reeks of sentiment. That is what destroyed your father, Jim Morgan. Sentiment makes a man weak, but it will never undo me!” With that, Cromier snapped his fingers. Another corsair pirate grabbed Jim by his collar and shoved him down on the floor beside his friends.
Bartholomew seized the lantern and hoisted it high before his father. The Count, all but shaking with anticipation, held the vial up to the flame. The lamplight shone through the moonwater and onto the page. Blue shapes and letters once more leapt from the yellowed parchment. The glowing reflections danced on Cromier’s greedy face. Laughing aloud and licking his lips, he dropped to one knee and flattened the parchment on the stool beside him. He uncorked the vial and slowly dripped the iridescent liquid from one end of the parchment to the other, until dark splotches soaked the page through. For the span of breath, nothing happened – until the Count blew lightly upon the sheet to dry it.
Blue flame blazed from the page. The once soft lines and shapes seared themselves upon the parchment in lightning strokes. The pirates uttered oaths and curses of dismay in their own tongues. They covered their eyes in fear, as though even the sight of such magic could damn them for life. The stable about Jim and his friends seemed to fall into deeper shadow, muted beneath the luminous display of islands, cities, symbols, and a star-filled sky. The secret to his father’s letter was indeed revealed to be a map, drawn in the same fiery blue strokes as his last words to Jim.
“At last!” Cromier shouted. He held the empty vial of moonwater above his head as his trophy. “So many fruitless years and so many near misses were all worth this moment! Now I have a map drawn by Lindsay Morgan himself. The Treasure is at last within my grasp! We’ve not a moment to lose! We begin our journey this very night!” The Count folded the parchment, snuffing out the blue light and leaving only dazzles in Jim’s eyes.
But as the pirates readied to leave, Bartholomew stalked to the center of the stables, where Jim knelt beside his friends. He drew his sword from its scabbard, letting a glimmer catch Jim’s eye and the steel ring in his ears. Once more, the pale captain held the blade to Jim’s face, the sharp point not an inch from his nose. Bartholomew leaned close, as though to whisper a secret to Jim.
“My father will soon have what’s he’s waited a lifetime for, won’t he? And who is left to stop him? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let me have a share in the good fortune. I too have waited long for something denied to me. Say hello to your father for me, Jim Morgan. Let him know his failure is now complete!” Bartholomew raised his sword to strike. But a sharp word from Count Cromier stayed Bartholomew’s hand for the second time that night.
“Bartholomew, no!”
“But father!” Bartholomew shrieked, sword still held above his head, quivering as though it ached to strike. “We have the map. You don’t need him anymore! Not when you have me!”
“There are many dangers that lie ahead, my son,” Cromier said. “And the boy did escape the Pirate Vault - no simple trick, I tell you. He may yet prove useful. As for his friends – well, he’ll have five chances to see what happens if he won’t cooperate, won’t he? Bring them with us!”
The Count turned on his heel and marched from the stables. But the matter seemed far from settled for Bartholomew. To Jim’s surprise, the raven-haired captain’s blue eyes brimmed with tears – tears of dark, trembling rage. Bartholomew muttered a curse beneath his breath and finally sheathed his sword.
One of Splitbeard’s men bound Jim to his friends with ropes and dragged them from the stables into the moonlit night. Once outside and wrapped in the cold air off the ocean, Cromier shouted a final command to his pirate thugs.
“Burn the stables. Let there be no trace that the house of Morgan ever stood. Leave no hope that it shall ever stand again.” The pirates hurled their lanterns onto the stable’s roof, where they shattered and broke. Flames spread over the tiles like yellow water, devouring the last pieces of what was once Jim’s home.
“Oh, Jim,” Lacey said. She rested her head on his shoulder and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too, mate,” added George with a shaky voice.
For his part, Jim said nothing. He could only watch the fire burn. He remembered the day he tried to ride his father’s horse, Thunderbold, before this very building. Memories were all that remained. After a moment, Splitbeard the pirate came to stand beside the crestfallen clan, his sun-darkened skin aglow in the firelight.
“Even I, pirate of the Seven Seas, might have pity on one who has lost all, oh desolate one. So it was with me, before I became a prince of the waves. So here, let it not be said you have nothing, oh young lord – lord of a box!” With that the Pirate stuck Jim’s box into his pocket and slapped him so hard on the back that it forced the air from Jim’s lungs. He walked off to join his men, laughing heartily. Yet not the sting on Jim’s back, nor the pirate’s cruel laughter, counted for anything against the desire that sprang up in his heart. For little did Splitbeard know that he had just handed Jim his one and only chance to turn all the blackness to light.
But before a plot to wriggle his hands free and seize the box took shape in Jim’s mind, from nowhere a weight settled quite unexpectedly upon his shoulder. Jim turned to face this surprise and bumped his nose into a rather sharp beak – a beak belonging to a very familiar raven’s face.
“Cornelius!” Jim whispered. He was so surprised for a moment that he forgot even his plans to employ the rose thorn in his pocket. After blinking his eyes several times to be sure, Jim found that indeed the talking raven was once more perched upon his shoulder. It was the very place the bird had sat when the two of them braved the Pirate Vault of Treasure’s deadly traps, not much more than a year gone past. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” said Cornelius. “Why, I’ve come to rescue you, naturally. Did you really think we would allow you to meet your end at the hands of these trolls, Jim Morgan? Speaking of trolls, remind me to tell you about the lot we ran into this past fall on Gibraltar - nasty business that was, and the stench! Good lord!
“Mister Cornelius!” Lacey squealed as quietly as possible beside Jim. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you! But where did you come from?”
“Indeed, it is I, Cornelius Darkfeather, once again at your service, Miss Lacey,” Cornelius said. He bowed low on Jim’s shoulder, one wing outstretched in a feathered flourish. “And in answer to your question, my dear, I came from there.”
Cornelius pointed his wing toward the ocean. When Jim followed the feathers his mouth opened in a surprised “O”. A massive rush of fog, roiling and churning like a storm cloud, crawled over the ocean waves toward the white sand shore. This was no ordinary fog drift, Jim thought. It surged forward like a galloping horse, moving fast over the waters. It came straight for the beach and the hill beyond, where Jim and his friends stood captives of Count Cromier’s pirate thugs.
TEN
ood of ye to finally drop in, Darkfeather,” MacGuffy growled. He forced a smile on his ruined face, though he was still hobbled from the vicious beating he had taken in the stables.
“Good to see you again as well, old friend,” replied Cornelius with a nod of his head. The Ratts however, forgot entirely to greet the raven. Their wide eyes were fixed past the bird and onto the frothing fog that neared the beach.
“Jim!” George exclaimed, obviously trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. “What in blazes is that?” But it was Cornelius who answered, smiling proudly at the corners of his beak.
“That, young Master Ratt, is a proper rescue!”
The mist rushed toward the shore, frightening Jim and his friends more than a little. They gathered together in a huddle, holding each other close. At just that moment, the burly pirate, who seemed to take an obscene delight in the fear of children, overheard their whisperings and stalked over. He drew back his heavy hand with the intent to silence Jim and the others with a rap of his knuckles. Yet before he lo
osed the blow, he realized the small clan was ignoring him completely and followed their eyes to the shores of the beach.
A terrified squeak, not unlike a mouse’s at the mercy of cat’s claws, burst from the burly pirate’s mouth. The hand once meant to slap Jim silly suddenly pointed wildly toward the waters and the big fellow shrieked in the most unmanly fashion.
“Cap’n Splitbeard, Cap’n Splitbeard! Somethin’ comin’ over the waters! Somethin’ comin’ for us!” The twin-bearded pirate, Count Cromier, Bartholomew, and the rest of the pirates came running at the alarm. All of them, though, skidded to a halt the moment they saw the fog. In the light of the stable fire a pale shade of fear passed over the Cromiers’ faces. The Count turned on Jim as if to curse his very existence, until his dark eyes came to rest on Cornelius Darkfeather, perched upon Jim’s shoulder. The scar on the Count’s face writhed and twisted. He managed to rasp but one, enraged word:
“Steele!”
The fog struck the shore. It rushed over the sand and onto the grass like a passing shadow. Jim and his friends squeezed together, shutting their eyes tight as the mist rolled over them. The fog shocked them with a cold bite like a splash of frosty water.
When Jim opened his eyes again he found the world masked beneath the mist. The moon and the stars were hidden completely. Even the raging firelight from the burning stable was reduced to nothing more than a muted red glow. Bartholomew and his father drew their swords and prepared for battle. Their pirate thugs backed together in a tighter knot than Jim and his friends, weapons and courage forgotten, quaking with fear. Only Splitbeard, crafty scalawag that he was, slowly backed away from the shore, keeping his men between him and whatever terror was about to emerge from this unnatural fog.
Silence fell over the hill. Besides the slamming of his heart in his chest, all Jim heard was the faint crackle of his burning stable and the steady thrum of the waves upon the beach.
Until music chimed in the dark.
The wheezy, tired collection of whistles and hoots slowly and steadily rose as they drew closer and closer – a dread tune cranked at the hands of an organ grinder. A rogue’s smile crept onto one corner of Jim’s mouth. He’d heard that tune before – only a year ago on the deck of an old sloop.
Shapes appeared in the mist, the darkened shades of men. One by one they came into view and threw the fog from their shoulders and faces like cloaks and hoods of mist. The red-bearded organ grinder faithfully turned his crank. A bright smile carved a path along the dark face of huge Mufwalme. Black-bearded Murdock, long-mustached Wang Chi, and even sleepy Mister Gilly, bulbous nose still as red as ever, appeared as well. Those and a dozen more stepped from the fog, faces lit with gleeful eyes, hungry for battle.
Last of all, a shadow darker than those before melted from the gray. His eyes were hidden beneath the edge of a tricorn hat and his face behind the upturned collar of his great cloak. But Jim knew the man in spite of his disguise. His face was darkened by the sun and lined with a black and silver beard. He was Dread Steele, Lord of the Pirates. He drew his sword and leveled the blade at the Cromiers.
“I told you once, Bartholomew, never to harm this boy or anything that was his again. But I see now you’ve gone a step beyond and brought with you the truest of villains. Long has it been since I’ve seen your cowardly face, Cromier, you devil.”
“A long time indeed, Steele. But even old memories cut deep, do they not?” Cromier drew one gloved finger down the purple scar on his face. “Yet now the numbers are on my side. You’ve lost your old comrade, Lindsay Morgan, while I’ve gained a new one.” Cromier pointed his sword toward Splitbeard, who wisely kept his distance from Steele and the Spectre’s crew.
“Splitbeard,” Steele spat. “Deceitful snake! Lord of Liars! I always knew you to be a poltroon – but I thought even you stood above scum of Cromier’s ilk.”
“I go where gold may be found, oh lord of the pirates,” Splitbeard said, that clever, unflappable smile creeping over his fork-braided beard. “And gold buys the favor of many men!” The roar of at least thirty more voices rose up from the direction of the town of Rye – followed by the pounding of at least sixty boots on the pathway behind the hill. The rest of Splitbeard’s crew had come to join the fight.
Without even a trace of fear, the Lord of the Pirates raised his voice in command to his men. “Free the prisoners! Escape to the sea! Charge!”
Steele’s crew rushed forward to clash with Splitbeard’s men. The shouting and ringing swords redoubled at the arrival of the Corsair pirate’s thirty extra men. Chaos erupted in the fog. From out of the mist, sleepy Mister Gilly appeared before Jim and his friends, plump belly poking out from his striped sailor’s shirt. He bowed clumsily, a lazy smile spread across his stubbled face, as though fog-shrouded rescues were hardly a thing out of the ordinary.
“Hullo, friends. Not certain if you’d remember old Gilly or not, as most people don’t you see. But here I am to undo your bindin’s if you please.”
“No time or need for introductions now, Gilly, old chum!” Cornelius cawed with shrill impatience. “Untie them already! Untie them and let’s be off!”
But Lacey, who Jim knew had always felt sorry for poor Mister Gilly because all the other pirates seemed to laugh at him all the time, smiled back and even managed to curtsey in spite of the ropes. “Of course we remember you, Mister Gilly, and your help would be most appreciated!”
Mister Gilly’s smile widened and his cheeks turned as red as his nose. He tipped his sailor’s hat and rushed forward to cut Jim and his friends loose. “Most certainly, ma’am! It should be my pleasure of course!” Mister Gilly made short work of the ropes with his knife, careful to not so much as nick a wrist or finger. Once they had all been freed, Cornelius flapped up to Gilly’s shoulder to lead the escape.
“Stay close together, my young friends. Hold hands tightly and don’t lose your way in the mist. Gilly, take MacGuffy on your shoulder. It’s not far to the beach, so keep small and close to the ground. The fog will conceal us from Splitbeard’s cronies and aid in our escape.”
“Don’t worry about us, Cornelius,” said George, thumbing over at his brothers. “We been escapin’ all kinds of grown-ups since before we could walk!”
“Indeed you have, Master Ratt,” said Cornelius. He leaned over on Gilly’s shoulder to look directly into George’s face with his midnight eyes. “But the Corsairs of the Sea Spider do not usually seek to catch their enemies. They have the horrible tendency to slit their throats. So you will stick together now, won’t you?”
“Right,” said George quietly, swallowing hard and feeling at his throat with a pale hand. “Stick together - best way to be safe, or so our father always said.” With that settled, the little party set off through the fog. All the while the battle raged about them.
Jim heard more of the fighting than saw it. The sounds of shouting men echoed over the hill and the ring of clashing swords carried on the fog. The warring pirates were little more than silhouetted shades, lit by the glowing red fire that burned in the mist. The small rescue party had been going for some time, though, and Jim thought they surely must be near the beach. But before they cleared the fog’s edge, four figures appeared in the murk.
Steele must have knocked Bartholomew over his head with the bell of his sword, Jim thought, for the raven-haired sea captain lay still in the grass. Meanwhile, Dread Steele fought Count Cromier and Splitbeard at once, a sword in one hand and a rapier in the other. Jim watched in awe for half a moment, his mouth cracked open in an amazed smile as he followed the shadow pirate’s whirling blades, parrying and striking in flawless rhythm. There was no one who could beat Dread Steele, Jim thought, no one ever save for perhaps Jim’s own father.
But as Jim watched, another sound rose over the din of battle. It was soft at first, but it grew so quickly in the back of Jim’s mind that it soon became the only sound – the song of a flute playing a sad, sad song. A voice whispered within the pipe’s tune. Now is your chan
ce to strike, Jim Morgan! The box in Jim’s pocket became suddenly heavy; so heavy that it slowed Jim’s pace. Jim’s thoughts fell to the rose hidden there within, and to the rose’s enchanted purpose.
Jim let go of his friends’ hands.
He wandered into the fog toward the thick of the fight. It seemed to him as though he was in a dream, and he could not be hurt, for none of what he saw was really happening. He was only watching it from the safety of his sleep. Jim drew the box from his pocket. He flipped open the lid and took the rose thorn in hand. Old Philus Philonius’s instructions played over in the back of Jim’s mind to the tune of the magic flute. Jim readied himself for a brief moment a pain – a pain worth the price of revenge. He fixed the Cromiers in his sights, his eyes opened wide so as not to even blink and risk foiling the spell.
Slowly, he pulled back the thorn to prick himself on the thumb.
Yet before Jim could strike, a dark shape burst from the mist, barreling between Jim and the Cromiers. With his enemies hidden from sight, Jim came to his senses and found himself face to face with the burly pirate. The scoundrel held a drawn cutlass in his hand and raised up to strike Jim Morgan from the world forever. As his mind cleared, fear welled up within Jim like a fountain. But just when he thought this would be the end, a cawing, flapping, black shadow careened over Jim’s shoulder. It flew into the pirate’s face, beating the man with his wings and scratching at his eyes with his claws.
“Get back, poltroon! Young Morgan is under the protection of true men of the sea, you dog!” Cornelius drove the big man back. At that same moment a strong hand seized Jim by the collar, jerking him so hard that he had to scramble backwards to keep from being dragged. Jim was suddenly yanked free from the mist and tossed onto the beach, his hat falling from his head and the box and the rose tumbling from his hand.