Jim Morgan and the Pirates of the Black Skull

by James Raney

  “Does it hurt, Jim?” Lacey asked, pushing through the grass and appearing at Jim’s shoulder.

  “It’s really not so bad.” Jim said. But that was hardly the truth. He tried to sound strong even as a shiver shook his voice.

  “Maybe if I tighten the bandage,” Lacey offered, but Jim cut her off before she could finish.

  “Just leave it alone, Lacey!” he snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright? I just want to get out of this fiendish grass so we can find our way to the cave.” Jim was immediately sorry, but like the cold chills crawling up his arms, there was no escaping the angry thoughts crawling through his head. “They took everything from me, do you understand? It’s not fair! I just want it back, Lacey! I want my life back!”

  “You mean your old life?” Lacey said, glaring hotly at Jim. “You mean your old life before you met any of us, don’t you?” Jim was about to yell something back when George interrupted their argument with a shout of his own.

  “Oy, you two!” He called from what must have been only twenty or so paces away. “Quit makin’ all that racket and get up here! I think you’ll want to see this.”

  Jim and Lacey stomped through the grass into a small clearing. Before they could shout or argue with each other any further, their angry scowls fell from their faces. Standing in the clearing were two more statues that had once been pirates, imprisoned in stone forever on the Veiled Isle. Unlike the poor men on the beach, these two stood stock still, facing one another through the grass. They each gripped a pistol, and held their weapons at each other’s chests, vile contempt chiseled upon their faces for all time.

  “Looks like these two were about to have a duel, or somethin’,’” said George, staring at the two statues curiously. “Bad timin’, eh? If the sun hadn’t come up, I wonder who would have won.”

  “Can’t you see what happened here?” Lacey said, looking back and forth between the two statues that had once been men. “They weren’t having a duel. I think these two men came here together, almost like we’ve come looking for this shell. But when they finally found what they were looking for, they couldn’t agree on how to share it. They both lost everything in the end.”

  “Treasure has torn more than a few friendships asunder,” said a weak voice. “If I know my history right. And I usually do.”

  “Mister Cornelius, you’re alive!” Lacey cried. The injured raven stirred in her arms, letting out one miserable croak.

  “It will take more than harpies to finish off Cornelius Darkfeather,” the raven managed, sounding very tired and very worn. “But I don’t think I’ll be flying anytime soon.” Cornelius held out his wing, wrapped in the bandage made from Lacey’s dress and spotted with crimson drops.

  “Glad you’re back, Cornelius,” said Jim.

  “You were so brave, Mister Cornelius,” Lacey said to him, tears forming in her eyes. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way until we get off this awful island. Don’t you worry.”

  “Well, duel or argument or whatever it was,” said Jim, stepping over to the taller of the two statues. “If Cornelius can’t fly, then I think these gentlemen can at least give us a hand with our current predicament.” With that, he used the statue as a ladder and climbed up to take a look around.

  “Oh, Jim, how terrible,” said Lacey. But Jim was already standing on the statue’s shoulders, trying not to think about whether or not the stone man could feel or think anything at this point. George was quick to join him atop the other stone pirate.

  “What do you see?” asked Lacey.

  “Almost the whole island,” said Jim, using the last of the setting sun’s glow to survey the landscape. “This grass sea reaches out perhaps another mile or two north from the crags. Beyond that is the forest that Twisttail told us about, I think. It looks like the trees grow right up to the foot of the mountain.”

  “What about the cave?” asked Lacey, a fair bit of desperation chiming in her voice. “Can you see the cave?”

  “No,” Jim admitted. “But Twisttail said it was at the base of the mountain after the forest, so that’s the way we’ll go.”

  “But we could spend hours walking around a whole mountain looking for a cave, Jim!” Lacey all but shouted. Jim suddenly found himself wishing he had something close at hand to throw at her.

  “I know that, Lacey!”

  “Oy, you two,” said George excitedly, holding his hat on his head as a sharp breeze blew south across the island. He pointed his other hand east toward the sunset, where the sky was bright pink and the wisps of clouds painted blue and gold. “Lookie there!”

  “What is it, Georgie?” George’s brothers asked from below.

  “It’s them lights. Them lights that that Twisttail the lizard was tellin’ us about.”

  True to George’s words, beyond where the grass sea faded out to the east, on a great field of rolling hills, lights, more lights than Jim could count, danced over the grass. They zipped and darted about, sometimes on their own, other times swirling into great clouds and sparkling across the landscape. They dazzled Jim’s eyes in colors of blue and pink and green and gold.

  “There’s hundreds of them,” Jim said quietly. “Thousands of them, aren’t there?”

  “It’s funny,” added George. “They don’t look all that bad from up here, do they Jim? Actually…if I were a girl, I’d say they was actually the prettiest things I ever saw. If I were a girl.”

  “Because only girls think things are pretty?” Lacey said. Peter and Paul giggled at their brother from the foot of his statue.

  “Looks can be deceiving, George,” Jim cautioned, though he too was having a hard time pulling his eyes away from the shimmering sight.

  “On that count you would be correct, young Morgan,” growled a voice, breaking into the clearing, accompanied by the rustle of tall grass. “Not all that glitters is gold, and those cursed lights upon yonder hill indeed hide murderous intent.”

  Jim turned atop his statue’s shoulders, just in time to see Count Cromier burst into the clearing. Bartholomew pushed through to his right and Splitbeard the Pirate to his left. Two members of Splitbeard’s crew appeared behind them as well. All five gripped drawn swords in hand.

  EIGHT

  acey screamed at the sight of Count Cromier. She stumbled back with Peter and Paul to crouch between the statues, where George had jumped down beside them. Yet when Jim laid eyes on the Count and Bartholomew, a fire hot as a blacksmith’s bellows raged up his arm. Lacey’s bandages or no, the black rose’s poison was sill winding its way through Jim’s blood, and the dark magic through his thoughts. Jim never considered running. He thought only of launching himself from the statue straight into the pack of buccaneers, scratching, clawing, and biting, for lack of a sword. But the pain bit his arm so deeply that Jim’s strength failed him. He managed to pitch forward, but landed hard on his back in the dirt, rolling to a stop at the Red Count’s feet.

  “Temper, temper, young Morgan,” said the Count, smiling down at Jim. “This island is deadly enough without diving headlong into a fight you cannot possibly win. Besides, running across old friends on enemy shores is considered a good omen, is it not?”

  Jim rolled off his back and onto his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air. He scrambled away from the Count and Bartholomew as Splitbeard and his Corsairs slowly surrounded him and his friends in the clearing.

  “You’re not my friend,” Jim shouted between gasping breaths. “You’ve taken everything! But I promise you this, one day I’m going to take it all back!”

  “You shall find taking from the Cromiers a bit more difficult with my sword through your heart!” Bartholomew raged. He dashed forward with his blade raised to strike. Lacey screamed again and Jim did his best to seem brave as he waited for the blow to finish him forever. But once more, the Red Count stopped his son’s deadly intentions with a sharp command.

  “Bartholomew! Sheath your sword!”

  “Father!” Bartholomew shrieked. His sword’s
razor sharp point had stopped only inches from Jim’s chest. “This is the son of your sworn enemy. The only heir of the man who stole our glory all those years ago. Every breath he draws is an insult to you…and to me.” A further dose of venom seeped into Bartholomew’s eyes. Murder glinted in his bared teeth.

  Jim’s heart pounded. There was no way out of this trap. The pirates, including the grinning Splitbeard, had them surrounded. Jim was not entirely sure that even Bartholomew’s father could stop him from killing Jim for much longer. The poison in his veins from the blackened rose had all been for nothing. He and his friends were about to die on the Veiled Isle.

  The south wind blew again and rustled the grass.

  Somewhere behind the flute song in Jim’s head, which had been steadily gaining strength as the day wore on, a tiny idea pricked the back of Jim’s mind. There was a chance, he thought, still one small chance at the revenge he had been promised in the blackened rose – or if not that, at least hope for escape.

  “I took my revenge on Lindsay Morgan, Bartholomew - if you recall,” said the Count. He walked up behind his son and once more swatted the sword down with a gloved hand. “And we would not have needed to set foot on this wretched island were it not for other failings.”

  Bartholomew’s face went as dark crimson as his father’s curled wig. His sword shook in his hand. If the young Cromier’s eyes had been blades themselves, Jim thought, he would have run Jim through that very moment. But Bartholomew, his face trembling as violently as his sword, turned away from both Jim and his father and stalked off into the tall grass. He sliced at the brown stalks as he went, mowing them down until he disappeared into the field.

  “You see, Jim, I’m not such a bad fellow, am I?” The Count forced a stiff smile across his face, but his scar quivered upon his cheek. “This is the third time I’ve saved your life from my own son, is it not? Now, that must count for something, don’t you think?”

  “Should I say thank you?” Jim tried as best he could to ignore the gnawing ache in his arm. But the pain only grew worse as he undid his wrappings behind his back, exposing the wound to the open air. “If you’re keeping me alive just so you can steal something else, I think you’ll be disappointed. There’s nothing left to take.”

  “Oh, my dear boy.” The Count leaned down to look Jim in the eye. The fake smile slipped from his lips. His voice coiled into a snarl. “There’s always something left to take. This time I shall take you and your friends as shields from the devilry of this cursed island! Your father’s map has led us along dangerous paths, and the number of our hired hands has begun to dwindle.”

  Jim looked the Count and his men over. Indeed, at least six or seven corsairs had been in the little boat with the Count, Bartholomew, and Splitbeard when they had slipped by the Spectre. Yet now there remained only two. Bruises, welts, and cuts to spare covered them both. All save for Splitbeard that was. The sinewy captain of the Sea Spider seemed as fresh and cheerful as when Jim had first laid eyes upon him.

  “The Lord Lindsay Morgan was nothing if not a most clever man, oh great Count,” said Splitbeard in his thick accent. “To have drawn a map through which even the holder would struggle to follow was a stroke of genius. And, most honorable one, does his son not seem equally as clever, to have come so far with no weapons and no map of his own? A great surprise indeed.”

  “Yes, a great surprise,” the Count replied. He narrowed his eyes at Jim and a smile once more curled on his powdered face. “How ironic it is, young Morgan, that the two of us shall now finish what your father and I began? It is inspiring really. Cromier and Morgan, joining forces once more!”

  “I’ve heard that before!” said Lacey, cradling the weary and injured Cornelius in her arms. “Joining forces is just a lie that means hiding behind children and sending them into traps and dangers first, so that we get hurt or killed while you get your treasure. No offense, mister Count, but we’ve heard better liars than you tell the same story.”

  “Oh, my, my, my, what a bold little girl.” The Count glared nastily at Lacey. “So much wit and spirit amongst the five of you! I should have known there would be no reasoning. Fine then, let us forget joining forces.” The Count leveled his sword at the clan and slowly passed the blade before each of their faces. “When I say join forces, what I mean is to march you through every door, over every barrier, and into every hole we cross until I find the cave on this map. Then I will take what I came here to find! And if there are none of you left when I am finished, I shall consider myself blessed with but a little more peace and quiet!” The Count then rested the cold point of his sword upon Jim’s throat - the steel touch was cold as ice.

  “All save for you, young Morgan. You shall watch your friends test the waters for us again and again. I will save you for last. For there is an even greater task in which you will yet serve me, to make amends for your father’s treachery. Now, Splitbeard,” ordered the Count, sheathing his sword with a flourish. “Bind our friends’ hands and march them north. We have miles to go and little time in which to cover them.”

  Jim shook with anger at the Count. The more furious he became the hotter the poison burned in his hand. The black tendrils had worked their way farther up Jim’s arm. The only relief came from the cool, evening wind…

  …the cool wind blowing south toward the crags.

  Jim strained his ears over the rustling grass. A small smile fought its way onto his quivering lips. He finally heard the sound for which he’d been waiting.

  “Sorry, Count.” Jim forced himself to his feet. “But we’ve already made some new friends on this island. In fact, I’d like you to meet them!” Jim thrust his poisoned hand into the sky, further into the wind. “Let me introduce you to Ocy, Celia, and Ally!”

  A piercing scream split the darkening sky. The harpy sisters plummeted through the air, talons gleaming in the last traces of sunlight.

  “Man-flesh!” shrieked Celia, bolting into the clearing.

  “Harpies!” Splitbeard cried, diving into the dirt. The arrogant smile finally fell from his face.

  The Count and his pirates scattered, waving their swords skyward as though they might offer some protection against the fury of the harpy sisters. Two pairs of arms seized Jim from behind and jerked him backward. It was Lacey and George, dragging him beneath the crossed, pistol-bearing arms of the stone pirates, where Peter and Paul already cowered.

  But the stone pirates provided little protection for the clan. Ocy and Celia descended upon them. The harpies’ claws shattered the statue heads into white dust. Two winged sisters perched upon what remained of the stone pirates, leering down on the children. They licked their lips and chomped their needle teeth. Ally came in behind her sisters and landed on the ground beside the clan, waving a wing at the Ratts. Jim thought he even saw her give Paul a wink, as though they were old friends.

  “Thought you could escape us, did ya, ya scrawny runts? Thought you could run and hide forever from we three sisters of the island?” Celia glared at Jim, the scratch on the side of her face still fresh and red.

  “Actually,” Jim said, holding his left wrist tight in his hand, for it throbbed and burned worse than ever before. “We felt really bad about that little incident back there, didn’t we? So, we decided to make it up to you.”

  “Yes, indeed, Jim,” said Paul immediately. “Absolutely terrible form. You should know that I, for one, felt deeply ashamed of myself the moment we left. But, we said to ourselves, we are awfully scrawny – just as you said, madam. And even if we were to do you right, and walk all the way back to the crags and offer ourselves up to you, which we actually thought about doin’, well, we’d be no more than a snack! And that would just make things worse, wouldn’t it?”

  “What you ladies need, is a full-blown feast!” said Peter. He pointed to the Count and the three pirates, still picking themselves off the ground and beginning to run for their lives. “And we just happen to have a walking, talking feast waiting for you right over there.
”

  “’Specially that red-haired chap,” said George, thumbing toward the Count, who was stumbling backward into the grass. “Savory lookin’, in’t he?”

  “And Ally,” Lacey added. “We didn’t forget about you, did we? Look at what all the tasty pirates are holding.”

  Ally’s yellow eyes lifted to the pirates…then to their swords. If it were possible, her big, bird eyes went wider than they already were. They sparkled with some sort of madness and a greedy smile stretched across her hideous face.

  “Glitteries!” Ally released a tooth-rattling shriek and launched herself between her sisters to chase down the Count and his men. She tackled one of the Corsairs to the ground before he reached the tall grass. Ally’s two sisters were quick to follow, but not before Celia shouted over her shoulder:

  “Just remember little man-children,” she squawked. “There’ll still be room for desert!”

  “Run!” Lacey cried. But Jim and the others were already on their feet. The Clan of the Ratt scurried to the edge of the clearing in the direction of the forest. The sound of screaming and cursing men, screeching harpies, and flapping wings roared behind them.

  “You know, I’m beginning to like them bird-ladies,” George said, wiping his brow with a free hand. “Rather helpful in a pinch, ain’t they?” Jim was about to tell George that he was an idiot, but before he could open his mouth, Peter and Paul parted a wall of tall grass like a brown curtain. Behind the stalks, appeared the dirty, sweat-stained red coat of Captain Bartholomew Cromier, his teeth clenched in hate.

  Jim’s eyes went to Bartholomew’s gloved hand. It squeezed the handle of his captain’s sword in a shaking grasp. The pale man’s raven-black hair hung in sweaty strands around his face. Red circles rimmed his icy eyes. He had been crying, Jim realized, crying from the way his father had shamed him. For the first time, Jim saw how young Bartholomew really was.