The Buccaneers' Code

by Caroline Carlson

  “I see,” the gentleman said. He looked down at Hilary. “I am Mr. Theodore, the manager of this fine establishment. My guests tell me that you have been disrupting their meal. Did you not see the sign asking you to go away?”

  “I saw it,” said Hilary, “but my mates and I don’t need a place to stay. We’re here to talk to your guests—though they don’t seem particularly eager to talk back.” She looked Mr. Theodore up and down, from his neatly combed white hair to his impeccably pressed suit. “You’re not a pirate, are you, sir?”

  “Certainly not!” Mr. Theodore looked rather shocked by the notion. “I was the chief steward on the Whippoorwill, the most luxurious ship in this kingdom or any other.” He gestured around him. “When our ship was boarded by pirates, the crew ran her aground and guided the passengers to safety. But the pirates asked me to stay on. They had a dream of opening a boardinghouse, you see, and they needed someone to look after the day-to-day operations.” Mr. Theodore smoothed a minuscule wrinkle from his suit. “I am responsible for stocking the galley, mopping up after duels, and asking unwanted visitors to leave the premises before my guests grow careless with their swords.”

  “Are you responsible for speaking for your guests, too?” Charlie asked. “Even their parrots won’t talk to us.”

  “But of course they won’t!” said Mr. Theodore. “And they have good reason to hold their tongues. Do you want to send everyone in this room to the bottom of the sea?”

  “Of course not!” said Hilary. “What are you talking about?”

  Mr. Theodore gave an impatient sniff. “I am talking,” he said, “about the notice we received earlier today.” He gestured behind him, where a piece of parchment was stuck to the wall with a dagger. Hilary brushed past Mr. Theodore to get a closer look at it.

  * * *

  THE VERY NEARLY HONORABLE LEAGUE OF PIRATES

  Servin’ the High Seas for 154 Years

  ATTENTION PIRATES!

  The VNHLP regrets to report that an unscrupulous band of rebels is traveling the kingdom in an attempt to recruit supporters to their cause. They are led by Pirate Hilary Westfield, the Terror of the Southlands, who aims to seize control of the League from its rightful president, Captain Rupert Blacktooth. If she dares to approach you, do not allow her to enlist you in her ranks! According to League regulations, Pirate Westfield may not be harmed, but the VNHLP recommends that all scallywags on the High Seas stay as far from her as possible. Do not talk to Pirate Westfield. Do not look her in the eye. Do not be lured into conversation with her gargoyle. Any pirate who is seen communicating with Pirate Westfield or her friends will be interrogated, stripped of his cutlass, and keelhauled by Captain Blacktooth. And remember: each loyal scallywag who chooses to support the president in his battle against Pirate Westfield will receive a purse of magic coins and a new hat feather of his choice.

  * * *

  “Bribing pirates with magic and hat feathers!” said Jasper, who was reading the notice over Hilary’s shoulder. “That’s awfully underhanded, even for Blacktooth.”

  “I’m more concerned about the bit where he says he’ll keelhaul anyone who dares to speak to us.” Hilary felt rather like keelhauling Blacktooth himself, but she settled instead for glaring at Mr. Theodore. “And I suppose these notices are tacked to the walls of every groggery and pirate lodging in Augusta.”

  “I expect so,” said Mr. Theodore. “My guests tell me that Captain Blacktooth tends to be quite . . . thorough.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Charlie said. “We’ll be lucky if we get two pirates to join us, let alone two hundred.”

  “Oh, drat.” The gargoyle hung his head. “If no one’s allowed to talk to me, how will I ever be famous?”

  Hilary looked around at the dozens of pirates who were staring resolutely into their bowls of stew. “We can’t give up so easily,” she told her mates. “We can’t let Blacktooth win before we’ve even begun to fight him! Perhaps some of these pirates will listen to reason.”

  “I really must insist that you leave,” Mr. Theodore said. “I won’t have you putting my guests in danger.”

  “But your guests are pirates!” said Hilary. “They love danger!” She dodged Mr. Theodore and stepped back up on the chair. “Ahoy!” she called.

  Some of the pirates in the room groaned. Others pressed their napkins over their eyes to avoid getting an accidental glimpse of Hilary. One pirate leered at her; his gold teeth shone like doubloons.

  “I know you aren’t allowed to talk to me,” she said, “and I won’t ask you to risk your necks on my account. But I’d like you all to know one thing before I leave: if I defeat Captain Blacktooth—I mean, when I defeat him—I won’t ever punish you just for looking at another scallywag. Only the most cowardly pirates make those sorts of threats.” She jumped down from her chair. “I’m going back to my ship now. If you want to help me stop the VNHLP from turning as rotten as Blacktooth’s breath, I hope you’ll join me.”

  The pirates stared at Hilary with their mouths open wide. Mr. Theodore held the door open wider. “Good-bye,” he said as she led her mates out of the dining room, “and for heaven’s sake, please don’t ever come back.”

  When they reached the main deck, Hilary flopped down in a lounge chair. “I believe I would have preferred it if they’d used my skull for lawn bowling.”

  Miss Greyson patted her knee with a mittened hand. “Cheer up,” she said. “You may have convinced a pirate or two.”

  The gargoyle tilted his head. “I hear footsteps,” he said. “Our supporters must be on their way!”

  Hilary scrambled to her feet as the gold-toothed pirate from the dining room crossed the deck toward her. “Hello, matey,” she said, holding out her hands to greet him. “I’m glad to see you’re braver than your companions. Have you come to join our crew?”

  The pirate looked down at Hilary’s hands. Then he pulled out his cutlass and pointed it at each of Hilary’s fingers, one by one. “Ten fingers,” he said. “A good number, ten is. If ye’ve got ten fingers, then ye’ve got a few to spare. And if Blacktooth hadn’t ordered us not to hurt ye, I’d be takin’ ’em fer meself.” He grinned, showing every one of his shining teeth. “Ye might say I’ve got a collection.”

  Hilary snatched her hands back and reached for her own cutlass. Jasper, Charlie, and Alice had already drawn theirs, and Miss Greyson had pulled her golden crochet hook from her hair. “If you’re trying to frighten me,” Hilary snapped, “you’d better try harder. The Terror of the Southlands doesn’t get frightened.”

  “Well,” said the gargoyle, “not usually.”

  “Excuse me,” said Jasper to the pirate, “but hadn’t you better leave before someone spots you chatting with us? I’d truly hate to see you keelhauled. You have such admirable counting skills, and such expensive teeth.”

  “Aye,” the pirate said, “I’ll leave. I just wanted yer friend to know that Blacktooth’s men will never answer to a little girl.” He turned and began to walk away, but halfway across the deck he stopped and looked straight back at Hilary. “If yer wise,” he said, “ye’ll take those ten good fingers back home with ye and leave piratin’ matters to pirates.”

  * * *

  A HEARTY BLAST

  from Cannonball Jack

  Dear Terror,

  It’s been nearly two weeks since I saw ye on Gunpowder Island, an’ I hope the Northlands have treated ye kindly. Have ye found a few sturdy pirates to support yer mission against that shifty bilge rat? I dearly hope ye have. I’ve been searchin’ the southern coast fer friendly faces, but Captain Blacktooth’s grip on the Queensport pirates be tight as a noose.

  Me new mates an’ I paid a visit to the Salty Biscuit yesterday an’ asked if anyone in the groggery dared to support ye, but the fellows there ran after us with their cutlasses an’ chased us away. It were peculiar, Terror: all the pirates had their eyes closed, as if seein’ us would be a fate worse than death. Some o’ them even ran smack into the walls a
s they were givin’ chase. Miss Worthington an’ Mr. Flintlock thought ’twere all rather amusin’, but Mr. Partridge were awfully shaken by the whole affair. Now he’s gone an’ locked himself in his cabin on board the Blunderbuss. Miss Worthington an’ I have been tryin’ to lure him out with fresh-baked gingersnaps fer the past half hour.

  We set sail for Pemberton tomorrow, an’ perhaps we’ll have better luck there. I hope that when I meet ye back in Wimbly-on-the-Marsh, I’ll have more to show fer me efforts than a tin o’ gingersnaps.

  Yers till then,

  C. J.

  * * *

  * * *

  THE VERY NEARLY HONORABLE LEAGUE OF PIRATES

  Servin’ the High Seas for 154 Years

  EUSTACE TWIGGET

  FIRST MATE OF THE RENEGADE

  Independent Piracy Professional

  Ahoy, Pirate Westfield,

  I’m writin’ to you from the town of Middleby, where my mates and I have met with more than a few troubles. We’ve passed many pirate ships, but none of them have been eager to drop anchor and talk with us. In fact, most of them have gone speedin’ off in the opposite direction as soon as we’ve announced ourselves. We were hopin’ to find some friendly buccaneers here in Middleby, but the folks at the Scallywag’s Den were unwillin’ to talk, and even less willin’ to listen. They shooed us out the door and put up a sign that says NO FRIENDS OF HILARY WESTFIELD ALLOWED. One pirate whispered that he’s fond of you, Terror, but he has to follow Captain Blacktooth’s orders. I know very well how hard it is to disobey Blacktooth, and I’m not sure these pirates have the guts to do it.

  When my mates and I returned to the docks, we found a nasty sort named Burly Bruce McCorkle usin’ his magic piece to fill our ship from bowsprit to stern with haddock. The poor fish were floppin’ about in the wash buckets and cookin’ pots, and I found a few more in my blankets this evenin’. My mates tried to show McCorkle just what they thought of his prank, but McCorkle said they weren’t allowed to touch him, for he’s Blacktooth’s man, and he can’t be harmed before the battle. Rest assured, Terror, that I’ll fill the fellow’s breeches with snappin’ turtles as soon as I’m permitted. In any case, I hope you and your crew are havin’ better luck.

  With apologies,

  Mr. Twigget

  * * *

  * * *

  MARROW, SLAUGHTER & STANLEY

  PROTECTION • PIRACY • CATERING

  Dear Hilary,

  I am sorry to write with disheartening news, but our attempts to locate supporters along the western coast of the kingdom have not gone as well as we had hoped. It seems that Captain Blacktooth has sent several of his men to every corner of Augusta to pass out threatening notices and punish any pirates who dare to say a kind word about you—but by now you must have discovered this for yourself.

  I admit to being surprised by Blacktooth’s tactics. Though his reputation is fearsome, he has never before resorted so openly to threats and bribery in all his years as a pirate. I am convinced, therefore, that his fellow Mutineers are twisting his arm. Mr. Marrow suggested over breakfast that Blacktooth’s friends only value his treasure stash and his firepower, and that they shall toss him aside when they have run out of uses for him. I wonder very much if Mr. Marrow is right.

  Mr. Marrow, Mr. Slaughter, and I send you our best wishes from Little Shearwater, and we look forward to seeing you in a few weeks’ time.

  Regards,

  Mr. Stanley

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BY THE TIME the Pigeon drew near the town of Summerstead, Hilary had been ignored, turned down, or chased away by enough pirates to fill all twenty of Westfield House’s spare bedrooms. Pirate ships darted into caverns or hid behind trees when they saw the Pigeon approaching, and groggeries sent Hilary away without so much as a tip of the hat. Even friends who had come to her aid in the past wrote apologetic notes explaining that although they wished they could help her, they had treasure-hunting engagements and parrot-grooming appointments that they simply couldn’t miss.

  “Do these pirates truly expect me to believe they’ve entered a singing competition that just happens to fall on the same day as the battle?” Hilary crumpled up the letter the postal courier had just delivered from the crew of the dread ship Matilda and tossed it across the deck, where a pile of discarded correspondence was growing with remarkable speed. “If Blacktooth doesn’t stop terrifying my friends, I shall have to enlist Mother’s gardeners to chase after him with their rakes.”

  The gargoyle looked over from his Nest, which Miss Greyson had lined with warm knitted blankets. Though spring had snuck up on the Northlands at last, Summerstead generally preferred to remain chilly, and its residents complained whenever the temperature rose enough to turn the ice sculptures in the town square to puddles. “At least Blacktooth won’t be able to pull any tricks during the battle,” the gargoyle said. “The queen will be watching to make sure everything is fair.”

  “If we can’t find any supporters, there won’t be any battle for the queen to watch,” Hilary pointed out. “She’ll simply wave good-bye as I sail off to spend the rest of my days perfecting my embroidery, or whatever it is that pirates do when they go into exile.”

  “It won’t be as bad as all that,” said the gargoyle, nestling deeper into his blankets. “If you go into exile, I’ll come with you.”

  “You will?” said Hilary. “Oh, gargoyle, you don’t have to do that. Don’t you want to stay here and have adventures? I’m sure Charlie would be happy to carry you in his bag.”

  “That’s kind of him,” said the gargoyle, “but I’d rather be with you.” He yawned. “The spiders in exile are probably almost as tasty as the ones we have here.”

  WHEN JASPER CAME to relieve her at the helm, Hilary headed back to her cabin to write a letter to Claire. She had been meaning to start it weeks ago, but every time she tried to begin, she imagined Claire’s face crumpling at the news that not a single pirate in the kingdom wanted anything to do with Hilary. Miss Pimm would shake her head and sigh, and the two of them would agree that perhaps Hilary wasn’t a very good leader after all. Hilary tried hard not to think about this.

  She tried so hard, in fact, that she didn’t even notice when Charlie opened his cabin door and stepped directly in front of her. Her forehead connected with his nose, and her hat went flying. “Sorry about that!” she said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Neither was I,” said Charlie, rubbing his nose. “It’s a good thing we didn’t have our swords drawn.” He bent to pick up Hilary’s hat, but as he did, something shiny slipped out of his hand and clinked onto the deck. He snatched it up and stuffed it in the pocket of his breeches.

  Hilary couldn’t have been more surprised if the Royal Augusta Water Ballet had appeared in front of her and dripped all over her boots. “Charlie,” she said, “whatever are you doing with a magic coin?”

  Charlie squashed his hat lower on his head. Ever since his mam and pa had been sunk for their treasure, he’d refused to use magic himself, and he didn’t even care to be around it. He’d certainly never kept a magic piece in his pocket before. “It’s Jasper’s,” he said reluctantly. “He said I could borrow it for a few days.”

  “But you hate magic!” said Hilary. “Please don’t tell me you’ve decided to enroll in dancing classes as well, or I won’t have the slightest idea what’s become of you.”

  “I haven’t actually used the blasted thing,” said Charlie, “and honestly, I’m not sure I will. Just holding on to it makes me itch. I expect I’ll give it back to Jasper tonight and tell him to keep it locked as far from me as possible.” He lowered his voice. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about . . . well, about Claire, and what she said to me last summer. That I’m afraid of magic.”

  “Oh, Charlie, you know she didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course she meant it,” Charlie said. “And she was right. A pirate shouldn’t be frightened of his own treasure—or o
f anything at all, really.”

  Hilary nodded. Her mouth went dry every time she thought about the gold-toothed pirate who’d threatened to collect her fingers, but Charlie didn’t have to know about that. “There’s no use at all in being frightened,” she agreed.

  “I asked Jasper what he thought I should do about it, and he said that if I carried some magic around with me, I might get used to it.” Charlie pulled out the coin and held it at arm’s length between two fingers. “So far, though, I haven’t.”

  “At least you haven’t thrown it overboard yet,” said Hilary. “That’s a very good start. And who knows? If you ever do want to learn how to use magic, perhaps Miss Pimm will take you on as a private student.”

  Charlie barely had time to look horrified before, quite without warning, the Pigeon lurched to a stop. The deck heaved up below them, and they went tumbling into a pile of Miss Greyson’s knitting.

  “Blast!” said Hilary. “What in the world has Jasper crashed us into?”

  “A sandbank, I’d bet,” said Charlie, pulling bits of yarn from his jacket, “or one of those little islands they always forget to include on maps.”

  But the Pigeon hadn’t beached itself on a sandbank or run aground on an inconveniently placed island. When Hilary ran out onto the deck, she found Jasper searching for the spyglass and Fitzwilliam swooping in circles around his head. Miss Greyson clutched the golden gravy boat in both hands, looking as though she might collapse at any moment. Alice, who had been working on her mathematics lesson, was splattered with ink, and her pen lay halfway across the deck. Worst of all, the Gargoyle’s Nest had overturned completely. The gargoyle swung upside down from the bowsprit, held above the waves by a tangle of ropes. His warm blankets had fallen into the sea, and his wings were beating frantically. “Hilary!” he cried. “Help! I’m a damsel in distress!”