The Buccaneers' Code

by Caroline Carlson

  “Oh, Hilary,” the gargoyle whispered. “How can we be pirates if we don’t have a ship?”

  Hilary couldn’t answer. Instead, she stared at the spot where the Pigeon had been and willed it to come back, though it stubbornly refused to resurrect itself. She had promised Jasper she’d take good care of his ship, and now it was lost for good.

  Admiral Westfield relaxed his grip on the golden urn. He wiped his brow with a trembling hand and bent over to catch his breath. “That’s better,” he said. “I can’t imagine why you pirates look so glum. Your vessel was practically a wreck already.”

  Hilary couldn’t see Charlie tied to the other side of the mast, but she was sure he was shaking. Claire, however, had suddenly become still. “Your father’s used more magic today than most people use in a month,” she whispered to Hilary. “I’m sure he doesn’t have much strength left. Isn’t there anything we can do to overpower him?”

  Hilary did her best to search her pockets, but the naval officers who’d taken her cutlass and plucked up her magic pieces hadn’t missed a single coin. The knots that bound her to the mast were impressively tight, and there was no room to squirm out from under the coils of rope. She tried to imagine what the heroes in her favorite books would do if they found themselves in such a dire situation, but that only made her think of the floating bookshop and all the stories that were drifting down to the ocean floor, with only snails and sea horses to turn their pages.

  A trumpet fanfare rang out from the direction of the harbor, and Admiral Westfield clapped his hands. “It must be time for the battle to begin. How fortunate we all are to have a front-row seat.”

  “But there won’t be a battle if we’re not there to fight it,” said Alice.

  “I don’t know who you are, little girl, but you show a surprising lack of imagination.” Admiral Westfield raised a finger. “Now be quiet, and pay attention.”

  MR. GULL MUST have been using a magic piece to strengthen his voice, for although Hilary couldn’t see him around the bend in the shoreline, she could hear him all the way from the Augusta Belle. “On behalf of the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates,” he said, “I welcome you, one and all, to this afternoon’s battle. I am your humble servant, Horatio Gull, and I will serve as the announcer for today’s festivities.” A ripple of applause floated over the waves. “The pirate who emerges victorious in this contest will win the presidency of the VNHLP, while the losing pirate will be forced to leave the kingdom of Augusta immediately and forever. The contestants will try not to blast, behead, or otherwise injure the spectators, but if you fear for your life or safety, I recommend scampering away as quickly as possible.”

  Miss Greyson clicked her tongue. “How impractical.”

  “I agree,” said Jasper. “Why run away from a battle when you could run into it?”

  “It’s hard to run anywhere when you’re tied to a mast,” Charlie pointed out.

  Admiral Westfield glared at them. “Quiet!”

  “The contest,” Mr. Gull continued, “will be judged by none other than our beloved monarch. Queen Adelaide, would you please step forward?”

  Hilary waited for cheers to erupt from the spectators, but there was only silence.

  “Well,” said Mr. Gull at last, “it seems the queen hasn’t yet returned from her travels, but I’m sure she’ll be here shortly. In the meantime, why don’t we introduce our contestants? On the starboard side of the harbor is Captain Rupert Blacktooth: the most fearsome pirate in Augusta, the owner of the finest beard in sixteen kingdoms, and my personal employer. Please give three cheers for Captain Blacktooth!”

  A round of huzzahs rose up from the crowd, but none of the prisoners on the Augusta Belle joined in. “I’d rather eat my boot leathers,” said Hilary.

  “So would I,” said the gargoyle. “I hear they’re good with marmalade. Do you have any marmalade, Admiral Westfield?”

  “I do not,” said the admiral icily.

  “And on the port side,” said Mr. Gull once the huzzahs had faded away, “is our challenger, Pirate Hilary Westfield, the Terror of—pardon me.” He paused. “Where is the Terror? And where are the rest of her supporters?”

  “I suppose this is Blacktooth’s grand plan,” Hilary said to her father. “If I don’t show up at the battle, I’ll be forced to forfeit, and Blacktooth will win without even having to raise his cutlass. Is he really too cowardly to face me?”

  Admiral Westfield’s mouth conspired with his eyebrows to create an expression that looked something like amusement. “Blacktooth is a coward,” he agreed, “but I assure you, Terror: that’s not his plan.” He looked hastily at his officers. “Not that I would know anything about the captain’s intentions, of course.”

  “This is most unusual,” Mr. Gull was saying. “My assistants have taken a count of the Terror’s supporters, and six are missing, not to mention the Terror herself. Her mates assure me that she is on her way, and her mother has graciously offered me a glass of lemonade. If Pirate Westfield does not appear within the next few minutes, however, she will have to surrender her gargoyle and travel at once to the Pestilent Home for—” He broke off. “What’s that on the horizon? Where did I put my spyglass?”

  Just beyond the harbor, a tall ship decorated with pennants and ribbons was approaching with tremendous speed. “It’s the Benevolence!” said Mr. Gull. “Queen Adelaide has arrived!”

  The spectators cheered, and Claire twisted her neck to get a better view. “Can you see her, Hilary?” she asked. “Is it really the queen? I ought to curtsy if it is, but being tied up by villains makes it difficult to bend one’s knees.”

  “I’m sure the queen won’t mind about that,” said Hilary. “It does look like her ship, though it’s flying navy flags along with the royal pennants. Admiral Curtis must still be traveling with her.”

  “Another naval officer?” said Charlie. “Don’t we have enough of them to deal with already?”

  “This one might actually be willing to help us,” Hilary pointed out. A good pirate would rather snap her cutlass in two than ask for help from the Royal Navy, of course, but Hilary wasn’t sure she had any other choice. “If they sail close enough to us, we might be able to get the admiral’s attention—or even the queen’s.”

  The cheering grew louder as the queen’s ship approached. Hilary could see Queen Adelaide now, standing at the bow of the Benevolence and turning her cupped hand back and forth to wave to her subjects. The sleeves of her gown billowed in the breeze, and her crown sparkled where it caught the light. All the naval officers on the Augusta Belle removed their hats out of respect as the Benevolence sailed closer—all but Admiral Westfield.

  As Hilary tried to think of a way to capture the queen’s attention, another ship sped across the waves. It was smaller than the Benevolence, but a good deal faster; it moved so quickly, in fact, that Hilary wouldn’t have recognized it if she hadn’t spotted the Jolly Roger flying from the mast and the Gargoyle’s Nest lashed to the bowsprit. “Well, shiver me timbers,” said Mr. Gull. “The Terror of the Southlands has finally arrived in her ship, the Pigeon!”

  “What?” cried Jasper.

  Hilary stared at the new ship. It looked exactly like the Pigeon in every detail, but she certainly wasn’t its captain. In fact, she had no idea who was standing at its helm. The gargoyle looked equally befuddled. “Is this part of Captain Blacktooth’s plan?” he asked.

  “It must be,” said Hilary, “but it doesn’t make a bit of sense! Why would the Mutineers go to so much trouble to sink our ship if they were going to bring a new ship in to take its place?”

  Then a cloud of smoke bloomed in front of her, an earsplitting bang drowned out the roar of the crowd, and a cannonball sailed from the false Pigeon’s deck, tracing a long, lazy arc across the sky before it smashed into the Benevolence.

  * * *

  From

  The Personal Transcriptions of Horatio Gull

  Private Secretary to the President

 
; COURTESY OF THE VNHLP ARCHIVES

  The notorious pirate Hilary Westfield has just blasted a hole in the side of the queen’s ship. Onlookers gasp. Infants cry. I fumble my handful of magic coins; they clink to the deck of the Renegade. In short, chaos reigns!

  Chaos may, however, be transformed into order through the talents of an effective secretary. Sensing that a record of this historic event might be useful in the future, I retrieve a pen and parchment from my satchel. The following conversation transpires.

  MR. GULL: Captain Blacktooth! The Terror of the Southlands has attacked the queen! I’m quite sure the guidelines set forth in Leading the League don’t allow anything of the sort. Would you like me to consult them, sir?

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: Never mind the guidelines, Mr. Gull.

  MR. GULL: You don’t seem very alarmed, sir. This entire situation is highly irregular, and—

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: (Interrupting, as pirates often do) Of course I’m alarmed. The Terror has opened fire on Queen Adelaide, and the whole kingdom has seen her do it. She certainly won’t be the president of the League now, will she?

  MR. GULL: I sincerely doubt it, sir. But I’ve got to say I’m surprised. I thought the Terror was fond of the queen.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: You must have been mistaken.

  MR. GULL: I can’t believe she would act so recklessly.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: (Looking irritated) I imagine she wants to seize control of the kingdom and rule Augusta herself.

  MR. GULL: Are you sure? She doesn’t seem like the treasonous sort.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: That’s enough, Mr. Gull.

  MR. GULL: And sir, doesn’t the Pigeon look awfully similar to the ship you commissioned in Summerstead?

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: I said enough!

  MR. GULL: If I may make an observation, sir, you’re remarkably quick-tempered this afternoon.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: (Glaring daggers at his secretary) I am simply concerned about the queen’s welfare. I’ll send my most fearsome ships to fight off the Terror of the Southlands and assist Queen Adelaide. Then all of Augusta will see how I protected the kingdom from a dangerous and dishonorable scallywag.

  MR. GULL: It will make an excellent story in the Gazette.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: It had better. (Under his breath) I wish Georgiana had never dragged me into this mess.

  MR. GULL: Pardon me, but would you mind speaking up? It’s for the transcript.

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: (With great vexation) Mr. Gull, if you don’t put that pen down at once, I shall throw it into the sea, and you won’t be far behind.

  MR. GULL: Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Shall I keep announcing the battle, sir?

  CAPTAIN BLACKTOOTH: Please do.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE CREW OF the Augusta Belle was in a panic. “The queen’s ship has been hit!” cried the naval officer who’d been complaining of molasses in his boots not half an hour before. “It won’t stay afloat for long, from the looks of it. We must rescue Her Majesty at once!”

  “Steady, mates,” Admiral Westfield boomed. All of the officers stopped chattering. “I am just as distraught as you are to see our beloved monarch so rudely attacked. I’m confident that Admiral Curtis has the matter well in hand, however, and we must not place ourselves in his way. Our task is to guard our prisoners and prevent them from doing any more damage to the queen or the kingdom.”

  “But we haven’t done any damage in the first place!” said Hilary. “How could we have possibly attacked the queen? We’ve been far too busy getting tied to the mast and watching our ship sink!”

  Admiral Westfield walked across the deck and stopped so close to Hilary that she could have counted every bristle in his beard if she’d wanted a way to pass the time. “Of course you have,” he said quietly enough that his officers couldn’t overhear. “I know that as well as you do. But the queen herself surely believes you’ve fired upon her, and so does Admiral Curtis. So, for that matter, does every person watching from the Queensport coast—including your own crewmates.”

  “They’d never believe any such thing,” said Hilary, though she had to admit the circumstances didn’t look good.

  “When Captain Blacktooth’s mates fight off the false Pigeon,” Admiral Westfield continued, “and when I deliver you criminals to the Dungeons, we shall be national heroes! Then, of course, I shall have to do away with Blacktooth somehow. Do you think an unfortunate fishing accident would do the trick? It will be an enormous hassle, but I don’t want to have any competition when the wise citizens of Augusta choose their new ruler.”

  Perhaps the ropes that held Hilary fast had tightened themselves, for it was suddenly much more difficult to breathe. “What do you mean?” she said carefully.

  “He means they’re going to let the Benevolence sink.” Charlie sounded as though he might be running out of air himself. “They’re not going to rescue the queen.”

  “That friend of yours is rather clever.” Admiral Westfield reached around the mast to pat Charlie on the shoulder. “It’s a pity you’re not well-bred, my lad, or you could have joined the navy.”

  Charlie drew in his breath, and Hilary gave her father her sharpest glare, though it was nowhere near as sharp as her cutlass. “I can see you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself,” she said, “but you’re not nearly as good a villain as you think you are. Your plan is absurd! There’s no way it’s going to work.”

  Admiral Westfield looked pointedly at the spot where the Pigeon had sunk. “It seems to be working wonderfully well so far,” he said, “and all thanks to you. We’ve wanted to remove the queen from her throne for ages, but we couldn’t settle on someone to frame for the crime. When you issued your challenge to Captain Blacktooth, however, all the pieces of our plan fell into place.” He brushed his hands together, as though he were dusting away something he didn’t care for. “I admit I’m not thrilled about sending my own daughter off to the Dungeons—but of course you know exactly what it feels like to betray one’s relations, don’t you, Terror?”

  The rope grew tighter around Hilary’s middle.

  “Don’t answer him,” the gargoyle whispered. “He’s just trying to make you mad.”

  “In that case,” said Hilary, “he’s succeeding.”

  “If I may ask a question,” Miss Greyson said from the other side of the mast, “won’t these charming naval officers unravel your plot? They know perfectly well that Hilary didn’t attack the queen.”

  Admiral Westfield’s shoulders stiffened, the way they often did around governesses. “You have an inquiring mind, madam,” he told Miss Greyson. “I can’t say I care for it. As for my mates, I’m sure they’ll piece things together sooner or later.” He glanced behind him, where the officers were taking turns peering through a spyglass at the sinking Benevolence. “They’re only half as dull-witted as they look. I expect, however, that a few crates of magic from the Royal Treasury will convince them to keep their ideas to themselves. And if they don’t—well, the sharks aren’t too terribly hungry this time of year. With a bit of luck, these fellows might survive for weeks!”

  “Did you hear that, gentlemen?” Alice called to the officers. “Admiral Westfield plans to feed you to the sharks!”

  A few of the officers frowned at her, and the others didn’t even bother to turn around. “Don’t waste the air we’ve granted you, scallywag,” one of them said. “Pirates lie; everyone knows that.”

  “You’d think they’d be more concerned,” the gargoyle remarked. “Sharks are the second most fearsome beasts in the kingdom.”

  “After sea monsters?” Claire asked.

  The gargoyle rolled his eyes. “After me.”

  Hilary looked over her father’s shoulder and out toward the sea, where a large portion of the queen’s ship had already sunk below the surface. Admiral Curtis was returning the false Pigeon’s fire, and a number of other vessels of all shapes and sizes had sailed into the fray. Although most of them belonged to
Blacktooth’s allies, Hilary spotted Captain Wolfson’s longship as it bounded over the waves toward the Benevolence, followed closely by Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley. All the thick rope bonds in the world couldn’t hold her back from smiling at the sight of them.

  Admiral Westfield removed his hat and fanned himself with its brim. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself, Terror?” he asked. “You can’t be enjoying this.”

  “I’m not,” Hilary assured him. “I’m simply wondering what will happen if my mates are able to rescue the queen. That will put a cramp in the Mutineers’ plans, won’t it?”

  “It will never happen,” said Admiral Westfield. “Mr. Sanderson is at the false Pigeon’s helm. He happens to be the most talented young sailor on the High Seas—and why wouldn’t he be, when I trained him myself?”

  Of course Oliver was the villain sailing the Pigeon; Hilary should have guessed. “He does excel at treachery,” she said, “but Admiral Curtis is delivering a good defense. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “Hardly.” The very corners of Admiral Westfield’s eyes twitched. “Trust me, Terror: Admiral Curtis doesn’t worry me at all.”

  When Hilary was growing up in Westfield House, her mother had warned her not to provoke her father, most especially not when his jaw was tight and his eyes prone to twitching. In all those years, she had never dared to disobey. Now, however, Hilary’s magic piece was out of sight and her cutlass was out of reach. A good pirate had to use any weapon in her possession, she reasoned, and provocation was the only weapon she had left. She stood up a little straighter against the mast.

  “I’ve heard people say that Curtis is the finest naval admiral this kingdom has ever seen,” she said, more boldly this time. “Who knows? He might even be the finest admiral in any kingdom!”