The Ship of Lost Souls 1

by Rachelle Delaney

  Jem tilted his head to the side as if trying to decide whether he believed Scarlet’s story. She could practically hear the questions piling up in his brain.

  “So how did you end up here?” He gestured to the ship.

  The other pirates had now ended their party and were wandering, one by one, down to the cabins. Scarlet watched them totter off and, for once, wished she could be sent to bed. Telling her story always made her tired.

  “I ran away,” she answered finally. “I was nearly eleven and couldn’t take it anymore. Fortunately, Ben Hodgins found me. He was the captain of the Margaret’s Hop back then, you know. A great leader.” She hoped her voice sounded frank and businesslike, without a trace of wistfulness. “I should tell you the story he told me,” she hurried on. “When I joined the Ship of Lost Souls, it had already been sailing around the islands for about eight years, ever since a ship of students got caught in a hurricane and disappeared. Turned out they survived, although the few grown-ups on board weren’t so lucky.”

  “Why?” Jem asked. “How’d they die?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Tossed overboard, maybe. Blimey, you ask a lot of questions.”

  “I know.” He didn’t seem at all remorseful.

  “The children soon learned that their ship had become a legend—a ghost story—since they’d all been presumed dead. Well, they thought that was just grand, and they took advantage of it, swooping down to frighten pirate and naval ships, pocketing some food and supplies, and feeling right proud of themselves. They found life on the Hop much jollier than life in port, and they decided to make the ship a home for all children who needed one.

  “The Lost Souls made it a rule that when a crew member turns eighteen, he or she must move on. But most leave before that to work on the islands or go back to the Old World. A few have even gone on to join grown-up pirate ships. But that’s a tricky business, because they’re sworn to secrecy and can never reveal our identity—even if the Lost Souls raid their ship.”

  “How do you know they’ll never tell?” Jem asked.

  “We don’t, really,” Scarlet admitted. “But everyone takes an oath when they leave. Want to hear it?”

  Jem nodded, and Scarlet cleared her throat and put her hand over her heart. She motioned for Jem to do the same.

  “Repeat after me. Though off I go into the world to find my destiny . . .”

  “Though off I go into the world to find my destiny . . .”

  “I’ll keep the secret of the Margaret’s Hop inside of me.”

  “I’ll keep the secret of the Margaret’s Hop inside of me.”

  “And if I’m ever tempted to reveal that mystery . . .”

  “And if I’m ever tempted to reveal that mystery . . .”

  “May I meet the rope’s end with a thousand lashes until I think better of betraying the Lost Souls like the filthy bilge rat I am.”

  Jem blinked. Then he muttered the last line and moved an inch or two away from Scarlet.

  “Now,” Scarlet continued, “the Ship of Lost Souls had a purpose, as a haven for children who didn’t want to live in port or with grown-ups. But the Lost Souls needed more to do than just drift around. They decided that every few years a new captain would take over and declare a new mission for the crew. When I joined, Ben Hodgins’s mission was to keep both pirates and the King’s Men in check as they searched the islands for the treasure. They’re certain they’ll find heaps of gold or jewels if they just keep cutting things down. Ben’s goal was more to frighten rather than to rob them of their bounty like other pirates would.”

  “Hm.” Jem contemplated this. “So what’s your mission as captain?”

  She’d known it was coming—the question she’d been asking herself so often lately. It was complicated. When Ben left less than a year ago, she decided the new mission would be to find the legendary treasure. But when the crew tired so quickly of that, she’d had to find another one, and fast. She settled on one similar to the Lost Souls’ original purpose: to help children throughout the islands. But it was a tricky mission to take on—not least of all because, well, very few children actually lived on the islands. It wasn’t long before the crew started having doubts of their own. She’d heard whisperings now and then from Lost Souls who were growing impatient, and she couldn’t help but wish they’d just found the darn treasure. No one would dare question the captain who’d led them to it . . . whatever it was.

  Scarlet forced a yawn. “How about we continue this tomorrow? I’m pooped. I’ll show you to your cabin.” Without waiting for Jem to reply, she hopped off her barrel and headed downstairs.

  After leaving Jem to find an empty spot on the floor in the room Smitty shared with nearly a half dozen other boys, Scarlet tiptoed down the hall to her own closet-sized nook, which she shared with Ronagh. The younger girl was already curled up in her hammock, swaying gently as the ship rolled over the waves. Scarlet hopped into her own hammock and closed her eyes, exhausted but not yet ready for sleep.

  She could have told Jem more; he’d probably ask for details one of these days, anyway. So full of questions, that one. But she didn’t like telling anyone much about herself. Both Scary Mary and Admiral McCray had long ago advised her to forget, and although she’d resisted at first, her memories soon blurred around the edges, some of them gradually dissolving altogether.

  Scarlet flipped onto her side and listened to the rafters creak as her hammock swung back and forth. Memories of her father remained, but not the ones she wanted. She wanted to picture him without his heavy, blue coat, when his skin was tanned and his face was creased from laughter instead of frowns.

  After her mother died, her father barely spoke, much less smiled. He never called her by the name her mother called her, which Scarlet couldn’t for the life of her remember. In fact, he seemed to want to distance her from her past and from the land they lived in, insisting that Mary replace the island maps Scarlet liked to study with a big book on Old World geography. By the time Scarlet was ten, she knew far more about places halfway around the world than she did about her own home.

  Always eager to please the admiral, Scary Mary made it her mission to bring out the Old World in Scarlet. She curled her straight black hair and pinched her cheeks till they turned rosy. But the curls never stayed; Mary only succeeded in scalding Scarlet’s scalp with the hot curlers. And Scarlet’s cheeks stubbornly refused to stay pink, no matter how hard Mary tweaked them with her twisted fingers.

  Scarlet stretched and yawned in her hammock as sleep began to creep up on her from wherever it hid by day. But she fought it off, suddenly feeling a need to relive her story—or as much of it as she could remember.

  John McCray would visit her in Jamestown now and then, but he never stayed long. For five years Scarlet spent her time trying to ignore Mary’s mutterings while plotting her own escape. She’d steal a rowboat and row until her arms fell off. She’d bribe some port merchant to kidnap her and desert her on the nearest beach, where she’d live off guava fruit and plump red ants. Or she’d stow away on a pirate ship, then persuade the dirty buccaneers to let her stay on board. That last one sounded the most appealing.

  Then, when Scarlet was nearly eleven, her father appeared one day at the boarding house. She’d barely recognized him. His entire posture was rigid—even his face looked tight, as if he were trying to hold something back. He sat down, then stood, sat again, and then told her that he was sending her to live with his family in the Old World.

  Scarlet’s mouth fell open. This was not one of her escape plans. As much as she longed to ditch Scary Mary and dirty Jamestown, the thought of leaving the islands made her insides lurch. She couldn’t! But could she tell him that?

  Her father didn’t give her a chance. “Your ship will sail a week from today,” he said, then he stood and left, just like that. It was the last time she saw him.


  Scarlet didn’t notice Scary Mary’s presence in the room until after Admiral McCray had left. The old woman regarded her thoughtfully and scratched her papery scalp.

  “So Scarlet McCray shall sail away,” she said. “It’s for the best, you know. Well, not for me, because with you goes my livelihood. But it’s just what you need. To forget.”

  Later that day, Scarlet marched down to the docks, unsure exactly what she was looking for, but certain she needed to get out of Jamestown immediately to avoid this ship bound for the Old World. She sat down on the edge of a dock and swung her legs over the water. She wished she could swim or at least drift effortlessly like the flotsam that bobbed near her feet. An ara circled low overhead, unmistakable in its flame-red feather cloak, and perched on the post of a nearby pier. Scarlet watched it, heartened by the sight of one of the rare birds. It cocked its head and stared straight at her, unblinking, until Scarlet could practically hear it say, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  The notion made her grin in spite of herself. “You’d better be off, too,” she told the bird. “If you haven’t noticed, there’re a few hundred men around here who’d like to pluck you clean.”

  A cry brought her attention back to earth. She scanned the port until she saw him: a boy with a dusty face and ripped trousers. He looked like any other cabin boy, except that he was upside down, being held by his ankles and shaken by a King’s Man who looked like he wrestled whales in his spare time.

  “I don’t . . . know what . . . you’re . . . talking about,” the boy said between gasps as he rose and fell, his hair grazing the dirt.

  “Liar,” the sailor sneered. “I saw you steal those coins, and I’ll shake you till they fall out of your ears if I have to.” He laughed and shook the boy some more.

  Scarlet scrambled to her feet, her sympathy for the King’s Men at an all-time low. Cheeks burning, she marched up to the man until she stood nose to toes with the shaken boy.

  “Put. Him. DOWN!” Scarlet hollered up at the man, startling him so much that he stopped shaking the boy.

  “Get out of here, miss,” the man spat back once he’d recovered. “This boy’s a thief and no business of yours.”

  “A thief.” Scarlet rolled her eyes. “I’ll show you.” And with that, she kicked his shin as hard as she could. He dropped the boy and hopped on one foot toward her, cursing.

  “You little witch! You’ll pay for that.”

  But before he could reach out and grab her, the thief-boy rolled to his feet, grasped Scarlet’s arm, and yanked her out of the way.

  “Come on!” he cried. Together they scampered off down the street, leaving the King’s Man limping and cursing behind them.

  The boy was still laughing when they stopped to catch their breath moments later. “Now that was jolly!” he said. “I owe you one. I’m Ben Hodgins.”

  “Scarlet McCray,” Scarlet replied. She shook Ben’s hand.

  He was about a head taller than her, with brown eyes under a flop of dirty, brown hair. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes. Well . . . I mean, that is, I’m not . . . ,” she stammered, then sighed. “For now.”

  “So you’re leaving soon?” he said.

  “I plan to.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She paused. “I . . . I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  Ben nodded, and Scarlet looked down at her feet. She liked his brown eyes but didn’t like them studying her. “Maybe I can help,” Ben said.

  At first she didn’t believe him—a ship full of pirate children? Impossible. But Ben insisted that such a ship did indeed exist, for he, only fifteen years old, was its captain. Still not convinced, but hopeful that he’d at least have the decency to leave her on a deserted stretch of sand somewhere, Scarlet followed him and boarded the Margaret’s Hop that day.

  Over the following months, she learned to tie knots, weigh anchor, steer the Hop, read the skies. She dressed like a demon and terrorized ships, praying she’d never have to board Admiral John McCray’s. She made loads of new friends on board, and as the weeks turned into months, Scarlet decided that the Margaret’s Hop was the best home she’d ever had.

  Then one day, about a year later, Ben called a meeting in Castaway Cove. Scarlet stood at his side as she often did, trying not to think about the funny feeling that she’d recently begun to have in his presence. It was a feeling of gratitude, yes, but something else, too. Something that made her gut squirm. She had just chalked it up to all the fried squid she’d eaten lately when Ben began to speak. “First I want you all to know that the Ship of Lost Souls is worth more than its captain. A captain, you see, is no better than his crew. And this is the jolliest crew that ever sailed.”

  The pirates murmured their thanks, a little embarrassed, and shuffled their bare feet in the sand.

  “But as you know, the Margaret’s Hop is only for the young. I’m sixteen now, and I’ve decided it’s time for me to leave.”

  Some pirates gasped. Some groaned. Some remained deathly silent. Scarlet felt like she’d swallowed a rock. Ben couldn’t leave. What would she do without him?

  But it got worse. Ben went on to explain that one day, while stealing supplies in port, he’d met a girl—the daughter of a man who owned a plantation near Port Aberhard—and he’d fallen in love. A few weeks later, he’d befriended the girl’s father, who’d quickly come to look upon him as a son. The family had offered to take him in and introduce him to the life of a plantation manager. And ultimately, to groom him to marry their daughter when he turned eighteen. He looked at Scarlet, grinned, and then shrugged as if to say “What’s a pirate to do?”

  Scarlet hated her immediately, this girl who’d lured Ben back to land from a life on the sea. Her name was probably something like Cornelia or Adeline. She probably had smooth, corn-colored hair and a very small brain. She probably thought that pirates were grimy and covered in fleas.

  “As for who I’m going to name captain when I go,” Ben continued, “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’ve chosen someone very brave, someone who knows the islands well and understands what the Lost Souls are all about . . .”

  Maybe Cornelia-Adeline would make Ben wear a proper coat and clean his fingernails. Likely she had an irrational fear of millipedes—

  “What do you say, Scarlet McCray?” Ben was looking at her, and Scarlet had no idea why. All she could think to say was, “You’ll have to cut your hair, you know.” She flushed when her voice broke on the last word.

  “Will you take over as captain?” Ben asked quietly, and the Lost Souls fell silent.

  “Will I what?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. She hadn’t yet turned twelve. Granted, she was one of the older ones now that all the original Lost Souls had moved on, but—

  “Captain Scarlet. Captain Scarlet McCray. Sound all right to you?” Ben was smiling.

  “Me?” Scarlet flushed again. “Um, but—”

  To her surprise, the rest of the pirates cheered.

  “Three great grunts for your new captain!” Ben yelled. The pirates grunted accordingly, then swarmed her with congratulations.

  All except one, Scarlet remembered, as sleep now spread its heavy blanket over her hammock. One who undoubtedly thought himself more suitable for the job. One Lucas Lawrence.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “All good pirates, come to order!”

  Scarlet McCray certainly didn’t look like your average buccaneer, Jem thought, but she sure had the voice of a seaman. Seawoman? Jem decided that Scarlet would probably prefer “seaperson.” He’d never felt intimidated by a girl before, but he didn’t fancy getting on this one’s bad side. Come to think of it, he’d never had much contact with girls at all, being an only child sent to a boys’ school. So perhaps all girls acted like Scarlet. But he highly doubted it.

&nbs
p; “I said come to order!” Scarlet bellowed again. “Can everyone hear me?”

  “Even if we didn’t have ears we’d hear you,” Smitty called back, and received a dirty look.

  All twenty-three Lost Souls and Jem stood on a thin strip of coal-colored sand in Castaway Cove, a little nook on an island shaped like a question mark. The Lost Souls considered Castaway Cove their own; they could anchor the Margaret’s Hop behind a rocky outcropping that hid her from passing ships and the crew could stretch their sea legs on the beach.

  “The best thing about Castaway Cove,” Tim told Jem as they waded barefoot through the sand, “is that there isn’t much danger of anyone finding us here. It’s one of those islands.”

  “One of which islands?” Jem had asked.

  Tim turned to him, looking serious. “The kind that make even the bravest King’s Man and snarliest pirate turn tail and run. Some islands are like that—just so completely haunted that no one dares touch them. So far, the King’s Men have mainly stuck to the not-quite-so-haunted islands.”

  Jem raised an eyebrow. “But why? How can some islands feel different than others?”

  Tim shrugged. “The theory is that the most haunted places were once inhabited by the Islanders, whose spirits now roam the land, scaring off invaders.”

  “Oh.” Jem wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I don’t feel anything here.”

  “That’s ’cause we’re on the beach, mate. I wouldn’t go inland if I were you. This”—Tim grinned, spreading his arms wide—“is the Island of Vengeful Vegetation. Don’t laugh, mate, it’s true. See, years ago, some of the King’s Men were searching for trees they could chop down and ship back to the Old World, and they came upon one type that didn’t appreciate being chopped. Apparently if you lean against their bark or let them drip sap on you, you’ll start to itch, sting, and swell all at once. And if you take even a whiff of their shiny, purple fruit, there’ll be no saving you. The King’s Men called the trees poison palms, and the Island of Vengeful Vegetation is just covered with ’em. That’s why we never go farther inland than Castaway Cove. Well, that and the giant, dagger-wielding monkeys that live in the forest.”