The Ship of Lost Souls 1

by Rachelle Delaney

  Jem watched Tim wander off and wondered if he’d been pulling Jem’s leg. Vengeful vegetation? Dagger-wielding monkeys? Those could only exist in stories, and rather twisted stories at that. He could only imagine what Master Davis would say. And yet, he wasn’t about to venture inland to challenge the theory.

  “All right, crew, we’ve got some important business to take care of,” Scarlet announced once the crowd had stopped chattering. “Today we welcome a new sailor aboard the Margaret’s Hop. Everyone, this is Jem Fitzgerald.”

  “We know, McCray, we met him last night,” Gil Jenkins, a small boy with a perpetually dirty face, piped up in a whiny voice. Jem recognized him as the sidekick of the hefty Lucas Lawrence, who’d seized Jem on the Dark Ranger. Jem was torn between feeling grateful for the rescue and resentful for the way he’d been handled. His left shoulder still smarted where Lucas had driven his big thumbs into it.

  “I’m just making it official,” Scarlet said with a sniff. Then she continued, “What you don’t know is that Jem here is going to help us find the treasure everyone’s been searching for. Jem”—she grinned, pride glinting in her dark eyes—“has a treasure map!”

  “A treasure map?” The cry rose from the back of the crowd.

  “Well, sink me!” shouted Tim.

  The Lost Souls erupted into chatter again. Jem had gathered from conversations with Uncle Finn that they wouldn’t be the only ones looking for the treasure, but he’d never expected that everyone would be after it. He couldn’t help but feel proud that only he had a real treasure map.

  “Order!” Scarlet yelled. “The map belonged to Jem’s uncle Finn, who was made to walk the plank when he wouldn’t give it up. Fortunately, Jem had the map hidden in his sleeve.” Scarlet gave Jem a quick look, then corrected herself. “I mean, not fortunately, but . . . you know.”

  “Sure,” said Jem. He didn’t really want to think about that now.

  But the Lost Souls weren’t ready to drop the subject. “They made your uncle walk the plank?” Tim asked. “Why? Why would they knock off the person who could show them the way?”

  “That’s what I said,” Scarlet piped up, sounding a little smug.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Liam Flannigan chimed in. “Are you sure?”

  “I . . . heard the splash,” Jem muttered, really wishing that they’d change the subject.

  “Maybe your uncle’s still alive!” one Lost Soul suggested.

  “Yeah!” another cried. “Still on board the Dark Ranger! We ought to go back and rescue him!”

  Jem shook his head. “It’s a nice thought, but—”

  Ronagh Flannigan tugged on his coat sleeve, her green eyes serious. “I’d say it’s more likely they’d torture him till he gave up the secret.”

  Her brother nodded. “Prob’ly hang him from the yardarm.”

  While the pirates chattered on about the possibilities and Jem grew increasingly nauseous, Lucas Lawrence pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He looked slightly smaller than he had in his demonic cloak the previous day, but still towered at least a foot over Jem, who drew himself up as tall as he could and wished, for about the hundredth time, for a bit more height. He also noted that Lucas was missing two teeth and that a pale scar sliced across the right side of his jaw.

  “So what?” Lucas said, looking down at Scarlet. “Now our mission is to rescue some grown-up?” He said grown-up as if the word tasted terrible.

  “No.” Scarlet folded her arms across her chest. “Our mission is to find the treasure and help our newest crew member. That’s what we do, Lucas—help children on these islands. That’s the real purpose of the Lost Souls.”

  “That’s not what we’d do if I was in charge,” Lucas grumbled and shoved his big hands into his trouser pockets, where they threatened to rip the seams.

  “And that’s why you’re not in charge. Scuttles to be you,” Smitty said. “Go on, Scarlet.”

  A flustered look had crossed Scarlet’s face, but she straightened up and cleared her throat. “If Fitz is going to join us in the hunt for the treasure, he has to be initiated.” She turned to Jem. “Ready?”

  “Um, all right.” He hoped it wouldn’t involve anything too challenging. Or embarrassing. Once, a new player on the King’s Cross football team was forced to parade around the courtyard in a maid’s flowery apron and head scarf as initiation. Jem had found it funny at the time, laughing with the other boys, but now wished he hadn’t.

  “First,” Scarlet said, “you must learn the rules of the ship. Swig?” She turned to Tim, who tugged a creased paper out of his pocket and set a pair of spectacles on his nose. Jem immediately recognized them. Just the day before, they had perched, slightly crooked, on the snout of the Dark Ranger’s Captain Wallace.

  Tim blinked twice at the paper. “That’s much better!” he said, then he cleared his throat. “The Rules of the Ship. Or, How Not to Get Yourself Marooned on a Deserted Island. Rule Number One: Everyone on board shares equally in all spoils, be it money, food, clothing—”

  “See, on other pirate ships,” Scarlet interjected to explain, “the captain gets one and a half shares, the quartermaster gets one and a quarter, and so on. But fractions aren’t fun for anyone. So on the Hop we share everything evenly.”

  Tim, who apparently didn’t care to be interrupted, looked at her disapprovingly over his spectacles. “Rule Number Two: There must be no stealing from other crew members. Anyone who does will get marooned on the Island of Smelly Wild Pigs with only a coconut for company.”

  “It sounds bad,” Scarlet whispered to Jem, “but it’s only for a night.”

  “Oh.” Jem wasn’t sure what else to say. It still sounded dreadful to him.

  “Three: Everyone participates in chores and everyone takes a turn cleaning the long drop.” Tim added, “In theory,” under his breath, with a quick glance at Gil Jenkins.

  “I told you, it wasn’t my turn,” Gil whined.

  “I’m sorry,” Jem said, feeling sheepish. “Cleaning the what?”

  “The toilet,” Scarlet piped up loudly, turning Jem’s sheepishness to full-on embarrassment. Scarlet was certainly no ordinary girl.

  “Four: Pirate girls will be given the same treatment as pirate boys. Anyone who disregards Rule Number Four will receive a kick in the shins from Scarlet and be forced to clean the long drop that day.”

  That one passed without comment, and although Jem had never known a rule like it, he didn’t dare challenge it.

  “Five: No smoking tobacco and no drinking rum. We’ve all seen what that does to those crazies in port. Also, no fighting on board. And no pets.” Here Tim peered down at Ronagh Flannigan.

  She blushed deeply. “It was just a little monkey.”

  “Six: When a Lost Soul turns eighteen, he or she must leave the Margaret’s Hop and make a life of his or her own, even if he or she doesn’t really feel grown-up yet. There will be no exceptions to Rule Number Six. At eighteen, you’re one of them.” Tim kicked the air as if giving a reluctant pirate the boot.

  “Seven: The identity of the Lost Souls must be kept secret from the rest of the world. Anyone who tells our secret will be marooned on the Island of Smelly Wild Pigs with no company at all. And we probably won’t come back.”

  No comments followed this rule, either.

  “That’s it, Fitz,” Scarlet said. “Those are our rules. Think you can abide by them?”

  “Sure,” Jem said. It sounded simple enough.

  “Jolly. On to the initiation.”

  They moved to the edge of the beach where the forest met the sand and settled on the ground in a half circle around Jem. After making sure no poison palms stood nearby, the pirates stretched out on the ground and watched Jem expectantly. Scarlet dropped to her knees and motioned for Jem to do the same.

  “Pa
rt One of the initiation,” she said. “Skill-testing questions.”

  “You’re going to test me?” Jem asked, a little alarmed. He knew very little about life at sea and next to nothing about being a pirate. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d applied to join their crew. Why should he be tested?

  “Don’t worry, Fitz. You’ll do fine. Just use your head.” Scarlet cleared her throat. “First question.” She gave him a serious stare. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “My what?”

  “Color, Fitz. Your favorite color.”

  “Um . . . blue, I guess.” Why should that matter?

  “Mine too!” Liam Flannigan piped up. A few others nodded as well.

  Scarlet let out a “Hm” that sounded satisfied. “Next question: What’s your favorite food?”

  That was easy. “Christmas pudding.”

  “Mmmm.” A soft, hungry hum rippled through the crowd.

  “Least favorite food?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t care for pig’s hocks,” Jem answered.

  “Any thoughts on oysters?” Scarlet asked.

  “Dead or alive?”

  She considered this. “Either.”

  “Well, I’ve never met a live one, but dead, they taste like salty slime.” He couldn’t help making a face.

  “Good! More for me,” Smitty called out.

  “Moving on,” said Scarlet. “Can you read?”

  “Yes, quite well.”

  A murmur of appreciation passed through the group. Scarlet only nodded. “Question six: You meet a talking iguana on a beach. What do you say to it?”

  “What?” Jem said, without even considering the question. “Iguanas can’t talk.”

  A few of the pirates tsked softly, and Scarlet shook her head, looking disappointed.

  “Come on,” Jem insisted. “That’s absurd. They can’t talk.” These “skill-testing questions” were getting out of hand.

  “Have you ever tried talking to one?” Ronagh rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin in her hands.

  Jem admitted that he hadn’t.

  “Then how would you know?”

  “Ronagh’s right,” said Scarlet. “Just because you’ve never met an iguana that understands English doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  Again, the pirates watched him expectantly.

  Jem sighed. Better not fight it. “All right. I’d say, ‘Hello, Mr. Iguana—’”

  “Miss Iguana,” Scarlet interjected.

  “Now you’re just being difficult. ‘Hello, Miss Iguana. Your scales are looking lovely today. Fine weather we’re having. Might I carry your purse? It looks cumbersome.’”

  The pirates tittered.

  “Iguanas,” Scarlet said, looking a little annoyed, “don’t carry purses.”

  “Just because you’ve never met an iguana with a purse doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Jem retorted.

  The other pirates laughed, and Smitty remarked, “He’s got you there, Cap’n.”

  Scarlet rolled her eyes. “All right. Last question. What do you fear most?”

  Jem thought for a moment. No matter what Master Davis said about fear being illogical, he had a list of fears a fathom long. He feared being alone in this place without Uncle Finn. He feared not being able to return home. He feared everything that might happen if his plan failed. “I fear not finding the treasure,” he said simply.

  Scarlet nodded as if she understood completely.

  “Don’t worry, Fitz,” Tim spoke up. “We’ll find the treasure. And honor your uncle’s memory.”

  “Thanks.” They had good hearts, these pirates, even if they had been out in the sun too long.

  “Ready for Part Two of your initiation?” Scarlet asked.

  “Did I pass Part One?”

  “We’ll let you know after Part Two.” She hopped up. “Come on, lazy pirates, to your feet.” The crew followed suit, clustering closer together.

  “Jem Fitzgerald, give us your best pirate scowl.”

  “My best what?”

  “Scowl, Fitz. All pirates must scowl. Show him, Liam.”

  Liam Flannigan pulled his round face into a toothy sneer and crossed his eyes.

  “Your turn,” said Scarlet.

  Good Lord, Jem thought. He mustered up his best glower and curled his lip like he’d seen Captain Wallace do.

  “Not bad,” said Scarlet. “Now give us your best pirate grunt.”

  “My grunt?” he repeated.

  “Right.”

  “Um . . . ur.” Jem offered what he thought sounded like a nice, clean grunt. Simple. Unpretentious.

  “Come on, you can do better. Smitty?”

  Smitty stepped forward and let out a deep, guttural grunt that sounded almost apelike.

  “Try again, Fitz.”

  “Urgh.”

  “Better. Now give me an URRRGH!”

  Jem took a breath and let out the deepest, dirtiest, rudest grunt he could. It felt surprisingly good. A few pirates clapped.

  “Much better. Now your last challenge. Show us that you can spit like a pirate.”

  Jem relaxed. This he could do. He’d once been forced to scrub the King’s Cross Headmaster’s boots for nailing him with a perfect bullet of spit from a fourth-floor window—on a dare, of course. He carefully chose a target, a spindly tree trunk a good six yards away. Then he summoned his spit and fired it out between his teeth.

  Bull’s-eye. The spit anchored to the tree trunk with a fwap! A cheer rose from the pirates, and Smitty grabbed Jem’s hand, raising it above their heads in triumph.

  “You passed, Fitz,” Scarlet announced, then turned to the crew. “Our newest addition!” They cheered louder. Jem noted that Lucas Lawrence wasn’t joining in. Then he noticed that Lucas halted Gil Jenkin’s cheer with a glare.

  “Now just one more thing,” Scarlet said.

  “What?” Jem turned to her in disbelief. “We’re not done yet?”

  “Well, Fitz, if we’re going to start out after this treasure, we’re going to need some supplies. Think of this next part as more of a learning experience than a test.”

  The relief he’d felt moments before suddenly slipped away. “This is where the plundering comes in, isn’t it?”

  “Your first raid,” Smitty said with a wicked grin.

  “Don’t worry,” said Scarlet. “It’ll be fun.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jem poked his head up over the top of a crumbling brick wall, just high enough so he could survey the scene before him but not be spotted. He’d never been in Jamestown before, but it looked much like Port Aberhard. The dirt roads bustled with King’s Men in uniform and less tidy-looking sailors, everyone eyeing one another warily. A few women sashayed by in poufed skirts and grimy white gloves, exchanging a few words with the scruffier types.

  Jem felt unsettled by the scene, and not just because he would soon be expected to demonstrate his nonexistent pickpocketing skills in the midst of it. Something else about the port town made him uneasy. Maybe it was the dark jungle that lay just a few streets inland, which leaned up against the buildings as if to remind them that they had no place on the island. As the Lost Souls sailed to Jamestown, Scarlet had told him that at night when the streets were quiet, you could hear mournful monkeys and lonely toads calling from the depths of the jungle. Some people, she said, get so transfixed by the noise that they wander right into the trees, never to be seen again.

  Smitty’s head popped up beside Jem’s. “Ready, Fitz?”

  “I suppose,” Jem said, then resolved to sound braver. He would keep his head and proceed in logical steps. Step One: Steal a pocketknife and prove himself capable of being a Lost Soul. Step Two: Find the treasure. Step Three: Trade his
share of it for a meaty reward and head straight home.

  “Let the character building begin,” he muttered. Master Davis would be proud.

  Tim’s head appeared alongside Smitty’s. “Don’t worry, Jem,” he said. “Port raids are much easier than ship raids. More places to hide if you get caught.”

  “Great.” Jem’s thieving experience had so far been limited to pocketing shortbread when his mother’s maid wasn’t watching.

  The three boys ducked back behind the wall and crouched on the ground beside Scarlet, Lucas, and the twins, Emmett and Edwin. The rest of the crew had stayed behind on the Margaret’s Hop. Only a handful of Lost Souls could go to port at a time, Scarlet had explained; a small group of children might go unnoticed, but a swarm would attract unwanted attention.

  “All right,” Scarlet whispered. Still dressed in trousers and a boy’s shirt, she had tucked her hair into a cap and could pass fairly easily for a boy. “Here’s the plan. The twins and I will be in charge of stealing food today. We’ll head away from the docks. Lucas will go on his own for whatever carpentry supplies he thinks we need.”

  “Obviously,” Lucas muttered, evidently not someone who enjoyed taking orders.

  Scarlet ignored him and looked at Jem. “Fitz will stick with Smitty and Swig. You two”—she addressed Jem’s partners in crime—“will give him pointers. Try to steal a few doubloons so we can buy a blanket and a hammock for Fitz. And Fitz, your mission today is to swipe yourself a pocketknife. All sailors need good pocketknives.”

  Jem swallowed and nodded. A pocketknife. Simple enough. He could handle that, couldn’t he?

  “All right, pirates,” Scarlet said. “Meet back at the rowboat in two hours.” She placed a fist into the center of their circle. Smitty, Tim, and the twins stacked their fists onto hers. Jem settled his fist on top. Last came Lucas’s, with an exaggerated sigh.

  “No prey, no pay, mateys,” Scarlet said solemnly.

  “No prey, no pay,” the others chorused.

  “Go smartly now, and may you die peacefully in your hammocks rather than shackled to a weight at the bottom of the sea.”