“You!” Liam spit on the deck. Rather sloppily, Jem noted, but still piratelike. “You can’t find your way out of your own hammock without Lucas’s help. So we took a wrong turn somewhere. That could happen to anyone, anywhere.”
Jem started as a new thought hit him. A wrong turn. Anyone, anywhere. Maybe that anyone had been him, misidentifying the Abicatus florificus and sending the Lost Souls down the wrong side of the mountain. He hadn’t been certain of the plant’s identity, after all, having largely slept through Uncle Finn’s lesson on the genus Abicatus.
Jem turned away from the quarrel and began to walk back the way he’d come. Could it really have been his fault they lost the treasure trail? If only he’d taken Uncle Finn’s lectures seriously. Or better yet, if only Uncle Finn were there with them now.
But he isn’t here, Jem told himself, and not for the first time. He resigned himself to Uncle Finn’s death, and yet couldn’t help but wonder, every now and then, if the Lost Souls had a point. Would the pirates really kill off someone who knew where to find the treasure? Still, he couldn’t allow hope to rise above logic. He’d heard the splash. Uncle Finn was gone.
“Jem! Just the man I’ve been looking for.” A heavy arm settled onto Jem’s shoulders and tightened around his neck like a boa constrictor. Jem’s knees buckled momentarily, and he slid his gaze sideways to Lucas’s yellow grin.
“Come,” the older boy said, steering him toward the ship’s starboard side. “We have to talk. Man to man.”
Jem felt minuscule under the weight of Lucas’s arm. They stopped at the railing and looked down on the milky blue waves that lapped lazily against the Hop. Some fifty yards away, Castaway Cove and the Island of Vengeful Vegetation wavered in the midday heat.
“It was an embarrassment, wasn’t it?” Lucas launched right in. “Yesterday, I mean. We had a map and twenty-four able pirates. There’s no excuse for what happened. We should all be rolling in treasure right now.”
Jem opened his mouth to speak, hoping to lighten the mood with something wishy-washy like, “Accidents happen,” but before he could say anything Lucas went on.
“And you”—the boy turned to face him—“must be especially mad. You should be on your way back to the Old World by now.”
Jem let himself imagine that—going back to school, to mathematics and grammar lessons, to always knowing what would come next—for just a moment before tuning back in.
“I’ve had enough of this bad leadership,” the boy was saying. “And others agree. There’s a good lot of us, and we’re prepared to”—he lowered his voice—“mutiny.”
Jem’s stomach pitched as if the sea had suddenly turned stormy.
“I’ll be captain,” Lucas said. “And real deserving pirates, like yourself, will stand at my right hand, at least until we find the treasure and you head home. What do you say?”
“I . . . um . . .” was the most intelligent response Jem could come up with. What a mess this was turning out to be. Scarlet might have a mutiny on her hands, when he might well be at fault for the treasure hunt gone wrong! He had to tell her. She couldn’t shoulder all the blame. But then, if he confessed to a possible blunder, he might just end up strung up by his toes from the mast.
“I . . . don’t know,” he concluded.
Lucas straightened and bared his teeth in what Jem guessed was meant to look like a winning smile. “Think about it, then. I’ll give you till sundown.” He withdrew his arm, began to move away, then turned back. “You’re a good man, Jem,” he added. “I know you’ll make the right choice.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Fitz, you look downright sick,” Smitty commented when he found Jem sitting cross-legged on a barrel on the quarterdeck. “In fact, you look like you just might spew. Is it the hurricanelike conditions?” Smitty swept a hand out over the sea, which barely rippled under the late-afternoon sun. The Hop was still firmly anchored off the shore at Castaway Cove. “Or perhaps all the treats we ate for breakfast? Pudding, jelly, chocolate cake . . .” Smitty was grinning. Of course they’d only had hardtack. But at least one pirate’s bad mood seemed to be wearing off. Jem, on the other hand, felt like he couldn’t sink any lower.
“I’m fine,” he said to his feet. “Just a little . . . under the weather.” He couldn’t tell Smitty what he’d just learned from Lucas. He had some thinking to do and very little time in which to do it.
“Well, we’re all a little out of sorts today,” Smitty said. “Some more than others.” He jerked his head toward the staircase leading down to the cabins. “But it’s only fair to warn you that Mad Scarlet McCray means business today. If she catches you lolling about when there’s work to be done, well . . .” He pointed to the mast above their heads. Although Smitty’s eyes gleamed with laughter, Jem decided not to take any chances. He slid off the barrel.
“Come on. We could use another hand with the rigging.” Smitty turned and walked toward the main deck, and Jem followed, still tangled in his own thoughts.
I know you’ll make the right choice, Lucas had said. The right choice. He made it sound so simple, like choosing between flying fish or oysters for dinner. But Jem knew better. He didn’t trust Lucas—the way the boy talked about other sailors behind their backs, the way he couldn’t stand to take orders. And what happened during the knife-pilfering lesson still smoldered in Jem’s brain.
And yet, Jem couldn’t forget his own mission. His best interests lay with the captain who could get him to the treasure. Scarlet had drive and enthusiasm, but Lucas . . . Lucas had something else. Jem sensed it in the way he moved about the ship. Lucas wanted the treasure with an intensity all his own. And that could work to Jem’s advantage.
He and Smitty joined a group of sailors puzzling over the ropes that had defeated Jem earlier in the day. Tim was instructing Liam, Edwin, and Emmett on how to replace the worn cordage, or ropes, on the rigging high above them.
Jem hung back. Master Davis would say “The end justifies the means.” Therefore, it made more sense for Jem to side with Lucas so he could reach the treasure as quickly as possible and go home.
Jem turned back to the crew and saw Smitty creeping around the other boys, winding a rope around their ankles as they deliberated who would climb the mast to replace the old cordage. Elmo, their usual crow’s nest lookout man, was in bed with a cold and couldn’t manage the climb. Smitty looked up, caught Jem’s eye, and winked. None of the others noticed his stealthy work.
After winding his rope around the boys two more times, Smitty waved at Jem and, with the wickedest smile Jem had ever seen, gave the rope one swift tug. The boys yelped as they were jerked together at the knees, then toppled backward in perfect unison. Jem forgot his conundrum and let out a hoot, while Smitty danced his victory jig.
“Did ya see that?” Smitty crowed. “That was the handiwork of Sneaky Smith, Terror of the High Seas, the most—”
“Argh!” Tim scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the prancing pirate.
“Take that, Wilfred!” Emmett barreled into the pair, and soon all the boys were piled on top of Smitty, tying his legs and arms together.
Jem fell quiet as he watched. Siding with Lucas would mean siding against these sailors and against their captain, who had not only witnessed his kidnapping and commanded a rescue, but had promised to take Jem to the treasure. They’d shaken on it. And despite Scarlet’s rather unladylike habit of threatening to kill people, she was his friend. He trusted her. But could he base such an important decision on that?
Smitty emerged from the pileup, swathed in rope like a mummy and tipping from side to side, his legs bound together. At that moment, Scarlet and Ronagh came up the staircase and froze, mouths open. The boys stopped laughing, waiting for Scarlet’s reaction. But rather than lambaste them for slacking off, Scarlet doubled over laughing.
In that moment, Jem knew
for certain that these sailors would not desert their captain. Not for Lucas, not for treasure, not for anything. These Lost Souls would say that Master Davis was wrong: The end couldn’t justify the means if the means involved deserting your captain and friend. And as he watched them all whoop with laughter, Jem had to agree. He wouldn’t side against them. So Master Davis was wrong. And not for the first time, either; he’d also said that adventures were stuff and nonsense. So maybe, Jem mused, just maybe Master Davis’s logic couldn’t provide all the answers—especially not in a place like this. Maybe he needed a different kind of logic here. The logic of one who knew and understood the islands. Someone more like . . . Uncle Finn.
Decision made then. Jem shuffled over to Scarlet, who was still laughing. “Can we talk?” he asked, and she nodded, stifling her giggles. They moved away from the ruckus, which by now had attracted even more pirates. Everyone seemed to want a piece of Smitty now that he couldn’t defend himself.
“What is it?” Scarlet asked, sounding much less growly than she had at breakfast.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jem began, fiddling with his cuffs, “that I might have been the reason why we didn’t find the treasure yesterday.” Scarlet’s eyes widened, and he hurried on. “I mean, I was fairly certain . . . well, maybe seventy percent certain—all right, sixty-five—that the plant I pointed out was an Abicatus florificus, but . . . but I may have been mistaken.” Scarlet opened her mouth to speak, but Jem kept going. “So I thought you should know that it . . . you know . . . wasn’t your fault. You see, it could have been me.”
Scarlet said nothing, she just looked at him.
“I’ll go string myself from the mast now,” Jem concluded, and finally she smiled.
“Don’t bother. Thanks, Fitz. You might be right. We could have taken a wrong turn at the Abiwhatsit, but I . . .” She puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes. “I should have slowed down and read the map. Like you said.” She scraped the toe of her boot along the deck, and Jem could tell she hated admitting that she had been in the wrong.
“So let’s head out again and go more carefully,” he suggested. “Learn from our mistakes. There’s no sense in sitting here when there’s a treasure to be found. Especially when we have a map.”
Scarlet’s lips twisted into a small smile. “Now you’re thinking like a pirate!” she said. Then her smile faded a little. “Think they’ll be willing to go again after yesterday’s disaster?” She nodded at the crew.
“They better be. They’re pirates, aren’t they? Undaunted by monkeys and poison palms.”
Scarlet grinned. “What about rain?”
“Well, they’ll just have to get used to that.”
She paused, then nodded. “All right, Fitz. I’ll rally the crew at sundown. We’ll return to Island X tomorrow to find the treasure.”
Sundown. Jem cringed as he remembered the deadline Lucas had given him. The sun had already started its lazy journey toward the horizon.
He had no time to ponder what sundown might bring, because just then Lucas himself arrived on deck, a small group of followers trailing behind. They eyed the rope warriors warily, and Jem wondered exactly how many of them knew about the conspiracy unfolding under their runny noses. Scarlet’s smile had disappeared completely.
Once they’d set Smitty free, they returned to the task at hand: deciding who would climb up the mast to replace the worn ropes. It would have to be someone strong—Liam and Ronagh were out. And someone not afraid of heights—that eliminated Emmett and Sam. Tim pleaded nearsightedness; Gil claimed he’d sprained his ankle the day before and instantly adopted a limp.
Scarlet sighed. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I’ll—”
“I’ll go,” Lucas interrupted. “I’m by far the strongest. And I’m not afraid of a little climb.” He leered at Emmett as he looped a rope over his shoulder. “What kind of pirates are you, anyhow?”
Scarlet let out a strangled sigh, and Jem wondered if now would be a good time to tell her about Lucas’s plan to mutiny. Now, while the boy could more easily be strung up by his toes.
Lucas grasped a rope that hung down from the mast and pulled himself up, swinging for a moment above their heads. “I’ll show you how it’s done,” he cried, then gripped the mast between his legs and began to climb. But just then something fell from his pocket. It glinted as it twisted in the air, hurtling down to land with a clunk at Gil Jenkins’s feet. Jem knew what it was even before Lucas’s sidekick hurried to pocket it.
“Hey!” he yelled, pushing his way over to Gil, who had assumed an innocent expression. “That’s mine.”
“What is it?” Scarlet asked.
“Nothing. It’s . . . nothing,” Gil stammered.
“It’s my knife.” Jem planted himself in front of the boy, for once taller than an opponent. “Give it back.”
A nearby thud told Jem that Lucas had abandoned his performance. He could sense the older boy towering behind him but didn’t want to look.
“Your knife?” Tim asked. “What was Lucas doing with it?”
“He lent it to me.”
Jem spun to face the liar. Lucas stared back with an unwavering gaze that made Jem sweat.
“He lent it to me for chores this morning. Didn’t you, Jem?” Lucas’s eyes narrowed, and Jem saw a flash of something inside them—something other than the usual bullying. Something really menacing. He looked at Scarlet, who watched them both in silence. Then he drew a breath.
“No. I didn’t lend it to him. He stole it.”
A murmur surged through the crowd as everyone turned to Scarlet. She had become a shade or two paler.
“Gil,” she said, “give Jem his knife.”
Gil scowled, but did as he was told. After inspecting the knife for chips and scratches, Jem shoved it down into the deepest recesses of his right pocket.
Scarlet turned to Lucas. She spoke slowly, as if every word counted. “Did you steal it, Lucas?”
The crew stood so still and silent as they waited for his answer that they could have heard a minnow jump a mile away.
“So what if I did?” Lucas finally answered. “It’s just a stupid knife. What are you going to do about it, Captain?” He smirked, but his lips quivered just a little.
“Well,” Scarlet spoke slowly again, looking a little uncertain herself. “You know the punishment for stealing . . .”
Lucas’s smirk wilted. “You wouldn’t.”
Scarlet turned back to Jem and raised her voice a little. “This pirate stole your knife, Jem Fitzgerald?”
“He did,” Jem said.
“Then he must be punished,” Scarlet replied, her voice filled with a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “One night on the Island of Smelly Wild Pigs!”
“What?!” Lucas obviously couldn’t believe his ears.
“You heard me.” Scarlet’s face now looked more stony than pale.
“You’ll be sorry, McCray.” Lucas spit on the deck and stomped off.
Scarlet watched him go, then turned toward the sun, which now hovered close to the horizon. A few mauve-colored clouds had gathered to watch it sink until the sea extinguished its flames.
Then she turned to Tim. “We’re changing course. To the Island of Smelly Wild Pigs!”
The crew scattered without comment. Soon they were headed west, straight into the orange sun that seemed to be trying to blind them with its brilliance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Do you have a ten?”
“Go plunder.”
“Look, mate. Don’t lie. I know you’ve got a ten of coconuts.” Smitty raised an eyebrow at Liam under the beams of the lantern swaying overhead in their cabin.
“I do not, Smitty. I’ve got a six of coconuts. And a nine of skulls. Don’t tell me I’m a liar.”
“A nine
of skulls, hm?” Smitty studied his cards, chuckling deviously as Liam realized he’d stepped right into Smitty’s trap.
“That’s not fair!” the younger boy cried. “No wonder no one else’ll play cards with you. You’re a scoundrel!”
“Not really.” Smitty looked pleased. “Just the best Go Plunder player on board. Maybe in all the seven seas.”
Scarlet, curled in a hammock off to the side, cleared her throat, hoping they’d quiet down so she could sulk in silence. They didn’t notice. Liam, red to his ears now, looked like he was about to throw down his cards and quit. Jem looked on, studying their game. It was similar, he’d said, to one he played back home, but with different suits. He seemed to think his clubs, hearts, diamonds, and spades were more civilized than cutlasses, coconuts, seashells, and skulls. Scarlet thought his version sounded downright boring.
She threw them all another cutlass glare, but it bounced off them harmlessly and went unnoticed. Then she harrumphed and turned onto her other side, making the hammock swing and the cabin beams creak.
This, she decided, was the worst day of her life. No, maybe the second-worst day. Yesterday, when she’d led them all to a blasted lukewarm slough rather than a boiling lake, had been worse. But still, abandoning Lucas on the Island of Smelly Wild Pigs hadn’t exactly been a picnic. Only an hour ago, she’d felt the entire crew’s eyes on her as Emmett and Edwin rowed Lucas to the island’s shore under the dim light of a crescent moon. They were all waiting to see if she’d really go through with it and leave the boy to a possible death at the hooves of a pack of swine. As she watched the rowboat bounce over the waves, she felt like yelling for the boys to come back. But if she did, it would mean Lucas had won. No one would ever take her seriously as captain again—least of all, Lucas. On the other hand, Lucas’s cronies would hate her even more for reducing their leader to wild pig bait. When he came back, she might even have a mutiny on her hands. Things would never be the same on board the Margaret’s Hop.
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