The Buccaneers' Code (15 page)

“How can I be sure that you're not only here to find out what I'm up to?” she asked. “For all I know, you'll tell me a pack of tales and run back to Captain Blacktooth with everything you've learned about my plans.”

“I won't!” said Nicholas, standing up straighter. “And
I'll prove it. I can tell you right now that your father and Captain Blacktooth are working together to take control of the High Seas. They think that if the only ships left in Augustan waters are loyal to the pirate league or the Royal Navy, there won't be anyone left to stop them from defeating you and threatening the queen.”

None of this came as a surprise to Hilary, but at least Nicholas seemed to be telling the truth. “I've already learned all that from an unpleasant gentleman covered in molasses,” she told him. “Would you mind coming up with something a bit more useful?”

Nicholas turned rather pink around his freckles. “Perhaps you'd better tell me what you'd like to know.”

“You said you could tell us what Captain Blacktooth is planning,” the gargoyle said. “Why don't you do that?”

“Ah,” said Nicholas, turning even pinker. “Well. To be perfectly honest, that was just an example of something I
might
be able to tell you.”

“You mean you don't have any idea what Blacktooth is planning, or how to defeat him?” Hilary crossed her arms. “Philomena might break off your engagement herself when she sees that a gargoyle has bitten off your toes.”

“The big ones,” the gargoyle said happily. “Both of them.”

“I can find out!” Nicholas said. He sounded very eager to keep his toes. “Captain Blacktooth is coming to see Mrs. Tilbury next week. I'm not usually invited to their
meetings, but I'm sure I can find a way to overhear their conversation. Will you give me a few more days?”

Hilary glared at him. “All right,” she said at last, “but make sure to overhear something useful, please. If you give me information that's more than fluff and nonsense, I'll protect you from the Mutineers in return. I suppose I can talk to Alice, too, though I can't promise she'll forgive you. Being related to a scoundrel isn't exactly a pleasant experience.”

Nicholas gave a solemn nod and extended his gloved hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

“Pirates generally prefer not to,” Hilary told him, “on account of the hooks. But if it would make you feel better, I suppose we can.” She shook his hand, and quite a bit of his arm as well. “By the way, the next time you want to pay me a visit, please don't leap out at me from the shadows. It's not a polite way to greet anyone at all—not even a pirate.”

“I'm sorry about that, Terror. I'm still getting accustomed to being a spy.” Nicholas reached down and retrieved his magic piece from under Hilary's foot. “I'm afraid I have a train to Nordholm to catch. Are you heading toward the station?”

“Not today,” said Hilary. “The gargoyle and I are on our way to watch the water ballet perform. Aren't we, gargoyle?”

“That's right.” The gargoyle grinned, showing most of
his teeth. “Have a nice trip, Sir Nicholas, and give my best to the Mutineers.”

I
T WAS OFTEN
said in the halls of High Society that attending a performance of the Royal Augusta Water Ballet required patience, optimism, and extremely sharp eyesight. The troupe swam in Pemberton Bay in every sort of weather, donning extra layers of woolen bathing costumes in the winter and holding umbrellas over their heads during summer downpours. Because they splashed, flipped, and kicked their way from one side of the bay to the other, it was occasionally difficult for their audience to spot them from the wooden chairs arranged in thoughtful rows at the water's edge. The ballet director had placed a pair of opera glasses next to each seat so that guests could scan the sea for an exquisite swan dive or a tantalizing glimpse of pointed toes, but many ballet goers gave up and went home long before the troupe had floated close to shore.

Hilary wasn't very fond of water ballet, and the mere thought of a woolen bathing costume made her itch. She had seen the swimmers several times before, however, for they often sprang up without warning alongside the
Pigeon.
Now, as a tinny gramophone played selections from
Swan Lake
, she settled herself in one of the wooden chairs and waited for the ballet to appear on the horizon.

“I hope they swim over here soon,” the gargoyle said. All the other chairs along the shoreline were empty, and
the gargoyle was practicing hopping from seat to seat. “I love it when they twirl.” He performed a twirl of his own as an illustration.

“That's very beautiful,” Hilary told him. “I know you don't want to learn water ballet, but I believe you have natural talent.”

“You know perfectly well how I feel about waves,” the gargoyle replied, “and about bathing caps.” He twirled again, nearly toppling off his chair. “Do you really think we can trust Sir Nicholas Feathering?”

Hilary had spent the past hour wondering much the same thing. “I'm not entirely sure,” she said. “I don't intend to tell him anything about our own plans, but who knows how long he's spent following me around Pemberton? If I learn he's been spying on us through the bars of Miss Pimm's, he'll wish the Mutineers had tossed him in the Dungeons long ago.” She shrugged. “There's a good chance he's dangerous, but if we're going to defeat Captain Blacktooth, we can't afford to be safe. Pirates don't have much regard for safety, you know.”

“I know,” said the gargoyle. He launched himself across the gap between two chairs, but even though he fluttered his wings as rapidly as he could, he landed on the beach with a most undignified thump. “I just hope we don't all end up with sand in our snouts.”

They hadn't been waiting more than a quarter of an
hour before the Royal Augusta Water Ballet splashed elegantly into sight. The swimmers seemed pleased to have an audience; when the gramophone sputtered to a halt halfway through the musical recording, they came out of the water to say hello to Hilary and the gargoyle, whom they recognized at once as the
Pigeon
's figurehead.

As Hilary explained why she'd come, the swimmers pulled off their embroidered bathing caps and shook the water out of their ears. They had all heard of Captain Blacktooth, and none of them were fond of him. “He's always sailing his ship directly through our water-ballet routines,” the troupe leader explained to Hilary. “He and his mates have been doing it for years now, and they never make any apology. Can you do anything to stop them?”

“I certainly plan to,” said Hilary. “As far as I'm concerned, pirates and water-ballet dancers should be able to work together. If you help me fight against Blacktooth, I'll make sure you aren't squashed during your rehearsals. Perhaps you can even give a performance at the League picnic.”

The troupe leader smiled. “In that case,” she said, “it would be my pleasure to support you.”

The rest of the troupe soon agreed, and Hilary walked back to Jasper's house with ten more pirates in her crew and a spring in her step. From the depths of her bag, the gargoyle warbled
Swan Lake.
“Perhaps it's foolish of me,” she
said to him when he paused for breath, “but I'm starting to think we might actually be able to win this battle after all. Captain Blacktooth's tried terribly hard to make me forfeit, but I don't believe there's anything more he can possibly do to ruin our chances.”

As they turned into Little Herring Cove, the air filled with shouts, squawks, and a sound very much like a pirate overturning a china cabinet. “I wonder what all the commotion is about,” the gargoyle said. “Do you think Clumsy-Hands Mortmain is baking hardtack again?”

“I hope not,” said Hilary. “His house nearly went up in flames the last time he tried it.” She began to walk faster, and then to run. When she reached Jasper's bungalow, however, she stopped so suddenly that the gargoyle nearly flew out of her bag.

“Hey!” he cried. “What's going on?”

“Jasper's got houseguests,” Hilary said, setting her bag down beside her, “and they don't look friendly.”

From

THE NORDHOLM SMOKE SIGNAL

All the News You Need in the Northlands

PIRATE BENEFACTOR GIVES GIFT
TO SUMMERSTEAD

SUMMERSTEAD, AUGUSTA—
Town councillor Henrietta Thaxter-Thwaite announced today that funds have been raised for a new, state-of-the-art skating pond and toboggan hill in the center of Summerstead. The construction of this facility, which is sure to bring years of outdoor fun to every citizen in this charming yet chilly town, would not be possible without the generous financial support of Captain Rupert Blacktooth, president of the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates. According to Mrs. Thaxter-Thwaite, Captain Blacktooth has provided these funds in gratitude for the excellent and speedy work that the laborers in Summerstead's shipyard have performed for him in recent months.

“I have no idea what Captain Blacktooth is building in that shipyard,” said Mrs. Thaxter-Thwaite, “but now is not the proper time to be raising questions about the captain's activities or his motives. I am currently devoting most of my energy to perfecting my toboggan technique, for I plan to challenge our council secretary to a race as soon as the new park opens next winter.”

When asked about Captain Blacktooth's connection to
the Summerstead shipyard, five hundred laborers refused to discuss the captain's mysterious project in detail. They did report, however, that construction will be complete by early next week. Pirates who have overseen the project over the past two months responded to our reporters' inquiries by waving their cutlasses and shouting certain phrases that cannot be reproduced in the pages of this well-regarded newspaper.

An ice sculpture of Captain Blacktooth himself will be displayed in the Summerstead town square next month, though viewers should plan to arrive early if they hope to see the pirate's shimmering likeness before it melts.

I
N ALL THE
time Hilary had been paying visits to 25 Little Herring Cove, she'd never seen so much commotion. Jasper was pacing up and down the front path, wearing an enormous scowl and making frequent exclamations to Fitzwilliam, who flew around his head like a small orbiting moon. Mr. Partridge stood on the grass shivering in his stocking feet, and Hilary thought she spied Mr. Twigget's elbow peeking out from behind a tree. Most of her other mates were huddled in front of the bungalow door, looking on as Miss Greyson stood on the front step and waved her knitting needles furiously at Captain Blacktooth. No one paid any attention to Hilary.

“You've done quite enough damage already!” Miss Greyson was saying. “Attacking a pirate ship is one thing, but destroying one's home is quite another, and I simply won't allow it to continue. Please gather your men and depart at once!”

Captain Blacktooth looked thoroughly uninterested in what Miss Greyson had to say, though he did step back when her knitting needles came perilously close to his nose. “I apologize for the inconvenience, madam,” he said, “but I had to investigate whether the rumors I've been hearing are true.”

A half-dozen rusty cutlasses, three tins of oatmeal, a corset, and a lacy petticoat flew out of the bungalow's front window in quick succession. Then a pirate stuck his head out and looked around for Captain Blacktooth. “We've found plenty o' odds an' ends, Captain,” he called, “but we haven't turned up any schoolgirls yet.”

“Keep looking,” Blacktooth replied. From deep inside the bungalow, something let out a long, dejected wheeze.

“Curses!” cried Jasper. “That's my concertina!”

He still hadn't caught sight of Hilary standing by the mailbox, so she planted herself in his path. “What's happened?” she asked. “Why are pirates throwing Miss Greyson's underthings out the window?”

“It seems,” said Jasper darkly, “that the VNHLP has learned about our plan to recruit schoolgirls to our crew. As you can see, our friend Blacktooth doesn't care for the
idea, and he's decided to put his usual charms on display.” A chamber pot flew out the window and landed by Jasper's left boot. “He seems to be under the misconception that these girls are living in our wardrobes and cutlery drawers.”

“How foolish!” said Hilary. “Why in the world hasn't anyone stopped him?” She frowned. “And where's your sword?”

“Locked in a treasure chest, blast it all,” said Jasper, “along with all the other cutlasses, cannons, daggers, mousetraps, and magic pieces we've got.” He nodded toward an enormous wooden box at the edge of the property. “One moment we were running swordplay drills in the garden, and the next our swords had flown from our hands and our magic coins had fled from our pockets. Blacktooth must have had twenty men working the enchantment.” He stopped pacing to let Fitzwilliam settle on the brim of his hat. “They weren't clever enough to whisk away Eloise's knitting needles, though. If you want to know the truth, I believe she's quite enjoying herself.”

“Well, I've still got my sword, and I intend to keep it.” Hilary made her way through the crowd and stomped up the bungalow steps. “Thank you, Miss Greyson,” she said. “I think I can handle matters from here.” She held out her magic coin. “Perhaps you can use this to pick the lock on that treasure chest.”

With great reluctance, Miss Greyson tucked her
knitting needles away and accepted Hilary's magic piece. “Very well,” she said. “I shall turn our visitors over to you, Terror. If I discover that they've touched a single piece of my grandmama's good china, however, I won't hesitate to pull out my sewing shears.”

As Miss Greyson and her knitting needles retreated, Captain Blacktooth seemed to relax. “I see the Terror's returned at last,” he said. “We've been wondering where you were. Enlisting more dainty little schoolgirls in your pirate crew, I suppose?”

“Not at all,” said Hilary. “The finishing-school girls joined the crew last week. Today I enlisted water-ballet performers.”

Captain Blacktooth raised his eyebrows. “So the rumors are true,” he said. “You
are
turning schoolgirls into pirates.”

“I can't see that it's any of your business,” said Hilary. “Who's been spreading information about my plans?” A horrid thought occurred to her. “Have you been talking to Sir Nicholas Feathering?”

Blacktooth chuckled. “You can't truly expect to keep secrets in a kingdom this small, can you, Terror?”

Hilary reached for her cutlass. “I didn't expect that my friends' house would be ransacked by scoundrels, either,” she snapped, “but I see I was wrong about that as well. You might as well call your mates off; all the finishing-school girls are safely behind the gates of Miss Pimm's.”

“I suppose that's fair,” said Blacktooth. He opened the bungalow door and leaned inside. “Avast, mateys! That's enough pillaging for today. It's back to the
Renegade
with the lot of you, and no dawdling!”

“Aye, aye!” shouted the pirates. They stomped out of the bungalow, leaving piles of shattered pottery and splintered wood in their wake. The walls were splattered with jam and scored with cutlass marks. Ink flowed from overturned bottles and made miniature jet-black seas on the floorboards. Even Fitzwilliam's birdcage was battered beyond recognition. One pirate was covered from head to toe in dirt; Hilary guessed he had been searching for schoolgirls in the garden bed.

The last pirate out of the bungalow was Mr. Gull, Captain Blacktooth's private secretary. He lingered in the doorway. “Captain,” he said, “why have you called off the search? We're still in need of evidence.”

“Evidence?” said Hilary. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“I don't like the sound of that,” the gargoyle muttered from her bag.

“Never fear, my dear Horatio,” said Captain Blacktooth, clapping Mr. Gull on the back. “Pirate Westfield herself has admitted to recruiting schoolgirls to her cause. Even if we don't have the girls themselves, I believe the Terror's confession is all the evidence we need.”

“Quite right,” said Mr. Gull. He nodded to Hilary.
“Come along, Terror. The captain hates dallying, and time grows short.”

“You're mistaken,” Hilary told him. “I'm not going anywhere, and I'm certainly not going anywhere with
you
.”

“Then you may as well pack your bags for the Pestilent Home for Foul-Tempered Pirates,” Captain Blacktooth said. “Mr. Gull is the arbiter of our friendly competition, and we must both abide by his rules. Isn't that right, Mr. Gull?”

“Indeed.” Mr. Gull pulled out his copy of
Leading the League
and tapped his fingers briskly against the cover. “We're only going to the
Renegade
, Terror. If you answer my questions in a satisfactory manner, you'll be back here in three taps of a peg leg.”

“And you won't kidnap me? Or run me through?”

“Certainly not!” Mr. Gull looked horrified. “As I hope you're aware, contest rules don't permit anything of the sort. I must insist that both you and Captain Blacktooth keep your weapons to yourselves during our discussion.”

All of Hilary's mates were looking up at her with concern. Even Mr. Twigget was peering out from behind his tree. “Oh, very well,” she said to Mr. Gull. “I'll come with you, but I don't see what we have to discuss.”

T
HE
R
ENEGADE
WAITED
in Little Herring Cove, dwarfing the other boats at anchor and casting long shadows across the shoreline. Mr. Gull escorted Hilary in one of the dinghies,
but he proved to be such a poor rower that Hilary longed to seize the oars out of his hands and do the job herself. She wondered if he was truly as weak as he seemed, or if he was merely trying to annoy her. By the time they reached the ship at last, all the other pirates were already on board.

“I won't be climbing the mast again,” Hilary told Mr. Gull, “so don't even think about asking.” The last time she had been called to the
Renegade
for a scolding, Blacktooth had insisted on holding their conversation in the crow's nest—but that had been ages ago, before Hilary had learned there wasn't any point in agreeing to his ridiculous requests.

“I didn't have anything of the sort in mind,” Mr. Gull assured her. “We will be meeting in the captain's personal quarters.”

As they made their way through the crowd of pirates gathered on the deck, a peculiar sound surrounded them, low and rumbling like far-off thunder. There wasn't a storm anywhere in sight, however; the sky was clear and streaked with sunset. “What's that noise?” Hilary whispered to the gargoyle. “Can you hear it too?”

The gargoyle wriggled halfway out of her bag and adjusted his ears. “That's strange,” he said. “It sounds like someone's humming.”

“That's correct,” said Mr. Gull, overhearing them. “Captain Blacktooth always asks his mates to hum in a menacing sort of way whenever an enemy boards the ship.
He believes it makes the atmosphere more ominous.”

It seemed to Hilary that the atmosphere was quite ominous enough without all the humming. The deck creaked and groaned under her boots, and an enormous Jolly Roger billowed overhead. Torches burned on either side of the door leading to Blacktooth's quarters, making the tip of Hilary's braid curl. The door itself was branded with a skull and crossbones, under which someone had carved a few words with a sharp dagger:

ABANDON ALL HOPE,
YE WHO ENTER HERE

The gargoyle studied the words and yawned. “The skull and crossbones is a nice touch,” he said, “but the motto is awfully theatrical.”

“Captain Blacktooth plundered it from his favorite book,” said Mr. Gull. “Like all great pirate captains, he is extremely well read.” He rapped three times on the door and held it open for Hilary.

Inside Blacktooth's quarters, the light was dim and the air was smoky. Candles burned in polished sconces. A vast, velvet-draped window overlooked the sea, though the squares of window glass were so warped and rippled that Hilary could barely make out more than a faint impression of sky and waves. Most of the cabin, however, was occupied by a table that bore an uncanny resemblance to the
one in Jasper's cabin on the
Pigeon.
Hilary wondered if there were regulations governing the sorts of furniture a pirate captain could own.

At one end of the table, Captain Blacktooth sat rigidly in his armchair. He was looking down at a ship's compass and watching the needle twitch. “Welcome, Terror,” he said without looking up. “Please take a seat.”

Hilary pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, as far away from Blacktooth as she could get. Mr. Gull gave her a nod of approval and seated himself halfway between the two of them. “May I sit on the table?” the gargoyle asked from Hilary's lap. “I can't see anything from down here.”

Hilary bit her lip. “All right,” she said reluctantly, “but you mustn't hop away from me. I don't want anyone to snatch you up.”

Captain Blacktooth raised his gaze from the compass. “You must think I'm terribly dishonorable, Pirate Westfield,” he said.

Hilary blinked. “Yes,” she said, “I do.”

“I, however, am not the pirate who stands accused of breaking League rules,” he said. “Please read the charges against the Terror aloud, Mr. Gull. I want her to understand exactly why she is here.”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Gull. He unfolded an ink-splattered sheet of parchment and cleared his throat. “Hilary Westfield, Terror of the Southlands and candidate
for president of the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates, has violated the guidelines set forth in
Leading the League
, seventeenth edition, by inviting non-pirates to join her crew. As a result, her candidacy will be considered null and void, and she will be sent into exile within the hour.” He set down the parchment and looked at Hilary. “It's all rather straightforward, Terror. Do you wish to challenge these charges, or shall we prepare a ship for your departure from the kingdom?”

Hilary felt as though she were viewing the entire room through the warped and rippled window glass. “Of course I wish to challenge the charges!” she said. “I'd like you to show me the precise place in
Leading the League
where it says that finishing-school girls aren't allowed to join a pirate crew.”

“Really, Terror,” said Captain Blacktooth, “there's no need to waste Mr. Gull's time. It doesn't matter how long you drag out this conversation; you'll still be banished at the end of it.”

“Have patience, Captain,” Mr. Gull said calmly. “The Terror has every right to issue a challenge, and I'm bound to honor her request. It won't take more than a moment.” He placed his heavy, gold-stamped volume of
Leading the League
on the tabletop. Unlike Hilary's copy, this one seemed to have most of its pages; they didn't even threaten to fall out as Mr. Gull thumbed through them. “Here we are,” he said after a moment. “Page seven hundred thirty-three,
appendix Q, clause five. ‘Each candidate for the presidency must be supported in battle by no fewer than two hundred pirates. Wild beasts, enchanted household objects, and other non-pirates do not qualify as supporters and may not be recruited. The penalty for breaking this rule shall be disqualification and exile.'” He passed the open book to Hilary and tapped the page. “The requirement is quite clear.”