The Buccaneers' Code (6 page)

T
HE CAPTAIN'S CABIN
of the
Pigeon
was overflowing with maps. Diagrams of the coastline covered Jasper's long table, charts of ocean currents papered the walls, and sketches of pirate hideaways were scattered on the floor like debris from an explosive atlas. Charlie sat in the middle of it all, sorting through the piles of paper while a lantern sputtered beside him.

Hilary shoved aside her notebook and looked down at the black-inked map of Augusta that was draped over the tabletop. To the south lay Queensport and Pemberton, where Cannonball Jack had sailed that morning to round up as many supporters as he could gather. He'd agreed to
take Partridge, Flintlock, and Worthington with him on his houseboat, the
Blunderbuss
, once they'd promised to scrub the cooking pots every evening and never refuse dessert. Cannonball Jack had offered to deliver Miss Pimm and Claire back to Pemberton as well, but Miss Pimm had remarked that if the Enchantress of the Northlands and her pupil traveled too frequently on pirate ships, they would find themselves on the front page of the
Scuttlebutt
in no time at all.

To the east, Mr. Twigget and his mates were scouring the coastline for pirates to assist them against Captain Blacktooth. Jasper had written a note to his retired crewmates Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley, asking them to do the same in the west. That left only the northern coast for the
Pigeon
to cover. Miss Greyson had already started knitting warm woolen socks and hats for everyone, though they all insisted that a true pirate would never dare to wear a striped stocking cap with a tassel at the end. Jasper was searching the ship's treasure storerooms for stray magic coins to hasten their progress, and Charlie was using every map Jasper had stowed on the
Pigeon
to look for groggeries, harbors, and other spots that might serve as gathering places for pirates.

“There's a boardinghouse just north of Nordholm that's supposed to be crawling with pirates,” Charlie said, looking up from his maps. “It's called the Ornery Clam. My mam always told me I wasn't allowed to go anywhere
near it. She said they used little boys' skulls for lawn bowling and little boys' knucklebones for hopscotch.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” the gargoyle said, poking his head out from under a map. “It's a good thing I don't have knucklebones.”

Hilary wiggled her own fingers experimentally. “I'm not eager to be chopped up and used for sporting events, but a crew of fearsome pirates is exactly what we need. We'd better visit the Ornery Clam tomorrow.”

Charlie nodded. “Have you had any luck with your map?”

“Not yet,” said Hilary. “I've been working on something else.” She looked down at her dog-eared and water-stained notebook. At the top of the first page, she had written one line in her best script.

“‘The Buccaneers' Code,'” Charlie read over her shoulder. “What's that?”

“It's for when I defeat Captain Blacktooth. I'll have to come up with new rules of conduct for my League members to follow, so I thought I'd start writing some.”

“That's a good idea,” said the gargoyle. “I've never liked Blacktooth's rules—especially the one about having to appreciate parrots. You won't write anything silly like that, will you?”

“I'm not sure what I'll write,” Hilary admitted. “I've been thinking about it for hours, but all I've come up with so far is the title.”

“Well, you'll figure out the rest soon enough.” The gargoyle patted her hand with his tail. “How hard can it be to give orders to hundreds of rowdy, sword-wielding scallywags?”

Hilary groaned and buried her face in the notebook. “I'd prefer not to think about it.”

When she looked up again, Alice Feathering was coming through the cabin door, swinging a lantern in front of her. Miss Greyson had agreed that Alice could travel with them on the
Pigeon
as long as she kept up with her studies, which Miss Greyson would personally supervise each evening. Alice wore a black-and-white-striped stocking cap embroidered with a skull and crossbones, though her curls were making a courageous attempt to escape. “Your Miss Greyson is even more fearsome than my tutor,” she told Hilary. “She wouldn't set me free until I'd read today's newspaper from front to back, and most of the articles were as dull as rocks—no offense to the gargoyle, of course.”

“None taken,” the gargoyle said. “If you'd ever met my great-uncle Chester, you'd know exactly how dull rocks can be.”

“In any case,” said Alice, “Jasper's out on the deck, and he'd like to see you for a moment.” She passed her lantern to Hilary.

“Thank you,” Hilary said. “By the way, if you had to give a band of pirates one rule to follow, what would it be?”

Alice thought about it. “Don't let anyone stick a
stocking cap on your head,” she said at last. “You're sure to look ridiculous.”

H
ILARY MADE HER
way to the foredeck, where Jasper was tossing his magic coin from hand to hand and looking out over the bay. The pirates of Gunpowder Island didn't seem to be the least bit concerned about facing the Terror of the Southlands in battle: bonfires lined the shores, and raucous hornpipe melodies floated on the breeze, though they were frequently drowned out by cannon blasts. “Ahoy, Terror!” said Jasper, turning toward her. “Do you have any need for a magic gravy boat, or perhaps a magic coatrack? I was supposed to hand them out to the good people of Augusta, but everyone kept clamoring for magic coins instead. It's difficult to carry a coatrack about in one's pocket.”

“You'd better hold on to it,” Hilary said, “and the gravy boat as well. I can barely handle my own magic coins as it is.”

“That suits me perfectly,” said Jasper. “It's been far too long since I've had any treasure of my own to bury. But I'd better let Eloise take a look at them first. She may be able to use them to speed our travels.”

Hilary felt sure that Miss Greyson was capable of taking charge of a magic coatrack. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?” she said.

“Not entirely. I was wondering who you were planning
to put on the night watch. Whoever it is had better be sharp; those Gunpowder Island cannonballs are terribly unpredictable.”

“But you're the one who assigns the watch!” said Hilary. “You're the captain!”

“Actually, I've been meaning to discuss that with you.” Jasper reached into the pockets of his pirate coat and pulled on a pair of Miss Greyson's fluffy white mittens. To Hilary's surprise, they didn't make him look any less fearsome. “Perhaps you can remind me,” he said. “Which of us is the Terror of the Southlands? Which of us was bold enough to issue a challenge to Captain Blacktooth?”

Hilary could feel her cheeks growing warmer. “I suppose that's me.”

“Indeed it is,” said Jasper. “On top of all that, if you're hoping to attract several hundred pirates to your cause, you'll have to be impressive—and what's more impressive than commanding a ship? Especially a ship owned by the
former
Terror of the Southlands?” He put a mitten-clad hand on his hat and bowed.

“You're giving me the
Pigeon
?”

“I'm
lending
you the
Pigeon
,” Jasper said, “and my services on your crew, of course, for the next three months. All I ask is that you take good care of the ship. She's not as young as she once was, and she doesn't enjoy running aground or drawing cannon fire.”

Hilary patted the
Pigeon
's planks, which creaked
agreeably under her hands. “You're very kind,” she said to Jasper. “Is there anything I can do in return?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” Jasper's face grew solemn. “You can be careful—and not just with the
Pigeon.
The Mutineers are used to getting whatever they want, however they can get it, and right now they want you gone. Even if you prove that you are the better pirate, Blacktooth won't go quietly into exile.”

Across the ship, the gargoyle was attempting to teach Charlie and Alice a sea chantey. Although the three of them sounded more like a cacophony than a chorus, Hilary couldn't imagine having to leave them behind. “Perhaps Blacktooth won't go quietly,” she said, “but neither will I. If the Mutineers try anything sneaky, I shall howl and dig in my heels until they surrender.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Jasper picked up his lantern. “Now, let us teach our mates how to harmonize properly, or we shall all have splitting headaches by morning.”

W
HEN THE SUN
rose at last over Gunpowder Island, the
Pigeon
sailed north in search of the Ornery Clam and any pirates who might be lodging there. Hilary steered the ship up the coast, past the city of Nordholm with its brightly colored houses, and past Tilbury Park with its windows overlooking the sea. Soon the towns gave way to forests, and the dark outlines of the Northlands Hills rose up behind the trees. Miss Greyson, who never missed an
opportunity to deliver an informative lecture, told them all that centuries ago, when the first lumps of magic ore had been found in those very hills, the Northlands had bustled with industry. They certainly weren't bustling anymore, Hilary thought. The
Pigeon
hadn't passed another ship for hours.

“Are you sure we're traveling in the right direction?” she asked. “I don't see anything that looks like a pirate lodging.”

Charlie studied the map. “It's awfully hard to tell,” he admitted, peering through a ragged hole in the parchment. “
Someone
's taken a bite out of the coastline.”

“There's no need to sound so accusing,” the gargoyle said from his Nest. “Some of us get hungry every now and then.”

“Ahoy!” cried Alice. She was balanced in the rigging high above them, holding a spyglass in one hand and using the other to stop her dress from flying up in a most unladylike fashion. “I think I've spotted something peculiar. You'd better see it for yourself, Terror.”

Alice clambered down to the deck, taking care not to snag her petticoats, and handed Hilary the spyglass. In front of them, a large passenger ship lay beached on the rocks at a queasy angle, as though a storm had plucked it from the waves and tossed it inconsiderately on the shore. Although it must have once carried hundreds of elegant ocean travelers, its tattered sails and barnacled hull were
in no condition to set out on any sort of voyage. “It's a shipwreck,” Hilary told the others. “It looks as though it's been there for ages.”

“How sad,” said Miss Greyson. “I do hope no one was hurt.”

But Jasper didn't look the least bit concerned. “It's been a while since I've sailed by,” he said, “but if I recall correctly . . .” He borrowed the spyglass and took a long look. Then he nodded. “Take us closer, Captain. Pirate Feathering has found the Ornery Clam.”

Hilary could hardly believe it. As the
Pigeon
approached the shipwreck, however, she saw that Jasper was right. A skull-and-crossbones flag flapped from the crumbling mast, and smoke rose from a woodstove hidden away somewhere in the ship's belly. A section of the hull had been scraped free of barnacles and painted with large bloodred letters identifying the wreck as the Ornery Clam Pirate Lodging, Dining Room, and Dueling Parlor. Underneath that, a small sign hung from a nail:

NO ROOMS AVAILABLE.

GO AWAY.

WE MEAN IT.

Jasper lowered the
Pigeon
's anchor, and Hilary and Charlie helped everyone into the dinghy. Then they rowed to shore and climbed up the stacks of wooden crates that
someone had placed against the shipwreck's side. “It's not a very friendly sort of place,” the gargoyle remarked. “There's no one here to help us with our luggage or fetch us a warm mug of chocolate.”

On the Ornery Clam's deck, someone had traced a hopscotch court in chalk. Hilary dearly hoped they wouldn't stumble across any knucklebones. The lounge chairs arranged at the stern of the ship looked as though they hadn't been used in years, but snatches of music rose up from under Hilary's boots, and she could smell something cooking. “There may not be any chocolate,” she told the gargoyle, “but I think there's plenty of beef stew.”

Miss Greyson sniffed the air. “We must let our noses lead the way,” she proclaimed. “If I've learned one thing on the High Seas, it's this: where there is stew, there are sure to be pirates.”

They followed the stewing smell belowdecks and passed through a dim, cramped hallway into a long room hung with peeling, gilt-edged wallpaper. Pirates sat at dining tables, swilling stew from chipped china bowls and wiping their beards with the tablecloths. An immense crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling, looking as though it might crash down at any moment and disturb the dozens of parrots perched on its branches. In the far corner of the room, three pirates played a rousing tune on a sour-noted fiddle, a pennywhistle, and a rusty pail.