The Ship of Lost Souls 1 (7 page)

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.”

“Die peacefully!” the Lost Souls cried.

“Go on now, go!”

Scarlet and the twins scurried off, deeper into town. Lucas, meanwhile, made a show of yawning, stretching, and scratching his chest before he ambled off in the opposite direction. Smitty sneered at the boy's back as he walked away.

“Forget him,” Tim said, and Jem made a mental note to find out exactly why Lucas seemed so unwilling all the time. Later. Right now he had to focus on more pressing issues. Like not getting caught and shackled to a weight at the bottom of the sea.

“All right, men,” said Smitty. “Follow me, but keep a safe distance. Hurricane Smith'll show you how it's done.”

Tim let out a soft snort but followed, anyway. He and Jem sauntered into the street, looking as casual and innocent as they could, while Smitty darted between bodies and buildings. His zigzagging didn't exactly make him inconspicuous, Jem thought. He murmured this observation to Tim, who laughed.

“He's just fooling around,” Tim said. “To be honest, Jem, sailors in port hardly ever notice us. They assume we're lowly cabin boys or swains and only see us when we're in their way. You'll see. Doesn't do much for your self-esteem, but it makes robbing 'em pretty easy.”

As they wound their way through crowds of strangers, Jem could see that Tim was right. Sailors stomped all around, sizing one another up, but never glanced down at the boys.

“What's a swain?” Jem asked. Although he'd spent two months on a schooner, there was still so much he didn't know about ship life.

“A swain's basically a servant—the boy in charge of the captain's cockboat, which takes the captain to and from the ship. It's the lowest possible rank on board.” Tim gave a little chuckle. “That was me for nearly a year.”

“You? For the King's Men?”

Tim nodded. “My father got me on board. He was a midshipman. Not much higher in rank than me at first. But he learned fast and became lieutenant, then captain. Too quick, you might say. The admiral—he's higher in rank than the captain, see—the admiral didn't like how Father would take me to the captain's quarters and teach me all about navigation. He sent me to another ship, where my new captain treated me like bilge.” Tim's eyes grew suddenly stormy, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Anyhow, I escaped soon enough. Met up with these lads—and ladies. Everything's jolly, especially now that we're on our way to find”—he lowered his voice—“the treasure. We've all been wanting this for a long time.”

Jem wanted to ask what happened to Tim's father, but Tim seemed done with that topic. Strange, Jem thought, how so many of the Lost Souls didn't like to talk about their pasts. He'd had to prod Scarlet to tell bits of her story, and Smitty acted like he didn't care much at all for the family he'd left.

Tim snapped his gaze back to the street. “Where's that Smitty? Call him Aloysius sometime, will you? See if he answers. Oh, there he is, the scalawag. Watch, Jem. He's about to strike.”

Jem watched as Smitty sidled up to a merchant's stall just as one of the King's Men slid two doubloons across the table to pay for a sack of tobacco. There was a moment—a mere instant—when the sailor looked away to size up a trio of passing pirates, at the same time as the merchant crouched to fill his sack. At that very moment, Smitty's spindly fingers reached in and swiped their prize. A second later, the doubloons were gone, and so was Smitty.

Tim laughed and nudged Jem. “Watch.” The merchant and the sailor, after they'd both realized that the coins had disappeared, immediately took off after the three pirates.

“Come on,” Tim said. “Let's go find Smitty.”

“Did ya see that?” The little bandit was practically prancing when they caught up with him around the next corner. “Forget Hurricane Smith. Call me Quickfingers!” He proudly displayed the coins in his palm, then snapped his other palm over the top and danced a quick jig.

“All right, all right.” Tim rolled his eyes. “No time for gloating. We've got to find a knife for Jem.”

“Right.” Smitty pocketed his coins. “I know just the place. Follow me, lads. Follow your uncle Quickfingers.” He pranced off.

Tim shook his head and followed, muttering, “Quickfingers—ha! Percival, maybe. But Quickfingers?” Jem took up the rear, hoping his task would indeed be as easy as Smitty made it look.

They stopped in front of the tavern and peered through its single cloudy window. The interior was dimly lit and nearly empty, except for a few sailors seated around a long table in the middle of the room and a few more at tables along the wall. By the disheveled looks of them, these sailors were pirates, not King's Men. The ones at the long table seemed to be haggling over a pile of coins and jewelry.

“We're not going in here, are we?” Jem asked. “They'll notice us for sure.”

Smitty shook his head. “Just stick to the walls and don't make eye contact with anyone. Let's take a look around.” With that, he darted into the tavern, with Tim close behind. As he, too, ducked inside, Jem couldn't help but remember the cutlass that had hung on Iron “Pete” Morgan's hip. Such a shiny and well-sharpened blade. He wondered, just briefly, whether pirates' cutlasses were ever used to lop off the arms of clumsy thieves. Then he tried to imagine what Master Davis would do in such a situation. The obvious answer was that Master Davis wouldn't have gotten himself into such a fix in the first place.

Inside, the tavern smelled much like the one where he and Uncle Finn had dined on flying fish in Port Aberhard. Smoky and sour. Jem took Smitty's advice and slunk along the wall closest to the door.

Over at the long table, the pirates' voices rose and fell, peppered with curses and authentic-sounding pirate grunts. There was evidently some disagreement over who got to keep a giant ruby set in gold and fastened to a thick chain. It sparkled in the lamplight, and Jem found himself so transfixed by it that he walked into a chair and stubbed his toe. He stifled a cry, and Tim and Smitty both turned and raised their eyebrows to shush him.

“It's rightfully mine!” A pirate spat on the floor near Smitty's feet, and the boy took a slow step back. The three Lost Souls pressed their backs against the wall, a few yards away from the pirates.

“Yers? Don't flatter yerself, ye lily-livered lout,” a pirate with an eye patch jeered. “I'm the one who cut off the man's head and plucked the jewel off his neck. It's mine if it's anyone's.”

“But 'twas me father who found it in the first place, I swear! I'd know that jewel anywhere. It fell right from the sky, nearly landed in his lap, years ago. Ye've heard the tales of rubies falling from the sky, haven't ye?”

A third pirate guffawed. “Tell ye what then, Deadeye Johnny,” he said, addressing the one who'd beheaded the jewel's unfortunate owner. “I'll give you this ring and a sack of doubloons for the ruby.”

“Deadeye Johnny,” Smitty whispered. “Now there's a grand pirate name. Think I could be Deadeye Smith?”

Tim turned with his finger to his lips, then paused and shook his head. “You've still got both eyes.”

Smitty considered this, then nodded. “It's a problem, isn't it?”

Jem silenced them both with a glare.

“Don't insult me,” Deadeye Johnny was saying. “A ruby's worth a hundred sacks of doubloons these days. The King's Men've torn up the islands for 'em but come up with nothin'. Except those that fall from the sky.” He snorted. “This is a treasure in itself.”

“Forget his offer, Deadeye,” the first pirate said. “I'll give ye me knife for the jewel.” And he drew out a long pocketknife with an ivory handle inlaid with delicate, silver curls. “Belonged to Cutthroat MacPhee, it did. Long, long ago.” The other pirates' eyes widened as the silver curls glinted.

Smitty turned to Jem and mouthed, “A knife!”

“Obviously!” Jem mouthed back.

“Your knife!” Smitty mouthed, pointing for emphasis.

“Jem,” Tim whispered under his breath, “be as quick as you can, but stealthy. Smitty and I'll distract them if you need us to.”

Quick but stealthy. Quick but stealthy. Cold sweat dripped between his shoulder blades as Jem flattened himself against the wall and tiptoed—quickly and stealthily, he hoped—toward the table.

Jem dropped to his knees. The pirates were clustered at the far end of the table, so he crawled underneath the opposite end, grateful for the shadows that seemed to be keeping him hidden. He crept along the floor, his hands sinking into puddles of rum and small, scattered crumbs, then stopped a few feet away from the pirates' boots. Above, the men haggled on.

“Come on, Deadeye. Cutthroat MacPhee's prized knife for yer little jewel.”

“Throw in that big sack of ara feathers ye stole from the commodore last week, and ye've got yerself a deal.”

“Me feathers? Never!”

Jem glanced back at the wall and saw Smitty gesturing wildly in the shadows. His windmilling arms seemed to indicate that the knife lay right above Jem on the table.

He drew a breath and reached up, slowly, next to the pirate with the knife, praying that hands small enough to slip out of knotted rope would also go undetected under a pirate's nose. He crept his fingers along the table ledge, then looked over at Smitty again. “There!” the boy mouthed, nearly poking Tim in the eye as he pointed. “Right there!” Jem stretched his now-aching arm a bit farther . . . and his fingers connected with cool, smooth ivory.

Suddenly there was a clatter as Tim dropped a tin mug on the floor. On purpose, of course—to divert the pirates' attention. Jem clasped the knife handle and slipped it off the table, then began to back out the way he'd come. Quick but stealthy, quick but stealthy, he chanted in his head to the beat of his whomping heart. Almost there.

Just then, his hand slipped in a puddle of rum. He looked down to right himself. And when he looked back up, his pounding heart nearly stopped. There, staring back at him under the table, with the perfect pirate scowl on his round, one-eyed face, was Deadeye Johnny. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then the pirate's good eye blinked.

“Get that boy!” he hollered.

Without thinking, Jem rolled away from the table and toward the wall just as Smitty and Tim jumped out of the shadows, yelling and waving their arms like crazed apes. Tim knocked over two chairs, and Smitty stuck out his foot to trip one of the pirates, who was running toward Jem, yelling, “Get him! He stole Cutthroat MacPhee's knife!”