Legends of the Ghost Pirates (4 page)

With her index finger she points to one of the
entries. “As best I can tell, this is where it all starts with the
date July 1716.”

“Whoa! 1716? That's like way over two hundred
years.” I look where she's pointing, but it still looks like
Chinese scratching to me. I shrug my shoulders.

“Actually, it's 262 years. It says something about a
French ship spotted five points to the east,” she says.

I take a closer look; maybe it says that, but I sure
can't tell.

“I don't know what
five points to the east
means, but later—” Sara continues as she flips forward two pages
she's bookmarked “—it explains how they boarded the French ship and
took the ship's tax money it had collected. I wouldn't really call
it a treasure; it's more like a strong-box of coins. But, it said
the money was something like 30,000 British pound sterling.”

“That sounds like a lot of money. How much
is
a British pound?”

I grab the logbook from Sara to have a look for
myself, but she quickly grabs it back. “Would you stop that?
There's more.” She carefully turns to the next page. “Here it
explains they've hidden it somewhere on Damariscove Island
'
under the old man's nose
.’ ”

“Under the old man's nose? What does that mean?” I
ask.

Then it hits me. “Sara, do you know what this means?
30,000 pounds sterling; I don't know what that is, but I think
we're gonna be rich!”

“Whoa, hold on,” she says. “We're not even sure this
is a real logbook. For all we know it could be something entirely
made up. Maybe for a summer play or something.”

“Why would anyone make something like that up then
write out all these entries,” I say.

“Okay, let's just say it is real,” Sara says with a
serious look. “What are the chances that it's still there? And it's
on Damariscove Island; do you even know where that is? And how
would we get there?”

I haven't heard that last part she said because I'm
thinking about all the money. When I turn sixteen I could buy the
coolest car; a jet black Trans-am with the big V-8 engine along
with a custom muffler to make it sound cool. The best part, though,
it would have to have a stereo system that can blow the doors
off.

“Fisher!” I snap my head over toward her. “Did you
even hear what I said? Do you even know where Damariscove Island
is?”

“Not really, but we can easily find it on a chart. I
have a few charts on the sailboat we can look at. Tomorrow we can
meet at the boat and see if we can find it.” My mind is still
spinning daydreaming about being rich.

“I've got a better idea,” Sara says. “Why don't we
meet at the library because we can look through a Maine atlas and
find the island, and maybe we can learn more about Blarney
Bart.”

Ugh...the library; more boring books. But she's
probably right. We should find more out about this pirate before
doing anything else. It could be just some elaborate joke. “Okay.
See you there about nine?” I stand up to leave, but before I go she
grabs hold of my hands and pulls me in for a kiss.

After a minute or so I break away and begin to head
for the stairs. When I'm at the top of the stairs she calls up to
me, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, my dad said it's okay for me
to go with you and Mr. Plankinton on your sailing trip. It should
be fun.”

“That's great,” I say, and I give her a little wave
from the top of the stairs.

The next morning at the breakfast table, I'm having
trouble keeping my eyes open. I wasn't able to fall asleep for a
long time last night because I was imagining myself driving past my
friends in my new Trans-Am. It must have been pretty late when I
finally fell asleep.

My dad's drinking a cup of black coffee while
flipping through the morning Portland Press Harold. Wearing his
white short-sleeve button down and a dark blue tie, he's ready for
work. “Unbelievable,” he says shaking his head. “The price of gas
is skyrocketing to eighty-six cents a gallon. I need to be
Rockefeller to fill up my tank.”

“Dad,” I say. “How much is a British pound
sterling?”

He slowly lowers a corner of the paper and looks at
me over the top of his glasses. “A sterling? You mean a pound? I
don't really know, we'd have to ask at the bank. If I had to guess,
one pound is about
equal
to two dollars.
Why do you want to know?”

“No reason. They always talk about the pound on the
news, so I was just wondering how much it is.” He keeps looking at
me in a funny way.

“Since when do you watch the news?” he asks as he
slowly takes a sip of his coffee.

I shrug, and he goes back to his paper. Grabbing a
pen that's laying on the table, I quickly scribble $30,000 on my
napkin times two dollars. That's pretty easy math. I circle the
final number. Whoa!
$60,000.
That's
so
much money. Then another thought hits me; maybe rare gold
coins are worth even more—like millions! I grab the table so I
don't fall out of my chair.

“What are you going to do with yourself today?” My
dad asks from behind the paper. I quickly scribble out my math.

“I need to get the sailboat ready for our trip.”

Again, he peels back a corner of the paper, “That's
two weeks away. I'm glad to see you're taking the responsibility to
get things ready for Mr. Plankinton now rather than waiting for the
last minute.” He gives me a slight nod and smiles before reading
his paper again.

I look at the clock on the kitchen wall. It's too
early to meet Sara at the library, but I'm too anxious to sit
around here any longer. I might as well head over there and
wait.

* * *

A little later after a short bike ride, I'm sitting
alone at a long table in the library. There aren't too many people
in here this hour of the morning, just a few adults browsing for
books. I feel a little funny because I don't have anything in front
of me; no books or atlas or even a pen and paper. I'm just sitting
he
re. Eventually, I stand up and have a look
around to see if I can find anything on my own.

At the front desk a librarian is checking-in a pile
of books. But she looks out of place in a library; her gray hair is
all the way down to the small of her back that's knotted at the
end, and her nose is a bit crooked like she might have run into
something a long time ago. When she looks up from her stack of
books she smiles at me and I notice one of her front teeth is
shorter than the other. The weird thing is, most women around here
in the summer would probably be wearing some kind of a summer
dress, but not her, she's wearing all black; a black top with black
slacks.

“Help wit' that ye be seeking, young Fisher?” she
asks.

“How'd you know my name?” I say, startled. Why is
she talking so weird?

With a quick glance at me over her wire-rimmed
glasses, she doesn't answer and keeps working through her stack of
books.

“I know whar everythin' be located. Let me show ye
th' way.”

Huh? She's Coo-Coo. I bet she
won't know, so maybe if I ask she'll leave me alone. “Do you have
anything about Blarney Bart? He was a pirate
—
”

She cuts me off. “I be knowin' who he was.” She
raises her right eyebrow. “Ye shall not be findin' anythin' on t'
shelfs. Follow me.” She motions me to come around the counter, so
reluctantly I do as I'm told.

In the back room there's a door which she opens with
a long key. It's completely dark when she sticks her arm around the
corner flipping a light switch. The yellow flickering light doesn't
do much to make me want to follow her. When I step through the door
I can see she's almost at the bottom of a stairwell to what must be
the basement and another door. The lower door also requires a
key.

She leads me through the lower
door which opens up into a large room with many tall shelves
stacked with old boxes and books covered in dust. In this part of
the basement it looks as though we're the first people down here in
several years. The bare light-bulbs have a layer of cobwebs which
gives kind of a murky glow to everything. As she slides a dust
covered box off a shelf, she says, “Be searchin'
fer
—
” she pauses
and places a single finger at the side of her nose like it's
supposed to mean something to me. “
—
recent history?”

“Recent history? What does that mean? He was a
pirate back in 1716. I just want to learn something about him.”

“Ah...” she says looking disappointed then slides
the box back onto the shelf. “Over thar ye shall be wishin' to look
through 'tis book.” On the other side of the isle she pulls a
single book off the shelves and opens it somewhere in the middle,
flipping several pages until she finds what she's looking for.
“Thar be wee in t’ history books, there be fer well-nigh Blarney
Bart; fer only 'tis lone page.” She hands the open book to me.

“But
—
what's that over there?” I point to
the box she'd pulled out a moment before.

“Nothin',” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Take 'tis
book. Ye can study at yar dwelling house. Yes,” she says with a
forced smile closing the book shut still in my hands. Her mood has
suddenly gone cold.

“But...” is all I manage to say when suddenly she's
shut off the lights and is standing by the open door to the
stairwell. I follow her back up the stairs and out into the open
library where I notice Sara's near the big front doors.

“Over here,” I call to Sara coming around the back
of the counter.

“What were you doing back there?” she asks.

“That librarian was showing me this book about
Blarney Bart.” I start to point to the librarian.

“What librarian?” Sara asks looking around. “I just
saw Mrs Shelly putting some books away in the Mystery section.
She's the only one who works in the mornings.”

I'm looking back but she's gone. “She must've
stepped into the back room. Well, whoever she was she gave me this
to look at.” I hand the book to Sara as I look behind me for the
librarian.

Sara looks at me with a puzzled expression then
glances quickly at the book in her hands before giving it back.
“Are you sure you're feeling okay, Fisher?”

“I swear she was right there a second ago.”

“Okay. I believe you,” Sara says. “Seeing as you
found a book already, I have to run. I had forgotten I've got the
breakfast shift this morning. See you around noon?”

“Yeah. Sure,” I say, still
uncertain about what just happened. Sara's quickly out the front
door and I do the same. Once I'm outside, I open the book. I
realize there's a note-card tapped to the inside of the cover.
'C
arefully read page 183 for the knowledge
you seek.'
Slowly I pull it off and
examine it closer turning it over and over in my hands.

Chapter 4

More Books

While
I'm
waiting for Sara on the restaurant deck, I read the book the
librarian gave me for a second time.

“
Blarney Bart, as he was known, sailed the coast
of the Province of Massachusetts Bay, now Maine, in the
early1700s
.
He started out his
career as captain of a merchant coastal schooner delivering various
product of the time, to many of the New England ports. It is
believed that he began his piracy when a French vessel raided his
schooner's money calling it a tax. Blarney Bart was so outraged he
then ordered his boat to chase the French vessel in the darkness of
night where he then recaptured the money originally taken from
them...”

Blah, blah blah... We already know
that from the logbook entries. As far as pirates go, the whole
thing doesn’t seem all that exciting. Big deal; he stole back some
money that was taken from him. He sounds more like Robin Hood than
a pirate. Where's the good stuff about the treasure and all the
other vessels they stole money from? All it says after the dull
stuff is,
“Legend has it the money was
buried on one of the many islands of the area, yet no one really
knows for sure.”

I set the book down on the table and look over at
the take-out window. Sara should be done soon. Suddenly, a woman
who's taking her dirty paper plate and broken up lobster shells to
the trash barrel, backs into my table knocking the book to the
ground. She's an older woman wearing a Trent Harbor Maine sweat
shirt and long denim skirt with white sandals. No one from around
here would wear that.

“Oh dear,” she says looking at the book lying on the
ground. “I've lost your place.” She bends down to pick it up.

“It's all right, Ma’am,” I grumble.

When she sets the book back on the table she gives
me an odd wink then smiles as she reopens the book. After she walks
away I glance at it and can see she wasn't even close to the page I
was on. Tourists! But there's something about it that catches my
eye. It's a poem or a rhyme.

“Taking riches not of their own

Blarney Bart chased as midnight shown

The French feared the cougars head

Soon the thieves would be dead”

What in the world? And it doesn't even make any
sense. What's the deal with the cougars head? There's nothing else
on the page explaining what the poem's about. This is all getting a
little strange; the weirdo librarian, and now this passage in the
book just shows up.

But the stuff in the book seems to follow the
entries Sara had found in the logbook. So there's still a good
possibility there's buried money out there. And best of all, we
have the logbook telling us exactly where to look; Damariscove
Island.