The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (10 page)

S
ATURDAY DAWNED WARM
and bright, with just a hint of thunderclouds at the edges of the sky. A perfect day, Hilary thought, for piracy.

She packed all her most important possessions—her secondhand shirts and trousers,
Treasure Island
, and the gargoyle—in her canvas bag. Then she pulled on her scuffed sailor's boots and strapped her sword over her gray school dress. Claire had promised to look after the rest of her things while she was away, and truthfully, Hilary was relieved to be free of the gold-plated traveling trunk at last. It had given her far too many stubbed toes during her week at Miss Pimm's.

Claire, still in her nightgown and bare feet, came downstairs with Hilary to say good-bye. “Remember,” she whispered, “it's a right at the big oak tree, then a left at the bridge, then follow the stream for half a mile and you're there.” She reached inside Hilary's bag and gave the gargoyle a good thorough scratch behind the ears. “I'll miss you both.”

“Avast, me hearties,” the gargoyle said sleepily.

“I think he means he'll miss you, too. And so will I.” Hilary gave Claire a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“You have to let me know if you meet any dashing sailors.”

“Oh, of course. I'll be sure to send them right along to Miss Pimm's.”

Claire laughed. “And I'll try to keep Miss Pimm off your track for as long as I can. Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

“All right.” Claire raised her voice so it echoed through the stone hall, turning the heads of the maids who were bustling through on their way to prepare the refectory breakfast. “I hope you have a wonderful time visiting your elderly relative in Pemberton, Miss Westfield! It's such a shame that your elderly relative, who lives quite nearby, is feeling ill! I am sure you will be a great comfort to him or her!”

The maids gave Hilary sympathetic smiles. Hilary smiled back and tried to keep her sword well out of view as she opened the front door. “Thank you for your kind words, Miss Dupree.”

“I am saddened to hear that you may have to stay to look after your relative for several days! Maybe even months!” Claire put her hand to her forehead and tried to look distressed. “Good luck,” she whispered.

Hilary waved, and the gargoyle flicked his tail goodbye, and then they were through the gate, away from Miss Pimm's, and off to sea.

I
T WAS AN
hour's walk to Little Herring Cove, and Hilary sang sea chanteys nearly the whole way. Once the gargoyle had woken up a bit more, he joined in occasionally on the harmonies. Hilary had the road to herself, and soon enough, the pavement below her feet turned to gravel and then to dirt. She plucked a buttercup from the grass along the roadside, remembered with a start that she was going to be a pirate, and hid the buttercup away in her bag, where the gargoyle declared it to be surprisingly tasty.

Hilary took a right at the big oak tree and a left at the bridge. She walked a little more slowly along the stream—she did not want to miss the freelance pirate's house, and she especially did not want to arrive early. Punctuality, she had heard, was not greatly appreciated in the pirate community, and most pirates arrived for treasure hunts and mutinies fashionably late.

It turned out, however, that she'd worried for nothing. When she reached 25 Little Herring Cove, she could tell she'd arrived at the right address not because of the number on the falling-down mailbox but because of the long and winding line of pirates waiting outside the door.

Hilary had not expected there would be so many of them. There were one-eyed pirates and no-eyed pirates, fancy pirates with billowing sleeves and shabby pirates with patched-up knees. They had pointed beards and pointed hats, curly mustaches and curly hooks, peg legs and real legs. They had golden teeth and golden earrings and gold doubloons sparkling in their mouths and ears and pockets. On their shoulders perched monkeys and toucans and tortoises, all seemingly named Polly. Shouts of “Arr!” and “Blast!” filled the air whenever a pirate swung his sword too close to his neighbor or tried to cut in line.

Hilary waited at the end of the line behind a large, bald pirate with an eye patch, a hook, and a peg leg. His name, he said, was Cannonball Jack. “And what be yer name, laddie?” he asked.

“Hilary,” said Hilary.

“And why be ye wearin' those strange skirts, Hilary?”

“It's my school uniform,” Hilary explained. “I'm a girl, you know.” Her hair hung in a long dark-brown braid down her back, as usual, and she'd put on her best hoop earrings, but neither of these things set her apart from most of the other pirates in line.

Cannonball Jack laughed and slapped her on the back with the hand that wasn't a hook. “Arr, a jokester! That be a good one, lad. 'Tis a good thing to have a sense of humor if you wish to be a pirate. 'Twill serve you well during the sword fights and typhoons.”

Hilary rolled her eyes. The other pirates didn't sound half as silly as Cannonball Jack; he had to be even more nervous than she was. “Do you know anything about this freelance pirate?” she asked.

“Very secretive, he be. Said to be the Terror of the Southlands, and a fearsome cruel captain.”

“Cruel?” After spending a week with Philomena, Hilary had had quite enough of cruelty.

“Aye. 'Tis said that even uttering his name will bring his wrath upon ye.”

“That hardly sounds like a practical response. What's his name, anyway?”

Cannonball Jack glanced from side to side and cupped a hand around his mouth. “Jasper,” he whispered.

No sooner had the name left his lips than the door of 25 Little Herring Cove creaked open. A masked man wearing a red brocade doublet and a black three-cornered hat appeared in the doorway, and the crowd of pirates went utterly silent.

“Curses!” said Cannonball Jack. “He's heard me utter his name. I'm doomed for sure.”

“I don't know,” said Hilary. “He looks a bit short to be the Terror of the Southlands.”

The masked man—Jasper, Hilary supposed—wandered up and down the line of pirates, casting his gaze over every scarred and suntanned face. “Too old,” he said to a wizened pirate leaning on a cane. “Too scary,” he said to an alarmingly fierce-looking pirate. “I'm sorry,” he said to a muscular young man with a kitten on his shoulder, “but I'm allergic to cats. You'll have to go.”

“See?” said Cannonball Jack. “He's ruthless.”

Jasper drew closer to the end of the line, dismissing pirate after disappointed pirate. To some pirates, he simply nodded. “Those applicants whom I do not dismiss,” he announced, “may remain in line for a personal interview.” Cannonball Jack mopped his brow with a ragged bandanna.

The gargoyle poked Hilary in the side. “What's going on now? I can't see anything in this ridiculous bag.”

“He's coming toward us,” said Hilary, “and you'd better keep quiet for the next few minutes.” The last thing she wanted was for Jasper to proclaim her “too friendly to gargoyles.” Even without the gargoyle's antics, she was sure she'd be marked “too young,” “too female,” or both.

Jasper drew level with Cannonball Jack and looked him up and down. “Too stereotypical,” he declared at last. “Sorry.”

Cannonball Jack hung his head and trudged away as Jasper approached Hilary. Up close, Jasper looked a few inches taller and a few inches more fearsome than he'd seemed from a distance. He stared straight at Hilary. Hilary stared back. His eyes narrowed, and the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

“A fascinating turn of events,” said Jasper. He clapped his hand on Hilary's shoulder. “This way, please. I hope you're prepared for your interview.”

H
ILARY FOLLOWED
J
ASPER
past the line of grumbling pirates, several of whom tried to trip her with their peg legs. “For heaven's sake, there's no need to be nasty,” said Jasper. “If this one doesn't work out, I'll send her off the plank and call the next applicant in.” Some of the pirates chortled approvingly.

Jasper led Hilary inside the ramshackle house, which smelled not unpleasantly of seaweed and leather. The front door opened directly into what Hilary guessed was a sitting room, although it did not look at all like any other sitting room she'd ever seen. Instead of chairs or velvet couches, a few well-worn rope hammocks hung from hooks drilled into the rafters. Standing in for a table was an old wooden box that looked suspiciously like a treasure chest. The room's only decoration was a gleaming wire cage containing a small bright-green bird. The bird croaked grumpily when it saw Hilary.

“Welcome to my salon,” said Jasper. “Can I get you anything? Grog?”

“No, thank you.” Grog at ten o'clock in the morning—Miss Greyson would have been horrified.

“Just for me, then.” Jasper picked up a mug and took a long sip. “Please take a seat, any seat.”

Hilary balanced herself in the hammock farthest away from the bird. “I thought your advertisement said parrots weren't allowed.”

“Ah, but Fitzwilliam here is a budgerigar. That's a very special kind of parrot, and a parrot for which I make exceptions.” Jasper removed his hat and started to untie his mask. “Besides, Fitzwilliam himself insisted on the no-parrot rule. He simply can't abide competition.” He laid his hat and mask on the floor and looked up at Hilary. “It's a pleasure to see you again, by the way. And I must apologize—when last we met, I'm afraid I was in a bit of a hurry.”

Hilary nearly fell out of her hammock. There, across from her, sat Mr. Smith. He looked quite different without the tailcoat, but now that his mask no longer hid half his face, there could be no mistaking it: he was the very same elegant gentleman she'd met on the train.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Smith,” she said, once she'd caught her breath. “I didn't recognize you.”

“That's the whole idea behind a disguise,” said Jasper. “The name was a disguise, too, I'm afraid. I'm really Jasper Fletcher.”

“And you're really a pirate?”

“Naturally.” Jasper grinned, flipped a gold coin out of his hand, and caught it again. “Even pirates must travel by train every so often, I'm sorry to say.”

Of course. No wonder he'd been wandering the train corridors looking for magic to steal—and no wonder he'd dashed away when the queen's inspectors had arrived. Being unscrupulous was all part of his profession.

“Now,” said Jasper, “I believe it's my turn to ask a question. Who are you?”

“I'm Hilary,” said Hilary. Should she have given herself some sort of fancy pirate nickname? The way things had gone for Cannonball Jack, it was probably safest to keep things simple.

Jasper pulled out a notepad and started scribbling. “And do you have a last name, Hilary?”

Hilary opened her mouth, then closed it again. The navy and the pirate league were not on good terms, and Jasper Fletcher could hardly be expected to hire the admiral's daughter for his crew. He might be more inclined to take her hostage, and she would almost prefer Miss Pimm's to that.

“Smith,” she said. “My last name is Smith.”

Jasper smiled. “Very well; that's a game I can appreciate.” He looked up. “Ah, here's my first mate. Perhaps he'd like to ask you some questions as well. Charlie, come and join us.”

The boy from the train hesitated in the doorway. He wore torn-up work clothes splattered with paint, and he held a half-eaten cinnamon bun in one hand. “That's that finishing-school girl,” he said, pointing the cinnamon bun at Hilary. “What's she doing here?”

“Her name is Hilary,” said Jasper, “and she's hoping to be my apprentice. Hilary, this is my ward, Charlie—though of course the two of you have already met.”

“You want to be a pirate, do you?” Charlie took a bite of the cinnamon bun. “I didn't think you High Society types cared much for piracy.”

“Well,” said Hilary, “I do.” She gave him the same fearsome look she'd practiced on Philomena, though she was not sure how well it would work on an actual pirate.

To her relief, Charlie simply shrugged and settled down into an empty hammock. Perhaps she wouldn't need to be quite so fearsome after all. “Is your name really Charlie, then?” she asked.

“It is. I'm not famous enough for an alias—not like our Mr. Smith here.” Charlie jabbed a thumb in Jasper's direction. “He's the Terror of the Southlands, you see. Quite well known in certain circles.”

“It's a difficult burden,” said Jasper, “but someone must be the most fearsome pirate on the High Seas, and I'm happy to oblige. Now, Hilary.” He turned back to her and flipped to a new page in his notepad. “If you truly want to be a pirate, whatever were you doing at finishing school?”

Hilary took a deep breath. “I applied to the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates, but they rejected me because I'm a girl—”

“A frightfully stupid reason,” Jasper cut in. “Of course, frightful stupidity is a hallmark of the VNHLP.”

Hilary beamed. “They were wrong, don't you think?” she said. “And I tried to tell them exactly that, but they wouldn't listen, and I got sent off to Miss Pimm's. I've only just managed to run away.”

Jasper scribbled more notes. “And is there any good reason,” he said mildly, “why I shouldn't send you back to Miss Pimm's right now?”

Hilary stared at him in horror. “You can't send me back there! My handwriting's atrocious, and I'm not a proper young lady, and I don't intend to be one!” Hilary unsheathed her sword, and Jasper swung back in his hammock. Charlie nearly dropped his cinnamon bun. “I can sail and row, and I can swim a mile without stopping. I can tie all the knots that have been invented, and a few that haven't been. I can climb, I can read a map, and I'm willing to fight. I've spent my whole life dreaming of being a pirate, and I'll do whatever it takes, I swear.”