The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (12 page)

Hilary sighed. She didn't care to admit that Charlie was right, but at least he disliked Oliver as much as she did. “All right,” she said as she handed Charlie the cannonball. “Perhaps I'd better have a few words with him.” She grabbed Oliver by the elbow and dragged him down the deck until she was sure they were out of Charlie's earshot. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

Oliver shrugged. “Same thing you are.”

“But you can't possibly want to be a pirate.”

“Of course not.” Oliver lifted his eye patch. “I'm getting revenge on your father. When I couldn't chase down those thieves who broke into Westfield House, he yelled at me for half a day. Then he dismissed me from the navy—for good, he said.” Oliver's sneer deepened. “Not that I'd go back there. I was out of a job, so I thought I'd join up with some pirates. Maybe I'll let slip a few navy secrets, attack a few of Her Majesty's ships . . . it doesn't matter to me, as long as it makes Westfield squirm. Isn't that what you're doing as well?”

“Oh, you toad!” Hilary wished she had broken his foot after all. “That is
not
why I'm here.”

“Say what you like,” said Oliver. “Anyway, I don't intend to lose this job. If you tell a soul where I've come from, I'll have you flapping from the mast like a flag, you understand?”

“Fine, but you'd better keep quiet yourself. Tell them who my father is, and you'll think the skull and crossbones is a self-portrait. As far as I'm concerned, we're total strangers.”

“Suits me.” Oliver snapped his eye patch back into place, turned on his heel, and began to mend the mainsail in silence.

O
LIVER WAS POLITE
enough when Jasper was around, and after the mainsail-stitching affair he always did as he was told, but as the days wore on, the mood inside 25 Little Herring Cove turned black. Jasper couldn't find one last suitable pirate for his crew; Oliver and Hilary went out of their way to avoid each other; Fitzwilliam had taken a tremendous dislike to the gargoyle, which he expressed by decorating the gargoyle's head with bird droppings; and all of them were furious because Jasper refused to tell them about the treasure they were going to search for, or even where they'd be sailing, until they were safely at sea. Charlie, at least, was a bit more helpful: he loaned Hilary a book called
Treasure Hunting for Beginners
, which he'd been given during his VNHLP training, and she read passages aloud to the gargoyle every day before dinner.

“This bit's about the tools a pirate needs for treasure hunting,” she told the gargoyle one dreary evening. “Let's see—you need a map, of course, and a compass to guide your way. And once you've found treasure, you'll need a spade to dig it up.”

“And a rope,” the gargoyle added, “for climbing into towers and rescuing damsels in distress.” He fluttered his wings happily. “Damsels in distress are
very
romantic.”

Hilary set down the treasure-hunting guide as Charlie came into the room and slumped into a hammock. “Any news from Jasper?” she asked. They'd finished the final repairs to the ship earlier in the day, but Jasper showed no signs of setting sail anytime soon.

Charlie shook his head. “He just dismissed another batch of pirates. Sent them all home without an interview.”

“But he's being ridiculous,” Hilary said. “How am I supposed to find this treasure for him if he won't even tell me what it is?”

“Or if we never go to sea?” Charlie swung back and forth in his hammock. “I don't know what's gotten into him; he's never been this picky about his crew before. This must be an important voyage.”

“If it's so important, shouldn't we begin the piracy as soon as possible?”

“Yes,” said the gargoyle, “we should.” He'd climbed into Hilary's lap and was hiding under her arm to shield his head from Fitzwilliam. “In
Treasure Island
, there's none of this sitting around.”

Jasper and Oliver came in from the kitchen with bowls of stew for everyone, and Jasper looked around the room. “What are you all doing?”

“Sitting around,” said the gargoyle. “Feeling glum.”

“Ah,” said Jasper, and they all sat around feeling glum together, frowning into their bowls of stew.

A sharp rap on the door cut through the glumness. “I demand,” called a voice, “that you let me in at once!”

“Coming, coming.” Jasper pulled himself out of his hammock. “If you want an interview, I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow.”

He opened the door. There, on his front step, stood Miss Greyson. Her hat was sliding off the side of her head, her skirts were splattered with mud, and she had pulled the crochet hook out of her windblown hair, making her look rather like an ancient Augustan warrior queen. The expression of fury on her face, however, was all too familiar to Hilary.

Jasper stared at Miss Greyson as though he had never seen a governess before. Then he took off his hat and bowed. “To what do I owe this pleasure, madam?” he asked, extending his hand. “Please come inside.”

Miss Greyson ignored his hand and stepped past him into the house, setting her carpetbag down in front of her. “Hilary,” she said, “who is this overdressed person? What are you doing here? Never mind; I don't even want to know. Just get your things and come with me at once. They're absolutely frantic at Miss Pimm's.”

“Miss Greyson!” Hilary leaped up, sending the gargoyle tumbling into the hammock. “How did you know I was here?” Even though Miss Greyson had a habit of being everywhere at once, her arrival in Wimbly-on-the-Marsh was still faintly remarkable.

But Miss Greyson wouldn't be badgered. “Governesses have their ways,” she said. “Even former governesses.” She brushed her hands together, and that was that.

Jasper cleared his throat. He'd sat back down in his hammock, but he hadn't stopped staring at Miss Greyson. “Er, Hilary,” he said, “would you mind introducing us?”

Apparently, Miss Greyson's mere presence had brought on a fit of etiquette. “This is Miss Eloise Greyson,” Hilary said in her best finishing-school voice. “She used to be my governess. Miss Greyson, this is Jasper Fletcher. He's a pirate.”

“A
freelance
pirate,” Jasper corrected.

“Sorry, a freelance pirate. The gentleman next to Jasper is his first mate, Charlie, and next to Charlie is someone who is a complete stranger to both of us.” Hilary nodded at Oliver, who looked as though he might lose his stew at any moment.

“My goodness,” said Miss Greyson; “isn't that—?”

Hilary gave Miss Greyson a quelling look. “His name is Oliver, and you've never met him before in your life.”

“I see.” Miss Greyson pursed her lips. “This is all quite fascinating.”

“Up there is Fitzwilliam the budgerigar. That's a kind of parrot. And I believe you already know the gargoyle.”

“Enchanted,” said the gargoyle, bowing in Miss Greyson's direction.

Jasper rose from his hammock again. “Eloise,” he said, “may I offer you some stew?”

“It's Miss Greyson, if you please. And I really don't think stew is necessary. We're about to be on our way, aren't we, Hilary?”

“I'm not going back to Miss Pimm's,” said Hilary. “Besides, I'm Jasper's employee now.”

“And what, may I ask, has he employed you to do?”

“Swashbuckling, grog swilling, mast climbing, and treasure hunting, for the most part,” said Jasper, delivering a bowl of stew into Miss Greyson's hands. He steered her toward an empty hammock. “In short, piracy.”

Miss Greyson sank into the hammock. “Oh dear,” she said. “It's worse than I thought. Mr. Fletcher, I simply cannot let Hilary sail with you and your crew. She is supposed to be in finishing school, and running away with a gang of pirates would be terribly improper.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Jasper, “because it puts me in an awkward situation. I'm afraid Hilary has given me her word that she'll sail with me, and any pirate who breaks her word must walk the plank.”

“He's just making that up,” Charlie whispered to Hilary. “Pirates break their word fifteen times a day.”

Miss Greyson's knuckles had turned white around her bowl of stew. “If you make my charge walk the plank,” she said, standing up again, “I'll see to it personally that a sea monster dines on you for dessert.” Her nose was nearly level with Jasper's. “Don't think I can't do it. I am a governess, after all.”

Jasper stammered something about being terribly sorry and backed away.

“Now, Hilary.” Miss Greyson turned to her. “It's a long walk back to Miss Pimm's, and we're not going to find a carriage at this hour—”

“Miss Greyson, please. I'm happy here.”

“In a pirates' den?”

“It's more of a bungalow, really,” said Jasper.

“And it's much nicer than Miss Pimm's. I can use my sword here, and I don't have to embroider anything! And Jasper's lovely—I mean, he's obviously the Terror of the Southlands, but otherwise he's very nice. Besides,” said Hilary, “I'm not your charge anymore.” She stared down at her boots to avoid meeting Miss Greyson's eyes.

“No, I suppose you're not.” Miss Greyson frowned. “But honestly! Associating with ruffians and rapscallions? Putting your very reputation at risk? Whatever would your father say?”

Oliver nearly choked on a carrot.

“My father has nothing to do with this,” Hilary said quickly, “and neither does my reputation. You've always taught me to honor my promises, and now that I've made a promise to Jasper, I don't intend to break it. I'm a pirate now, Miss Greyson, and that's final.”

Behind her, Charlie applauded and the gargoyle cheered. Even Jasper put his arm around her.

“You see,” he said, “she's one of us.”

Miss Greyson tapped her foot as she waited for the cheering to die down. “Oh, very well,” she said at last. “If you've truly been careless enough to give these ruffians your word, it would be quite improper to go back on it now. I suppose there's only one thing to do.” She put down her bowl of stew and untied her hat. “Now, when do we leave for sea?”

Everyone stared at her.

“I'm sorry,” said Jasper. “Do you intend to join us?”

“Of course.” Miss Greyson peeled off her cream-colored gloves one at a time and tucked them inside her hat. “If you think I'm going to let Hilary run about on the High Seas without proper supervision, I don't mind asking you to think again.”

Hilary had seen that firm, fierce spark in Miss Greyson's eyes hundreds of times before. Each time the spark appeared, Miss Greyson got her way. “But what about your bookshop?”

“Unless it's grown feet I don't know about, it won't run off while I'm gone.”

Oliver glared at Hilary. “Now look what you've done,” he whispered.

“Oh, hush. She's not that bad. Besides, Jasper will never let her come along.”

But Jasper was staring at Miss Greyson with a strange look on his face, a look Hilary didn't think was at all appropriate for pirates. “It will be an honor to have you on our ship, Miss Greyson,” he said.

Oliver groaned and buried his head in his hands. Charlie didn't look much happier—Hilary supposed his distrust of finishing-school girls extended to governesses—but after a few moments, he began to smile. “Say, Jasper,” he said, “now that you've hired this governess, can we finally go to sea?”

The strange look departed from Jasper's face, and Jasper stood up straight. “Yes,” he said, “I believe we can. Our crew is complete. Enjoy your stew, my friends, for it'll be hardtack and grog from here on out.” He grinned, as though this thought cheered him immensely. “We set sail in the morning.”

K
INGDOM OF
A
UGUSTA
OFFICE OF THE ROYAL RECORDS KEEPER