The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (28 page)

Charlie began to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “I'm beginning to think the Enchantress was awfully interested in herself.”

Hilary thought back to the treasure map and groaned. “Oh dear. She actually drew a picture of herself on the map, you know, right at the place where the path to the treasure began. It must have been a clue.” She rapped the statue's left foot hard with her knuckles; missing a clue on a treasure map was hardly piratical behavior. “This is the starting place; I'm sure of it.”

Aside from a few pirates watching the battle through their spyglasses, the path due north from the statue was clear enough. Hilary handed her spade to Charlie, who rested it on his shoulder. “Now,” she said, “we've got to pace.”

A
GOOD PIRATE
always knows which way is north, and Hilary and Charlie paced in that direction, counting each step together under their breaths. The gargoyle tried to count, too, but he got confused somewhere around forty-six. “I've never been much good at counting,” he complained. “It's because I don't have hands.”

Counting out ninety northward paces didn't seem terribly difficult at first, but Hilary soon realized that she had no idea how large an Enchantress-sized pace might be. The Enchantress had probably been taller than Hilary—most people seemed to be—but what if she'd had uncommonly short legs? The gargoyle said that the Enchantress had been taller than
him
, but that was not much help either. Eventually, Hilary decided to match Charlie's paces, which were a bit longer than her own.

By the sixty-seventh pace, however, she began to worry that she'd miscalculated badly. A high, sand-colored brick wall bordered the town square, leaving gaps only for the streets that radiated out from the square like spokes in a wheel. No street lay in front of the treasure hunters, however, and the wall was fast approaching. They'd never be able to take twenty-three more steps without smashing their noses against the bricks, and that was sure to cause a scene among the handful of onlooking pirates. Hilary could practically feel the weight of their spyglasses on her already.

The seventy-ninth step brought them up to the wall. “It must not have been around in the Enchantress's day,” Charlie said.

Hilary looked back at the statue of the Enchantress. “I'm sure we're going in the right direction. We'll just have to climb over the wall and start counting again on the other side.” But the wall was very high, and the bricks were smooth, with hardly any helpful juts or crags to assist hopeful climbers. Charlie tried to lift Hilary over the wall, and then Hilary tried to lift Charlie, and then the gargoyle insisted on trying to lift them both with his snout. No matter how high they stretched, however, they couldn't come close to reaching the top.

“Oh dear,” said the gargoyle after Hilary and Charlie had crashed down on the ground beside him for the third time in a row. “I think I've bruised my snout.”

“Don't worry,” said Hilary. She scooped up the gargoyle and gave his snout a little pat. “All self-respecting pirates are simply covered in battle scars.”

Charlie kicked at the wall with the toe of his boot. Then he tried to chip away at the bricks with his sword, but he only succeeded in creating a good deal of dust. “I blame the Enchantress,” he said, “and her blasted magic. If she magicked this wall, we haven't got a hope of getting over it.”

The gargoyle hopped closer to the wall and wiggled his ears experimentally. “It doesn't
feel
like magic,” he said at last. “And I'm sure the Enchantress wouldn't have wanted to make things harder for us. She was a very thoughtful person.”

Hilary ran her fingers over the bricks in the wall, searching for any small crack or bump that might make a decent foothold for climbing. At last her hand bumped into a square-shaped brick that stuck out a few inches more than the others. It didn't look like it could possibly hold her weight, but she pressed her hands against the wall and placed her foot carefully on the edge of the brick.

The brick spun wildly under Hilary's boot, and she tumbled to the ground. “That foothold's no good, then,” said Charlie. “Curse that Enchantress!”

“Wait a moment,” said Hilary. “There's something very strange about this brick.” She brushed it with her palm, and it spun under her hand like a loose doorknob.

The only natural thing to do with a doorknob was to turn it, so Hilary did just that. It made a soft crunching noise as she spun it clockwise, and the whole wall creaked as she pressed her shoulder against the bricks. Slowly, letting loose the scent of moss and earth, a small door opened inward.

“A secret passage!” said the gargoyle. “Oh boy! Let me at it!” Without a moment's hesitation, he hopped through the doorway.

Charlie seemed to have cheered considerably. “We'd better go after the gargoyle,” he said, “before he digs up the treasure for himself.”

The doorway was large enough for a pirate to squeeze through, though not much larger, and Charlie had to remove his hat as he crawled into the passage. When they had both reached the other side of the wall, Hilary pulled the door shut to discourage curious pirates or angry Royal Navy admirals from following them to the treasure.

When she stood up again and brushed the brick dust from her breeches, she found she was standing in a garden. An overgrown lawn stretched before her, and delicate yellow and blue flowers sprang up from the grass, determined to claim every spare inch of soil as their own. More Gunpowder Island roses bloomed here, too, scrambling up the garden walls. A wooden swing hung from a tree with leaf-covered limbs reaching in every direction, and the air hummed with the summer buzz of bees. At the far end of the garden, a jumble of stones cast mossy shadows over the ground. Perhaps a great mansion had stood here once, long ago, before the days of pirates.

“Where are we?” Hilary whispered, for it seemed right to whisper in this place. It was nothing like the manicured lawns of Westfield House, where her mother's gardeners constantly reminded Hilary that swordplay in the flowerbeds was strictly forbidden. It had been a long time, Hilary guessed, since a gardener had bothered to scold anyone here.

“It's pretty enough,” said the gargoyle, “if you like flowers and that sort of thing. But I don't know—it still doesn't feel like magic. Are you sure the treasure's nearby?”

“Yes, it's got to be.” Hilary stood with her back against the wall and counted off the last of the ninety northward paces. “All right. Now it's fifty paces toward the ash tree.” She looked around the garden at the trees that lined its borders—green and brown and golden-leaved, wide and bushy, thin and creaky. “What does an ash tree look like?” she said at last. “I don't believe Miss Greyson ever tried to teach me about nature.”

“It's that huge old tree, the one with the swing,” said Charlie. “They grew all around our house in the Northlands.”

Hilary turned to face the ash tree. “Fifty paces, then.” She tried as hard as she could to keep from wobbling as she paced, but her legs were growing shakier by the second. How many pirates had tried to find the Enchantress's lost treasure? However many had tried, they'd all gone home empty-handed. But now that very treasure was only fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight paces away. As they walked, Charlie told treasure-hunting stories he'd heard from his mam and pa, and the gargoyle wondered aloud if they would get their pictures in the
Queensport Gazette
, or if the VNHLP might commission a statue for Gunpowder Island in recognition of the kingdom's most heroic gargoyle. There were thirty paces left to walk, and then there were only twenty. The ground under Hilary's feet felt soft and earthy—easy to dig. Ten paces left. Hilary began to count out loud, slowly and precisely, and Charlie and the gargoyle soon joined in. At last, in the shadow of the ash tree, they stopped pacing.

Hilary looked down at the gargoyle. “Is this the spot?” she asked. “Does it feel like magic to you?”

The gargoyle wrinkled his snout. “I don't feel anything yet,” he said. “It must be covered by a whole lot of dirt.”

“In that case,” said Charlie, sinking the spade into the ground, “there's nothing to do but uncover it.”

Hilary and Charlie passed the spade back and forth between them, and the gargoyle assisted by scooping up bits of earth with his tail. “Which do you think sounds better,” he said, “National Gargoyle Day? Or National Day of the Gargoyle?” He flipped another tailful of dirt over his shoulder. “I want to be prepared when the queen creates a holiday in honor of me.”

“I think,” said Hilary, “that National
Pirate
Day would be more suitable.”

The gargoyle harrumphed. “And watch where you're throwing that dirt,” he said. “You nearly got some in my mouth, and it doesn't taste as good as you'd think.”

They dug in silence for a while. The pit in the garden grew deeper and wider, until Hilary feared they'd reach the fiery core of the globe before they reached the treasure. “My arms are so sore,” said Charlie, “that they might fall off at any moment. And then where will I be?” He passed the spade to Hilary and rubbed at his shoulder. “There are plenty of pirates missing a leg, but who's ever heard of a pirate with no arms?”

“It's not so bad,” said the gargoyle, “once you get used to it.”

Charlie and the gargoyle were still discussing the ideal number of arms for a pirate to possess when Hilary's spade struck something hard. “Hush for a moment, both of you!” she said. “I think I've hit something.”

“Probably just another rock.” The gargoyle rolled his eyes toward the large pile of rocks they'd already collected.

“No, this one feels different.” Hilary tapped her spade against the thing in the earth, and it clanged distinctly. “It sounds different, too; I think it's metal.” She scrambled farther into the pit and brushed away the dirt from the top of the object. Silver bands gleamed in the sunlight—silver bands wrapped around a wooden frame that looked for all the world like a treasure chest.

“We've done it!” the gargoyle cried. “The treasure is ours! Huzzah!” He hopped closer to Hilary and planted a chilly granite kiss on her nose. “We're the greatest pirates in the land!”

“And the finest on the High Seas,” Charlie added.

“Yes, we are,” said Hilary. “I'm afraid it can't be denied.”

Then they all stared down at the treasure chest.

“No more finishing school,” said Hilary.

“No more bathing caps,” said the gargoyle.

“No more worrying about the blasted navy,” said Charlie. “They'll put statues of us in the town square for sure.” He cleared his throat. “But we'd better get this chest back to Jasper's house before old Westfield figures out what's happened.”

T
HEY HAD JUST
cleared the last of the dirt away from the treasure chest when, with a great deal of banging and panting, Jasper and Miss Greyson burst into the garden. The crochet hook in Miss Greyson's outstretched hand appeared to be tugging them along toward Hilary. “There you are!” said Miss Greyson. “Thank goodness.”

Hilary waved at them. “Come quickly! We've found the treasure!”

Jasper ran to her, picked her up, and swung her about. “Well done!” he cried. Then he swung Charlie, Miss Greyson, and the gargoyle about, too. “And we've left Westfield and Oliver facedown in a pig trough halfway across the island. They're hopping mad, of course, but it should take them a while to recover their breath.”

“And,” said Miss Greyson, “we borrowed this.” From the sleeve of her bathing costume, she retrieved the treasure map and handed it to Jasper. “I suppose we won't be needing it now, but it should make it much more difficult for the navy to find us while we're hauling up this treasure.”

With the help of Jasper and Miss Greyson, it took only a few moments to pick up the treasure chest and slide it out of the pit. “It's an awfully small box to hold most of the magic in the kingdom,” said the gargoyle. He tapped it with his tail. “Can we open it now?”

Jasper said he didn't see why not, and Miss Greyson agreed that it would be prudent to examine the treasure before setting off for home, just to make sure everything was in order. “As long as the magic is out of Westfield's hands,” said Jasper, “I don't care if it's shaped like ten thousand golden elephants.” With his sword, he sliced off the chest's padlock. “Then I shall sail to every town in Augusta to give all the folks their fair share of magic, and perhaps they'll name a holiday after me. How does Jasper Fletcher Day sound to you all?”

“Ridiculous,” said Charlie.

“Conceited,” said Miss Greyson.

“Definitely not as good as National Day of the Gargoyle,” said the gargoyle.

“Just open the treasure chest!” said Hilary.

And Jasper did.

A
CLOUD OF
dust escaped from the chest, and a large, irritated-looking moth followed close on the dust's heels. Jasper swatted the moth away, and they all leaned forward around the chest.

“But it's empty!” said the gargoyle. “Treasure chests aren't supposed to be empty, are they?”

Hilary squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes that when she opened them again, the Enchantress's treasure would magically appear. But the dusty wooden slats at the base of the treasure chest refused to disappear under a pile of coins and loot. “No,” she said. “They are
not
supposed to be empty.”

Charlie sat back on his heels and stared at the empty chest. “I don't know what's going on,” he said, “but whatever it is, it's completely rotten.”

“You're certainly right about that.” A tall, white-haired woman strode through the garden toward them. Her braid circled her head like a crown, and on the collar of her purple silk jacket she wore a pin in the shape of a dancing sheep. There could be no doubt: Miss Pimm had arrived on Gunpowder Island.