The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (3 page)

Hilary was a good deal shorter than Oliver, but she stood up as straight as she could. Miss Greyson would have been pleased, she thought. “Please move aside, Mr. Sanderson,” she said, brushing by him and rapping her knuckles on the open door.

Admiral Westfield glanced up. “Ah, Hilary.” He brushed the bits of rope into a desk drawer. “Please, my dear, come in.”

“That's
Lieutenant
Sanderson,” Oliver said, but Hilary pretended not to hear him as she let the door slam shut between them.

“Good fellow, that Oliver,” said Admiral Westfield, putting his boots up on his desk. “Like the son I never had. A fine sailor, too, of course.” He glanced up at Hilary, as though he expected a reply.

“Of course,” Hilary murmured. It was difficult to speak loudly enough in the admiral's study, where thick woven carpets from the far side of the kingdom covered the floor, and any noise that didn't soak into the carpet was bound to be muffled by the ticking rows of nautical instruments that lined the walls. Carved into the wall behind Admiral Westfield's desk was a row of porthole-shaped windows; after so many years at sea, the admiral claimed that windows of any other shape made him feel uneasy. Books also made him uneasy, because they were generally unavailable at sea and because he considered most of them to be impertinent. As a result, books of all sorts were strictly forbidden with in the study, but drawers upon drawers of maps and charts took up the space that bookcases might otherwise have occupied. A globe spun slowly in its wooden frame beside the desk, and a telescope stood at attention next to one of the portholes. In fact, everything stood at attention, including Hilary, because other than Admiral Westfield's desk chair, there was no place to sit. The whole effect made Hilary feel slightly seasick.

“Now then, Hilary,” said Admiral Westfield. He beamed at her, and her legs went wobbly. First he'd called her by name—by her
correct
name, no less—and now he was smiling! Hilary wondered if he was feeling entirely well. “What can I do for my Miss Pimm's girl?”

Oh dear. That explained it. “Actually,” she said, “it's about Miss Pimm's.” She stared firmly at the porthole above her father's head. “I don't want to go.”

“I'm sorry, my dear,” said Admiral Westfield. “I can't hear you; you'll have to speak up.”

Hilary took a deep breath. “I don't want to go to Miss Pimm's.”

“But
every
girl wants to go to Miss Pimm's.”

“Not me, Father. I want to be a pirate.”

“Oh, yes.” The admiral picked up a new bit of rope and started tying a half hitch. “That was quite an impertinent prank, my dear, and your mother tells me she's already scolded you for it. But I'm afraid I can't play games just now. I'm planning an important voyage, and time is of the essence.”

Hilary's legs swayed beneath her, and the sword in its scabbard bounced against the side of her knee. “It's not a prank or a game,” she said. “I'm a good sailor—heaps better than Oliver, in fact.”

Admiral Westfield opened his mouth, but Hilary hurried on before he could protest that such a thing simply wasn't possible. “I know you've never seen me sail, but I've been practicing for years. I can row just as fast as your apprentices can, and I know what to do when a storm comes up or a scallywag attacks. I'd be a terrible schoolgirl, Father, but I think I'd be a very good pirate.” She hesitated. “If you'd just come down to the harbor with me—just for a few moments—perhaps I could show you.”

Admiral Westfield sucked in his breath and released it in a tremendous gust. “My dear,” he said, “there's no need to do anything rash. Let me be clear: You are a young lady. Moreover, you are a Westfield. You will not tell silly tales, you will not ruin your prospects in High Society, and you will never be a pirate.”

“But Father—”

“You know perfectly well that piracy is disgraceful,” Admiral Westfield continued. “Sailing off on adventures at a moment's notice, digging up treasure without turning it over to the queen, ignoring
my
orders—why, the kingdom would be far better off without all those pirates sailing through it.” He slammed his boots against the desktop. “Whyever would you want to be one? Is this that governess's influence, or that wretched gargoyle's? Is this something you've read about in
books
?”

Hilary enjoyed a good pirate yarn as much as the gargoyle did, but she'd wanted to be a pirate for as long as she could remember—well, nearly as long. She had one bright, long-ago memory of taking her mother's hand, walking down the cobblestone streets to the Queensport docks, and waving good-bye to the billowing canvas sails of her father's fleet as he set off on a grand adventure. She'd told her mother then and there that she wanted to join the navy when she was old enough, to sail the High Seas on grand adventures of her own. But her mother had only smiled and laughed. She'd told her father, too, when he'd returned from his voyage, but he'd looked very serious and informed her that the navy was no place for little girls, and certainly no place for a daughter of his.

And perhaps Admiral Westfield had been right after all, for a career in the navy, with its tedious rules and dull assignments, was hardly as interesting as life on a pirate ship. On a pirate ship, Hilary could have all the grand adventures she pleased. She'd set navy boys like Oliver shivering in their fine leather boots, and her father would finally be able to see what a daughter of his could do. She'd be the most fearsome pirate on the High Seas, no matter what One-Legged Jones and Admiral Westfield had to say about it.

Admiral Westfield, however, did not have much more to say to Hilary about anything. “Now,” he said, getting up from his desk, “let's have no more of this nonsense. I don't believe they tolerate nonsense at Miss Pimm's. Or in the VNHLP, for that matter—they were quite right to turn you down.” He put his hands on Hilary's shoulders and brushed a hurried kiss across her forehead. “Run along now, and be a good little girl.”

Hilary didn't budge. Instead, she stared at the wall beyond her father's head. Then she rubbed her eyes and stared again, just to be sure she wasn't mistaken.

Admiral Westfield cleared his throat. “Run along,” he said again, a bit more loudly, “and be—”

“Father,” said Hilary, “you'd better turn around. Something very odd is happening to your window.”

As they watched, one of the porthole windows behind Admiral Westfield's desk was growing larger and larger. It swallowed up the surrounding windows and half the wall besides. The admiral's nautical instruments were knocked off their pegs, and his charts of the High Seas fluttered to the floor, but the window appeared determined to continue growing until it had reached the fringe of carpet below. Hilary had never seen anything like it. She hurried to the window and tried to press her hand against it, but her fingers slipped straight through the frame.

“The glass—it's vanished somehow.” Hilary poked at the window frame with the tip of her sword. “And I think the frame is still growing.” She turned around to stare at her father. “I don't understand. Do your windows normally move about by themselves?”

“Stand back, my dear,” said Admiral Westfield, “and for goodness' sake, put that ridiculous weapon away. I'll take care of this.” He tugged Hilary out of the way and marched up to the wall, which was now more air than stone. “Look here, window!” he cried. “I'll have none of this impertinence. I am in charge of this house, and I demand that you shrink yourself at once!”

Hilary rubbed her arm where Admiral Westfield had tugged at it. She was rather pleased to see that unlike most everything else in the kingdom, the window refused to obey her father's orders. It only stretched farther to reveal two figures standing on the lawn outside Westfield House. They were too far away for Hilary to make out properly, but they seemed to be dressed entirely in black, with black masks around their eyes and black gloves around their fists. Hilary swallowed hard and pointed her sword in their direction.

The window hesitated for a moment, as though it were worried that growing much larger would be rude. It wobbled from side to side. Then, all at once, every drawer in the admiral's study flew open, and every door burst from its hinges. Hilary yelped and held up her sword to fend off the cabinet doors that swung wildly over her head. Admiral Westfield let loose a barrage of nautical-sounding curses as his desk drawer hit him in the stomach and knocked him to the floor.

A scroll of paper flew out of the open desk and sailed over Admiral Westfield's head. He snatched at the scroll, but it darted past his fingers, and before Hilary could run over to help, the scroll had traveled out the enormous window and into the waiting, black-gloved hand of the tall person on the lawn.

“Stop, you scoundrels!” cried Admiral Westfield, but the tall person merely gave a cheerful wave. Then, with a great shudder, the porthole window collapsed back to its proper size, and all the drawers and cabinet doors slammed shut.

Hilary hurried to Admiral Westfield's side and helped him up from the floor. “Are you all right?” she said. Her father looked a little red, but then again, he always did. “What in the world just happened?”

“Magic!” cried Admiral Westfield. “And thievery to boot. Those scallywags magicked a most important document straight out of my house!” He pulled open his desk drawer and fumbled through it. “And what use is that blasted gargoyle?” he muttered. “He's supposed to protect us, but he doesn't do a blessed thing unless we run to him and beg him—and I refuse to beg that creature for anything. How the Westfields got stuck with the most useless piece of magic in the kingdom, I'll never know.” The admiral cursed under his breath and shut the desk drawer with a bang. Then he looked up at Hilary. “Terribly sorry you had to witness all this, my dear. Getting mixed up in magic hardly improves a young lady's reputation. You'd better hurry back to your room at once while I sort out this mess.”

Hilary frowned. Surely a true pirate wouldn't hide in her room after a battle. No, a true pirate would pursue the enemy, no matter what her father had to say about it. “But I can chase after the thieves,” she protested. “I might not be able to catch them, but surely I can find out where they've gone.”

“No, my dear, don't be ridiculous. There's nothing you could possibly do. And wherever did you get that sword?”

Hilary had, in fact, swiped the sword from a suit of armor on display in the Westfield House ballroom, assuming that she could get more use out of it than the suit of armor could—but now was hardly the time to explain this to her father. “Tell me what I can do to help,” she said, “and I'll do it.”

“You can help,” said Admiral Westfield, “by not breathing a word of this to anyone. The sooner you're safely off at Miss Pimm's, the better. By the way, my dear, this type of scandalous behavior is exactly what one might expect to find on board a
pirate ship
.” He spit the words out onto the carpet. “Shocking, isn't it?”

Actually, Hilary had found it all rather thrilling, but Admiral Westfield didn't leave her any time to answer. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to call a few of my men together and set them on the trail of those rapscallions.” He turned back to Hilary. “And for heaven's sake, give me that sword. It's dangerous, and you certainly won't be needing it at Miss Pimm's.”

He reached out for the sword, but Hilary pulled it away. “I think I'll hold on to it, Father, if you don't mind,” she said. “I hear the girls at Miss Pimm's can be quite vicious.”

“Hilary, I don't have time for this nonsense. Sword or no sword, all I ask is that you are safely on the train to Miss Pimm's at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.”

Hilary tried to look solemn. “Yes, Father,” she said. “I promise I'll get on the train.”

Admiral Westfield nodded and dismissed Hilary from his study. At least he had not made her promise to
stay
on the train all the way to Miss Pimm's, for that was a promise she did not intend to keep.

H
ILARY HURRIED DOWN
the corridor, past the kings and the explorers and all the other stained-glass heroes trapped forever in the halls of Westfield House. When she reached her bedroom at last, she slammed the door behind her.

“So,” said the gargoyle, “did you run your father through after all? You can't say I didn't warn you about the mess. . . . Hey! What are you doing with that thing?”

“I,” said Hilary as she chipped away at the stones around the gargoyle with the point of her sword, “am taking you with me. I'm sure Father won't miss you one bit.”

“What?” The gargoyle squirmed, and small chunks of doorway fell to the floor. “Are you crazy? I don't want to go to finishing school! You can't make me go! I won't learn water ballet, and that's final!”

“Hush, don't worry. We're not going to finishing school.”

The gargoyle's ears perked up. “We're not?”

“No,” said Hilary. “We're going to sea.”

From

The Illustrated Queensport Gazette

YOUR GATEWAY TO THE CIVILIZED WORLD!

MISSING * MISSING * MISSING

One important and valuable
DOCUMENT
from the personal files of A
DMIRAL
J
AMES
W
ESTFIELD
.

Two feet in length and width, rolled into a
SCROLL
, and tied with
RED RIBBON
. Last seen in the
NEFARIOUS GRIP
of two
MASKED INTRUDERS
clad all in black. Contains
SECRETS
of importance to the
ENTIRE KINGDOM
! (If discovered, please do not read.)

Please return said document to Admiral Westfield at Westfield House, Queensport,
AT ONCE
! Simultaneous delivery of
MASKED INTRUDERS
preferred if possible. Needless to say, successful return of document and/or intruders will earn a significant and generous reward.