The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (5 page)

Hilary sighed and picked up her bag. If the elegant gentlemen were going to insist on standing in her way, perhaps they could make themselves useful. “Can you tell me where this train stops next? I don't want to miss my station.”

“Oh, you needn't worry about that,” said Mr. Smith. “We're on a direct route, you see. Queensport to Pemberton, with no stops in between. We'll be in Pemberton soon enough, I expect.”

Hilary stared at him. “But I've got to get off the train! I can't go to Pemberton!” Pemberton meant Miss Pimm's, and Miss Pimm's meant bars on the windows, wrought-iron fences, and a whole minefield of governesses. Whatever Miss Pimm's girls did all day, they certainly didn't escape.

The corners of Mr. Smith's mouth twitched into a smile. “As it happens,” he said, “we're not too keen on going to Pemberton, either. We're in a bit of a tight spot, and if you're in a tight spot as well, we might be able to assist each other. Only if you're willing, of course.”

Behind Mr. Smith, Charlie sucked in his breath. “You can't possibly be asking
her
,” he said. “She'll never agree.”

“And why shouldn't I agree to help people?” Hilary met Charlie's stare until he looked down at his trouser legs. “I'm not as horrid as all that, you know. And I don't care for this cardigan any more than you do.”

Mr. Smith leaned forward. “So you'll help us, then?”

Hilary hesitated. Despite their tailcoats and clean white gloves, something about Mr. Smith and his ward seemed quite unscrupulous indeed. But a true pirate wouldn't be afraid of these gentlemen, and a true pirate would do whatever it took to avoid Miss Pimm's. “I could certainly use some help,” said Hilary, “but I'm not sure what I can give you in return.” She thought for a moment. “Do you like egg sandwiches?”

Mr. Smith looked almost embarrassed. “Actually,” he said, “we're both rather exhausted, and we hoped you might help us with some magic.”

Inside the canvas bag, the gargoyle began to tremble, and Hilary held him close. As if being shipped off to finishing school were not infuriating enough! If Mr. Smith thought he could lay a single gloved finger on the gargoyle's granite ears, he was terribly mistaken. “Do you think I am the Enchantress of the Northlands, Mr. Smith?” she said. “I haven't got any magic, not an ounce. And I don't know the first thing about using it.”

Mr. Smith fumbled in his pocket. “I think you misunderstand—”

“I understand perfectly. If you're trying to steal magic from me, you're wasting your time.”

“I knew it,” said Charlie. “We'd better find someone else to ask before she calls the guards on us.” He looked straight at Hilary. “You High Society girls are all the same, aren't you?”

Before Hilary could reply that she was not a High Society girl but a pirate—or very nearly a pirate, at any rate—a great screeching noise filled the carriage, and the train rattled to a stop. Hilary was almost thrown to the floor, but Mr. Smith reached out with an elegant arm and steadied her.

“That's odd,” he said, once the screeching noise had died away. “We can't have reached Pemberton yet.” He walked briskly to a window and peered out. “Ah. That explains it. Magic or not, my lad, I believe this is our stop.”

The train had come to a halt in the middle of a meadow. There was no station in sight, and Hilary couldn't even make out any towns in the distance. Along the train tracks, however, stood a row of stern-faced men dressed identically in red jackets and gray trousers. A mud-splashed carriage painted with the queen's emblem waited behind them.

Hilary stared at Mr. Smith. “Whatever are the queen's inspectors doing here?”

“Did I mention,” said Mr. Smith, “that we were in a bit of a tight spot? Yes, I'm fairly sure I did. I rather hoped we'd be magicked away before they caught up to us.” He put his arm around Charlie's shoulder. “But now I'm afraid we must rely on our manners.”

With a great deal of boot stomping, the queen's inspectors filed into the carriage. They hardly bothered to look at Hilary, but they paused when they caught sight of Mr. Smith.

“Sorry to disturb you gentlemen,” said the inspector at the front of the line, “but we're searching for thieves, and we think they may have hopped this train in Queensport.”

“Dressed all in black?” said Mr. Smith. “Wearing masks? Acting terribly suspicious?”

“Yes, that's right. You've seen them, then?”

Mr. Smith smiled. “I have indeed. They ran that way”—he pointed down the corridor—“not more than five minutes ago.”

“Hmm,” said the inspector. He jotted something down on his notepad. Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned to Hilary. “And how about you, little girl? Did you see anything suspicious?”

Across the corridor, Charlie slumped against the wall and pressed his white-gloved hands over his eyes. Hilary frowned at him. Then she straightened her dancing-sheep cardigan and nodded to the inspector. “The gentleman is right, sir,” she said—too loudly, perhaps, but the inspector didn't seem to notice. Charlie lowered his hands and blinked at her. “Two men dressed in black dashed straight through this carriage. If you hurry, I'm sure you'll catch them.”

“Very good,” said the inspector. “You've all been a great help.” He strode off in the direction Mr. Smith had pointed, and all the other inspectors tipped their hats and followed.

When the last inspector had left, Mr. Smith turned to Hilary. “I'm sorry to run without a proper good-bye,” he said, “but we really must be off.” He gestured to the open door where the inspectors had boarded. “If you still need to leave the train, I recommend doing so before those gentlemen in red jackets return. They're sure to be in a foul temper.” And with that, he slipped out the door and disappeared into the tall grass.

Charlie followed him, but halfway out the door he paused, and Hilary was almost sure she saw him smile. “By the way,” he said, “it was decent of you not to rat us out.”

Hilary nodded. “Not all High Society folk are the same, you know,” she said—but she needn't have bothered, for he was already gone.

Through the open doorway, Hilary could just make out a faint blue strip of ocean shining beyond the meadow grass. She unfastened the clasp on her bag, and the gargoyle poked his head out. “Are the scallywags gone?” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Hilary, “they're gone.”

“Thank you for protecting me.”

“I promised you I would.”

“I wasn't scared, you know,” said the gargoyle. “Pirates are never scared.”

“It's very lucky that we're going to be pirates, then,” said Hilary. “What do you think? Shall we escape to sea?”

Just then, the carriage door crashed open. Miss Greyson flew in with a gaggle of queen's inspectors at her heels.

“Hilary Westfield!” Miss Greyson cried, waving her crochet hook in the air as though it were a cutlass. “What in the world are you doing? Get away from that door at once!”

Hilary gulped. “I'm sorry! I needed some fresh air, and I thought . . .” But it was no use trying to pull wool, or any other sort of fabric, over Miss Greyson's eyes. Miss Greyson crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and sighed. This was exactly the pose that governesses were supposed to strike when they dealt with disobedient charges, and Miss Greyson had gotten a good deal of practice.

“I can handle this, thank you, inspectors,” she said with such authority that the inspectors could do nothing but nod and scurry away. Then she turned back to Hilary. “I can't think of a single young lady who needs a term at Miss Pimm's as much as you do. Honestly! Were you aware that there were
thieves
on this train? You could have been in grave danger. And escaping to sea, of all the foolish ideas—it simply can't be tolerated.” Miss Greyson took Hilary firmly by the shoulders and marched her back to their compartment. “What would your father say if he knew what you've been up to? Just imagine how disappointed he'd be.”

It wasn't difficult for Hilary to imagine her father frowning at her and sighing in exasperation—but didn't Admiral Westfield admire daring deeds? Didn't he often escape from perilous situations himself when he was out on the High Seas? He had no love for pirates, of course, but Hilary hoped that when she became a true pirate at last, Admiral Westfield wouldn't be disappointed. He might even be impressed.

From

The Augusta Scuttlebutt

WHERE HIGH SOCIETY TURNS FOR SCANDAL

Beloved Scuttlebutt readers, guard your valuables!

The band of thieves looting High Society households is still
at large, and they appear to be targeting magical items. The Grimshaws' magic cutlery, the Feverfews' magic paperweights, and Mr. Thaddeus Wembley's magic coin collection have all been stolen this week, and it's rumored that even the magic in the Royal Treasury is in danger. But who is responsible for this thievery? The queen's inspectors haven't got a clue, but the Scuttlebutt has a hunch: whispers of
piracy
have landed upon our delicate ears.

The queen assured this reporter that her inspectors have the matter well in hand. We hear, however, that these same inspectors were foolish enough to lose the thieves' trail on the Pemberton train. Until the villains are captured, the Scuttlebutt urges caution and advises its readers to avoid the company of masked figures dressed all in black.

 

WE ASKED, YOU ANSWERED:

Do you think pirates are responsible for
the recent string of thefts?

“If they are, I must admit I'm grateful to them for taking all that magic out of High Society's hands. The rest of us have hardly a magic coin to our names, you know.”

—L. R
EDFERN
, P
EMBERTON

“The whole affair certainly reeks of piracy. Can't say I'm surprised, though. As a victim of theft myself, my thoughts are with those brave individuals who have suffered at the hands of these villains.”—J. W
ESTFIELD
, Q
UEENSPORT

“I can't think why pirates would need to steal magic from High Society households. Can't they sail off and dig up some treasure chest or another? Or have those run dry as well?”

—T. G
ARCIA
, S
UMMERSTEAD

“I shall be guarding my antique magic shoehorn very closely from now on. It once belonged to my great-grandmother, and no pirate shall get his grubby hands on it. I hear that life without magic is terribly dull and common, and I don't care to experience it.”—G. T
ILBURY
, N
ORDHOLM

“I don't have magic and never did, but if I were a fancy High Society fellow, I wouldn't be careless enough to lose my magic in the first place. If the thieves are reading this, I hope they'll bring their loot to my place. There's plenty I could do with a magic coin or two.”—W. P
IPPIN
, O
TTERPOOL

“I'm sure I don't know a thing about it. You can't possibly expect me to comment on such a scandalous topic.”

—E. P
IMM
, P
EMBERTON

various extracts

From

A Young Lady's Guide to Augustan Society

A few words about the ENCHANTRESS:

A
n Enchantress is a highly trained and powerful magic user appointed by the crown to distribute magic within the kingdom and ensure its proper use. The Enchantress must have good sense, strong morals, and a natural talent for the use of magic. However, there has not been an Enchantress in Augusta for nearly two hundred years, since the Enchantress of the Northlands proved herself to be both irresponsible and impolite by vanishing without appointing a successor. This guide would like to point out that such a shocking event would not have taken place if the Enchantress of the Northlands had paid more attention to her manners.

A few words about MAGIC:

M
agic is a substance with certain peculiar properties, discovered in the hills of Augusta many centuries ago. Although its appearance is similar to gold, its behavior is quite different: when a piece of magic is held in the hand, it obeys the holder's spoken requests. It is said to draw its power from the magic user herself, and only a few individuals are powerful enough to use it in great quantities without becoming faint or fatigued. However, with proper training and practice, all persons are capable of using magic to some degree.

In the past, the government mined magic ore from the hills, minted it into coins and various other objects, and oversaw its distribution to all Augustan citizens. These citizens used magic to perform appropriate everyday tasks such as bread baking, sock mending, and maintenance of public roadways.

The use of magic was governed by an Enchantress, who punished any citizen who used his magic improperly or impolitely. This guide regrets to say, however, that many citizens actually
preferred
impoliteness, and they were not at all fond of the Enchantress. After enduring a number of magical attacks, the Enchantress of the Northlands took her revenge: she collected nearly all the magic in the kingdom and hid it away. The Enchantress herself disappeared soon afterward, and her hidden magic has never been recovered.