The Buccaneers' Code (21 page)

“If you truly wanted to get your revenge,” said Jasper, “why didn't you send us to the bottom of the sea at once and avoid this whole production? It would have been much more efficient.”

“Don't give them any ideas,” said Charlie.

“I'm only following orders,” the naval officer replied. “If Admiral Curtis wants you pirates tied up, then I'm happy to oblige.”

“I doubt Admiral Curtis wants anything of the sort,” said Hilary. “Let me guess. Did those orders come through his adviser?”

The officer glared at her. “This one's getting cheeky, sir,” he called over his shoulder. “I can't say I like the look of her.”

Admiral Westfield turned from admiring the gleaming piles of treasure he'd looted from the
Pigeon.
“What else would you expect from a notorious scallywag?” he asked. “She's exactly the sort of pirate that Admiral Curtis has
asked us to eliminate from the High Seas.” He sifted a pile of gold coins through his fingers. “As for why we didn't sink you, Mr. Fletcher, as hard as it may be for you to believe, I want nothing more than to keep you all alive.”

“How charitable of you,” Hilary said. “You're not usually so kind to your enemies, Father.”

“But I've reformed!” said Admiral Westfield. He looked about as sincere as a sneak thief. “Quite frankly, Hilary, I'm disappointed that you haven't done the same. There was a time when I thought you'd grow to appreciate the comfortable life I've given you, but I've abandoned all hope that you'll ever return to your proper place in High Society. If you insist on acting like a pirate, then I shall treat you like one.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Hilary would have crossed her arms if they hadn't been lashed to her sides. “If you wanted to capture me, though, you should have chosen a more convenient time. We've got a battle to attend, and if we don't arrive soon, our mates will come looking for us.” She hoped very much that this was true. No spectators stood nearby to send a warning; the entire kingdom was gathered around the harbor a mile away, and no passersby were likely to glimpse the
Augusta Belle
anchored in the shadows below the cliffs. Even Fitzwilliam couldn't deliver a message to the others: one of the naval officers had tied his wings together with a spare bit of rope.

“What a frightening thought,” said Admiral Westfield.
“Your schoolgirl friends will attack us with curtsies, I expect, and your mother will dump a pitcher of lemonade on my head.” He chuckled. Once he'd given the nearest naval officers a quick jab in the ribs, they quickly joined in. “No, I'm afraid you won't be appearing at today's battle—and while I'm required to keep you all more or less unharmed, I can't say the same for your ship.”

Miss Greyson gasped, and Jasper cursed. “Don't you dare,” said Hilary, but her father had already bent down to retrieve the golden urn that lay at his feet.

“Captain Blacktooth loaned this to me from his personal treasure trove. Isn't it remarkable? I suppose pirates are good for something after all.” Admiral Westfield held the magic piece in front of him as though it were a trophy he'd won at a sporting match. “Magic,” he said, “sink the
Pigeon
at once.”

As Hilary watched, her father took three enormous breaths, each more labored than the last. His legs trembled, his knuckles tensed, and his shoulders shuddered until Hilary felt sure he would collapse under the magic's strain. For a moment, he nearly looked frightened.

Then waves began to break over the sides of the
Pigeon.
They swamped the deck and battered the Gargoyle's Nest until it was nothing more than flotsam. The sea poured into the captain's cabin, flooded the galley, and overturned Miss Greyson's bookshelves. Rows of leather-bound novels splashed into the water like doomed sailors
walking the plank. As the ship's bow tipped toward the sky, chairs and crates and compasses bobbed at the surface for a moment or two before disappearing entirely. With a final creak of wood and a damp rustle of sails, the faithful
Pigeon
descended beneath the waves.

“Oh, Hilary,” the gargoyle whispered. “How can we be pirates if we don't have a ship?”

Hilary couldn't answer. Instead, she stared at the spot where the
Pigeon
had been and willed it to come back, though it stubbornly refused to resurrect itself. She had promised Jasper she'd take good care of his ship, and now it was lost for good.

Admiral Westfield relaxed his grip on the golden urn. He wiped his brow with a trembling hand and bent over to catch his breath. “That's better,” he said. “I can't imagine why you pirates look so glum. Your vessel was practically a wreck already.”

Hilary couldn't see Charlie tied to the other side of the mast, but she was sure he was shaking. Claire, however, had suddenly become still. “Your father's used more magic today than most people use in a month,” she whispered to Hilary. “I'm sure he doesn't have much strength left. Isn't there anything we can do to overpower him?”

Hilary did her best to search her pockets, but the naval officers who'd taken her cutlass and plucked up her magic pieces hadn't missed a single coin. The knots that bound her to the mast were impressively tight, and there was no
room to squirm out from under the coils of rope. She tried to imagine what the heroes in her favorite books would do if they found themselves in such a dire situation, but that only made her think of the floating bookshop and all the stories that were drifting down to the ocean floor, with only snails and sea horses to turn their pages.

A trumpet fanfare rang out from the direction of the harbor, and Admiral Westfield clapped his hands. “It must be time for the battle to begin. How fortunate we all are to have a front-row seat.”

“But there won't
be
a battle if we're not there to fight it,” said Alice.

“I don't know who you are, little girl, but you show a surprising lack of imagination.” Admiral Westfield raised a finger. “Now be quiet, and pay attention.”

M
R
. G
ULL MUST
have been using a magic piece to strengthen his voice, for although Hilary couldn't see him around the bend in the shoreline, she could hear him all the way from the
Augusta Belle.
“On behalf of the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates,” he said, “I welcome you, one and all, to this afternoon's battle. I am your humble servant, Horatio Gull, and I will serve as the announcer for today's festivities.” A ripple of applause floated over the waves. “The pirate who emerges victorious in this contest will win the presidency of the VNHLP, while the losing pirate will be forced to leave the kingdom of Augusta immediately and
forever. The contestants will try not to blast, behead, or otherwise injure the spectators, but if you fear for your life or safety, I recommend scampering away as quickly as possible.”

Miss Greyson clicked her tongue. “How impractical.”

“I agree,” said Jasper. “Why run away from a battle when you could run into it?”

“It's hard to run anywhere when you're tied to a mast,” Charlie pointed out.

Admiral Westfield glared at them. “Quiet!”

“The contest,” Mr. Gull continued, “will be judged by none other than our beloved monarch. Queen Adelaide, would you please step forward?”

Hilary waited for cheers to erupt from the spectators, but there was only silence.

“Well,” said Mr. Gull at last, “it seems the queen hasn't yet returned from her travels, but I'm sure she'll be here shortly. In the meantime, why don't we introduce our contestants? On the starboard side of the harbor is Captain Rupert Blacktooth: the most fearsome pirate in Augusta, the owner of the finest beard in sixteen kingdoms, and my personal employer. Please give three cheers for Captain Blacktooth!”

A round of huzzahs rose up from the crowd, but none of the prisoners on the
Augusta Belle
joined in. “I'd rather eat my boot leathers,” said Hilary.

“So would I,” said the gargoyle. “I hear they're good
with marmalade. Do you have any marmalade, Admiral Westfield?”

“I do not,” said the admiral icily.

“And on the port side,” said Mr. Gull once the huzzahs had faded away, “is our challenger, Pirate Hilary Westfield, the Terror of—pardon me.” He paused. “Where is the Terror? And where are the rest of her supporters?”

“I suppose this is Blacktooth's grand plan,” Hilary said to her father. “If I don't show up at the battle, I'll be forced to forfeit, and Blacktooth will win without even having to raise his cutlass. Is he really too cowardly to face me?”

Admiral Westfield's mouth conspired with his eyebrows to create an expression that looked something like amusement. “Blacktooth
is
a coward,” he agreed, “but I assure you, Terror: that's not his plan.” He looked hastily at his officers. “Not that I would know anything about the captain's intentions, of course.”

“This is most unusual,” Mr. Gull was saying. “My assistants have taken a count of the Terror's supporters, and six are missing, not to mention the Terror herself. Her mates assure me that she is on her way, and her mother has graciously offered me a glass of lemonade. If Pirate Westfield does not appear within the next few minutes, however, she will have to surrender her gargoyle and travel at once to the Pestilent Home for—” He broke off. “What's that on the horizon? Where did I put my spyglass?”

Just beyond the harbor, a tall ship decorated with
pennants and ribbons was approaching with tremendous speed. “It's the
Benevolence
!” said Mr. Gull. “Queen Adelaide has arrived!”

The spectators cheered, and Claire twisted her neck to get a better view. “Can you see her, Hilary?” she asked. “Is it really the queen? I ought to curtsy if it is, but being tied up by villains makes it difficult to bend one's knees.”

“I'm sure the queen won't mind about that,” said Hilary. “It does look like her ship, though it's flying navy flags along with the royal pennants. Admiral Curtis must still be traveling with her.”

“Another naval officer?” said Charlie. “Don't we have enough of them to deal with already?”

“This one might actually be willing to help us,” Hilary pointed out. A good pirate would rather snap her cutlass in two than ask for help from the Royal Navy, of course, but Hilary wasn't sure she had any other choice. “If they sail close enough to us, we might be able to get the admiral's attention—or even the queen's.”

The cheering grew louder as the queen's ship approached. Hilary could see Queen Adelaide now, standing at the bow of the
Benevolence
and turning her cupped hand back and forth to wave to her subjects. The sleeves of her gown billowed in the breeze, and her crown sparkled where it caught the light. All the naval officers on the
Augusta Belle
removed their hats out of respect as the
Benevolence
sailed closer—all but Admiral Westfield.

As Hilary tried to think of a way to capture the queen's attention, another ship sped across the waves. It was smaller than the
Benevolence
, but a good deal faster; it moved so quickly, in fact, that Hilary wouldn't have recognized it if she hadn't spotted the Jolly Roger flying from the mast and the Gargoyle's Nest lashed to the bowsprit. “Well, shiver me timbers,” said Mr. Gull. “The Terror of the Southlands has finally arrived in her ship, the
Pigeon
!”

“What?” cried Jasper.

Hilary stared at the new ship. It looked exactly like the
Pigeon
in every detail, but she certainly wasn't its captain. In fact, she had no idea who was standing at its helm. The gargoyle looked equally befuddled. “Is this part of Captain Blacktooth's plan?” he asked.

“It must be,” said Hilary, “but it doesn't make a bit of sense! Why would the Mutineers go to so much trouble to sink our ship if they were going to bring a new ship in to take its place?”

Then a cloud of smoke bloomed in front of her, an earsplitting bang drowned out the roar of the crowd, and a cannonball sailed from the false
Pigeon
's deck, tracing a long, lazy arc across the sky before it smashed into the
Benevolence
.

From

The Personal Transcriptions of Horatio Gull

Private Secretary to the President

COURTESY OF THE VNHLP ARCHIVES

The notorious pirate Hilary Westfield has just blasted a hole in the side of the queen's ship. Onlookers gasp. Infants cry. I fumble my handful of magic coins; they clink to the deck of the
Renegade.
In short, chaos reigns!

Chaos may, however, be transformed into order through the talents of an effective secretary. Sensing that a record of this historic event might be useful in the future, I retrieve a pen and parchment from my satchel. The following conversation transpires.