The Buccaneers' Code (22 page)

T
HE CREW OF
the
Augusta Belle
was in a panic. “The queen's ship has been hit!” cried the naval officer who'd been complaining of molasses in his boots not half an hour before. “It won't stay afloat for long, from the looks of it. We must rescue Her Majesty at once!”

“Steady, mates,” Admiral Westfield boomed. All of the officers stopped chattering. “I am just as distraught as you are to see our beloved monarch so rudely attacked. I'm confident that Admiral Curtis has the matter well in hand, however, and we must not place ourselves in his way. Our task is to guard our prisoners and prevent them from doing any more damage to the queen or the kingdom.”

“But we haven't done any damage in the first place!” said Hilary. “How could we have possibly attacked the queen? We've been far too busy getting tied to the mast and watching our ship sink!”

Admiral Westfield walked across the deck and stopped so close to Hilary that she could have counted every bristle in his beard if she'd wanted a way to pass the time. “Of course you have,” he said quietly enough that his officers couldn't overhear. “I know that as well as you do. But the queen herself surely believes you've fired upon her, and so does Admiral Curtis. So, for that matter, does every person watching from the Queensport coast—including your own crewmates.”

“They'd never believe any such thing,” said Hilary, though she had to admit the circumstances didn't look good.

“When Captain Blacktooth's mates fight off the false
Pigeon
,” Admiral Westfield continued, “and when I deliver you criminals to the Dungeons, we shall be national heroes! Then, of course, I shall have to do away with Blacktooth somehow. Do you think an unfortunate fishing accident would do the trick? It will be an enormous hassle, but I don't want to have any competition when the wise citizens of Augusta choose their new ruler.”

Perhaps the ropes that held Hilary fast had tightened themselves, for it was suddenly much more difficult to
breathe. “What do you mean?” she said carefully.

“He means they're going to let the
Benevolence
sink.” Charlie sounded as though he might be running out of air himself. “They're not going to rescue the queen.”

“That friend of yours is rather clever.” Admiral Westfield reached around the mast to pat Charlie on the shoulder. “It's a pity you're not well-bred, my lad, or you could have joined the navy.”

Charlie drew in his breath, and Hilary gave her father her sharpest glare, though it was nowhere near as sharp as her cutlass. “I can see you're thoroughly enjoying yourself,” she said, “but you're not nearly as good a villain as you think you are. Your plan is absurd! There's no way it's going to work.”

Admiral Westfield looked pointedly at the spot where the
Pigeon
had sunk. “It seems to be working wonderfully well so far,” he said, “and all thanks to you. We've wanted to remove the queen from her throne for ages, but we couldn't settle on someone to frame for the crime. When you issued your challenge to Captain Blacktooth, however, all the pieces of our plan fell into place.” He brushed his hands together, as though he were dusting away something he didn't care for. “I admit I'm not thrilled about sending my own daughter off to the Dungeons—but of course you know exactly what it feels like to betray one's relations, don't you, Terror?”

The rope grew tighter around Hilary's middle.

“Don't answer him,” the gargoyle whispered. “He's just trying to make you mad.”

“In that case,” said Hilary, “he's succeeding.”

“If I may ask a question,” Miss Greyson said from the other side of the mast, “won't these charming naval officers unravel your plot? They know perfectly well that Hilary didn't attack the queen.”

Admiral Westfield's shoulders stiffened, the way they often did around governesses. “You have an inquiring mind, madam,” he told Miss Greyson. “I can't say I care for it. As for my mates, I'm sure they'll piece things together sooner or later.” He glanced behind him, where the officers were taking turns peering through a spyglass at the sinking
Benevolence.
“They're only half as dull-witted as they look. I expect, however, that a few crates of magic from the Royal Treasury will convince them to keep their ideas to themselves. And if they don't—well, the sharks aren't
too
terribly hungry this time of year. With a bit of luck, these fellows might survive for weeks!”

“Did you hear that, gentlemen?” Alice called to the officers. “Admiral Westfield plans to feed you to the sharks!”

A few of the officers frowned at her, and the others didn't even bother to turn around. “Don't waste the air we've granted you, scallywag,” one of them said. “Pirates lie; everyone knows that.”

“You'd think they'd be more concerned,” the gargoyle remarked. “Sharks are the second most fearsome beasts in the kingdom.”

“After sea monsters?” Claire asked.

The gargoyle rolled his eyes. “After
me
.”

Hilary looked over her father's shoulder and out toward the sea, where a large portion of the queen's ship had already sunk below the surface. Admiral Curtis was returning the false
Pigeon
's fire, and a number of other vessels of all shapes and sizes had sailed into the fray. Although most of them belonged to Blacktooth's allies, Hilary spotted Captain Wolfson's longship as it bounded over the waves toward the
Benevolence
, followed closely by Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley. All the thick rope bonds in the world couldn't hold her back from smiling at the sight of them.

Admiral Westfield removed his hat and fanned himself with its brim. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself, Terror?” he asked. “You can't be enjoying this.”

“I'm not,” Hilary assured him. “I'm simply wondering what will happen if my mates are able to rescue the queen. That will put a cramp in the Mutineers' plans, won't it?”

“It will never happen,” said Admiral Westfield. “Mr. Sanderson is at the false
Pigeon
's helm. He happens to be the most talented young sailor on the High Seas—and why wouldn't he be, when I trained him myself?”

Of course Oliver was the villain sailing the
Pigeon
;
Hilary should have guessed. “He does excel at treachery,” she said, “but Admiral Curtis is delivering a good defense. Doesn't that worry you?”

“Hardly.” The very corners of Admiral Westfield's eyes twitched. “Trust me, Terror: Admiral Curtis doesn't worry me at all.”

When Hilary was growing up in Westfield House, her mother had warned her not to provoke her father, most especially not when his jaw was tight and his eyes prone to twitching. In all those years, she had never dared to disobey. Now, however, Hilary's magic piece was out of sight and her cutlass was out of reach. A good pirate had to use any weapon in her possession, she reasoned, and provocation was the only weapon she had left. She stood up a little straighter against the mast.

“I've heard people say that Curtis is the finest naval admiral this kingdom has ever seen,” she said, more boldly this time. “Who knows? He might even be the finest admiral in
any
kingdom!”

The twitch returned to Admiral Westfield's eyes. “Who says that?”

“Oh, everyone,” said Hilary. “The queen. The Enchantress. Most of High Society.”

“Nonsense,” said Admiral Westfield.

“It's true!” Claire chimed in. “Curtis seems very impressive to me. I'm sure he'll win this battle.”

“You can't even see him!” said Admiral Westfield.
“You're facing the wrong way!”

“We don't need to see him to be impressed,” Jasper said calmly from behind the mast. “That's how talented he is.”

“The
Pigeon
has fired its cannon once more,” Mr. Gull was shouting over the din of the battle, “but Admiral Curtis has dealt another blow to the attackers! Will he manage to save the queen from peril?”

“Of course he won't!” said Admiral Westfield. His voice had grown louder, and a few of his officers turned to stare at him.

“Even if Admiral Curtis doesn't save the queen,” said Hilary cheerfully, “even if he only puts up a very good fight, he'll still be the most famous hero in Augusta. They'll install a plaque in his honor on the palace wall.”

“They'll build a statue in his likeness,” said Charlie.

“They'll name a dessert after him,” said Jasper, “or perhaps a type of cheese.”

“They'll hold parades in his honor!” the gargoyle cried. “They'll sing songs and ballads!”

“Yes!” said Hilary. The twitching had spread from Admiral Westfield's eyes to the rest of his face; she could hardly stop talking now. “Everyone will speak for years to come about brave George Curtis, the finest naval admiral the kingdom has ever known.”

“They'll do no such thing!” cried Admiral Westfield. “That Curtis fellow is as useless as a horse in a railway carriage! He's as spineless as a sponge! Why, he can hardly
think for himself! Who do you think has been giving orders to the navy these past few months? Who's been directing Curtis's every move? Who's been plucking freelance pirates off the High Seas like fleas off a mutt? Who had you scallywags captured?”

The gargoyle thought about this. “You?” he asked.

“Exactly! All the naval officers in the kingdom answer to me, and there's not a thing George Curtis can do about it. He's far too frightened to challenge me. When the Mutineers have sunk him, he'll be forgotten within the week, and everyone will know who is
truly
the finest admiral in Augusta!”

From behind Admiral Westfield came the distinctive swishing sound of six naval officers drawing their swords.

Admiral Westfield put a hand to his mouth. He cleared his throat. He spun around to face his mates. “Gentlemen,” he said, “what I meant to say—”

“We know exactly what you meant to say.” The officer with molasses in his boots pointed his sword at Admiral Westfield's coat buttons. “You're plotting against our admiral and our queen.”

“That's treason,” said another officer, “not to mention bad manners.”

“You've misunderstood!” Admiral Westfield protested as the officers gathered around him. “The pirates tricked me into saying those things! I love Admiral Curtis! He's as delightful as a daffodil, as charming as a chickadee—”

“You know, Father,” said Hilary, “I don't believe your mates are quite as dull-witted as you said they were.”

Admiral Westfield looked from port to starboard and back again. He reached for his sword, then seemed to think better of it and picked up the golden urn from the deck. “Stand back, men,” he said, “or I'll enchant you all overboard, and the sharks shall have you for lunch!”

The officers' swords wavered. Their eyes grew wide, and their feet hesitated.

“He's lying through his teeth,” Claire called to them. “He can't possibly have enough strength left to use all that magic. Don't let him frighten you!”

The officers exchanged glances. They began to lower their swords.

“Blast it all,” said Hilary, “what are you doing? A true pirate never backs down from his enemies!”

“But we're not pirates, miss.” At least the officer who said this had the good sense to look embarrassed. “And I don't care to be a shark's luncheon.”

“I knew you'd see sense,” said Admiral Westfield. Drops of sweat gleamed on his brow as he edged over to the treasure chest he'd stolen from the
Pigeon
; he clearly didn't trust his mates enough to turn his back on them. “Why don't I give you each a handful of magic coins, and we'll forget about this awkward conversation once and for all.” Still looking at his men, he reached over with one hand and opened the treasure chest.

“Step away, you pickle-hearted scoundrel!” cried Sir Nicholas Feathering.

With a shout worthy of any pirate, he launched himself out of the chest where he'd been crouched for hours, tumbled through the air, and crashed to the deck, bringing Admiral Westfield down with him. The admiral's magic urn slipped from his hands, and Nicholas grabbed hold of it. “Release my sister and her friends,” he said, “or I'll blast you into the next kingdom.”

Admiral Westfield blinked up at him. “But, my lad, you're a Mutineer!”

“Actually,” said Nicholas, sitting back on his heels, “I've discovered I'm not.” He nodded to Hilary. “I'm a pirate.”

I
N A MATTER
of minutes, the naval officers released the pirates from their bonds and used the long length of rope to tie up Admiral Westfield instead. He had turned purple with rage, reminding Hilary strongly of a tinned beet. “Please sail us into the harbor, officers,” she said, rubbing the lines along her arms where the ropes had bitten into her skin. “As you probably know, we're running late for a battle. Once you've dropped us off, you can take the admiral to the Dungeons—but tell the guards there that he's not to bribe his way out again.”