The Lost Prince (4 page)

The fort was an old, broken-down military base that was barely still standing. It had been erected long ago under the orders of whatever king or queen had ruled the island at the time. Over the years, St. Diogenes and the port of Bartleby Bay had been conquered and reconquered with such frequency that it was hard to keep track of who was in charge from day to day. It wasn’t
until after a hurricane destroyed the fort and much of the island that One-Eyed Jack decided to settle there. After that, the island finally knew stability, for the people who lived there knew
exactly
who was in charge. One-Eyed Jack’s continued presence on St. Diogenes was a testament to his power and a constant reminder of who truly ruled the waters of the Caribbean.

Dean bounded up the smooth stone slab that ran to the entrance of the fort. Long ago, heavy iron cannons had been rolled up ramps like this one. Dean had stashed his secret weapon near the top of the slope. It was a contraption he’d built himself, using clay wheels he had stolen off a pushcart down on the docks, and a broken plank of wood that he’d pulled off a cabinet. Dean crossed the threshold of the fort and found the wheelboard right where he’d left it. Board in hand, Dean sprinted across the main courtyard, leaping over rubble from the crumbling walls all around. The lookout tower was still standing, and Dean raced up the spiral staircase to the turret. Once he arrived, he took a moment to catch his breath. He waited for the crew of the
Reckless
to reach him. On one side, he looked out on the cliffs of the island. Waves were breaking against the rocky edge of St. Diogenes, hundreds of feet below the tower window. On the other side was only the ruined interior of the fort. A debris-strewn square was filled with rocks, weeds, and useless old artillery. A wide stone staircase on the far side of the plaza led to the storage areas in the basement. Another staircase on that level led outside. From there, a final
set of rickety wooden steps hugged the cliffs, winding down to the water below. That’s where Dean was going. The only things standing in his way were twenty young pirates and Gentleman Jim Harper. They gathered beneath the tower, out of breath and looking more than a little annoyed. The largest boy in the group threw a rock up at Dean. He ducked for cover, and it bounced off the edge of the window, knocking out a good chunk of the wall.

“That could have taken my head off!”

The young pirate held up another rock. He was a tall, muscular lad with the body of a man and the face of a boy. His dirty blond hair was pulled back behind a bandanna, and Dean got a good look at his eyes. This kid meant business. “If I have to come up there after you, I promise you the next one won’t miss. Now, get down here before I—”

“Ronan.” Gentleman Jim said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough. It’s over.” Ronan and the rest of the mob settled down as their captain called out to Dean. “There’s nowhere else for you to go, lad. You had a good run, but it ends here. Don’t make it end badly. Come down freely, return what you stole, and I promise you won’t be hurt.”

“Much,”
added a weasel-faced pirate in the crowd.

Gentleman Jim gave the boy a hard stare. “Rook.” He spoke to him with less patience than he had Ronan, saying his name as if it meant “shut up.” The boy was beanpole thin with arms like broomsticks, and dirty enough to be Scurvy Gill’s protégé. He
frowned, but he followed the implied order and held his tongue. Gentleman Jim reached a hand toward Dean and motioned for him to come down. “Turn yourself in, and no one will harm you. You have my word.”

Dean planted his feet. “The word of a pirate? What’s that worth?”

“You’d be surprised. There’s more than one kind of pirate.”

Dean let out a terse laugh. “News to me.” He nodded and withdrew into the tower. A moment later, he came flying out the window with the wheelboard under his feet, and one hand on the deck. The wheels hit the edge of the fort’s outer wall, and Dean kicked hard, taking flight over the crowd below. He touched down in the square, rolling fast, and carved a serpentine path through the Pirate Youth, staying low and out of reach.

“That’s it! Take him!” Gentleman Jim shouted as Dean flew by him, making hard, grinding turns.

“I don’t think so,” Dean said. He rolled across the square, jumped over a cannon, and kept going. One of the young pirates chasing him ran right into it. Dean glided along, skating the stone floor toward the edge of the courtyard. It looked like he was headed for a dead end, but the interior base of the fort’s walls had a small incline he could use. He rode up hard and put a hand down to swing the board around in a violent, sweeping motion. While the pirates chasing him were still on their way up, Dean came back down without losing any speed. Back on the flat surface of the
plaza, he cut back and forth, changing direction faster than his pursuers could anticipate. He flew over the smooth flagstones of the fort, and Gentleman Jim’s crew ran into one another trying to grab him. Dean made them look like they had lead boots strapped on their feet. They couldn’t lay a hand on him, and he was just getting warmed up.

The tower directly across from the one Dean had jumped out of had toppled over and split in half years ago. Dean faked out three different pirates on his way toward it, and rode up its smooth interior surface like a surfer on a wave. Gentleman Jim’s boys chased him up there, but when he reached the top, Dean put a hand down once again and swung his legs out to come back at them in a sharp cutback turn. Before they knew it, he was headed straight for them. Again, he stayed low. He kept his knees bent and his arms in, fingertips grazing the stone as he zigzagged his way down the ramp. The pirates fell over each other trying to catch Dean, but he was already gone. He fired back into the square and made for the staircase in the far corner. He was almost home free.

When he reached the stairway to the basement, the shifty-looking pirate called Rook was standing on the top step. Dean didn’t slow down. It was a game of chicken, and Dean wasn’t turning. Just before they collided, Rook took a step back and lost his balance. As he tumbled down the stairs, Dean kicked hard and flipped the board up to the stone railing. He sledded down
the staircase banister to the first landing, jumped over Rook, and hit the fort’s lower level, wheels rolling. He shot down a dark hallway, taking the wheelboard as far as he could. When he hit the cobblestones and overgrown weeds at the edge of the fort, he picked up the board and ran for the cliffside exit.

Dean charged down the steps on foot. He could have skated down, but he figured he had shown off enough already. If he didn’t slow down, the Pirate Youth would never catch him. He looked up to see where they were. What he saw was a big kid looking down on him, the one with the rocks, whom Gentleman Jim had called Ronan. Dean slowed his pace. That guy wasn’t going to catch him. He was big, sure, but he wasn’t fast. Dean just hoped he wouldn’t throw any more rocks at him. As it turned out, Ronan threw something much heavier. Dean’s eyes went wide as Ronan put a hand on top of the wall and swung his legs over the side.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ronan jumped clear of the fort and barreled straight toward Dean. Against all reason and common sense, Dean froze, standing there like a target someone had dropped a bomb on, which wasn’t far from the truth. Ronan landed right on top of Dean, hitting him like a pyramid of cannonballs.

The decrepit old staircase buckled under the force of Ronan’s impact. Rotten wood splintered at every anchor point. The landing steadied for the briefest of moments, then dropped out beneath Dean and Ronan’s feet. It was at least a hundred-foot drop to
the shallow water and jagged rocks below. It would have been a watery grave for them both, but Ronan wrapped an arm around a portion of the banister that was still intact, and Dean grabbed on to his legs. “Hang on!” Ronan shouted. He was strong enough to pull them both up onto the steps, where they crawled to the nearest sturdy landing and collapsed.

“You don’t … get away that easy,” Ronan said, breathing heavily.

“Easy! Are you crazy?” Dean laid his head down and let out a pained groan.
What does it take to impress these people
? Everything hurt, but that was all right. Dean closed his eyes and waited for the others to come down. It was all part of the plan.

CHAPTER
4

R
onan and his mates dragged Dean back to the fort and threw him into an empty storage locker. Gentleman Jim was inside waiting for Dean when he tumbled in the door. “Give us a moment.” Gentleman Jim ordered. Everyone left the room except Ronan. He handed over Dean’s wheelboard and stood with his muscular frame blocking the room’s only exit. The pirate captain looked the board over, inspecting both sides. He spun one of the wheels with his hand. “Quite a show you put on out there.”

Dean sat up with his back against the wall. “You want lessons? Maybe I can show your boys how to ride. Just takes a little practice.”

Gentleman Jim gave Dean a thin smile and set the board aside.
“I meant back in the tavern. Not many people can pull the wool over my eyes like you did. You must have thought it was funny, all the advice I was giving you.… ‘Let the mark think he’s figuring out the game for himself. Even better if he thinks he’s figuring out something you don’t want him to know.’ ” Gentleman Jim shook his head. “You knew your scam with the map to Zenhala was too obvious. You counted on it. Once you’d set me at ease, you engineered that scuffle and lifted my coin purse in the confusion. It really was well done.”

Ronan grunted. “Not well enough.”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t count on your generosity. You buying that pirate a drink wasn’t part of the plan. Not typical behavior for a man in your line of work.”

“I’m not your typical man. What about you? What line of work are you in?”

“There’s no mystery to me. I’m just a poor boy trying to get by on the streets of Bartleby Bay. I do what I have to in order to survive. I make no apologies for that.”

“Nor should you. But, if survival’s all you want out of life, I can’t help you. On the other hand, if you want to truly live … then maybe we can talk. First things first. I believe you have something that belongs to me?”

Dean went into his pocket and reluctantly pulled out the stolen coin purse.

Gentleman Jim took a seat on a rock and counted out the coins, making sure it was all there. It added up to quite a tidy sum. “More than you expected, eh? It’s all I have in the world, but it isn’t mine to keep. This is the pirate king’s tribute. You mentioned him when you sat down at my table. I assume you know what he’s capable of?”

“Aye.” Dean nodded.
Only too well.

“He gets a piece of all the loot plundered in these waters, every month. One-Eyed Jack gets his money or heads roll, no exceptions.” Gentleman Jim held up the coin purse. “If you had stolen this, you would have stolen from him. Your life would have been worth less than a peg leg made out of sea sponge. You’re lucky we caught you.”

“I think you’re the lucky one.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Ronan said.

“Now, now, Ronan. He’s not wrong. It would have meant my head if he got away with this.” Gentleman Jim tucked the pouch away in a pocket that closed with a button. “Yours too, perhaps. Who knows where you all would have ended up without me to look out for you?”

“Nowhere good. What are we going to do with him, Captain?”

Gentleman Jim rubbed his beard. “That’s really up to him. He’s a clever thief, this one. My question is, can he be an honest thief?”

Dean turned Gentleman Jim’s words over in his head. He had just hoped to impress him enough to get offered a place on his ship. The conversation appeared to be headed in that direction, but there was apparently more to it than that. Gentleman Jim was a riddle Dean had yet to figure out.

“An honest thief … What does that mean?”

“Well, for starters, it means you never steal a man’s last dollar, or stab a friend in the back. Think we can trust you that far?”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve never done either of those things.” That was true, but mainly because Dean rarely stole anything himself. His job as a spy was to set things up so that other pirates could steal them. As for stabbing his friends in the back, Dean didn’t have any friends to stab. His job got in the way of that. He was always alone, always on the move, and always pretending to be someone else. It wasn’t the best recipe for building strong and lasting relationships.

Gentleman Jim looked over his shoulder. “What do you think, Ronan?”

“I don’t know, Captain. He stole from you—from all of us. I don’t trust him. Besides, we don’t even know if he can sail the sea without losing his lunch.”

“Sail?” Dean asked. “Sail where? What are you talking about?”

“Back in the tavern, you said you wanted a place on my ship. Did you mean that?”

Dean did his best to look surprised. In reality, he was relieved. “Are you serious?”

“Always.”

Dean paused for a moment. He didn’t want to appear overeager. He had to stay in character and play his part to the end. “I don’t get it. I steal your gold, and instead of taking it out of my hide, you offer me a place on your ship. Why?”