The Ship of Lost Souls 1 (16 page)

Suddenly, the ground dropped off right in front of them, and Scarlet stumbled backward, treading on Jem's toes as she scrambled away from the edge.

“It's . . . it's a pit of some sort,” Jem said, peering down. “I can see the path climbing out of it on the other side. It's no more than four or five yards across.”

Scarlet didn't feel reassured. She had no desire to climb into a deep, dark pit inhabited by who knew what, even if the path did continue on the other side. Recalling the stories of men who'd ventured into the jungle never to be seen again, Scarlet rejected the idea of straying off the path, especially since it seemed to want to show her the way. If only they could consult the map to—

“Wait. Fitz, didn't the map say something about an o . . . ophid . . . oh, what was that word?”

“An ophidian aggregation!” Jem exclaimed. “Scarlet, that's it!”

“What's it?”

“That's the word I was looking for days ago. The one that describes a . . . oh
no
.”

“Seriously, Jem, these ‘oh nos' are getting a little tiresome. What's an ophid . . . you know?”

“A . . . a writhing mass of snakes.”

Scarlet's lower lip sagged. “You mean like . . .”

“The one that killed Cutthroat MacPhee.”

“Oh
NO
.”

They peered into the pit again, and sure enough, even in the dimmest light, Scarlet could see something wriggle. Then something else. Yes, the entire pit was slowly moving with lithe, scaly bodies. She took a step back. “I can't.”

“Wait.” Jem put a hand on her arm. “Remember Tim's story. The snakes had no intention of killing Cutthroat MacPhee. He died of fright.”

“Who can judge a snake's intentions?” Scarlet wailed, more for the sake of stalling than argument. “And, anyway, if the world's most bloodthirsty pirate fell victim to an ophidiwhatsit, then how can we expect to get by? We're just children.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Scarlet wanted to kick herself. The Lost Souls would be so disappointed in her.

Jem shook his head. “I won't tell anyone you said that if you cross this pit right now.”

Scarlet drew a breath. She'd go barefoot through the pit if it would erase the uncaptainly thing she'd just said. “Let's go.” Without another moment's hesitation, she stepped off the edge and let the crumbling earth carry her down into the pit.

The first step was the worst. The snakes shuddered and wound themselves around her boots, then climbed up her calves. There were hundreds, even thousands of them piled on top of one another, and Scarlet was glad for the dim light that kept Jem from identifying their species and telling her how deadly they were.

The second step was almost as bad. One damp, cool body slipped inside her boot and wrapped itself around her ankle. Another climbed farther, to the soft spot behind her knee. Their hissing grew louder, like a chorus in her ears. Their bodies rippled and swelled like waves—a sea of dark, clammy, wriggling . . .

She closed her eyes and searched for an answer to the question: Is this really necessary?

Something deep inside told her that she'd pass unharmed. Scarlet sighed. She supposed she could take a little trauma. Maybe she even deserved it after what she'd said about them being “only children.”

They waded through what seemed like miles of squirming bodies but was really only a few yards before the trail began to climb out of the pit. The snakes loosened their hold on Scarlet's legs and let her scramble, unscarred, up onto the ledge.

She pulled a straggler out of her boot, tossed it into the pit, and turned to Jem. “That was disgusting.”

He nodded. “I didn't want to tell you back there, but we just waded through a pit of deadly striped vipers, some of the most venomous snakes around.”

Feeling ill, Scarlet glanced back at the pit. “This had better be one good treasure.”

Once they'd passed the snake pit, the tree canopy began to thin, and a bit of sunlight streamed in through the cracks. Scarlet and Jem began to chant one of Smitty's chanteys to keep themselves moving.

 

There may be snakes in every tree

And spiders on the ground,

But how could we stay home when there's

A treasure to be found?

 

March, two, three, four.

March, two, three, four.

 

Although they were still far from safe, Scarlet was feeling more relaxed now that the deadly striped vipers were behind them. She could tell that Jem felt it, too, and was about to teach him a new, crusty pirate tune when she smelled it.

“Scurvy. What is that?” she asked, pinching her nose.

“Well, you know what they say, Cap'n,” Jem replied. “He who smelt it, dealt it.”

“Shut up, Fitz. I'm serious. That is
rank
.”

Then they heard it: first one rustle in the bushes, then another, and another. Followed by a soft
click-clack
, like small hooves on pebbles.

Rustle click, rustle clack.

Then they saw it: an army of dark beasts slipping out of the trees and onto the trail. No taller than dogs, but round like rum barrels, the creatures pressed their snouts into the amber earth and fixed their glinting eyes on the two Lost Souls.

“Scarlet,” Jem whispered.

“Uh-huh.”

“Tell me those aren't what I think they are.”

But Scarlet could think of no other island inhabitants that could be mistaken for smelly wild pigs.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Maybe if you listened again,” Jem said as they slowly backed away from the snorting hogs, “you'd find the answer to: What on earth do we do now?”

“Maybe,” Scarlet replied without taking her eyes off the pigs. “But I think it'd take some concentration. I might have to close my eyes and even sit down.”

“And it's really not the best time for that, is it?” Jem snapped. Against his better judgment, he'd trusted in Scarlet's mysterious knowledge of the island. But where was that knowledge now that they were staring down the ugliest, smelliest creatures he'd ever come across? The pigs reeked like some combination of onions, dog breath, sweaty socks, and old cheese. Except worse—much,
much
worse. They had mottled, gray skin and were bald except for a few long, black hairs on their snouts and between their eyes. They lumbered rather than walked, with a side to side swagger reminiscent of drunken pirates in port, and their teeth poked out of the corners of their mouths, glinting like tiny daggers.

This adventure had just reached new heights of absurdity—not ten minutes after crossing a pit of venomous vipers, here they were being stared down by a pack of putrid pigs that wanted to rip them limb from limb. And all for a treasure that may well turn out to be a plant? It didn't make a speck of sense. Desperate for logic, Jem resorted to asking himself, “What would Master Davis—”

But before he could even finish the question, one of the larger boars seemed to decide enough was enough and charged straight for them. With his snout in the dust and his tusks aimed right at Jem's knees, the boar galumped forth, full speed, then came to a grunting halt a hair's width from Jem's trousers.

Scarlet let out a loud sigh of relief. The boar grunted and swung its head from side to side. Jem clutched his whomping heart. Master Davis didn't matter anymore. Jem had to find his own way out of this, playing by the islands' rules of logic.

Think fast,
he told himself.
What are these pigs so upset about?

That was easy—they saw him and Scarlet as a threat. The islands had been invaded time and again, their homes torn up in an endless search for wood, spices, and jewels. Maybe the King's Men even hunted them for food, like they did back in the Old World.

He would have to show the pigs he meant no harm. But how?

“What,” Jem asked himself without taking his eyes off the angry boar before him, “would Master Davis never, ever do?”

The answer that came to mind sounded so absurd, it made perfect sense.

“Scarlet.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think we're going to have to talk to them.”

“Talk,” she repeated, then turned to stare at Jem.

“Yes.”

“To the pigs.”

“Right.”

“Because you think they'll understand us.” She couldn't have looked more baffled if he sprouted a snout himself.

“Just because you've never met a pig that understands English doesn't mean they don't exist.” He dared to grin at her, well aware that under different circumstances the remark would have earned him a smack upside the head.

Then he turned to the pig who was drooling on his shoe.

“First of all, let me say that we mean no harm. We don't want to hurt you or any of your friends, and certainly not your home. We're here to make as little noise and as few footprints as possible. We're just going to take a look around for a treasure, then go back the way we came.”

The pig turned its great head to one side and regarded Jem with what looked like suspicion.

“Besides, we've come so far already. Perhaps you could just let us pass this once. We'll be no trouble, I promise. You have the word of a Lost Soul.”

That last bit seemed to clinch it. The pig gave a final grunt, swung around, and trundled off with his band, leaving Scarlet and Jem one last whiff of his nasty odor.

They stood frozen moments after the smelly wild pigs had disappeared.

“Fitz,” Scarlet finally gasped. “You did it. You spoke to a smelly wild pig and . . . and he listened. To
you
!”

Even Jem couldn't believe what he'd done. He only knew that no one back home could ever hear of it. And he was fine with that.

“Have you noticed how much brighter the forest has gotten?”

“And louder. Listen to those bird songs.”

They'd barely scurried a mile past the pigs when the scenery began to change.

“Is it just me or does the air smell sweet?”

“I think it's warmer, too. Do I hear water? Is that a creek?”

Two steps more and they had to stop to take it all in. It was the most beautiful sight Jem had ever seen.

The trees had parted to reveal a clearing shaped like a perfect circle, bordered by high palms and giant ferns. Inside the clearing stood shrubs covered in flowers of every color; Jem recognized several from the
Pseudophoceae
family, among Uncle Finn's favorites. In the very center of the clearing, a creek spilled softly into a shining pool, also perfectly round and perfectly clear. Two ruby-red birds sailed across the sky and disappeared into the trees.

The air smelled spicy-sharp and sweet at once. But there was something else in it—a feeling. A peaceful, contented sort of feeling.

Try as he might to stay focused on uncovering the treasure before the pirates caught up with them, Jem felt his anxiety ebbing like a lazy tide. He looked at Scarlet to see if she felt it, too. She was smiling in a way he'd never seen before. In fact, she was almost radiant, like the place itself.

“This place . . . ,” she whispered without looking at him. “It's so beautiful. And . . . familiar?”

“Beautiful, yes.” Jem watched his captain twirl around in a slow circle, looking dazed. “But I'm not sure about familiar.” She certainly was acting odd, even for Scarlet.

Actually, she was looking more and more like she might collapse on the grass and go to sleep. Jem tried to fight his own urge to do the same. There was a treasure to be found. And the rest of the crew, of course. And . . .

“Jem!”

It had been only a week since Jem had heard that voice, but it felt like years. Decades, even.

Jem and Scarlet turned. Rappelling down a palm tree on the edge of the clearing was none other than the famed explorer Finnaeus Bliss. The man laughed as he slid down his rope and planted both feet on the forest floor.

Jem's jaw dropped. “Sink me!”

“I was starting to think you'd never get here!” Uncle Finn wiped the sweat from his bald head. “Whatever took you so long? I thought you'd be here ages ago, what with the map and all . . .”

Aside from being a few pounds lighter, Uncle Finn didn't look half bad, considering he was supposed to be dead.

“You're not dead!” Jem shouted as he ran for his uncle.

“Not yet!” Uncle Finn swooped him up in a great hug that left his nephew unable to breathe.

“Are you sure?” Jem gasped as he watched the world spin over his uncle's shoulder.

“Quite.” Uncle Finn set him down. Jem latched onto his uncle's arm, both to ensure the man was real and not a ghost and to keep himself from falling over.

“But how?”

“I'll tell you all about it,” Uncle Finn promised. “But first tell me what's happened to you. And don't forget to explain why you're dressed up like a
Podipus alpus
.”

Jem drew a deep breath and spewed his story as fast as he could, dying to hear his uncle's own story of escape.

“So the long and short of it is, the pirates have the map and were hot on our heels last time we saw them,” Jem concluded. His words suddenly reminded him that the rest of the crew might well be in danger and not far away. As comforting as this place felt, and as deliriously happy as he was to be reunited with his uncle, he couldn't forget them.

“Hurry, Uncle Finn. Tell us what happened to you.”

“Well, you've obviously guessed that the pirates didn't make me walk the plank. I think it was a barrel they threw over in my place—just a ploy to get you to talk,” Uncle Finn began. “They did, however, tie me up, gag me, and throw me in a very uncomfortable, dark space where I had no hope of alerting you. I thought we were through, both of us”—he reached out to lay a sap-covered hand on Jem's hair—“but then one of the pirates had a change of heart.”

“What? Which one?”

“Thomas, the one with Herculean shoulders. He said the guilt was eating away at him, especially since you'd been kidnapped by a bunch of deadly ghosts.” Uncle Finn smiled. “Oh, it's not that I wasn't worried for you. I was. But, well”—he paused, looking a little smug—“for the record, I always suspected the Lost Souls weren't as deadly as everyone thought.

“Anyway, poor Thomas's conscience was killing him. So the next time we docked in port, a few days after you left with the Lost Souls, he smuggled me off the boat and left me in Jamestown, where I found a sailor willing to take me to this island for a few doubloons.”

The story left Jem speechless. So old Thomas had had the nerve to defy the Dread Pirate Captain Wallace Hammerstein-Jones. Jem shook his head.
Thomas
was the real hero of the story.

“Jem, you didn't introduce me to your friend.” Uncle Finn turned to Scarlet, who'd hung back just to watch and listen.

“Scarlet McCray.” Scarlet extended a hand, then leaned forward and whispered, “Just for the record, I always suspected you weren't as dead as everyone thought.”

Jem grinned. “Scarlet's the captain of the Lost Souls.”

“Captain!” Uncle Finn bowed over Scarlet's hand, looking impressed. “Then I thank you for saving my nephew, Captain Scarlet McCray. His parents would have killed me if I'd lost him.”

“All right, all right,” Jem said, not wanting to think about anything to do with the Old World at the moment. “Let's get to the point. Are we here? Have we almost reached the treasure?”

“Treasure?” Looking amused, Uncle Finn spread his arms out to the sides. “Look around you, boy. Is this not treasure enough?”

Scarlet was getting that dreamy look again. She nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Jem said. “We came all this way for . . .
this
? I mean, don't get me wrong, this is a beautiful place, but is it really the treasure?” He looked at Scarlet, who simply smiled.

“It's treasure enough for me,” she said.

Uncle Finn eyed her for a moment. “Then you'll want to thoroughly explore this place. But it might have to wait. If I recall correctly there are some angry pirates out there. With a map leading them directly to us.”

“Right. Of course.” Jem nodded.

Uncle Finn looked back toward the trail. “They've got our map, and that's bad. But they're also after your friends, which could be worse. Because, let's face it, they're only children.”

Finally Scarlet snapped to attention. “Not just
any
children,” she protested. “Children who sail the seas. Children who brave bloodthirsty swabs and deadly jungle creatures without a second thought nearly every—”

“Agreed, Captain,” Uncle Finn cut her off. “They're not just any children. But they still may need our help.”

Scarlet thought for a moment, then nodded. “Agreed.” She looked around her, eyes lingering on one of the red birds that had emerged from the trees and perched nearby. “As much as I don't ever want to leave this place,” she said, “I can't desert my crew. Not now. Or ever, for that matter.”

Jem didn't relish the thought of reencountering all they'd come across on the way. Especially those awfully smelly pigs. But they couldn't leave the others.

“Count me in, too,” Uncle Finn said, looking at the soft ferns and the shimmering pool almost hungrily. “We'll have your friends back here in no time.”

With that, he started marching toward the path they'd come in on. Jem and Scarlet took one last look at the clearing, where everything felt safe. Then they turned to follow Uncle Finn back into the jungle, where anything could happen.