The Terror of the Southlands Read online

  DEDICATION

  For Jane, Chris, and Jonathan,

  who are all entirely honorable

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Excerpt from The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #3: The Buccaneer’s Code

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  MAP

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  THE VERY NEARLY HONORABLE LEAGUE OF PIRATES

  RULES OF CONDUCT

  A pirate must . . .

  Be twice as bold as he is daring, and twice as daring as he is bold.

  Be handy with a cannon, and handier with a sword.

  Appreciate the finer things in life: treasure, parrots, and grog.

  Mind his manners only when it suits him.

  Carry his magic piece at all times.

  Be honorable (or very nearly).

  Assist his mates in storms and battles.

  Enjoy a bit of plundering from time to time.

  Be careful with his hook.

  A pirate must not . . .

  Mutiny against his captain.

  Attempt to sing if he cannot carry a tune.

  Displease his fellow scallywags.

  Forget to be fearsome.

  And most of all . . .

  A pirate must command respect.

  * * *

  * * *

  THE VERY NEARLY HONORABLE LEAGUE OF PIRATES

  Servin’ the High Seas for 153 Years

  GUNPOWDER ISLAND HEADQUARTERS

  Pirate Hilary Westfield, Terror of the Southlands:

  Greetings from the VNHLP! I hope this letter finds you with a fair wind in your sails and a pile of magic coins in your treasure chest. I write on behalf of our mutual employer, Captain Rupert Blacktooth, the president of this fine League and (I hope you will agree) the fiercest scallywag on the High Seas.

  Captain Blacktooth desires to speak to you as soon as possible about a matter of great importance. You are therefore summoned to a private meeting on the captain’s galleon, the Renegade. Do not attempt to seek out Captain Blacktooth: he will find you when he is ready for you. Instead, while you await the Renegade’s arrival, please endeavor to polish your boots, sharpen the creases in your pirate hat, and prepare yourself for the profound honor of standing in our captain’s presence.

  You may not postpone or cancel this meeting, and you may not send another pirate in your place. You may, however, bring your gargoyle, provided he is on his best behavior.

  Arr!

  Horatio Gull

  Private Secretary to the President

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE RENEGADE ARRIVED just after breakfast.

  Hilary had been waiting for it, and she spotted it first. From where she stood on the deck of the Pigeon, the distant ship resembled nothing more than a small black smudge against the horizon, but when Hilary raised her spyglass to her eye, the smudge resolved itself into the billowing black sails and flaming torches of an impressive pirate galleon. “Isn’t the Renegade grand?” she said, holding up the spyglass so the gargoyle could peer through it. “Doesn’t it make your spine tingle?”

  The gargoyle shrugged as well as he could without arms. “I don’t know about that,” he said, “but it does look a lot like a squashed spider.” He drew back from the spyglass and gave the galleon an approving nod. “Now, back to business. Which do you think sounds better: courageous gargoyle or intrepid gargoyle?”

  Hilary sighed. She was becoming rather used to this sort of question, for a few months ago the gargoyle had decided to write an account of his thrilling adventures on the High Seas. After several ink-splattered attempts to hold a pen in his mouth, however, he had asked for Hilary’s assistance, and now she was spending a perfectly good morning taking dictation instead of sailing off on a thrilling adventure of her own. To be fair, it had been quite a while since any sort of adventure had crossed Hilary’s path, and the commonplace tasks of life on a pirate ship—deck swabbing, sword polishing, and cannon dusting—were starting to make her feet fairly itch in their boots. But now Captain Blacktooth was coming to see her for a most important meeting, and wherever Blacktooth sailed, wasn’t adventure sure to follow? Hilary looked out over the sea at the Renegade and willed it to hurry along.

  The gargoyle nudged her with the end of his tail.

  “Sorry!” said Hilary. With a good deal of effort, she turned her attention from the galleon to the parchment in front of her. “Intrepid has a nice ring to it, but you’ve called yourself intrepid five times on this page alone.”

  “That,” said the gargoyle, “is because I am.”

  Hilary laughed and scribbled a few words on the parchment. “What do you think Captain Blacktooth wants to discuss?” she said. “He hardly ever pays personal calls.” In fact, she had met him only once before, when he had arrived on her doorstep a year earlier to thank her for finding the kingdom’s long-lost trove of magical treasure. It had been a most piratical accomplishment indeed, but surely Blacktooth wasn’t sailing halfway around Augusta just to congratulate her again. “Do you think he might be planning to promote me? Or to send me on an important mission for the League?”

  “Maybe he’ll give you a medal for your bravery on the High Seas,” said the gargoyle. “And maybe I could share it.”

  Hour by hour, the Renegade drew closer. By eleven o’clock, Hilary could count its sails. By one o’clock, she could smell the smoke from its torches. And at half past three, it sailed into the harbor a few yards away from the spot where the Pigeon had dropped anchor. Hilary woke the gargoyle from his nap and hurried to rub an errant scuff from the toe of her boot. “Captain Blacktooth has arrived!” she called, hardly caring that most of her mates weren’t close enough to hear. Jasper Fletcher, freelance pirate and captain of the Pigeon, was ashore in the village of Otterpool, distributing bits of magical treasure to the townspeople. His first mate, Charlie Dove, was out in the dinghy, rowing piles of magic from the ship’s treasure storeroom to the Otterpool shore. And Jasper’s wife, Eloise Greyson, was busy at the stern of the ship, where she ran Augusta’s only floating bookshop. It was a shame they wouldn’t get a chance to climb aboard the most magnificent pirate galleon in the kingdom, but Hilary was determined to memorize the Renegade’s every detail and tell them all about it when she returned from her meeting.

  A pirate in a tattered striped shirt lowered a small boat from the Renegade’s deck, and he rowed across the harbor until, with an unceremonious jolt, he crashed into the side of the Pigeon. “Ahoy!” he cried. “I’m here to pick up Pirate Hilary Westfield. She’s to have a word with my captain, and he won’t have any arguin’.”

  Miss Greyson poked her head out of the bookshop. “What in the world was that bump?” she said. “It nearly sent all the detective novels crashing down on me.”

  “Ahoy!” cried the pirate again. “Are you Pirate Hilary Westfield, ma’am? You’re much grumpier than I expected.”

  Miss Greyson pursed her lips to prevent a scolding from flying out, and Hilary waved her arms in the pi
rate’s direction. “I’m Pirate Westfield,” she said. “Are you Captain Blacktooth’s mate?”

  The pirate gave her a golden-toothed grin. “That’s right. The name’s Twigget.”

  “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Twigget.” Hilary tucked the gargoyle into her canvas bag, slung the bag over her shoulder, and hung a rope over the side of the ship. “And I certainly don’t intend to argue with you. I know the captain is eager to see me, and I’m rather eager to see him as well.”

  Miss Greyson looked on with her arms crossed as Hilary lowered herself and the gargoyle into the rowboat. “Be home by suppertime, please,” Miss Greyson said, “and remember to mind your manners.”

  “She used to be my governess,” Hilary confided to Mr. Twigget, “and I’m afraid there’s still a bit of governess left in her.” She waved to Miss Greyson and promised to be home in time for supper—or, at the very least, in time for dessert.

  Then Mr. Twigget tugged on the oars, and the rowboat squeaked and groaned its way across the harbor, bumping into the Renegade with a crash that nearly sent Hilary toppling overboard. When she had recovered her balance, Mr. Twigget led her up a wobbly rope ladder to the galleon’s deck. “If you don’t mind takin’ your boots off,” he said, “the captain likes to keep a tidy ship.” He gestured to a large wooden crate, upon which the word BOOTS was written in red paint. “And we’ll be needin’ your sword as well.” He pointed to the wooden crate that said SWORDS.

  Hilary hesitated. She had polished her boots especially for this occasion, after all, and it was thoroughly unpiratical to give up one’s sword to another scallywag. Still, this was Captain Blacktooth’s ship, and it didn’t seem wise to disobey his orders. “I’ll get it back, won’t I?” she asked as she slid the cutlass off her belt.

  “Aye, of course—if you make it back alive.” Mr. Twigget chuckled and slapped her on the back. “Just a little pirate humor, Miss Westfield.”

  “That’s Pirate Westfield, thank you,” said Hilary. She wasn’t sure she cared much for Mr. Twigget’s sort of humor, and she stood a little straighter to make up for the lack of boots. “Would you be kind enough to direct me to Captain Blacktooth’s quarters?”

  “Oh, you won’t find the captain in his quarters, matey.” Mr. Twigget looked up into the Renegade’s billowing sails and pointed. “He’s in the crow’s nest.”

  “And he won’t come down to speak with me?”

  Mr. Twigget shook his head. “He likes a good view, does Captain Blacktooth. You’d better hurry up and get climbin’, for he’s not too fond of waitin’ around.”

  Hilary supposed there was no use in protesting; she wasn’t eager to get into an argument with Mr. Twigget without her cutlass by her side. “Very well, then,” she said, giving a brisk nod to Twigget. “If Captain Blacktooth prefers to stay in the crow’s nest, that’s where my gargoyle and I shall go.”

  The other pirates on the Renegade’s crew, who had been hauling grog barrels up from the galley and polishing the great brass cannons that stood at both port and starboard, stopped their chores and stared at Hilary as she crossed the deck. All of them were barefoot as well, but they had not been asked to relinquish their swords. “That’s the pirate who’s the Terror of the Southlands,” someone in the crowd called to his mates. “I didn’t reckon she’d be such a pipsqueak.”

  Hilary dug her fingernails into her palms but didn’t say a word. A true pirate would never let such an ignorant scallywag bother her—though when the gargoyle stuck his head out of his bag and snarled at the Renegade’s crew, she didn’t bother to scold him. “I would have bitten them, too,” the gargoyle said, “if you’d let me get closer.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Hilary. She stared up into the ship’s black sails and swallowed. “The crow’s nest is certainly a long way up.”

  “Do we really have to go up there?” the gargoyle asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way for Blacktooth to give us a medal for our bravery.”

  “There’s something rather strange about this whole meeting,” Hilary agreed. But perhaps this was Blacktooth’s idea of a test. Well, if that was the case, she had no intention of failing it. Charlie had taught her ages ago how to scramble to the crow’s nest on the Pigeon, and when her father had been admiral of Augusta’s Royal Navy, she’d swung from the ropes of his ships whenever he wasn’t paying attention to her, which was often. “You’d better not look down,” she said to the gargoyle as she pulled herself up into the rigging. “I know you don’t like heights.”

  “It’s not the heights I mind,” the gargoyle replied from deep inside the bag. “It’s the falling from them.”

  “In that case, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m going to show Blacktooth and his crew what I’m made of.”

  “If you splatter all over the deck, they’ll see exactly what you’re made of,” said the gargoyle cheerfully. “And it won’t be pretty.”

  Captain Blacktooth’s crew had gathered below her by now, and they all stared up, tapping their peg legs impatiently and raising their eye patches to get a better view. Hilary clenched her teeth and climbed until the curious pirates were hardly more than small splotches beneath her feet. She climbed until she could see the Pigeon bobbing like a toy in the harbor below her, until the clouds were closer than they had any right to be. Why in the world did the Renegade have to be so absurdly tall? And why did her shoulders dare to ache so ferociously? When she reached the crow’s nest at last, she hauled herself up and landed on the seat of her breeches, directly in front of a pair of polished black boots.

  “Pirate Westfield,” said Captain Blacktooth (for he was the owner of the boots). “My goodness. I was beginning to think you’d never arrive.”

  Hilary scrambled to her feet, set her bag down, and held out a sore hand for Blacktooth to shake. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I thought most pirates preferred to be fashionably late.”

  “They do,” said Captain Blacktooth, “but it’s not a fashion I care for.” He took her hand in a hearty grip, and Hilary did her best not to wince. It was peculiar, she thought, that the president of the Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates didn’t look the slightest bit fearsome—at least, not at first. He didn’t have an eye patch or a peg leg or a hook, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes made Hilary suspect that every so often, when no one was watching, he allowed himself to smile. Still, he managed to seem more thoroughly piratical than all of his crewmates combined. Perhaps it was because he was the only one allowed to wear boots.

  “I see you’ve brought your gargoyle along.” Captain Blacktooth raised an eyebrow at the gargoyle, who had hopped out of Hilary’s bag. Then he rubbed his chin and leaned toward Hilary. “Are you sure it’s wise to keep a gargoyle as a pet? Don’t you think a parrot would be more suitable?”

  The gargoyle gasped in horror.

  “He’s not a pet, sir,” Hilary said. “He’s a friend of mine, and a pirate as well.”

  “That’s right,” said the gargoyle. “I’ve got a hat and everything.”

  “Ah. So you do.” Captain Blacktooth pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket and balanced them on his nose. “But Pirate Westfield and I have more pressing issues to discuss. Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

  “For a medal?” the gargoyle said hopefully.

  Captain Blacktooth frowned.

  “I’ve been told that you want to discuss a matter of great importance, sir,” said Hilary, “but I’m afraid I don’t know what matter you mean.”

  “What I mean,” said Captain Blacktooth, “is this.” He reached inside the folds of his pirate coat and retrieved a thin slip of paper, which he passed to Hilary.

  * * *

  NOTICE OF UNPIRATICAL BEHAVIOR

  This notice certifies that

  Pirate Hilary Westfield

  stands accused of violating the

  Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates

  Rules of Conduct

  and of behaving in a most unsui
table fashion.

  This is your

  [x] first warning [ ] second warning [ ] third warning

  * * *

  Hilary stared at the notice. She read it three times through, and then twice backward, but the words on the paper refused to change. She looked up at Captain Blacktooth to see if he was joking, but his stern expression told her quite clearly that he was not.

  The gargoyle nudged her with his snout. “What does it say?” he asked. “Is it something good?”

  Hilary folded the paper into a neat square and stuffed it into the deepest pocket of her breeches. “No,” she said, “it’s not good at all. I’ve been accused of unpiratical behavior—though it must be a mistake, for I’m sure I haven’t done a thing to deserve it.”

  “What you haven’t done, I fear, is precisely the problem.” Captain Blacktooth unfurled a long roll of parchment. “According to my records, you failed to attend this year’s League holiday ball, you declined to purchase a ticket for our Buccaneers’ Raffle, and you haven’t participated in even one of our monthly grog tastings.”

  Hilary looked down at the parchment, which seemed to be a lengthy list of all the ways in which she had failed to be a good pirate. “I visited my mother over the holidays, sir. And as for the grog, Miss Greyson doesn’t quite approve of it, except on special occasions.”

  “Miss Greyson?” Captain Blacktooth’s expression became more serious. “She is the woman who used to be your governess, correct?”

  “Well, yes, but she’s a bookshop owner now, and—”

  “This is grave—quite grave indeed—but it confirms our suspicions.” Captain Blacktooth held up the parchment and pointed to an item near the top of the list.

  “Consorts with governesses,” Hilary read aloud. “Has no parrot.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said the gargoyle.

  Captain Blacktooth put the roll of parchment aside and looked down at Hilary. “Truthfully,” he said, “these small mistakes don’t concern me much. Being a true pirate is not simply a matter of purchasing raffle tickets, and piracy often requires a certain disregard for good behavior. But tell me, Pirate Westfield: When was the last time you drew your sword against an enemy? Or stole a stash of loot from a fellow buccaneer?” He paused. “When was the last time you sailed off on a thrilling High Seas adventure?”