Jim Morgan and the Pirates of the Black Skull (10 page)

“Even magic power fades with time and tide, oh magnificent red one,” Splitbeard interrupted from where he leaned on the wall. “But gold is always gold.” The pirate’s words finally brought Cromier back to where he sat in the stables and he blinked his eyes free of the reverie that had gripped them.

“You shall have as much of it as you like, Splitbeard. Once I unlock the power of the Treasure of the Ocean, I shall have surpassed the need for such trivialities as wealth and riches.” The Count opened the box. The moment his eyes fell on the letter and the vial of moonwater, his scarred face lit up with dark joy. “Here it is,” he said. He withdrew the parchment and the vial and tossed the box down on the floor by Jim’s feet, the rose thorn still resting inside.

NINE

f nothing else, Lindsay was brilliant to the end,” Cromier said. He held up the vial, admiring the shimmering blue liquid within. “Moonwater – ingenious! You love gold, Splitbeard? The substance in this one bottle is worth more gold than you and ten men could carry at once.”

“We are strong, oh glorious one. Our arms can carry much,” Splitbeard replied. In spite of the carefree grin on his face, the pirate leader’s eyes, along with those of his men, remained fixed on the mysterious vial. The Count unfolded the letter and quickly read the words. He snorted with disgust when he reached the end and shook his head with a sad sneer.

“This letter reeks of sentiment. That is what destroyed your father, Jim Morgan. Sentiment makes a man weak, but it will never undo
me!” With that, Cromier snapped his fingers. Another corsair pirate grabbed Jim by his collar and shoved him down on the floor beside his friends.

Bartholomew seized the lantern and hoisted it high before his father. The Count, all but shaking with anticipation, held the vial up to the flame. The lamplight shone through the moonwater and onto the page. Blue shapes and letters once more leapt from the yellowed parchment. The glowing reflections danced on Cromier’s greedy face. Laughing aloud and licking his lips, he dropped to one knee and flattened the parchment on the stool beside him. He uncorked the vial and slowly dripped the iridescent liquid from one end of the parchment to the other, until dark splotches soaked the page through. For the span of breath, nothing happened – until the Count blew lightly upon the sheet to dry it.

Blue flame blazed from the page. The once soft lines and shapes seared themselves upon the parchment in lightning strokes. The pirates uttered oaths and curses of dismay in their own tongues. They covered their eyes in fear, as though even the sight of such magic could damn them for life. The stable about Jim and his friends seemed to fall into deeper shadow, muted beneath the luminous display of islands, cities, symbols, and a star-filled sky. The secret to his father’s letter was indeed revealed to be a map, drawn in the same fiery blue strokes as his last words to Jim.

“At last!” Cromier shouted. He held the empty vial of moonwater above his head as his trophy. “So many fruitless years and so many near misses were all worth this moment! Now I have a map drawn by Lindsay Morgan himself. The Treasure is at last within my grasp! We’ve not a moment to lose! We begin our journey this very night!” The Count folded the parchment, snuffing out the blue light and leaving only dazzles in Jim’s eyes.

But as the pirates readied to leave, Bartholomew stalked to the center of the stables, where Jim knelt beside his friends. He drew his sword from its scabbard, letting a glimmer catch Jim’s eye and the steel ring in his ears. Once more, the pale captain held the blade to
Jim’s face, the sharp point not an inch from his nose. Bartholomew leaned close, as though to whisper a secret to Jim.

“My father will soon have what’s he’s waited a lifetime for, won’t he? And who is left to stop him? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let me have a share in the good fortune. I too have waited long for something denied to me. Say hello to your father for me, Jim Morgan. Let him know his failure is now complete!” Bartholomew raised his sword to strike. But a sharp word from Count Cromier stayed Bartholomew’s hand for the second time that night.

“Bartholomew, no!”

“But father!” Bartholomew shrieked, sword still held above his head, quivering as though it ached to strike. “We have the map. You don’t need him anymore! Not when you have me!”

“There are many dangers that lie ahead, my son,” Cromier said. “And the boy did escape the Pirate Vault - no simple trick, I tell you. He may yet prove useful. As for his friends – well, he’ll have five chances to see what happens if he won’t cooperate, won’t he? Bring them with us!”

The Count turned on his heel and marched from the stables. But the matter seemed far from settled for Bartholomew. To Jim’s surprise, the raven-haired captain’s blue eyes brimmed with tears – tears of dark, trembling rage. Bartholomew muttered a curse beneath his breath and finally sheathed his sword.

One of Splitbeard’s men bound Jim to his friends with ropes and dragged them from the stables into the moonlit night. Once outside and wrapped in the cold air off the ocean, Cromier shouted a final command to his pirate thugs.

“Burn the stables. Let there be no trace that the house of Morgan ever stood. Leave no hope that it shall ever stand again.” The pirates hurled their lanterns onto the stable’s roof, where they shattered and broke. Flames spread over the tiles like yellow water, devouring the last pieces of what was once Jim’s home.

“Oh, Jim,” Lacey said. She rested her head on his shoulder and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too, mate,” added George with a shaky voice.

For his part, Jim said nothing. He could only watch the fire burn. He remembered the day he tried to ride his father’s horse, Thunderbold, before this very building. Memories were all that remained. After a moment, Splitbeard the pirate came to stand beside the crestfallen clan, his sun-darkened skin aglow in the firelight.

“Even I, pirate of the Seven Seas, might have pity on one who has lost all, oh desolate one. So it was with me, before I became a prince of the waves. So here, let it not be said you have nothing, oh young lord – lord of a box!” With that the Pirate stuck Jim’s box into his pocket and slapped him so hard on the back that it forced the air from Jim’s lungs. He walked off to join his men, laughing heartily. Yet not the sting on Jim’s back, nor the pirate’s cruel laughter, counted for anything against the desire that sprang up in his heart. For little did Splitbeard know that he had just handed Jim his one and only chance to turn all the blackness to light.

But before a plot to wriggle his hands free and seize the box took shape in Jim’s mind, from nowhere a weight settled quite unexpectedly upon his shoulder. Jim turned to face this surprise and bumped his nose into a rather sharp beak – a beak belonging to a very familiar raven’s face.

“Cornelius!” Jim whispered. He was so surprised for a moment that he forgot even his plans to employ the rose thorn in his pocket. After blinking his eyes several times to be sure, Jim found that indeed the talking raven was once more perched upon his shoulder. It was the very place the bird had sat when the two of them braved the Pirate Vault of Treasure’s deadly traps, not much more than a year gone past. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” said Cornelius. “Why, I’ve come to rescue you, naturally. Did you really think we would allow you to meet your end at the hands of these trolls, Jim Morgan? Speaking of trolls, remind me to tell you about the lot we ran into this past fall on Gibraltar - nasty business that was, and the stench! Good lord!

“Mister Cornelius!” Lacey squealed as quietly as possible beside Jim. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you! But where did you come from?”

“Indeed, it is I, Cornelius Darkfeather, once again at your service, Miss Lacey,” Cornelius said. He bowed low on Jim’s shoulder, one wing outstretched in a feathered flourish. “And in answer to your question, my dear, I came from there.”

Cornelius pointed his wing toward the ocean. When Jim followed the feathers his mouth opened in a surprised “O”. A massive rush of fog, roiling and churning like a storm cloud, crawled over the ocean waves toward the white sand shore. This was no ordinary fog drift, Jim thought. It surged forward like a galloping horse, moving fast over the waters. It came straight for the beach and the hill beyond, where Jim and his friends stood captives of Count Cromier’s pirate thugs.

TEN

ood of ye to finally drop in, Darkfeather,” MacGuffy growled. He forced a smile on his ruined face, though he was still hobbled from the vicious beating he had taken in the stables.

“Good to see you again as well, old friend,” replied Cornelius with a nod of his head. The Ratts however, forgot entirely to greet the raven. Their wide eyes were fixed past the bird and onto the frothing fog that neared the beach.

“Jim!” George exclaimed, obviously trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. “What in blazes is that?” But it was Cornelius who answered, smiling proudly at the corners of his beak.

“That, young Master Ratt, is a proper rescue!”

The mist rushed toward the shore, frightening Jim and his friends more than a little. They gathered together in a huddle, holding each other close. At just that moment, the burly pirate, who seemed to take an obscene delight in the fear of children, overheard their whisperings and stalked over. He drew back his heavy hand with the intent to silence Jim and the others with a rap of his knuckles. Yet before he loosed the blow, he realized the small clan was ignoring him completely and followed their eyes to the shores of the beach.

A terrified squeak, not unlike a mouse’s at the mercy of cat’s claws, burst from the burly pirate’s mouth. The hand once meant to slap Jim silly suddenly pointed wildly toward the waters and the big fellow shrieked in the most unmanly fashion.

“Cap’n Splitbeard, Cap’n Splitbeard! Somethin’ comin’ over the waters! Somethin’ comin’ for us!” The twin-bearded pirate, Count Cromier, Bartholomew, and the rest of the pirates came running at the alarm. All of them, though, skidded to a halt the moment they saw the fog. In the light of the stable fire a pale shade of fear passed over the Cromiers’ faces. The Count turned on Jim as if to curse his very existence, until his dark eyes came to rest on Cornelius Darkfeather, perched upon Jim’s shoulder. The scar on the Count’s face writhed and twisted. He managed to rasp but one, enraged word: