Seven Dead Pirates (10 page)

He jumped up, grabbing his head. Perfume! Seth had smeared perfume in his hair.

He looked around. The boys in white had bolted. But Seth was still there, wagging a foil packet—the kind that comes free in the mail.

“It’s called
Sweet Dreams
,” he said. “Smells good on you, Dearborn.”

Lewis ran for the washroom and straight into a cubicle. He hid there till he was sure the room was empty. Then he washed his hair, sticking his head in a sink and using the pink liquid soap.

After recess, Ms. Forsley sniffed the air. She said she didn’t know who was using perfume, but whoever it was, she would like them to stop because some people, including her, were allergic.

Lewis twisted his pencil in his fingers until it snapped. Bite marks mottled the yellow paint.

Abbie’s hand slowly reached back toward him. It dropped a folded paper on his desk. He opened it.

Something stinks in this class, and it’s not perfume
.

He read it again.

Was she talking about
him
? Was she saying
he
stunk? Maybe he smelled musty, like Shornoway. Or worse, like the pirates. That dead-fish smell.

For the rest of the day, he barely moved, showing nothing. He sat so stiffly, his neck hurt.

When he got home, his father and Mrs. Binchy were in the kitchen. Mr. Dearborn was up to his wrists in dough.

“Torta rustica!” he called. “I’ve been eager to try it.”

“Your father has the knack,” added Mrs. Binchy. “It’s a gift!”

Lewis took a closer look at his father, and his heart sank. Mr. Dearborn was wearing a
hairnet
.

And bad as that was, it was just part of a much bigger craziness. His father was now collecting cookbooks. Huge, heavy ones you could hardly lift. He’d brought home a crepe pan, too—from France—and a stock pot so big it barely fit on the stove. He and Mrs. Binchy were making way too much food, and the freezer was filling with leftovers no one could eat. It was like that fairy tale about the porridge pot that overflows till the whole town is swamped.

As Lewis left the kitchen, he thought, not for the first time, that it was no wonder he wasn’t normal. How
could
he be?

He stood under a hot shower for fifteen minutes, scrubbing his hair, then used his father’s deodorant afterward. At dinner, he discovered that torta rustica was a kind of vegetable pie. It didn’t
sound
good, but the taste was amazing. Everyone had large helpings. Even so, they barely made a dent in the enormous pie.

“And where are you sleeping tonight?” asked his father. “Seeing as you seem to have two bedrooms now?”

Before Lewis could answer—he actually wasn’t sure how he
would
answer—his mother broke in.

“For goodness sake, Lewis, must you slouch? You’ll ruin your spine that way.”

He jerked up straight in his chair. “The tower,” he told his father in a firm voice. “
That’s
where I sleep.”

Upstairs, the pirates were waiting in their storytime circle. Skittles clutched the book.

“HOOK!” they chanted, as Lewis walked in. “HOOK! HOOK! HOOK!”

He read for most of an hour, searching, as before, for the pages that featured Captain Hook. These weren’t always easy to find, and the pirates grew impatient while he looked. Not only that, he was already repeating the same bits.

“Excuse me,” he said finally. “I don’t mind reading. But maybe … could we find another book?”

His audience erupted in shouts. “Stow it! No! We likes Hook!”

“Silence!” cried Crawley. “What book does you mean?”

Lewis gulped. “Well, there are other pirate books. What about …” He thought quickly. “
Treasure Island
?”

The pirates looked blank.

“Now what might that be?” asked Crawley.

Lewis stared back in surprise. He’d never read
Treasure Island
himself, but he knew it was a classic. “Great-Granddad didn’t read
Treasure Island
to you?”

“Not a word! But I likes the name. Does it have a treasure?”

Lewis nodded. “I think so.”

“Doubloons?” asked Jonas.

“Pieces of eight?” asked Skittles.

“Louis d’ors and guineas?” asked Bellows.

“Probably,” said Lewis, although he wasn’t even sure what those words meant. Coins, he guessed, recognizing “pieces of eight.”

“What say you, mates?” Crawley glanced around. “After all these years, might we be ready for a new book?”

“
I
am!” cried Adam.

“I likes the
old
book,” snarled Jack, fingering his knife.

“Done!” said Crawley, ignoring Jack. “The lad will begin tomorrow to read us his new book about the treasure.”

“But I don’t even have—” began Lewis.

“Tomorrow!” ordered Crawley.

At lunch the next day, Lewis went to the school library to look for
Treasure Island
. He found an old hardcover copy and flipped through. It wasn’t funny, like
Peter Pan
, but it
did
have pirates.

Hearing a familiar voice, he turned. Abbie was sitting at the next table with Leticia and Katy from his class. They were waiting for lunchtime book club.

Staring at the open pages of
Treasure Island
, he listened in.

They were talking about Abbie’s scarf, a silvery one
with feathery bits at the ends. Leticia and Katy liked it, which surprised Lewis. He had noticed it, too, and thought it was weird.

But the real surprise was that Leticia and Katy were with Abbie at all. Abbie had only been there two weeks, and she had the world’s most embarrassing mother. How had she made friends already?

But, of course,
she
talked. She knew what to say to other kids. Lewis could see that that was a big help.

She was talking now. “It’s from the thrift store.”

“What?” said Leticia. “You mean, Rag Time?”

Lewis held his breath. He had heard girls talk about Rag Time. They said it was full of old ladies and poor people. They said it stunk.

“Uh-huh,” said Abbie. “It’s not a fancy place, but it has some fantastic stuff.”

A long silence.

“Really?” said Leticia.

“I found a charm bracelet there, too. Sterling silver. Antique. It has charms from all over—a Hawaiian dancer, a kangaroo. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Lewis waited.

“The scarf really
is
pretty,” said Katy.

“Come
with
me,” said Abbie. “To Rag Time. Bring five bucks. You’ll be shocked.”

Lewis waited for it. The “Ewww!”

“Okay,” said Katy after a moment. “Sure.”

“Me, too,” said Leticia a moment later.

Lewis glanced up in amazement. Abbie’s mouth, wide at any time, took over her whole face as she grinned at him.

What was she? A hypnotist? She’d convinced the two most popular girls in the class to go to the
thrift store
with her!

Later that day, in math class, he got groggy—and no wonder. The pirates had had another party, making sleep impossible. He must have dozed off because when Ms. Forsley tapped his desk, he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Lewis? Are you having trouble with the assignment?”

He glanced around. The other kids were writing in their exercise books. His wasn’t even open. Neither was his math book.

“Better get started,” said Ms. Forsley. “We’ll be going over it in ten minutes.”

When she’d moved on, Abbie passed him a note.

He stared at her thin back. One end of the silvery scarf hung down behind.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

She gave a little wave.

He continued to stare in confusion. Why did she help him? And why had she smiled at him in the library? As if they were friends.

They weren’t friends. He knew that.

But he was glad about the little note. And the scarf wasn’t
that
bad. Now that he looked at it.

O
n the following Tuesday, Ms. Forsley clasped her hands and smiled. “I have the most wonderful surprise.”

She looked so excited that Lewis tried to guess. What could be so wonderful in social studies class?

“Remember how we talked about historic buildings in Tandy Bay? Well, I’ve just learned that someone in our class lives in one of the oldest buildings of all. Shornoway! And
we’re
going to have a chance to see it. Lewis’s mother has invited us for a class visit. Shall we thank Lewis and his family?”

As Lewis sat dumbstruck, she began to clap! The kids, one by one, joined in.

“Now, Lewis,” she said, beaming, “I hope
you’ll
act as our guide. Living there every day, you must have discovered some great nooks and crannies. We’d love to explore them with you, wouldn’t we, class?”

Some of the kids murmured yes. Abbie turned to smile.

Lewis’s shock turned to horror.

His class? Touring Shornoway? All these kids, who
already
thought he was weird, coming to see the crumbling walls and boarded-up windows?

Shornoway looked like a haunted house. No, he corrected himself, it didn’t
look
like a haunted house. It
was
a haunted house! Lewis lived in a haunted house, and his class was coming to visit.

Pictures flashed through his mind. His father in a hairnet. Mrs. Binchy in her dead-Fred slippers. Not to mention the pirates. Could he count on them to stay hidden? He only had to think for two seconds to realize that he couldn’t count on the pirates for
anything
.

He had to stop the tour.

When his mother pulled into the driveway that night, he was waiting.

“Lewis?” she said, as she opened the car door. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Well, actually, yes! Ms.… uh, Ms. Forsley said today … about a class visit? Here? To Shornoway?”

His mother stepped out, hauling her heavy black briefcase. “Oh, right. I told her there wasn’t much to see. But she’s very keen. Belongs to the Historical Society. They love these old wrecks.”

“Well,” he went on, “couldn’t you … couldn’t you tell her again how wrecked it is? Tell her it’s … unsafe! It
is
unsafe, you know. All this moldy air and … and dust. There are kids in my class who really
do
have asthma.”

Mrs. Dearborn paused in the driveway to glower. “For heaven’s sake, Lewis,
what
is your problem? Is there some reason you don’t want your class to come here?”

Reason, thought Lewis. There are a
thousand
reasons! But all he could say was, “Well … the air.”

“Nonsense,” said his mother. “They’ll only be here an hour or two. And they’re not coming till the sixteenth. Ms. Forsley wanted to come this week, but I already have my hands full with the real estate agents.”

“The—
what
?” said Lewis.

But his mother had moved inside. He had to run to keep up.

“What real estate agents? What are you talking about?”

She frowned as she hung up her coat. “What’s gotten into you? The people who are going to sell Shornoway, of course. They’re coming on Friday to look around.”

“But,” said Lewis, his heart pounding, “but … but why are they coming
now
? It’s only October. We have to live here till February!”

His mother put her hand on his forehead. “Are you okay, Lewis? You look flushed. Have you been taking your vitamin C?”

“Mom, please! Why now?”

Mrs. Dearborn sighed. “We’re getting things rolling, Lewis. Shornoway isn’t just some ordinary house, you know. It’s an unusual property. Unique. The agents will have to look for the right buyer and—”

“There you are!” Mr. Dearborn pushed through the kitchen door. “Perfect timing—dinner’s on the table. Filo bake, with Brie and shitake mushrooms!”

And that was that. Once his father started talking about food, there was no competing.

But with their plates finally filled, Lewis managed to get in a question. “Will they be going everywhere?”

“Who?” said his mother.

“The real estate people. Will they be going all over the house? Like … up to the tower?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Dearborn, and then, “Oh,
I
see the problem. Don’t worry, Lewis. I’ll tell them not to touch your things.”

Lewis opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing to say.

Later that evening, he snuck outside. He made his way to the top of the cliff path and crouched there in the fog, shivering and hugging his knees. Spray misted his face. Surf pounded the rocks below.

Real estate agents! This was even worse than the class visit. A whole new, terrible problem.

No, thought Lewis, being honest—it was actually an
old
problem. One he’d been refusing to think about. The real estate agents were bound to say
something
that would make it clear—even to the pirates, who were slow about such things—that Shornoway was going to be sold.

They didn’t know! All these hours he’d spent with the pirates, and he’d never told them the truth. Thinking about it now, he felt sick. The pirates had lived in Shornoway since it was first built, and for all that time, the house had been owned by the same family. Lewis’s family.