Seven Dead Pirates (23 page)

Lewis glanced back, expecting to be pursued. But the tall pirate was still at the gangplank, raising his sword again—this time against the museum man! Lewis dashed to the ship’s railing. The museum man was crouched near the top of the gangplank, rigid with fear. The guide ropes trembled in his hands.

“Get off!” Lewis screamed at him. “Run!”

The museum man released the ropes. Scuttling sideways like a crab, he half-ran, half-fell off the gangplank.

Lewis turned to survey the deck. Everywhere, pirates were leaping and scrambling, swinging swords, flashing daggers. Pistols fired in explosive roars, raising clouds of pungent smoke. Bodies flew and smashed with noisy thuds against the wood. The deck shook. The sails trembled. The air was thick with curses and screams.

And Lewis was right in the middle! A bandy-legged pirate in rags ran at him, howling, sword in hand. In a flash, Lewis leaped sideways onto a sea chest. Bounding over a coil of rope, he skidded to the other side of the deck. Just ahead was Adam—no, Mary!—in a frenzied struggle with a bushy-bearded pirate twice her size. The pirate had his hands around Mary-Adam’s neck. The cabin boy—girl!—swung wildly with both fists.

Lewis leaped onto the bearded pirate’s back. His nose was assailed by a stench so foul, he could hardly breathe. Crawley was right. Up close, Dire’s crew was rank! Lewis hung on, kicking and pounding till the pirate released Mary-Adam in order to claw at the boy on his back.

Mary-Adam, now free, dived at the pirate’s legs. Whether she bit, punched or pulled, Lewis never knew, but the bearded ghost went down, taking Lewis with him. Scarcely had Lewis hit the deck, when a hand—Mary-Adam’s—dragged him away.

“You mustn’t fight, Lewis,” shouted Mary-Adam in his ear. “You
mustn’t
!”

“Why not?” Lewis was beginning to think he was doing quite well.

“Don’t you see?” Her voice was pleading. “You’re the only one of us who can truly get hurt. You could
die
, Lewis!”

Lewis looked around. She was right. He was the only one who wasn’t already dead. The others could fight through all eternity, and they might experience pain—maybe they’d even lose more body parts—but the worst had already happened.

“Get yourself to safety,” shouted Mary-Adam.

Lewis glanced back at the gangplank. The tall pirate was still guarding it, struggling now with … was that a policeman? Yes! Lewis could see the blue uniform clearly.

“This way!” begged Mary-Adam. “Shinny up the mainmast. You’ll be safe there, in the crow’s nest.”

Lewis looked where she was pointing. Way up, at the top of the mast, almost at the ceiling, was a tiny platform.

Lewis’s stomach churned. “I can’t.”

“You must!” said Mary-Adam. “Or you’ll end up like us.”

At that moment, they were both knocked flat by a flying pirate. Not actually
flying
, Lewis realized as he went down, just thrown across the deck. Stumbling slowly to his feet, Lewis tried to focus. Mary-Adam was up again, battling the flying pirate, and he, Lewis, was facing—

Captain Dire!

He could tell by the hair, a long, white mane flowing
down past the pirate’s shoulders. But not just the hair. Crawley had described Dire well. That cold stare. Those bleak, blue eyes. That absence of all feeling. Lewis knew what he was looking at. Evil itself.

Slowly, Dire raised his sword till it was even with Lewis’s chest. He looked relaxed, almost casual, as if finishing off Lewis would be a moment’s work. Like squashing a wingless fly.

“Back off!” cried Lewis. He knew it was absurd, even as he said it. He was small, unarmed, inexperienced and most of all …

Alive!

Yes, that was it. He was the only one who was alive—and he was going to
stay
alive.

“Back!” he yelled again as the pirate came at him.

Slowly, deliberately, almost insultingly relaxed, Dire pulled back his sword—and thrust!

It pierced a cork float that Lewis had seized from the deck. He had moved so quickly and instinctively, he was hardly aware of the motion till it was over.

The sword stuck. Without waiting, Lewis dropped the cork, spun and sprinted across the deck. Reaching the mast, he seized the rope rigging and began to climb.

It was harder than it looked. He was wearing running shoes, and his feet slipped on the ropes so badly that soon he had to stop, expecting any second to feel
Dire’s powerful grip on his ankles. Glancing down, he saw that Dire was indeed directly below. But he’d been cut off by Crawley, who yelled, “Stand fast and fight, bottom-feeder!”

Lewis took heart. Looping his left arm through the rigging, he used his right hand to pull off his shoes and socks. His bare feet, sweaty with fear and exertion, did a better job of clinging to the ropes. He ripped off the Frankenstein headpiece, too. His red hair sprung free as if released from prison.

Slowly, he climbed, telling himself, “One square, just one,” then reaching for the next and saying again, “Just one.” In this way, square by square of rope, he climbed the rigging. He didn’t look down, knowing that a single glance would drain his courage like water from a sink. Another square. Another. Beneath him, the shouts and thuds continued. Were the kindergartners still in the hall?

Finally, he was there. Just beneath the platform. It took all his nerve and almost more strength than he had to curl his body over the top and flatten himself, like a sheet of paper, onto the small surface. Panting hard, he looked down.

He was instantly, terrifyingly dizzy. His stomach wobbled. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. He looked again, willing his stomach to stay still.

Oh! He could see everything! It was like being a bird.
This
was why it was called the crow’s nest.

Below, the battle raged. He scanned the deck fearfully, expecting to see Crawley’s crew in retreat. But the more he saw, the more he realized that they were—somehow, improbably—hanging on. More than hanging on! They looked vibrant and bright now, colorful in their thrift store clothing, their skin glowing with excitement. Dire’s pirates, in contrast, looked shadowy and gray. Their faces were sinister, their eyes cold and blank.

Lewis stared at his tower-mates, amazed. Here, Moyle fought a muscular rival, his cutlass flashing faster than Lewis could have imagined if he hadn’t experienced his own surprising speed under pressure. There, Jonas held two ghosts at bay. His bare feet agile as a dancer’s, he leaped from deck to rope to railing without a slip, his sword a sweeping, never-resting barrier. Jack, meanwhile, fought like the rodent he was named for. Seizing hard upon first this pirate, then that, he terrified them so badly they retreated to take on lesser foes. Even little Skittles held his own, hopping about in front of a lumbering tattooed brute.

But it was Barnaby Bellows who did the bulk of the fighting. He strode the decks like the giant that he
was, and whenever he spotted a weakness—an enemy pirate distracted by one of his crewmates—he stepped in and with a single smooth, powerful movement, seized the scoundrel and hurled him over the side of the ship. Glancing around, Lewis could see five or six of Dire’s men who’d been tossed overboard by Bellows. They were limping around the museum floor in various states of confusion.

Not surprisingly, the spectators had scattered. Lewis looked for Mrs. Sobowski and saw her, herding her students—or trying to—out the door. He could tell, even from here, that she understood the danger now and knew it was terrible and real. She was waving and yelling at the kids. The problem was that, in the great tumult of firing pistols and yelling men, the kindergartners couldn’t—or wouldn’t—hear her. As fast as she herded them out the door, they ran back in. Lewis could understand why. It was the kind of show they would never see again, not if they watched action movies for the rest of their lives! For Mrs. Sobowski, it was a losing battle, even with the help of the volunteer parents. There were just too many excited kindergartners. They were running free among the dazed pirates of Dire’s crew.

Watching them, Lewis felt a stab of fear. If Dire’s pirates posed a danger to him, what might they do to
these kindergartners, scampering among them like rabbits in a lion’s den?

And even if Dire’s pirates didn’t harm the children, they would certainly, once they got over their dazed state, reboard the ship. How long could Bellows continue to hurl them overboard? How long before they overpowered him and brought him down?

Suddenly, there was a brain-numbing blast of noise, followed by a great cloud of smoke. Lewis looked down. A
hole
had been blown through the museum wall behind the ship. Cannons! The pirates were now firing cannons! Screams came from a hysterical volunteer standing near the hole.

As Lewis glanced frantically from one peril to another, his worst fear came to pass. A kindergartner had managed to get up the gangplank and was standing on the ship’s deck—right beside Captain Dire. It was
her
! The little girl with the red glasses! She was dancing with excitement at seeing the show so close. Lewis watched, helpless, as the pirate spotted her. Head thrown back, Dire laughed. He plucked the girl up with one hand and held her above his head, ready to hurl her overboard.

A sob escaped Lewis. Frantic, he searched the hall. Bellows was halfway down the gangplank, blocking Dire’s men as they tried to reboard.

“Bellows!” screamed Lewis.

Everything stopped. For Lewis, it was like watching a movie that turns suddenly into a still photo. Everyone was staring up at
him
, Lewis. Mrs. Sobowski. Dire. The little girl, her mouth open in an O of terror. And most important—Bellows.

Lewis pointed. “There!”

Bellows’s gaze shifted till he spotted the white-haired pirate, still gripping the wriggling girl. Captain Dire’s arm reached backward. Like a football player, he prepared to throw …

Lewis watched it as if in slow motion. Bellows churned like a machine down the gangplank, flattening two of Dire’s men on the way. Screaming, the little girl flew through the air, over the side of the
Maria Louisa
. Bellows ran, stopped, gauged his position, darted forward until—

He caught her like a football. Rolling backward, he held her ahead of him so she wouldn’t hit the floor. She fell against his massive chest, which acted as a pillow as he went down with a mighty crash.

Up in the crow’s nest, Lewis let out his breath with a cry. She was safe. And now the other kindergartners would leave.

But they didn’t.

Watching, Lewis realized that they still thought it
was a game. The ones who had escaped Mrs. Sobowski were wild with excitement. They were crowding toward the gangplank, eager to be the next ones hurled by Dire.

Somebody had to stop it! Somebody had to
do
something. Lewis searched the deck. Where was Crawley? There! Lying next to the ship’s wheel. Had he been knocked out? Who else might act? But all Crawley’s men were once again engaged in their own battles. Nobody, except Lewis and Mrs. Sobowski, could see the danger.

With growing terror, he scanned the room—the deck, the floor, the exit corridor, even the ceiling. Then he looked through the window to the sea.

The sea.

He stared, as if hypnotized, at the gentle grass slope that ran down to the ocean. So close, so close. And he saw the answer! He saw it as clearly as a dream in the instant of waking. All that stood between the
Maria Louisa
and the sea was a thin sheet of glass and a short grassy slide. If the
Maria Louisa
went into the ocean, the pirates would follow.

All of them.

He had to do it. He, Lewis, had to command this ship.

He pulled himself to his feet and searched for the one pirate who could help.

“Bellows!” he screamed.

The giant looked up.

Lewis held out his right arm as commandingly as he could. Remembering the pirate books he had read, he yelled, “Prepare to launch ship. Bellows! Aft!”

Bellows stared back, uncomprehending. Lewis hauled up every shred of force in his being. With all his strength and spirit, he
willed
Bellows to understand.

“Aft!” he cried again. “Prepare to launch!” He pointed to the back of the ship.

Bellows wavered. Then, slowly, his huge face opened into a grin. His hand rose in a salute.

“Aye, aye,” he shouted. He ran to the stern.

Lewis waited till Barnaby Bellows was in position at the back of the ship, ready to start pushing.

“Full ahead!” yelled Lewis from the crow’s nest.

He couldn’t see Bellows now, but he could picture him, his mighty shoulder tight against the
Maria Louisa
’s stern. Lewis could tell where Bellows was because of the groaning timber as the ship slowly shifted forward on her wooden scaffolding and then rocked back.

“Full ahead
again
!” yelled Lewis. “Barnaby! Now!”

The wood groaned again, then screeched. The ship shuddered forward toward the glass window. Then back. Then forward …

It was shifting! With the strength of a giant behind it, with the energy of a giant’s two centuries of imprisonment, the ship was finally moving.

Lewis held tight as a barnacle to the mast as the
Maria Louisa
rocked and shook. The window loomed close—and still closer! He huddled down, his face buried in his jacket. One more surge and—

The glass shattered! Broken shards rained down on the sails, on the mast, on the crouched body of a clinging boy wearing a bright red jacket—a boy who looked, Lewis suddenly understood, exactly like the little sailor in the bottle at home.

He, Lewis, was that bright red sailor!

The
Maria Louisa
broke through on her journey to the sea.

And so did Lewis. In the moment of the crashing of the glass, something shattered in him as well. Walls he no longer needed, fences that had held his spirit back. They crashed with the glass, and he held on, eyes shut, as the ship surged forward—through the smashed window, past the broken glass, past the malevolent pirates, into the sunlight, into the wild raging wind.