The Ship of Lost Souls 1 by Rachelle Delaney

“Watch.” The merchant and the sailor, after they’d both realized that the coins had disappeared, immediately took off after the three pirates.
    â€œCome on,” Tim said. “Let’s go find Smitty.”
    â€œDid ya see that?” The little bandit was practically prancing when they caught up with him around the next corner. “Forget Hurricane Smith. Call me Quickfingers!” He proudly displayed the coins in his palm, then snapped his other palm over the top and danced a quick jig.
    â€œAll right, all right.” Tim rolled his eyes. “No time for gloating. We’ve got to find a knife for Jem.”
    â€œRight.” Smitty pocketed his coins. “I know just the place. Follow me, lads. Follow your uncle Quickfingers.” He pranced off.
    Tim shook his head and followed, muttering, “Quickfingers—ha! Percival, maybe. But Quickfingers?” Jem took up the rear, hoping his task would indeed be as easy as Smitty made it look.
    They stopped in front of the tavern and peered through its single cloudy window. The interior was dimly lit and nearly empty, except for a few sailors seated around a long table in the middle of the room and a few more at tables along the wall. By the disheveled looks of them, these sailors were pirates, not King’s Men. The ones at the long table seemed to be haggling over a pile of coins and jewelry.
    â€œWe’re not going in here, are we?” Jem asked. “They’ll notice us for sure.”
    Smitty shook his head. “Just stick to the walls and don’t make eye contact with anyone. Let’s take a look around.” With that, he darted into the tavern, with Tim close behind. As he, too, ducked inside, Jem couldn’t help but remember the cutlass that had hung on Iron “Pete” Morgan’s hip. Such a shiny and well-sharpened blade. He wondered, just briefly, whether pirates’ cutlasses were ever used to lop off the arms of clumsy thieves. Then he tried to imagine what Master Davis would do in such a situation. The obvious answer was that Master Davis wouldn’t have gotten himself into such a fix in the first place.
    Inside, the tavern smelled much like the one where he and Uncle Finn had dined on flying fish in Port Aberhard. Smoky and sour. Jem took Smitty’s advice and slunk along the wall closest to the door.
    Over at the long table, the pirates’ voices rose and fell, peppered with curses and authentic-sounding pirate grunts. There was evidently some disagreement over who got to keep a giant ruby set in gold and fastened to a thick chain. It sparkled in the lamplight, and Jem found himself so transfixed by it that he walked into a chair and stubbed his toe. He stifled a cry, and Tim and Smitty both turned and raised their eyebrows to shush him.
    â€œIt’s rightfully mine!” A pirate spat on the floor near Smitty’s feet, and the boy took a slow step back. The three Lost Souls pressed their backs against the wall, a few yards away from the pirates.
    â€œYers? Don’t flatter yerself, ye lily-livered lout,” a pirate with an eye patch jeered. “I’m the one who cut off the man’s head and plucked the jewel off his neck. It’s mine if it’s anyone’s.”
    â€œBut ’twas me father who found it in the first place, I swear! I’d know that jewel anywhere. It fell right from the sky, nearly landed in his lap, years ago. Ye’ve heard the tales of rubies falling from the sky, haven’t ye?”
    A third pirate guffawed. “Tell ye what then, Deadeye Johnny,” he said, addressing the one who’d beheaded the jewel’s unfortunate owner. “I’ll give you this ring and a sack of doubloons for the ruby.”
    â€œDeadeye Johnny,” Smitty whispered. “Now there’s a grand pirate name. Think I could be Deadeye Smith?”
    Tim turned with his finger to his lips, then paused and shook his head.