âWatch.â The merchant and the sailor, after theyâd both realized that the coins had disappeared, immediately took off after the three pirates.
âCome on,â Tim said. âLetâs go find Smitty.â
âDid ya see that?â The little bandit was practically prancing when they caught up with him around the next corner. âForget Hurricane Smith. Call me Quickfingers!â He proudly displayed the coins in his palm, then snapped his other palm over the top and danced a quick jig.
âAll right, all right.â Tim rolled his eyes. âNo time for gloating. Weâve got to find a knife for Jem.â
âRight.â Smitty pocketed his coins. âI know just the place. Follow me, lads. Follow your uncle Quickfingers.â He pranced off.
Tim shook his head and followed, muttering, âQuickfingersâha! Percival, maybe. But Quickfingers?â 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 Kingâs Men. The ones at the long table seemed to be haggling over a pile of coins and jewelry.
âWeâre not going in here, are we?â Jem asked. âTheyâll notice us for sure.â
Smitty shook his head. âJust stick to the walls and donât make eye contact with anyone. Letâs take a look around.â With that, he darted into the tavern, with Tim close behind. As he, too, ducked inside, Jem couldnât help but remember the cutlass that had hung on Iron âPeteâ Morganâs hip. Such a shiny and well-sharpened blade. He wondered, just briefly, whether piratesâ 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 wouldnât 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 Smittyâs advice and slunk along the wall closest to the door.
Over at the long table, the piratesâ 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.
âItâs rightfully mine!â A pirate spat on the floor near Smittyâs 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.
âYers? Donât flatter yerself, ye lily-livered lout,â a pirate with an eye patch jeered. âIâm the one who cut off the manâs head and plucked the jewel off his neck. Itâs mine if itâs anyoneâs.â
âBut âtwas me father who found it in the first place, I swear! Iâd know that jewel anywhere. It fell right from the sky, nearly landed in his lap, years ago. Yeâve heard the tales of rubies falling from the sky, havenât ye?â
A third pirate guffawed. âTell ye what then, Deadeye Johnny,â he said, addressing the one whoâd beheaded the jewelâs unfortunate owner. âIâll give you this ring and a sack of doubloons for the ruby.â
âDeadeye Johnny,â Smitty whispered. âNow thereâs a grand pirate name. Think I could be Deadeye Smith?â
Tim turned with his finger to his lips, then paused and shook his head.
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