Hunt for the Panther 3 (9781101610923) (9 page)

“I have a sickness,” Smitty repeated. “And I don’t know what will cure it.”

“Uh-huh.” Jem raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a love sickness,” Smitty explained, and he
whipped a bouquet of half-wilted flowers out from behind his back. He presented them to Sina, who looked properly horrified.

Jem groaned as Monty and Elmo exploded into laughter. Kapu joined in, but Sina stopped him with a cuff upside the head.

“Isn’t that sweet of Rodney?” cooed Elmo.

“Alfred, you shouldn’t have!” Monty batted his eyelashes.

Jem sighed and rubbed his forehead. The Lost Souls were all trying extrahard to discover Smitty’s real name now, hoping they’d make the right guess in front of Sina.

For her part, Sina didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. Ignoring the wilted bouquet, she turned on her heel and stalked off.

“Wait!” Jem called, for he still needed her help with the doors. “Meet me at the houses, okay?” He nudged Kapu, who ran after his sister.

“You’re welcome!” Smitty called. “See you later!”

Still howling with laughter, Monty and Elmo scampered off in the opposite direction.

Once they were gone, Jem gave Smitty a tired look, but the boy ignored him.

“Seriously, Fitz,” he said. “I
do
have a problem.”

“Sure you do, Smit. Look, I’ve got important things to do here, like fending off a panther that wants to eat us and a pirate who wants to make us clean the long drop for eternity. Or worse.”

“This’ll just take a minute. See, I need to show Sina how I feel about her.”

“I think you’ve been doing just fine at that,” Jem told him. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Please, Jem.” Smitty took hold of his arm. “You’re the smartest person I know. Help me think of a way to win her love?”

Jem threw up his hands. “I don’t know anything about love!”

“Please, Jem.” Smitty gave him a pitiful look.

Jem sighed. “Well… why don’t you get Kapu to teach you the Islander language? That way you can actually talk to her. I’ll bet she’d appreciate it.”
And,
he added to himself,
it would be good to have someone other than Scarlet who can communicate with them.

Smitty wrinkled his nose. “I was thinking something more along the lines of a poem.”

“Of course you were.”

“In fact, I just came up with one. Let me recite it, and you’ll tell me what you think?”

“But Smit,” said Jem, “what good is a poem if you don’t speak the same language?”

“We speak the language of love!” Smitty answered.

Jem almost pointed out that Sina seemed to speak the language of “go away and leave me alone,” then decided it would be faster not to argue. “Okay. But be quick.”

“Jolly!” Smitty took a step back, then squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Ready?”

“You’ve got two minutes,” Jem warned him.

“Okay.” Smitty closed his eyes, then recited,

“Inexplicable,” said Jem.

“Just listen, mate.”

Jem held up his hand. “Really?”

“Really,” said Smitty. “This love thing is tearing me apart.”

“No, I meant—” Jem began, then thought better. “Go on.”

“So that’s why it’s been nice and quiet lately,” Jem commented.

“Shh.”

Smitty sighed and bowed his head. “That’s it.”

“Good,” Jem said, glad it was over.

“Think she’ll like it?”

“I’m sure she will,” Jem told him. “Although you might want to consider learning the Islander language, anyway. You know, in case this doesn’t quite to do the job.”

Smitty shrugged. “I’ll try this first.” And he trotted off, leaving Jem shaking his head.

Scarlet stared at the parlor ceiling and wondered if it was possible to die of boredom. If it was, she was probably dangerously close to her own demise.

In the stiff-backed chair beside her, Josephine hummed a little tune while working on her embroidery. She’d been at it for the last few hours, humming away as an orange cat took shape on her dainty white handkerchief.

“Would you say that you’re a cat person, cousin?” Josephine asked, without looking up from her work.

“No,” Scarlet replied, shaking her right leg, which had fallen asleep around the same time her brain went numb, a good two hours before.

“Well, I definitely am,” said Josephine. “I just adore cats. Big ones, small ones, striped ones—”

“Right. I figured,” Scarlet cut in. Josephine’s favorite topics, as she’d discovered over the past few days, were embroidery, knitting, and cats. The cousins officially had nothing in common.

Death by boredom.
Scarlet shifted in her stiff-backed chair and shook her head in disgust.
What a horrible way to go.
Death by keelhaul would be honorable. Death by plank-walking would be brave. Even death by snakebite would be understandable. But no one would understand if they found the captain of the Lost Souls dead in a King’s Man’s parlor with a mess of embroidery in her lap.

She looked down at her own project and grimaced. The yellow butterfly she’d envisioned flitting across the handkerchief looked more like an egg someone had dropped on the road.

Josephine glanced up. “Do you need some help, cousin?”

“No,” said Scarlet. “I’m going to take a break.” She stood, stretching her restless legs. “Hard work, this embroidery.”

Josephine gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s coming along well.” She looked down at the yellow splat and bit her lip. “I can’t believe embroidery isn’t taught in the tropics.”

“Yes, we’re really missing out.” Scarlet tossed the handkerchief aside and marched to the window. The ocean view had an instant calming effect, and she reminded herself to be nice.

“Here in the tropics, ladies are really more into…” She racked her brain for something a lady would do. “Spices,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie—the Islander women had known all about spices. They’d spent hours gathering and drying and grinding them into fine powders, then sharing them with family and friends. Some simply tasted delicious, like the cinnamon Meggie sprinkled on Scarlet’s toast every morning now. Other spices had different powers—healing powers, or so Scarlet’s mother had told her, so long ago.

“Spices!” Josephine dropped her embroidery in her lap. “Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Scarlet looked away, gazing out the
window at the milky-blue sea in the distance.

“Like the Islanders used to use!” said Josephine. “Father was telling me all about them,” she added. “They sounded like fascinating people. I mean, can you imagine living in a little hut made of wood and leaves, and going around barefoot? I just—” Suddenly, Josephine stopped. “Oh, cousin, I’m sorry. I completely forgot you were… I mean, you are…”

Scarlet kept staring out the window, hoping Josephine would take the hint and drop the subject. She could just imagine what Uncle Daniel had said about the Islanders—the people he hadn’t wanted his brother to live with. Her hands balled into fists.

She focused on the horizon to calm herself. Somewhere out there was her island, and on it, her crew. What were they up to now? Had Jem managed to fend off the panther? Had there been any sign of the power-hungry pirate captain?

“Maybe… maybe you can show me how the Islanders used spices,” Josephine suggested. “I’m sure my schoolmistress will be fascinated when I report back.”

“Maybe,” Scarlet answered, knowing full well she would do no such thing.

“My father is particularly fascinated by the Islanders,” Josephine went on, and Scarlet rolled her eyes. “And particularly their knowledge of plants that cure illnesses. Like—”

“Why don’t we go outside?” Scarlet interrupted. Her legs and lungs ached for a walk and some fresh air.
And it would give her a chance to eavesdrop on some conversations around port and maybe learn a thing or two about the Rebel.

“Oh.” Josephine’s eyes grew wide. “But our fathers won’t be home for another hour at least, remember?”

Scarlet’s father and Uncle Daniel had left that morning to consult with some other King’s Men about Uncle Daniel’s business, which Scarlet still couldn’t define. She’d asked him about it, but he’d droned on so long about the king’s greatness and how lucky he was to work for him that she’d eventually stopped listening.

“That’s all right,” said Scarlet. “We’ll be back before they are.”

“B-but… without a chaperone?” Josephine clutched her handkerchief with both hands.

“Sure,” Scarlet said, although she could picture her father exploding if he saw them out alone. “That’s… that’s how it’s done in the tropics.” It was a full-out lie, but possibly the only way to get Josephine outside of the house and away from her embroidery.

“Really?” Josephine looked uncertain.

“Definitely,” Scarlet told her. “Chaperones are an Old World thing. Here in the tropics, they don’t even exist. Come on now.” She strode to the parlor door and waited for Josephine to rise and join her.

“Should we tell Meggie?”

“No,” Scarlet said quickly. “She won’t care. Come on. I’ll show you around. Then you can report back to your classmates about the
real
tropics.”

Josephine practically glued herself to Scarlet’s side as they wandered down the muddy red street, away from the admiral’s house and toward the docks. She took everything in without blinking, gasping when an old merchant offered to sell them limes, and squeaking when a cabin boy ran by, splashing their boots with red mud.

“Watch where you’re going!” Scarlet yelled after him, and Josephine gasped again.

“We’re not allowed to raise our voices in public back in the Old World,” she murmured. “Or anywhere, really.”

“Oh. Right.” Scarlet pictured her father reminding her of Rule Number Five. Good thing he hadn’t been around for that. “Come on.” She dragged Josephine across the street, away from some filthy pirates who were eyeing them curiously. Children didn’t get noticed in port when they were dressed up like cabin boys, but apparently unchaperoned girls in fine dresses did. Scarlet suddenly remembered how Jem and his uncle had been greeted when they’d first stepped off their ship, dressed all posh and proper. The
Dark Ranger
pirates had lost no time in kidnapping them and hauling them onto their own boat.

She glanced behind her at the pirates, silently cursing her stiff new boots, which were too tight to house her dagger. “Let’s hurry,” she said, pulling Josephine toward the docks.

Once the sparkling ocean lay before them, she
began to breathe easier. Even Josephine relaxed her grip on Scarlet’s arm as she took in all the ships anchored in the bay.

“Are… are any of these…
pirate
ships?” she whispered. “Do those really exist?”

Scarlet stifled a laugh. “They do exist,” she told her cousin. “In fact, you’re surrounded by them.”

Josephine looked around, mouth open, as a grizzled old sea dog stomped by. “No one back home will ever believe it,” she whispered, and Scarlet had to smile, having heard Jem say the same thing many times. The two of them would probably get along just fine.

“Look, there’s a whole group of them.” Josephine pointed off to the right, and Scarlet turned to look. Sure enough, a crowd of pirates was huddled some ten yards away, listening to something or someone in the middle of their circle. A few jostled for a better view.

“Hmm.” Scarlet watched them for a moment. Something was definitely up. “Come on.” She pulled Josephine closer to the crowd.

“Oh, but—” her cousin began to protest.

“Shh.” Scarlet stopped a few feet outside the circle and leaned in, listening hard.

“And what’s in it for us?” one pirate yelled.

“Whatever you want,” came the answer from inside the huddle. “Money, jewels, slaves. Whatever you dream of.”