Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves (25 page)

“I don’t believe it!” Lacey screamed, seemingly as much from fury that the Ratts had found the old man so quickly as from disbelief.

“You see, Jim,” George said, polishing his dirty nails on his dirty shirt. “Leave it to us and you’ll have your box back by the end of the week. There was never really cause for concern. This is going to be like taking candy from a baby.”

George had the others idle beside one of the nearby fireplaces as he flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders to loosen up. “I figure the old Gregorian Gooseneck should do the trick for the old bag,” he said confidently.

“He’s going to get a drink from the barkeep now,” Jim pointed out, and off George went. As he had seen his friend do so many times before, Jim watched George dodge and weave through the crowd, past pointed crooks of elbows and beneath outstretched arms the master thief glided like a falcon descending upon its prey. As for the prey, Jim watched the old man lean up against the bar while the barkeep gathered up two arm’s-full of ales.

“Poor old blighter,” Jim said to Peter and Paul.

“Doesn’t even know what’s coming,” the two agreed in unison, nodding their heads in near pity.

Then the moment was upon them. George came in from behind the old salt as silent as a ghost, craning his arm over his head as he walked by, aiming to pluck the amulet neatly by its chain from its owner’s neck. Jim, Paul, and Peter could hardly contain their anticipation as they expected the powerful talisman to soon be in their possession. But, at the last possible moment, just when George’s fingertips brushed the clasp of the chain, the old man snatched up his ales, turned on his heel, and spun back to his table.

The sudden turning motion threw George completely for a loop, and trying to adjust his footing so he wasn’t caught behind the old man red-handed, he ended up stumbling face-first into a stubble-chinned pirate with two pistols in his bandolier, spilling the rough-hewn sailor’s ale all over the both of them.

“Oy!” the pirate erupted from his stool. “Watch where your goin’ you scurvy runt or you might jus’ find yourself tanglin’ it up with the squids and fishes o’ the deep!”

“Sorry, sir, sorry!” George babbled, quickly ducking back through the crowded room and coming to stand beside his friends.

“Like taking candy from a baby, eh, George?” Lacey said smugly, and it looked like George wanted to slug her. But he was a professional after all, and quickly composed himself.

“Just a spot of bad luck, that’s all,” George said, smiling at his comrades and shaking his shoulders loose again.

“Of course it was,” Paul said as he cheered his brother on and slapped him on the back. “Won’t happen twice, that’s for sure!”

“No way!” George agreed. “Time for the Prince Charles!” he proclaimed, and once more cut a swerving path toward his target.

The pirates gathered about the old man were laughing and carousing with tall tales and crude jokes all around as George approached. As sneaky as a snake he sidled up beside the old man, laughing along with the distracted men. When the old man took his turn to tell a limerick (something about a one-toothed mermaid and a blind swabbie with an old barrel of rum) George burst out laughing in hysterics and slapped the old man heartily on the back. On the fourth slap, just the beat he timed to snatch up the amulet, the old-timer must have suddenly spied a coin on the floor, because he reached down, causing George’s swipe to sail clean over his head and instead smacking the face a black bearded fellow with a fierce-looking bandana cinched about his forehead.

Jim gasped and thought for sure his friend was done for, but George quickly ducked himself, and the bearded pirate blamed one of his mates, which resulted in a brief but rather brutal scrum and the loss of a couple of teeth and a bloodied nose. George scrambled back to the fireplace lookout as confounded as Jim had ever seen him.

“Bad stroke of luck again?” Lacey said rather nastily, arching her eyebrows as high as they could reach.

“Oh, step off!” George thundered, and his brothers slapped him on the back to encourage him into battle once more.

“Of course it was rotten luck,” Peter said. “Lightning never strikes three times though, so our father said! You’ve got him on the ropes!”
He encouraged George with a smile but then flashed Jim a wide-eyed look of puzzlement behind his brother’s back. This was not going according to plan.

All afternoon George threw everything he could at the wily old pirate: the French Telescope, the New World Noose, the Kaiser’s Underpants, an Arab Cherub Surprise, even the faithful Russian Nose Pick ’n’Flick (which sent an unfortunately deflected bogey into the one remaining good eye of a one-eyed pirate, which again resulted in a quick spat of flying fists and chairs).

Finally, George staggered back to the fireplace on wobbly legs, breathing hard like a boxer who’s seen the close-up of his opponent’s fist one too many times. “Tricky old bushy beard,” said George with his hands on his hips as Paul wrapped an arm around his brother’s waist to support him and Peter fanned him with a bar towel. “I just need a breather…I’ve got him right where I want him!”

But Jim saw George’s dazed expression and knew there was no use in going back at it the same way. “Look, George,” he said, putting one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve given it a great go, but obviously the salt’s got the beat on the pickpocket angle. Maybe we should try a new angle? Paul?” He gave the smallest Ratt brother a nod. “What do you think?”

“I think this is the perfect place for a Carnival Gag, now that you mention it, Jim,” Paul said, and George nodded in resigned agreement.

“Let’s give it a try.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention!” Paul’s voice cried to the bustling crowds of the inn only a few moments later. He stood on a bench not far from where the old pirate and his friends sat, his arms held out wide like a mousy, circus ringmaster.

“None of those in ’ere lad,” a sour voice jabbed from beside a far fireplace to the rough laughter of Paul’s audience.

“Right you are!” Paul said without missing a beat. “Let’s try this then: roughnecks and scalawags! Listen up!”

“Arrgghh!” The audience raised their tins of ale and laughed at the plucky young Ratt.

“Well,” Lacey whispered to Jim, who stood with George and Paul behind the table Paul had claimed for his efforts. “That got their attention anyway.”

“Call a spade a spade and all that,” Jim agreed, though he wasn’t sure he enjoyed having all the eyes (and some not in pairs) in the room upon them.

“It seems to me that there are some of you lucky salts in here with a bit too much gold for your own good, and other foul-fortuned blokes about with not quite enough!” Paul bellowed.

“You’re right there, lad!” a particularly scruffy pirate cried, and the room again erupted in laughs, jeers, insults, and brags.

“Well, seeing as how it’s a bit cold to settle your differences outside—”

“I’ve set’led more than my fair share inside, young’n,” said an aged pirate, with more scars than hairs left on his head, as he picked his teeth with the biggest knife Jim had ever seen.

“Yes…I can see that…” Paul gulped, staring for a long moment at the old fighter with wide eyes before remembering his audience and flashing a forced smile. “Well, for the rest of us then, I suggest a game. It’s very simple. Here in my hand, I have a marble.” He held the shiny little ball in the air for all to see. “I will hide said marble under one of three bowls. Guess the wrong bowl, and you lose a piece of your treasure…but guess the right one…and leave with your pockets a little heavier than when you landed in London town, and I’ll even throw in the marble! What d’ya say?”

“ARRGGHH!” the crowd cried, and before Paul had time to say dead-men-tell-no-tales, the longest line of unshaven, thieving scoundrels any of the children could have ever imagined formed up in front of the table.

“Born showman, that Paul is,” Peter said with an appreciative nod. “Trust me Jim, what me and George do for locks and pockets, Paul does for the old con game! Watch and learn.”

Paul leapt down from the bench, pushing the sleeves of his coat and shirt up past his elbows. He flashed a smile and rolled the shiny marble across the back of his knuckles before the first eager sailor in line, a squat man with pocked cheeks, a thin beard, and a huge bald spot surrounded by lengths of his mangy hair. The round pirate plucked a fat gold earring off his left ear and slammed it down on the table.

Paul tossed the marble beneath one of the bowls with a neat flick of his wrist and like a master musician on some sort of strange instrument whirled the bowls around on the table, crisscrossing and looping them in figure eights. The poor sailor tried to follow the dancing bowls so closely that his eyes began to dance in their sockets.

“Which bowl then, friend?” Paul said when he finally stopped, but the sailor was so dizzy that he just groaned slightly and keeled over on the spot.

“Next,” Paul said curtly, and the line erupted in howls of laughter and approval. The pirates and seamen liked this game, that was for certain, but they apparently had no idea who they were up against. Jim watched closely as Paul used all manner of distracting tricks and methods to keep the pirates guessing. He dizzied some, pestered others with inane conversation about albatross droppings, or just outsped their eyes with the amazing dexterity of his hands. Jim had to admit, he was deeply impressed by the display. Even he failed to follow the hidden marble, guessing wrong in his mind every time he thought he knew which bowl it lay hidden beneath.

After about an hour or so of Paul’s game, a nice pile of treasure accumulated on the table beside the tricky bowls: rings and charms, bejeweled knives and chains, earrings and silver belt buckles all glistening in the firelight of the inn. Peter and George already figured that spending the loot on pocketfulls of candy would be a fine consolation even if they failed to nab the amulet, but just as Lacey was about
to chastise the greedy boys for how pointless that would have made this entire trip, two gnarled hands slapped down before Paul at the table, and the old man in the blue and red greatcoat leaned in close. The amulet dangled temptingly from around his neck, right before Paul’s eyes.

“Pre’ty good game ye’ got goin’ ’ere, laddie,” the old man said in a crackly voice. His crafty smile revealed a rough set of crooked, yellow teeth, and his breath was tinged with more than a hint of dank seaweed.

“Right we do, sir,” Paul said, gulping nervously, for the old man’s eyes were still sharp as daggers, staring over the faces of the five children, studying them intently. Jim thought the old salt paused for just a second longer when he reached his own face, but then the pirate turned his attention back to Paul, who said: “Care to play?”

“Aye, I do, but what do ye’ think I should be wagerin’?” The old man smiled with half his mouth, his scruffy chin, covered in a scraggly white beard, quivering as though he were about to laugh.

“How ’bout that necklace?” Paul asked, some of his charm failing a bit under the old-timer’s intense scrutiny.

“Oh, this little trinket?” The old man played with it in his fingers for a bit before turning his half-smile into a whole one. “Why not? T’isn’t worth much to me anymore,” he said, unclasping the chain and laying the medallion on the table. “Not like something I’d need to keep under lock nor key, if ye catch my meaning,” he chuckled slowly, and Jim and Lacey caught their startled gasps in their throats.

Could the old man know what they were up to, Jim wondered. But he was hardly sure whether the weathered salt could even know what a powerful talisman he had, as he was betting it so casually in what was obviously a rigged game.

Paul wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and once more danced the marble over the back of his knuckles before flicking it beneath one of the bowls. “So, from London originally, sir?” Paul asked, trying to distract the unnervingly sharp sailor as he whipped the bowls around as fast he could.

“Truth be told, laddie,” The old man said as casually as if he were catching up with an old friend, his eyes never once leaving the bowls, “I’ve made port ’n so many bays ’cross the map o’ de earth that me old mind can’t even remember de place I first left from. The sea is my wife, my family, my home, all in one, and she’s taught me everything an old man could hope to learn.” At the last word he slammed one hand down on the table with one hand and snatched Paul by the wrist with the other.

“Hey! Get off!” Paul cried.

“I’m just playin’ the game, young sir.” The pirate stared right into Paul’s startled eyes, grinning smugly, his gold tooth, the third from the middle, gleaming brightly. “And I choose …” He waved his free hand playfully over the bowls. “This one.” But instead of pointing to one of the bowls, he seized Paul’s hand, forcing it open to reveal the shiny marble resting in its palm.

The line of yet-to-play sailors - and especially the crowd of losers - roared in protest at the realization that they had been duped by children. They pressed in around the table, rage burning in their eyes.

“Looks like I’ll be keepin’ this.” The salt smiled, dropping the amulet back around his neck before leaving with a wink and a wave to the young thieves. Fortunately, the pirates and sailors took only their treasure back instead of exacting painful revenge on the tricksters, but the innkeeper tossed Jim, Lacey, and the Ratts out into the evening cold, refusing to let them back in after all the trouble they’d caused.