Bailey Linda - Seven dead pirates a ghost story

Text copyright 2015 by Linda Bailey
Illustration copyright 2015 by Dan Holst Soelberg

Tundra Books, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisheror, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agencyis an infringement of the copyright law.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Bailey, Linda, 1948-, author
Seven dead pirates / by Linda Bailey.

ISBN 978-1-77049-815-0 (bound).ISBN 978-1-77049-817-4 (epub)

I. Title.

PS8553.A3644S49 2015 jC813.54 C2014-906939-1
C2014-906940-5

Published simultaneously in the United States of America by Tundra Books of Northern New York, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014952940

Edited by Tara Walker
Designed by Terri Nimmo
The artwork in this book was rendered in traditional pen and ink.

Tundra Books, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company
www.penguinrandomhouse.ca

v3.1

For Maurice

I t was the worst birthday party Lewis had ever been to. But then, what could you expect when the guest of honor was a corpse?

Okay, so Great-Granddad wasnt exactly a corpse. But he sure looked like one. The old man lay stiff on his back on the narrow bed. His eyes stared sightlessly, and his mouth was fixed open in a round toothless O. If it werent for the pink party hat, youd never guess he was alive.

Party hats! At a 101st birthday party. It was ridiculous. Lewiss parents certainly looked ridiculous, with their dark-rimmed glasses and pointy cardboard heads. He, Lewis, must look ridiculous, too, in the clown hat Mrs. Binchy had forced on him. As for Mrs. Binchy, she was the silliest of all, wearing a gold paper crown as she bustled in with the cake.

When Lewiss father spotted the cake, his eyes darted nervously around the room. Lewis knew what he was looking for. A fire extinguisher! The cake was ablaze with candles, and a draft from the window was fanning them into a bonfire.

I couldnt do 101 candles, of course, said Mrs. Binchy breathlessly. That would be foolish. But I wanted to do at least half, and I think I managed. Mr. Douglas, look! Weve brought you a lovely cake. All together, everyone. Happy birthday to youuuu

Lewiss parents joined in, his mothers powerful voice drowning out the others. Seeing Lewis hesitate, she frowned. Lewis sang.

Happy birthday, Great-Granddad. Happy birthday to you!

Mrs. Binchy smiled and motioned for Lewis to take Great-Granddads place blowing out the candles. It took three tries.

I do love a party! said Mrs. Binchy.

The whole thing had been her idea. Mrs. Binchy was Great-Granddads housekeeper, and Lewis figured the party was just an excuse for her to have company. She must get lonely, living in a sprawling old house like Shornoway with nobody but Great-Granddad to talk to.

Just imagine! Mrs. Binchy was saying. A hundred and one years old! I hope I look half that good when Im his age.

Beaming, she passed around slices of chocolate cake. Lewis cheered up as he reached for his piecea three-layered beauty, with marshmallow frosting and chocolate shavings on top.

He dug in, trying to remember the last time hed had birthday cake. When he was little, hed gone to parties where the whole class was invited, but now that his classmates were older, they only invited their friends. Lewis mostly celebrated birthdays with his family, which was smalljust him, his parents and his fathers sister, Aunt Edith in Boston. And Great-Granddad, of course. Lewis stared at the scrawny figure under the sheets, wondering whether he might not enjoy a piece of his own cake. He would have, in the old days.

When Great-Granddad was youngerninety-five or ninety-sixhed been a whole different person. Hed called Lewis Sonny Boy and slipped him crumpled twenty dollar bills when his parents werent looking. Hed made jokes that only Lewis appreciated, sticking straws up his nose and making walrus noises.

And, once in a while, he had yelled at people who werent there.

Leave me be, you waterlogged old bludger! Great-Granddad would holler, glaring into an empty corner of the parlor.

Or he might shake a fist at the peeling wallpaper. Ive no time for your foolishness! Cant you see I have visitors?

Lewis thought the yelling was funny. But his mother just sighed. She thought Great-Granddad was crazy. Not that she ever used that word. Dementia was what she called it. Lewis knew what that meant. Nuts. Bonkers. Loony.

More cake, Lewis? said Mrs. Binchy. Im sure you still have room. She cut a thick wedge.

As quickly as Lewis held out his plate, his mother intercepted. Thank you, Mrs. Binchy. I think not.

Mrs. Binchys gray curls bobbed in surprise. But surely on this special occasion

Sugar disagrees with Lewis.

Lewis clenched his teeth. It wasnt sugar he disagreed with. He and sugar got along just fine, thank you.

He waited, quiet and cake-less, hoping Mrs. Binchy would argue. And she might have, except that Lewiss mother began peppering her with questions about Great-Granddad. His medications. His blood pressure. Even hisugh!bowel movements.

Slumping in his chair, Lewis began to poke at the stuffing escaping from its arm. The furniture in Shornoway was falling apart, just like the old house itself.

Pssst! said Great-Granddad.

Lewis blinked, then stared at the bed. Great-Granddads face on his pillow looked exactly the same, but his left hand had risen slightly off the yellowing sheet, and his pointer finger stuck out.

As Lewis watched, the O-shaped mouth moved. Sonny Boy! it whispered. The finger beckoned.

Lewis glanced around.

His father was dozing, and his mother and Mrs. Binchy were talking about bedsores. So no one heard Great-Granddad. No one except Lewis, who stared again at the clawlike finger, hooked and gesturing. Holding his breath, Lewis rose to his feet.

Closer! whispered Great-Granddad in a voice as thin as tissue paper.

Lewis swallowed hard and obeyed. He leaned his head toward the old mans, expecting something awfulfoul breath, at the least. But all he could smell was a medicinal odor, like cough drops, and the general mustiness of the room.

Libertalia, rasped Great-Granddad with difficulty. Then, more urgently, You!

Lewis watched as the mouth slowly returned to its O. The finger relaxed.

Libertalia?