Deary Terry - The pirate prisoner

First published 2011 by
A & C Black, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing plc
50 Bedford Square
London WC1B 3DP
www.acblack.com

This electronic edition published in March 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Text copyright 2011 Terry Deary
Illustrations copyright 2011 Helen Flook

The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

eISBN 978 1 4081 8109 6

A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

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It was hot. The sun burned down on Nevis Island and made steam rise up from the forests. The girl ran along the yellow-grey sands, her thin dress flapping round her skinny legs.

Im going to be late, she panted. I mustnt be late. Her dark brown skin was shining with sweat. I have to save him. Have to. Have to.

She reached the edge of the small town and raced along the dusty streets, past the poor wooden shacks past the fine wooden houses of the rich folk and up to the great stone building in the centre.

A soldier stood guard at the great doors. He swatted flies that buzzed around his head. Can I go in? the girl begged.

Im not stopping you, the soldier said with a shrug.

Has the trial started? she asked.

The man just shrugged again. How would I know?

Because youre on guard. Youre here to stop people getting in, she said, crossly.

No, Im not. Im here to stop the wicked ones escaping.

Wicked ones like the pirate?

Men like the pirate.

Dont let him escape, Sergeant erm...

Private. Private Simpson.

Pleased to meet you, Private Simpson. Im Louisiana Le Moyne.

Big name for a little lady.

You can call me Lou. Everybody else does.

The man leaned forward. Im not sure I want to call you anything. I dont have to speak to a slave girl.

Lou smiled brightly. Then Ill just go in, she told him.

Then you just do that, said Private Simpson.

Lou entered the cool shade of the stone courthouse, through the heavy oak doors and into the courtroom itself. She was just in time to see the people rise lazily to their feet as the judge walked in.

All rise for Judge Jenkins, a clerk cried a little late.

Lou slipped into a seat at the back and watched a grey-haired white man in black robes sit in the judges chair. An Englishman, she decided.

Judge Jenkins shuffled some parchment in front of him. He looked across at the wooden box where a red-haired, wild-eyed man glared back.

Are you Jack Greaves?

About fifty people had crowded into the room to watch. They turned their eyes towards the prisoner. They waited for him to say, I am.

Instead, he bellowed, Who wants to know? Eh? What business is it of yours?

Judge Jenkins blinked and his pale lips went tight with fury. This may be the island of Nevis, but it is an English court of law. You will behave as if you are in England, he said quietly.

Im not English. Im Scottish, just as my parents were Scottish, and I dont like you English.

The judge sighed. If youre going to be foolish, Ill have you taken off to the cells and well have the trial without you.

Pah, Greaves snorted and looked out through the high windows to the clear sky as if he didnt care.

Are you the pirate known as Red-legs Greaves? the judge asked.

Im a sugar farmer. I have twenty slaves and theyre waiting for me back on my farm. If you lock me away, they wont know what to do. Theyll starve.

We will, Lou moaned softly.

Before you were a sugar farmer, you were a pirate, the judge said slowly.

Who says? the Scotsman asked.

I do, a man called out.

Lou turned and saw a large man in a fine blue suit with an expensive linen shirt.

The judge smiled. Master Ellis! he said in a voice as soft as a dove. Step forward.

The rich man stood in front of the judge. Ten years ago, I was sailing on one of my ships with a load of spice.

And what happened, Master Ellis?

Ellis turned, stretched out an arm and pointed at Greaves. Red-legs Greaves there stopped my ship. He robbed me and left me penniless.

Penniless? Greaves roared. Penniless? In a suit that cost more than a dozen slaves? Youre a lying English toad, Ellis.

Silence, the judge snapped. He turned to Master Ellis again and asked, Tell me, why do you call him Dead-legs?

Red-legs, your honour. Hes from Scotland. They wear kilts up there. Here in the Indies, their pale knees turn red. All the pirates called him Red-legs.

And you saw his red legs when he robbed you?

I did, your honour.

The judge nodded. He pulled a square of black cloth from under his table. He placed it on his head. Jack Red-legs Greaves, I sentence you to hang in chains. Tomorrow morning. May God have mercy on your soul.

No! Lou cried. You cant do that to my master!

Silence in court, the judge said.

But what will the slaves do without him? Lou cried.