Free Jim Morgan and the Pirates of the Black Skull by James Raney Page A

“You are such a clever, clever boy - as clever as you are courageous, to be sure. So do not play the fool with me.” The Count snapped his fingers and a pirate brought him a stool from one of the stables. Flipping the tails of his black coat behind him, Cromier sat down and looked Jim in the face.
    “As much as I hated your father and as much as I hate him still, he was never a fool. He was a brilliant strategist - a planner of plans and plans within plans. He would have protected this Treasure in a web of schemes to rival the Minotaur’s maze! He would have done everything in his power to ensure it was you, you and only you, young Jim, to whom the Treasure would eventually fall. Now, before he died, he must have told you something, or given you something, yes?”
    On the streets in London Jim had learned to be a very good liar, and he did his best to keep his face stony and still. But all of Jim’s anger and all of his hurt were too much to fight at once, and the Count read Jim’s face like an open book.
    “Yes! He gave you something, I can tell!” The Count rubbed his gloved hands together. He leaned in close to Jim, his eyes wide and greedy. The Count looked him over from head to toe until his eyes came to rest on the square bulge in his jacket pocket. Panic nearly overwhelmed Jim as the Count reached into his pocket and withdrew his father’s box. Cromier held it in his hands, trembling with an uncontainable excitement.
    “The symbol!” The Count cried, stomping his feet up and down like a spoiled child. “The treasure’s symbol is carved onto the lid of this box! How long, how long I’ve waited to see this symbol again.”
    “All this time and all this gold you’ve spent on soldiers and pirates and fighting my father,” Jim said with a thick voice. “Will the treasure even be worth it by the time you find it?”
    Cromier stared at Jim for a long moment, as though not quite sure whether or not Jim was serious. Then the Count erupted in laughter. He threw his head back so that his blood red curls shook like a lion’s mane. Bartholomew and all the pirates in the room joined in the Count’s laughter, shamelessly heaping their derision on Jim – all that was, save for Splitbeard. The pirate captain silently leaned against the stable walls, staring hard at the box in Cromier’s hands.
    “My boy, I already have more gold than I could ever spend! I am a Count after all and they don’t just make anyone a Count, do they?”
    “Then what do you want?” George demanded. “What are you doin’ all this for?” But Cromier never turned around. His eyes glazed over and he stared into some far away time and place in his memories. His gloved hand went to his face and slowly began to trace the purple scar that ran from his left eye to his jaw.
    “Your father never had the chance to tell you what the Treasure of the Ocean really is, did he? You see, all the other gold, gems, treasures, and baubles you saw in the Vault were merely window dressing, decoration lying in heaps around the true Treasure of the Ocean. They are nothing in comparison – dust and shadows. Amongst all that wealth there is but one item, one talisman of ancient magic older than you can possibly imagine.” The Count’s finger stopped halfway down his scar and pressed hard into his cheek. The lamplight in the stables glowed in the watery pools that became the Count’s eyes until it seemed to Jim that Cromier had gone quite mad. “The one who possesses the Treasure of the Ocean, the one who knows its secret, will gain the only possession on earth more valuable than gold. Tell me, Jim. When you hear the waves crash against the beach, do you fear the ocean?”
    “No,” Jim whispered. But he did fear the madness swimming in the Count’s face.
    “That’s because you are young,” said the Count. “When you’ve seen what the ocean can do when it runs wild - the waves, the wind, the lightning, and the thunder. The ocean is the most