Free The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 by Caroline Carlson Page B

sticks.”
    Claire sat up and sniffed. “That sounds nice.” She wiped her wet cheeks. “Will you come with me? Oh, unless you have other plans, of course . . . I don’t want to be a bother. . . .”
    Up on his shelf, the gargoyle groaned. “We’re not supposed to go to the market!” he said. “We’re supposed to be like the pirates in Treasure Island , exploring the High Seas and watching handsome sailors fall in love with golden-haired maidens!”
    Hilary rolled her eyes. “You know perfectly well that’s not what happens in Treasure Island .”
    â€œIt is when I read it,” said the gargoyle. “Now, are we going to sea or not?”
    Hilary looked toward the wardrobe, where her sword rested under a pile of petticoats. “I’m sorry, gargoyle,” she said at last, “but a pirate simply can’t abandon her friends.” She turned back to Claire. “Of course I’ll come with you.”
    T HE P EMBERTON MARKET was a bustling rectangle of stalls set up every morning in the town square. Behind the stalls were farmers and butchers and chefs selling every type of food imaginable; jellies and marmalades glowed like jewels amid stacks of frilly greens and slabs of smoked meats. Claire’s eyes lit up at the sight of roast chicken legs, and Hilary bought one for each of them, along with little cups of custard for dessert. They walked through the market as they ate, watching customers haggle and listening to a street musician endeavor to play the bagpipes.
    Claire had stopped wailing, though she still wasn’t talking nearly as much as she usually did. She caught sight of a woman selling brightly dyed embroidery threads and ran over to purchase some for class, while Hilary waited for her in front of the town message board. People had posted all sorts of announcements on the board: On one flyer, a gentleman announced a great reward for the return of his beloved pet rabbit. On another flyer, a traveling illusionist announced that he had found an unfamiliar rabbit inside his top hat and wished to return it to its rightful owner. Colorful posters advertised country dances, and a grimy scrap of paper gave an address near Pemberton Bay where one could purchase small quantities of magic. In fact, the message board was so overflowing with information that Hilary nearly missed the small advertisement printed on smudged and tattered paper:
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    WANTED: PIRATE CREW
    Established, respected freelance pirate seeking experienced crew members for upcoming voyage. Must be able to swashbuckle, swab decks, swill grog, fire cannons, and climb to the crow’s nest. Successful applicants will sign contract for one round-trip voyage, with opportunity for further collaboration if merited. Voyage details to be divulged upon acceptance. Applicants trained in treasure location are of particular interest. Please apply in person to 25 Little Herring Cove, Wimbly-on-the-Marsh, at ten o’clock on Saturday morning.
    Eye patches and hooks OK.
    Please—no parrots.
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    Hilary tore the paper from the message board and ran over to Claire, who was carrying an armload of thread. “Look!” she said. “Read this!”
    Claire promptly dropped the thread and skimmed the advertisement. “Hilary,” she said solemnly, “you have to apply. Little Herring Cove is only a few miles from here.”
    â€œI don’t know how to do half the things they ask for—I mean, I’ve never even tried to look for treasure—but . . .”
    â€œIt’s your destiny.” Claire handed the advertisement back to Hilary. “I’m sure you’ll be a natural at swabbing grog, and climbing the cannons, and everything else.”
    â€œAnd it doesn’t say anything about having to be a boy, so perhaps I have a chance.”
    Claire nodded, but her lip was starting to wobble again. Hilary’s stomach twitched the way