3 The Scurvy Sea

3. THE SCURVY SEA It was a short stroll from the Grumpy Mermaid to the Jolley-Rogers' ship, the Blackhole. There was a crowd of tourists taking photographs and admiring the ship, which stood out among the gleaming white yachts bobbing in the harbor. The Jolley-Rogers took up their positions around the deck and aloft, Jim scurrying up the ratlines so that he'd be ready to unfurl the mainsail with his mom. Matilda climbed

onto the foredeck with Bones the dog, who propped a paw and a wooden leg on the rail, barking excitedly. On the poop deck, Jim's dad rolled out the treasure map and shouted to Matilda's parents. "Could ya help us out and unhitch them lines?" Nugget jumped on her barrel at the helm and, with the push of a big brass button, the Blackhole's engine burbled to life. Matilda's parents each released a rope from a bollard and waved from the dock as the Blackhole slipped its moorings and chugged out of the harbor. Matilda blew her parents a kiss, delighted to be heading out to sea on a real treasure hunt.

The fiddler had been playing some rousing shanties, but as they sailed into the open waters of Dullshire Sound, the music took on a more somber tone. "To find this island, you'll have to be quick— for they say it performs a vanishing trick! And none who've tried to set foot on its sands have ever returned to pirate lands." "What did he say?" mumbled Jim's dad from the stern of the ship, his ears straining to make out the words of the fiddler, who was dancing on the fo'c'sle.

"I ain't sure," said Jim's mom, sliding down a rope onto the poop deck. "But I don't think we shoulda brought him. Ye've a collection of sea shanty CDs, and we could've plugged in some speakers on deck if ye'd wanted a singsong. There be somethin' fishy 'bout that fiddler." "He said the island does a vanishing trick," said Nugget, whose hearing was better than her parents'. "And the pirates that go there never come back!" "Well, that ain't right," said Jim's dad, looking through his telescope and admiring the fiddler's balance as he pranced along the bowsprit. "Because he 'imself came back. He's a harmless old

minstrel; a salty sea dog with a song to sing. Hard to starboard, please, Nugget! We'll be headin' southeast!" Through the lens, a gnarly old head came into view, popping up through a hatch on the foredeck. The head was followed by a rusty hook, waved in the direction of the fiddler. "Uh-oh," said Jim's dad. "Grandpa's awake." Grandpa turned his face toward the stern, grumbled a few words that were lost on the wind, then disappeared belowdecks with a grimace. "And he's not happy!"