The Terror of the Southlands by Caroline Carlson

Author:Caroline Carlson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

MISS GREYSON NAVIGATED the winding streets so briskly that the others had trouble keeping up with her. “How did you find her?” Hilary asked Charlie as they made their way over the cobblestones.

“Blind luck,” he said. “Claire and I sailed the Squeaker into Queensport Harbor, just like you asked, and we set about searching for a place called the Salty Biscuit, since that Twigget fellow said that’s where you’d be. But we couldn’t find it, and we ended up outside the train station in the center of town.”

“We were hoping to ask someone for directions,” Claire cut in, “but then a train pulled in, and the first person to step out of the carriage was Miss Greyson! We ran up to greet her, of course. She seemed terribly surprised to see us.”

“When we told her you’d gone off to meet with Captain Blacktooth,” Charlie said, “she got all stern and governess-like and said she needed to speak with you at once. Then she pulled out that crochet hook of hers and had it take her to the Salty Biscuit—it was lucky the place was close by.”

“Something must be terribly wrong,” Hilary whispered. “I’ve never seen her so distraught—not even when I put a tadpole in her teacup during a history lesson.”

They rounded a corner and emerged into the harbor, where Miss Greyson was waiting for them with her arms crossed. Charlie guided them to the place where he’d moored the Squeaker, and they all clambered onto the deck. With Miss Greyson on board and the gargoyle refusing to leave Hilary’s side for the comfort of his Nest, it was rather a cramped fit.

Hilary dug a bottle of ginger beer from the Squeaker’s hatch and poured a bit into the chipped yellow teacup she’d borrowed from Jasper’s bungalow. “Now,” she said, handing the cup to Miss Greyson, “please tell us what’s happened.”

Miss Greyson closed her hands around her teacup. “It’s Jasper,” she said at last. “I believe he’s in very grave danger.”

“But he’s at his freelance pirates’ convention!” said Hilary. “Isn’t he?”

Miss Greyson took a hesitant sip of ginger beer. “I don’t have the slightest idea where he is. He promised to write me a letter as soon as he arrived at the convention, but I never heard from him. At first I thought he’d forgotten, or that the postal courier had lost the letter, so I wrote him several notes to make sure he’d had a safe journey.” Miss Greyson set down her teacup. “I thought it was the prudent thing to do.”

“But you didn’t get a response?” Hilary asked.

“Actually,” said Miss Greyson, “I did—but it wasn’t from Jasper. I suppose I’d better show you the wretched thing.” From her carpetbag she retrieved an envelope addressed in a familiar, elegant hand, stamped with a cracked blue seal.

A great rush of strength left Hilary’s body, and the gargoyle went heavy in her arms. “The Mutineers,” she said.

Miss Greyson passed the letter to Hilary. “They say they’ve got Jasper in their grasp,

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