back in his father’s study so long ago. In Jim’s mind, Bartholomew’s father, Count Cromier, was there too, on his knees and begging for mercy. Jim imagined locking them up with Aunt Margarita, sorrowful misery dripping from their faces. Jim’s friends would then cheer him on as he rebuilt Morgan Manor with the reclaimed wealth of pirate treasure.
“Yes,” Jim said, his voice hungry. “This is what I need.”
“Indeed it is, Master Morgan. Now, how much would something like that be worth to you, my boy?”
Jim’s shoulders slumped. The glorious fantasy burning a hole in his mind evaporated like smoke off a match. The fact that all Jim had ever owned was now burned to a blackened crisp rolled over him like a wave. He had nothing, not a farthing to his name. Now even this one chance to set it all straight, to get even with the Cromiers, was about to slip through his fingers.
“I don’t have any money. I can’t afford it, sir.” Jim held the bottle out to Philus, his chin drooping toward his chest. But the old man grabbed both Jim’s hand and the bottle and held them tight together. For a small man, his grasp was uncannily strong.
“Easy, lad,” Philus said. He clucked his tongue and shook his head, the smile still fixed upon his face. “Empty pockets and broken hearts often walk hand in hand, don’t they? But I told you I was here to ease your ills, did I not? I’m here to help you, not rob you, my boy. Yet nothing worth anything in this life is free, is it? However, being the reasonable merchant I am, I would be willing to come to a trade for a single dose of revenge. Surely you have a little something to trade for this golden opportunity.”
“I have nothing,” Jim said. A lump formed in his throat. Philus chuckled slowly, though, and let his sly smile stretch a bit further.
“Trust an old salesman, Jim Morgan. Nobody has nothing. We’ve all got something we can trade. It just depends on how badly we want whatever it is that we want. Now, think hard! Are you absolutely sure have you nothing to trade?” For a brief second - Jim could not evenbe entirely sure he saw it - Philus’s eyes flicked down to his coat. As though an invisible hand had dropped a rock in his pocket, Jim remembered the square shape that jabbed him in the side every now and again.
His father’s box.
A sudden hope surged through Jim’s mind. All his fantasies of plunging those wretched Cromiers into prison and restoring the house of Morgan roared back to possibility. Without thinking, Jim pulled the box from his pocket. Handing the bottle of Revenge back to Philus, he flipped open the box and looked inside.
The letter, the moonwater, and the necklace all lay within, safe and sound. One by one Jim considered them all.
The letter, lying folded beneath the vial of moonwater, had turned out to be more than just a letter. It held a secret from Jim’s father – possibly even a map to buried treasure. Jim could never part with it. Of course, in order to read whatever was hidden upon the letter he would need the vial of moonwater lying on top of it. But, just peeking out from under one edge of the tattered parchment, a coil of fine silver chain glimmered in the firelight – Jim’s mother’s necklace.
Swallowing so hard it hurt, Jim withdrew the necklace. He closed the lid behind it with a soft tap and put the box back in his pocket. The shell charm dangled at the end of the chain, spinning slowly before Jim’s eyes. Philus Philonius let out a low whistle at the sight of it.
“Well, I say, Master Morgan, that is a lovely necklace, indeed. Fairly small, not much silver really, but quite, quite lovely.”
“It was my mother’s,” Jim said, his eyes fixed on the silver shell, all but glowing in the moonlight. A pair of strong, invisible bands squeezed Jim’s chest.
Don’t do it,
a voice whispered in his mind. The voice could have belonged to Lacey, or Phineus, or even Jim’s father.
“Not much silver, really,”
“Yes,” Jim said, his voice hungry. “This is what I need.”
“Indeed it is, Master Morgan. Now, how much would something like that be worth to you, my boy?”
Jim’s shoulders slumped. The glorious fantasy burning a hole in his mind evaporated like smoke off a match. The fact that all Jim had ever owned was now burned to a blackened crisp rolled over him like a wave. He had nothing, not a farthing to his name. Now even this one chance to set it all straight, to get even with the Cromiers, was about to slip through his fingers.
“I don’t have any money. I can’t afford it, sir.” Jim held the bottle out to Philus, his chin drooping toward his chest. But the old man grabbed both Jim’s hand and the bottle and held them tight together. For a small man, his grasp was uncannily strong.
“Easy, lad,” Philus said. He clucked his tongue and shook his head, the smile still fixed upon his face. “Empty pockets and broken hearts often walk hand in hand, don’t they? But I told you I was here to ease your ills, did I not? I’m here to help you, not rob you, my boy. Yet nothing worth anything in this life is free, is it? However, being the reasonable merchant I am, I would be willing to come to a trade for a single dose of revenge. Surely you have a little something to trade for this golden opportunity.”
“I have nothing,” Jim said. A lump formed in his throat. Philus chuckled slowly, though, and let his sly smile stretch a bit further.
“Trust an old salesman, Jim Morgan. Nobody has nothing. We’ve all got something we can trade. It just depends on how badly we want whatever it is that we want. Now, think hard! Are you absolutely sure have you nothing to trade?” For a brief second - Jim could not evenbe entirely sure he saw it - Philus’s eyes flicked down to his coat. As though an invisible hand had dropped a rock in his pocket, Jim remembered the square shape that jabbed him in the side every now and again.
His father’s box.
A sudden hope surged through Jim’s mind. All his fantasies of plunging those wretched Cromiers into prison and restoring the house of Morgan roared back to possibility. Without thinking, Jim pulled the box from his pocket. Handing the bottle of Revenge back to Philus, he flipped open the box and looked inside.
The letter, the moonwater, and the necklace all lay within, safe and sound. One by one Jim considered them all.
The letter, lying folded beneath the vial of moonwater, had turned out to be more than just a letter. It held a secret from Jim’s father – possibly even a map to buried treasure. Jim could never part with it. Of course, in order to read whatever was hidden upon the letter he would need the vial of moonwater lying on top of it. But, just peeking out from under one edge of the tattered parchment, a coil of fine silver chain glimmered in the firelight – Jim’s mother’s necklace.
Swallowing so hard it hurt, Jim withdrew the necklace. He closed the lid behind it with a soft tap and put the box back in his pocket. The shell charm dangled at the end of the chain, spinning slowly before Jim’s eyes. Philus Philonius let out a low whistle at the sight of it.
“Well, I say, Master Morgan, that is a lovely necklace, indeed. Fairly small, not much silver really, but quite, quite lovely.”
“It was my mother’s,” Jim said, his eyes fixed on the silver shell, all but glowing in the moonlight. A pair of strong, invisible bands squeezed Jim’s chest.
Don’t do it,
a voice whispered in his mind. The voice could have belonged to Lacey, or Phineus, or even Jim’s father.
“Not much silver, really,”
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