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to find a good hiding place where he could watch the action and contemplate his next move.
    On the
Lady Eleanor
there had been a trapdoor under the foremast, under which Jem had hidden a few times to escape Uncle Finn’s lectures on bromeliads. He now scanned the
Dark Ranger
’s deck for a similar compartment and couldn’t believe his luck: an iron handle gleamed on the floorboards nearby. Jem launched himself toward it, yanked up on the handle, and dove inside without a thought to who or what might already be occupying the space.
    Thankfully, it seemed empty, although the darkness was so deep that it was hard to tell, and Jem had learned that dark spaces on ships tended to be inhabited by rats. He shuddered and pushed the door open above him just enough to peer out. A pirate with a red sash tied around his waist ran by, shouting something about devilish ghouls to no one in particular. Then Jem saw an odd sight: a small figure in a hooded black cloak. At least, that’s what he thought he saw, but it darted by so quickly he couldn’t be sure. But wait—there was another, no taller than himself and scurrying faster than a cockroach. What on earth?
    Just then the door above him swung wide open and a massive figure started squeezing itself into his space, feetfirst and grunting. Panicked, Jem pressed himself against the wall. His hiding space could hold perhaps three of him, four at the most. He’d never go unnoticed, especially not with his heart thumping like the drum major in the King’s Cross marching band. Boot heels hit the floor, and a hairy arm brushed against his face.
    â€œWho’s there?” a familiar voice gasped. “Oh God, ye ain’t one of them, are ye?”
    â€œ
Shh.
Thomas, it’s me,” Jem whispered. Thomas, he was fairly certain, would do him no harm. His heartbeats quieted down.
    â€œBoy!” Thomas said, sounding relieved. “Ye’re a smart one to hide. If ye go back out there ye’ll soon feed the fish.”
    â€œWho are they?” Jem asked, hoping to distract the giant from the obvious fact that he’d escaped the cabin below deck. “The Ship of Lost Souls. What is it?”
    â€œShivers, boy, ye don’t know? A seaman’s worst nightmare, that’s what.” Thomas’s voice trembled in the dark. “’Bout ten years ago, a wee ship called the
Margaret’s Hope
set sail from a port school with a few schoolmasters and sons of the King’s Men on board, out on some expedition. Studyin’ geography or somethin’. Got caught in a hurricane, they did. Never seen again.”
    A torrent of footsteps rattled over the trapdoor, and Jem ducked instinctively. The sound of the footsteps faded, and Thomas continued. “But not long after, sailors began to talk of a strange sight: a small ship, like the
Margaret’s Hope
, glidin’ like a ghost over the sea. And ghostly she was. Manned by spirits of the dead, they say. The Lost Souls haunt the waters, cloaked and hooded, and if they catch yer vessel, well, God help ye.”
    â€œGhosts?” Jem repeated. “The
Dark Ranger
has been invaded by ghosts?” He shook his head. It just got more and more absurd. No one back home would believe a speck of it.
    â€œYe haven’t been here long, have ye, boy? Ye’ll see. These islands are full of spirits. And not kindly ones, either.” Jem heard him search around in the darkness for the latch, then push the door open a crack.
    â€œLook,” Thomas said, and they both peered out. Four pirates thundered by, yelling and stumbling over one another. Behind them, two cloaked figures darted and pranced like little demons. Jem swore he could hear mischievous laughter.
    â€œGood Lord,” he said, half to himself. “Where . . . where am I?”
    â€œTold you, boy, it’s a crazy place. The islands are full of spirits and magic. Bad magic.” Jem felt Thomas shiver