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practically turned to stone immediately after. At five years old, Scarlet wondered who this man was who’d taken over her father’s body. She knew it wasn’t him inside. The real Admiral McCray would not have hired someone like Scary Mary to be his daughter’s governess.
    Mary Lewis, Scarlet informed Jem, was a crotchety, leathery-skinned, pointy-toothed woman. On her good days, she was simply a grouch. On her bad days, she’d mutter incessantly to someone named Mad Linus O’Malley and pull out the hairs on her head one by one.
    Late at night, in the boarding-house room they shared above a grimy Jamestown alley, Scarlet would lie in bed and listen to Mary hunting around in her old travel bags and whispering about how she needed the skin of a coral snake and the front tooth of an unsuspecting child. Scarlet had no doubt that the woman was a witch, and while Scary Mary never cast a spell on her directly (although Scarlet caught her several times looking covetously at her front teeth), she certainly made Scarlet’s life scuttle.
    And yet, Scarlet could never convince her father that the old woman was, at the very least, not the best person to be put in charge of her education. Admiral McCray never saw Mary’s scary side. He spent weeks at a time at sea, and whenever he’d visit, Mary would curb the hair-plucking, replace her snarl with a smile, and gush about his daughter’s progress. Scarlet knew that Mary needed her father’s money too badly to let him see her weirdness. And he needed a governess for his daughter too badly to pay much attention. Governesses were rare commodities in the port towns.
    Jem tilted his head to the side as if trying to decide whether he believed Scarlet’s story. She could practically hear the questions piling up in his brain.
    â€œSo how did you end up here?” He gestured to the ship.
    The other pirates had now ended their party and were wandering, one by one, down to the cabins. Scarlet watched them totter off and, for once, wished she could be sent to bed. Telling her story always made her tired.
    â€œI ran away,” she answered finally. “I was nearly eleven and couldn’t take it anymore. Fortunately, Ben Hodgins found me. He was the captain of the
Margaret’s Hop
back then, you know. A great leader.” She hoped her voice sounded frank and businesslike, without a trace of wistfulness. “I should tell you the story he told me,” she hurried on. “When I joined the Ship of Lost Souls, it had already been sailing around the islands for about eight years, ever since a ship of students got caught in a hurricane and disappeared. Turned out they survived, although the few grown-ups on board weren’t so lucky.”
    â€œWhy?” Jem asked. “How’d they die?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. Tossed overboard, maybe. Blimey, you ask a lot of questions.”
    â€œI know.” He didn’t seem at all remorseful.
    â€œThe children soon learned that their ship had become a legend—a ghost story—since they’d all been presumed dead. Well, they thought that was just grand, and they took advantage of it, swooping down to frighten pirate and naval ships, pocketing some food and supplies, and feeling right proud of themselves. They found life on the
Hop
much jollier than life in port, and they decided to make the ship a home for all children who needed one.
    â€œThe Lost Souls made it a rule that when a crew member turns eighteen, he or she must move on. But most leave before that to work on the islands or go back to the Old World. A few have even gone on to join grown-up pirate ships. But that’s a tricky business, because they’re sworn to secrecy and can never reveal our identity—even if the Lost Souls raid their ship.”
    â€œHow do you know they’ll never tell?” Jem asked.
    â€œWe don’t, really,” Scarlet admitted. “But everyone takes an