Little Jane and the Nameless Isle: A Little Jane Silver Adventure

By Adira Rotstein

Little Jane encounters treachery and adventure on her voyage to the Nameless Isle in search of her parents’ buried treasure. Second book in the Little Jane Silver Adventure series.

Only two people have ever survived a trip to the Nameless Isle: Long John Silver the Second and Bonnie Mary Bright, the parents of aspiring pirate Little Jane Silver. They thought the volcanic caves on the island would be great places to store their treasure, but they were mistaken.

Pirate hunter Fetzcaro Madsea and his crew have taken Long John and Bonnie Mary prisoner and are now forcing the pirates to guide them across the island to the treasure. Hoping to use their secret knowledge of the island’s dangers to thin out their foes, Long John and Bonnie Mary take a deadly risk. Meanwhile, Little Jane rushes to intercept them by taking a secret route.

Do Little Jane and her friends have what it takes to brave the terrors of the island? Will she reach her parents in time to save them from the vengeful Madsea? And what strange horror lies in wait for them all in the lair of the island’s peculiar orange birds?

Hold fast to your courage and read on!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dundurn
• Release date: Dec 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781459704220

Adira Rotstein

Adira Rotstein has studied literature, writing, and film at the University of Toronto and the University of Southern California. Her creative output includes novels, screenplays, films, paintings, comic books, and illustrations. She lives in Toronto.

Book preview

one!

Chapter One

A Startling Scheme

Only a few days had passed since her parents’ ship, the Pieces of Eight, was attacked and destroyed by pirate hunters, but to Little Jane Silver it already felt like years. Too much had happened in too short a time.

In the past few days everything had gone horribly wrong for Little Jane and her family. First, the bosun of the Pieces of Eight, Ned Ronk, had engineered a series of accidents that crippled the ship, pinning the blame on Little Jane. By the time her parents discovered Ned Ronk was working for pirate hunters, it was too late. A ship called the Panacea had overtaken them, set the Pieces of Eight on fire, and made off with her crew. Only Little Jane and Ishiro, the ship’s cook, had escaped.

Now Little Jane had taken the risky step of asking the magistrate, Villienne, sole representative of the British Crown on the island and supposed enemy of all things piratical, for help. Though forbidden to go anywhere near the magistrate’s mansion by her parents, Little Jane had ascended the hill to seek him out. It was a desperate gamble, but she could think of no one else with the medical skills needed to help her friend Ishiro, who had fallen gravely ill during their escape from the burning ship.

Little Jane had not passed through the magistrate’s gates undisturbed, however. Her presence there aroused the ire of the two nastiest people in Smuggler’s Bay, the wickedly well-bred, implacably evil twins Charity and Felicity. After narrowly avoiding exposure to hazardous waste at their horrid hands, she managed to find Magistrate Villienne at last, peacefully experimenting with volatile chemicals in his greenhouse laboratory. Unfortunately, the distraction of Little Jane’s unexpected appearance led to an accidental explosion. Luckily, Villienne emerged from the disaster reasonably unharmed and, thankfully, still willing to help her. It was the only piece of good fortune she’d had all week.

Late that night, Little Jane returned to the Spyglass Inn with Harley, an old hand from the Pieces of Eight currently employed as Magistrate Villienne’s butler.

She recognized the magistrate’s tall, thin shadow at the windowpane and the odd accent that floated down to her from the open window. Villienne was already there.

Unfortunately, the tavern regulars had prevented him from going in to see Ishiro. Suspicion concerning magistrates ran high among the patrons of the Spyglass Inn and Tavern, most of whom were pirates, ex-convicts, or relatives of the same.

I was told there was a man here — protested the magistrate as Jane and Harley entered the establishment.

Look, if you ain’t wantin’ something to wet yer whistle, ain’t nothing fer you here. This here’s a sailor’s bar. Might as well be on yer way back to your proper place, eh? Jonesy the bartender hefted a heavy keg of rum threateningly into position behind the bar. Gettin’ dark out. Wouldn’t want to trip on your way back to your mansion, now would ya?

Sucking in her fear and tucking in her shirttail, Little Jane entered the fray hoping Jonesy would listen to common sense for once. It was all rather ridiculous, she thought, considering Villienne’s weedy, unprepossessing figure and the fact that his hair still stood straight up from his head, a lingering result of the explosion from the night before. He couldn’t have looked more unmagisterial.

Very well, I know where I’m not wanted, confessed the magistrate, turning toward the door, shoulders slumped in defeat and humiliation. He was relieved to spy Little Jane’s small frame by the light of the doorway. You said there was a sick man for me to see, he whispered irritably.

There is, she assured him. Don’t worry, I’ll straighten them out.

Jonesy, let the magistrate be, Little Jane advised her cousin. He don’t want to arrest anyone. Can’t you see he’s here to tend to Ishiro in his illness? The man’s a doctor.

Almost-doctor, Villienne corrected her nervously. Never quite managed to graduate medical college. Couldn’t stomach the surgery, you see. He shivered visibly at the recollection. "Don’t you worry, though. Most likely it’s not that sort of problem," Villienne added, by way of reassurance.

Jonesy narrowed his eyes skeptically at the magistrate. Well, if you vouches for him, I guess it’s all right, was all he said.

Excellent! Villienne rubbed his chemical-stained hands together. Time’s a wasting, my good man. Please, show me to him.

Over here, said Little Jane, motioning for him to follow her. She guided Villienne to Ishiro’s narrow, high-ceilinged chamber just off the room that housed the tavern.

Ishiro lay on his cot surrounded by towering stacks of drawing books, which Little Jane knew were filled with sketches from every year of his long life at sea. She watched anxiously as Villienne examined him. The magistrate seemed friendly enough so far, but she still didn’t trust him. A man who employed the likes of Bertina, Charity, and Felicity as domestic help could easily turn evil by mere association.

Then there was the matter of his name — Villienne. He pronounced it Vi-lain, which sounded far too much like villain for her taste. Like most pirates, Little Jane put plenty of stock in names. Her own name, for instance, aggravated her deeply. She sincerely believed that if she could somehow get the ship’s crew to stop calling her Little Jane, she’d have an easier time earning their respect.

People’s characters were supposed to match their names, she knew. It was the rule in all the plays she’d seen with her parents in London. Characters with names like Captain Sneerwell and Lady Rottenheart rarely revealed themselves to be nice, friendly chaps or ladies.

But the Haymarket Theatre was far away now, she mused, and there weren’t many people left who she could ask for help. Everything she’d known her whole life and most everyone she’d counted on — her ship, her family, the crew — had vanished in a single day. Her parents couldn’t help her now, not where they were — if they still were at all. It was a wonder the sun still rose in the east and set in the west, when everything else was so upside down. She stroked the wood grain on Melvin, the wooden practice sword her mother had given her, but it provided little comfort.

She still didn’t know who’d ordered the Panacea to kidnap her parents and destroy their ship. Certainly, Villienne had a motive for doing it. As a magistrate, surely it was his job to turn their island of rebels and reprobates into a piracy-free colony of tax-paying citizens. Perhaps she’d made a grave error bringing him here.

Suddenly, she heard an old, tired sigh rise up from the bed. Ishiro had not said a word since they’d disembarked from the Medusa, the fishing boat that had rescued them from the fiery destruction of the Pieces of Eight four days earlier.

Little Jane thought Ishiro had gone off to sleep after the initial surprise of Villienne’s appearance at his bedside, but no, he was awake, propped up on his elbows and speaking, though his voice sounded creakier and more heavily accented than usual.

What’s that? he wheezed, struggling for breath.

Little Jane turned her face away, not wanting to see her friend brought so low. In Villienne’s hand she saw a clear glass flask stopped up with cork. Shaking the contents lightly, he held the bottom of the flask over the candle flame. Inside, a cloudy green liquid bubbled to life.

What’s that? Little Jane asked, curious despite herself.

I’ve managed to distill this from a rather curious plant I extracted a few months ago from a rock behind the outhouse, Villienne explained. I tested it on my tabby cat when he seemed poorly last month and it positively re-invigorated him. At any rate, it did until my man found him drifting by a fishermen’s hut in a toy boat wearing a bonnet. Villienne frowned at the puzzling memory. Poor puss, he just hasn’t been right since. Climbs the bleeding curtains whenever Charity or Felicity set foot in the room. Very strange, he murmured, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

You was saying? interrupted Jonesy impatiently. He had followed them to the room and now stood leaning on the doorframe, brawny arms crossed.

Ah, where was I? The plant, yes, a lichen actually, Villienne continued brightly. Aside from this concoction here, I’ve managed to distill and compress the stuff into lovely little pellets. Care to try one? With a flourish, Villienne produced from his pocket a greenish-brown pellet covered in a considerable amount of grey trouser lint.

Uh, maybe another time, Little Jane said, wrinkling her nose.

Villienne looked expectantly to Jonesy, but the barkeeper just shook his head.

Are you certain? asked Villienne, crestfallen. I think they could be a corking success if people would just try them. I’ve written letters to notable scientists back home trying to pique their interest, but no one ever writes back. I find it rather discourteous, to tell you the truth, and also curious, for I never seem to get any mail at all from England or the Continent anymore.

No mail whatsoever? asked Little Jane suspiciously.

The magistrate nodded. "Do you have any idea how long I’ve been pining for my Linnaean Society Monthly Journal? I only received Part 1 of ‘The Lifecycle of Barnacles’ and I’ve been in suspense for months wondering whether the creatures are hermaphrodites or not."

By the by, Little Jane said conversationally, I seen those twins, Charity and Felicity, making some very odd looking fires on the beach. Looked like some sort of natural history magazine.

My articles! The magistrate blanched.

Ain’t the first time, growled Jonesy, clenching his fists. I ever catch them two pyros skulking round here again, I’ll —

"Let’s return to the matter of this so-called pirate hunter — the Panacea you said it was called, said Villienne, trying to salvage what dignity he could. I’d be a fool not to realize that every person on this island has a loved one on the Pieces of Eight. It is my responsibility to serve the people of this island, above all, and I say it was quite bad form for someone to take my citizens’ ship by force! Personally, I believe violence is only the province of the impatient, the incompetent, and the seriously-out-of-options. And I, as you may well notice, am none of the above."

With that, Villienne uncorked the flask with a dramatic pop.

Little Jane cocked an eyebrow at the magistrate. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out whether he was completely brilliant or as mad as a box of frogs. But whichever it was, she was convinced Villienne hadn’t been the one to hire the Panacea to hunt down her parents.

After stirring the mixture, Villienne doled out the precise amount for Ishiro with a hastily cleaned spoon provided by Jonesy.

Little Jane stared worriedly at the odd green pellets and strange liquid preparation. It was certainly a novel method of treatment, she’d give him that. But would it help Ishiro?

What’s wrong with trusty old leeches? Jonesy asked suspiciously.

Ishiro swallowed the green liquid in one gulp. Little Jane watched carefully for signs of imminent poisoning.

Bah! Ishiro grimaced. Jonesy, fetch me something to wash this down.

You’re lucky I had enough of it on hand, said Villienne to Little Jane. "If somebody hadn’t caused me to blow up my laboratory, I might have had something to add to improve the taste."

We think there might be something wrong with his heart, said Little Jane softly to Villienne. It seems the pain is centred there.

Hmmm … I believe you are correct. It seems he may have had a cardiac attack. Villienne frowned as Jonesy re-entered the room carrying a cup of sake, a bowl of chocolate, and what looked to be a side of beef, dripping with fat.

Ishiro, said Villienne, I suggest you desist in consuming alcoholic spirits and rich foods if you plan on staying with us.

The magistrate turned to Jonesy, frowning. You’ll make sure of that, won’t you?

What?

Yes, sir, promised Little Jane in Jonesy’s stead. He won’t touch a drop. Then he’ll be better again, right?

Villienne looked into her small, worried face and sighed, remembering why he’d chosen to forsake the medical profession. I think he is doing considerably better already, but any further stress on his heart muscle could be fatal. He must have calm and sleep and plenty of this mixture. Do you understand?

Yes.

Now, Mr. Ishiro, it’s time you got some rest. There’s nothing for healing quite like it, advised Villienne.

Come on, old son, let me at least give you supper, Jonesy urged Villienne. Shame to let a good steak go to waste.

Villienne looked at the large, tattooed barkeep, wanting very much to go home instead.

Thank you for the offer. Tomorrow, perhaps, he suggested, when I come back in the morning to see to the patient.

Early the next morning Little Jane had a startlingly vivid dream that her parents hadn’t really been captured and it was all just a complicated birthday surprise gone awry. They were hiding with Jonesy behind the bar all along, like they did when she turned eight, ready to spring out with rum cakes and sugar cane drinks, shouting surprise when she appeared. Only she hadn’t come and they’d been forced to eat the cakes themselves. She heard them talking about it from behind the screen that divided their side of the room from hers, expressing their disappointment.

She woke with a start and pushed the screen back, ready to explain to them what had happened. By the half-light of dawn, she blinked at their unslept-in sheets and remembered. She pulled her blanket tight around her shoulders and sat down in her mother’s creaky rocking chair. A yellow square of early morning light moved gradually over their empty bedspread. Dust specks drifted in the stream of light, illuminating three abandoned shoes, still waiting patiently on the mat by the door.

What would you have me do? Little Jane implored them, but the shoes did not reply.

She sat and stared for a long time, thinking furiously, unable to come up with a single solution. Finally, the sound of Villienne’s voice greeting Jonesy downstairs disrupted her reverie. She quickly got dressed and ran down to join them.

Villienne sat stiffly at the table while Jonesy and Harley stabbed enthusiastically at slabs of bloody beef. Little Jane couldn’t help noticing how jumpy the magistrate was. Any second now he would find some pretext to bolt off to look in on Ishiro, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet. She could not allow that. With every minute lost she was painfully aware the Panacea was sailing ever closer to its mysterious destination and ever farther away from Smuggler’s Bay. She shuddered to think of it. Somebody had to do something, say something.

Finally, Little Jane put down her fork. So, what’s the plan?

What plan? asked Harley.

When’re we going after the enemy? How do we find them? What’s our strategy?

What’re ye talking about? asked Jonesy.

"The enemy — that ship, the Panacea — we have to go after them."

We have no plan, replied Jonesy miserably.

Then it’s time we made one, inn’it?

Little Jane, Jonesy began, in one of those regretfully-explaining-the-harsh-nature-of-the-Real-World tones adults sometimes put on. It ain’t as simple as that.

You just don’t care because they’re not yer parents! she snapped.

C’mon, said Jonesy, leaning down to look her in the eye, I love Bonnie Mary and Jim like me own brother and sister, but that ain’t gonna pay the rent on a ship or outfit her rig and hire on a crew. ’Sides which, who knows which way they gone? Like as not we’d be sailing for years trying to find ’em.

Pirate hunters take their captives back with ’em to England to try ’em at Old Bailey, right? Little Jane pressed him.

Says who? They might make trial at any British port — Jamaica, St. Kitts, or Nevis. Who knows?

What’s to assume they’re even British to begin with? added Villienne. Did anyone here see what flag they flew?

Didn’t get me a good look, confessed Little Jane, but me dad said he saw the union jack a-flying as the ship approached.

But if she’s a pirate hunter, then that means they got permission from the Crown, a letter of marque and the like, added Harley gloomily. Maybe even redcoats on board, who knows.

Little Jane felt her soul sink inside her at their reasonable arguments. It made her furious. These people had been doing foolish, unreasonable things for as long as she could remember. What gave them the right to suddenly turn sensible now?

Fine! You lot just sit here on your cowardly wobble-bottoms then, cried Little Jane, rising abruptly from the table. I’ll go after them meself, I will.

No, you won’t, proclaimed a wheezy voice behind her. I’m coming with you.

Her head whipped round, and she was shocked to see Ishiro standing there. Ishiro, what’re you doing? I thought you was sick?

I am, Ishiro said, his voice still weak, but growing steadier. Still, it don’t mean I ain’t got a say in where I goes.

Don’t be daft, Ish, said Jonesy. Going running after ’em half-cocked like this’ll kill you certain.

I’m afraid he’s right, Mr. Ishiro. You’d be risking another heart attack, contended Villienne gravely. I don’t recommend —

I’d sooner die working the deck than lying in me bed like a bleedin’ coward! exclaimed Ishiro. "On any account, I’m much improved. Whatever you puts in that drink, it’s better’n sake."

But you’re the cook, argued Villienne. Begging your pardon, sir, but even I know that it takes more than a little culinary knowledge to command a sailing vessel.

I’ll have Little Jane here to help me, replied Ishiro. Not to mention the fact that, like yourself, I am a man of many talents. Betting, for instance.

Betting?

Aye, betting. For example, right now I’m willing to bet I know exactly where that other ship’s taken ’em.

They all watched as Ishiro picked Jonesy’s steak knife off the table and walked over to the dusty mirror hanging behind the bar. He slid the knife into a gap under the right corner of the frame, forcing the point in under the glass. With a grunt, he twisted the knife and the mirror gave way. The glass tumbled out of the frame and crashed to pieces on the floor.

What in blazes did you do that for? asked Jonesy. Are you completely off your nut, Ish? That glass was still in good nick!

It had taken Ishiro much effort to remove the