Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves (6 page)

The first raindrops fell from the darkened sky, pelting James with large, gloppy splashes, quickly pooling on the dirt road. Wiping the water from his eyes, James steered Destroyer in the darkness along the main road that ran along the coast toward the nearby town of Rye, hoping to reach the town constable for help. But the frightening thud of pounding hoof beats behind him quickly shattered that idea.

The two soldiers from the study now thundered toward James, mounted on powerful stallions. However faithful to James was Destroyer, the pony was no match for warhorses on the open road.
James veered sharply toward the hill. It was the same hill Thunderbold had charged up earlier that day, the dark imprints of her powerful hooves still visible in the grass. The tracks led straight for the haunted forest, and to all the dark mysteries that dwelt within its shadows.

James’s heart beat harder and harder as he neared the trees, visions of the dark horrors Jeremiah had told him about flashing in his mind’s eye. But the pursuing stallions were almost on top of him now, the soldiers upon their backs urging them faster, the warhorses’ throaty breaths sharp amongst their hoof beats, growing louder and louder in James’s ears. James’s fear of the soldiers was greater than his fear of the ghosts. He pushed Destroyer harder still, and with one last surge the pony cleared the trees, plunging James into greater darkness.

The rain came harder, flying down through the branches, stinging James’s skin on his hands and face. Sharp twigs and prickly pine needles scraped his arms and his cheeks. Lightning flashed, and in the momentary brightness James saw the soldiers still close behind him, working their way through the forest.

The thunder crashed, and suddenly another spark of lightning lit up the way before James. He had wandered into the open space of a large meadow, devoid of any trees to slow the pursuing soldiers. James dug his heels into Destroyer’s sides. The pony neighed and pushed forward toward the cover of more trees on the far side of the clearing.

The soldiers on their warhorses hit the clearing a moment later, driving their chargers across at a breakneck pace. Their steeds’ hooves sloshed against the muddy earth, the horses coughing and gulping for air. They drew close enough for James to hear the riders’ grunts and the metal and leather harnesses creaking and groaning under the strain of the chase.

Then James saw them out of the corner of his eyes, already at his sides, a leather-gloved hand reaching over James’s shoulder, grabbing for his coat.

“Come on, Destroyer!” James cried, and though his little pony had almost nothing left, she yet again leapt forward into the protection of the trees.

The thick forest once more gave James space, but the tumultuous rumble of raging water ahead made his heart sink. A river, driven mad by the torrential downpour of rain, appeared before him, running through the heart of the forest, cutting off James’s escape.

James ran Destroyer along the banks, hoping against hope to find a stretch shallow enough to cross, but the rainstorm had turned the river into an impassable wall of water.

Snapping branches and neighing horses sounded at James’s back. The soldiers were on top of him again. He pushed Destroyer forward as fast as the little pony could manage. Tears of hopelessness were about to fall from James’s eyes when a lightning bolt, blazing white hot through the air, struck a tree before him. A crack and a boom accompanied the sudden orange glow of fire. Destroyer reared up in terror just as a branch from the falling tree swung down on the pony and rider, striking James on the side of his head as he was thrown from Destroyer’s back. The last things James felt were the cold hands of the river catching him as he fell, the rushing water enveloping him as all went dark.

SEVEN

ames choked up water, gasping for air as he finally came to rest on the river’s muddy banks. He crawled on his hands and knees out of the water, collapsing into the slimy muck. The right side of his head throbbed, and even in spite of all the water and mud, he felt the warmth of blood on his forehead and cheek. He had no idea exactly how he had survived his fall into river. He remembered the lightning and the tree; he remembered all going dark; and just before passing out, he recalled grasping hold of the very same tree branch that had struck his head. He awoke a few moments later, his mouth full of water, his hand still on the branch, the fast current sweeping his body downstream.

After gathering his senses, James sat up. The rest of his body hurt as badly as his head, he found, but there was nothing to be done.
There were no servants to summon, not even his aunt to call upon for help. Aunt Margarita. James’s insides turned to cold water again. He had been so afraid while the soldiers had chased him, so terrified of losing his life that he had thought of nothing but escape. Now, sitting on the dark banks of a river, in a deep forest in the black of night, James was alone with the awful truth of what had just happened.

His own aunt had betrayed him. She had looked right into his face while men had suggested killing him, and she’d let them try. James wasn’t entirely sure who those other two men were, but they had known Hudson and his father. And the one, the dark-haired man who had been so eager to finish James off, was a captain in his majesty’s navy. James knew the uniform and the rank. The older man must have been the very Count Cromier his aunt and his father spoke of in the kitchen, and the younger must have been Bartholomew. The pale captain’s eyes had been so terrifying and cold, James thought, and he’d pulled his sword from his scabbard as fast as the wind.

Then James thought about Hudson. The old valet had hardly known James, but he had been willing to sacrifice himself so that James could escape. James had seen the way Hudson had looked at his father, with tears in the old man’s eyes. James’s father. Now James’s thoughts turned solely on his father and the last words James had ever spoken to him: “You’re the one who should be sorry.”

James could bear it no longer and wept furiously. All by himself in the dark he cried and sobbed aloud, never caring if anyone heard or what they thought even if they did. For a long time James sat there until finally he fell over, exhausted from weeping. As he fell, something hard stuck his side, the pinch of pain snapping him out of his misery.

It was the little wooden box in his pocket. James pulled it out and opened it. A few drops had seeped in through the cracks, but the letter on the ancient-looking parchment and the necklace were mostly undamaged. James stared at the letter, his father’s last words and the story of his great secret. James couldn’t understand why, but he was afraid of the letter, so afraid that he refused to touch either of
the items inside the box, slamming the lid shut to block them from view. When James closed the box, he noticed for the first time the intricately carved decoration on the top. Even in the dark, between his eyes and the touch of his fingers he made out the bizarre image. It was some sort of scepter, James thought, or perhaps a spear of some kind, with three points at the tip instead of one. And behind the strange spear was a pearl resting in an open shell.

James stared at the strange image for a long time. He had never seen this symbol before, but it looked to him like a family crest of some sort, though certainly not one with which he was familiar.

James sighed and put the box back in his pocket. He felt like his whole world was spinning out of control and nothing made any sense anymore. The only things he knew were that his box held a secret – the secret of a vast treasure – and that the last thing Hudson had told him was that they were going to London to keep it safe, that it was James’s duty to keep it safe. He was the Lord Morgan now, so to protect what his father had left for him was what James decided to do.

James stood and looked around. The rain had stopped and the moon and the stars peeked out from behind the clouds. James was surprised at how well he could see after his eyes adjusted to the dim light. But as James waded further and further into the dark forest, the more the moonlight struggled to squeeze between the canopy of branches and leaves.

As James walked beneath a small opening in the tree branches above, he looked up to the rapidly clearing sky and suddenly had the brilliant idea to navigate using the stars. But, alas, he had ignored all those astronomy lessons from old Phineus, so that idea was dashed. Then James remembered Jeremiah offering to take him out into the woods to teach him how to build fires and survive in the elements.

“Why should I learn that?” James had scoffed. “I have you to do it for me!” He had laughed then, but he wasn’t laughing now. Right then and there James made a promise to himself to never turn down the chance to learn anything new from anyone in the future, no matter how silly it seemed at the time.

So without the aid of the stars, by which he had absolutely no clue how to navigate, and without the light of a fire, which he hadn’t the slightest idea how to build, James picked a direction and set off down the bank of the river. He seemed to recall some lesson or other (to which he had paid half-attention at one point) that suggested that people gathered near water for some reason or another, and he just might be lucky enough to meet someone who could help. Unfortunately, luck was not on James’s side.

More than once he slipped in the mud and nearly rolled back into the river. He was soon covered in slime and, not being used to walking around a filthy mess, grew steadily more and more miserable, his misery only increasing as his feet began to ache from walking. But worse than even that, James soon began to suspect fouler things than mud dwelt in the forest shadows. Strange noises echoed amongst the trees. Sometimes James saw floating pairs of green orbs in the dark, but they disappeared as soon as he caught them in the edges of his vision. They were eyes, he imagined, but eyes that belonged to what?

There were stories, James knew. Stories that Jeremiah used to tell about creatures in the forest, fauns and nymphs and dryads, creatures of the woods that tricked little children into following them deeper into the forests, singing songs and offering treats, tempting their prey to go but a little farther, until they would capture the children and hold them captive for years and years…or worse, eat them for dinner. Once or twice James thought he heard the soft notes of a faun’s panpipes in the dark, and his heart hammered against his chest.

Then he heard a rumble.

James stopped dead in his tracks, fear freezing him cold from his fingertips to his toes. He heard it again, a soft growling that sounded like it came from all around him. He slowly crept a few steps forward.

A branch snapped loudly behind him, and James whirled around, his blood pulsing with fear through his veins.

Two green orbs stared at him from only a few yards away. But these neither disappeared nor flitted away. They remained locked on James.
For a moment, the orbs and James stood completely still, staring at each other without blinking.

“Hello, Mr. Faun or Ms. Nymph,” James finally offered, his mouth gone dry as a stone. “My name is James Morgan. Just looking for London, that’s all. No harm being done. Perhaps you’ve been there a time or two? Lovely place really - there’s some terrific gardens and parks you might like.”

The orbs remained in place. James backed up a step, then another. The orbs hovered but a few feet away.

“Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I won’t be following you into the woods to be your late-night snack this evening, but I hope you find some other children to chase later. Happy hunting, cheers.”

James thought he might be in the clear as he backed up one step farther, but then the orbs advanced upon him. They bobbed in the dark until finally the form that carried them passed into the pale light of the moon. It was no faun or nymph. Bristling fur covered its lean, grey body. Lips on a long snout peeled back over a row of white fangs, glistening in the starlight. For the first time in his life James looked into the eyes of a wolf.

Fear crawled out from James’s chest, turning his whole body to stone, standing on petrified legs as the wolf stepped closer and closer. It sniffed at him, licking its chops with a long red tongue, measuring him with hungry eyes, but still James stood frozen to his spot. Only when the wolf barked did the spell of stone suddenly release James with a hot flash.