Jim Morgan and the Pirates of the Black Skull (35 page)

Jim rubbed his sweat-slicked palms against his breeches. One look at Peter and Paul, quivering with fear, and Lacey, tending to poor Cornelius, told Jim his hopes of beating the Cromiers were dashed. Once again, his friends’ lives would hang in the balance as he risked a magical trial for his father’s treasure – a magical trial that could easily end in his own death.

“Alright, Count,” Jim said, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’ll do it. But when I bring you the shell, swear to me that you will release my friends. Let them at least try for the Horns before dawn.” George grabbed Jim by the arm and whispered harshly into his ear.

“Jim, are you sure about this? They may free us, mate, but you know that blighter, Bartholomew’ll never let you go!”

“It’s the only way, George. ” But Jim knew in his heart George was right. Bartholomew would never let him live once the Count had the shell.

“Done,” said the Count. He strode forward to stand over Lacey, who was still on her knees, cradling Cornelius. “But know this, young Morgan - if you attempt to deceive me as you did that petty criminal in London…” The Count pressed his blade beneath Lacey’s chin until she gave a sharp gasp and a trickle of red ran down her neck. “Dawn will be the least of your friends’ worries.” The blackened rose’s magic no longer held sway over Jim’s heart or mind, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to knock the wicked smiles from the Cromiers’ faces.

“Don’t be afraid, Lacey,” he said. He looked into her eyes with as much courage as he could find within himself. “I got the Amulet,
remember? I’ll get this shell as well.” Jim reached into his pockets and withdrew the book of stars and the compass that had been lost in the river. He knelt down and set them on the ground beside Lacey. “I’m sorry,” he said, his chin quivering. “I’m sorry for what I said and what I did. I’m going to make it right, I promise.” Blade at her neck or no, Lacey threw an arm around Jim and pulled him close. Jim could feel her tears on his own cheek.

“Let me go with you, master Morgan,” squawked a thin voice from the cradle of Lacey’s arm. It was Cornelius, blinking open one bleary eye and stretching out one broken wing to touch Jim’s face. “It will be just like old times, and I could always use a new story to tell, lad.”

“Not this time,” Jim said, patting the brave raven’s head. “It looks like I’ll need to walk into this vault on my own.”

“You are your father’s son, Jim Morgan,” Cornelius said. When Jim frowned at this, the raven tapped him again with his wing. “That is a compliment, my son. Never believe otherwise.”

“Thank you, Cornelius,” Jim said. But the Count had seen enough. He took his blade from Lacey’s throat and thrust the point to within an inch of Jim’s nose.

“Enough! You will go into the cave and fetch me my prize now, Morgan. And do not delay, boy, for whether by my sword or a tomb of stone, doom lies just over the horizon.”

“If I think for even a moment that you’ve hurt my friends,” Jim growled in return. “I will lose the shell forever, and no one will have the Treasure of the Ocean. I swear it!” With that, Jim stood and turned on his heel to face the serpent’s mouth - the entrance to the hidden chamber.

“Good luck, Jim,” George managed.

“You make it back to us, Jim Morgan,” Lacey added.

“I’ll try.” Jim stepped to the very lip of the gaping hole in the cavern wall. Looking down at the palm of his hand, he saw the white-scar rose plainly visible, even in the dim torchlight. “I must face another storm,” he said to himself. “I would face ten thousand storms.”

Jim put his head down, held his torch forth, and stepped into the blackness beyond the serpent’s mouth.

FOURTEEN

he darkness coiled about Jim. His torch flame choked to a dim flicker, as though suffocated by the thick black. Worse still, when Jim shone the torch at his feet, he discovered the rocky ground fell away steeply on either side, leaving only a narrow path to follow.

Jim’s knees trembled and sweat slicked the palms of his hands. His toe caught a jagged rock at the path’s edge and clattered down the cliff into the darkness. When the stone finally reached the bottom, only a splash echoed from some underground lake or river below.

It took all of Jim’s will to move one foot forward and pull the second to join it. His legs were numb with fear. But, again and again, Jim repeated his deliberate steps until he was walking with some speed down the serpentine path of stone, deep into the heart of the cavern.
Jim’s pace had quickened to nearly a jog when an unexpected splash sounded from the deep beneath the mountain.

Jim skidded to a halt. A gurgling came from below. Jim knew it then for certain – something had moved, something large in the waters.

Jim was not alone.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and tightened his grip on the torch. Drawing once more on all his courage, he took another step.

A voice spoke in the dark.

“Who treads into the cavern of depths? Who has wandered into the cave of questions? Who walks upon the path of riddles?”

Jim froze again. His heartbeat thundered in his ears above the crackling torch flames. The voice in the dark rolled deep and large, like a great horn, echoing off the far-away walls of the hollow mountain. A growling lingered at the edges of the questions the voice asked Jim – an inhuman sound, Jim thought. An animal sound.

“I’m…I’m Jim Morgan, sir,” Jim finally answered, not bothering to lie or even give a false name.

“Jim Morgan, will you stand still on the path forever?” the voice asked in reply. “If you have come here, to this place, then you have come for that which I protect. If you wish to possess the prize, then you must move forward, or our contest will stop before it begins. Go but a little further and I will ask you a riddle. Further still and I shall ask you another. Reach the end of the path, and I shall ask you but one more. There you must answer them all. Not one, or two, but all three riddles must be answered, and answered correctly.”

“If I answer them all – the three riddles,” Jim said, licking his lips and swallowing hard. “You’ll let me have the Hunters Shell?”

“Yes.”

“What if I get one wrong?” Jim asked. This time the voice answered with a laugh. The rumbling shook the chamber and rattled Jim to his bones. That laugh meant more than no. It meant something
worse than no. Jim‘s torch trembled in his hand. Once the echoes of laughter finally faded away, the voice spoke again.

“So, Jim Morgan, will you step forward and face the challenge of the riddles? Or will you turn back?”

“I’m afraid, sir,” Jim said.

“Then turn back.”

“If I go back, the men waiting for me will see my friends to a bitter end. If morning comes before I get the shell, we will all turn to stone. If I hear your riddles and get them wrong, something worse than turning to stone will be my fate. Why does everything end so horribly on this wretched island?”

“On only this wretched island? Is it not so everywhere else, and for everyone else? I have seen no other shore but that of the Veiled Isle for some hundreds of years, Jim Morgan. But while I was still of the outside world, I knew that if one stands still his whole life, may he not as well turn to stone? If one runs back to the place from which he came, does he not surrender to whatever fate he fled at the first? If one steps forward, who knows what lies in store for him?”

Jim turned back toward the mouth of the cavern. It seemed miles and miles away in the dark, lit only by the Cromier’s torches. He then faced the impenetrable black before him once more.

“You know,” Jim said. “As a guardian of this place, shouldn’t you try a bit harder to scare people away instead of encouraging them forward?”

“Perhaps I am simply bored,” the voice replied. “Or perhaps I am hungry,” it added. The voice laughed again.
Hungry
, Jim thought to himself, aghast. Now he knew what would happen if he guessed the riddles wrong. But in spite of even that horrible understanding, he had made his choice. He took another step along the rocky path.

“Excellent,” said the voice. “Then we shall have our contest after all! Are you ready, Jim Morgan?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Jim said. He was more focused on putting one foot after the other and not falling off the path than anything
else. Far below, the sound of water churning and frothing passed from Jim’s right to his left, crossing beneath him. Jim realized the path upon which he tread was some sort of bridge, spanning a great underground lake. He also knew, from the forceful clap of water, that whatever swam through the depths was massive and powerful.

“Then we shall begin!” The voice rumbled, sounding quite eager to get started. “I will present you with a riddle. You may answer that one by itself, or all three together. But in the end, questions and answers must equal three for the prize to be yours. This is the first of riddles three:”

The sun in day or the moon at night,

Not another of the same in sight,

That which is empty cannot be full,

Not by drink, nor by bread, not by gold, nor by jewels.

What am I?

Jim paused on the stone walkway for a long moment and turned the riddle’s words over in his mind. The sun and moon were both lights, and there was something empty that needed to be filled up with something other than gold or food and drink. Was there something that light filled? Jim gritted his teeth and shook his head. He had no time to waste standing and puzzling over only the first riddle. He would at least hear the next one first.

“I’ll just answer this one at the end,” Jim said. He stepped forward once more, repeating the words of the first riddle silently to himself, hoping against hope that the clues would grow no more difficult the further he went.

“So be it, young one. I prefer to play the game this way regardless. So many times travelers attempt the first riddle straight away, only to fail. Then the contest ends too quickly, does it not? It is so long between games I am afraid. It is pleasant to hear the voice of another in this dark cave, I will admit.”

“Then why stay?” Jim asked, curious in spite of his fear. “You could leave. I promise I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“It is my duty,” said the voice. “Those things I protect are worth protecting. But you have courage and good humor, Jim Morgan. I do like that. Now, hear the second of riddles three:”

Two roses together in the morning light,

A field of red by the coming of night,

One tree up on a hilltop high,

Soon a forest over the countryside.

Who are we?

Jim loosed a frustrated sigh and suddenly wanted to pitch the torch and himself off the path into the darkness. The second riddle was no easier than the first. In fact, it seemed that much more difficult to Jim. How could two roses fill up a whole field in just a day? How could a single tree turn into an entire forest? Success in the Vault of Treasures seemed so long ago, and doubts whispered in Jim’s mind.

“I’ll just answer all three together at the end,” Jim said, trying to keep his voice from shaking like the trembling flame upon his torch. He swallowed hard. With great effort, he pushed the doubts aside and stepped forward again.

“All the same to me,” said the voice amid the gurgling and roiling of water. “It is good to speak with one so young and strong. So many days and so many nights I have only the echoes of my own voice to keep me company. Those and the echoes of the past, of voices belonging to faces now all but forgotten.”

“I know what you mean about not having anyone, I think,” Jim said, trying to buy a bit more time to think about the riddles. “But it seems a shame to eat the only people you get a chance to talk to, wouldn’t you say? That’s what will happen if I answer wrong, right? You’ll eat me?”

“You are correct on both counts, young Jim Morgan,” replied the voice. “Answer wrong and you shall be devoured. And yes, that truly is a shame, for I can tell you have a good soul. But I am sworn to my duty – bound by honor and by powerful magic. Neither of those masters let me decide anything but the riddles by which I test those with the courage to attempt this path.”