Quest for the Secret Keeper (22 page)

Pierre’s eyebrows rose. “Someone have a fever and a cough?”

“Yes, monsieur,” Carl said.

“This is an expensive request,” Pierre observed, looking shrewdly at Carl as if wondering if the young man could afford it. Carl took out his three gold coins and displayed them to Pierre. “Mistress Adria said she is more than happy to pay for your cooperation.”

Ian had to hand it to his friend. The meaning in Carl’s choice of words was clear and Pierre nodded and quickly got to the task of preparing the medicine. Once he was finished, he folded the fine powder into a paper envelope and handed it to Carl in exchange for the gold. “You will need to make a tea of this,” he said. “Use three teaspoons
every four hours until the fever breaks and the cough subsides.”

“Thank you,” Carl said, tucking the envelope under his cap.

He and Ian then left the shop and traveled along the same path they had taken coming. Along the way they encountered no difficulty, and Ian began to wonder why Theo had insisted he go along. Carl seemed quite capable of returning with the earl’s medicine, but no sooner had he finished that thought than the young men rounded a corner and walked right into a pair of German soldiers.

“Bah!” yelled one of the men. “Stupid boys!” Then he paused and spoke in halting words as he probably thought through the French translation. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

Ian and Carl both backed up quickly. “We’re terribly sorry,” Ian said in a rush, raising his hands to show they’d meant no harm.

“Where are you off to?” demanded the other soldier.

“We’re returning to our orphanage,” Carl told him. “Our headmistress sent us on an errand and we were just returning.”

“What errand?” asked the second soldier, an evil glint in his eye.

Ian gulped. He could sense that they were in terrible danger, but if they could simply keep their wits about them, he and Carl might be able to talk their way out of it. “We’re retrieving some medicine,” he said in a rush. “One of the orphans has come down with fever and a cough, and our
headmistress is worried it will spread to the other children. In fact,” Ian added, forcing a slight cough, “I do believe I myself might be coming down with it.”

Carl caught on quickly and raised his own hand to his forehead. “My brow feels awfully warm,” he said. “Might not want to get too close to us, sirs. We could be contagious.”

The first soldier narrowed his eyes at them as if he was on to their ruse. “Show us this medicine,” he demanded.

Ian looked at Carl. He knew that if they showed the soldiers the medicine, they risked having it confiscated. Thinking quickly, he pulled Laodamia’s small vial of black liquid out of his pocket and wiggled it for the soldiers. If they took the poison and left them alone, then he’d be quite glad for it.

To his surprise, however, the second soldier crossed his arms and said, “Drink it.”

Ian stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Drink the vial,” the soldier ordered, drawing his gun and pointing it at Ian so there could be no misunderstanding.

“But it’s for the other orphan!” Carl protested. “If he drinks it, there’ll be none left for the poor girl who is quite ill.”

The soldier pulled back the hammer on the gun, his eyes never leaving Ian’s. “You will have to get more, then,” he said. “After you are made well by taking your medicine.”

Ian’s mind raced with the possible outcomes. Laodamia had predicted that if he drank the potion, he would die. If
he didn’t drink the vial, the German soldier would certainly shoot him. It seemed he would die either way.

As he worked the stopper from the vial, he could only hope that death by poison was at least fast and relatively painless.

He was about to raise the vial to his lips when Carl reached over and snatched it away from him. “My fever is higher than yours!” he said angrily. “I should drink the medicine first!”

Ian stared at him in shock and tried to grab back the vial. “Carl!” he shouted. “Don’t!”

But it was too late. In one very fast move, Carl raised the vial and sucked down the liquid. Once he’d finished, he shook his head and said, “Blach! That was awful!”

Ian could see the inky black residue on Carl’s tongue and he waited for signs of the poison to appear. He didn’t have long to wait. As the soldiers began to laugh cruelly at what they’d forced Carl to do, Ian’s best friend swayed on his feet.

Ian reached over just as the one soldier holstered his gun, slapping his companion on the back. The two walked away still laughing. “Carl!” Ian whispered urgently, reaching out to catch him when his knees buckled and he crashed into Ian.

“Are they gone?” Carl mumbled, his face growing paler by the second.

“Why?”
Ian asked him desperately. “Oh, Carl! Why did you drink it?”

Carl’s head lolled back on his neck and his cap fell off.
“Had to be done, Ian,” he said. “ ‘Ian Wigby must not drink, potion poisoned with dark ink.’ ”

Ian bit his lip and felt an awful terror sweeping through him. He well knew the prophecy too. “ ‘Force the choice upon another, he will save his loyal brother.’ ”

Carl nodded dully. “Right,” he said. “You’re my brother, mate. Through and through.” And those were the very last words he spoke before his lips turned blue and he stopped breathing altogether.

Ian held Carl and searched the street with wide panicked eyes, looking for anyone who might help him. No one was on the quiet street so near to the block that had been all but completely destroyed. The shop was merely two blocks away, so Ian grabbed Carl’s cap with the earl’s medicine, tucked it into his coat pocket, and with the speed and strength reserved for desperate moments, lifted Carl’s limp and lifeless body onto his shoulders and began to run.

He was heavily weighed down, but his feet still pounded quickly over the pavement. Rounding the corner to the block where the green door was, he cried out desperately for help and a moment later saw Adria dash out of the shop and hasten down to meet him. “What’s happened?” she asked, helping Ian ease Carl off his shoulders.

Theo came hurrying up to them as well, along with Océanne, Iyoclease, and Madame Lafitte.

Ian could barely speak, he was so overcome with grief, panic, and exertion. “The … vial!” he said. “He drank the vial!”

Theo sank to her knees and clasped both hands to her chest. “The one from Laodamia’s treasure box?”

Ian nodded, staring forlornly at Carl, willing him to take a breath. “A German soldier ordered me to drink it, and I was going to, but Carl grabbed the vial and drank it instead!”

Océanne began to cry. “Carl!” she wailed, clutching at his hand before turning to Adria. “Can you help him?”

Ian looked at the Phoenician woman too. Perhaps she would know what had been in the vial and could suggest an antidote? He already knew where the apothecary was, and he was quite certain he could run very, very fast there and back.

But Adria was gazing at Carl with a bit of an odd look. “There is nothing to do for him,” she said simply.

Ian was so choked with emotion that his next words were hoarse. “Please!” he cried. “You can’t let him die!”

Adria’s head lifted and she eyed the streets around them. “Come,” she said. “We must move him into the shop, away from prying eyes.”

Ian swallowed hard and allowed Iyoclease to lift his friend and carry him into the shop. He laid Carl down on one of the mattresses. Carl still had not taken a single breath, and Ian laid his head on Carl’s chest, hoping for a miracle and the sound of Carl’s heartbeat.

To his immense surprise he heard one lone
bah-bump
and felt a tiny rise to Carl’s rib cage. He sat back and stared. “There’s still some life in him!”

Adria came forward with a ladle of water. “Drink,” she ordered.

Ian almost rudely pushed it away. He didn’t care about his own thirst when his friend was lying so perilously close to death. But Adria’s expression was firm, so Ian reluctantly took the ladle. As he was sipping it, he saw another tiny lift to Carl’s chest.

Theo must have seen it too, because she placed her hand over Carl’s rib cage and said, “He’s not lost.”

“No,” Adria agreed. “But right now he is somewhere very far away.” She then did something curious. She moved outside and came back with a set of iron numbers, which had marked one of the addresses on the now ruined street. After placing these near Carl’s head, she sat back and watched the iron numbers for several moments without comment.

“Pardon me,” Ian said with a hint of irritation in his voice, “but might I ask what those are for?”

Her reply was cryptic. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Just then they heard a voice from the corner of the room ask, “What’s happened to Carl?” Ian turned to see the earl looking weak and sickly but staring with focused attention at them all.

“He has taken the Metal Master potion,” said Adria.

“Metal Master potion?” Ian repeated.

Adria nodded. “It is the rarest substance on earth,” she told him, “the very last vial of which was placed in the treasure box personally by me three millennia ago.”

“What is it?” Theo asked. “Is it truly poisonous?”

“If swallowed, it is nearly always fatal,” Adria assured her, and Ian’s heart sank. “Only one in ten thousand souls are strong enough to withstand the effects,” she added. “But if you are of the right nature, and have the strength to endure it, when you wake up, you will be able to make metal out of its raw materials and craft it into anything you can imagine.”

Ian stared at her in utter confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Adria stood again and stepped over to the door to retrieve a small plank of wood with several exposed nails sticking through the other side. She held the wood out for them to see, then held her palm underneath the pointed ends of the nails. One by one they slid through the wood, dropping delicately into her hand. She then folded her fingers around the nails, and when she opened her palm again, they had been mashed together into a ball.

Casting aside the plank, Adria began to mold the clump of metal like wet clay, her artisan fingers skillfully manipulating the iron into the figure of a horse. When she was done, she handed this to Océanne, who was still overcome by Carl’s condition. “Here, young lady,” she said gently. “This will give you hope.”

Océanne took the figurine cautiously and gasped when her fingers touched it. “It’s solid metal!” she said.

Theo reached out and stroked the figurine. “It’s warm but no longer malleable,” she said. “How is that possible?”

“The silver boxes,” Ian whispered. “You were more than just a craftsman. You took the potion yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Ian,” she confirmed. “When I was a little older than Carl, I was given it by the woman who preceded Laodamia as the great Oracle of Phoenicia. She told me then they had waited hundreds of years for someone like me, and ordered me to drink a vial of the liquid.

“I lived in a state of unconsciousness for two days, but when I awoke, I had skills and abilities that defied all logic.”

“Ian,” Theo said to him. “Remember what the prophecy said? ‘See the next one of your crew, one of noble heart proved true.’ ”

Ian’s eyes fell to Carl again. No one had ever had a truer heart than Carl; of that he was certain. “He looks barely alive,” he said to Adria. He was still terribly worried that Carl would not survive the poisonous effects of the potion. “How will he last two days in this state?”

“He will,” Adria assured him. “Laodamia has foretold it and thus it will be so.”

“What can we do for him while we wait?” Madame Lafitte asked.

“Keep him warm and quiet,” Adria told her. “And watch for signs that he is working through the potion.”

“What signs?” Theo asked.

Adria nodded to Carl. “Watch the air around him.”

Ian did, and as he watched, he would have sworn that the atmosphere near Carl’s body shimmered slightly. Adria then pointed to the numbers on the floor next to Carl’s head. “Touch them,” she said to Theo.

Theo moved to the numbers and lifted one into her hand. “It’s warm!” she exclaimed.

But Ian wondered if perhaps the numbers had been in the sun before Adria had brought them inside. He didn’t feel he could be so hopeful just yet.

The earl looked as if he was about to speak, but he began coughing instead. Ian remembered the medicine and pulled out Carl’s cap and the envelope from the apothecary. “For the earl,” he said, handing it to Adria.

She nodded and got to work preparing the earl’s tea while Ian sat right next to Carl, laying the cap near his head and waiting for his friend to return to them.

O
céanne stayed right by Carl’s side for most of the next two days. Ian thought he should hardly regret such devotion, given that his friend had saved his life by drinking the vial.

Still, those familiar pangs of jealousy found their way to his heart, and he struggled mightily when he saw how Océanne held firmly to Carl’s hand and whispered, “Please, Carl! Please come back to me!”

Ian wanted Carl back as well, but he also wanted Océanne’s affections.

He was able to distract himself by focusing on the metal numbers, which seemed to melt and change shape before his very eyes. Crude figures would replace blobs of metal, and as the forty-eight hours progressed, even those crude figures took on clearer shapes.

At one point Theo held up what had formerly been two number twos and exclaimed, “He’s made a heart!”

Océanne clasped Carl’s hand and wept with relief as
Ian attempted to swallow the large lump caught in his throat.

On the morning of the second day of their vigil, Carl’s breathing had almost returned to normal. He was now taking one full breath for every three of Ian’s. Adria had told them that his breathing would gradually become more regular and that, the gods willing, he would wake up very soon, and she assured them that his dexterity with metal would begin to accelerate. To demonstrate that, she placed two of the blobs of metal in his hands, and sure enough, his fingers began to work at them like those of a dreaming sculptor. Before long, his friend had crafted what looked like a duck or a swan, and then a dog … or perhaps a turtle. Their moods brightened as they all debated which.