Salamaine's Curse (23 page)

After a moment, Zaputo seemed to shake himself out of the stupor into which he'd fallen. “Bring her about and prepare to anchor!” he shouted.

His crew sprang into action. Aided by the men of the
Purgatory,
they trimmed the sails and, after a brief struggle with the prevailing winds and currents, succeeded in bringing the
Crimson Belle
about. That accomplished, they went directly to work positioning the cannon, unlashing the dinghies, and readying the boats for launch.

Porter and Mudge came to stand beside Tom and Willa at the ship's rail. From a distance, the harbor of Arx looked idyllic—a shallow, crescent shaped bay filled with shimmering turquoise water which gently lapped against a pristine white beach. A honeymooner's paradise.

Up close, however, the harbor told a different story. Tom peered into the water brushing the hull. It was thick with barbed fish, fanged eels, spiny crab, and oozing octopi. Borrowing a nearby spyglass to get a closer look, he scanned the shoreline where their boats would land. The white surface wasn't sand at all, he noted, but the remains of crushed bones and skulls that had washed up against the shore. All that was left of those who'd tried to take the island before them.

He lowered the spyglass and passed it to Porter, watching as his brother scanned the shore. Porter didn't say a word, but as he set the spyglass aside, Tom noted that his expression had tightened into one of grim understanding.

“Ready to fire!” shouted a crewman, standing by a primed and loaded cannon.

Fast. It was happening fast. Obviously Zaputo was as mindful as Tom was of the need for urgency. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to give anyone time to give in to the terror that was gripping them and retreat before the battle had even begun.

Zaputo gave a signal, and his men touched their torches to the fuses. Five cannon roared simultaneously, belching smoke and gunpowder as they hurled cannonballs over the water to crash against the rocky shoreline. Zaputo's men loaded and fired again. Then again.

While the cannon fire wouldn't kill the scavengers outright (at most they might knock off a limb or two), with any luck the noise would serve to lure the creatures out of their hiding spots and draw them down to the shore.

Their goal was to gather all the scavengers at the southern end of the island and pin them there long enough for Tom, Porter, Willa, and Mudge to slip unnoticed through the chaos on the beach and dash to the fortress in the north.

The cannon fire seemed to be working. As Tom watched, dozens of scavengers drawn to the noise and commotion, staggered out from behind piles of rubble and climbed over broken ruins. They stumbled to the shore, their peeling flesh quivering with excitement, filling the air with their hideous grunts and moans. The wind lifted the scent of their rotting bodies and carried it to the
Crimson Belle.
Tom took a deep breath, held it in, and turned away, willing himself not to breathe it in.

“Launch the boats!” ordered Zaputo.

Time to go ashore. They crowded the dinghies with the former captives from Divino, the crew from the
Purgatory,
and the men of the
Crimson Belle.
After ensuring that each man and woman aboard received a flaming torch, the boats were dropped into the water. At least a dozen boats strong, they formed a fiery flotilla around the hull of the
Crimson Belle.

Tom gripped a torch and seated himself between Willa and Mudge in the last boat. His heart drummed painfully against his ribs. The roar of his pulse pounding in his ears was so loud it nearly blocked out the frenzied groans of the scavengers. But not quite. He shot a glance at Porter, seeing the same strain reflected on his brother's face.

The conversation they'd had earlier replayed itself in his mind. Porter was right. What they were about to do now, getting from the ship to the island, would be difficult. But the reverse, getting off the island and back onto the
Crimson Belle,
would be almost impossible. Even with the thick coils of rope they each wore slung sideways across their chest—rope they hoped would help them scale down the side of the tower and escape — returning to the
Crimson Belle
would be a miracle.

He glanced up. The sun had past its zenith and was beginning its descent. They wouldn't have long on the island. Less than an hour, certainly. He wasn't even sure they'd last that long.

He had to think of something. They'd already fixed their current plan with Zaputo, but they needed a better one. A faster way off the island and back to the ship. But what?

His eyes darted around the ship for something—
anything—
that might spark an idea. Yards and yards of rope, heavy brass cleats used to secure the lines, acres of canvas, oars, fine netting, barrels of water, wooden cases of provisions, cloth and thread … swords, knives, axes … pots, pans, trays … plenty there if he could just
think.

Zaputo gave a final command to his crew—a handful of men were to remain aboard to ready the ship for departure and prevent any scavengers from sneaking on—and moved to join them in the last boat. As he stepped toward them, Zaputo's bird ruffled his wings, fluttered in the air for a second or two, then resettled itself on the captain's shoulder.

“Wait!” Tom shouted. He lurched to his feet, causing the boat to rock precariously. The other passengers gasped, glaring at him as they steadied the vessel. Oblivious to the disaster he'd almost caused, he looked at Porter. “Listen. You said the only way to make it out of the fortress and back to the ship was if we could fly.”

Porter scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

“We can't fly. But Zaupto's bird can.”

“I still don't—”

“I've got an idea. Hold this!”

Tom thrust his torch at his brother. He leapt off the boat and back onto the deck of the
Crimson Belle
. After a brief discussion with Zaputo, he reached for the pile of spare cleats. The cleats were made of heavy brass, roughly the shape and size of a shallow boomerang, with thick knobs on both ends. Traditionally, a cleat was bolted to the deck and a rope twisted around it in a figure-eight, thus securing the line.

But Tom had in mind a very different use for them. He grabbed four of the largest and most highly polished cleats he could find, and climbed back into the boat.

“What are those?” Mudge asked.

“Plan B,” he answered. “Just in case.” He looked at Willa. “Here. Give me your satchel.” He thrust the heavy cleats into the satchel, then draped the bag diagonally across his chest, carrying it alongside the coiled rope.

A moment later Zaputo stepped into the boat, his weight causing the vessel to tilt slightly toward the stern. Zaputo's dark gaze silently swept over the flotilla. Tom caught his breath, as did everyone around him. Seconds passed. All eyes locked on the captain of the
Crimson Belle
.

Zaputo raised his torch.

“
Attack!
” he roared.

An ear-splitting chorus of cheers and yells answered him. Within each boat, a single crewman lifted his oars and began pulling toward shore. The passengers gripped their torches and readied themselves for battle. As they neared Arx, waves caught their boats and carried them inland.

But even with the tide at their backs, they didn't make it.

The scavengers swarmed their boats before they touched shore.

T
he creatures staggered into the waves, lunging toward them. It happened too fast for Tom to properly sort it out. One second they were coasting toward the shore, the next second the scavengers were swarming their boats, nearly tipping them over in a rabid desperation to reach their prey.

As he clambered out of his boat, Tom struck out with his torch, forcing the scavengers back. He was dimly aware of Porter and Willa tumbling out of the boat beside him, of the water lapping his thighs and the current threatening to pull him under, of Mudge knocked under the waves and then struggling back to the surface, of Zaputo using his feet to kick the hollow-chested, hissing scavengers away.

There was no structured fight. Just brutal, ugly chaos. The twisted, furious faces of the scavengers. Their claw-like hands and gaping mouths, their torn flesh and shredded clothing, the stench of their rotting bodies. Flailing torches, crashing waves, overturned boats. Everywhere he looked, the same horror presented itself.

Mudge's tumble in the water, had extinguished his torch, leaving him defenseless. A second later, a scavenger caught Willa by the ankle and pulled her under. Her torch hit the water with a fiery hiss, then went out. Porter knocked the scavenger clear and pulled Willa, drenched and gasping, back to her feet.

It wasn't going well. Barely a minute into the battle, and they'd already lost half their weapons. For a moment, the attack teetered on the verge of disaster, over before it had even begun.

But despite the rough beginning, Zaputo and his men succeeded in driving the scavengers back, pushing them away from the boats. Somehow they made it to the shore. They couldn't hold out for long, however. Even with the combined forces of the
Crimson Belle,
the
Purgatory,
and the captives from Divino, there were simply too many of the wretched creatures to keep at bay.

So caught up was he in the battle, Tom had to remind himself why they were there. They didn't come to Arx to fight the scavengers, but to get the book. If he held out any hope at all of doing that, they needed to get to the fortress
now.

Porter had apparently reached the same conclusion. As Tom swung his torch, knocking a particularly nasty gray-haired scavenger to his knees, he felt his brother give his shoulder a rough shove.

“Go!” Porter shouted.
“Now!”

Zaputo and four of his men moved into place to shield them from the battle. Tom, with Porter, Willa, and Mudge beside him, took off at a sprint, stumbling over shattered skulls and bones, dimly aware of the horrific scene he was leaving behind.