Salamaine's Curse (5 page)

Then, in a movement so fast Tom had no warning it was coming, a skeletal hand shot from the water and grabbed his wrist.

Tom yelped and jerked back his hand, but no matter how hard he tugged, he couldn't break the hold. Mostly bone and claw, the hand was not quite human, not quite animal, but something in between. The thing—whatever it was clung to it, searing his flesh like a burning hot vise.

As he watched in horror, a skeletal face slowly took shape beneath the water's surface. It peered up at him with an angry scowl, its teeth black and rotted, its watery eyes bloodshot, a grayish-green tinge to its peeling flesh.

Umbrey swore and grabbed Lost's lantern. He jerked the candle free and thrust the flame at the claw imprisoning Tom's wrist. The creature abruptly released him.

Tom staggered backward. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as he drew in great gulps of air. His gaze shot to the map, but the creature was gone. The map returned to its dull, dry state. There was no evidence of what he'd seen or felt. Nothing except the angry red welt that was beginning to form on his wrist.

“What was that?”

Umbrey and Lost exchanged a long, silent look. “I had hoped when the boy took the sword, we might be spared that particular calamity.”

“What was that thing?” Tom pressed.

“They're known as scavengers, lad,” Umbrey said. “The Cursed Souls Sea has been home to those nasty creatures for centuries. But now they're on the move.”

“You're certain?” Lost asked. “It's not just—”

“There have been sightings.”

“I see.” Lost gave a curt nod. His narrow lips puckered, as though he were tasting Umbrey's words and finding them bitter. Moving with utmost care, he gently latched the lantern shut. “Well. So there you have it.”

“Have what?”
Tom said.

“Reckoning,” Lost answered flatly. “The scavengers are a penance, Mr. Hawkins. Retribution for past sins. That creature …” His voice faded away as he stared blindly off into the dark corners of the boathouse. Tom could almost see the headmaster's thoughts whirling. Then Lost's gaze moved to Umbrey.

“The map,” he said, pointing to the parchment. “I take it there may be a way to stop them?”

“Aye.”

“The black book?”

Umbrey gave a reluctant nod. “I'm afraid it's our only chance.”

Lost thought for a moment longer, then drew himself up. His dark eyes burned with fiery righteousness. In the flickering candlelight, dressed as he was in his old-fashioned suit, he looked for a moment like a stock character in some ancient black-and-white movie. The avenging preacher facing down a horde of brash outlaws.

“Mr. Hawkins,” he intoned, “you claim you are ready to return to the Five Kingdoms.”

Tom jumped to attention. He gave a firm nod. “I am.”

“Very well.” Lost's keen gaze combed him over from head to foot. “Fools will tell you that there are infinite shades of gray in life. That the line between right and wrong can easily be blurred. Do not believe them. There is good and there is evil. That is all. You are about to discover that every action, every choice, every
wish,
has a direct and tangible consequence.” He paused, his eyes boring into Tom's. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Lost turned to Umbrey. “I commend him into your care. I suspect the boy would like to return alive and unharmed. A reasonable request. This would be my preference, if it is at all possible.”

“I can't make you any promises, Mortimer, given what we're up against, but I'll do my best.” Umbrey rolled the map and returned it to the inner pocket of his frock coat. He turned to look at Tom. “Ready, lad?”

“Ready,” Tom replied, though suddenly he wasn't quite as sure. He wanted a middle ground. Somewhere between Lost's dire warnings and Umbrey's devil-may-care attitude. But clearly that wasn't an option.

He followed Umbrey out of the building. The driving rain had lessened, diminishing to a soft sprinkle. In its place, a heavy fog enveloped the lake. As Tom watched, the mist parted, allowing him a glimpse of an enormous, old-fashioned sailing ship parked against the edge of the dock. He blinked, certain he had imagined it, but when he opened his eyes again it was still there.

Painted in gold on the side of the hull was the name
Purgatory.
The ship shimmered in the moonlight, its billowing white sails almost ghostlike.

Lost studied the ship in silence, a faraway look in his eyes. In a tone that was almost wistful, he said, “She's a fine vessel, Umbrey.”

“Aye, that she is.” Umbrey joined Lost in admiring the ship. Then he gave a brisk nod and strode up the plank shouting orders to his crew. Tom moved to follow him.

“Mr. Hawkins.”

He stopped and turned.

Lost stood on the dock, tightly clenching his book of demerits. His mouth worked silently, as though he was struggling to spit something out. Finally he managed, “Despite your wild and willful behavior, your presence at this academy is not completely intolerable. Try not to do anything idiotic and get yourself killed.”

Tom stared at him in astonishment. Coming from the headmaster, that was almost a hug. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He followed Umbrey aboard. Unlike Umbrey, who displayed a natural affinity for fine clothing, dressing in outrageous velvets and laces, his crew was comprised of a motley assortment of crude, rough, heavily armed men. To Tom, they looked more like a biker gang than a group of sailors. But he had seen them in action and their loyalty to their captain was unquestioned.

Working with the silent precision, they quickly had the
Purgatory
under way. The sails snapped, capturing the wind and propelling them forward on the lake's rolling surface. The deck pitched and rolled beneath his feet. Tom watched from the stern as Professor Lost faded into a small, insignificant speck.

Turning away, he joined Umbrey on the foredeck.

“Ah, there you are!” Umbrey said. “Nothing like the thrill of setting off on a new voyage. Isn't that right, lad?”

Tom grinned. He had never been aboard a ship before. But if this was what it was like, he could understand why men spent their lives at sea.

“Almost there,” Umbrey continued. “It'll just be another minute now. But I'm afraid our landing might be a bit damp.” He grabbed a shiny yellow hat and matching slicker from a nearby hook and slipped them on. He offered a similar getup to Tom.

“Uh, no thanks.” It was bad enough that one of them looked like the guy on the fish stick box. He could handle a little water.

Umbrey shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Turning away, Tom peered into the distance, enjoying the gentle fanning of the breeze against his face, the light sprinkle of rain hitting his cheeks.

Then something occurred to him. He'd been so caught up in the thrill of the midnight sail, he hadn't paid attention to their trek across the water. He took into account the size of the ship and the speed at which they were traveling. Odd. They should have reached the end of the lake by now.

He realized with a jolt of surprise that he couldn't even
see
the end. None of the towering pines that rimmed the lake were visible. Instead, all he could make out ahead of them was shimmering darkness. The horizon was blacker than black, as though someone had punched a hole in the night sky. A gaping empty hole …

Then he heard it. Subtle at first, then stronger and stronger. The roar of water tumbling over a cliff. A roar so loud it sounded like an explosion.

“Steady, men!” Umbrey cried. “Keep her straight. Easy does it!”

Tom's mouth went dry. He'd seen it over and over, but he hadn't connected it. Hadn't believed it. Even though ancient maps all showed the same thing: ships falling off the edge of the earth. He had assumed it was a fantasy invented by cartographers. Proof of their ignorance of the curvature of the earth.

Reality hit him hard.
He'd
been the ignorant one. The earth did have an edge, and he was about to plummet over it. The sails snapped, the timbers creaked and groaned. The ship shuddered as though it was about to be split in two.

The
Purgatory
tipped, teetering over the vertical brink. Tom's stomach lurched as the horizon tilted, then swung out of view.

Umbrey shot him a grin. Anticipation gleamed in his eyes as he gripped the ship's rail.

“Hold on tight, lad. We're going in.”

T
he
Purgatory
pitched forward, shooting head-first into a freefall. Absolute darkness enveloped them, leaving nothing but the ear-shattering roar of water. Tom's knees buckled. He scrambled for a hold but was too late. His feet slid out from under him, knocking him forward. His body slammed upside down against the rail as though he'd been caught in mid-somersault with his cheek pressed against the deck and his feet dangling in the air. He tried to right himself but gravity pinned him down and held him there, settling atop him like an invisible weight.

Just when it seemed their fall would never end, the ship abruptly righted. Unable to stop himself, Tom slid backward as the
Purgatory
landed with a tremendous splash. An enormous wave slammed the deck. Tom's clothing had just begun to dry after his plunge in the icy lake. Now it was plastered to his skin once again, soaked.

He coughed up water. Dazed, he blinked up at the night sky. Stars. There were stars in the sky again. Which meant they'd made it … somewhere.

Umbrey leaned over him, his scruffy face temporarily blocking Tom's line of vision. He slipped off his rain slicker and hat and hung them up. Then he grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Quite a ride, eh, lad?”

Tom had clenched his jaw to keep from screaming during their descent. Now he wrenched his teeth apart and asked, “Does that mean we're still alive?”

“Aye. Alive and then some. Nothing like a dip over the edge of the earth to get a man's blood pumping.”