Salamaine's Curse (6 page)

“Right,” Tom groaned. He struggled to his feet and stood, gripping the rail for support, hating the way the ship pitched and swayed beneath him as it settled back into the water. He might have made it over the earth's edge, but clearly he'd left his stomach back at the Forbidden Lake.

“You look a little green around the gills, lad. Never fear, I'll make a sailor out of you yet.”

“Uh, no thanks.” He shot Umbrey a sideways glare. “Did you even
think
about warning me?”

“Warning you? Now where's the fun in that?”

“Fun?
That was fun to you?”

“Course it was. Come now, where's your spirit? Your sense of adventure?” He looked at Tom, watching as rivulets of water ran down his body and gathered in a puddle at his feet. He motioned to a crewman. “Take him below and find him some dry clothes.”

“Wait a minute,” Tom protested. “Wait. First I need to know where—”

“That's an order, lad.”

Tom looked from Umbrey to the burly crewman who waited to take him below decks. A thousand questions burned through his brain, but obviously Umbrey wasn't going to answer them until he cooperated. Biting back his impatience, he followed the crewman down a maze of ladders and passageways, moving deeper and deeper into the belly of the ship until they reached what appeared to be the crew's quarters.

Rows of empty hammocks hung from open rafters, swaying gently to the tidal rhythms. The crewman pulled out a dark chest. Flipped open the lid. Pointed inside.

“Um … got it. Thanks.”

The crewman turned and walked away, leaving Tom alone. He stripped off his sopping wet sneakers, jeans, and Lost Academy T-shirt, exchanging them for a pale linen shirt, dark green tunic, brown woolen pants, and a pair of rugged leather boots. No buttons, zippers, or snaps. All of the clothing laced and tied. He struggled with them for a few frustrating minutes. Finally satisfied his pants wouldn't end up around his ankles when he moved, he rejoined Umbrey above decks.

When he'd gone below, there had been nothing but twinkling stars overhead and the glossy blackness of a vast sea. But in his absence, the
Purgatory
had left the broad sea and entered a channel that carried them inland. Flickering in the distance were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of tiny lights.

“Where are we?”

“Approaching Divino.”

An anticipatory thrill shot through him. Divino—center of the Five Kingdoms, Keegan's stronghold. After months of waiting, after long nights wondering how Porter, Willa, and Mudge were faring, he was finally back.

The shrill peal of a bell echoed across the deck, temporarily dampening his excitement. Tom winced and frowned at Umbrey. He thought that particular system of torture had been left behind at the Lost Academy.

“Bells? Really?”

“Duty watch,” Umbrey replied with an indifferent shrug. “Keeps order. Only way to run a ship.” He peered off into the distance, then straightened. “Look sharp, lad. We're here.”

The enormous wooden gates of the walled city came into view. The last time Tom had been in Divino he'd had to scale the walls and fight his way inside. Now Umbrey grabbed a lantern and held it aloft. The lantern had been fitted at the front with a black face that covered the flame. Umbrey slid the door up and down—a signal code, Tom assumed, watching him. Sure enough, the guard stationed in the gate tower signaled back, then the heavy iron bar lifted and the gates that protected the channel slowly groaned open.

As they sailed between them, Tom noted the faint outline of a glowing red eye, symbol of Keegan's army of vicious thugs, was still visible on the gate's wooden surface. Though a dark stain had been applied over it, the eye had not been entirely blotted out. A chill ran through him at the sight of it. He couldn't help but wonder if the unsuccessful attempt to obliterate the eye was some sort of omen, a dark portent of things to come.

He pushed the thought away as the
Purgatory
drifted downriver and docked. He followed Umbrey across the ship's gangway. They stepped onto what might once have been a bustling wharf. Now, however, the ships, warehouses, and wagons all looked deserted. Everything Tom saw had been cast aside, abandoned in a disturbing, unnatural way—sacks of grain left untended, casks of wine tipped over, bolts of fabrics rolling about in the mud and muck. It was as though whoever owned the goods had simply dropped them there in a hurry and fled.

“What happened here?” he asked, following Umbrey ashore.

Umbrey gave him a quick, sidelong glance. “Best keep your voice down. You'll want to listen now.”

“Listen? For what?”

Umbrey's expression darkened. “Trust me, lad. You'll know it when you hear it.”

When Tom had last left Divino, it had been in the middle of a great celebration. That was a stark contrast to what he saw now. Groups of people cowered in doorways and alleyways, huddled around small rings of fire. Others gathered beneath lit torches. Several buildings had been stripped of wood, suggesting fuel for the fires was in short supply. Tom tried to make sense of it. People hovered near the flames as though in desperate need of heat, though the night was mild.

There was no sound, no noise at all save the soft echo of Umbrey's peg leg hitting the cobbledstoned streets. Nothing else. Just eerie silence. As they walked down the street, Tom could feel their every movement watched, analyzed. Like mist in the moonlight, fear seeped through the alleyways, settled over his skin and clogged his throat. Soon even he was convinced something dark and threatening waited around the next corner.

At last they reached a broad stone building. Djembe warriors guarded the entrance. The iridescent chain mail they wore over their chests shimmered in the flickering torchlight. Their presence should have been reassuring, but somehow it wasn't.

A lone, hooded figure detached itself from the group of warriors. Tall and lean, the figure moved with a long, purposeful stride that Tom recognized at once.

Porter.

Tom and Porter didn't look like brothers. They definitely didn't look like twins. Porter had fair skin, ice blue eyes, and pale blond hair that brushed his shoulders—a stark contrast to Tom's dark complexion, brown eyes, and closely-cropped chestnut hair.

They didn't act like brothers, either. Tom tended to be impulsive and emotional; Porter was rational and distant. Tom took wild chances, Porter calculated odds.

Most importantly, they didn't
feel
like brothers, at least to Tom. More like two strangers who'd been plunged into a situation where they'd had to depend upon each other to survive. As far as he could tell, that was their only bond.

Tom had tried to picture a reunion with Porter. He'd never quite been able to imagine what that would feel like. Now he realized why. They still didn't know each other.

That fact was made even more obvious as they studied each other in silence, caught in a state of clumsy awkwardness. Tom tried to come up with a suitable greeting. A hug wasn't even in the realm of possibility. Shaking hands seemed too formal.

Porter solved the dilemma by giving him a cool nod. “Hey,” he said.

Tom nodded back. “Hey.”

Watching them, Umbrey chortled. “Careful, lads. You'll embarrass me with that gushing display of emotion.”

Porter gave a small, half-smile. It vanished as a low howl sounded in the distance. His face went still and his hand moved to the blade tucked into his belt. His eyes darted to the shadows, seeking out the darkened corners.

“Easy, lad. It's just a dog. Besides, you know that knife won't do you any good.”

Porter relaxed his grip on his blade. His expression sheepish, he gave a quick nod. “Right. I know that.” He let out a long, steadying breath, then looked at Tom. “C'mon. We haven't much time. Willa and Mudge are waiting inside.”

Tom shot a questioning glance at Umbrey. His brother was not the type to easily spook. Porter's nervousness made him even more uneasy.

He didn't have long to dwell on it. Umbrey nodded to the warrior guards, who opened the door and ushered them inside. Tom quickly gained his bearings. They stood in a large, open room, complete with a judge's bench, witness stand, and jury box. There were benches for the spectators. A courthouse of sorts, he surmised.

“Tom!”

Willa grabbed him and wrapped him in a tight hug. Mudge repeated the gesture. For a moment, everything was good. Better than good—exactly the way he'd hoped things would be when he returned to the Five Kingdoms. No abandoned wharfs or sinister shadows lurking in the streets. No hesitation or weirdness at being reunited. Just the hugs and smiles of old friends getting together again. Finally they released each other and stepped back.

“You came,” Mudge said. “I wasn't sure …”

“Of course I'm here. Umbrey said you needed me.”

Mudge nodded and chewed his lower lip. Unable to meet Tom's eyes, he looked away. Though just ten years old, the boy looked weighed down with worry.

Tom's gaze moved to Willa. She dressed in simple wool clothing and styled her long, pale-brown hair in a heavy braid. Tom had remembered that she was pretty. He just hadn't remembered
how
pretty. Or how unassuming she was about it. She was one of those girls who didn't try to be attractive—a fact that made her even more attractive. But as he looked closer, he noticed the shadows under her hazel eyes, suggesting she hadn't slept in days.

He frowned. It didn't make sense. Something wasn't right. They had defeated Keegan. They'd recovered Salamaine's sword, brought Keegan's reign to an end, and installed Mudge as rightful heir and ruler of the Five Kingdoms. The battle was over. Or at least he'd thought it was.

Then he considered what he'd seen since he'd left the
Purgatory.
The darkened streets. The silence and fear.

“What's out there? What's everyone so afraid of?”

“They haven't told you yet?” Willa said, her face pained. “You don't know about Salamaine's Curse? About the scavengers?”