Island of Shipwrecks (23 page)

But Aaron seemed eternally thick-headed when it came to
Gondoleery. And if it became clear that Liam was mistaken about her, Aaron might turn against him. He had to be very careful about what he said.

“Come along, then,” Aaron said. He glanced this way and that to make sure there weren't throngs of Quillens about, watching him, and then he strode across the driveway to the rocks and rubble. He walked carefully from piece to piece, all the way down to where the sea lapped at them. Liam followed close behind.

“It has a different sound to it,” Aaron said after a while. “Doesn't it?”

“Oh, yes,” Liam said, though he didn't have a clue what Aaron meant.

“Not disturbing,” Aaron said.

“No, not at all. Peaceful, even.”

Aaron liked that. “Peaceful.” He strained his eyes westward, looking at the vastness of it all—the sea, the sky. He'd seen it before, of course, but never at a time when he wasn't filled with panic, so it looked somehow less frightening now. “Not much out there.” He dipped his hand into the water and let the liquid drip out between his fingers.

“No,” Liam said. “And if there
was
something, we'd see it from quite far away, I should think. We'd have plenty of time to prepare for whatever it was.”

Aaron nodded and dried his hand on his pants, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon. Every now and then he thought he saw a bump or two far away, but then the bumps would waver and almost disappear, though one seemed to be quite consistent. He stared at it until his eyes watered. Closing them for a moment, Aaron imagined himself sitting and relaxing on the rocks by the water. It seemed like it could be very pleasant here, as long as Quill wasn't about to be attacked from all sides.

Soon the moment of peace passed, and he grew anxious again.

“All right, well, that's enough of that.” He turned and started hiking up the rocky bank toward the palace. As he climbed, his mind replayed the conversation. Something was stuck in his craw and he couldn't seem to get beyond it.

When they reached the driveway once more, Aaron turned to Liam. “What do you suppose Gondoleery is up to?”

Liam's heart skipped a beat. “I don't know, sir, but I'm not certain that I trust her to be fully, ah, supportive of you. I might be wrong, though.”

Aaron scowled, remembering the bolt of fire she'd hit Meghan with. “I don't trust her either. She's sneaky and dangerous. Don't be afraid to speak up if you notice anything amiss, all right, Governor? But I'm betting on us. Once we get a plan in place with General Blair, we'll have the full support of the Quillitary, and we'll no longer have a need for her. I'm thinking it'll soon be time to send Governor Rattrapp back to the Ancients Sector. Her usefulness to me has quite run out.”

Liam nodded. “That might solve some problems,” he said lightly. The biggest problem of all was more like it. It wouldn't fix everything, but . . .

As always, Liam kept his thoughts to himself. It was an interesting tightrope to walk, he mused, and his respect for the dearly departed Eva Fathom continued to grow. He was actually a little afraid of being able to fill her shoes. He just couldn't mess this up. Not for Artimé, not for Claire, and certainly not for Meghan, who was the only one who seemed to believe in him. At least for now.

The pressure was blinding.

T
he trip to the Quillitary was slow and labored due to the extra weight of the barrels, and for a time Aaron feared they wouldn't make it. He was tempted to pour a bit of the oil into their jalopy's engine to ensure their arrival, but after having topped off the barrels so perfectly, Aaron didn't want to dip into the precious liquid until the general had seen it.

As they puttered along, Aaron took in the new, somewhat shocking view of the sea the entire way. The Quillitary and Necessaries had done a decent job smoothing out the rubble, spreading it from the side of the road, down the slope, and to
the shore. Aaron had to admit the work was quite impressive. It was strange how quickly he was growing accustomed to seeing the water all around.

When they finally arrived inside the Quillitary grounds, Aaron, Liam, and the driver wrestled the barrels of oil from the vehicle. Aaron sent the driver away to wait for them while one of the Quillitary soldiers went to get General Blair.

As they waited, Aaron looked around. The Quillitary grounds remained enclosed with walls on all sides—only the gate provided access, as before. Aaron scratched his head, wondering about it, but soon General Blair came striding toward them. Aaron put the thought aside and stood tall, extending his hand in greeting.

The general eyed the barrels. “What's this?” he asked.

“It's the oil I promised you for your vehicles,” Aaron said. “Would you like to have a look?”

“Humph,” the general said.

Aaron took that to mean yes, so he unfastened the lid of one of the barrels and lifted it, letting the excess oil drip back in.

General Blair dipped his finger into the liquid and withdrew it. He rubbed the oil between his thumb and finger and studied
the residue. He put his thumb to his nose and sniffed, then held his hand out in front of him, regarding the oil once more.

“Does it work?” he asked.

Aaron blinked. He hadn't actually done a test. Liam shifted uncomfortably next to him, and Aaron blurted out, “Of course it works.”

“Let's see, then.” The general looked around the yard and chose one of the vehicles that seemed to be in good shape.

Aaron, who had forgotten to bring along a smaller can in which to transport the oil, looked around the yard for something he could use. He found a rusty pail, shook out the dust, and dipped it into the barrel, careful not to make it overflow.

Cupping his hand under the pail to catch every precious drop, Aaron walked over to the vehicle. The general lifted the hood and propped it open, and then he stood back and folded his arms across his chest.

Aaron looked over all the different parts of the engine, trying to figure out what each was for, and trying to locate the right spot for the oil without giving away his ignorance. After careful examination, Aaron determined that there were only three possible parts into which he could pour liquid. He
eliminated one of them immediately, and then blindly chose from the other two, unscrewed the cap, and peered inside. He couldn't see anything, but it smelled faintly like chicken grease.

Feeling quite sure he'd found the right spot, he first crawled under the vehicle, looked around for a way to remove the existing grease, unscrewed a cap below the tank, and drained the liquid that was in there. When the container was empty, he closed the drain, slid out, and poured his cashew oil into it. He screwed the cap on and dropped the hood with a startling clang, then went to the driver's seat to see if he could get the vehicle to start. He'd never done that before, either, but he'd watched how it was done on several occasions and he felt pretty comfortable giving it a try. He glanced at Liam, who was doing a terrible job of hiding his anxiety, and turned the key that sat in the ignition.

The vehicle choked and sputtered.

Aaron quickly turned it off. He pumped a pedal on the floor as he'd seen his drivers do on occasion, and then he turned the ignition once more.

The vehicle screeched, protested, and died on its own.

Aaron didn't know what to do. Sweat dripped from his
temples and down his cheeks. He leaned back in the seat, craning his neck to look at the pedals on the floor, and tried pumping a different one. Then he took a deep breath and turned the ignition once more.

This time the vehicle sputtered and roared with life.

Aaron bit his lip to hide his glee and held his breath, wishing for his luck to hold as the roar settled to a smooth purr. After a minute, Aaron looked up and saw that a few of the Quillitary soldiers had gathered around to see what was happening. He could hear their comments about the bright sound and the smooth chug of the engine, which confirmed what he already knew to be true—that Quillitary vehicles had never sounded so steady before.

Leaving it running, Aaron stepped out so that the general could take it for a test drive, and he watched as the man rode around the yard in a circle. A moment later the general got out and instructed one of his soldiers to take it for a ride up to the palace and back at top speed to see how fast it would go now.

As the vehicle sped out of the grounds and onto the main road, Aaron, Liam, and the general jogged after it for a few yards, watching it leave a huge cloud of dust in its wake.

“Not bad, High Priest,” General Blair said. He looked at Aaron. “Maybe you're useful after all.” He turned and walked toward his house, laughing to himself as if he'd just made a mean joke. After a few steps, he turned and looked at the high priest and governor. “Well, come on, then! Let's plot the demise of Artimé.”

G
eneral Blair invited Aaron and Liam to sit around the table in his house. Spread across it were half a dozen little black instruments with bits of rusty barbed wire attached.

“What are these?” Aaron asked.

“I'm not sure,” General Blair said. “They came off the top of the wall in different places. I've never seen anything like them before.”

Liam picked one up and turned it in his hand, and then his mouth went dry. He knew what they were. Eva had told him about the screens in Mr. Today's—now Alex's—office
that constantly showed different parts of Quill. These were the magical cameras. He set the piece down. “Looks like a piece of junk to me.”

The general shot Liam a curious look, and then shrugged. “Maybe,” he said.

“What did you end up doing with the barbed wire, by the way?” Liam asked, trying to change the subject.

“My soldiers are cutting it up and stacking the pieces here in the Quillitary grounds. We'll use it for weapons eventually.”

Aaron nodded. “Resourceful,” he said. “Really smart.”

“Of course it is,” said General Blair, his face clearly showing signs of annoyance. “Well, then, let's discuss. We'll begin with everything that went wrong in the initial battle with Artimé.”

“Good idea,” offered Aaron. He was really out of his element now, yet couldn't seem to stop commenting. “Go ahead.”

“If you'll keep quiet,” General Blair muttered.

“I will,” Aaron said. “Continue. Please.”

The general cleared his throat. “First, they saw us coming from a mile away,” he said. “And our approach was ridiculously slow.”

“But that little problem is fixed now, isn't it?” Aaron asked
smugly. He pointed out the window at the soldier who had already driven to the palace and back, and was now getting out of the vehicle.

General Blair ignored him. “We're removing the wall, which was the main hindrance and cause of our initial loss. And we're working to smooth out the terrain so that the rubble is something our vehicles can drive over if necessary. And while my Quillitary is doing that painstaking job, they are also preparing for the battle by using the rubble as a physical training device. Soon they'll be perfectly nimble and able to run at top speed over the rocks anywhere in Quill and Artimé.”

“That sounds extraordinarily wise,” Aaron said, trying to sound wise himself, but not doing a very good job bluffing his way through all things Quillitary. He tapped a finger to his chin. “And what about weapons? Besides the potential new ones made of wire, I mean?”

General Blair narrowed his eyes. “There's nothing wrong with our weapons.”

Aaron glanced sidelong at Liam, who didn't return the look. “Nothing wrong with the weapons?” Aaron repeated, trying not to sound too incredulous. What was the general
thinking? The weapons were a mess of rusty scrap metal from ages past, and a few guns with almost no bullets left. “It seems like excellent weaponry might be an important factor when fighting against magic.”