Island of Shipwrecks (6 page)

A
aron and Liam stepped back in shock.

“General Blair,” Aaron said under his breath, trying to keep his composure as much as one could expect to when a huge angry man you thought was dead came barreling toward you. Was it a ghost?

“Who invited you?” boomed the towering general. He wore a threadbare Quillitary jacket that strained at the shoulder seams, and his shirt placket was open to mid-chest. As he drew close, Aaron gaped at the jagged red scar that swept from his ear to the hollow of his throat. One end of it looked swollen and angry.

“We came of our own accord,” Aaron said, trying not to look at the hideous scar. Was that pus oozing from the swollen end? Aaron's stomach churned. He focused on the general's sun-chapped face. The man had distinct wrinkles now, and his hair was decidedly gray in the parts that framed his face. “And you'll address me as High Priest,” Aaron added. His voice wavered but his confidence returned. “I thought you were dead.”

“Apparently I didn't stay that way for long,” the general growled. “What do you want? Excuse me . . . I meant, what do you want,
High Priest
?” he asked, a sneer in his voice.

Liam's eyes widened but he remained scared speechless.

Aaron lifted his chin. “Keep working on that,” he said lightly. He picked up the large sack of produce and nuts from the Favored Farm.

“Why, I'll . . .” General Blair's threat died in his scarred throat.

“I've brought you a gift.” Aaron opened the sack and showed General Blair.

The general remained skeptical. “In exchange for what?”

“Nothing at all,” Aaron said.

Liam found his voice once more. “It's just a gift,” he added. “Nothing, um—”

“Who are you?” interrupted the general.

“Liam Healy, sir. Governor, that is. I mean
I'm
a governor. Not you.” Liam cringed and was silent.

General Blair looked him over. “Ah, yes. I heard about you.”

“Oh?” Liam asked weakly. “From whom?”

The general didn't answer.

Aaron let his gaze wander past the hulking man to the stations of workers who had begun clanking metal together once more or working on broken-down Quillitary vehicles. “You've changed things,” he said. “How are the vehicles running?”

“Poorly,” General Blair said, his voice retaining its sharp edge despite him taking the sack from Aaron.

Aaron stepped forward and then turned. “Do you mind if I have a look?”

The general glared. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You see,” Aaron continued, acting as if conversation had suddenly become his strong suit, “I know a little bit about these things.” He walked over to a soldier working on a vehicle
and looked under the hood. “You need something more slick to make this work properly. Rain water just won't do. You may remember that I once suggested using the Great Lake of Boiling Oil—”

“Yes, and how did that turn out?” boomed the general. It was clear he didn't like Aaron nosing around his soldiers, undermining him.

“Not well at all,” Aaron said. He saw his opening, took a breath, and lied his face off. “I'm sorry about that, and about . . . Justine. I am. Truly. I never expected my plan to impersonate my Unwanted brother would result in Justine's death. I was foolish.” He didn't think he could say anything more without gagging, so he closed his mouth and left it at that, hoping it would be enough to win the man over.

General Blair frowned. “Yes, you were very foolish. Too foolish to have in my Quillitary, which was why—from my deathbed—I ordered you removed from the university.”

Aaron nodded. It was as he'd thought. “But I did have some good ideas back then.” He pointed to the sack of goods from the Favored Farm.

The general harrumphed.

“And I have some today.” Aaron inspected the vehicle more closely, and then slowly walked around to the other side and leaned over the engine, saying nothing more.

Liam followed the high priest's lead, having no idea what he was looking at but pretending to be quite absorbed in what he saw.

“Hmm,” Aaron said eventually. He straightened and looked around. At one end of the yard was a house, where General Blair most likely had taken up residence in order to remain hidden from the rest of Quill.

Aaron turned suddenly. “Why hasn't it been announced that you are alive? Your name is on the death board.”

“I know.” The man frowned again. “Artimé believed me to be dead from that Unwanted boy's attack. And I was close, but I'm too stubborn to die.”

Aaron nodded and remained silent, hoping the man would go on.

He did. “When I recovered,” the general said, “I decided it was better for everyone to believe I'd been killed. And because of it, no one has expected the Quillitary to be doing anything at all without me. It's kept visitors away. Until now,” he said
wryly, softening a little. “I wish it to remain a secret, because when my Quillitary has fixed our vehicles and become well-equipped enough to battle Artimé once more, I'd very much like to see the look of shock on Samheed Burkesh's face when he sees me . . . right before I kill him.”

A
aron's and Liam's eyes widened at the general's statement—Aaron's in delight, Liam's in fear. But Liam remained quiet, focusing intently on the rusty, dust-covered engine before him.

Aaron, containing the thrill of excitement that threatened to leap out of his throat, merely nodded. “So you're out for revenge on Samheed. Well, he certainly has it coming.”

“Yes,” the general replied, drawing a finger across the wide scar on his neck, “he certainly does.”

“You know, General Blair,” Aaron said, “you and I have
very similar goals. If we worked together, don't you think the battle day would come a lot sooner?”

The Quillitary soldier paused in his work and squinted up at the general, then hurriedly resumed working.

General Blair narrowed his eyes at Aaron. “Follow me,” he said abruptly. “Please, High Priest,” he added diplomatically.

Aaron, smiling inwardly, nodded to Liam to pick up the bag of goods, and together the two followed the general into his house. It looked very much like Haluki's house, not nearly as sparse as the Necessary housing.

“Sit.”

Liam held out a chair for Aaron, then set the bag on the table. Aaron urged him with a nod to empty the bag, so Liam began setting the fruit, vegetables, and nuts in a makeshift display that would, with any luck, keep General Blair on speaking terms.

“You don't have any Quillitary soldiers in here protecting you?” Aaron asked, surprised.

“They saw who you were when you arrived. Sorry to say no one's afraid of you.” He laughed.

Aaron frowned and sat up straighter. He opened his mouth
to explain just why they all
should
be afraid of him, then hesitated.

Liam, whose senses had finally returned to him, stepped in. He waved his hand over the goods. “Twenty pieces of fruit, a cornucopia of vegetables, and enough nuts to last you many weeks,” he said.

The general picked up a handful of nuts. He broke one open with a small hammer, picked the meat from it, and tasted it. “Not bad,” he admitted. He ate another. And another.

Aaron forgot about being offended and stared at the almonds, lost in thought.

“So, High Priest,” the general continued while chewing and swallowing, “you said you know something about engines. I rather doubt it, but perhaps you'll surprise me.” The general popped the rest of the handful of nuts into his mouth and then grabbed an orange and peeled it. “Never seen so much food in one place before,” he muttered. “Sure beats having to send someone out to the Favored Farm every day for four measly items. Waste of time.”

Liam looked sidelong at Aaron, who was clearly concentrating deeply on the pile of nuts on the table. “It surely does,”
Liam said. “High Priest Aaron, do you have anything to say about engines?”

Aaron startled. “What?” He looked at Liam.

“The general asked you what you know about engines.”

“Oh. I, uh . . .” Aaron trailed off, still deep in thought. And then he looked straight at General Blair. “General, I think I can fix the oil issue. It'll help you get the fleet of broken-down vehicles back in service again so you can be prepared to fight Artimé once more.” He leaned in. “If I do that for you, will you work with me on a plan of attack?”

The general looked even more skeptical than before.

Before General Blair could say no, Aaron hastened to tell the general about his plan to enclose all of Artimé into Quill once he'd taken over the magical land, and he promised the general a section of the mansion, should they succeed.

At those words, Liam's lips parted a little in surprise, since by offering a portion of the mansion to the general, Aaron ensured the governors a smaller stake in the place. But he said nothing.

When Aaron had finished, he sat back. “What do you think? Can we work together?”

The general scratched his chin and glared. “I'm still not convinced working with you would do me any good. You'll probably mess everything up. But more importantly, how do I know you aren't a coward? Will you have the courage to do what needs to be done in order to succeed? Your track record is pretty bad.”

“I managed to become high priest,” Aaron said. “That doesn't seem very bad to me.” Still, a wave of fear washed through him. He couldn't screw this up—it was his last option. “Look, General Blair. It's true I've made mistakes; I've already admitted that. But I've learned from them. You can trust me. I'll—I'll—I'll do whatever you say,” he said recklessly.

“Oh, will you now?” For the first time, General Blair smiled, showing his sharp, yellowed teeth. “Prove it.”

“I will,” Aaron said. “What do you want me to do?”

The general put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, staring hard at Aaron, his hideous scar pulsing to the beat of Aaron's own heart. “Son, do you know the reason why we lost the battle last time?”

Aaron tried not to flinch, but the scar was getting closer and closer to Aaron's face. “Because Justine was killed—”

“No!” General Blair shouted, slamming his hand down on the table.

Aaron and Liam jumped.

“No,” the man said again, pointing at Aaron's face. “Not because Justine was murdered.” He stood abruptly and lurched forward, his hands on the center of the table and his face inches from Aaron's. “We lost because we couldn't sneak up on Artimé. We walked right through the gate, our vehicles going single file into their battlefield, and we couldn't get back out again. We lost,” he seethed, “because the High Priest Justine wouldn't let me do what I needed to do to succeed.”

Aaron gulped. The general's breath was hot on his face. Shaking, Aaron pushed his chair back and rose slowly to his feet. It took him several seconds before he trusted himself to speak. “General Blair, what is it
exactly
that you're asking me to do?”

The general straightened up, his face blotched red and purple. When he spoke, his voice was one of quiet anger. “I think you understand quite well what I am asking you,
High Priest
. I want you to take down that blasted wall.”

S
pike Furious, the whale that Alex created in the Museum of Large, was an intuitive creature, so she was the first to sense danger. “Where is the Alex?” she asked from alongside the ship in the darkness.

Alex's eyes flew open. “I'm here. At the back of the ship.” He scrambled to his feet and peered over the side, but he couldn't see her. He couldn't see much of anything. A troubled wind stopped and started. The stars were hidden, and only a hint of moon lit their way tonight.