Salamaine's Curse (15 page)

Tom heard the note of pride in his voice, but figured he could be forgiven a little swagger. After all, he had single-handedly fought the vicious folly to which the rattle once belonged. He
earned
it. He had every right to keep it for himself. Instead, in a gesture of selfless generosity—extreme selfless generosity— he was willing to give up his own dreams and use it to get the
Purgatory
through the Coral Crater.

He fixed a small smile on his face and looked around the room, waiting to receive their effusive showers of admiration and gratitude.

“Are you crazy? What's wrong with you? What are you thinking, hanging on to something like that?” This, from Porter.

“Don't touch it, Mudge!” shouted Willa as she yanked back the boy's hand.

“I thought I told you to get rid of that blasted thing!” roared Umbrey.

Tom blinked.
“Get rid of it?
Are you kidding me?” He stared at them. He gestured to the folly's rattle. “That's it, that's our answer! All I have to do is wish—”“NO!” they shouted in unison, lunging toward him as though they were going to slam their hands over his mouth. “Don't say it!”

Tom looked around the room, then narrowed his gaze at Umbrey. “What is this? You told me I could wish for anything and it would be granted.”

“Aye, but at a cost,” Umbrey reminded him. “Always at a cost. Wishes are dangerous things. I told you that, too.”

“You wish us through that channel,” Porter said, “and there's a good chance we'll end up sinking to the bottom of it.”

Tom shook his head. “That doesn't make any sense. Either my wish is granted, or it's not.”

“It's not that simple,” Willa said. Willa studied the rattle with a look of stark revulsion. “You see, follies are tricky creatures. They have an uncanny sense of knowing what their opponent is going to do next. That's why their rattles are so rare.”

Tom thought about that. In his brief battle with the creature, the folly had guessed his every move well before he'd made it. Looking back on it, he wondered if the only reason he'd managed to slice off its rattle was because he had thought he was aiming for its throat.

“Go on,” he said to Willa.

“The same is true of granting wishes. That folly is still your opponent. Don't fool yourself into believing he's not. He'll know what you're thinking deep inside and find some way to use your wish against you.”

Porter crossed his arms over his chest and studied Tom. “If you don't believe us, just look what happened to Midas.”

“Midas? You mean, like King Midas? The guy with the Midas touch?”

“Aye, the very one. A brash man,” Umbrey said, shaking his head in disgust. “A greedy one, too. Hadn't held the folly's rattle in his hand for more than thirty seconds when he wished that everything he touched would turn to gold. He got his wish. He couldn't eat—his favorite foods turned to chunks of gold. He couldn't sleep—his warm, soft bed turned to a hardened slab of gold. In the end, he died a broken-hearted man when his beloved daughter turned to a golden statue in his embrace.”

Tom slowly digested that. “All right,” he said. “So this wishing stuff is tricky. Got it. But maybe if I'm very careful—”

“Forget it,” Porter interrupted. “Like I told you before, we don't need you to save us. Quit playing hero. You'll only make things worse.”

“Are you serious?” Tom's annoyance with his brother took on a deeper, sharper edge. “Look, I don't know what your problem—”

The rest of his words were lost when a thunderous boom rocked the cabin. Chairs toppled over. Lanterns, ink wells, and sheaves of paper slid from the desk and crashed to the floor. Tom grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. Willa stumbled into Porter, Mudge hit the floor.

Only Umbrey, with his one good leg, managed to remain fully upright. Cursing soundly, he roared out of the cabin and shot up the ladder to the main deck. Tom stuffed the folly's rattle back in his pocket. Porter grabbed the map of the Cursed Souls Sea, rolled it up, and tucked it inside his shirt. Together they raced after Umbrey, with Willa and Mudge sprinting right behind them.

The shrill clatter of bells greeted them on deck. Crewmen dashed back and forth through a thick haze of acrid smoke. The ear-splitting boom of cannon fire rang out all around them. Until that moment, Tom had no idea how deafening the roar of cannons could be. How the bitter clouds of gunpowder could sting his eyes and clog his throat, totally disorienting him.

In the middle of the chaos, Tom heard a high-pitched whistle bearing straight toward him. He hit the deck, knocking Willa and Mudge down with him. Porter dropped to his belly a second later. A cannonball tore through the heavy canvas sail directly over their heads. It landed in the water on the opposite side of the hull, sending a heavy spray of saltwater pouring down on them.

Then, without warning, a cease-fire. Whoever had been firing on them abruptly stopped.

“Stand down!” Umbrey roared to his crew. “Hold your fire!” He stormed across the deck and snatched a spyglass from a crewman's hand. “Give me that. Let's see what we're up against.”

The smoke and haze slowly cleared. The
Purgatory
pitched and rolled as the helmsman tried to maneuver the bulky vessel into a battle-ready position.

Tom rose to his feet and gazed out across the starboard side. As he watched, a three-masted ship drifted out from behind a floating mass of trees. The vessel was entirely red. Billowing red sails, sleek red hull, and polished red decks.

The ship didn't move like Umbrey's vessel, or like any other ship Tom had ever seen. It was smaller, quicker, almost cat-like in its maneuverability. It strutted across the water, taunting the
Purgatory
with its lithe grace. Then it swung around, its cannon bearing directly down on Umbrey and his crew, taking up a position of unmistakable hostility.

Tom braced himself for the impact of artillery. But the ship held its fire. Instead of shooting at them, it hoisted a large black flag with a single red palm print in the center of the cloth off the stern.

Although he had no idea what the flag signaled, Umbrey's men obviously did. The presence of the flag drew a harsh and immediate response. All around him, the crew erupted, swearing and shouting, and violently shaking their fists at the other vessel.

“No sacrifice!”

“We'll take ‘em down with us!”

“Rather dead than bled!”

Rather dead than bled?
Tom shot a glance at Willa and Mudge, who gripped the ship's rail so tightly their knuckles went white. Beside them, Porter surveyed the flag with a look of dread.

“What is it?” Tom asked

“They've raised a flag of sacrifice. Penalty for trespassing on these waters.” Porter swallowed hard, then gestured to the other ship. “They'll allow us to pass, but only for a fee.”

“What sort of fee?”

Porter gestured to the red palm print. “The four fingers on that flag means he's asking for four sacrifices. It's called bleeding the crew. He wants Umbrey to give up four crewmen as fee for our passage through these waters.”

Tom looked at the sleek red vessel. He definitely didn't want to ask the next question, but he did anyway. “What happens to the four crewmen who are sent over?”

Willa turned toward Tom. Normally, in the bright light of day, her hazel eyes danced with shades of gold and green. Now that light was extinguished.

“That's a slaver,” she said, nodding toward the red ship. “Any crewmen Umbrey sacrifices will be sold at the next port and spend the rest of their lives as slaves.”

“What?”
Tom tried to digest the horror of Willa's words, but before he could fully come to terms with them, a single blast rang out. A cannonball landed in the water just a few yards shy of the hull. “What was that?” he said.

“They're marking time,” Porter answered. “A minute has passed since the slaver raised his flag. Umbrey has four more minutes to decide who he'll sacrifice.”

“And if he refuses?”

“Then they'll start firing for real,” Porter replied. “They won't stop until they've blown us out of the water. Most everyone will be killed. Any who survive will be taken prisoner and sold as slaves. If Umbrey can't make a choice, the choice will be made for him.”

Mudge lifted the Sword of Five Kingdoms and rested it lightly against the rail. His expression troubled, he traced his finger lightly over the blade and murmured softly, “The sacrifice of a few innocents, for the lives of many.”

Tom froze. He looked at Mudge, at the sword, at the red ship…. The glimmer of an idea shot through his mind, but he wasn't fast enough to grasp it. There was a solution there, right there, if he could just
think.

The sacrifice of a few innocents, for the lives of many.

Wasn't that the lesson in the tale of Salamaine's curse? The sacrifice of innocents hadn't worked for Salamaine, so it wouldn't work for them.

A second cannonball exploded through the air.

Three more minutes.

“They're waiting for an answer,” said the crewman to Umbrey's right. “Should I give the word to open fire, cap'n?”

Umbrey lowered his spyglass. He gave a small shake of his head. “He's carrying cargo.”

Tom squinted across the water.
Human
cargo. The lower deck was crowded with men, women, and children—some of them so young they had to be held up to see over the edge of the ship's rail.

Umbrey's lips formed a thin, tight line. “I've never fired on a ship carrying women and children, and I'm not about to start now.”

“Can we outrun them?” Willa asked.

“A ship like that?” Umbrey said, giving a harsh laugh. “No. That vessel was built for speed—speed and treacherous seas. We don't stand a chance against it.”

A third cannonball rocketed through the air.

Two more minutes.