The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) (10 page)

“So what’s this thing supposed to do, anyway?” The voice didn’t answer. “Hello? Are you still here, mister?”

No answer.

“I must be losing it,” she said to herself.
“A voice with no body.
Yeah, right.”

She reached to pick up the watch and saw its hands spinning backwards faster and faster until she saw exactly what had happened to her brother. It was like she was surrounded by a movie in reverse. Howling sounds vibrated through her.

“Blake!” She saw her brother dodge flames from a deranged giant in the middle of this room. “Blake!” He couldn’t hear her.

Then she saw an old man cowering in the corner of the classroom. The same voice returned. “Close the cover!”

The noise intensified. “What?”

“Close the cover of the watch!”

She snapped it closed. The movie vanished, and the howling stopped. She tried to touch the screen to see if the movie was real, but nothing was there, just the classroom as it had been when she walked in.

The man inhaled, closed his eyes,
then
let it out. “Zounds!
A bit too close for these old bones.”
He extended his trembling hand. “Leopold Wyatt, your uncle.”

Eyes wide, Erica didn’t take his hand. She couldn’t move. “How did you…?”
 
She stammered, trying to finish her thought.

“Ah, yes, yes, yes.” The man dropped his hand. “This must be terribly confusing for you. I apologize for this impromptu meeting, but I had no choice.”

“Uncle Leopold?” Erica
asked,
her thoughts in a jumble. “I never heard of you before.”

“No time for formalities. We must get to your brother before it’s too late.” He snatched the pocket watch from her hand.

Erica looked around. Could all this be real? Mom never mentioned any uncles. Besides her mom and brother, she had no family. “I don’t believe you’re my uncle.”

“Yes, Miss Wyatt, I am.
Now chop-chop.
No time to spare. Young Blakemore needs our help.”

“How do you know his real name?”

The man continued to turn the dials on the old watch, staring at the timepiece with a concentration that made her feel invisible.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Like hellooo! I said, how--”

“Please, you mustn’t dawdle. We must get ready.”

“For what?”

The old man looked at her.
“For your place in history, Miss Wyatt.”

Erica suddenly remembered where she had seen that strange bird-lion thing carved in the watch--in her mother’s closet. Several years before, she had been rummaging through dresses and hats, trying on stuff, when she found a shiny box with the same weird bird-lion etched on the lid. She had opened the box and found a handwritten paper tucked inside. She was too little to understand most of the words, but she remembered the last sentence: Hide the children--Love, Michael. Erica had stuffed the box back in the closet and never told anyone what she had found that day.

Now a cold feeling moved through her. The room rumbled, shaking the overhead lights. The man who claimed to be Uncle Leopold pressed the watch into her hand. “He found us!”

“Another Wyatt for my collection,” said a deep voice from behind her.

Goose bumps crawled up her arm. She turned. The monster from the movie stared at her. Her mouth froze open. Her breathing stopped.

“This is too easy,” the giant said. “The great chronicle disappears with a thirteen-year-old boy, and now his eleven-year-old sister and a decrepit old traitor are left to save him.
Pathetic.
I was hoping for a better fight. But the end will be the same.”

“Don’t let go of the watch,” the old man whispered.

“As if that matters.”
The creature laughed. “I’m annoyed by these constant interruptions.” He extended his thick fingers toward Erica’s hand. “I’ll take that. A good tempus should never go to waste.”

Erica loosened her grip. The watch was gone.

Looking at the floor, the old man shook his head. “No hope, no hope, none at all.”

“So true.”
The giant reached into his jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”

CHAPTER 10

A SECRET TREASURE

Banging rattled Columbus’s cabin door.

“Admiral!
Admiral! Open up! Please! It’s Diego!”

Blake grabbed the chronicle, his only connection with real life, and wedged himself under the table. Could that giant flamethrower have followed him?

Columbus cracked his door. “What now?”

“My apologies, sir.
Rat’s swinging his knife, knocking over barrels, and kicking at nothing. He says dogs are attacking him.”

Columbus said something to Diego, stepped out of the cabin, and closed the door behind him. Blake hesitated,
then
crawled out.

He placed the chronicle on the table. Turning to the page about Columbus, he read and reread the passage: A secret evil walks her decks . . . and destiny almost dies. He couldn’t make sense of it. And where were the Parabulls?

The door squeaked open. He snapped closed the book.

Columbus slipped back into his cabin and shut the door. He slid out a grungy trunk from under his bed and ratcheted the lid open. He sifted through neatly folded clothes and tossed a wrinkled shirt and what looked like scratchy black football pants onto the bed. “You may find these garments not to your standards, but you must look as though you belong on this ship. We have much work to do.”

“What do you mean ‘work’? I can’t stay here, dude.” Blake ignored the pile of clothes as he backed away. He didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to have to fit in. “Hey, uh, Mr. Columbus, I understand what you’re trying to do here, but this whole discovering America thing? Yeah, well, that’s all you. I had nothing to do with that.”

Columbus briefly rubbed his chin. He collected the clothes and returned them to the trunk before shoving it back under the bed. He pulled out a small metal chest with a lock dangling from the latch. “A man succeeds because of the help of many, Blake.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I’m just a kid.”

“What should any of us do except that which drives us
forward.
” Columbus placed the chest on the bed. “Inside is a treasure more valuable than all the queen’s jewels. Few have been privileged to see it.”

Blake moved closer. “What is it?”

Columbus pulled a chain with a key attached over his head. He unlocked the chest and then lifted the cover. A small, worn leather book and some old-looking paper, rolled up and tied with string, filled the space inside. “I cannot let this map fall into the wrong hands. I have protected it for many years.” He untied the knot and spread the paper across the table.

“It looks like a little kid drew this,” Blake said.

“Quite the contrary.
Queen Isabella so believed in my enterprise after seeing this map, she sold some of her jewels to raise money for our expedition.”

“Cool. You mean this map shows where the treasure is?”

“Sit down, Blake.” He offered a rickety wooden chair.

Blake shook his head. “Look, Mr. Columbus, I know this exploration stuff is very important--believe me, you have no idea how important. But just this morning I was like every other kid, and then--” He glanced out the window. “Something really weird happened, and then I’m here with you--Christopher Columbus. I mean, you’re supposed to be dead.”

Columbus’s eyebrows shot up.
“Dead?
So you, too, have come to make sure I end up as food for the fishes?”

“No, no, sir!” Blake paced a few steps. “It’s just that you’re a famous guy where I come from. I mean, discovering America was huge. You got lots of stuff named after you, books and statues--oh, yeah, we even get a day off school because of you. Besides that, a lot of people are depending on this whole trip of yours.” Blake looked back at the ocean. “Geez, how am I going to get home?”

“America? Is that a place?”

“It’s where I live, dude. You discovered it! Well, the Indians were already there, but . . . how do I explain this?” He raised the chronicle higher. “You ended up in this book, okay?”

“I’m in that book?”

“Yeah, dude! It’s like you’re completely clueless about what you’re supposed to do here, and I don’t want to have to be the one to tell you. Someone way more important than me should be layin’ this stuff on you.” Blake looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I know you kinda don’t understand what’s going on here, either, but--”

Something big smashed against the door outside the cabin. Columbus slowly opened the door and then hurried out.

Blake peeked at the deck below. Pieces of a barrel lay scattered on the quarterdeck. A large man with long, dark hair and a red knit cap pushed a guy he called Rat against the ship’s rail. Three other sailors tried to attach metal cuffs to his ankles. Columbus grabbed a pile of thin rope and tossed it to a big guy with curly black hair, and he tied Rat’s hands.

Blake crept farther out the door and spotted the Parabulls gathered near the ship’s main mast. Glistening brightly against the haggard wood of the Santa Maria, they looked at him,
then
vanished.

“Wait! Wait! You can’t leave me here!” He started down the steps but stopped when a man shouted, “Demon!”

Blake felt all the sailors looking at him. He turned and crept back into the cabin.

Columbus
followed,
closing and locking the door behind him. “I beg of you, change your clothes. After my men tend to Rat, they will demand answers.”

Blake glanced toward the trunk but again disregarded the commander’s request. “What’s going to happen to that guy?”
 

“Chains and a beating.”

Blake looked at the door. Shouts amplified on the other side. “Hey, uh, that’s getting pretty loud. Do you need to get back out there?”

“My men are capable of handling these problems.” The explorer returned to the map and wiped ocean spray from a coiled edge. “Blake, why do we even attempt that which is difficult?”

“Don’t ask me, man. I always look for whatever's easiest.”

“Well, then, we do indeed have something in common. I look for the easiest solution as well.”

“You?”

“Yes. It’s right in front of you.”

“This scribble?”

Columbus chuckled for the first time. “Well, let me tell you how I came into possession of this scribble, and then you might understand. When I was a boy in Genoa, I would stare at the ocean for hours. I wondered what was beyond all that water. My father would sometimes find me hiding on ships in the port, some ships from as far away as Ireland and Africa. I envied the sailors. These men were of every color and religion. They told amazing stories.”

Columbus paused. “So I left Genoa when I was twenty-two, and the sea became my home.”

“You didn’t have to go to school for this?”

“I have no formal schooling. I taught myself to read and write and how to sail by the stars.”

“Weren’t you afraid to leave? I mean, didn’t people think the world was flat? Like you might fall of the edge or something?”

Columbus chuckled again. “That idea faded into folklore long ago, though some still cling to such ideas. I don’t believe I could have convinced any of these men to follow me over the edge of the world.”

“I guess not.”

Columbus studied the map and ran his finger along a dotted line. “If I am correct, then the best route to the Orient, and wealth beyond compare, is to follow the setting sun.”

“Weren’t you trying to discover America?”

Columbus casually leaned against the table. “Once again, you talk of this America.”

“The United States of America?
It’s--oh, never mind.”

Columbus raised his brow. “You are familiar with lands that I’ve not yet encountered.” The noise outside grew louder, and something hit the door again. “But for right now, I’m more concerned about what’s happening to my men.”

Columbus rolled up the map and returned it to the metal chest. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Someone pounded on the door.
“Admiral!
Rat has escaped! No one can find him!”

Columbus unlocked and opened the door. “What do you mean no one can find him? It’s a ship, for God’s sake.” He left the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Blake picked up the chronicle from the table. What was going on out there? He opened the door and peeked out. The ship’s crew was looking in barrels and under heaps of fabric. Some went down a hatch, and some scanned the water, probably looking for a body.

“Fools.”
A gruff voice from behind surprised him.

Blake turned. The man called Rat leaned against the table.

“What do ya know?” Rat slid a knife from his belt. “It is a Wyatt.”