The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) (17 page)

Leopold held her back. “He knows what he must do, my dear.”

“Don’t, Blake!” Tears welled in her eyes.

He looked at his sister for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and slipped out the door.

CHAPTER 19

DIGGING DEEP

Blake whisked down the steps to the main deck in the scratchy clothes. Frenzied guys yanking on lines pivoted the sails, while others tied off the ropes in ridiculous knots. He snapped around when he heard a familiar voice.

“Bring her about!” Pero shouted.

Blake felt the ship turn sharply as he weaved through the hostile crowd. He froze when he spotted Columbus. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and blood from his mouth trickled down his white shirt. The admiral’s hands were tied, and the big guy with the black curly hair had a knife trained to his throat.

A skinny sailor, with coiled ropes flanking his chest and oars occupying both hands, bumped Blake into the side rail. Regaining his balance, he retreated to a less chaotic spot.

“
Where’s the chains
?” Pero slammed the admiral against the ship’s mainmast--a giant telephone pole in the middle of the deck.

“Please,” Columbus said, “my intention was--”

“Deceit!”
Pero jerked back the admiral’s head.
“Chachu!
Get that yawl into the water!”

Three guys lowered a rowboat into the ocean, tied it to the rail, then left. Blake slinked closer to Columbus.

“Diego!”
Pero snapped.

“Coming.”
Diego dragged the shackles and then dropped them at the explorer’s feet. “At least give him water.”

“He’ll get plenty--at the bottom of the sea!”

Diego chained the admiral’s feet to the mast. “I tried to talk to the men.” The lock clicked shut. “God help me.” Diego quickly looked around before pulling a cross from his pocket. “Mine own, sir.” He hung it around Columbus’s neck. “May you find fair winds in
heaven.
”

Columbus stared at the plump sailor but didn’t speak.

Cannons blasted from two approaching ships. “The Niña and Pinta,” Blake muttered.

“We want to see the logbooks!” a man yelled from one of the vessels.

“I’m sending a launch.” Pero hollered back. “Rat and Chachu will bring them! Prepare for return to Spain!”

“We’re rationing water!”

“How about Pinta?”

“Her rudder’s damaged!”

Columbus fell to the deck. “Land is near.” He coughed. “Food and water abound.”

“Lies!”
Pero kicked him in the side.

The admiral looked up. “Please, I know where--”

“No more!” Pero snatched a flopping fish from the deck and shoved it in Columbus’s mouth.
“Rat!
Where are you?”

Blake slipped behind a barrel when Rat emerged from a hatchway near the front of the ship. The guy’s hair looked darker than before, and he seemed bigger, like he was on steroids.
 

Rat pulled aside the sailor they called Chachu. “I’m going to Niña myself.”

Chachu shrugged. “Seas are rough. Storm’s coming.”

Rat ignored him and turned to Pero. “Give me those logbooks.”

The big dude handed them over. “Take a cask of water.”

Rat nodded, tucked the books in his pants, and disappeared down the hatch.

Blake peered over the rail at the dinghy tethered about five feet below him--definitely his best chance to get Columbus’s journal from Rat. Something in that book made these guys totally freak. If he didn’t get it back, the admiral really would be history. They’d definitely feed him to the sharks.

And Erica and I will be next, he thought.

Scanning the deck for a weapon, he spotted a grappling hook on the end of a frayed rope. He sidestepped left, picked up the weapon, and hung it on his pants. He glanced behind him before climbing over the side. The hook banged against the hull and fell into the choppy water. “Crap.” Clinging to the rail, he pulled the dinghy closer with a dangling foot and quietly dropped inside. Two boards spanned its width, and a couple of battered oars straddled the seats. He crawled to a folded canvas near the front, slithered under it, and lay still, flat on his belly.

A few minutes later the small boat rocked. He heard Rat’s voice.

“Keep ’er steady, Chachu.”

Blake felt something heavy squash his hand, probably Rat’s boot. He bit his lip and winced.

“Lower the cask!” Rat shouted.

He heard another clunk. Pain seared through his hand when Rat moved. He felt the front of the boat lift.

“Untie the lines!” Rat ordered.

Blake’s fingers throbbed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but too late now. He searched until he felt the tarp’s edge. He carefully rolled onto his back and peeked out. Rat sat facing the opposite direction. Blake’s heart raced as he gently peeled away the canvas. He slowly twisted to a squatting position. Springing up, he knuckled a killer blow to the side of Rat’s face. The guy’s jaw didn’t budge.

Rat turned, reaching for his knife.

“Not this time!” Blake grabbed an oar and whacked him in the arm, dislodging the weapon into the sea.

Rat recovered, got to his feet, and stopped the swinging oar. “You little--”

Blake pulled hard in a tug-o-war, causing the boat to pitch wildly. The barrel banged the sides as the ocean swamped the hull. Water sloshed around their ankles, and then a huge wave flipped the wobbly boat upside down.

Salty water rushed down his throat as the ocean swallowed him. Flailing, he searched for light. Above, the upended dinghy floated, ropes drifting like tentacles. He swam for the lines, but the current sucked him down. The boat looked farther away. He needed air. His head felt light. Uncle Leopold’s voice resonated--Just give up, then. It’s quite easy to do. You have considerable experience with that. He tried to block his uncle’s lecture.

I’m not quitting, Blake thought. His lungs ached as he struggled. Rope floated past his stinging eyes. He reached for it. Scratchy, braided fiber brushed his palm. He snagged the slimy line, but his hand slid off. Kicking harder, he clutched the rope again. Using the last of his strength, he climbed to the surface. Aah! He gasped for air and waited for life to revive his body.

The capsized boat buoyed him about thirty feet from the ship. Blake looked up. Rat leaned on the ship’s rail. He looked perfectly dry! They locked eyes before the thug held up the logbooks, sneered, and disappeared into the crowd.

Blake spat up water as he reached for the drifting hull. Shivering, he dug his fingers into the wood. Splinters shot under his nails. Closing his eyes he remembered the picture on his mom’s dresser. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry. A squishy log bumped his leg. He quickly looked down.

“Shark!” someone shouted.

Blake twirled the rope around his wrist. He crawled on the dinghy but slipped back into the water.
“Help!
Someone, help me!”

“I can help.” He glanced up.

Dagonblud sat on the overturned boat, flashing Rat’s knife. “But will I?”

“Somebody, please!”
Blake yelled louder.

“Pointless to yell.
No one can see or hear you now.” Dagonblud opened his tempus. “Your sister is hiding in Columbus’s cabin.” He scowled. “She’s next.”

Blake cringed.

“Let’s get this over with.”
  

Erica screamed and shut the cabin door.
“Omigod!
A shark’s eating my brother!”

Uncle Leopold shook his head.
“Always something imaginative from Dagonblud.”
He crawled under the blanket on the bed and closed his eyes. “Not a shark, my dear.”

“But someone yelled shark!”

“Dagonblud loves grand entrances.” He rolled onto his side.
“Now for some rest.”

“You can’t go to sleep! Blake’s in the ocean!”

Uncle Leopold sighed. “I doubt that. By now the imperial regent has probably taken him back to the Tolucan.”

“That’s even worse. They’ll turn him into wood!”

“Might be better than shark food--or maybe not. Please, Erica, your brother’s in good hands now.”

“How can you say that?” Erica ripped away the blanket. “Those dungeon guys were going to kill us!”

“Nura will assist him.” He pulled the blanket from her fingers and wriggled onto his back. “Sharks, amazing creatures, aren’t they?”

“My brother’s been kidnapped, and you’re talking about fish!”

“He’ll know what to do.”

“We can’t just sit here.”

He didn’t answer.

“Uncle Leopold?”
Silence.
She shook his arm. “Uncle Leopold?”

He started snoring.

Her throat tightened as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She trembled and stuffed her quivering hands into her pockets. The membrane stones felt warm--then they quaked. Suddenly, a stream of colorful light balls zipped out and bored through the plank wall.

A sweet scent filled the room. She inched closer and peered into the opening. A field of purple grass stretched as far as she could see. Tall blades cascaded into dozens of holes in the ground like frozen violet waterfalls. As she reached through the opening, the grass started to move, spilling into the chasms. “Wow!” She jerked back her hand. The movement stopped.

“Uncle Leopold,” she leapt over to him and tugged his shirt-sleeve. “Wake up! You’ve got to see this!”

He licked his lips, rolled to his side, and continued snoring--this time louder.

“Great.” She shot back to the breached wall and then wiped her eyes. The motion resumed.

Two bulldogs appeared, shining radiantly. One of the dogs pawed frantically at clumps of dirt, trying to fill a growing hole. “Help me, MacArthur, I can’t keep up!” she cried out.

The other dog shook its head. “It’s no use, Guinevere. Dark energy is killing the sapphire grass faster than we can repair it. The membrane’s dying.”

“I’m not ready to give up!” She continued working, but then stopped and turned. “Maybe another Wyatt can help. I feel her presence.”

Erica gulped when she locked eyes with the white-eared bulldog. Startled, she jumped back. The image disappeared as colored lights zinged into her pocket.

She glanced at her uncle--still snoring. What should she do? Her brother was missing, and Dagonblud was stalking her, too. At least it was safe in the cabin . . . or was it? What if Uncle Leopold had been wrong? Maybe the sailors rescued Blake, and he was somewhere on this ship.

She walked around the bed and slinked out the door.

Grungy, hairy men flew around like someone had pulled a fire alarm. Scanning the water, Erica saw two men tugging a capsized rowboat closer to the ship. She looked up when she heard a guy in the crow’s nest high above her yell to another ship.

“We’ll have ’er righted in no time!”

She scooted down several steps to the main deck and hid behind the stairs. Peeking through the slats, she saw Columbus sitting on the deck, chained to a big pole. He appeared to focus on her.