The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) (9 page)

Columbus paused. “Well, I suppose even the saints are not always aware of God’s plan.” He ran his fingers over his lips. “Incredible.”

“You can say that again,” Blake said. “So how do you know my name?”

The explorer turned toward one of the windows and stared at the sea. “Osbern Bokenam, an older friar with the Saint Augustine Order, traveled all the way from the south of England to be at Friar Antonio’s monastery the same day that I arrived. He said he was extremely tired and hungry and that his journey had left him weak. Friar Antonio prepared a hardy Spanish meal for his guest and invited him to stay and rest. But food and shelter were of no concern to him. The elder friar wanted only to find the Genovese mariner who was staying there.”

Columbus patted his jacket as though trying to feel something underneath. “It is all coming to pass, just as Friar Bokenam said.”

“The guy from England?”

“Yes, Blake, the friar from England.”
Columbus unbuttoned his jacket. “He said that he had made the difficult and dangerous journey just to see me. How did he know I would be there when I myself didn’t know? I had just arrived a few hours earlier. And what could he want from me?”

“What did he want?”

“He said he wanted to give me something very important.” Columbus reached into his shirt and withdrew a gold medallion about the size of a nickel. He pulled the chain over his head, clutched the medal in his hand, and extended his arm. “See for yourself.”

Blake took the medallion and examined the engraving. One side showed a building that looked like a church, and the other side was just words. He read the inscription--Priory of Blakemore. “That’s my name!”

“Of course it is. Friar Bokenam told me that the Angel Michael concealed a book within the walls of the priory. He said that the remains of a French noblewoman were buried beneath the church, and her spirit guards the text. Unfortunately, he said the book is missing.”

Blake looked at the chronicle.

“The angel instructed Friar Bokenam to give the medallion to the Genovese mariner he would meet at the monastery in La Rábida. He said the angel was specific about the day and time that I’d arrive. The good friar assured me that Blakemore would appear in my darkest hour.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “My dad’s name was Michael, just like the angel.”

Looking upward, Columbus made the sign of the cross.
“A family of saints to my aid.”

“That’s definitely not me.” Blake tried to swallow. The last chunk of tile he ate required every drop of saliva to get it down his throat. He re-wet his mouth with his tongue. “I’m just a kid from Clover Heights, California, and I was in my history class about an hour ago. At least I think it was an hour ago. Geez, I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone.”

Columbus rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “You are not from the heavens?”

“No, I’m from California.”

“I do not know of this place.”

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know it, would you? You haven’t even gotten to America yet.”

“America?”

Blake gave a huge sigh. “Forget it.” He looked at the plank wall that used to be sapphire grass. “Did you happen to see some bulldogs around here?”

“Bulldogs?”

“Yeah.
Ya see, we were in this blue field, and then everything went dark. I tried to get away from this giant blowtorch guy, and the next thing I knew, I was here.” Blake shifted the chronicle to his other arm. “I gotta get home.”

Columbus rubbed his stubbly chin hairs as he focused on Blake's charred football jersey. “Those clothes you’re wearing, are they from this place, this Clover Heights?”

“Yeah, I’m on the football team. At least I was on the team. But the coach’ll probably cut me now. He chewed us out last week for missing practices.”

“What is foot . . . ball?”

“It’s a game. I was supposed to be at practice today.” Blake handed the medallion back to Columbus.

“I see.” Columbus returned the medallion to his neck, tucked his journal into the wooden chest and closed the lid. He stared out the window. “Following the light of the sun, we left the old world. . . .”

After a few quiet moments, Blake broke the uneasy silence. “Hey, uh, Mr. Columbus, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just remembered when those words were carved into the stern of Niña.”

“Oh, yeah, you have another ship.”

“I have three in the fleet. Niña and Pinta sail ahead of this vessel.”

“Cool. I wish I had a couple more dirt bikes.”

“The air is cool. Fortunately the morning chill lasts but a few hours.” Columbus turned to the wall and plucked off a metal pot that looked like Aladdin’s lamp. He pulled open the top and peered inside. “I burned too much oil last night. I must limit my writing to daylight.” He returned the pot to its peg. “That book you have under your arm. Is that gold?”

Blake moved the text in front of him and admired the bright reflections flashing off its cover. “Uh, I don’t know if it’s gold, but I think this book is what got me in trouble in the first place.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Join the club.”

Columbus rubbed his thumb over the medallion hanging from his neck. “You say you are not from the heavens, but you suddenly appear in my cabin in my time of need.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“And you say your name is Blakemore?”

“Yeah.”

“This is all so peculiar.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Your clothes.
They appear to be burned.”

“Yeah, I know, the book did that.”

Columbus flung himself backward against the door and covered his face with his arm.
“Sorcery!”

“Sorcery?
You mean like magic?”

Columbus ripped a gold, jeweled cross from his ragged jacket pocket, kissed it, and held it tight to his chest. “The devil answers by many names.”

“Devil?
A minute ago you just called me a saint. Now I’m the devil? My sister might think so, but, really--I’m not a devil, and I’m not a saint, either.” He looked out the window and sighed. “I’m stuck here for some reason. So let’s just make the best of it until I can find those bulldogs.”

The floor suddenly shifted beneath him. Blake slammed headfirst into the wall and fell to his knees. The swift and violent motion launched the chronicle out of his hands and into a dark corner under the table. Blake grabbed his forehead and felt a huge gash. Pain shot through his head, and blood trickled down his cheek. “This sucks!” He tried to get up but was thrown back to the floor when the cabin suddenly lurched in the opposite direction.

Columbus returned the cross to his pocket and extended his hand.
“My sincerest apologies, my friend.
Perhaps my prayers have been answered. I must not question the Lord.”

Blake took the explorer’s hand, and Columbus pulled him to his feet.

“Well, I don’t know about your prayers, but I do know I want to go home.” Blake wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand. “This boat needs a motor or something.”

Columbus examined the wound and offered Blake a neatly folded dingy white cloth from his pocket.

“Thanks.” Blake took the handkerchief and blotted his face. “I’ve never been on a boat like this before.”

“She is slow,” said Columbus. “Certainly not meant for exploration, but the rest of the fleet is well equipped for the open sea.”

Could he really be on the Santa Maria? The wood felt real. The food tasted real. Even the man who said he was Columbus breathed like a real person, but how could that be? Those people, this place, all of it--were long gone, so where was he? Blake glanced at the blood that stained the handkerchief. The letters CC were embroidered in gold thread in one corner. Maybe this guy was Christopher Columbus. Nothing else made sense. And the gash on his head hurt like heck.

“Admiral!” a voice yelled from the other side of the door. “Rat has gone mad. He’s stabbing his knife at nothing and yelling at dogs that are not there! Diego can’t get the chains on him.”

“Dogs!”
Blake shouted. He felt full of hope. “It’s the Parabulls! Open the door!”

CHAPTER 9

FAMILY TIES

Erica Wyatt dropped her shiny pink-nylon backpack on the floor in front of her open locker. She unzipped the pack and stuffed in her giant math book that weighed a ton. After tucking her long brown hair behind her ears, she pulled off her new wire-rims. The dumb glasses kept sliding down her nose. She rubbed her green eyes, inspected the frames then bent the part that sat on her ears. Maybe that would help.

Kneeling next to her backpack, she tugged at the zipper. “Come on, stupid thing.” She yanked harder, but the corner of her math book stuck out too far. “That’s just great.”

“Ricki-i-i-i Ra-a-a-abbit!”

Erica stood, tucked her white blouse into her jeans, and turned to find her best friend, Katy Williamson, weaving through students down the long corridor of lockers. A brown leather violin case dangled from her hand, and a green Clover Heights Middle School tote bag hung from her shoulder.

Katy was a tiny red-haired girl with milky white skin and freckles over the bridge of her nose. “Ricki Ra--”

“Don’t say that name around other people, okay?”

“Like, hello, Ricki’s your name.”

“Just skip the rabbit part.”

“Like, you’re the one who broke the record for the one hundred meter dash.” Katy nudged her. “You even beat the boys.”

“Whatever,” Erica said, pulling at the zipper until the metal pull tab broke off. “Great! This thing is a total piece of junk.”

“Didn’t you just get that for your birthday?”

“Yeeahh.”
Checking her face in the locker’s mirror, Erica sized up a zit on her forehead. “Gross!”

“What’s up with you, Rick? You’ve been, like, bummin’ all day.”

She searched through her locker. “I’ve got to get this hair out of my face. You have a scrunchie?”

“No, but I have something else that might work.” She opened her violin case, reached into a compartment, and pulled out a long, thin wire. “Here’s a broken string.”

Erica took the piece of wire. “This’ll mess up my hair.”

“No, it won’t. It’s just cat gut.”

“Like from a cat?”

“I guess.”

“Eww.”
Erica gathered her hair in a ponytail and tied it with the string.

“What’s with that green stuff on your mouth?”

“What green stuff?” She jutted her chin closer to the mirror. A weird stain she hadn’t noticed before circled the skin around her mouth.
“My stupidhead brother!
It’s that cheap Bubblematic lipstick he got me for my birthday.” She tried to wipe it off with the back of her hand. “He said ‘Maybe that’ll help.’
Nice, huh?”

“Kelly Greco thinks your brother’s totally hot.”

“All the girls say that. Courtney Reynolds calls our house practically every night.”

“That’s why your line’s always busy! Weren’t you supposed to get a cell phone for your birthday?”

“My mom says I don’t need one. She said I can use Blake’s. Like, hello, what if his royal highness isn’t around? He’s either at football practice or messing around with that dumb dirt bike.”

“Sorry I couldn’t come to your party.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. We went to Pizza Palace. How lame is that? Then Blake had to stick eleven candles in the pizza.”

“Nice. So ya wanna come to my house later?”

“I can’t. I have to wait for the prince to finish his practice.” Erica picked up her backpack and slid her arms through the straps, adjusting it so that the weight didn’t pull open the buttons on her white blouse again. “O. M. G. Did I tell you what happened to me this morning?”

“I heard. Brad Sheely told his brother and a bunch of his friends that he saw your bra.”

Erica groaned. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t think anyone saw anything. This stupid backpack pulls my buttons open.”

“He said it looked like a rubber band.”

“I’ll never be able to show my face in school again!” She rechecked her blouse before walking down the hall with Katy.

“Call me if you want to come over.” Katy disappeared into the music room.

Erica continued down the hallway, walked through the open gym doors, and stopped at a vending machine beside the bleachers. She was starving. Everything in the machine was gross, but she needed to eat something before she passed out. She plunked in a few quarters and pressed the button for veggie chips, but nothing happened. She tried the button for wheat crackers--still nothing.

“Yo, Erica!”

Blake’s best friend was walking through the gym. “Hey, Trevor, have you seen my brother? I need some money.”

“Haven’t seen him all day,” he said, and ducked into the boys’ locker room.

Erica walked back to the gym doors, poked her head out, and looked down the hallway. This was really weird. Where was he? He never missed football practice without telling her first. She jogged to the locker room and opened the door a crack.
“Blake?!”

“Hey! Get outta here!” some boy shouted at her. “He’s not in here.”

“I’m not in your stupid locker room! I’m just looking for my brother!”

Trevor came to the door with his shirt off. She felt her face flush.

“He’s probably talking to a teacher or something, Ricki. Check Mancuso’s class. He might be trying to talk his way out of an F.”

“Where is that?”

“Next to the library.”
Trevor slipped back into the mysterious room. “Tell him to get his butt down here quick,” he added over the braying of the other boys.

Erica found Mr. Mancuso’s classroom, but when she stepped inside the room was empty. Blake wasn’t anywhere. Now she was getting worried. He never disappeared.

She started to leave the classroom and spotted Blake’s notebook on the corner of a desk. A huge white fox’s head sticker was plastered on the cover with a blue Yamaha label beneath it. She picked it up and leafed through the pages. Drawings of dirt bikes filled the margins of just about every page. This was definitely Blake’s. She tossed his notebook back on the desk. Maybe he went home sick, and no one bothered to tell her.

The janitor popped his head into the room. “Finish up in here. I gotta mop.”

Erica headed for the door, but something bright blue and sparkling floated down from the ceiling in front of her. She picked up the strange blue strip and examined it. As she ran her finger down the object, she could tell it wasn’t paper. It was grass, smooth, real, alive. But it smelled like Halloween candy. She glanced up to see where it had come from and noticed the ceiling was covered with black scorch marks.
Weird.
Again she ran her finger down the blue strand. Her whole body tingled. She flicked it away and hurried toward the door.

“Miss Wyatt,” called a feeble voice.

She turned. No one was there. “Who said that?” No one answered. She backed up slowly, looking at every corner of the room, but the place was empty. She definitely heard a man’s voice. Or maybe she was losing her mind.

“Miss Wyatt, I am here.”

“Who said that?” she asked sternly.

“Are you the sister of Blakemore Wyatt?”

“Who wants to know?” she demanded.

“You must help me.”

“Who is talking?”

“Please, there’s no time. You must help me.”

“Help who?” Erica looked around again. “No one’s in here.”

“I am here, Miss Wyatt. Because of some unfavorable events, I am stuck behind what you cannot see. We must help your brother.”

“Is he sick or something?”

“He’s safe--for now,” the voice said, “but all that could change if we don’t find him soon.”

Erica backed toward the door. “I don’t know who’s talking, but you’re really
creepin’
me out.”

“Miss Wyatt, please,
open
the bottom drawer of the teacher’s desk.”

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me where my brother is.”

“No time for that. Your brother’s life could be in danger, Miss Wyatt.”

“Yeah, right.”
She looked around again. “Okay, so where’s the camera?”

“Please. Do as I say.”

“Tell me where my brother is, or I’m gonna get the principal.” She backed slowly out the door.

“No! Then they’ll find out about you. They can’t know that you exist!”

“Who are these they people?”

“We can’t risk their taking another Wyatt. We almost lost your brother.”

A chill ran through Erica. She stepped into the room again. “Tell me right now where my brother is, or I swear I’ll go to the principal.”

“Miss Wyatt, for your brother’s safety, please
do
as I say. Open the drawer of the teacher’s desk, and I promise you’ll understand.”

“All right, all right.”
She inched closer to the desk. “But if this is some kind of a trick, I can get to the principal’s office in two seconds. I broke the track record for the whole sixth grade.”

“Open the drawer. You’ll find a pocket watch tucked behind some file folders. Take it out carefully. Do not open it.”

Erica scanned the room again for some sort of electronic device. That voice had to be coming from somewhere. She looked up.
Maybe from a vent or the loudspeaker.

“Hurry!” the voice commanded.

“Chill out!” She opened the drawer. “So you say this watch thing is behind all these folders?”

“Yes. Just don’t open the cover!”

“I need to find it first,” she snapped. “Oh, wait, here it is. Wow! This thing looks really old.” She examined the strange markings etched on the gold cover.

“It is very old. Hold the past gently, for the future will be born from each tick of the clock.”

“Huh?”

“How could I have missed the prophecy? You must have been written into the Chronicle of the Rellium long before I knew what it meant,” the voice continued.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ll explain later. Place the watch on the floor and carefully open the cover.”

“You just told me not to open it.”

“I know what I told you. Just do as I say.”

“All right, already.”
She gently placed the watch on the gray tile floor.

“Please, open the cover and step back.”

Erica unloaded her pack on a desk and knelt next to the old watch. She picked it up again and studied the strange lion or bird or whatever that was etched on the cover. “Hey, I’ve seen this picture before.”

“Of course you have. Now do as you’ve been told!”

Erica quickly returned the watch to the floor. The voice sounded strangely familiar, but not one she had ever heard before. She slowly opened the cover and pushed herself back. Nothing happened.