by Deen Ferrell
The man called Braiden pushed back to his feet. There was a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes. The fear seemed to win out and the man stumbled toward the door. Dr. J caught a glimpse of a dark tattoo just under the man’s left ear. When he was gone, Reese turned back to Belzar. The man breathed in sharply and then pursed his lips. “Watch your back,” he said simply. Reese nodded, then without a word, followed Braiden out the door.
Belzar watched him go, and then turned slightly so that the light caught his face. It was hard and chiseled, anchored by fierce blue eyes—blue like nothing James Arthur had ever seen; blue, with the chilling bite of ice. He began to pace the room, banging his cane randomly at pipes or at the wall. Just as he banged the grate and started to bend down to peer through into the shaft, the girl with wavy black hair jerked toward him. Her arms tensed as her words spewed out like venom. It was obvious that she had waited just long enough to be sure that they would not be overheard.
“No blood, you said! No mess! No one would get hurt!” Despite her anger, the hiss of the words was only faintly audible above the sound of the pumps. “You said the crew would be put in rowboats! They were supposed to be put overboard to slow the rescue effort. You never said anything about a bleedin’ massacre!”
“I know. I’m sorry—” Belzar began, but the girl cut him off. She was almost sobbing now, her arms trembling.
“I’ve been up there on deck, Belzar! There’s not a single rowboat missing and Gates isn’t even trying to hide the blood. You said Reese could control the brute—that’s a joke! There’s blood everywhere—pools and pools of it!”
Belzar put an arm around her. “It’s awful, I know. Gates is a maniac. He likes killing. He’s soon to be one of those, what does Mr. B. call them?”
“Fly boys,” the girl mumbled.
“Yes…fly-boys. Gates follows his own rules.”
“But you said you had a plan! You said you would be the one in control! Are you telling me now that Reese was the extent of your plan? How could you not have known that something like this would happen? I trusted you! Is finding that pendant really worth allying us with that, that cult? Is it worth getting ourselves killed?”
Belzar patted the girl’s head. “You don’t understand what the pendant means. It can manipulate space and time. It’s a power beyond anything you can imagine.” He tapped softly on the floor with his cane.
“And that’s what it’s all about to you, isn’t it?” the girl said softly. “Power… What happened to just finding our way back home?”
“Power is how we’ll get there, Hautti. But the game has changed now. It’s not just about you and me anymore. It’s not even about settling my score with Hathaway Simon—that will have to wait. If this, this cult as you describe it, is able to get their hands on that pendant before we do, I fear there won’t be a home for us to go back to.”
The girl was quiet for a long moment. “So, tell me about your plan. You said you had it meticulously worked out. You said you would tell me when the time was right. I think the time is right.”
“I know that this cult wants the same thing we do, so I calculated that the mysterious Mr. B. would help us make it onto the ship and give us time to search. I knew it was a risk—we don’t know if the device is here—but we do know that Hathaway Simon built this vessel with a doorway. We know that he has hidden a secret access to that door somewhere. I believed that, with your talent, and with Reese’s muscle, we could hold the brutes off long enough to snatch the pendant, and then flee the ship through the time door once our search was done. But you haven’t been able to find the secret access to the door.” He spoke so quietly now that James Arthur had to strain to hear him.
“That’s the whole plan?” the girl asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s a stupid plan, Belzar! They would have killed the boy if I hadn’t stepped in and jerked the rag away. That Wolfer guy is almost as bad as Gates. The idiot poured at least a triple dose into the rag! So, now he’s barely conscious. I don’t believe the girl is the key to finding the doorway at all. I think the key will be the boy—Willoughby. You haven’t watched him like I have. There’s something about him—not just his uncanny ability with numbers.”
“Did you have time to speak to the violinist?”
“I had a few minutes.”
Belzar raised his eyebrows. “What did she say?”
“She doesn’t seem to know anything about the pendant, and she thought I was crazy for suggesting there’s a doorway and hidden entrance on the ship.”
“You believe her?”
“I do. I watched her closely. She wasn’t lying.” There was a short pause, then the girl continued. “So what do we do now?” Her voice had lost some of its edge.
“We follow the plan,” Belzar sighed. “Is the tracking device installed and broadcasting?”
“I installed two of them; one on Willoughby, and one on the girl. I’ve turned them on, but the two are being guarded so closely that I haven’t been able to break them free.”
Belzar thought for a moment. “Tell the guard that I want to see him. I’ll be in the stairway. That’s close enough that he’ll probably be willing to step away for long enough to see what I want. That will give you a few minutes to help the boy and the violinist escape.”
“Okay. One question: Why did Gates put that old doctor—O’Grady I think—up there? Why didn’t he bring him down here with the other two?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. That wasn’t my instructions.”
“He’s a problem.”
“I don’t care about him. Let him escape first. I’ll tell the guard about the two that escaped down here. That will give you time to send the Professor off and initiate a plan with the other two. After five minutes, you shout and point in the direction that the professor ran. In the excitement, you step out of the room and the two kids escape. It will be perfect.”
“I hope it works. You know it’s only a matter of time before Gates makes a move on us. What is he waiting for?”
Belzar stared down at his cane. “For me to find the pendant, I suppose. I’ve given the brute very sketchy information, using Reese as a go-between as often as possible. Until they know the item isn’t on the ship, I think they’ll leave us alone. Even then, they may want to keep me searching. I know more than any of them how to find the pendant and who we’re up against.”
“Have you turned off the cloak?”
“Just before I came down here.”
“It won’t take Hathaway Simon long to figure things out. How long do you think we have before he sinks the ship?”
“It depends. As soon as his team has escaped, or he’s convinced they’re dead, he’ll want to sink the ship. He’ll wait until he’s sure she’ll sink where no-one can get at her. We need to let his team lead us to the doorway and learn how to use it before that happens. It’s our only safe escape. I would begin to worry in another three hours or so. By then, we need to be off this ship.”
The girl sighed. “One way or another, I want off this ship. I have to say, taking this ship was too easy. It feels like some kind of a trap. You really believe that Simon, with all his technology and brilliance, didn’t see something like this coming? Yet, why would he let this massacre take place? I can’t get past the feeling that there’s a hidden agenda here.”
“With Hathaway Simon, there’s always a hidden agenda,” Belzar said coolly.
“Any clue?”
Belzar took in a sharp breath. “No. Not yet. But I tell you, Hathaway Simon always has a reason for what he does. He hides his agendas just like he hides his technology. They’re hard to see, even when in plain sight. I find it hard to believe he would consciously allow a massacre on this scale, which would mean something is distracting him.”
“Agreed, but what?” The girl turned away and gave a deep sigh. “Well, I better get back and hel
p Willoughby and his violinist friend get away so we can start tracking them.”
“It will work,” Belzar said, draping a bony hand over the girl’s shoulder. “We’ll find that entrance, Hautti. We have no choice. I have no intention of letting this ship become our grave.”
The girl started toward the door and then turned back. “Are you taking Reese?” she asked. “Does he even know what this is all about?”
“Do any of us?” Belzar mused. “Reese knows enough. He comes with us for now. We may lose him at some point, but he’s good to have around in the tight spots. I can imagine he’d do quite well for himself back where we’re going. He’s a good fighting man. Of course, there’s the issue of his tattoos. It’s hard to think of who would appreciate those. Maybe a pirate king?” Belzar grinned. He walked over to the pipe beam where the cut ropes lay littered on the floor. “Neat trick cutting those ropes and disappearing. How do you suppose they did it?”
The girl didn’t say anything. She continued toward the door.
“Remember, we have no more than three hours,” Belzar called after her. “If we’ve no success by the two-hour mark, we’ll have to find another way off the Absconditus. I know how you feel about the boy.”
The girl stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Belzar, I doubt you know how I feel about anything. But I do want to get home, back to my people.” Without another word, she strode soundlessly away.
21
Cedar Chest
It was a waking nightmare. His vision was blurred and distorted. Everything around him was dimly lit. Willoughby heard voices, muffled and indistinct. His body ached. He felt tangled and bent. He tried to move. “Shh!” a voice hissed in his ear. “Be still!” The whisper was barely audible, but he felt the hairs on his neck quiver. Sydney? He fought to focus his eyes, but could see only blackness. His head was still swimming and his body felt twisted, curved like a pretzel. A second body was curled over his back. He could feel the body’s heat and sense arms and legs wrapped tightly around his middle. There was a scent too—a not altogether unpleasant scent. Where was he? Was he dreaming?
He had, of course, imagined what it would be like to be cuddled close to Sydney, but he had imagined more his arm being tight around her, not having her draped over his back while they bent down in some—where were they? A cupboard? A container of some kind? He breathed in. He could still taste and smell the acrid fumes of the rag, but they mingled with another scent. He concentrated on the scent. It was a strong scent. An image of freshly cut wood came to mind and then he knew. It was cedar. The smell was cedar!
He tried to breathe in again, but the weight of the girl against his back made it hard. He felt dizzy and thought for a moment that he might be sick, but fought the nausea down. Why were they crammed into this dark space that smelled of cedar? What was the space? Was it a closet? No. If it was a closet, they could stand up. Was it a trunk? The muffled voices suddenly moved closer and became much clearer. They stopped almost directly overhead.
“Where’s the key to it?”
This voice was deep and gruff.
“I don’t know. Why would I want to look through some sailor’s stinking clothes?”
The last voice was higher-pitched and soft, a girl’s voice. Willoughby’s eyes focused on a crack where a miniscule line of light leaked in. He noted that the crack was actually a thin line that etched the darkness with a rim all the way around—a lid! It was a chest! He and Sydney were stuffed into some kind of cedar chest and someone was trying to cover for them.
“Listen,” the girl’s voice whined. “You were the one who was supposed to put the boy out. Did you even know what you were doing with that stuff? You could have killed him! Luckily, he just held his breath until he passed out, so the dose did little damage—except allowing him to escape. Didn’t you think to watch him for a few minutes to make sure he stayed out? Didn’t you think to check back on him to make sure the dose was adequate? I’m sure Gates—”
“Gates ain’t gonna hear nothin’ about this,” the deeper voice hissed menacingly, “because you’re gonna help me find them kids, and you’re gonna do it now.”
“Me? I’ve got other assignments, in case you’ve forgotten. You still have the professor next door. You haven’t managed to lose him yet, have you? Maybe he knows something.”
“Shut up!” There was a loud slap and a whimper. “Now, search this room from top to bottom. FIND ME THAT KEY!”
“I don’t take orders from you!”
There was another whimper and then low, menacing words; “You’re testing my good nature!”
The girl’s voice hissed out, as if through clenched teeth; “The only good thing about your nature is that you’re down-wind from me! Now let go! If there’s something of value in that trunk, do you really think the key would be in this room? It’s probably on the sailor who bunked here—one of the unfortunate souls you threw overboard to the sharks!”
The menacing voice grunted an obscenity, but seemed to see logic in the girl’s words. He leaned down and lifted one end of the chest, dropping it to the floor. “That ain’t clothes in there,” he spat. Willoughby heard feet shuffle. The man seemed to be moving away from the chest. There was a muffled gasp and then a short burst of gunfire. Bullets ripped through the corner of the chest. There was a sound of breaking glass. Then something heavy thudded to the floor. Everything had happened so fast. Sydney flinched, pulling taut. At the same time, Willoughby felt a white-hot burning across his shoulder. Sydney squeezed harder. Willoughby gasped and then bit his lip. It hurt! The shoulder stung so intensely that it brought tears to his eyes. He felt suddenly faint and noted a wetness trickling down his back. The chest lock rattled and the lid flew up. The bright light blinded him. Then, it was as if everything were in slow motion. Willoughby winced, pushing forward. He knew suddenly, inescapably, that he was going to vomit. Sydney’s legs still held him. They were in the way. He tried to push them apart, but the bile was coming too fast. He retched all over the side of the chest, his lap, and Sydney’s leg. He heard Sydney’s voice again, much louder this time as she jerked away from him.
“Ahh! Yuck!”
He tried to grab at the side of the chest, but missed, swaying dangerously.
“Yuck!” Sydney repeated, pushing to her feet behind him. She quickly stepped from the trunk. Willoughby tried to push up again, but the world was spinning hard, his ears were ringing, and his shoulder burned with unimaginable pain. Everything seemed a blur.
“You were hit! You’re hurt!” a girl’s voice said. Willoughby tried to look over and focus. It was the voice he had heard while inside the chest—the girl who had been covering for them. She had wavy, dark hair and bronze skin. As she loomed into view, he could see that her lip was bleeding. She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to his feet. She didn’t seem worried about the vomit. She had strong arms, though she appeared thin and a bit wiry. She turned her head and shouted instructions at Sydney, careful to keep her hands away from the soiled areas on his shirt and trousers. “Get a wet rag from the bathroom. We need to clean him up first as best we can, and then get him out of this chest and check that wound. I don’t think it’s too deep. It looks like the bullet only grazed him, but he’s losing a fair amount of blood. We’ll need to bandage it somehow. Hurry! We need to get him to the bed.”
Willoughby swayed as Sydney returned with the rags and the two girls worked to clean him up. Sydney was obviously not having a good time. When the job was done, the bronze-skinned girl tried to steady him as he stepped feebly out of the chest. He noticed that she had a red dot in the middle of her forehead. For a moment, he was sure he knew the girl, but he couldn’t seem to place her. He had barely gained his footing on the floor when another wave of nausea washed over him. He turned back quickly, breaking away from the girls just in time to bend down and grab the edge of the chest. He retched in it a second time. The two girls were talking an
imatedly behind him, and then someone wiped his face and mouth with a cool towel. They let the back of the towel cool his brow. “There,” the girl with the dot said. “That should make you feel better…Now—I need to get you over to the bed, Willoughby. Do you think you can make it?”
Willoughby gave a short nod. He allowed himself to be led to one of the two single berths in the cabin. How did this girl know his name? How had they gotten him into the trunk? Had this girl been trying to hide them—to help them? Why? He had not seen her in the crew before, yet he HAD seen her...somewhere. He glanced over again at the cascade of wild, dark hair and the brown, delicate face, and most importantly, the red dot. He knew he had seen her before, but where? An image flashed suddenly into his mind. He was in a class at Worhington Hills. As he looked over the sea of classmates around him, his eyes fell on a cinnamon-skinned girl, seated a few desks over. She had a red dot in the middle of her forehead. She smiled at him, pointing first to him, and then to the red dot. The image skipped to the girl with army boots in the library. This was the same girl!
Words came to Willoughby’s mind. “Watch for Belzar’s brat, the one with the red dot,” the man called Gates had shouted only moments before the foul rag had been clamped over his face. Willoughby shuddered, remembering the sour taste of the poison or whatever they had put in the rag. He tried to block the burning sensation he still felt in his throat and nose. Who was this Belzar? Was he a good guy? Why was his “brat” trying to help them? He tried to remember what they had called the big, black brute. He saw in his mind the looming, pock-marked face. Had they called him Gates?
The girl with wavy hair helped Willoughby onto the bed. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve met before—long story, no time to review it. My name is Hautti.”
Hottie? He did not remember that name. Why had she been at his school? He tried to remember the name he called her at school. Had he ever even learned her name? Sydney sat down beside him. She wasn’t exactly cool, calm, and collected, but she was considerably better off than he was.