Salamaine's Curse

by V. L. Burgess

  CHAPTER SIX

  SCAVENGERS

  Scavengers. Zombies. The names might not be the same, but the creatures were. As far as Tom could tell, there was no difference between them. But as they drew closer, he noted that one feature was altogether unlike the zombies he’d seen on TV and in movies,.

  Scavengers’ eyes were not vacant. They were not dull or glassy. Instead, they burned with lethal fury. Deadly rage. They might be slow and unsteady, but these were thinking, angry beings.

  He watched the scavengers stumble down the stone steps. His initial instinct, born of both fear and repulsion, was to draw back into Keegan’s cell until help arrived. Cowardly, maybe, but it would keep them alive. He shook off his terror long enough to reach for the cell door and slam it shut, but Umbrey stopped him.

  “They’ll only rip the bars out. Best we fight them directly.”

  Rip the bars out? Iron bars lodged in stone? The creatures possessed that sort of strength? The desperation of their situation quickly sunk in.

  Tom shot a glance at his brother. Porter lifted a torch from an iron sconce in the wall and passed it to him. Umbrey armed himself in a like manner, as did Willa. A dim ray of understanding lit a corner of Tom’s brain. That explained all the small fires he’d seen when he’d first arrived in Divino.

  Keegan held his torch before him, his posture that of an experienced fencer beginning a match. Watching him, Tom repressed a choked laugh. It wasn’t Keegan’s action that amused him, or even his pose, but the absurdity of facing an enemy so terrifying that they were actually aligned with Keegan, rather than fighting against him. A minute ago he would have sworn that was impossible.

  The scavengers shuffled closer.

  Goosebumps shot up the back of Tom’s neck. His heart pounded furiously within his chest. The creatures’ stench, a foul mixture of death and disease and rotted fish, soured the air, making it almost impossible to breathe.

  Mudge brought up the Sword of Five Kingdoms. Liquid relief poured through Tom. He’d forgotten Mudge’s sword. A sword so powerful it had taken out Keegan’s army with one swift stroke. He watched as Mudge raised the sword above his head. They were saved. They’d get out of there, regroup, and—

  Mudge swung at the scavengers. A blast of fiery white heat shot from the end of the blade … and went through the scavengers. It didn’t even slow them down.

  “Circle up! Everyone, now!”

  Tom didn’t know who the voice belonged to. He didn’t care. He simply obeyed. They formed a tight knot, their shoulders brushing. The scavengers stumbled closer, desperately clawing and grabbing at them.

  One scavenger in particular seemed determined to get Tom. She was old, tall, and skeletal, with frizzy red hair and dark brown eyes. If not for the strips of flesh peeling from her cheeks, she would have been a dead ringer for his algebra teacher. She tore through Tom’s tunic with her sharp nails. He jabbed her in the eye with his torch. She backed off, but not enough, continuing to hiss and claw her way closer.

  Using their torches to keep the scavengers at arm’s length, they inched across the floor. After what seemed like forever, (though it probably took no longer than ten minutes) Tom and his friends reached the stairs. They slowly crept upward, thrusting their fire in the creatures’ faces to keep them at bay. Finally Tom reached the top of the staircase. He staggered backward, followed by Porter, Willa, and Mudge. Umbrey and Keegan spilled out into the courtroom after them.

  Porter slammed shut the heavy wooden door that led to the basement cell and threw down the iron bar that locked it. Tom, dragging in a deep, ragged breath, lifted his torch and swung it in a slow circle, sending flickering shadows into the darkened corners of the room. No scavengers—at least, not at the moment.

  Outside, the quiet night had splintered like glass, shattering into a scene of utter pandemonium. Swishing arcs of firelight cut through the air like flaming swords. Dark silhouettes showed a few people fleeing, others fighting. Empty wagons careened through the streets, pulled by teams of wild-eyed horses.

  A deep thud sounded on the door they’d just latched. The scavengers were right behind them. Within minutes, perhaps seconds, they’d have the door ripped off its hinges.

  “No!”

  He heard Willa’s sharp cry and whirled around to see Keegan jerk Mudge toward him. Holding his torch aloft in one hand, Keegan locked his opposite arm across the boy’s chest. He pressed a small, sharp knife beneath the boy’s chin. When they’d first entered his cell, Tom had watched Keegan cut his meat. It hadn’t occurred to him to wonder where his knife had gone. Now he knew.

  Holding Mudge against him like a shield, Keegan edged toward the courthouse door. “The mapmaker’s sons,” he sneered. “The Hero Twins. You want to save the Five Kingdoms? Bring me the Black Book of Pernicus. You have three days. If you don’t return, I’ll assume you’re dead. A nuisance, but I can make other adjustments.”

  “Let him go!” Willa shrieked. “He released you! You gave him your word!”

  “My word?!” Keegan gave a shout of laughter. “My dear girl, you have just learned a very valuable lesson. Never underestimate your opponent.”

  “He won’t hurt me,” Mudge said. “The book’s worthless unless Keegan and I are together. He knows it.”

  “Clever child.” Keegan shot a glance over his shoulder to check the street. Seeing it was clear, he shoved Mudge away from him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Three days!” he said, and then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos of the night.

  Porter shot forward to follow him, but Umbrey caught his arm. “Let him go.”

  “Let him go?! You’d let Keegan escape?”

  “One battle at a time, lad. Mudge is right. He won’t go far if he thinks there’s a chance he can get his hands on that book.”

  Porter shook his head, his face wracked with frustration. “But—”

  A heavy thud sounded against the basement door and the upper hinge flew off. Four pairs of ragged gray arms and twisted, claw-like hands shoved through the crack.

  “The Purgatory,” Umbrey urged. He peered out the door, and seeing their way was clear, ushered them out into the night.

  Tom still wasn’t convinced. He hesitated, torn between taking off after Keegan or following Umbrey’s orders. Umbrey didn’t give him a chance to debate the matter. He shoved him toward the docks.

  “Now, or we’ll miss the tide—if we haven’t already.”

  They set off into the night. The moon hung low in the sky, giving them ample light by which to see. Tom would have preferred dimness and shadows. Instead he could make out the face of each scavenger, every withered claw, bashed-in skull, and oozing limb.

  Umbrey led them through the chaotic streets. Even with a wooden leg, the man moved fast. But then, they were all moving fast. Yet they couldn’t quite move fast enough. It seemed that for every scavenger they avoided, two more lurched into their path. Finally, gasping and out of breath, they made it back to the docks and staggered to a horrified stop.

  The Purgatory was under siege.

  Scavengers clung to the hull like leeches. They scuttled up the masts, staggered across the deck, swung from the sails, and crowded onto the gangway. They moaned and grunted in murderous excitement, their eyes burning with feverish intensity.

  Umbrey’s men pitched the scavengers overboard, but the creatures wouldn’t give up. They hit the water with a splash and flailed about, then seemed to gather their wits for a second attack. Dripping algae and seaweed, they crawled back up the hull and slipped through the ship’s rail to advance again.

  Umbrey released an outraged roar and charged into the middle of the fray. Wielding his torch like a club, he swung his arm back and forth, single-handedly making his way across the gangway. “Thought you’d come aboard my ship, did you?” he muttered as he sent the scavengers tumbling into the murky water below. “Not a chance, you slimy skinned, rotten-lipped, bug-eyed monsters.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he bellowed orde
rs to his crew. Tom heard things like “Raise anchor! Throw the lines!” and “Bring the mizzen sail about!” Words that were gibberish to him, but clearly meant for the crew to get the ship moving. Fast.

  They raced across the plank, Porter directly behind Umbrey, then Willa and Mudge, with Tom pulling up the rear. His friends jumped aboard. Tom was seconds from leaping onto the deck when a shrill scream pulled him up short. The naked desperation in the cry sent a chill up his spine. He wheeled about and peered into the surrounding chaos.

  In the flickering light he made out a young woman who stood with her back pressed against a wall, feebly swinging a torch to keep a group of scavengers at bay. Two small, terrified children clung to her skirts.

  Guessing his intent, Porter made to grab him and shove him aboard. “Don’t,” he shouted. “You’ll never make it back!”

  Tom brushed him off and flew down the gangway.

  “Tom!” his brother roared. “Get back here! There’s no time!”

  The rest of his words were a blur. Tom reached the woman and swung his torch. It landed on the back of the largest scavenger in the group, lighting up his tattered shirt with a satisfying crackle of flame. The scavenger fell back, rolling on the ground, hissing and howling, clawing at air. Tom slashed his way through the rest of the group, pushing them back.

  But there were too many. With a surge of horror, Tom realized he’d underestimated their number. As he fought one creature, another reached out to grab him. Its bony, claw-like hand locked around his wrist. Tom gave a yelp of pain. The scavenger’s claw seared into his flesh, as unyielding as a band of hot iron.

  The creature gave a grunt of satisfaction. It opened its rotted mouth and leaned closer. Strings of slime dripped from its blackened teeth. Tom swung his torch around, but another scavenger knocked it from his grasp.

  His heart slammed against his chest as he braced himself for the bite.

  Then, from the corner of his eye, a flash of flame.

  Porter drove his torch into the creature’s arm. The scavenger shrieked and released Tom. It staggered backward, allowing Tom just enough room to dive for his torch. He brought it up and swung it wide, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Porter as they faced off against the scavengers. The woman took up a position beside them, thrusting her meager flame at the creatures as her children cowered behind her skirts.

  The frantic beat of horses’ hooves and the clatter of wooden wheels against the cobblestoned street blasted at Tom from his right. He turned to see a wagon bearing down on them at full speed. The driver, holding the horses’ reins in one hand and an enormous flaming torch in the other, careened through the mob of scavengers, temporarily scattering them.

  The woman nearly sagged to the ground in relief. Her husband, Tom guessed. Reaching behind her, she grabbed one child, then the other, depositing them in the back of the wagon. Once satisfied her children were safe, she leapt aboard.

  The man looked at Tom and Porter. “Quickly!” he bellowed, “Get in!”

  Porter gave a firm shake of his head. “No. Go.”

  The man looked ready to argue, but a guttural moan from the scavengers, who were lumbering back to their feet, changed his mind. His mouth tightened into a thin, grim line. “God be with ye,” he muttered. He gave the reins a savage jerk. The horses reared, then bolted off into the night.

  Tom and Porter didn’t waste any time. They shot toward the docks. The Purgatory was still there. Barely. As they watched, the ship pulled away from the dock. The plank—along with the horde of scavengers piled upon it—tumbled into the watery channel below, landing with a resounding splash.

  “Jump!” bellowed Umbrey.

  Jump? Over scavenger-infested water onto a moving ship?

  Insane. Tom cut a glance at his brother. Nothing but intense resolve showed on Porter’s face. He was actually going to do it. Reluctant admiration found its way into Tom’s assessment of Porter. Then something occurred to him. Maybe Porter wasn’t braver, maybe he was just quicker at grasping their situation. Maybe his courage sprang from the fact that he recognized something Tom hadn’t yet.

  There was no other way aboard.

  Porter picked up speed, gaining momentum for the leap. Tom matched his pace. Then his foot tangled with a length of rope obscured by shadows. He pitched forward. Rather than jumping for the ship, he staggered awkwardly and teetered at the end of the dock, nearly tumbling into the murky water below.

  Beside him, Porter leapt. His brother sailed over the channel … and missed the Purgatory’s deck. He slammed face-first into the hull and grabbed hold of the ship’s barnacle-laden side. It was the barest of holds, but it was enough. Umbrey’s men grabbed him and hauled him up, unceremoniously tossing him on deck like a sack of grain.

  Tom’s relief that Porter had made it aboard dissolved as his own predicament hit him.

  He’d missed the boat. Literally.

  The Purgatory was coasting out to sea without him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEYOND LOCKED GATES

  Panic coursed through Tom. He judged the distance between the ship and the dock. Too far. He could jump, but he’d never make it. Not now. Not when the vessel was picking up speed. He scanned the wharf. No nearby boat he could use to row out to the Purgatory—not that rowing through scavenger-infested water struck him as the brightest of ideas.

  Most likely they’d overtake him before he got anywhere near Umbrey and his crew. Indecision froze him in place. He couldn’t go forward, he couldn’t go back. But neither could he just stand there.

  A guttural hiss sounded just over his shoulder, reinforcing that point. He jerked around to see a horde of scavengers lurching toward him, their skeletal arms stretched out as though hoping to wrap him in their ghoulish embrace.

  That got him moving. Keeping parallel with the ship, he raced along the dock, leaping over crates, dodging carts and barrels. He scanned his surroundings as he ran. Surely there was something that could help him gain access to the ship— some way he might still be able to get aboard.

  From the deck of the Purgatory, Willa and Porter were shouting, and jumping up and down to get his attention. Their words slowly penetrated the fog of panic that surrounded him.

  “The gates! The gates!”

  Breathing hard, Tom drew to a stop. The towering walled gates of Divino loomed just ahead. He peered through the night and realized why Porter and Willa had been so frantic. The enormous, impenetrable gates—gates toward which the Purgatory coasted at an impressive clip—were firmly bolted shut. The gatekeepers who monitored the river traffic had either been taken by scavengers or had deserted their post. Either way, the Purgatory was headed for disaster.

  Umbrey’s ship was sturdy, but it was no match for massive wooden gates reinforced with thick bands of iron. A collision would almost certainly shatter the hull, splintering the ship into pieces.

  While half of Umbrey’s crew was occupied battling the scavengers who had slunk aboard, the other half loosened the rigging to let the sails go limp in an attempt to slow the vessel. It worked, but only to a degree. The tide, which they’d raced to catch, propelled them relentlessly toward the gates.

  Until that moment, Tom had merely been keeping pace with the ship. Now he sprinted faster.

  The guard tower was tall and rectangular, with an interior staircase that twisted upward at least one hundred feet off the ground. Tightening his grip on his torch, he threw open the door and bounded up the stairs, terrified that with each twist of the staircase he’d come face-to-face with a scavenger.

  Incredibly, his luck held. He reached the top, breathing hard. The guardroom was empty. No sign of scavengers. Tom’s gaze flew to the thick wooden lever in the center of the floor. He slipped his torch in an empty sconce and threw himself upon the release. He heaved and tugged, but the lever wouldn’t budge.

  He repositioned himself and tried again, his jaw clenched and his muscles trembled as he strained to shove it forward. Finally he felt a slight give, and the ir
on bar, which opened via a series of interlocking cogs and levers, groaned upward.

  The gates parted ever so slightly, like a massive door cracking ajar. A further series of ropes and pulleys were necessary to draw the wooden barriers fully open, but he simply didn’t have time to operate them. The Purgatory might hit the gates, but at least the vessel would make it through. That would have to do.

  As Tom peered out a narrow window in the guard tower, the shape of an idea took hold—a plan that might just get him back aboard. Moving solely on instinct, he slipped through the small opening and stepped out onto the topmost edge of the wooden gate. The beam was twelve inches across, easily wide enough to accommodate him. As the gate wasn’t secured, it swayed as he lowered himself atop it, but only a little.

  Holding out his arms for balance, he crouched down low and carefully crept toward the opening where the two panels met. He reached the end of the gate and fixed his gaze on the Purgatory’s approach. The Purgatory sailed straight toward him. Perfect. Now all he had to do was get a little closer …

  The ship was nearly there, sailing straight toward him. He had a clear shot to the main mast. He took a deep breath and readied himself. From his vantage point atop the gate, he would be nearly eye-to-eye with the crow’s nest. All he had to do was reach out, grab it, and then climb down the rigging until he reached the deck.

  His plan was simple. Almost foolproof. And if he hadn’t misjudged the breadth of the Purgatory’s hull, it might have worked.

  Instead, the ship’s starboard side slammed into the gate as it passed, knocking him off the top of the gate as if shaking a monkey from a tree.

  Tom managed to throw out his arms and kick off the beam as he fell, thrusting himself toward the ship’s foremost mast. His fingers brushed rope, but closed on air. Rough canvas grazed his cheek. He twisted and turned, but couldn’t catch hold of anything to slow his descent. He tumbled wildly, careening headfirst down one of the Purgatory’s sails as though he was riding an enormous canvas slide.