The Dagger-Key and The Lost Treasures of Kebadon

by Daniel Ferguson

CHAPTER 7:

  After the morning’s meal, many of them simply lounged around camp. While some of them were doing their best to look at the positive side of their condition, others found themselves listening to Nevets brag about how he could have stopped the Zac posing as La’mamm, if only his leg hadn’t been bitten off. Meanwhile Werdna was wondering why their trusted friend O’Rost had betrayed them.

  Washburrn, Kyhawn, Dylc, and Alil used their time to go see the captain, who told everyone else to leave.

  “How’s your leg doing, Joenf?” Washburrn was standing a few feet from the bedside. “Is your eyesight getting any better?”

  “The leg’s mending. And at least I still have both of them. That’s more then I can say for that fool of a Zac, Nevets. He gets on my nerves.” The captain paused to calm himself. “But when I look at you, you’re nothing but a blur. So what’s that tell you?” He sat up in his bed, reached under his pillow for some zuetia leaves, and squinted, trying to focus his eyes.

  “Dylc and Shellean already told me what went on out there last night. As far as I’m concerned, they all got what they deserved.” He adjusted one of his pillows and gripped his blanket. “I don’t want to hear anything else about that imposter posing as my friend La’mamm. And Dylc, you already told me about what went on up there in those ruins. None of it sounded too darn good. So Washburrn, why are you all here?”

  “Please calm down, sir.” Alil leaned close.

  “I’m calm enough,” he frowned as his hand fumbled around for his cup of juice on the table next to his bed.

  Washburrn directed his hand, and looked at him, a touch of anger in his voice. “What went on last night is only partly why we’re here, sir.”

  The captain ignored Washburrn as he took a sip of juice, then spoke sharply: “I want to know what happened to my small chest … I need that chest.”

  Washburrn scratched his whiskers. “What’s so important about this small chest of yours? We were sent to the ruins to search for traitors of King Lumarkahawn?”

  With the Sealander’s charts in hand, Dylc chewed on a zuetia. “As I’ve told you before, we don’t know where your small chest is, sir.”

  “It’s extremely important, Washburrn, we find that chest,” the captain grumbled. “Those old books and documents are inside.”

  They looked at each other, puzzled.

  “I thought the documents were in the peg-lock chest,” Alil pointed out.

  Washburrn scratched his whiskers, looked at Kyhawn who was looking at him. Each of them possessed a look on their faces as if they felt they had figured it out.

  “So what about my charts then?” the captain queried. “Where are they?”

  Dylc cleared his throat and drew near. “I have the charts and your diary with me, sir.” He placed them in Captain Joenf’s hand.

  “Thank you,” he nodded, looking somewhat gratified. But his expression quickly changed. “I want those documents and books. If we have to go back out to my ship for them, we will.”

  “What about those sea monsters, Captain?” Alil jumped in. “The ship is sunk. Even if those documents are still aboard, no one’s going after them—it’s too dangerous.” All of them agreed.

  Captain Joenf spoke loudly. “So my ship is lost, and my small chest is lost. And none of you are sure if these sons of sea trash are alive or dead—is that what you’re saying?”

  “Seems that way, sir.” Dylc twisted his mustache. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, sir, what then… is in the peg-lock chest—if not old books and documents?”

  Captain Joenf chewed on a zuetia leaf. “There could be two, three, or more of them in the ruins planning an attack. And you can be sure they’ll want the peg-lock chest.” He eased his arms to his side. “I don’t think we’re dealing with pirates at all. So if the documents didn’t go down with the ship, then those sons of sea trash up there must have them.” He groaned. “Where else could they be?”

  Dylc looked at Alil and Washburrn. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why do you seem so sure these bandits aren’t pirates?”

  Washburrn glanced at Kyhawn. He looked around at the others. “I think he means it’s possible they’re Grongels.”

  The captain sat up straighter and gripped his cup with both hands. “How do you know about them?”

  “It’s quite simple.” Washburrn paused, as he stood before Captain Joenf and crossed his arms, his brown eyes gazing down at the captain. “I get around too, you know. And that Zac pretending to be La’mamm did a lot of talking he probably shouldn’t have, so I’ve heard. They’re Grongels, aren’t they?”

  Alil looked at Washburrn oddly. “Who … or what are these Grongels … some sort of cult?”

  The room became quiet.

  The captain squeezed his fist. “Yes,” he confessed, almost spilling his cup of juice. “And all I can tell you is what La’mamm and Lumpskin told me.” He slumped down. “According to them, the peg-lock chest contains ancient artifacts. Apparently they were the ritual tools used by these Grongels.” He finished off his cup of juice and spit the remains of his zuetia leaves into his cup. “This was over a thousand years ago, when they were once an active religious power.”

  Alil and Dylc looked at one another, surprised at the news that the chest held artifacts. Washburrn asked, “Isn’t it true that over a thousand years ago the Grongels ruled these waters and lands—in fact this entire region?”

  Now Kyhawn looked surprised. He was unaware Washburrn knew any more than he had told him.

  The captain ran his fingers through his bushy beard. “It was the entire western portion of Zacterron. Now that the artifacts have been rediscovered, La’mamm and Lumpskin want to keep them out of the hands of the Grongels and any others who might want to take possession of them.” His tired, puffy eyes reflected his mood. “Under orders from our king, I kept quiet for your own protection. The books are important. They’re a collection of some of the oldest books on Zacterronian cultures. But those documents are even more valuable. They explain how to execute a bizarre ritual, which apparently gives these so-called Grongels some sort of special powers. I haven’t had a chance to read up on it. So don’t ask me to explain the particulars of this bizarre ritual.” He paused. “They also contain the history of these … Grongels.” He blinked, trying again to focus his vision. “In a week or so, depending on the weather, three more cruise ships are scheduled to pass these coordinates before the pleasure-cruise season ends.” He tucked his diary and charts under his pillow. “But I want that small chest—long before then.”

  “We’ll do our best to have your small chest before a cruise ship passes these coordinates, sir,” Dylc volunteered.

  Captain Joenf slightly nodded with a sense of approval.

  While the room was quiet Washburrn spoke with concern of a different matter. “Captain Joenf, we need to ask you more questions about this chest,” he insisted. “Too many have died.” He seemed to be holding back anger. “With all due respect, sir, we need to know everything you do about this peg-lock chest.”

  The captain raised his voice. “What do you want of me, Washburrn?”

  Alil stepped between them. “The Captain needs his rest. Please let’s continue this after he’s had some sleep.”

  “Alil,” the captain told her, “you’re starting to get on my nerves.”

  “Well, I never …” She slung her hair back and stormed off to the small storage room.

  The cabin was once again quiet. The captain relaxed his arms, but then with the empty cup in hand, slammed his fist on the small table next to him. The table split, spilling everything on it to the floor.

  The captain seemed overwhelmed with emotion. “That chest—I never should have let La’mamm and Lumpskin talk me into renting them those two rooms.” His face showed his grief. “But no—they had to keep nagging me, especially La’mamm.” He paused with a sigh. “But I sure hope he’s still alive.”

  “On top of everything else, it seems we have a bunch of Keba
don worshipers amongst us,” he grumbled as he sat up again, but with his head lowered. “Sorry you had to get involved, Kyhawn, this being your first time out to sea and all. If I’d known it was going to get so rough, I never would have ….”

  “No one knew this was going to happen.” Alil returned with a new glass of juice and a forgiving look. She stirred the juice and gave it to the captain. “Don’t go blaming yourself, sir.” She looked around at them. “He really needs his rest.”

  “Please stop mothering me.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and drank his juice.

  “What are Kebadon worshipers?” Kyhawn asked.

  Washburrn jumped in. “Joenf, you appear to be the only one left who might know what this is all about.” He ran his fingers through his reddish-blond, thinning hair. “By all means tell us about Kebadon.”

  “This information isn’t to leave this cabin.” The captain eased back while Alil adjusted his pillows. “As farfetched as it may sound, one of the artifacts contains an ancient spirit called Kebadon. It’s in a canister among the other artifacts, which also include a wand,” he waved a hand, “and some other stuff of a similar nature.” He yawned. “And I do believe there’s a small crystal inside the canister … wrapped in a scarf … or something like that.”

  Kyhawn’s throat became dry. He glanced over at Washburrn, and found him staring back. Kyhawn suddenly felt he knew something about the meaning of his dreams, but kept the thought to himself. The gray birds are the Grongels. The end of this age as we know it … is near? The dreaded words echoed in his mind.

  The captain rubbed his eyes sleepily. “La’mamm had the locks on the chest specially designed to keep the average thief from opening it. You also can’t burn the chest, nor can you smash it.” He yawned again. “The canister has a similar peg-lock system. You can’t burn it or smash it either. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I was also told no one has opened the canister for over a thousand years.” He paused, blinking his eyes. “There were also two daggers in the chest. One of them is decorated with inlaid jewels. The other is that key. The one I’ve been hearing about—that dagger-key. But what I don’t understand is how it got separated from the chest.” He squinted at Washburrn.

  All eyes were on Washburrn. “I haven’t opened it, and neither has Kyhawn, or anyone else to my knowledge. In fact, we didn’t know for sure what was in it.”

  Kyhawn interrupted, “As far as I know, the Grongels didn’t get it open. And it couldn’t have been that guy posing as La’mamm. That dagger-key had been found before they arrived.” He remained puzzled like the rest of them.

  “Someone must have opened it,” the captain insisted. “I just hope you buried the chest in a safe place this time.”

  “It’s safe.” Washburrn sounded insulted.

  “Good, keep it there until I say otherwise.” The captain nodded. “We should open it ourselves before we leave this island, and make sure everything on my list of its contents is in there.” He groaned. “Now that I think of it, the list is in my small chest.” He yawned as he started drifting off. “But that dagger-key—I’m not sure what its purpose is in all of this, and as far as I understand, neither does anyone else. All I know is that I was told it’s not a part of the ritual artifacts.” He gazed at Alil. “Alil, what did you put in my drink?”

  “Your sleeping powder and a few herbs.” She smiled.

  “Cut back on the amount. All we can do is hope one of those passing ships catches sight of our bonfire.” He tried to focus again on the blurred images around his bed. “So … let’s do what we can … to get the passengers … home … safe.”

  Suddenly a pet caterpillar dashed into the cabin, and with its eight furry legs it jumped onto Captain Joenf’s bed. “What the …? Someone get this varmint off me.”

  “Sorry,” a passenger said as he came in to retrieve it. “She’s a good pet, but a bit too friendly maybe.” Kyhawn handed her to him and led him out the door.

  A moment later the captain sat up straight and exploded in rage, throwing his cup against the wall. “Where in Goducess’s creation are we? And my ship—this island destroyed my ship ….”

  Washburrn and Alil grabbed him. “Hold on there, Joenf.” Washburrn wiped sweat away from his forehead. “We’re going to be all right, sir. The passengers too. We’ll make it home safe … somehow.”

  The captain dropped his arms to his side and stared, looking as though he were seeing something else. “My paintings,” he said. “Did anyone save the paintings hanging in the dining area?”

  “Paintings?” Dylc looked around at his crewmates. “We didn’t save any paintings.”

  Captain Joenf squeezed his fist together. “Those paintings that lined the staircase in the dining area—each of them was part of a map. A map that showed the locations of each piece of the Caytona plate, and where they’re hidden.” He moaned. “Now they’re lost … they’re gone forever.” He sunk back in his bed.

  “Caytona plate …?” Kyhawn questioned.

  The captain waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind—it has nothing to do with … any of this. A treasure hunt of my own, that’s all … just a treasure hunt of my own.”

  Alil and Kyhawn, picked up the broken pieces from Joenf’s cup as the captain took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m a bit tired now … be on my feet soon. But now I’d like to rest.” He eased his head up and opened his eyes. “But when you let the rest of the sick and wounded return to their beds, don’t you dare let Nevets back in. That’s an order! All he does is whine. I get enough of that … at home. My family …” He closed his eyes. "My wife … my kids ….”