“Tsk, tsk,” said the sailor, grimacing to reveal a row of yellow teeth.
David cringed as the man stretched a gloved hand toward them.
Instead of snatching away the book, however, the sailor’s fingers closed around the mess of wires that lay on the rope. He removed his gloves and began to untangle them.
“These belong to Erasmus,” he said in a heavy accent. “Maybe bad boys don’t know, but things are very bad in Europe, yes? Radio tells us where we can go. Understand? No more mischief—Karl is watching, eh?”
He wagged his finger at them and clomped on down the deck with a satisfied smirk.
“At least he didn’t seem to know what the book is,” said Max, exhaling a moment later. “And now we know he speaks English.”
David nodded but said nothing. The corners of his mouth tightened as he fastened the book’s clasp and slid it under his sweater.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Max.
“Nothing yet,” David said crossly. “It’ll have to wait now that Karl’s watching us. This isn’t the place to do it, anyway.”
“Do what?” asked Max, feeling a sudden tremor of cold race down his spine.
“Summon Astaroth, of course,” replied David, bracing himself as the trawler’s bow rose up the face of a gray-green swell.
Late that night, Max was smooshed against the wall of the control room while the crew of the Erasmus continued to pile inside. The captain bellowed for quiet while Karl fiddled with the radio, adjusting a knob with the tiniest of movements to scan through the shortwave frequencies. For several minutes only static crackled through the tinny speaker. Frowning, the men spooned at leftover bowls of a pungent fish soup thickened with flour.
Max heard Mum cry out suddenly. A crewman groaned as the hag elbowed him aside and tunneled to the front.
“Something’s comin’ through!” she shrieked. “Shut up, shut up!”
Max shut his eyes and strained to listen. There was indeed a voice crackling through the interference, as though calling to them from another world. It was a woman’s voice, with an English accent, and it spoke in a calm and even tone. The static subsided and the voice could be heard.
“. . . from emergency headquarters outside London. All citizens of the European Union are required to report to their nearest government office for registration, emergency supplies, and further instructions. Foreign travel is forbidden. Those who fail to register or attempt to leave any member country will be arrested. Any individual found to be harboring any unregistered persons is subject to arrest. Your cooperation during this difficult time is greatly appreciated. This is a message from the BBC, transmitted from emergency headquarters outside London.”
A quiet patter of voices filled the cabin as the announcement was repeated. While those who spoke English translated for their shipmates, Max watched as Cooper slipped through the crowd for a quiet word with the captain. Karl continued fiddling with the radio, but Max saw him glance occasionally at Cooper and the captain, as though he were listening. Max hurried toward the door, where Miss Boon and Mr. McDaniels were standing.
“What’s this mean, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” said his father, squeezing Max’s shoulder. “It doesn’t sound good.”
Max turned quickly to Miss Boon.
“What’s Cooper telling the captain?” he asked.
“I wish I knew,” muttered his teacher. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon. Meanwhile, it’s late. David’s already gone to bed and so should you.”
“But there might be more news!” Max protested. He glanced again at Karl and lowered his voice to an urgent hiss. “And I don’t trust that guy by the radio. David and I think he’s spying on us.”
Miss Boon stood on tiptoe and clucked her tongue.
“I’m on it,” she muttered. “If there’s any more news, I’ll be sure to tell you. Now off to bed—or else we can get a head start on tomorrow’s lessons.”
Max began to speak, but Miss Boon flicked him a look that quashed all protest. His father yawned and slung an arm over Max’s shoulder.
“I’m going to turn in, too,” he said. “Claim the cot before Mum snares it!”
David was not asleep when the McDanielses climbed down into the cabin. He was standing shirtless before a small vanity mirror that was bolted to the wall. He held a lamp in his hand, creating a ghostly effect on his mirrored face. His reflection shifted its gaze to watch them descend.
“Whatcha doing, David?” asked Mr. McDaniels, glancing at David’s messy pile of blankets in the corner. “Can’t sleep?”
“No,” said David, reaching for his shirt. His voice sounded oddly detached. “I had my last surgery three years ago today, you know.”
“I didn’t know you’d had surgery,” said Mr. McDaniels, shooing Nick off the cot.
David smiled. “Heart surgery,” he said, turning around to reveal a long pink scar down the center of his chest. “Actually, a heart transplant,” he clarified. “Three years ago . . . it was my second one.”
“I didn’t know that,” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels, leaning forward to peer at the scar while Max placed Nick inside a padded crate. Max had seen it before, but his roommate was always quick to hide it. Now David stood exposed, considering the pale line of tissue with a distant expression. He traced his finger along the scar.
“Two other people died so I could live,” he murmured. “It makes me sad sometimes.”
“No,” rumbled Mr. McDaniels sympathetically. “That’s not the way to look at it, son. Those poor souls’ time had come. I think they’d be happy to know they gave you a chance to live. They get to live on through you! The way I see it, you’ve done each other a favor.”
David smiled appreciatively and dimmed the lamp to the radiance of a nightlight before wriggling back beneath his blankets. Max said nothing, but slipped off his shoes and climbed into his own makeshift bed near the kitchenette.
“There’s so much happening,” David said, his voice sounding very small, even in the snug cabin. “There are times when I don’t think I can stand it anymore. I know what you heard on the radio. They’re starting to do the same things in America, too—it’s all too terrible to even think about.”
“How could you know all that if you’ve been down here?” asked Mr. McDaniels.
David didn’t reply.
Max listened to the low whine of the ship’s engines and wondered just whom his roommate had been speaking to. He scanned the cabin for the red book, but it was nowhere to be seen. Several moments passed before David spoke again.
“I try not to think of my mom, but I can’t help it,” he said, his voice as tense as stretched wire. “I want to know she’s all right.”
Max stopped looking for the red book and propped himself up on an elbow. This was the first time David had mentioned his mother since she had moved and left no forwarding address the previous year.
“She is, David,” said Mr. McDaniels soothingly.
“Adults always want to say things are fine, even when they don’t know,” David sighed. “I’d rather know if something’s bad than just believe that it’s good.”
Mr. McDaniels grunted. “That’s interesting. I think you and Max are cut from the same cloth. Me? I’d rather believe the best. Maybe I’m a fool, but it keeps me afloat.”
Max heard the jingle of keys and change as his father rummaged about for his wallet.
“Turn that lamp up a bit and come over here, David. You too, Max.”
Max and David converged on Mr. McDaniels’s cot and sat on its edge. In the soft yellow glow of the cabin, Mr. McDaniels looked like a sleepy bear, warm and content in his nightshirt of striped flannel. He held a small photograph gently at its corners.
“I want to show you my Bryn,” he said softly.
“I’ve seen pictures of Mrs. McDaniels before,” said David, hugging his knees. “Max has pictures of you all back at Rowan.”
“No,” said Mr. McDaniels, “those pictures are of
our Bryn McDaniels—my wife and Max’s mother. This is my Bryn.”
He handed the faded picture to David, who scooted over to make room for Max. The photo was of Max’s mother and he had never seen it before. She had been quite young when it was taken—younger even than Miss Boon. Dark eyes, brimming with laughter, flashed up from her newspaper as she lounged at an outdoor café. She had the same proud bearing as Max, the same sharp cheekbones and shining black hair.
“This is the woman I fell in love with,” said Mr. McDaniels, “and the woman who loved me back even though she was way out of my league. Most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. And smart! I swear, David, the woman knew everything—she’d even give you a run for your money!”
The cot shook with Mr. McDaniels’s chuckle. Max looked hard at his father, whose eyes were shining like those of a happy little boy. Scott McDaniels sighed and thumped David on the knee.
“I haven’t seen my Bryn for a long time now. In my heart of hearts, though, I know I’ll see her again. That gives me hope, and hope keeps me going.”
“I don’t know,” said David slowly. “Hope seems like it could be a dangerous thing, Mr. McDaniels. I think it could drive me crazy or distract me from what I have to do.”
Mr. McDaniels started to answer but stopped at the sound of footsteps coming down the hatch. Cooper stood on the bottom stair holding an armful of canned food.
“Pack up your things,” he said quietly. “We’re heading straight for the mainland. They’re intercepting all boat traffic in the Channel. We’ll have to make for Frankfurt by land.”
“Where are they dropping us off?” asked Mr. McDaniels.
“Spain,” muttered Cooper, letting the cans spill from his arms into an open pack.
“Spain?” groaned Mr. McDaniels. “But that’s hundreds of miles away from Germany. Can’t they drop us off any closer? It doesn’t make any sense!”
Cooper stepped quickly over to their cot and slid the captain’s locker out from beneath it.
“That’s exactly why we’re doing it,” muttered the Agent, plucking a fancy-looking cheese and some smoked venison from the captain’s private stores. The Agent stood and glanced impatiently at the three of them still sitting huddled on the bed. His eyes fell on the photograph cradled in David’s palm. The Agent tilted his head for a better look.
“Ah!” said Mr. McDaniels, brightening once again. “Admiring my pretty lady, are you? That’s my wife, Cooper. Max’s mother.”
Cooper blinked. His cold blue eyes flicked from the photograph to Max.
“A strong likeness,” said the Agent with a curt nod.
Miss Boon and Mum came down a few minutes later, and the six of them set to gathering up their sweaters and books, cooking pans and food. While they packed, Max bit his tongue and tried to file away the questions that crowded his mind. More than once, he caught Cooper glancing at him, confirming what he already knew: this was not the first time Cooper had seen Bryn McDaniels.
7
THE SPANISH BOOKSELLER
It was nearly dawn when the captain knocked on the cabin door to tell them it was time to depart. Max yawned, scooped Nick into his arms, and followed Cooper up the steps. Most of the crew was crowded on deck, lining the starboard rail and staring out at the ocean. A strange light danced and flickered on their faces. Clutching Nick close, Max stepped between two of the sailors and gasped. The ocean was on fire.
A cargo ship was lolling on its side in the pale sea, spewing a bright torrent of flame and black smoke into the pale morning. It looked like the old whaling images Max had seen in books: a harpooned giant that had rolled onto its side, expelling the essence of its life in one final gasp. Floating blobs of burning oil dotted the sea like lily pads, eerie and beautiful as they bobbed and flickered on the swells. Max searched for passengers or crew but saw no one.
Beyond the burning vessel was a dark, rocky shore that extended out to the north until it dwindled away in a light blue haze. In the far distance, another ship was burning. What must have been a monstrous inferno appeared as small and harmless as a guttering candle.
Cooper had some quiet words with the captain before addressing the group.
“This is where we get off,” he said, shouldering his pack. “Captain’s worried about mines, and I can’t blame him. Make sure you—Mum, let him do his job!”
The hag scowled and released the arm of a crewman whom she’d come to fancy. Color returned to the young man’s face. He nodded to Cooper appreciatively and joined his fellows in lowering a cumbersome lifeboat over the side. Max and the rest clambered down the rickety ladder and piled within it, steadying the small craft as it rolled on the gentle swells, bumping against the larger ship.
Max helped his father push their boat away from the Erasmus’s side. Once away, he settled into his seat only to hear someone call his name. He glanced up to see the red-bearded sailor leaning over the rail. A cold, knowing smile spread across the man’s face as he lit a cigarette and bid them farewell. Max glared back while Cooper took the oars and began rowing them toward shore. They gave the burning ship a wide berth, and soon the Erasmus was lost behind the veil of oily smoke that swept across the sea.
“Cooper, that man with the red beard—”
“Is just now marking his chart so he can report to his superiors where we’ve landed,” interjected the Agent. “Spies will be looking for us in Lisbon.”
David swiveled in his seat.
“Why would he tell them we’re in Portugal? Is he on our side?”
“Not at all,” replied Cooper. “He’s most certainly in the employ of the Enemy—or the witches. He’ll tell them we’re in Lisbon because Miss Boon implied that’s where we are,” replied Cooper. “I nearly believed it myself. Your teacher has a talent for suggestion.”
“You bewitched him?” asked Mr. McDaniels.
“A crude expression,” said Miss Boon, sitting noticeably taller among the baggage. “But yes, I had a few words with him after you’d gone to bed. A revolting man.”
“Lisbon’s not that far,” said Mr. McDaniels. “Why not just tell him we were in Chile?”
“Plausibility is the key to effective suggestion, Mr. McDaniels,” explained Miss Boon. “Did you hear that, boys?”
“Yes, Miss Boon,” replied Max and David in chorus.
“Oh, forget your silly lessons,” sniffed Mum, sinking lower in her wrap. “Blabbing away while I’m heartbroken. I’ll never forget that sailor, mind you! He was such a wonderfully dumb and handsome thing. Practically begged to come with me . . .”
Cooper rowed steadily toward the empty shore.
“And what would you have served him with, Mum?” asked the Agent.
“Ooh! Let me think,” cried the hag, sitting up straight and clapping excitedly. “He had a delightful aroma—like a great juicy pork chop! Sweet potatoes would garnish him proper, or a dollop of me old Nan’s spinach—” The hag paused midclap. “Of course, Mum speaks theoretically. . . .”
Miss Boon raised an eyebrow.
“I hate to admit it, but Mum’s making me hungry,” piped up Mr. McDaniels. “What’s the plan when we reach shore? Nice people on the Erasmus, but not much in the way of real grub.”
“We’ve got canned food until we reach Salamanca,” replied the Agent.
“And how far is that?” asked Mr. McDaniels.
“A hundred miles or so,” replied the Agent, steering them around a bobbing trunk.
Mr. McDaniels groaned.
“We need to avoid any place that might require us to register,” explained the Agent. “We’re fugitives, Mr. McDaniels.”
“But from whom? That’s the question,” murmured David.
Max turned to gaze at the quiet shoreline of dark rock and tide pools. Now that they were closer, Max could see small houses dotting the cliffs, squat little structures with unlit windows.
“Who would live here?” asked Max. “It seems so deserted.”
“Fishermen,” replied Cooper, squin
ting over his shoulder. “And there are even few of them in these parts. The nearest city is Santiago de Compostela.”
Max clawed through his pack for the atlas Miss Boon had brought along. He searched the index for a map of Spain. In the northwest corner of Spain he spied Santiago de Compostela; Salamanca was to the southeast.
“Why are we going to Salamanca?” asked Max. “If we’re headed to Germany, shouldn’t we cut across the northern coast?”
“A fair question,” said Miss Boon, leaning close to study the map herself.
“Two reasons,” muttered Cooper. “We want to avoid coasts and borders—that’s where surveillance will be concentrated. Second, there’s someone in Salamanca I need to see.”
“And who might that be?” asked the young teacher.
“An old friend,” replied the stoic Agent. “David, what’s the status of your trinket there?”
David reached into his shirt and lifted out Bram’s golden talisman. No matter how he turned it in his hand, in the early gloom it shone as bright as a sun-baked coin.
For several days, the six walked along a dusty road that bordered a field of languishing, half-harvested wheat. There was a medieval quality to the countryside—old trees and ruins and rough granite jutting up like teeth from the fading green hills. The land was beautiful but lonely. On the first day, they had seen a little girl and boy peeking out from a golden wood, but the pair had fled at the sight of them and they had seen no one since. The structures they glimpsed had been abandoned, from pillared granaries and old stone houses to red-tiled buildings that dotted the rolling landscape. A cold November wind blew through the swaying stalks, punctuated by David’s singsong voice reciting the riddle.
Beneath where Teuton kings were crowned
There is a key with notches four
To steer my steed beyond the sun
And safely knock on heaven’s door.
“Do you understand the Riddle?” asked Max to Miss Boon.
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