Brendan stifled a gasp. Sangray looked like a wrestler, but not one of the new ones who were all body-shaved and clean-cut: one of the crazy retro ones like the Undertaker. He was six feet six, with one strong leg perched on either side of the roof’s peak; he wore leather breeches and a gold-fringed vest . . . and he sported the wildest beard Brendan had ever seen. It extended down a foot from his chin, jet black and tapered to two points, but it didn’t really end there, because the points were woven in with two leather straps that reached his belt and attached to crescent-shaped blades.
“Holy . . . Captain Sangray’s got knives attached to his beard!” Brendan said.
Eleanor inched forward for a look.
“Guys, careful, we’re gonna get caught . . . ,” warned Cordelia.
But it was too late. Next to Captain Sangray, sharp-eyed Tranquebar pointed toward the cone the Walkers were hiding behind.
“Look at that, Cap’n! Three of them.”
Brendan gritted his teeth and tried to imagine how he would fight Captain Sangray—he didn’t think he stood a chance against those razor-sharp beard blades. But instead of rushing down the roof to catch the Walkers, Sangray asked, “What are you talking about, Tranquebar?”
“Sharks!” said the first mate. “Three fins whipping around in the water, tearing at something!”
Cordelia looked. Far behind the house, the ocean frothed around a trio of sleek, blue-gray predators that were fighting over . . .
“Your shirt, Bren! They’re going after the blood!” Cordelia said. “My plan worked!”
“What plan?”
“Shh. Listen.”
Tranquebar pulled out a spyglass and held it up. After getting a good look at the sharks, he rose on the balls of his feet to whisper in his captain’s ear. “Cap’n, the sharks have the ankle biter’s shirt!”
“Are you certain?” asked Sangray curiously.
“Has mine eye ever let you down, Cap’n? It’s the shirt that brat was wearing.”
Sangray considered this, then mumbled, “Bet the shirt’s all that’s left of them.” His beard was shaped by oil, which glinted in the sun. His calculating eyes darted from the ocean to his men, who were fumbling around on the roof, complaining that they weren’t allowed to drink the wine, asking one another how it was that they’d been given the slip by a bunch of children. . . .
“Men, the spoon-fed brats are dead!” declared Sangray. “Shark food, as I suspected. Back inside—and to celebrate, let’s all have a bottle of enchanted wine!”
The pirates responded with a roar. “San-gray! San-gray! Long live the cap’n!”
Sangray smiled; he knew how fragile his position could be. “To you, my men! To you!” He trilled a laugh—but, as the pirates climbed back into the attic, cut it off and pulled Tranquebar aside.
“If you’ve made a liar of me, old friend, I’ll cut out your good eye, chew it up, and spit it back into the socket under that patch, understand?”
Tranquebar nodded. “Wouldn’t be the Moray without threats like that, my captain.”
The Walkers waited until Sangray and Tranquebar were gone before they crept out from behind their hiding place. They flopped onto the roof, totally exhausted.
“Guys, we need to keep moving . . . ,” said Cordelia. “Let’s get to the chimney. It’s safer. See?”
The Kristoff House chimney offered some shade, plus it had a flat platform surrounding it. Using the last of their strength, the Walkers got to their feet and climbed.
“Wait,” said Eleanor. “Won’t the pirates on the Moray see us?”
“We’ll keep our heads down,” said Brendan, “and besides, I think most of the pirates are in our house.” Sure enough, as if in answer, a window shattered below. Eleanor looked down to see a pirate calling, “Ho, mates! Time to use the privy!”
Before Eleanor could look away, the pirate urinated into the sea as he swigged from a wine bottle.
“Arrrrrr!” he called, impressed with his arc.
“Gross! What are you waiting for? Go!” Eleanor said, completely freaked out.
The Walkers reached the chimney and curled around it. Eleanor was nearly hyperventilating at the disgusting sight she had just seen.
“Guys, we need to get out of here,” she said. “Can’t one of us just do something selfish? Something greedy? Then the book will show up and the Wind Witch will send us home.”
“We can’t abandon Will and Penelope,” Cordelia said.
“We don’t stand a chance against those pirates,” argued Eleanor. “We need to think about ourselves.”
“Nell—” began Brendan.
“Yes! I know,” interrupted Eleanor. “I know it’s a horrible thing to say—and I know worse stuff than you, because of the story; I know what Sangray does—but Will is just a character from a book. And Penelope, she was brought back to life by magic. But I’m a kid with a real life ahead of her. And I don’t want to die here!”
“Nell, Will is very real to us,” said Cordelia. “You know how much I love books, but I’ve never felt this way about a character I’ve read about—”
“Me too,” said Brendan. Since everyone else was saying what they were really feeling, he decided to chime in. “Penelope feels very real to me.”
“And we’re the only ones who can help them,” Cordelia said. “We have to try. But we’ll never get past those pirates in the daylight. We have to wait up here until it’s dark.”
Eleanor didn’t answer. She just laid her head down with her siblings and thought, They don’t understand anything.
Something jabbed Cordelia’s side. “My phone,” she said, removing the dripping device from her pocket. “Dead from seawater.”
“And you don’t even have insurance,” yawned Brendan.
“What good is insurance gonna do me out here?”
“It was a joke—jeez. Maybe you should let it dry out; sometimes they work again.”
Cordelia placed the phone beside her, letting it cook in the sun, as the Walkers fell into a fitful state of unconsciousness beside the chimney. They awoke every few minutes with the sun baking them, shifting positions to stay in the shade . . . and to keep from falling into the sea. Eleanor was still angry and didn’t want to sleep, but when the human body is completely spent, it can recharge anywhere.
Eleanor woke up under the stars.
Her brother and sister were still asleep. The air temperature had dropped by thirty degrees; she hugged herself in the cold. The wind whistled across the chimney. The moon was nearly full, rising over the horizon. The Moray sailed through the water at a steady clip, towing the house. The pirates had made their way back to the ship and were having a raucous party. A screeching whiz produced a firework that exploded in the air like a giant dandelion. Pirates cheered as sparks drifted down. Someone on deck was playing a fiddle; someone else was tap-dancing (or maybe it was the same, very talented person).
Am I dreaming? Eleanor wondered, and then it all came back to her: the ship, the attack, her situation. She wasn’t dreaming at all, and she wasn’t close to going home.
Unless I do something selfish. Something against the best interest of my family. Something only for me.
Eleanor eyed her brother and sister, curled around the chimney as if it were a perfectly normal place to sleep. Soon they’re gonna wake up, and they’re gonna want me to go on that pirate ship to rescue Will and Penelope, which is impossible. But with one little push . . .
Eleanor stood behind Cordelia. In a moment of crisis, her brain had its own twisted logic. If I push her off the edge, I’ll be doing something really selfish. That book will appear. And then I can give it to the Wind Witch and we can all go home. I’ll be a hero!
Of course Eleanor knew it was a terrible idea—but a voice inside her head told her that Cordelia wouldn’t be in the ocean for long. She was a great swimmer, and she would only need to tread water for a few minutes, and then . . . Chinese food! Golden Gate Park! Mom and Dad.
Eleanor reached out and gently place
d her hands on Cordelia’s back, about to push her off the edge—when she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
The Book of Doom and Desire.
It sat at the peak of the roof, balanced perfectly, teetering as the house moved through the water. Wow! Eleanor thought. I didn’t even have to push her off! I just had to think about it!
Eleanor moved away from Cordelia and crawled toward the book. As she got close, two shapes began to materialize on either side of it. At first they were just streaks of curling purple light, but as Eleanor watched in disbelief, the light took shape and substance, becoming a leg, an arm, a face . . .
She was looking at her parents.
“Mom! Dad!”
Dr. and Mrs. Walker nodded. They were dressed in the same clothes Eleanor had last seen them in, when they were all eating pizza before the Wind Witch attack. They looked calm.
“Is this a dream?”
Eleanor’s parents shook their heads and stared at the book. Eleanor crawled closer. They want me to open it. It makes sense. That’s what the Wind Witch wants too.
She put her hands on the book—and remembered her brother and sister. She turned. “What about them?”
Her parents didn’t answer.
“They’ll come home too, right?”
Her mother shook her head.
“But they have to! I can’t go back alone!”
Her mother whispered, “You have to. Only one person can go home at a time. You need to be the first. You’re our baby.”
Eleanor scowled. “But I can’t leave them behind—”
“Of course you can. They’ll get home. Eventually.”
“I don’t know . . . ”
“Just open the book, Eleanor. You’ll be home within seconds, just like the Wind Witch promised. We’ll order dim sum and Ghirardelli sundaes and we’ll take you and your friends to the new Pixar movie and then you can all come back to the house for a sleepover and I’ll make French toast for breakfast. . . .”
Warmth seeped through the book’s leather cover as Eleanor started to open it.
“That’s it . . . good girl,” her father and mother said, now speaking in perfect unison. Their voices cracked ever so slightly.
“What’s wrong with you guys? You sound weird,” said Eleanor, holding the book’s cover halfway open.
“Just open the book,” her parents said.
“You don’t sound like my parents,” said Eleanor, starting to close it.
“Of course we are,” they said in perfect stereo. “Just open the damn book!”
But that made Eleanor even more wary. “My parents would never swear around me. Who are you?”
And then her parents snapped.
“I said open it! What are you doing? You always were a stubborn little fool!”
And with that, Eleanor saw that her parents’ teeth were turning yellow—and she knew where she’d heard that voice before. She slammed the book shut. In front of her, her parents roared, and now they were twisting and changing, surrounded by purple light, their skin cracking and aging, their hair falling out like in a horrible time-lapse video. They rose from the roof and, in the night sky, melted their bodies together to become the Wind Witch.
She wasn’t the real Wind Witch; she shimmered and shook—a conjured vision, a hologram like the book the Walkers had seen back in the forest. But she was just as scary as the real thing.
“Open the book!” screamed the Wind Witch.
“No! I’m not opening this! Ever!”
“Then you’ll never get home! Don’t you understand? Your brother and sister don’t want to leave. They don’t love your mother and father the way you do! And they don’t love you either!”
With a screech, the Wind Witch illusion shot up like a comet and disappeared into the night sky. The book slipped out of Eleanor’s hands, slid down the roof, and fell into the ocean—but when it hit the waves, instead of splashing, it vanished without a sound. Eleanor screamed.
“What’s happening?” Cordelia asked.
Cordelia and Brendan rushed to their sister. Eleanor was shaking, terrified by the nightmare vision she’d just had.
“I . . . I . . . ” Eleanor almost lied and said she’d been dreaming. “I saw the book. The book was here.”
“The book? The Book of D and D?” Brendan asked.
“Yeah. And Mom and Dad were here too, telling me to open it . . . but they weren’t really Mom and Dad. They were just some fake hologram made up by the Wind Witch, trying to convince me to leave you two behind—”
“But you didn’t,” Cordelia said. “You beat her, Nell.”
“We’re so proud of you,” said Brendan, hugging his sister.
“I don’t know if I could do it again,” said Eleanor. “She promised me all my favorite foods. She knew how to get into my head—”
“It won’t be you next time,” said Brendan.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the book tried to tempt me,” said Brendan. “Then you. And with you it was worse because you saw an image of the Wind Witch too.” He shook his head. “That book’s bad news. I’d rather read a biography of Barbie.”
“Hey!” complained Eleanor.
“Next time she’ll probably go after Deal. Hopefully she’s as strong as us—”
“Ha, I have better willpower than both of you,” said Cordelia, but there was an uncertain tone in her voice. She immediately changed the subject. “It’s night. We need to get to that ship and save Will and Penelope.”
“How are we gonna do that? Climb across those?” Brendan pointed to the ropes that connected Kristoff House to the Moray. He had woken up freezing, much colder than his sisters because his shirt was gone, pieces of it scattered inside the bellies of three sharks. He felt his chin and found a throbbing pimple growing there. As if this adventure weren’t difficult enough.
“I think so,” said Cordelia. “It’s not like we have a choice; we’re really sinking now.” She nodded to the side of the roof. The water was much closer than it had been when they’d fallen asleep. “The first story’s totally flooded by now.”
“So where do you think Captain Sangray was taking Will and Penelope?”
“Probably his quarters,” Eleanor said, pointing to the rear cabin of the Moray, the one with the stained glass, which was lit from inside by hanging lanterns. Through the glass the Walkers could see a large table with coils of heavy chain on it, surrounded by masks mounted on the walls. The three kept watching as the pirates partied on deck, singing inappropriate songs and setting off more fireworks. Soon enough, three silhouettes entered the cabin.
The first was hulking; it had to be Captain Sangray. The other two were limp bodies he carried over his shoulders. Cordelia recognized Will (with his lanky frame) and Penelope (with her massive shoulder pads).
“It’s them! Are they dead?”
“I don’t think so,” said Brendan. In silhouette, as if he were part of a grotesque puppet play, Sangray heaved Will and Penelope onto the table and chained up their wrists and ankles.
“What’s he doing with them?”
“He’s gonna do his horrible experiments,” said Eleanor, stifling a gulp.
“Live human vivisection,” intoned Brendan, remembering the words Sangray had used to threaten him.
In his cabin, the captain stepped away from the bodies and took a mask with a long tapered nose off the wall. He strapped it to his face and kicked his head back. The Walkers heard his laughter over the waves.
“Oh no,” said a frightened Eleanor. “It’s just like it was in the book. And that was the grossest, sickest thing I’ve ever read in my—”
“Let’s go,” interrupted Cordelia, stepping toward the ropes and almost tripping over her phone. It was right where she’d left it, dried out.
“Try it,” Brendan said. Cordelia turned it on. The screen lit up. Brendan gave her a look like, Who’s the man?
“Don’t get too excited; still no bars.” Cordelia pocketed the phon
e. “Follow me, guys. Maybe we can cause a distraction and get Will and Penelope out of there.”
The Walkers approached the thick ropes that were towing Kristoff House. They stretched high and taut over the water to the stern of the Moray and looked like they could slice skin open on contact.
Cordelia took a breath and slowly reached for a rope, but Brendan said, “Let me.”
He took one in his fist. It felt strong, secure. A lifeline.
“We can do this,” Brendan said in his best pep-talk voice. “Between us we have like nine hundred years on these guys.” He slung himself under the rope and started across the waves, hand over fist, hanging upside down. Cordelia smiled. Sometimes my little brother really does seem grown-up.
“Not looking down,” Eleanor said, following Brendan, trying to ignore the wind lashing at her clothes. Cordelia brought up the rear. Soon the Walkers were fifteen feet from the Moray, then ten, then five . . . Then a pirate appeared.
The Walkers went absolutely still. “Nobody move,” whispered Cordelia. The pirate was totally wasted, clutching a bottle of “enchanted” wine, stumbling along the deck, singing a sea chantey whose lyrics spoke of unmentionable horrific acts in contrast to its cheery tune. He turned back toward the front of the ship.
“Sweet,” said Brendan. “He’s leaving. We made it—”
The pirate tripped. The wine bottle flew out of his hand, flipped through the air, and fell into the sea. He swore and ran to the ship’s stern. “Yesh took m’drink! Yesh greedy ocean!”
The pirate broke down and started crying into the waves. The Walkers felt their hands cramping and collectively willed him to go away . . . but before he did, he saw them.
“Issh . . . ish the ankle biters!” He pointed his gun at the Walkers. “Come aboard—and if ye try anything, I’ll blasht ye inter the sea!”
Eleanor’s brain spun. “I know who that is!” she whispered to her siblings. “One of the pirates in the book: Ishmael Hynde.”
“What do you remember about him?” asked Cordelia.
“He’s from England. . . . He’s a ‘womanizer,’ but I don’t know what that is,” she said, trying to remember. “He’s good with a bow and arrow, superstitious, believes in all sorts of supernatural stuff . . . ”
House of Secrets Page 19