House of Secrets

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House of Secrets Page 26

by Chris Columbus

The man smiled. “How can I say no? Do you know how to climb on?”

  “Hold on a minute, dude—” Brendan said, but the man was already leaning down and offering Eleanor one of his long arms. She got on the horse behind him.

  “Nell, are you sure this is a good idea? You don’t know—”

  “I’m Jacques,” the horse rider said proudly, “and this is Majesty. I’m her trainer. I raised her.”

  “I’m Brendan, and if you try to hurt my sister, I’ll come after you,” Brendan said, narrowing his eyes.

  Something in Jacques’s face changed. “Wait . . . are you . . . are you from the Moray?”

  “That’s right,” said Eleanor. “We’ve just been on a journey full of horrors.”

  “Please,” Jacques said, bowing his head to Brendan, “do not harm me, powerful brother. I will take good care of your sister, give her a riding lesson, and return her to you and your leader, Shaman Tranquebar.”

  “Shaman Tranquebar?” Brendan laughed. “He’s not a shaman. He’s a first mate—”

  “Our town has known Shaman Tranquebar for many years, Master Brendan. We have known him and loved him. Now if you’ll excuse me.” And Jacques was off, with Eleanor whooping behind him, into the winding lanes that threaded the town.

  Weird, Brendan thought, but it’s nice being called Master.

  Brendan kept walking, eager to see what the town had to offer, trying not to think about his dead parents. He was careful to avoid the pirates from the Moray, who clogged any street where a tavern was located, laughing and vomiting matter-of-factly in the gutter.

  Brendan came across a sweet shop. The windows were stacked with ridiculously oversize, mouth-watering caramel apples. Brendan hurriedly went inside and approached the elderly shopkeeper.

  “Excuse me, sir, do you think I could trade something—maybe one of these gold doubloons—for one of those apples in the window?”

  “Are you from the Moray?” asked the suddenly frightened man.

  “Well, yes—”

  “And you’re friends with Shaman Tranquebar?”

  Brendan shrugged. “I guess you could call us acquaintances—”

  “Any friend of Shaman Tranquebar is entitled to all the apples in my store! Take as many as you like, son! Free of charge!”

  “Okay . . . sure,” Brendan said, “but one will be just fine.” He grabbed the biggest apple he could find. “Thanks, Mister.”

  Two minutes later, Brendan munched the apple suspiciously as he approached a shop. The front window was filled with amazing weapons of all varieties: gigantic axes, obscenely sharp knives, and swords that would make the characters in The Hobbit drool. Brendan was about to enter . . . but on seeing him, this shopkeeper locked the door and scuttled beneath the counter like a squirrel. Every now and then, the shopkeeper’s head would peer above the countertop.

  “I can see you!” Brendan said. Then he turned and walked away, throwing his apple into the gutter. It had tasted perfect . . . maybe too perfect. Brendan suddenly thought the people in this town were under an enchantment spell, or they knew something they weren’t telling. He knew how fast secrets spread at school, how if you opened your ears you could literally hear them zinging through the halls. It felt like that here, like Brendan was the last one to know what the deal was. . . .

  And then he got to an open-air market and forgot all about it.

  Because he saw her.

  Celene. The girl Brendan had read about in Savage Warriors. That seemed like ages ago, but it had to be Celene; she fit the description perfectly. She was about Brendan’s height, with short brown hair and a tiny nose that poked up, but not like a pig—like she was curious. She had smart, sparkling eyes that were purple, just like the book said, and Brendan got a good look at them—because from the stand where she was picking out fruit, Celene was staring right at him.

  Brendan didn’t hesitate. He felt like he already knew her. And besides, he thought, what’s the worst that can happen? My parents are dead, I’m trapped in a mystical world . . . what is she gonna do? Not laugh at my jokes? Big deal!

  “Hey,” Brendan said as he approached Celene.

  “Hello,” Celene responded. She kept picking up fruit as she spoke to him, looking at it closely and putting it back in front of the merchant, who watched her and Brendan with wary eyes. Not a single fruit got put in her canvas bag.

  “None of them seem up to your standards. What’s your criteria?” Brendan asked, happy for once to use one of Cordelia’s words.

  “Physical perfection,” Celene said, holding up an orange and putting it back.

  Brendan looked at himself. He didn’t exactly scream “physical perfection,” but he refused to be psyched out. If I think I look bad, who’s going to think I look good?

  “I’m Brendan Walker,” he said as confidently as he could.

  “Celene,” the girl answered. “And I know who you are, Brendan.”

  “You do?” Wait a minute . . . I’m supposed to know who she is. I do know who she is! What’s going on?

  Celene came to a lemon that she actually seemed to like. She gave it to the merchant, who put it on a hanging scale . . . but as Brendan watched, the merchant slipped a folded note onto the scale at the same time.

  Brendan stared at the merchant—and realized that he was a little too built, with too-good posture, to just be a merchant. This man must be part of the secret group that Brendan had read about in Savage Warriors. . . .

  The Resistance. An army of freedom fighters who opposed the evil queen that Slayne served, Queen Daphne. Celene was part of the Resistance—one of the secret fighters, with a hard look on her face. As she paid for the lemon with copper coins, she pocketed the note. Brendan figured he better not mention the Resistance immediately.

  “A lot of people in this town seem to know me,” he managed. “Why is that? They’ve never met me.”

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Celene said.

  “That’s probably a good thing, right? Unless it’s a bad reputation. I don’t feel like I’ve done enough bad stuff to have a bad reputation. I mean, once I taped together all the silly straws in the kitchen cabinets to make a minipipe that took water from the sink to my sister’s room, and I kind of flooded the house and destroyed her laptop, but—” Stop, Bren; what’re you doing? “But that was like, years ago, and I’m a lot more mature now.”

  “How many years ago?” Celene asked.

  “Mmmmm . . . one,” Brendan admitted. They were walking together now. Celene laughed. Her smile showed all her teeth. Brendan remembered from Savage Warriors that one of her top teeth was crooked, and sure enough, there it was. He had to make her really smile to see it.

  Celene came to a stall that sold fish and octopus. Brendan saw the tentacled creatures stretched out on boards with their arms pressed together like they were wearing skirts. The smell was horrible, and as he gagged, he almost didn’t notice: Celene slipped the note out of her pocket and gave it to the fishmonger. He had the same look as the first merchant, like he was just doing his job while he had something much more important on his mind.

  Another Resistance freedom fighter. And she’s passing messages for them, just like the book said.

  “So why do people here know me?” Brendan asked.

  “Because you’re from the Moray,” said Celene. “The Moray always docks in our town, to trade.”

  Brendan tried to put it together. The Moray was from a totally different book than Celene—it was from The Heart and the Helm—but now that the books had gotten mashed up, the Moray obviously had made some visits here. The reality of each book was quickly becoming entangled with the others. Maybe Will’s squadron would soon show up and rescue all of them.

  “Who does the ship trade with?” Brendan asked.

  “Why should I tell you?” Celene responded. “Haven’t you read about it already, like you read about me?”

  “Hold on,” Brendan said. Who is she? Does she know she’s trapped in a book? “I’m not goo
d with riddles. Please. Tell me what’s going on. I’ve been through too much to get blindsided by another stupid spell or secret.”

  “But don’t you know all the spells and secrets? Aren’t you from outside?”

  She does know, Brendan realized. She’s just as smart as she was in the book. All he could say aloud was, “Maybe.”

  Celene grabbed his arm. “There is a prophecy that you will free us. That when one comes who is not of this world, we will finally be able to throw off the yoke of Queen Daphne and be free. You have to help us. Me and my father.”

  “Yes, fine, I’ll help,” Brendan said. He knew from the book that Celene’s father, a general, expected a lot of her. “But how?”

  “You should know in your heart,” Celene said. “It is your fate to help. To be a hero.”

  “Is that why everyone in this town treats me so strangely? Why are they giving me free food and running away from me?”

  “Because they’re scared, Brendan. Of the powerful men on the Moray. Tranquebar. Captain Sangray.”

  “Sangray’s dead.”

  “Dead?” That surprised Celene. “Who killed him? A man like Sangray doesn’t die unless he’s killed.”

  “My friend Will did it. The new captain of the Moray.”

  “That means trouble for all of you when Sangray’s brother finds out.”

  “Sangray has a brother?”

  “Of course. He’s the one who trades with the Moray. He’s here with his men today, probably down on the beach—”

  “Who is he?” said Brendan, a terrible realization sinking in.

  Celene whispered a name in Brendan’s ear.

  Brendan bolted.

  Celene was left standing in the market, confused, as he dashed past the fruit stand, past the weapons store, past the place where he’d gotten the candy apple, through the narrow dirt streets filled with donkeys and horses and pirates, all the way down to the beach where he had started. The whole time, his chest was heaving, his breath straining through his mouth like something sharp. I have to get there before it’s too late. I have to tell them. I have to—

  When he reached the beach, the first thing he saw was Kristoff House, still at sea, sunk in the water with just its chimney sticking up. On the sand a few dozen yards in front of it were Cordelia and Will. . . .

  Tied up and gagged.

  Next to them was Eleanor, similarly secured. Jacques the horse trainer was riding away on Majesty, looking very relieved and guilty.

  “Hey!” Brendan yelled. “What did you do to my sis—”

  But he stopped talking as men stepped toward him.

  One was Tranquebar. The rest wore shining full-plate armor. They had gruff faces, swords, and axes. One had a red beard . . . and one had a fresh scar from a barbecue fork on his cheek.

  “Slayne,” said Brendan—and then the Savage Warriors grabbed him.

  “There’s nothing quite so satisfying as having all one’s enemies in one place,” said Slayne, looking down at Brendan, Cordelia, Eleanor, and Will. They were under one of his chain-link nets on the beach, trapped as they had been back in the forest. Slayne’s men, who’d been terrified and fleeing on horses when the Walkers had last seen them, were now taking turns kicking sand in their faces.

  “Careful, we need them unspoiled for the queen!” Slayne warned.

  “Right, sir, sorry,” Krom said.

  “What queen?” asked Eleanor.

  “Queen Daphne,” Brendan said. He started to explain about the cruel ruler he had read about in Savage Warriors, whose existence Celene had confirmed.

  “Silence!” Slayne ordered. He knelt in front of Eleanor and turned his face so that the scar on his cheek was directly under her nose. “Remember what you did to me?”

  “I think it’s an improvement,” said Eleanor.

  “I’ll have my revenge,” growled Slayne. “I’ll cut off your fingers, one by one. And then, as you’re watching, I’ll coat them in boar batter and deep-fry them. That’s Queen Daphne’s favorite appetizer: fried kiddie fingers dipped in chocolate sauce!”

  That freaked Eleanor out. “No!” she screamed. “Let me go!” She shook against the metal net, trying to break free and hurt Slayne with anything—her teeth, her toenails—but her hands and feet were tied, and she couldn’t do much except flop around like a flounder.

  “My little warrior,” said Slayne, “I’m impressed by your spirit. I’d wager you could put up a good fight against Krom here. But sadly, we’ve no time for games. There are more pressing matters at hand.”

  Slayne raised the net and pulled Will out by the ankles.

  “Let go, you grotty blighter! You crusty brute! And you!” Will spat at Tranquebar. “You deceitful old gasbag!”

  “I told you not to take me for a fool, Captain Draper,” said Tranquebar. “I suspected quickly after you dispatched Sangray that you and your companions were keeping secrets. My friend Slayne here tells me you’re a warlock protecting a coven of dangerous witchlings. And so . . . I get a hefty reward; you go with him. Can you really blame me for being a smart businessman?”

  “Saving us, then sending us to our deaths? You deceitful beast!” Will yelled. “You’ll rot in hell!”

  Slayne dragged Will away from the net, leaving a trail in the sand that reminded Brendan of the angels he had made with Eleanor.

  “I want a fair fight!” Will demanded. Slayne let him flop onto the sand. He tried to stand but, with ropes securing his hands and feet, could only manage a defiant kneel. “Cut me free and give me a sword! Or aren’t you man enough?”

  Slayne just glared at Will.

  “I thought so,” said Will. “You’re afraid I’ll send you to the bottom of the sea!”

  “Like you did my brother?” Slayne asked quietly.

  Will paused. “Your brother? What in blazes are you—”

  Slayne pulled a sword and darted it under Will’s chin, raising Will’s face.

  “Captain . . . Sangray,” Slayne said slowly.

  “Ohhhh . . . ,” said Will. The Savage Warriors and the Walkers were all staring at him, but no one was more terrified than Cordelia. She saw how close the blade was to Will’s throat. She knew a quick flick of Slayne’s wrist would send him slumping over to darken the sand. She’d already lost her parents. She couldn’t lose him. Apologize, stupid! Apologize and beg for mercy!

  “I should have known,” Will said with a smirk.

  Oh no, Cordelia thought. “Be quiet, Will!” she called.

  But Will said, “Same freakish body, same foul face that only a mother could love . . . ”

  “Stop!” Cordelia screamed.

  But Will grinned at Slayne. “Oh, that’s right. You must never have known your mum. I bet she worked in a—”

  Slayne pressed his sword into the triangle of flesh under Will’s jaw. Drops of blood patted the sand.

  “Mmm!” Will said, keeping his mouth shut so he wouldn’t open his chin. He’d been looking at this all wrong. Having frightened these Savage Warriors off with bullets before, he wasn’t really scared of them. But the clarity of pain made him reevaluate the situation.

  “Did you ever pull apart spiders when you were a boy?” Slayne asked.

  Will shook his head just the tiniest bit, even though it cut him more.

  “I did. Big hairy wolf spiders. And with each one, there was a moment I loved most of all: when I held the spider’s first leg . . . right . . . here.”

  Slayne pinched the air. It was the perfect time for Will to lunge aside—but doing that would tear his throat open.

  “When I made that first pinch, I always heard a voice in my head: ‘You don’t have to hurt this spider. What did he ever to do you?’ It was a test of strength. I had to ignore that voice and”—Slayne yanked with his finger and thumb—“pull the leg off. Soon I wasn’t killing spiders. I was killing the voice of weakness.”

  “Please! Let him go!” Cordelia said.

  Slayne nodded to Krom. Krom aimed a precise kick at Cordel
ia’s chest. She went down under the net with the wind knocked out of her.

  “My queen requested that I deliver your friends alive,” Slayne said, “but she has no orders regarding you, Mr. Draper. And you killed my kin.”

  Will’s mind was in overdrive, jumping backward through his life. He saw Penelope Hope—Cordelia—the war—his mates—the training field—but then his memories went gray. Do I even count? he thought. I’ve no mum, no dad . . . if I die, who’s going to care?

  But then he realized . . . there were three people who would care. One perhaps most of all. He glanced to his left and locked eyes with Cordelia.

  “Satisfy your bloodlust,” Will said. “As long as you let my friends live through the day. I promised to protect them.”

  Slayne smiled, and pulled his sword away from Will’s throat. He stepped behind him and made as if to sheath it—

  But then, with a quick move, he stabbed it into Will’s back.

  Will stumbled and hit the ground.

  “Will!” Cordelia cried from under the net.

  Slayne wiped his blade clean on the pilot’s pants. Then he stepped away and left Will bleeding on the sand.

  The Walkers didn’t stop screaming for a long time. Not until Slayne had tossed Will’s body into the ocean. Not until Tranquebar had been paid with a wheelbarrow full of gold bars. The first mate put the word out to the pirates that they were setting sail again; by nightfall the Moray was being outfitted for a new journey.

  Meanwhile, Krom and a few warriors came forward with a cart.

  “What is that?” Eleanor asked. “Is that for us?”

  The cart was ancient and full of dirty hay, with flies. The warriors rested it on the dock, lifted the net from the Walkers, and dumped them in one by one.

  “Help!” Brendan yelled.

  “Let us go!” Eleanor screamed.

  But Cordelia did nothing. She kept seeing Will die. Kept hearing the silence of that moment. She knew there had been a sound . . . but she couldn’t hear it anymore, and she couldn’t speak.

  “Tie ’em up so it hurts!” Krom ordered.

  The warriors did, binding the Walkers together as if they were entering the world’s cruelest six-legged race. Their ankles and wrists were fastened in spirals of rope.

 

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