Jim looked at the door handle and, sure enough, found no slot for a key. “Oh, I see,” was all he said, for he was truly stumped by this one and could tell that Cornelius was too, which made him extremely grumpy with the dark-feathered bird and his know-it-all voice. “Maybe it will open like the last one did, just by turning the handle.”
“That’s highly doubtful,” said Cornelius. “I already said, the vault probably wouldn’t repeat either a method or an answer.”
“Well we should try it, just in case,” Jim said crossly, reaching for the handle.
“No, Jim, wait!” Cornelius shrieked, but it was too late; Jim had already grabbed the handle and gave it a sharp turn.
The door refused to budge, much less open, and the room sat quiet as a tomb. “See,” Jim said, actually a little relieved that nothing awful had befallen them when he turned the handle. “It was worth a try. Nothing happened.”
“Ah, yes, fantastic,” Cornelius sighed. “Maybe all these blokes just starved to death from nothing happening!”
“Cornelius, you’re not being very—” A furious scolding was about to fly from Jim’s tongue when a loud groan rumbled from behind the walls. The boy and the bird froze. For a moment, all Jim could hear was his own heavy breathing and the thundering beats of his terrified heart. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when the groaning stopped—until hidden holes in the stone suddenly erupted in spouts of water.
“What manner of devilry is this?” Cornelius flapped his wings in panic. Jim looked all around for some means of escape. Then he glanced down at his feet — the water was already frothing up to his ankles.
“Well,” Jim said matter-of-factly, “I don’t think those other blokes starved to death, anyway.”
“Excellent observation!” the bird cawed. “We need to get out of here, and quickly! Think, boy, think!”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Jim cried, the panic rising in his voice. “Maybe we can use the poles to knock the weights off their perches!”
“Try it, try it!”
Jim splashed through the water, already up to his knees, and tugged at the closest pole. “It won’t budge!” he said after yanking at it several times.
“Try another, another!” urged the raven. “Clue said two guesses, so maybe only two move!”
Jim threw himself at two more spires, but not only did they feel firmly planted in the ground, his hands quickly grew slippery in the water, sliding uselessly along the metal poles.
“This isn’t working!” Jim slapped the water, now bubbling up around his waist, with an angry fist.
“Well, we’d better find something that works,” Cornelius fumed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but ravens aren’t exactly built for swimming!”
“Well I don’t know if you noticed, Cornelius, but swimming won’t help either of us when the water rises over our bloody heads!”
“Oh, hang it all, hang it all!” The raven flapped his wings as the water crested Jim’s chest and a pile of bones floated by in roiling foam. “In the clue, the clue! There must be something in the clue!”
Jim tried to concentrate, but the rushing roar of the water and its cold waves were now encircling his neck like a cold noose, making thinking more than a little difficult. “Okay, okay! Keep my feet flat and my eyes sharp,” he said aloud. “Our flags have no poles.”
“A key, a key, and something to do with the poles!” Cornelius squawked, taking to the air and hovering above Jim’s head.
“Yes, I know it’s a key that has something to do with the poles, Cornelius!” Jim raged as the water touched his face for the first time, the terrifying thought of that water covering his mouth, his face, and his eyes suddenly flashing in poor Jim’s mind. He grabbed a thighbone floating passed his shoulder in the churning waters and waved it at Cornelius. “And if you interrupt my thought process again, you stupid bird, I’m going to knock your head up against one of these stupid poles and put you out of my misery!” And with that, Jim swung the bone hard, striking the closest bronze spire with such furious force that it gonged like a crashing cymbal, louder than Jim ever could have imagined.
Jim looked back at the anchors beside the door. They trembled upon the stone notches, shaking from the vibration of the sound, but not quite enough to be unseated from their perches.
“Cornelius, that’s it! How could I be so stupid?” Jim cursed himself, for fortunately, one of the few things he’d ever paid attention to in his lessons was music. “It’s all in the clue! No halves, only wholes, no flags on the poles, keep flat and sharp — these are notes, notes in the right key! The keys are musical sounds that will knock the weights down and open the door!”
“Brilliant boy! Brilliant!” Cornelius cried. “Get to it, get to it!”
Jim wasn’t a very good swimmer, but he used the bronze poles to help himself stay above the rising water, splashing from spire to spire and striking them with the bone. Finally, he struck one of the right poles and the reverberating note sent one of the weights crashing into the water.
“Yes!” Jim cried and moved on to the next pole. But the water was rising fast and there were still many poles to choose from. Jim coughed and spit as he tried a few more, but he was running out of time, for soon the water would cover all of the poles, and he wouldn’t be able to swing hard enough to ring the notes.
“Hurry, boy, hurry!” Cornelius said, perched atop one of the highest poles, the water moving up fast. Jim was close to the last of the poles, knowing the correct choice was was surely one of the last two before him. But as he reached back to strike, the wet bone slipped from his soaked fingertips.
“No! Cornelius, the bone!” Jim splashed into the water after the bone, but the waves carried it out of reach.
From his perch, Cornelius swooped down and seized the bone in his claws. The valiant bird flapped as hard as he could to carry the bone back to Jim, but the water had almost covered the last of the two spires.
“Cornelius!” Jim gasped, choking on the water that splashed into his mouth. Cornelius tugged the big bone back to within Jim’s reach, but when he set it in the water a wave from the churning tide surged up and caught the poor bird unawares, sinking him under the surface.
“Cornelius! No!” Jim howled, but he could see the bird no more under the white froth and bubbles. There was no time to search. Jim turned back to the poles. There was only time to strike one before the water covered them both. Jim closed his eyes and swung at the one on the right. The crashing tone shook through even the water, and with just enough force, dislodged the final weight. The door opened.
Jim felt the pull of water like powerful hands around his waist, dragging him beneath the surface. He gulped down one last breath, then down he went like a bug caught in a drain. The water flipped and turned him, dragged and spun him, knocking him about and finally spitting him out the door, tumbling him into another hallway.
Jim sat up, coughing and sputtering and spitting up the foul water. He wiped the dripping foam from his eyes and face as best he could, looking around for his winged comrade. Bones and piles of old pirate clothes were everywhere. Then he saw him: a haggard pile of waterlogged feathers in an awful heap. Cornelius’s poor legs stuck straight up in the air, his proud beak open, his little red tongue lolling out the side.
“Cornelius!” Jim cried, hot tears mixing with the cold water already running down his cheeks. Jim crawled through the muck and the bones to the soaked bird’s side and picked him up, cradling him. “Oh, Cornelius,” Jim sobbed, pulling the bird’s still body close to his chest.
“I’m so sorry I said you were stupid. You’re not! You’re brave and you’re kind. I don’t think I ever would have gone with someone into a place like this. Especially not if that person was me. I’m so sorry, Cornelius, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” a small voice croaked from Jim’s chest. “Sorry for what? You saved our lives.”
Jim’s eyes flew open, and when he looked down, he found the bird looking back at hi
m, with dazed black eyes.
“Cornelius! You’re alive!”
“Yes, yes,” the raven replied, shaking the water from his feathers and all over Jim’s face. But Jim was thrilled to know that his friend was not dead and even laughed as the water splashed him. “I suppose it will take more than a little wetness to finish off old Cornelius Darkfeather.”
“Cornelius, if you hadn’t gotten the bone—”
“And if you hadn’t solved the puzzle!” Cornelius reminded Jim. Warmth flared up inside Jim’s chest and the shivering cold from the water faded away. “Well done, Jim Morgan, well done indeed.”
“Only one more puzzle to go,” Jim said, climbing to his feet. He picked up Cornelius and set him on his shoulder. The room in which they stood was merely a hallway between two rooms, only a few meters long, with drains on the floor to empty the water, and small slits for windows at the tops of the walls to dry it out. At the far end of the corridor was a blue door.
Jim took a deep breath and made his way up to the door. Slowly, a carved symbol grew visible in the soft moonlight – a three-tipped spear before a pearl on an open shell.
“Cornelius, look!” Jim exclaimed. “That’s the symbol on my father’s box. This room must have something to do with his treasure.”
“And that’s not all,” Cornelius said grimly, pointing his beak toward two words engraved just beneath the symbol.
“Only one.” Jim read off the door, and he swallowed hard.
“I don’t think it would know if you came in with me, would it?” Jim suggested hopefully. “I mean, you’re so small and sitting on my shoulder and—”
“Remember this is a magic vault, Jim.” Cornelius shook his head sadly. “Somehow the tree will know. This room is meant only for you, and you’ll have to go in without me.”
Jim nodded gravely. He marveled at the fact that he never really thought he would make it this far, but here he was, and now he had to go on alone. “I guess it will be all right, then,” Jim said, trying to chase away the doubts and fears suddenly clawing at his mind.
“Yes it will, my boy. You’ve done marvelously thus far. Just remember, it is what you will happen upon the world, not the other way around.”
“Right then.” Jim tried to smile, but he was sure it looked only as convincing as it felt, which was not very. Cornelius flapped up to one of the small venting windows at the top of the ceiling and perched at the edge.
“I’ll check on everything outside and wait for you there, my boy,” the raven said at least half-confidently. “I’m sure I won’t have to wait long.” He was about to fly out when Jim called to him again.
“Cornelius!” The bird turned back to listen. “At least you saw me. At least you saw me this one time.” Jim tried not to let his voice tremble. “I figured things out on my own, and I didn’t run away. I wasn’t a disappointment…not this time, and you saw me, didn’t you?”
“Yes I did, Jim Morgan,” Cornelius said softly. “With my own two eyes I saw you, and were you ever a sight to see. And not for the last time, I’m sure.” And with that the bird hopped out the window and soared off into the cold night air.
Jim turned back to face the door, and with a shivering, deep breath, straightened his shoulders the best he could, turned the handle, and stepped through to face the final challenge.
THIRTY–ONE
hile Jim was barely escaping death amongst the traps and magic inside the Vault of Treasures, matters outside the little building on Farthing Street began to grow just as dire.
It all started with Butterstreet’s faithful deputy, Thomas, who had, as his constable had ordered, stood diligent guard across the street from the suspected pirate building, his knees and teeth knocking against their opposing sets in freezing, syncopated rhythm, and his poor nose running into an icky icicle that dangled off its tip. It was from there that Thomas saw a blue flash blaze down the street and come to a hovering rest before the building like a mad firefly, which made the poor deputy nearly swallow his half-frozen tongue.
Like some sort of broken mechanical man, Thomas ran on frozen joints and feet all the way back to the constable’s office, where Butterstreet sat in his stove-heated room drifting off into warm dreams of gardening.
“S-s-ir!” Thomas cried, shivering like a reed in the wind. “I-i-i-t-t-s h-h-a-ppening!” Butterstreet nearly fell out of his chair and immediately sent word to Captain Cromier, who had stationed himself near the city garrison, and who himself nearly fell out of his own chair when he got the word, and who then called up an entire platoon of marines. Together, the captain, the marines, the constable, and his deputy marched down the street to the Vault of Treasures.
This armed force, moving with great haste through the city, might have fallen on the small group of thieves waiting outside the Vault of Treasures completely unawares, but The King of Thieves, a practiced burglar nearly all his life, possessed a keen sense of danger. Whether it was a change in the cold wind, a scent on the icy air, or the slightest tremor of marching feet upon the cobblestone streets, the King recognized the threat before it ensnared him, and without so much as a word of warning to faithful Red and his Dragons, or to poor Lacey, he and Wyzcark slipped into a shadowy alley just as the marines rounded the corner. Red, the lunks, and Lacey might have been able to make a run for it, but Butterstreet and Thomas had rushed up behind them, and there was nowhere to go.
“Sorry, friends,” Butterstreet said, his big mustache drooping low around his face. “But it looks like it’s St. Anne’s for the lot of you.” Butterstreet clamped manacles around the children’s wrists, but he did it with such gentleness and sorrow on his voice, that Lacey felt almost compelled to tell him not to worry, that it would be all right. On the other hand, not a trace of pity, sympathy, or goodness ever touched Captain Bartholomew Cromier’s pale features. Instead his blue eyes flashed murderous lightning.
“Where is Jim Morgan?” he snarled at the children, his gloved hand squeezing his sword handle. Red, courageous lad that he was, gave Jim up immediately.
“He’s in there!” Red jerked his head toward the vault, and his lunks jerked their heads right along with him.
“Red, you coward!” Lacey shrieked, but Red was far too terrified to care, wondering instead if there was any way that he could talk himself out of this situation, then sadly realizing he wasn’t nearly smart enough for that.
“Men!” Bartholomew Cromier shouted to his marines. “Criminals against the crown lie just beyond that door. And I shall have them! Prepare to enter!” The marines lined up smartly at either side of the deathly pale captain, readying themselves to charge the little building. Bartholomew, his black ponytail flowing in the cold breeze, gritted his teeth, preparing to draw his sword and lead the attack.
But just as the young captain drew the breath to order his men forward, a throaty, graveled voice called to him from down the darkened street.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were ye,” the voice said. It chuckled happily as its owner stepped from the shadows and into flickering reach of the marines’ torchlight. It was MacGuffy, hands behind his back, walking through the snow as though taking a stroll on a pleasant spring evening.
“This is no concern of yours, old man,” Bartholomew said dangerously. “And mind your tone when you speak to a man who holds the king’s commission, or you’ll wish you’d never opened your ragged mouth!”
The insults only widened the toothy grin on MacGuffy’s face. “Oh, well, you see, this does concern me, laddie. You see, yonder buildin’, which you and your pretty little boys are plannin’ to raid, is private property.”
“This building is suspected to be the property of pirates and scum,” Bartholomew said, sneering.
“That it is, son,” MacGuffy agreed, his ruinous smile stretching wide, turning just as dangerous as Bartholomew’s sneer.
“Perhaps you failed to notice, fool,” Bartholomew finally turned to give the old man his full attention, strutting along his row of grim faced mar
ines. “But this is an entire platoon of his majesty’s marines at my back. And if you claim any ownership, love, or concern for this place, then that would implicate you as a pirate. And it would then be our duty to treat you to the justice you deserve.”
“Aye…” MacGuffy said, laughing again as though Bartholomew’s threat was a joke. The torchlight glimmered in his crazed old eyes, and he held up his gnarled fingers, snapping twice. “That it would, lad. That it would.” Into the light, one by one, summoned by MacGuffy’s signal, and smiling as madly as the old man, the sloop’s pirate crew appeared, pistols and cutlasses at the ready, the Ratt brothers in tow. Cornelius Darkfeather, who had seen the marines coming down the street from the air, and had warned the pirate crew, cawed in the night as black-bearded Murdoch, huge Mufwalme, Wang-chi, sleepy Mister Gilly, the fat organ grinder, and all of the rest plodded up the street.
The Marines, caught quite off guard, immediately shifted their formation from the door to face the oncoming pirates. Bartholomew and MacGuffy stood all but nose-to-nose in the snowy street, each with their men at their backs. The Ratts saw Lacey and ran, unchecked by the pirates, who were now more ready for a row than anything else, over to her side. The three brothers were so worried about Lacey and Jim that they didn’t even care when Butterstreet looped them into the chains that held their friend.
“Lacey!” Peter said. “We thought we’d never see you again.”
“Peter, Paul, George!” Lacey cried and, if it weren’t for the chains about her wrists, she would have pulled all three of them into a gigantic hug. “I thought I’d never see you again, either!”
“Where’s Jim?” George asked.
“That awful King of Thieves sent him inside, even though he knew there were dangerous traps in there. That coward!” Lacey nearly burst into tears at the thought. “He’s been in there for so long, I don’t know what’s happened to him. I don’t know if he’s ever coming out again.”
Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves Page 22