The Kidnapped Smile

by Laurie Woodward

  “Don't worry,” Gwen assured him. “I've been doing this since I was four. I can hit a bull's eye from a hundred yards.”

  Alex only stared at the razor-sharp point.

  Gwen rested the fore end of the crossbow on the windowsill and got down on one knee. Placing her cheek on the stock as if it were a rifle, she closed one eye. Then she placed a finger on the trigger.

  Alex clung to the windowsill. “It's rolling back,” he said.

  “One…two…” she said.

  Bartholomew's lifeless face bobbed above the surface.

  “Three,” Alex whispered.

  The arrow catapulted through the air, closer and closer to their friend.

  Chapter 22

  Atop his stalagmite tower, Lord Sickhert's long, clawed fingers scratched the obsidian surface of the mini volcano. He smiled while the lava in the small basin in front of him flashed images of the great fish pulling the Deliverer below.

  Everything was going according to plan. The traitors had been successful. Mona Lisa was in chains, rough metal scraping her delicate wrists. Her captors were heading to the meeting place and soon would reach the doorway.

  Then the Renaissance nation would fall, and a blank canvas would take the place of all this sickening color.

  He passed an albino hand over the top of the lava pool Gramarye, and the scene before him changed, descending through dark clouds until Sickhert could see the Arno River west of Florence.

  To Sickhert, the snaking stream looked like a viper seeking prey, and he was its fanged head. The view altered as the Gramarye showed him Italian cypress and olive trees near a tower tilting comically over a stony village.

  He'd heard the Artanians say The Leaning Tower of Pisa was a symbol of their constant fight. It was a beautiful tower to climb, but to Lord Sickhert, it was a joke. “The Deliverers have long thought themselves brilliant,” he sniggered. “But they can't even build straight!”

  Sickhert's scoping view took wing until it focused on the sleek galley ship cruising west. Reveling in its cargo, Lord Sickhert rubbed his bone-white fingers together. “Soon the betrayers and their prisoner will be at the portal.”

  Lolling like a wolf after a kill, he ran a tongue over his jagged teeth. Sickhert bent above the lava pool Gramarye. Steam condensed on his maggot-white face and puddled on the bridge where his nose should have been. The droplets passed over the two nostril slits and dripped back into the pool.

  “Obstruction? No.” Lord Sickhert hissed. He pulled on the stalactite hanging from the ceiling and a mournful howl rent the air. Immediately, the drumming of jackboots sounded up the twisting stair.

  Spike-headed Captain Sludge entered the room and dropped to his knees. He opened his mouth to release the honorific spittle.

  “Not now!” Sickhert waved a hand. “Fool! Did you not look at the river before sending her on?”

  “I … what?” Those usually ruthless eyes stared back at him with surprise while reddish slime beaded on his forehead.

  “The river bottom is thick with silt. Now Mona Lisa cannot reach the sea.” He raised an ashy hand to slap the ambitious soldier across the face but hesitated when Sludge had the presence of mind to respond quickly.

  “I will call upon the Saracen Slaves. They will dredge it, Lord.” Sludge said retreating.

  “You had best, or you will feel the correction chamber's lash,” Lord Sickhert warned. “Be sure to avoid the Thinker's watchful eye. Make all work appear innocent.”

  “It is done.” Sludge bowed and exited the throne room.

  Lord Sickhert smiled. Once again, he had thwarted disaster. Soon the ship would be at sea where few Artanians could follow. He returned to the lava pool, inhaled the bitter mist of sulfuric fumes, and dreamt of the day when all Artanians would breathe this acrid gas.

  And he would be Lord of them all.

  Chapter 23

  Thump! Bartholomew heard the muffled sound of metal against metal. He felt a jolt of pain ripping through his arm as the fish loosened its grip. Knowing he had precious seconds remaining, Bartholomew shot to the surface.

  “Swim, Bartholomew!” he heard Alex cry from somewhere.

  Gulping a mouthful of air, Bartholomew aimed for shore. Heavy arms dragged as he recalled what his swim coach told him years before: Angle your hands as they enter the water, then pull in the shape of an “S” until your arms are past your body.

  Before the monster had a chance to clamp down on him again, Bartholomew took the coach's advice and went faster. He felt a nudge behind him. The fish!

  He remembered more of his coach's words: Flutter kick, Bartholomew. Straight legs. You're a sleek ship gliding through the water, not an anchor pulling it down. He kicked furiously. As he turned his head for a breath, he ventured a glance. Dust bunnies! He was in the middle of the river going the wrong way.

  Vowing to aim for shore, Bartholomew twisted into a turn. “S” pull. Flutter.

  The current pushed against him, making every stroke feel like five. He slowed his pace and let his legs drag behind him.

  “Come on, Bartholomew. Faster!” Gwen urged. Her words were like fuel powering his legs. His feet splashed as he closed in on shore. Fifteen yards. Ten.

  His lungs burned, but didn't dare waste time breathing. He pulled harder. Soon, he felt pebbles under his feet. Only now did Bartholomew turn suck in a quick breath.

  “Watch out!” Alex shouted, but it was too late. Wolfish jaws pulled him under. Water filled his mouth and nostrils.

  He blew little bubbles to keep from choking, then grabbed hold of one of the flaring fins. Bartholomew yanked back. Then he jerked it to the left with all his might.

  Nothing.

  The fish had to have a soft spot somewhere. He kneed the beast's underbelly. It was like hitting steel. Bartholomew drew his free arm back and punched its wolf face.

  The jaws slackened.

  He started to pull his arm free, but the wolf-fish clamped down again before he could escape.

  Desperately, he kicked, but in his struggle, he forgot where he was and swallowed a huge mouthful of river water. He sputtered as bubbles whorled around his face. Fire filled his chest.

  He gurgled, while foam confused his mind and vision. Brown fizz simmered.

  Bartholomew's body convulsed in an oxygen-deprived spasm. Desperate to breathe, he sucked in another lungful of the river as a faint ringing filled his ears.

  Bartholomew felt the strength fade from his body. The last thing he remembered were teeth piercing flesh before everything went dark.

  Chapter 24

  Gwen squeezed one eye and took careful aim with the other. The bowstring hummed as the arrow sailed through the air.

  When the bolt met its mark, the monster released Bartholomew. Letting the crossbow clatter to the floor, Gwen raced to catch up with Alex who was already in waist-deep water. His arms wrapped around Bartholomew's chest, and he tried to drag his friend's limp body to shore.

  “Help me!” Alex cried.

  Splashing into the river, Gwen gripped one of Bartholomew's arms. Using all her eighty-two pounds, she leaned back to help lift the listless Bartholomew to the riverbank.

  Alex knelt in the mud. “Breathe, Bartholomew, breathe.”

  Gwen stared. Bartholomew's face was so pale. She thought he had magical powers here, but now she was beginning to wonder. Could people die in this world?

  “Just one breath, B-three,” Alex's voice was choked with emotion.

  “Maybe we should—”

  Her words were cut short when Bartholomew spasmed, gave a lurch, and shuddered before coughing once and sputtering again and again.

  Alex placed a hand under his head and rolled Bartholomew on his side. A long stream of brown foam erupted from B-three's lips. Alex patted him on the back and waited for the spasms to subside before helping him to sit up. “Are you all right?” he asked the still pale Bartholomew.

  Spitting out another mouthful, B-three nodded.

  Gwen felt as if
she were seeing Bartholomew for the first time. This wasn't the useless wimp from school. No whining or running away. He'd been the one to jump in and save Alex. She realized how she'd misjudged him.

  “You had us going there for a minute.” Alex gave Bartholomew a friendly punch in the arm.

  Bartholomew smiled weakly. “I thought I'd try to replace Zach as Mr. Entertainment. What do you think?”

  “I give it a three.”

  “No,” Gwen continued with a playful smirk. “Two-point-eight. Your hurl wasn't colorful enough.”

  Bartholomew chuckled until a fit of coughing made him spit up more brown gunk.

  “Now you're just showing off,” Gwen said.

  Bartholomew shook his head and river water splattered Alex and Gwen. They all cracked up.

  When the laughter died down, Leonardo beckoned them closer. “I am glad you are safe, young Deliverer.” Leonardo laid a hand on Bartholomew's shoulder. “But now we must seek understanding. Tell me about the beast.”

  “For one thing, it had a strange way of swimming. It kept rolling on its side like it needed to take a breath.”

  “I noticed that, too.” Alex said.

  “Do you think it was trying to breathe or was it helping you?” The bearded man asked.

  “Don't know. Why would it want to keep me alive?”

  “Now you are thinking like a scientist.” Leonardo nodded.

  “Hey, it wasn't going to eat Mr. Clean,” Gwen blurted out. “It was taking him somewhere.”

  “I have to agree. Now we must ask where and why?”

  Gwen rubbed her chin, chewing over da Vinci's words. She glanced at B-three, his white dress shirt all streaked with mud. Then she noticed his sleeve. Had the creature torn it? She bent forward for a closer look.

  “I know I must be quite the spectacle.” Bartholomew blushed, smoothing his matted hair. “But you don't have to—”

  “What is that on your arm?” Gwen pointed.

  Bartholomew glanced down. A piece of thin fabric was wrapped around his wrist. He untwisted it and held it up.

  “That looks just like what I saw under the pier,” Alex said.

  “I believe I know what it is.” Leonardo removed the fabric and rubbed it between his fingers. “Alexander, please show me the other one back at the fortress.”

  When they returned to the dock, Alex pointed out what he'd been reaching for before he fell in the water. This time, Niccolo used his lance to retrieve the fabric and handed it to Leonardo. The old man held it up next to the one plucked from Bartholomew's sleeve.

  They were a perfect match.

  “What is it?” Gwen asked.

  “Ahh.” Leonardo fingered the fine fabric. “That, young ones, is a veil. It belonged to my dear Mona Lisa. I gave it to her on her birthday.” His voice cracked on the last words.

  Feeling awkward, Gwen stared at her feet. She never knew what to say at times like these. Dad didn't deal with sad topics at her house. After Mom left, he never mentioned the empty place at the table. He stuck to subjects like workouts or sports.

  “Why was it on the fish?” she asked, suddenly breaking the silence.

  “If I knew, perhaps I would also know my daughter's location.”

  “Okay,” Alex began, thinking out loud. “We know Mona Lisa disappeared here, and this fish grabs people.”

  “Right.” Gwen nodded.

  “Then,” Alex said slowly. “I think the fish captured her.” Alex turned to Leonardo. “But why?”

  “Sickhert knows that Mona Lisa is a symbol of our land. That it will fall without her smile. Thus, he uses trickery to turn Artanians to spies. That giant beast must have been one of them.”

  Gwen shook her head. “A fish as a spy? Come on.”

  “I told you. Artania is different from Earth,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, but a fish?”

  “I think,” Bartholomew interrupted. “We should stop arguing and try to figure out where that thing was going.”

  Agreeing, Leonardo suggested going to a library for research. As they headed out, Gwen was feeling more enthusiastic about this whole adventure.

  Mr. da Vinci turned toward her. “Don't forget that Artania's strength comes from inspiration.” Leonardo stopped her advance with one hand. “Or its evil opposite, despair.”

  Chapter 25

  Alex glanced around streets were filling with chattering people. Women in long flowing gowns and veiled heads emerged from doorways. Squires in two-tone tights and belted tunics whispered in each other's ears. Men in black and red caps jabbered away excitedly. People pointed and stared.

  “Did you hear?”

  “Yes. The Deliverer was almost carried away.”

  “The water beast was two men long.”

  “I heard three.”

  “Still, he defeated it.”

  While poor Bartholomew's face turned as red as the apples in the fruit-sellers basket, Alex covered his mouth, hiding a smile. Richie hates all this attention.

  A couple of minutes later, they turned toward a large domed church. Leonardo bowed and then led them through multiple arches. “The Vestibule,” he said with a sweeping motion of his hand.

  If Alex thought the staircase in Bartholomew's house was cool, this one was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Two coppery flights of wide steps with handrail supports like Grecian urns led to a dark landing. “Why are there frames but no windows?” he asked. It seemed strange to him that the only light came from up above the staircase. “It's so gloomy in here.”

  “It is because we now enter the library. We step from the darkness of ignorance to the light of knowledge.”

  “Grinning, Bartholomew held up one finger. “Symbols! Artists during the Renaissance used to have one thing stand for another. For example, laziness was painted as an armless man who cannot work.”

  “Gross,” Gwen said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Maybe,” Bartholomew agreed. “But it inspired people to do the right thing. Especially when they saw justice as something like a lovely woman floating on a cloud.”

  “Okay, Mr. Encyclopedia. Thanks for the lesson,” Alex said, holding up a hand. “I think we are all enlightened.” Then a shadow fell across his face. Alex couldn't make out what it was at first, but when his eyes adjusted, he saw a furrowed brow and deep-set eyes.

  A painted man stopped his pacing and growled as if disgusted by the interruption. “Need my help?” he asked Leonardo with a cool glance. Before the older man could reply, the speaker raised one eyebrow and turned into the room. “Of course, you do.”

  Leonardo entered first, followed by Gwen and Bartholomew, and finally Alex. He felt a little dizzy stepping onto the tiled floor with its intricate pattern of flowers, curlicues, and diamonds.

  “So many books!” Bartholomew gasped.

  Alex knew a place like this was heaven for his friend. Here, hundreds of ancient books lay atop rows of slanted wooden desks. Alex wandered to one of the rose-colored stands where a volume was open to a beautifully illustrated page framed with curling branches and leaves. In the center, a man dressed in red and purple robes wore a stocking cap. He held a small golden organ on his lap and had a serious look on his face. Alex felt the paper.

  “Scusi!” The painted organist on the page slapped Alex's hand away. “I work here.”

  “Do not touch the manuscripts!” the thin man growled.

  Man, this guy was touchy. “Sorry,” Alex said, rolling his eyes so only Bartholomew could see.

  “Now, young ones let us apply ourselves to the task at hand. My…” Leonardo cleared his throat as if a piece of old meat were in it. “…associate may have information that will help us in our quest. Michelangelo?”

  So that was who this man was—the famous Michelangelo! Alex hit Bartholomew's shoulder with the back of his hand, and they both smiled.

  “It is bad enough you interrupted my work.” Michelangelo growled again. “Now you bring me children who cannot even pay attention.”

  “
They are Deliverers just as our creators were.”

  “My creator would have had better manners.”

  “Your creator was a—” Leonardo paused.

  “A what?”

  “Never you mind.”

  “It is because you are unwilling to speak the truth,” Michelangelo said. “My creator was the greatest sculptor, architect, and fresco painter of all time!”

  Alex knew that Michelangelo might have done all these things but to brag about them to Leonardo. Jeesh. What an ego.

  Leonardo's face clouded with anger. “No, he was an arrogant, brusque, loner who delighted in making fun of my creator!”

  “Are you still going on about that incident on the bridge? It was folly, a joke.”

  “I did not think so. You first made fun of the fact that I could not quote Dante, then called me a quitter! And you never understood the ideas my creator had!”

  “How many paintings did he make in his lifetime? Nowhere near what mine did.”

  “He only wrote thousands of pages of scientific philosophy!”

  “Guys.” Gwen jumped between the two men and held up her skinny arms to push them apart. “Come on. You are worse than my parents before the divorce. I thought we were here to save this Mona Lisa chick.”

  Leonardo's face softened. “But of course. The daughter of my heart.” He turned to Michelangelo. “You have heard?”

  “Few enter my Laurentian Library. Is she not safe?”

  “Gone.” Leonardo shook his head.

  “What? But we built the fortress to protect her!”

  Michelangelo listened while they quickly explained about her disappearance, the fish, and the discovery of the veil. When they finished, he stopped rubbing his forehead and suddenly slammed a fist on a desk. “We cannot let her become a Mudlark!”

  There was an awkward moment of silence.

  “What's a Mudlark?” Gwen asked, breaking it.

  “Surely you know?” Leonardo looked at her quizzically. “Have the Deliverers explained nothing?”

  Gwen shook her head.

  “A Mudlark is a twisted creature,” Alex began.

  “But it wasn't always,” Leonardo continued. “Once it was one of us … a citizen of Artania … a son or daughter.”