The Kidnapped Smile

by Laurie Woodward

  Stumbling, the sailor fell onto Pedro's dagger. He let out a surprised cry as his sword wobbled in the air and clattered onto the deck. The brave sailor crumpled into a heap and was still.

  This time Bartholomew couldn't stop the tears. They dripped down his face, seeped into the last dry corners of the gag, mixing bitter salt with the metallic blood already in his mouth.

  The rest of the pirates charged forward, threatening to cut down any who dared fight them, but no one else did. Many tried to dart away from the curved blades. Some even covered themselves in sailcloth, and one by one, they fell.

  In a matter of minutes, it was all over.

  Bartholomew shook his head. It was like the aftermath of a hurricane. The splintered ship bobbed sideways in the bay, its mainmast broken in two. Smoke twisted from every hatch. Misshapen bodies were strewn about on deck.

  A small cluster of young boys cowered while jeering pirates poked them with pikes. Bartholomew wished he could plug his ears and block out their plaintive wails.

  One group of pirates sang sea shanties as they hauled up sacks of silk and spices. Then came a heavy chest. Two sailors carried it onboard and laid it at Redbeard's feet. The captain struck the padlock with an old sword repeatedly until it broke. When it opened, jewels of all colors shone from inside. Redbeard Barbarossa picked up handfuls and let them fall like rainwater over his body. “Booty! Riches! Treasure!” he roared.

  “Hooray!” the corsairs cheered.

  “Who finds treasure for all to have?”

  “Redbeard!”

  “Who be cutting sailors to shreds?”

  “Redbeard!”

  “And who is the greatest pirate who ever lived?”

  “Redbeard! Redbeard! Redbeard!” they chanted again. A few danced jigs. Pedro the Peg-leg pulled out a flask and tipped it backwards until some liquid dribbled down his bristly chin. Another pirate grabbed it from him, and soon they both were arm-in-arm, yowling off key.

  Captain Barbarossa lapped up the adoration like a fat dog at a banquet. With his fists on his hips, he bowed his head at the reveling crowd. Then his eyes fell on Bartholomew, and the wide grin faded. “Shh!”

  Bartholomew wondered if he'd suddenly turned deaf because the entire ship immediately grew quiet. If he ever doubted Redbeard's power, it wasn't then.

  “It seems we have a traitor here.”

  Absolute stillness filled the air. Not even the wind dared to blow.

  “What do we do with traitors?”

  The pirates all stared at Bartholomew but said nothing. The young Borax broke out in a cold sweat. “I know what to do,” a sneering Hizir said striding up next to his brother.

  Bartholomew heart quickened, but he didn't move.

  Redbeard nodded to a pirate who held the ring of metal keys for every door and chest aboard ship—even, Bartholomew realized, the shackles on his wrists. The keymaster bent down and unlocked the chain that bound Bartholomew to the bench. At the same time, a strange scraping sound came from somewhere behind him, like someone dragging a log across the deck. The ship tilted slightly to one side.

  Should I try to make a run for it? He glanced at Mona Lisa who held out her hands so someone would unlock her manacles, too. When no one did, Bartholomew's chest tightened.

  “Get up, Photo,” Redbeard grunted with a sharp yank of Bartholomew's chain.

  The crew parted as Bartholomew stumbled along behind the captain. He soon discovered what that scraping sound had been.

  It was the gangplank. And it was waiting for him.

  Chapter 43

  Sweat poured down Alex's face into his eyes. The ship's galley was like an oven. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand envisioning a chilled protective suit.

  Until he was cool enough to work again.

  “Toss the iron balls in the flames,” Vulcan instructed between hammer blows on the anvil.

  Alex followed each step carefully. When the metal inside the stove changed from black to red, he removed it with tongs and placed the crimson coals on Vulcan's shaping block of tempered carbon alloy.

  The smith-god demonstrated how to strike the anvil and handed the hammer to Alex. Alex raised an arm and swung. Clang! Iron met steel. Pound. Teeth and scales emerged. Bang. A body took shape.

  Faster his arm fell as the creation force coursed through his veins. Lumber became flicking tongues and iron swaying heads. A long, thin tail appeared.

  “Thank you, Vulcan. Nearly—”

  Smash! Snapping teeth crashed through the hull just inches above his head. Alex leapt back from dripping jaws. Ducking behind his incomplete snake, he attached the last green plates.

  Its body grew as long as the ship and thicker than the mast. Cool scales shimmered, and the sculpture morphed into a two-headed cobra eager to do his bidding.

  Alex cradled one face in his hands. “Wake up,” he said.

  Blue slits opened.

  “Attack the Leviathan. Now!”

  Both cobra heads rose. Split hooded necks swayed back and forth, forked tongues flicking at the air. One head hissed.

  In response, Leviathan gnashed its jaws. Double rows of sharp teeth tried to close in on Cobra, but the snake's heads dodged in opposite directions.

  Bellowing, Leviathan struck again. This time Cobra whipped around, each head sinking curved fangs into the sea creature's neck.

  Sickhert's monster thrashed and shook, but the snake held fast. Pupils dilating, it jerked to one side. Alex scrambled out of the way as the huge head smashed against the galley walls.

  “The poker!” Vulcan cried pointing at the hot stove.

  Alex leapt over a barrel and grabbed it from the fire. The end glowed red, a steel cigarette poised to strike. Alex jabbed but came up short.

  Leviathan turned toward him. It jaws snapped like a thousand slamming doors. Alex felt a tug and clapped a hand to his head. His hair was wrapped in those teeth lifting toward the jagged hole.

  Paying no mind to the pain, Alex jerked. “Yow!” he cried, gaping at his tufts of hair still in the Leviathan's mouth.

  Dropping to one knee, Alex raised his firebrand and waited for the Leviathan to sway to him again. He counted … four seconds … five. At six, he thrust, and the metal punctured the creature's jaw like a hot knife in wax. Slowly, Alex stood and drove the poker deeper into the creature's mouth.

  The shrieking monster jerked its head, throwing Alex backwards. He landed with a thud near Vulcan's barrel. Cobra sank its fangs in deeper as the monster retreated out of the crack in the hull. Then, with a sucking whoosh of air, both creatures disappeared into the sea.

  Alex peered out the jagged hole in the hull. A setting crescent moon and patchwork of stars barely illuminated the water. In the faint light, all he could make out was the splashing of dark waves against the ship.

  Boom! The cannon shot again, lighting up the sea enough to see the thrashing monsters. One snake still had its fangs in the Leviathan's neck. The other one was somewhere beneath the surface.

  When they rushed up on deck to watch, Alex grasped the railing and stared out to sea. Water bubbled and simmered, and a tangle of twisting scales writhed. With the lanterns lit, he could just make out Leviathan's scaly back, spiked wings, and four clawed feet. With gnashing teeth, it rolled, pitched, and plunged until Cobra raised one head and jerked Leviathan below.

  A few minutes later, the sun lit the sky, turning the sea a steely gray. The reflecting moon looked like a snake's fang, one he hoped would strike any moment. He could make out the Italian coastline but no movement anywhere.

  Gwen came to his side. “See anything?”

  “They disappeared,” Alex replied, continuing to scan the waves.

  The Mediterranean was as smooth as Venus's skin. Then far off, he saw the waters rise.

  “Look.” Alex pointed.

  Like braiding seaweed, the monsters wove through the waves. Coiling and wreathing, they battled. He couldn't tell which was winning.

  “Go on. Dig your fangs
in,” Alex called.

  “Yeah, get him.” Gwen punched at the air.

  They were about fifty yards away when the battling monsters rose out of the water. The sea dripped off the Cobra's hooded heads. Their triangular faces hung suspended as if on invisible threads, but they didn't attack.

  Alex raised his hands in exasperation wondering what they were waiting for. More seconds ticked by.

  When Leviathan rolled over, both heads struck. Curved fangs sank into the tender flesh of its soft underbelly. Convulsing venom glands pumped poison through their hollow teeth.

  The weakened Leviathan slapped at Cobra with its tail. Thrashing from one side to the other, its jaws snapped open and closed three times. Then a lolling tongue drifted over jagged teeth.

  Alex's two-headed snake edged closer to the ship, the limp Leviathan in tow. At the port bow, Cobra unhinged both mouths.

  It floated on the sea.

  “Whoa,” Gwen said.

  “Well done, Deliverer.” Vulcan reached out to shake Alex's hand.

  “Thanks, it—” Alex started to reply. Then Leviathan raised its horned head. “Cobra, watch out!”

  Leviathan's tail smashed against the hull. Almost losing his footing, Alex grabbed the gunnels.

  The monster leaned back, head poised to crash into their boat. Then two snakes rose, dripping water like gaping wounds, and a single body coiled around the monster's neck. Once. Twice. Three times.

  The Leviathan threw its horned head back with a guttural bellow that drowned out all sound. Tighter Cobra constricted, twining round a fourth and a fifth time. The great beast thrashed wildly in their coils trumpeting its protest.

  Bloody tears ran from its eyes, but the snake squeezed more, muscles rippling as it twisted and tightened.

  The Leviathan opened and closed its jaw in silent protest. It raised its head toward the sky as if imploring the clouds for help. With a final convulsion, it withered in the snake's coils.

  And moved no more.

  Only now did Cobra release it. Leviathan's body bobbed on the surface before shrinking back into the sea.

  “Yes!” Alex cried taking Gwen in his arms. He swung her around and around, laughing hysterically until he realized he was hugging a girl. He set her down abruptly and stepped back, blushing.

  Did she notice? He quickly turned to shake Leonardo's outstretched hand, hoping no one saw red creeping up his cheeks.

  Suddenly, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and the crew were all on deck applauding and congratulating him. The Three Graces joined hands, hummed in harmony, and danced in a circle. Meanwhile, Alex's snake crisscrossed from bow to stern, its gentle splashes lapping off the hull in time to the music. “Our world was born from the magic of two, magic of two, magic of two,” their tinkling voices sang.

  But many will perish before they are through, Alex thought as he stared at the Leviathan's watery grave.

  Chapter 44

  When Bartholomew shuffled past the jeering pirates, Redbeard gave the chains binding Bartholomew a vicious tug. The handcuffs dug into his skin, but for Mona Lisa's sake, he made no noise. He wished he could utter reassuring words, but his mouth remained gagged. Still, he would hold his head high. He owed her that much.

  “True pirates never make prisoners walk the plank,” Redbeard said. “Real corsairs be using them for target practice.” He leered, waiting for the boy to flinch.

  Bartholomew steeled himself. Don't give him the satisfaction, he thought, jerking back on the chain.

  “Yes, I be wondering if me crew needs some sharpening of their shooting skills.” Redbeard turned to Hizir. “What think you, brother?”

  “I wouldn't waste good musket balls,” Hizir said.

  Redbeard threw his head back and laughed. “Just what I thought you'd be replying.”

  “Let's get this over with.”

  “Aye, brother.” But Captain Barbarossa didn't give the order, instead he waved little Pico over. “You, ship's boy. Come here.”

  Pico's eyes grew wide. He pointed at himself. “M-me?”

  “I not be seein' any other ship's boys.”

  “Y-y-yes, sir.” Pico stumbled forward.

  “Now, me brother be thinkin' target practice on this Photo be a waste of shot. I believe some of the crew coulda done better in the plundering. What think you, boy?”

  Bartholomew knew the last thing Pico wanted was to be involved. He was the type to help people, not order their torture. Anyway, whatever his answer was, it wouldn't make any difference. Pico tugged on his ragged tunic, his lower lip quivering.

  “Answer me. Or is the name Stupido rightly chosen?”

  Pico's eyes searched those of Bartholomew, who nodded a silent signal, saying it was all right. Pico stuck out his small jaw and crossed his arms.

  “So Stupido it is,” Redbeard chortled.

  The pirates burst out laughing. “Stupido!” they taunted.

  Pico hung his head and didn't answer. Bartholomew had to hand it to him. He refused to play Redbeard's game.

  “Brother,” Hizir lowered his voice so only Redbeard and Bartholomew could hear. “We have an appointment with you-know-who. Let's get this over with.”

  Redbeard's demeanor suddenly changed. He went from throwing his head back in laughter to furtive glances, keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword. He shook the chains attached to Bartholomew's wrists and ordered him to move. Bartholomew felt the point of Hizir's blade press into his back.

  This is it, he thought when Redbeard let go of the chain. I'll never see my friends again. I wonder if Mother will bathe in the dark all day. Throat dry from the gag, he swallowed hard. He turned toward Mona Lisa, and her tear-stained face made him teeter. He wanted to comfort her, but all he could do was wave.

  “Go, Photo,” Redbeard said.

  Bartholomew nodded and considered closing his eyes, but decided if these were his last moments, he wanted to see everything—the deep blue of the Mediterranean, the violet sunset, the rising crescent moon. The board creaked and bent beneath his feet. At the end of the plank, he hesitated two seconds. Four. Ten passed. What were they waiting for?

  “My brother's right,” Redbeard said guffawing. “We shouldn't waste good ammunition on a Photo. Now jump!”

  Bartholomew didn't have to be told twice. He leapt. Water splashed, tearing off the gag. It floated away, and the bottom of the ship passed from view.

  He sank deeper.

  He dropped past the rusty anchor chain as schools of fish darted out of his way. Light beams like sparkling vines twisted around him. If only a glittery tendril could wrap around his waist. He hit bottom with a thunk, shoes sinking into the sand. He tried to lift his legs, but the heavy chains made it impossible. Leaning forward, he gave them a sharp yank. Metal clanked, but Bartholomew couldn't budge the heavy links.

  His chest tightened. How long could he hold his breath? Four, five minutes? One already passed, and he was stuck. Even if he could move, he didn't know where to go.

  Fighting the dizziness, he heaped the metal links in his arms, raised a leg, and promptly tripped. He dropped the chains. His chest spasmed as panic-driven bubbles escaped his lips.

  Images of his friends flashed in front of his eyes. A teasing Gwen tossing bits of pizza at him in the quad. Jose giving him a thumbs-up before a math test. Alex sculpting proud animals out of mud with him.

  All those floating memories will be gone, he thought before sending a silent prayer safeguarding Alex and Gwen. He opened his mouth to let the sea take him. Then as if someone turned a radio on from a forgotten place inside his mind, he heard a voice: You create whatever you want, he recalled Isis saying. Imagine strength, and you are muscled.

  Imagine strength. I am strong. I can pull these chains.

  He shuffled forward. First two feet. Then three. Strong. Stronger than steel. Faster he hobbled. Above, the ship no longer cast a shadow on him.

  Move!

  Battling to create a lungful of air, he clamped a hand over his mouth. His spas
ming chest relaxed a bit. Go. Soon he was trotting over the ocean floor.

  He heard a clank and felt pebbles scatter beneath his feet. Bartholomew tripped. Bubbles sputtered from his mouth, and new pains shot through his chest. He saw spots and silvery fish in front of his eyes.

  He forced himself to lean forward. Running now, rocks flew out on either side of him. They floated back down in a turbid cloud making it impossible to see.

  He leapt twice more and waves crashed just over his head, knocking him to his knees. Then he found himself crawling and gasping sweet air.

  Bartholomew crawled farther and collapsed on the shore.

  Chapter 45

  Sludge paced back and forth in the grotto as water lapped up the sides of the rocky walls like tongues tasting fear.

  He clicked his clawed hands together. Things were going well. The pirates rounded the toe of Italy and now were sailing to Venice and the Portal. No sign of the other Deliverer. As for Bartholomew, he was in chains and no longer part of the equation.

  The only thing to be a little unsure of was the third human, Gwen. Would she betray the others when the need arose? He'd planted seeds of betrayal in her mind, but humans were so unpredictable.

  The rush of water from another crashing wave grated at Sludge's bat-like ears. He raised his nose. Was it the odor of pirates on the air—or just the fishy smell of the sea? “Where are those idiots? I told them to come right after sunset.”

  The sound of oars answered his question. Sludge turned to see Hizar rowing a small boat with his brother in the bow. The Barbarossa brothers were the perfect pair to betray Artania. Painted as cruel pirates who fought for sultans, their very creation was based on treachery.

  “You're late!” Sludge growled. “What took you so long?” Redbeard gave that stupid grin he thought was so charming. Sludge rolled his yellow eyes. Fool. He thinks he's going to have great power after the change. Ha! I wouldn't let him lead a youngling from Swallow Hole Swamp. “Well?” Sludge hissed.