“So be it.” With a sad headshake, Leonardo led them up two narrow flights of stairs and stopped in front of a half-sized door. He tilted his head toward something behind Gwen. Alex saw the large key hanging on a hook above her head and clenched his fists. Then he gave Leonardo a curt nod. Leonardo slid the bars back and opened the iron door. “Here is a shortcut.”
Bartholomew bent down and scuffed inside. Gwen gave them a puzzled look but still followed him.
“Now!” Alex shouted.
Leonardo slammed the door shut and slid the bolts into place, while Alex grabbed the keys and tried to insert one in the lock. Didn't fit.
“Alex, what are you doing?” Gwen demanded.
Trying to steady his shaking hands Alex tried another. No dice.
“Are you crazy? Let me out of here.”
Fumbling for a third, Alex dropped the whole ring.
“Bartholomew, tell him.”
Bartholomew pulled out hand sanitizer and shrugged.
“Leonardo, come on,” Gwen argued.
“I am but a creation.”
She gave Alex a puppy look. Batted those beautiful green eyes. He looked down, bent over for the keys, and bumped his head. Ow!
“Ha. Serves you right. Now open this door.”
“Nope. Gotta keep you safe,” Alex said.
Gwen shook the bars. “No way! You better let me out of here or so help me…”
“Can't. But I'll send food and water later.”
“I don't want snacks. I want out of here! NOW!” Gwen shook the barred window and kicked the door.
Alex finally fumbled the key in the lock and turned it. With a sigh, he whispered, “Someday, I hope you'll understand.”
“Understand? No way,” Gwen growled, glared at him through the window.
Alex turned away and forced his feet forward.
“I'll never forgive you, jerkwad!”
“I'm sorry,” Alex whispered.
“I hate you! I hate you!” her voice echoed through the dark halls.
Yeah, Alex always lost at tic-tac-toe.
Chapter 52
“I thought he was my friend!” Gwen cried.
Bartholomew mumbled something from his crouched place in the corner.
“Oh, finally the zombie speaks. Heck of a lot of good you were when Alex locked us in here!” She crossed her skinny arms and shot him a dirty look. “What did you say?”
Bartholomew cleared his throat.
“Speak already!” Her freckled nose flared.
“I said Alex still is your friend.”
“Yeah, right. You're just as exasperating as he is!” She threw her hands in the air and mumbled to herself until she heard tinkling voices coming down the corridor.
“Eat, drink, and be merry. Drink, be merry, and eat.”
“The Graces! We're free.” She waved out the small barred window. “Over here. Come let us out.”
“Eat, drink, and be merry … be merry … be merry,” Splendor, Festivity, and Rejoicing trilled. They stood in the hallway, wooden trays in hand. One held a couple of goblets. The other had some sort of fruit. The third lady carried bread and cheese.
“Hello, Rejoicing. Will you open the door?” Gwen asked.
Rejoicing warbled a no.
“Festivity, will you?” Gwen raised her eyebrows.
“Nay,” the Grace sang with a giggle.
“Splendor, I know you'd love to unlock this door.”
The third Grace only smiled.
Gwen turned to Bartholomew. “Is everyone absolutely nuts in this place?”
Bartholomew's shrug was his only reply.
When Festivity passed a goblet through the bars and sang, “Water,” Gwen was tempted to slap it away, but she was so thirsty she snatched it and drank greedily. She was surprised to see the cup immediately refill itself. No matter how much she drank, the goblet always refilled to the top.
“Eat,” Splendor warbled. She wrapped the bread and cheese in a scarf and held it out to Gwen, who grabbed it and nibbled. Splendor filled a second scarf for Bartholomew who took it with a polite thank-you.
“Drink and be merry. Merry.” Rejoicing twirled around in a circle.
“Okay,” Gwen mumbled with her mouth still full of bread. “We're watered and fed. Now let us out.”
“We cannot,” they all sang.
“Sure, you can. Just get the keys and unlock the door.”
“Only the Deliverers can decide,” Splendor said.
“But Bartholomew is a Deliverer, too, isn't he?” She turned to him. “Bartholomew, tell them.”
Bartholomew shook his head.
“Please. I have to get out of here.”
“No.”
“But I'll go nuts in this place.”
“Alex is right. We're safer here.”
“No way!” She grabbed the bars and shook them. The door rattled on its hinges. “Let me out!”
Festivity cocked an ear to one side. “Time to go.” She joined hands with the other Graces, and they all skipped down the corridor singing.
Gwen spun on her heel. “Stupid wuss!” she fumed, shoving his right shoulder. “You blew our one chance to escape. How could you?” She pulled her fist back all ready to sock the stupid Richie in the face when a bell tolled in the distance. She paused with her arm mid-air and counted: ten … twelve … thirteen rings.
“They've found her, and I'm stuck here with you!” she cried, punching Bartholomew in the stomach.
He doubled over, clutching his gut. Cheeks red, he sputtered and coughed.
Gwen looked down at the wilted guy and immediately wished she could turn back time. She felt like a total tool.
Oh, man. She'd really knocked the wind out of him. Plus, his lily-white pants were smeared with dirt, his dress shirt was rumpled, and that silly tie he still had on was all askew. She was just as bad as those bullies Ty and Con.
“Hey, dude,” she began.
Bartholomew was still gasping to get air. Or was he crying?
“B-three?” He was. God, she hated to see people cry. Gwen reached out and gave him an awkward pat on the back.
Bartholomew jerked away and plopped down on the wooden bench. “Leave me alone.”
“Dude, I'm really sorry. It's just … I don't know.”
“At least here we're safe,” Bartholomew retorted.
“But what about Alex?” Gwen asked. She thought if she reminded Mr. Clean about their friend, he might suck it up and cool the waterworks. Have you thought about him?”
“He has the gods to help him. He'll be fine.” Bartholomew went off again about how the amazing Alex was better off without his blundering former sidekick, but Gwen wasn't convinced. It all sounded too much like a pity party.
“This sucks,” Gwen drew her leg back and kicked the bench. It didn't make a solid thud but rattled as if something were inside. Intrigued, she kicked it again.
Bartholomew gave her an incredulous stare. “It's bad enough you sucker punch me. You don't have to—”
“Get up,” she ordered. When he stood, Gwen tapped on the edges of the bench. At the far-right corner, it rattled like a loose door.
Gwen felt around underneath the top until her fingers caught on something flat. She wrapped her hand around it and pulled. Slowly, a bit of dark metal appeared. She yanked harder and soon was holding an iron bar about half as long as her arm.
“What's that doing there?” Bartholomew asked.
“I don't care, but I'm gonna use it to escape. You better not try and stop me,” she warned. Gwen shook the bar at him before getting up on her tippy-toes to tap the ceiling.
“Gwen, I don't think—” His words were cut short by falling splinters. They both glanced up to see light streaming through a small hole.
“Now we are getting somewhere.” Gwen hammered away. As the hole grew, she pried pieces of wood away until there was an opening large enough to fit through. She turned to Bartholomew. “Are you coming?”
He didn't a
nswer.
“Whatever. I'm not waiting around while you decide.” Using her feet to shimmy up the wall, she pulled herself to the top. “Hey, B-three. It's easy. There's a big window down at the end.” Gwen called. She removed one long splinter from her arm. “Come on.”
Silence.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
Holding the tool in one hand, Gwen crawled toward the window. She was feeling pretty confident until she reached the end and realized it was no ordinary window.
It was a skylight. On a steep roof.
Gwen was not a wimp. She could skateboard up the sides of an empty swimming pool with her eyes wide open. But she wasn't stupid. She knew which situations were too risky, and climbing on a roof four stories high was one of them.
She poked her head through the open skylight. About ten feet away was a second skylight with a third farther along. If one of them were open, it might lead to an exit.
Heat waves rising on the leaded roof told her that this escape was not only was going to be dangerous, it would be hot as hell. To keep her hands from being burned, she made a plan to stick the iron bar between the gaps in the roof tiles.
The smell of hot metal and summer dust made her nose twitch. She rubbed it before tucking the piece of iron into the belt loop of her torn jeans. She brought her other knee up on the window sill. The noonday sun assaulted her face. Heart pounding, she pivoted around on the windowsill and stretched her legs out. When she let her feet dangle below, her knee grazed a roof tile. Ow … hot!
Holding the window frame with one hand, she reached down and extracted the iron bar from her belt loops.
“Easy, Gwen. Don't drop it.”
She tested her foothold. Then grasping the metal bolt in both hands, she inserted it between the shingles. Now fixed firmly, she pulled herself to the next section. Then repeating the process, she crawled and scooted from roof tile to roof tile.
The sun beat down on the exposed back of her neck. Far below, the city chattered and twittered, but no one betrayed her presence or—thank God—shot arrows in her direction. Not a single Artanian seemed to notice a skinny redhead creeping across the prison roof.
The heat soon had her drenched in sweat and her hair plastered to her head. The iron bar grew heavier. Before long, she could barely lift it. She aimed at a place between the shingles but missed. Gwen blinked. Lifted it again.
Her feet slipped, and she slid downward.
Toward the sheer drop.
Her hands shot out as she plunged the iron bar between two tiles. Hot metal burned her fingertips, but it stopped her. Heart pounding like a horror movie alien about to burst from her chest, Gwen hung there, panting. Pull yourself upward, girl. Dig your toes in. Repeat.
After what seemed like hours, she reached the second skylight. She peered into the space below where a narrow staircase led to freedom.
Gwen wriggled through the opening, dropped onto the landing, and dashed down a couple flights of stairs. Barreling through a long corridor, she found the great doors they had come through earlier.
Pressing up against the wall, Gwen got a quick lay of the land. She would have to hide. If Alex found out about her escape, he'd probably tell those Artanians creatures to capture her again.
She glanced down at her clothes. Shoot! Tennies, torn jeans, and skater logo t-shirt didn't exactly fit in with all these ladies in long gowns. She'd have to find a way to camouflage herself.
But what Gwen didn't know was that she'd already been spotted. And it wasn't the painted eyes of a kind Creation that saw her. It was the glowing yellow orbs of the enemy.
An enemy ready to use her against her friends.
Chapter 53
Sludge smiled when he saw Gwen. Everything was going according to plan. The Barbarossa brothers were anchored in the lagoon. One Deliverer had drowned, and the human girl was creeping along with no idea she was being followed. All he needed now was to wait for midnight for the Portal to open and allow the transport of Leonardo's precious Mona Lisa to Subterranea.
Fresh slime tingled on his face as he imagined the destruction to come. Long shadows crept up the weathered stone buildings. It was time to send his warriors forth.
He dropped to one knee and tapped the cobblestones with the butt of his battleaxe. The pavement groaned and sighed. When it parted, a hole appeared large enough for a hunchbacked soldier to pass through. Sludge raised the axe skyward. “Shadow, muck, and whither wall. Listen servants to my call,” he intoned. “A raging war is ours to win. I call for help from my minions.”
The ground rumbled with the sound of marching jackboots. Soldiers emerged from the opening and lined up in formation. When thirty dark heads were bowed in front of him, Sludge pounded his chest once. “Corporals, take your squads to theses marked places,” the captain ordered while passing out rolls of parchment. He waited for the orders to be opened before continuing. “Memorize the maps. Then destroy these scrolls.”
“How?” a soldier with twisted lips asked.
The captain glared at him but ignored the question. “When you hear Mudlark Elephant bellowing, you will strike. By midnight, I expect no Artanians to be left in the streets.”
“What if some are?”
“There won't be.”
“But they fight good.” The soldier's misshapen lips quivered.
“Idiot.” Sludge stepped closer to the corporal. “That is why we attack now.”
“And a Deliverer be on their side.”
Sludge wondered how this soldier ever was elevated to the rank of corporal, but he was not about to face the Correction Chamber for some slimeless coward. Grabbing him by the collar, Sludge shoved the idiot against a building. He pulled a dagger from the folds of his dark cloak and held it to the soldier's throat. “Failure is not an option. Understand, soldier?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Sludge turned back to the other squad leaders. “That goes for the rest of you. With one Deliverer dead, this should be as easy as bathing in Swallow Hole Swamp.” He paused, making sure every yellow eye was focused on him. “But no mistakes will be tolerated. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they mumbled.
“I asked, 'Are we clear?' ”
“YES, SIR!”
“Stench and I will follow the human girl. The rest of you corporals gather your squads, now!”
One by one, they trooped double quick through the streets. To Sludge, the sounds of their thundering boots were glorious. Almost as beautiful as the whimpers of children with nightmares.
He could hardly wait for darkness to fall to watch that Deliverer, Alexander, experience real of terror.
Revenge would soon be his.
Sludge flared his piggish nostrils and grinned. Yes, everything was going according to plan.
Chapter 54
Head in hands, Bartholomew swayed back and forth. Even though shadows grew longer, his cell was still oppressively hot. He doused his head with the water brought by the Muses. It washed away some of the grime but did little to cool him.
He was in the middle of combing his hair back with his fingers when he heard rasping sounds through the walls. Unsure if it were voices or hissing snakes, Bartholomew cupped an ear.
“The Deliverers-s-s' friend. Ha!”
Shadow Swine? Here in Venice?
“She s-s-so easy to deceive. Nightmares-s-s in her mind.”
Gwen never mentioned that Shadow Swine had invaded her dreams. Bartholomew knew all too well what they were like and what they could do to a person. This was a disaster.
“S-s-soon the captain will make her betray the remaining Deliverer.”
So they thought Bartholomew had drowned. Good, but the Swineys still might trick Gwen and lay a trap for Alex.
Snuffling sounds like dogs tracking a scent joined the growing voices.
Bartholomew squirted some hand sanitizer into his hand. I have to go. Now. But outside were a thousand ways he could mess up. Just one wrong turn, and more people could die.
<
br /> “Up this-s-s hallway. I s-s-smell human.”
Bartholomew hopped on the bench and pulled himself up through the hole Gwen made. Wriggling past the jagged edges, he paused when the dust he kicked loose tickled his nose hairs. He pinched his nostrils and could hear the Shadow Swine jiggling the cell door and cursing its lock. His chest spasmed as he fought the sneeze.
Scuffling boots retreated along the hallway. There was a jangle of keys.
Bartholomew moved slowly, praying that the monsters' fumbling would cover any noise he made. At the end of the shaft, he realized the only way out was over a pitched roof. He hated heights, and these skylights were four stories up. What a choice. Face Shadow Swine or scale a slippery roof? God, he wished Alex were with him.
Bartholomew lay on his stomach across the window frame. With a gulp, he forced himself through the opening, swung his legs around, and looked down. Big mistake.
The courtyard tiles blurred like a camera lens going in and out of focus. Odd colored spots eclipsed his vision, and his head spun in nauseating spirals. He tasted cheesy bile in his throat. Why had he eaten pasta?
His heart was beating too fast, a thousand hammers in his chest. Feeling he might retch, Bartholomew covered his mouth.
And began to slide.
He reached out but it was too late. Both hands clutched at air. Down, down he went until his body met stone.
And everything went black.
Chapter 55
Gwen flinched. Shots?
It was beginning, and Alex was alone. Mr. Hero might think he could do everything by himself, but she knew better and needed to get to him. She blinked, imagining Alex flat on his back, a monster standing over him. She clenched her fists and headed toward the booming sounds. Keeping to narrow alleys and doorways, she mapped her route twenty feet at a time. With each step, gunfire and the sounds of clanging metal grew louder.
Gwen turned a corner and froze. Scores of those hunchbacked creatures were battling Italians straight ahead. Axe blades flashed. Backs heaved. A condotierri dude raised his sword and fell. She looked away and clamped her jaw.
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