The Kidnapped Smile

by Laurie Woodward

  Bartholomew cleared his throat, and in a voice stronger than all the swirling water cried, “You got it, bud!”

  Chapter 66

  Gwen paced back and forth, her nose twitching. The arsenal was so quiet now. People spoke in low voices as they tended to the wounded or carried away those who didn't make it.

  “Fear not, the Deliverer is strong,” Leonardo said when he came to stand beside her. “He will rescue them.”

  Gwen wished she shared Mr. da Vinci's faith, but she'd seen Mr. Clean screw up too many times. Of course, she had to give him credit. He did rescue Mars from with those Swiney things. And that skateboard launch was awesome. “I hope so,” she said.

  The Venetians below suddenly jumped up and down and pointing skyward. Gwen looked up and saw what looked like a stork carrying two babies.

  “Daughter!” Leonardo cried.

  Sure enough, there was Mona Lisa gown billowing behind her. It curled around Alex's waist who wore a grin as wide as the canal.

  The trio swooped over the fortress walls toward the gathering crowd below. When Bartholomew hovered a few feet above the courtyard, Alex and Mona Lisa let go, descending like fluttering leaves.

  Hand-in-hand, they landed on the cobblestones before turning to face the crowd. Then the pair raised their arms high, and a loud cheer arose.

  Bartholomew leaned back, flapped his wings, and climbed until he was barely a dot among the stars. When he seemed to have disappeared, Gwen heard a whoop before his growing figure dropped into a spinning dive. Gwen cringed. He was going too fast!

  After a crazy turn, Bartholomew headed straight towards her. Gwen ducked and held her breath, but there was no booming crash. “Hi Gwen!” he shouted, pulling up at the last second.

  “Show off,” she mumbled.

  That stinker rocketed over the parapet and did a wide loop above the arsenal that turned into a barrel roll before he landed safely in the center of the crowd.

  Fuming, Gwen scrambled down the stairs, pushed her way through the Artanians who were helping Bartholomew take off his wings. She called out, “Hey, B-three!”

  “Yes?” Bartholomew asked as innocent as you please.

  “You are—” Gwen put her fists on her hips for a scolding. Instead, she smirked. “Not bad.” She extended her hand for a fist bump.

  “Thanks,” he replied tapping his knuckles on hers. A little too hard. She shook out her hand. Payback for punching him in the cell?

  Alex chuckled. Gwen turned to give him a hug until she remembered how he'd put her in jail. She slapped his arm for good measure. “Dummy!” she cried with a stomp of her foot.

  “What?” Alex shrugged.

  Gwen raised a hand to hit him again but only wagged a finger. “You locked us in a cell!”

  “I was keeping you safe. In case you hadn't noticed, there are some pretty gnarly creatures around here.”

  “Worked great, didn't it?”

  Alex started to reply, but Gwen cut him off.

  “Do you know what I've been through? I thought you were dying … or worse. Those … those monsters, they tricked me. And I let them in. What a dumb-butt!”

  “Sorry.”

  “If it hadn't been for B-three, I might be—” Gwen couldn't finish the sentence. She cleared her throat and went on. “We should work together.”

  Alex clenched his jaw and looked her square in the face. “I realize that. Now.”

  Gwen could see the regret in his soft brown eyes. He really did feel bad. Her voice softened. “It's all right. But next time…”

  “I'll tell you what, next time you can lead.”

  Imagining marching with a battalion of soldiers made Gwen grin. “So it's over. That Mona Lisa dudette is saved. We can go home, right?”

  “But what of the bambino, Pico?” Mona Lisa asked, stepping between them. “He is still Redbeard's slave.”

  “Poor guy,” Bartholomew said. “Those pirates are so cruel. Running him ragged. Calling him names. Jeering at him. They even made him watch while I walked the plank.”

  “Then we rescue him,” Alex said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

  “Of course we must,” Bartholomew agreed with a nonchalant nod.

  Gwen stared at them both incredulously. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

  “Didn't you just escape from them?” she asked. “Wasn't that, like, the point? And wasn't it wicked hard?”

  “But then I didn't have my friends at my side.” Alex replied as he arched an eyebrow at Bartholomew.

  “We are the twins.” Bartholomew added.

  “Born on the cusp of the second millennium,” Alex finished with an impish smile. He turned to Gwen. “And with a third that makes us triplets. What do you say? Ready to kick some pirate butt?”

  “I get to fight?”

  Gwen could see Alex's playfulness turn to fear. He hated putting anyone in harm's way. But at the same time, she knew he would be good to his word.

  “You got it.” He nodded.

  Chapter 67

  From the rowboat, Captain Sludge scanned the dark water. Something was wrong. The last of his soldiers had all plunged into the swirling opening, yet still there was no sign of Redbeard's ship. Had those idiot Creations forgotten the delivery time?

  If he had a watch, he would have checked it, but Shadow Swine don't wear watches, which would slip off their slimy wrists. Lord Sickhert kept time for all, letting them know when to dream drain, replenish their energies, or when it was time for war.

  Sludge secured the oar, crept up to the bow, and scrutinized the edges of the vortex. The strong current did not dare tug at his ship; as captain, even the waters feared him. Surely, the Barbarossa brothers shared this fright, knowing full well the consequences of being late. Ruthless corsairs should know enough to fear the most powerful captain in all Subterranea.

  Although the night was warm, Sludge shivered, his hunched back crinkling as if his body knew something his mind did not. Finally, Captain Sludge couldn't take it anymore. The moon was dipping deeper by the minute, and the portal would only be open until sunrise. He slid to the back of the boat, picked up the long oar, and rowed toward the Red Raven.

  As he drew closer, he could hear the strained voice of Redbeard shouting orders at the crew. “Raise the anchors. Hoist the sails. Be quick with you!”

  Barbarossa leaving? Sludge's yellow eyes narrowed. Those pirates were running away. He ran his hand over the hilt of the dagger inside his long black coat. “Fools! They'll soon know better than to betray me!”

  Chapter 68

  Bartholomew peered over the port side of the Vento Buono to get his bearings. Now that they'd doused the lanterns, the only light came from stars twinkling above.

  He wondered if the Red Raven still followed them. Probably. Those Barbarossa brothers were so greedy that even now they'd seek riches, and Redbeard was arrogant enough to think he could capture any ship. Even one so dark it appeared invisible.

  Bartholomew cocked an ear to listen. Just the wind snapping the main sail above their creaking ship. He patted the quiver of arrows slung across his back and double-checked the crank on the crossbow at his feet.

  Where was the pirate ship?

  Crack! A flash of lightning lit the sky, showing their exact location. Bartholomew groaned.

  “We overshot Saint Mark's!” Bartholomew called through cupped hands. “We have to go back!”

  “Si, Deliverer. I tell Michelangelo,” an Italian sailor said with a quick salute.

  Bartholomew wrung his linen tunic in his hands. Instead of turning, their ship kept sailing west, away from Redbeard.

  “Did someone tell Michelangelo?” he asked.

  “Si.” The Italian voice came out of the darkness.

  Chewing his lower lip, Bartholomew twisted his shirt more. When they didn't change course, he shimmied down the ladder and made his way to steerage where Michelangelo was bent over a table muttering to himself.

  “North by northeast. C
ome about. Tack south.” Michelangelo held a compass up to the small oil lantern swinging from a peg, then scratched a note with his quill pen on the map spread out on the table.

  Bartholomew cleared his throat.

  “No. Tack south first, then go northeast,” Michelangelo mumbled.

  “Umm, Mr. Michelangelo?”

  “What?” The older man turned and threw his quill down. “Can't you see I am working?”

  “Yes, but did you hear? We overshot Saint Mark's.”

  “Of course I heard. What do you think I'm working on?”

  “Can't you simply turn around and go back?”

  “Children!” Michelangelo threw his hands into the air. “This ship is forty-two feet long and powered by sails. Do you think I just give the tiller a shove, and it turns around like a toy boat in a stream?”

  “Um … yes.”

  Michelangelo went into a tirade about ridiculous children, but Bartholomew didn't stick around to listen. He had to do something. Fast.

  If he were a giant, he would push the ship in the right direction. But he was a kid, and a grubby one at this point. Bartholomew shrugged to loosen the dress shirt that clung to his skin and glanced down at his grimy sleeves. They were as gray as stone.

  “I'd flip us around, if I were big,” he said. Shaking his head, he realized that he might not be, but somebody was. “David? Where are you?” he shouted, dashing up and down the deck. “David!”

  A marble hand on his shoulder made him jump. “Is it time to attack?”

  “No, something else.” Bartholomew outlined his plan before scurrying below deck to tell the Michelangelo to release the tiller.

  “And then?”

  “Leave the rest to me,” Bartholomew told him as he plucked a candle from its holder. Cupping the flame, he hurried up the ladder and shouted, “All hands. Lower the sails! Quickly. Weapons and lanterns at the ready!”

  A few of the sailors merely stood looking at him, completely dumbfounded. Was this the same boy who had laid in bed for days not speaking to anyone?

  “But this no was-a the plan,” the heavily accented one protested.

  Bartholomew didn't have time to explain.

  “I said move. Now!”

  The Italians stopped grumbling and scrambled to their stations while Bartholomew spent a few seconds conferring with David. “Ready?”

  “As easy as annoying Father.” The handsome giant smirked and lowered himself into the water.

  Bartholomew guffawed. That was an understatement. Michelangelo got peeved if you glanced his way. “Now push!” he called down to the wading giant.

  The great statue put his shoulder against the stern and leaned forward. The ship lurched to one side before beginning a turn. Meanwhile, sailors relit the lanterns. Bartholomew knew the running lights made them an easy target, but it was what he wanted. He had to draw Redbeard's fire away from Gwen and the others.

  Meanwhile, the sailors aboard his ship gathered weapons. Bartholomew nodded approvingly until he saw a few pour gunpowder down musket barrels. His face blanched. Bullets could hit Pico or the young slaves onboard. “There are hostages on that ship,” Bartholomew reminded them. “Aimed arrows or hand-to-hand combat only.”

  “Non problema.” The Italian sailor held up a long sword. “We give-a them a shave, eh?”

  Bartholomew was in the middle of a nod when a cannon's boom told him the Red Raven had seen them. He sighed as the ball splashed fifty yards short of them, relieved to draw their fire away from Gwen.

  Gauging the distance by the size of the pirate ship's lanterns, he figured they must be about a quarter-mile away. With David keeping this nice pace, they'd soon be within reach so he could rescue Pico.

  There was a sudden jerk halting the ship. Confused, Bartholomew glanced around and then rushed back to the stern.

  “We're almost there, David,” Bartholomew shouted down. “Keep pushing.”

  “Just repositioning myself for the turn,” the statue said, stretching his muscular arms over his head.

  “Okay, but hurry.”

  David nodded and put his shoulder back against the ship's fantail. The hull listed to one side. Bartholomew held out his arms for balance. David righted the ship and kicking along behind like an outboard motor. They picked up speed.

  “And stay back there, okay? I don't want you to become a target.”

  The lanterns on the pirate ship grew larger. Now Bartholomew could make out the screeching Redbeard on deck, cursing everyone around him. Bartholomew couldn't help but smile.

  When the two ships were about to converge, Bartholomew picked up his crossbow and nocked an arrow in the wooden groove. He thought he had a tight grip, but one hand slipped, and the reel unwound.

  About the same time he heard the Red Raven crash into the stone wharf, he reached for the rotating crank. It rapped on his knuckles and smacked his palm. Ignoring the pain, he leaned in and grabbed. This time, his grip was firm. Muscles twitching, Bartholomew continued to pedal with his hands.

  Finally, the arrow was in place.

  Bump. Their ship docked behind the two tall columns of Saint Mark's Square.

  Just yards away, the crippled Red Raven bobbed ever lower in the water. Bartholomew quickly scanned the deck. There beneath a turban, Redbeard's astonished face gaped at him.

  Bartholomew winked at him as he raised the cross bow to his shoulder nd let the arrow fly.

  Chapter 69

  Boom! Gwen covered her head as another cannonball arced her way. A second later, it splashed into the canal, drenching her. She peered out from under the Paglia Bridge. “That was too close for comfort,” she muttered, shaking water from her short red hair. Squinting, she tried to check on everyone's progress, but when Venice doused all lanterns, it plunged the city into total darkness.

  Only Bartholomew's ship shone in the distance. They'd planned to lure the Red Raven in, then have that Pico kid mess with the rudder when the pirates turned toward B-three's ship. As soon as the Red Raven ran aground, Gwen was supposed to attack with Mars, Athena, and the Condotierri.

  But nobody said anything about cannons.

  The two war gods hid behind some columns about fifty yards away. That seemed a lot safer than a bridge right next to the water. Gwen considered making a run for it. Or maybe not. Great, dudette. You can't even decide what where to hide.

  She would have sat arguing with herself until the sun rose if a sudden jolt hadn't almost knocked her over. Earthquake! Duck and cover!

  She got into the crouch position she'd learned in school when the sound of splintering wood told her this was no earthquake. The Red Raven had finally run aground and was splitting apart.

  Loud curses filled the air with language to make most kids blush, but Gwen was used to Mom cussing a lot before she left.

  “Me ship's breaking up!” a pirate shouted.

  “Now we have you,” Gwen said staring at the eerie silhouette of sail and hull.

  “Rowers, reverse!”

  The ship creaked and groaned as the oars splashed wildly. “Don't move, please,” Gwen prayed aloud, crossing her fingers.

  “I said reverse! Or feel me brother's lash!”

  More scraping and crunching sounds came from the shadowy outline of the lantern-lit ship.

  “Row, slaves, row!” a pirate bellowed. When the ship still didn't budge, he cried, “Hizir! The whip,”

  Gwen cringed when she heard agonizing cries, almost feeling each bite of the whip. Like the time just before Mom took off. Gwen shook her head trying not to remember that day.

  “Gwen! Get in here!”

  She ran in to her mother's bedroom as quickly as her legs would carry her. Mom had been horribly angry recently. She even raised her hand twice but stopped short of slapping her.

  “What, Mom?”

  “Did you talk to my agent yesterday?” Rochelle asked pointing at the landline.

  Gwen clamped her mouth shut. She didn't want to answer.

  “Did you tell
him I was sick and couldn't do the Paris shoot?”

  “No.” Gwen rubbed one skater shoe over the other.

  “Liar! I just spoke to him.” Mom took a step closer.

  Gwen backed away. “I didn't. I swear.”

  “Don't lie to me. You've been trying to ruin my career.”

  Then, instead of being afraid, Gwen got mad. She stopped and stood her ground. “It's a stupid job, anyhow. You're always gone. And my—” No, she wouldn't remind Mom about her upcoming birthday. Moms were supposed to know such stuff on their own. She crossed her arms defiantly. “You're getting too old for modeling.”

  “Old? I'll show you old, you spoiled little brat.” Rochelle picked up a hairbrush and threw it. Gwen ducked, but it still hit her leg, and a hot welt immediately rose. Mom reached for a perfume bottle next, but Gwen didn't stick around. She ran down the stairs, out the front door, and all the way to Dad's gym.

  She didn't tell him about the mark on her leg. Only that Mom was freaking out. By the time they got home, the bedroom was a shamble. Broken glass on the floor. Clothes strewn everywhere—and Mom was gone. No note. No message. Nothing.

  Snap! The whip cracked again.

  “Please, Cap'n. Mercy. Stop.”

  “Row!”

  “It won't move. We be stuck!”

  Gwen couldn't take it anymore. Signal or no signal, she had to something. Trying to remember the exact path over the bridge, she threw her skateboard down and kicked off into the darkness.

  Directly at the waiting pirate ship.

  Chapter 70

  The flickering lights of the Red Raven above him reminded Alex of a dying fire—one he planned to put out once and for all. “Come on, Roberto. Just a little closer. Quietly now,” he whispered to the rowing soldier. Next to Roberto, Vulcan nodded.

  They approached the stern of the beached ship, where Alex could see some pirates scrambling to push it back into deeper water. Others loaded muskets or cannons or held scimitars or daggers at the ready. Bartholomew and Gwen were keeping them busy. Good. Now it was his turn.