by Jeff Wheeler
His companion gazed surreptitiously at the old woman in the chair. Jewel’s mouth had sagged open and her breath had begun to pull in and out in curt little gasps.
The Mortimer girl almost giggled as she looked back at Owen with her bewitching eyes that were part green, part blue, part gray. She wore a dark green velvet dress with cuffs that matched her hem. Her dark hair was swept back behind her.
“You were right,” she whispered in reply. “She normally doesn’t fall asleep like this when she’s watching us. But choosing a boring game like Wizr, and playing it so quietly . . . just look at her. Should we go?”
Owen nodded. They had several hours before the effects of the tea would wear off. The Mortimer girl grabbed his hand but paused to move one of the game pieces with her free hand. “Threat,” she said after the move, indicating a surprise attack he had not expected. Leave it to her to show talent at a complicated game she found boring. “Come on!” she said, tugging him to follow.
The two crept away from the library, their footfalls silenced by the thick carpet. As soon as they were past the doors, they broke into a run. Owen let her guide, as she knew the way. There was always a thrill to being naughty, and he could tell it was coursing through them both. There were servants all around, but everyone in the palace knew about Owen Satchel and the Mortimer girl, and there were only a few grunts and warnings not to get underfoot.
Their destination was a side corridor by the servants’ quarters. The level of dust on the floor showed it was not well traveled. A big, sturdy door met them at the end of the corridor. Owen had tried it before and found it locked, so he had never been back again.
The Mortimer girl grinned at him mischievously. “There is a window in the door. I dragged that basket over and stood on it, and that’s how I saw the secret place.”
“But the door is locked,” Owen said, yanking on the iron latch. It rattled but did not loosen.
“I know, but look over there. See the tapestry? Why would there be a tapestry in the middle of a hall that no one uses?”
Owen hadn’t noticed it before, and it did look a little strange. The tapestry was suspended from an iron pole fastened into the stone. The Mortimer girl winked and walked over to it, then pulled it aside. The tapestry concealed a curtained window.
“The curtain is thick enough to disguise the light,” she explained. “Look how dusty the window is too!”
Owen saw the window had a bar latch and he pulled on it. It was stuck. They exchanged a look and then gripped it together, wrestling with the bar latch. It was tight as a drum.
“I couldn’t do it myself,” she gasped. “But I thought . . . the two of us!”
Owen squinted and frowned, pulling even harder. The latch finally shifted and swung back, knocking them both to the floor. She landed on top of him and they had to stifle nervous giggles.
“It’s open!” she squealed excitedly. Rushing back to the tapestry, she pushed it aside and shoved at the glass. The window groaned open. “Help me up!” she said.
Owen grabbed her around the waist and helped her onto the windowsill.
“It’s covered in vines.” She scooted around and grabbed a fistful of vines and began lowering herself down.
“How far down is it?” Owen asked, his worry growing.
She let go of the vines and dropped down. Her face was still visible from the window. She beamed at him. “Not far! Come on!”
Owen listened for sounds of anyone approaching in the corridor, but heard nothing. He climbed up onto the windowsill on his own and scooted off and jumped. There was brickwork on the ground outside and the shade from the vines helped conceal him and the Mortimer girl. He reached back and slowly shut the window, making sure to leave it ajar so they could get back in.
There was ivy everywhere, smothering the wall. She had a leaf of it sticking to her hair as she peered at the walled-in courtyard.
There was the well hole in the middle.
“Come on,” she whispered, taking his hand and starting to creep forward. They both looked and listened for any warning sounds. Their boots scuffed on the bricks. Owen gazed up and saw Ankarette’s tower. If she was looking out the window, she would be able to see them. The sun was high overhead, making their shadows small at their feet.
“I love wicked ideas like this one!” she said with delight, searching around for any signs they’d get caught.
They approached the well hole. It went down like steps. There were runners and gutters that led to the eight points, and he could discern a slight slope in the bricks. This well made the water run down into it.
“So, this is the cistern?” Owen said. They reached the outer rim and stared down into the huge dark circle.
“That’s what my grandpapa said. It collects rainwater during the winter. It goes under the palace quite a ways. That’s why there’s no dungeon. The palace was built on a cistern!”
Owen had never heard that word before she had first said it to him. The black gaping hole was wide enough that they could have stood across it without being able to reach each other. But he intuitively understood the structure. “It doesn’t lead to a water spring, which makes sense since the palace is on a hill. It would be hard to carry water up from the river every day.”
“Exactly!” she said excitedly. “The cistern catches the water and holds it.” She stepped down into the first ring of stones, trying to pull him along, but he yanked his hand away.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his stomach twisting with fear.
“I want to look down!” She tried to take his hand again, but he stepped back. “Oh, come on, Owen! Let’s just look!”
He was curious but cautious. His brush with danger outside the king’s chamber had rattled him, and he wasn’t feeling very courageous.
“Hold on,” he said. He wanted to come down at his own pace. She shrugged and hurried to the edge so she could kneel down and stare into the abyss. Her eyes lit with wonder. “Look how deep it is!”
Owen frowned. There was no way he was going to let her enjoy it all by herself. He stiffened his lip and marched down to the edge. “Move over.”
She scooted to the side and their heads almost touched as they leaned in. He felt her hair brush against his. It made him feel . . . funny.
The cistern was half-empty. The waters rippled beneath them and he could see their own reflections warped on the placid surface. The chamber was deep, very deep. There were columns of stone and buttresses supporting it. There were numbers and little gashes carved into the column nearest the hole. The numbers meant how deep the water was and he could tell by the numbers at the top of the column that the cistern was just over half-full.
“There is a lot of water down there,” he announced.
The Mortimer girl brushed hair over her ear and gripped the edge of the cistern opening before lowering her head deep inside.
“Hello!” she called out, and her voice echoed. Owen thought she was insane.
“Why did you call out?” he demanded.
She pulled her head back up. “I wanted to see if there was anyone down there. Maybe there’s a water sprite!”
“Water sprites aren’t real,” Owen said stiffly.
“Yes, they are,” she contradicted.
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Just because I haven’t doesn’t mean they’re not real. Don’t be stupid, Owen. Of course they’re real. Papa said so. He said there is treasure under the deepest fathoms of the sea. Ancient swords that can’t rust. Magic rings. There’s another world there that we can’t see. The ocean is its own kingdom.” She looked him in the face, her eyes wide and sincere. “I’m not making up stories, Owen. It’s true. The people who drown are those who try to join the water sprites but fail. They fail because they’re afraid.” She gave him a determined look. “I’m not afraid.”
He looked at her, his stomach doing some twisting and turning. He admired her for her courage. Her fearlessness. And somehow, he knew what she was going to su
ggest before she announced it.
“Let’s jump in!”
Owen hastily rose and backed away. “That’s foolish!”
“No it’s not!” she laughed. “I’ve jumped from higher rocks into colder ponds than this. It’s fun!”
He could not believe his ears. “But how will you get out?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The same way they get the water out. This is where the water comes in. I don’t see any chains or ropes, so there’s got to be another place where the water is drawn.”
“But you could drown!”
“I’m a very good swimmer. Can’t you swim, Owen?”
“I can swim,” he said, offended.
“Then jump with me!” she said, eyes blazing. She reached out her hand again.
His heart hammered violently in his chest, and his mouth went so dry with fear he felt he couldn’t talk. The fear crippled him, making his ears buzz and his knees weak. He could taste bile in his mouth. His eyes started to water.
The Mortimer girl watched him closely. Her excitement was still evident, but she seemed to sense what was happening to him. She walked around the drain hole and stood in front of him, nose to nose. Then she took his trembling hand in hers. “You’re afraid. I know. But you have to trust me, Owen Kiskaddon. The water is deep enough. We won’t get hurt. I don’t know everything that will happen, but we’ll find our way out. Let’s do it together! Jump with me. That’s how I did it the first time. With Papa holding my hand. It’s scary! It really is. But we’re going to have so much fun. Trust me, Owen! Trust me!”
He stared into her eyes, still unable to tell what color they were. He couldn’t speak. His tongue was too thick in his mouth. He was terrified out of his wits, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. For once, he wasn’t thinking of the risks or the odds of injury. There was just this moment, her warm hand in his, and his trust in her.
“We can do it!” she coaxed.
She led him back to the lip of the cistern. He stared down, and the water looked even farther down this time. It looked as if they were standing on Ankarette’s tower. He felt his stomach lurch. He was going to be sick.
She stood next to him, her hand linked with his.
“Are you ready?” she whispered.
Owen nodded violently, trying to swallow.
“Take a breath and hold it. On three.”
He felt as if his whole body would shake apart.
“One!”
This was madness. Why was he doing this?
“Two!”
He stared down at the water. He took a huge gulp of air and held it in his chest. He squeezed her hand as hard as he could, hoping it would hurt her.
“Three!”
They jumped.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Secrets
It was a long fall. Longer than Owen had thought possible. He watched the water rush up, but it still felt like they were falling. The buzzing, giddy thrill in his stomach went all the way to his ears before the water splashed and they went under. It was like jumping into a giant blanket. The cold water closed over him, smothering him, until his swelling lungs buoyed him to the surface and he came up spluttering. As he thrashed around, terrified and thrilled, the water began to drain from his ears and he could hear the Mortimer girl giggling.
He wasn’t holding her hand anymore, but she was paddling right in front of him, her smile mischievous and full of pride that he had jumped too.
“Wasn’t that amazing!” she gasped, kicking the water to keep herself afloat. Owen’s tunic and pants were waterlogged, but he had no trouble treading water. Looking up, he stared at the huge hole overhead and the sunlight beaming down on them.
Owen nodded eagerly, feeling the lingering thrill in his blood. He would do that again. He would do it a hundred times.
“I told you it was fun,” she chided, splashing him lightly. “You’ll love jumping off the boulders by the waterfalls! This water isn’t even very cold.” She reached up and brushed away wet clumps of hair from her cheek. “You did it!”
Owen smiled shyly at her, knowing he never would have done it without her, then stared back up at the gaping octagonal hole above them. “We need to figure out how to get back up.”
“Look! A little boat!”
She was pointing to a series of stone steps leading up to a square. A small boat was sitting on the square, the oars poking over the ridge. The stairs continued up past the square, leading to a wooden door.
“It’s a way out!” Owen said, his heart gushing with relief. He observed that the door was about as high as the hole in the ceiling. They swam the short distance and discovered the staircase extended into the water. They were sopping wet and dripping, but that was no concern to them at all as they tromped up the stairs.
Before continuing, they stopped to examine the boat. It was a small canoe-shaped thing, big enough for maybe two adults. There was a pair of oars leaning upright in the interior. The wood was polished and well-worn.
Owen was wondering why a canoe was there, but then he saw that the cistern extended down quite a distance, probably underneath the entire length of the palace, which formed the roof of the cistern.
The Mortimer girl knelt by the canoe, rocking it slightly to see how sturdy it was before she followed Owen’s gaze across the shadowed waters.
“They keep this boat here so they can get to the other side without getting wet,” she said. “Come on, let’s check the door. I hope it isn’t locked.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him up the stone steps. The water still rippled and lapped against the lower steps, disturbed by their plummet from above. The noises echoed eerily in the dark cistern, making Owen look back and stare into the blackness.
The door was narrow and wedged into a brace of stone. There was a handle and an intricate locking mechanism that was not operated by a key. The Mortimer girl tugged on the handle, but the door held firm. Owen recognized the lock as an Espion design, one that needed to be released from the outside. He pushed her hands away from the handle and quickly examined the mechanism. In moments, he figured out the triggering part and released the latch.
“How did you . . . ?” she stammered in amazement, staring at him with open admiration.
He shrugged and said nothing, not wanting to reveal anything Ankarette had taught him about the ways of the Espion. The door took some pulling to open and they saw a weave of ivy blocking the way, which explained why they hadn’t seen the door while they were in the courtyard beyond. The mouth of the cistern was not far away.
“I’m jumping again!” she declared, and rushed out the door. He followed her and then watched as she rushed up to the edge and made her jump. He could hear the squeal before the splash sounded below him.
Owen’s heart hammered with nervousness. He had done it once. He could do it on his own.
“Come on down!” she called to him. “I’m out of the way!”
He stared at the hole, pursed his lips, and then marched up to it. He stared down, his stomach wrenching violently as he stared down at the drop. There she was, paddling just outside the fringe of light in the shadowy waters, gazing up at him, her face beaming.
Owen counted in his heart. One. Two.
He stopped before thinking three and just jumped.
It was even more fun the second time, and he cut through the water like a knife, plunging through the depths. He went down all the way to the bottom until he felt the stone of the floor. Bubbles streamed up around him and he opened his eyes.
And he saw casks of glittering jewels and coins. Strange jeweled scabbards and ropes of pearls covered the floor of the cistern. There was a battered shield, with a huge gouge on its polished surface. None of the metal was rusted. He saw glass vials with stoppers. He kicked off the floor and rose to the surface, spluttering with shock.
“You did it!” the Mortimer girl beamed. “I knew you weren’t too scared. I want to jump again!” She started swimming toward the steps.
“Wa
it!” he said, half choking and spitting out some water. “There’s . . . there’s treasure!”
She turned midstroke and looked at him, confused. “What did you say?”
“Down at the bottom!” he said excitedly, paddling hard. “I saw it!”
She looked confused. “I can see the bottom, Owen. It’s just stone. Stop teasing.”
Owen stared down and could only see his reflection in the water. He plunged his head below the surface, blinking rapidly despite the pain in his eyes and the watery view. This time he saw nothing but stone and shadows.
He pulled his face up, dripping. “I saw something! I’m not teasing. When I jumped, I held my arms stiff and went all the way to the bottom. I opened my eyes and saw piles of treasure. There were swords!”
“Swords?” she asked in wonder. “Let me try it.” She swam to the steps and slogged up them, hiking up her skirts and pattering water like she was a raincloud. She marched back up to the door, which they had left ajar, and Owen moved away from the circle of light on the water. He wiped his face and waited for her shadow to appear above him.
He kept making circles in the water, paddling slowly to keep afloat despite the heavy feel of his soaked clothes. Then the Mortimer girl was plummeting again, spraying him with water when she struck the surface. She stayed down a long time. He could see her vague shape beneath the rippling waters. Then she was kicking toward the surface again.
When she broke the surface, she splashed water in his face. “You were teasing!” she said indignantly.
“No, I wasn’t!” Owen said angrily. He swam back to the steps himself, marched back up them, and returned to the hole. Water streamed from his hair into his face, and he left huge puddles that drained into the small channels leading to the opening of the cistern. The stone was painted with water droplets and wet shapes the size of feet.
He stood at the edge of the cistern, full of confidence this time. When he jumped back in, he held his body rigid again and allowed himself to sink down. He tried to keep his eyes open during the fall, but as soon as he struck the water, he shut them instinctively. Then his feet touched the floor. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw the treasures nestled on the floor below. He tried swimming toward one of the chests, seeing a golden ring encrusted with gemstones. If he could grab it and bring it back to her, then she would believe him. But as he struggled, he felt himself floating up away from it, as if something were pulling at his foot. His lungs were burning for air.