Witchy Riches (Witchy Fingers Book 4)

by Nic Saint

  “We have to defeat him permanently,” I told my sisters.

  “But how?” asked Edie.

  “Yeah, how do you defeat a merman?!” cried Ernestine.

  “I wish Gran was here,” I said now. “She’d know what to do.”

  “Anything Gran can do, we can do better,” said Edie, voicing an opinion I’d never heard before. I was pretty sure we all felt it was the other way around.

  But since we were out of options, and Gran wasn’t here, we raised our hands again, and then said the first spell that came to mind. This time Ernestine led the chorus, and we simply followed her example.

  So when Ernestine shouted, “Sortordia!” we added our voice to the chant.

  I had no idea what Ernestine hoped to accomplish, but it was better than just standing there being butchered by this maniac. He’d probably hoped to affect us the same way he had the others, and make us chase each other with hatchets. But witches, apparently, are a tougher breed, and not as easily manipulated into killing each other. People have tried to kill witches for centuries, and we’re still here, which just goes to show we’re pretty tough.

  The moment our collective magic hit the merman, he was jettisoned back into the ocean, and forced to join the maelstrom of what had once been the Albion. Now, suddenly, out of the ocean that surrounded us, dozens of shimmering figures started to rise. In the lights from the Merry Mary, they were spookily visible, and dressed in the costume of British sailors of the eighteenth century. They didn’t look very happy, and their grim eyes were now focused on the merman. They were ghosts. The ghosts of the merman’s victims when he’d caused a freak storm to down the Albion.

  And then, amongst the shipwrecked sailors, a splendorous figure emerged, and I saw he was the spitting image of Captain Suggur himself.

  Of course. He was Captain Hayes Suggur. The real captain, and not the impersonator. And as he rose up, majestic in his wrath, I saw that the fake Suggur, the one who’d led so many fortune seekers to their death, morphed from a Suggur lookalike into his actual self. He was a merman, all right: his naked torso was lean and muscular and tapering down into a graceful tail.

  His face, however, was as evil as before, and the hipster beard he’d opted to cultivate didn’t alter the fact that he looked meaner than a vicious demon.

  Dozens and dozens of ghosts now rose up out of the waters and converged on the merman, and for the first time there was a look of panic in his eyes as he tried to free himself from the spell we’d cast and which seemed to lock him in place at the epicenter of the drama that now unfolded.

  “What’s this?!” he cried when he caught sight of the strange phenomenon. “No, get away from me! Away, I tell you!” he shouted as the shimmering figures all drew nearer and nearer, Captain Suggur in the lead.

  “You will suffer the consequences of your dastardly deeds!” the captain growled fiercely. “Now it is your turn to perish, you fiendish beast!”

  I didn’t know what would happen when a bunch of vengeful ghosts attacked a nasty merman, but it was obvious we were about to find out.

  “What spell did you have us cast?” I asked Ernestine.

  “Oh, it’s one I like to use to straighten out my collection of books,” she said. “In college my room was always a mess, books and syllabi and course notes all over the place. So I would put some order in the mess by using this spell Gran taught me. It simply puts everything in the right place.”

  I watched as dozens of ghosts now converged on the merman, and I thought Ernestine’s spell was doing exactly that: putting everything and everyone in the right place.

  “Men! Attack!” the real Suggur now screamed, and judging from the shouts of anguish from the merman, it was obvious the ghosts were winning.

  And then the entire wreck, at least what was left of it, started submerging, taking the ghosts of its crew and the merman who’d been the cause of their destruction along with it. The last we saw of the merman was him, struggling with the ghosts of his victims, his face contorted into an expression of fear.

  And then he was gone, as the water closed over his head and the wreck of the Albion sank to the bottom of the Atlantic one final time, along with its crew and its tormentor. And as quickly as it had all began, all was quiet.

  Chapter 27

  “I think it’s over,” said Edie, glancing over the railing.

  “Well, I sure hope so,” I said.

  Just then, a hand clasped the railing and we all screamed. A man hoisted himself out of the water, and I saw it was Sam Barkley, looking absolutely murderous, a hatchet clenched between his teeth. But then he dropped the hatchet and then dropped himself onto the deck and collapsed there.

  In quick succession Pierre, Skip, Johnny and Jerry also joined us on board the ship, looking equally exhausted. Well, they’d just broken the world record of swimming with hatchets clenched between their teeth.

  Ernestine looked up at the figures of Spear and Clive, still doing their version of the pirouette. “Um, Strel. How do we make them stop?”

  The lawyer, in particular, was looking a little frazzled, which just goes to show that lawyering doesn’t prepare you for the life of a ballet dancer.

  I tried to remember how I’d made my Barbie and Ken stop twirling, and then I got it. So I snapped my fingers once, sending yellow sparks flying, and bellowed, “Uncrullio!”

  It was one of my favorite spells, and one I’d discovered worked for pretty much anything. Gran had taught it to me to straighten out my hair, which had a tendency to go all curly on me, especially when it was rainy out. Since then, I’d discovered it cleaned up any mess I made swiftly and efficiently. Well, not everything, obviously. Some things just don’t need uncurling.

  Spear and Clive dropped into the ocean, but then immediately popped up again, looking as exhausted as their fellow divers did. With a little help from the three of us, they were brought back on board, where they collapsed on the deck, panting heavily. They made a nice dancing duo, though not as nice as Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling, obviously. Or even Fred and Ginger.

  Clive’s relatives had also climbed on board, and Captain Dale was hosting a full house now, or rather a full boat. The captain joined us, scratching his scalp.

  “This is just about the weirdest trip I’ve ever taken,” he intimated.

  I stared at the man. “Why didn’t you pick up a hatchet and start chasing people around the deck yourself, Captain Dale?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. I guess that freak needed me to bring in fresh treasure hunters and didn’t want to risk losing me as a trusted supplier?”

  “I think if we look a little deeper into this, we’ll find that all of the treasure hunters that dove down to the wreck all turned into killers soon after,” said Edie ponderously. “Or victims of other treasure hunters.”

  “Like Yehudi Brevity,” said Ernestine. “Wasn’t he murdered with a hatchet?”

  “He was,” I confirmed.

  We all turned to Captain Dale.

  “Yeah, Yehudi was one of my customers,” he confirmed. “And it’s true that I did hear some strange stories over the years. About people getting killed, or turning into murderers. Or suffering some other terrible tragedy. Some people told me it was the curse of the Albion. Like that whole Tutankhamen thing? I never bought into that nonsense. Until now.”

  “It didn’t worry you that all the people you brought out here died or met with some terrible tragedy?” I asked, a little reproachfully.

  He shook his head. “Like I said, I never put two and two together. I don’t believe in curses or monsters and just figured it was all one big coincidence.”

  “I wonder why the merman didn’t wait for us to reach the mainland,” said Edie. “Why he had us try to kill each other right here right now.”

  I stared down at Sam and Spear, Skip and Pierre, Johnny and Jerry, and suddenly an idea struck me. “You know? I think I got it. The other crews that came treasure hunting were all friends. It probably took a little longer for the
merman to set them up against each other. But Sam probably already disliked Skip, and Jerry must have held a grudge against his partner.”

  “And Spear mustn’t have liked Pierre,” Ernestine added, nodding.

  “There was so much animosity already there, that it didn’t take much for the merman to stir up these murderous sentiments he fed on,” said Edie.

  “But why would Clive try to kill me?” I asked. “I thought he liked me.”

  “He mustn’t have liked you as much as you thought he did,” said Edie.

  “In any case, it won’t ever happen again,” I said, staring out across the water now, which was just as tranquil as it had been before. Nothing indicated that below its surface a seaman’s grave was concealed. The merman would never hurt a living soul again, and the Albion had ceased to be the attraction to divers and fortune hunters it had once been, now ripped apart into thousands of little pieces, scattered all across the ocean floor.

  “I wonder what happened to the treasure,” Ernestine said.

  “There was never any treasure,” Edie claimed. “That merman was lying.”

  “So you think it was just a ruse? To lure treasure hunters?” asked Stien.

  I shook my head. “He said there really was a treasure, remember? But that it wasn’t what we thought it was?”

  The men all started to stir around us, finally coming to. They still looked pretty dazed, but at least the murderous glint had disappeared from their eyes, and the hatchets had also magically disappeared from their grasps.

  “What happened?” Sam groaned as he got up with an effort.

  “How do you feel about bakers now, Sam?” asked Edie solicitously.

  He stared at her, not comprehending. “Huh? Come again?”

  “Do you still feel that bakers are the root cause of everything that’s wrong with the world?” asked Edie, checking his eyes, first the left then the right.

  “Stick out your tongue and say ‘Aaaah’, Sam,” I suggested.

  “Now listen to me, Sam,” Ernestine said when Sam stared at us stupidly. “I want you to be honest with me. This is very important. Do you feel a strong urge to beat bakers over the head with a very sharp object?”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I just remember I was down there, diving for that stupid treasure, and then suddenly Jerry attacked me, and next thing I know, I woke up with one big, giant headache. What did you do to me? Knock me over the head?”

  I exchanged a quick glance with my sisters, and I could tell they were in agreement not to tell Sam or the others what had really happened. They wouldn’t have believed us anyway. “The ship collapsed around you, Sam,” Edie told him. “But luckily we managed to get you all out safely.”

  He grimaced. “Who saved us? Captain Dale?”

  I gave him a cheerful grin. “We did, Sam. My sisters and I saved you.”

  He stared at me. “But that’s not possible. You didn’t have suits.”

  “We used snorkels,” Ernestine blurted out.

  “Snorkels?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah, I told you it was possible, Sam,” I said. “We freedove!”

  “And saved you all,” concluded Edie.

  He stared from one to the other, and finally nodded. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely. “That took quite some cojones, girls.”

  “Well, we’ve got cojones up the wazoo, Sam,” I said blithely.

  “Um, what are cojones?” asked Stien, pushing her glasses up her nose.

  But Skip interrupted us. “What happened?” he asked, a little bleary-eyed.

  We all watched Sam closely, but when he didn’t appear to show any hostility toward Skip, it was obvious the bakers of the world were finally safe again. Skip looked a little skinnier than he’d been before, and paler beneath his pimples. Being chased by a berserk NYPD detective will do that to you.

  The others now also stirred, one by one, and they all seemed to suffer from the same short-term memory loss Sam was suffering from.

  “What about the treasure?” asked a grating voice. It was Jerry, being helped up by Johnny, his erstwhile victim. “Where’s the gold? The diamonds? Huh? Where did you put the stuff?”

  He was addressing Sam, whom he seemed to feel had pocketed the treasure. The old hostility of the professional crook toward the police officer wasn’t gone, but then it had been present long before the merman interfered.

  And as Sam held up his hands, indicating he had no idea what had happened to the treasure, Clive’s uncle got up, a sturdily-built man in his late fifties, and suddenly something dropped from his costume. It was a small gold box, inlaid with stones. It fell down to the deck and we all stared at it.

  “Is that it?” asked Jerry eagerly. “Is that the frickin’ treasure?”

  When no one else did, Sam stooped down and picked it up, turning it around in his hands. Then he rattled it for good measure. Nothing.

  “Here. You open it,” he said, as he thrust the thing into my hands.

  I fingered the precious little object gently, pleased that the famous treasure was finally resting in my hands. If I felt disappointment that it was so small, I wasn’t showing it. Frankly I didn’t care about the treasure at this point. I was just glad that we’d all escaped from this ordeal with our lives.

  My fingers touched something near the bottom of the small box, and I depressed what felt like a tiny button; there was a click, and the lid swung open, revealing… an envelope. Apparently the lid had been so tight that water had never reached the document, and it looked well-preserved.

  I carefully took it out and opened it. Inside the envelope was a letter, written in a spidery scrawl. The language was English, and the opening words were, ‘Dear Lord Dockland—Dear Ducky.’

  I quickly scanned the document, which was short and to the point. “Oh, God,” I whispered as I looked up into the expectant faces of the others.

  “What is it?” asked Ernestine. “Tell us!”

  I simply handed her the document. She was, after all, the legal beagle in our family. She read it, eyes widening, and then handed it to Spear, the actual lawyer. He also scanned it, and, likewise, his face morphed into an expression of complete and utter incredulity.

  “What?” asked Sam. “Come on, Boodle. Don’t keep us in suspense, man!”

  “Is it treasure?” asked Jerry, licking his lips.

  “I don’t think so, Jer,” said Johnny. “It’s a piece of paper.”

  “I can see that, you moron,” growled his friend and associate. “But maybe it says where the treasure is. The real treasure. The gold! The diamonds!”

  “This is the treasure,” said Spear now, reverently holding up the document. “This document clearly states the king’s wish that Lord Dockland cease all attempts to crush the colonies’ desire to become independent.”

  “Huh? What?” asked Skip, quite eloquently.

  “The king of England writes to Dockland, who seems to be an old friend of his, judging by the informal tone of the missive, to give up the colonies. He says, and I quote, ‘this silly business has gone on long enough.’”

  “Are those his exact words?” asked Pierre.

  “They are,” Spear confirmed, like a notary present at the reading of a will.

  “Just read the darn thing already,” grunted Sam.

  “Yeah, I want to know where the treasure is,” said Jerry, making a point.

  “Very well,” Spear said, and cleared his throat. “Dear Lord Dockland—Dear Ducky, it’s come to my attention that this silly war over there just keeps dragging on and on and quite frankly I’m sick of all that rot. Why don’t you just let those blighters keep their bit of America if they’re so keen, and return home? This silly business has gone on long enough, don’t you think? Oh, and by the way, can you bring me some of that tobacco? You know the stuff I like. The Sterling thing. Well, pip pip, Ducky and toodle-oo! Your Binky.”

  Spear sniffed and solemnly folded the letter once more. “It’s safe
to say that the sovereign wasn’t keen on this colonial war and wanted to end it.”

  “Then why keep it going for another few years?” asked Sam.

  “Because this letter never reached its destination,” said Spear gravely.

  “Or Binky changed his mind,” I suggested, for I couldn’t imagine this was the only letter he’d sent. Though in those days it probably took a while for a letter to arrive. They didn’t have email yet, as far as I remembered.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Pierre, tapping the document reverently. “This is still a very valuable historical document.”

  “Valuable, eh?” asked Jerry keenly. “How much? Huh? A million?”

  “Its value is historical in nature,” said Spear haughtily. “Not monetary.”

  “Not monetary, huh?” Jerry asked, his eyes narrowing nastily. “You mean it’s worth zilch? We went through all this crap for a stupid piece of paper?”

  “Looks like,” I said. But at least in the process we’d made sure that the merman would never make any more victims. And had managed to afford the crew of the Albion, along with its captain Hayes Suggur, eternal rest.

  And as Captain Dale started us on our return journey, we said goodbye to Clive and his dad and uncle, who returned to their own boat. They might not have found treasure, but, like the rest of us, at least they’d survived the dive.

  I wondered how to tell Sam about our suspicions that Yehudi Brevity had been killed by one of his diving buddies. It was difficult to bring up the subject without blowing the whistle on the merman story, which Sam would never give any credence to, and which would only make things difficult for us. So I decided just to let it go for now. I was sure that good old-fashioned police work would reveal who was responsible for Yehudi's murder.

  The Merry Mary pulled into the small Happy Bays harbor, and we all gratefully walked off the boat and were happy to feel the ground under our feet again. We hadn’t found the treasure, but at least we’d found a nice old document that shed a new light on the history of our country, and would give historians the world over something to think about for the next few years.