The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure)

by Singel, N. M.

  “Don’t do it!” Blake shouted to the mob.

  Every grimy, bearded face looked up at him.

  “The devil!” one man shrieked.

  “I’m not the devil. I’m just a kid from California, and ya can’t have Christopher Columbus hanging over the edge of the ship! He’s gotta make history.”

  “He’s Beelzebub in the admiral’s clothes!” Another man hollered back.

  “Throw the traitor to the sea!” a bony guy in a red cap urged.

  Unruly cheers erupted.

  Pero manhandled Columbus, gripping his ankles. He turned to the crew. “I told you Satan would come to take him to hell! Let’s give him what he wants!” Pero dropped the admiral into the Atlantic.

  The uproar escalated.

  “God help us!” Diego cried out.

  “Quiet!” Pero gestured the men to silence, and then he looked up at Blake. “He’s yours now.”

  Diego held up his hands toward the crow’s nest. “Spare our souls!” he pleaded.

  “I don’t want your souls!” Blake yelled, scanning the water.

  Columbus flailed frantically, bobbing in the churning sea.

  “Aw, crap!” Blake climbed out of his perch. As he started down the rope ladder, the tempus slipped from his hand and plummeted to the deck. “Double crap!”

  He scrambled down the webbed rungs, jumped to the deck, and then lunged for the watch--his only way out. The ship lurched sideways, and the tempus skipped into a balled-up fishing net. Blake’s hand tingled as he leapt toward the tangled mound. He glanced at his father’s ring, glowing around his finger.

  The chronicle’s weak voice whispered in his ear.

  Columbus is drowning. He needs your help, now.

  “Blake!”

  He turned and watched his sister burst out of Columbus’s cabin, then down the steps toward him.

  She threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re alive!”

  “Get back inside, Ricki!” He nudged her away. “It’s too dangerous out here!”

  “They threw Columbus into the ocean!”

  “I know. Go back in the cabin and stay there!”

  Blake heard the chronicle’s voice again.

  History is dying. You must hurry.

  Abandoning the search for the tempus, Blake bolted through the mob to the far side of the ship where Columbus had gone overboard. He locked eyes with Pero.

  “Take him to hell,” the brute said.

  Blake squeezed past him and then leaned over the rail.

  “Blake!” Erica panted, wedging herself next to him.

  “Get out of here!” he ordered his sister.

  “But there’s something I’ve got to tell you!”

  “Later!” Hiking his legs over the side, Blake dove into the choppy water. He tore through the ocean like a triathlete, gunning for the listless admiral. Grabbing Columbus’s jacket, Blake struggled to lift the man’s rubbery body above the raging water.

  “Please, Mr. Columbus, try to keep moving! We’ve gotta get outta this mess!”

  Columbus spat a mouthful of water and gulped air. “I’m finished, Blake. My journey is done.”

  “No way! Swim!”

  “I cannot.”

  “You have to!” Blake kicked harder. “Don’t make me do this all by myself!”

  “It is of no use.” He spat more water. “My crew’s hope is gone, and I am to blame.”

  Blake turned his head when he heard shouting from an approaching ship. “Maybe they’ll rescue us.”

  “Pinta won’t help.”

  Through the rain, Blake could barely make out the men hanging over the side of the smaller ship, pounding their fists in the air. As Pinta moved closer, he could hear their angry shouts. Niña’s crew had already turned back, no doubt headed to the nearest familiar port. Dang! Rat must’ve got to them. Whatever was in that logbook totally fired them up.

  Blake felt his father’s ring burn on his finger, but this time, the warmth coursed up his arm and then settled around his heart.

  “Blake!”

  “Erica?!” His sister’s frantic voice sounded like she was next to him. How could this be? She was too far away.

  “You can hear me?!” she shot back.

  “Yeah, loud and clear.” He looked at the Santa Maria and picked out his sister, jumping and waving from the rail. “We must be connected, somehow.”

  “That’s freaky. Now get out of there before you drown!”

  “Not before I save the admiral.”

  “It’s too late for him!”

  “Don’t you get it? If Columbus doesn’t make it to the New World, the future will collapse. We’ll never--” A torrent of seawater surged down his throat. He gagged and spat. “--never get home.”

  “There’s nothing we can do now!” she cried. “Rat found out Columbus was lying! The admiral gave the crew a fake logbook so they wouldn’t know how far they had to go, and he hid the real one in his locker!”

  “No way!”

  “That’s why they did this to him. Rat told them that unless they kill Columbus and go back to Spain, they’re all going to die!”

  His muscles spasming, Blake repositioned his arms around the admiral. “Ricki, there’s a tempus, you know, that watch thing, in that pile of fishing net by the rope ladder. If I don’t make it out--”

  “Didn’t you hear me, Blake? Columbus lied! Save yourself while there’s still time!”

  “Breathe, Admiral!” Blake forced his spent legs to tread water. “I don’t care what you did. I’m not gonna let you die.”

  “Let me go. I deserve--”

  “No way! Come on, kick!”

  “I’m finished.” Columbus slipped beneath the surface.

  Blake fought to raise the admiral’s body out of the water. “Erica, toss me something that floats!”

  “I don’t see any life preservers!”

  Rat appeared behind Erica, hoisting a barrel over his head.

  “Ricki! Behind you!”

  Erica turned and froze when she saw the Tolucan thug.

  Rat chucked a barrel in the water, landing a few feet from the pair’s bobbing heads.

  Erica leaned over the rail. “Rat’s going to help us!”

  “Don’t trust him!”

  “He says Dagonblud wants to make a deal with you.”

  “I’ll bet he does. A bad one!”

  “Grab the barrel, Blake!” Erica pleaded.

  Blake paddled to the floating drum with one hand while trying to hold on to Columbus with the other. Another barrel sailed past his head, splashing a few feet behind them. “What the--?” He snagged the closer cask, but his hand slipped off, spinning the slimy drum like a muddy football. “Damn.” Blake blinked out the water’s sting.

  “Look out, Blake!” Erica screamed.

  A third drum crashed into the first, fracturing the bowed planks into a flattened, floating heap. Blake inhaled deeply, swam under the sinking admiral, and pushed him up by his backside.

  The water was cold, and Blake’s lungs hurt. He burst above the surface after swallowing more of the salty sea.

  Erica hollered. “Rat said Columbus is dead. Save yourself!”

  “He’s not dead!” Blake dragged the admiral’s arm onto the floating wreckage. He forced the explorer’s limp hand onto the soggy wood. “Come on, Mr. Columbus! We can do this!”

  Columbus didn’t answer or open his eyes, but he slowly curled his fingers into a gap in a cracked board and rested his head against the swollen timber.

  “Yeah! That’s it! Hang on!” Relieved, Blake sucked in a deep breath. He looked back at the ship.

  Rat yanked Erica by the arm and pulled her into the crowd of sailors.

  “Ricki!”

  The gold ring stopped tingling. He waited a few seconds but heard nothing.

  “Erica, answer me!”

  The Santa Maria moved away, trailing the other two ships. Blake put his head on the drifting wood. He had no plan, not even
a bad one. Columbus wasn’t supposed to die, at least not yet, and neither was he.

  The sails of all three ships snapped in the wind. The rain slowed to a drizzle, and the sun broke through the clouds. Blake hoped the crew might take that as a good omen and come back for them. But more likely they’d view it as a good sign they were turning back.

  He looked at Columbus. The admiral’s shriveled fingers slid toward the edge of the remnants. “Hey, Mr. Columbus.”

  The admiral didn’t move.

  “Come on. You gotta hang on.”

  Columbus’s pale face, pressed against the wood and barely above water, showed no sign of life. The cuff of his woolen jacket, skewered by the wood’s splinters, stuck to the wreckage.

  Blake closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to think. Now what? He was about to drown in 1492, hundreds of years before he was born. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He should be at football practice, running through tires and hitting the sleds with Trevor. If he ever made it home, he’d never quit the team.

  His thoughts were interrupted by birds calling to each other as they flew overhead. Blake opened his eyes and watched them. Funny how the sky looked the same as it had back home, a place he’d never see again.

  Blake watched as the huge flock soared over him. If only I could fly. . . . Then the words of the chronicle flashed through his head: the wings know the migration.

  Whoa! That’s it! he thought. American birds fly south for the winter!

  Adrenalin rocketed through his body. “Hey! Hey, anyone! Look!” Blake screamed at the top of his lungs and pointed to the sky. “Birds! They’re land birds! American birds! The admiral was right! We’re close to land!”

  Blake felt his father’s ring tingle. He saw a couple of the men looking in his direction, but most were playing with the sails.

  “Hey!” Blake shouted again and waved his hands over his head. “Those are land birds! Look!”

  Erica appeared at the rail with several men and looked skyward. The birds wheeled above the Santa Maria’s billowing sails.

  “Blake, I can hear you again. I told the sailors what you said--about the birds. Then that big guy punched Rat, and I was able to get away from him.”

  Blake saw Rat at the top of Columbus’s cabin steps, rubbing his face. He angrily pointed toward the admiral and seemed to be shouting at the crew.

  As Blake watched Rat strong-arming the men on the ship, something in the water caught his attention. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as a branch with a bunch of emerald-colored leaves drifted by him. He stretched out, snatched it, and then waved it high above his head. “Look! It’s from a tree!”

  Pero pointed a spyglass in his direction and then quickly lowered it and turned to Diego.

  Blake heard a rousing cheer and watched as the jacked-up crew gathered at the railing. The celebration swelled as he waved the branch overhead like a banner.

  “Hang on, Blake,” Erica said. “They’re gonna put the rowboat in the water to get you guys!”

  “It’s about freakin’ time.”

  “You won’t believe it!” His sister yelled back. “Rat’s vanished!”

  “Finally I did something right!”

  CHAPTER 25

  SCARS

  Wet and shivering, Blake Wyatt helped boost Columbus’s sagging body into the waiting arms of a few obliging sailors on the Santa Maria. The dinghy ground hard against the ship’s hull, dipping forward and then rising suddenly. Blake tumbled backward.

  “Assist the boy!” Pero shouted.

  Blake welcomed the crew muscling him over the rail. As he regained his balance, he focused on Pero easing Columbus to the deck.

  Blake shrugged aside a couple men crowding the admiral before dropping to Columbus’s side. “He’s not breathing!”

  Water drooled from the explorer’s mouth as seawater puddled around them.

  Blake pressed two fingers against the pale, cold neck but felt no heartbeat. “Don’t die on me now!” He laced his fingers together, locked his elbows, and pressed down furiously on the admiral’s breastbone, trying to kick-start Columbus’s heart.

  “Beat, damn it!” He pounded Columbus’s chest. “Beat!”

  The admiral bucked and coughed, spewing water.

  “That’s it, Mr. Columbus!” Blake rolled him onto his side. “Get it out!”

  Diego knelt beside them and steepled his hands in prayer. “God in heaven, you’ve returned him from the dead.”

  “Blake!” Erica squeezed through the murmuring crowd and pounced on him. “I was afraid you were gonna drown.” She hugged him so tightly, he couldn’t move. “Don’t ever do anything that stupid again.”

  “Can’t get rid of me that easy.” He squirmed free and then patted the dazed admiral on the back. “You all right?”

  “Did the sea spit me out?” the explorer asked weakly.

  “Take it easy, Mr. Columbus.” Blake and Erica helped him sit up. “We’ve been through a lot.”

  “I always felt it better to remain on top of the ocean rather than under it.” Columbus placed his hand on Blake’s arm as he sputtered a few shallow coughs. “Young man, I am in your debt.”

  “Forget it, but ya might want to take some swimming lessons if you’re gonna hide stuff from these guys.”

  “I can assure you, from this moment forward, one logbook.”

  “Good. ’Cuz I can’t handle any more dodgeball with those barrels.” Blake and Pero pulled Columbus to his feet.

  The admiral looked down at his dripping garments.

  “Not the right clothes to introduce everyone to the New World,” Blake said, smiling proudly.

  “New World. I rather like that.” Columbus moved gingerly through his crew, Diego supporting him with an arm around his waist.

  “Mind the steps, sir,” Diego said, steering him up the stairs to his cabin.

  “Come on, Rick, we gotta find that tempus.” Blake rushed to the pile of fishing net.

  Erica joined him, trying to untangle the messy heap. “Uncle Leopold’s not doing so well. I’m worried about him.”

  “He’s probably just tired.” Blake tugged on the net. “Help me stretch this.” Blake lifted and shook the webbed rope, attempting to dislodge the timepiece. “I see it. Grab that end. It’s right there.”

  “Blake?”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Where’d everybody go?”

  He looked around. The crew was gone, and the skies were darkening, faster and blacker than any storm he’d ever seen. “I got a bad feeling about this,” he said slowly, pulling the net with him.

  “What stinks?” Erica asked.

  “I know that smell.” Blake crept back, stopped by the ship’s mast. Startled, he spun around. “What was that about Uncle Leopold?”

  Erica moved closer, her voice trembling. “I said he won’t get up.”

  Blake turned. “Like ‘sleep’ won’t get up or ‘dead’ won’t get up?”

  “Like--”

  Columbus’s door banged open. A knife zipped through the air, ripping the net from Blake’s hands, then impaling it to the mast. Blake jerked back, yanking his sister with him. He glanced at the quivering handle--Rat’s weapon.

  Dagonblud strolled onto the deck in front of Columbus’s cabin. He was draped in a long black jacket with shimmering gold flecks. What was he dragging?

  “That’s the monster who locked me and Uncle Leopold in the dungeon,” Erica whispered.

  Blake felt her grab his arm. He recognized the giant blowtorch.

  “To answer your question, Mr. Wyatt, your uncle is sleeping. Like a log.” He shoved a statue that cartwheeled down the steps and then wobbled to a stop near their feet.

  Blake’s eyes widened as the wooden Uncle Leopold seemed to stare at him.

  “Bristlecone pine, to be exact. One of the oldest trees, I’m told.” Dagonblud extended a thick finger.

  The statue slowly rose above the deck and then torpedoed into the ocean, skipping like a st
one toward the horizon.

  Dagonblud snickered as he descended the stairs. He moved toward them and then paused at the mast. “Where did everyone go, Miss Wyatt?”

  Blake retreated, shuttling his sister behind him. “We’re in big trouble, Rick.”

  “How right you are, Mr. Wyatt. I stopped time. Now we’re all alone on this crude assemblage of rotting sticks. No birds, no fish, no people. No living thing can exist without time--except for Wyatts, which is unfortunate for you.” Dagonblud ripped the tempus from the netting. “Looking for this?” He said, and then tucked it into his pocket.

  “What are we going to do, Blake?” Erica tightened her grip.

  “I don’t know.”

  Dagonblud cornered them and then ripped Erica away. Grabbing Blake’s shirt, he wrenched him high in the air. “Give me the source of your power, you little hellion!”

  Blake flailed. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Now!”

  “I’m tellin’ you. I don’t know anything about any of this stuff.”

  “Liar!” The Tolucan’s face darkened.

  Blake felt the ring vibrate on his finger. A strange but comforting feeling stirred inside him. Courage bolted through his veins. He stared down the tyrant. “What’s the matter? Don’t have the guts to kill me?”

  “How dare you!” Dagonblud bellowed, shaking him before slamming him to the deck.

  Blake groaned, writhing in the pain, second-guessing his decision.

  Erica fell to his side. “Don’t make him any madder,” she warned.

  “Too late!” Dagonblud roared. He pointed at a coiled rope, transforming it into a massive python.

  Erica screamed.

  Blake jumped to his feet and shoved his sister aside.

  The snake lunged at him, snaring his ankles as he stood.

  “No guts?” Dagonblud chided.

  The serpent spiraled up Blake’s legs, then around his waist and ribs, tightening with each twist, choking off his air. “I--”

  “At a loss for words?”

  “Can’t . . .”

  “What? Obey?”

  “Breathe.” Blake felt lightheaded, slipping out of consciousness.

  Dagonblud tapped his fingers rhythmically on a barrel. “Have I made my point?”