The Tomb of the Sea Witch (Beaumont and Beasley Book 2)

by Kyle Shultz

  “Whatever,” I remarked as I picked up the envelope. It bore the Headmaster’s signature. The message inside read:

  Dear Mr. Beasley,

  You will attend a meeting in my office immediately, or be barbecued.

  Warm regards,

  Malcolm Blackfire

  I shook my head at the letter. “What now? Don’t I have enough problems?”

  Then something occurred to me. My eyes went to the top of the paper again.

  Mr. Beasley. He’d addressed the message to Mr. Beasley, not Mr. Barlow.

  He knew.

  I crumpled the paper in my fist. For a moment, I considered just collecting Cordelia and Crispin and making a run for it. But fleeing might make our situation worse. Besides, it could already be too late for that.

  Cordelia and Crispin might already be dead, I realized. I’d only left them minutes before, but still…

  I threw the letter away and bounded down the hallway on all fours, ignoring the various students shoved aside by my mad dash. If there was any chance whatsoever of saving Cordelia and Crispin, I had to try.

  I didn’t bother knocking on the door of Malcolm’s office-cave combination. I barged right in, breathing heavily from my run. I half-expected to see Madame Levesque standing there, ready to kill me or worse.

  The fact that she wasn’t there made me feel only slightly better. It was seeing Cordelia and Crispin, both alive and well, that really lifted my spirits. To my surprise, they were only two members of a small crowd. The Mythfits were all there, and so was Molly.

  Malcolm, to my great relief, was in human form. He was at the piano again, hammering out some ominous sonata. I wasn’t sure whether this piano-playing tactic was a way of focusing his own thoughts or confusing his victims. Probably both.

  “Well, if it isn’t our esteemed Professor…Barlow,” said Malcolm, throwing in a dramatic pause and giving his eyebrows a meaningful wiggle.

  Playing with your food, Mr. Dragon? I thought. Out loud, I merely said, “Good morning.”

  “Sorry to take you all away from your breakfast.” He struck a few high notes on the piano. “I know I hate to miss mine. The first item on the agenda for this meeting is your class, Mr. Barlow.”

  I folded my arms. “Go on.”

  “Your students came to me yesterday with a complaint about your somewhat…rigorous lesson plan.”

  I gave the Mythfits a reproachful look. They all blushed and turned away—except for Sylvia, who glared right back at me.

  Malcolm growled to draw my attention back to him. “While we do pride ourselves on challenging the limitations of modern academic philosophy at Warrengate, we generally try not to get our students dismembered by legions of the undead.”

  “What?” I scoffed. “You think I rented the skeleton army or something? It wasn’t my idea. I just took the kids to the beach, for pity’s sake.”

  “Nevertheless, it did happen on your watch. Which, like it or not, makes you responsible.” He stopped abruptly in mid-sonata and picked up a sheaf of papers from the piano. “As such, you are now rather unpopular with the families of these students.”

  I groaned at the Mythfits. “You told your parents? Oh, that’s just wrong. Not fair at all. I’m really disappointed.”

  “We’re sorry,” said Gareth, staring down at his hooves.

  Alan gave an equine snort of amusement. “No, we’re not.”

  “The Forest of Doom—that’s Sylvia’s family, by the way—has expressed a desire to turn you into mulch,” said Malcolm, reading from the first sheet of paper and setting it aside. “Alan’s people, the Herd of Galashire, suggested a public trampling. Bryn’s an orphan—”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

  “—but she was adopted by Alan’s herd, so…more trampling, I suppose.” He came to the last page. “Gareth’s family were the only ones to suggest a non-lethal option.”

  “What is it?”

  “Banishment to the Realm of Trolls. On the bright side, you can’t actually die in that dimension. You can, however, be devoured by trolls. Repeatedly.”

  “Sounds delightful.” I glared at Gareth. He mouthed the word “sorry.”

  “I just wanted you to know where you stand.” Malcolm arranged the letters of complaint in a neat stack and set them back on top of the piano. He started up his playing again. “I sent out some replies which I think will placate the families for the time being, but I don’t fancy your chances of survival if anything like this happens again.”

  I struggled to curb my temper. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll do my best.”

  “Wonderful.” Malcolm cast a glance over his shoulder at the Mythfits. “You four can go now.”

  They trooped out, all looking slightly embarrassed and guilty. Even Sylvia, to my surprise.

  Malcolm kept silent aside from his piano-playing until the door shut behind the Mythfits. “So…Beasley.” He spoke the name in a slow, ominous way that froze my blood.

  I decided to feign ignorance. “Who?”

  “Don’t,” said Malcolm. “I’m a busy dragon. I haven’t got time to play games.”

  So much for ignorance. “All right. How did you figure it out, then?”

  “Oh, I was suspicious from the start. Then, when Alan informed me of certain odd remarks you made yesterday, I decided to investigate further. After going over all the eyewitness accounts collected from the Clawthorn Incident, I was able to put two and two together.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I must say, it’s an honor to meet you in person. Following your career over the years has been highly entertaining for me. As a matter of fact, our paths have nearly crossed on more than one occasion. That mysterious inferno in Perrault that you put down to a gas explosion? That was me. Also—”

  “You don’t have time for games, you say?” I pinned my ears flat against my skull and bared my fangs at him. “Fine, then. Neither do I. Why are we here? What are you going to do now, hand us over to Madame Levesque?”

  He was silent for a moment, focusing on the sheet music in front of him. “I really should.”

  “Leave Molly out of it,” said Crispin. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Oh really?” Malcolm peered at him. “You're…Crispy, right?”

  “Crispin.”

  “Sorry. I’m a bit hungry. But if Molly isn’t involved in your little conspiracy, then why were you having a clandestine meeting with her earlier this morning? Oh yes, I know all about that. Those salamanders that scurry around this college don’t just deliver mail, you know.”

  “Cordelia and the Beasleys aren’t any threat to Warrengate,” Molly insisted.

  “Then why did all this business with the Undine start up the day after they arrived?”

  “We had nothing to do with that!” said Crispin.

  “That seems unlikely.” The song Malcolm was playing took on a melancholy timbre. “I don’t know what the four of you are playing at, but I have my reputation with the Council to consider. I can’t just—”

  “Crispin and Molly,” said Cordelia, so sharply that I turned to look at her in surprise, “go out and wait in the hallway.”

  “But—” Crispin began.

  “Now.” Her tone left no room for dissent.

  Taken aback, Crispin and Molly looked at each other uncertainly, then reluctantly headed for the door.

  Malcolm didn’t speak until they had shut the door behind them. “Should I worried that you’ve sent the children to bed?” His music never faltered.

  Cordelia reached out and slammed the cover down on the piano keys. Malcolm pulled his fingers free in the nick of time.

  “You…owe…me,” she said slowly, her eyes blazing with anger.

  Malcolm stroked his chin and looked at her thoughtfully. “Ah, yes,” he said, in a quiet, measured tone. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to that.”

  I suddenly felt very uncomfortable, but I had to assume that
Cordelia would have gotten rid of me too if she didn’t want me to hear this conversation.

  “You destroyed my life once because of your loyalty to the Council,” Cordelia continued. “And now you’re seriously considering doing it again?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” said Malcolm.

  “Because I know you regret killing Thomas.”

  The name wasn’t familiar to me, but all the same, I knew who she was talking about. Cordelia had once told me about a boy she fell in love with as a teenager. A boy who convinced her to renounce her family’s practice of using magic to control the Afterlands from the shadows. She’d never told me his name. All I knew was that he was dead.

  “I executed Thomas because he was a traitor,” said Malcolm. For all his bluster, I’d never seen him truly angry until this moment. But there was sadness behind the fury as well. “I didn’t kill you because I thought you would still be sensible, in the end. I knew you were lying about not being in love with him. He put you up to that, didn’t he? To spare your life?”

  Cordelia slammed her fist down on the piano. The sound echoed through the cavern like a cannon going off. “You didn’t want to kill him. You only did it because you had no other choice at the time. But you do have a choice now.”

  “So do you. It doesn’t have to end badly for you, Cordelia. I can talk to Madame Levesque. Perhaps I can convince her to bring you back into the fold—if you hand over your friends, that is. Crispin might even be allowed to go on studying here.”

  I felt my hackles rise. “And what about me, just out of curiosity?”

  “I’m sure Levesque will find a use for you.”

  “If she dares to lay a finger on Nick—” Cordelia began.

  “Oh, I can’t believe this,” Malcolm thundered, pounding the piano himself and jumping to his feet. “You’re doing it all over again! Sacrificing everything because you were weak enough to fall in love with some—”

  Cordelia threw out her hands toward Malcolm and let out a cry of rage. Red runes streamed from her hands and washed over him in a fiery wave. I recoiled and put up an arm to shield my face as Cordelia’s attack blew the piano to bits. Malcolm tumbled backward and fell into the lava.

  “Cordelia!” I cried. “What have you done?!”

  A huge, dark shape exploded from the lava. Malcolm regained his dragon form in seconds, towering above us and turning a furious eye on Cordelia. He snorted, sending a shower of sparks flying from his nostrils.

  “I—am not—weak!” Cordelia shouted at the dragon. “My feelings for Nick, whatever they may be, have nothing to do with weakness. They are my choice. I have the strength to love people and to be loyal to them. It’s the people who sacrifice loyalty to save their own skins who are weak!”

  Cordelia and Malcolm stood facing each other in silence for what felt like an eternity. I waited on the sidelines, not daring to set either one of them off.

  At last, Malcolm spoke, his booming voice shaking the cavern. “Are you finished?”

  “No,” said Cordelia. “When my friends and I are finished, we will let you know. We’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see any of us ever again. But you will let us do what we came here to do. It’s no threat to you or your precious academy. In fact, we just might end up preventing a war.”

  Malcolm fell silent again, glowering at her. Then he said, “Are you telling me the fate of the world might rest in the hands of you and your friends?”

  “Something like that.”

  “May God have mercy.” Malcolm shook his huge head. “Fine. Go. Do whatever you’re going to do. But I’m holding you to that promise you made. Once you’re done, I want you gone. No more involving my school in your antics. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” said Cordelia. She spun on her heel and walked across the rock pathway to the door, lava bubbling all around her. “Are you coming, Nick?” she asked, without looking at me.

  “Yes, right, absolutely.” I loped after her. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re remarkable?” I said, once I caught up with her. “And somewhat terrifying?”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, as we reached the door. “But don’t let that stop you mentioning it again.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Tomb

  “Just so you know,” said Kiran, looking extremely grumpy, “I stayed an otter for at least fifteen minutes, and I hated every second of it.”

  “My heart bleeds.” Cordelia smoothed a wrinkle out of her dark green bathing suit.

  “I'm seriously considering breaking up with you.”

  “I’m devastated.”

  It was late afternoon, and we were all standing in the control room at the front of the Nautilus—Cordelia, Kiran, Crispin, Molly, and myself. Before us was a crescent-shaped console with all manner of dials, buttons, gauges, and blinking lights. A ship’s wheel was positioned in the center of the controls. There was a huge, domed porthole behind the console, offering us an impressive view of the ocean floor before us. We were moving away from Kiran’s underground base, the engines humming as they bore us forward. Green spotlights on the front of the hull stabbed through the blackness ahead, illuminating a dramatic underwater landscape of seamounts and trenches.

  “Can I drive?” asked Crispin. He was wearing nothing besides a rather garish pair of swim trunks.

  “It’s called ‘piloting,’ said Kiran, “and no, you most certainly cannot.”

  Molly was squinting at a tattered old map. “We need to turn a few degrees to the east.” She reached for the wheel.

  Kiran smacked her hand away. “Don’t. Touch. Anything. That goes for everyone, but especially the peanut gallery.”

  Crispin looked at Molly. “Is he referring to us? You know, we’re both the same age as Cordelia. And Nick’s only a couple of years older.”

  “You’re only as old as you act,” said Kiran. “By that reckoning, you and Molly are about twelve, I’d say. Cordelia’s the only one whose behavior matches her age. Nick, meanwhile, is eighty-seven.” He wiggled his hand in the air. “Give or take a decade.”

  “I’m already not your biggest fan, Kiran,” I warned. “Don’t push it.”

  “I’m the only one who can pilot you back from this little trip in one piece. I don’t think the expedition’s mascot will be stupid enough to do anything to me.”

  I growled and advanced on him, but Cordelia held me back. “Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible,” she advised. “All right? Then you can kill him.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled.

  We stood in uncomfortable silence for what seemed like hours as the submarine glided through the water. We’d informed Kiran of Crispin’s and my real names to make things easier, given that it didn’t really matter now one way or the other. We’d also told him the truth about Molly. He didn’t seem to care much. I got the impression that he had little regard for the Council of Scions. As for Molly’s mermaid nature, he’d been more intrigued than horrified.

  “Should we sing something?” Crispin suggested at one point in the journey.

  We all stared at him, incredulous.

  “Given that songs do things like raising an army of the undead around here, perhaps not, Crispin,” I advised.

  “Right. Sorry. Just trying to think of a way to pass the time.”

  “No need for that,” said Kiran. “Although I do have an impressive baritone.” He pointed into the shadows ahead of us. “We’re here. According to Molly’s map, anyway.”

  “It’s been passed down in my family for generations,” she said. “Then again, so has a recipe for seaweed soufflé, and I’m really not fond of how that one turns out.”

  “Good grief,” said Crispin, gazing through the porthole. “Never thought I’d see a building underwater. At least, not one that was built there.”

  The Sea Witch’s tomb was constructed in the style of an ancient temple, its roof held up by towering columns. There was a smaller, enclosed building in the center of the structure, underneath the ceiling—the mau
soleum, no doubt.

  The thing which really arrested my attention, however, was the field of bizarre, malformed pillars between us and the tomb. They surrounded the structure on all sides. “What on earth are those?” I wondered out loud.

  “I’m afraid they’re polyps,” said Molly. “Or polypi. Not sure which one is correct.”

  “Aren’t polyps those little creatures that coral is made of?” asked Crispin. “They don’t sound too scary.”

  “Different kind of polyp,” said Molly, her tone apprehensive.

  I struggled to keep from banging my head against the wall in frustration. “Go ahead, give us the bad news. What are they; what do they do?”

  “They’re guardians. They kill things.”

  “Pretty straightforward, then. Is there a way you can disable them? By singing at them or something?”

  “Sadly, no. They were created specifically to resist that.”

  “Couldn’t we just go above them?” Crispin suggested. “You know, pilot the Nautilus over them and come down in the center?”

  “That’s using your head, lad,” said Kiran. “Let’s give it a try.” He pushed a lever on the console forward, and the nose of the ship tilted upward as we began gliding over the polyps.

  “Wait, don’t!” cried Molly.

  The pillars suddenly sprang to life. Tendrils sprouted from them and shot through the water toward the ship, growing impossibly long and branching out in all directions. The Nautilus was quickly wrapped in a thick web of the things.

  “Vines,” I snarled, grabbing a handle on the wall for support. “I’d really hoped we were done with magic vines.”

  “I think they’re tentacles, actually!” shouted Crispin, pointing to the suckers pressed against the porthole. “Which is a lot creepier!”

  “Pull back!” Molly yelled at Kiran. “They’ll crush the ship!”

  “Thanks so much for the suggestion!” Kiran grabbed the lever he had used before. “I’d never have thought to do that if you weren’t here!” He pulled back on the lever with a loud grunt, and we felt the Nautilus begin to reverse. As we moved away, the tentacles receded, pulling back into the pillars and vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.