Salamaine's Curse

by V. L. Burgess

  Note from the Publisher:

  The Move Books team is committed to inspiring boys to read. We want to change the way boys look at reading. Thank you for your support.

  Text copyright © 2013 by V. L. Burgess

  Illustration copyright © by Jon Berkeley

  Book Design by Virginia Pope

  Back cover parchment background © iStockphoto.com/tomograf

  All rights reserved. Published by Move Books LLC.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Move Books, LLC., Attention: Permissions, P.O. Box 183, Beacon Falls, CT 06403.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013941511

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 11 12 13 14 15 16

  Printed and bound in the U.S.A.

  First edition, October 2013

  P.O. Box 183

  Beacon Falls, Connecticut, 06403

  For BOB, DAVID, and CATHERINE

  — V.L. Burgess

  for RUBEN and ALAN

  — Jon Berkeley

  CHAPTER ONE

  FORBIDDEN LAKE

  Thomas Hawkins stood at the edge of the Forbidden Lake. It had another name, of course, an official name, but nobody ever used it. Tom couldn’t even remember what it was. He only knew that at the Lost Preparatory Academy for Boys, anything that might lead to the students actually enjoying themselves was, naturally, forbidden.

  Especially the lake.

  And definitely, definitely, the lake at midnight.

  But it was spring. The ice and snow that had covered the academy grounds for endless months had finally melted, giving way to soft, grassy fields. Shimmering rays of sunshine warmed the air. Or at least the grass looked soft and the air seemed warm. Hard to tell when he spent most of his waking hours locked away in a classroom.

  Which was exactly what had brought Tom to the lake. It wasn’t that he deliberately tried to disobey the rules. But Headmaster Lost’s rigid schedules, endless exams, and not to mention the constant clamor of bells wore on his nerves. On everybody’s nerves. All he wanted to do was loosen things up a bit. Have a little fun.

  Kidnapping Fred and sending him on a solo midnight sail across the lake seemed like the perfect antidote to the dull drudgery of their days. It was, after all, spring.

  Excited whispers and rustling branches echoed through the woods. Tom glanced over his shoulder at the guys behind him and grinned.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “I think he’s scared,” a voice called back.

  “No, he’s not!” someone else shouted. “He’s having fun! Aren’t you, Fred?”

  Fred wobbled in response as the gardening cart to which he was strapped hit a deep rut in the trail. He teetered precariously to the right, then swayed left as the boys pushing the cart overcorrected their mistake.

  “Don’t drop him! You’ll crack his head open.”

  “Relax. He’s fine.” They shoved the cart out of the rut and bounded down the trail.

  Fred was the newest addition to the Lost Academy family. He came to them as a result of a private donation made to the school. The funds were supposed to be used for the students’ enjoyment.

  But Lost, brimming with satisfaction, had unveiled the life-sized statue—to whom the name Fred had somehow stuck—at an assembly earlier that week. The thrill of the gift had been underwhelming. The model of a perfect student, Fred had been sculpted with Latin and Greek textbooks tucked under his arm and a beaming smile on his face, as though he couldn’t wait to get back to his room and spend his evening memorizing ancient irregular verbs.

  Hunger for Knowledge, the plaque beneath him read. Looking at Fred, Tom thought Hunger for Cupcakes, Chili Dogs, and Cheese Fries would have been far more appropriate.

  For not only did Fred arrive wearing the detested summer uniform (short-sleeved shirt with tie, Bermuda shorts and knee socks, a beanie on his head), he had a little weight problem. His face was round, his cheeks plump, and he had a double chin. In what was probably a clumsy attempt to make Fred look younger, the sculptor had given him pudgy arms and thighs, dimpled hands, and a butt that swelled outward in embarrassing proportions, sort of like a certain type of monkey at the zoo.

  When they heard about the donation, Tom and his friends had spent weeks convincing themselves Lost would finally give in and buy them Xboxes for the common rooms.

  Instead they got Fred.

  Tom’s eyes narrowed in on the beanie. A pirate’s hat and a few other things would definitely make Fred more interesting … and Lost more furious.

  His friends reached the beach. Or rather, what passed for a beach—a broad expanse of packed dirt that stretched half the length of a football field, then sloped gently downward until it dipped into the edge of the water. The lake was quiet. Nothing but shimmering moonlight reflected on the surface, coupled with the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

  Their plan was simple. Two boats tied together with rope, one for Tom, one for Fred. Tom would row the lead boat to the center of the lake and cut Fred loose. All he had to do after that was row back to the beach and rejoin his friends, leaving Fred adrift. The look on Lost’s face when he discovered his beloved Fred had turned pirate and taken a midnight sail … now that was something he couldn’t wait to see.

  The group split up. Two guys ran to the boathouse to borrow a couple of old wooden rowboats (proof that at some point in its history students of the academy had been allowed to enjoy the lake, despite Lost declaring it Officially Off Limits).

  The remaining boys untied Fred. Fortunately for them he wasn’t as heavy as he looked. Fred was as hollow as a cheap chocolate Easter bunny. They managed to lower him to the ground without shattering him into pieces or splitting off an arm.

  Now the only thing left to do was to prepare Fred for launch. It didn’t take much, just a few items borrowed from the theater department. A skull-and-crossbones hat slapped over his beanie, a toy parrot stuck on his shoulder, a rusty old cutlass duct taped to his wrist, and the transformation from chubby student to chubby pirate was complete.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” asked Matt Copley, Tom’s best friend. Matt was both more cautious and smarter than Tom—or maybe being smarter made him more cautious. In any case, he looked worried.

  Tom studied Fred, all decked out in his pirate finery, and smiled. “Absolutely.”

  “What if he sinks the boat?”

  Good point.

  “He won’t.”

  They tested him out in the shallows, just in case, and got lucky. Fred’s pose—his feet spread wide apart as though caught in mid-stride, just so eager to rush back and study—absorbed his weight and gave him greater stability. The boat rocked, but settled nicely in the water.

  “Look, he’s smiling! He likes it.”

  “Yeah, he’s a natural,” Tom deadpanned.

  Matt gave a shaky smile. “Lost’ll kill you if he finds out you were behind this. You’re already on his list.”

  True.

  But as Matt pointed out, Tom had already made Lost’s infamous demerit list. Looking at it that way, he had very little to lose. Besides, hadn’t Lost himself said the funds were to be used for the students’ enjoyment? At least this they would enjoy.

  A couple of guys held Fred’s boat steady, while a few more held Tom’s boat as he climbed aboard to keep it from rocking. He grabbed the oars and glanced at the distance he needed to cover. Ten minutes max and he’d be back ashore. Ten minutes after that and they’d all be in their dorm rooms, sound asleep, with nothing to do but wait for the morning bell.

 
; He settled himself with his back to the lake and slipped the oars into the water. But the moment the oars broke the surface something caught his ear.

  “Quiet!” he hissed, motioning for his friends to keep their voices down. He tilted his head toward the water. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” replied one of the guys on shore. “It’s the wind.”

  Tom shot a glance at the surrounding woods. Sure enough, the wind was picking up. A steady breeze rustled through the leaves. But what he’d heard hadn’t come from the direction of the trees. It sounded as though it had come from deep within the water itself. He glanced over his shoulder at the lake. Studied its picture-perfect, mirror-like surface.

  Matt frowned. “You all right, Tom?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  He hesitated, then tested the water with his hand. Freezing cold. So cold it stung. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The moment the oar dipped beneath the surface of the water, the lake seemed to shimmer with menace, rolling and rippling like waves in a funhouse mirror.

  He scanned the lake but could find nothing wrong. Whatever had spooked him was gone. Probably just a trick of the moonlight, he decided. He flexed his fingers and clenched his fist to bring warmth back to his hand.

  “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Matt pressed.

  Tom considered the offer. Actually, who he wanted with him was his brother, Porter. Ridiculous. Tom knew that better than anybody. In the first place, he hadn’t heard from Porter in months. Secondly, even if Porter was there, most likely he’d just tell Tom he was acting like an idiot, that the entire stunt was juvenile, and that he had better things to do with his time.

  Tom shook his head. “Nah, I got it. I’ll be right back.”

  Another breeze, stronger this time, blew across the lake. Dark clouds raced across the moon. The air felt heavy, tinged with an electric charge. A storm was heading their way. It hadn’t been there a minute ago, but there was no mistaking that the weather was turning. Tom’s excitement faded, replaced by a sudden urgency to dump Fred as quickly as possible and get back to his dorm.

  His friends gave the boats a gentle shove, and he and Fred cast off. Tom took up the oars and rowed toward the center of the lake, careful to keep his strokes slow and steady so as not to topple Fred. Shouts and laughter echoed around him, filling the night air. Getting back into the spirit of the adventure, Tom smiled and relaxed a bit, easing his way forward.

  The wind steadily picked up. It was stronger now, strong enough to ripple the water and blow hundreds of miniature white-capped waves across the surface of the lake. Tom dug the oars in, only to discover he didn’t need them. Rowing was no longer necessary. The moment he left the shallows he was caught in a current that rushed them toward the center of the lake.

  They were moving fast, much faster than his strokes could have possibly carried them. He glanced at Fred, who bobbed along behind him with his fake grin plastered on his fake face, the breeze ruffling the feathers on his toy parrot, looking as though he was having the time of his life.

  Alarm surged through Tom. He had heard of riptides in the ocean, but was it possible for there to be riptides in a lake? He didn’t know. He fought against the current, dragging the oars in the water to create resistance, but the force carrying them was too strong to break.

  The current stopped, depositing them in the icy heart of the lake. Tom’s boat gently rocked, the water softly lapping against the hull. Eerie stillness settled over him. A thick cloud hung across the moon. Like a velvet curtain shut, all light was gone. He peered into the darkness but couldn’t make out anything.

  Then he heard it. The sound he’d heard before he’d left shore. The sound he’d allowed himself to believe was only the wind rustling through the trees. This time there was no mistaking it. There was no pretending it was anything other than what it was: a low, menacing growl that ended in a long, drawn-out hiss. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as the noise cut through the night air.

  Forks of lightening flashed in the distance as a peal of thunder cracked overhead.

  Tom felt his thoughts, senses, and intuition finally click in the proper order. Horrified understanding swept through him. A violent storm was blowing in. The door between worlds was opening—which meant the evil that existed in Porter’s world could come through to his.

  Had come through to his.

  A gust of wind parted the clouds, allowing him a glimmer of moonlight to shine across the surface of the lake. His sight abruptly returned. Tom looked down.

  His gaze locked on a shadow lurking just beneath the surface of the water. A pair of menacing red eyes peered up at him.

  Tom’s heart slammed against the wall of his chest, then began beating at triple its normal rate. He tore his eyes away from the creature’s scorching gaze long enough to size up the rest of the thing.

  Some sort of serpent, he guessed. Long and thick, it slithered through the water, curling around the edges of his boat like an enormous snake. The serpent’s mottled skin—black and gray and pea green—rippled as it moved, evidence of the bulky muscles that propelled it. There was no sleek beauty about it. No fairy-tale suggestion of a poor lost creature searching for its way home. This was a monster, pure and simple.

  A monster that was now glaring at him … hungrily.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FOLLY STRIKES

  Frozen in horror, Tom watched as the serpent slowly heaved its upper torso from the water. Assuming a cobra-like position, it swayed back and forth, its radar-like focus locked on him. In that instant, Tom’s world narrowed. His entire attention shrank to two basic elements: the serpent and the lake. His rowboat, which until that moment he’d considered sturdy and solid, now seemed a puny, insignificant defense.

  He needed a weapon. Fast.

  He cast a panicked glance around the boat’s interior. Nothing. Nothing but the wooden oars balanced on his lap. Nothing but Fred drifting along behind him, decked out in a ridiculous pirate hat, with a toy parrot riding on his shoulder and a metal cutlass duct-taped to his wrist.

  The cutlass. It was old and it was rusty, but it was a sword. If he could just get to Fred’s boat without losing his balance and tipping himself overboard …

  His gaze locked on the serpent, Tom carefully rose to his feet. His boat rocked. Fred swayed. Tom looked at the sword. The serpent, as though guessing his intent, let out a long, angry hiss.

  The water surrounding the creature began to froth and foam. The serpent twisted its body into a compact coil, collapsing in on itself, gathering energy like a tightly wound spring. It snapped the tip of its tail into the air and shook it, producing a sharp, vibrating clatter similar to a rattlesnake’s.

  That was the only warning Tom had.

  The serpent shot toward him at torpedo-like speed. But instead of ramming his boat, the serpent performed an abrupt ninety degree turn and slithered along the side of it, rubbing its body along the wooden length as though scratching an itch. Tom’s hull tilted wildly, nearly tossing him overboard. He caught his balance and watched as the serpent slithered in a sinister figure eight, twisting itself between his boat and Fred’s, as though daring Tom to make the leap.

  The boats rocked and pitched, knocked about by the creature’s enormous weight and length. As the serpent reached the bow of Tom’s boat, it abruptly swerved from its menacing orbit. Moving with astonishing agility given its size, its head and neck shot out of the water. It stopped just short of Tom’s face, its burning red eyes inches away, its fangs glistening, its slimy forked tongue almost tickling his nose.

  The creature released a shrill hiss. A gust of blazing hot, foul breath brushed Tom’s skin, fanning his face like a blast of air from a roaring fire.

  Tom let out a frantic yelp and lurched backward. His sneakers slipped on the boat’s wet floor. He lost his footing and fell hard, slamming his back against the boat’s edge. White-hot shards of pain shot up his spine. He let out a low groan and rolled onto his hands and k
nees in time to see the serpent, wearing an expression that could only be described as a sinister smirk, slide back into the murky depths. It was toying with him, Tom realized, playing some kind of twisted game. Anger surged through him, temporarily replacing the terror that had paralyzed him in place. Getting to his feet, he tightened his grip on an oar, brought it over his head, and swung it down hard. He hit the serpent’s flesh, landing with a soft splat that did nothing to injure the creature or drive it away.

  Instead, the creature’s blood-red eyes flashed with fury.

  Retaliation was swift and brutal. The serpent’s tail shot out of the water and slammed against the boat. Wood splintered and cracked, flying everywhere, leaving a hole in the side of the boat the size of an enormous shark bite. Icy water poured in, drenching Tom’s feet and ankles.

  It was only a matter of minutes—maybe seconds—until his boat would sink. Left with no other option, Tom sprang into Fred’s boat. The vessel rocked heavily toward the bow. He shifted to the stern, but the boat still wouldn’t stabilize. It took him a second to realize why. Their boats remained securely tied together. As the lead boat continued to take on water, it was pulling Fred’s boat down with it.

  Tom lunged for the rope and fumbled with the knot, frantically tugging until it slipped loose. He set his boat free and watched it flounder, then sink beneath the murky water with an audible glub, glub, glub.

  The serpent thrashed about in a state of frenzied excitement, as though searching for Tom in the boat’s watery remains.

  The cutlass. Now was his chance. Tom spun toward Fred and tugged at the duct tape that fixed the sword to his palm. He’d nearly worked it free when the sound of the serpent’s rattle rang in his ear. Tom froze. His gaze shot to the lake. The creature’s glowing red eyes watched him. Then, before he could react, it lifted its tail from the water and drew the hard, rattlelike tip down his cheek in a slow caress. Tom’s blood went cold.