by Ken Brosky
“Uh …” I turned to Briar. He took a deep breath, then made the most realistic puking noise I’ve ever heard.
“Oh my!” Mrs. Satrapi exclaimed. “Would you like someone to stop by with some medicine?”
“I just want to sleep,” I called out. “Can you please, please, please make sure no one bothers me today? I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Of course, dear. Come to my room if you need anything.”
“Thanks!” I said, hurrying to the bathroom and slipping on my black running pants. I filled up the plastic “Castle Vontescue” cup with cold tap water and drank it down.
“What would you like me to do?” Briar called out.
“Search for those symbols you found. We need to know their purpose.”
“Capital!” Briar held up a finger. “That is what a true hero sounds like. Authoritative! Assertive! Bold!”
My black sweatshirt was slashed nearly in half, so I grabbed my spare violet sweater. It was a little loose, not perfect for maneuvering against monsters, but it would have to do. The cavern would be cold.
I see you trapped in a cavern …
“Shut up,” I told my mind, slipping the magic pen in my pocket. I tied my hair back in a ponytail, then went into my makeup bag for the vial necklace. Inside the vial was the same strange liquid that Sam Grayle’s brother drank. It was the same strange liquid I’d force-fed to Agnim. And yet here it was, full again. It promised to bring life … or Death himself.
“That vial hasn’t exactly worked the way it’s supposed to, has it?” Briar commented.
“Still,” I said, putting it around my neck and tucking it under my sweater. “The previous hero, Juliette, had wanted me to have it. There’s a reason for it.”
I see the death of your loved ones …
I closed my eyes, shutting out the ghastly image of Death, shutting out the prophetic voice of Agnim. I centered my mind, trying to block all of it out, trying to concentrate.
In the darkness, a single word appeared like a ghostly visage:
Malevolence.
I ordered the driver to pull over in front of the pub, getting out before he could open the door for me. Something about letting a Corrupted wait on me just didn’t sit right.
“Stay here,” I ordered. I went into the smelly pub, searching the dim setting for Harper. He was sitting in the back with three other people. When he saw me, he stood up, giving me a nod. I walked over.
“Alice,” he said. “These are our traveling companions.” He waved a hand to the short man to his left. The man had a gray mustache and was wearing khaki pants and a gray jacket. A curved, wooden pipe hung from between his lips. He looked in his fifties, with graying hair and a wrinkled forehead. Slung over his shoulder was a big rifle that looked like it was made for hunting elephants. A pair of spectacles sat in his breast pocket. “This is Christopher Wodehouse, Great Britain’s most intrepid adventurer.”
“Charmed,” he said in a drawling English accent.
Harper pointed to the woman. “This is Angelina Cixi, one of the Seven Daughters.”
“Five,” she corrected him. She had sharp eyes, high cheekbones and a plain face. Her hair was pulled back, braided so it rested over her left shoulder. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red vest that was zipped up only halfway. Two ivory dagger hilts protruded from inside, plain as day.
“Five now?” Harper asked, tipping back his baseball cap.
Cixi nodded. “Two perished in a cave-in while exploring in northern Mexico.”
“Ah.” Harper grimaced. “Cixi and her sisters are master spelunkers.”
“And a fair lot of criminals,” said the third person, crossing his fat arms.
“This,” Harper said, “is Clint McCormack. Our chef.”
“And botanist,” he added. “And geologist. And navigator. And pack mule.” He had a gruff, Scottish accent to match his gruff, heavy features. He looked a bit like a tall dwarf, with an imposing red beard and impressive belly to match. He was wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt, an old ratty green vest and torn jeans. Slung over his shoulder was a massive backpack; two skillets and a metal cup hung from it like jewelry.
He also had a fair number of necklaces. Good luck trinkets.
“McCormack does much,” Harper said with a smile. “But his real skill is in identifying the chemical compounds of minerals.”
“Aye,” the big man said, thumbing the straps of his backpack. “I’ll find yer gold, and whatever else ya want ta find. Provided I get a cut ‘a the loot.”
“Everyone gets a cut.” Harper nodded to me. “Including the girl.”
“Is that wise?” the British Wodehouse asked, picking at one of his brass buttons. “Seems a bit young for danger. I don’t particularly want to explain her death to her parents.”
“I can handle myself, thanks.”
“We’ll see,” Harper said, eyeing me warily. “No point in sitting around scratching ourselves. Let’s go.”
“What about Old Jack?” Wodehouse asked, searching the empty bar. The bartender was eyeing him warily. Or, rather, eyeing his rifle warily.
“He went ahead,” Harper said. “So I’m in charge now.”
“And where, exactly, are we going?” Wodehouse asked once we got inside the big white van that was parked outside. I sat next to Cixi, foolishly thinking “Girl Power” and all that. I immediately regretted it—the woman immediately began giving off a weird vibe. A dangerous vibe. She regarded me, her carefully plucked black eyebrows knotted together, legs uncrossed, one hand resting gently on the door handle, the other clutching the ivory hilt of one dagger.
Ready for anything.
“We’re going to a castle,” Harper answered.
“No,” I said. “We’re going east.”
He looked at me in the rear-view mirror. I smiled.
“See? I told you I’d be useful.”
Chapter 9
The entrance was right where the map said, just like in an adventure movie. The opening looked as if it had been dynamited—large chunks of blackened rock were lying at the base of the mountain, leaving an opening just large enough for someone of medium size to fit through. More stones and rocks were scattered at the feet of the nearby pine trees, along with broken branches and a smattering of green pine needles.
“Old Jack’s been busy, it would appear,” said Wodehouse, rubbing his hands briskly together. His cheeks had begun to redden the moment we left the warm van. “Tell us, Harper, how did he know the entrance to your little cave was right here?”
“We have our secrets,” Harper murmured, studying the entrance. Finally, he turned back to the rest of us. “The girl goes last. And remember: I’m in charge.”
“Just get us to the loot,” McCormack spat. He turned to me, smiling. “The looooooot.”
Wodehouse cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. He also didn’t budge.
“It would be nice if you told us what we could expect,” Cixi said in a low voice. I instinctively took a step away from her—I swear, the woman was radiating the word “sinister” like body odor.
If Harper felt the tension, he didn’t let on. I’m not going to lie here … he was keeping it pretty cool. A real adventurer type, just like the explorers we read about in History class last semester. “Old Jack’s job was to find the entrance,” he said. “Now he’s inside. You want more answers than that? Let’s go ask him.”
“What about the girl?” Cixi asked, pointing to me so quickly that I brought my hands up in a defensive stance.
Harper smiled and turned back to the entrance. “She saw this place in her dreams.”
They all looked at me.
“By golly,” McCormack said, wide-eyed. “That’s strange.”
“Everyone gets a headlight,” Harper said, handing off the little headbands with a small light at the front. “They’re not great, but Old Jack’s decision to venture ahead without us cut down on planning time.”
We put our headlights on and squee
zed inside the cave, some of us (me) having an easier time of it than others (McCormack). Cixi the spelunker led the way, stepping slowly on the uneven ground. The tunnel started narrow, then broke off into three separate paths. Harper’s high-powered flashlight illuminated the glistening tan walls. My own headlight did relatively little unless I stared down at the ground at an uncomfortable angle.
“These two lead to dead ends,” Cixi said, pointing to the two tunnels branching to our right.
“How do ya know?” the big McCormack asked.
“Because I can hear water,” Cixi snapped. “Water is what cut these caves to begin with.”
“Aye?” McCormack looked down at me. “Twas just a question is all.”
I cracked a smile.
We moved deeper into the tunnel, taking our sweet time to ensure that we didn’t slip. The tunnel descended very slowly, its slick floor pimpled with little stalagmites.
It was also groaning.
“That fool friend of yours has made the entire cavern unstable,” Cixi told Harper. “He couldn’t have waited for us? I could have found an entrance without blowing the mountain to bits.”
“Old Jack has never been one to wait,” Wodehouse murmured.
“What’s done is done,” Harper snapped, keeping the flashlight shining ahead. I wished I had one too, given I was tasked with bringing up the rear. The groaning of the cave sounded too much like a Corrupted hiding in the shadows. A hungry Corrupted.
“I don’t suppose you have another light in that backpack?” I asked McCormack in a low voice.
McCormack snorted. “Lass, Ah don’t have room for such nonsense. But look!” He reached blindly into one of the side pockets, pulling out a brown stick. “Some jerky for ya! How about that?”
“Great,” I murmured, taking the jerky. I took a bite, wincing. “Uh … what’s in it?”
“What’s in it?” the big man repeated, laughing. “Don’t nobody know what’s in jerky! And best we don’t know, either. Just enjoy it sure enough.”
I took another bite, taking his words to heart. To be honest, the taste wasn’t too bad. And given that I’d had to skip breakfast …
Suddenly, there came a crash deep in the darkness behind us.
“Alice!” Harper shouted.
I fell back into the arms of McCormack, who valiantly turned me, using his own body for protection. The deafening crashing sound seemed to erupt from the darkness, rattling my entire body and tickling the soft hairs on my arms.
I see you trapped in a cavern …
“Oy!” McCormack let go of me, lifting my chin with one fat finger. “Are ya all right, darlin’?”
“I … I …”
I see you trapped in a cavern …
“Easy now,” McCormack said in a soft voice. “Deep breaths. We’re safe enough.”
“So you say,” Cixi said, snatching the flashlight from Harper’s hand. She slipped past us, walking back up the way we came. The scrape of her shoes on the rock echoed in the darkness. A moment later, she returned. “I hope your friend found another way out.”
My breath escaped my lungs. McCormack’s big hand rested on my shoulder. “Easy, lass. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Harper looked at me, the light from the flashlight moving across his face as Cixi walked past us.
“There has to be another way out,” I wheezed, my mind reeling. “We can’t be trapped. The fairy tale …”
“What now?” Wodehouse said, twitching his mustache in a very Briar-like way. “What’s this about fairy tales, Harper?”
“Nothing,” Harper said in a low voice. “Let’s find Old Jack.”
“Let’s find the loot,” McCormack said, giving me a tap on the back to urge my feet forward. “A few minutes of starin’ at some sparkly sparkles will lift all our spirits.”
“Not if we’re trapped in a cavern,” I told him.
He slapped me on the back. “Be optimistic, lass! You’re with some of the best adventurers in the world!”
“Quite so!” Wodehouse said. “Why, this reminds me of the time I found myself lost while exploring one of the few remaining wildernesses in the world: the Amazon Rainforest. I was deep in the jungle, following a trail blazed by the legendary explorer Percy Fawcett. He was searching for the Lost City of Z, you see, and lost his life in the process.”
We turned a bend, spreading out as the tunnel widened. Wodehouse was the least cautious with his steps, occasionally tripping whenever the ground under his feet changed too drastically.
“Careful of the slicker parts, lass,” McCormack said. He pointed to the cave wall illuminated ahead by Harper’s bright flashlight. The walls looked as if they had melted and then dried, repeating the process over and over. “See that? Limestone. Easily dissolved by water charged with carbonic acid, ya see. The water carves out the cave.”
“Fawcett was convinced this lost city existed,” Wodehouse continued. “He was a brash man, given to a variety of weaknesses that I suspect many celebrities of his day no doubt suffered. It gets to your head, you know, being fawned over by the general public. Still, Fawcett was most likely correct. In my own exploration, I found quite a bit of evidence to suggest there indeed had once been a lost city deep within the Amazon.”
“You said you were lost,” I said, grabbing his jacket to prevent him from tripping over a budding stalagmite.
“Yes—thank you, thank you—of course. I’d set off on my exploration with a rather meager amount of supplies. Three guides … three fellow travelers … twelve mules … two crates of foodstuffs waiting for us at the halfway point …”
McCormack snorted. “Aye, what meager supplies! Pray, how did you get by without your butlers and personal diaper changer?”
I snickered.
Wodehouse paid no mind. “Somewhere along the way, we got separated in the dense jungle. Luckily, I was carrying my bug net and so my nights were generally pleasant. Save for the creature hunting me.”
“Creature!” McCormack exclaimed. “What was it … an armadillo? A snake? A deer?”
“I’m quite convinced it was a leopard,” Wodehouse said. “Or a jaguar. I always get the two confused. Regardless, I pressed on, hopeful. It wasn’t long before I came across an ancient road. The bricks were mostly covered by vegetation, but they were there, and in just the place Percy Fawcett suspected.”
“Then why haven’t we heard ‘a this?” McCormack asked. “A city, hidden away and never heard from? Aye, and perhaps ya saw Atlantis on one ‘a yer journeys, too!”
“The ancient world was quite different than our modern world,” Wodehouse said. He grunted, pulling his spectacles from his pocket and setting them on his round nose. He shivered away a chill. “Imagine living just two hundred years ago. Place yourself in a small town. Imagine the town library burning down in a great fire. There! What was lost? Recorded history, that’s what. Who’s to say what pieces of history have been lost to the ravages of time? That is why we must preserve our ancient relics at all costs. It is our history, and when it is gone … it may be lost forever.”
“Is that why you collect your mummies?” Harper asked, cocking his head. He kept the flashlight aimed ahead, where the tunnel made an abrupt turn. We followed it in silence, the question lingering behind us in the darkness.
“I’m no thief,” Wodehouse said.
“I never said you were.”
“Now, listen—”
“It’s just strange is all,” Harper continued. “The Egyptians want their mummies back. You refuse.”
“They don’t understand the importance of those mummies,” Wodehouse snapped, his voice cracking. “Those mummies … the secrets they hold … why, we could study them for a hundred years and they would never cease to yield fresh secrets.”
“Then let Egypt’s archaeologists do it,” Harper said.
“Our scientists are more trustworthy.”
“Oh yeah?” Harper grunted. “I seem to recall when the British Empire invaded Egypt, they burned
mummies by the thousands.”
“It’s in the past!” Wodehouse shouted, his voice echoing all around us. “Artifacts must be protected by the most trustworthy people. History is too important ...”
“Aye, perhaps. But if ya came into my town and swiped the blessed sword of our ancestor William McGuiness, I’d probably have ta throw ya out of town by the ears.” McCormack spat right in front of me. “Sorry, lass. Just makin’ a point.”
“How high and mighty you all are,” Wodehouse snarled. “Especially you, Harper. Your success has not come at a cheap price, has it?”
“What’s that now?” McCormack asked.
“Nothing,” Harper said in a low voice.
“Nothing indeed!” Wodehouse scoffed. “The adventure is always the most important thing for you and Old Jack. Even at the cost of human lives, no? At least I can say that much for myself, Harper: I’ve never killed anyone. You, on the other hand …”
“Lives were in danger.”
The words echoed in the cave. A strange feeling came over me, along with a terrible thought: what other secrets are these people hiding?
“Killing is killing,” Wodehouse said. “And I would hardly call my acquisitions of mummies theft.”
Cixi pulled one of the daggers from inside her vest. She held it up, and the sharpness of the blade sent a shiver down my spine. “Japanese blades are the finest in all the world. A good sword has more than thirty thousand layers. In ancient times, each blade was tested by cutting the corpses of criminals.” She put the blade away, glaring at Wodehouse. “After Japan surrendered during World War II, Allied soldiers stole Japanese swords to take home as souvenirs.”
“I can assure you I have no swords in my possession. And I’d rather you keep yours pointed at whatever we may encounter in this tunnel, if you please.”
“Do you worry for your life?” Cixi asked. “If so, you should not have come.”
“I am here because I was told Harper had found the fabled King Radu’s treasure. Just as you all are here. Why the girl is here is beyond me.”
