by Toni Kerr
Instead, Tristan scanned the slayer’s museum. It was brighter than he remembered, but otherwise identical. His pulse quickened with the expectation that enemies would burst through hidden doorways and shoot him with more poison. Even the smell was the same, though he wouldn’t have claimed to remember the smell before now.
Terror flooded his thoughts and he reminded himself that it was just a room. A display. Jessie barked and he nearly jumped out of his skin, jerking the staff up like a weapon, though he’d never used it as such.
Landon stood from his chair and Tristan stopped him. “I’m fine. Promise. Just...jumpy I guess.”
Landon nodded. “There’s no rush. Sit down for a minute.”
Tristan made his way to the empty chair, willing himself to relax. The room held no power over him; he was in no danger. There was no reason to fear a collection of things. Though the dog stayed at the threshold and barked again when Tristan sat.
“Maybe she isn’t allowed in here?” suggested Victor.
Tristan patted his knee and the dog ran to him, skidding to a stop and dropping to a sit. Tristan smiled, encouraging the dog to sit in the chair with him. “How long was I asleep?”
“Not long,” Landon answered. “Certainly not longer than an hour.”
Tristan’s stomach grumbled again and he gave up searching for snack food. Had he really just eaten an hour ago? “That can’t be.”
“Why not?” Victor looked at his watch. “Guess we can’t be exact with the time, but it sounds about right.”
“I’m….” How ungrateful would it sound if he told them he was starving? Especially after Victor cut him off to conserve the food supplies. “Nothing. I was just curious.” He told the dog to stay and walked to the thin line in the mural where the hidden door was and put his hand against it. To his relief, beyond the wall was solid stone laced with Donovan’s security field. “This isn’t replicated. It’s the real thing.”
“Of course,” Landon said. “He doesn’t settle for replicas unless he’s setting up decoys.”
“But how?”
Victor rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I can’t believe you still ask questions like that.”
Tristan took in the details of the mural encircling the room. Most of it was painted in brilliant colors, all except for the Forest of Darkness. Maybe he could learn everything he needed to know here, and they could put off seeing the dragon trapped there.
He continued past the haunted forest to a Scandinavian village. Dozens of people piled on a large bluish-purple dragon. Its long neck was twisted to face the men on its back—fire erupting from its long snout. Five men were holding a shield to block the flames while people behind them hacked at the base of the dragon’s wings with axes. The hilts of swords protruding from the dragon’s belly were being used like stairs and handholds to climb the massive beast.
Tristan flinched when a hand rested on his shoulder.
“It’s not real,” Landon said, guiding him away from the painting and back to the arrangement of chairs.
“I know.” His head was spinning and he leaned on Landon for support. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Here.” Landon handed him a plastic bag and changed course for the hall instead.
“Why are you guys helping me? It doesn’t make sense. You should kill me before it’s too late.”
“Get over it, Tristan!” Victor said. “We’re not turning our backs on you, no matter what you are, so get used to it. Besides, you’re immortal.”
Tristan tried to laugh.
“The way I see it,” Victor said, “it took fifty men to bring that dragon down.”
“Exactly,” Tristan added. “And just when the artist had enough sketched out to remember the scene, the dragon stood and swallowed everyone whole.”
“Better!” Victor said. “I like that!”
“Whatever it takes, Tristan,” added Landon. “Those people aren’t giving him the spa treatment.”
Tristan nodded. “Maybe we could just cover it.”
“What did you expect to see? This is a slayers’ museum. They aren’t going to display anything that might make people wonder if they’re doing the right thing.”
“I know. I guess it hits closer to home this time. If you don’t mind, I’ll let you guys see if there’s anything useful here.”
“Anything specific you’re hoping to find?”
“No.” The case that had enclosed most of the gems caught his attention. “These are duplicates.”
“Of course. You took the originals. Do they look right?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m sure they are. Maybe you guys can look for information they might have kept on what country the gems were found in—like an itemized log book or something? Actually, dates and locations on anything in here would be interesting.”
“We’re already working on that.” Landon directed Tristan’s attention to a pile of journals and books.
A serrated sword, almost as long as the room itself, hung from the ceiling. “Who would they expect to swing that thing?”
“It’s probably a saw,” Landon said.
Tristan’s gut heaved at the scene popping into his head, sending him rushing for the door with the bag pressed against his mouth. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, but there was nothing in his stomach to get rid of. Landon took the empty bag as he settled against the wall, tightening the blanket around him.
“I’m sorry, Tristan. There’s a lot of gore in the world and no one should have to get used to it.”
Victor stood in the doorway with a glass of water. Landon handed him the empty bag. He raised an eyebrow and looked back at Tristan. “At least the food wasn’t wasted.”
At the mention of food, Tristan’s stomach changed from queasy to starving.
“So we were wrong on time,” Tristan said, trying to make a joke of the whole thing. “Obviously, I slept long enough to digest everything.”
Landon and Victor glanced at each other. “Maybe we feed him every hour?”
“Maybe it was because he put all his energy into the security?”
“Don’t look at me,” Tristan said. “I was starving when I woke up. But it’s fine. I know we’re all trapped down here until—how long do you think?”
“Don’t worry about running out of food. I’ve never known Donovan to corner himself, so I’m sure there’s a way one of us can sneak out for more if needed.”
“There are no weaknesses in my security,” Donovan said. “Jessie, get off the furniture.”
“Plus whatever Tristan did,” Victor said, shutting his mouth when Donovan narrowed his eyes. The dog walked to Tristan with her head down and sat.
“I am not going to ask what I did to deserve this.” Donovan walked away, muttering to himself in French.
“Leave it to Donovan to have a mansion full of secret halls and rooms,” Victor said. “Come on. Let’s see where it goes.”
“It goes to a warehouse,” Tristan said, getting to his feet. “I saw it when I was adding to the security.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“I just saw the walls made of pipes. It’s probably a room full of reassembled dragon skeletons.”
“I guess you never know.”
Tristan slowed his pace as Landon and Victor descended a flight of stairs. “Come on, Tristan. It wouldn’t be worse than seeing dinosaur bones, or mummified kings and their cats.”
“I don’t want to see a bunch of dead bodies, okay? Give me a freakin’ break.”
“Holy Pirate Ship!” Victor’s voice echoed up the stairwell. “Tristan, you have to see this!”
Tristan grumbled as he made his way down the stairs. The air was cooler than it had been on the main level, but dry and reasonably clean-smelling. When he glanced up, a full-scale clipper ship sat docked in the dry space. Pink’s flight path glowed a thin ribbon around thick beams of wooden scaffolding that held the ship in place.
“Jacques designed this ship in the late 1400s. I had it
rebuilt in the mid 1700s and got into some trouble with it. It’s been here in dry storage ever since, though I run the system every twenty years or so to keep it operational.”
Tristan stared speechless. The floor was several stories down. Pink rocketed upward to rejoin Landon and Victor.
“The ceiling is retractable, along with a pathway out. Water flows in until she’s afloat. Takes eighteen hours to fill the bay, thirty-six to pump it out.”
Landon and Victor crossed a narrow bridge to the main deck.
“I wish he was here,” Tristan said. He could imagine the falcon flying from one mast to another, perching on the highest.
“So do I.”
“I was thinking...he must have been the one to call you.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“He trusted you with my life.” Tristan’s faith in the matter was still lacking, but the falcon had always guided him well in the past. “And so do I.”
“You’re a fool.”
“I’d be a fool to think there’s someone else who’s more capable of keeping me alive.”
“You’d be a fool to keep talking.”
Maybe he was. He put is attention back on the ship, awed by the overwhelming size of the real thing.
“The captain’s quarters are locked and off limits, there’s dried and canned food in the galley and the hull. The hidden room was converted to a wine cellar—no one touches it.”
Tristan nodded.
“Eat and sleep. We’ll see what the outside looks like in the morning.” Donovan took a few steps up the stairs. “One more thing. When you added to the security, did you include the entire house, or just the basement?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I changed any of the original dimensions...so whatever it was, it’s probably the same.”
“What about the trapdoor, can it be unblocked? There are things I need from upstairs and I don’t want my face blown off.”
Tristan frowned. “I just filled in the gaps. I didn’t change or move anything. Do you want me to try and undo it?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Tristan scratched Jessie’s head and waited until Donovan disappeared up the stairs, then crossed the bridge to explore the ancient ship of his childhood dreams.
15
POSSESSION
“I’M SURPRISED it’s so modern.” Victor poured more stew into each of the wooden bowls.
They’d spent the past several hours exploring the massive ship, and settled in what could only be described as a king’s ballroom.
Rich wood surrounded the room, oiled dark and shiny. Brass chandeliers hung in pairs from each beam arching across the ceiling about every twenty feet, casting a golden light over everything. Wooden carvings of flowers and birds filled every joint where the beams joined into the wall structure. Even the window frames along the top of the walls, jutting from the ceiling in grand skylight fashion, appeared to be life-sized wooden animals. The floor itself consisted of tiny red tiles and a long burgundy carpet spanning the center.
The lower storage levels weren’t as fancy, with oiled planks along the floors and basic lamps mounted on the walls. Above a storage level was a deck for more cargo and crew quarters. Four long corridors were filled with dozens of bare sleeping bunks, each with built-in drawers and curtains that closed. Half a level up from that was the first class sleeping section. Six cabins in all, each with a different color scheme, but mostly the same Victorian style and ornate mahogany. Each room contained a small sitting area, a four-poster bed with silk hangings, and either a wide pair of dressers, a clothing armoire, or a deep wooden chest at the foot of the bed.
“It’s a shame really,” Landon added. “I’ll bet no one even knows this exists.”
“Can you imagine how much fun we could have?” Victor leaped to his feet. “We could hire a crew to work the sails and run the kitchens, and musicians, and make a required dress code for all guests. People would pay a small fortune for a weekend out at sea in this thing; bet we could take sixty to seventy-five easy.”
“No,” Tristan said, startling himself. “This isn’t a cruise ship. If Donovan wanted it to be a public spectacle, he’d have moored it in a marina, or he’d have put it on display in some museum—”
“Are you serious?” Victor asked. “Maybe it wasn’t a cruise ship back in the day, but look at it now! This room screams high-class entertainment! Do you really think it should all be wasted in this pit of a dry storage unit?”
“Why do you think he’s never told you about it, or shown it to anyone?” Tristan frowned. The grand room they were eating in was all wrong. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He focused on the bowl of lifeless canned stew and fought to keep it down.
“It’s not like we could do anything without Donovan’s permission,” said Victor.
“Maybe it’s the stress.” Tristan ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. No matter how much food he ate, it left him more starving and a little more nauseous. “It’s hard to believe there’s a supernatural war going on above us. I wonder how long it will last, and who will win?”
Landon shrugged, extending his hand for Pink to land.
“Really though,” Victor continued. “It’s obvious he loves this ship. Why keep it seaworthy and not take it out once in a while? There’s not even any dust to get rid of.”
“Maybe it’s not seaworthy,” Landon said, handing Tristan a tube of crackers. “I think I’m with Tristan on this. Donovan isn’t the party-hosting type.”
Tristan stared at the silent crackers. Taste didn’t seem to matter, and his stomach felt like a bottomless pit, but the crackers weren’t food. At least, not the food he craved. “How much food is there?” Tristan asked.
“A ton.” Victor sat back in his chair at the table. “I just don’t know how much of it is edible, and nothing is fresh.” Pink sighed and her wings drooped. “We have rice and a few mystery grains that appear to be dry. Beans, too.”
Tristan stood from the table and walked to the bar, trailing his fingertips along the engraved wood.
“All right, Tristan,” Landon said. “I know you’re worried about what’s going on outside, but what’s up with the ship?”
“All this fancy stuff doesn’t fit with my...thinking.” Tristan wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“Donovan probably had it remodeled when better working ships came along. Besides, why compare it to something else?”
Tristan turned to face Victor and Landon. “There are a few minor differences, but this is the exact ship I’ve been drawing since I could hold a pencil. That means, someone was....” Were any of his thoughts his own? How much influence did Jacques have over him as a child?
Tristan faced the stairwell to the upper deck and captain’s quarters. “It’s just creepy to think it wasn’t my imagination, but someone else’s—Donovan’s father.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Victor said. “You weren’t abandoned like you thought you were. That’s something, right?”
Landon backhanded Victor’s chest and grimaced.
Tristan nodded, though the thought didn’t exactly cheer him up. “I’m going to turn in early. I’ll see you guys in the morning, whenever that is.”
“Sounds good,” said Victor. “I’ll see what we have for breakfast and make sure everyone’s up by 7am.”
Tristan’s stomach rumbled; Landon frowned. “We’ll meet here. I’m sure we won’t be stuck for long.”
“Thanks.” Tristan left Landon and Victor in the ballroom and made his way to the cabin he’d chosen. It felt familiar and comforting at the time, but now, having voiced his concerns a little more thoroughly, he wasn’t so sure he could relax in it. The only solace was that this ship had been built long after Jacques’ time. Besides, Jacques would have stayed in the captain’s quarters, wouldn’t he? Then again, maybe Jacques was only the designer, not the captain.
He took off his shoes and lay on the firm bed. He c
ould almost feel the ship rocking peacefully with the waves, lulling him to sleep.
There is no time to sleep, and I would never leave my crew to handle this storm alone. Waves blast against the window and a trickle of water runs down the wall. I grab my spare compass from the chest and head back out to strengthen the masts and guide my men.
The top deck is worse than I feared. Men dangle from the rigging and the tops of the main and foremast have snapped in half. I concentrate on mending the shredded sails and attempt convincing the crew that taking them down would be our deaths.
“Lower the sails and trick the winds,” they shout.
“Keep them firm and surge ahead of this beast,” I order in return. I am certain the storm will sink my ship if I let it catch us.
It is much to ask of my crew, to have faith in me, when they know not of my ability to alter the course and strength of the great nor’easter. And before I can settle myself into a strong stance, I am overtaken by the two men who are captains of their own ships, who are here only to observe the speed and agility of my creation.
I resist their grip on my arms, but have little strength after warring the storm for so long. They take me to the chart room, where a man sits at my desk. The entire room has changed since I was last here this morn. It is now a chamber of twisted lunacy, befitting of the spoon fed who knows not how to work. By Grace, I hope he intends to keep the frivolous things he has put upon display.
“I will not fight your command.” The lives of my men are worth more than my pride. “But I implore that you do not lower the sails. For the Marielle is faster than you imagine.”
The man seems to freeze at my words. My spirit lifts, but he refrains from addressing me. I try a more practical approach. “If you take her wings and get her turned, the waves will roll her under and drag her down before you can seal the hatches.”
I am stunned into silence when the man at my desk sets eyes on me. He is different, yet all the same. He is my son. We stare at each other until I can no longer hold my tongue—this is not the time for family squabbles. “Your mother would be unwell to learn you are away at sea, leading a mutiny against me, young dragonfly.”
