Spell of the Sorcerer's Skull

by John Bellairs

  And so, on Tuesday evening after school, Johnny decided to tell all. They were facing each other across ice cream sundaes at Peter's, and Fergie was going on about how Wanda Sue Geiger was the prettiest girl in the eighth grade. Suddenly Johnny cut in.

  "Hey, look, Fergie!" he said, jamming his spoon into the ice cream. "I... I've got something to tell you."

  Fergie stopped talking and stared levelly across at Johnny. "Yeah," he said. "I know you have!"

  Johnny was startled. "You do?"

  "Yes, I do! Good God, Dixon! You must think I have whipped cream where my brain is supposed to be! You've been givin' me these funny looks, an' peerin' at me squinty-eyed for a coupla weeks now! I thought maybe you were gettin' ready to enlist in the French Foreign Legion or somethin'! An' I don't mind tellin' you, I got pretty mad at you. After all, I'm supposed to be your best friend, aren't I? Well, aren't I?"

  Johnny blushed a deep crimson. He felt stupid and guilty, both at the same time. So Fergie had known all along that he was hiding something from him. Well, in a way this would make things easier. When he had recovered from his embarrassment, Johnny launched into a full explanation: He told about the "Saint Anthony" messages—Fergie giggled during this part—and then explained about the mysterious Mr. Finnick and his clock museum. Finally he explained how Father Higgins had figured out the meaning of one of the messages.

  "... and so we're gonna go out to Vinalhaven this Friday to see what we can find out," said Johnny, finishing up. He stared stubbornly and defiantly at Fergie. "Well, there's your big wonderful explanation," he added. "And if you think it's all so funny, you can stay home and wait to see if we bring the professor back with us. Okay?"

  Fergie met Johnny's gaze. "I didn't think the whole thing was funny," he said with a straight face. "Just the part about leavin' notes under statues in churches in the middle of the night—I think that's a riot!"

  Johnny was getting more irritated by the minute. "All right, all right, so it's a big fat laugh!" he snapped angrily. "I knew you'd make fun of the whole thing! That's why I never told you in the first place! You don't think we have a chance, do you?"

  Fergie shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe you do, and maybe you don't. But all the same, I'd like to go along."

  Johnny's mouth dropped open. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was Fergie kidding? "You wanta what?"

  "I said, I wanta go along," replied Fergie calmly.

  "Why? To make fun of us?"

  Fergie shook his head. "Nope. I like trips, an'... an' I like goin' places with you. It'll be fun, like it was out at Scout camp. C'mon—let me go along. I promise I won't make fun of you guys. Cross my heart an' hope to die!"

  Johnny was flabbergasted and confused as well. He really didn't know what to say. He was infuriated by Fergie's nerviness, and by his strange, confusing attitude toward the trip. But he really did want Fergie to go along. He enjoyed his company most of the time, and he had a hunch that he and Father, Higgins might need an extra pair of hands. Fergie was a strong, sinewy, rugged kid. He looked gangly and awkward, but he could beat you at baseball or football or tug-of-war, and he could outrun a lot of the kids that Johnny knew. Johnny had no idea what they would be getting into out among those islands. They could use someone who could row a boat, or climb cliffs, or walk for hours without getting tired.

  While Johnny mulled things over in his mind, he sat absolutely silent, staring at a point on the wall above Fergie's head. Fergie's eager grin quickly faded to a hurt frown. He wondered if maybe Johnny was thinking up some nice way of telling him to get lost.

  "If you don't want me to come along, just say so!" muttered Fergie. He stabbed at the ice cream with his spoon and shoveled some into his mouth.

  "Huh?" Johnny was jolted out of his trance, and in a flash he realized what Fergie was thinking. And he was genuinely touched. Fergie would feel crushed if he was left out. He wanted to be included because he liked trips. But he also wanted to be included because he was Johnny's best friend.

  "I... I wasn't gonna tell you you couldn't come," said Johnny hastily. "It wasn't that, it was just that... well, Father Higgins is the one who's takin' me. He's runnin' the whole show. I was tryin' to figure out if maybe we could get him to take you too."

  Fergie beamed, and Johnny felt glad. He really did want Fergie's company on this dangerous trip. But the question still remained: Could he persuade Father Higgins to include him?

  "Oh, I think he'll take me along," said Fergie nonchalantly. He stared off into space and smiled secretively. "I mean, if it's up to him, I'm in like Flynn!"

  Johnny blinked. "Why? Fergie, what in heck are you talkin' about?"

  Fergie's grin got broader. "Oh, didn't I tell ya? I was the cleanup hitter on Father Higgins's City League softball team two years ago. That was before I knew you. Higgy coaches kids' teams every summer. Well, that was the year that I broke up a no-hitter that some creep was thro win'. I got a triple in the ninth inning, an' Beaky Phelps brought me in with a single, an' we won the game. Didn't I ever tell you about any of that? Me'n Higgy're old buddies from way back!"

  After Johnny had gotten over the shock of discovering that Fergie knew Father Higgins, he realized that this was going to be a much better trip than he had thought. Having two reliable friends along was a lot better than just having one. So Fergie and Johnny talked some more and tried to make plans, and then Johnny went home and called up Father Higgins. He knew right away from the way Father Higgins reacted that Fergie hadn't been kidding: the priest knew him and thought that he was a real character. In short, he liked him, and he'd be glad to take him along. First, though, he'd have to get the Fergusons' permission, and that would take a quick phone call and some sweet-talking. So Johnny hung up and paced around the living room.

  Finally Father Higgins called back and said that Mrs. Ferguson had given them the go-ahead. Everything was set now. The three of them would be leaving on their journey around three p.m. on Friday. Father Higgins had been on a vacation trip to the Maine islands last year, and he figured that it would take them about three and a half hours of driving to get to Rockland, where they would catch the ferryboat that would take them to Vinalhaven. The last ferry left at 7:32, so they would have an hour's leeway in case they got delayed. Since the ferryboat ride would take about an hour and a half, the three of them would arrive at the door of the Lobster Pot Inn on Vinalhaven at a little after nine.

  It was a cloudy afternoon on Friday when Father Higgins's black Oldsmobile pulled up in front of the Dixon house on Fillmore Street. The horn beeped loudly, but there really was no need for this: Johnny was out on the front porch waiting, his suitcase in hand. Gramma and Grampa were with him. As Johnny watched, Father Higgins got out of the car, slammed the door, and waved at the three of them. He was wearing an open-necked plaid cotton shirt, baggy army fatigue trousers, combat boots, and an old army fatigue jacket. Stitched to the right shoulder of the jacket was a white cross, with a curved patch that said Chaplain above it. Johnny had never seen Father Higgins in his old sloppy weekend clothes before, but it was reassuring somehow—it made him seem more human and less stern and priestly and forbidding.

  "Hi, there, John!" Father Higgins boomed as he walked toward them waving cheerily. "Are you ready for a voyage to the stern and rockbound coast of Maine and beyond?"

  Johnny said yes, but his voice was weak and uncertain. Father Higgins was making it sound as if they were going to the moon. Also, he kept remembering the real purpose of this trip. In his stomach was a tight knot of fear.

  Father Higgins saw how pale and tense Johnny looked, and he tried to cheer him up. "Oh, come on, John!" he said loudly as he took Johnny's suitcase from him. "You look like you were going to have your appendix out! This trip is going to be a lot of fun!"

  Johnny tried to smile reassuringly. "It's... it's okay, Father," he said. "I... I always get nervous before I go on trips."

  The priest smiled grimly, and in his eyes was a faraway look. "You do, eh? Well, y
ou should try a trip where you're wading in a river with a lot of other soldiers in battle gear and helmets, while people on shore are firing mortar shells and machine-gun bullets at you. Now there would be something to be nervous about!"

  Again Johnny was reminded that Father Higgins had been in some of the bloodiest battles of World War Two. He had been in the fighting on the Philippine Islands. He hardly ever talked about what had happened to him there, but Johnny got the feeling that he had seen some pretty awful things. And he also got the feeling that Father Higgins was a very courageous man. Johnny wanted to be courageous and bold, but he was having a tough time doing that right now. He told himself that this was a perfectly safe trip, that nothing bad could possibly happen to him. He was silly to be such a nervous nit.

  So Johnny gave his grampa a hearty handshake, and he gave Gramma a big hug and a kiss.

  "G'bye, John!" said Grampa. "Have a good time, an' bring us back a coupla shells off of the beaches!"

  "God love ya, John!" said Gramma as her grandson hugged her tight. "Don't forget to wear your sweater when you go out at night. You don't wanta get strep throat or nothin' like that!"

  Johnny turned and waved twice as he went down the walk with Father Higgins. Then the priest opened the trunk, threw in the suitcase, and slammed the lid. They both got into the car, the motor roared to life, and off they went. Their next stop was on Joy Street in Cran-brook, where Fergie lived. Father Higgins beeped his horn, and Fergie came racing out to the car to meet them, his suitcase in his hand. The outfit he was wearing was really something: he was all done up like a motorcycle thug. He had on skintight jeans and motorcycle boots and an amazing leather jacket that was all covered with spiky metal studs and colored glass reflectors. On the back was a picture of a big white skull with red glass reflectors for eyes. Over the skull were ragged white letters that spelled Snake Eyes.

  Slam. That was the sound of Fergie's suitcase being pitched into the trunk of Father Higgins's car.

  "Hi ho, Big John!" said Fergie jauntily as he slid into the wide front seat and slammed the car door. "How goes it, eh?"

  Johnny said nothing. He was sitting stiff as a board, staring sightlessly at the windshield. All over his body he felt a ghastly, clammy, soul-numbing chill, a chill he could not explain. It had come over him when he saw the grinning red-eyed skull on the back of Fergie's jacket. Now, in his mind's eye, he saw a strange vision: It was as if he had X-ray eyes and was looking through the walls of his suitcase, which lay zipped and locked in the trunk of Father Higgins's car. Grinning up at him out of the dark, tiny and menacing, was the ivory skull.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Johnny clung to the rail of the gently pitching ferryboat as it plowed forward through the waters of Penobscot Bay. It was getting dark fast, and in the distance he saw the long white sweeping arm of a lighthouse beam. Even so, he could barely make out the vague shapes of islands, and out of the salt-smelling blackness came the dull clank-clank of a bell buoy as it rocked on the waves. In his ears throbbed the sound of the ferryboat's motor. It was a stubby little ship, with room for about four cars placed end to end. There were just two cars on this trip: Father Higgins's Oldsmobile and a station wagon that belonged to a lady who lived on the island. The cars stood end to end on the deck, with chocks under their wheels to keep them from moving. On the starboard and port sides of the little ship were small passenger cabins. Inside them were metal seats like the seats on buses, drinking fountains, and toilets. As far as Johnny knew, there was no one in the starboard-side cabin. Except for him all the passengers were in the other one. Johnny had been in there until a few minutes ago. He had been listening to Father Higgins play his guitar and sing Irish folk songs.

  This trip had been a real eye-opener for Johnny: He had never realized that Father Higgins could be such a relaxed, life-of-the-party type. He had in his head an incredible collection of songs, mostly songs of the various Irish rebellions against the British crown. The songs were very stirring to Johnny, and when Father Higgins sang and played, he could almost see the lines of ill-clad pikemen marching up hills to do battle with the redcoats. Johnny had been in there with the rest for about an hour, but the fumes of Father Higgins's pipe had started making him dizzy, so he had finally gone out to get some air.

  But he had also gone out for another reason. He had decided to do something about the tiny skull that he had stolen from the Childermass clock. All during the car trip Johnny had been haunted by the weird feeling that he had gotten when he saw the skull on Fergie's jacket. And he had finally decided that the skull was an evil thing, and that he'd better get rid of it. Earlier, he had made up a reason to borrow Father Higgins's car keys. He had opened the trunk of the Olds and dug out the watchcase with the skull inside it. Now the case was in the pocket of Johnny's raincoat. He could feel it pressing against his leg. But the time for action had come. After a quick look around, Johnny plunged his hand into the pocket. He pulled out the case and nipped it over the side. The boat's motor was roaring so loud that he did not even hear the splash.

  Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. That was over with, anyway! It was possible, of course, that he had thrown away a good-luck charm, but... A sound interrupted Johnny's thoughts—a clashing, banging noise. Johnny peered around through the gathering darkness, and then he saw it: The door on the empty cabin had come open, and it was hitting against the cabin's metal wall as the ship rolled, making a nerve-racking noise. Quickly he padded across the deck and grabbed the steel door handle. He was about to slam the door shut when he peered into the lighted cabin.

  There was somebody... no, rather, it seemed to be something... sitting in one of the seats. It looked like a scarecrow. Its back was to Johnny, so he couldn't tell if it had a face, but it was wearing an odd sort of carroty red wig, and it was dressed in some sort of white coarse shirt. Johnny was puzzled. Why on earth would anyone bring a scarecrow onto a ferryboat? And just then, while he stood there wondering, the ship rolled gently, and the scarecrow lurched to one side. Johnny looked down, and he saw the scarecrow's foot sticking out into the aisle.

  It was a skeleton foot. A cluster of white bones.

  Johnny let out a bloodcurdling shriek. The door slipped from his hand and banged loudly as he reeled backward, spun around, took a few stumbling steps across the slippery steel deck, and clawed at the door of the other cabin. Somehow he found the handle and jerked the door open. Inside, he saw Father Higgins, Fergie, and the lady with the station wagon. They were all on their feet, staring, with their mouths open.

  "Good God, John!" Father Higgins exclaimed. "What is it? Why did you yell like that?"

  Johnny began a stammering explanation. He was having trouble putting words together, and he babbled something about a scarecrow with a skeleton inside it. "Come quick, please! Please, come and look!"

  Father Higgins and Fergie glanced quickly at each other. Then the priest slipped the guitar strap over his head and laid the instrument down on the seat. With Fergie right behind him, he headed for the door.

  "What is it?" gasped the woman, who had sunk back down into her seat. "What happened?"

  "I don't know," muttered the priest grimly. "But I'm going to find out. You stay here, ma'am. We'll be right back."

  Father Higgins and the two boys left the cabin and made their way across the deck to the cabin on the other side. The ferryboat was pitching and rolling more now, and the loose door clattered violently. Propping the door open with one brawny arm, Father Higgins stuck his head in through the doorway. Then he jerked his head back and peered questioningly at Johnny, who was standing behind him on the deck.

  "Well?" rumbled Father Higgins. "Where is it? What did you do with it?"

  Johnny was stunned. The priest was standing in the doorway of the cabin, and his large body blocked Johnny's view, and Fergie's as well. Johnny rushed forward and squeezed himself in beside Father Higgins to look. The cabin was empty. There was no sign of anyone, or anything on the seats.

  Father Higgins
turned slowly around and stared down at Johnny. He knew Johnny pretty well by this time, and he did not think Johnny was the kind of kid who would send people on a wild-goose chase just to get a laugh. Besides, Johnny did not look amused—he was ghostly pale. Clearly he had seen something. But what was it?

  After a long, tense pause, Father Higgins cleared his throat. "Well! Gentlemen, let us be getting back to our seats."

  Fergie and Johnny followed Father Higgins back to the other cabin. They went in and sat down and did not say a word, much to the annoyance of the lady passenger, who was expecting to hear that a murder victim had been found.

  "Well? What is it? What did you find?" Her voice was high-pitched, almost hysterical.

  "Nothing," said Father Higgins. There was an awful finality in his tone, and he glowered so threateningly that she was afraid to ask any more questions.

  The four people in the cabin just sat there silently throughout the rest of the trip. Finally the ferryboat slowed, and Johnny could feel the boat backing into the dock. Putting his hand on the porthole rim, Johnny pulled himself up to look out. But it was so dark that he could hardly see anything at all.

  "Come on, you two," said Father Higgins as he picked up his guitar and began to scoot sideways out of the seat. "We'd better be getting into the car. They'll be letting us drive off in a few minutes."