“At last, in some nameless tropical port, I met an old blind man. His great-grandfather had relocated there in his youth and had told him frightening tales of his homeland, an island of enchantment, treasure, and mysterious darkness. The man didn’t know the name of the land, his grandfather would never tell him. But it could only be Mordolva. From him I learned the secret of the feather and of its evil.
“Based on this information, I assumed the captain must have used the pen before he died. As it was his custom to write in the ship’s log each evening, I began combing England for any information on the log’s whereabouts. Cochran always kept it locked in his sea trunk, so I began at the British Admiralty, but the records I sought had been lost in a fire.
“Then I met a collector, a master of nautical lore, who possessed a written account of my rescue, recorded by a crew member from the Pontius. According to this report, upon its arrival in England, the trunk had been sent to Cochran’s widow in New England, but the log had come up missing, presumably stolen. I continued to search for it, and after many, many more years, it turned up in a dusty secondhand bookstore in London. The last entry explained it all. I’ve memorized it:
“‘We will depart at sundown, when I must censure my carpenter for insubordination. May he forever regret his harsh judgments! Despite his misgivings, I will keep this unexpected gift for myself and pass it to my sons.’”
Micah whistled low, both curses finally clear. The quill pen had denied Sanjay the peace of death and subjected every male heir to their evil inheritance.
Sanjay went on, “I’ve been searching the coast of New England for Captain Cochran’s descendants ever since. Micah, you have done me a great service.”
It finally dawned on Micah why Sanjay had settled his family there among them. All this time he’d been searching for the quill pen. His quill pen!
“What will you do now?” Micah asked apprehensively.
“Have a talk with Mrs. Parsons, of course. Perhaps she knows what happened to the feather. Maybe there’s a record. It may even still be in that old house of hers, tucked away all these years. Say, you didn’t happen across it in her attic, did you?”
Micah shrugged as casually as he could manage, hoping the man didn’t notice the sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I just did what I was told,” he hedged and quickly changed the subject. “How do you know it hasn’t been destroyed already? It’s been how long? A century? Two?”
The sailor pulled up his pant leg. “I can’t know for sure, but I have come to believe this mark, this wing of flame, is a barometer for the curse. When the feather is destroyed and the curse broken, I believe the mark will disappear and I will finally be allowed to age and die with those I love.”
Micah ventured, “If you find it, how will you destroy it?”
“Only fire could destroy a phoenix.”
Micah bit his lip. Hadn’t the widow once told him to burn it?
They turned for home, the wind worrying at their backs. Whatever happened, Micah determined, Sanjay must not find out he had the pen. And he could not know Gabby was under the curse as well.
“Sanjay, if you knew you could not die, why did you marry?”
“A wise man told me the curse could perhaps be destroyed by true love. I gambled, and my choice turned bittersweet. It has brought me great happiness, but it has also deepened my grief. If I cannot find and destroy the feather this time, it is inevitable that my family will learn my secret, and I dread the pain it will inflict on them. Then I will be forced to long outlive the ones I love most.”
Micah could see the heartache Sanjay labored under, could sense his desperation, and he knew he held the key to set everything right. But something inexplicable detained him. He could not give it up. Not yet. Not with his own future hanging in the balance.
But how much time did he have? Even if the widow believed he burned the feather, Sanjay would know he had not.
And then—he’d come looking for Micah.
19
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His father found him halfway up Main Street. Face florid, he snatched Micah by the bicep. “You wretched, ungrateful, lying, conniving, disobedient child. I should take a switch to your seat. You more than deserve it. But I’ve got other plans for you.”
The wind roared around the buildings as Gerald dragged his son up the street. He didn’t release him until they stood face-to-face in the den. His words burned like ice in his fury. “Your mother has packed your trunk. I will not put up with your tomfoolery until the stage comes on Friday, nor will I trust you to travel alone. Tomorrow I am loading you into the wagon and delivering you to the Fremantle Academy myself. We will transport the widow’s furniture on our way down, and I will pick up supplies on my way home—after you are safely deposited. If you leave my sight during this time, I will thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
His father moved toward the door. “And to make sure you don’t run off beforehand, you will remain locked in this room until I am ready to leave.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving Micah in darkness. The only light in the windowless room came from the crack beneath the door.
Micah raced to the entrance, but the knob didn’t budge. He was trapped!
“Let me go!” he screamed, pounding on the door. “You don’t understand, I have to get out of here!”
He needed the pen now, or he knew he would be under his father’s thumb forever. But his cries brought no response, and eventually he collapsed on the bed still set up from his father’s illness.
Of all the times to land in such a predicament! The pen lay in his desk drawer upstairs, Sanjay was actively seeking it, and Micah was locked in the den. It was only a matter of hours before Sanjay traced it to him. Micah had run out of time.
He tore at handfuls of his hair. He had to find a way to reach that pen before Sanjay destroyed it! If that happened…
Micah fell onto the pillow with a groan. Of course, if that happened, his best friend and her father would be freed from the curse that set them apart from the rest of nature. They’d live and die naturally, with the relief that certainty brought.
He pounded his head on the pillow. But if the pen was destroyed, his own future would lock onto a path that would slowly kill him.
He heaved the pillow across the room and screamed until his voice cracked. The most important decision of his life was being taken out of his hands!
Just then, the doorknob jiggled. “Micah, are you all right in there?”
He bolted off the bed. “Nancy! You have to let me out of here!”
“I’m sorry, Micah, I can’t do that. Your father gave clear orders that no one was to open this door.”
“You don’t understand. The feather I gave you this morning is going to be destroyed if I can’t get to it first. The consequences would be catastrophic! Please, Nancy, it’s a matter of life and death!”
There was a long pause outside the door. Micah was afraid the girl had left.
“Nancy?”
The knob jiggled. The door opened. Nancy stood outside, her face pallid.
“Thank you!” He planted an impetuous kiss on her cheek and rushed out and up the stairs.
In his room, he darted to the desk, then froze with his hand on the drawer handle. What should he do? Wrenching himself away, Micah paced restlessly back and forth, knowing his father could walk in on him any minute.
Should he risk using the pen? Or destroy it? Should he look to his own future? Or to that of Gabby and Sanjay?
A moan tore from his gut. How could he decide?
For countless years the pen had lain dormant in the captain’s sea trunk, but now this responsibility had been placed on him. He had to decide.
He took a deep breath and nodded firmly, his choice made. He reached for the handle and opened the drawer.
The pen was gone!
20
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A noise at the door made him whirl. Nancy stood ther
e pale-faced and shaking.
“Where is it?” he screamed, clutching at her with talon-like fingers.
She jumped back, frightened. “I’m sorry, Micah. I wouldn’t have given it to him if I had known.”
He squeezed her arm. “Who?”
“Magnus. He told me you sent him to fetch it.”
Micah sank to the ground and buried his head in his arms. Magnus! So that was his game! All along he wanted the feather. But how had he known?
“Micah!” Nancy sank beside him and clutched his hand. “Micah, what can I do?”
“Help me find him.”
They divided, each cringing before the gale that raged between the buildings. Just beyond the bank, Micah blew into Gabby. He grasped her shoulders, shouting over the roar of the wind, “The pen put the curse on your father, Gabby! A long time ago. And now Magnus has it!”
“Magnus McKinley? But how?” Her face drained of color. “Micah, we can’t let Magnus use it!”
“Can’t let me use what?” The boy appeared at the edge of the bank, his red hair slapping wildly against his face.
“Magnus, where is the feather?” Micah shrieked.
Magnus sneered. “You really expect me to tell you?”
“It’s dangerous!” Gabby grabbed him. “You don’t know what you’re getting into!”
Magnus shoved her into the dirt. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “Don’t you ever touch me!”
He turned to Micah. “The feather is in a safe place. I’ve been sent to fetch you.”
Micah helped Gabby up and, with strong misgivings, they followed Magnus through both sections of town.
“Where are we going?” Micah screamed, hunched into the gale.
“There,” Magnus pointed. Above the wildly dipping trees, the widow’s walk came into view.
The Parsons mansion!
They blew through the front door. The sudden calm was startling. Magnus clicked the lock behind them, causing Micah’s scalp to tingle, but he vowed to get to the bottom of this once and for all. “Mrs. Parsons!” he shouted bravely. “Mrs. Parsons!”
No answer. Micah turned to Magnus. “Why did you bring us here?”
“Because I asked him to.”
Whirling, Micah saw Thomas DeWitt framed in a doorway. The slender banker stood formally straight, both hands clasped behind his back.
Micah’s brow dipped in confusion. “Where is Mrs. Parsons?”
“The old hag went to kiss up to Jeb Reece. She stopped at the bank on her way and told me all about it. She plans to be gone all afternoon.”
“Where is the pen?” Gabby demanded, grasping the situation immediately.
“Oh, don’t fret about that, dear. I have it right here.” He drew both hands from behind his back. One held the pen. The other gripped a pistol. “I’ll take good care of it, you can be sure. I’ve searched for it all my life.”
Micah stared incredulously. “Mr. De Witt, what—what are you doing?”
“I am going to kill you.” His voice was pleasant and low, as if discussing a loan.
Micah’s face blanched as he finally identified the leader of the mob at the Ramesh home. He knew the banker would carry out his threat. He had pulled the trigger on Sanjay!
Like her father, Gabby could not die.
But Micah could.
The banker smiled, but his friendly pretense was gone. “What more poetic place than the attic where all this began. Move.”
He prodded them with the pistol and marched them upstairs.
“Everyone in town knows the old woman is peculiar,” the banker reasoned. “They’ll all assume she finally cracked. I must be the only one alive who knows the secret of the feather.”
Micah’s mind was racing. “How did you learn of it?”
“When I was a small boy growing up in Boston, I used to sneak down to the docks. I was fascinated by the hardy sailors and their tales of the sea. One day a dark-skinned man showed up, asking questions and telling the strangest story I’d ever heard. He searched for a man named Nathaniel Cochran.
“I had heard the name from my grandmother, who once served an old family in a big house by the sea. She told strange stories of death and coincidence, a family curse. This led me to believe that the man’s story could be true, but it was many years before I guessed the island treasure was the key to everything.”
They had reached the attic. Micah glanced around for a way of escape. The room looked just as it did when he left it, with the painting propped against the wall and a box of old papers scattered near the windows. But a coil of rope now lay beside them as well.
Best to keep the banker talking. “How did you learn the treasure was a feather?”
DeWitt continued, “I became consumed with the story and vowed to learn the truth for myself. I studied finance and eventually gained a job in the village my grandmother had specified, using my job as a front. All this time I’ve been waiting, listening, watching. I hired Magnus here to keep an eye on the Parsons widow’s affairs and report anything unusual to me, but I also recognized Sanjay Ramesh from my childhood, and I knew he was searching as well.
“I became excited when I learned the widow had hired you to clean her attic. During our lunch, your own words alerted me to a feather. That’s when I set Magnus to following you.” The man paused to pick up a leather-bound book. “He soon retrieved a journal written in your hand that shed a great deal of light on the matter. I knew for sure the treasure I sought had finally surfaced. And at last I had discovered its secret!”
“I told him about the money in the woods, too.” Magnus smirked. “I watched you bury it.”
Micah glanced at the red-headed boy with loathing and chastised himself for his own carelessness.
“I’m sure it will prove very useful when I take my leave,” DeWitt said.
“You don’t think it will look suspicious when you skip town and the vault turns up empty?” Gabby snapped.
“I plan to be long gone by then.” He grabbed a length of rope and tossed it to Magnus. “Tie them.”
Micah and Gabby glanced at each other, a look of understanding passing between them. It was now or never.
With a nod, Gabby flew at the banker. The man was slightly built, and Gabby was strong. They fell in a tangled heap and the pistol flew into a corner.
At the same time, Micah lunged at Magnus. But the red-haired boy was an accomplished fighter. A hard punch to the stomach doubled Micah over, and another to the face sent his glasses skittering beside the windows.
Micah fell to the floor, struggling for breath. Across the room, he saw the banker’s fuzzy figure toss Gabby aside, snatch up the painting, and slam it over her head. The girl hit the floor, stunned.
The fight was over. Micah hardly protested as Magnus tied his hands together. “Looks like I won, doesn’t it, Randall?” he smirked.
But behind him, the lenses of Micah’s glasses caught the afternoon sun. They intensified it, directing it at the curtains in tiny, hot focal points of light. The fabric began to smolder. A flame sprang to life and licked at the walls.
DeWitt stepped behind Magnus and looped the rope around his neck. “Magnus, you fool!” he laughed, pulling it taut. “Did you think I would let you live? No one can know I have the feather!”
Magnus clawed at his throat, his face red and his eyes bulging. Slowly, his hands weakened and fell to his sides. DeWitt dropped him to the floor where he lay gagging. The banker tied his hands fast.
The fire spread to the ceiling, snapping and crackling across dry old wood. The banker suddenly became aware of it. His face registered surprise, which morphed into a malicious smile.
“It seems fate has taken this job out of my hands.” He bent to retrieve the feather and the fallen gun and crossed to the stairway.
The heat had grown intense, and smoke filled the room, choking Micah. He strained futilely against his bonds.
Across the room, Gabby rose from
the floor. She caught sight of the fleeing banker, pushed herself to her feet, and pounded after him.
DeWitt heard her coming. Turning, he raised the pistol and fired a shot.
The bullet knocked Gabby down, ripping through her clothing as it had done to her father. But in moments she stood on her feet again and lunged.
The banker’s eyes filled with disbelief and terror. Screaming, he flung the gun at Gabby and fled, but she caught him at the top of the stairs, plowing into him at full speed. With another shrill scream, the man tumbled to the bottom and lay still.
By then, the fire had engulfed nearly the whole attic. Micah tore desperately at the ropes with his teeth. Gabby sprinted across the room and within moments he was free.
“Untie Magnus, quick,” he pointed.
As she worked, he snatched up his journal and opened the door to the widow’s walk. The gale poured into the room like a bellows and sent the fire roaring through the roof. Across the room, a flaming beam crashed through the unstable floor. They were almost out of time.
Working quickly, Micah tied the end of the rope to the balcony railing. When the others joined him, he tied Magnus’s bonds to the rope’s end. Throwing it all over, the lifeline extended halfway to the ground.
“Quickly, Gabby!” Micah screamed over the roar of the flames.
“You go first!” she yelled back. “I can’t die!”
One after the other, the boys flung themselves over the edge, the wind tearing and snatching at the rope. Magnus lit out for the woods and disappeared, but Micah waited for Gabby. Together they fled just as the widow’s walk toppled through the roof and crashed into the floor below.
And as the house burned, the wind spluttered and died.
The pen’s tribute had been paid.
21
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The Quill Pen Page 13
