The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure)

by Singel, N. M.

  Ting, ting.

  “I’m not leaving you here!”

  “This guy knows who I am! He might be trying to stop Columbus.”

  The alarm rang insistently.

  Rat snapped the string and twisted to his knees.

  “Let’s go!”

  Ting.

  “No!”

  “I said go!” Ting.

  Rat snatched the watch from Erica’s hand. He stopped the chime.

  “Stupid Wyatts. Can’t even use a blasted tempus.” Rat stood. “Who wants to be first?”

  CHAPTER 13

  THE TRAITOR

  Dagonblud lumbered up the stone stairway and brushed Ickbarr into the cold, pitted rock wall. Pain coursed through his joints, and his body weakened. He needed more coriane. “Out of my way, you little flea!”

  Ickbarr regained his footing and followed. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Why are you hovering?”

  “Something awful happened while you were attending the meeting, Imperial Regent.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it now!”

  “But, sir, I think you should know that--”

  “Enough!” Dagonblud turned toward Ickbarr. “Look at me.”

  “Sir?”

  “Are you blind? I will not be humiliated again in front of the grand assembly.”

  “The general was simply concerned for your health, sir. Your skin appears slightly, uh, pallid today.”

  “You mean old!”

  “No, sir, not at all, sir.”

  Dagonblud bunched a handful of his hair into his fist and shook it in front of Ickbarr’s face. “What color is this?”

  “Well, sir, it’s--”

  “Say it! It’s gray.”

  “Well, perhaps, it’s a bit--”

  “Get me more coriane!”

  “Of course, sir, but you should know that the Wyatt girl has--”

  “Has what?”

  Ickbarr closed his eyes and rounded his shoulders. “Escaped from the dungeon, sir.”

  Dagonblud remained silent for a few moments before continuing up the steps. “Remind me what happened to that general.”

  “The one who inquired about your well-being, sir?”

  “Yes, the one who told the entire grand assembly that I might be ill.”

  “You had him locked in the dungeon and put him on the rack, sir, then gave the guards strict orders that he is never to see the light of day again.”

  “Good. That’s what I thought.” Dagonblud stopped at the top of the staircase and watched his servant clomp down. He steadied himself against a wall and struggled to breathe. Why wasn’t the coriane working? He rested his crippled hands on Nura. “Tell me what you know about this.”

  Defying his order, she transformed into the statue and remained on her perch.

  “Foolish Wyatt.” He knocked her to the floor. “Ickbarr.” Dagonblud rested his hands on his knees and wheezed.

  “I’m coming, sir.” Ickbarr approached with the goblet. “Your coriane tea, sir.”

  Dagonblud took the cup, downed every drop, and gave it back. “More.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Have the guards searched the caves?”

  “Thoroughly. They informed me that the girl vanished, sir.”

  “Impossible. No one escapes the dungeon.” Dagonblud dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “Where’s Hugo Price?”

  “The traitor’s in chains, sir.”

  “Chains! They’re worthless to a Wyatt!” He coughed and then kicked Nura down the steps. The wooden figure bounced and then, judging from the echo, crashed at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Would you like me to retrieve her, sir?”

  “No, she’ll obey me now. Just get my tea.”

  Ickbarr nodded, turned and went down the stairs.

  Dagonblud trudged toward the mirror. “Nura, I know you can hear me. Open the mirror.”

  He heard rustling in the stairwell, and then he saw Nura fluttering up the turret. She landed awkwardly on her perch, favoring her left wing.

  “Injured again? Now open the mirror.”

  She trembled.

  “Do it, or you’ll remain a mutant forever!”

  Nura flew clumsily to the corners of the mirror and erased the reflection, revealing the vast room of history’s hidden treasures. She disappeared into the interior.

  Dagonblud strode inside and stopped. “Ickbarr!”

  “Yes, sir.” The servant rushed in with the drink.

  “Where did you get the coriane to make this tea?”

  “The same place as always, sir, locked under your chamber.”

  Dagonblud smelled the steam. A prickly, briny scent wafted through his nose. It was not coriane. “I should have guessed--Wyatts.” He shattered the goblet against the wall.

  Ickbarr knelt and frantically collected the broken glass. “I’ll get you more, sir.”

  “Use these, you dolt!” He pulled coriane leaves from his inside pocket and handed them to his servant.

  “I’ll be fast, sir.” Ickbarr backed out, dropping pieces of glass.

  Dagonblud walked to the far end of the room and gazed at an empty shelf. “Nura!” He heard her wings flapping in the distance. “I know you took the black diamond. Bring it to me--now.” He hunched over and sank to the floor. “Or I’ll . . . break your other wing.” He tried to stand, but his legs buckled. Where was Ickbarr? Exhausted, he collapsed against the wall. “Perhaps your little village . . . Pérouges, was it? . . . would like another plague.”

  He heard a loud roar, and then Nura returned, carefully placing the black diamond in his lap.

  “I knew you’d see it my way.” He tucked the weapon into his jacket, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

  “Your freshly brewed tea, sir.”

  Dagonblud slowly opened his eyes and with a trembling hand took the glass from Ickbarr. He swallowed the liquid. Warmth traveled through his body. He felt his muscles grow and his strength return. He stood and inhaled deeply.

  “Shall I fetch you more, sir?”

  Dagonblud shoved him aside and hurried down the steps. As he flung open the door to the grand assembly, he heard cheers erupt from the spiral below and tankards bang together. Dagonblud raised his hand in Tolucan victory. Earsplitting celebratory shouts filled the chamber. He stepped back and snatched a burning lamp from the wall.

  Ickbarr joined him in the throne room. “Are you needing my assistance, sir?”

  Dagonblud kicked back the edge of a rug and opened a trapdoor. He squeezed down the narrow steps.

  “Sir, what shall I tell the assembly members? They’re expecting the festivities to start.”

  “I don’t care what you tell them.” He pulled the rug back over the opening and continued down.

  Cold, musty air filled his lungs. A few guards patrolling the dungeon knew of the secret passage, but none ever ventured down it or asked him where it led. Of course, they never asked any questions.

  Spider webs swept across his face the farther he descended. The air smelled of rot, and skin-blistering slime covered the rocks around him. The last time he had used these stairs, Michael Wyatt lay nearly lifeless at the bottom. Now, just as he was on the verge of victory, the dungeon had failed him. The Wyatt girl was gone.

  “Sir!” Ickbarr called out feebly.

  Dagonblud glanced up briefly.

  “Sir!”

  Dagonblud heard Ickbarr tottering down the steps. He turned and yelled up. “Don’t bother me!”

  “Sorry, sir. Perhaps you’d like more coriane for your voyage.”

  “What makes you think I’m going somewhere?”

  Ickbarr caught up and stopped a few steps above him. “The last time you were in these caverns, you left with the sapphire traveler, sir. I thought--”

  Dagonblud grabbed Ickbarr by the neck and dragged him down the stairs. Coriane splashed on the wall and produced smoke. “You are never to repeat that! Do you hear me? Michael Wyatt was ad
ded to my collection as was told to the grand assembly. They are never to learn otherwise.”

  Ickbarr gagged and nodded.

  “Look what you’ve done, you idiot. You’ve destroyed part of the membrane. That pleasure is mine alone.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Enough!”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be near if you need me.”

  The lamp’s flame dwindled until he reached better air at the bottom of the staircase. The secret door deep in the dungeon appeared through the darkness as the lamp’s flame grew brighter. He could see the thick, cloudy membrane coating the door, trying to repair itself. He placed the lamp on the ground, pulled on a pair of black gloves, and examined the opening. The iron deadbolts and locks were intact. No one could have escaped by this route. He freed the locks and dislodged the bolts. The thick stone door slid open.

  “Ickbarr!” Dagonblud picked up his lamp. “Ickbarr, where are you?!”

  “Coming, sir.”

  Dagonblud walked in and surveyed his dungeon.

  “I’m here, sir.”

  “Secure the doors behind me.”

  “But how will you get out, sir? There’s no access from the inside.”

  “Do as you’re told!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dagonblud waited for the thud of the closed door. He moved swiftly through a maze of tunnels and stopped at a door constructed with lodestone encased in heavy black metal. The magnetic properties of the iron-oxide disrupted the Wyatts’ powers. He removed the lock and swung open the barrier.

  Inside the room a man’s body hung, his arms and legs clamped against the wall.

  “I want answers!” Dagonblud set his lamp on a ledge. “Death comes slowly for those who wait for it, doesn’t it, Hugo Price--or is it Leopold Wyatt?” He poked his long finger into the dying man’s chest. “Clever. Switching my coriane for something less potent. Are you feeling what I felt? Are your insides being eaten away? Interesting how a substance so vital for us can be so poisonous to others.”

  Leopold Wyatt cracked open his eyes. “You’ll get nothing out of me.”

  Dagonblud folded his arms. “I see. So you think you’re in a position to negotiate.” He opened the clamps.

  The traitor collapsed to the ground. He tried to stand but fell.

  “Stay in the dirt where you belong, Wyatt.” Dagonblud ground his heel into the man’s back.

  “How do you know”--he coughed--“who I am?”

  Dagonblud laughed. “Betrayer! You lived among us. You ate our food, drank our drink. You convinced everyone you were a loyal Tolucan. What a treacherous plan! But I am curious. Why didn’t the coriane kill you? I saw you drink it myself.”

  Leopold Wyatt said nothing.

  “Answer me!” Dagonblud kicked him in the ribs.

  “Why? To you I’m already dead.”

  “Not yet.” Dagonblud yanked him to his feet, slammed his face into the wall, and watched him slide to the ground. “Now I think you’re ready to hear what happened to the great and noble Michael Wyatt.”

  The old man didn’t move.

  “The courageous protector of the Rellium sold his power for a chance to save his own miserable life. That shouldn’t surprise another traitor.”

  Leopold slowly raised his head. “That’s a lie.”

  Dagonblud walked around the heap of arms and legs. “Poor Leopold Wyatt, blinded by virtue, dependent on the same drink that poisons his family. You know the immortality from the coriane lasts only as long as you drink it. So, how does it feel to decay? Remember the power you once possessed? You had the perfect life--fine food, great books, scientific accolades. Instead you chose to save your pathetic brother.”

  “Rot in Hades, you monster.”

  Dagonblud grabbed him by the hair and jerked back his head. “You’re already there.” He released his grip, then pulled the black diamond from his pocket and twisted open the weapon. “Now I’ll hear the truth.”

  Pitch-darkness and a putrid odor overtook the room. “Where’s the girl and the chronicle?”

  Leopold didn’t answer.

  Dagonblud rolled him to his back and then clutched his neck. “Where are they?!”

  Leopold gasped. “Just kill me.”

  Dagonblud huffed, tightened his grip, and waited. “Has the venom of the black diamond poisoned your mind yet? Are you ready to tell me the truth?” He waited. “Where’s the girl?”

  “On the Santa Maria,” he whispered.

  “And the chronicle?”

  “With Blakemore Wyatt.”

  “Where’s he?”

  “With his sister.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way,” Dagonblud jeered. “Three Wyatts added to my collection, and Christopher Columbus wiped from history. Not even the Parabulls will be able to repair the giant hole the great explorer will leave in the timeline.” He pulled a tempus from his pocket and was gone.

  CHAPTER 14

  MADNESS ON THE EDGE OF THE EARTH

  Dead. Blake knew that’s exactly what they were going to be if he didn’t think of something fast.

  Rat rubbed his thumb over the face of the tempus. “The girl goes first.”

  Blake crowded Erica into the corner of Columbus’s cabin and stood in front of her.

  “Charming.” Rat picked up his knife, cartwheeled it in the air, and then snatched it by the handle. “Trying to save the little girl.”

  “Who are you calling a little girl?” she shouted over her brother’s shoulder.

  “Ah, a feisty one.”

  “Shut up, Ricki,” Blake said through his teeth. “You’re gonna make him madder.”

  “So what? He’s just a big, stinky jerk!”

  “Erica,” said Blake, through a broad, fake smile. “I’m trying to make this guy chill.”

  “He’s gonna turn us into wood!”

  “Bravo! The little princess already knows her place. The rarest wood is planned for you. I’m sure.” Rat looked at the tempus. “I see you two cockroaches were returning to Dagonblud’s dungeon.” He flipped the cover closed and glared at Erica. “Looking for what’s left of your father, are we?”

  Blake snagged his sister’s arm when she tried to lunge around him.

  “Let me go!” She tried to shake off his grip. “I saw the place where Dad died. I don’t care what this bully does to me.”

  “Cool it, Rick! He’s the one with the knife.”

  Erica pulled her arm free and stepped in front of Rat. “Try anything, dirt bag, and I’ll knock you on your butt again.” She put her hand in her pocket.

  Rat laughed and pushed the tempus into a pouch hanging from his belt. “The little warrior has fire. Admirable. The imperial regent will have his hands full.” He wiped the knife blade on his pant leg and slid it into his boot. His gaze shifted to the floor. “What do we have here?” Rat scooped up the chronicle’s red gem and flung it out the window. “Hope you can swim.” He laughed.

  Erica gasped and retreated behind her brother.

  “Not so brave now.” Rat wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and then staggered back against the wall. His black hair changed to gray, and his cheeks sank deep into his face.

  “That’s totally freaky,” she said. “What’s happening to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We can’t just wait around for him to turn us into wood. I think that Dagonblud guy’s his boss, and he’s the one who--”

  “Quiet!” Rat coughed and smacked the wall with his fist. “Rotten plant piss. Why isn’t it working?” He clawed Blake out of the corner and pulled him into his face. “What did you do to my coriane?”

  Blake cringed and turned his face away. The guy’s breath reeked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never even heard of it!”

  Rat shook him. “The hell you haven’t.” he said, and walloped him in the gut.

  Blake grunted and clutched his stomach.

  “Leave him alone!” Erica shouted.

  He watched his s
ister power off a kick to Rat’s shin.

  “Back off, wench. You’re next.”

  Blake hurtled himself into Rat, knocking over the chair. “No one touches my sister!”

  Rat recovered, pulled his knife from his boot, and then swung the blade.

  Blake felt searing pain in his arm as he tried to wrestle away the knife.

  “Someone’s trying to get in!” Erica cried out.

  Blake slammed Rat into the wall, and the air rushed from his lungs in one foul blast.

  The cabin door crashed open. Columbus pulled Blake off Rat. “Enough!”

  Blake broke free and slammed Rat into the wall again, harder.

  “I said enough!” Columbus pushed past Blake and manhandled Rat to the cabin doorway. “Diego!”

  Diego appeared. “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Chain this sailor till the end of the voyage.” Columbus shoved Rat into Diego and slammed his door.

  “Thanks,” Blake said, pressing on his wound and eyeing his sister cowering under the table.

  Columbus lifted Blake’s arm. “This needs attention.” He pulled out his clothes trunk, opened the lid, and removed a small jar.

  Erica sneezed.

  Columbus looked under the table. “Mother of God!”

  “Uh, Mr. Columbus, that’s my sister, Erica.”

  The admiral’s face was rigid. He started to speak but turned back to the clothes and took out a shirt. Ripping it into strips he finally said, “A young girl from a land not on any maps is in my cabin.”

  Erica crawled out. “What are you talking about? California’s on a lot of maps.”

  “Not on any of my maps, young lady.” Columbus wiped the bleeding cut and then smeared on brown glop.

  Blake winced. “What’s that stuff?”

  “Honey . . . to aid healing.” Columbus wrapped the wound and tied the strips in a knot. He turned, picked up his lamp from the floor, and returned it to the wall.

  “Are you the real Christopher Columbus?” Erica asked.

  “Yes, I am the real Christopher Columbus.” The admiral lifted his fallen chair, straddled it, and then combed his hair with his fingers. “My mind has failed me, Lord. The sea has stolen my wits, and madness creeps into my thoughts. I will not send these men to their death because lunacy speaks to me now.”