The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure)

by Singel, N. M.

“What are you saying?” Blake asked.

  “This expedition is over.”

  Blake shot back, “It can’t be over, Mr. Columbus. There’s a lot at stake here. If you don’t get to the New World, the future won’t happen!”

  “It’s way worse than that, Blake.” Erica folded her arms. “They’re going to turn us into wood.”

  Columbus leaned over and gathered ripped pages of the chronicle. He dropped them to the floor. “My mind’s sickness even makes these pages feel real.”

  “It’s because they are!” Blake collected the scattered pages. “Mr. Columbus, listen to me. You’re not crazy. These are from a really cool book, the Chronicle of the Rellium, and it’s all about the history of the world. You’re in it, whether you like it or not. And that guy you just throttled out of here is not who you think he is.”

  “Admittedly, I know little of Rat. The queen pardoned him and three other prisoners for this voyage.”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m not sure who he is, either, but he’s not a prisoner or sailor. And he wants us all dead.”

  “Your stories unnerve me, but you live only in some disturbed region of my mind.” Columbus pushed the chair out, squatted, and retrieved the small chest from under his bed. “One last look at what could have been before I order the fleet back to Spain.” The admiral opened the lid.

  “Listen to me, Mr. Columbus. I know you think you’re going nuts, but--”

  “It’s gone! My logbook’s gone!”

  Erica peeked at the metal box. “So, start a new one.”

  Columbus didn’t answer. Instead, he moved her aside and flipped up a corner of the lumpy mattress. “It can’t be gone! The key remains around my neck.”

  “I bet it was Rat,” Blake said. “That guy can do things normal people can’t.”

  The admiral sat on the chair, placed the chest on his lap, and stared out at the sea.

  “It’s way worse than that, Blake.” Her voice soared into a glass-breaking octave. “I saw what that giant Dagonblud guy did to you in your history class, and I tried to stop him. But when I put out my hand, nothing was there. And Uncle Leopold told me Dagonblud’s gonna do the same to the Parabulls and take all their power, too, and then Nura will be--”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down! You saw the Parabulls?”

  “No, Uncle Leopold told me about them. He’s still stuck in the dungeon. They’ll kill him! I know they’ll kill him!”

  “One thing at a time, Ricki. What did he tell you about the Parabulls?”

  “He said they were the source.”

  “The source of what?”

  “Time and all this weird magic that’s happening to us.” Erica pulled a glowing stone from her pocket. “I got this out of the dungeon. It’s part of the membrane.”

  Blake took the rock from her. “It’s not magic, Ricki. It’s science.”

  Erica grabbed the stone. “It’s still weird.”

  Blake scooped up the beaten cover of the chronicle and stuffed the tattered pages inside. “Look, Mr. Columbus, I don’t know how to convince you I’m real. It has to do with quantum physics, which, believe me, I don’t understand myself. But remember when you told me you knew I’d come? Let’s just go with that for now. I have to make sure you get to where you’re going.”

  Columbus closed the chest and locked it. He placed his hand on top and murmured, “You don’t really exist.”

  Blake turned to his sister. “How am I going to do this?”

  “I’m hungry,” Erica said.

  “You’re hungry? Like now?”

  “I didn’t have any lunch, and the machine outside the gym stole my money. I was trying to find you when--”

  “There, Mr. Columbus. If we weren’t real, my sister wouldn’t be hungry. And I ate the food you gave me, remember?”

  Erica took a few steps toward Columbus. “Do you have anything I could eat?

  The admiral crossed his arms, tensing his jaw. “If you are real, then perhaps you stole my logbook.”

  The room suddenly darkened. Thunder shook the cabin, lightning flashed, and the ship pitched violently. Blake steadied himself at a window opening. “Whoa . . . gnarly storm.”

  The door burst open. Roaring noises and black soot shot through the small space like a thousand dirt bikes roosting off a starting line.

  “Oh crap!” Blake clutched the chronicle and squinted through the pelting black sand bullets. “Mr. Columbus, promise me you’ll finish what you came out here to do!”

  Columbus tossed the chest on the table, forced his way through the sandstorm, and then jammed the door closed with his shoulder. The iron latch dangled from one bolt, probably from Columbus kicking in the door. “Fine! If you’re real, some assistance please!”

  Blake squeezed next to Columbus and pushed the door the same way he did for sled drills at football practice. “Come on, Ricki!” He felt her pressing against his back.

  “I can’t hold it anymore!” Erica yelled.

  “Use your butt! Keep pushing!” Blake strained to hold back whatever was outside the door. Then, suddenly, it stopped. The howling, the fury, gone, as though the entire world on the other side of the door had vanished.

  “Is the storm gone?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I think.”

  Ricki sank to the floor.

  Blake slowly stepped back from the door, while Columbus kept one foot wedged against it. “We’ve encountered many storms on this journey, but God has always protected us.”

  The latch on the broken lock rattled. “Admiral!”

  Blake rushed back to help secure the door. “That was no normal storm.”

  “Admiral!” The voice was louder. “Niña and Pinta are sinking!”

  CHAPTER 15

  YOUNG BLOOD

  Dagonblud slapped Rat across the face. “Wake up, you mongrel!”

  Rat shook his head and opened his eyes. He sat in a pool of water in the underbelly of the Santa Maria, chained by the ankles to two pillars supporting the main deck. “Imperial Regent, sir?”

  The Tolucan leader’s stiff red jacket provided the only color to the dark, musty cargo bay. He picked at Rat’s bloody, torn, soggy sleeve. “You’re pathetic.”

  “My coriane, sir, it’s--”

  “Enough! I detest excuses. This fleet is days from land, and you sit in your own filth, tethered like a dog.” Dagonblud fished the iron cables from the shallow water and then ripped apart the heavy links. “Get up!”

  “Yes, sir.” Rat grasped the column and slowly levered himself to his feet. “Wyatts are on this ship.”

  Dagonblud gazed at the sunlight streaming through the rear of the open hatchway. “Where are the little demons?”

  “Hiding in Columbus’s cabin.”

  “Good. We’ll keep them alive for the time being.” Dagonblud ran his finger along a seam in the hull’s planking. “What do you know about them?”

  “The boy turned up in Columbus’s cabin with the Parabulls. I fought those mutts, but they vanished before I could get my hands around their mangy necks.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Don’t know ’bout her, sir. Except she got here with this.” Rat pulled a tempus from a pouch on his belt and dangled it in front of him.

  Dagonblud snatched the timepiece and flipped open the lid. The membrane’s sticky film on the metallic casing burned his skin, but he showed no reaction. Studying the settings he asked, “Did you adjust this?”

  “No, sir. The stupid girl must’ve botched the return location. Why would she go to the dungeon?”

  “Leopold Wyatt, that’s why! I can smell him.” He quickly stuffed the watch in his pocket and moved toward the ladder leading up the hatchway.

  “He’s a doddering old relic, sir. He’s nothing to the Parabulls now.”

  Dagonblud grabbed Rat by the arm and forced him into the hatchway’s light. “Look at those men up there! Why do you think these mindless sheep sail into the unknown, trusting their life to this decrepit, leaking vesse
l?”

  Rat hawked, then spewed phlegm. “Fortune, sir.”

  “Wrong!” He pitched Rat aside. “They do it to make their insignificant existence matter. Learn that now, or you’ll never defeat a Wyatt.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rat steadied himself on a barrel. “Columbus still has the respect of most of these men. It takes time to sour their spirits, sir but--” Rat coughed and pulled out a leather binder that was tucked into his pants and presented it. “Columbus’s death sentence.”

  Dagonblud snatched the book and opened it.

  “Columbus’s real logbook, sir.” Rat wiped his nose with his sleeve and spat. “He’s been lying to the crew.”

  Dagonblud raised his brow. “Shameful. A man of his stature.”

  “Once I get word to Niña and Pinta about this book, we’ll have our mutiny.”

  Dagonblud grunted and flung back the admiral’s log. “There’s no time for diplomacy. The other two ships are already sinking.”

  “Sir?”

  Dagonblud moved toward the back of the hull, reached down, and submerged his hand into the cold, foul-smelling bilge water. He poked a finger into the rotted wood and watched the Atlantic Ocean seep in. “Within the hour, this ship will join the others at the bottom of the sea.”

  Rat wheezed, slumped over the barrel, and squeezed his eyes shut. “With all due respect, sir, these sailors can plug holes the size of my fist with a bucket of oakum and tar. I’ve seen them do it.”

  Dagonblud moved through the rising water to the other end of the ship and cored out another opening with his hand. “When I’m done, there will be nothing left to fix.”

  Rat turned to him. “I want to help, sir, but my strength is almost gone.”

  “I can’t even stand to look at you.” He grabbed a metal tankard perched on a barrel and pushed it in Rat’s face.

  The man took the mug. “Water’s no help, sir.”

  “Fool.” Dagonblud lifted a barrel from the rising water and stacked it on another. He opened a spigot, and liquid poured down the side. “Coriane.”

  Rat shakily dropped the mug and instead guided his quivering mouth under the flow. He turned his head. “I’m feeling better, sir.”

  “Of course you are, you half-wit.” Dagonblud tightened the spigot. He pulled apart more planks near the center of the ship. Water gushed in. “I want those two Wyatts in front of the grand assembly before nightfall.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rat wiped his mouth.

  Light from the hatchway abruptly dimmed. “Rat! What’s going on down there?” a man yelled. “Are we taking on water?”

  “It’s filling up like a cooking pot, Diego,” Rat yelled back.

  Dagonblud smiled as a plump man struggled down the ladder. “Pinta had major damage from that storm, and Niña just signaled for support from us.” He stepped into knee-deep water. “Dear God!” he said and hurried back up to the deck.

  “How long are you barbarians going to keep me down here?”

  Dagonblud looked at the water level sloshing against the side planks. “Something’s wrong.” He trudged toward the gouge in the back of the ship. “The ocean should be flooding this derelict cavity like a fountain in a sewage canal.”

  Rat snorted, then joined him. He felt for the hole in the hull and looked back. “It’s been repaired.”

  “What?”

  Rat snapped back his hand and wiped it on his shirt. “The membrane, sir. It’s covering the gap.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’d know that miserable stink anywhere. Maybe it’s protecting the ship.”

  Dagonblud plunged his hand into the water in disbelief. “How could this be?”

  “It’s those young Wyatts, sir. The girl used powers I’ve never seen before. She might be shielding this ship with the membrane somehow.”

  Dagonblud bashed his hand into one of the pillars and then turned to Rat. “What else do you know?”

  “I poisoned the boy with coriane. The girl showed up and gave him something. Not sure what, but he recovered. ’Course the coriane was bad, so that might’ve been why. But at least I destroyed that book. Not much left of that cursed thing now.”

  Dagonblud hurled Rat into the water. “You did what? Do you have any idea the immense power I could have taken from that book?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I had no choice.” Rat pulled himself upright using a barrel for support. “The boy appeared on this ship with the text, sir, and I had to stop him.” He smirked. “The membrane may have spared this ship, but it can’t stop a mutiny.”

  Dagonblud examined the cargo bay and then pulled the tempus from his pocket. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

  “I brought you the father, and I will bring you his children.”

  “Rat!” Diego yelled down.

  Dagonblud slipped into the darkness.

  “Rat!” Diego called louder.

  He looked up the ladder. “Finally coming to rescue me?”

  “How’d you get loose?”

  “Convicts are like wizards. Escapes are made with sleight of hand.”

  Diego slowly descended the ladder. “I locked those cuffs myself.” He yelled up the hatchway. “Who’s going to repair this damage?”

  “Diego, you have the wrong man in chains.”

  “I had my orders.”

  Rat hoisted his broken shackles out of the water. “Take these to the admiral’s door.”

  “Don’t try my goodwill. I have to lock you up again.”

  Rat retrieved Columbus’s logbook, which was tucked into the back of his pants. He passed it to Diego. “Read this before you clamp those irons back on my legs.”

  “What is it?”

  “Lies and deceit. Proof that a madman is leading this crew straight into hell.”

  Dagonblud, hiding in the darkness, watched Diego open the journal. The seed was planted. He could feel the Rellium collapsing, and it thrilled him. Grinning triumphantly, he vanished.

  CHAPTER 16

  AN OLD FRIEND

  The cabin door rattled. A feeble knock from the outside started and then faltered.

  Blake’s stomach did a back flip as he turned to his sister.

  “Who’s there?” Columbus asked.

  No answer.

  He pulled the handle. A frail, beaten man tumbled into the room.

  “Uncle Leopold!” Erica fell to his side.

  “Uncle? That’s my substitute teacher! That’s Mr. Price!” Blake cried out.

  The bedraggled man struggled to his knees. “Not . . . exactly.”

  Erica helped him up. “They hurt you!”

  “I expected it, my dear.” He clumsily pushed the door closed and then jiggled the broken lock. “Secure the room, Blake. Use this bed.”

  “So you’re not a teacher?” He slid over the heavy piece of furniture.

  Erica crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “No, that’s our uncle Leopold.”

  “Just a bit of honest dishonesty. We do whatever is necessary for the good of the Rellium.”

  “Why didn’t you--”

  “No time for details, my young nephew.” Leopold held out his hand. “Erica, my dear, I need that tempus.”

  “I don’t have it anymore.”

  “What?” His body stiffened.

  “A stinky guy took it, and he poisoned Blake, just like you said. But I remembered the directions, and he got better with that stuff you gave me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Was his name Rat?”

  “Yeah,” Blake said.

  “How much coriane did you drink?”

  “Enough to make me want to puke.”

  “Did it taste sweet?”

  “Are you kidding? More like my socks after football practice.”

  “Good. Not enough for permanent damage. We must move quickly.” He winced as he twisted his neck.

  “Another family member?” asked Columbus.

  Leopold turned and gasped. “Admiral Columbus, my manners are shameful.” He shook the exp
lorer’s hand. “Leopold Wyatt, at your service, sir. You’ve influenced so much of our future. A long chat over a cup of tea would be my profound pleasure, but, sadly, we must make haste.”

  “And you are from this California as well, I suppose,” Columbus asked, gently pulling back his hand.

  “Oh, no, no, no. I’m from--well, that’s not important. We have more pressing issues.” Leopold wrung his hands. “My time is short. Without the coriane I may not last the day.”

  “How’d you get out of the dungeon?” Erica asked.

  “After Dagonblud interrogated me, I simply borrowed his dark energy and tagged along when he transported to this ship. Escaping the cargo bay without his seeing me was the more difficult task.”

  Columbus raised an eyebrow. “You are from my cargo bay?”

  “In a manner of speaking, Admiral, but, please, allow me to dispense with the details.”

  Blake looked at the shredded paper on the floor. “I have to tell you--”

  “Not now, Blake. Dagonblud has the black diamond. He’ll unleash its dark energy if he’s threatened. You’ll need to understand his world before you can protect the chronicle.”

  Blake picked up a piece of the text from the floor. “Too late.”

  Leopold shrieked. He rummaged frantically through the torn pages. “Did Rat do this?”

  “The dude nearly killed me, too.”

  “Good Lord, it’s much worse than that.” Uncle Leopold’s hands shook as he leafed through the book’s remains. “First the tempus and now this? A catastrophe!” He clutched the pages next to his heart and closed his eyes. A tear dripped down his wrinkled cheek. “Dagonblud has won.”

  Blake picked up the mangled cover. “Didn’t you hear what I said? That guy nearly killed me.”

  Uncle Leopold stared at the pieces in his hand. “Without the chronicle, the Parabulls will abandon our future. History will be canceled.”

  “You can’t cancel history,” Erica said. “It already happened.”

  “Not if it never happened.” Blake opened the book’s cover. Parts of pages clung to the spine. The words were unreadable. He touched the jewel still stuck in the gold but felt nothing.

  “Ah, the boy finally learns, but time does us no favors.” Uncle Leopold collected more pages.