Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse

by Tania del Rio

  “Is the sea witch far?” Warren asked anxiously.

  “Actually, her lair appears to be quite close,” Friggs said. “We’ll be there by day’s end, I’d say, as long as the winds cooperate.”

  Warren sagged in relief. But there was still one problem. “Captain said the sea witch lives underwater. How will I be able to visit her? You don’t think the hotel can turn into a submarine, do you?”

  “Doubtful,” Friggs said. “The hotel is made entirely of wood—not submarine material at all.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Warren said.

  “But fortunately, I do believe I have a solution.” Mr. Friggs eased to his feet and hobbled across the room, picking his way around stacks of books and collectibles from his adventuring days: ancient sculptures, decorative gourds, antique furniture.

  With a flourish, he yanked on a sheet covering a mound of items piled in the corner, sending dust motes swirling in the air. Through the haze, Warren spotted a taxidermied weasel wearing spectacles, a tattered picnic basket, and a somewhat spooky-looking ventriloquist dummy.

  But those weren’t the items Mr. Friggs was after. He rooted around in the pile and emerged with a rubbery suit attached to a bulbous helmet. A metal tank was strapped to the back, and a tube snaked its way around to the glass faceplate.

  the old man announced. “Your grandfather, Warren the 11th, used it in his explorations when he was a young lad.”

  “Wow!” Warren exclaimed. “But…will it still work?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Friggs said. “It’s just a bit dusty, that’s all.”

  “It looks a little big,” Warren said as Mr. Friggs handed him the suit. “And it’s really heavy!”

  “You’ll feel light as a feather underwater,” Mr. Friggs said. “Go ahead and try it on.”

  With his tutor’s assistance, Warren wriggled into the suit. It smelled like mildew, and the rubber felt cold against his skin, but as soon as he pulled the globe-shaped helmet over his head, he felt like a true adventurer! He could hardly wait to try it out underwater. Warren grinned at Mr. Friggs through the glass faceplate, but Mr. Friggs wore a grave expression on his face.

  “Is everything O.K., Mr. Friggs?” Warren asked, pulling off the helmet.

  “It’s just…I can’t help but worry.”

  Warren smiled. “Well, I’d be worried if you weren’t worried, Mr. Friggs!”

  “I’ve been debating whether to tell you something. It might be complete nonsense, and not worth troubling you over.”

  Warren’s smile faltered. “I want to know anyway,” he said. “What is it?”

  Mr. Friggs hesitated but knew he must tell his young charge: “The thirteen-year curse. I once dismissed it as a silly rumor, but given all the bad luck you’ve endured of late, I’ve begun to question whether it might in fact be real.”

  “Not you, too!” Warren cried. “I didn’t think you were superstitious like Uncle Rupert!”

  “I’m most certainly not!” Mr. Friggs sputtered, offended by the comparison. “At least, not usually. But in this case, there is a family legend that I’ve avoided telling you about. I didn’t want to frighten you as a young boy. But I think you’re old enough now to hear it, even if it turns out to be nothing more than make-believe.”

  Warren nodded grimly. “Go on.”

  “Very well. The legend goes that, during the Great War, Warren the 7th feuded with an evil witch who placed a curse upon the family. She called it the ‘thirteen-year curse.’ From the sound of it, one might think it would have lasted only thirteen years, but generations have passed and bad luck has plagued each Warren since. I believe it may be triggered by the very act of turning thirteen.”

  Warren felt queasy. It was just as he feared.

  “Is there any way to break the curse?” he asked.

  Mr. Friggs shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Your grandfather perished trying to find a cure. As for your father, he rarely spoke of it, but he did mention that you would need the ring someday. That’s why I decided to give it to you. If the curse is real, I think it might protect you.”

  Warren flexed his finger under the rubber glove of the scuba suit. Even though he couldn’t see the ring, he felt safer for having it on him.

  “Keep it close,” Mr. Friggs warned.

  “I’ll never take it off!” Warren promised.

  * * *

  the hotel approached a patch of dark, choppy water. Jagged rocks poked through the foam like enormous teeth. Warren used his periscope to carefully steer coming within inches of colliding with the treacherous obstacles.

  “This is a suicide mission!” Bonny snapped. “Most ships never make it past these rocks. And this isn’t even a proper ship, just some clunky old hotel!”

  “Don’t ye worry, Miss Bonny, Warren knows what he be doing,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard chimed in.

  Warren wished he could ignore Bonny’s words, but through the viewfinder, he could see the remnants of shipwrecks scattered across the ocean floor. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was foolish to think he could maneuver the hotel through this area unscathed. Especially if he really was cursed.

  Turning the wheel as gently as possible, Warren eased around another cluster of sharp spires. There was a loud SCRRRRAPE as the hotel edged through a narrow channel. Warren gritted his teeth, fearing that they would get stuck. But suddenly the scraping ceased, and they emerged into a clearing.

  Warren wiped the sweat from his brow. They’d made it!

  “I knew you could do it!” Petula said.

  “Hmmph,” Bonny grunted. “Beginner’s luck.”

  “STILL CURSED!”

  shrieked her parrot.

  “How does he know about that?” Warren muttered.

  “I told him,” Rupert said cheerfully from his hammock.

  “You’re not cursed,” Petula replied firmly.

  “Actually…” Warren was about to tell Petula what Mr. Friggs had revealed, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to worry her.

  Warren checked the coordinates one last time and pulled a lever. The entire hotel shook as the anchor descended with a loud CLANG! He went over to the cockpit window and peered out, but the water was as dark as night.

  “You’re sure she’s down here?” Warren asked Captain Grayishwhitishbeard doubtfully.

  he replied with confidence. “I visited her years ago meself.”

  “What had you lost?” Warren asked.

  “I lost me foot,” he replied gravely.

  Warren glanced uneasily at the Captain’s peg leg. His friend didn’t elaborate, and Warren decided it was probably best not to question him further.

  “Well, I suppose I better go find this sea witch,” Warren said, changing the subject.

  Grabbing his scuba suit, he led the way out of the control room and upstairs as Petula, Bonny, and Captain Grayishwhitishbeard followed behind. In the lobby, several of the elderly pirates were relaxing in the couches and armchairs, knitting stocking caps and socks and chatting. Even Beatrice had recovered enough to join them, sitting in a recliner sipping tea. They all paused to salute Warren as he entered. Warren blushed, surprised by the formality. It did feel rather nice to be treated like a real captain.

  “Hey, I’m still your leader!” Bonny admonished them. “Don’t forget that!”

  The pirates grumbled and responded with a salute toward Bonny as well, but it was half-hearted at best.

  “I’ll be back soon!” Warren told them. Hopefully, he added silently, as he opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

  The waves churned, sending sprays of icy water onto the deck, and Warren shivered. With Petula’s help, he pulled on the cumbersome suit, his heart beating with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

  Suddenly, a breathless Mr. Vanderbelly burst onto the porch, ready to docume
nt the action in his trusty notebook. “I’m just in time to witness brave young Warren as he descends into the fathomless deep to confront a dastardly witch!” he narrated in a dramatic tone of voice. “What dangers will he face?”

  “Hopefully none,” Petula declared. She sighed and added: “I wish I could go, too. Mom, do you know any spells that will let me breathe underwater?”

  Beatrice smiled and shook her head. She pulled out a series of cards in rapid succession and Warren struggled to follow along. He caught a glimpse of an anchor, a boat, a rope, a shark, and, curiously, a slice of pie.

  “She says you should tie a rope to your waist and tug on it if you need help,” Petula said. “I can practice my rope magic by pulling you up quickly if you get into trouble.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Warren said.

  “I still think this whole thing is a terrible idea,” Bonny chimed in.

  “Especially for someone who’s cursed!” cried her parrot.

  “I’ll be fine,” Warren said, more confidently than he felt.

  “Yarr, take me cutlass.” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard held out his blade. “In case you meet a shark!”

  Warren grimaced. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass. I’m more likely to accidentally cut the rope—or myself—if I bring it along.”

  “Besides, your brain is your best weapon,” Petula replied encouragingly. She fitted the helmet over Warren’s head and locked it in place. “You’ve gotten out of worse scrapes by being clever.”

  “Thanks,” Warren said, his voice muffled and distant. He knew he was good at solving riddles, but he wasn’t sure that talent would help him in this situation.

  He checked to make sure the rope around his waist was tied tight and that the other end was well secured to a nearby beam. He gave a thumbs-up to the group assembled on the porch and they returned the gesture. With a deep breath, Warren stepped off the deck and into the water.

  For a moment, a dark froth of bubbles surrounded him, and Warren felt a bolt of fear as he sank like a stone.

  But then the bubbles dissipated, and though the water was still black as ink, Warren could make out a school of tiny fish flitting this way and that, an amorphous undulating cloud. He steadied his breathing and drifted lower and lower, reminding himself to keep an eye out for danger.

  Just when he was beginning to fear that he would continue sinking forever, he noticed a strange phosphorescent light illuminating the sandy ocean floor. He realized that the source was a patch of strange-looking underwater plants dancing in the current from where they grew among a cluster of porous rocks. The plants shone in a variety of colors—pink, green, and blue—and the multihued light they created was quite enchanting. Warren drifted closer, hypnotized. He was eager to touch one of the glowing fronds…they looked so soft and inviting.

  Suddenly, the soothing colors shifted to a violent red, and tendrils shot out like spears. In the blink of an eye, Warren was wrapped from head to toe in vines. He could feel an electric current buzzing outside his diving suit. How grateful he was that it was made of rubber, which did not conduct electricity, or else he would have been fried like a crisp!

  Warren let out a cry, but he knew it was hopeless. No one could hear him. Not all the way down here. He couldn’t even reach his rope to tug on it. His arms were wrapped tightly at his sides. Angry red light flared around him as the tendrils wrapped tighter and pulled him deeper into their fold. Warren began to regret not bringing along Captain Grayishwhitishbeard’s cutlass after all. How else would he free himself? He wriggled and thrashed as hard as he could, but the plants only seemed to further tighten their grip.

  Then Warren recalled what Petula said about his mind being his best weapon. Was there a way to think himself out of this conundrum? Clearly, he couldn’t reason with the plants. But he could stop panicking and start thinking logically.

  This type of plant is likely used to electrocuting and eating fish, Warren thought. Perhaps if I stop struggling and flopping around like a fish, it’ll stop trying to shock me into submission.

  Warren allowed his body to go limp, and sure enough the electrical current ceased. Not only that, but the plants loosened their death grip as well.

  It’s working! Warren thought. Maybe once it realizes I’m not edible, it will lose interest and let me go!

  He just needed to be patient. He continued playing dead as the plants’ fronds explored the suit, searching for something to eat.

  There was only one problem: it tickled!

  Warren did his best to stay still and lifeless, but the curious poking and prodding proved to be too much. His body jerked involuntarily as he burst into laughter: “TEE HEE HEE!”

  Bubbles exploded from the exit valve on his tank, and the plant reared back as though alarmed. That was exactly what Warren needed. The plants let go just long enough for Warren to kick his feet and slip away.

  “Ha!” he cried, triumphantly. But then to his horror, a single extra-long tendril shot out, seizing his ankle.

  Warren kicked furiously, trying to avoid being pulled back into the deadly vines, but the plant was too strong and Warren was getting short of breath.

  All of a sudden, a strange shape burst out from the sand and snapped the tendril in two. Warren was amazed to see a giant clam had just saved him! The plant retracted, flashing white.

  “PTOOOOOH!” the clam said, spitting out the discarded tendril. “Those things taste terrible!”

  It was a large clam, almost as big as Warren, with an opalescent ribbed shell and a single enormous eye.

  “You saved me!” Warren said. “Thank you.”

  “Well, I thought you were a goner at first,” the clam said. “There’s nothing I can do against an entire nest of those sea vines. But I can take on one of ’em, that’s for sure! The broken part will grow back, of course, but who can say how long it will take? Maybe a few hours. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few w—”

  “Er, well, thanks again for your help,” Warren interrupted. “But I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Of course you are!” declared the clam. “I dare say that’s why you got into trouble in the first place! The way I see it, the more you rush, the sloppier you get. You miss the little things. The details. The danger. Even I’ve been known to be guilty of that, yes, indeed! One time I was in quite a hurry. I can’t remember for what now, but I’m sure it was important! Anyway, it was a murky day. Though all days down here tend to be murky—”

  “Um, that sounds very interesting,” Warren interrupted again, awkwardly edging away from the talkative clam. “But I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?” the clam asked, floating after him. “I can tell you my story along the way.”

  “O.K.,” Warren said uneasily. “Well, I’m looking for the sea witch. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”

  “Well, of course I know the sea witch!” the clam said, happy as a clam. “Everyone around here knows the sea witch! By golly, she created quite a stir when she first moved in around these parts. Most of us had never seen a human before, let alone a witch! I still remember the first time I laid eyes on her—”

  “That’s wonderful,” Warren cut in, “but could you tell me where to find this sea witch? And as succinctly as possible?”

  “Succinct!” the clam exclaimed. “I do love that word. You seem to have an impressive vocabulary for a boy your age. What a relief to engage in scintillating conversation with another intelligent being. As you might guess, a clam like myself doesn’t have anyone interesting to talk to down here. Most fish are downright dull, if I do say so myself. Sharks, however, are more intelligent than they look, but they always want to eat me before we have a chance to chat!”

  “The sea witch?” Warren prompted.

  “Oh, yes, right this way! Follow me!” the clam said merrily, and it floated along, bobbing in the water whi
le chattering on about this and that. Warren thought his ears might fall off, but he was still grateful to have someone to show him the way.

  efore long, Warren and his gregarious guide arrived at an underwater grotto, lush with colorful sea anemones and a garden of plants that looked far less threatening than the deadly vines Warren had recently encountered. The entire area glowed with the light of hundreds of phosphorescent fish swimming to and fro and nibbling at the vegetation. Warren could see a cave at one end, its opening shimmering eerily like one of Petula’s portals.

  “That’s where you go in, right through there!” announced the clam.

  “Great, thanks!” Warren said, eager to be rid of the chatty mollusk.

  He quickly swam toward the entrance but then BONK! He ran into what felt like a pane of glass. Thankfully, his helmet protected his head from what would have been a nasty bump.

  “Oops, sorry. I didn’t get a chance to warn you about that,” the clam said. “You didn’t think a sea witch would let just anyone enter her cave, did you? There’s a spell blocking the entrance.”

  “I can see that,” Warren said. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to break it, would you?”

  “Well, of course I do! The sea witch entrusted me with the answer to the riddle that dissolves the barrier. It’s really quite brilliant. Few people ever guess it.”

  “So, what’s the riddle?” Warren asked impatiently.

  “Oh! Yes, of course. Right this way.”

  The clam led Warren to a nearby clearing in the sand where several colorful seashells were arranged in a pattern.

  “Your job is to determine which shell belongs in the empty space,” the clam said. “You get one chance. But don’t worry—if you’re wrong, you can spend the day with me instead of that old witch!”