Hearing this only made Warren more anxious to get it right. He studied the arrangement closely, trying to figure out the pattern.
“I wish I could give you a hint!” the clam said. “I think it would be a lot nicer if I could help visitors just a little bit, you know? But the witch doesn’t want too many people getting it right, which is why she makes it so hard. But if it were me—”
“I’m sorry,” Warren interrupted, “but could I please have a little quiet while I concentrate?”
“Oh, sure! Silence is golden, as they say. Though why they chose gold and not silver or even blue, I’m not really sure. Just because gold is expensive doesn’t mean it’s necessarily the best color. Personally, green is my favorite—”
Warren did his best to tune out the talkative clam as he studied the pattern further. He soon realized that each shell’s position depended on the shells on either side. White nautilus shells and blue seashells had a white starfish between them. Blue starfish and blue cone shells had a white conch shell between them.
“That’s it!” Warren said as he bent down to pick up a blue starfish and place it in the empty spot. “A blue seashell and a white conch shell always have a blue starfish between them, which means that’s the only thing that can fit here!”
“Wow!” the clam said. “I must say I’m mightily impressed. You solved it even quicker than the last person, and that was years ago!”
There was a shimmer as the magical barrier blocking the cave entrance dissipated into thousands of tiny bubbles.
“Thanks, and goodbye!” Warren said, eager to be on his way.
“Unfortunately, I can’t follow you inside—you’ll see why. But I’ll be waiting here when you come out,” the clam said. “We still have so much to talk about!”
“Wonderful,” Warren muttered.
Stepping through the opening of the cave was like walking through a large soap bubble. Warren quickly realized why the clam couldn’t follow—the sea witch had cast another spell on this place, sealing it from water and filling it with air that was uninhabitable by aquatic creatures. No longer weightless, as he had been in the water, Warren stumbled under the sudden weight of his diving suit.
He recovered quickly and proceeded into a winding stone tunnel that was engraved with magical glyphs and lit by torches. The tunnel eventually led to a doorway across which hung a crystal-beaded curtain.
Warren pulled off his helmet and parted the curtain uncertainly. “Hello?”
“Come in,” a whispering voice beckoned.
Warren swallowed nervously and stepped into a small circular room. It glowed orange from the light of a fire, upon which a cauldron bubbled with a pungent-smelling fish stew. An ancient-looking woman with bluish leathery skin and inky black hair hunched nearby, seated upon a pile of pillows in front of a luminous pearl that was as big as Warren’s helmet.
“Come forward,” the sea witch whispered. “I don’t bite.”
She grinned and Warren saw that her teeth looked like Sharky’s—they were sharpened into tiny points, giving her a feral appearance.
“Um, hello,” Warren said, approaching her nervously. “I’ve come to seek your help. You see, I’ve lost something—someone—very important to me, and I’m hoping you can help me find it.”
“Sit,” the sea witch hissed, and Warren obeyed.
“Knowledge comes at a price,” she said in her whispering voice. “To find something precious, you must lose something precious. What do you offer me for my magic?”
She held out her bony hands, awaiting an offering.
Warren’s thoughts instantly flew to the precious ring around his finger. He couldn’t give her that—especially if it helped protect him from his curse!
Warren had to fib. “I—I don’t have anything!” he said. “Can I offer you some work instead? I can tidy up your place, or fix anything that might be broken.”
“You do have something,” the sea witch hissed. “I can sense it.” Warren curled his hands in his glove, feeling the ring tighten around his finger. How upset would Mr. Friggs—and his father!—be if he were to give it up so easily? But Sketchy was worth a hundred heirloom rings.
Warren swallowed hard and began to reach for the ring. But then he stopped. He realized that he had something else to offer: his beloved sketchbook, tucked, as always, in his back pocket. That was just as precious as his ring. He had to decide between the two or return to the hotel empty-handed.
“Well?” the witch prompted. “If you aren’t willing to pay the price, then you must leave.”
Warren had made his decision. He nodded sadly and unzipped his suit to reach the sketchbook. He would always have his artistic talents, but the ring was irreplaceable. Even so, it was painful to hold his sketchbook and flip through it one last time. Drawn on its pages were landscapes, fanciful illustrations, and portraits of his friends, including the sketch he had made of Petula dancing with Sketchy just the night before. But the most heart-wrenching of all was seeing the drawings done by Sketchy’s own tentacles depicting their adventures together. They were childlike, but Warren knew they were done with love.
Warren reminded himself that he would rather have Sketchy back than these drawings. After all, once they were reunited, they could start a whole new sketchbook together! This thought heartened him and he was finally able to hand over his offering. The witch’s gnarled hands closed over the book, and Warren let out a cry as it turned to sparkling dust. She sprinkled the dust over the pearl and chanted:
Warren stared in amazement as the pearl began to throb. Its ghostly light seemed to permeate the room, blotting out even the fire’s flames with a misty glow.
As Warren stared, the pearl’s opaque surface turned shiny and mirror-like. With a gasp, he saw an image move across its surface. He leaned forward, straining to make sense of what it was.
“Leave Sketchy alone!” Warren cried as the image in the pearl began to fade.
The pearl went dark, and the mysterious light in the room vanished.
“Please, bring it back!” Warren pleaded with the sea witch. “I still don’t know where Sketchy is!”
“The pearl only reveals what is lost, not where it is lost,” the sea witch replied, and her shoulders began to shake as a rasping voice escaped her lips. She was laughing at him!
Warren trembled with anger. He very rarely got angry. As manager of a hotel, he often had to keep a cool head when dealing with demanding guests, but in this instant, his emotions took over.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Warren sputtered. “Taking advantage of those who need help!”
The witch only replied with more mocking laughter.
Warren stormed toward the exit. He was so flustered, he almost forgot to put on his helmet before stepping through the bubble that separated the cavern’s entrance from the water.
The talkative clam was in Warren’s face almost instantly. “How’d it go?! Did you say hi for me? Did she remember me? Did you find what you were looking for? You were in there for quite some time, I admit I began to get a little worried. Not that worried, but you can never be too careful—”
“I saw what I was looking for, but I still don’t know where it is!” Warren said huffily.
“Oh, that is a shame,” the clam said, and for a moment it actually seemed at a loss for words.
Warren was too upset to notice, however. He yanked hard on the rope around his waist, signaling that he was ready to return to the surface. He felt a tug in response, and knew that Petula was using her rope magic to rein him in.
“Hey, where’re you going?” the clam asked, floating after him as Warren began to make his ascent. “There’s still so much we can talk about!”
“Back home, and back to square one,” Warren replied, glumly.
ack in the hotel lobby, Warren pulled off his helmet and wiggled out of his scuba sui
t, leaving a puddle on the floor.
“So, the young Warren has returned with nary a shark bite and all his limbs intact!” Mr. Vanderbelly announced, sounding perhaps a trifle disappointed.
“How did the old suit hold up?” Mr. Friggs asked.
“Very well, indeed,” Warren said, thinking of how it had saved him from electrocution.
“Did you figure out where Sketchy is?” Petula asked anxiously.
“Well? Did you?” Bonny cut in.
“Not quite,” Warren said. “But I did see it being delivered to a Most Amazingly Mysterious Sea Circus. Has anyone ever heard of such a thing?”
A loud clamor rose in the lobby as all the elderly pirates spoke at once.
“Arr! One at a time!” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard admonished them.
“Yarr, it be our greatest dream to visit the famous sea circus!” Sharky said.
“You’re too old for that nonsense!” Bonny snapped. “Circuses are for kids!”
“Doeshn’t mean we don’t like to try each week!” the toothless pirate said.
“What do you mean, try each week?” Warren asked.
“Ignore them, it’s all a bunch of silliness,” Bonny said, folding her arms.
“UTTER FOOLISHNESS!” her parrot cried.
“Now, now, Bonny, he needs all the information he can get if he’s to find his best mate,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said, and he nodded at Sharky to continue.
“Yarr, a puzzle be printed in the weekly pirate paper, the Privateer Post. The solution hints at where the circus will be next. Only the smartest folk can find it!”
“A puzzle!” Warren cried. “That’s perfect! Does anyone have a copy of the Privateer Post?”
“Right here!” One of the elderly pirate ladies hobbled over, waving a tattered paper in the air.
“Arr, we couldn’t even solve this one,” Sharky said. “Maybe you can!”
Everyone crowded around as Warren spread the paper upon the lobby’s front desk. He flipped to the last page, which had some pirate cartoon strips and a review of a pirate silent film called Dancing the Plank.
The puzzle was in the bottom right corner.
Leaning over Warren’s shoulder, the group held its collective breath as he penciled letters in the boxes, solving one riddle at a time. Finally, he cried, “I’ve got it! The answer is Feather Rock in the Eggshell Islands! That’s where Sketchy is! We should leave right away!”
The pirates let out a rowdy cheer.
“There’s only one problem,” Petula said. She pointed at the upper corner of the paper.
Warren looked crestfallen when he saw the date. “This paper is almost five weeks old.”
“The Sea Circus is long gone from Feather Rock,” Bonny said. “Obviously.”
“Does anyone have a current paper?” Warren asked.
The pirates exchanged sheepish looks and coughed nervously.
“Arr,” Sharky said, rubbing the back of his head, “the paper is delivered by bottle, you see, so it usually arrives a wee bit late. We solve the puzzles for fun more than anything. The truth be, Bonny’s right: none of us will ever visit the Sea Circus. We be too old for such a folly.”
“That’s not true!” Warren said. “You will get to see the Sea Circus…because I’ll take you there!”
The pirates cheered.
Warren looked down at the paper and sighed. “Though, I suppose it is a bit hard if we don’t have a current paper to work with.”
“Where can we find one?” Petula asked, glancing at Bonny.
“Don’t ask me!” the pirates’ leader replied tartly. “I think this whole idea is ridiculous.”
“Yarr, there be a place nearby that’ll have yer paper, though it be a rough town for a youngun like you,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said. “It be a pirate city called Scurvyville.”
The pirates in the room gasped.
“That’sh where I losht me teesh!” Toothless cried.
“I once got into a fight there…and lost!” cried another.
“I was swindled out of me finest clothes,” cried a third, “and I had to walk about wearing a barrel!”
“Like I said, it be a rough-and-tumble place,” Captain added. “A place for thieves and charlatans. It be the place where pirates from all over the seas come to do business and get rowdy.”
“But I’ll find a current issue of the Privateer Post there?” Warren asked.
“That ye will. And hot off the presses, for it be printed there,” Captain said, nodding.
“Oh, we must go!” Mr. Vanderbelly cried. “I love seeing where other papers are printed. Besides, I must keep an eye on my competition!”
“You’ll be eaten alive in Scurvyville,” Bonny announced to Warren. “It’s a dirty and dangerous place. There are plenty of other, nicer towns where you can find a current issue.”
“But they’ll be farther away,” Warren said. “And we don’t have any time to lose!”
“Oh, come on. A smartypants like you can figure something else out,” Bonny said, her arms folded against her chest.
“ANYTHING ELSE!” her parrot squawked.
Warren hesitated. Was he putting his crew in danger by venturing someplace so infamous? Still, he couldn’t shake the image of Sketchy being hauled onto a circus ship. He had to hurry!
“I appreciate the thought,” Warren said to Bonny, “but this is the fastest way, and Sketchy needs our help. Mr. Friggs? Can you get me the coordinates to Scurvyville? We set sail immediately!”
* * *
Despite Scurvyville being the closest town on the map, it was still a two-day journey to reach it. Fortunately, the seas were calm and the winds were blowing in the right direction to give them a much-needed boost.
Warren was impatient to arrive, but he busied himself with one of his favorite tasks: hospitality. Having a hotel full of elderly pirates ensured that he was kept on his feet from morning to night. There were special dietary requests, complaints of lumpy mattresses, lost hook hands, and the occasional missing set of dentures. Warren also had to contend with the many squabbles over the plush armchairs in the viewing parlor, as well as bickering over what music to play on the Victrola. Fortunately, Beatrice had recovered enough to play her violin, and her soothing tunes lulled them all into peaceful moods.
Warren took advantage of the temporary calm to pay a visit to his father’s portrait.
“Thank you for the ring, Father,” he said. “I know you meant for me to receive it when I turned eighteen, so I hope you don’t mind me having it a few years early. Mr. Friggs thought it might help protect me in case I really am cursed.”
Warren felt a sadness settle over him. “Were you cursed, too, Father? Is that why you died? But why didn’t the ring protect you?”
The portrait did not answer, and Warren sighed. He would never have all the answers he craved. His eyes roamed over the familiar brushstrokes that formed the likeness of his father. He was always amazed by how so many random blotches of paint could create something so warm and lifelike. Being an artist himself, one of Warren’s favorite pastimes was to study the techniques of painters who had come before him. He flipped the latch on his ring, exposing the loupe. Now he could observe the paintings in even greater detail.
He held the glass up to his eye and peered at his father’s portrait. He gasped! Golden numbers shimmered on the surface of the canvas where none had been before.
Warren pulled away the lens and stared at the painting with his bare eyes. The numbers vanished. He looked through the lens once more and the row of numbers reappeared across his father’s portrait.
Warren quickly ran down the length of the portrait gallery, holding the glass lens to his eye, looking for more hidden figures. But there were none to be found. What could the string of numbers mean? Instinctively, he reached for his sketchbook bu
t then remembered he no longer had one. Instead he wrote the numbers along his arm in ink.
“I better go see Mr. Friggs.”
* * *
Mr. Friggs’s library was a jumble of books, artifacts, and memorabilia, but it was the sort of jumble that made sense, at least to Mr. Friggs. The library Warren walked into now was not so much a jumble as a war zone. Everything was in complete disarray—books and objects were upended and askew, as though a hurricane had landed and tossed everything about.
“Mr. Friggs!” Warren cried out, alarmed. “Where are you? Are you all right?”
He could hear a muttering coming from the far left corner, so Warren made his way in that direction, climbing over a mound of crockery and tribal masks that lay over a smaller mound of rolled-up maps and tattered manuscripts.
Finally, he spotted Mr. Friggs, knee deep in a pile of wicker baskets and mechanical gears and coils. The old man was tugging at his sideburns and looked very distraught.
“Mr. Friggs? What happened?”
“I can’t find anything!” Mr. Friggs sputtered. “I must be losing my mind!”
“Come sit at your desk and rest a moment,” Warren said, leading his tutor to his favorite chair. He had to sweep away a pile of handwoven tapestries and a bag of chess pieces before the man could sit. Mr. Friggs groaned as he sank into his chair.
“I’ll help you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” Warren said. “Maybe we can tidy up the place and get it more organized?” This had always been one of Warren’s private goals, but Mr. Friggs was reluctant to let him rearrange the library in any way.
“My navigational tools,” Mr. Friggs said, his eyes still darting around the room. “I was just using them yesterday to chart the course to Scurvyville, and now I can’t find them anywhere! They were on my desk, I’m certain. We won’t be able to go anywhere accurately without them!”
Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse Page 6
