From above, it looked very strange—a colorful striped tent floating in the middle of the ocean. Warren could barely make out the floating platform it rested upon, or the two squat tugboats anchored beside it. There were also several pirate ships docked in the water nearby. Whether they were there as guests or for protection, Warren could not guess. But he wouldn’t let anything stop him now.
“Sketchy, here we come!” Warren said as he eased the hotel downward.
Rupert pressed against the cockpit glass, forgetting his fear in the excitement. “Ooh, the circus! I can’t wait! Can I have a hot dog and a tub of popcorn? Can I?”
“We’re not here to have fun, Uncle Rupert,” Warren said. “We’re here to save Sketchy.”
“Who?” Rupert asked.
Warren sighed. The hotel landed with a gentle splash, and Warren pressed the switch to lower the anchor. It was then that he noticed Bonny was scowling. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” she said darkly. “Especially since you’re cursed and all.”
“We’ll see about that!” Petula said. “Come on, Warren. Let’s get out there.”
Warren and his friends made their way to the hotel’s front deck. Uncle Rupert clapped his hands like a little boy and shoved past everyone so that he was the first one out the door.
The circus tent loomed before them like an impressive beast. Warren had never seen anything so grandiose, with so many dazzling colors and patterns. He couldn’t help but share a little of his uncle’s boyish excitement.
Captain Grayishwhitishbeard laid down a wooden gangplank that linked the hotel deck to the sprawling platform the circus tent was staked upon.
“Me first!” Rupert cried, scrambling across the gangplank and barreling toward the tent.
Figures emerged from the tent flap that marked the entrance, and he stopped in his tracks. A tall man in a ringleader uniform strode onto the platform, flanked by a group of scary clowns who wore painted frowns instead of smiles.
“On second thought, someone else can go in first,” Rupert said, backing away.
“Warren,” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard said in a low voice, “I know that man.”
But before Warren could ask who it was, the ringleader gave a sweeping bow and said, “Well, hello dear visitors! Welcome to the Most Amazingly Mysterious Sea Circus on Earth! Only the smartest and most clever can find my circus, so congratulations! You’ve arrived just in time for tonight’s show.”
“Your beard and gold teeth may be gone, but I’d recognize you anywhere!” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard snarled. “Jacques Rustyboots!”
The ringleader stood before his rival and smiled brightly. “Ah, Captain Grayishwhitishbeard, so we meet again!”
“WAIT—” Warren was stupefied
The Jacques Rustyboots?!”
“The one and only,” the ringleader replied, bowing once more.
“I thought you were lost at sea!” Captain said.
“Not at all! Just lost in a different line of work,” Jacques Rustyboots said with a chuckle. “Pirating simply wasn’t lucrative enough, given the risks. I needed something more reliable to pay the bills while I continued my everlasting search for the Great Eight. And now, thanks to a recent acquisition, I’m closer than ever to my lifelong goal.”
“You mean Sketchy,” Warren said. His stomach lurched queasily. In all the excitement, he had momentarily forgotten that his hero was responsible for kidnapping his best friend.
“I hate to say this,” Warren said, steeling himself, “but you’re mistaken. You don’t have the Great Eight. It’s Sketchy. And it’s a member of my family.”
“Of course I know it’s not the real Great Eight,” the former pirate replied. “But my patrons don’t know any better, and they’re more than willing to pay the gold coins that fund my expeditions. Not only that, but this creature is going to help me lure the real monster out of hiding.”
“Please, sir, Sketchy was kidnapped! We would really appreciate it if you’d let it come home.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Rustyboots said, his face darkening. “The creature you call Sketchy was indeed kidnapped. But not from you. From me!”
“I—I don’t understand,” Warren stammered.
“I recognized that ring on your finger instantly,” Rustyboots said with a sneer. “I knew your grandfather, Warren the 11th, and he stole my property! My most prized possession! He stole this Sketchy, and now I’ve finally gotten it back! So I will certainly NOT be handing it over.”
“My grandfather wasn’t a thief!” Warren blurted out.
“How little you know!” Rustyboots said. “And now history seems to repeat itself as you come here aiming to steal from me yet again. You little scoundrel!”
“Some things never change!” Bonny’s parrot flew from her shoulder and landed on Rustyboots’ epaulet.
“Ah, hello, McCrackers McCaw,” Rustyboots said, scratching the bird under its beak.
Warren’s mind was whirring with confusion. Why did Rustyboots call Bonny’s parrot McCrackers McCaw?
His worst fears were confirmed when Rustyboots looked over at Bonny and said, “Well, Bonny. What excuse do you have for leaving behind the retirement home?”
“The pirates mutinied, Gramps! I had no choice but to go with them!”
“He’s your grandfather?” Warren said in a hollow voice.
“It’s all coming together now, isn’t it?” Rustyboots said. “You weren’t meant to find me, you know. Bonny was supposed to ensure that wouldn’t happen.”
“I tried, Grandpa! I sabotaged them! I hid their tools. I spilled ink on their maps. I used magnets to mess up their compasses. I did everything I could to stall them and stop them from getting here, but Warren is just too clever!” she said with a pout.
“I knew it!” Petula cried. “You were tricking us all along!”
“Betrayal!” Mr. Vanderbelly gasped, looking just a little too pleased about the news.
Warren’s heart plummeted into his stomach. No one had ever turned against him like this.
“Bonny,” he said, “I thought you were my friend.” The young girl avoided his gaze, looking down at her boots instead.
“I told you, you were cursed,” she mumbled.
“I’m disappointed, too, Bonny,” Rustyboots said. “You failed me.”
“Hey, you wouldn’t even have the sea creature if I hadn’t told you about it!” Bonny snapped. “You should be thanking me!”
“Ho, ho! That’s my little spitfire!” Rustyboots crowed. “Very well, you have a point. Now come along. We have a show to prepare for!”
“Not so fast!” Warren cried, a fire rising in his belly. His pirate crew had streamed out of the hotel and gathered around him, fists clenched.
poiling for a fight, eh?” Jacques Rustyboots said, baring his pearly-white grin. “You don’t know what you’re up against!”
“You don’t know either!” Warren said. “I’ve got the finest crew in the world!”
There was a THUMP! as Beatrice landed on the platform from the hotel’s crow’s nest. Her eyes flashed angrily and she brandished her perfume bottles, one between each finger.
“Ha! You don’t scare me, perfumier!” Jacques Rustyboots sneered. “I know those bottles can only trap witches! Enough of this nonsense. If you want to see your little Sketchy that badly, you’ll have to earn it, fair and square.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes!” Warren said firmly.
Rustyboots turned and walked toward his tent. “Very well. Let’s see if you can get into my tent unscathed.” He paused and flicked his finger at his goons. “You know what to do.” Then he disappeared and Bonny followed after him, giving Warren one last regretful look.
The clowns grinned wickedly and charged forward as the rest of their crew stream
ed out of the tent in a riot of clashing colors and patterns. Their shoes squeaked with each step. HONK! HONK! HONK!
“Waaaaahhh!” Rupert shrieked, running toward Warren in horror.
Fortunately, the pirates jumped into action with a battle cry, pulling out their rusty cutlasses.
“Fight ’em hard, crew!” Captain Grayishwhitishbeard roared. “Help Warren get inside that tent!”
Swinging a rubber mallet, a roly-poly clown charged at Warren, but Sharky dove between them and blocked the blow with his cutlass.
“Go on, lad!” he cried.
Warren began to run toward the tent, with Petula at his heels. She threw tiny fireballs at any clown who menaced them. It wasn’t enough to do much damage, but it caused them to leap back, yelping from singed fingers and toes.
Amid the commotion, Warren ducked, twisted, and dashed this way and that, avoiding each new obstacle as it materialized: banana peels, flying bowling pins, firecrackers, paint-filled water balloons. To his delight, he saw Chef Bunion join the fray, using his juggling skills to toss clowns as though they were no bigger than mice. Beatrice was also leaping acrobatically to and fro, clearing a path for Warren and Petula. Even without her perfume bottles, she was a formidable opponent.
Finally, they reached the entrance to the tent and hurried inside. Outside, Captain Grayishwhitishbeard and the Calm Waves pirates continued to battle the clowns, and Warren was grateful for the distraction.
Panting from exertion, he and Petula looked around. They were in a small room with colorful striped walls and a creepy door painted to look like an open mouth lined with square teeth. A lone light bulb swung overhead, flickering with a sickly glow. Warren could hear the sound of distant cheering from deep within the tent. It seemed the show was starting.
“We better hurry,” he said to Petula, grabbing the doorknob. But the door refused to budge. “It’s locked!”
Just then, Chef Bunion entered the tent, followed by Beatrice and Mr. Vanderbelly.
“The pirates have the situation handled,” he said, “so we thought you could use some help in here.”
“As a matter of fact,” Warren said, “any chance you can open this door?”
Chef Bunion rolled up his sleeves and yanked on the knob with all his strength. It still refused to budge.
“Stand back,” he said, and then gave the door a mighty kick. It flew off its hinges, revealing a long tunnel painted with swirling stripes and glittery stars. It was spinning so fast, Warren was dizzy just looking at it.
“Come on,” he said. “We have to get to Sketchy before the show starts!”
“Wait for meeeeeee!” cried Uncle Rupert, barging into the room. He was covered in paint and his clothes were tattered from firecrackers. He doubled over and took several heaving breaths. “I…hate…clowns!”
He looked up slowly and saw the spinning tunnel, his eyes widening with delight. “Oooh! Me first!” And with that Rupert ran into the tunnel, falling almost instantly.
“Tee-hee-hee!” he laughed, as his rotund figure rolled around.
“Here goes nothing!” Warren said, and he stepped into the tunnel. Try as he might, he couldn’t remain upright and toppled over at once. “WHOAAAA!”
Petula entered next and was instantly swept up and around.
Before long, everyone was being tumbled about in the spinning passageway, but only Rupert seemed to be enjoying himself.
“This is worse than going through one of your portals!” Warren said to Petula as they flailed their way to the opposite end.
At last, Warren managed to make it out, with Petula, Mr. Vanderbelly, and Chef Bunion all toppled on top of him in a giant pile. “OOF! OOF! OOF!”
Beatrice jumped out next, managing to avoid landing on the others, and she dusted off her knees daintily. Rupert, meanwhile, was still tumbling about, laughing hysterically.
“I feel like I’m in a washing machine!” he giggled.
“Come on!” Warren said, grabbing his uncle’s arm and pulling him out of the tunnel. “We have to keep going!”
“You’re no fun,” Rupert pouted, but he looked a little green and wobbled unsteadily.
The group continued on, passing through a doorway and into another room: a hall of mirrors. Some of the reflections made Warren look as squat as a bug, and some made him look as tall as a beanstalk.
“Who’s that handsome fellow?” Rupert said, preening before a mirror that made him look far more muscular than he was.
“Stay together, everyone!” Warren said, inching his way forward. “It’ll be easy to get confused in here!”
“Hey, where’d everyone go?” Rupert’s voice called out.
Warren turned around. His uncle was nowhere to be seen, missing in just a matter of seconds!
Warren backtracked to find his uncle, but all the reflections bouncing back were confusing. Everywhere he turned he saw copies of Petula, Chef Bunion, Beatrice, and Mr. Vanderbelly…but no Uncle Rupert!
“Stay where you are, Uncle!” he called. “I’ll find you!”
BONK! Warren turned a corner and ran smack into a mirror that made him look like a clown. He jumped back in horror. A clownlike Petula appeared beside him.
“I don’t like this place, Warren!”
Somewhere in the distance, Warren could hear his uncle giggling. “Wheeeee! This is so fun!”
“Well, at least he’s having fun,” he muttered.
Beatrice pulled out a series of flashcards indicating a clock and an octopus.
“You’re right, Beatrice. We’re running out of time to save Sketchy,” Warren agreed. “Let’s keep going, and hopefully Uncle Rupert will stay out of trouble!”
The group inched along, groping their way around mirrored corners and across narrow corridors. It felt like the labyrinth would never end.
“The brave group was thwarted at every turn, confronted by their own fearsome visages! What horrors this chamber held—what trickery!” Mr. Vanderbelly narrated, doing his best to write in his notebook as he followed along.
Corridor after corridor they traveled, doubling back and getting more and more confused. Finally, they discovered a tall stairway made of mirrors. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” Warren said. But when they climbed to the top, they were met with yet another corridor, this one leading to a dead end. Warren groaned in frustration.
“Maybe the exit is hidden,” Chef Bunion suggested. “When I used to work in a circus, there were many hidden doors about.”
“Good point, Chef,” Warren said. He looked more carefully, noting how each mirror joined seamlessly with the next. Maybe there was a hinge somewhere that would indicate a doorway.
And then he felt something irregular beneath his shoe! Warren stepped aside and in the mirrored floor he saw the slightest crease where two mirrored tiles came together. A trap door!
He knelt down and felt around for a button or latch; the others stood around him expectantly. Not noticing anything obvious, Warren attempted to get his fingers around the tile and lift it up. That’s when he heard a CLICK and all of a sudden, the floor dropped out beneath him!
“WHOAAAAA!” he cried as he slid down into the darkness.
“We’re coming, Warren!” he heard Petula yell from above.
Warren landed in a giant pit of colorful balls—a soft landing, at least. The others plopped into the pit beside him, sending a spray of plastic balls bouncing across the room.
Warren crawled out and pulled out his friends one by one. Then they saw it: a door painted with the image of a large dagger.
“That looks ominous,” Petula muttered.
o sooner had Warren opened the door than a dagger whizzed by his face, embedding itself in the wall.
“You’ve been lucky so far,” a clown said, twirling another dagger on the tip of his finger. “But now you have to get past me.”<
br />
Beatrice dropped into a defensive stance, but the clown held up a hand. “There’s no need for violence,” he said. “If you pass my trial, I’ll allow you to proceed.”
“What do you want us to do?” Warren asked. The clown gestured toward a giant bull’s-eye on the wall, scattered with black dots.
“This is a trial of precision. Hit the dots to proceed,” he explained with a giggle. “It’s quite simple, really.”
“I’ll do it!” Chef Bunion volunteered, stepping forward. “I’ve thrown daggers during my circus days, and in the kitchen, too. This will be a piece of cake!”
“Not so fast,” the clown said. “We need a volunteer to strap themselves to the board.”
Warren and Petula exchanged nervous glances.
“I would certainly volunteer,” Mr. Vanderbelly said, “but it would prevent me from making an accurate record of this event. A journalist must remain impartial, you see.”
Beatrice nodded curtly and stepped toward the bull’s-eye.
“Mom, no!” Petula cried.
Her mother winked at her as she strapped herself to the board. It’s okay, her smile said.
“Don’t you worry, lass,” Chef Bunion assured Petula as he accepted a handful of daggers from the clown. “I’ve got this.”
“Ah, ah, ah!” the clown said, waving a finger. “You’re forgetting the most important thing. A blindfold!”
The clown stepped forward and tied a thick cloth around Chef Bunion’s eyes. Warren saw Chef swallow hard. Could he still do it?
“I can’t look,” Petula said, though her eyes remained glued on her mother.
Chef took a deep breath and hurled the first dagger. It cartwheeled through the air toward Beatrice’s body. She remained passive and unblinking as it hit the wood—THUNK!—mere inches from her neck.
Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse Page 10
