Salamaine's Curse (21 page)

As they worked, Zaputo's bird perched itself on the deck rail, its beady eyes watching the proceedings with an intensity that was unnerving for a creature that wasn't human.

“Is it just me, or is that bird kind of creepy?” Tom said to Porter, pausing between the tasks of finishing the torches and loading them on the boats.

Porter wiped the sweat from his brow and shrugged. “It's a bird.”

“I know that. But there's something about it.” Something he hadn't liked the moment he set eyes on the thing. Not only had his dislike been instant, but it had been tinged with recognition. There was a reason he didn't like it. He'd seen it somewhere before. “I mean, doesn't it look familiar to you?”

“No.”

Tom sighed. There was something about that bird…

As if reading his thoughts, the bird turned its beady eyes on Tom. With a single beat of its wings, it soared straight toward him. Tom gave a yelp and hit the deck. The bird's razor-sharp beak missed his eye by mere inches.

Porter smirked and looked at him. “If I were you, I'd forget about the bird, and get back to work.”

Tom rose shakily, looking for the bird. It was perched far above the deck, on the crow's nest. Forcing himself to ignore it, he returned his attention to his work. It was almost time to go.

Zaputo strode to the quarterdeck and surveyed the sea of faces below him. “If any man or woman wishes to leave this vessel, do so now.”

No one moved.

Zaputo gave a satisfied nod. “No ship has ever lasted the night in the Cursed Souls Sea,” he said. “We will return before the sun sets.”

Or not at all,
Tom thought.

Umbrey nodded. Satisfied he'd done as much as he could to help, he turned to go.

Tom stared at him in shocked disbelief. “You're not coming with us?”

“Me? No, lad. Not this trip. A ship only has room for one captain at a time.”

He crossed the plank to the
Purgatory
and threw off the lines that bound the ships together. Using his good foot, he kicked the plank into the water. A swarm of greedy undertoads, apparently mistaking it for food, issued high-pitched squeals of delight. They grabbed the plank with their skinny suction cup fingers and dragged it underwater.

“Safe voyage!” Umbrey called as he began to drift away. “Keep your wits about you and bring back that blasted book!”

“E
at now. The water will be too rough to balance a plate once we enter the Cursed Souls Sea.”

Tom turned in surprise to see Porter standing behind him, offering a plate of food. He took it with a word of thanks and lifted the fork. It wasn't as good as the food Umbrey served—this meal consisted of some kind of fish stew and spicy rice—but it was plentiful and filling and Tom was glad to have it. He scraped the plate clean, then washed it down with a tankard of cool cider.

To his surprise, Porter hadn't walked away after delivering the food. Instead, his brother sat down beside him as he ate and stared across the horizon. Although Porter's posture was relaxed, Tom knew him well enough to recognize the subtle tension that ran through him. Sensing he had something on his mind, he waited for Porter to break the silence that hung between them.

“You get any sleep?” Porter finally asked.

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, some.” After last night, he'd badly needed it. He'd allowed himself to drift off shortly after the
Crimson Belle
had gotten under way. As it was now midday, he guessed he'd slept for four hours or so. He glanced at his brother, noting the dark smudges beneath his eyes. “You?”

“A little.” Porter heaved a sigh and dragged his fingers through his pale blond hair. “Why'd you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Tell Zaputo that the attack on his men was all your idea. Put your neck on the line like that. I wouldn't have done it for you.”

“Thanks, guy.”

Porter laughed. “I didn't mean it like that. I just meant …” His voice drifted away for a moment. Then he gathered himself and said, “I don't know. Maybe I did. I mean, it worked, but what were you thinking?”

“Thinking?” Tom repeated. “I wasn't thinking at all. I just … did it. It just seems like every minute that passes where we aren't dead is a good thing.”

Porter gave him a long, hard look. “So that's it? That's your strategy? Just do whatever it takes to stay alive one more minute?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“And that works for you?”

“Look, we made it, didn't we? We're still here. So I guess everything worked out okay.”

“Maybe for now.” Porter shifted, stretching his legs out in front of him. Tom could almost feel the agitation coursing through him. “But what happens when it doesn't work out?”

“What do you mean? You think things might go wrong?”

Porter regarded him as though he were an idiot. “When has anything we've ever done
not
gone wrong?”

Excellent point.

“Okay. So you're worried about what'll happen when we get to Arx.”

“Right. But not just that. This is my
home.
It's all I have.” Porter shook his head, obviously working himself up to what he really wanted to say. His gaze locked on Tom. “You don't care, because you don't have to. You come here, pull all these ridiculous stunts and act like some kind of hero. If things don't work out, you can just shrug it off and leave. I don't have that option.”

Tom looked at his brother. For a second, he thought he was joking. Then he realized Porter was completely serious. Tom suddenly understood why the only time he felt connected to him was when they were bringing maps to life. The rest of the time he just didn't understand him. Didn't
want
to understand him.

“So that's your way of saying thanks, huh?”

“Thanks?” A muscle twitched in Porter's jaw. “You've been lucky, I'll give you that. But you've got to stop pushing it. One of these times your luck's going to run out. You're going to try to play hero and end up killing somebody. I don't want to be around when that happens.”

Tom let out a low breath, battling an urge to shove his fist in his brother's face. “You want to keep score, fine. Let's go back to your carefully thought-out plan to take on Zaputo's crew. Real smart thinking. How'd that work out for you?”

Porter's pale eyes darkened. He opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind. “What I'm trying to say,” he began, his voice low and controlled, “is that we need a plan. If we try to just figure things out when we get to Arx we won't make it out alive.”

Tom removed the map of the Cursed Souls Sea from his inner coat pocket and spread it open. He pointed to the island of Arx. “Look. The
Crimson Belle
lands in the southern harbor and we all row ashore, battle the scavengers, and somehow manage to live long enough to actually make it across the island and into the fortress, where we grab the Black Book of Pernicus.”

“Right.”

“Then what?”

Tom blinked. As he looked at the map, Porter's meaning suddenly became clear. They hadn't come up with an escape strategy yet.

Their plan to get ashore was a blunt one. The assembled group of captives and crewmen would divert the scavengers with a noisy battle on the southern end of the island, allowing Tom, Porter, Willa, and Mudge time to sneak past the scavengers and race to the northern fortress. A clear path and a running start—that was the best they could hope for.

But no one thought the battle could go on indefinitely. There were just too many scavengers. At some point, the captives and crew would have to retreat back to the relative safety of the
Crimson Belle.

Which meant that once Tom and his friends made it past the beach, they were on their own.

So how were they supposed to get
back
to the ship? They couldn't return the way they came—not by themselves, when the landing beach would be swarming with scavengers. Obviously their best bet would be to grab the book and leave directly from the fortress. But how? Even if the
Crimson Belle
came around to wait for them off the northern end of the island, how were they supposed to get back to the ship from a towering fortress perched on a cliff? Jump and swim for it? The fall alone would probably kill them.

“I see what you mean,” Tom said. “I guess I haven't figured it out quite yet.”

“Well, you let me know when you do. If we could fly, we might stand a chance. But since that's not going to happen, we need a plan.”

As if listening to their conversation, Zaputo's bird left its perch on the crow's nest and soared past their heads, gliding over the sea in tighter and tighter circles until it dove into the water and snatched an enormous fish in its talons. It dropped the flopping fish on the deck with an ugly
splat!
then proceeded to make a meal of it, tearing the fish apart with its beak.

“We've got to bring ropes,” Porter continued. “Once we grab the book, we'll scale down the tower to the rocks at the base of the cliff. From there, Zaputo can send his crewmen with a boat to pick us up. I've been thinking about it for a while now. That's our only way back to the
Crimson Belle.”

Tom mulled over Porter's plan. In theory, it
might
work. Except for one thing. He glanced at the map. Unlike the relatively calm southern shore, the waves at the northern tip of the island violently crashed against the fortress cliff.

“The sea is pretty rough there, isn't it?” he said.

“I'd rather take my chances against the sea than a beach full of scavengers.”

“Right.” Tom nodded. He thought for a long moment, but couldn't come up with a better solution. “If only we could fly,” he said absently, his gaze landing on the fiery bird. Moving with vicious efficiency, it had torn off the fish's flesh, spread its guts across the deck and pecked apart its bones.