Salamaine's Curse (9 page)

Porter slammed shut the heavy wooden door that led to the basement cell and threw down the iron bar that locked it. Tom, dragging in a deep, ragged breath, lifted his torch and swung it in a slow circle, sending flickering shadows into the darkened corners of the room. No scavengers—at least, not at the moment.

Outside, the quiet night had splintered like glass, shattering into a scene of utter pandemonium. Swishing arcs of firelight cut through the air like flaming swords. Dark silhouettes showed a few people fleeing, others fighting. Empty wagons careened through the streets, pulled by teams of wild-eyed horses.

A deep thud sounded on the door they'd just latched. The scavengers were right behind them. Within minutes, perhaps seconds, they'd have the door ripped off its hinges.

“No!”

He heard Willa's sharp cry and whirled around to see Keegan jerk Mudge toward him. Holding his torch aloft in one hand, Keegan locked his opposite arm across the boy's chest. He pressed a small, sharp knife beneath the boy's chin. When they'd first entered his cell, Tom had watched Keegan cut his meat. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder where his knife had gone. Now he knew.

Holding Mudge against him like a shield, Keegan edged toward the courthouse door. “The mapmaker's sons,” he sneered. “The Hero Twins. You want to save the Five Kingdoms? Bring me the Black Book of Pernicus. You have three days. If you don't return, I'll assume you're dead. A nuisance, but I can make other adjustments.”

“Let him go!” Willa shrieked. “He released you! You gave him your word!”

“My word?!”
Keegan gave a shout of laughter. “My dear girl, you have just learned a very valuable lesson. Never underestimate your opponent.”

“He won't hurt me,” Mudge said. “The book's worthless unless Keegan and I are together. He knows it.”

“Clever child.” Keegan shot a glance over his shoulder to check the street. Seeing it was clear, he shoved Mudge away from him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Three days!” he said, and then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos of the night.

Porter shot forward to follow him, but Umbrey caught his arm. “Let him go.”

“Let him go?! You'd let Keegan escape?”

“One battle at a time, lad. Mudge is right. He won't go far if he thinks there's a chance he can get his hands on that book.”

Porter shook his head, his face wracked with frustration. “But—”

A heavy thud sounded against the basement door and the upper hinge flew off. Four pairs of ragged gray arms and twisted, claw-like hands shoved through the crack.

“The
Purgatory,”
Umbrey urged. He peered out the door, and seeing their way was clear, ushered them out into the night.

Tom still wasn't convinced. He hesitated, torn between taking off after Keegan or following Umbrey's orders. Umbrey didn't give him a chance to debate the matter. He shoved him toward the docks.

“
Now
, or we'll miss the tide—if we haven't already.”

They set off into the night. The moon hung low in the sky, giving them ample light by which to see. Tom would have preferred dimness and shadows. Instead he could make out the face of each scavenger, every withered claw, bashed-in skull, and oozing limb.

Umbrey led them through the chaotic streets. Even with a wooden leg, the man moved fast. But then, they were all moving fast. Yet they couldn't quite move fast enough. It seemed that for every scavenger they avoided, two more lurched into their path. Finally, gasping and out of breath, they made it back to the docks and staggered to a horrified stop.

The
Purgatory
was under siege.

Scavengers clung to the hull like leeches. They scuttled up the masts, staggered across the deck, swung from the sails, and crowded onto the gangway. They moaned and grunted in murderous excitement, their eyes burning with feverish intensity.

Umbrey's men pitched the scavengers overboard, but the creatures wouldn't give up. They hit the water with a splash and flailed about, then seemed to gather their wits for a second attack. Dripping algae and seaweed, they crawled back up the hull and slipped through the ship's rail to advance again.

Umbrey released an outraged roar and charged into the middle of the fray. Wielding his torch like a club, he swung his arm back and forth, single-handedly making his way across the gangway. “Thought you'd come aboard my ship, did you?” he muttered as he sent the scavengers tumbling into the murky water below. “Not a chance, you slimy skinned, rotten-lipped, bug-eyed monsters.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he bellowed orders to his crew. Tom heard things like “Raise anchor! Throw the lines!” and “Bring the mizzen sail about!” Words that were gibberish to him, but clearly meant for the crew to get the ship moving.
Fast.

They raced across the plank, Porter directly behind Umbrey, then Willa and Mudge, with Tom pulling up the rear. His friends jumped aboard. Tom was seconds from leaping onto the deck when a shrill scream pulled him up short. The naked desperation in the cry sent a chill up his spine. He wheeled about and peered into the surrounding chaos.

In the flickering light he made out a young woman who stood with her back pressed against a wall, feebly swinging a torch to keep a group of scavengers at bay. Two small, terrified children clung to her skirts.

Guessing his intent, Porter made to grab him and shove him aboard. “Don't,” he shouted. “You'll never make it back!”

Tom brushed him off and flew down the gangway.

“Tom!” his brother roared. “Get back here! There's no time!”

The rest of his words were a blur. Tom reached the woman and swung his torch. It landed on the back of the largest scavenger in the group, lighting up his tattered shirt with a satisfying crackle of flame. The scavenger fell back, rolling on the ground, hissing and howling, clawing at air. Tom slashed his way through the rest of the group, pushing them back.

But there were too many. With a surge of horror, Tom realized he'd underestimated their number. As he fought one creature, another reached out to grab him. Its bony, claw-like hand locked around his wrist. Tom gave a yelp of pain. The scavenger's claw seared into his flesh, as unyielding as a band of hot iron.

The creature gave a grunt of satisfaction. It opened its rotted mouth and leaned closer. Strings of slime dripped from its blackened teeth. Tom swung his torch around, but another scavenger knocked it from his grasp.

His heart slammed against his chest as he braced himself for the bite.

Then, from the corner of his eye, a flash of flame.

Porter drove his torch into the creature's arm. The scavenger shrieked and released Tom. It staggered backward, allowing Tom just enough room to dive for his torch. He brought it up and swung it wide, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Porter as they faced off against the scavengers. The woman took up a position beside them, thrusting her meager flame at the creatures as her children cowered behind her skirts.

The frantic beat of horses' hooves and the clatter of wooden wheels against the cobblestoned street blasted at Tom from his right. He turned to see a wagon bearing down on them at full speed. The driver, holding the horses' reins in one hand and an enormous flaming torch in the other, careened through the mob of scavengers, temporarily scattering them.

The woman nearly sagged to the ground in relief. Her husband, Tom guessed. Reaching behind her, she grabbed one child, then the other, depositing them in the back of the wagon. Once satisfied her children were safe, she leapt aboard.

The man looked at Tom and Porter. “Quickly!” he bellowed, “Get in!”

Porter gave a firm shake of his head. “No.
Go.”

The man looked ready to argue, but a guttural moan from the scavengers, who were lumbering back to their feet, changed his mind. His mouth tightened into a thin, grim line. “God be with ye,” he muttered. He gave the reins a savage jerk. The horses reared, then bolted off into the night.

Tom and Porter didn't waste any time. They shot toward the docks. The
Purgatory
was still there. Barely. As they watched, the ship pulled away from the dock. The plank—along with the horde of scavengers piled upon it—tumbled into the watery channel below, landing with a resounding splash.

“Jump!” bellowed Umbrey.

Jump? Over scavenger-infested water onto a moving ship?

Insane. Tom cut a glance at his brother. Nothing but intense resolve showed on Porter's face. He was actually going to do it. Reluctant admiration found its way into Tom's assessment of Porter. Then something occurred to him. Maybe Porter wasn't
braver,
maybe he was just quicker at grasping their situation. Maybe his courage sprang from the fact that he recognized something Tom hadn't yet.

There was no other way aboard.

Porter picked up speed, gaining momentum for the leap. Tom matched his pace. Then his foot tangled with a length of rope obscured by shadows. He pitched forward. Rather than jumping for the ship, he staggered awkwardly and teetered at the end of the dock, nearly tumbling into the murky water below.

Beside him, Porter leapt. His brother sailed over the channel … and missed the
Purgatory's
deck. He slammed face-first into the hull and grabbed hold of the ship's barnacle-laden side. It was the barest of holds, but it was enough. Umbrey's men grabbed him and hauled him up, unceremoniously tossing him on deck like a sack of grain.

Tom's relief that Porter had made it aboard dissolved as his own predicament hit him.

He'd missed the boat. Literally.

The
Purgatory
was coasting out to sea without him.

P
anic coursed through Tom. He judged the distance between the ship and the dock. Too far. He could jump, but he'd never make it. Not now. Not when the vessel was picking up speed. He scanned the wharf. No nearby boat he could use to row out to the
Purgatory
—not that rowing through scavenger-infested water struck him as the brightest of ideas.

Most likely they'd overtake him before he got anywhere near Umbrey and his crew. Indecision froze him in place. He couldn't go forward, he couldn't go back. But neither could he just stand there.

A guttural hiss sounded just over his shoulder, reinforcing that point. He jerked around to see a horde of scavengers lurching toward him, their skeletal arms stretched out as though hoping to wrap him in their ghoulish embrace.

That got him moving. Keeping parallel with the ship, he raced along the dock, leaping over crates, dodging carts and barrels. He scanned his surroundings as he ran. Surely there was something that could help him gain access to the ship— some way he might still be able to get aboard.

From the deck of the
Purgatory,
Willa and Porter were shouting, and jumping up and down to get his attention. Their words slowly penetrated the fog of panic that surrounded him.