Wicked as They Come (33 page)

“My magic and these harpoons.”

25

We were still
inside the sub when Criminy did his invisibility spell on us both. Just as I remembered from the field on my first morning in Sang, I felt a cold trickle that spread until I could see through myself, my manly clothes, and even Uro on my wrist. It was very strange, seeing a framed luna moth hanging on the red velvet wall through Criminy’s half-see-through, grinning face, as if he were made of glass. With another wiggle of his fingers, the raft and the harpoons joined us in near-transparency.

Then we clambered up the ladder and out onto the roof of the sub. Criminy threw the nearly transparent raft into the air, and it exploded into shape and landed in the water with a slap. I was glad that we could half-see each other and our gear, because leaping into a truly invisible raft would have been impossible.

Criminy hopped in with his harpoon and helped me down. With the touch of the propeller’s button, we were buzzing toward the beautiful but most likely deadly island. It was a short trip, and Criminy used our time by showing me the simple mechanism for shooting the harpoon.

“We’ve got one shot each, love,” he said, slipping my finger around the trigger in an all-too-intimate manner. “So
make it count. And don’t forget we’re invisible. A nice harpoon butt to the face will do wonders. And then we steal their weapons.”

“But what do we do?” I asked. “Besides break teeth and steal things? How do we know where to go?”

“We sneak around until we figure that part out,” he said. “Just follow me. It’s going to be fun.”

When the raft was almost to the sand, I jumped into ankle-deep water and turned to drag it in. I expected Criminy at my side, but he was still sitting in the raft with a funny smile on his half-invisible face.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, “but you’re going to have to drag me in. I touch that salty stuff, and I’m not going to be much help to you. Might even make the magic waver.”

So I lugged the raft in by myself and beached it, marking its place with a large clump of driftwood. Criminy stepped off onto the sand, dry and chipper. I now had sopping-wet boots, sagging socks, and scratchy, damp breeches. But it was worth it to know that my locket was finally within reach.

With a blithe “Shall we?” he ran toward the jungle, faster than I could keep up. We ducked into the shade, dodging droopy tropical trees and flowering bushes. Up close, about twenty feet from our hiding place in the jungle, the wall was actually quite pretty, with glittering shells and sand dollars and bits of sand and mica mixed in. It was warm and breezy and absolutely nothing like any island that had ever existed near Britain. It would have done wonders for the tourist trade in my world.

But the effect was ruined by the skulls lined up along the top of the forbidding wall, right under the razor wire.

Criminy exhaled out his nose the way men do when they’re about to return to their caveman roots and beat
something unconscious. “They’re all Bludmen,” he said. “And women. And children.”

I couldn’t tell the difference at first. But then I saw the teeth. At least the skulls were old, bleached white in the sun. Nothing fresh.

“That bastard’s going to pay,” he growled under his breath.

Under cover of the jungle, we trotted along the wall, looking for a way in. There were no windows, no arrow slots, no people. Nothing. Not for a long time. Just strange noises from within, crashes and snuffles and the sounds of movement. Finally, when it seemed as if we had run all the way around the island, we came across a set of double doors lashed together with heavy, rusted chains and an enormous lock.

Criminy looked at it and laughed.

“All that, old man? All that, and it’s just a lock?”

“But maybe there are guards on the inside,” I said. “Maybe it’s bolted?”

“Only one way to find out,” he answered, and he handed me his harpoon.

Before I could ask him how he expected me to shoot two invisible harpoons at once, he had jogged to the wall and skittered up it like a cat climbing a tree. I dropped his harpoon and set mine to my shoulder, waiting for something horrible to happen, for the trap to spring finally.

He glanced quickly over the wall into the compound and ducked back down. Then he slowly looked back over and cocked his head at a strange angle. He slid under the razor wire and disappeared. I was nearly hyperventilating with worry and curiosity, and my finger was slippery on my harpoon’s trigger.

Something boomed inside. The chains fell away, and the door squealed open. Criminy walked out, no longer transparent, with the strangest smile on his face, disbelieving but amused.

“Come along, Letitia,” he called. “There’s no one here.”

Still nervous and distrustful, I picked up his harpoon and tiptoed out from the shade and into the bright glare of the sun. I could not fathom that the island was empty, that someone wasn’t waiting to hurt me. Criminy extended his gloved hand. I took it, and he half-dragged me through the door and beyond the white wall.

It was entirely deserted.

We had found Jonah Goodwill’s fabled island, that was for sure. But he wasn’t there, and neither was anyone else. Just lots and lots of animals, a veritable Noah’s ark that explained all of the weird noises I’d been hearing. Some of them were creatures I’d never seen before, and not a single one was a predator.

Criminy shut the door softly behind us, muttering, “We don’t want these poor creatures wandering into the jungle or the sea. Might as well tie tags around their necks with ‘Eat me’ on them.”

I smiled to myself at the irony of a vicious, cutthroat predator worrying about the safety of the soft, squishy innocents of the animal world. He was right, though. The animals had no fear. As soon as he’d made me visible again, deer and giraffes and cows and a strange sort of club-tailed porcupine were all nosing and snuffling hopefully at me, and I felt a little sorry that I hadn’t brought a bag of bread or bananas for them. They all shied away from Criminy, though, and a llama even spit on him.

“Can’t hide the blud,” he said with a shrug.

I shoved past the hungry animals, and we headed straight up to the main building, a two-story manor that looked as if it had been lifted straight out of an American’s version of quaint Mexico. White walls, dark orange roof tiles, a fountain in the courtyard. It was beautiful, inside and out. But no humans at all. Just echoes and creepiness. Someone had been there recently, as the fruit bowl on the table was filled with fresh mangoes and pineapples. I was too anxious to eat, but I scooped water out of a fountain with my hand after suddenly realizing I was parched.

We checked every room, harpoons at the ready. And we found no one.

Criminy searched the closets and checked under the beds. I sifted through chests and dressers and anything that might conceivably hide treasure. My locket was nowhere to be found.

We tried the cookhouse next. The ashes of the fire were still warm under the spit, which held an abandoned haunch of meat, burned to the bone.

Beyond that, we found a sandy field with a tall tower, several iron rings sunken into the ground, and a windsock.

“Bastard’s got a metal cladder,” Criminy said grimly. “No wonder he keeps beating us. It’s only two hours to Manchester by dirigible.”

I felt as if the breath had been knocked out of me.

“From here to Manchester?” I spluttered. “My locket’s all the way back in Manchester now?”

“Don’t fret, little love,” he said softly. “We’ll get it back.”

He folded me into his arms, harpoon and all, and I started sniffling, then full-out crying. Whether the old man had tricked us, outrun us, or just coincidentally left
his island was unclear, but he was undoubtedly very far away, as was the locket.

I clung to Criminy as if he was the only thing between me and madness. Maybe he was. He held me, patted me, and muttered kindnesses into my ear. I couldn’t help thinking about my other world, wondering if my body was in a hospital yet and, if so, how long it had taken my proud grandmother to break down and hire a new nurse for her homecare. What if she tried to get out of bed by herself and broke a hip? And who was feeding Mr. Surly? But I wasn’t going to sit around, uselessly indulging my own frustration. I needed to act. I took the handkerchief he offered and blew my nose.

“There’s got to be a clue here somewhere,” I said between sniffles. “There’s got to be something else we can do.”

“We can eat and sleep,” he said. “Because wherever he’s gone, we’re not going to catch him today. Might as well get dried out and well rested.” He chucked me under the chin. “And let your bum rest after that horse ride, eh?”

But I wasn’t done. I saw one more building on the other side of the landing strip, and I squelched through the sand, leaving wet bootprints behind me. Criminy caught up with me, holding his harpoon at the ready.

The last building looked like a storage shed, a simple windowless hut with the same smooth white walls and orange tile roof. In my world, it would have held a couple of rusty, nonworking lawn mowers and the neighbor’s long-forgotten weed eater.

As we got close, I felt Criminy tense, and he aimed his harpoon at the door.

“What is it?” I whispered, whipping my own harpoon into place against my shoulder much less gracefully and almost smacking myself in the nose.

“There’s someone inside,” he said. “A Bludwoman. I can smell her.”

The island was silent as we crept toward the hut. Well, except for the random mooing and bleating and occasional horn clashing of the animals, but those noises were normal and comforting. No sound came from within the outbuilding.

When we were right outside the door, Criminy barked, “Who’s in there?” in his most fearsome voice.

There was a small noise inside, a scraping. Then a cough. Then a word, barely a ragged whisper.

“Help.”

“We’re coming in!” Criminy shouted, and he kicked in the door.

It was pitch black inside, except for the perfect rectangle of sunshine radiating through the door frame. Tiny motes of dust and sand danced in the air, and we waited.

The cough came again, followed by scraping and rattling. Chains.

“Criminy?” she whispered from the darkness.

“Tab?” he said, rushing into the room. “What have they done to you, lass?”

I stood just outside the door, wishing I could see what was happening within but afraid to get too close. I heard a loud clang and a whooping gasp, and I leaned in through the doorway.

From the darkness, something flew at me too fast to see. I tried to scream, but the sound was choked off as I crashed to the sand with a body driving me into the ground. Claws settled around my throat, pressing down on my windpipe.

So I did what any sensible person would do.

I passed out.

26

“Letitia, love, come
back to me.”

Criminy’s desperate voice buzzed from far away, annoying.

Then I heard a stranger whisper, “What do you see in that thing? It’s unnatural.”

I heard gulping and a wistful sigh.

I didn’t know the voice, but the tone was all too familiar, calling me back to consciousness. There was something to fear there. I kept my breathing even, my eyes closed.