The Curse of Deadman's Forest (13 page)

Ian closed his eyes and clenched his stomach muscles, bracing for the horrible pain he knew would follow, when instead of a BANG, he heard a muffled whump and the hand gripping him fell away.

Stunned, Ian opened his eyes to find Frau Van Schuft piled in a heap at his feet and the man with the bronze cuffs hovering over him. “Are you hurt?” the stranger demanded, a thick exotic accent coating his words.

Ian was too stunned to speak, but his hand drifted up to his ear, which he belatedly realized was bleeding. The large man in front of him squinted at him before placing his hand on Ian’s head and tilting it to one side to inspect the wound. “You’ve lost the top of your ear, lad,” he said. “But you’re not likely to die from it.”

Ian still found speech difficult, especially since Frau Van Schuft began to moan softly at his feet. The stranger eyed her menacingly, and Ian realized that his rescuer was reaching for a long knife tucked into his belt. “No!” he said, gripping the man’s hand. “Don’t kill her!”

The stranger eyed him skeptically, and Ian had the distinct feeling he was being measured up. Behind them was a series of car honks and screeching brakes and Ian knew that Carl was attempting another mad dash across the street.

His rescuer whirled around just as Carl cleared the last of the traffic and dashed forward with a crazed and angry look. “Leave him be!” he yelled while he approached at a run, and Ian realized Carl meant to barrel right into the man in front of him.

Ian stepped over Frau Van Schuft and blocked Carl’s path. “Stop!” he said. “Carl, this man saved me!”

Carl barely managed to collect himself before bumping into Ian. Frau Van Schuft moaned again and her eyes fluttered when she made a feeble attempt to sit up. Quicker than Ian thought possible, the man with the bronze cuffs bent and struck her on the side of the neck with one hard blow. Frau Van Schuft wilted into unconsciousness again and while Ian and Carl stood in stunned silence, the man eyed the street suspiciously and commanded, “Follow me!”

Without another word he then turned and hurried off down the street.

Ian and Carl did not hesitate; they followed dutifully. Carl limped beside Ian while Ian still clung to the pages of the diary he had. With relief he could see that he’d managed to retain much of the diary and he could only hope that what he held to his chest was the section the professor had been working to translate.

The stranger led them through a dizzying array of streets and alleyways until they finally came to a small café brightly lit by the morning sunlight now warming up the day. Their savior motioned for them to sit at one of the tables, and told Ian, “I will be back momentarily. Do not leave until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

Carl and Ian took their seats and Ian could feel a few patrons staring at him. He looked down at himself and realized with a bit of embarrassment that he was still wearing his nightshirt, which was stained with small dots of red. “Your ear’s bleeding,” Carl said helpfully.

Ian sighed. “I know, Carl.”

A moment later the stranger returned and offered Ian a white washcloth and a large bowl of warm water. “Clean yourself up, lad,” the stranger instructed.

Ian gingerly dabbed the cloth on his wound, wincing at the sting it caused. “It’s just a nick in the top of your ear,” Carl told him, trying to be helpful again.

“Thanks,” Ian muttered as he dabbed at the blood on his cheek, neck, and nightshirt.

While Ian cleaned himself up, the stranger looked at them curiously. “Tell me,” he said casually. “Why would Frau Van Schuft be so interested in you two?”

Ian looked at Carl, wondering how much they should reveal to this stranger, but Carl was distracted by a large tray of breakfast rolls sitting nearby. As if he had not heard the man, Carl turned to him and asked, “Do you think they’ll take a few pence here in exchange for a roll?”

The stranger smiled brightly at Carl, his black eyes twinkling, and for a moment he looked so much like another older man they’d once known, Jaaved’s grandfather Jifaar, that Ian felt a pang in his heart. “I suspect they’ll take your pence, boy, but as they would prefer their own pesetas, of which I have plenty, why not allow me to purchase your breakfast?”

“That’d be smashing, thank you!” Carl said, again eyeing
the tray of breakfast rolls. “I’d like that one near the top, if you please. It’s a bit fatter than the others.”

Their savior chuckled softly and waved a hand at the waiter coming toward them. He ordered them each a cup of hot chocolate and a breakfast roll, allowing Carl to select his roll of choice from the tray. Once their breakfast had been served and Ian had had a chance to clean himself up, he thought perhaps the stranger had forgotten his original question.

The man sipped his café con leche casually and smiled at him over the rim. Ian smiled back and set the journal to the side of his hot chocolate so that he could take up his breakfast roll and bite into the delicious bread.

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet honey taste, but when he opened them, he found that the stranger had taken the journal right out from under his nose and was carefully turning the pages.

“Give that back!” Ian snapped, then realized how rude he sounded to the very man who had saved his life. “Er, what I mean is, that journal is private, sir, and if you please, I’d very much like it back.”

The man was looking at him with amusement. “I’m sure you do,” he said evasively. “But what I want to know is, what is it about this journal that Frau Van Schuft finds so interesting?”

Ian gulped. He wasn’t sure what the connection between this kind stranger and Frau Van Schuft was yet, and he was afraid of giving out too much information before he
knew more about what this man was after. “I’ve no idea what that vile woman wants with our journal.”

Ian could tell immediately that the man sitting across from him didn’t believe him for a second. “I see,” said the stranger after a long moment, and to Ian’s dismay, the man then pulled the page up close to read it.

“I told you that’s private!” Ian snapped again, and he heard Carl suck in a breath of surprise next to him. Ian didn’t care that he was being rude this time. He was afraid the man wouldn’t give him back the journal and he knew that the professor needed to finish copying it.

But the man ignored his tone completely. He turned the pages casually, skimming their contents, and then in an instant of recognition, the man’s eyes bulged and he gasped, “By Zeus!”

Ian blinked, thinking that was a very odd thing to say.

“By Zeus?” Carl repeated, obviously thinking the same thing Ian had. “Pardon me, sir, but might you be from Greece?”

The stranger across from them looked up at Carl, shock appearing on his face. “You can understand what I’m saying?” he asked, and Ian noticed belatedly that the man’s thick accent had vanished. Obviously the stranger had switched from English to his native tongue—whatever that might be.

Ian cleared his throat loudly, trying to warn Carl, but his friend hadn’t caught on, and said casually, “Yes, sir. You’re speaking quite plainly, after all.”

It was then that the stranger seemed to notice the small pouch tied to a cord around Carl’s neck, and one glance at
Ian’s collar revealed an identical necklace. “Your name,” he demanded, swiveling his head back to Carl.

Carl seemed taken aback by the man’s intensity, but he said, “Carl Lawson, sir.”

This seemed to puzzle the stranger for a moment but he soon fixed his eyes on Ian and asked, “And you? What is your name?”

Ian thought about lying; he was growing increasingly worried about the man’s reaction to the journal and to them. But while his mind raced to come up with a false name to offer the man, Carl said, “His name’s Ian Wigby, sir.”

The stranger gasped, his hand flying to his mouth as he stared wide-eyed at Ian, who could have kicked Carl. “Perhaps we’d better find our way back to our patron,” Ian suggested calmly, and he began to rise from his seat.

“No!” the stranger said loudly, and both Ian and Carl scooted back in their chairs. “Wait,” added the man in a much calmer tone. “Just a moment of your time, if you please.”

Ian hesitated and noticed that Carl looked ready to dash away. “We’re very grateful to you, sir, but we don’t want any more trouble this morning.” Ian discreetly eyed the journal lying on the table in front of the stranger. He couldn’t judge if he’d have a shot at grabbing it and escaping.

The man sitting across from him seemed to realize that the boys were close to running, and he clearly worked to soften his features and offered Ian the journal. “Here,” he said, giving it to him. “But promise me you will keep this out of the hands of Frau Van Schuft.”

Ian took the journal warily, wondering if the stranger
was trying to lure him into a trap. “Who
are
you?” Ian asked once he’d tucked the diary securely into his waistband.

The man did not answer for the longest time. Instead, he continued to look at Ian in wonder, and to Ian’s surprise, the stranger even seemed to be on the verge of tears. “I am someone who never thought I’d actually meet the likes of you, Ian Wigby,” he finally whispered. “I am the Secret Keeper, and I thought the time for your arrival was perhaps lost or set far into the future. But what I am most concerned about is that you are so far away from the very place that can keep you safe. Why have you come to Spain?”

“We came for the journal,” Ian said, hoping he could trust the man. “But might I ask how it is you know about me, and why you’ve been following Frau Van Schuft, and for that matter, why do you call yourself the Secret Keeper?”

“Yeah,” said Carl. “What secrets are you keeping?”

The stranger gave them both a sad smile, as if he carried some tremendous burden. “I’ve known about you, Ian, from well before you were born. I’ve been following Frau Van Schuft because she is the servant of my enemy, and I have chosen to keep my enemies always in sight. To answer your final question, lads, I am the keeper of secrets so important that the fate of the world rests upon my shoulders, secrets from the past that I am bound by oath to carry into the future, and my journey has been both tragic and dangerous, but by that same oath I must carry on. And although I am tempted to alter the Fates and divulge all that I know here and now, Laodamia has strictly warned me against using such tactics.”

Ian blinked. He had absolutely no idea what this man was talking about. But at the mention of Laodamia, he asked, “You know about the great Oracle of Delphi?”

The stranger nodded. “She is the one who bound me, lad. And she is also the one who first told me about
you.”

Carl held up his hand. “Wait a moment,” he said. “How could
she
have told you anything? She died three thousand years ago!”

But the man ignored Carl’s question and continued. “I am meant to hide what only you can find, Ian. I keep your secrets, you see. Yours and Laodamia’s.” Ian stared at him with no small amount of wonder. He felt he knew this man, even though he was fairly certain they had never met. Still, if he could just think about it for a few more moments, he might be able to figure out who this man was, but the stranger sat back with a sigh and said, “I would tell you more, lad, but I cannot reveal too much. It would alter your destiny. I will say only that I am relieved the Star has been found and your quest has finally begun. May Zeus himself guide you, Theo, and the others so that your mission can succeed.”

Ian’s jaw fell open. This man knew about Theo, their quest,
and
the Star of Lixus? But how could he know? How could he possibly know about their quest in Morocco, unless … Ian’s heart began to hammer as an idea entered his mind. “You’ve been to Morocco,” he said.

The stranger said not a word, but his eyes revealed the truth.

“You know what we found in that cave,” Ian added, and again he was able to read the truth in the man’s eyes. “And
the only way you could know that is if you were the one to place the Star in the cavern for us to find!”

Carl gasped beside him and his head pivoted back and forth between Ian and the stranger.
“What?”

Ian turned to Carl. “Don’t you see, mate?” he said excitedly. “He’s got to be the one who’s been hiding the trea—” But the rest of Ian’s sentence was cut off as the man placed a hand over Ian’s mouth and shook his own head vigorously.

“Do not say one more word,” he cautioned, looking about suspiciously.

Ian stared at him wide-eyed and Carl didn’t seem to know what to do. He’d even left his breakfast roll only partially eaten. Finally, Ian nodded. He would be quiet. The stranger let him go and sat back in his chair again. “You must get back to England,” he advised. “Spain is not safe for you.” And then the man reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a pen and a small piece of paper. He scribbled something onto the paper, folded it carefully several times, and handed it to Ian before his gaze darted to the street and his eyes narrowed angrily. “Now go!” he said as Ian held the folded paper and stared up at him in confusion.

“Sorry?” Ian said.

“There is a man on the corner over there who is an associate of Frau Van Schuft. She will be searching the streets for you, lad, and she will comb this city until she finds you unless you make haste.” The man said all this in a whisper before reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out several coins. He handed these to Carl, then turned back to Ian, closing his own palm around Ian’s hand holding the
message. “Read that later and it will explain much. For now, you and your companion must hurry out of the city and make haste in your journey back to your homeland. I will delay Van Schuft and her associates as long as possible.” And with that, the man laid several more coins on the table and darted away.

Carl stood blinking dumbly after their benefactor, then at the coins in his hands. “What’re we supposed to buy?” he asked Ian.

“I believe we’re to take a taxi back to Señora Castillo’s,” Ian said, motioning for Carl to follow him out of the café.

Carl grabbed the rest of his breakfast roll and hurried after Ian. “But we don’t even know where she lives,” he complained.