The Wrong Side of Magic (15 page)

At the end of town, one lone stall stood beside the road to the sea. The sign read
LAST WORDS,
which seemed kind of creepy and perhaps a bad omen. Hudson sincerely hoped he wouldn't be saying his last words for a long time.

A man with a double-coned hat waved for Hudson and Charlotte to come over. “Take a look at these beauties!” he called. “Everybody wants the last word. For five coppers, it can be yours!”

Charlotte pointedly ignored the man and walked on. “People who have to have the last word are so annoying.”

“Um, yeah,” Hudson said, and wondered if Charlotte had felt as confused in his world as he did in hers.

They walked until the village of Scriptoria lay far behind them, keeping on the road that led to the sea. After an hour, the ground became rocky, the trees grew sparser, and a dark blue sea came into sight on the trail below them. Sunshine glinted off the water like swords flashing in a fight, and waves rippled, racing one another to crash on the shore. An island sat only a mile or so away from the shore, close enough that Hudson could make out a ragged cliff wall. Tall, grayish brown, and imposing. The Cliff of Faces.

He and Charlotte headed down the trail and went across the sand toward a marina, where three rows of docks stretched into the water. Hudson had gone to the ocean before and expected the beach to have the fishy smell that always loitered around wharfs. It didn't. This place smelled of salt, danger, and things lurking at the bottom of the sea.

A sign near the docks read
CHOOSE YOUR OARS, CHOOSE YOUR BOAT. CHOOSE WISELY TO STAY AFLOAT. THE SEA GIVES BUT ONE GUARANTEE. YOU'LL MEET WITH WAVES APLENTY.
Smaller words underneath continued
WARNING TO STRANGERS: THIS SEA IS CALLED THE SEA OF LIFE BECAUSE SO MANY PEOPLE DIE AT THE END OF IT.

Not the most comforting inscription.

No one was around to offer any other instructions. Hudson pointed out the smaller print to Charlotte. “Are you sure it's a good idea to cross to the island?”

“Oh, that,” she said, dismissing the phrase with a wave of her hand. “The writer was probably joking around. You know what comedians signmakers are.”

He didn't. In his world, signmakers just made signs that said things like
SPEED LIMIT 55
and
RIGHT TURN ONLY
. Those weren't jokes, although his father often claimed speed-limit signs were only suggestions.

Hudson turned his attention to the docks that lay in front of them. Each was surrounded by a half-dozen wooden rowboats that bobbed up and down in the waves. He and Charlotte made their way to the closest dock and walked down it, their footsteps thunking across the wooden beams. “Have you ever done this before?” Hudson asked.

“No.” Charlotte peered over the edge of the dock at a weatherworn rowboat with the word
valor
painted on the side. “My father told me how the Cliff of Faces works, but he never said anything about these boats.” She hurriedly added, “It can't be that hard to row one to the island. They all seem sturdy.”

No, they didn't. They seemed old, battered, and cracked. Each had a word painted on its side. He passed
hope
and
strength
and saw
love
and
gratitude
rocking in the water on the other side of the dock. The paint on the boats looked as though one good wave would completely wash it off.

“You think these are sturdy?” Hudson asked. The wind had picked up, and the tassel from his hat kept blowing in his face.

Charlotte stepped carefully into the
valor
boat and sat on the bench. “
Valor
should get us where we want to go.” She picked up an oar from the side of the boat. The paddle was shaped into the word
talent
. “Should I use this?” she asked, putting it down and picking up a second oar. “Or
intelligence
?” She didn't wait for an answer. “Never mind. I found the right one.” She held up a third oar. This paddle spelled out the word
work
.

Hudson stepped into the boat, steadied himself against the motion of the waves, and sat on the bench beside her. His side of the boat had an identical trio of oars.

Charlotte threaded the
work
oar into the oarlock and tested the paddle in the water. “My dad is always saying that talent and intelligence will only take you so far. You need work to get the rest of the way.”

“That sounds like something adults would say.” And since adults had obviously built the marina, the
work
oar was the best choice. Hudson untied the boat from the dock, pushed off, and picked up his
work
oar.

At first, he and Charlotte didn't time their strokes right, and the boat veered to the left, went forward for a bit, then veered to the left again as though chasing its tail.

“We have to work together,” Hudson said, feeling it must be doubly true, considering the oars. “On the count of three.” He was looking at Charlotte, which is why he didn't notice the water leaking into the boat until it soaked through his shoes. The boat had a hole, and judging by the amount of water pooling around their feet, it wasn't a small one.

Hudson let out a stream of words—none of which would have made tasty pastries—while he and Charlotte searched for something to bail out the boat. They had nothing, and even if they'd brought a bucket with them, the water was now rushing in too quickly. The lapping cold surrounded their ankles and was gurgling upward to their calves.

Hudson looked helplessly around at the waves. “What should we do?”

“Swim,” Charlotte said, and then the boat sank completely, leaving the two of them flailing in the sea.

The frigid temperature made Hudson gasp, and the weight of his leather bag pulled him downward. He slipped it off without letting it go. He didn't want to lose his things.

The Cliff of Faces was too far away to swim to. They would have to go back to the shore they'd come from. As Hudson turned in that direction, a wave slapped into his face. The water tasted salty and bitter.

Not far from him, Charlotte treaded water while she unzipped her bag. She pulled out the compactulator, and the next moment her animals bobbed in the sea next to her. The polar bear swam up beside her, and she grabbed hold of his neck, relaxing into him so he could tow her along. The tiger took hold of Charlotte's bag with her teeth and headed to shore with it. The wolf paddled along behind her, with the squirrel riding atop his head, shaking the water out of his bushy tail.

Charlotte pointed the compactulator in Hudson's direction. “Get your penguin out.”

He opened his bag, felt through the soggy remains of a sandwich, and pulled out the penguin. Seconds later, Pokey was full size and gazing around. “This is more like it,” he said happily. “We're finally doing something fun.”

“This isn't fun,” Hudson spit out. Another wave hit him in the face. “Here, carry my pack.”

“I would if I had opposable thumbs.” Pokey held up one wing. “These are only good for swimming.”

“Use your beak,” Hudson snapped. By this point, Charlotte's animals were almost to the shore.

Pokey sighed, took hold of one of Hudson's bag straps, and dove into the water. Once Hudson was no longer weighed down by his bag, he swam without problem to the shore. Well, mostly without problem. As he reached the beach, an especially large wave crashed into him, pushing him face-first into the sand. Which was probably another reason this place was called the Sea of Life. It was cold and gritty, and just when you thought you were okay, you got knocked down again.

Pokey made it to the shore ahead of Hudson. The penguin pulled the bag onto the sand, said, “I'll check and see if anything fell out,” and without waiting for Hudson's reply, slid back into the water and disappeared into the waves. Pokey obviously just wanted to swim.

“If you find my hat,” Hudson called, “don't bring it back!”

He picked up his soggy bag, noticing that the
valor
boat had resurfaced near the dock. It propelled water from its insides with a gush, coughed a few more streams of water over one side, then shuffled back to its spot at the dock.

Hudson slung his dripping bag over his shoulder and headed up the beach to Charlotte.

She was pulling everything out of her pack and spreading things out in the sunshine to dry. It didn't look like the sleeping bag or pillow would be usable anytime soon. Hudson emptied his bag and laid his things beside hers.

“On the bright side,” Charlotte said, “we've learned a valuable lesson. Valor alone won't get you through life.”

Hudson checked his pocket to make sure the troll mirror hadn't fallen out. It was still there, a hard, cold disk. “We should have gone with
strength
.”

“Blaze and Flash are checking all the docks in the marina to see what the other boats say.”

Hudson considered the boats at the nearest dock again.
Valor
,
love
,
hope
,
strength
, and
gratitude.
“On second thought,” he said. “I bet the right boat is
love
.”

Charlotte shook water out of her museling bag and set it on the sand. “Why love?”

“Love is always the answer. That's why people are always writing songs about it.”

The tiger and wolf trotted up to Charlotte. Panting, the wolf said, “We found
duty
,
endurance
,
humor
,
patience
, and
sympathy
.”

The tiger sat on her haunches, flicking her tail. “We also saw
greed
,
resentment
,
luck
,
materialism
,
sloth
, and
indulgence
, but those won't get you anywhere. They didn't look seaworthy.”

Water dripped from Charlotte's long sleeves. She wrung them out the best she could. “Duty and endurance must be good. And you need humor to get through life.… There are so many boats to choose from.”

“It's going to be love,” Hudson said. “Trust me on this one.”

“Trust,” the tiger said pointedly, “wasn't on the list.” It was clear the tiger didn't like Hudson telling Charlotte what to do.

Charlotte gave up on her sleeves. “Hudson is probably right. Love is the most important thing in life, so that's what will get us over the sea.” She brushed sand from her clothes and addressed her animals. “I want you to stay here and guard our things. We'll be back as soon as we're done at the Cliff of Faces.”

A birdcall sounded overhead, and Hudson looked up, expecting to see a seagull. Instead, the falcon sped toward Charlotte, calling out, “Beware! Beware!”

 

9

THE BIRD SWOOPED
down onto Charlotte's outstretched arm. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“Soldiers,” the bird cried, high-pitched with alarm. “They're on the way to Scriptoria.”

Charlotte's gaze swung to the road they'd come from. “Why?”

The falcon fluttered his wings in agitation. “I heard the general and the wizard talking. They're coming for Hudson.”

“Me?” Hudson asked. A cold feeling washed over him, a feeling that had nothing to do with his soaking clothes.

The falcon's head bobbed up and down. “When Princess Nomira's tree bloomed, King Vaygran asked the lion statue if he'd heard any news about the princess. The lion told him a boy had asked the bee how to rescue her. They know you're going to the Cliff of Faces.” The falcon flicked his tail feathers. “The king was so furious he tried to smash the bee. She flew off vowing never to return to the king's courtyard until Princess Nomira reigns.”

Charlotte stared at the road again and gulped. “How far away are the soldiers?”

“Two hours,” the falcon said. “Maybe three.”

The tiger prowled in circles around Charlotte, kicking up spurts of sand. “They're only searching for the boy. He should head off in a different direction to lead the soldiers away from you.”

“No,” Charlotte said with a reprimand in her voice. “That's not how to treat friends.”

Hudson gestured to his clothes, now wet and sticking to his legs. “I'm in disguise. How will they know who I am?”

The falcon hopped from Charlotte's arm to her shoulder. “They've a wizard with them and a pack of dogs following your scent. They took it from the silver coin you gave the guard.”

Charlotte surveyed the things they'd left drying on the ground. “When you see us sailing back to shore,” she told her animals, “pack up our bags.” She set out for the dock, motioning for Hudson to follow her. “If we hurry, it will only take us half an hour to row to the island, half an hour to hike to the cliff and back, then another half an hour to row back to the beach. We'll be gone before the soldiers reach here.”

Neither she nor Hudson said anything else until they sat down inside the boat marked
love
. “Are we still rowing with the
work
paddles?” he asked. “You don't want to use
intelligence
?”

She laughed, and he realized how that sounded. “We probably ought to use some intelligence once in a while,” she said.

“You use
work
,” he told her, “I'll use
intelligence
. That way we're working smart.”

They pushed off from the dock. The wind gusted around the boat, making Hudson's wet clothes feel colder. The waves seemed higher now, choppier. He and Charlotte concentrated and timed their strokes, pushing through the water as quickly as they could. No water leaked inside.

Pokey popped up next to Hudson's side of the boat and backstroked along with them. “Taking the
love
boat, I see.”