House of Secrets (32 page)

T
he Walkers looked at one another. Penelope Hope wasn’t breathing or moving. When Brendan felt her arm, it was ice cold.

“Wake up!” Will said, clutching Penelope’s shoulders. “I promised I’d take care of you!”

“Will? I think you gotta let her go,” said Brendan. He was afraid to be near Penelope, but he swallowed his fear and closed her eyes. Her upper and lower eyelashes met with a tiny click.

“No! Why? She’s alive! Feel!”

Will guided Brendan’s hand to Penelope’s neck, but the only thing Brendan could feel was the pilot’s uncontrollable shaking.

“She’s gone, Will,” said Cordelia. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“But it’s my fault,” Will said. “I should have protected her. I’m in the RFC, and she’s a civilian! What kind of man does that make me?”

“A brave man. One who did everything he could,” said Cordelia.

“But it wasn’t enough. And I doubt if I’ll ever meet anyone quite like Penelope again.”

Cordelia quickly drew back and turned away, stung by Will’s words. But then she felt guilty for putting her feelings ahead of the harsh reality facing them all: a woman had just been murdered. Everything else seemed small.

“Is something wrong, Cordelia?” Will asked.

“No, nothing,” she said, continuing to look away. “I just feel . . . I feel so bad for Penelope.”

“And she feels bad that you liked Penelope better than her,” said Eleanor.

“Shut up, Nell!” shouted Cordelia. “That’s not true—”

“Have some respect for the dead!” Will ordered. “No fighting!”

Everyone got quiet. They all looked at Penelope’s lifeless body. Cordelia took a sheet from Sangray’s bunk. She gently covered Penelope with it. They observed a moment of silence, but really it was one moment in many, because they stayed silent as they set about bandaging their wounds. Eleanor’s shoulder was cut badly, but she could move her arm. Cordelia’s arm hurt from being twisted by Sangray—but there was nothing she could do about that. Brendan found a new shirt. It was much too large for him, but he stuffed it in his pants and decided to make the best of it.

“Now what?” Eleanor asked.

“We should bury Penelope,” Will said, “but not at sea. We’ll wait until we get ashore.”

“And how do we stay alive until then?” Brendan asked.

“Simple,” Will said. “Declare me captain of the
Moray
.”

“Excuse me?” Cordelia asked. “Why do you get to be captain?”

“Because we killed the old captain, and I’m the oldest. Plus I possess the English heritage these sailors will be looking for.”

“Can’t the four of us be captain together?” Brendan asked.

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Will, approaching Sangray’s wooden chest, “but it’s not as if I’m cutting you three out. You’ll all be my mates. And you’re entitled to any treasure we find, split equally among the four of us. One of the first things one does as a new pirate captain is take possession of all treasure aboard the ship.”

Will opened the chest. Inside was a pile of gold doubloons, a cloth bag filled with emeralds, an ornate crown that looked as if it came from a South Sea island . . . and several rolled-up pieces of yellowed parchment.

“There are some impressive coins and gems in here,” Will said.

“Unless they can buy us a ticket back to San Francisco, they’re pretty useless,” said Brendan.

“And what are these?” asked Will.

He unfurled one of the parchment rolls. It was a scroll, with line after line of dense text.

“Latin,” said Will.

“I remember reading about these in the book,” said Eleanor. “These are secret spell scrolls, written by ancient warlocks, discovered on an island by Captain Sangray.”

“How do they work?” asked Cordelia.

“I didn’t get to that part,” said Eleanor. “Sorry.”

“Lucky for us, I studied Latin first form,” said Will. He read the top of the scroll, where the text was biggest.

“Terra ipsa fenerat viribus!”

A stone wall appeared in front of them.

It was as wide as the room, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. It was made of huge gray blocks sandwiched together. It looked like it would take a bulldozer to get through.

“Holy—” Cordelia started, and she used some of that pirate vocabulary again.

“It works!”
said Eleanor.

“So all you have to do to make the spell work is read the title?” Brendan asked.

“It appears so.”

“Sort of like instant-oatmeal spells,” said Eleanor.

“That’s
amazing
,” said Cordelia. “What do the other spells do?”

“Yeah, and why didn’t Sangray use these on us?” Brendan asked.

“Perhaps he couldn’t understand Latin. But me . . .
Terra ipsa fenerat viribus
means ‘The land itself lends strength.’” Will unfurled a few more scrolls. “This one turns frogs into cows. . . . This spell makes hair grow on your head. . . .”

“Anything in there that removes zits?” asked Brendan, touching the growing pimple on his chin.

“Not yet,” said Will, unfurling more spells. “Hmmm, this could be useful. . . . This creates some sort of fireball—”

“How are you going to make this wall go away?” Eleanor said. “We’re trapped in here now.”

“There must be a way to reverse the spell,” Will said, reading the smaller letters on the appropriate scroll. “Here we go . . . ” He went to the wall and uttered the spell in reverse:
“Viribus fenerat ipsa terra!”

The wall disappeared.

Brendan moved to the treasure chest, pocketed some doubloons (
you never know when those are going to come in handy
), and started to pick up some of the scrolls. Will grabbed his hand to stop him.

“What are you doing?” Brendan asked.

“I’ll be taking these,” said Will.

“But you said we could split the treasure,” said Eleanor.

“The spell scrolls aren’t treasure,” said Will. “And what would be the point? None of you can read Latin.” He picked up all the scrolls and clutched them in his arms.

“Will,” Cordelia said, “you’re starting to go on a serious power trip. I mean . . . I know that Penelope’s death hurts you, and maybe you feel like you’ve gotta take control to make up for it, but—you haven’t even thanked us for freeing you!”

“Thank you,” said Will, overpowering a hitch in his throat. “I owe you my life again. I’m only taking these scrolls so I can protect you. So I won’t let you down . . . like I did her.”

A bang sounded at the door.

“Who is that?” Will asked.

“Maybe it’s that first mate, Tranquebar, come to check what the heck is going on,” said Cordelia.

“Very well,” Will said, putting the scrolls back in the chest and giving the Walkers a look:
Don’t touch them
. He picked up the cutlass to answer the door. “Ahoy!” he called. “Fellow sailor mate! I welcome you into the service of Captain Dra—”

But Will didn’t get to finish, because when he opened the door, he wasn’t looking at Tranquebar. He was face-to-face with a skeleton, standing on two feet, with a sword pointed right at him.

“G
ah!”
Will shrieked, dropping the cutlass in a very un-captain-like manner. He slammed the door shut in terror, but it went
thunk
without latching, as if someone had wedged a broomstick in the frame to keep it open. Will saw the skeleton’s arm protruding from the doorway’s crack, holding a sword, wildly slashing up and down.

“Can someone please explain this?” Will asked, pressing his back against the door. Although the skeleton could easily have cut him, it appeared to be aiming for someone else, making arcing swoops toward the center of the quarters.

“It must’ve come from the bone room!” said Eleanor.

“
Bone room
? What in bloody blazes is a bone room?”

“Don’t worry! I got this,” Brendan said. He took a deep breath, charged the door, shoulder-checked it like he was in a lacrosse game—

And snapped the skeleton’s arm clean off.

“Nice work,” said Will as the arm and sword hit the floor with a calcified clatter. He went back to the chest and started looking through the scrolls for one that could hurt skeletons. . . .

But the clatter never stopped. The skeleton’s arm twitched . . . raised a finger experimentally . . . and started feeling around for its sword.

“No
way
,” said Eleanor. “That’s not even fair!”

“Neither is this,” said Brendan, kicking the arm across the room. “Let’s see how you handle that, manorexia.”

The skeletal arm landed in a corner and began crawling back toward the sword, pulling itself forward with four fingers at once.

“Persistent,” said Will. “There must be a spell in here that can stop that—they’re all mixed up—”

“The door!” Cordelia yelled.

Will and Brendan turned. The doorknob was twisting. Brendan grabbed it and tried to hold it still, but the grip on the other side was surprisingly powerful. “Help!” Brendan yelled. His sisters and Will joined him, but the knob inched counterclockwise. They all heard the scraping creaks of finger joints with no cartilage trying to open the door.

“Sounds like there’s a lot of skeletons out there!” Cordelia said.

“They’re the bones from earlier!” said Eleanor.

“What bones?” asked Will.

“The ones that formed into a table,” said Eleanor.

“You’re totally confusing me.”

“They re-formed!” Eleanor told her siblings. “Now I remember! That was the part I skimmed over in the book. If you eat food from the cursed bone table, the skeletons come back for revenge—”

“
Now
you remember?” screamed Brendan.

“I tried to warn you—”

“And they’re all coming after us?!”

“They’re just coming for you and Deal,” said Eleanor. “Not me or Will. We didn’t eat the food.”

“A lock!” Cordelia interrupted, seeing a rusty metal chain near the top of the door. “I’ll get it! Just keep the door closed!”

Cordelia let go of the doorknob to reach for the chain, but without her adding to the group effort, the skeletons prevailed, turning the knob all the way and shoving the door open, knocking everyone to the floor. With a rustle of bony legs they flooded the room.

Will and the Walkers stared in awe. There were two dozen skeletons, moving in fits and starts like predatory dinosaurs. They were armed with cutlasses, sabers, and spears. They all waited, seeming to sniff the air even though they lacked the necessary equipment. The one-armed skeleton walked to the corner of the room and picked up its severed limb, pressing it against its elbow . . .

And with a dry sucking sound, it reattached.

“Oh
great
,” said Brendan.

T
he skeleton grinned. Its bony face, like the faces of the other skeletons, was strangely capable of conveying emotion.

“Hold on,” Brendan said. “I have an idea—”

“Me too.” Cordelia stood to face the skeletons. They flinched in surprise. It almost looked like they blinked.

“Ah, sirs and/or madams? We don’t mean you any harm, and we’re sorry that we ate that food in the bone room. I mean, it was really delicious, and you have to understand, the only food we have right now is cold canned corn. . . .”