Curse of the Forbidden Book (5 page)

“That's a noble thought,” Telemachus began, “but…”

“He's right,” Rae said, jumping up. “I don't want to disguise myself, to go around the rest of my life playing a part. I do not want to live in ‘perfect obscurity.' That wouldn't be living.”

“No,” Ira said firmly, slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis. “It's far too dangerous.”

“Dear…” Willa said, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

“You don't have any say in what we do,” Rae said, throwing her shoulders back to face the challenge. Jesse wondered if Ira knew what he had gotten into. They stood there, the petite, dark-haired girl facing the burly Patrol member.

“You're too young to know better,” Ira said. “We're just trying to protect you.”

“And what about the others,” Jesse said. “The ones whose names are written in the Forbidden Book. Who's protecting
them
?”

The silence hung in the air like smoke from a cooking fire. Then Willa put her hand on her husband's shoulder. “It is late,” she said. “I have the rooms ready.”

“No,” Rae said again. “I will not leave this unresolved.”

Telemachus sighed. “The girl speaks the truth, Ira. We cannot force them to stay here.”

“But…” Ira protested.

“No, Ira. It's no use. Besides, you know as well as I do that, in their place, fifteen years ago, you would have said much the same.”

That seemed to cool Ira off a bit. “Maybe you're right,” he said. “But I would have listened to reason. To my elders.”

“We do not mean to show disrespect,” Parvel said. “You would have us stay to protect our own lives. We would go to protect the lives of others. Foolish or wise, our intent is good. And some of us,” he glanced at Jesse, “know and love people whose names are written in that book. You would be hard pressed to convince us not to go after it.”

As usual, Parvel's words had a way of calming the situation. Telemachus still shook his head. “But I tell you, the book is not real. Please, do not throw your lives away for a mere legend.”

“But I have reason to believe that it is true,” Parvel said. “My father was a courtier in the capital of Amarias, and he heard similar rumors of a cursed book. At the time, I did not believe it. The supporters of the king are often foolish boasters, especially after having too much to drink. Now, though, I begin to wonder if perhaps there is such a book.”

Telemachus had no answer to that. “Please, at least stay here tonight,” Willa said. “Perhaps in the morning you will see things differently.”

“Thank you,” Parvel said, standing to bow. “We accept your generous offer.”

Ira nodded. “It's not much, but it's a safe place to spend the night. I only have one spare room, so the little lady can have our room.”

Rae bristled at that. “I don't need…”

“Just do what he says,” Parvel whispered to her. “He means well.”

Even though Willa gave him a warm, soft quilt that she promised was “sewn up with sweet dreams,” Jesse couldn't fall asleep right away. He could tell by the uneven breathing that Silas and Parvel couldn't either.

“What are we going to do?” he finally whispered.

A long pause. “Rae won't—can't stay here,” Silas said. “And we know what Parvel wants to do. After all, it's his brother. I'd do the same if it were my sister.”

So Silas had a sister. Jesse tried to picture what she was like. Probably as quiet and stubborn as he was.

“I don't want to lead you into danger,” Parvel finally said, propping his head up on his elbow. “I'll go alone if I have to.”

“You don't have to,” Silas said. “Tomorrow, we leave here. And I know a place where we can go, inside the city. If you're willing to risk it.”

“At this point, what's a little more risk?” Jesse said, shrugging. “We should have been dead by now anyway.”

“It's settled, then,” Parvel said, and Jesse thought he heard a note of relief in his voice. “We're going to find that book.”

It had taken them some time to get started for Davior. Willa had insisted on wrapping them a bundle of provisions. She had tried to wash their clothes, too, but Parvel had graciously declined the offer.

Then Ira had gone on about the various theories about what the Forbidden Book would do to anyone who touched it. The curse seemed to involve everything from madness to a plague of swelling black spots on the ankles.

And, finally, Telemachus had tried one last time to convince them to stay, or at least find some kind of disguise. Silas seemed tempted by that thought, but Rae would not wait another moment. Ira, realizing there was no hope for them to change their minds, escorted them from the barracks and left them on the road to Davior.

Soon, the walls of the capital city came into view. They were tall and imposing, built of the dark rock that had lined the tunnels Jesse had tramped through in the Deep Mines.

They're so thick
, Jesse marveled.
Imagine the amount of stone it took to make them.

Then he realized something.
So that was what created the tunnels!
As they had journeyed through the mountains, Jesse had often wondered what had caused the large, seemingly random tunnels and caverns cut jaggedly out of the mountains. Now he realized that the stonemasons of District Two had made them, quarrying stone for Davior.

Once inside the walls, Jesse allowed himself to stare at the bustling city around him. Never in all his fifteen years had he seen so many people. They practically swarmed around him, running, cursing, buying, selling, shouting, shoving.

The pace had slowed to a crawl, but Jesse didn't mind. He wanted to take in every detail.

“You can tell you were born in a small village,” Silas said, keeping his eyes not on Jesse, but on the people around him. “This is different from Mir, isn't it?”

Jesse just nodded, unable to describe in words what he was seeing and feeling.

“It is a good thing you don't have anything worth stealing,” Silas continued. “You'd be an easy target for pickpockets.”

Now, Jesse looked around in alarm, suddenly noticing other things about the city: beggars slumped in the streets, sinister figures lurking in doorways, rats darting into alleyways.

But Silas is right. I have nothing to steal. And that must be easy to see, since I look like a beggar.
Still, Jesse clutched his walking stick tighter. It was the only possession he had left to remind him of home.

“Where are we going?” Rae asked. She looked uncomfortable too, her hand clutching the bag that concealed her weapon.

“One-Eyed Roddy's place is a few streets down,” Silas said. “Follow me.”

We won't have to worry about anyone recognizing us
, Jesse realized as he dodged a baker selling his wares and a woman carrying a screaming baby.
It would be hard to spot us, even if someone were actually looking.
He struggled to keep up, limping through the street and trying to avoid gutters full of garbage.

Once they stepped into the alleyway, the press of people stopped, and Jesse began to breathe easier. “I've decided that I don't like the city,” Jesse declared to anyone who was listening.

Silas glanced for landmarks on the narrow side street. “Just stay close.”

The alley seemed dark, even though it was early afternoon, with long shadows from the buildings that lined either side. Jesse was sure he heard a squeak in front of him, and he shivered.
Rats
.

“If this is such a dangerous part of town, shouldn't we be traveling on the main roads?” Jesse pointed out.

“You're the one who wanted to avoid attention,” Silas said, shrugging. “Besides, this is my home. I know these streets as well as you know the woods outside your uncle's inn.”

No sooner had he said this than a loud cry pierced the silence.
It came from the street next to this one.

Jesse stopped immediately, glancing at the others. “Someone's in trouble!” he declared.

“That is not our concern.” Silas kept walking.

The voice cried out again, and this time Jesse listened to figure out the exact location.

“We have to help,” Parvel said, drawing his sword. “It's our duty.”

“No,” Rae countered. “Our duty is to get to One-Eyed Roddy's, then find the Forbidden Book. Robberies happen every day in the city.”

Jesse felt frustration build inside of him. “We're wasting time!” Before Silas or Rae could protest again, he ran toward the voice as quickly as he could with his limp.
They can follow if they like.

It was comforting to hear Parvel's footsteps behind him. “Have you forgotten, Jesse,” he said, overtaking him, “that we escaped from Riddler's Pass with only three weapons, and you do not have any of them?”

“Oh.” Jesse shrugged. “I could have attacked with my staff.”

“You thought with your heart before thinking with your head,” Parvel said, ducking down the side street toward the voice. “That can lead to trouble, Jesse.”

Parvel's lecture was cut short as they stopped in the middle of the alley. There the dirtiest character Jesse had ever seen was holding a jagged homemade knife, which he waved at his victim.

A quick glance told Jesse that the victim was not from District Two, perhaps not even from Amarias. His skin was darker even than the desert dwellers', and his colorful clothes were loose and of a strange style.

“You there,” Parvel said, sword at the ready. “What are you doing?”

As if that isn't obvious
. The foreigner appeared to be untying a richly embroidered pouch at his side. Jesse noticed that his hands were shaking.

Although Parvel, with his large frame and powerful muscles, should have been intimidating, the thief just sneered. “Stay out of this, boy. I have no quarrel with you.”

Parvel kept his voice level as he stepped forward. “Perhaps not. But I see no reason for you to have a quarrel with this stranger either.”

The thief narrowed his already squinty eyes. “Don't take another step, boy. I'm warning you….”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse saw some movement on the ground next to the thief. Then, while the thief was still staring at Parvel, the foreigner sprang up in a burst of color, delivering a perfect kick to the thief's midsection.

While the thief gasped for breath, the foreigner grabbed his wrist and twisted it. The knife clattered to the ground. Then the foreigner took the knife and bashed the dull hilt against the thief's skull. He crumpled silently to the ground.

“Impressive,” Parvel said. All Jesse could do was stare.

“Thank you,” the foreigner said calmly. “I do not imagine he will be waking any time soon.” He had no foreign accent, but each word he spoke was unnecessarily clean and crisp.
If Amarian is not his native language, he is certainly fluent in it.

“I thank you both for your assistance,” the foreigner continued, brushing dirt from his robe.

“It seems you were not entirely defenseless,” Parvel said.

There was a glint of laughter in the foreigner's eyes. “Perhaps not. Still, I…”

“Parvel,” Jesse interrupted, staring down the alley.

There, stomping menacingly toward them, were three men, not quite as big as the first, but just as sinister-looking. One of them, seeing the thief slumped on the ground, pointed at Jesse and shouted.

“Any more surprise moves?” Parvel muttered to the foreigner.

He began to back away too. “Not against three.”

“Then I suggest a more direct plan.”

“Which is?” Jesse asked.

Parvel glanced at the mob of bandits grimly. “Run.”

It seems that a large portion of being in the Youth Guard involves running from danger
,
which I am not good at
, Jesse observed as he ducked down the side street toward Silas and Rae.

Silas and Rae were still standing where they had left them. “What happened?” Rae demanded, before Jesse and Parvel had even reached her.

“No time,” Parvel explained. “Just run!”

Jesse glanced backward. There was no sign of the foreigner.
We're on our own now.

“How much farther to One-Eyed Roddy's?” Rae called.

“A few more streets,” Silas replied. A shout from behind let them know that at least one of the bandits was following.

They all began to run faster.

Jesse groaned. It seemed that since he had left his nice, safe home in Mir, they had done nothing but run. With his limp, he was always one step behind.
And one step closer to danger.

The man behind them shouted as they disappeared down the street, but they were still a good distance ahead of him. Silas led them on a twisted route down alleys, through fenced-in yards, and across crowded streets.

No one gave them a second glance, going on with their business as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
Apparently in this part of the city, running for your life is no unusual experience
.

Come on
, he scolded himself, leaning on his walking stick.
Catch up with the others
. With a renewed burst of energy, Jesse turned the corner.

And saw no one. They had disappeared.

“Over here, Jesse,” Parvel's voice called. They had ducked into an alleyway, and were leaning against the stone wall, breathing hard.

“I think we lost them,” Silas said. “This is the back door to Roddy's place. It's locked. We'll have to go around front.”

Jesse thought he heard something behind him.
Probably another rat.
He turned and peered out from the alley. At the end of the street, a man with a knife and a cruel smile was coming toward them.

“Run!” Jesse shouted, abandoning the doorway.

But Jesse had only taken a few steps when he felt his foot catch in a jagged crack in the street. He tried to regain balance, but it was too late. As soon as his falling body hit the street, he grabbed his staff and tried to stand. Once he did, he found himself looking into the face of the man with the knife.

“Alone, are we, peasant boy?” the man said in a low voice. It was smooth and oily, not a grating voice like Jesse had expected.

The man took a step forward. His protruding jaw had a thick growth of whiskers…and thick coat of grime. Jesse had been wrong. The other thief, the one that the foreigner had left unconscious in the alley, was not the dirtiest man alive. This one had more dirt on him than skin.

“You shouldn't wander around on your own in places like this,” he continued, “especially after attacking a friend of mine.”

“I didn't think he had any friends,” Jesse managed, eyes darting around for a way of escape. He found none.

The man growled at that. “Shut your mouth.”

The others had already escaped from the alley.
They probably don't even know I'm not with them.
Jesse backed away, running into the wall behind him.
Trapped.

“Don't think about calling for help, either,” the man said, reaching into his cloak. “First, the Patrol here don't give fish guts for people like you or me. Second,” he jerked his knife, a crude, homemade creation and smiled darkly. “I might have to make things difficult for you if you say a word.”

He took another step forward, holding the knife high, then laughed. “I may anyway,” he said casually. “It's been a while since my last blood.”

What now?
Jesse thought in panic, eyes fixed on the dagger that was getting closer and closer. The man had clearly ruled out the option of calling for the Patrol. With his crippled leg, he couldn't run away. There was little chance that someone would stumble into the alley, and even less that they would care enough to help.

God, I'm in trouble
, Jesse prayed, his eyes darting frantically around for a solution.
Help me!
Nothing elaborate or eloquent, but Parvel had told Jesse that God didn't need formal petitions.

I've only got one chance
. With the man's cruel eyes fixed on him, hoping to see Jesse flinch as the knife came toward his face, Jesse knew that he would see his movement.

Now!
He widened his eyes, as if looking at something startling behind the man. Then, just as quickly, he jerked his eyes away and pretended that he had not seen anything.

“What? Who's there?” the man growled, turning around to face the imaginary threat, just at Jesse had hoped he would.

That brief moment was all Jesse needed. He imitated the foreigner's move, hitting the man as hard as he could in the stomach with his walking stick. There was a loud thud as the heavy wood connected.

The man roared in outrage, but Jesse was already running, dragging his left leg uselessly behind him.
Will it give me enough of a lead?
he thought desperately.

A quick glance over his shoulder gave him the answer.
No
. The man was quickly gaining on him, and the street was still too far away.

“Come here, you,” the man growled, reaching out to grab Jesse. He ducked desperately to the side, letting the man stumble past him.

The man wheeled around and stabbed blindly at him with the knife. Jesse ducked into a doorway, and the knife plunged into the wood just inches from his face. The man cursed and struggled to pull it loose, blocking Jesse's line of escape with his huge frame.

Then the man suddenly slumped to the ground, the knife still plunged into the wood of the doorframe.

Shaking, Jesse stepped out from the doorway. A rock near the man's head explained the sudden fall. He glanced all around to see who had thrown it, but there was no one in sight.

Jesse started to run out of the alley, eager to be among people again. First, though, he bent down and examined the man. He reeked of cheap liquor, and his dirty shirt rose and fell evenly.