Salamaine's Curse (12 page)

Tom glanced across the deck. Compared to the frantic pace of the night before, the ship was relatively calm. But he noticed something he hadn't seen before. Umbrey's men were battle-ready. Cannons had been dragged out and mounted at the ship's rail. Munitions and equipment were stacked nearby. All but the topmost sails were furled defensively, giving an enemy a smaller target at which to strike. All the while, the
Purgatory
crept noiselessly through the mist, carefully edging her way through the Straits.

“What about the scavengers?” Tom asked. “Where—”

“Later, lad,” Umbrey said, cutting him off. He passed his spyglass to a crewman. “Keep a tight watch. If you spot so much as a castaway on a coconut raft, feel free to blast him out of the water.”

“Aye, Cap'n.”

Umbrey motioned for them to follow him as he left the quarterdeck, muttering to himself as he walked, “Never could stand these waters. Bad feel to ‘em. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

He led them to a cabin below decks, just off the ship's galley. An enormous desk, piled high with a messy assortment of papers and maps, took up the rear wall. In the center of the room a weathered pine table stood. Five place settings rested atop it. To the left of the table was a sideboard loaded with food. Rich, delectable aromas wafted around Tom, putting a note of urgency to his hunger. He needed to eat
now.

“Food first,” Umbrey said as he ushered them inside. “Then we talk.”

Tom let Willa and Mudge precede him, but he didn't mind edging in front of Porter. They each grabbed a plate, loading up on different kinds of fish (which Tom had expected), as well as salads brimming with fruits and nuts, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy, dark loaves of bread, and pastas tossed with creamy sauces (which he hadn't expected at all).

“I don't believe in serving gruel,” Umbrey announced as they ate. “Something about the sea stirs a man's appetite. Besides which, men fight better on a full belly. How can you ask your crew to keep a proper watch when all they're thinking about are their stomachs?”

Umbrey took a deep swig from his mug and let out a satisfied belch. He looked better than Tom had ever seen him. His crew might be a rough lot, but if anyone ever invented a Best Dressed Pirate award, Umbrey would win it hands down. He wore a cream-colored silk shirt with a ruffled front, a deep plum velvet coat, and emerald green knee breeches. He'd even polished his peg leg. It gleamed with a rich mahogany sheen. His manners however, needed a little work, Tom thought, watching as Umbrey dragged the lace cuff of his shirt through the gravy.

Tom finished his second helping of mashed potatoes and said, “Keegan said something about Salamaine's curse. What was he talking about?”

The mood around the table, which hadn't exactly been light, darkened. Porter's jaw tightened. Willa pushed her plate away.

Umbrey speared a chunk of fried octopus. He popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly, his expression somber. “It's a dark story. But I suppose it all begins with that sword…”

A heavy silence fell across the table as their gazes were drawn to the Sword of Five Kingdoms, which rested on the table between Mudge and Willa.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

Willa bent her head and drew her fingers over the sword's golden grip, lightly tracing the five glittering black stones embedded there. In a low voice, as though making a confession, she said, “You saw it, with the scavengers at the courthouse. It won't work anymore.”

Tom's back went cold. He'd seen that, but he hadn't really thought about it. He suddenly understood why they'd all appeared so defeated. Why Porter had said he was too late, they'd already lost. “But … it can't just
break.”

His brother looked at him. “You remember the sword was a gift from Marrick, a wizard who believed in the good of mankind.”

“Yeah. So?”

“There were those who objected to Marrick's gift from the very beginning,” Willa said. “Those who thought men should never be able to hold such power in their grasp. That we weren't capable of decency, justice, honor. Pernicus was such a wizard. He had no faith in mankind.”

“But Salamaine
was
good. That was the whole point. Marrick found someone who proved that good could win over evil.”

Umbrey sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Aye. Salamaine was good. And kind and brave and just. But he was also a man. Think on it, lad. Are there some men who are wholly good, while others are wholly bad? Or does the line between good and evil run through each of our hearts—a line so fine we risk crossing it at any moment, with every decision we make and every action we take?”

Tom hesitated, not sure how to answer. A rap sounded on the door. Two crewmen entered and cleared the table and sideboard. They left, closing the door behind them.

“You should know all of it,” Willa said. She went quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Willa had a slight build, and at first glance gave the impression of being delicate, almost frail. But she was tougher—and braver—than most guys Tom had ever met.

“Salamaine's rule was one of peace and prosperity,” she began. “Greater peace and prosperity than the world had ever known. But a score of years into his reign the prophets came to him with dark visions. Warnings of death and despair. They foretold a violent struggle for his throne, resulting in the utter destruction of everything he'd worked for.”

Porter nodded. “They told him the Five Kingdoms would be divided in war for centuries to come unless he did something to stop it.”

“What was he supposed to stop?” Tom asked, still not following.

“The prophets told him that a dark-haired boy, aged sixteen years, was plotting against him,” Willa answered. “That this boy would soon pull together a legion of his own and lead an uprising against him. They told him that the boy was already scheming, that it was written in the stars, that he had to act now, at once, or he would be too late. He would lose everything.”

“You can imagine how painful it was for Salamaine to hear this,” Umbrey said. “He had a kingdom to protect, a wife he loved, and two fine boys barely out of the cradle.” He paused, sending Tom a look of quiet significance. “You'll recall, of course, that Salamaine had two sons.”

“Twins,” Porter reminded him. “One light and pure hearted”—he inclined his head, gesturing to himself, then he motioned toward Tom—“the other one brash and greedy, utterly dark in body, mind, and spirit.”

Tom didn't miss the jibe, nor was Porter's meaning lost on him. He knew, of course, how Salamaine's tale ended: in a vicious play for power, his own son rose up against him, destroying everything Salamaine had spent a lifetime building and pitching the Five Kingdoms into centuries of brutal chaos.

“The problem was,” Willa continued, “the prophets were wrong. Or rather, they misinterpreted the signs. The threat wasn't from a sixteen-year-old, dark-haired boy, but a dark-haired boy sixteen years
hence.”

Umbrey sighed. “Of course, there was no way for Salamaine to know that.”

“So what did he do?” Tom asked.

“At first, he ignored it,” answered Porter. “Hoping it would all go away, I suppose. That was a mistake. Whispers and warnings spread throughout the kingdom as the prophecies grew increasingly dire. Citizens took up arms on their own. Mobs roamed the streets at night, hunting for dark-haired boys. Neighbor turned against neighbor. People were frightened to leave their homes.”

“Salamaine knew he had to do something,” Umbrey said, “so he devised a plan—a clever plan, by my view. You see, at this time he'd received word of newly discovered riches. Thick veins of gold had been unearthed in the remote islands north of Aquat. Rather than arrest and imprison all dark-haired boys of sixteen, he ordered them to sail to these islands and work the mines.”

“It was a banishment of sorts, but a generous one,” Willa interjected. “They would be allowed to keep a portion of the gold they mined, thus securing their futures. In ten years time, it was agreed they would be allowed to return to the Five Kingdoms, if they so chose.”

“Not everyone agreed with Salamaine's solution,” Porter said. “His closest advisors thought he was too lenient.”

“Lenient? Ten years forced labor?” Tom interjected. “That sounds harsh to me.”

“Maybe for some.” Porter shrugged. “Others came from homes where it was a struggle to put food on the table. For them, this was an opportunity.”

“Even so, there were misgivings to the plan,” Willa said. “Doubts as to whether Salamaine had truly solved the problem, or just put it off for a decade or so.”

Tom took that in.

“In any event, it was done.” Umbrey drank deeply from his pewter tankard, then set it down with a solid
thunk.
A foamy mustache remained on his upper lip. He wiped it off with his sleeve. “On the first of May, amidst much celebration, the boys, along with any of their families or friends who chose to accompany them, were packed aboard the
Mayday
and shipped off. It was a lively event. A new beginning, a new venture, new riches. As far as most were concerned, the crisis was solved.”

“So it was over?” Tom asked.

“No.” Willa looked at Tom. “Salamaine followed aboard the
Justice,
his royal vessel. His goal was to see the boys off—make certain they were well and truly removed from his kingdom.”

“It might have worked,” Porter interrupted. “But they ran into troubled seas. On the third day out, a rogue wave struck the
Mayday,
capsizing the vessel.”

Silence.

Umbrey sighed. “The sinking occurred not far from here where the currents are most treacherous. To this day, the cry of
Mayday! Mayday!
can mean only one thing: a ship in dire distress.”

He took another deep swig and shook his head. “It must have been a pitiful sight. Boys not much older than you and Porter, others as young as Mudge. Parents, grandparents, sisters, all of them flailing about in the water, crying out for help. And what nasty water it was. Icy cold, full of follies, sharks, squid, and other assorted hungry beasties. They had no chance.”

“No chance?” Tom countered. “Wasn't the
Justice
sailing right behind them?”

Porter shot him a hard look. “Haven't you been listening?”

“Yes, but—”

“Salamaine ordered his crew to stand down,” Willa said softly. “As the
Mayday
sank, Salamaine stood by and watched them all drown.”

A
hollow feeling spread through Tom's chest, as though the air had been slowly sucked from his lungs.

“He
watched them all drown? His own people?”

“Aye, lad. He did.”

Tom shook his head, staring at them all as though they'd gone crazy. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I thought Salamaine was the
good
guy. The hero. That was the whole point of
everything.”

“Nothing's ever that simple, lad.”

“Tom,” Willa said, “if you'll just listen—”

“To what? More of your stories?” Righteous anger heated Tom's blood. He felt tricked, duped into believing something that had been a total lie. He glared at her. “You're the one who told me about that sword. You said that its power would only be awakened in the hands of someone pure, just, and good. Someone like Salamaine, or Mudge. I believed you.”

“Because it's true.”

“True?”
Tom gave an ugly laugh. “Then explain to me why he allowed everyone to die like that.” An image of Keegan chained to the wall of his jail cell flashed into his mind. “Keegan was right. Salamaine was no better than he is.”

Like a spark hitting dry tinder, his words fanned a flame. Willa, Porter, and Umbrey all erupted in fiery denials, shouting at Tom—and each other—across the table. But it was Mudge who drew everyone's attention.