Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) (9 page)

“Sorry,” Nathan said, smiling. He turned to Simon. “Simon,” he said, throwing a glance at the frog. “Please allow me to introduce you to, well, Mr. Frog.”

“Mr. Frog,” Simon said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Polite, too,” the frog said. He turned back to Nathan. “Dis’ the boy?”

“No, of course not,” Nathan said, rolling his eyes. “I brought an entirely different one all the way out here, just for fun. The real boy is still back at the fire.”

The frog eyed Nathan. “Tamerlane. Always too much trouble for too little return. Where do you want to go?”

“The Gate,” Nathan said. Simon’s neck tingled.

The frog croaked quietly to himself. “That’s not so far. Why you call the wild?”

“The land is hot,” Nathan said. “
Dominion hounds
are after us. We need the safety that only you and yours can offer.”

“Hot land, eh?” The frog rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Must be big.”

“Mystic,” Nathan said. “Can we count on you?”

“Heh,” the frog said, a small smile creeping across his lips. “All will be that was, no?”

“Don’t mock the Freemancers,” Nathan said. “We have business, and if you would, we would have you render us to our destination.”

“Not so fast!” The frog jumped off his lily pad onto the sandy shore. “You bring dis, dis big trouble, to me, and why do I offer
you
my help?”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Because you know what’s at stake,” he said, stooping down. “Besides, you have never paid me for your nymph problem two summers back.”

“Didn’t I now?” The frog scratched his head. “I seem to remember giving you two vials of werewolf’s blood--”

“That deal was for five,” Nathan said. “I can forgive the debt,
Lungwort
, if you would grant us safe passage down your river.”

Lungwort clucked his tongue thoughtfully. He eyed Simon, his tiny black eyes examining every inch of him. “Very well, Tamerlane.” The frog hopped on his lily pad. “I will take you, but not without first the formalities!” The frog shook his twig at the two of them. “You know the order of things, Tamerlane. You know the rites. Your family helped write most of them, and I will not be without them tonight, of all nights!”

“The rites?” Simon looked at Nathan. The whole conversation between Nathan and Lungwort had left him utterly lost.

“I’ll explain later,” Nathan said. “Follow my lead.” He turned to face the frog. “My name,” he began. “Nathan Alan Tamerlane. Born in a summer storm, raised in the rain.” He followed with a glance at Simon. “Simon?”

Simon was still at a loss. “Huh?”

“Your name, boy,” Lungwort said. “Full name, and don’t try to skip on any of your middle names. I’ll know if you carry extra of them. It won’t taste right.”

Simon was confused, but he obliged the frog. “Simon. Simon
Theodore
Warner.” He looked at Lungwort, who eyed him hungrily. “No extra middle names.”

“The rest!” Lungwort shouted.

“That’s all,” Simon said. “I don’t have any other--”

“You’re mantle, boy!” Lungwort removed his hat, threw it to his feet. “I said no tricks!”

Simon drew a complete blank. He stood dumbfounded, staring at the frog. “I--”

“He doesn’t know,” Nathan said. “He’s never been told.”

Lungwort eyed Simon again. “Never told, eh? What game you play, Tamerlane?”

“He’s been in the Quiet his entire life,” Nathan said.

“No excuse,” Lungwort said. His eyes were laced with something frightening. “I still require his mantle.”

Nathan let out a deep sigh, then spoke. “Simon Theodore Warner. Born in a snowstorm, raised in a forest.”

Absolutely none of this made any special kind of sense. “I was born in March,” Simon said.

“I know,” Nathan said. “Freak snowstorm. It was special. That’s how we knew.”

“Is this so?” Lungwort rubbed his chin. “Theodore. Snowstorm and the Forest.”

Simon nodded, unsure really what to say or do. Around them the cicadas chirped louder then before.

Lungwort finally smiled. “Well, then, boy, let that be the last time you give yourself so freely!”

“He’s right,” Nathan said. “Your name, your mantle too, it’s all you, just, another
way
of you. Handing it out can be dangerous.”

Embarrassment and frustration rushed Simon. “Then why’d you tell him?” He glared at Nathan, betrayed.

“Because,” Nathan said, “we don’t really have much choice.” He turned to the frog. “Now, we’ve upheld our commitment,
Mr. Frog
. Would you do us the same honor?”

“Simon Theodore Warner,” the frog said, tasting the words. “
Yes
...
Yes
! You hide nothing. You carry no lies this night. Yes, yes of course, of course!” He hopped up and down happily. “We can make a deal.” The air around them began to tingle, and the hairs on Simon’s neck stood at sudden attention. “We can deal. Nathan
Alan
Tamerlane. Simon
Theodore
Warner. Yes! Yes! My name. My name!” The frog joyfully threw his floppy straw hat into the water and hopped high in the air, landing right in front of them. When he spoke, his voice was sunshine on the delta. “My name is Lungwort, boy, that you already heard.
Captain Lungwort
Girardeau
Broussard
. Born on the lovely waters, raised between the
banks
! Tonight we will take to the water with my love and my life--and by dawn, I swear to you, we shall render you to the Gate!”

The air continued to pulse with a strange flow of energy. The cicadas all stopped. True silence pressed around them again, and the moon glowed brighter than before. Simon glanced around him. “How?”

“How?” The frog was shouting now. “How? Boy, they do not call me
Captain
for nothing!” He hopped onto Simon’s shoulder and let out a loud, echoing croak.

The water exploded in front of them, a huge shower of water rupturing into the air. Simon jerked and threw his hands to his face in reflex, and when he had rubbed the water out of eyes, before him was a grand riverboat, large and completely aglow in orange lights. It was exactly like the ones he had read about in school. Twin smokestacks rose into the air with a quiet, towering majesty all their own, and magnificent windows flooded every last plank and nail of the antique vessel in light. At the rear a huge red waterwheel spun lazily, and two large boarding ramps at the front were folded up towards the sky. A true bear of a man appeared on the uppermost level of the boat. He had fierce, fiery eyes and a snow-white beard, cleanly trimmed. “Orders, Captain?” he bellowed down to them. Lungwort gave a nod, and then the bearish man was leaning over the railing and shouting to a swell of men who had all appeared suddenly from every door and window, spilling out onto the decks of the ship. More men appeared and began lowering the boarding ramps straight down into the water. The very edge of the ramps came down
exactly
on a log floating just offshore. Lungwort hopped excitedly, skipping over the plank entirely, landing squarely on the deck railing. “Ready the boilers!” He shouted. “Make the way for a quick departure!” The roof captain on the upper level nodded and disappeared. Lungwort spun around and faced Nathan and Simon, his face beaming with warmth and joy. “Greetings my friends, great and wonderful greetings! Come aboard!” More crew hustled along the deck, attending to their duties while the roof captain continued to bark orders. “I am pleased to grant you board and passage on my fine and lovely ship,” Lungwort said, his little eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “My beauty, my love,
The Idlewild
. She be the Belle of the River, and she and my crew shall take you safely on your way. Welcome, welcome now! Welcome and hurry!” Lungwort hopped away onto the deck, vanishing in a flurry of crew, leaving Simon momentarily mystified on the shore next to Nathan.

Nathan wasted no time hurrying out onto a log and hopping onto the boarding ramp. Simon stumbled on the log, raising alarmed cries from the men not to touch the water. Lungwort continued to hop about the strange crew, croaking more orders as others scurried to ready the ship. As they boarded Simon noticed all their clothing was from all different times and places--here a man in colonial clothing, there a man in tattered rags with a simple straw hat. As Nathan and Simon followed Lungwort to the bridge a man in a modern gray suit hurried by, great coils of rope slung over his shoulder. The man’s eyes were wild with joy and he wore a smile to match.

Lungwort croaked more orders to the crew. “Get her ready!” he bellowed. “Get that coal in the fire!” He looked to the roof captain. “Manage the turbines, Mr. Winters, and make ready for the muddy waters of the Gate! We leave at once! Our next stop,
St. Louis
!”

CHAPTER SIX

THE GATE

Simon and Nathan sat with the boat’s crew at a gigantic wooden table in a large dining room. Oil lamps lit the big room in a dim, yellow light, and all along the walls were ominous windows opening up into the night, revealing an occasional glimpse of the stars, clouds, and, every so often, the moon.

It was well past midnight, but the crew showed no signs of weariness. Several of them spoke excitedly to one another, laughing and telling stories at a fevered pace. Several of them gathered around one man, an older gentlemen with wild white hair, who spoke bombastically from the far end of the table. His voice carried over all the others until Simon could clearly hear him from the other side of the room. The man spoke of life along the river, transitioning seamlessly into days of old, and then bouncing just as quickly to tales of all the animals he had known, great and small, and the hidden lives of each. Yet more members of the crew hurried in and out of the dining hall, coming and going from their work through one of the many doors, never fully stopping, but still finding moments to exchange greetings with one another, and always to steal a glance at Simon.

At the foot of the table was a young boy, maybe five years younger than Simon, wearing coveralls and a mud-splattered white shirt. An entire field of freckles dotted his chubby face and a large straw hat covered a head full of dirty blond hair. He listened to the older gentlemen with the white hair, dressed all in white and sporting a very large, very bushy gray mustache. The old man waved his arms wildly in the air while he talked, pausing only to laugh and cajole the men seated around him, then to pull a small hunk of bread out of his pocket which he split between himself and the freckled boy.

Simon had not had time to even think about eating, but the site of the bread made his stomach ache. He was disappointed then that the grand wooden table was completely barren of anything to eat, but a passing crew member in a faded military uniform reassured him the table was never empty for long.

Most of the crew eyed Simon while Nathan spoke with the roof captain, the man Lungwort had called Mr. Winters. As Simon sat at the table, trying to avoid eye contact with the crew, his mind wandered back over the events of the past day--from the dream, to the dog attack, to the whole episode at the Paw with Mr. Boeman. Simon’s stomach knotted at the memory. How had Boeman frozen Sam at the diner? It was like he simply shut Sam
off,
every last muscle, and even though Simon now knew that magic was real, it didn’t stop the idea from terrifying him.

One crew member snored soundly next to Simon. It was the man he had seen earlier in the gray suit, but now his head laid on the still-bare table. Simon did not wish to disturb him--he looked very tired when he wasn’t manic--so Simon continued to watch the crew bustling through the dining room. Every now and again the room erupted with the clanging of pots and pans from behind the galley door, each time accompanied by much shouting.

Nathan leaned over and spoke quietly to Simon. “You hanging in there?” After a nod he continued. “We shouldn’t be too long--maybe a few hours, dawn at most, then we’ll have you somewhere safe.”

A large crash of pots coming from the galley stopped all the conversation in the dining room, prompting Mr. Winters to excuse himself from the table. Simon looked with the rest of the crew, but a moment later they all fell back into their conversations without a second thought.

“What’s going on in there?” Simon whispered to the man in the gray suit, who had lifted his head

“Meal might be ready, sounds like,” he said, before dropping his head back on the table with a dense thud. “Wake me when it’s time.” A moment later he was snoring again, his chest lifting and falling in short, quick breaths.