Holiday Magick (35 page)

Christopher bowed as well and waited until the queen said, “Arise,” before standing. He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

“We're so pleased to see you,” the King of Spain said. He brushed back his dark hair, then stroked his double chin.

“Yes,” the queen gushed, her voice soft. “When we learned the great sailor was here, we had to see you for ourselves.” With her high forehead, and her long hair covering her shoulders, the queen was a lovely sight to see. Tales of her beauty had been only slightly exaggerated.

“Thank you.” Christopher turned slightly and noticed the guard remained in the exquisitely decorated throne room, though he had returned to the grand doors.

Queen Isabella followed his gaze and waved the guard away.

“I've heard of your…problem,” Christopher started, glad his voice was even and concealed his enthusiasm. To appear overeager might lessen the price they would be willing to pay for his services.

The queen blanched. “Has word spread far already?” she whispered.

King Ferdinand the Catholic reached over and patted her hand. “We're dealing with it as best we can, but there's only so much we can do.”

“But if the rest of Europe knows, they'll stop trading with us, our kingdom will stop thriving…” Distress and anxiety added lines and creases to the queen's forehead.

“May I suggest a solution?” Christopher did not speak loudly, but his voice still echoed throughout the large room.

“Go on.” The queen leaned forward, elbow on her knee, chin in her hand, while the king sat stiffly.

“Other lands have fallen to the zombies, civilizations completely wiped out. The only chance you have for survival is to flee,” the captain proposed.

The queen nodded and wrung her hands as the king asked, “But to where?”

“For a price, I would be willing to find a safe location to transport you and the uninfected population to the East Indies.”

“What route are you planning on taking?” Queen Isabella appeared thoughtful.

“Sail straight to the West.”

The queen pursed her red lips. “That route has never been sailed before, has it?”

“No, but I feel very strongly about this venture, and this course will take less time than other routes. Time is of the essence here, Your Majesties.”

“That sounds reasonable.” The queen glanced at her husband.

“To uproot our people, though…” The king sounded unconvinced.

“What choice do we have?” The queen waved her hand toward Christopher. “Name your price.”

Christopher's chest swelled. Taking a deep breath, he quoted a staggering amount of gold and squirmed internally as he waited for their response. The royal couple did not bat an eye nor consult each other before nodding.

“Good.” Christopher barely refrained from clapping his hands. “I'll leave in the morning. As soon as I find a reasonable route and locate a suitable destination, I'll return, and my crew and I will start ferrying your people over. Of course, you will be welcome to come along on any voyage, whether the first or last or any in between.”

“Thank you, Christopher Columbus. If you are successful in this venture, your name will go down in history, I will see to that,” the king promised. “In addition, upon your return, you will be given the rank of Admiral of the Ocean Sea and will be appointed as Governor and Viceroy of any lands you can claim for us. You will serve in that role under our direction, of course, after we move to the lands, but the titles will be yours, if you are successful. If you are unsuccessful, of course you get nothing.”

This was more than he could have ever hoped for. Christopher bowed and left the throne room. His crew was every bit as adventurous as he was; surely they would be every bit as excited as well.

Unfortunately, it took Christopher several more days before he could depart. Three of his crew members balked, for they believed the world had a point of no return, where everything fell off into a bottomless pit. Silly, superstitious fools. Most people knew that the world wrapped around itself, so such fears were pointless. Christopher was confident that it shouldn't take longer than several weeks to reach the East Indies.

Once he secured an additional four members, he and his fleet of three ships departed.

The first night, he left the wheel in the capable hands of his first mate—the owner of the
Santa Maria
, Juan de la Cosa—and headed into his quarters. Sleep eluded him, and he tossed and turned. Zombies were treacherous creatures, bloodthirsty and flesh-craving. Rumored to have been created by witches, they popped up across the land, here and there, wreaking havoc, creating more minions, leveling towns and villages. If Spain wanted to spare itself the fate of other lands, they had no choice but to leave and find a new place to call their own.

After a quick stop in the Canary Islands to stock up on provisions and repair one of the ships, the remainder of the first two weeks was uneventful, so easy that some of his crew began to bicker and argue. When the third week passed and no land was in sight, even Christopher was beginning to feel restless.

One moonlit night, he gave his first mate permission to sleep and commanded the wheel himself. The waves were smooth, the wind was high, and they made good time.

Some clouds covered the moon, and long shadows stretched across the lonely deck. It was quiet—eerily quiet.

A groan sounded, and then a scream pierced the silence. Christopher called a crew member dozing nearby to take over the wheel, so that he could investigate the source. The captain gripped the hilt of his sword.

Another scream rang out, coming from the cargo hold. Christopher threw open the door and bounded down the stairs. If the sailors were drunk and wrestling for money, or taking bets again…

Someone slammed into him. Then someone else. A flood of cursing sailors jostled about and shoved their way back up the stairs and onto the deck. The tide was so strong that Christopher was brought back up along with them.

He yanked himself free from the crowd as two sailors slammed the door shut and locked it. “What's going on?” he demanded. He pointed to the closest sailor, the first one to slam into him. “You, tell me.”

“M-m-monster!”

“What are you talking about?”

The man was shaking, his fright evident in his big eyes and trembling hands. “I didn't believe ya, thought it was all a bunch of nonsense…”

“Me too, but it's true!” another swore.

“It ate Gregory!” another voice rang out. Chaos descended onto the ship once more as the sailors ran about. One threw himself overboard and started swimming toward one of the other boats.

The clouds moved from the moon, giving everyone on deck a clear view of the swimming man. Christopher ordered for him to be saved, but the sailor ignored their help and refused to climb back aboard.

Christopher fired one shot from his gun into the air, and the ship slowly, uneasily, returned to order. He glared at the group. “What do you mean ‘it ate Gregory'?” he asked, his voice a growl. His head was beginning to hurt.

“I saw it!” A short sailor wormed his way through the crowd to stand in front of the captain.

“What was it, Jeremiah?”

“A zombie!”

Before the crew could collapse into panic again, Christopher held up his hand, even as his heart began to pound faster. “How is that possible?” he demanded. “If there was a zombie on board, it would have made itself known long before now.”

The crew remained silent although several sailors glared at Jeremiah.

“Come here,” Christopher commanded, and Jeremiah reluctantly complied. “Are you involved in this?” He didn't want to believe it; Jeremiah had been with him almost as long as his first mate.

“I didn't bring a
zombie
on board!” Jeremiah insisted.

“Naw, he just brought a woman!” someone from the back yelled.

“Is this true?” Christopher asked, although the guilt was evident on Jeremiah's dark face. When the sailor nodded, Christopher groaned and dragged a hand across his face. “You know never to bring a woman on board a boat full of men!”

Men, especially sailors, were not known to be exactly chivalrous toward women, especially once the toil and wear of being at sea ate at them and desires began to take hold. And Jeremiah wasn't known for being chivalrous or choosy when it came to women. In fact, some of the women he had been with over the years had proven to be cheaters and thieves. It was rumored that one had even killed a man. Jeremiah had never brought a woman on board a voyage before, at least not with Christopher as his captain. It angered him to learn that Jeremiah, as well as the rest of his crew, had kept the woman a secret from him for so long. He would have to deal with Jeremiah later.

“Where is she?” Christopher asked.

Jeremiah wrung his hands. “Bryon ate her before he ate Gregory.”

Christopher rubbed his head, which was now pounding. He could scarcely see straight. “Wait, so Bryon's the zombie?”

There was a loud chorus of “ayes.”

“How did he…” Christopher jabbed his finger at Jeremiah. “You brought a witch on board?”

“I didn't know she was a witch…” Jeremiah whispered, hanging his head.

“Walk the plank! Walk the plank!” several sailors cried out.

“What did Bryon do that caused her to turn him?”

Jeremiah just shook his head, leaving Christopher to guess what would infuriate a witch so. It wasn't hard to formulate several speculations.

The cheers of “walk the plank” grew louder.

“Wait!” Christopher knew Jeremiah deserved much worse for his folly, but to have his friend walk the plank here would be to sentence him to his death. “You'll have to right your wrong,” Christopher warned.

Nodding, Jeremiah gulped. “I'll kill him.”

Christopher motioned for the doors to be opened. The sailors barely opened them for fear the zombie would burst forth, and Jeremiah had to squeeze himself through.

The captain lowered his head and prayed for his friend. Tales had been told of zombie slayers; according to legend, not all zombies could be killed, and some could only be killed by certain measures that others could survive. Who knew what would kill this one?

A scream sounded a few moments later, and then nothing but grunts and moans and the sounds of someone eating. The zombie had won this round, and Jeremiah had met a fitting fate.

“Anyone willing to try next?” Christopher asked.

No one stepped forward.

One of the newest crew members raised his hand.

“You're ready?” Christopher asked, pleased he had picked someone so courageous.

The sailor shook his head, his long, knotted hair flying around him. “Do we have to kill it, Sir? Can't we just leave it down there?”

“With all the food?” Christopher said glumly. “We don't know how long until we'll reach the East Indies. We have no choice in the matter. Besides, it will come up looking for us before too long anyway. Won't
anyone
volunteer?”

No one did. Even his first mate was staring at his feet.

Christopher sighed and realized he was still holding his gun. He gripped it tightly and nodded.

Respect and admiration, as well as sorrow and goodbyes, were visible in each of his crew members' faces. He tipped his hand toward them in parting and ducked into the cargo hold after reloading his gun.

It was dark down there, and he waited for his eyes to adjust. He held his breath, hoping not to alert the zombie to his presence. Once he could see more than a few feet in front of him, he entered the hold area.

Something slammed into him. He fell to the ground, and his gun flew out of his hand, sliding across the floor. The zombie jumped on top of him. Christopher reached for his sword, but there wasn't enough room for him to pull it out.

He stared at it, waiting for his demise. If he hadn't been told it was Bryon, he never would have known. The sailor was unrecognizable. His eyes were pitch-black, his skin torn and ragged. Blood oozed from sores all over his body, as well as from the corners of his mouth, a mouth that was reaching toward Christopher.

Fright filled the captain, and he punched the zombie's jaw. Its head twisted to the side and slowly turned back into place, giving Christopher enough time to jump up. He lunged toward the gun, but the zombie leapt toward him and landed on his back.

Christopher yanked his sword from its sheath. He ran backward as fast as he could until he slammed into the side of the ship. The impact forced the zombie to loosen its grip. Christopher managed to free himself out of its grasp, and the monster toppled to the floor.

The captain whirled around and slashed with his sword, chopping the zombie's arm off. Then he cut off the head.

The body twitched and jerked, then fell forward.

Breathing heavily, Christopher returned his sword to his belt. Done. There, that wasn't so hard.