House of Secrets (35 page)

“You’re an honorable fellow,” said Will.

“I’m a survivor,” said Tranquebar. “Now, Captain Draper . . . I’d like you to hand over the scrolls.”

“I’d rather not,” said Will. “They could be of use to us.”

“Captain . . . ” Tranquebar lowered his voice. “Don’t take me for a fool. Just because I followed Sangray and obeyed his orders does not mean that he was in charge of this ship. The most powerful people are often the ones you see whispering in others’ ears. Because I’ve always protected them, the men on this ship listen only to me. They only take orders from me. And with one word I can have you all thrown overboard.”

Will exchanged a concerned look with the Walkers.

“I suggest that you give me the scrolls,” said Tranquebar, “and I’ll place them back in Sangray’s chest, where they’ll be safe and sound. Then we can move forward with the vote to make you captain.”

Will paused, considering his other options.

“I think that beats the heck out of being thrown overboard,” whispered Brendan. “Just sayin’.”

Will silently handed over the spell scrolls.

“Excellent. Now let’s get you cleaned up, Captain Draper. You too, children.”

The Walkers were skeptical, looking at Tranquebar with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, please,” Tranquebar said. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. Relax. You’re safe. Don’t you think we’re all happy to see Sangray gone?”

As Tranquebar finished speaking, Gilliam, the pirate who had the dolphin tattoo, entered his chambers. Instead of a tattoo he now had bandages wrapped around his head like a mummy. “Thank yez fer takin’ care o’ that horrible captain,” he said. “Would yez like some food?”

The Walkers could hardly believe their ears. Soon they were given a meal of salt pork and warm biscuits that tasted better than anything they had ever eaten (with the exception, for Brendan and Cordelia, of the enchanted skeleton food—but they knew that shouldn’t count). Eleanor got seasick, but Tranquebar showed her how she could beat it by going on deck and keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. In a somber moment, they moved Penelope’s body into the ship’s storage room to keep her safe until they got to shore to bury her. Then they went to a room on the ship, a sort of pirate lost-and-found, where they picked out new, very cool pirate clothes. They even got a chance to bathe in the
Moray
’s precious fresh water—although they weren’t allowed to drain the tub between uses. (They did rock-paper-scissors to determine the order; Brendan, who was supposed to go last, decided not to bathe at all.)

But as the day went on, a strange idea began to bloom in Cordelia’s mind. She wasn’t sure where it came from, only that it started small, like something she happened to chance upon, and grew every hour into something she couldn’t find a reason not to do.

She wanted to try out a spell scroll for herself.

Partly it was to show Will that he wasn’t anything special. Partly it was to find out if the scrolls would work for her. Cordelia had kept her mouth shut about it back in Sangray’s chambers, but she’d taken Latin since freshman year, and she’d gotten straight As. She could probably translate most, maybe all, of the scrolls.
And if I can read the Latin from the scrolls, I can perform real magic . . . I can create something out of nothing. If Will could conjure up a fireball, I can make something even cooler. Maybe I can make it snow or hail; maybe I can make myself look completely different . . . and then I can make the spell disappear by simply reading it backwards. Just like that. Just for fun. Just for me. Not a big deal at all.

A
t sunset, following a short speech by Tranquebar, the pirates unanimously voted for Will as captain. Then they threw another party, less drunken than the night before. The butcher in the hold slaughtered some chickens, and the meat was cooked on deck, under the stars. When the Walkers, pirates, and ex-skeletons dug in, it was tough to tell them apart: they were all sailors on the
Moray
now.

“To Captain Draper! May he lead us well!” said Scurve.

“Ay, and may ’e be a helluva lot kinder than Sangray!” called Gilliam.

“Please, enough accolades,” Will said. “You’re all very kind. But I prefer to do my job in a quiet, humble manner.”

The pirates nodded and went back to their chicken. After a few moments of silence, Will looked around.

“Well, now . . . I wasn’t bloody serious! Come now, no one else has a compliment for me?”

“Ahmmmm,” said Scurve, who was gaunt like Ichabod Crane. “Ye got a sweet face. Very kissable.”

The other pirates turned, all staring at Scurve.

“What are yez lookin’ at? Have any of yeh ever seen a woman or man with eyes so deep blue?”

The pirates all looked at Will, and shrugged. They couldn’t disagree.

“Anyone else?” asked Will, looking around for more compliments.

“Your hair,” said one of the women. “It’s like spun silk.”

“And your jaw,” said another man. “You could carve the Pietà with it.”

“That’s better,” chuckled Will, pretending to know what the Pietà was. The pirates laughed with him.

Cordelia turned to Brendan. “I can’t watch this. He’s becoming as power mad as the Wind Witch.”

“Maybe it’ll pass after he’s been captain for a while. Are you gonna eat that?”

Cordelia huffed—and then realized that now, with everyone distracted by food and drink, was the perfect time to enact her plan.

“No, Bren, take it. I’ll be right back.” She handed Brendan her chicken and went belowdecks. Will watched her with suspicion.

I’ll just pick one scroll. I’ll just do one spell. That’s all.
Cordelia walked the corridors of the ship.
Because . . . because nothing. Because I want to.

Inside Captain Sangray’s chambers, the table was still dark with Penelope’s blood. The chains that had held her and Will were draped across the floor, secured to the table with iron rings. The trunk was undisturbed and unlocked. Cordelia opened it. Inside were the gold coins and gems, but Cordelia only had eyes for the spell scrolls. She pulled all of them out and began to unfurl one—

When she noticed something else in the trunk.

The Book of Doom and Desire
.

Cordelia dropped the scroll she was holding. As soon as she saw the book, she felt only one thing:
need
. The need to see what was inside. To have the power that had driven Denver Kristoff mad. The future didn’t matter. The past didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the book.

With her lips parted slightly, Cordelia picked up the book and held it in front of her face. She didn’t realize it, but her head and hands were in the same position as that Tuchayune skeleton’s had been back on Goat Island. She was ready to dive in and flood her mind with secrets—
I’m going to find out, I’m going to find out,
she thought in an endless, mindless loop—

And she opened to page 1.

A
t first, there was no writing. A blank page lay below Cordelia. She was ready to throw the book away . . . but then the letters came. They floated up from behind the page, or
inside
it, like little animals rising to the surface of a pond, tiny black shapes that twisted and connected as they went from a scattered mass to something maddeningly close to English, sharpening, becoming words that were clear and beautiful, that made Cordelia feel perfect just by looking at them, even though they didn’t make sense yet—

“Stop!”
Cordelia heard behind her.
“What are you doing?”

Will rushed into the room and grabbed Cordelia’s shoulders, whirling her around. “Cordelia, your
face
!”

It had started as soon as she’d opened the book. Cordelia’s skin was fading, as if the pages were sucking the luster out of her and leaving a maggot-white husk. She stared down in a trance while the color streamed out of her chin in a spectral streak that connected to the book. Her eyes were turning gray. Her veins were horribly visible, branching over her cheeks like the veins on the Wind Witch—

“Close the book!”

Cordelia didn’t respond. Her skin was tightening now, hardening to stone. She looked like she was made of marble.

Will slammed the book shut. “Cordelia! Can you hear me?”

The color and life returned to her face. The veins disappeared. Her skin reacquired its natural softness. Even a few splotches of acne came back. But she was incensed.

“Give it back!”
Cordelia snarled, grabbing for the book.

“No!” Will tossed the book into a corner of the room. Then he looked at it. There was something oddly compelling about it. Some reason why he might want to open it himself. Perhaps, as a man, he would be able to handle its contents better than Cordelia—but he shook the thought away.

“You’re not even supposed to be here, Cordelia. This is the captain’s chamber—”

“Out of my way!”

Cordelia pushed Will aside and scrambled for the book. If she could get to it, open it . . . she would find the answers. But Will grabbed her, lifting her off her feet. She kicked at his shins. “
Put me down!”

“Cordelia Walker, I’m sorry, but this is for your own good,” he said. “Don’t you remember Penelope’s story? This is the book that drove Kristoff to sixes and sevens! And I just saw all the life draining out of your face as you opened it. You need to stay away from this book. You need to stay someplace safe tonight, someplace secure.”

“What?! Like where?”

“A prison cell,” said Will.

C
lang!
An iron gate shut behind Cordelia as Will tossed her into a barred chamber belowdecks. She landed facedown in a dense pile of straw. Cordelia pushed herself up, spat out a mouthful of hay, and whirled around.

“This isn’t fair!” she sputtered. “Will Draper! You . . . you’re a pathetic excuse for a man, even a fictional one!”

Will fought the urge to respond. Tranquebar had accompanied him to secure the lock, and Will didn’t want to get into his personal history with the first mate. If Tranquebar discovered that Will wasn’t a real person, that could be grounds to have him removed as captain.

“Hold your tongue,” Will told Cordelia. “Not another word!”

“And be happy you’re not sharing your cell with a gaggle of smelly swine,” Tranquebar added.

“Excuse me?”

Cordelia twisted her nose. She suddenly realized that her pen smelled of something besides hay.

“Like any decent ship, the
Moray
set sail with two dozen pigs,” Tranquebar said. “They were kept here, and each week one was sent off to be butchered for crew dinners—but now it’s a right proper place for you to be kept until you show respect to your captain.”