Across The Sea (21 page)

Click
.

The door popped forward.
Francis entered the secret room with the lit candle and pulled the
door shut behind him. He looked up at the three walls before him,
all lined with nothing but books. He turned to the books on his
right, and reached for the short volume with the worn, brown,
leather cover; the book in which he had discovered the word
“Acadae”.

As Francis pulled on the tome,
however, something unexpected happened: the entire shelving unit
moved, the top tipping forward. Horror stabbed Francis’ heart. He
jumped off to the side, into the door, but the door stayed closed.
As the shelving unit plunged, Francis crouched and put his arms up
over his head. The top of the unit crashed into the upper half of
the shelving on the opposite wall – and stopped – as all its books
and stacks of tied together paper rained down on Francis. The
corner of a fat volume banged against his head. Francis’ vision
went fuzzy. He put his hands down to the floor, in an attempt to
balance himself. More books thundered down onto his back and
head.

Then it was over.

The candle had gone out.
Francis lifted himself to his knees. His heart thumped, like an
angry fist against a door. Surely Bodin and the crew up on deck had
heard the shelving crash. He froze, listening for them. He heard
nothing, but he anticipated them, any second now, wrenching open
the secret door. He felt around on the floor with both hands. He
could feel books and loose papers everywhere. His left hand felt
the loose candle, and then the candle holder. He put them back
together, grabbed the flint from his pocket and re-lit the candle.
Once he had light, he saw what a complete disaster of books and
paper the floor had become. He was at a loss for what to do. Even
if there was an infinitesimal chance that Bodin had not heard the
shelving falling, there was now no way Francis could put all these
loose papers and books back together and return them to their
original state. Francis panicked. His heart now thudded, like loose
bricks raining down upon a table.

From nowhere, a swell of rage
erupted inside. Francis felt his entire being blazing with anger.
Anger with himself for being so careless. Anger with the men above
for killing the strongman on the island and imprisoning the Dream
Finder. And anger with Bodin for assassinating Robert of Dreighton
and stealing his boat and all of his possessions. He grasped a
group of papers from the floor and crumpled them into one ball. He
whipped the ball at the slanted shelving, and then snatched a large
volume and tore its pages out. He cared no longer if Bodin
discovered that he had seen his books or that he had invaded his
secret room or that he had destroyed his property. It was not even
the villain’s property to begin with anyway. He would take from
Bodin what he had taken from Robert of Dreighton, and he cared not
what Bodin would do once he found out. There was nothing Francis
cared about anymore. Nothing. Except perhaps one thing. Only one
thing...

Michael…

Francis had not thought of that
name in a long while. This entire mission of his – of being
recaptured by Bodin and not running off with Lily when she had
found him on the wild island – it was all for Michael. He had to be
led back to him. He had to help him.

Francis looked down at the
damage he had caused. He had to repair it somehow. There was still
a way to salvage his mission. He stood, pushing the fallen shelving
back into place. He then picked up all the scattered books and
placed them all back onto the shelves. He stopped then, and
listened. He still heard nothing.

Next, Francis picked up the
loose paper and tied them in stacks with the loose ribbon and
string they had fallen from. He unfolded the paper ball he had
crumpled and placed the flattened papers into one of the stacks. He
found a few loose envelopes. He stuffed these into the stacks as
well. He read the addressee on one of the envelopes. By someone’s
graceful hand was inscribed, “R. of D.”

Goosebumps emerged all over
Francis.

Francis lifted the envelope’s
flap and pulled out two sheets of parchment folded together.
Francis unfolded them. The letter began with the beautifully
handwritten, "My Dearest Robert".

As Francis read the letter to
himself, he realized that this letter had been written by someone
who had not seen Dreighton in a while. Francis went through all the
paper stacks and collected more envelopes addressed to R. of D. He
found six in all and shoved every one into his pocket.

Francis, his heart now stomping
against his chest, walked out of the secret room, closed the secret
door and stepped out into the corridor.

The corridor was empty. Francis
felt a rush of excitement. It appeared that no one had heard the
crash.

Francis entered the room he
shared with Bodin and placed the lit candle on the small table. He
lay down in his hammock, pulled an envelope from his pocket and
took its letter out. His eyes devoured the words. He skipped to the
end and saw that the letter was signed, “Love, Rosalie.”

This must have been
Dreighton’s wife
, Francis guessed. She had never been mentioned
by name in the popular books Francis had read. Francis went back to
the beginning of the letter and read it in its entirety. Rosalie
was very much in love with her husband.

Someone came to the door.
Francis whipped the letter behind his back and lay on top of it. He
put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He
heard footsteps move into the room. He turned his head and
discovered Bodin eyeing him, Bodin’s head tilted forward so that he
could fit in the room. Francis felt uncomfortable as he stared
right back at the beastly man’s wide face and beady, grey eyes.
What if he asks me what I was just doing?
Francis worried to
himself.
I won’t know what to say.

Before Bodin could inquire
anything, Francis took the initiative and asked, “Is anyone having
breakfast up there?”

“It’ll be ready in a minute,”
Bodin replied. “Why don’t you come on up?”

Francis had to sit up. If he
did, however, Bodin would see the folded letter under him and
realize that his secret room had been pilfered.

“Well,” Bodin said. “What are
you doing? Are you getting out of bed?”

“Yes,” Francis replied. He had
no choice; he sat up and turned in his hammock so that his feet
landed on the floor. Behind him, the letter remained. Francis
prayed his body hid it from Bodin’s view.

Bodin lingered, still gawking
at him. Francis tried his hardest to keep his face from turning red
and making him appear guilty of something.

Bodin stepped back and walked
down the corridor. Francis, relieved, gathered the letter and
envelope and pushed them into his pocket, along with the others,
and followed Bodin outside.

Out on deck, Francis ate his
breakfast of hot gruel alongside the other men. The gruel had no
taste but Francis needed something to fill his empty stomach. He
drank his slight serving of water and then walked toward the bow,
as far from Bodin as possible.

Once he was certain he was
unseen by the giant, Francis pulled out another envelope, removed
its letter and began to read. This letter was also written by
Robert of Dreighton’s wife, Rosalie, and in it she wrote mainly of
their two little children, Simon and Lola. She told a story of how
Lola was running everywhere and another about how Simon spoke to
everyone all the time even though he was only three years of age.
Francis smiled. These letters made him happy. He really liked
Rosalie. She seemed a very beautiful and loving person. For far too
long, Francis had only seen ugliness. He had only felt hate. This
woman knew nothing of these things. She was how the world should
be. Rosalie of Dreighton could bring order and purpose to anyone’s
life. Robert of Dreighton must have been blissful to come home
after a long adventure out at sea and be greeted by such a
wonderful person.

On the last paragraph, Rosalie
mentioned how “little Simon” was becoming aware that his father was
famous. When speaking to adults in the village, Simon stopped
referring to his father as just pappa, or daddy, and called him by
the name that everyone else called him: Robert of Dreighton.

“However, when it comes out of
his three-year-old mouth,” Rosalie wrote, “it sounds rather like
‘Beau-din’.”

Captain Strick stood on deck,
looking out through his telescope. With buckets of water, crew
members battled the large flames licking up the port side. Other
crew members were preparing to fire back but Captain Strick knew
that it would be of no use. This motionless, black ship was much
too small and too faraway a target. He also knew that two more hits
from this wasp of a boat would sink the HMS Glide. He called for
the sails to be adjusted. Despite her damage, and flames continuing
to chew away at one of her sides, the HMS Glide began to pull away.
Strick held his breath; they had to be removed from the black
sprite’s range before she was able to reload.

* * *

Lily looked on, still hidden
behind the bulky object covered with a blanket. She had wanted to
come up with a way to save the survivors from the sunken ship but
her train of thought was interrupted when Modo resumed blasting his
weapon. He had found a new target, and was now letting Mister Wazee
operate his triple-barrelled cannon. Mister Wazee pressed the
gunlock.

Pawk
!

* * *

Captain Strick looked through
his telescope, desperate for the black ship to be much further.

BA-BAM
!

The shot exploded into flames
on the port side, as Captain Strick was thrown backwards, crashing
into several barrels.

* * *

Mister Wazee was enjoying
himself. “You've produced one fine cannon, Modo,” he announced,
smiling. “Glorious.”

Lily lifted a portion of the
blanket covering the object before her. She saw the gleaming
surface of a silver-coloured machine. There was no time to lose.
She yanked off the blanket, revealing a four foot tall and four
foot wide machine with handles for both hands.

Modo and Mister Wazee both
turned.

Lily grabbed the handles. The
machine was on a swivel and Lily aimed its opposite end at Modo and
Mister Wazee.

“Who are you?” Modo asked,
appalled.

“I’m the one stopping you,”
Lily replied, finding the trigger button under her right index
finger.

“You do not know what that
does,” Modo stated.

“I’m sure it’s not to decorate
a cake.”

Mister Wazee stared back at
her, a statue of fright, his eyes and mouth opened as wide as
possible for a human. Modo, however, only grinned sideways. “It
needs to be unlocked in several places,” he informed Lily. “As it
is now, it is completely useless.”

He moved closer to the table
which displayed his various hand weapons.

“Well, maybe I’ll try it,” Lily
warned, “just to find out.”

“Perhaps you should,” Modo
replied, daring her.

Lily hesitated. What if Modo
was telling the truth? If he was lying, however, the machine might
kill him, and Lily was not so certain right then that she could
kill another.

Modo snatched something from
the table and cast it in her direction. Lily did not have time to
react as this object unfurled itself in mid-air with five
horizontal ropes stretching out from one vertical rope which ran
halfway through all the others. Palm-sized steel discs were
attached at all ten horizontal ends. As this object smacked Lily
hard in the chest, all five horizontal ropes wrapped themselves
around her, tightening, pinning her arms against her body and
binding her legs together. Lily lost her balance, falling to the
floor.

Lying on her back, Lily looked
at the vertical rope, strapped to her chest. There were pieces of
silver metal in between where the five horizontal ropes ran through
it. She kept her eyes focused on them, hoping to distract Modo as
he stepped closer, pulling a rapier from the right sleeve of his
black robes. Behind her back, Lily was managing to loosen her right
hand and forearm from the rope binding them. Once she accomplished
this, she kept her free limb behind her and felt around for a
release mechanism. She anticipated that this device had to have
one. A secret one. She knew that this was how Modo’s mind worked.
He created these dangerous toys to impress and he would have
designed a clever way to escape this. The disks from the ends of
the ropes were stuck together in pairs along her back, one on top
of the other, keeping her tied up. One by one, she pressed down on
all five sets. Nothing happened.

Modo stood over her with the
rapier in his left hand. He brushed his black bangs away from his
dark eyes.

“Should I fire now?” Mister
Wazee asked.

“Three more,” Modo answered,
crouching down toward Lily’s face with his knife. “The first one
should sink the ship at once.”

Lily found a pair of disks
which twisted on an axis. She twisted them more.

Clack
.

All five pairs of discs came
apart and all five horizontal ropes loosened. Lily reached up with
her left hand and clutched Modo’s knife-wielding wrist. She sat up,
grabbing one rope from the binding contraption with her right hand
and launching the entire thing at Mister Wazee. The contraption
slapped Wazee on his right thigh and encircled his legs like a vice
grip.

“Ahhhh,” he yelped, tumbling to
the floor, never having had the chance to fire the cannon.

Modo had already pulled his
wrist from Lily’s grip and now swiped the knife at her throat, but
Lily pushed herself back with both hands against the floor and
kicked out with both feet straight into Modo’s chest. Modo fell
back as Lily shot up and kicked at one of the handles of the four
foot device. The silver machine swung on its swivel and its
protruding end slammed Modo’s head as he was getting up. Modo
dropped to the ground as Lily rushed to the table with the hand
weapons.