The Scrolls of Gideon (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 7) Read online

  Formulas. Spells. Transmutation. The end.

  “The end of what?”

  Everything.

  That was the second time he’d said that word, and it was even more horrifying than the last. By now my nose was gushing and I could feel hot blood trickling from my ears. I had to stop soon, before I passed out. “One more thing,” I said. “If you knew this barrier was down here, you had to have a way out. What was your escape plan?”

  Mr. Wilt’s laughter tore through my head. We had a beacon to contact Milus Dei and send rescue boats to our location, once we secured the Scrolls, he said. But it went down with the ship, so to speak. Your brother crushed it when he tore everything apart to make that sphere.

  Fantastic. Even if the beacon had survived, I wasn’t sure I’d want to summon a bunch more Milus Dei goons here and fight them for their boats. We’d just have to find another way out, somehow.

  I hope you enjoy your slow and agonizing death, Gideon, Mr. Wilt sneered coldly in my head. I know I will. Since I’m apparently stuck here too, I’ll be watching all of you die and relishing every minute.

  “Yeah, you do that. Bye, now,” I said as I took my hand off the skull and broke the connection. I stayed crouched for a few minutes, waiting for some of the bleeding to slow and the headache to pass.

  When I finally felt like I could stand without collapsing, I headed away from the remains and gathered the others. “Okay, so I’ve got good news and bad news,” I said. “The bad news is we can’t use their escape plan. They had a beacon to send for some rescue boats, but it got destroyed when the ship went down.”

  Gasps and murmurs made the rounds. “Is the good news that you have a waterproof helicopter up your ass?” Junkyard said after a minute.

  “Uh, no. But I like the way you think,” I said. “The good news is, I think we’ll be able to find a way out of here. We just have to find the Nostradamus.”

  “I hate to tell you this, brother, but that does not sound like good news,” Taeral said. “How, exactly, is a four-hundred-year-old wreck going to help us escape the barrier and reach the surface?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but it will,” I said, hoping I sounded confident. “So let’s find the damned thing.”

  Honestly, I didn’t believe my own words for a second. But at least this way we’d have something to think about instead of how we were going to slowly starve to death down here, if the mermaids didn’t get us first.

  CHAPTER 28

  We’d been moving through the endless, tangled, dripping maze of shipwrecks for almost an hour. I’d given up trying to talk to the dead, since none of them knew anything about Sir Livingston Cromwell or the Nostradamus. I couldn’t even use the Path enchantments anymore. The tug was still there, but it kept changing directions and occasionally tried to urge me straight up into the air.

  I had a feeling that was less a failing of the magic, and more my complete inability to focus on where I wanted to be. Which was anywhere but here.

  Even with the makeshift crutch I’d been using, my bitten leg throbbed fire with every step, and I wasn’t the only one struggling. Every one of us was cold and damp, injured and exhausted. But we kept plodding on, grimly determined to find the elusive, giant wooden ship. No one actually believed it would save us, but at least we had a goal.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Alex said wearily after a long bout of silence. “Maybe … I don’t know, maybe there’s a way I can use weather magic to help us get out of here. Like, a windstorm or something.”

  Taeral snorted. “Oh, aye,” he said. “Perhaps you could part the sea, like Moses. Then we’d merely need to walk a hundred miles to the shore.”

  “It was just an idea,” Alex said, her eyes watering as she turned away.

  Taeral didn’t even need the dirty look Sadie gave him to know he’d gone too far. “I am sorry, Alex,” he said. “That was uncalled for. When I am in this state, my temper shortens and my tongue sharpens, but that is no excuse.”

  Sadie’s expression morphed into gratitude. “You know, I think that’s about the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to anyone. Including me,” she said. “Believe me, Alex, usually getting Taeral to apologize is like trying to make a tiger sit up and beg.”

  “I am not that difficult,” Taeral said, and then sighed. “All right. Perhaps I am. You’ve my apologies as well, a’ghrael.”

  She smirked at him. “Uh-huh. Sure I do.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Maybe there is something to this weather idea,” Junkyard said, looking at Alex. “I mean, if you can move water around…”

  Her eyes sparked for just a second, and then her face fell flat. “No. That’s crazy,” she said. “It’d never work.”

  “What is it?” I said. “Seriously, anything might help. You wouldn’t believe some of the crazy ideas I’ve had that—”

  Are you Gideon, the DeathSpeaker?

  I winced and let out a pained snarl as the unfamiliar voice boomed in my head. “Yeah, that’s me,” I said, waving off Taeral and Sadie when they started toward me. I pointed to my temple so they’d know I wasn’t talking to them, and said, “Could you maybe turn the volume down a little?”

  Of course. My apologies, the voice said in a more manageable tone. Whoever it was, he had a smooth, cultured English accent. I understand you’re looking for Sir Livingston Cromwell, he went on.

  “Yes, I am,” I said with the first ray of hope I felt since Mr. Wilt told me about the destroyed beacon.

  I happen to know him, the voice said. My name is Yancy Graham, and I’m one of the original founders of the Order of Gideon.

  “Uh. Nice to meet you, Yancy,” I said carefully. “So was Cromwell a founder too?”

  Indeed. There were nine of us, he said. And let me tell you, we find it fitting that the DeathSpeaker mantle has fallen to a Gideon. It’s too ironic.

  “Yeah, I’m laughing on the inside,” I told him. “Look, we really need to find Cromwell’s body, so if you could help us out—”

  My word, of course. You’ve been searching the souls in this place for him, haven’t you? Yancy paused briefly. But the reason you haven’t found Cromwell’s is that he’s still alive.

  “What?” I sputtered. “I thought the Nostradamus went down four hundred years ago!”

  It did, indeed. However, our Order possessed certain … skills, which we focused through Cromwell as the ship went down, enabling him to complete the mission.

  I blinked. “What mission?”

  To protect the Scrolls of Gideon, Yancy said. Perhaps you’d like to hear the rest from him. I can guide you to the Nostradamus.

  “Yes, please,” I said, grinning with relief. At least something was about to go right for a change.

  Very well, then. Here is the path.

  I was about to ask ‘what path’ when a series of images flashed through my mind in jerky motion, like one of those flip books. The images started with the view from where I was currently standing, moved ahead past a derelict submarine lying on its side, and then cut left around an oil tanker where there was barely enough space to pass through between the massive metal ship and the canyon wall. Through that narrow opening was the Nostradamus, sitting upright, intact, and apart from the rest of the wrecks on a slightly elevated sandbar.

  Holy shit, we were almost there.

  “Thank you,” I said as the last image vanished. “And you’re sure that Crowell is … on the ship?” I knew everyone was listening to me, and I didn’t want to mention the possibility of running into a four-hundred-year-old man just yet.

  Absolutely sure. He’ll be delighted to meet you, Yancy said. Best of luck to you, DeathSpeaker.

  “Yeah, I think I’m gonna need it,” I murmured as a tugging sensation in my head indicated that Yancy had left the building.

  I shook my head to clear it, and then looked around to find them all staring at me. “Well?” Taeral said impatiently.

  “So that was Yancy Graham, and he was on the Nostradamus,” I said. �
�He told me where the ship is.”

  “Incredible!” Alex said. “And you can find it now, from here?”

  “Yeah, we’re actually not far from it,” I said. “He also told me why I couldn’t contact Cromwell.”

  Sadie noticed my uncertain expression. “It’s something bad, isn’t it?” she said.

  “I’m not sure yet.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He said that Sir Livingston Cromwell is still alive.”

  “That’s not possible. He is human!” Taeral said. “Isn’t he?”

  I shrugged. “Far as I know. But there’s only one way to find out, and that’s getting to the ship.” I looked around at four worried faces. “Is everybody still okay with that plan?”

  “Well, I don’t think anybody has a better idea,” Junkyard said. “I say we might as well.”

  “Yeah, why not?” Sadie said, elbowing Taeral when he pulled a sour face.

  Taeral raised a hand in surrender. “Very well. I’ll go.”

  That left one undecided vote, and I looked at her. “Alex?”

  “I can’t believe…” She closed her eyes and breathed in sharply through her nose. “All right,” she finally said. “Let’s go.”

  I nodded and started in the direction Yancy had shown me. Past the submarine, around the tanker, down the massive length of it and through the short, narrow opening at the end. Taeral had to bend almost double to make it through. And when we reached the other side, the Nostradamus was there, exactly the way I’d seen it in my head.

  Except for the lights flickering in two of the round windows below the main deck, on the side facing us.

  “Oh my God,” Sadie breathed. “I think someone really is in there.”

  We approached the ship slowly, with a shared reluctance to face what was probably on board. Halfway across the distance, Alex said, “She’s absolutely beautiful. You don’t get craftsmanship like that anymore.”

  “Yeah, she’s a real work of art,” Junkyard murmured in reverent agreement. “Wonder if she’d still float?”

  I didn’t point out the fact that we’d never get that ship anywhere near the water to test out that idea.

  There was a cargo net hanging over the side of the ship, from the top deck all the way to the ground. It looked like the only way up — and it was a long way. The Nostradamus was easily a hundred and fifty feet long, probably more, and at least thirty feet from the ground to the deck.

  I tucked my makeshift crutch into the back of my jacket, grabbed the net with both hands and yanked as hard as I could. When it didn’t fall down or rip apart, I shrugged. “Guess we climb from here,” I said. “I’ll go first.”

  No one offered to stop me, so I went.

  It only took about a minute to reach the top, haul myself over the railing and stand on the deck. The broken oar was digging into my back, so I pulled it loose and tossed the stake aside. Then I moved a few paces away from the side and stared at everything, not sure if I could trust my eyes.

  I really didn’t know much about ships, except the names, but Alex was right. This was a beautiful vessel, all smooth polished wood and carved banisters with elaborate decorative accents. Unlike the other ships down here, the Nostradamus showed no sign of rot, damage, or disrepair. Even the sails were whole and untouched.

  In fact, it looked like it could’ve been built yesterday.

  When everyone gained the deck, we headed for the door beneath the steering platform. It was in the same spot as the below-decks access on the Foxtrot Uniform had been, but this door was thick, carved mahogany with a round glass window and a gleaming brass pull that opened easily, without a single creak.

  The flickering light from below illuminated the stairs, and we headed down.

  “Should we announce ourselves or something?” Junkyard whispered as our footsteps echoed on the wooden steps. “I mean, what if we scare the hell out of this four-hundred-year-old dude, and he has a heart attack or something?”

  I held back a laugh. I could see why Alex had made Junkyard her first mate — he took everything in stride, even the impossible. “I think if he’s lived this long, a handful of surprise visitors aren’t going to kill him,” I said.

  The stairs reached a small landing and turned back in the other direction, toward the bulk of the ship. There was another door at the bottom, but this one didn’t have a window. I held my breath as I depressed the latch, paused for a few seconds, and then pulled it open.

  When I looked inside, I barely noticed the huge, luxurious room with the fireplace that cast the light we’d seen, or the wizened figure slumped in a chair at the hearth. All I could focus on was the other figure in the room, the one standing next to the seated man because no chair on Earth would hold him, unless it was made out of more stone than he was.

  The grin that split my face was completely involuntary. “Grygg!”

  CHAPTER 29

  Grygg was actually smiling. I didn’t think I’d ever seen an expression like that on his face, but there was no question he was happy, and alive. In fact, he looked a lot more alive than any stone statue had a right to look. There was something different about him.

  “You made it!” he said. “Please, come in and sit down. We have so much to tell you.”

  Okay, that was definitely different. His voice was still deeper than the Grand Canyon with an edge like a rockslide, but he’d delivered the words at almost normal speed. “Uh, Grygg? What happened to you?” I said as everyone else piled in behind me and gawked at everything.

  “I’m better now. And I’ve learned everything I set out to find, and so much more.” The strangely genuine smile came back to his face. “Lord Taeral, your promise is fulfilled,” he said with a nod that was almost a bow. “Thank you for helping me.”

  “Do not call me that,” Taeral said as he edged further into the room, staring at the ancient man in the velvet armchair. He tore his gaze from the figure and looked at Grygg. “Aye, that’s one promise kept,” he said. “But I’m still not certain the other will be. If you knew we were here, why did you not rejoin us?”

  “Because Dante can’t know that Grygg still lives.” The old man in the chair gripped a diamond-topped cane that rested against the arm and used it to push himself to his feet, looking at all of us. “He wanted to come to your aid, but regrettably, I couldn’t let him,” he went on in a paper-thin, trembling voice. “And yes, I am Sir Livingston Cromwell.”

  Everyone started firing questions, comments, and exclamations at once.

  “Please,” Grygg said, raising both arms in a shushing gesture like the world’s biggest librarian. “If you would all sit down and relax, we can explain everything.”

  Cromwell gestured at Sadie with a gnarled hand. “Perhaps the lady would care for some more appropriate attire before we begin,” he said.

  Sadie blushed and tried to pull Alex’s slicker tighter around herself. “Er, yes,” she said. “If you have some clothes around here, I’d love to be … you know. More dressed than this.”

  “I may be able to do better than that. In fact, I believe I can help all of you,” Cromwell said, and turned to Grygg. “There is a small black wooden chest in the second storeroom, immediately to the right of the door on the second shelf up. If you would be so kind as to fetch it?”

  “Of course, Master,” Grygg bowed his head and started across the room. I noticed he was walking faster too, with a bit more grace than his usual Frankenstein stomp.

  When he left and closed the door, I sent an uneasy look at Cromwell. “You’ve got him calling you master?” I said. “Listen, he may be a golem, but he’s not a thing. If you put some kind of controlling spell on him or something…”

  Cromwell cackled laughter. “Ah, yes, there it is,” he said. “Grygg told me all about you, Gideon, and how quick you’ve always been to defend his honor. Even when you barely knew him.” He looked at me critically, and then nodded. “He’s made the right choice.”

  “What choice?”

  “All in good
time,” Cromwell said, and then gestured at the couches arranged in a loose U shape around a coffee table to face the fireplace. They were the same style as the armchair, all velvet and polished wood. Very Victorian. “Please, if you would all take seats,” he said. “You must be exhausted as well as curious.”

  Alex and Junkyard were the first to take him up on his offer, drifting toward the couch to the left of the fire as they stared around the room in wonder. I’d never been on a ship this big, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t a standard feature for most of them. It was basically a den, with the furniture set arranged on a woven area rug placed on the hardwood floor. Fireplace at one end, door between two bookshelves across from it. There was a cabinet stocked with glasses and full bottles against one wall, and a large wooden chest against the other.

  Taeral looked like he would refuse to sit on principle, but Sadie nearly dragged him over to the couch across from Alex and Junkyard. So I took the last couch, facing the fire.

  “Thank you. I’m afraid I’m a bit too old to stand on ceremony for long,” Cromwell said with a chuckle as he sank back into the armchair and sighed relief. “Let’s start with that,” he said. “I am, in fact, four hundred years old. Four hundred and thirty-seven, to be precise. And yes, I am fully human.” He looked at Taeral when he said that. “I’m also not psychic. My prescient knowledge is merely a side effect of having lived so long, apparently.”

  “Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Junkyard said, raising a hand like he was asking to go to the bathroom. “But do you mind if we have a drink from your cabinet there? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a stiff shot of something.”

  “Of course, by all means.” Cromwell waved a hand. “You’ll have to forgive my terrible manners. I haven’t entertained guests in four centuries.” As Junkyard got up and headed for the cabinet, Cromwell added, “You may enjoy the third bottle from the left on the top shelf. It’s a very fine, mellow oak barrel whiskey, bottled in 1483 by the elves of the Carpathian Mountains.”