Barefoot Pirate, Page 4

  “I brought a flashlight,” Joe offered.

  She grunted. “So did I.” She started walking fast up the beach toward the forest. “Thing is, what if they have enemies around here? When you really think about it, that book didn’t tell us much.”

  They reached the edge of the forest, which started abruptly. Joe peered into the gloom between the interlaced branches of close-growing trees, then shook his head. “That’s no trail—”

  Shouts came from further up the beach. They exchanged a look, then ducked down behind a couple of bushes.

  A group of dark-clad figures ran to the spot they’d appeared, then swarmed around the beach. One even splashed into the surf.

  “Is that them?” Joe breathed, recalling her comment about enemies.

  “I can’t tell. A couple of them look awfully tall for kids—”

  “Curse Todan’s black heart,” one of the voices yelled, his voice coming clearly over the sound of the surf.

  Joe blinked, feeling a second of vertigo. The words were not English, but a split-second later his mind understood them as if they had been.

  “He must have sounded my spell after all, and traced our visitor. No one in sight!”

  Motionless behind her bush, Nan stared.

  Joe got an idea. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled, “Tarsen!”

  And one of the figures swung violently around.

  “That was taking a chance,” Nan muttered. “But I’m glad you thought of it.”

  “We could always have run into this forest if they’d been the bad guys,” Joe said as they straightened up.

  The people came at them at a dead run—and stopped a few feet away, ranging themselves in a line before Joe and Nan. And they were people, too: much like Earth people, skin varying shades of brown and the usual number of arms, legs, eyes, and ears. Joe stared in astonishment as the biggest of the newcomers put his hand on the hilt of a long knife at his side. He sensed Nan tensing up beside him.

  “What have you for us?” the shortest figure said.

  Again, the words were a melodious flow that clicked into place a moment later.

  Joe shook his head. Beside him, Nan slid her hand into her school bag, then silently withdrew the book.

  “It is my token,” said the short one. “And we’ve not one visitor, but two!”

  The other kids let loose with a loud cheer. Nan’s pale face swung in Joe’s direction, though he couldn’t see her expression. “Nice going,” he breathed.

  “Come, come quickly,” the short one said then. “Let us get back into our Circle before someone does discover us. Who knows if Gate-magic can be traced?”

  At once the shadowy kids formed into two business-like lines. “This way,” said the one Joe had identified as Tarsen.

  He turned a couple of fast back-flips down the beach, kicking sand high, then he led the way at a rapid clip back in the direction they’d come. Nan toiled along beside Joe. The tall, lean one with the knife ran silently right behind them.

  They ran until the sky darkened to nearly black, and it was difficult to see. When they rounded a mighty outcropping of rock, Tarsen slowed.

  The short one hummed something, his fingers flickered, glowed briefly, and then on what seemed a wide, empty beach a path appeared. Joe stared, fascinated. The pathway was limned in bluish light.

  One by one their guides stepped onto it, their figures becoming dim and hard to see. When it was his turn, Joe followed, looking down as he did so. His shoes were fuzzy around the edges—almost half invisible. Nan scanned warily, clutching the brown book in her hands.

  The path led toward the forest line, then veered toward a rocky outcropping. Once again they stopped, and once again the short one did something magical. The rock disappeared and left them staring into a black void.

  Their guides ran in. Joe followed, his heart banging away in his chest. The rock closed behind them, leaving them in darkness.

  Five

  Light came on—twin rows of round, softly glowing globes of blue. They were set at intervals high in the unevenly carved rock of a tunnel, leading down and down beneath the ground.

  Joe’s guides started running down the tunnel. He followed more slowly, hoping he wouldn’t trip. The floor of the tunnel was smooth, despite the rough-hewn appearance of the walls and ceiling.

  Nan appeared next to him, puffing from the long sprint on the beach. The dim blue light from the globes bleached her face, leaving it stark.

  The tunnel made a right turn, and they entered a wide room. This was also lit by globes, but the light was golden, and much brighter.

  “Wow,” Joe exclaimed.

  The room was circular, with smooth gray-streaked rock walls. On the ground was a scattering of brightly colored rugs, and long squashy pillows with tassels on the ends. “That book sure didn’t talk about this.”

  “Do they understand our lingo?” someone new said.

  Joe felt the words—and the slang—resolve into English in his mind as he looked into the interested brown face of the speaker. She was a tall girl with long, glossy dark braids. Slanted eyes framed by thick lashes stared back at him, interest for interest.

  “Yes, for they showed us my token,” said the short guide, who in the light turned out to be a thin boy with pale, almost white hair.

  “We can, but it takes a couple seconds,” Joe said slowly. He felt the words change as he spoke them, coming out in that same melodic language.

  All, that is, except the word seconds. That stayed in English.

  “Seck-ons?” the short boy repeated. He had almond-shaped blue eyes, and a sharp chin. His brow puckered. “Has the translator spell gone amiss? Or is that a spell of your own?”

  Joe shook his head and exchanged looks with Nan. She just shrugged jerkily. So he said, “Seconds, a small unit of time. Hours. Clocks?” All three words came out in English. “Uh, telling what time of the day it is?” That came out in the language.

  And the faces around him cleared. “Ah yes, the candles? Though we use magic for that,” said the short boy, pointing to a globe set on thin silver rods. This globe, unlike any of the others, was changing from a blue color to gold. “The time is the end of blue-three, now—meaning the end of the day. The day is divided into colors: night to morning is gold, and the height of the day is green, and after it, until the sun sets, is blue.” He grinned. “And I am Kevriac.”

  “Joe Robles,” Joe said, pointing to himself.

  “I’m Nan,” the girl said quietly. And with a funny look at Joe, she added, “That’s all I need here.”

  “Blackeye,” said the tall girl with the braids. She swept a hand around at the rest of the group. “If you found Kevriac’s scroll, you will know something about us.”

  “They knew me. Woofed my name right out,” Tarsen said. He strolled in, head angled proudly. Joe liked his cocky grin and his funny, long face under its wild curly brown hair.

  “That’s Warron,” Kevriac added, pointing to the tallest one. Warron slouched against a wall, a lean, action-ready figure with a bony face, wickedly slanting eyes, and long black hair clipped back in a pony-tail.

  “I am Sarilda,” a new voice spoke. A girl appeared, shorter even than Kevriac. She moved like she was made out of air, and her long tangled hair looked like tree bark with silver streaks in it. Gesturing airily behind her, she said, “And that’s Tarly.”

  Tarly the centaur was just a little taller than Joe, with a human torso and long reddish-brown hair. At her waist reddish-brown horse-hair started; she had a smallish horse body, with dainty hooves, and a silky tail the exact color of her hair. A pair of gentle, slightly quizzical gray-blue eyes stared back at Joe from a round-cheeked, freckled kid’s face. Tarly’s hands were small but capable-looking, and she wore a short, colorfully embroidered vest, leaving her smooth brown human arms bare. When she turned, Joe saw that Tarly had white dapples along her back.

  “You’ll meet Bran, Shor, and Mican when they return from their run. And that i
s all of us, excepting only Elan, who lives in Fortanya,” said Tarsen. “You’re here—at last.” He smacked his hands together. “Now let us talk about pinching the Falcon—”

  “A moment,” Blackeye interrupted. She sat on the edge of a long square table, regarding Joe and Nan with a sort of friendly but close assessment. “First we have to find out some things.”

  “Like how much magic you know?” Kevriac put in eagerly.

  Joe laughed as he looked at Nan.

  “That means either lots or none, I’ll wager,” Sarilda chortled. Her voice was high and clear, a little like she was singing.

  “None about sums it up,” Joe said.

  Nan spoke for the first time. “On our world,” she said grimly, “they say magic doesn’t exist.”

  All six of Blackeye’s gang burst into laughter.

  “Here’s a blindness,” Blackeye said finally. “Well! It even beats out Thesreve, a country that burns anyone caught making the smallest spell. But there it’s forbidden. To say it doesn’t exist...”

  “As well deny the sun!” Tarsen exclaimed.

  “You could, if it was always night,” Nan said.

  Blackeye’s slanted brows went up even more steeply. “It seems your land has mysteries of its own. Yet you found your way here.”

  “Thanks to your book,” Joe said, pointing to the brown corner sticking up from Nan’s hands. “We did your spell three times, like it said, and we found ourselves here. That is, on the beach.”

  “Ah,” Kevriac said. “Let me see.”

  He lunged forward and took the book from Nan. But when he opened it, it disappeared. Nan jumped, startled; Kevriac merely shrugged. “I thought it might come to that. Means, the scroll has truly served its purpose.” He smiled suddenly. “I did get a glimpse of their script, which was unlike any of ours,” he added. “What words of transport did you speak? Can you say them again?”

  Joe opened his mouth, but Nan quickly forestalled him. “Will they take us back there?”

  Kevriac blinked. “I would say I do not think so—but then, it is not all my magic at work here. So I don’t know.”

  “We could say it once,” Joe said. “We had to say it three times for the spell to work.”

  “You say it,” Nan shot back, arms crossed tightly.

  So Joe repeated the phrase, and Kevriac looked puzzled. “No, that is nothing I know. But as I said, the Gate Magic was arranged by another—”

  Once again Blackeye interrupted. “Debate the magic details later, Kevriac and Choe-roblas. First let us discuss our more immediate concerns. You know from Kevriac’s chronicle what it is we’re trying to do?”

  Joe nodded, and Nan said, “You’re going to get rid of a creepy Regent, and our job is to free the prince from an enchantment.”

  “You’ve said you know nothing of magic,” Blackeye replied. “What training have you had in self defense?”

  “None,” Nan said in a flat voice.

  Joe shrugged, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed.

  Warron moved slightly. It seemed to Joe he was about to speak, but he remained silent. Blackeye pursed her lips.

  Tarsen whistled. “Then we have plenty to do, eh?”

  “Sorry,” Joe muttered, thinking: It was so great to get away, I never thought about how we’d rate when we got here.

  Nan said firmly, “We’ll learn. He’s good at sports. And I—I’d like to know something about self defense.”

  Blackeye’s eyes narrowed. “I was about to hazard a guess you come from a world lucky in peace, but that is not so?”

  “Not at all so,” Nan said. “Gangs, bullies, and all kinds of rottenness. But most fighting is done with guns—”

  The word ‘guns’ came out in English again, and Nan and Joe had to provide an explanation. When the others finally grasped the notion of a weapon which killed from a distance, they were universal in condemning such cowardliness.

  “At least here when persons attack one another, they are in reach of the other’s skills,” Tarsen exclaimed.

  “I don’t claim we are any better than another world, not with the accursed Todan and his bootlickers running things as they like, but this world of yours sounds very strange,” Sarilda said, and shrugged expressively.

  “No matter,” Blackeye put in. “We can discuss the mysteries of other worlds after we have begun our work here. Our first job was to be the recovery of our ship. Before that, I think, we must train you two a little.”

  Joe saw her exchange a look, difficult to interpret, with Warron.

  “But first food, and maybe some sleep? Are you two as tired as you look?” Sarilda put in briskly.

  Joe grinned. “Try a couple nights without sleep, and see how you feel. When we left our world, it was well past midnight.” He noticed that word came through the translation all right.

  “Then come with me, Joe-roblas,” Tarsen said.

  “Here,” Sarilda added, throwing a wad of netting at Tarsen. “This is a draw, I think you’ll agree.” She laughed.

  “A draw, a draw,” Tarsen exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “I agree!”

  Blackeye snorted. “You’d better.” She waved at Nan. “We thought to have one visitor. Truth to tell, we were wondering if we’d get that, for it’s been some weeks. Anyway, you can use Elan’s bunk.”

  Nan followed Blackeye down an adjacent tunnel.

  “We had a wager,” Tarsen said. “Whether we’d get a girl or boy. The losers to do a half-season’s housekeeping chores for the others.”

  As he spoke, he led Joe down a short tunnel to a smaller room, also lit by round glowglobes. He saw hammocks strung at various levels on one side, and chests lining the other side. Various weapons of the sword and knife variety hung neatly from a plainly made rack.

  “Stow your gear in that chest there. The empty one. Shall I string this for you?” Tarsen asked. “Or would you rather?”

  “I don’t think I know how,” Joe said. “I mean, we have hammocks at home, but I’ve never put one up.” He looked around again, thinking joyfully: I’m here. I’m really here.

  “Then I’ll do it, and show you anon,” Tarsen said. “Go ahead, that chest is for you. We thought we’d have a boy, see.”

  “And the girls thought a girl would come?” Joe asked, taking off his backpack and lowering it into the chest.

  “To be expected, don’t you think?” Tarsen said cheerfully. “There. Now, what is it you brought? Anything good for smiting Regents?” He reached out to touch Joe’s scruffy school backpack. “This is a fine thing. What’s that?” He pointed to a zipper.

  Joe showed him how the zippers worked, then unloaded his stuff. Tarsen seemed very taken with the cans and the can opener (which he’d first thought was a weapon of some kind) and with how strange Joe’s clothes looked, especially the jeans. The flashlight, though, amazed him the most. He wanted to know how they got the magic into the little cylinder. Joe tried to explain about electricity, but as he’d only paid half-attention to Mr. Guevara droning away about electrons in science, he finally stopped—his audience was as confused as he was.

  “Batt-ery?” Tarsen repeated finally. “And you say your world has no magic?”

  “No magic. Electricity, we got lots of.” Joe grinned. “Maybe Nan can give you a better explanation. She might be better at science.”

  Tarsen showed him the spring-room, which was a bare room below all the others with a streaming running the length. The water was shocking cold, but it tasted wonderful. They also used it for baths, Tarsen explained—something Joe was not ready for yet. His fingers felt numb from just cupping the water for a drink.

  Tarsen took him back to the hammocks, and Joe relaxed into his as they talked about various things. He’d thought it would be impossible to sleep, but once he was lying in the gently swinging hammock, he found it nearly impossible not to shut his eyes...

  o0o

  “Joe-roblas is asleep,” Tarsen reported, appearing at the opening to the girls’ room.
<
br />   Nan watched Kevriac look up, then back at Sarilda, who had been explaining the watch and chore systems to Nan. Nan had readily agreed to job-assignments for both herself and Joe. Her stuff was stowed in the space the girls had had waiting, and she had a place to sleep.

  What she was waiting for now was a chance to talk to Kevriac about magic. Not necessarily to start learning it right away. That had been her first idea. As soon as Blackeye had asked that stuff about what could they do, though, she was glad she’d kept her mouth shut.

  They probably think we’re a couple of useless nerds, she thought grimly. So I’ll ask for lessons as soon as we’ve found and freed their prince. But before then it should be okay to just ASK about magic...

  When Sarilda started her description of their chore system Blackeye left on some errand, but Kevriac, who had asked if he could come in with them, stayed. When Sarilda was done, she offered to get Nan something hot to drink, and Nan said yes—just to get rid of her.

  Kevriac got up to go with her.

  Nan, who never talked to anybody if she could help it, forced herself to say, “I’ve got a question—”

  Both kids stopped and turned.

  “Uh, about magic. The uh, token-thing you made.”

  Sarilda flipped her hand up airily. “Oh, he knows about that stuff. He can tell you whatever you need to know. I’ll get the chocolate.”

  Kevriac grinned and sat down cross-legged on the smooth dirt floor. “Maybe we can trade questions? I want to know about your world.”

  At the reminder of Earth, Nan felt a hot wave of hatred inside, but she did not show it. This is a new beginning, she thought. Nobody has to know I’m a total reject. And nobody IS going to know it.

  Out loud, she said: “Sure,” and shrugged.

  “You must begin,” Kevriac said with a friendly gesture.

  “Did you have to learn our language in order to write it? And how did you manage to pick our school library to put your book—your token—in?” Both words translated, so they had to have schools and libraries.

  “I don’t know your language,” Kevriac said. “That’s why I wanted to see the token.” He smiled as he rubbed his eyes. “The script looked very strange to me. Anyway, the one who arranged the Gate-magic must have either translated it, or caused it to be translated.”