Scar Island(27)

“So it’ll come tomorrow?”

“Yeah. So?”

Jonathan looked around. He didn’t want to make Sebastian look bad in front of the group.

“Well … so … we’ll need something to give to it, right? Wouldn’t it be suspicious if we didn’t?”

Sebastian stopped chewing with his mouth stuck open.

“Oh,” he said after a moment. “Yeah. Right. I was gonna get to that.” He chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds before continuing. “We all still need to write letters every day, just like we were. No one eats dinner until we have your letter.” Benny jumped up again and whispered something to him. Sebastian nodded. “And I’m reading every one. No one says anything about the grown-ups or the lightning or anything. Everything’s just A-okay here at Slabhenge, right? Walter, go grab a bunch of paper and pens.”



They all sat in silence, writing their letters home.

Jonathan stalled, looking around at the other boys bent over their papers. Tongues poked out of mouths. Eyebrows crinkled. Pen tips scratched on paper. Out through the windows, the sky was darkening toward night. It was raining hard now, the afternoon’s drizzle turned to a steady pour. The boys around him were squinting to see their own words.

When each boy finished, he walked up and handed it to Benny, who read it over. He’d nod and hand it back and the boy would address the envelope and it would go in the mailbag.

Jonathan stared at his blank sheet of paper, trying to find words in the darkness. Colin sat beside him. He’d already handed in his letter, but he’d gotten another piece of paper and his hands were fluttering busily around it.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan asked him in a whisper.

“Origami,” Colin answered. He made a few more quick folds and then held up the paper, now folded into an intricate shape. “Thee? It’th a bird. A crane.” His smile rose and then flitted away. He handed the paper bird to Jonathan.

“Cool. Thanks. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Colin shrugged. “I thtole a book.” They grinned at each other. Jonathan took a breath and went back to his own blank piece of paper.

Benny sneered at Jonathan when he walked up with his letter. He was by himself at the end of a long table, a tall white candle lighting his face. His eyes skimmed over Jonathan’s letter.

“Looks good enough, Johnny. I guess. Who’s Sophia?” His eyes flashed up to Jonathan. In the candlelight, they looked hungry and black, like a cobra’s. But less honest.

“She’s … a friend.”

A venomous smile rose like oil at the corners of Benny’s mouth. The points of his teeth showed like fangs. He lowered his voice to a taunting hiss so the boys at the other tables couldn’t hear.

“No, she’s not. I saw your paperwork, Johnny. In the Admiral’s office, the day you got here.” His foul smile widened. Jonathan’s breaths got shallow and fast. His mouth went dry. “I know what you did. I know. You better do everything Sebastian says. And everything I say. Or I’ll tell. And you don’t want me to tell, do you?”

Jonathan shook his head, one small shake side to side.

Benny grinned. He handed Jonathan an envelope. When he spoke, his voice was loud again.

“Here you go, Johnny. Write Mommy and Daddy’s address right there.” He flashed a smile like a knife blade in the dark and turned back to his own letter.

Jonathan had to steady his shaking hand to write down his parents’ address. The librarian’s warning echoed in his mind: Things always go bad. Out there.





Colin was right about Sebastian being angry at Jonathan. He showed his anger after dinner, in the flickering light of a dozen candles scattered throughout the dining room.

Sebastian swallowed a final bite of a shortbread and wiped the corners of his mouth, then stood up. He banged his metal plate on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“All right. In the morning, we’ll have to meet the mail boat again. You ready for that, Gerald?”

Gerald burped and nodded.

“Good. You all can drag your mattresses wherever. Even in here, if you want.” The boys looked around. It was a big room, with plenty of floor space. But it was also a little close to the freezer.

“Now,” Sebastian continued, “it’s time to refill the coal furnace. We need two people. How about …”—his voice trailed off as he scanned the room—“Colin. And … let’s see.” His dark eyes glittered in the candlelight and flashed to Jonathan. He smiled. “Johnny. Oh, wait … you don’t like fire, right?” Jonathan’s eyes dropped to the floor. He rubbed his hands on his sleeves. “Well, sorry. Everyone has to take a turn. Be sure to fill it real full.”

Sebastian grabbed a candle and stalked away with Benny and some others at his heels. They disappeared out the door that led up to the grown-ups’ bedrooms.

Colin sighed and looked at Jonathan.

“Well,” he said, “I geth we thould jutht go and get it over with. It’th not that bad.”

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.”

The furnace was in a room beneath the kitchen, down a steep, short staircase. The room was hot and muggy and smelled like a wet ashtray. The ceiling was so low, Jonathan could have jumped and touched it. It, too, was made of stone blocks, held together with crumbling mortar and forming a steep arch, so that it curved down to meet the floor at both side walls. The furnace was a black iron monster the size of a car, squatting in the far darkness. It hissed and hummed and rumbled. The rest of the room was filled with waist-high heaps of lumpy black coal. A little trail wound between the coal piles to the furnace.