Scar Island(28)

“That’s a lot of coal,” Jonathan said.

“Yeah,” Colin answered, hanging his lantern from a hook on the ceiling. “Coal delivery day ith the wortht. Three hourth of wheelbarrow work. And for every little lump you drop, you get a minute on the Thinner’th Thorrow. I dropped ten latht time.”

“Ouch.”

They walked to where a couple of shovels were leaning against a wheelbarrow. They each grabbed one and started scooping coal into the wheelbarrow. The scraping of their shovels echoed on the low stone ceiling. Black dust from the coal sifted up and soon they were both coughing and clearing their throats as they shoveled.

“What wath really there?” Colin asked between breaths. “At the Hatch?”

“Just a door,” Jonathan panted back. “I told you.”

Colin shook his head. “You’re keeping thomething. A thecret.”

Jonathan stopped and leaned on his shovel. “How do you know that?”

Colin shrugged and kept on shoveling. “I watch. Clothely. And lithen. Almotht no one elth doth that. And I can tell you didn’t tell everything.”

Jonathan sighed and scraped another shovelful of coal into the wheelbarrow.

“You’re good,” he admitted, then told Colin about the sounds and the skull and the strange, ancient-looking door with the spinning handle. He didn’t mention, though, the other staircase, or the librarian.

“A thkull. That’th tho weird. It’th like a … warning. Or a threat.” He dropped his shovel and grabbed the handles of the full wheelbarrow. Maneuvering through the coal piles, he rolled it up to the growling furnace. Jonathan followed cautiously behind him.

At the furnace, Colin stepped forward and turned a few rusty bolts, then swung open a thick metal door. A blast of heat rippled out into the room. Jonathan took a step back and covered his face with one arm. He squinted out from under his elbow.

Inside the furnace was a burning hell of flames and fire, glowing in shifting hues of red and orange and blazing white. He couldn’t look at it without narrowing his eyes to slits. The heat made the air waver and ripple.

Colin turned and saw Jonathan backing away. He blinked and then swung the furnace door mostly closed.

“You’re thcared,” he said, and Jonathan looked away. “Why?”

Jonathan just shook his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his face.

“You can trutht me,” Colin said. His voice was soft, but insistent. Jonathan nodded and swallowed a ball of fear.

“Something … happened,” he said, his voice shaky. “To me.”

“What?”

Jonathan took two steps forward and undid the buttons on the sleeves of his shirt. One after the other, he pulled his sleeves up to his elbows and held out his arms to Colin.

Colin’s coal-smeared face leaned closer to see. The lantern swung from its hook above them, making shadows writhe and twist around them. His eyebrows rose into the beads of sweat on his forehead. His mouth rounded in surprise.

He reached out and ran his fingers softly over the twisted grooves etched into Jonathan’s skin. He brushed his fingernails gingerly over the toughened swirls of hard scar tissue that covered Jonathan’s arms all the way from his wrists until they disappeared into his bunched-up sleeves. Jonathan’s hands were shaking. With a gasp he pulled back suddenly and tugged his sleeves back down to cover his tortured arms.

“I … I don’t like to show people,” he stammered, desperately fumbling with his sleeve buttons. “I don’t like to see them myself,” he added more quietly. Colin grabbed Jonathan’s trembling hands and held them still. Then he gently buttoned up the first of Jonathan’s sleeves.

“They’re burnth,” he whispered. “Were you caught in a fire?”

“No.” Jonathan shook his head. Tears sprang to his eyes and he looked away. “I was not in the fire.”

Colin finished buttoning the second sleeve and looked up at Jonathan with eyes that were quiet and wide. He was watching. Closely. And listening.

“When? When did thith happen?”

Jonathan took a ragged breath. “A while back,” he answered.

“What happened?”

Jonathan ground his teeth together. He blinked and shook his head.

“We should—finish the coal.”

“Okay. Thure.”

Colin turned and reopened the furnace door. The small, suffocating room once again filled with heat and angry light. Colin pushed the wheelbarrow right up to the furnace’s open, red mouth.

“It’th okay,” he called back over his shoulder. “I think I can do it mythelf.” He grabbed both handles of the wheelbarrow and struggled to tilt it up into the furnace. He grunted and his feet slid and slipped on the coal-dusted floor.

Jonathan shook his head and winced. He watched Colin wrestling with the heavy wheelbarrow. His arms were crossed, the fingers of each hand rubbing through his sleeves at the burns on his arms. Colin looked so small, so helpless by the burning fire. So in need of help. Jonathan stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Colin, and took hold of one of the handles. Together they lifted it and dumped the load of coal into the waiting flames. There was a shower of sparks and a fresh wave of heat. Jonathan’s arms burned. They let the wheelbarrow drop and Colin slammed the furnace door.