Scar Island(45)

“I don’t know where he is,” Jonathan lied.

“Liar.”

Jonathan looked away. He was seated at one of the long dining room tables. Benny and Francis stood on either side of him. All the other boys were standing around, watching nervously.

“Fine. It’s your funeral.” Sebastian pushed a paper and pen across the table to him. “Write what I say. Exactly what I say. Benny, check his work.”

Jonathan pursed his lips, then picked up the pen. There was no use fighting. It would only make things worse.

“Dear Mom and Dad,” Sebastian started, and Jonathan rolled his eyes and copied the words onto the paper. “Everything is going fine. The food is good and I’m learning a lot.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Add an exclamation point to that. Make it look cheerful.” His eyes rose to the ceiling in concentration. “I won’t be able to write for a while. We are …” Sebastian paused and squinted one eye, drumming his lips with his fingers. “We are getting ready for a big test. I love you and miss you lots. Love, Johnny.”

“You really want me to sign it ‘Johnny’?”

Sebastian lowered his eyes and glared across the table.

“Love, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s pen scratched across the paper and then he set it down.

“How’d he do, Benny?”

“Fine. He wrote just what you said.”

Sebastian rose to his feet.

“That’s your last letter home, Johnny.” He looked past Jonathan to the kids standing behind him. “Give him a couple candles. And a book of matches.” His eyes dropped back down to Jonathan and he smiled. “Although I don’t know if we can really trust him with matches.”

With an echoing crash, the door to the courtyard swung open and smashed into the stone wall. They all jumped and turned. Rain blew through the open door, splattering the dark stone wall. Some of the candles they’d lit blew out in the wind that blustered in among them.

“Damn it, close that door, Reggie!” Sebastian shouted. Lightning flashed, and a rumble of thunder cracked, sounding unnaturally loud through the open door. “And make sure it’s closed all the way this time!”

When the storm was once again locked mostly outside, Sebastian turned back to Jonathan.

“Say hi to the little rat for me. I hope you two have lots of fun.”

Jonathan was jerked to his feet. Candles and matches were pressed into his hand. Sebastian stalked around the table and poked him with the sword.

“Go on,” he said, prodding Jonathan toward the door that led into Slabhenge’s dark interior. “Go ahead and find your friend. And don’t come crawling back here. You two made your choice.”

He was pushed through the doorway, into the familiar musty shadows of the corridor.

“Good night,” Sebastian’s voice echoed after him. “Sleep tight.”

With trembling fingers, Jonathan struck a match. He held the sputtering flame to a candle wick, then quickly dropped it with a hiss into a puddle at his feet. The rain was falling even harder now than it had been the morning the Admiral and his men were struck down. Slabhenge, inside and out, was all dripping and puddles.

Jonathan bit his teeth together hard and started off into the darkness.

It took him a while to find Colin’s tower hideout. He’d been wandering the first time he’d found it and this time he had to circle and peer and look for landmarks. He remembered what Colin had said about everything in Slabhenge being connected, and kept walking. He stopped from time to time to listen; the rats seemed more than normally large and active, especially behind him. Maybe it was the storm, which was howling and thundering loud enough to be heard even through the thick stone walls.

At one point as he wandered he passed one of the staircases that he knew led down to the Hatch. It was wild tonight, knocking and rocking and echoing up from the darkness. Like a demon thrashing against chains ready to break. He swallowed and pressed on, looking for Colin’s refuge.

And then, there it was. The long hallway with the four doors, the little paper bird hiding in the darkness. Jonathan slipped through the door and up the stairs.

Colin was sitting on his bed. Paper, some folded and some not, lay scattered and piled on the bed and floor around him. Four candles sat around the bed on the floor. Startling splashes of white light flashed through the windows from the storm outside. Colin was facing the door, chewing on a bright red apple.

“Hey,” he said with a smile as brief and bright as the lightning. “I wath hoping that wath you.”

A ferocious blast of wind whistled in through the broken window, shuffling the loose leaves of paper into a swirl of scattered white. One of the candles flickered out. When the gust had died down, Colin calmly relit the smoking wick with one of the other candles.

“You’re here late,” Colin said.

Jonathan took a couple of steps into the room.

“I’m here for good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sebastian. He said I had to leave. I’m, like, kicked out.”

Colin’s brow furrowed and he pinched at his neck with one hand.

“I thought he wanted to catch me.”

“Yeah. He does.”

Colin squinted one eye and cocked his head.

“Well … don’t you think he’d jutht follow you?”