Scar Island(49)

The boys all stood in silence, watching wide-eyed.

“That should do it,” Sebastian said, rubbing his hands on his pant legs. “You should have lots of little friends tonight. Come on, let’s go.”

“You’re jutht gonna leave me here?”

“You got it. Not forever. One long night oughta be enough to teach you a lesson, I think. We can talk more in the morning, you and I.”

The rest of the boys were already starting to plod back up the stairs. No one said a word. As each kid left with his candle, the room got darker and darker.

The last ones left were Sebastian, Benny, Jonathan, and the two goons holding him.

“Aren’t you going to leave me a light, at leatht?”

“Oh. Sure, Colin. Here you go.” Sebastian took a candle from one of the kids leaving and held it out toward Colin. His fingers opened, and the candle fell to the floor. It sputtered and hissed and went out in a puddle. “Oops. Sorry about that. Good night, Colin.”

“Sebastian, seriously, you can’t …” Jonathan began.

Sebastian’s head swung like a hunting panther to Jonathan.

“I can, Johnny,” he seethed. “I can. You had your chance. You picked your side. You’ll get yours after dinner. Don’t worry.”

Jonathan struggled against the boys holding him, but it was no use. He was dragged up the stairs behind Sebastian and Benny and the last candle. The last he saw of Colin, he was sitting in the growing blackness, eyes wide and lips trembling, all alone.

Jonathan tried to pay attention as they made their way back to the dining room. At one point he thought they were close to where the library was, but they never saw it. The Hatch, when they passed it, was making an unholy racket. Like an army of watery demons on the other side, raging to get in. No boys paused to listen this time.

They all stopped cold when they got back to the dining room. There were no longer puddles in the room—the entire floor was under an inch of water. It was black and dappled by rain blowing in through the window. The light of the candles still burning on the tables was reflected eerily on its surface.

Lightning crackled, filling the windows with blinding light. There was a great boom of thunder that made them all jump.

“No letter writing tonight,” Sebastian said, looking at the flooded room. “We can do it first thing in the morning, after the storm. Dinnertime.”

“Uh, Sebastian, this isn’t okay,” David said cautiously.

“It’s fine. A little water won’t hurt us. It’s just ’cause the window’s broken.”

“Where are we gonna sleep, man?” Walter asked, pointing at their waterlogged mattresses still lying on the floor.

“You can bring your beds upstairs for tonight. There’s plenty of room.”

“Sebastian,” Jonathan said. “Remember what Patrick said about the storm and the surge and—”

“Shut up, Jonathan. No one cares what Patrick said. Don’t piss me off—I’m still deciding what your punishment is.” He looked at Gregory and Roger. “One of you keep your hands on him at all times. I know the little punk’ll run away to save his little friend first chance he gets.”

They ate dinner sitting on the tables, their feet on the chairs. The storm was so loud they couldn’t talk over it. They kept having to relight their candles, blown out by the hard fists of gusting wind that hammered through the room. Jonathan sat where Sebastian had been carving with his sword a couple of days ago, flanked by a guard on either side. He fingered the crudely notched letters Sebastian had inscribed on the wooden tabletop: S-C-A-R-S. He looked around at the soggy boys glumly eating, shivering and soaked, sitting in near-darkness with rain blowing in the broken window. His mind kept circling around Colin, bound in blackness, swarmed by giant rats. He couldn’t swallow a bite.

“We need to keep the furnace lit!” Sebastian shouted over the storm. “Jonathan—it’s your turn! You two go with him!” He tossed a stale roll to Roger. “You can give that to our prisoner. Don’t untie him, though!”

Jonathan managed to eat a dry bite of bread and slumped down to the coal room, Roger and Gregory right behind.

Patrick was tied to his chair in the middle of the room under a dangling lantern, surrounded by piles of coal. The furnace glowed and hissed behind him. His face was grim and he was drenched in sweat. Jonathan gasped and unbuttoned the top button of his own shirt. He’d forgotten how hot it was in the dark little cellar. There was a large puddle at the foot of the stairs. Jonathan frowned. He didn’t remember the coal room having any puddles.

“Have ye come to yer senses, then?” Patrick asked.

“We’re just here to feed the furnace,” Roger said. “Here.” He held out the roll.

Patrick looked at it, his hands tied behind his back.

“Uh, ye’ll have to untie me.”

“No way,” Roger answered. He tore a chunk off the roll and shoved it into Patrick’s mouth. “Get to work, Jonathan,” he said over his shoulder. “I don’t wanna be down here forever.”

Jonathan was looking at the puddle on the ground. It was spreading and growing as he watched. He looked closer and saw the little rivulets of water running down the stairs along the wall.

“Water’s getting down here,” he said, pointing. “From upstairs.”