Professor Bhegad was facedown in the hard-packed dirt. I turned him over. His eyes were shut, his mouth open, his chest still. The flames from a wall sconce sent eerie dancing shadows across his face.
I tried to remember a junior CPR class I’d taken with my dad. Kneeling over the old man, I dug the heels of my hands into his chest. One-two-three-stop . . . one-two-three . . . Cass and Aly knelt beside me.
One-two-three . . .
“Pkachh!” Bhegad let out a violent cough, his eyes bugging open. “My boy, you are hurting me!”
I sat back as he struggled to sit up. Aly was hugging the old man, and I leaned toward Cass, who put his arm around my shoulder. “Good work, Jack,” he said.
Our relief lasted only a few seconds, interrupted by a deep, echoing boom behind us.
We turned. A half-rotted wooden door had smacked open, crashing against the castle’s inner wall. Splinters flew into the courtyard.
The open door revealed a portal of total blackness. Two pairs of eyes slowly emerged, white as golf balls, as if the irises themselves had been bleached away. As they came closer to the portal, moving steadily up and down, gaunt faces appeared around them.
I heard a sudden choking sound from Cass. I wanted to hurl, too. Two men trudged out of the darkness, dressed in rags and harnessed to a wooden yoke like oxen. Their skin was flaked and shredded, their scalps scraped down to the skull in spots. Hair sprouted in odd places like random loose wires, and neither of their mouths had lips. They grunted and drooled, pulling a pair of chains attached to a giant chariot that creaked on broken wheels.
“I don’t like this at all . . .” Aly murmured.
“Zombies,” Cass said. “I hate zombies.”
The chariot was an ornately carved wood cabin on a frame of four rickety wheels. Draped around the cabin was a curtain of dingy gray fabric. From inside, a voice shouted something in an unintelligible language.
“Unngh,” replied one of the two creatures of burden.
A hand reached out of the curtain and snapped a long, leather whip hard against the zombie’s back.
I winced, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Out of the cabin stepped a tremendous figure, a man so large that the entire vehicle seemed to lift off the ground as he stepped off. He didn’t appear to be a zombie, but that’s not to say he looked like a normal human, either. His skin had a strange rigidity, as if it was actually some weird kind of plastic. His chin had chins, and you could hide small kittens in the rolls under his eyes. He lumbered toward us, leaning on a jeweled bronze staff, whose handle was a small alabaster replica of the Mausoleum. His mouth was pushed into a kind of grin by the pressure of the flab underneath it, but his eyes were dull and cold as he looked at us.
“They speak English, Mappas,” Skilaki said.
The man called Mappas didn’t say a word, but held out his palm toward the cabin.
From out of the curtain came a slender hand that was dwarfed by the big man’s. A woman emerged, with thick silver-white hair that spilled over the shoulder of a flowing golden gown. Its hem was ripped in places, but its embroidered pattern was festooned with jewels. The woman’s ankles were thin, and the skin on her face was dry, seamed and puckered like a walnut. She seemed withered and ancient, but compared to the zombies around her, she was the picture of health.
“Bow all to Queen Artemisia!” bellowed Mappas.
I looked at Cass and Aly, who shrugged. We were already on our knees so we bowed from the waist.
As her wrinkled lips curled upward, she sucked in a breath and clasped her hands together. “Which one of you,” she said, “is mine?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE TRADE
I THOUGHT ZOMBIES weren’t supposed to have emotions, but judging from the increase in drool, the two cabin pullers seemed pretty excited. “Miiiine,” one of them echoed.
Or maybe it was “maaa” or “mooo.” With zombies, it’s hard to tell.
I stood to face Artemisia, which was no easy task. She was much better maintained than Skilaki, but her skin was as stiff and wrinkled as tree bark, and it creaked when she spoke. Eyelashes had been painted above and below her lidless eyes, giving her a look of permanent surprise. “Well?” she said, her voice like the cry of a dying seagull. “Speak or I shall take you all!”
I tried to say something, to explain our mission, but my lips were dry.
“I . . . am yours, my queen,” Professor Bhegad said softly, struggling to his feet. “I offer my soul to you in return for a favor.”
“These three have the mark of Qalani on the back of their heads,” Skilaki interrupted. “They have the ability to leave, and they shall. But they require a certain . . . stone orb in exchange for this soul.”
“The stone was left in your keeping,” I said, “by our ancestor—”
“You were not asked to speak, wretched child!” The queen stepped forward. Her legs wobbled like matchsticks, but she held her chin high. “Am I to understand that you dare attempt a bargain with Queen Artemisia?”
“Boof! Boof-boof-boof!” bellowed Mappas, his body quaking with laughter. The force of his breath blew out the flame on the wall sconce nearest him.
“Silence, useless vizier!” Artemisia cried, and the man snapped to attention. She stepped closer to Bhegad, her eyes growing wide. “Do you imagine that I have any shortage of souls? That your meager corpus would satisfy me so that I would agree to a deal like this? Or are you cleverer than you seem, with some other offer for the ruler of Bo’gloo?”
One of the zombies began bowing and grunting. The other looked at it in momentary confusion, then picked its nose.
“Trainees,” Artemisia explained, shaking her head wearily.
“All three of them—Jack, Aly, and Cass,” Professor Bhegad said, “are descendants of the great Massarym.”
It rankled me to hear the name Massarym mentioned in the same breath as great, but I knew what Bhegad was getting at. And it seemed to have an effect on Artemisia. As hard as it was to see any expression on that leathery face, she seemed kind of impressed.
“Really?” she said, extending a bony finger toward my chin.
It took all my willpower not to jump away. She lifted my chin gently and pushed my head to the right, turning me around. “I see the mark. And, yes, the jawline is similar in this one. As for the others . . .”
“Show them,” Professor Bhegad whispered.
Both Aly and Cass turned to reveal the backs of their heads. “Mine’s covered with hair dye,” Aly explained. “But if you look close at the roots, you can see it growing in.”
Artemisia let her finger drop. She eyed Aly and Cass for a moment, and then slowly stepped backward, without turning from us. Mappas whispered something in her ear. He seemed to be giggling, but it was hard to tell because of the permanent uptwist of his mouth.
She nodded, waving him away. As she stepped forward again toward Professor Bhegad, he stood slowly. “Well,” she said, “as my Skilaki, my dear pet, my lapdog, has no doubt told you, I do not believe in one-sided arrangements. As you are descendants of Massarym, I can accept an exchange that will be satisfactory to us both.”
Artemisia came nearer. Even in her wrinkly state, she towered over Bhegad. Her thin lips pulled back, revealing sharp, gray teeth. I eyed the doorway to the palace. Was that where the Loculus was? Would she actually give it to us?
Her words hung in the air, odd and unreal, like a mirage in a desert. “Wait. Did you just say yes?” Cass said.
“The boy does not understand me,” Artemisia snapped, “yet I speak English to him!”
“He expresses joyous disbelief, my queen,” Skilaki replied.
Artemisia snapped her fingers “Mappas! Bring them what they asked for!”
The vizier waddled an about-face. Leaning on his bronze staff, he huffed and puffed into the doorway. “Thank you, merciful Artemisia,” Professor Bhegad said softly.
As she eyed the professor, her gray cheeks gained color, firs
t a pale amber and then a warm brick red. “Your speech is courtly. It excites me to gain a worthy soul. An educated man, are you?”
“Archaeologist,” Bhegad said. “I taught at university. Made many discoveries in the field.”
Artemisia seemed to shiver with joy, and I felt my stomach churn.
To her, the thought of the professor’s death was fun. “What will you do with him?” I asked.
“His soul will reside here for as long as it pleases me,” Artemisia replied. “I will learn from it, take life from it. When I am through, I will release it to roam the Cavern of Souls, until the day when, or if, it is placed in another body. In exchange, the professor himself—that is to say, his body—shall live eternally. If he is lucky, I will give it fine labor in the palace. I am growing weary of Nine and Forty-one.”
One of the two zombies, hearing his number, began braying and snorting. The other was digging a large glob of wax from his ear and hadn’t heard the remark.
“You’ll turn him into a zombie?” Cass blurted.
“I don’t know that name,” Artemisia snapped. “My Shadows do not have names.”
“You call them Shadows?” I said. “They look pretty solid to me.”
“Here, perhaps, but they take on a more . . . diaphanous appearance . . . when they wander the upper realms.” Artemisia flicked her fingers impatiently. “But I am not here to explain the mysteries of Bo’gloo to you. I am hungry for a soul.”
“A moment, dear queen,” Bhegad said. He turned to us, lowering his voice: “Do not protest, dear Aly. Trust Jack’s plan. Take the Loculus and return home, even if it must be without me. I am not long for this world. Urge your father to the Karai cause. Contact the rebels on the island. Three out of seven Loculi is tremendous progress—”
“But we can’t just leave you,” I protested.
“You have no choice!” Bhegad insisted.
“Enough!” Artemisia screamed. “Are you plotting to challenge my simple request?”
Bhegad spun around. “No, indeed. My apologies.”
Leaning on his staff for support, Mappas emerged from behind Artemisia, holding a large, round canvas bag that was dwarfed by his torso. “Here, my queen,” he snuffled. “As you wish. Ur, wished.”
The Loculus . . .
I ran for it, but Artemisia raised a hand and I felt myself flying backward. I landed hard on my butt.
The griffin, still huddled against the wall, perked up its ears.
“First things first,” Artemisia said. “Come forward, Professor Bhegad. Alone.”
Professor Bhegad squeezed our hands. “I have faith in all three of you,” he whispered. “I always will.”
Aly was the last to let go. She was crying.
Holding his head high, Professor Bhegad strode on wobbling legs to Artemisia.
She raised a hand to his shoulder and touched him. For a long moment nothing happened, and I held a small hope that Bhegad was battling her, resisting in some way. But when a bolt of bright white light exploded from his chest, we all screamed.
The blast shot upward and Bhegad cried in agony, crumpling to the ground.
I ran to the professor, knelt beside him, and turned him over. His eyes looked past me to the gray sky, his glasses shattered on the ground beside him. His chest was still. Aly began pounding it, CPR-style.
“No, Aly,” I said, pulling her away.
Aly’s eyes were desperate. “He’s dead, Jack!”
Dead.
I knew it, but I couldn’t believe it. I stared into his lifeless face, immobile. Unable to think.
“Remember the p-p-plan,” Cass whispered. He looked toward Mappas, who was still holding the sack. “Let’s get the Loculus now.”
I heard a hawklike shriek. Artemisia had reared her head, her silver-white hair flashing gold and red. Her wrinkled skin smoothed and glowed with youth. Aly, Cass, and I sat back as if blown by a hot gale. Artemisia rose into the air, turning slowly. For a long moment she seemed to float like an angel, a smile of ecstasy on her regal, beautiful face. She was young and golden, her skin radiant, her feet and hands delicate, her gown bejeweled.
“She’s feeding on his soul . . .” Aly murmured.
Below her, Mappas swung the canvas bag like a shot put. With his piglike grin, he sent the Loculus soaring over our heads. It bounced off the inner castle wall and dropped to the ground.
Cass and Aly were too stunned to do anything, but I broke away to the bag and fetched it back. As I held it to them, I could see they were both in tears.
“Let’s do it,” I said, reaching into the bag. “Let’s revive him now!”
The Loculus was rougher than I expected it to be. Heavier.
The bag dropped away and my knees buckled. In my hand was a round, polished globe. It looked like marble. As I stared at it, my ears rang with the silence.
No Song of the Heptakiklos.
The thing in my hands was not a Loculus.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
IT IS GOOD TO BE BEAUTIFUL
MARCO WAS GONE, but a part of him must have been inside me, because I hurled that rock like a baseball. It flew toward Artemisia, bashing her in the right arm. Mappas was on top of me in a nanosecond, yelling into my ear and pushing me across the courtyard.
“She tricked us!” I yelled back into his slablike face.
Artemisia’s arm circled lazily in the air where I’d hit it, as if she were underwater and it had brushed against a fish. Turning blissfully, she began to descend. If she noticed the hit, she showed no signs of it.
Cass retrieved the rock from where it had fallen. His face was streaked with tears. As he, Aly, and I closed in on the descending queen, Mappas plopped himself into our paths, ordering Nine and Forty-one to flank him on either side. The Shadows slobbered and grunted, shuffling into place.
“Thank you, my loyal and fearsome protectors, but I shall face the children myself,” Artemisia said, “to personally offer my gratitude.”
Mappas merely grunted, pushing the two Shadows aside with his staff and then waddling away.
Artemisia smiled at us through a face we’d never seen before, her skin silky, her cheekbones high, and her eyes dark and probing. Her once dry, silvery hair was lustrous and wild, and as she strode toward us, Mappas followed with a brush, fussily combing out the tangles. “You see, my darlings, what a service you have provided to me,” she said, flashing a radiant smile. “The sight of my face no longer repulses you, yes? It is good to be beautiful. This will not last forever, of course. But for the fleeting enjoyment, I thank you.”
“You’re a murderer,” Aly yelled, “not a queen!” She sprang toward Artemisia, but a flick of the queen’s right index finger sent Aly flying backward.
Cass and I ran after her, picking her up off the ground. “You lied, Artemisia,” I said. “You didn’t live up to your end of the deal.”
For a moment the queen’s eyes flashed with amusement. “You asked me for a stone orb. I gave you a stone orb. One of the handsomest I have.”
Cass and Aly looked at me, speechless.
“Artemisia, there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said quickly. “Our ancestor, Massarym, left something of much greater value than this. We call it a Loculus. That was the stone we wished to have. Not this one.”
Artemisia let out a long, flutelike laugh. “Take this one, my dear, deluded child. For I cannot give you something I do not have.”
“What do you mean?” Cass said. “This place was put here to protect the Loculus. It must be here!”
“But it isn’t,” Artemisia said with a shrug. “It was stolen ages ago.”
“You’re lying!” Aly cried out.
Artemisia glared at her. “I built this magnificent structure,” she hissed. “All I wanted was a peaceful afterlife for myself and Mausolus. I did not plan to become mother to this vast wasteland. To these bloodless, brainless children. I did not expect to reign over fires, rogue memories, and vengeful souls. This was all thrust upon me by your u
ncle Massarym. Do you think I care about protecting his silly toy? Good riddance to it!”
Breathe. I could barely see straight. Professor Bhegad was lying dead on the ground. No. Mappas was dragging the body away into the blackened archway.
My plan had failed. Bhegad was gone for good. His death was on my shoulders.
Soldier, Sailor, Tinker, Tailor. That was what Professor Bhegad had called us. Marco the strongman. Cass the navigator. Aly the fixer. Me? I was the one who supposedly “put it all together.”
He was wrong. I had managed to take everything apart. I was no Tailor. I was a Killer.
“We will find that Loculus,” I said. “And I will not rest until I make you pay for what you did to Professor Bhegad, Artemisia.”
“I acted exactly as our deal required me to,” Artemisia said. “It appears you are the ones not living up to our agreement. So, yes, I agree, you will not rest. Because you will be quite busy here as part of the army of Shadows. In eternal service to me.”
With an unearthly howl, she turned back toward the palace. Nine and Forty-one began jumping up and down, snorting and slavering. The queen nodded at her vizier, Mappas, who let out a piercing whistle into a dark archway that led into the castle.
In the blackness, more pairs of eyes appeared.
Aly, Cass, and I gripped each other’s arms as Artemisia’s army of the dead began crowding into the courtyard. They knocked one another down and stepped over the bodies, unable to coordinate their own movement as a group. They spat and bit and howled, scratching at each other, scratching themselves. They lurched toward us with open toothless mouths and silver-white eyes.
Artemisia stood to the side and laughed as if the whole thing were a comedy act, her hands clasped together. We backed away, too stunned to talk.
The griffin let out a fearful, high-pitched squeak I’d never heard before. It was unfolding its wings, preparing to fly.
Cass spun around. With a strength I’d never heard in his voice, he shouted, “Stay!”
The beast’s wings drooped. It lowered its head toward Cass.
“Come on!” Cass shouted, running toward the beast. “Grab its legs!”