The Curse of the King

When Eloise spoke, her voice was barely audible. “Okay,” she said. “I believe you, Sister Nancy. But—I did something really dumb.” She glanced up at Torquin. “When this guy came to take me, I set off the alarms all by myself.”

  “Wait—you set those off?” Mom said.

  “I’m sorry!” Eloise looked like she was going to cry.

  “No, no, that’s all right, dear,” Mom said.

  She looked at me, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. If the alarms hadn’t been tripped by Mom—if they were focused on another area of the compound—then maybe she hadn’t been seen after all. A smile flashed across her face. “I can’t hang around. But promise me you’ll stay with your brother?”

  “Where will you go, Sister Nancy?” Eloise asked.

  “Back to the Massa. But I’ll be watching, from a safe place,” Mom replied. “As much as I can.”

  The words hit me hard. “Come with us, Mom.”

  “I—I wish I could,” Mom said. “But the Omphalos does not forget or forgive. If I joined you I wouldn’t last long, Jack. As for the Massa . . .” She let out a long sigh. “I’m hoping they don’t suspect me. If they do, I’ll need to go into hiding.”

  “No!” I blurted out. My face was boiling hot. I could barely see Mom through a surge of tears, as if she were already beginning another slow fade into memory.

  She touched my chin with her bandaged hand. “You’re beginning to look so much like your father.”

  “He misses you, too, Mom,” I said. “A lot. Just as much as I do. What if we never see each other again? If the Massa catch you . . . or the continent is raised and floods the coasts? What happens if I turn fourteen before—”

  Mom wrapped me in a hug and whispered into my ear. “I failed you, Jack. I was going to find the cure, but I didn’t. Now it’s your turn. You’ll have to figure it out. You and your friends are the only ones who can. Take care of the Loculi.”

  With that, she released me and ran off into the jungle.

  I watched as the darkness swallowed her up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  GOON NUMBER SEVEN

  MY WATCH CLICKED from 6:36 to 6:37.

  The jungle was nearly dark. We could just barely see the contours of the trees. I’d strapped my flashlight to my head. Cass was in front, but the going had been slow. Right now we were standing still in a clearing, waiting for Aly to rewire a camera in a tree. It was the fifth one she’d found.

  “Can’t you do that faster?” Cass hissed.

  “Done,” Aly said, hopping down. “Next time you do it, Mr. Jitters.”

  “Did you just call me Mr. Jitters?” Cass shot back. “This isn’t a stroll in the woods, Aly. They told us we had till darkness. Look up!”

  “Cass, the sun hasn’t completely set yet,” I said. “It just looks dark because we’re in a jungle! Aly’s trying to keep us safe.”

  Cass took a deep breath. “Right . . .” he said, turning back toward the mountain. “Right . . .”

  “Are you sure we’re related?” Eloise asked.

  We began trudging again. With each step, the sack of Loculi grew heavier and heavier around my shoulder. “Guys, I really need to rest,” I said.

  “No!” said Cass.

  “Yes!” said Eloise and Aly at the same time.

  I stopped walking and let the sack drop. Eloise sighed deeply, leaning against a tree. I looked back into the blackness, expecting Torquin to lumber up to us, but he wasn’t there. “You okay, Tork?” I called out.

  Cass came up beside me. “Maybe he caught a vromaski in his bare hands and decided to eat it.”

  “Torquin!” I shouted, walking back the way we came, shining my flashlight around.

  “Yo, Tork!” Aly said.

  As we reached the clearing where Aly had rewired the last camera, I stopped.

  My flashlight focused on a massive lump at the edge of the clearing—Torquin, lying on his side with his eyes closed and mouth wide open.

  “Is he sleeping?” Eloise asked.

  I raced toward him and knelt by his side. His chest was moving. I grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him. “Torquin!” I said. “Get up! We’re almost there!”

  “That’s good to know,” came a voice from the darkness.

  Eloise screamed. I stood up quickly, my flashlight tracing the contour of a long black robe until it reached the bearded face of Brother Dimitrios.

  “That’s a bit bright,” he said, shielding his eyes with a hand that was clutching a truncheon. “But alas, your overgrown Karai thug is not. Although I give him credit for getting here. We certainly didn’t expect to find him.”

  “You cheated!” Eloise said. “You told them you were going to come in darkness. Liars!”

  Dimitrios’s eyes widened. “That was before you tripped off the alarms, young lady. Oh, yes, we saw that. That is your gratitude for all we’ve done? You connive with these hoodlums to steal the two Loculi and the Loculus shards, and then try to take them to the rebels? I’m sorry, children, this game is over. We can no longer trust you.”

  “Oh blah-blah, fumfy-fumf, look at me, I am soooo important.” Eloise folded her arms.

  “Trust us?” I said. “You were the ones who lied. You accused us of stealing the shards when you were really hiding them. You were using us—trying to get us to flush out the rebels!”

  “I must say I admire your cleverness and your cheek,” Dimitrios said, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know how you discovered our little plan, much less how you found the shards’ location. But I’m disappointed that you needed to twist young Eloise’s impressionable mind, convincing her to do your dirty work—”

  “I can think for myself, Brother Dimhead,” Eloise said. “Leave us alone.”

  “I was given clear instructions, princess—shards, Loculi, and Select. Immediately. Number One would like to talk to you.” Brother Dimitrios exhaled, looking down at Torquin. “By the ghost of Massarym, she will not be pleased to see this one.”

  I glanced nervously back into the jungle. The Loculi and the shards were sitting in my backpack, just beyond the clearing. I couldn’t see the backpack now, but it would be easy to find. We had to get rid of this guy. “Sorry, Brother D,” I said. “We don’t have the Loculi and the shards. And we won’t tell you where they are. So you go back and tell that to Number One.”

  “Yeah!” Eloise said, sticking out her chin.

  “I don’t believe I offered no as an option.” Brother Dimitrios reached into his pocket and took out a gun.

  “He’s going to shoot me?” Eloise said.

  “Over my dead body,” Cass said, stepping in front of her. Then he flinched. “Oh wow, did I really just say that?”

  Brother Dimitrios snapped his fingers. Behind him, out of the shadows, stepped a team of Massa—Cyclops, Yiorgos, Mustafa, and two others I didn’t recognize. “You know most of these gentlemen,” Dimitrios said. “May I introduce two of our most accomplished security staff, Mr. Christos and Mr. Yianni.”

  Christos had the build of a sumo wrestler and Yianni looked like he’d stepped off the Russian Olympic basketball team. Mustafa was flexing his arms, and the bruises from the minivan window looked like dancing tattoos.

  “There are six of you?” Aly said.

  “Actually, seven,” Dimitrios said, glancing over his shoulder for his missing goon. “Like the Loculi.”

  “And the Wonders,” Yiorgos said. “It is a lucky number.”

  Now I could make out a seventh massive silhouette behind the rest, his face shielded by a hood. This group was practically a squadron.

  And our plan was dead.

  Dimitrios’s goons fanned out on either side of him, as if to impress us—first Mustafa, then Yiorgos and Cyclops, and then the two new guys.

  “Any more protests, children? Good. Now, let’s move quickly. We need to get Mr. Torquin to our hospital.” Dimitrios pointed to the hooded goon. “You will keep Jack company while he fetches the Loculi. Move!”

  The se
venth Massa stepped forward. As I turned to him, my flashlight beamed smack into his eyes.

  He flinched away, but not before I got a clear view of Marco Ramsay.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  PULL MY FINGER

  ALY LUNGED FORWARD and slapped him.

  “Ow!” Marco said.

  “Et tu, Marco?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Dude, I didn’t study French,” Marco said. “Look, no one told me Brother D was packing. I thought I was just coming to pick you guys up.”

  “It happens to be Latin,” Aly said, “and it means, ‘And you?’ From Julius Caesar—who said it to his trusted friend Brutus right before Brutus stabbed him.”

  Marco grinned. “You and old movies. Dang. Gotta rent that one. But listen, Als, I’m not like that—”

  “You two may continue your love spat at another time,” Brother Dimitrios snapped. “Marco is a soldier, and a soldier takes orders.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Cass said. “That’s what Soldier means to you now, Marco? If Dimitrios told you to kill us, would you do that? Or maybe trap the rebels and bring them back to be tortured—your friends? Huh?”

  “You’re delaying us, Cass,” Dimitrios said. “We have no incentive to harm these rebels. We shall restore them to health. Reason with them. Make them see that our interests are the same—”

  “How’s that working with the group we saw in chains?” Cass’s face was red. Veins bulged from his neck as he walked straight up to Marco. “How does it feel to be a soldier for liars and murderers?”

  “Dude, whoa,” Marco said. “The pharmacy here has some good herbal anxiety remedies—”

  “And the way you talk is idiotic,” Cass spat back. “What happened to that promise to make you Massa king? You’re a Massa nanny! A punching bag for little rug rats. What happens when you finally have an episode—or do you still think you’re immortal?”

  Mustafa lumbered forward. “Let me take care of that one.”

  “Chill, Moose Taffy,” Marco said, then turned back to Cass. “Dude, I had an episode. They thought I was going to die. But the scientists here? They’re off the charts, Brother Cass. One of them brought out the shards. He figured he would put the Loculus of Healing together for me. He couldn’t, but just being near those suckers—they made me feel better.” He smiled. “They saved my life. And they’ll do the same for you. So give Brother D a chance, dude!”

  “Aaaaauuuurrrrrgh!” With a scream that seemed to come from somewhere in Cass’s solar plexus, he ran for Marco at full tilt.

  Marco’s eyes shot open wide with shock. Cass swung at his face with the flashlight, but Marco caught his arm easily. “Easy, little brother,” Marco said with a baffled laugh.

  Cass spun around, ducked, and head-butted Marco in the belly. Marco staggered backward, more surprised than hurt.

  “Seize him!” Brother Dimitrios cried out.

  “I HATE YOUUUUUU . . .” Cass’s voice was a distorted scream. He was in an out-of-control windmilling frenzy, all arms and legs, like some berserker at a mosh pit. He clipped Brother Yiorgos in the eye with a flying finger and kicked Brother Christos in the groin.

  Or maybe it was Brother Yianni.

  Christos-or-Yianni folded, groaning. But the other four Massa moved fast, surrounding Cass. Aly and I tried to pull them away, but their backs were like a thick wall. In about two seconds, we could no longer see Cass’s whirling-dervish arms. In about three, we stopped hearing his voice.

  “Get away from him!” Aly shouted, finally managing to plow through the Massa guards.

  In the center, Cass was crumpled up in the dirt.

  “Nerve pinch in the neck,” Brother Yiorgos said. “Painless. He will be fine.”

  “I could finish the job,” Mustafa said.

  Dimitrios scowled at him. “We are not barbarians.”

  “Could have fooled me,” said Eloise, kneeling by her brother.

  “Whoa, me, too, little sister.” Marco stepped forward, then fell to his knees next to Eloise. He reached down to Cass, straightening out his head, which had become twisted to the side. “That was pretty harsh, Brother D.”

  “It is a pity that he attacked us,” Dimitrios said.

  Marco turned to him. “Dude, did you ever think—hey, is this any way to treat one of our future bosses?” he said. “Because you know Brother Cass is going to be pretty powerful in the kingdom of His Jackness.”

  He glanced over to me and flipped a thumbs-up.

  I gulped. He knew about the prophecy!

  “Jack . . .” Aly said. “What is he talking about?”

  “You don’t know?” Marco said, as he sat Cass up against a tree. “Old Jacko is going to be our king—not me, like they first thought. Seventh Prophecy says it’s a win for McKinley!”

  Eloise’s face lit up. “Does he get a crown?”

  “A big one, with jewels, I hope,” Marco said.

  “So that’s why Dimitrios was acting nice to us all along.” Aly shot me a sharp, assessing glance. “And it’s why he pulled Jack away from us, yesterday morning . . .”

  “Hey, maybe you also noticed how he was treating your pal Marco?” Marco said. “One minute a hero, the next— bam!—a slave. Because that’s that way Dimo rolls: butter up the superiors, spit on everyone else. So I gotta say, D, the boss lady’s not going to be happy about the way you’re treating Jacko the Future King. In the new world order, you’re gonna be like a sewer inspector. Or a vromaski catcher.”

  “We have no time for chatting,” Brother Dimitrios barked. “All of you—take Torquin and the boy, and let’s go!”

  From below, Cass groaned in pain. As his eyes fluttered open, Marco knelt over him. “Good morning.”

  Cass hocked a glob of spit into Marco’s face. “Traitor!”

  “Auuuccchh, did you have to do that?” Marco said, staggering backward.

  Christos reached down and grabbed Cass’s arm. “Get up.”

  “Leave him alone!” Eloise shouted, kicking the goon in the shin.

  Yianni grabbed the back of her T-shirt and lifted her high. “Little mosquito,” he said with a grin.

  With superquick reflexes, Marco snatched her away and set her down gently. He turned to Yianni and stuck a finger in his chest. “Back off, baklava breath.”

  “Marco . . .” Brother Dimitrios growled. “Remember whose side you’re on.”

  “Yeah, didn’t mean to diss you, Yianni, your breath is more like moussaka. With extra garlic. Peace out.” He stuck out his hand toward the Massa goon. With a reluctant grunt, Yianni reached out to shake it—but Marco yanked back his hand, holding up one finger. “Pull my finger.”

  Yianni looked at him, slack-jawed.

  “Do I need to speak Greek?” Marco said. “Pullus fingeropoulos. Aly? Cass? Dimitrios? Christos? Yiorgos?”

  “HAW!” Brother Cyclops broke into a deep belly laugh. “I love this kind of joking!”

  “Jack?” Marco said. “Et tu?”

  “Have you all lost your minds? Let’s go!”

  Dimitrios was shouting, but the other men were hesitating. Marco may have been demoted, but those goons knew what he could do, and they were afraid.

  I wasn’t. Marco was holding up his finger to me, a crazy look in his eye. And I was in no mood for games.

  “Sorry, Marco,” I said. “No.”

  Marco looked chagrined. “No? Do you know what that means, Brother Jack? How about you, Brother D? Do you know what this means?”

  “Number One will get a report on each of you if you don’t act now!” Dimitrios snapped his fingers, and the other five goons all stepped toward Marco.

  “It means . . . escape valve not activated.” Marco began spinning around wildly, finger in the air. “Aaaaaahhhhh!”

  “Grab him!” Brother Dimitrios shouted.

  “Losing controlllllll!” Marco took one step toward Cyclops, leaped high, and landed a kick on the man’s jaw. The big man jolted back and fell to the ground in a heap.


  Dimitrios lifted his gun to Marco’s face.

  “Don’t!” Aly screamed.

  Marco crouched into a football stance. “Brother D, I have wanted to do this for a long time.”

  Dimitrios pulled the trigger. The bullet winged over Marco as he hit the monk headfirst with a flying tackle, driving him into a tree. With a helpless cry, Dimitrios lost consciousness and crumpled to the ground.

  Marco sprang to his feet as the other Massa rushed toward him.

  “Don’t just stand there, Jack!” Marco shouted. “Be a king!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE MEATHEAD STARTS OVER

  NO TIME TO think. I leaped toward Brother Yiorgos’s legs and tackled him to the ground. His head hit the side of a tree with a thud.

  Aly was right behind me. She’d grabbed my backpack from the shadows and removed the sack containing the three boxes full of Loculi. With a grunt, she swung them at Brother Christos. He tried to duck, but she connected squarely with the side of his head, and he collapsed in pain.

  “Kcatta!” Cass jumped onto Christos’s back. The goon straightened up and twirled him like a backpack.

  “I’ll take over from here,” Marco said, lifting Cass away. As Christos faced him, Marco took him out with an uppercut to the jaw. “Three down. Two to—”

  As he turned to me, a pair of hands reached around and grabbed my throat. Marco darted toward me but stopped short as Brother Yianni pulled out a knife and held it to my throat. “Party over,” he growled into my ear.

  Marco, Cass, and Aly stood paralyzed, staring at me in dismay, their breaths coming in gulps.

  “Let him go, Yianni,” Marco said.

  “Where is Mustafa?” the man replied.

  “He was here a minute ago,” Marco said, his eyes darting from side to side.

  Christos tightened his grip. “Mustafa! Where are you?”

  At the edge of the clearing, a tall, rangy silhouette staggered forward. “Here,” Mustafa said, barely audible.

  As he got closer, it was clear that his eyes were closed, his head lolling to one side. “Acchhh, vre, Mustafa, drinking now?” Yianni said with disgust.