The Curse of the King

  “Seat belts!” Mustafa snapped.

  We buckled ourselves in. The sky became thick with clouds, and sharp strips of lightning crackled all around us. The plane bucked and rolled. My shoulder slammed into the airplane wall. I heard a metallic grrrrockkk from the underside of the plane.

  I vowed to stay calm. We’d been through this before. Strange weather always surrounded the island. These were signs the plane was getting close. “Did you ever think . . .” Aly said, bouncing left and right, “that the island has a mind of its own . . . and it doesn’t like the Massa?”

  “Maybe if you show your smiling face out the window, it’ll know friends are arriving,” I said.

  Aly gripped my hand tightly. My stomach was fluttering. I should have hated the idea of returning to this sweltering, half-destroyed home of deadly creatures and horrible memories. But I was more excited than scared. “Can I confess something to you?” I said. “I hate this place but I feel a little . . . excited. Like, happy to be back. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy,” she replied. “I feel it, too.”

  I braced myself, expecting her to talk about seeing Marco again. But she quickly added, “We actually have a chance to live now.”

  “True,” I said.

  “You know what else?” Aly added. “I sense Torquin is at our backs, cheering us on.”

  We looked at Cass, who hadn’t said a word the whole flight. He was staring out the window as if tracking the flight of a ghost. Aly leaned forward and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Still thinking about the big guy, huh?”

  Cass shifted away from her and exhaled without answering.

  In truth, I wasn’t thinking about our plan, or about Torquin. As Aly settled back, I said, “I’m nervous about seeing my mom again, Aly. I don’t know how to feel about her.”

  “She slipped you that shard, Jack,” Aly said. “She must be on our side.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t add up. I mean, no contact for seven years? And then, boom, she shows up at Massa headquarters in Egypt—and she’s like one of the heads of the whole organization?”

  “Jack, she was the one who made it possible for you to escape that headquarters—with the Loculi!” Aly said.

  “And look where we are now,” I said. “Aly, what if she’s fooling us—making us think she’s a spy? This may all be a trick to get us over to the Dark Side.” I took a deep breath and watched as the clouds began to clear and the plane to steady. “I don’t trust my own mom. But I really, really want to see her again.”

  The island became a kidney-shaped green dot in the midst of a bright turquoise sea. Most of it was carpeted with a jungle of dense green, broken only by the solid black peak of Mount Onyx. Bright yellow beaches ringed the northern coast. Soon I could make out the orderly geometry of the Karai Institute campus—red-brick buildings surrounding a quadrangle crisscrossed with brick paths.

  From a distance it looked as though the Massa attack had never occurred—the soldiers hunting us down, the fires and the bombings, the chases through the trees. But as we flew closer to the campus I saw uncut grass and weed-choked paths, blackened sections of buildings that had been bombed or torched. People in ragged white uniforms were dragging equipment into the buildings, guarded by others in black suits with rifles strapped across the backs. “Those must be KI prisoners,” Cass muttered.

  I looked over toward the jungle. With Torquin’s help, a band of Karai had escaped there with our friend Fiddle. But my eyes fixed on three plumes of black smoke deep in the jungle. “I hope the rebels aren’t in that . . .” I said.

  “Or Marco . . .” Aly added.

  Marco. There it was. I could see her eyes lighting up.

  “Marco’s one of the Massa,” I reminded her. “Probably safe and well fed and shooting three-pointers from the top of Mount Onyx.”

  “That would be, like, three-thousand-pointers,” Aly said.

  The plane dipped its wings. Way down below, I could see black-suited guards waving at us. We dropped fast and touched down smoothly at the airport. This was where Fiddle would always greet us, his geeky ponytail swishing left and right as he eyeballed the jet for damage.

  As the pilot pushed open the door, a severe-looking woman with the trace of a mustache stood at attention. “At your service, Brother Dimitrios!” she barked. “Welcome back to Massa Island! I have prepared a report when you are ready.”

  “‘Massa Island’?” Aly grumbled, unstrapping her seat belt. “Guess they’ve made themselves comfy.”

  With a smile, Brother Dimitrios gestured for us to exit. As Aly stepped toward the door, Mustafa stood from his pilot seat, turning toward me. His eyes radiated pure hate. At first I thought his arms were covered with tattoos, but I realized they were bruises from the window I’d shut on him. “This will not be comfy for you,” he said in a thick Greek accent.

  Brother Dimitrios exhaled. “Vre, Brother Mustafa,” he said with weary amusement. “Cannot we let bygones be bygones? Serves you right for being trigger-happy.”

  I felt Mustafa’s eyes like lasers burning into my head. As I stepped into the hatch, he shot his arm out and ripped my backpack off my shoulders. “Hey!” I shouted.

  Dimitrios clucked wearily. “I will speak to Mustafa about his roughness, Jack. But of course we must have the Loculi. As a precaution, that’s all. We will take extraordinary care of them.”

  As I stepped out onto the tarmac, I felt my heart sinking. Shake it off, a voice scolded in my brain. What were you expecting? They’d let you keep them?

  “Jack . . .” Aly said, tugging on my shirt sleeve.

  She and Cass were staring at a commotion at the edge of the tarmac, where a line of ragged people in filthy white uniforms was being led out of the jungle. They were heading to one of the supply buildings, whose front door was guarded by two sentries.

  “Ah yes, I imagine you know some of these people,” Brother Dimitrios said.

  I nodded, examining the grim, familiar faces. “Cobb—she worked in the kitchen. Made the salads. The tall guy, Stretch, could repair anything mechanical. Yeah, I know them.”

  “Good,” Dimitrios said. “They will be happy to see you. They are going through the welcoming process.”

  “In chains?” Aly said.

  “Well, they were hostile when we found them,” Dimitrios said. “They were among a much larger band of escapees near Mount Onyx.”

  “What happened to the others?” I asked.

  His smile sent a shot of ice up my spine. “Let’s just say these are the lucky ones.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE COCKROACHES

  I WATCHED THE prisoners being led into the distant building, keeping an eye out for Fiddle’s ponytail. I didn’t see it. They all looked like their hair had been cut by a lawn mower. I didn’t see anyone who resembled him or Nirvana at all.

  I was afraid to ask Brother Dimitrios if those two were among the “others.”

  At the moment, I couldn’t ask Dimitrios anything anyway. He was in deep conversation with the woman who’d met him outside the door. She towered over him, looking down a long, bumpy nose, and as she spoke, her silver-black ponytail seemed to wag excitedly. She was yapping away in clipped Greek sentences and gesturing toward us with a bony, olive-green finger.

  “Margaret Hamilton,” Aly said.

  “You know her name?” I said.

  “That’s the name of the actress who played the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz movie,” Aly said. “She looks just like her.”

  The woman looked at us and flashed a snaggletoothed grin. “Cue the flying monkeys,” I murmured.

  “Jack, this is Almira Gulch,” Dimitrios said. “She will be turning you into a newt and eating you for lunch.”

  No, he didn’t actually say that. What he actually said was, “Children, this is Mrs. Petaloude. She is in charge of recruit training. We have a bit of an emergency, alas, so I will be turning you over to one of my asso
ciates. Just stay here for a few moments, will you?”

  “Wait, training?” I said. “Training for what?”

  But they were already walking toward a Jeep, with Mrs. Petaloude bending his ear about something.

  “Jack, who has the Loculi?” Aly whispered.

  “Mustafa,” I said.

  “One more thing to worry about. I wish your dad hadn’t sent them to us.” Aly groaned, shaking her head. “I’m thinking about that shard, too. We should rotate it, each of us taking it for a while. To keep ourselves healthy. I’m good for now, and you’ve been holding it all along. Let’s give it to Cass.”

  Cass turned toward her blankly, as if he hadn’t understood a word. I was worried about him. Since Torquin’s death, he had completely checked out.

  I pulled the tiny shard from my wallet and slipped it to him. “Can you keep this safe?”

  Cass nodded, slipping the shard into his own wallet. I heard the voice of Brother Yiorgos calling us from the edge of the tarmac. He did not look happy, to say the least. His scowl had deepened and his skin had been darkened by the sun. In the deep crags on his face, you could imagine families of mosquitoes frolicking happily. We hadn’t exactly left him on good terms. Somewhere in the jungle near Mount Onyx was a tree tattooed with the back of his head, courtesy of Torquin.

  “Follow me,” he called out. “Now.”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Aly grumbled.

  We walked behind him as he tromped down the thick jungle path. He was wearing a bag slung around his shoulder that slapped against his sides as he walked. I swatted away bugs by the dozen. “At least they could give us repellent,” I grumbled.

  “Brother Yiorgos is repellent,” Aly said.

  Yiorgos spun around. “I would save up that sense of humor if I were you,” he said. “You will need it.”

  As we moved out of the jungle and into the campus clearing, I could see what Brother Yiorgos meant. Nothing was funny about what the Massa had done here. We’d seen hints of the transformation from the air, but I wasn’t prepared for this.

  The Karai had fashioned their institute to look like a college—all red-brick buildings with stone steps, connected by grassy lawns and brick pathways. Now the brick paths were being replaced with cement, and the grass patches were being filled with gravel. The Massa attack had totaled a couple of the buildings, and in their place new structures were rising—drab concrete slabs with tiny windows. I was relieved to see that the magnificent, museumlike House of Wenders still stood across the quadrangle. But its sides had been damaged by bombs, and now the bricks were being removed for a makeover. The seven columns still stood at the top of the stairs, but the word Wenders had been chiseled from the marble pediment. On the ground, ready to be hoisted into place, was a cement block carved deeply with another word:

  “Soon, this will all be perfect,” Brother Yiorgos said in his thick Greek accent. “Massa strong. No more like Karai. No more froufrou Harvard-bricky college-la-la-la heads in clouds.”

  Aly scratched her head. “Could you repeat that?”

  Brother Yiorgos grunted, pushing us into a bunkerlike building next to the House of Wenders.

  I was sort of hoping we’d go back to our old dorm, which was now surrounded by scaffolding and teeming with Massa workers. Not that the dorm was a cozy place to begin with. But it looked like a palace next to the long metal-sided box they were taking us to now.

  The doorknobs contained massive locks and the windows were barred. Inside, the place had the welcoming smell of wet cement and freshly cut tin. Our footsteps clonked on a metal floor as we passed tiny, unfurnished rooms. We had to duck through an open metal doorframe as Yiorgos led us into a large boxy space with a square hole for a window. “Living room,” he said.

  “Sofas and flat-screen TV arriving tomorrow?” Aly asked.

  Yiorgos’s eyes blazed. “You are here to work.” He zipped open his shoulder bag and threw a pile of clothes onto a metal work table. On top, a white polo shirt unfolded. It had an M insignia on the left breast pocket. “Wait for Brother Dimitrios. Wear these. You smell bad.”

  “Where are we supposed to sit?” Aly asked.

  “On the floor,” Yiorgos said with a sneer. “If it’s good enough for the cockroaches, it’s good enough for you.”

  As he stomped away, Cass turned to the window and stared silently. Around us, the jungle was growing dark. It was hard to believe a whole day had gone by since we’d awakened in Greece.

  Aly slumped against the wall. “Okay, Tailor, sew us up something quick. Because I don’t like this at all. I have a feeling we out-stupided ourselves by coming here.”

  “Stay focused,” I said resolutely. “The key is finding Fiddle and the rebels. They’re still out there. They’ve got to be.”

  “You saw those prisoners, Jack,” Aly said. “And those are the ones the Massa spared!”

  “That’s what Brother Dimitrios told us,” I said. “And Brother Dimitrios lies. Fiddle rescued a lot of people. Once we find them, we have a team. Experts. Fighters. We take the island back, reconstruct the Loculus of Healing, find the backpack, and book it.”

  “Five,” Aly said, holding up her hand.

  As I slapped it, Cass spun around. His face was bright red.

  “Are you two serious?” he said, his voice a garbled rasp. “What planet are you on? Do you think we’re really going to survive this? Do you think we deserve to?”

  “Cass . . . ?” Aly said cautiously. She and I exchanged a look. It was the first thing Cass had said since we left Greece.

  “They’re dead, Jack,” Cass said. “They’re all dead, like Torquin. Did you see the fires in the jungle? The Massa smoked them out.”

  “It’s just smoke, Cass,” Aly said. “It’s not proof of anything.”

  “Think about it, Jack—they escaped with nothing, no weapons, no communication, no food!” Cass was practically yelling now. “If the smoke didn’t get them, starvation did. Don’t you guys see? We’re dead people, all of us! This was a terrible plan. They’re going to separate us, take what they need from us, and then kill us! They’re evil. Bhegad is dead and Torquin is dead and Fiddle is dead and we’re dead!”

  His voice echoed sharply against the metal walls. I felt paralyzed. Tongue-tied. “You—you didn’t kill Torquin, Cass,” I said lamely. “It wasn’t your—”

  “If you say that to me one more time, I’ll kill you, too!” Cass blurted.

  Tears had formed at the corners of his eyes, and he turned back to the window. Aly walked toward him and stood inches away—not touching him, just standing. She took a deep breath. “Hey, you want to know something I never told you?”

  “No,” Cass said.

  “This will sound dumb,” she went on, “but my mom was really impressed with you. She’s a psychologist, and she really knows how to read people. She said you had an incredibly strong emotional core.”

  Cass snorted. “You’re right. It does sound dumb.”

  “You know what else she always says?” Aly went on. “Lack of sleep is the number-one thing that can mess up a person’s brain. At least fifty percent of all psychological pain can be eased by regular sleep.”

  Cass turned away.

  “We’ve been up more than twenty-four hours, Cass,” Aly said gently.

  “I—” Cass’s voice broke. “Aly, I can never forgive myself . . .”

  “For Torquin. I know. But you can’t stay awake the rest of your life because of what happened. Torquin would want you to continue, Cass. He would want you to live. And you need sleep. We all do.” Aly knelt on all fours, sweeping aside scraps of metal and bunching up a thick blue plastic sheet. “Come on. We’ll catch a nap right here. The Massa Hilton.”

  I saw a trace of a smile cross Cass’s face. He sank to one knee as if gravity had reached up an invisible hand and yanked him down. As I watched him and Aly settle into the makeshift resting spot, my own head began to feel heavy. I slid down against the wall, yawning. “Good night, guys.” r />
  “’Night, Jack . . . Aly,” Cass squeaked. And then he added, “And I didn’t mean what I said, about wanting to kill you.”

  Aly smiled. “We didn’t think so.”

  The tap on my shoulder came about ten hours later by the clock, but it felt as if I’d been asleep for fifteen minutes.

  As I blinked my eyes open, Brother Dimitrios stared down at me. He looked haggard and tired himself. “So sorry for the interruption . . .”

  I yawned. My body was aching. We were all wearing our clean Massa clothing, and the room smelled of laundry detergent and sawdust. “Can we do this later?” I said. “I’m getting used to my new dorm.”

  With a weary smile, Dimitrios held out his hand. “Oh dear, did Yiorgos tell you this was your dorm? That scalawag. We wouldn’t house you in a place like this—it’s a temporary way station while your rooms are being prepared. Anyway, I’m afraid that there are some things that you must take care of, Jack.”

  “Now?” I said. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  Cass was stirring now, and Aly bolted to her feet. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “Go back to sleep,” Brother Dimitrios said. “Someone will come soon to take you to your quarters.”

  “But you just said we had to leave—” Aly began.

  “I said,” Brother Dimitrios snapped, “just Jack.”

  Aly raced to the doorway and stood there, arms folded. “Sorry, but no.”

  “Excuse me?” Brother Dimitrios said with a curious smile.

  “We go together,” Aly replied. “You’ve already brainwashed Marco, and you can’t have Jack. So, no.”

  Cass looked at her in amazement. “You go, girl.”

  “I assure you, dear Aly, brainwashing is the furthest thing from my mind,” Brother Dimitrios said. “You three are very different people with different talents. We must interview each of you, to develop individual plans. Surely you can’t expect to stand over each other’s shoulders forever.”

  “You need us, Dimitrios,” Aly said. “So here are our terms. Jack stays. You bring Marco to us, show us he’s still alive. We talk to Marco for an hour. Privately. Then we negotiate.”