Dormia (9 page)

Judy sat up quickly. "What do you mean you
have
to go?" she asked. "What kind of talk is that?"

"It's hard to explain," said Alfonso. "But I woke up with this clear idea. I-It's just something I have to do. I
feel
it."

"Did something happen during the night?" Judy asked.

"No," Alfonso lied. He didn't want to tell her about the encounter with Kiril and the ring that sat in his pocket. "I have to do this," he repeated.

Judy stared into Alfonso's face for a full minute. She sighed. "Oh boy," she said. "Your father said that this would happen someday. I just didn't think it would happen so soon."

"What do you mean?" asked Alfonso in disbelief. "I don't understand."

Judy threw her arms around Alfonso and hugged him tightly.

"Your father always wanted to return to his homeland," she explained. "Of course, he never did. But he told me ... he said, 'One day Alfonso will want to return as well and I'm afraid you'll have to let him.'"

Alfonso swallowed hard, but said nothing.

"Is this what you really want?" she asked.

Alfonso nodded.

"You know that I can't go with you," said Judy. "I have to look after Pappy. We'll have to stay here in Fort Krasnik until his leg heals."

"I'll meet you back here," said Alfonso. "I promise."

Judy nodded and then offered a rather sad smile.

"It shouldn't take too long," said Alfonso.

They sat there for a few minutes, just looking at each other.

"Well, if you're going to go, you should probably have this," said Judy. She reached around her neck and took off the chain with the wooden medallion that Leif had whittled for her. It was a strange piece of jewelry. Carved into the wood was a hand with five fingers extended and a + symbol etched into the palm. The words
YOU ARE
were written across the top. And, at the bottom, was a series of numbers. It looked a little like this:

Judy never knew what any of these carvings meant, but she treasured the medallion. She said it was her good luck charm. "Your father wanted me to give this to you when you grew
up," she whispered. "I figure now is as good a time as any. He said he whittled it while asleep."

Alfonso hugged his mother as tears rolled down their cheeks. At that moment, Hill's alarm clock went off.

***

About a half-hour later, Alfonso, Hill, and Bilblox were standing on a darkened Fort Krasnik street, outside a sorry-looking pub known as the Missing Limb. The pub was just a giant, windowless box made of stone. Outside the entrance, the muddy ground was littered with empty beer bottles, cigar butts, and piles of discarded chicken bones.

"This place is the roughest pub on the island," explained Bilblox. "Stick close to me." This was, in fact, precisely why Bilblox was here. Dusty had asked him to tag along to offer his protection. "Don't worry," added Bilblox. "I won't let nothin' bad happen to ya."

"Thanks for coming along," said Hill. "We appreciate it."

"Well, before yer done thankin' me, I have somethin' else to tell ya," said Bilblox. "Somethin'
important.
"

"What is it?" inquired Hill.

"I'm comin' with ya," declared Bilblox.

"You mean, into the pub?"

"Nope," said Bilblox. "I mean I'm comin' with ya to the Urals. I guess, after a lifetime of workin' on the docks, I've always wanted to see a bit of the world. Besides, in a place like the Urals, you'll need a bit of muscle."

"That's a mighty generous offer, but—" began Hill.

"It's not an offer," interrupted Bilblox. "It's my decision."

"Does Dusty know about this?" asked Hill.

"Yup," said Bilblox. "It was his idea, especially after Alfonso said he was goin' along with ya. Dusty doesn't want anythin' bad happenin' to Alfonso. Neither do I. In fact, neither do any of the Magrewskis. We feel like Alfonso is one of us now. And we always look out for our own."

Alfonso grinned and looked embarrassed.

"Well, we probably could use a bit of muscle," admitted Hill. "All right then—let's go inside and meet the vice admiral."

"I'll lead the way," said Bilblox. He headed for the pub's door and soon came upon a bouncer who was almost his size. Bilblox gave the bouncer a careful smile and walked past him toward the entrance. The bouncer immediately grabbed him by his shirt. "Ya know the rules, Bilblox," he growled. "No missin' limb, no entrance."

"We don't intend to become regulars," explained Bilblox. "We just have a meetin', that's all."

"No missin' limb, no entrance," repeated the bouncer.

With a wink at Alfonso, Hill walked up to the bouncer, took off his shoe, and showed him his right foot, which was missing its pinky toe. The bouncer laughed and shook his head.

"A missing limb is a missing limb," proclaimed Hill.

"All right," said the bouncer. "That's a mighty sorry excuse for a missin' limb, but I'll let it slide. As for the rest of ya, however, I ain't lettin' ya in."

Suddenly, around the corner a tall woman appeared and in a hoarse voice said, "This here limb's for me, this here limb's for the lad, and this here limb's for the four-hundred-pound guy next to him." The woman then displayed three missing limbs:
a hook for her left arm, a wooden stump for her left leg, and a bump where the index finger of her right hand used to be.

The bouncer's fierce expression melted and he smiled officiously. "Of course, Vice Admiral," he said. "The Missin' Limb is mighty pleased to be yer home away from home."

They entered the bar and glanced around. In the corner, two ancient-looking men, each with a missing right leg, played a sad ballad with a violin and banjo. The bar was filled with a vast mix of people, and all of them appeared as dirty and shabby as the bar itself.

They sat at a wooden booth adorned with initials and crossed-out declarations of love. Theirs was the only empty booth in the place, perhaps because it was the one nearest the horrible-smelling bathroom. Hill grimaced and pinched his nose. They all stared blankly at Vice Admiral Purcheezie. She looked every bit of her eighty-some years, with a thin, sunburned face filled with wrinkles. Her ears and nose bore the scars of numerous bites. But all this faded away before the brilliance of her blue eyes and the expression they wore, like an ever-watchful hawk.

"I never take passengers," the vice admiral announced. "Not on my ship. But I owe Dusty big and I reckon he owes you, which means I got no choice in the matter. Mind you, though, I'd just as soon throw the lot of you overboard, so when you come aboard, step lightly—especially you Lil' Hilly—I still remember the headaches you caused me all those years ago."

Four mugs of steaming hot milk were set down in front of them. "Don't drink the grog here," said the vice admiral. "It's not right. But the milk's fine and on a ship like my
Success Story,
we get to missin' it after a couple weeks." She drained the mug in one gulp. "Right," she said. "I don't know if Dusty
told ya, and I don't particularly care either, but we're leavin' at noon today. Polar ice ain't broken yet but we'll have to take our chances. I can't be waitin' for the authorities..." She stood up. "
Success Story.
Be on it at noon or we're leavin' without you jokers. If all goes well, we'll be in Barsh-yin-Binder in three weeks' time!"

"Barsh-yin-Binder," Alfonso repeated. He remembered the name stenciled on the wooden crate in their greenhouse. The word felt strange on his tongue.

"That's right!" said the vice admiral with a loud cackle. "It's the only port town in all the Urals and, let me tell ya, it's an absolutely God-awful place. Tell ya the truth, I can't imagine why on earth ya want to go there, but I suppose ya have yer reasons."

Alfonso glanced at Hill.

"Don't worry," said Hill as reassuringly as he could. "It can't be that bad."

"Oh yes it is!" said the vice admiral with another cackle. "Barsh-yin-Binder makes Fort Krasnik look like Beverly Hills."

The vice admiral turned to leave but then took a step back and looked at the three of them once more. "And remember this," she said, "don't be thinkin' that my bein' a woman will make me any more kindly. I'm tougher and meaner than any man and a whole lot smarter too."

"What kind of trouble could we cause?" asked Hill innocently.

"Smugglin' trouble," she snapped. "Let me make this perfectly clear: there's room for only one smuggler on this ship and yer lookin' at 'er. Ya better tell me right away if yer carryin' any contraband."

"Contraband?" asked Alfonso.

"She means illegal cargo," explained Bilblox.

Alfonso was silent for a moment. "No, ma'am," he said. "We don't have anything like that."

"Hmm," grunted the vice admiral. "Two things are for certain: the first is that yer a lousy liar! The second is that there'll be serious trouble on this trip—I can feel it—and I ain't gonna be too concerned with protectin' ya. Ya hear me? When the trouble comes, yer on yer own!"

A
S HE CLIMBED
aboard the
Success Story,
an ancient-looking icebreaker with two slanted smokestacks and streaks of orange rust running everywhere, Hill vaguely recalled his first voyage on the ship many years before. He remembered climbing on giant coils of rope and playing hide-and-go-seek with Leif in the ship's vast cargo bays. He also remembered the vice admiral's fierce blue eyes and the sound of her wooden peg leg as she walked around the ship. Most of all, he recollected what awful shape the ship was in.

In the years since then, the ship's condition had gone from bad to worse. The
Success Story
's few windows were so caked with sea salt that they had long since ceased to be transparent. The anchor was nothing but a giant boulder attached to a heavy
chain. The ship would be very lucky to make it across the Pacific without sinking, thought Hill, but of course he kept this worry to himself.

"Hurry up, gents, hurry up!" barked the vice admiral, who was standing at the top of the gangplank. She wore a Russian-style fur hat and a heavy dark blue sailor's jacket. She was smoking a corncob pipe with a lump of tobacco inside that smelled distinctly like burning seaweed.

"Aye, aye, Captain," replied Hill, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

"It's Vice Admiral," she growled. "The title is hereditary but it still means something ya know?"

"Hereditary?" inquired Alfonso.

"She comes from a long line of vice admirals," explained Hill. "They go back a few hundred years I believe."

"Did they all sail on this ship?" Bilblox asked in a half-whisper, half-taunt. "Gee willikers, this thing looks older than Columbus."

"She's seaworthy, I assure ya that," the vice admiral declared with an intense glint in her eyes and a puff of her pipe. "The men and women in my family have been sailin' 'er for ages. If ya know anything about yer history of the sea—and, from the looks of ya, I suspect the answer is no—ya may recall that a Norwegian by the name of Nils A. E. Nordenskjöld was the first sea captain to complete the legendary Northeast Passage from Europe to Asia by breakin' through thousands of miles of ice and crossing the Arctic Ocean. Afterward, the king of Norway gave him the honorary—and hereditary—title of vice admiral. Well, that brave sailor was me great-great-grandpappy on me mother's side. And this here ship, the one
that yer looking so aghast about boardin', was the very one to make that famous journey. So mind yer manners! She's not a fancy ship. And we won't be setting any records by sailing 'er. But me pappy sailed 'er, me grandpappy sailed her, me great-grandpappy sailed her, me great-great-grandpappy sailed her, and I don't mean to quit. No sir! Ya won't find me in my old age loungin' about some home for old sailors, readin' nautical books and pullin' saltwater taffy."

Vice Admiral Purcheezie reached into her jacket and pulled out a small brass bugle. She placed the mouthpiece of the bugle between her lips, puffed out her cheeks, and then played a short melody that was—without a doubt—the most shrill and awful-sounding tune that Alfonso, Bilblox, or Hill had ever heard. The tune was apparently a signal of some kind because moments later someone else on the ship called out: "Right away, Vice Admiral!" In the next instant, the deck beneath them shook with the mighty roar of churning engines, and a cloud of heavy black smoke began pouring from the ship's smokestacks. In no time at all, visibility dropped to zero. Alfonso lost sight of his uncle, who was standing only three feet away. Everything went black with smoke and soon it was difficult even to breathe.

"I think ya've got an exhaust problem," Bilblox gasped.

"Oh, ya'll get used to it," said the vice admiral, who was apparently still standing nearby. "The smoke toughens up the lungs. And besides, once the ship gets goin', it'll clear away."

A few minutes later, the boat began to move and soon everyone could see and breathe properly. The first thing Alfonso noticed was that all four of them were covered from head
to toe in heavy black soot, as if they were a gang of chimney sweeps. He was glad Hill was wearing the top hat, which protected the bloom from the soot. The vice admiral, however, didn't seem the least bit fazed. Instead, she gazed back toward shore, nodded her head, and puffed on her pipe contentedly. They all watched the skyline of Fort Krasnik recede into the distance as the boat shuddered its way out to sea.