Fablehaven: The Complete Series (239 page)

A pile of shields in a far corner of the room shifted and clattered as a shamefaced man stood up. He wore black leather armor studded with iron. His thick black hair fell in a braid to his waist. A long mustache drooped around his mouth.

“Jonas,” Niko accused sharply. “How could you?”

“I fear no beast,” he said, rough voice quavering, his English heavily accented, “but sorcery dissolves my courage.”

“You were his sworn man!” Niko bellowed.

Jonas hung his head. “I am an oathbreaker.”

“You are an undertaker,” Niko said. “I task you with disposal of the remains of the fallen, friend and foe. The cairn for Roon had best be a monument to outlast the ages. After that, go where you will, but take nothing with you. May you never forget the shame of this day. Pray we never meet again.”

“As you say.” The man bowed stiffly and exited the armory, avoiding any eye contact.

“I suppose there had to be one coward in the bunch,” Niko grumbled. “Jonas was never the most eager man on a hunt. He tended to hang back when things got dicey. He should at least have enough sense to erect a proper cairn.”

“Are any of the arms off-limits?” Bracken asked.

“Take what you need and more,” Niko offered. “I can envision no more fitting use for these armaments than to wreak vengeance upon our destroyers.”

Bracken turned to Kendra. “Let’s get you fitted into leather armor. We have work to do.”

Chapter 21

The Singing Sisters

Before embarking on this trip, Seth had forgotten how fast Vanessa drove. Now she was zooming along Missouri back roads near the Mississippi River. As they careened around corners, he swayed back and forth, held in place only by his seat belt. Several times he had felt certain that the enormous pickup would flip over, but the tires had remained flat on the road, seldom even squealing.

After leaving Fablehaven in an SUV with the satyrs in the back and Hugo sprawled on the roof, Vanessa had driven nearly an hour to reach an old contact who dealt in high-end automobiles. A few minutes on a computer informed Vanessa that four of her seven false identities had been compromised, but she assured Seth that the remaining three personas had valid passports and licenses, as well as access to millions of dollars.

Transferring the funds electronically, Vanessa had purchased a powerful black pickup with an extended cab and burly tires. Seth had felt like he needed a stepladder to climb into the passenger seat. The satyrs enjoyed plenty of room in the backseat, and the presence of Hugo in the bed did not seem to strain the formidable engine. At first Seth had felt exposed with the golem in the back, until Vanessa reminded him that to most people, Hugo looked like a pile of dirt.

So far, they had slept only in the truck. Seth and the satyrs dozed whenever they wanted. Vanessa caught a few hours here and there when they stopped for fuel or meals.

Finally slowing her aggressive pace, Vanessa pulled off to the side of the road. They had come south from St. Louis on I-55 for some distance before leaving the highway. Now she consulted her GPS, the letter from Patton, and a detailed map of the area.

The letter from Patton had plenty of details about finding the Singing Sisters, but lacked much information about what to do once they got there. After the many specifics Patton had shared about handling Cormac, Seth felt disappointed to have considerably less advice for the bigger challenge. All he knew for sure was that he needed to strike a bargain with the Sisters or they would take his life.

“Want me to drive?” Newel offered. “Then you can concentrate on navigating.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Vanessa replied calmly.

“I can’t be a crazier driver than you,” Newel pouted.

“It’s more complicated than it looks,” she replied. “I think we’re almost there.” Shifting the truck into drive, she set the map aside, accelerated, and turned onto a rutted dirt road.

“Can we get more fast food?” Doren asked.

“After,” she answered tersely.

“I want burritos,” Newel said.

“No way,” Doren disagreed. “Cheeseburgers and curly fries.”

“Toasted ravioli,” Newel countered.

“Those were interesting,” Doren conceded.

Thanks to Vanessa’s illegal speeding and indefatigable driving, they had only been on the road two days since leaving Fablehaven. Every time the satyrs had spotted a fast food joint that they recognized from a commercial, they had hollered for a meal break. Vanessa had not always conceded, but whenever an opportunity was presented, Newel and Doren had inexhaustibly consumed milkshakes, burgers, sandwiches, tacos, nachos, pretzels, nuts, beef jerky, trail mix, soda, doughnuts, candy bars, cookies, crackers, and aerosol cheese. Of the fifty most impressive belches Seth had witnessed in his life, all had occurred on this road trip.

“I hate to interrupt the feasting,” Vanessa said, “but we did come here for a purpose. Let’s try to focus on something besides sweet fat and salty fat for the next little while.”

“Some of us have fast metabolisms,” Doren mumbled.

“We just want fuel in the tank before we risk our necks,” Newel complained.

“You want nutrition?” Seth asked. “Remind me to teach you guys about the food pyramid.”

“A pyramid made of food?” Doren said reverently.

“We are your humble pupils,” Newel pledged.

Up ahead, the Mississippi River came into view again. Perhaps twenty yards across the water, a long island paralleled the shore. The dirt road ended at a sprawling, ramshackle shack roofed with aluminum siding. A rusted, antique truck sat on blocks off in the weeds. Beyond a dusty tire swing, Seth spotted a run-down dock and a weathered raft.

Several dogs ran up to the pickup, yapping and snarling. Vanessa brought the truck to a stop. When Hugo climbed out of the back, the dogs ran away yelping. Apparently they didn’t require magic milk to sense that the golem meant trouble.

The door to the shack swung open, and an old man emerged, bald on top with white stubble around the sides of his head. He wore fading black trousers with suspenders and no shirt. Gray hair curled on his wrinkled chest. He stood on the sagging porch, a carved walking stick in one hand.

“He’s the sentinel,” Vanessa said.

In the letter, Patton had warned that to get to the island, they would have to pass a sentinel. He explained there was no sure way to do this, but the goal involved convincing him that the Singing Sisters should grant Seth an audience.

Vanessa rolled down the window.

“Private property,” the man said abruptly.

“We need to cross to the island,” Vanessa explained.

“There’s nothing on that island you’d care to see,” the man replied grumpily. “This ain’t a public road. You’re on my land. Order the golem back in the truck and go.”

Seth leaned toward the open window. “I need to see the Singing Sisters.”

“You’d best turn around before I call the police,” the man said, retreating into his shack.

“Should we hijack the raft?” Newel asked.

“We need to settle this with him,” Vanessa said. “Newel, Doren, wait in the truck. Seth and I are going inside.”

“Should I bring my sword?” Seth asked.

“I have a feeling it would provoke him without being much use against him. This old guy is more than he appears. Leave it.”

As Seth climbed down from the truck, he felt nervous. But he supposed if his end goal was to talk with the Singing Sisters, he had better at least have the courage to confront their guardian. No doubt they would be creepier than the old man and his dingy shack.

Hugo stayed near while they approached the house. Flies buzzed around them as Seth and Vanessa climbed the porch steps. Hugo paused at the bottom step, stamping and leaning forward as if trying to proceed.

“Wait here,” Vanessa instructed. The golem stopped testing the unseen barrier.

Seth glanced down at a shabby tin washtub full of rotten apples. Vanessa tugged open the dirty screen and rapped on the flimsy door.

Nobody answered.

She knocked again. The third time she pounded loudly. The door shuddered as if a little more force would bust it open. Still nobody answered.

Vanessa turned the knob and opened the door. The old man stood facing them in the middle of the room, his walking stick clutched in both hands like a baseball bat.

“You ought not come here,” the man warned, showing his grimy teeth.

“This young man desires an audience with the Sisters,” Vanessa said, stepping cautiously into the shack, as if entering the cage of a lion. Seth moved forward with her.

“Shadow charmer, is he?”

“Yes,” Vanessa said.

“And you’re a narcoblix. And a couple of satyrs in the truck. And a sentient golem. I’ll grant that you’re the oddest group to come my way since time out of mind.”

“You’re the sentinel for the Singing Sisters?” Seth asked.

He turned and spat on the floor. “You could say that. Not many folk choose this road anymore. From that island, not more than one in five return.”

“How’d you get this job?” Seth asked.

The old man’s lips twitched. “I had a need long ago. The Sisters helped. Might be you can take over my watch.”

“How do I get to the island?” Seth asked.

“You’re the one who wants to go?” the old man asked.

“I’m the one,” Seth said.

The old man held Seth’s gaze. “Why not ask the little lady to step outside?”

“I want to go with him to the island,” Vanessa said.

“Have you business with the Sisters as well?” the old man asked, eyes never leaving Seth.

“I mean to accompany Seth to their door,” Vanessa replied.

The old man compressed his lips. “Tell you what. Leave me with the petitioner. If he earns passage to the island, you can join him. But not the golem.”

“Go,” Seth said. “I’ll have to face worse than this before we’re done. It’ll be good practice.”

Vanessa touched Seth’s shoulder, then exited. Seth refused to watch her, keeping his eyes on the old man. The screen banged shut.

“Close the door,” the old man said.

Seth obeyed, shutting it softly. He and the old man stared at one another.

“What now?” Seth asked.

“You eat sandwiches?”

The question surprised him. “Um, yes.”

“How about peanut butter and marshmallow fluff?”

Unlike the satyrs, Seth had been eating sensibly. He had room for a sandwich. “Is there a catch?”

“You mean will the sandwich bind you to me as my eternal slave? No, just a sandwich. Want one?”

“Sure.”

“Come inside.”

Seth followed the sentinel into the humble kitchen. Looking down, he saw gaps between the floorboards. Chips and scratches scarred the round table.

“Need help?” Seth asked.

“Have a seat,” the old man said, leaning his elaborate walking stick against the wall.

Seth sat down by the table on a three-legged stool that wobbled when he shifted his weight. A battered old door on a pair of sawhorses served as the counter. The old man produced a jar of peanut butter and a container of marshmallow fluff, laid down a paper towel, and took two slices of white bread from a bag.

“Tell me why you want to visit the Singing Sisters,” the old man said, carefully spreading peanut butter onto a slice.

“Some demons are about to open Zzyzx,” Seth said. “I want the Singing Sisters to help me find the Sword of Light and Darkness.”

The old man paused, blunt knife held motionless. “That sword has a name.”

“Vasilis.”

The old man resumed spreading. “Brother, sounds to me like you have a need.”