Island of Graves (7 page)

Simber paused, then continued. “And therrre's one perrrson who stands out as a prrrime example of this, and I don't want any of you to forrrget him.”

“Who is he?” Carina asked.

Simber spoke humbly. “His name was Marrrcus Today.”

W
hen Ishibashi heard Aaron say that he wasn't Alex, he nearly fainted. Instead, as the young man's eyes closed and he fell into a troubled sleep once more, Ishibashi could only stare at the face he'd assumed for days was his friend.

Could Alex be delirious? Or was this person in the scientists' shelter telling the truth? Ishibashi racked his memory, going back to the conversation he'd had with Alex. The mage had said he had a brother—a brother who was his enemy and had killed Mr. Marcus Today, no less—but he hadn't mentioned that his brother was an identical twin! How could
Ishibashi have known this was the evil one? There was nothing about the sleeping young man to indicate he wasn't Alex, other than the words he'd just uttered.

Ishibashi's heart pounded as he realized the full extent of what he and Ito and Sato had done.

“The seaweed,” Ishibashi said, his hands rising to cover his face as the horror came to light. By putting that tiny bit of healing seaweed into Aaron's mouth, they'd given the power of extended life, maybe even
unending
life . . . to a murderer.

Ishibashi hobbled from the room, his legs weak. He stumbled into the greenhouse, where he found Ito and Sato, and he told them in their native language what he'd just discovered.

The three stood in shocked silence for a long moment before the questions peppered the air, but all Ishibashi could tell his comrades was that they had done something they'd agreed never to do, and now they had the full responsibility of it on their hands.

When the three realized the extent of their mistake, Ito addressed the other two in a voice most serious. “There is only one thing we can do,” he said. “We have a responsibility to fix our mistake. And because we cannot kill him, we can only
change him. We must hope he does not try to harm us.”

“And,” said Sato, “we must protect all of society from him by keeping him here, for if he tries to escape the hurricane, it is certain that he will make it out alive.”

Ishibashi nodded. His friends were wise. And he, having been the one to slip the seaweed into Aaron's mouth, took the most responsibility. “I will take charge of this mission,” he said. “It is my duty.”

» » « «

Ishibashi watched over Aaron, and when the former high priest awoke again, Ishibashi was there.

Aaron blinked. For the first time, his mind wasn't filled with fog.

Ishibashi stood up so Aaron could see him. “I will get you some tea,” he said firmly. “You must drink it, not throw it. Not slap it away.”

Aaron focused on the man, who was definitely not a pirate. “Who are you?”

“You will call me Ishibashi-san. Do you understand me?”

“Barely,” said Aaron. He didn't know what to make of the man's gruff behavior and unusual accent. But he wanted some
tea. Desperately. Why did the man think he would throw it? “It's about time somebody treats me the way I deserve to be treated,” he muttered.

Ishibashi put his hands on his hips and frowned at the young man, who was now completely distinguishable from his twin just by the words that came out of his mouth. But the old man didn't answer. He went to the greenhouse.

“He's awake,” Ishibashi reported to the others. “Please make the most bitter tea you can, Ito,” Ishibashi said. “I have a feeling he is going to be trouble.”

While Ito went to the kitchen to prepare the tea, Ishibashi considered the task at hand. What would they do? They were stuck with him.

By the time he was serving the tea to Aaron, who complained angrily about it, Ishibashi promised himself one thing: Aaron must never find out that he might live forever.

I
nside the mansion's vast kitchen, Thisbe and Fifer played in a corner near the food-delivery tube. They climbed over Crow, who was taking care of them. A few Unwanted chefs moved about, filling room service orders and designing elaborate fruit carvings and intricate vegetable dioramas in preparation for the next meal service.

Whenever a room service order came in, the kitchen staff quickly whipped up the desired food item, plated it in grand and elegant fashion, and wrapped it in magical sparkling cellophane that was designed to disappear into thin air once the recipient was ready to eat. The chef then handed the package
to one of the twins to place gently in the tube for delivery. And for their young age, they seemed to grasp the importance of the task, at least a little. They hardly ever dropped a dish.

It was Fifer's turn next to place a plate in the tube. She took great care to set it gently in the right spot.

“Good job, Fig,” Crow said. He pulled both children away from the tube. “Now watch it disappear! But stay back here with me. We don't want you to disappear with it.” He smiled to himself at the thought—what a surprise that would be for someone to get a small child delivered with her meal.

Across the room at the kitchen bar, Alex and Lani enjoyed lunch with Liam and filled him in on the plan to take down Gondoleery Rattrapp. At first they only gave him the information that was necessary for him to help them, and once they'd explained the plan, Alex made Liam promise he wouldn't speak a word of it to anyone.

“I—I promise,” Liam said with the utmost sincerity. “You saved my life. I shall never betray Artimé.” He looked at his plate of food, overwhelmed by the variety, the color, and the amazing freshness of it all.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “That's a promise we'll hold you to.” He
hesitated, and then said earnestly, “I'll tell you that not everyone was in agreement on whether you should be told this information. But I believe you'll prove me right in trusting you.”

Flustered, Liam set down his fork and fussed with his sleeves, which still hung nearly to his fingertips. “Why
are
you telling me this? How am I supposed to help you?” He rolled the fabric nervously between his thumbs and forefingers.

Alex looked at Lani, who picked up some sketches from the counter next to her. Alex had drawn them. They were depictions of the palace drivers. He'd done it from memory, but it had been a while since he'd seen a driver, and back when he had—when Aaron paid a visit to give Alex Mr. Today's robe—he'd been too angry to take much notice of the man's appearance.

Lani showed the sketches to Liam. “We need to know exactly what the driver uniforms look like. Alex drew these. Are they even close? Can you remember any details?”

Liam studied the drawings. He shook his head a little bit, then looked up. “I don't even understand what this is, really. How'd you even . . . you know. Do this? It's like the things on the walls in the hallways . . . very puzzling indeed.”

Alex looked confused for a moment, and then his face cleared. “Good grief,” he said, beginning to chuckle. “It's called a picture. I'm starting to understand all too well why Mr. Today seemed so absentminded when we first arrived here.” He fumbled around in his robe pockets, pulled out some colored pencils, handed one to Liam, and flipped over one of the pieces of paper on the counter.

“This is a pencil,” Alex said. “You've certainly seen a pencil by now, haven't you?”

“Yes,” said Liam, examining it. “Aaron had one. And they're everywhere around here.”

“Right. So you just have to touch the pointed end to the paper,” Alex said.

Liam obeyed.

“Now press firmly, but not too hard, and move it across the paper.”

Liam gripped the pencil awkwardly. He drew a short line, and the tip snapped off. He gasped in horror. “Oh no—I'm sorry!”

Lani laughed. “That's exactly what happened to Alex the first time he used a pencil! Remember, Al?”

Alex grinned. “I do.
Sean was teaching me in the lounge.” Alex took the pencil from Liam and drew his fingers over the tip. A new point grew from it. He handed it back to Liam, who cut down on the pressure and drew a few weak, wobbly lines on the paper.

“It takes some practice,” Lani confided. “I'm not very good at it, myself.”

“Please,” said Alex. “You're good at everything. You can act, sing, draw, tell stories, invent things, design new components, experiment with who knows what . . . and you read like you're on fire, so you know more than anybody.”

“Oh, I know that's all true,” Lani said. “I'm decently good at a lot of things. But I don't really have a specialty I'm extraordinarily good at, like most people do.” She shrugged, not at all bothered by it. “Everybody's different, you see,” she said to Liam. “In Quill you're all supposed to be the same. Not here.” She gave him a critical glance, sizing him up. “You're pretty old to be finding the thing you're good at, but I suppose it could still happen for you.”

Liam smiled. He set down the pencil. “I think that's enough for now,” he said, looking proudly at his scribbles. He turned
over the paper and returned his attention to Alex's drawings of the driver. “Okay, so you call this a—a picture of the driver,” Liam mumbled, trying to understand the concept of art. Once his mind accepted it, he began to compare the drawing to the way he imagined the drivers. But it was hard. He hadn't been taught to think that way.

“The jacket is the right length,” he offered finally, pointing at the front view, then at the back view. “Long, to around mid-thigh, with that slit in the back. But the buttons are wrong. There should be two columns of four silver buttons—it's double-breasted. And this looks so stiff. The material is more . . . ” He searched for the words. “Flimsy, I guess. The uniforms are very old and worn. Patches on the elbows and such.”

“Do you want to draw the buttons where they're supposed to go?” Alex asked.

“Oh, no.” Liam looked afraid. “I—I'll mess it up.”

“It's okay,” said Alex. “This is just a rough sketch. I'll redraw it. But I'm not sure I'm going to get the buttons and patches and the lay of the fabric looking right without actually seeing it.”

“Ooh,” said Lani, her face lighting up. “I guess we'll have to
go spy on the palace, then,” she said. “That's all there is to it.”

Alex's first instinct was to say no, it wasn't safe. But then his smile became devious. “I think you're right. We'll go along the shore and sneak up the hill. We can stay hidden in the rubble and just see what we can see.”

“Perfect.” But Lani's smile soon turned to a frown. “Oh drat.”

“What is it?” Liam asked her. “What's wrong?”

“I only wish we could get close enough for me to really study a driver's face.” She scrunched up her nose, thinking. “I'm afraid that'll be the downfall of this plan—me not getting the impersonation just right. The face has to be very close, or Gondoleery will notice.”

At Liam's puzzled look, Lani explained. “I'm going to use magic to disguise myself to look like one of the drivers. Do you happen to know which driver would be most likely to take Gondoleery somewhere? I'll need a description of him. Maybe you should come with Alex and me so you could point him out.” Then she shook her head, frustrated. “But it won't be close enough, I'm afraid. Isn't there any way to see them up close without them seeing me? I'm going to need a good long
look, and Alex will have to get all the features just right in his drawing so Mr. Appleblossom and I have something solid to work with.”

“You could use the invisibility paintbrush for that,” Alex suggested.

“Oh, right!” said Lani. “Of course!”

“Hmm.” Liam sat up and leaned forward. He pressed his lips together, as if he were thinking very hard.