Salamaine's Curse

Note from the Publisher:

The Move Books team is committed to inspiring boys to read. We want to change the way boys look at reading. Thank you for your support.

Text copyright © 2013 by V. L. Burgess

Illustration copyright © by Jon Berkeley

Book Design by Virginia Pope

Back cover parchment background © iStockphoto.com/tomograf

All rights reserved. Published by Move Books LLC.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Move Books, LLC., Attention: Permissions, P.O. Box 183, Beacon Falls, CT 06403.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013941511

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 11 12 13 14 15 16

Printed and bound in the U.S.A.

First edition, October 2013

P.O. Box 183

Beacon Falls, Connecticut, 06403

For B
OB
, D
AVID
, and C
ATHERINE

— V.L. Burgess

for R
UBEN
and A
LAN

— Jon Berkeley

T
homas Hawkins stood at the edge of the Forbidden Lake. It had another name, of course, an official name, but nobody ever used it. Tom couldn't even remember what it was. He only knew that at the Lost Preparatory Academy for Boys, anything that might lead to the students actually enjoying themselves was, naturally, forbidden.

Especially the lake.

And definitely,
definitely,
the lake at midnight.

But it was spring. The ice and snow that had covered the academy grounds for endless months had finally melted, giving way to soft, grassy fields. Shimmering rays of sunshine warmed the air. Or at least the grass looked soft and the air seemed warm. Hard to tell when he spent most of his waking hours locked away in a classroom.

Which was exactly what had brought Tom to the lake. It wasn't that he deliberately tried to disobey the rules. But Headmaster Lost's rigid schedules, endless exams, and not to mention the constant clamor of bells wore on his nerves. On
everybody's
nerves. All he wanted to do was loosen things up a bit. Have a little fun.

Kidnapping Fred and sending him on a solo midnight sail across the lake seemed like the perfect antidote to the dull drudgery of their days. It was, after all, spring.

Excited whispers and rustling branches echoed through the woods. Tom glanced over his shoulder at the guys behind him and grinned.

“How's he doing?”

“I think he's scared,” a voice called back.

“No, he's not!” someone else shouted. “He's having fun! Aren't you, Fred?”

Fred wobbled in response as the gardening cart to which he was strapped hit a deep rut in the trail. He teetered precariously to the right, then swayed left as the boys pushing the cart overcorrected their mistake.

“Don't drop him! You'll crack his head open.”

“Relax. He's fine.” They shoved the cart out of the rut and bounded down the trail.

Fred was the newest addition to the Lost Academy family. He came to them as a result of a private donation made to the school. The funds were supposed to be used for the students' enjoyment.

But Lost, brimming with satisfaction, had unveiled the life-sized statue—to whom the name Fred had somehow stuck—at an assembly earlier that week. The thrill of the gift had been underwhelming. The model of a perfect student, Fred had been sculpted with Latin and Greek textbooks tucked under his arm and a beaming smile on his face, as though he couldn't wait to get back to his room and spend his evening memorizing ancient irregular verbs.

Hunger for Knowledge,
the plaque beneath him read. Looking at Fred, Tom thought
Hunger for Cupcakes, Chili Dogs, and Cheese Fries
would have been far more appropriate.

For not only did Fred arrive wearing the detested summer uniform (short-sleeved shirt with tie, Bermuda shorts and knee socks, a beanie on his head), he had a little weight problem. His face was round, his cheeks plump, and he had a double chin. In what was probably a clumsy attempt to make Fred look younger, the sculptor had given him pudgy arms and thighs, dimpled hands, and a butt that swelled outward in embarrassing proportions, sort of like a certain type of monkey at the zoo.