The Unmapped Sea (20 page)

Simon nudged Lord Fredrick with his foot. “Ahem! I'm on my way, Pudge!” Lord Fredrick cried, playing along. Pudge smiled his tortoiselike smile, which spread from his right ear all the way to his left, and opened his eyes once more.

“So me and the admiral made our escape, on the raft I built myself. The full moon lit our way, but oh, what a moon it was! Twice the size of the fullest full moon you ever saw, and bloodred, and instead of the man in the moon, it had the face of a wolf on it, too, like this:
Ahwoo! Ahwoo
!” He howled to demonstrate.
“I'll never forget that wolf moon, no sirree!”

Simon could take it no more. “Blast, Uncle! What about the curse?”

“Didn't I say it already?”

“No!” they all yelled together.

Pudge laughed. “Ah! Well, I'll never forget that, either. The strangest night of my life, that was!”

Penelope readied her pencil as Pudge leaned forward and swept his gaze around, lingering on each one of them in turn. She could have sworn his eyes glinted yellow in the dark interior of the carriage. “Listen, now! For here's what the wolf mother said.

“‘You killed my cubs with no more compassion than a hungry wolf shows for its prey. And so I place a wolf's curse upon you:

As the wolf has two eyes and two ears, so shall your family be split in two. One side will do evil in the world. One side will do good.

The evil ones will outwardly prosper, but the full moon reveals their true nature—violent, selfish, and cruel. They will die unusual, gruesome deaths.

The good ones will suffer misfortunes, but their nature is plain for all to see—generous, compassionate, and kind. They will live long and die in peace.

As my five cubs were cruelly hunted, so shall it be for you. The hunter must vanquish his prey, or the prey must vanquish the hunter.

As the wolf has four paws, four generations must pass under this curse. In the fourth generation, the hunt begins—and ends.

As the wolf has one tail, only one line of your descendants can remain.

When that comes to pass, the curse is finished. Otherwise, the house of Ashton, all it has been and all it might ever be, shall be destroyed, forever.'”

“That's nonsense,” Lord Fredrick cried. “Poppycock!”

Pudge gave him a curious look. “Funny, Admiral, that's just what you said at the time. The mother wolf didn't like it, either. The mad beast snarled a bloodcurdling snarl, and her eyes gleamed yellow as paraffin lamps. These were the last words she spoke:

“‘Wait till the full moon comes, sailor. Then we'll see what's poppycock. Ahwooooo!'”

I
N THE WAKE OF THIS
terrible tale, the passengers of the carriage fell silent. Only the
clip-clop, clip-clop
of hooves kept time, slow and uneven, like a dying heart. Soon Pudge asked the admiral to join him in singing their
favorite sea chanteys from the old days. Lord Fredrick cleared his throat and bum-bum-bummed along, for he did not know the tunes, but Simon pitched in to cover.

“What can you do with a curséd Ashton,
What can you do with a curséd Ashton,
What can you do with a curséd Ashton
When the moon is full, oh!”

That is how Penelope heard it, anyway. And cursed by a wolf, no less! She had taken notes during Pudge's story, but there was no need to look at them; every word was stamped in her memory. “‘The hunter must vanquish his prey; or the prey must vanquish the hunter,'” she thought. “Edward Ashton fancies himself the hunter, and I fear he has made us his prey. But what is meant by the family split in two?”

She thought of the ancestral portraits in Lord Fredrick's study at Ashton Place. Father and son, father and son. It was a strange and unlovable lineage, perhaps, but as far as Penelope could see, the Ashtons descended in a straight, unbroken line.

The mournful singing and the slow rocking movement of the carriage soon lulled the children to sleep.
Lord Fredrick was sweating now, and scratched his arms and legs. “This antique uniform must have fleas in it,” he muttered. He looked so uncomfortable that Penelope instructed Old Timothy to return to the Right Foot Inn at once. The old coachman had not spoken a word during the long and eventful ride, but never had there been a more enigmatic look on his face than there was now, as he held open the carriage door for his twitching, unhappy master.

“So long then, Pudge!” said Lord Fredrick, climbing out. “Lovely to catch up. Don't know when we'll meet again. All the best, fair winds to you, and so on.”

Pudge, too, had dozed off. Simon gave him a poke. “Say good-bye to the admiral, Uncle.”

The old man roused and clutched at his heart. “Ah, my admiral! Why must you go so soon?”

Lord Fredrick tipped his head to the side and scratched behind his neck. “Ah, Pudge! I've got a ship to catch. Such is a sailor's life; you know how it is. I'd best be off—wait, what's this?”

Penelope had quickly written and passed a note to Simon, who now handed it to Lord Fredrick. She had written it in large letters, so Lord Fredrick could read it. He looked it over and stuck his head back in the carriage.

“One more thing, Pudge! About that curse. Were
those the
exact
words of it?”

Pudge gave a sly look. “Why does it matter?”

Lord Fredrick turned to Penelope, who mimed signing something. “Ah, yes!” he said. “Well, a curse is like a contract. It's all in the wording, so I'm told.”

Pudge leaned back and crossed his arms. “Those were the exact words spoken to the admiral, never you fear. You look just like him, too.”

“Like who?” Lord Fredrick batted behind his ear with a cupped hand, like a dog after a flea.

“The admiral! He came to see me last night, at the HAM. It was just past my bedtime. At first I was sure I was dreaming.”

“But I thought
I
was the admiral?” Lord Fredrick looked at Penelope and Simon in confusion.

“No, lad! You're Fredrick, his great-grandson. You're a good boy, from what he told me last night. Not the most watertight ship in the fleet, mind you, but a decent lad. He wanted me to talk about the curse, too. Isn't that peculiar?” Pudge smiled his wide tortoise smile. “Everybody wants to talk about the curse. . . .”

“Edward Ashton!” Penelope said under her breath, to Simon. “Blast! He
did
beat us to the Pudge!”

Pudge leaned back in his seat. “Here's a funny thing, too: Last night after we talked, the admiral
released me from my oath! He said I'd done a fine job keeping my promise all these years, and now it wasn't a secret anymore. Lucky, eh? Just in time to have a bit of fun with you, Freddy!” The old sailor laughed. “And you, too, nephew! Fooled you again, didn't I, Simon? A knack for the theatrical runs in the blood of us Harley-Dickinsons, sure as the compass points north!”

I
T HAD BEEN A LONG
, effortful morning for Pudge, and he was ready for a nap. Young Jasper was summoned to escort him to a room at the Right Foot Inn. Along with the room key, Simon delivered stern instructions to put the old fellow to bed and stand guard by the door. “Let no one in, and don't let Pudge get out, either,” he said. “He's old but full of mischief.” Once they had gone, Simon kicked the side of a carriage wheel in fury. “Ouch!” he yelped, rubbing his sore toes. “I'm in high dudgeon for sure! Edward Ashton slipped by me once already. I'll not risk him getting to my great-uncle again.”

Meanwhile, Lord Fredrick frantically undid his costume. “There! Now this blasted itching will stop,” he said, wriggling out of the brass-buttoned jacket. “That was quite a story the old sailor told. Poor little cubs! It's enough to make a man lose his taste for hunting.”

He turned to Penelope. “Now that we've heard the exact words of the curse, I must say, I don't understand them one bit. Family tree split down the middle? What does it mean? And that bit about ‘fourth generation'—that's me, I suppose? And who was this other admiral the old man spoke of? The whole thing is—
woof!
—peculiar, if you ask me.” He scratched behind his neck and glanced up at the inscrutable sky. “That's odd. I'm starting to feel a bit—
bark!
—barky. But no worries. Tuesday's not until—
yap!
—tomorrow. And we've got a trip to Italy to get through yet, what? It's going to mean the world to Constance. Don't want anything to go wrong. Not tonight.
Woof!
” Gnawing on the edge of his hat, he loped inside the hotel.

Old Timothy chuckled from the driver's seat.

“Say, Timmy, what's so funny?” Simon called to him.

“The full moon's tomorrow, he says. Oh, that's rich!”

Penelope had come to trust the old coachman somewhat more than she used to, but his enigmatic behavior still rankled her; why was it so difficult to speak plainly about things, and leave out all the mysteriousness? “Lord Fredrick checked his almanac,” she said. “Double- and triple-checked.”

The coachman turned to her with a smirk. “And which do you believe? An almanac that won't stay put,
or the proof of your own two eyes?” He looked up at the sky. The cool blue glow of a hundred full moons could not cut through that impenetrable gloom.

Penelope looked up, too. “Do you mean to say . . . ?”

“Unlike most people, I
mean
to say nothing. I say, or I don't say. If you want answers, governess, look at the sky! Look at what's above you, behind you, and ahead of you. It's all as plain as the nose on your face . . . or the hair beneath your hat . . .”

Without thinking, Penelope raised a hand to smooth her hair. Answers were precisely what she wanted, and she, too, was puzzled by the curse. What
was
the split in the Ashton family tree? Who was on one side, and who was on the other, and what did she and the children have to do with it all? The only explanation she could come up with seemed so wildly implausible, so utterly improbable, so completely lacking in verisimilitude—it could not possibly be true, could it?

“Yet there are important distinctions to be made between the unlikely and the impossible,” she thought, and inhaled sharply, as if the cold salt air itself was eager to rush in and remove the last tendrils of mist from her mind.
Could
the Incorrigible children occupy some distant twig on the Ashton family tree? And could Miss Penelope Lumley, she of the long-lost parents,
with not one scrap of family left in all the wide and lonely world, somehow be related to the three people she loved best?

Honestly, what were the odds?

The horses were restless, stamping and snorting. Old Timothy hopped down from his seat and scurried to their heads, to speak to them quietly in whatever language man and beast shared.

Simon shook his head. Under his breath he said, “Enigmatic chap, that Tim! We'd best start loading the carriage; there's a heap of decorating to do at the other hotel, and the clock is ticking.”

But Penelope kept looking at the sky.

S
IMON WAS QUITE RIGHT: THERE
was no time to waste.

Old Timothy waited outside while Simon and the children took a luggage cart to gather all the decorations. Meanwhile, Penelope went to see Mrs. Clarke. “Here are the invitations for tonight. Make sure they are delivered promptly, and that my instructions are followed to the letter,” she cautioned, giving the housekeeper the handwritten envelopes she and the children had earlier sealed with wax.

Mrs. Clarke opened hers at once and peered at it through a pair of reading glasses that hung on a length
of ribbon around her neck. “My, my! What an imagination you have, Miss Lumley!” she said in wonder. “Never you fear. I'll have everyone shipshape for tonight.”

By the time Penelope returned to the carriage, Simon and the children had finished loading it with the decorations. Some were quite large, leaving no room for passengers. It was decided that Simon would travel with Old Timothy, riding next to him in the driver's seat, and Penelope and the children would proceed to the Left Foot Inn on whatever foot they pleased.

The Incorrigible children were strangely quiet as they walked. They said nothing to their governess, but every now and then they put their heads together to exchange a few words in private. Penelope feared that Pudge's gruesome tale had upset them, especially the part about those poor wolf cubs. After a while she asked what was on their minds.

“Time,” Alexander said simply. “We want to understand how it works.”

“We know there are three kinds,” said Beowulf. “What was, what is, and what is yet to come.”

Cassiopeia hopped idly from foot to foot. “But in Great-Uncle Pudge's story, they are all mixed up. How can cursing people who are not yet born fix what happened in the past?”

Beowulf drew in the air with his hands as he walked. “Unless time is shaped like a circle?”

“Or maybe a curse is like a time machine?” his sister suggested.

Now Penelope understood. “I cannot tell you more about time than you already know,” she said. “But the admiral is long dead, my dear children. So are the wolf cubs, I am sorry to say, and no doubt their mama wolf is, too. If only their troubles had died with them! But terrible deeds and terrible hurts often outlive their original owners, as any number of tragic plays will tell you.”

“Shakespeare,” said Alexander knowingly, and all three children nodded in sad understanding.

“Now let us turn our minds to happier things. We have a highly unusual dinner party to organize, and your marvelous decorations are the key to the success of the whole affair. Look, there is the Left Foot Inn, just ahead.” At the sight of the inn, the children began to hop, happy once more.

Penelope wished she could feel so light of spirit, but now the words of the curse weighed fresh upon her heart. To think that a family could be asked to sacrifice some of its own members in order to survive! “It is like Princess Popkinova's tale about throwing the bride to
the wolves,” she thought. “A tale that does not end well for anyone in it. Except the wolves, of course. They were rather well fed by the end!”