Quest for the Secret Keeper (4 page)

The soldier nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Now be off lest your headmist perish.”

Ian raced along to the village, his eyes searching for any sign of Eva, when an idea occurred to him. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, he retrieved a magical instrument in the form of a sundial, left to him by the great Oracle Laodamia. He had to pause in a doorway and take a few breaths before he could say, “Please show me where Eva is!”

Immediately the dull surface of the dial shone brightly, as if it had just received a polish, and a dark shadow that had nothing at all to do with the angle of the sun appeared.

The magical instrument responded to the sound of a voice asking the location of anything or anyone. So long as the object was a physical thing, the sundial would work like a compass, pointing to the object’s location until that object was found. Once that happened, the dial would again go blank, casting no shadow no matter how bright the sun.

Ian glanced in the direction the shadow was pointing, and raced off again. He wound his way through the crowd of villagers and soldiers and finally managed to spot Eva half a block down.

“Eva!” he shouted. “Eva, come quickly! Madam’s been hurt and we need you straightaway!”

Two women nearby looked sharply at Ian, and he overheard one of them say, “What the devil did that boy just say?”

“I’ve no idea!” exclaimed the other. “He sounds as if he’s speaking in a foreign tongue.”

Ian blanched. Of course he had. The last language he’d heard was something other than English—though he was
hard-pressed to say exactly what tongue he’d been speaking. Still, Eva did turn around and Ian knew she could understand him, because she too was wearing a piece of the Star, which Jaaved had given to her the year before.

Beside her was Jaaved, another one of the special orphans of Delphi Keep and the boy responsible for finding the Star in the first place. As the pair raced down the block toward Ian, he doubled over, attempting to get as much air into his lungs as he could before he’d be forced to run again.

“What’s happened?” Eva asked.

Ian eyed the pedestrians around them. He couldn’t tell what language they were speaking to each other—the Star had a way of jumbling things—so he pulled both Eva and Jaaved close and said in a rush, “Madam Dimbleby has been stabbed by a German prisoner at Castle Dover, and her life is hanging by a thread!”

Eva gasped and gripped Ian’s arm tightly. “Take me to her!”

Ian nodded and was about to race off with his companions when Jaaved took Eva’s hand and said, “Let me, Ian. I can take her to the castle. You’re still out of breath.”

“I’ll catch up,” he promised. “Madam is right outside the front entrance, unless she’s been moved inside. If anyone bars you from seeing her, find the earl and he’ll insist on getting you close to her.”

Jaaved nodded and tugged on Eva’s hand. The pair flew down the street, running as fast as they could. With a pang, Ian thought about poor Madam Dimbleby and hoped desperately that they’d make it to her in time.

After catching his breath, Ian began to trot down the street himself, weaving in and out of the traffic, growing frustrated when it seemed that the already crowded streets were becoming even more congested.

The village clock gonged four times, and Ian realized that another ship of soldiers had likely come into port in the past half hour, which was the reason the village was suddenly full of people.

He worried that Jaaved and Eva—who were somewhere up ahead—would be caught in the swell and further delayed in reaching Madam Dimbleby. It was all Ian could do not to shove his way forcefully through the crowd, and he settled for pushing firmly against the throng while grinding his teeth and clenching his fists.

He finally freed himself from the congested streets and set off across the downs, running again as fast as he could. He made sure to travel back the way he’d come, as he had to keep his promise to the soldier and find out what he was doing so far out of his own time. Also, if the portal was indeed open, Ian wondered if it had opened for him. The last prophecy had suggested that it would open to a land he would resist. Maybe that land was the one from which the soldier had stepped.

Making his way to the spot where he’d found the soldier, Ian soon determined that the man was nowhere about. For a moment he considered abandoning the man and running back to the castle to see what had happened to Madame Dimbleby, but just then Carl came hurrying along the path.

“There you are!” his best friend said when he saw him.

“How is Madam?” Ian said right away.

“Eva’s with her,” Carl told him, stopping to clutch at his side like he had a stitch from running. “And Madam Scargill is there too.”

Ian sighed with relief. “She’s still alive, then?” he asked almost tentatively.

Carl nodded, but his face was grim. “She’s in terrible shape, Ian. Eva is giving it her best, but her abilities have been weakened by all the healing she’s been giving to the wounded soldiers.”

Since the war had begun and injured soldiers had been arriving in Dover, Eva had volunteered to assist Dr. Lineberry—the village’s lone physician, who’d been recruited to help the other navy doctors with the overflow of wounded. Eva never revealed her abilities to the soldiers she sat with, but almost all of them had made remarkable recoveries.

While it was a wonderful thing for Eva to lend her healing gift to the wounded, only those closest to Eva understood its cost on her own robust health. Over the past few months she’d become overly fatigued, and very thin, causing Carl—who was quite sweet on her—to dote on her like a lovesick puppy.

Even with Carl’s attentions and affections, Eva was so worn out of late that she’d been ordered only the day before by Dr. Lineberry to take time off to rest, but Ian had seen her sneaking around the beds that morning, checking on a few of the patients.

He was now terribly worried that even she would not have the strength to heal Madam Dimbleby. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked Carl.

His friend shook his head. “No. Except wait for word.”

Ian again eyed the patch of forest. “When I went looking for Eva, I saw a soldier here,” he told his friend.

“A soldier?”

“Not one of ours and not one of the Germans,” Ian told him, edging close to the path that led toward the portal. “I think he might have had something to do with the prophecy.”

Carl cocked his head. “Why do you think that?”

“Because of the way he was dressed,” Ian explained. “And because he was wearing a helmet exactly like the one we found by that skeleton in the portal wall.”

Carl’s eyes went wide. “He came through the portal?”

“I think so.”

Carl looked around. “Well, where is he, then?”

“I had to leave him here while I went for Eva. I don’t know where he’s gone off to.”

Carl marched toward the woods. “He’s probably gone back the way he came, Ian,” he said reasonably.

Ian followed him and soon they came to the stone steps that led down to the portal. After descending the stairs, they were about to pass through the large iron gate that guarded the entrance to the tunnel and the portal when the very man they were looking for stepped in front of them, his sword drawn. “Oh, it’s you,” said the soldier when he saw Ian.

Carl gave a yelp and backed up several stairs. The soldier considered him. “Who is this?”

“He’s a friend,” Ian explained quickly. “Just like me.” The soldier’s gaze remained doubtful. “Is the portal wall closed, then?” Ian asked, making his voice light and friendly.

“I don’t understand this magic,” the soldier said, waving his free hand behind him. “I came back down the stairs, saw Calais in the distance, and just as I was calling out to him, a stone wall appeared, locking me here in this tunnel.”

Ian turned over that name in his head. “Calais,” he repeated softly. Where had he heard that name before?

But the soldier eyed him suspiciously. “I should not have mentioned him to you,” he said. “The wall is obviously the work of a sorcerer, and it is well known that once a sorcerer knows the birth name of someone, they gain power over them.”

Carl made a sort of strangled laughing sound. “Sorcerer?” he said. “What? Like Magus the Black?”

At this the soldier’s head snapped toward Carl. “You know the sorcerer Magus the Black?”

Carl pumped his head enthusiastically. “We know him and his sisters, Caphiera, Atroposa, and Lachestia, all too well, I’m afraid.”

The soldier pointed his sword at Carl. “Is Magus your master, then?”

Ian and Carl both shook their heads vigorously. “No, sir!” they said together. “We hate Magus and his three
sisters!” Ian added. “They’ve been trying to kill us for over two years, in fact!”

The soldier’s eyes flashed with recognition. He lowered the sword and considered both Ian and Carl. “Are you … Ian?” the soldier asked him, and to Ian’s ears his name sounded like Eye-an.

Ian smiled. He must have heard Carl say his name and gotten the pronunciation wrong. “I’m Ian,” he answered, but said it correctly.

The soldier removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Eeee-an,” he repeated with a nod.

Carl laughed but quickly ducked his chin when the soldier’s steely gaze settled on him. “And you?” the soldier asked, his tone a bit stiff.

“Carl,” Ian’s friend said promptly. “Carl Lawson.”

“I am …,” the soldier began, but seemed to catch himself, as if he was wondering whether revealing his name was a good idea. At last he said, “I am Argos.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ian said, only then realizing what a serious predicament the soldier was in. He pointed down the length of the tunnel. “I’m afraid you’re stuck here with us for a little while.”

The soldier turned and considered the blackness behind him. “You must tell me where, and what period I’m in,” he said.

Ian’s brow shot up. “You know you’re in a different time?” he asked.

“I have heard of a magical gateway to another place and time. It is a thing of myth in my land, but someone I
know well believes in its existence so much that I tend not to doubt her.”

Ian’s mind leapt with an idea. “Could you by any chance be speaking of the Oracle Laodamia?”

Argos’s eyes softened. “I am indeed,” he said. “She is a great and noble lady and one of my dearest friends.”

“You
know
Laodamia?” Carl gasped.

The soldier pointed his thumb at Carl. “Does he not hear well?”

Ian smiled. “We have a great deal to share with you,” he said. And on the steps he explained all that had happened to them in the past two years, including the discovery of the prophecies, and how they had yet to act on any part of the third scroll from Laodamia’s treasure box. Ian even fished out his copy for the soldier to inspect, but Argos couldn’t read it, which Ian realized was because it was written in English. Ian read it aloud to the soldier, the piece of the Star allowing him easily to translate it into Phoenician, and while the soldier listened intently, Ian hoped something within the lines would spark a connection for the man.