Kingdom Keepers VI(90)

The pattern was eerily familiar. And then, like a jolt, he had it: he’d seen the jogging path stained in a similar pattern.

Armed with two Taser stun guns, he and Rafina approached the forward jogging path’s starboard curve, the spot where twice before Freeman had lost the stowaway.

Freeman had taken a forensics course in college. Fluid splatter had received two weeks of intensive study. These stains on the jogging track, like the lemonade, formed perfect little suns. Meaning they’d dripped straight down from overhead.

Freeman looked up.

A group of large pipes ran overhead, interrupted by two large metal cubes suspended from the ceiling end to end, each nearly the size of a refrigerator. The cube nearest Freeman carried dark stains running down its side.

“What is that?” Rafina asked.

This wasn’t the first time Freeman had studied the upper area of the deck’s tunnel; not by any means. But it was the first time he’d noticed a gap above the refrigerator- size boxes. He wasn’t sure of the purpose the large steel boxes served—water tanks?––but they were clearly fixtures, permanent pieces of the ship.

The spills were not oil or pink hydraulic fluid. Not bird droppings or rust. It looked more like…

Soda.

For Rafina’s sake, Freeman mimed his drinking from a can. He then signaled for her to be quiet, and she nodded.

Freeman concentrated on every detail of his surroundings. A slight scuff mark—faint scratches on the varnished wooden handrail—said it all. He motioned for Rafina to climb the wall, using the handrail as a leg up. He indicated his own eyes, wanting her to look into the narrow space above the piece of steel overhead. She nodded. He made fists, indicating she should be prepared for confrontation, pointed to himself and then the deck: he would remain down here. She understood.

Lithe and catlike, Rafina ascended the wall. In order to reach a particular handhold she needed to adjust her left foot—it perfectly covered the scratched area on the handrail. At this moment, Freeman knew he was right.

His search for the stowaway was about to come to an end.

As Rafina’s head came even with the top of the steel box, pages of newsprint took flight from the opposite side, falling toward Freeman like giant confetti. He batted them aside. Food wrappers followed, as well as paper cups for soda. A large boy crashed to the deck. Freeman tackled him.

Rafina shouted down to him, her voice echoing.

“There’s another one, on drugs or something,” Rafina called down. “His eyes are open, but he’s not moving.”

“It’s not drugs!” the other kid said, appealing to Freeman. “They did this to him. Zoned him out like that because he warned the kids.”

“Who is ‘they’?” Freeman asked.

“If you don’t know that,” the kid said, “I’d better talk to your boss.”





WILLA MISSED THE MEETING, unable to get away from her mom’s stateroom at such a late hour. Most of the parents had been off on their own for the cruise. Willa’s kept a close eye on her late at night.

Philby kept looking around, as if expecting to see Willa.

Maybeck had been experiencing headaches and had gone to bed at eleven to get ready for the following day at Puerto Vallarta.

The Dream, “running behind schedule” due to delays in Costa Rica, was set to disembark guests three hours late, at ten thirty in the morning.

“Three steps,” Finn said, holding up the copies of the pages from the journal and repeating what he’d said only a few minutes before. “The witch—that would be Tia Dalma. Step one.” He raised one finger. “The key flower—Maybeck and Storey saw Tia Dalma doing a ceremony over before she picked it in the cave.” A second finger. “And now Dillard. Just as Luowski and Mattie warned. A sacrifice. ‘One of you will die.’”

Charlene wormed her hands between knees, tightly pressed together. She looked ready to crawl out of her skin.

“It’s not your fault, Charlene,” Finn said.

“Easy for you to say.”

“If we combine what Jess drew,” the Professor said, coming to his feet in the small inboard stateroom, “with what Mattie felt up on the mountain, they pretty much match. Stone. Maybe a cave. Something dangerous.”

“Chernabog,” Finn said flatly.

“You’d think.” Philby picked at a fingernail. It was a nasty habit he had recently developed. “I suppose no one’s going to tell us if they found him backstage and locked him up or something. But if they had, let’s face it: Wayne would know. Wayne would have told us.”

“So, we know what they have planned,” Charlene said, her face pointed to the floor. “What are we going to do about it?” Charlene seemed very dejected. The reality of the situation had sunk in.