Tracked by Terror by Brad Strickland

Author:Brad Strickland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

9

Unsafe harbor

Betsy nudged him awake. “C’mon. Almost daylight. Quiet, now!

Feeling giddy with weariness, Jarvey checked to make sure the Grimoire was still safely buttoned inside his shirt, then followed her out, worming his way under the tight canvas cover and dropping down to the deck. It was still dark, though a lot cooler than it had been. He frowned. The ship’s motion felt very different, much steadier. As soon as his feet touched the deck, Betsy pulled him back into the shadowed darkness under the hanging lifeboat. Ahead, reddish-orange torches flared, and in their ruddy light, Jarvey could see that the ship had glided to a pier. Figures were busy with mooring ropes, snugging the ship up against wooden pilings. No one glanced back toward them.

“We can climb over the rail and jump to the dock,” Betsy whispered. “Be quick and be quiet, though.”

“Okay.”

He followed her, but when he poised himself on the rail of the ship, he almost turned back. Because of the curve of the deck, the rail was a good five feet from the edge of the dock, and the dock lay in almost total darkness. If he misjudged the leap, he would drop straight into the water—

“Hey! Away from there, you thievin’ brat!”

Someone was rushing toward him. Jarvey didn’t hesitate, but jumped out into space as hard and as far as he could. He hit the pier and sprawled flat, then scrambled to his feet and clutched at the Grimoire, still safe inside his shirt. Betsy was running away already, and he stumbled after her, hearing the man up on the ship’s deck curse him and bark out, “Keep an eye out for wharf rats, men! These beggar children will get aboard and steal us blind.”

One of the crew, already standing on the pier, lashed out with the end of a rope as Jarvey raced past. The man missed, but Jarvey heard the rope hiss through the dark air and even felt the breeze of it on his cheek. He caught up with Betsy a second later. They passed the prow of the ship, and then pelted down the long pier and onto a cobbled street. There Betsy stopped short, gasping for air, and Jarvey blundered right into her. “What now?”

“Get our bearin’s,” she said. “Get some food. Get some clothes.” She sniffed. “Get a bath, if we can. You need one.

“So do you,” he growled.

They were in a town of low one-story buildings, hushed and quiet in the hour before sunrise. Betsy’s keen nose led them to a place where someone was cooking something. Jarvey’s mouth started to water at a scent like bananas and fresh-baked bread. It seemed to be a simple kind of restaurant, with a long counter along the front and a few people inside bending over stoves and opening ovens. They walked past it, and then Betsy said, “Wait,” and slipped away. Jarvey stood in a darkened doorway as she melted off into the twilight.

The sky had begun to show streaks of dawn by the time she returned a few minutes later.

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