Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie
Chapter 9

THE COUNTER ATTACK

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, on the LongBones farm, Hoblkalf was giving orders and receiving intelligence from within a large, grey tent with the letters, ‘HQ,’ stamped over the doorway. Several yards away, Cyrus peered in and saw the mayor poring over a map of Virkelot Village with buttons and thimbles representing various fronts and positions on the island. A runner poked his head in through the door flap.

“Sir, Niels LongBones is requesting your counsel.”

The mayor looked up from his map, “One moment, Mr. Fod.”

Outside, Cyrus watched as Niels paced the ground; raking his fingers through his thick, grey hair. A large number of villagers had gathered on the farm, eager to replace out their roles in what Hoblkalf was calling, the Hoblkalf War.

The mayor emerged from the tent in a plume of cigar smoke.

“Mr. Mayor,” Niels said, anger and frustration tainting his words.

He marched towards Hoblkalf. Two guards intercepted him and pushed him back. The mayor coughed and hacked as he hobbled over to a stack of wooden crates. The masses murmured while two more guards helped him up onto the makeshift podium. He raised his cane into the air to signal silence. Then the old man took a long, slow pull from his cigar.

Cough, hack, eh-hem!

“My fellow citizens, thank you for being so patient in this our gravest hour. As most of you now know, Llysa LongBones is being held captive at the bottom of a pit. It seems the enemy has found a way around our blessed fence. I have consulted my staff and have come up with a rescue plan to save the widow LongBones.”

The mayor wiped beads of sweat from his liver-spotted forehead.

“It is my intention to build a wooden crane over top of the pit and pull the captured woman out of enemy hands. The steam-powered ‘Hoblkalf Crane,’ as it will be named, will stand over seventy feet high and use over two hundred feet of cable. We will need every woman to collect rope and materials and take part in the cable’s fabrication, and we will need every man, not given a task, to support the crane’s design and construction. It is an ambitious endeavor, but one the Sea Zombie will not be expecting, and I am counting on all of you to make it a success. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Mr. Mayor,” again Niels shouted.

“Good,” the mayor said, ignoring him, “There’s no time to lose, everyone report to your staging areas. We have work to do.”

Hoblkalf received another volley of praise and applause.

“We don’t have time for this,” Niels cried, “The Mayor’s going to get Mom killed.”

It was worse than that. Cyrus thought of the journal. The mayor’s plan would cause an even larger cave-in. Could Cyrus trust his brother? If the mayor got his way, would it matter? He made up his mind and crossed his fingers.

“Niels, there’s something I have to show you, but you have to keep it a secret.”

“What?” Niels replied.

“You can’t tell anyone. You promise?”

“Sure, I promise.”

Several minutes later in Cyrus’ bedroom, Cyrus pulled the turtle skeleton from under his bed, and the OddFoot journal from beneath his mattress. He handed both to his brother. If the entire island collapsed because he had kept the truth a secret, he would not be able to live with himself.

“What in Angels is this?” Niels asked, looking at the strange village modeled on the turtle’s shell.

He placed the skeleton on the bed and studied the journal for several moments. His expression turned from curious, to confused, to finally terrified.

“Is this real?” Niels asked, his eyes wide.

“I don’t know,” Cyrus said, “but it makes a lot of sense with the drilling, the underground water, the earthquakes and now this cave-in.”

“Where did you replace all this?” Niels asked, picking up the skeleton and inspecting its eye sockets.

“The OddFoot home,” Cyrus lied, “It’s been abandoned for years.”

“The book says that the crazy old fool crossed over the Dead Fence,” Niels said, “cursed his whole family.”

“He didn’t have any family left to curse,” Cyrus said.

“We have to show the Mayor.”

“No, wait,” Cyrus exclaimed, “You promised.”

He chased his brother out of the back door.

“Please,” Cyrus continued, “The Mayor will kill me if he replaces out.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll tell him I’m the one that found them.”

“Niels, no!”

Cyrus followed Niels down to the mayor’s tent pleading the entire way.

“I must speak with the Mayor immediately,” Niels demanded, running up to the guard standing at the door.

“You can’t. You promised,” Cyrus begged.

“You will just have to be patient,” the guard said, “the Mayor is indisposed.”

“Send Mr. LongBones in,” the mayor’s voice ordered from inside the tent.

Niels shouldered past the guard and ducked into the tent with Cyrus close on his heels.

“Cyrus StrangeBones,” the guard muttered as Cyrus entered the HQ.

The tent’s canvas walls smelled sour, like damp clothes left in a pile. Hoblkalf was sitting at his desk, talking to a member of his staff.

“And what can I do for you, Mr. LongBones?” the mayor asked, exhaling a nose-full of smoke.

Niels moved to the front of the desk, holding the book and turtle behind his back.

“Mayor Hoblkalf, first off, we’re grateful for all the work you are doing to save our Mother.”

The mayor nodded smugly, patting his plump belly as he leaned back in his chair.

“But is all this really necessary? We said nothing about the Sea Zombie being involved. The ground simply isn’t stable. I think the drill weakened the earth and it gave way. We don’t have time to build a giant crane, but even if we did, the land around that hole won’t support that kind of weight. It’s suicide.”

The mayor frowned.

“May we have some privacy, Mr. BackWood?” he asked his aide.

The man nodded and exited the tent, leaving Hoblkalf, Niels, and Cyrus alone.

“What in Kingdom are you talking about, boy?” the mayor barked.

“I think this whole village sits on top of a giant, underground lake,” Cyrus said, “I mean, where does all the water come from? I think the earth’s extremely unstable.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” growled the mayor, “Underground lake? This was obviously the work of the Sea Zombie.”

“This wasn’t the work of the Sea Zombie,” Niels said, almost pleading, “but even if it was, and even if the ground could support your Hoblkalf Crane, there’s no time. It’s been three hours. My Mom’s going to drown down there unless we do something now.”

The mayor paused for several moments, seeming to weigh Niels’ words. Then slowly he began to shake his head.

“Oh no, if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. I won’t go letting the hastiness of youth weaken the integrity of this operation.”

“Your crane is what’s going to weaken the integrity of this operation,” Niels said, taking the OddFoot journal from behind his back and slamming it down on the mayor’s desk.

The journal splashed open to the map page. Cyrus’ heart stopped in his chest.

“What is this?” Hoblkalf asked, pulling the book closer and adjusting his monocle.

The map was brittle and water stained, yet the sketch of the two islands looked almost real.

“I’ve never seen a drawing like this before,” the mayor said, “Jim OddFoot? He vanished years ago. Where did you two replace this?”

“I found it,” Niels said, “Along with this, in the old OddFoot house.”

He handed the mayor the small turtle skeleton, then gave Cyrus a knowing nod. Confused, the mayor inspected the small forest and village constructed on the turtle’s shell. Then he placed the skeleton on his desk and buried his nose in the book. The old man read Jim’s notes and studied the map in detail.

“He crossed the Fence and survived? It must be a trick,” he said, under his breath.

“It explains all the water wells, earthquakes and the cave in,” Cyrus said.

“Who else could have done this?” Niels asked, “Cyrus and I have terrible handwriting, and we’re no artists. There’s only one thing to do. You must cancel your Hoblkalf War and pull our Mother out of that pit immediately. Just use the cable, it’ll take a day at the most with everyone’s help.”

“This is impossible.” Hoblkalf whispered, “I was going to lead us to victory…”

The old man fell back in his chair and seemed to shrivel.

“Come on, Cyrus,” Niels said, “We need to tell the others.”

Cyrus was still reeling, but he turned to follow his brother out to leave. From behind them came what sounded like a fist pounding against the desk. Cyrus looked back. The mayor’s eyes were ablaze, his monocle falling from his face. Hoblkalf started to rise as if some unseen flame heated the gas within his belly.

“Never. Don’t you see what has happened here? Doesn’t it seem a little too convenient that you two replace this book in the home of the damned and then your mother becomes lost in the depth of a dark and evil pit? It’s a trick! The Sea Zombie took this Jim OddFoot over forty years ago, and she created this, this misinformation to cause confusion and panic amongst our troops. This false intelligence stops here, and that’s an order.”

The mayor glared at the two brothers.

“If the two of you disobey me, the manner in which you found these two items of evil, and the connection they have to your mother’s predicament will be enough to have you locked up for life. It is only out of sympathy for your dead Father that I do not charge you both with treason this instant.”

Cyrus looked to his brother, fighting back tears.

“Come on,” Niels said, “The Mayor can’t help us.”

“Yes, you will leave,” the mayor continued, his face turning purple,” You will leave these items of wickedness with me and speak of this treachery no further, or you will be charged as traitors and hanged by the neck until dead, do you understand?”

Niels took Cyrus by the arm and led him out of the tent. Cyrus looked back over his shoulder. The mayor glared after them like a red-hot coal.

Outside, construction of the Hoblkalf Crane was already underway. Villagers trampled this way and that, carrying tools and supplies, and great trees were being felled and dragged towards the perimeter of the chasm.

“We have to stop them,” Niels said, peering around at the frantic workers.

Cyrus could feel the earth begin to tremble and quake.

“Oh, Angels,” he said, “I think it’s too late…”