Tracked by Terror by Brad Strickland Page A

candle, but a lighted candle. Try that.”
    Jarvey squeezed the thing he was holding. Did it feel somehow waxier, more like a candle than wood, or was he just fooling himself? He couldn’t tell. “Let this candle give us light,” he said.
    Nothing.
    He heard Betsy sigh.
    Unreasonable anger filled Jarvey, partly because he still ached, partly because he took Betsy’s sigh as a sarcastic hint that she didn’t think much of him. “Light!” he snarled, so loudly that Betsy shushed him.
    But something happened at last. Jarvey blinked. The candle was giving a kind of glow. It was so dim that the difference between darkness and its light was hardly any difference at all, but at one end of the thing he held, a spherical red spark shone. He could barely make out Betsy’s face.
    â€œYou did it!” she said, her eyes wide.
    Still feeling grumpy, he whispered, “I’m the magician, remember?”
    The candle obstinately refused to burn any brighter, but gradually their eyes adjusted to the feeble gleam. Betsy found a row of wooden kegs tucked under the forward seat of the lifeboat. A tin cup was tied to one of the kegs, and she undid the cord. Then she pulled a cork that plugged the nearest keg and held the cup beneath the gush of water that poured out. It was very warm and tasted of wood, but they drank it anyway. After pounding the cork back into place, Betsy squirmed toward the stern and after a few minutes came back with a bulky package wrapped in what felt like thick canvas soaked in wax. “Ship’s biscuit,” she said, peeling the canvas away. “Here.”
    The flat thing she handed him was nearly as hard as a rock, but Jarvey crunched it and immediately felt his hunger rise. They found that by dribbling a little water on the biscuit, they could soften it enough to chew and swallow.
    â€œBest get some sleep if we can,” Betsy said at last, and she crept back toward the rear of the boat. “Put out the light.”
    â€œEasy for you to say.” Jarvey couldn’t blow out the flame, because the candle had no flame, just a little round red glow about the size of a marble. It didn’t even feel hot. Finally he pulled the cork from the water keg, stuck the candle into the hole, light first, and shut off the glow that way.
    Then Jarvey stretched out as well as he could, tried to ignore the constant movement, the pitching and rolling, and the sick feeling that he was lost.
    Best get some sleep, Betsy had said.
    Jarvey wasn’t sure he wanted to try.
    Because when he slept, he was likely to dream.

9
    Unsafe harbor
    B etsy 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.
    â€œWe can climb over the rail and jump to the dock,” Betsy whispered. “Be quick and be quiet, though.”
    â€œOkay.”
    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—
    â€œHey! 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