“In some places, they cut a thief’s hand off,” Sebastian said. He held the sword up and looked at it, turning the blade to catch the light. His mouth widened into a grim smile. The tips of his teeth showed whitely. The group tensed. “But that would be too messy.” He stepped slowly closer to Colin and his captors. “In other places, they just mark a thief. They carve a T into his forehead. Or his arm. Or his chest.” The smile disappeared. “Put him on the table,” he said. “Hold him down.”
“No!” Jonathan cried, and Benny’s arm jerked around his neck, holding him in a headlock.
Colin wiggled and fought, but he was too small. The older boys wrestled him onto a table on his back and pinned him down.
The lightning flashed. Thunder cracked so loudly the boys could feel it in their chests. It sounded like the thunder was coming from inside the prison.
“Come on, Sebastian! This is messed up!” Tony argued.
“Shut up!” Sebastian’s voice was wild and furious. His face was twisted in anger. It was all white and black in the flashing light. It looked like a mask. “Open him up! Bare his chest!” he commanded, and the goons obeyed. Buttons popped and Colin’s skin shone white in the twisted light. Sebastian stepped forward, brandishing the sword.
Jonathan twisted with a surge of energy and broke loose from Benny’s hold. He ran toward Sebastian.
Sebastian turned to face him just as Jonathan slipped in a puddle on the floor. He hit the stone floor with a hard splash. He pulled himself quickly up to his hands and knees, but then Sebastian’s booted foot swung into his side like a sledgehammer. All the breath was kicked out of his lungs with a piercing whoosh of pain and he rolled over onto his back.
Sebastian stepped forward and pressed a foot onto Jonathan’s neck. It was wet and cold and hard. Jonathan blinked and gasped for breath. His feet kicked in the puddle. His hands tugged at Sebastian’s leg, but Sebastian just pressed down harder.
The sword blade swung slowly around until it was inches from Jonathan’s face, sharp and silver and dripping rain onto his nose.
“You’re next, Johnny,” Sebastian said.
Behind them, the door crashed open, letting in another mighty gust of wind.
“Damn it, Reggie, I told you—” Sebastian started, before he turned and looked and stopped.
They all did.
Someone was standing in the doorway.
A stranger. On Slabhenge. Looking at them all standing there in the storm-drenched dining room.
“I came to warn ye about the storm!” he shouted. It was Patrick, the guy from the boat. He was wearing a yellow rain slicker and he was out of breath.
The boys all stood, frozen, in the lightning and the flickering candlelight.
Patrick’s eyes seemed to focus. He saw Colin, bloody and pinned down on top of the table. He saw the Sinner’s Sorrow standing in splinters. He saw Sebastian, soaked and furious and wearing the Admiral’s hat. He saw Jonathan, lying on the floor with a bloody nose and a boot on his throat and sword to his face.
“Where is everybody? What in the world is going on here?” he asked, taking a step back.
Sebastian raised his sword and pointed it at Patrick.
“Grab him,” he said.
After a few minutes, Patrick sat straining and panting, tied firmly to a chair. He’d been too surprised at first to run when the pack of wild boys had rushed him. They’d caught and tangled him in a tidal wave of arms and hands and pulled him to the ground.
Then he’d started fighting. At first, he’d gained ground. He’d wrestled and twisted and was almost free when he’d felt the tip of Sebastian’s sword pressed against his neck. “Don’t move an inch,” Sebastian had warned. “Not an inch.”
Patrick had frozen, an arm around his neck, others pinning his arms to his sides, his lungs heaving, and looked into Sebastian’s eyes. He must not have seen any bluff there. He was tied up and walked to the chair where he sat, looking around with wide eyes at the savage boys.
Sebastian was pacing. He was grinding his teeth and idly swinging his sword. His eyes darted around the dark room. His shadow, thrown onto the wet stone walls by white flashes of lightning, loomed and jumped as he walked.
“Where is everybody?” Patrick asked again.
“We’re all right here,” Sebastian said with a sneer, holding his arms open.
“Yeah, but—what about the Admiral? Mr. Vander? Where are all the grown-ups?”
Benny, who was standing guard by Patrick’s side, leaned in close to his face with a toothy sneer.
“All the grown-ups are dead and gone,” he said. “And that’s just how we like it.”
Patrick looked at him like he was crazy.
“What d’ye mean? Ye mean … ye killed ’em?”
“No!” Sebastian shouted, spinning in a puddle. “We had nothing to do with it! It was lightning. They were all struck by lightning!”
Patrick gulped and looked around at the ring of frightened faces.
“What … all of them?”
“Yes, all of them!” Sebastian yelled, stamping his foot in the puddle. “We had nothing to do with it!”
Patrick licked his lips and shrugged.
“Okay. This is a crazy storm,” he added, nodding with his chin at the raging tempest howling through the broken window.
“No, no,” Sebastian said, resuming his pacing. “Not tonight. The last storm. What … five days ago?”
Patrick went pale. His eyes widened even farther.
“Five days? Ye’ve all been here by yerselves fer five days?”
Sebastian stopped his walking and glared at him.