Free Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) by Clay Held Page B

there a man in tattered rags with a simple straw hat. As Nathan and Simon followed Lungwort to the bridge a man in a modern gray suit hurried by, great coils of rope slung over his shoulder. The man’s eyes were wild with joy and he wore a smile to match.
    Lungwort croaked more orders to the crew. “Get her ready!” he bellowed. “Get that coal in the fire!” He looked to the roof captain. “Manage the turbines, Mr. Winters, and make ready for the muddy waters of the Gate! We leave at once! Our next stop, St. Louis !”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
    THE GATE
     
    Simon and Nathan sat with the boat’s crew at a gigantic wooden table in a large dining room. Oil lamps lit the big room in a dim, yellow light, and all along the walls were ominous windows opening up into the night, revealing an occasional glimpse of the stars, clouds, and, every so often, the moon.
    It was well past midnight, but the crew showed no signs of weariness. Several of them spoke excitedly to one another, laughing and telling stories at a fevered pace. Several of them gathered around one man, an older gentlemen with wild white hair, who spoke bombastically from the far end of the table. His voice carried over all the others until Simon could clearly hear him from the other side of the room. The man spoke of life along the river, transitioning seamlessly into days of old, and then bouncing just as quickly to tales of all the animals he had known, great and small, and the hidden lives of each. Yet more members of the crew hurried in and out of the dining hall, coming and going from their work through one of the many doors, never fully stopping, but still finding moments to exchange greetings with one another, and always to steal a glance at Simon.
    At the foot of the table was a young boy, maybe five years younger than Simon, wearing coveralls and a mud-splattered white shirt. An entire field of freckles dotted his chubby face and a large straw hat covered a head full of dirty blond hair. He listened to the older gentlemen with the white hair, dressed all in white and sporting a very large, very bushy gray mustache. The old man waved his arms wildly in the air while he talked, pausing only to laugh and cajole the men seated around him, then to pull a small hunk of bread out of his pocket which he split between himself and the freckled boy.
    Simon had not had time to even think about eating, but the site of the bread made his stomach ache. He was disappointed then that the grand wooden table was completely barren of anything to eat, but a passing crew member in a faded military uniform reassured him the table was never empty for long.
    Most of the crew eyed Simon while Nathan spoke with the roof captain, the man Lungwort had called Mr. Winters. As Simon sat at the table, trying to avoid eye contact with the crew, his mind wandered back over the events of the past day--from the dream, to the dog attack, to the whole episode at the Paw with Mr. Boeman. Simon’s stomach knotted at the memory. How had Boeman frozen Sam at the diner? It was like he simply shut Sam off, every last muscle, and even though Simon now knew that magic was real, it didn’t stop the idea from terrifying him.
    One crew member snored soundly next to Simon. It was the man he had seen earlier in the gray suit, but now his head laid on the still-bare table. Simon did not wish to disturb him--he looked very tired when he wasn’t manic--so Simon continued to watch the crew bustling through the dining room. Every now and again the room erupted with the clanging of pots and pans from behind the galley door, each time accompanied by much shouting.
    Nathan leaned over and spoke quietly to Simon. “You hanging in there?” After a nod he continued. “We shouldn’t be too long--maybe a few hours, dawn at most, then we’ll have you somewhere safe.”
    A large crash of pots coming from the galley stopped all the conversation in the dining room, prompting Mr.