Free Ghost Ship by Kim Wilkins Page A

over and over, silently. Rollo pressed himself against her harder, his hot little hand clutching her injured palm. Sweat made the wound sting.
    The basket lifted again and disappeared from sight.
    Sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
.
    Up it went. Asa breathed. Rollo lifted his head. She put her finger to her lips to remind him to stay quiet a little longer.
    Then the hissing began once more. The balloon was withdrawing, taking off over the sunken kingdom, searching elsewhere for traitors and royalists.
    Rollo smiled. “It’s gone.”
    “Let’s get home,” Asa said, standing on shaky legs.
    “I wasn’t really afraid,” Rollo said with a grin.
    “Yes, you were.”
    “No, I wasn’t.”
    They emerged into the pale morning light and Asa led the way home.

    Asa and Rollo lived with their aunt Katla at Two Hills Keep. Although the Keep looked like a tiny cottage built of mud and grass, it was actually far larger and concealed an underground maze of secret rooms. The King and Queen had it built when Asa was born, just in case their children were ever in danger and needed to hide. It came into view above the rise. Wildflowers grew over the grassy walls and a drooping tree disguised it almost entirely. In the year since Emperor Flood had killed their family and taken over the land, he had never managed to find them here.
    “Who’s that?” Rollo said, pointing across the field.

    Asa noticed it at the same time: an old man with his left arm pinned to his chest paced near the front entrance of the Keep.
    “I don’t know,” she said warily, slowing her pace.
    Rollo pulled up. “What if he’s a spy?”
    Asa didn’t know what to do. She had never seen the strange man before, but he looked like he was waiting for them.
    At that moment, Katla emerged and spotted them. She beckoned anxiously. “Come quickly, children,” she called. “You have a special visitor.”
    The children hurried over as the old man turned to watch them. Asa didn’t like his steely eyes, his hooked nose, or the cruel set of his mouth. Something about him made her skin prickle. A cool gust of morning air shivered over her. The wound on her hand had begun to throb lightly.
    “Asa, Rollo,” Katla said stiffly, “I want you to meet Egil Cripplehand.” Katla glanced at him nervously, then back to the children. “He has news of your sister.”
    “Una?” Rollo said, puzzled.
    The stranger fixed him with a stony gaze. “She’s alive,” he said. “Your sister is alive.”

CHAPTER 2
EGIL CRIPPLEHAND’S
TALE

    Egil Cripplehand wouldn’t say another word until they were safely in the Keep, and Rollo was so curious he thought he would burst. Katla led them inside, past all the old wooden furniture and dried fish hung in rows. Rollo’s pencil drawings from last night were still spread out on the table, and the smoky scent of the fire was strong in the room. Asa helped Katla move the table and roll up the rug under it—to reveal the trapdoor tothe Keep itself. They inched down the narrow staircase and found a place in the corner stateroom, where all of King Sigurd’s books were stored. Egil sat on the shelving stool. By the light of a flickering candle, the children settled on the chairs next to him, puzzled and hopeful.
    Katla bustled in and out, clucking anxiously about the cut on Asa’s palm. Worry was etched on her usually smiling round face.
    Egil took his time, staring for long seconds—first at Asa, then Rollo. Not even the hint of a smile touched his thin lips, and Rollo had to admit he was frightened of the old man.
    “I have searched for you children for nearly a year,” he said at last. The candlelight made eerie, shifting shadows on his craggy face. “I was sent by your parents, when they were on their way to … their fate.”
    Rollo felt Asa stiffen next to him. Egil was talking about the night his mother and father were murdered.
    “You spoke to them?” Asa said.
    Egil nodded once, deeply. “I did.”

    “What did they say?”