Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie
Chapter 34

THE OLD WOMAN

CYRUS TURNED IN THE DIRECTION of the voice. The chamber was cold, dank and ill-lit by dying candles weeping over craggy ledges and grimy countertops. He smelled something sweet, yet foul in the air. Then it struck him. It was the scent of fear.

He searched the darkness. Several rusted manacles draped against the damp walls, and the odd meat hook jangled overhead.

“Fibian,” Edward cried.

At the room’s center, Fibian lay strapped to a thick, wooden chair.

“Angels,” Cyrus gasped, “What happened?”

Candlelight illuminated Fibian’s sharp features. He was haggard, a ghost of himself. His face was bloody and battered, his nose broken and eyes swollen. Deep lacerations outlined his brow and cheekbones. The way he sat, Cyrus suspected his ribs were broken.

“Run,” Fibian repeated, wheezing, “Before she returns.”

He moved his head, gesturing to the rear of the room.

Cyrus rushed to Fibian’s side. He began to unbuckle the leather straps around his wrists. Long dried blood stained the chair’s deep grain.

“No, go - now,” Fibian coughed, blood spattering his lips.

Cyrus unstrapped the froskman’s ankles, contemplating their escape. The only way out was the stairway, but that was suicide. Yet if they stayed… Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Cyrus hefted Fibian out of the chair and hauled him to the double doors. He was amazed by how light the froskman felt. Fibian still had the vial of dragon’s blood around his neck.

“Get ready to run,” Cyrus whispered.

“No,” Fibian begged.

“Cyrus,” Edward pleaded, digging his seven legs into his friend’s shoulder.

Cyrus unbolted the steel lock. Something heavy clicked behind them. Cyrus turned. Beyond the shadows, a hidden door in the back wall began to edge open. Then a long, spidery hand reached through the crack. Cyrus’ legs grew weak. A bald, crooked, old woman emerged through the passage.

“The Sea Zombie,” Edward gasped.

The witch’s white powdered face and wooden, costume nose were spattered with dried blood. She grinned like a snarling wolf. The rip in her membrane-thin cheeks exposed dark, decaying gums.

She began to move forward with a cripple’s gait, but Cyrus was not fooled. He knew crushing strength hid beneath the grey, tattered robes. The small, bulbous-eyed Aghamore groveled at her side.

She looked at Cyrus through black, oily eyes, their deep sockets drilled into jutting cheekbones.

“Murderer…” she said in a breathless whisper, “Thiefff!” she spat, as she raised the blackened stump of her maimed right arm.

Cyrus felt his insides turn liquid. All strength left his limbs.

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