The Island of Dren

By James Mascia

A young boy, traveling on a ship with an expedition to Egypt, is blown off course and crashed on an uncharted island in the middle of the Atlantic. There he finds a place where lizards talk, worms act as translators, and magic is not only believed in, but it actually exists. He meets strange people there who eventually befriend the weary travelers. But when one of the travelers plots to destroy the delicate balance of the island, the boy must choose between the people from his home and his new friends on the island.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Mascia
• Release date: Jun 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476472416

Book preview

Chapter 1

September, 1902

He always knew the West held danger. They were heading to California from the East when bandits attacked their carriage. Now it was a race down a dusty, dirt road to the nearest town before the outlaws caught them. Jack stuck his head out of the coach and began shooting. The carriage rocked on the uneven trail, and most of the shots went wide. He was determined these criminals would not catch and rob him, or worse. A fortune lay under his seat. If those bandits got it he’d be ruined. Then there were the women to consider. He had to protect them at all costs.

The driver hollered and cracked his whip, but it wasn’t enough. Through the dust Jack could see the outlaws gaining on them. Bang! One shot just missed him. It splintered the door only inches above his head. That was too close, Jack thought. He fired his old Colt Derringer revolver and missed again.

Five masked men jabbed their heels into the sides of their panting horses. Jack wouldn’t last long in a fight, especially since he had to protect the ladies. He fired three more shots and hit the lead man’s horse. It stumbled and flipped, kicking up a cloud of dust like a small bomb. The rider hit the ground face first.

That left only four. He needed to reload but couldn’t waste any time. The bandits were gaining, and fast. In less than a minute they would catch the coach. Jack swung the shiny revolver over, dumped the empty slugs out, inserted new bullets, and fired again in record time. He felt the wind rush through his hair as he shot twice more. Jack watched a second bandit topple from his horse. Now there were three.

The road became rougher and it felt as if they were riding around the edge of a cliff. As the carriage bounced over a large bump, Jack flew off his seat and found he couldn’t shoot straight. The outlaws, on the other hand, didn’t have any difficulty. Jack ducked inside as another shot nearly went through his forehead. He covered his ears when the women screamed in terror. He took cover for only a moment before firing in retaliation.

They were right on top of him now. Jack fired his last bullet and hit one man in the shoulder. It was enough to slow him down, but not stop him. At least he had cut down the odds. With one wounded, he thought he stood a chance of coming out alive. Without any bullets, he could try to wrestle one of the men off his horse when he got close enough.

The outlaw in front came alongside the carriage. He reached out his dirty, greasy hand, intent on dragging Jack out and throwing him to the ground. Jack swung his balled fist at him and…

A firm hand grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him back inside the coach. How many times do I have to tell you not to stick your head out the window when the carriage is moving? a shrill womanly voice cried. Do you want to lose your head?

No, Mother, Jack said sadly. His fantasy quickly faded away.

Joanne, you’re supposed to be watching him, his mother snapped at the other occupant of the carriage. Do your job! I don’t want my son dying when he’s only twelve years old!

Yes, madam, Joanne answered. She lowered her head in embarrassment.

Jack stared out the window at the tall buildings racing by as they sped through the darkened streets of New York City. He looked down at his hand, still formed in the shape of a gun. He pretended to fire it one last time, then unclenched his fingers. His mother never let him have any fun. She felt her son could better spend his time reading history books, like his father. Jack preferred a different type of reading. He enjoyed the books that had heroes and villains and brave knights fighting for fair damsels.

Of course there had been no real bandits on this trip. Jack had recently read a cowboy magazine and had tried to reenact one of his favorite scenes.

We’re going to be late, his mother said for the tenth time. According to her, the train from Chicago had been late. She thought they were going to miss their ship and lines of stress showed on her face. But Jack knew they had plenty of time before the ship set sail.

The three of them had taken a seven day train ride from Chicago to New York. The train wasn’t luxurious, which his mother had been keen to point out, but Jack thought it had been fun.

He felt the carriage slow down as they arrived at their destination.

Cool air and a light mist shrouded New York Harbor in a thin veil. The whole harbor was eerily calm as the sun slowly rose over Long Island.

The docks were the only place alive in the sleeping city. Workers, glistening with sweat, were already loading and unloading crates off the large ships at this early hour of the morning.

Through this din, the elegantly appointed carriage pulled up to one of the old style wooden sailing vessels. The crisp, painted letters on the bow of the ship read: Washington. The luxurious carriage looked out of place next to the wooden ship.

Jack imagined it was an old pirate ship, sailing across the sea, captained by a man who was not afraid of anything, who was ready to raid and destroy any ship that got in his way. He would take the treasure and bury it on some uncharted island and find it later after many years of grueling battles.

The driver opened the door for them and Jack’s mother immediately stepped out of the carriage. She wore a long, blue skirt with a matching blouse, and jacket with a bonnet that covered much of her dark brown hair. She was fair skinned with brown eyes and wore soft make-up to accent her features. The driver helped her down to the wooden planks of the dock and then began unloading their trunks.

Jack followed closely behind his mother. His gray knickers came down just below his knees. Like his mother, he had a matching jacket and a hat that covered his short blonde hair. He also wore a white shirt and long white socks that came up to the bottom of his pants.

We still have half an hour, Mother, he whispered. He knew there was no way to calm her down. He looked pleadingly at Joanne for help, but the woman merely shook her head to say she wasn’t going to get involved.

Their little group was headed for Egypt, where his father dug and studied artifacts from ancient cultures buried beneath the ground. They would meet him there in their new home.

Jack was used to his father being away all the time. As a well-known archeologist, he travelled to fine museums in London, or led excursions to Mayan temples in Mexico. Jack hadn’t seen him in more than a year, and couldn’t wait to get to Egypt.

Jack pictured the man like those in his Adventures Monthly magazines, always going into ruined temples to find lost, magical artifacts no one had seen for thousands of years. He imagined him dodging traps and fighting wild beasts to claim his prize.

Where’s the captain? Jack’s mother asked one of the men coming off the ship. The man ignored her and kept walking. She grunted with exasperation and tried to ask another sailor, but the result was the same.

Jack knew his mother expected people she considered beneath her to listen. Back in Chicago, she was highly respected and people deferred to her. She couldn’t take being ignored.

She had become quite frustrated when someone finally asked, Can I help you, madam? The voice came from the gangplank.

"I’m looking for the captain of The Washington."

It was apparent to Jack, even before the man spoke, that they were already talking to him.

Captain Samuel Clark, at your service, he said as he strutted down the gangplank. You must be Molly Bullock, his gaze fixed on Jack, and you must be Jack.

The captain patted the top of his head and caused his hat to slip out of place. Jack hated being patted on the head. It made him feel like a baby.

Yes, Molly said. Is there anyone who can help us with our luggage?

The captain gave her a quick smile. I’ll have one of my men come along and help you out. Then he turned on his heel and strode back up the gangplank without any indication that the conversation was over.

Charming man, Molly said sarcastically. She immediately looked around for the driver of their carriage to help them, but he was already gone.

He seemed nice, Jack said as he grabbed his small bag and book.

He had brought the book along for the long trip, but after their train ride, he was almost finished with it. It was called The Lost World, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He enjoyed the old novel about a group of explorers that traveled to some forgotten land.

Just now, Jack felt like one of those adventurers at the beginning of the book. His adventure had just begun. Who knew what he might discover? He might see something no one had ever seen before. The thought excited him, and again he imagined dodging traps to find a lost artifact.

How long until we get to Egypt? he asked his mother.

Flustered because she still believed they were late, she never heard the question. She muttered a series of curses under her breath as she began gathering her belongings. Jack turned to Joanne.

The less elaborately dressed woman wore a simple green skirt with a white blouse. Her hair matched Molly’s exactly, but her eyes were a very bright green, almost like a pair of emeralds. She was Jack’s tutor and his caretaker.

Joanne, how long until we reach Egypt?

A couple of weeks I’d expect, she answered as she hauled her single bag across the dock. More or less depending on the wind.

Jack nodded. She knew so much. He could ask her anything, and she would know the answer.

Come on, Molly groaned as a drunken sailor hauled her trunks haphazardly over his shoulder. Jack followed the man up the gangplank with his mother and Joanne.

He felt an odd sensation when he finally stepped on deck. The ground beneath his feet no longer seemed solid. Instead it moved and he had to sway slightly in order to keep his balance. Not used to these new sensations, he stumbled as he made his way across the deck.

If you can’t walk now, Master Jack, Captain Clark said, just wait until we get out onto the high seas. Then he chuckled and patted the boy on the head again. Don’t worry, you’ll get your sea legs in no time.

How old is the ship? Jack asked curiously. His mother shot him a look of displeasure but was too busy with her bags to reprimand him.

She was christened in 1897, so she is five years old.

Wow, Jack said as he surveyed the deck and masts again.

If you like, the captain said, I can teach you to sail her.

Definitely!

As long as it doesn’t interfere with your lessons, Molly cut in as she dropped her bags on the deck. Then she turned her attention to Captain Clark. Will you show us to out room?

Of course, he said. Follow me.

**********

The cabin was barely big enough to hold the three of them. The room consisted of two sets of bunk beds with a small dresser underneath a small porthole. Most of Molly’s trunks had to be stowed in the cargo hold, much to her annoyance.

Jack ran up to the deck as the ship cast off. He leaned against the rail while The Washington’s crew dropped the sails and the ship floated lazily away from the dock. Jack had never seen anything like it before. The men worked as one, as if they’d done this all their lives. Each of them knew just what to do and when to do it, just like the pirates in his stories - whether it was pulling in the rope that had tied them to the docks, or slowly letting some other rope go so the sails could descend from the top of the mast. He looked up at the mainmast and saw the American flag flying in the wind just above the British one. He was actually sad that no pirate banner flew along with them.

Jack had never dreamed that anything this exciting was possible. He watched the city of New York, with all its buildings that touched the sky and the never-ending bustle of people, shrink before him. The water on the horizon expanded as the greatest adventure of his life began.

Chapter 2

The Washington was peaceful compared to the loud chugging of the train. At first, Jack had stuck his head out the window in excitement and listened to the sound of the train riding along the tracks. But soon the loud engine and the constant bellowing steam whistle got on his nerves. Now he was enjoying the quiet of the sea.

Focused on his own thoughts, Jack never heard a man approach behind until a dark shadow fell across him. Then a large, clammy hand patted him on the shoulder. Jack nearly jumped off the ship from fright. He twisted around quickly and stared up at the large, muscular, middle-aged man looking down at him with curiosity. The man seemed huge in comparison to the rest of the crew.

What’s a young boy like you doing on a ship like this? He spoke in a heavy French accent and looked truly frightening. The fact that one of his fists was almost the size of Jack’s head didn’t help. The boy’s first reaction was to run. He didn’t want to talk to this man. His mother always told him he shouldn’t talk to anyone he didn’t want to, especially if they were from a lower class. This man, with his half unbuttoned shirt, thin and wiry mustache and dirty, tattered looking pants, must have been lower class. He also smelled like a mixture of sweat and cologne.

But Jack decided to be polite. This was mostly because he feared for his life. He looked into the man’s dark brown eyes. I’m going to see my father, he told the man.

Oh, ho, ho, the man chuckled. You’re Bullock’s boy then.

It wasn’t a question and Jack knew it, so he didn’t answer.

Your father has made some amazing breakthroughs. He’s even discovered a tomb buried in the middle of the desert.

Really? Jack asked enthusiastically.

Oui, Master Bullock.

You know my father? Jack asked the man.

No, he said flatly. Only by reputation. We have never actually met. You see, your father studies those that have long been dead, where I prefer to focus on the living.

My name is Jack. The boy extended his hand. He had decided that there was nothing to fear.

Corsair. The man shook Jack’s hand, engulfing it in his own. The man was gargantuan. Corsair Fouinon.

Jack knew the name. His father had mentioned it once or twice. He’d said Corsair did something with animals. By the look of him, he was no biologist. He didn’t look intelligent like a scientist.

Then Jack saw the strap across his chest and over his shoulder. Nothing remarkable, just a simple leather strip that looked like a belt. Attached to it was a large hunting rifle. It was the kind of gun that would kill an elephant. Jack had never seen an elephant, but he had seen pictures in the books Joanne made him read.

You’re a hunter? Jack said.

Of course. I find, track and capture unusual species and bring them back for study.

If you trap them, then what’s the gun for? Jack peered curiously over Corsair’s shoulder at the rifle.

That’s in case the animal proves to be too wild to keep caged, Corsair told him.

Jack! his mother called suddenly. Her voice shook the deck beneath his feet.

I better go, the boy said politely. I’ll see you around I guess?

It’s not that big a ship, Corsair laughed. You’ll see a lot of me.

Jack! his mother called again, sounding irritated.

I’m coming! he called back. Goodbye, he said to Corsair.

Jack ran across the wooden deck to where his mother stood at the steep steps that led below deck. She looked furious. He knew why she was calling him but he feigned ignorance anyway.

Yes, Mother? he asked.

You’re late for your lessons, she snapped. Her voice cut through Jack’s head like a sword. Joanne has been waiting for you.

He never liked lessons. He did enjoy reading and learning to write about different places and things, but not sitting in the same bare room for hours. Jack wished there was a better way to learn. Like some magic school nestled in the side of a cliff, where he would have to climb a mountain to get to his lessons. Unfortunately, he had yet to discover such a place, which left only reading books and doing equations.

Today Joanne taught him about different metals and chemicals. She called them elements.

He was not only bored, but also uncomfortable in the confined space. Their cabin seemed even smaller now that he was forced to sit in there and think.

Which brings us to acids and bases, she droned on. Hardly paying attention, the boy tried to get a good look at the ocean, outside the small window. Have you ever wondered why lemon and vinegar tastes sour? She didn’t wait for an answer. Because they contain certain acids that react to your tongue when you eat them, she told him. Some acids are more powerful than others, and some can even eat through skin, and over time, wood and metal.

Really? Jack asked, slightly intrigued. He pictured an entire house melting after being doused in some clear liquid.

Hydrochloric acid for example. It’s formed when the element chlorine mixes with hydrogen and oxygen. Do you remember what substance hydrogen and oxygen make?

He shrugged.

Water, Jack. It makes water, she said, getting frustrated. We just went over that two days ago.

I’m sorry, he said. I remember now. He knew it was what Joanne wanted to hear.

"So, if you mix chlorine with water, you’ll get an acid. This one isn’t very strong, compared to some other acids, that is. If you touch it,