“I’m doing a project,” she garbled. “For geography. We’re . . . we’re counting birds!”
And then she turned and fled.
The disappointment was crushing. Alice didn’t think she could bear it. She had been so close! She had thought she would see Barney today—had even imagined his footsteps! And where was he now? she wondered miserably. Was he somewhere on Lumm, looking for a boat? Or was he already on the island?
Would he wait for her?
That was the thing with Barney. You just never knew.
Alice started crying as she came out of the village, and could not stop. She cried all the way down the road toward the beach, and she cried as she walked through Calva’s tangled garden to the back door, and she cried as she went into the house, and when Fergus and Jesse, barely awake, staggered out of the living room with loud exclamations at the sight of her dripping onto the linoleum floor.
They took off her waterproofs and boots, led her upstairs, ran a bath into which they squeezed gallons of someone else’s bubble bath, and boiled water for more hot-water bottles and tea, and put the clothes she handed through the bathroom door back into the tumble dryer. And when she came downstairs, they told her what they had heard, and what they had decided.
Thirty-Four
It Sure Is Different from Oklahoma
“School knows we’re missing!” Fergus announced. Alice couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “It was on the radio! They described us and everything.”
“The police are looking for us,” Jesse added. “They know we’re here, I mean on Lumm. They’re asking for witnesses.”
“They called me a white redhead with braces!”
“To be fair . . .” Jesse trailed off, quelled by Fergus’s indignant glare. “The point is, we’re already in trouble.”
“So”—Fergus beat a drumroll on the kitchen table—“we think, when the boats are working again, we might as well go on!”
“What?” Alice, dazed, stared from Fergus to Jesse and then back to Fergus. “But . . .”
“We’ll need disguises,” Jesse said seriously. “And we’ll need to think what to say to school, you know, when we get back. I don’t think they’d believe us if we just said we’d got lost, but we could maybe say we really wanted to see puffins.”
“From now on,” said Fergus, gazing fondly at Jesse, “I’m going to call you Rebel.”
“But Dad . . . It was meant to be today . . . I don’t know where . . . What if tomorrow’s too late?”
“If he’s already on Nish, he won’t be able to leave,” said Jesse. “And if he isn’t, the chances are he’ll guess you couldn’t go today, and he’ll go tomorrow too. Probably. I mean, we can’t know for sure—”
“But it’s worth a try!” cried Fergus.
Alice’s mind was racing. School . . . Already in trouble . . . Barney, and the weather . . . It all made sense.
Sort of. It made sense to her, anyway. Except for one thing . . .
“But why?” she asked. “I left you. I turned off Jesse’s alarm!”
“That was bad,” Fergus admitted. “To be honest, we were furious. Especially Jesse. ‘I didn’t give up the flipping Orienteering Challenge for Alice to flipping leave us.’ That’s what you said, isn’t it, Jesse?”
Jesse, wishing Fergus weren’t quite so free with information, muttered something about the heat of the moment but conceded that yes, he had been kind of cross.
“Furious,” Fergus corrected him. “But never mind about that, because that’s all over, and we love you. Don’t we, Jesse?”
Jesse, blushing, mumbled that they did.
“And so it’s decided!” Fergus beamed. “We’re going to find your dad, and the castle, and the puffins!”
“Like a quest,” said Jesse shyly.
Alice didn’t know what to say. She rubbed her eyes and sniffed and stared at the floor to stop herself from crying again, then burst into tears anyway and wailed, “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me!”
Fergus laughed and squeezed her affectionately. Jesse, overwhelmed by so much emotion, fled to the kitchen to make more tea.
* * *
Again, I’m not saying you would do the same thing. You, who I’m sure are a sensible person, would probably say, Let’s not waste the police’s time on pursuing this adventure, especially when the outcome is so uncertain, and also, Let’s be nice and put our school, our parents, our brothers, our aunt, and everyone who cares about us out of their misery, worrying where we are, lost on a camping trip during one of the worst storms in living memory.
But this is not your story, and Alice, Fergus, and Jesse had much more interesting things to think about. There was a father to find! A plan to mastermind! A whole new island to explore!
“So, the disguises!” Fergus said. “Should I shave my head? Can we take off my braces?”
“You can wear a hat, Fergus.” Alice, no longer crying, was riffling through a box of outdoor clothes in the utility room. “Look, here’s a beanie—we should all wear hats! And here are ponchos and jackets to wear instead of our orange school things. You’ll just have to keep your mouth shut to hide your braces.” She grinned. “That might be the hardest thing.”
“Rude,” said Fergus.
“How did they describe Jesse?”
“Tall and mixed race,” said Fergus. “So good luck with that. Perhaps he could pretend to be American. That would confuse people. Jesse, say something American.”
“I am not going to do that.”
“Jesse!” begged Alice.
“No!”
“He’s not made for deceit and subterfuge after all,” Fergus whispered. “Probably doesn’t even know what the words mean.”
“I can hear you, Fergus,” Jesse growled. “And I do know what deceit and subterfuge mean. They mean lying.”
“Rules are rules.” Fergus sighed. “You’re a useless criminal. Probably not even a very good explorer.”
Jesse glared at him. “HOWDY!” he thundered. “HOW Y’ALL DOIN’ TODAY? IT SURE IS DIFFERENT HERE FROM OKLAHOMA!”
“Oklahoma?” said Alice.
Fergus grinned. “Do you think real Americans would actually say that?”
“I SWEAR ONE DAY I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
“No you won’t.” Fergus jammed a pink fleecy hat on his head. “You love me. You love both of us. That’s why you’re doing this. That, and the exploring practice.”
We are nearly at the moment now when everything comes together—the runaways on their quest, the people chasing them, Barney, the police, the major. That troublesome parcel in Alice’s rucksack . . . You can see just by looking at your book that we are nearly there—wherever there may be.
But that’s all for tomorrow.
Today, Alice and Fergus and Jesse are going to raid Calva for more food. They are going to take books to read from its well-stocked shelves and find a pack of playing cards, and Jesse is going to teach the others games he learned from his brothers. Later, when the rain stops, they are going to go to the beach and race along the surf and chase each other with strands of seaweed washed up by the storm.
This evening, Fergus will perfect their disguises, and Jesse will write a conscientious list for the owners of Calva detailing everything they have taken, promising to reimburse food, pay for electricity, and return clothes. Alice will curl up on the sofa and try to write an adventure about pirates and islands and maybe magical seals, but she will realize for the first time in her life that right now she is not much interested in making up a story.
Instead, she will sit happily by the fire, watching the flames dance and listening to the boys’ good-natured squabble, and she will think how strange it is that this stolen house, to which she came only yesterday and which she will leave again tomorrow, should feel like home.
Thirty-Five
Rome
The boat for Nish was small, with a sheltered cabin and four wooden benches at the fore, and an open deck with additional seating
at the aft. The three had agreed to split up, to reduce suspicion. Alice and Fergus boarded first and made for seats right at the back, where she pretended to read a book and he hid his face behind a discarded newspaper he had retrieved out of a trash can in the terminal as a useful prop. Jesse strolled on with half a dozen brightly dressed Spanish students, behind an Indian family and before an elderly Australian man with a big camera.
“Do you think he looks American?” Fergus whispered. “Because he’s not actually saying anything.”
“Stop staring at him!” Alice hissed. “Look at the water, or the sky, or, I don’t know—a fish! Just don’t talk, or someone will see your braces.”
Fergus sighed and went back to his newspaper.
Please don’t recognize us, Alice prayed, holding her breath. Please please please . . .
There were no more passengers left to board. The captain tooted the horn twice, the Spanish students cheered—a spotty youth in oilskin overalls was casting off, a woman and a little girl on the quayside were waving . . . They were off!
Alice breathed again.
She did not see the woman dressed in black, watching through binoculars from the hill behind the quay.
Please let Dad be there, Alice prayed now. Please please please . . .
Beside her, Fergus yelped, “Alice!”
“Shhh!”
Lips clamped, still holding the paper high to hide his face, Fergus pointed to a headline with his chin.
LEOPARD SPOTTED ON BRITISH SOIL!
“Since when are you interested in wildlife?” murmured Alice. Fergus’s chin swung left to point at a picture. It was not a good shot. It was grainy and patchy, and the newspaper’s previous owner had spilled a drink on it before putting it in the trash, but even so, two things were obvious.
It was not a picture of a leopard, but of a woman. And it was a picture of the woman in black. Alice’s heart thudded as she leaned in to read the article.
Notorious cat burglar Giovanna Lambetti, commonly known as Il Leopardo (the Leopard), has been sighted on the Inner Hebridean island of Lumm. Lambetti was until recently the lead suspect in the case of the sensational theft of an invaluable Chinese artifact, stolen from a sealed room at the home of billionaire art collector Sergio Grimaldi. She has also been questioned in connection with an attack on Signor Grimaldi’s son, Nero, but released without charge due to lack of evidence.
What brings the Leopard to our northern shores? Is it just tourism? Or is she on the hunt? If so, beware—we hear she’s been known to eat her victims! One thing’s for sure—she’s not here for the weather!
It was a silly, sensational article in a rag of a paper, but it sent shivers down Alice’s spine. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t think what.
“It’s the woman who missed the ferry,” Fergus whispered.
“I know.”
“A notorious cat burglar!” Fergus scanned the article again. “And she was almost on our boat! This is thrilling. Alice! Why don’t you look thrilled?”
“I’m trying to remember something.” Thoughts jumbled through Alice’s mind, random memories trying to force themselves into a pattern, but still so disconnected, something to do with Tatiana driving, and Jesse’s brothers on Visitors’ Day, and Jesse scowling, and Tatiana all smiles . . . I am definitely taking them out in my Maserati when I win that million . . .
That was it—a reward! The radio, on her first day at Stormy Loch, driving from Castlehaig to school—a million-euro reward for a small jade figurine, stolen from a private home in Rome!
It was all coming back to her—and with it a mounting sense of dread.
Rome . . . and an Italian thief, staring at her on a Scottish quay . . .
Rome . . . where Barney had sent his letter from . . .
Italy . . . where the parcel had come from . . .
So here we are. On a boat, on the Scottish seas, surrounded by Spanish and Indian and Australian tourists, about to discover what an Englishman sent from Italy to his half-Polish daughter . . .
Alice’s fingers shook as she fumbled with the clips and drawstring of her rucksack, as she pushed aside socks and fleeces and underwear until she found the small yellow padded mailer tightly bound with brown tape. Still shaking, she unzipped the rucksack’s hood, flicked open her small penknife. The tape did not give easily but clung to the blade as she sawed. She kept her hands buried in the rucksack as she worked, aware that no one must see what she was doing. Inside the bag was a layer of bubble wrap, and inside the bubble wrap, a small box, and inside the box, buried in straw . . .
“Fergus,” she whispered. “Is there a picture of the thing that was stolen?”
He nodded, and held out the paper.
Alice’s world turned upside down.
“Alice, what’s wrong?”
Eyes wide, she nodded at him to look inside her rucksack.
“It’s too dark,” he said. “I can’t see.”
She raised her hand closer to the light, still shielding it from view.
Nestling in Alice’s palm lay a small jade carving of a boy astride a dragon, no bigger than a plum.
The figurine was beautiful, intricately wrought, pale green and almost luminous and surprisingly warm. The boy, riding with his head thrown back, made you want to dance for joy and ride a dragon of your own.
The dragon, despite being tiny, rippled with power and danger and strength. It had been carved, the newspaper informed a stunned Fergus and Alice, in the middle of the nineteenth century, a present to the current owner’s grandfather during a visit to China. The sculptor’s identity was unknown. There was no piece like it anywhere in the world. There was, as we know, a million-euro reward. No questions would be asked of the person who returned the carving.
Most important of all, as far as our story is concerned, it was in Alice’s rucksack.
On they sailed under the pale blue sky, sunlight glinting off the waves. It was impossible to believe there had ever been a storm. They passed an island of black cliff faces wreathed in gulls and guillemots, and another the size of the sports field at school. The Australian took photographs, the Indian family ate their picnic, the Spanish students listened to music on one another’s headphones. Jesse, sitting alone at the fore, studied a map. Alice and Fergus, oblivious to all this, stared at the yellow padded mailer into which Alice had returned the carving and had a low, panicked argument.
“What is it doing here?” hissed Fergus.
“I don’t know! Dad sent it! He asked me to bring it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us there was a parcel?”
“I never even thought about it!”
That was a lie and they both knew it.
“We have to turn it in,” insisted Fergus. “We have to go straight back and find the police.”
“And say what?”
“I don’t know! I’m not exactly an expert in this kind of thing. Anyway, look . . . read! It says ‘No questions asked.’”
“There are always questions asked,” Alice said. “Especially when you’re a kid.”
“But the Leopard woman—she must be after it!” Fergus gasped. “Alice, she pointed at you—she must know who you are! We have to go to the police! We’ll just tell them we found it on a beach.”
“Like they’ll believe that!”
Just as he was about to demand, exasperated, whether she had a better idea, she turned to him and said, in quiet desperation, “Oh, Fergus . . . Dad!”
She had risked so much to find Barney because she needed so badly to believe that he wanted her—that this was one of those mad escapades that made them who they were, Barney and Alice, father and daughter. And now—she couldn’t believe he had just been using her to bring him a stolen statue. She wouldn’t believe he was a thief.
“There has to be some explanation,” she said miserably.
Fergus’s astonishment, his exasperation, his panic all deserted him and another emotion took their place. It took him a while to identify it,
and when he did, he was surprised at how strong it was.
Clenched teeth. Short breath. Every muscle in his body tense.
He was furious.
Alice’s father was using her, and she didn’t deserve this.
Fergus was upset with Alice for not telling him about the parcel. But he was furious with Barney Mistlethwaite.
Two hours and thirty-five minutes after leaving Lumm, they docked at a floating jetty off a small sandy beach on Nish. Tidal mudflats stretched out behind the beach, patrolled by scurrying gray and white plovers and sedate red-beaked oystercatchers, digging for food before the rising tide reclaimed the land. Beyond, a path led through short grass up a cliff to the rest of the island.
“You have one hour,” said the captain as they filed off the boat. “You’ll see the island dips in the middle. There’s a sign. Don’t pass it. If you’re on the wrong side of it at high tide, there’s no way of getting you back without calling out the coast guard.”
Jesse had gone on ahead of them, still maintaining the pretense that they weren’t together. He deliberately walked slowly, letting all the other passengers pass, and waited for them at a bend in the path at the foot of the cliff, hidden from view by sharp, jagged rocks.
“So,” snarled Fergus to Alice as they approached him. “How are you going to tell him?”
But Jesse had news of his own, and he gave it before Alice could speak.
“I looked and looked on the map,” he said. “But I couldn’t find it. I even asked the captain. There is no castle on the Isle of Nish.”
Thirty-Six
There Must Be a Castle
“What do you mean, no castle?” Fergus cried. “The castle’s the whole point!”
“There is no castle on the Isle of Nish,” Jesse repeated. “There never has been. We’re in the wrong place.”
They both looked, rather accusingly, at Alice.
No castle! Alice’s world had flipped again but somehow was still not the right way up. No castle made no sense! Feverishly, she went over all the steps that had led her here—the research in the library, Barney’s letter, so cryptic, so short—could she have misunderstood it? But what other island could it be? There had been only one conversation about Scotland, she was sure of it . . . she thought . . .
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