by A. M. Morgen
“I can make George’s rope into a sling,” Oscar said.
“And I saw some wet mortar in a bucket in the courtyard. Is that sticky enough?” George asked.
“That’s perfect! Ruthie, go get that bucket,” Ada said, gesturing to a small wooden bucket. The little orangutan raced down the wall and grabbed the bucket with her strong arms. By the time she returned, Ada and George had pierced the eggs with Oscar’s pointiest rocks to improvise arrowheads. Oscar, meanwhile, braided the rope into a sling. George coated the eggs with mortar using Ada’s hairbrush.
Ada made everyone stand back as she uncorked the vial of acid she had used to break out of the prison carriage. “A few drops will eat through anything,” she explained. “Even hot-air balloons.”
As soon as the acid was dripped into the rocky center of an egg, Oscar took aim with his improvised slingshot. The egg soared through the air toward Shaw’s balloon, which was still anchored in a far courtyard. It missed, sailing past the gray balloon into a tree. Oscar squinted and aimed again. This time, the egg stuck to the fabric balloon with a satisfying whomp. Faint yellowish smoke rose into the air as the acid ate away at the fabric, creating a gash that let the gas inside whoosh out.
Ada and Oscar cheered as the balloon deflated, whooping when Shaw and the other members of the Society frantically pulled at the ropes, trying to keep the basket level as they drifted to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the balloon had sunk behind the walls, out of sight. Oscar aimed another egg at a second balloon and hit it on the first try.
“George, look!” Oscar said. “I think Il Naso’s seen us! He knows we have a few minutes to escape without being spotted while the balloons crash.” In the courtyard below, Il Naso had emerged, crouched at the far end of the pool next to a small fountain. He’d wrapped a cloth around his face, but tears streamed down his cheeks from enduring the terrible stink bombs. He seemed to be waiting for them.
But when Ada and Oscar sprinted ahead toward the stairs, George tripped over the wooden screen they’d taken out of the window frame earlier.
They doubled back to help George to his feet, but his feet wouldn’t move. The world had narrowed to a single pinpoint and nothing else mattered. He sat, transfixed by the screen. Or, rather, transfixed by the pattern carved into the screen. Because the pattern wasn’t only in the wood itself, but in the absence of wood—in the holes.
The gears in George’s brain had at last clicked into place, and he finally knew what had been nagging at him ever since he’d seen the butterfly pendant around Patty’s neck in Geneva. He picked up the butterfly pendant and cradled it in his palms.
Of course.
“George, what are you doing? We have to hurry, or the Society will get to Il Naso first!” Ada said, tugging on his arm, hard.
George’s head snapped up. Oscar was already at the window, a glum expression twisting his face. “It’s too late.”
The gears in George’s mind had taken too long to click. He followed Oscar’s gaze. Shaw and his cohort had found their way to the courtyard on foot and spotted Il Naso where he was waiting for them. Red-coated figures stampeded toward the Italian policeman, their hands outstretched, ready to grab him. Slowly, Il Naso raised his hands to the sky.
The policeman had surrendered.
“No, no, no…” George groaned.
Below, as if he had heard him, Il Naso patted his breast pocket and gave George a silent nod. Then, as George watched from above, Il Naso took the map from his sleeve, ripped it in half… and set it on fire. Flames licked up the parchment as it dropped from the policeman’s fingers and fluttered to the ground.
The air left George’s chest all at once, as if he’d been struck by a blow.
A howl went up from the Society, and they dove for the burning fragments of the map, completely ignoring Il Naso.
Il Naso pushed the stone fountain next to him with all his might. To George’s shock, it slid aside, revealing a black hole underneath. Then Il Naso jumped into the hole and was gone.
“I knew there were secret tunnels!” Oscar whispered to himself.
But no secret tunnel would lead them back in time. The last flicker of fire consumed George’s map, then died out completely.
Chapter Fifteen
Their escape from the Alhambra was a blur.
While the Society members howled and cursed over the loss of the map, Oscar slid open a panel next to an alcove to reveal the entrance to a tunnel. Ada dragged George through, all the while remarking how lucky it was that Moors had built the first irrigation systems and how wonderful it was that there were channels for water everywhere, even underground. When they finally reached the mechanical whale and secured the door behind them, Oscar, Ada, and Ruthie collapsed onto the floor, panting.
But George was slowly winding up, like a spring ready to burst into action.
After catching her breath, Ada fixed her gaze on him. Her face was flushed with anger. “What on earth came over you, George? That should have worked! That map was our advantage over the Society.”
“You don’t understand,” George said. His head was a storm of rotten smells, and he couldn’t yet calm his heartbeat, let alone put into words what he’d figured out. “The shapes. I saw the shapes.”
Ada let out a frustrated sigh. “Not another breakdown. For my sake, George, please don’t fall apart. If it helps, I’m starting to think you were right. There’s something wrong with your luck. It has become increasingly difficult to ignore your talent for disaster. When we get home, I’ll study it and help you. But now is not the time to let that get you in a dither.”
“It’s all right about the map,” George said, shaking his head, though his gut was still wrenched from the sight of his grandfather’s map set aflame. “We don’t need it.”
Ada tilted her head at him. “What?”
Clutching the butterfly pendant tightly against his chest, George was giddy with excitement. He began to pace. “It wasn’t for nothing. All those patterns everywhere on the walls and the floors and then the tiles. It was just what I needed. All along I knew there was something I was missing, something that was just out of reach. But I see it. It was meant for me. My grandfather knew that one day I might go to the workshop in Geneva and that if I did, I would see the butterfly. It’s another layer of the puzzle. Another path to the map’s secret.”
“But…” Oscar bit his lip. “Didn’t you say Don Nadie needed the map as the final piece of the plan to attack C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S.? It’s destroyed now, so he can’t have it. We’re done. We’ve saved the world.”
George stopped to catch his breath. “It’s not that simple, Oscar. All we know for sure is that Don Nadie is a scoundrel and a liar and he can’t be trusted—and he’s determined. He spent forty years in prison forming the Society. He’s not going to give up, and neither can we.”
“That’s all well and good, but the map is gone, George. So what do we do?” Ada asked.
Ada, Oscar, and Ruthie stared at him, waiting for an answer. Luckily, he had one, because his grandfather had left it for him to discover, like bread crumbs in the forest.
George opened up his palm and let the butterfly rest on it so that the others could see its delicate wings and the familiar shapes that at last were so clear: two sea horses and a man taking a bath. On the left side was the larger, curving sea horse. It was about to be trapped by the hand of a man lying sideways in a bath with his body outstretched in an X shape. The man’s round belly poked out of the water in the middle; his face, hands, and feet surrounded his belly like the five points of a star. A few other tiny bits of the man, such as his armpit, poked out, too. The farthest shape was a baby sea horse, curved like a peanut, swimming away. George pointed to each of them in turn. “There are the sea horses and the man in the bath. Isn’t it amazing? They were here all along.”
“Lord Devonshire, what on earth are you talking about?” Ada asked.
“Losing the map again was too much for him,” Oscar whispered loudly. “
I’ll go make him some tea.”
George frowned. “I can hear you. I don’t want tea. I’m trying to tell you that it’s all right. I didn’t see it until now. These shapes between the metal on the butterfly, the glass bits here. They represent islands. There’s a set of islands hidden in the butterfly’s wings.”
Ada peered down at the pendant; then her eyes flew wide. “The Galápagos.”
Triumph flooded through George, quick and sure as the beat of his heart. “Yes! They’re the Galápagos. See, that big sea horse is Albemarle Island, and the little one, that’s Chatham. But this one, right here below the little sea horse, I don’t recognize it. It’s not one of the twenty-one islands in the archipelago.”
Ada’s lips parted slowly until her mouth was hanging open. She took the butterfly from George’s palm to examine it more closely. “An extra island?”
A grip of certainty seized George and turned his doubt into unshakable sureness. “A lost island.”
Ada shook her head in wonder, curls bouncing. “How clever. It was staring us right in the face. The butterfly on the map and the butterfly here. I thought the Star of Victory was showing us an island, so why didn’t I see it?”
George grinned. “I would imagine it’s because only someone whose grandfather spent hours and hours tutoring them in geography would recognize it. It doesn’t matter that Il Naso burned the map. The map is in my mind. The butterfly was the last piece of the puzzle. I can see it so clearly now!”
Oscar’s face was scrunched with confusion. “See what?”
George spread out an imaginary map on the floor in front of Oscar. He drew the invisible lines of Australia and South America with his finger, then jabbed at a spot between them. “The Galápagos are islands in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of South America. Whalers stop there on their way to hunt in the open waters. The islands are covered in volcanoes and massive tortoises the size of ponies.”
“Is this another one of your stories?” Oscar asked suspiciously. “It doesn’t sound real.”
“Oh, it’s very real,” Ada said. She produced a blank sheet of paper from one of her notebooks. Using a rag dipped in her inkpot, she smeared ink on the metal form of the butterfly, then pressed it quickly against the paper. The ink left a perfect impression of the islands.
George borrowed a pen from Ada and labeled each island with its proper name. When he was done, there was one tiny dot of an island just below the little sea horse that wasn’t on any map of the Galápagos that George had ever seen.
A thrill raced over George’s skin. “Whatever Don Nadie needs, whatever my grandfather hid, must be on that island. Or we’ll find the next clue he left for me. Oscar, you can help me draw the map again. We’ll make it just the way it was before.”
“Another treasure hunt?” Oscar asked glumly. “It’s all my father talked about. Treasure this and treasure that. If someone else can steal it from you, then it’s not really yours, is it?”
George’s short time as a convicted felon had taught him that his life could be snatched away at any moment. If he didn’t hold on tightly to what belonged to him, it would be ripped away. “I don’t believe that, but more importantly, that’s not the law. Stealing is wrong. My grandfather wanted me to protect this treasure from Don Nadie. He mustn’t find it before we do.”
“I agree,” Ada said.
George stood up. “Well, what are we waiting for? Next stop, the Galápagos!”
Oscar pushed the paper with the butterfly stamp aside. “But—what if we go back to London first? Or somewhere else?”
“London?” George echoed. “I can’t go back to London! If we go back to London without finding something that can stop Don Nadie, he’ll win. Then we can never go back because we’ll be killed in whatever revolution that maniac is going to incite.”
“And I’m not safe there either until we stop the Society from hunting scientists,” Ada said.
“All right, but maybe Ruthie doesn’t want to go to the Galápagos, either,” Oscar said combatively.
George pouted. “You really don’t want to come with us to the Galápagos, Oscar? It wouldn’t be the same without you. We can drop you off at whatever port you want on the way,” he offered, even though it was the exact opposite of what he wanted.
“Why, so you can go find your fancy treasure and Ada can go to her fancy school and I can wander the earth alone for the rest of my life? Or go back to the pirate ship and learn how to tie knots and cut throats?” Oscar crumpled to the floor, spread out like a starfish, and Ruthie lay on top of him like an orange blanket, trying to comfort him.
A tear slid down Oscar’s cheek.
Ada and George exchanged befuddled glances, then both crouched down next to Oscar. Softly, Ada said, “Oscar, what’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t know. George said I belonged here, but… I don’t feel as if I belong anywhere, really. I thought once I was with my father I would know what it felt like to be home. But I wasn’t like the rest of his crew. I didn’t fit in there. They didn’t need me. I was the loneliest I’ve ever been. All I had ever wanted was to be with my family. But if being with my family didn’t make me happy, then what will?”
“Oh, Oscar,” Ada said.
“Maybe I should go to Borneo to reunite Ruthie with her family. Or Tahiti to find my mother.”
George looked at his friends’ distraught faces. Oscar’s chest was heaving with barely contained sobs. This was no way to start the greatest adventure of their lives.
George offered Oscar a handkerchief and tried to find the right words to provide comfort. “You don’t have to know where you want to go, Oscar. You’ll figure it out. Some people know right from the minute they’re born what makes them happy, and some people have to search for years and years, I think. That’s nothing to be upset about. My grandfather always said that happiness is the hardest treasure to find.”
“That’s right,” Ada added. “George and I are on a quest to stop the Society of Nobodies from attacking C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S., but you’re on your own quest to find where you belong. We’ll help you along the way. We’ll follow the clues and never give up on you, Oscar Bibble, not until we discover where you want to be. Maybe you’ll want to be in Borneo, or Tahiti, or maybe even merry old England after all.”
George clapped Oscar on the shoulder. “When you get close to your happiness, your heart will know what to do, just the way my heart is telling me that my grandfather’s treasure is on the lost island. Are you ready to start your journey and join us in sailing to the Galápagos?”
Oscar’s tears had stopped, but he looked skeptical.
George held out his hand gallantly. “Will you come with us?”
Eventually, Oscar took George’s hand and let himself be pulled upright again. Ruthie wrapped her arms around his waist. “All right, George. If I learned one thing from my father, it’s that you never know where the tides might take you. I’d rather go out and look for where I belong with the two of you and Ruthie than anyone else.”
Sadness flitted across Oscar’s eyes again, but disappeared in a flash. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Though I’m not sure if I want to be caught with London’s most wanted truffle assassin.”
George chuckled at Oscar’s joke. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but glance out the portholes, half expecting to see the British navy on the horizon.
“Once you see the Galápagos, Oscar, you’ll feel much better, I promise. There’s nothing like a long trip in a mechanical whale to raise your spirits,” Ada said.
Oscar smiled. “I do want to see the giant tortoises and the volcano rocks. Who knows, maybe I’ll find my happiness there.”
Ada hopped to her feet and beckoned the boys to join her as she marched to the pilot’s chair. “Anchors aweigh! Next stop: the lost island.”
COMMANDER’S LOG FOR THE WHALE
Day 1
Fair winds and favorable currents.
I have plotted our course to the Galápagos following t
he fastest route and most favorable currents, which flow from the southern tip of Africa, then along the Indian Ocean to the Pacific.
Our captain, Miss Ada Byron, has insisted that I promote myself from lieutenant to commander based on my heroic actions during the Battle of the Alhambra. I humbly accepted. I also serve as cook. We are joined by our boatswain, Oscar Bibble, the most experienced sailor among the crew. Ruthie is the boatswain’s mate, and she has proved very helpful at swabbing the decks. Another crew member, Patty, is undergoing repairs after being damaged by a nasty pirate. The captain is hopeful she will be an able lieutenant and pilot once her gears are properly aligned.
Day 2
Light winds and favorable currents.
The boatswain and I have completed an inventory of all supplies and have concluded that we are well stocked for our journey, but we will need to find fresh fruits whenever possible due to the boatswain’s mate’s dietary preferences.
Patty has been repaired and now holds the rank of midshipman after a brief discussion about her ability to advance.
We sailed through a very large group of Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish today. There were over a thousand of them floating in the ocean with their long blue tentacles brushing our portholes. The captain has looked over my shoulder and just informed me that they are not in fact jellyfish, but siphonophores, which she has made sure that I spelled correctly and which she informs me are groups of unrelated polyps that form a single organism. Oscar has drawn some very good pictures of these not-jellyfish and has now been promoted to ship’s artist.
Day 3
Calm winds and unfavorable currents.
The ship’s artist–boatswain and I are making a map to replace the one destroyed by Il Naso during the perilous Battle of Alhambra. Progress is slow, as the artist likes to ignore reality in favor of “what looks good.”