The Inventors and the Lost Island

by A. M. Morgen

  Ada gasped. “A shipwreck near Guayaquil?”

  George nodded. “What if the lost island isn’t an island? What if it’s—”

  “A shipwreck! La Isla.” Ada’s eyes brightened. “We could have sailed right over the top of it and never known.”

  “Shells is brilliant!” Oscar exclaimed.

  “Let’s get out there,” George said. “It’s just beyond the bay.”

  “First thing in the morning. It’s going to be dark soon,” Ada answered.

  Arm in arm, they gazed across the water again. Shells was gone, but the first stars were just starting to glimmer in the blanket of the sky. The stars had been there all along; he’d just needed to wait for the nighttime to see them.

  George had forgotten that hope worked the same way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It is impossible to sleep soundly the first night on the edge of the earth. The sky is too dark. The air is too warm. The sounds are too strange.

  For a moment, when George awoke from his restless sleep the next morning, he forgot where he was. He looked up at the white canvas tent above him and thought it was peculiar that his bed curtains had changed color. Then the oark oark of sea lions fighting on the beach below and the crashing of the waves reminded him that he was camping on Chatham Island, halfway across the world.

  Whatever Don Nadie wanted, whatever his grandfather had hidden, was just out of reach, tucked beneath the waves.

  As George buttoned up his shirt, he was filled to the brim with faith that he would tear off the mask of Don Nadie, revealing the villain in his grandfather’s story. Yesterday, he’d been as drained as the dry pool in the courtyard of the Alhambra. He’d let his doubt siphon away his faith. But this morning, even his jacket felt lighter when he picked it up from where he’d thrown it last night.

  Outside, in the muggy morning air, he could see that none of his friends had slept soundly, either. Ada’s cheeks were sunken. The curls she’d kept perfectly spiraled at all times, even in the whipping winds of her airship, were as limp as overcooked noodles. Ruthie and Oscar were sprawled at the edge of their camp, dejectedly staring out at the open sea where they’d last seen Shells.

  “Huzzah and good morning,” George said, beaming. “It’s a fine day for a treasure hunt, isn’t it?”

  Ada looked up from her notebook. “It’s not ideal conditions. The ocean is calm, but it’s teeming with sharks. We’ll need to be careful when we go in the water.”

  George was not disturbed in the least. If anything, his knees buckled with the desire to dive into the waves headfirst. “Excellent. I have no doubt you’ll keep us all safe from whatever sea creatures we encounter, Miss Byron. Right, Oscar?”

  Oscar eyed him warily. “I suppose.”

  George’s smile faltered. Oscar’s confidence in Ada was usually unshakable. Could something be wrong?

  But George was determined to play the role of the hero. He filled his lungs and addressed the group. “Just yesterday, I was like a boat sailing against the wind. I thought I was doomed to never fulfill my destiny because of a curse. But I won’t make that mistake again. Oscar, you said that curses and miracles aren’t real; they’re excuses. I can’t think of truer words spoken by a truer friend. No more excuses. No more doubt. I’ve come this far. My destiny is in my grasp. My sails are unfurled, and I’m pointed toward the future.” He threw his jacket on with a flourish and grabbed the lapel as he faced out toward the water.

  The corners of Ada’s lips lifted into a smile. “Impressive use of metaphor, Lord Devonshire. Perhaps you should consider becoming a poet.”

  George grinned. “Maybe I will. Someone ought to write down our adventures one day. Hey! Where did my buttons go?”

  All of his jacket’s bright gold buttons were gone. Wispy little threads hung where the buttons had been the last time he’d seen them, which was yesterday.

  “Don’t look at me!” Oscar said, throwing his hands up.

  Ada shrugged. “I have better sources for metals.”

  George emptied out his pockets. Nothing. “Well, someone took them.”

  “Or ate them,” Oscar said, turning to look at Ruthie. The orangutan blinked sadly at the waves.

  George prickled with unease. Someone had taken Ada’s things yesterday. And their firewood. The Society could not have followed them—could they? But the Society wasn’t interested in buttons or driftwood. Nor had they been attacked. Pushing the uneasy feeling away, George took his jacket off and folded it. “No matter. It’s too warm for a jacket anyway.”

  “Yes, and it’s not the best outfit for swimming,” Ada said. “I packed two diving helmets in case of an emergency. I didn’t think Oscar and Ruthie would be joining us. The helmets aren’t meant to be used for more than a few minutes underwater, but that should be plenty of time to find the treasure, since we have all day.”

  “We’re swimming ourselves? I thought the whale—”

  “The whale is only a mode of transport. We won’t be able to see well out of the portholes. We’ll need to do this by hand.”

  After a quick breakfast of dried biscuits, they returned to the whale, leaving Ruthie behind to guard the campsite from any overly curious sea lions. The whale roared back to life, and they cruised out of the bay. In no time, they were wandering over the reefs where Shells had seemed to find dry land yesterday.

  The deep waters were a dark cobalt, while the shallow reefs surrounding the island were a light aquamarine. The water was so clear that they had no trouble finding La Isla where it lay just beneath the waves. It was a great, hulking mass covered in coral.

  If not for the unmistakable curves of a hull, they might have thought it was just another ridge of the reef.

  Looking down at the shipwreck in the water, George felt an undertow of sadness beneath his elation at having correctly followed the trail his grandfather had left. La Isla was on its side, its masts sheared off just beneath the waterline. Even beneath the coral, George could see that it had been a beautiful ship once, a two-masted schooner, perhaps a packet boat carrying letters across the sea.

  “Do you think anyone died down there?” Oscar asked, leaning over the railing.

  George watched the ghostly shadows of fish dart in and out of the open hatches and portholes. “They wrecked in shallow water. It’s possible they were all able to get out safely.” Ada carried over one of the glass diving helmets and laid it on the deck in front of Oscar with a plonk. The helmet looked like an upside-down fishbowl with a padded leather gasket that closed tightly around the neck with a cord.

  Oscar picked up the helmet and put it over his head. “I’m inside a bubble!”

  “Take that off, Oscar. It’s not a toy, and this is not a game. Listen closely—you’ll have about five minutes of air after you put it on and unless you come up, you’ll suffocate. Keep your head upright at all times or water will get inside your helmet. I’ll tie ropes around your waists and pull you back up if you stay down too long,” Ada said.

  George picked up the second helmet. “You’re not going?”

  “If you must know, I’m a rather poor swimmer. My mother never let me learn how to swim properly because I told her I would swim across the English Channel if I did. Plus, she’s afraid I’ll catch a fever if I get wet outside. That’s how my father died, apparently. He went horseback riding in the rain. Besides, there are only two helmets. I’ll be manning the smaller water cannon in case any sharks get too close.” Ada fixed a serious gaze on George. “This isn’t like my other plans, George. There are too many factors to take into account to fully guarantee your safety. Are you sure about this? We could keep looking for another way—”

  He grabbed her gently by the shoulders. “Ada, I’m sure. Just as I’m sure that my grandfather meant to guide me here. He’s been leading us here this whole time. I know it.”

  Though the rippling water below sent a shiver through him, George plastered on a brave face and followed Ada’s instructions. Along with Oscar, he strappe
d on a weighted belt, which was attached to a long rope. They each filled their lungs with a deep breath of air, then put on the helmets and pulled the leather cords snugly around their necks.

  Oscar reached out and gripped George’s hand. Together, they plunged feet-first into the cold ocean.

  Beneath the surface was an entirely new world. Sunlight filtered through the clear water in radiant beams. Fish darted around them in rapid flashes, like hundreds of moving, blinking lights. George could hear nothing except his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Using a mast as a guide, he descended to the wrecked boat, willing himself to breathe calmly. The helmet kept his face dry, and besides a little circle of fog from his breath on the glass, he could see everything. With a gentle tap, his feet touched down on the hull of the drowned ship. Oscar touched down next to him.

  Over the next few hours, they slowly searched the ship inside and out, five minutes at a time. Because the ship had sunk sideways, they entered through a tear in the starboard side, careful to keep their helmets upright and away from any sharp bits of metal. They followed fish through open hatches and portholes into the dim, topsy-turvy cabins.

  Each time Oscar and George explored the ship, all they discovered was more water and fish. No barrels or crates or treasure chests to be found.

  By afternoon, their breaks between dives were growing longer and longer. The sea lions had grown curious and began following them down into the ship, then jostling them, trying to play. Ada had to scare away a couple of slithering sharks with her water cannon. George was slapped by a manta ray’s wings, but for once, he hardly noticed any of the bother or the danger. While Oscar concerned himself with yanking George back from collapsed portions of the ship and dragging him to the surface well before their oxygen ran out, George wasn’t focused on anything other than solving the trail of clues that his grandfather had left for him to piece together.

  Oscar, however, was ready to quit. When they surfaced into the heat of the late afternoon, he set his helmet down and sprawled out on the deck of the mechanical whale.

  “I’m exhausted,” he said.

  Ada untied the rope from around his waist. “It’s nearly nightfall. I think we should pack up and head for shore.”

  George lingered in the water. “Pack up? You mean give up?”

  “There’s nothing down there,” Oscar said.

  “There’s an entire ship down there,” George replied, sweeping his hands across the water. “You stopped me from searching a few of those cargo holds, Oscar.”

  “They were pitch-black!”

  “I can find my way in the dark—”

  “Your grandfather wouldn’t have meant for you to kill yourself looking,” Ada interjected.

  “My grandfather—” George began, but suddenly the whale tipped violently to one side. Ada and Oscar were flung across the deck while George bobbed in the water. Ada grabbed hold of the water cannon, but Oscar slid into the railings. Oscar’s helmet slid, too. It rolled across the deck and hit the railing with a bang. George grabbed it after it splashed into the water, but it was no use: a shining crack appeared in the glass bowl.

  “Looks like the sea lions have made the decision for us,” Ada said. “Time to go.”

  “My helmet is still perfectly fine,” George argued after swimming to the ladder but refusing to climb aboard. “I’m not giving up.”

  Oscar’s face contorted with worry. “What if that wasn’t a sea lion bumping the whale? First Ada’s bag, then George’s buttons. Someone or something on this island is trying to send us a message. You might get hurt.”

  George felt a brief swell of uncertainty, but he’d vowed not to let his doubts overwhelm him again. “I promise that I’ll be safe, Oscar. There’s no such thing as ghosts or bad luck or curses, remember? According to Miss Byron, there is a logical explanation for everything. The supernatural is the mind’s way of explaining connections it doesn’t understand. Everything will be fine.”

  Ada cocked her head to the side. “I did say that, but I’m not so sure anymore. You do have awfully bad luck, George. It’s beyond logical explanation.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing what I’m hearing,” George said. “I do not have bad luck. I have the proper, average amount of luck just like everyone else. My only mistake has been doubting myself and doubting my grandfather. The map contained a secret, and I gave it away. The butterfly contained a clue, and I ignored it for too long. You once told me to trust my gut, didn’t you, Miss Byron?”

  “Yes, but this is getting ridiculous. Give me a few days to modify the periscope or build a device that will do the searching for you.”

  “We don’t have time for that, Ada,” George insisted.

  Oscar untied the belt from around his waist. “I’m tired. And hungry. And I want to stop. This isn’t fun anymore.”

  “It’s not supposed to be fun!” George replied.

  “It’s not supposed to be dangerous, either. Let Ada find a better way that doesn’t involve us drowning,” Oscar argued.

  The concern in Oscar’s voice gave George pause, but he pushed his doubts away again. His grandfather’s map was his quest, not Oscar’s, not Ada’s. All the tools he needed were already inside him. Heroes had no room for hesitation and fear. “Well, my gut tells me that the answer is down there, and I have to find it before Don Nadie does.”

  George took a deep breath and jammed the helmet back onto his head. He heard Ada’s and Oscar’s muffled protests, but he knew they wouldn’t follow where he was going. Alone, he stepped off the ladder and splashed into the water.

  He slipped through an open hatch, dropping down, down, down into the heart of the ship. George strained his eyes to see. The water had begun to eat away at the wooden hull, leaving gaps for light to pierce into the dark interior. Oscar hadn’t wanted to go this far into the ship, where the light hardly penetrated, but Oscar wasn’t with him now.

  There had to be something here. George kicked aside a loose plank, startling a fish with a bright yellow tail. The fish bumped its nose into George’s glass helmet, then darted in the opposite direction, where it disappeared—straight into a wall. As he approached, he saw a thin seam in the wood… in the shape of a small door. A hidden cabinet. This was what he’d been searching for! All his persistence and hope were paying off. The circle of fog on his helmet grew as George let out a warm sigh of relief. At last!

  George felt the rope around his waist tugging him up, up, up. Ada was trying to pull him to the surface, but George grabbed the wall and propelled himself across the cabin. He kicked at the wood with his heel and it gave way, revealing a small compartment. Inside was a smaller sea chest. The outer wooden layer of the box was rotting away, but the inside had been lined with silver metal. His heartbeat thrummed against his ribs, which were starting to feel strained from the lack of fresh air.

  George reached down and grabbed the box, but in his excitement, he forgot that Ada had told him to keep his head upright at all times.

  Salty water rushed up underneath his helmet. It splashed into his mouth. George gagged from the taste, coughing out a string of spit. Panicked, he twisted his head, but there was no escaping the water pouring into his helmet, which was now up to his nose.

  With one last gasp of air, he yanked the helmet off. The ocean rushed into his ears, so loud, and yet there was no sound.

  Wooden chest clutched under his arm, George pushed off the bottom of the cabin, kicking wildly to drive himself toward the surface. Sand and slivers of rotting wood exploded around him. In the swirling murkiness, he lost all sense of what was up or down. He tested the rope around his waist, but it had gone slack.

  Seconds passed like hours as George’s lungs burned. He jerked and flailed but never seemed to move. The box was heavy. It was dragging him down, back into the depths of the ship. But he couldn’t let it go. If he let it go, he’d have failed his grandfather one final time.

  He kicked his legs hard again. Above him, there was a square of light. The dista
nce to the surface might be a few feet or a thousand miles. A bubble of air escaped George’s lips. Sharp pain stabbed between his tightening ribs. With each lost breath, the edges of his vision faded to gray. He couldn’t hold the darkness off much longer.

  He took one last breath of salt water just as something yanked the box out of his arms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Oscar’s grip on the box and George’s elbow didn’t loosen until they broke through the surface. By then, George’s lungs felt as if they were being devoured by flames. He coughed up a mouthful of water, then sucked in breath after glorious breath until the stabbing pain in his chest eased.

  Oscar threw the box up to Ada on the whale. Ada threw over a rope to haul George onto the deck. George’s eyes stung from the salt water dripping from his hair. It felt as if a horse was sitting on his chest.

  Splayed next to each other, George and Oscar shook with nerves as Ada silently rubbed their heads with blankets, then wrapped the soft cloth around their shoulders. She chewed on her thumb, her face pale, as she watched them recover. When George finally sat upright and drank some fresh water from a canteen, she let her head sink into her hands.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she moaned quietly.

  Once he had caught his breath, George reached for the box—but Oscar snatched it up first, his eyes blazing with an anger George hadn’t known he possessed.

  “Is this all that MATTERS to you?” Oscar bellowed in George’s face. He sounded exactly like his father. “So what if it’s full of gold, or silver, or jewels? Was this worth losing your life, or me losing MINE?”

  “It’s not about treasure, Oscar, I don’t even know what’s inside. It’s about destroying that blasted Don Nadie—”

  “You SAID that nothing would HAPPEN to you! You PROMISED!” Oscar shouted.

  “Not now, Oscar,” Ada chided gently.