The Inventors and the Lost Island

by A. M. Morgen

  George felt a tug of pity for her. He remembered when he’d said almost the same thing to Oscar, Ada, and Ruthie on a rooftop in Venice. It had been the worst thing he’d ever done.

  Ringing with energy now, George set his teacup down on the table. The liquid had grown cold. It reminded him that he didn’t have much more time to spare. “I need your help. Your brother is out of prison and is planning revenge for everything my grandfather did. He’s going to steal inventions and ideas from all the best scientists in the world and use them to build an unstoppable army. Well, I’m fairly sure my friend Ada Byron isn’t going to let that happen, but that won’t prevent him from wanting to destroy the world.”

  Estelle stood up abruptly and cleared away the teacups with shaking hands. “I don’t see how I could help.”

  “My grandfather wasn’t perfect, but he was honorable. Maybe he didn’t tell me about you because he was trying to respect your wishes.” Or maybe, George thought, if he told his grandson the story of Estelle, he would have had to reveal the truth about his identity. “But though he never told me about you in words, he led me to you through this map. Not just to be clever. Because he believed you’re the only person alive who can help stop Don Nadie. I don’t know why, but I trust my grandfather sent me here for a reason. You can come with me. Look—”

  George retrieved the Star of Victory from his bag, placing it between him and his great-aunt on the table. Estelle picked up the Star, wonder dancing in her eyes.

  “My father made this so my brothers and I could write secret messages to each other. He said it would bring its owner success in any battle because the enemy wouldn’t be able to read the communications. I’m sure he never thought his children would one day be on opposite sides of that battle.”

  “The Star is more than that,” George said. “It was a message from my grandfather to help me find you. It’s not too late to stop your brother. You can tell everyone the truth—the truth about who Nobody really is. You’re my secret weapon.”

  “Oh, George, I’m of no use to you.” Estelle sighed. “If it were that easy, I would go with you. But I couldn’t stop my brother from making mistakes all those years ago, and I can’t stop him now. Trust me, George. Sometimes a broken thing cannot be put back together.”

  Frustration rose in George. All at once, he understood how Oscar had felt when his father refused to assist them in fighting the Society. His next words were more of an accusation than a question. “You won’t even try?”

  Stella waltzed through the door carrying a spiky yellow lizard the size of a small dog. “Try what?”

  “Nothing, dear. No animals inside the house,” Estelle admonished.

  George couldn’t prevent his frustration from seeping into his voice. “She won’t even try to help me stop her brother from stealing the throne. She’s too afraid.”

  “I’ll help you stop him from stealing the throne,” Stella said.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Estelle took the lizard from Stella and carried it outside. “It’s much too dangerous.”

  “What can we do to change her mind?” George asked Stella.

  Stella flopped down heavily next to George. “Nothing. Once she makes up her mind, it’s made up forever. It’s maddening. You can’t believe how many times I’ve begged her to take me to a city. There are so many things I haven’t seen. Is it true that people have stairs inside their houses?”

  “It’s true, George will tell you,” Estelle said, coming back inside. “And maybe he’ll also tell you that people fall down stairs and die quite frequently. The cities you’re so eager to see are just like the manchineel tree. The fruit looks tasty, but it’s poison. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, Stella. There are beautiful things in the world, and there are ugly things, too. I know what’s best for our family, and that is to keep you safe by staying right here.”

  George stood up, straightening his jacket. “I’m sorry to hear that. Because my mind is made up as well. Before I came here, I thought I could stay home and bury my head in the sand, too. But there are people I love in England, and they’re in trouble. I may not be a Devonshire by blood, but I am an Englishman, and I am Ada Byron’s friend. I’m going to fight by her side, where I belong. I’m going back to London.”

  George waited for Estelle to leap up from the table and take his hand, but she only dried the teacups, averting her eyes from him and the jewel he’d left on her table. So, though it was truly the hardest thing he’d ever done, he turned his back on his grandfather’s hidden treasure and strode out the door.

  “Oscar! Ruthie!” he shouted. “It’s time to save the world.”

  George’s shouts were lost in the general chaos that was taking place outside. The villagers were screaming for their children to run and hide in the forest. Meanwhile, Oscar was arguing with a group of village men who were setting up a cannon lower down on the hillside. Underneath a white cloud of sails, a ship with a black flag was cruising toward the shore at full speed. George thought he saw a figure glinting with gold dive from the ship and paddle frantically to the shore.

  Stella followed George outside. “Pirates!” she whispered, biting her fingertips with fear and excitement.

  Ruthie flung herself in front of the cannon. Oscar’s face was alight with joy as he bolted toward the shore, crying, “Don’t shoot! That’s my father!”

  THIRD CABIN BOY’S LOG FOR THE ORDEK

  Day 1

  Fair winds and favorable currents.

  After I said goodbye to my great-aunt Estelle, Oscar, Ruthie, and I joined Captain Bibble on his new ship, the Ordek, which he captured from Turkish pirates after we left him in Gibraltar. Despite his vow not to help me fight the Society, Captain Bibble had also made a vow never to abandon his son again. He’s been following our route since we left Spain, guided by Oscar’s messages in bottles.

  Oscar is pleased as punch that his father is here. I must say, I am, too. Even so, I’m afraid we may not make it back to London in time. C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S. begins in less than three weeks, Don Nadie has a head start, and his ship is faster than ours.

  Though my great-aunt Estelle refused to join us and save the world from her dastardly brother, she did provide us with fresh fruit and supplies for the journey home.

  Day 2

  Fair winds and favorable currents.

  The position of commander on the Ordek has already been filled by a large fellow named Jan Eendenbloed. Luckily there were some openings for cabin boys. Oscar is first cabin boy and I am third cabin boy. The second cabin boy will not tell me his name, and he refuses to look at me. I fear this will be a long trip.

  Day 3

  Light winds and favorable currents.

  I can see why Oscar did not enjoy being a pirate. Jan Eendenbloed has kicked me in the rear several times for not tying knots fast enough.

  Day 4

  Blustering winds and unfavorable currents.

  We have sailed into a storm off the coast of Chile. Oscar has begun to help me find out what gives me, George Foote, purpose. Because my grandfather was a sailor, Oscar thinks my future may be on a boat. It is hard to think about my future when I’m worried about Ada and Il Naso and my house and C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S. However, we have made some progress. We discovered that my talents are not piracy or tying knots or deck swabbing.

  Today the second cabin boy told me his name accidentally. He made me swear not to repeat it to anyone.

  Day 5

  Strong winds and unfavorable currents.

  The storm continues. I have discovered that I do not enjoy mopping vomit. I do enjoy entertaining the crew with educational stories about the Society and tales of our adventures. Today I made Jan Eendenbloed laugh when I told him the story of how we almost outwitted Il Naso in Venice with an army of fire ants. I hope Il Naso is all right.

  Day 6

  Fair winds and favorable currents.

  Oscar and I have decided that when Ruthie is old enough to live on her own in a few years, we will sail to Bo
rneo to reunite her with her family. Ruthie seemed excited by this plan when we told her there would be lots of fruit to eat.

  The second cabin boy has told Oscar that he would also like to think about his future, since he is not sure he wants to be a pirate forever. Oscar helped him draw a picture of what he would like his life to be. There were a great deal of fish in that picture, several swords, and a boat, so it may be that piracy is his destiny after all.

  Day 8

  Light winds and unfavorable currents.

  I have neglected my deck swabbing today, and Jan Eendenbloed has kicked me several times. I have too many things on my mind to care about the pain.

  I’m afraid that we won’t reach London until it’s too late. We are still at least a week away, but we’ll only arrive in time if we have favorable weather the whole way. I don’t think I’ll be that lucky. Oscar says that Ada will protect the scientists at C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S. and that I shouldn’t worry. I haven’t told him that’s not all I’m worried about.

  Day 9

  Fair winds and favorable currents.

  I have been informed by several members of the crew that cabin boys do not keep logs. Here ends the third cabin boy’s log of the Ordek.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When they arrived in London, it was as if they had never left. The Thames River was humming with activity. Ships riding low in the water, their bellies full of cargo, were pulled into the docks with thick ropes. Ships leaving for distant lands passed by in the opposite direction, unfurling their sails to catch the winds that would carry them away.

  The Ordek weaved its way around other vessels, cutting in front of an East India Company ship to take its spot at an open dock. They stowed their sails just in time to avoid a rushing wind that swirled up out of nowhere. As they pulled closer to the dock, the wind grew louder and louder until they realized it was not a wind at all. Every sailor, seafarer, longshoreman, waterman, harbormaster, and dockworker had gathered at the waterfront in an angry mob. They were jeering and hissing at the Ordek so loudly that it sounded like a storm.

  “I think they know we’re PIRATES,” Captain Bibble observed.

  “I told you we should have lowered our flags and docked farther away. They don’t know we’re not here to steal from them,” Oscar said.

  George looked for a gap in the crowds. “We don’t have time for this. Did you hear those church bells as we sailed past Greenwich? C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S. is probably starting soon. We have to find Don Nadie and stop him before he can get his hands on those scientists.”

  “They know we’re pirates. They think we’re the enemy. I’m sure Don NADIE didn’t get this kind of welcome. UNACCEPTABLE. A CANNON blast should take care of these ruffians,” Captain Bibble roared. “Men, open the GUNPORTS.”

  George jumped in front of Captain Bibble. “No, stop! I have another idea. Lower the gangplank and let me off.”

  “They’ll tear you APART.” To George’s utter shock, the pirate captain’s single eye filled with anguished tears. He fixed his watery gaze on his son, who met his stare. “M-m-my crew and I can’t help you down there. The MINUTE we touch dry land, we’ll lose our sea legs and become U-U-USELESS,” he choked out, lip quivering with a barely contained sob. “I’m a TERRIBLE father who can’t even PROTECT his SON.”

  Oscar threw his arms around his father’s waist and squeezed. “But you’re my father. That’s enough for me.”

  George smiled at the sight of his friend with his father. “Captain Bibble, can you and your crew find Don Nadie’s ship and destroy it? Then, if he tries to escape, he’ll be trapped on land.”

  Captain Bibble sniffed, eye gleaming. “It would be my PLEASURE. But what will YOU do? You can’t face those MAGGOTS alone!”

  “It’s all right. They won’t hurt me,” said George, drawing himself up as tall as he could. “Leave it to the world’s most feared Truffle Assassin. I have a plan.”

  Captain Bibble ordered the gangplank be lowered. George grabbed a scrap of canvas and tied its corners together to make a sack. He stuffed a dirty rag inside to give it a lumpy appearance. He tied a black neckerchief around his forehead to look more menacing. Adjusting his hands to make it appear as though he was struggling under the weight of it, George held the improvised bag high above his head and stomped onto the gangplank. The crowd erupted into a new chorus of insults.

  Oscar joined him at the top of the gangplank. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Grab my shirt and stay close to me,” George said. “If this works, we’ll get through the crowd.”

  Oscar nodded and clutched the back of George’s shirt.

  Chin thrust in the air, George took a step toward the crowd, lifting the bag higher over his head with every footfall. “Listen to me or you’ll all die!” he shouted.

  “Get back on yer ship, pirate scum,” a broad-shouldered dockworker yelled back. At the same time, he hurled a fish head at George. It splattered fish juice all over his jacket, but George continued moving forward.

  “I’m no pirate. I’m far worse than that,” George shouted back. “Look at my face. You know who I am.”

  The dockworker’s eyes narrowed, then sprang open in shock as he recognized George from the sketches of him in the newspapers, but George knew he had to keep talking until word spread to everyone in the crowd. Mustering all the oratorical skills his grandfather had taught him, George projected his voice to address the teeming mass of people that stood between him and the city—more specifically, between him and the Council for Radical Undertakings in Mathematics, Physics, Engineering, Technology, and Science, whose convention would commence any moment.

  George pounded his chest with one fist while holding the empty bag aloft with the other. Several onlookers laughed. “I am George Foote, the great Truffle Assassin. I may look like a boy, but make no mistake, I can kill everyone in this crowd with a twitch of my fingers. My deadly poisons have killed so many people. Why then would I not hesitate to kill each one of you? I have returned to England to exact my revenge, not on the King as you have been told, but on the treasonous pirate Don Nadie. He is the real villain of this story, not me. And he is my intended target. Let me pass and I will let you live.”

  The crowd’s energy shifted as if he’d thrown a rock into a pool of water. No one was laughing or jeering at him now. Heads turned to each other, mumbling in hushed voices. Now that he’d made a ripple, he needed to part the sea.

  It was time to use a trick he’d learned from Ada: the power of suggestion.

  George continued, “In this bag is the deadliest poison known to mankind, the poison apple of the Galápagos. One whiff of its noxious scent and you’ll succumb to the toxin immediately. If anyone tries to prevent me from reaching the city, I will not hesitate to use it. Now—stand aside!”

  George looked pointedly at the dockworker who had thrown the fish head at him. The man stepped back to make room for George and Oscar to disembark. The other dockworkers around him did the same. Holding the empty canvas bag overhead threateningly, George thrust his foot into the throng. A young sailor shrieked. Like magic, people moved aside to make a space for George and Oscar to pass, then closed in behind them.

  “It’s working!” Oscar whispered into George’s ear.

  George felt a thrill of exhilaration as men twice his size backed away from him, fear shining in their eyes. He’d never felt powerful before. But now, when he bared his teeth and growled, he wasn’t a puppy; he was a wolf. This must be how Don Nadie felt looking down at everyone from his long legs. For a stomach-turning moment, George was in his long-lost great-uncle’s head, looking out at the world. He felt invincible. The feeling was so intoxicating that George himself forgot that he wasn’t really a Truffle Assassin and that the bag above his head wasn’t really carrying a deadly poison. However, his bad luck certainly didn’t forget.

  When George and Oscar were nearly through the thickest of the crowd, someone jostled Oscar, who bumped into George, who lost his balance and tripped. They bo
th hurtled forward, arms flailing. George regained his balance before he hit the ground, but not before he had to let go of the bag. A corner fell open, exposing the deadly poison apple.

  Or the lack of it.

  The crowd gasped and stepped back. They were frozen in their panic, waiting to die. But nothing happened. One man kicked the sack, revealing the dirty swab rag tucked inside. “That’s not poison.…”

  George leapt to the canvas bag, but it was too late. He’d been exposed as a fraud. A new ripple of understanding passed through the people around them as they turned to one another, muttering that the poison wasn’t real—

  Cut off by a blood-curdling scream of agony. A thin man in a floppy hat stumbled to his knees, falling out of the crowd, reaching a pale hand for George. The man fell to the ground, coughing, choking, and gasping for air. Horrified, George watched the dying man’s chest spasm as he drew his last breaths. The man died, facedown on the ground, curled into a ball at George’s feet.

  Heat rushed into George’s cheeks. Panic raced up his spine. Had he accidentally used poison? He didn’t think the power of suggestion worked that way.

  “The Truffle Assassin is going to kill us all! Run for your lives!” a rosy-cheeked woman shrieked. The crowd became a stampede, pushing and shoving each other to get away from George and his poison until there was no one left on the docks. Ruthie sprinted from the Ordek to the dead man and began poking at his side.

  George felt a tug on his ankle. He glanced down, and the dead man took off his floppy hat, smiled, and winked.