Clue by Clue

by Catherine Hapka

  “Uh, Red?” Player said. “You do realize these people all lived, like, three hundred and some years ago, right?”

  Carmen smiled sheepishly. “I know. But they were real people, and I’m glad Cal realized the error of her ways, even if it took her a while.” She shrugged. “She reminds me of me.”

  “Yeah, Cal Cutlass totally stuck it to those pirates,” Zack said. “Just like you’re always sticking it to VILE, Carm!”

  Carmen touched the faded old pages of the diary. Suddenly it felt as if Cal Cutlass were right there with her, helping guide her quest. Carmen didn’t want to let her down. “We definitely don’t want Tigress to get to that treasure before we do,” she murmured, talking more to herself than to the others. “Maybe we can still help Cal finish what she started.”

  Zack swooped his finger around the inside of an empty pretzel bag, then licked off the salt and crumbs. “What do you mean?”

  “That treasure has never been found,” Carmen said. “That means Cal Cutlass must not have had a chance to give the map and decoder to the villagers.”

  Player spoke up. “Right,” he said. “She ended up in Newgate Prison in London, remember? Sentenced to hang at Execution Dock. That was a gallows located on the bank of the Thames where they hanged condemned people for, like, four hundred years. Lots of pirates took their last breaths there—even the super-famous pirate Captain Kidd!”

  “Whoa!” Ivy sounded alarmed. “Is that what happened to Cal?”

  “No,” Carmen said. “You said she escaped from prison, right, Player?”

  “Right. And was never heard from again.”

  Carmen nodded, thinking about what she might have done in Cal’s place. “Since nobody knew she was a girl, she probably was able to live incognito after her escape.”

  “But I guess the people of Tortuga never got the treasure,” Ivy said.

  Carmen nodded, less concerned about how and why Cal’s long-ago plans had failed than in how Carmen could take on Cal’s quest as her own right now, today. Finish what the brave young pirate had started all those years ago. Make things right in any way Carmen could, just as she’d been doing ever since escaping Vile Island.

  Ivy peered out the window. “Hey, I think I see it!” she cried. “That’s gotta be Haiti down there, right?”

  Carmen looked out too. “Right,” she said, touching the diary once more.

  We’re coming, Cal Cutlass, she thought with a shiver. And we’ll help you put things right, or my name isn’t Carmen Sandiego . . .

  Chapter 15

  Port-de-Paix, Haiti

  Carmen’s charter plane bypassed the capital city of Port-au-Prince, landing instead in Port-de-Paix, the closest city to Tortuga. Soon Carmen, Ivy, and Zack were wandering through the dusty city. “Now what?” Carmen asked Player.

  “I’ve been trying to research how to get to Tortuga, but it’s not easy,” Player said. “There’s supposed to be a ferry, but I can’t find much information.”

  “Wow.” Carmen smiled. “Has the internet failed you at last, Player?”

  “Funny, Red. I’ll keep looking, but you might have to improvise this time.”

  “That’s okay. I’m good at improvising.” Carmen glanced around. Across the street stood a pretty, whitewashed church with blue trim, and beside that were several shops with colorful awnings to protect them from the intense Caribbean sun. One of the awnings had the tidy words TOURIST INFORMATION stenciled on it.

  “Look!” Zack pointed to another shop. On this one, the awning read simply RESTAURANT. “Time for a late lunch?”

  “You mean the four sandwiches and seven thousand pretzels you ate on the plane weren’t enough?” Carmen raised an eyebrow at him, then strode off toward the tourist place. “Anyway, there’s no time to waste on food,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s see if we can start improvising.”

  Inside the shop, a slender woman in her twenties was perched on a stool paging through a magazine. She tossed it aside when Carmen and the others entered.

  “May I help you?” she asked eagerly, her voice lilting with an island accent.

  “I hope so,” Carmen said. “We want to visit Tortuga. How do we get there?”

  “Île de la Tortue?” The young woman slid off her stool and hurried over. “Oh, I can certainly help with that! I was born there, and my grandfather still lives there. In fact, I was just thinking of visiting him soon—I could go now and take you with me in my boat if you like? I wouldn’t charge you much, since I’d be going anyway.”

  Carmen smiled. This must be her lucky day! “That would be great,” she said. “I’m Carmen, by the way. This is Zack, and that’s Ivy.”

  “I’m Sasha. Come—let’s go now, before the tide turns.”

  * * *

  “I think I’m seasick.” Zack looked a little greenish as he climbed off the small sailboat and on to the lush, sun-warmed island of Tortuga some time later. Sasha had steered the vessel with the expertise of someone who’d been sailing all her life, but the waters of the channel had been rough and choppy.

  “Yeah, you don’t look good, bro.” Ivy hopped onto the dock and looked around. “This place looks nice, though.”

  “Thank you.” Sasha sounded pleased as she tied off the boat. “Most people don’t think so, I’m afraid.”

  “Jungle, beach, sunshine—what’s not to like?” Carmen waved a hand at the bucolic scenery.

  Sasha sounded sad when she responded. “My island is very poor, and most who live here have little hope of a better life. If only the tourists would come, or if I could . . .” Her cheeks went pink, and she shook her head. “Ah, never mind.”

  “No—what were you going to say?” Carmen asked, curious. For a second, she flashed back to Cal Cutlass’s diary—and the attack on the Tortugan village that had soured Cal on a pirate’s life. A village much like this one, perhaps?

  “As I said, very few people come here,” Sasha said. “My dream is that I could find a way to make them come—to show the world my beautiful island. You may not know, but once upon a time many famous pirates lived here . . .”

  “Yes, I think I’ve heard something about that,” Carmen said, trying not to smile.

  “Well, it might be silly.” Sasha ducked her head. “But I wish I could turn that history into a sort of resort. People would come to learn about the pirates, and perhaps they’d stay to enjoy the beautiful beaches and nature.”

  “Cool,” Ivy said. “Like one of those . . . whaddaya call ’em . . . eco-resorts. But with pirates!”

  “Exactly.” Sasha sighed, then laughed. “As I said, it is silly. Where would I ever get enough money to do something like that?” She fingered the coins Carmen had paid her for the boat ride.

  Carmen nodded sympathetically. But her mind was already returning to the quest. “Listen, do you happen to know if anyone else traveled here today?” She pointed from herself to Zack and Ivy. “Outsiders, like us?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll find out.” Sasha hurried over to an old woman seated on a stump nearby scraping the scales from a fish. Sasha spoke to her for a moment, then hurried back. “No—Miss Esterline says nobody has come today except a few locals. At least not through this port.”

  “Good.” Carmen glanced inland, toward the mountains rising from the jungle. “So, Sasha, what do you know about this island’s caves?”

  “I used to play in some of them as a child,” Sasha said. “Would you like to see them? I could take you there—it’s only a short walk.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for a specific cave.” Carmen hesitated, not sure how much to tell her. Sasha seemed trustworthy, but a lifetime dealing with criminals had taught Carmen to be cautious.

  “Yeah, the Cave of the Brethren!” Zack blurted out.

  “Zack!” Ivy smacked him on the shoulder. “We’re supposed to be undercover!”

  Sasha glanced from one of the siblings to the other, her expression a little confused. “I don’t know of any cave by that name,” sh
e said. “But my grandfather has lived here his whole life. He knows every square meter of this island. We could ask him.”

  “That would be great, thanks.” Carmen shot Zack a dirty look but decided not to worry about his slip. She was pretty good at reading people—yet another skill she’d picked up during her years at VILE Academy—and Sasha definitely seemed like a good egg.

  Sasha’s grandfather was a very old, very wrinkled man with a gap in his teeth. He listened to their request thoughtfully from his seat on an overturned crate outside a humble hut in the village. “Cave of the Brethren, eh?” he asked, his accent stronger than Sasha’s. “Yes, I know it. Nobody calls it that anymore, though. It was long known as a secret meeting place for some of the Brethren of the Coast, especially in the early days when the various captains often didn’t trust one another much.” He winked. “There may have been a pirate code back then laying out rules of conduct and fairness. But that doesn’t mean everyone followed it. Some, like Blackbeard and Henry Morgan, were known to live by their ideals. Others?” He shrugged. “Well, it’s said that Charles Vane was as quick to break the code as to follow it. Never mind even worse scoundrels, like Captain Goldtooth or François l’Olonnais.”

  “Wow, you know a lot about pirates!” Zack exclaimed.

  Sasha smiled fondly at the old man. “Yes, he’d make the perfect tour guide for my imaginary resort, eh?” she joked. “Granpapa, can you tell them how to get to this cave?”

  Her grandfather waved a hand toward the mountains. “It’s that way,” he pronounced. “But unless you can climb straight up a sheer cliff like a spider . . .” He winked at the visitors again. “Well, then you must take the long way around and up the crooked tree road.”

  Sasha looked worried. “I know the road he means,” she told Carmen. “It’s more of a goat trail than a proper road, though.”

  Her mention of goats made Carmen’s mind flash to Le Chèvre and the other operatives. “I need to get there—as soon as possible,” she said. “Are there any cars I could rent? Or maybe an all-terrain vehicle, if the road’s not very good?”

  “Yeah, I can drive anything,” Zack bragged. “Anywhere, anytime!”

  “Let me see what I can do . . .” Sasha hurried off.

  Twenty minutes later, Carmen was feeling impatient. Sasha had been asking around among everyone she knew, but it seemed that motorized transportation was difficult to come by in her grandfather’s village. “My cousin offers the use of his donkey, Wesley,” she told Carmen helplessly. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

  “Maybe we should just walk,” Ivy suggested. “I mean, if we can’t find a car, you-know-who probably can’t either. And we’ve got a head start, right?”

  “It would take a very long time to walk even to the base of the trail,” Sasha warned. “And that mountain is very steep. As Granpapa said, one side of it is basically a sheer cliff, and the other side isn’t much better.”

  A boy about five years old raced up to them, dressed only in faded cotton shorts. “Sasha, Sasha!” he cried, hopping up and down with excitement. “What about cousin Joseph’s zoom-zoom machine?”

  “Oh, I forgot about that!” Sasha snapped her fingers and grinned at Carmen. “Be right back . . .”

  Ten minutes later, Zack was pouring the last few drops from a rusty gas can into a small, rickety-looking motorbike. “You sure you can drive this thing, Carm?” he asked. “Maybe we can both fit on it.”

  Ivy glanced at the bike dubiously. “Don’t think so, bro. Carmen’ll be lucky if that thing can carry her up the mountain, let alone trying to squeeze your big behind on there with her.”

  “I’ll be fine, guys.” Carmen climbed aboard. Sasha gave Carmen directions, and soon the motorbike was chug-chugging along the trail heading for the mountain.

  Chapter 16

  VILE Academy

  “Well, this is unwelcome news,” Professor Maelstrom murmured, staring at the comm screen, which was flashing headlines from all over the world. He picked up a remote control and froze the screen, backing up until he found the article that had caught his eye.

  Dr. Bellum looked up from her own virtual screen. “What? Did Tigress and her crew manage to do something else wrong?”

  “No, nothing like that. They’re finally on their way to Haiti as we speak.” Maelstrom stroked his chin and stared at the news article. “But it seems an old pirate’s diary was stolen from the Tower of London last night. The authorities are offering a reward for its safe return.”

  “Awfully coincidental, no?” Countess Cleo raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  “Maybe we should send out an operative to look for the diary.” Coach Brunt’s face twisted into a smirk. “We’ll need that reward money if your precious Tigress fails to stop Carmen Sandiego.”

  “She won’t fail,” Maelstrom snapped. “But I wonder . . .” He let his voice trail off, feeling a twinge of unease.

  “You wonder if Carmen Sandiego is the one who stole that diary?” Shadowsan frowned. “I’m wondering the very same thing myself.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Maelstrom waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “As I said, Tigress and her crew are closing in on the treasure.”

  “Good.” Countess Cleo stretched out an arm to study the rings she was wearing on every finger. “First dibs on the pirate booty,” she said. “I could really use some new baubles.”

  Chapter 17

  The Mountains of Tortuga

  A couple of hours later, Carmen grimaced as the motorbike bounced over another stone in the steep, rocky, twisting trail up the mountain. It wasn’t the first stone she’d hit—more like the hundred and first—but this time the bike landed with an unsettling hiss and clunk and the old-school bicycle horn attached to the handlebars let out a strangled squawk. A second later, the motor cut out with a crunch.

  “Bad news,” she said into her comm-link as she twisted the key and the engine grumbled reluctantly back to life. “I think my tire’s busted. The engine isn’t sounding too good either. Kind of a miracle it’s lasted this long, actually.”

  That was the truth. Carmen was pretty sure the motorbike was older than she was, and that was being generous. The handlebars were rusted, the engine let out a funny little ping every few seconds, and the tires were all but bald.

  “Never mind, Red,” Player said. “You should be almost there.”

  “Good.” Carmen peered ahead. “At least a good friend called gravity should help me getting back down—as long as the tires don’t actually fall off this thing.” Just ahead, a tree had fallen across the path. “I’m going to hoof it from here.”

  She climbed off the motorbike and grabbed the bag that held her trench coat and other tools. It was way too hot to wear anything more than the shorts and T-shirt she had on, so she just slung the bag over her shoulder and set off. She hopped over the fallen tree and followed the trail up a steep hill and around a large boulder. As she rounded the corner, she stopped short, startled by the sight of the ground disappearing in front of her.

  “Now I know what Sasha’s Granpapa was talking about,” she said, peering over the edge of a sheer cliff, dotted with only a few scrubby plants and protruding rocks between where she was standing and the jungle floor nearly a thousand feet below.

  “What was that?” Player asked.

  “Never mind. Still looking for the cave.” She edged past the drop-off and continued up the steep trail, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of a cave. Even so, she almost missed it—if a bird hadn’t flown out at that moment, she might never have spotted the dark opening hidden behind a tangle of vines.

  “I think I found it,” she told Player, pushing aside the foliage. “I’m going in.”

  She stepped into the cave, guided by the thin beam of her flashlight. The cave entrance was narrow and low, but after a few yards it opened up into a large, high-ceilinged chamber. Carmen swung the light around, checking out the rocky walls and rough floor, trying to imagine a group of pirates h
uddled around a fire . . .

  She forgot about that when the flashlight beam caught a marking on the back wall. Carmen hurried closer.

  “I found something,” she told Player. “I think it’s the clue!”

  She pulled out her compact and scanned the coded message. Even in the dim light of her flashlight, she recognized several familiar symbols:

  “Got it,” Player said. “Who has the decoder?”

  “Oh.” Carmen realized the little round device was in the pocket of her coat. “Me. Hang on a sec . . .”

  She took out her cellphone and snapped a photo. Then she hurried out of the cave, squinting to prepare herself for the strong afternoon sun after the dark cave.

  “Don’t leave us hanging, Red,” Player said. “What’s it say?”

  “Working on it.” Carmen perched on a boulder, propping the cellphone on one knee so she could see the picture she’d taken. Then she dug the decoder out of her bag. “I’ll read out each letter and you write it down, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Carmen glanced at the phone, then spun the wheel of the decoder. “Okay, the first letter is a W . . .”

  She kept going until she’d done the whole thing. Then Player read it back.

  WEST POINT

  EIGHTY PACES

  SW FROM HEART

  ROCK

  “I’m guessing ‘west point’ could refer to the westernmost point of the island—there’s a beach there that looks like a pretty good match for the one on the map,” Player said. “It’ll be dark in a couple of hours but there’s probably still time for you to—”

  “Carmen Sandiego—halt where you are!” a voice cried out, drowning out the rest of Player’s comment.

  Carmen leaped to her feet as Chase Devineaux stepped into view, red-faced, rumpled, and sweaty. “Whoa,” she said, startled. “What—how—where’d you come from, Inspector?”