The rest of the crew piled into the longboats and set out toward the treasure island, which, from the ship, appeared only as a dark shadow hidden behind the early-morning mist. But as they approached, its outlined form became more distinct and Alex could feel a great swell of pride in her chest. She had found it. Alexandra Morningside, a kid of ten-and-a-half, had found the elusive island of the Wigpowder treasure.
THE FORTIETH CHAPTER
In which we get to go on a treasure hunt.
The island was quite exactly what you would expect a treasure island to be. The sort of place that you create late at night in your imagination when you can’t fall asleep and your parents won’t let you come downstairs to watch TV. In places, mountainous and leafy. In others, dark with rocky outcrops. It was an island perfectly suited not to have been charted on any map, and even more suited to hide a massive treasure in its bowels.
And so Alex sat in quiet amazement with her fellow pirates in the longboat, the waves crashing into them, as Jack maneuvered them past the reef, landing eventually on the long, white sandy beach. She quietly stared upward toward the interior of the island as the rest of the pirates unloaded the equipment and would have continued in her silence had it not been broken by Steele approaching her from behind.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she said, placing a firm hand on Alex’s shoulder. “For years I’ve fantasized about what it would be like, and now I find it is exactly as I had expected it to be.”
“But more,” replied Alex softly.
Steele looked down at Alex and nodded. “But more,” she agreed.
Alex wanted very much to be drawn into the magnificence of the moment, to luxuriate in the special bond she had with Steele, but she couldn’t help but feel slightly unhappy. As in perhaps it ought to be Mr. Underwood standing over her shoulder and not the most notorious pirate captain this side of the equator. She shook her head fiercely. Mr. Underwood wouldn’t have appreciated it as Steele and she did. He probably would have brought his marking to do.
“Captain!” called out Boudicca. “We’re set!”
Steele released Alex’s shoulder, and the two of them walked to where the crew had congregated. They had each piled high on their backs a variety of interesting-looking implements, from shovels and picks to strange, corkscrew-shaped scissors. Only Dude Hector carried nothing but his usual tiny flame.
“Good, good,” said Steele, climbing onto a rock so she could be seen by everyone. “Before we start on this momentous adventure, I just wanted to say how proud I am of you all, my crew. It’s been years of heartache and toil with very little reward. Years of murder and pillage with very unsatisfactory results. And I want to thank you for your courage through the hardship. You are all about to be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams!” There was an excited murmur in the crowd. “And as an extra special treat, I thought that, upon our return to the ship, we could have a bit of fun with the last member of the Wigpowder line. I do have my preferences, of course, but as this is a democracy, everyone have a think about it as the day passes.” Alex cowered at the thought of what they might come up with, and nervously looked at the others laughing to themselves.
“For too long,” continued Steele, “have those Wigpowders lorded their ancestry over us, but in a matter of hours we will show this pathetic excuse for a man who truly is the most fearsome pirate of all time. The Infamous Wigpowder’s memory will be but a footnote to our accomplishments. The Infamous Wigpowder’s treasure a mere drop in the well of our fortune. The Infamous Wigpowder’s name like a distant echo, a song whose melody has been forgotten and whose words you can’t remember!” There was a great cheer. “And Pirate Captain Steele the Inevitable and the Ironic Gentleman?” called out Steele above the roar. “We shall become immortal! For it is the winner who writes the history books, the winner who takes it all, the winner . . . who lives on . . . forever!”
The noise was deafening. Had it been late at night in a small town not unlike Alex’s, someone might have thought about opening a window and yelling at them to keep quiet but then changed their mind because they didn’t want to cause trouble. Alex felt decidedly uncomfortable and stood silently as the other pirates whooped and hollered and hugged each other. It was an excellent speech, Alex had to admit, using the rule of three brilliantly well and playing to baser competitive spirits. But punishing Mr. Underwood? She wasn’t so sure she was up for that.
Steele was gesturing to her avid followers for quiet. “Of course,” she said, “of course, we can’t be anything until we find that treasure, so. . . .” She looked at Alex, who obligingly joined the captain at her side. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?” And she passed the map over to Alex with a smile.
Alex opened it slowly, feeling the intense stares of the crew bearing down on her. “It, it seems straightforward enough,” she said looking over the map carefully. “We need to follow the map until we get to here.” She pointed at the “X” slightly left of center on the picture of the island. “The Red Lagoon.”
“Red, red, red, red, red!”
“Jack!” snapped Steele.
“Red.”
Steele turned to Alex, ignoring Jack. “Is that it?”
“Well, I don’t know. . . .” Alex was still unsure what to make of that poem at the side. With a fierce sigh, Steele grabbed the map away from Alex.
“Time for some decision-making!” she announced. “Let’s get on with it, people!”
She grabbed Alex by the shoulder and led her to the front of the queue. While she resented the action, Alex was still excited. After all, this was the adventure bit, the bit she had been looking forward to most. And they started into the jungle.
But after several hours of mosquitoes and the hot, hazy sun on her back, Alex was feeling less inclined to keep her spirits high. She had a sense that the rest of the crew’s feelings were similar to hers. She could hear them grumbling to each other and occasionally an unhappy “Jack!” would float over the crowd to where Alex and Steele and Boudicca were leading the expedition. The only person who didn’t seem to lose the spirit of the moment was Steele herself. She was extremely focused, leading the group with firm determination and an excellent sense of direction.
They were rewarded for their patience six long hours later. Boudicca was cutting her way through particularly stubborn flora when she suddenly fell through the thick vines out of sight.
“Boudicca!” called out Alex. She rushed ahead and then carefully felt her way through the depression. The ground was slanting downward, and it was tricky keeping her footing, and then suddenly the forest disappeared and she found herself standing looking down at a beautiful, still lagoon of the clearest turquoise. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the incredible beauty of what she had discovered. Steele joined her and then eventually the rest of the pirates lined up beside them.
They were standing at the top of a rather steep hill. The lagoon was set into the base of the valley so that the whole thing looked a bit like an open umbrella with water collected in the bottom of it. To the east extended a long, flat expanse of land that disappeared out of sight. To the west the sun was just beginning its evening descent.
“It’s beautiful!” exclaimed Boudicca, sitting a few meters down the edge of the hill.
“It’s too big,” replied Steele angrily. She looked at the map. “This doesn’t make sense. Where’s the treasure?”
Alex looked at Steele’s frustrated face. How could she not, even for the briefest moment, enjoy this view? “Well, I think the poem could tell us something,” she said, quietly. Steele looked at her, then at the map again. Then she shoved it back toward Alex.
“Well then, what does it mean?”
Alex read the poem again. “I . . . I don’t really know . . .”
Steele sighed loudly again then turned to the crew. “Let’s set up camp down there by the lagoon,” she announced and they promptly set about doing so.
Twenty minutes later several tents had been set up a
long the shore of the lagoon. A strong fire had been started easily by Dude Hector, and a few card games had broken out. This resulted occasionally in a small duel or fisticuffs over why someone had five aces, and would be resolved after one person had been seriously injured. Steele watched the whole thing with great enjoyment and would sometimes even point out who was cheating during this particular round, simply to see them go at it again.
Alex had removed herself from the activities to study the map more closely. She had wandered around the east side of the lagoon and found a nice large rock to sit on directly opposite the imminent sunset so she could watch it from a front row seat. She looked at the map and read again:
When the earth makes its peace,
And the elements catch fire,
With a primarily high feeling
Shall you find your desire.
What could it possibly mean? she deliberated angrily. The thought was interrupted by a sudden cry.
“Look, look, look!” called out a distant Jack from the camp.
Alex looked over to where the pirates were congregated and saw them gazing out toward the water. And so she did too, her curiosity sparked. Instantly, she was on her feet. The lagoon, which only a moment ago had been a still turquoise, was slowly turning a pale red, reflecting the light of the sunset. That was why it was called the Red Lagoon, thought Alex. And that might be what “the elements catching fire” was referring to—the fact that it appeared the lagoon was as red as fire! But what about the earth making peace?
Alex had a sudden inspiration. She carefully jumped off the rock she was on and took a few steps back.
There is this saying, “the tip of the iceberg,” that people use in reference to a small problem that seems big, but is nothing compared to a bigger problem that the smaller problem hints at. And the reason they refer to an iceberg is that, while icebergs seem huge on top of the water, underneath they are even bigger. And that’s where the expression comes from. Well, Alex was about to experience something of the sensation in discovering the bottom part of an iceberg. She had been sitting on a rock, but what she hadn’t realized was that it was merely a small outcropping at the base of a gigantic boulder. When Alex took a step to the side and looked at the giant boulder, she saw how time had eroded a small crevice in the top so that it looked a lot like two fingers making a peace sign, like the hippies used to do.
“Earth making peace,” she said aloud. Suddenly everything clicked. She gazed back at the lagoon, which was getting redder by the minute. Then she gazed at the rock. It produced a long shadow extending away from the sunset, getting longer as the water got redder. Alex suddenly understood that once the water was “on fire” or had reached a certain point in the sunset, the tip of the shadow of the rock would mark where the treasure was. She had very little time.
“Captain!” she called out across the water. “Captain! I’ve figured it out, hurry!”
THE FORTY-FIRST CHAPTER
In which Alex uses her problem-solving skills to great effect.
With a quick order, Jack had been stationed at the far end of the shadow, slowly following its progress. The rest of the pirates and Alex were standing at the edge of the lagoon by the rock, watching the sunset. Alex wasn’t exactly sure what they were waiting for, how they would know when the shadow had reached its mark. But she had faith that they would understand when the time came.
“You are so clever!” enthused Steele, tousling Alex’s hair. “I never would have figured it out!”
Well, it takes patience, thought Alex, something Steele was quite obviously lacking.
And then it happened. The lagoon caught fire. How it had happened, none of them really knew. It probably had something to do with refracting light and mist over the water, or some invisible vapors they weren’t aware of. But it didn’t matter how it happened. For an instant, for longer than an instant, the water of the Red Lagoon appeared to catch fire, and flames danced and played on the surface.
“It’s on fire,” said Dude Hector in wonder. He sat on the edge of the lagoon, cross-legged, and gazed into the distance.
There was a stillness as the lagoon burned. No one said anything, no one did anything. For one brief moment the Wigpowder treasure was completely forgotten, and the majesty and power of nature took hold of them. And then the fire danced out. And darkness fell. And it was over.
Steele fired her pistol into the air, which was the signal for Jack to stop walking (by now he was far along the clearing, unable to hear them otherwise). Then there was a crackling sound and Dude Hector stood, carrying his small flame in his hand. He lit several torches, and suddenly, without any order being given, they all headed for Jack Scratch, who had started singing a little song he liked to call “Jack” which went a bit like this:
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack,
Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.
He was standing in a clearing lit strongly by the moonlight. Behind him, strikingly silhouetted against the night sky, were ten very distinct palm trees in a row.
“That must mean something,” said Fenelle, putting on her glasses.
Alex nodded. There was no way that such a sight could be anything but relevant to their quest. And somehow those last lines of the poem were the key.
“Well, Alex, you’re on again,” said Steele lightly, but Alex could hear the rage seething under the surface.
Alex did what she always did when she needed to face a problem. She sat down. With the light of the torches around her, she read and reread the last lines of the poem. They made very little sense, and didn’t seem to refer to ten palm trees at all. She wracked her brain for what the lines could possibly mean. “A primarily high feeling”? It suggested that when they found the treasure they wouldn’t be altogether satisfied, but that didn’t seem right and definitely didn’t help in finding it in the first place. Time passed. The pirates got restless, and a fight broke out between Jack and his hammer. The hammer won, as it tended to. And the brief distraction was over far too soon.
And poor Alex sat still, on her own, with only Dude Hector standing over her, playing with his flame and allowing her to read the map. Not that she needed his light anymore; she had by now completely memorized the poem. Come on! she thought angrily to herself. Think! There was an answer; she just had to find it. Look at it like a math question. The solution is out there somewhere. “Primarily high.” She closed her eyes and thought hard. Then she opened them wide. What if, she thought slowly, what if it actually was a math question?
She looked at the wording. “Primarily” was such a strange word and didn’t even fit the rhythm of the poem. The word stuck out like a sore thumb. What if . . . what if it wasn’t meant to be the word “primarily” as in “first of all,” but rather the word “prime” as in “prime number,” a number indivisible by anything other than itself and one. Alex shifted position. So then the “high” was in reference to . . . she looked up at the ten trees. Ten. The highest prime number out of ten! And that, Alex knew, had to be seven. Could that be the answer? Could her school math truly have had such a practical purpose? She looked at the trees again. The seventh tree. The treasure was buried under the seventh tree.
“I . . . I’ve got it,” she said, nervously approaching Steele, who was lazily playing with her dagger.
Steele looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“It’s . . . that is, I believe that the treasure is buried under the seventh tree,” said Alex, handing the map back to Steele. Steele looked at Alex carefully and then at the map. She read the poem to herself and looked quizzically at Alex, who nodded firmly.
“Well then, let’s dig under the seventh tree!” Steele rose to her feet and started to head toward it. She stopped and looked behind her at her crew. “Come on, you lazy lunk-heads, d�
�you think I’m going to do any of the manual labor? Up, get up, now!”
“Couldn’t we just wait for morning?” asked Whippet, a small, hunched pirate whom Alex hadn’t really gotten to know yet. Had she known him better she might have learned that Whippet was actually from a long line of evildoers, and had as much pedigree as a show dog. His father had been first mate aboard the Ugly Duckling, and his mother had been a notorious cat burglar. She, in turn, was the daughter of L’Homme sans Coeur, Captain of the notorious Elle Est Morte. And his father’s father was, of course, the heinously corrupted lawman, the right dishonorable Judge Cyanide. Whippet also had two sisters, both of whom sailed on the Spanish ship Los Diablos. With his considerable heritage, you would have thought that he would have been a fantastic pirate. But he was the black sheep of the family—lazy, with a bad back, and not much good to anyone. Which is why it was no great loss when Steele shot him.
“Any other complaints?” she asked sweetly, smoke casually rising from the barrel of her gun.
Surprisingly, there were no other complaints, and soon they were excavating the ground beneath the seventh tree, occasionally being threatened by Steele, who was overseeing. Alex secretly crossed her fingers that she was right in her interpretation of the poem, and the more they dug, the more tightly she crossed them, as they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. She hated to think what would happen if she was wrong. And so she didn’t.
When Jack let out a howl of joy, though, her fears evaporated. Alex ran over to the pit, as did Steele, and they stared deep down into it.
“We’ve got it, Captain!” announced Boudicca.
“Yes, yes, I see that! So hurry!” replied Steele, a slight quiver in her voice.
The pirates pulled and pushed and dug deeper still, and eventually a large solid treasure chest with a solid brass lock was unearthed and brought to the top of the hole. Without warning, Steele fired at it with her pistol, and the lock burst open. She started to dive down to open the chest, but stopped. She sat very quietly looking at it, her hands delicately tracing its edges. And she looked at her crew, who were sweaty and sandy from the dig, and she smiled at them. Then she carefully lifted the lid.
Alex and the Ironic Gentleman Page 22