The Mapmaker and the Ghost

by Sarvenaz Tash

  “So I’m pretty sure it’s worth a lot of money,” Goldenrod concluded. “And I can tell you where it is, if you just let both of us go.”

  Snotshot and Birch both stared at Goldenrod. Her brother looked confused and still quite scared. His captor looked as if she was thinking—which was at least a good sign that she was considering the offer.

  “And what if you’re lying?” she finally asked Goldenrod. “What then?”

  “If I’m lying, I really have no doubt you’ll find a way to hunt both of us down,” Goldenrod said wisely.

  “You bet I will,” Snotshot snarled, looking pretty pleased with this assessment of herself.

  Goldenrod nodded. “And that’s why I’m not lying. The flower in question is also close by, so just in case it’s not exactly where I say it is, you could probably chase us down anyway.”

  The girl considered a moment more. “Fine. It’s a deal, but—”

  “But I also need to know that you’ll actually let us go,” Goldenrod said firmly. “I need to trust you.”

  Snotshot scowled a little, but then gave one curt nod. “I’ll keep my word.”

  Goldenrod had nothing to go on but her instincts, but just then, she chose to believe the dirty, older girl. She held out the jar and the gardening shears in front of her. “Let Birch go, and I’ll give these to you and tell you exactly where it is.”

  Snotshot let go of Birch’s arm, and he immediately ran over to Goldenrod’s side. Goldenrod took the few steps to where Snotshot was and handed her the jar and shears. She then told her exactly where to find the blue rosebush.

  “You can’t miss it,” Goldenrod said. “It’s bright, bright blue, and if you smell it, it won’t smell like any flower you’ve ever smelled before. But you have to get it today. It only blooms for three days every fifty years, and today is the last day. When you cut off the flowers, you’ll need to seal them in the jar. They’ll remain in bloom for one week if you make sure the lid’s airtight.”

  Despite everything, Snotshot at least looked like she was paying attention. If nothing else, maybe the flower would still find its way into the next edition of The Encyclopedia of North American Flora and Fauna. Though it didn’t make Goldenrod too happy to think of Snotshot’s sneering picture next to it.

  “When you have it,” Goldenrod continued anyway, “take it to a botanist or scientist, okay? They’ll know what to do with it.” For a moment, she considered warning her about the razor-sharp thorns, but then decided she didn’t particularly owe the older girl all of her information. “Just be careful with it,” she said. “It’s very valuable.”

  “A flower, huh?” Snotshot asked.

  “Yes,” Goldenrod said.

  “Fine,” Snotshot said. “And you won’t tell anybody about anything you saw or heard here. Especially this … it never happened. Or I will find out, and I will come get you.”

  Birch looked terrified, but Goldenrod just gave a short nod. Then she grabbed his hand and, without looking back once, they ran.

  20

  A BONE TO PICK

  Birch ran with wild, almost joyous abandon. Finally, finally they were on their way back home.

  He couldn’t quite believe how perfectly Goldenrod had engineered their escape, even though he had witnessed it with his own eyes. But then again, he should know better than to doubt his sister—his brilliant, wonderful sister.

  True that he didn’t quite know what she meant with the whole flower business, and he still wasn’t sure what was up with her talking to herself. Though, if he had to be honest, Goldenrod had always been a little eccentric. Then again, it could have all been a part of her grander scheme. And it had worked, hadn’t it?

  Of course it had! And wouldn’t it just be for the best if he ignored the fact that she seemed to be muttering to herself even now? Birch stole a side-glance at Goldenrod as he continued to run alongside her and then decided to turn his attention elsewhere.

  Like on how fine everything was. His sister wasn’t crazy. They were going to get out of these woods perfectly safe and sound. And he, Birch Awl Moram, was going to happily spend the rest of his summer vacation relishing the boredom. He was going to wade in boredom until his fingers got pruney and never attempt anything as ridiculous as an adventure again.

  He could almost see the edge of the woods now. He started to run faster toward the beautiful, unfiltered light, toward certain freedom.

  Then, he heard the sound of snapping twigs and a drawling voice laughing almost directly to his right. Goldenrod must have heard it too because Birch immediately felt her grab his backpack and pull him down behind a bush.

  They had been only moments away from running smack dab into Toe Jam and No-Bone.

  No-Bone was sweating. He had used the fifty dollars he’d weaseled out of that supremely gullible chiropractor to buy a camel-colored faux-leather jacket. It was entirely too hot to be wearing it, but he thought it looked too cool to take it off. He had never had anything like it when he was traveling with the circus or at the orphanage afterward. He particularly liked the way it stretched along with him as he maneuvered his body into all of its impossible positions.

  No-Bone had a very vague recollection of his dad owning a leather jacket similar to it. It was one of the few pictures he could conjure up in his mind of his parents, both sitting atop a shiny, chrome motorcycle. It’s possible the image in his head was from the morning before the accident. Or maybe his imagination had just dramatized it in that way.

  He was six when the accident happened and knew enough about himself to be violently against being sent to an orphanage. Back when his parents were still alive, whenever he threw a tantrum, his father would say, “If you don’t like it here, why don’t you run away and join a circus?”

  So when he was standing at the train platform with his temporary guardian, looking up at the colorful sign for the Orange & Clyde Big Top Act, it seemed to him like, well, a sign. All No-Bone had to do was dodge his guardian for a minute, take the train from the other platform, and then eventually tell his sob story to a few clowns who would convince the ringmaster to let them keep him.

  Of course, that’s where he had learned to maneuver his spine. Xiao, the head acrobat, had taken notice almost right away when he’d spied No-Bone trying to fit himself into the circus bus’s luggage rack. At first, No-Bone had thought that the small, fierce-looking man had come to yell at him, and he’d quickly tumbled off the rack and tried to run away. But once Xiao had caught up with him—which incidentally was in about two seconds, in case you ever have the bright idea to try and flee from a top acrobat—he’d gently put his hand on No-Bone’s shoulder and simply said, “You’ve got talent. Would you like to learn more about how to use it?”

  From there, the lessons had begun, and No-Bone had spent hours and hours practicing everything from tumbles and somersaults to high-flying, gravity-defying trapeze tricks. His proudest moment came at the age of seven when he officially became the youngest performer to ever grace the Orange & Clyde stage.

  No-Bone had been heartbroken when the show was forced to pack up. He was nine, and Xiao was going back to China. The clowns and lion tamers and all the various other friends he had made all had their own lives to get to and work to find. So he had wound up in an orphanage anyway, here in boring, old Pilmilton. Sure, he enjoyed winning limbo competitions, but he had to believe there were bigger and better things out there for a boy of his talents. That’s what Spitbubble had promised him anyway: some excitement.

  “I’m bored,” Toe Jam said as if he could read No-Bone’s thoughts. “How come I never get to be in on any of the plans?” He kicked some dirt with the tip of his expensive sneakers.

  No-Bone smirked. It was true that Toe Jam really had no part in tomorrow’s proceedings, whereas he, No-Bone, would be a star player. Teasingly, he said, “Come on. You really wanna get involved with that stuff? This way we do all the work, and you get all the benefits.” As he spoke, No-Bone went out of his way to bend backward un
derneath a particularly low tree branch.

  “I guess,” Toe Jam sulked. “But I wanna do something. What about all that adventure Spitbubble is always talking about? What about being a hoodlum?”

  No-Bone had straightened up again to his neutral C posture. He thought for a moment. “Well, if you really wanna do something, I have an idea. And it’ll impress Spitbubble and the others too.”

  Toe Jam’s face immediately brightened. “What is it?”

  “You know that old lady who lives at the edge of the woods?”

  “Yeah?” he said hesitantly.

  “Well,” No-Bone casually drawled out, “everyone says she keeps a load of cash under her mattress ’cause she doesn’t trust banks.”

  “Who’s everyone?” Toe Jam asked skeptically.

  “I don’t know. Everyone. I just heard it, okay?”

  “How d’you know it’s true?”

  “I don’t … but there’s only one way to find out,” No-Bone said.

  Toe Jam remained quiet.

  “We break into her house, you idiot,” No-Bone said.

  “Yeah, I get where you’re going,” Toe Jam immediately retorted. “I just don’t know if it’s such a good idea …,” he trailed off.

  “Dude, all I’ve heard you do all day is complain about not doing anything. And now I’m giving us something to do … and you don’t wanna? What about being a hoodlum?” No-Bone mimicked Toe Jam in a high singsongy voice. Sometimes, it was just too easy to goad this rich kid who had never had to worry about getting enough food or Christmas presents a day in his life.

  Toe Jam punched him on the arm. “Stop.”

  “Stop,” No-Bone continued in the same voice.

  Out of nowhere, his head cocked down like a bull’s, Toe Jam rammed into No-Bone’s curved middle. Both of them fell into a heap on the floor.

  All right, so maybe No-Bone had underestimated the richie’s fighting skills. After all, he probably had a private wrestling ring or something in that giant mansion of his. Still, he thought, very little could actually be a match for his stupendously amazing spine tricks. And to prove this point, he started to curve his body around Toe Jam’s limbs like a snake.

  21

  TOUGHER, STRONGER, GROSSER

  The rosebush was exactly where the girl had said it would be, but Snotshot was eyeing it suspiciously anyway.

  In retrospect, it had probably been pretty stupid to let the girl and her brother go. She had to admit, as weak as the girl seemed like she might be physically, she had proven herself to be rather on the smart side. This had all probably been some trick, and Snotshot was angry at herself for falling for it.

  After all, a flower? Really? What a stupid, girly thing to be after. She looked skeptically at the lush blue roses sprouting all over the bush. She had probably passed this bush hundreds of times and had never even noticed it before. That’s because she didn’t have time for flowers. Or anything else, really, that a girl her age was supposedly meant to fawn over.

  When Spitbubble had come upon Snotshot in the woods, a few days after she had run away from home for good, he had thought he could bully her just because she was a girl. All the kids had, really. She had been forced to prove them wrong. She had had to be just as loud, just as tough, and just as gross as any of them. Louder, tougher, and grosser if possible. That’s why she had chosen the special “talent” that she had. The boogers were enough to make all the boys cringe, even Toe Jam, who was hands down the least likely to be found within a ten-foot radius of a shower.

  Luckily, her ex-home life had prepared her for all of this: being tough and being independent. She didn’t want to think about that, though. She had gotten herself out of her old life, and she wasn’t going back. Instead, she focused on the plant in front of her.

  Looking around to make sure no one was in sight to witness it, Snotshot bent down to take a small whiff. Immediately, a rush of memories flooded her. Suddenly, she was five years old and digging a hole on a sandy beach. The hole was big and round and perfect, and close enough to the ocean that the bottom of it had filled with cool, salty water. She and her dad were dipping their feet into it, and there was a wild, crazy sound in the air. She soon realized it was the sound of her own laughing, a carefree and ringing laugh that she hadn’t even remembered she had. This was all before, of course. Before her mom had left and her dad had become so sad that it was impossible to live with him.

  Her breath caught in her chest, and Snotshot was suddenly whipped back to her present-day reality. She shook her head, wanting to shake herself free of the memory she had just unwittingly happened upon. No, she thought. It isn’t any good to think of those days. They’re gone, and I have to move forward. Tougher and stronger. And grosser, when necessary.

  Even better, wealthy, if possible. Gently, since she didn’t want to damage her possible treasure trove and since she had spotted some nasty-looking thorns on the flower’s stem, Snotshot held a rose by its bud as she used the shears the girl had given her to cut it. She placed it carefully in the old jam jar. Then she cut another and another. The jam jar would only hold five, so she left the other few on the bush as they were.

  She closed the jar lid tight, just as directed, and she looked at the flowers through the glass. They seemed to give off a faint glow, almost like weak blue Christmas lights.

  She held the jar low by her side as she walked back toward the cavern. She didn’t think it was necessary to share this discovery with anyone else. For one thing, there was no need for anyone to know that she had even seen the two kids after the big idiot let them escape.

  For another, if the girl had been right and the flowers were worth a lot of money—a possibility that despite her natural skepticism, she realized she was inclined to believe—well then, why should she have to share that with anyone?

  22

  A DUSTY DISCOVERY

  Goldenrod knew Meriwether was not happy with her. He had made that much abundantly clear during his reappearance before they had almost run into Toe Jam and No-Bone.

  After listening to a brief lecture from the ghost, which by the way proved to be just as frustrating as a lecture from any solid adult, Goldenrod had pleaded her case to him. What was she supposed to have done? Not only was it the only way she had thought of to get her and Birch safely away from the clutches of Spitbubble’s gang but, she pointed out, it was also the only way she had thought of to get the rose cut in time. After all, it was either today or another whole fifty years.

  Meriwether didn’t have much of a response to that.

  “Believe me, I want to get it back as much as you do,” Goldenrod had told him. “And I promise I’ll try to come up with a way.”

  He had muttered something that sounded like, “Well, you know where to find me. Looks like I’ll be here another half a century,” before vanishing again.

  She needed to come up with a plan to reclaim the blue rose, but that would have to wait. Because once again, she had another more pressing matter bothering her.

  The Morams had seized the opportunity and noise Toe Jam and No-Bone’s impromptu wrestling match had caused to make another attempt at running out of the forest. Finally, they could see the sun streaming through the edge of the woods. They were almost home, and Goldenrod could see Birch break out into a wide grin.

  She was sorry to do it, but she had to at least tell him where she was going. She grabbed on to his backpack. “Hey,” she panted. “Listen, I have to warn the old lady.” She pointed in the direction of the cottage that could now be clearly glimpsed from between the trees. “Before I go home.”

  “Who is she?” Birch asked.

  “She’s my friend. She lives in there. I have to tell her what we overheard, but I understand if you want to just go home,” Goldenrod said.

  Birch looked extremely reluctant. Goldenrod could almost see the wheels turning in his head about whether to brave the rest of the way home by himself or to at least stick with his sister, even though she was choosing to go on ye
t another mission that didn’t involve the safety of their house.

  He sighed, but nodded and pointed toward the cottage.

  Goldenrod gave a small smile. “Come on. We’ll make it quick.” She led the way up the path of the brilliant little garden, to the porch with the metal table and chairs, and to the front door.

  She knocked.

  There was no answer. Birch nervously looked in the direction of the forest.

  Goldenrod knocked again.

  Still no answer. Birch grabbed the buckle on his backpack and started to squeeze it.

  On the third knock, the door to the old lady’s house swung open a tiny bit.

  “Oh, great … she doesn’t even lock the door? Those jerks are gonna have it so easy,” Goldenrod mumbled as she pushed the door open a bit more and peeked around the corner.

  It was only at this moment, when Goldenrod went to call out the old lady’s name, that she realized she didn’t know it. She was surprised at herself. What sort of Legendary Adventurer wouldn’t gather all the facts? she thought.

  “Hello?” she finally called out. “Anyone home? It’s Goldenrod.”

  She stepped a little farther into the house.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Birch asked.

  “Yes. I told you, she’s my friend,” Goldenrod said as she walked farther into the room and Birch followed.

  The house was dark. All the shades were drawn. And as Birch quickly closed the front door, the room grew darker still. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dimness. At first, all they could see was an abundance of dust dancing in the light leaking out of the closed blinds. But slowly, they began to realize that the dust wasn’t just dancing there; it absolutely permeated everything in the little house.

  Goldenrod, who now also realized that she had never before set foot in the old lady’s house (she was very mad at herself for having missed so many details—Meriwether Lewis would probably be even more appalled with her than he already was), was aghast. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that no one had lived in the cottage for years.