by E. S. Farber
I looked up into the icy blue eyes of an old lady dressed all in white. She wore a big white hat with big white flowers on it. Oh, no! It was the Lioness. My stomach felt like it dropped to my shoes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She stared at me for a long moment. I wasn’t sure if she even heard me. But before she walked away, I swear I saw her smile.
A little while later, my dad stuck his head out the door to tell us it was time to get started. Lucky for me, Bryce and the Lioness were nowhere in sight and the punch was cleaned up, so there was no evidence of the fight.
Roger and I followed my dad into the bathroom with the leak. We both stopped short.
I’ve seen a lot of plumbing problems in my life, but this one was such a mess it even made me forget all about big-mouth Bryce Billings. Not only had the toilet overflowed, but the sink and bathtub had backed up, too. There was water and black goop all over the floor. The leak was so bad that part of the floor had sunk in.
“Let the games begin!” said Uncle Norman, handing Roger a mop.
My dad motioned me over to where he was busy unbolting the toilet from the floor. I sighed and knelt down to open the black case and let out the snake. Don’t worry—it wasn’t a real snake. A snake is the coiled metal wire plumbers use to unclog pipes.
“Just a little farther,” said my dad, after I had uncoiled almost the entire snake for him to send down the pipe. “Turn it again.”
I sighed and turned the crank again. But whatever was stuck in the pipe was too far down for the snake to reach.
“Carmine, come on,” said Uncle Norman. He stuck his head out from under the sink, where he was tightening a ring nut on a new section of pipe.
“Come on, what?” My dad pretended like he didn’t know what Uncle Norman meant.
“This is the perfect time to try out the Zapper.”
“Zapper?” asked Roger. He looked up from mopping the crud that leaked out when the toilet was unbolted. “Sounds dangerous.”
“The Zapper 290 has a four-amp universal motor (amp is short for ampere, which is the basic unit electric current is measured in, by the way) and it’s set to run at 325 RPM (short for revolutions per minute),” I explained. “It’s for drains one and three-quarter inches to three inches wide, and the snake is one hundred feet long. It even takes pictures.”
“Whoa, Fish, how do you know all that?” asked my dad as he pulled the snake back out of the pipe.
“Plumbing kind of runs in my family?” I joked. “Oh, and it cost a whopping—”
“Don’t remind me,” interrupted my dad.
“Remember the advertising?” asked Uncle Norman. “The Zapper goes where no snake has ever gone before.”
The two of them cracked up. Plumbers have a weird sense of humor.
“All right, let’s give the Zapper a try,” said my dad. “Fish, run down to the basement and check the water valves.”
I headed down the hall. The basement was just past the kitchen. VROOM! VROOM! The Zapper sounded like a monster truck revving up for a rally. Its four-amp motor was really powerful.
I pulled back the bolt and opened the basement door. Just then I saw a flash of white behind me. I wondered if it was the Lioness. I turned. There was no one there.
I started down the steps. BANG! The door suddenly slammed shut. CLICK! The bolt slid into place. Oh, no!
I ran back up the steps. “Hey!” I shouted. “Open the door!”
There was no answer. “Hey!”
“Gotcha!” taunted Bryce Billings from the other side.
“Let me out, Bryce!”
“I told you not to mess with me.” Bryce laughed. “Later, gator.”
I pounded on the door, but it was no use. Bryce was gone. And there was no way Roger, my dad, or Uncle Norman would ever hear me over the Zapper. I sighed and headed down the steps. I would just have to find another way out.
While I looked, I thought I’d better check the valves. I waded through boxes and old furniture. Chunks of ceiling and insulation had fallen from the leak. The water pipes were at the far end, sticking out beside a giant stuffed swordfish mounted on the wall.
I reached up and tightened the valves. Suddenly I heard a loud pinging sound, like someone was tapping a glass with a metal utensil. It was coming from the small window just above the fish.
PING! PING!
“A toast!” someone called out.
“Save Lyons Island!”
“Mr. E. Mann, director of the . . . mumble mumble . . . Captain Kidd . . . here at Lyons Island.”
I stopped in my tracks. Mystery Man was the expert the Lioness had hired to save the island—but he was also hunting for the treasure? Something fishy was going on for sure. I climbed up on a trunk to hear better.
After the clapping, Mystery Man started talking. I couldn’t catch every word, but it was stuff that I already knew—back in 1695, Captain Kidd had been hired by the English government to get rid of pirates, and King William III had even signed the order. Captain Kidd had overtaken a French galley that was filled with treasure from the South Seas. I couldn’t hear what Mystery Man said next, except the words “trouble with the crew” and “diamonds.” If only I could get closer to the window.
I jumped down and grabbed a box and stuck it on top of the trunk. Then I climbed up on the box. My head was now almost level with the window. I was also eyeball to eyeball with the dead swordfish.
“Captain Kidd was on his way home,” Mystery Man said, “when he discovered there was a warrant out for his arrest. So he stopped at the closest place to hide the booty—Lyons Island. It is believed that the map of where he hid the treasure was itself hidden in a trunk that has his initials on it, plus a skull-and-crossbones symbol.”
Whoa! That was exactly what T. J. said!
“The trunk is supposed to be of black wood and locked with an iron padlock,” Mystery Man went on. “And in all these years, it has never been found. Legend has it that if anyone dared to open it, he would be haunted by Captain Kidd’s ghost forever!”
BRRRRRMMMM! The hot-water heater started up with a bang. I jumped. I lost my balance. The box toppled over. I fell to the floor.
“Ouch!” I rubbed my head.
I leaned against the trunk. This one was black, just like the one Mystery Man was talking about. I noticed that it was locked with a rusty padlock that might be iron.
A shaft of yellow sunlight suddenly shone through the window, casting a stripe across the trunk. I blinked in surprise. There was none other than a skull and crossbones.
Oh, snap!
I jumped to my feet. There were two letters carved beside the skull and crossbones. One was a W and one was a K.
It was Captain Kidd’s trunk!
Heart pounding, I tried pulling on the lock. It was stuck. I pulled harder. Still stuck. I reached in my pocket to see if I had a tool that might help. There beside the Superman Special Shooter marble I won off Two O and my library card was Grandpa Finelli’s pocketknife. Carefully, I pushed the end of the spoon into the padlock. Then I shoved as hard as I could. No luck.
I shoved the spoon in again. CREAK! The lock popped open! I was so excited I could barely breathe. I opened the lid and peered inside.
The trunk was empty!
I kicked it in frustration.
POP!
Something shot out. It was a drawer.
Double snap!
It was a secret compartment! I had read about how sea captains and pirates hid valuable stuff in secret compartments and false bottoms in their trunks. I reached my hand inside. My fingertips touched something smooth and thin, like paper.
My heart started pounding. Slowly, I pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment and stared at it.
<
br /> Holy cow!
No one had touched this piece of paper since Captain Kidd hid it in this old trunk. So many people had hunted for it. Now, here it was in my hand.
Just then I heard something behind me. Mystery Man’s words about Captain Kidd’s ghost ran through my mind. Someone was watching me. Was it Captain Kidd? Was he upset I had the map? I stared around wildly, my heart beating a rat-tat-tat in my chest. But the only eye on me was the yellow glass eye of the dead swordfish. I took a deep breath. I had to calm down.
“Fish, are you down here?”
Footsteps thudded toward me. I stared at the parchment in my hand, just as my dad popped his head through the doorway. Now what?
I couldn’t let my dad know I had found Captain Kidd’s treasure map. I wasn’t supposed to be looking for it in the first place. I couldn’t put it back, either, because then Mystery Man might find it.
There was only one thing to do . . .
X Marks the–Stop!!!!
"You did what?” asked Roger. “No way!”
I nodded and paced back and forth across Roger’s kitchen floor.
“But that’s stealing,” said T. J. He took a big bite of doughnut. Red jelly oozed out of the sides.
“Not exactly,” I said. “Anyway, what else could I do?”
“Not take it,” said Roger. “But since you did, let’s check it out.”
Carefully, I pulled the paper out from under my shirt. My hands were shaking.
T. J. took another bite of doughnut.
“How can you eat at a time like this?” I asked.
“Simple,” said T. J. “I’m hungry.” Powdered sugar shot out of his mouth.
“Watch the doughnut, dude!” I pushed my chair back from the table. “This is a historical document. It’s worth tons of money. It’s probably priceless.”
“Dude, just unroll the map already,” Roger cut in.
I took a deep breath. This was it. A pirate had held this very map in his hands. And it wasn’t just any pirate. It was Captain Kidd, the pirate hunter. And now Roger, T. J., and I were going to find out where he had buried the most famous treasure in the whole world.
Just then Summer walked into the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” she announced, pulling a brush through her long brown hair.
I shoved the map back under my shirt.
“Me, too. What do you want to eat?” T. J. jumped up and started opening cabinets.
I made a face at Roger. The treasure map felt like it was burning a hole in my chest. The suspense was killing me.
“Popcorn.”
“Jiffy Pop is my favorite, too,” agreed T. J. He watched hungrily as Summer took off the cardboard top and put the popcorn on the stove. The Huckletons don’t have a microwave. Mrs. H. thinks the radiation is dangerous, even though I’ve told her all a microwave does is heat up the water and polarized molecules in the food.
MICROWAVE
In 1945, engineer Percy Spencer was working on a radar set when he noticed a candy bar in his pocket had melted. This gave him the idea for the microwave oven. It heats food by shooting microwave beams that are absorbed by the water molecules in food. The first food to be heated successfully was popcorn. Microwave ovens for the home went on sale in 1967.
Summer turned the flame on under the popcorn. At that moment, the phone rang. Roger picked it up. “Summer’s French-Fried Eyeballs Cafe? Oh, hi, Beck—”
“Give that to me!” Summer yanked the phone out of Roger’s hand and stormed out of the kitchen.
The coast was clear, so I pulled out the map. This was it. POP! POP! POP! went the popcorn as T. J. gave it a good shake.
“Treasure map, take two,” said Roger.
Carefully, I unrolled the crinkly old paper. I stared at it in surprise. I blinked once and then again. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“What, dude?” said Roger.
“Yeah,” said T. J. “You don’t look so good.”
POP! POP! The tinfoil expanded and filled up with popcorn. T. J. gave it another shake.
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.
“Let me see.” Roger reached across the table and grabbed the parchment. “There’s nothing written on this.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s blank.”
“How can it be blank?” T. J. moved toward the table. “Let me see that treasure map.”
I thrust the piece of paper at him and jumped up. I needed a cold drink. I turned around and opened the fridge, looking for some orange juice. All I saw were bottles of this green seaweed stuff Mrs. H. likes.
“Quit calling it a treasure map! If there’s no X to mark the—” I started.
“STOP!”
There was a scuffling sound and a bang. One of the chairs hit the floor.
I whipped around to see T. J. in front of the stove. He was holding the piece of parchment. His eyes were so wide I could see the whites all the way around. There was popcorn scattered across the counter and all over the floor. Roger stood beside him, his face pale.
“What happened?” I asked.
Neither of them said a word. They handed the piece of parchment to me. Only it wasn’t blank anymore. There was a jagged outline of something that looked a whole lot like an island with trees marked out, and a rock—and there was a big X in the middle.
The treasure map!!!!
“Where did that map come from if the paper was blank?” asked T. J., breaking the silence.
Roger and I looked at each other. “Invisible ink!” we said at the same time.
“Huh?” said T. J. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“The popcorn!” Roger grinned. “Dropping the map on the Jiffy Pop was pure genius, T. J.”
“If you write with certain liquids, like lemon juice, when the writing dries it becomes invisible,” I explained. “Then it only becomes visible again if the paper it’s written on is held over something hot, like a fire or a lightbulb.”
“Or popcorn,” Roger grinned and high-fived T. J. “Way to go, dude!”
“Invisible ink is one of the oldest methods of sending secret messages in the world,” I said.
“Think Captain Kidd used lemon juice like we did?” Roger said. “He sure was one sneaky dude.”
Just then a gust of wind blew into the kitchen and made the paper flutter. I shivered suddenly, remembering the story of Captain Kidd’s ghost haunting whoever took the map.
A figure appeared in the doorway. It was dressed all in white, with a ghostly white face. Oh, no!
“Fish, are you all right, dude?” said Roger. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Roger and T. J. turned around just as the ghost opened its mouth. “Is the popcorn done?” asked Summer.
“You know what, Winter?” teased Roger. “The abominable snowman look is really you.”
It wasn’t a ghost after all. It was just Summer in a white dress with white goop on her face. I had to stop being silly. Everyone knew there was no such thing as ghosts. . . .
Captain Kidd's Ghost Does Not Kid Around
"So, Nikola Tesla, what would you do if you were in my shoes?” I sprinkled some food into the fishbowl. “Not that you have feet to put shoes on. Would you dig up the treasure or return the map?”
Nikola Tesla’s googly fish eyes goggled at me as he sucked up the food.
T. J. had voted to return the map to the Lioness. Roger thought we should dig up the treasure and then return it, because we would be heroes. I thought we should dig up the treasure, too. Then I would win the bet with Bryce. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.
I quadruple-checked where I had hidden the map. It was right where it was the last three times I looked—on the top shelf of my bookcase inside my diorama of the
Stone Age. I had stuck the map in the Silly Putty cave where the woolly mammoth was being stabbed by two clay Stone Age people.
NIKOLA TESLA
(1856–1943)
An inventor born in what is now Croatia (that’s in south-eastern Europe), Tesla invented early versions of the radio, the remote control, and radar. He also made “shadowgraphs,” pictures of living tissue he took using electromagnetic radiation (waves of energy associated with electric and magnetic fields), which were similar to the first X-rays.
As I climbed into bed, Shrimp came into my room, jumped up, and plopped down on top of me.
“Ouch, Shrimp! Shove over!” I said.
He lay down across the bottom of my bed. I had to curl up my legs to make room for him.
“Night, Shrimp,” I said, turning out the lamp on my dresser.
TAP! TAP! TAP! What was that sound? I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The moon was shining, making stripes of silvery light across the floor. There was a rustling noise outside the window.
Something was out there.
Something that was trying to get in!
It was Captain Kidd’s ghost! It was coming to get me for taking the treasure map!!!
Shrimp growled and jumped to the floor. Uh-oh! I strained my ears, listening.
WHOOSH! A gust of wind blew into the room. There was a creaking, moaning sound.
GRRR! Shrimp growled again, his eyes trained on the window. The scream froze in my throat.
CREAK! MOAN!
My heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest. A shadow moved across the window. It looked like an arm. The long, bony arm of a skeleton.
TAP! TAP! TAP! The skeleton tapped on the window. It was the ghost. It was coming to get me. I pulled the pillow over my head.
A minute passed. And then another. Nothing happened. I peeked out. The room was lit up with moonlight again. The skeleton arm was still there, only it wasn’t an arm at all. It was a tree branch!
Shrimp yawned and jumped back up on my bed. I yawned, too. Boy, was I crazy worrying about ghosts. I lay down beside him.