“It’s pitch-black out there tonight,” Kolt said when she returned—bundled up and armed. He had put on three woolly sweaters, a woolly tie, gloves, and his usual bowler hat, which still had the dent in it from when Marie Curie had knocked them down.
“We’ll carry two Slug Lamps in each hand!” Gertie instructed. “We can’t leave Robot Rabbit Boy outside all night with these flying spiders.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right,” Kolt said, looking at the poor creature’s empty bed. “We might even be able to investigate the glowing light you saw from the Spitfire . . . though I doubt he’s wandered that far.”
Gertie felt a sudden wave of impatience. “How are we supposed to find the trapped Keepers if we can’t even keep an eye on Robot Rabbit Boy when he’s in the same room?”
“Faith,” Kolt said, “has always seen me through.”
“Well, it’s time for action now,” replied Gertie, gripping the handle of her ax.
7
Silent Flight
IT WAS VERY DARK. The air was cold and damp. With two Slug Lamps in each hand, a Viking ax on her belt, and a tweed deerstalker hat with flaps to keep baby flying spiders out of her ears, Gertie set off around the garden with Kolt in tow.
First they checked the tree of scarves, an ancient oak that towered over the cottage. From its long dark branches dangled hundreds of lost scarves. They searched in the rowing boats, life rafts, red telephone boxes, and intergalactic escape pods (which Kolt used for growing tomatoes). Gertie wriggled under the massive heap of tangled bicycles, barely breathing in case the mass shifted and she was trapped.
They searched high and low, calling out Robot Rabbit Boy’s name in whispery voices and peering into any nook or cranny where he might have fallen asleep.
Finally, after checking the cracked mummies’ tombs of ancient Egypt, and the empty zoo cages from Hungary, they were back to where they had started. Kolt and Gertie sat down at Napoleon’s banquet table, and stared at the bone china plates and soup bowls, which had filled over time with a swampy mix of leaves and rainwater.
“It’s no use,” Gertie said breathlessly. “We’ve searched the whole garden, and there’s no sign of him.”
She felt a bit more used to the dark now, but still kept one hand on the ax handle—just in case they met an Attercoppe or two.
Kolt shone his Slug Lamps under the banquet table, just to be sure. Then they looked at each other, a silent knowing stare, eyes lit up just enough by the glow of eight Slug Lamps to know what the other was thinking.
“There are risks if we leave the garden at night,” Kolt said, “but nothing we can’t handle.”
“The flying spiders?”
“Attercoppes, yes, but there are other creatures too. Skuldark has many legends about what goes on here. My favorite is ‘Music of the Guardians,’ which I should tell you about someday in case there’s an emergency.”
“What is it?”
“A distress call when the island of Skuldark is in grave danger. Do you have your key with you?”
Gertie took it out.
“On second thought,” Kolt said, “I’ll show you later. Let’s concentrate now on finding Robot Rabbit Boy.”
Gertie was relieved to finally hear determination in Kolt’s voice. Keepers not only had a duty to the world, but to one another. And besides, the fluffy little Series 7 was their friend. Gertie put her key away and adjusted the handle of the Viking ax on her utility belt.
“I see someone is prepared for the wild woods of Fern Valley.”
“Actually,” Gertie said, “I think he would have avoided Fern Valley, considering how little he is—remember how we had to lift him over all the low bushes on the Chinese mountain?”
Kolt pulled down the stiff brim of his bowler hat. “Well, if he took Olde Path to Turweston Passage past where you parked the Spitfire, then followed it, he might eventually reach the Line of Stones.”
Its name sounded innocent enough, Gertie thought—but Kolt had never explained exactly what the Line of Stones was.
“Should we be worried about the stones?”
“Oh no, it’s just a boundary of rocks that goes on for miles across the prairie, marking the entrance to the Ruined Village, once the center of Keeper life on Skuldark.”
“I saw it from the Spitfire,” Gertie said.
“The ruins? Well, they’re many miles from here.”
“Can we take the Time Cat? If it can drive through the North African desert, how bad could a meadow be?”
“I’m sorry, Gertie, but even for a 1960s Jaguar racing coupe—the prairie grass is too high this time of year.”
“Well, we can’t fly,” Gertie said, “obviously.”
Kolt rubbed his chin as though in deep thought. “We might not catch him on foot, but with a pair of Golden Helpers . . .”
“What are they?”
“Danish army off-road bicycles with self-powering electric motors and giant spotlights.”
“Time kittens!” Gertie said. “Why didn’t you tell me about these before?”
“I just remembered myself. I came across them when searching for things to repair the Spitfire.”
“Are they under the cottage?”
“No, I keep them in the rusted-out hull of an old ship at the far end of the garden. They appeared some time ago from Denmark according to writing on the frame, from the year 2020.”
“Can we go right now?”
“We might want to pack some supplies first.”
Gertie thought about what she might want to eat or drink on the way, but then an image of Robot Rabbit Boy getting carried off by flying spiders buzzed through her mind.
“No time,” Gertie said, glancing down at her ax. “We’ll have to take a chance.”
They hurried to the eastern edge of the garden, where sat a rusted-out old boat with a massive hole in the hull. Kolt went in through the hole and appeared a moment later wheeling two Golden Helper bicycles.
Gertie shined the Slug Lamps so that Kolt could adjust the seats. Each bicycle was matte black with a small, gold cartridge attached to the frame that Kolt said was the actual Golden Helper motor.
The handlebars were short. And instead of spokes in the wheels, there were five carbon-fiber blades. The tires were thick and even spiked to maintain grip on loose earth and ice.
The best part, Gertie thought, was the headlamp, which was the size of a soccer ball, with a flat front of toughened glass to protect high-powered halogen bulbs. The spongy seat had sides and even a backrest with a Kevlar belt to strap the rider in.
“Whatever you do,” Kolt said, “don’t look into the headlamp directly, as it will burn the corneas in your eyes.”
“They’re not radioactive, are they?”
“No, electrified phosphorous.”
“And that’s safe?”
“Phosphorous? Oh sure. In the 1600s, a German alchemist, Hennig Brand, was convinced you could make gold from pee. He had his son collect hundreds of buckets of it from neighbors, with the promise of gold in return.”
“There’s gold in pee?”
“Of course not, but after a while all the equipment in his lab began to glow. He had accidentally discovered phosphorous, an element found in pee.”
When Gertie climbed onto her bicycle, it stood upright without her having to place her feet on the ground.
“Wow,” she said. “It knows I’m sitting on it!”
“It knows a lot more than that,” Kolt said. “Ready?”
“How do I move it forward?”
But Kolt had already taken off. He called back over his shoulder, “Just push the pedal like a normal bicycle! The harder you push, the faster you go.”
Gertie pressed hard into the top pedal and the Golden Helper search-and-rescue vehicle lurched forward, its front wheel rising in the air
with the speed of her takeoff. For a few seconds she felt she would fly off the back, but then the front wheel touched earth, and she was right up against Kolt’s back tire, as they dodged various objects in their path.
“I forgot to open the eastern gate!” Kolt shouted, his hair blowing back. “But there’s a mound of earth we can use as a ramp.”
“We’re going to jump the gate?” Gertie said in surprise. “But it’s taller than me!”
Kolt had already increased his speed and was disappearing from view. Gertie swallowed and pushed harder on the pedals as her Golden Helper motor whirred, and she sped toward the small mound of earth. But as they got closer, the two Keepers noticed young pear trees growing on the other side of the eastern gate. Their jump would have to be enormous—over the gate and over the pear trees.
“More speed!” Kolt cried. “Push as hard as you can!”
Nothing, Gertie thought, could be scarier than yesterday’s near-death plunge in the Spitfire. She drove her feet into both pedals, reaching such a dangerous speed her bike was shaking as she hit the ramp a few seconds after Kolt. The takeoff came with a sudden rushing of wind, and she was soaring through the darkness as she gripped the handlebars for dear life. She managed to sail over the spiked metal gate with just enough height to clear the trees growing beyond.
When she felt herself descending, Gertie leaned back in the seat, and upon touching down in the field with a hard bump, she pulled on the back brake, skidding to one side in a shower of mud and grass.
A few yards away, Kolt and his Golden Helper were on the ground in a mangled heap. The old Keeper seemed to be fine, but his pants were ripped and there was a tuft of grass where his bowler hat was supposed to be. It took every ounce of Gertie’s strength not to start laughing.
“I misjudged the landing,” he explained, “as you can see.”
“Your pants are ripped. Pretty badly.”
“Yes, Gertie. Thanks for reminding me.”
Gertie bit her lip, trying not to explode with laughter. “There’s, um, also some mud on your head?”
“Yes, I know that too, Gertie, thank you. Have you seen my hat anywhere?”
* * *
‹‹ • • • ››
ONCE KOLT WAS BACK in the seat and strapped in, they discovered his headlamp had smashed in the fall.
“Not only have I lost my hat, but I’m riding blind. You’re going to have to lead. Let’s go this way,” he said, pointing. “You’re probably right about Fern Valley; Robot Rabbit Boy would never have been able to get over the low hedges.”
Gertie pushed down on the pedal, and they were off again, past the dark shadow of her Spitfire, and zipping down the grassy slope of Olde Path, which then narrowed into Turweston Passage, and curled around toward the eastern edge of the Fern Valley woodland.
Gertie’s headlamp was so bright that it lit up the entire area in a white glow. She hoped it would be enough to scare away anything dangerous.
After ten minutes of careful searching, Gertie noticed the deep, wild woodland of Fern Valley on their right side. She was glad she’d brought the ax, and hoped the hairy, buzzing creatures were slumbering in their hives.
The night was chilly and they moved through clouds of their own breath. When Turweston Passage took them right up alongside the dark edges of Fern Valley, Gertie felt branches whip against her arms. With exposed tree roots up ahead, she undid her safety belt and stood a few inches out of the seat. When she heard a cry from behind, she turned to see Kolt bouncing up and down as his tires thumped the protruding roots. He seemed to be staying on his machine, though a series of ripping sounds suggested more trouble with his pants.
Fern Valley was so thickly forested, it fascinated her. She had flown over it in the Spitfire, but to truly explore this vast woodland, she’d need lamps, a good supply of food and water, and perhaps even ropes in case there were valleys cut deep into the earth.
Small lights in the trees and bushes twinkled. Kolt had told her they were the eyes of dangerous creatures, but by now she was all too familiar with the glow of wild moonberries, a little sour but harmless.
After a particularly steep descent, Gertie thought she might go over the handlebars after hitting a hard clump of earth, but the tire smashed right through it. Then the ground evened out and she stopped to say something to Kolt.
“We need some kind of h—” But before she could get the word out, a gigantic white bird with a furry back appeared from a dark cluster of trees. Gertie stared in disbelief as it circled noiselessly over their heads. Kolt tipped his bike to one side and jumped off.
“What kind of bird is that?” Gertie said, marveling at the thick fur on its body.
“It’s not a bird, Gertie, it’s an insect—a spotted Moondrop Moth. I’ve never actually seen one before!”
“It’s so big!”
“That’s only a baby,” Kolt explained. “An adult moth is so large it could carry a human on its back.”
“I think it wants us to follow,” Gertie said, pushing down on her pedal. “Maybe it’s seen Robot Rabbit Boy!”
Kolt jumped back on his machine.
“Is this insect one of those Skuldark Guardians you were telling me about?”
“Every species has one Guardian member, Gertie, but this is just a baby.”
“You said Guardians protect Skuldark when there’s an emergency?”
“Yes, in the event of some terrible calamity, Keepers can summon the Guardians by playing the ‘Music of the Guardians.’”
“Great! Can they help us find Robot Rabbit Boy?”
“You can only call them in a true emergency, I’m afraid.”
“But this is a true emergency!”
“Sorry, Gertie, the whole island of Skuldark has to be in peril, not just a single Keeper.”
“Even if it’s a rabbit?”
“Yes, even then.”
Soon they were moving too quickly to speak, the baby moth gliding just ahead of them with an occasional powdery snap of its wings.
But then after some time, the strange insect went so high, Kolt and Gertie lost sight of it in the darkness. They stopped their bikes. They were in open country now, far off Turweston Passage. A freezing night wind bit into their faces.
“That’s it?” Gertie said. “It leads us into the middle of a field?”
The ground was so waterlogged that Gertie wondered if they were on the edge of a swamp. She feared that if it got any wetter, the thick tires of their Golden Helpers might get stuck.
But with the absence of trees and Attercoppe hives, she felt comfortable lifting the flaps of her deerstalker hat and getting off her bike. For some moments, she took in her surroundings, getting used to standing instead of riding. Kolt climbed off his bicycle too. Then they stood, listening to the distant bark and whistle of wild night creatures—hoping for a sound that might give some clue as to the whereabouts of a little rabbit they loved so much.
8
Stampede!
“MAYBE ROBOT RABBIT BOY is asleep somewhere in this tall grass?” Kolt said, looking around.
Kolt and Gertie took the Slug Lamps from their pockets and began to search.
“Can’t believe I’ve got wet feet again!” Kolt said, squelching along.
“Again?” said Gertie, but then she remembered. “Oh, that’s right, Marie Curie dropped the kettle of water.”
They stepped over the tall plants, pointing their Slug Lamps down in the hope of seeing a furry bundle. Gertie felt like she was climbing around on the hairy scalp of a giant head. Then, in the distance, at the top of the hill, the blue sky of night darkened to starless black. It was as though a giant wave were coming toward them.
Kolt seemed alarmed. “Oh, what’s that? Up ahead? Shine your bike lamp on it, Gertie.”
Gertie put the Slug Lamps back in her pocket and returned to her Gol
den Helper, turning the handlebars so her lamp was shining in the direction of the shadow.
“It’s too far away,” she said as the white light lit up the tall prairie grass, “though there is something,” she added, noticing a rocky lump farther up the hill. “A giant boulder.”
“Yes, I know about that . . . it’s a very special rock, but listen! Do you hear that?”
“Not really,” said Gertie. “What are we listening for?”
“You don’t hear that low hissing?”
“No . . .” Gertie said, but then she did hear something, though to her it was more like a drumming.
“Sounds more like a drumming.”
“No, it’s definitely hissing,” Kolt said.
“Really? Because I’ve heard hissing when I was trapped with that giant snake, and this is more of a light drumming.”
Kolt thought for a moment. “I suppose it could be a tapping along with the hissing, but there’s definitely no drumming.”
“It’s too low for tapping,” Gertie insisted, “but I will admit there is a hum.”
Gertie dropped the bike and went back over to Kolt. The hissing-drumming-tapping-humming was now a low and constant rumble. It was as though something very big and very heavy were coming toward them down the hill.
“Could it be the Line of Stones?”
“The Line of Stones is not dangerous,” Kolt explained, “it just marks an entrance.”
“An entrance to what?”
“I told you, the Ruined Village. Long ago there were dozens of Keepers living down there. Shops, bakeries, even a cinema.”
“If it’s abandoned, what was that golden shimmering light I saw from the Spitfire?”
“It was most likely a ground-to-air reflection,” Kolt said dismissively.
But Gertie wondered if the dazzling glow had something to do with what was going on now. She found it hard to imagine that an entire community of people had once been living in a village on Skuldark. Having friends, being able to play, explore the valley and forests with children her own age was something she longed for, something she thought about in bed, her first dream in a chain of dreams that would pull her through the night.
Gertie Milk and the Great Keeper Rescue Page 5