Storm Tide

by Kari Jones

  I don’t answer. Instead, I make myself walk calmly to Dad’s office. I pull out one of the charts of Discovery Island and the area around it. Charts are like maps, but they are for boaters. They show water features like tides and currents. I walk back to Ellen and spread the chart out on the table. My hands are shaking with the effort to not rush.

  It’s hard to believe Dad’s chart and the old map are of the same place. Our modern chart has squiggly blue lines marking sea depth, arrows pointing out boating lanes and colorful shapes marking lights and buoys. In the center there’s a compass, so you can tell which way is north. There are even contour lines of the land.

  “Look,” I say.

  “I am looking. Tell me.” She leans over the map, her forehead creased in concentration.

  “If we wanted to take a reading off this,” I say, pointing to the chart from Dad’s office, “we’d know exactly how to position our compass, wouldn’t we?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But how would we take a reading off this one?” I tap my hand-drawn map.

  Now Ellen sees what I am getting at.

  She stands upright.

  “There’s nothing telling us which way is north,” Ellen says.

  “Exactly. And we never noticed, because we know this area so well. But if you were just arriving here, this map wouldn’t mean anything.”

  “And,” Ellen says, “there are no lines of latitude and longitude. Even if there were, we still wouldn’t know which way was north.”

  “So there must be a clue somewhere else then. Some numbers. Like…” I pick up the stone and toss it in my hand. It lands upside down. A row of numbers stare back at me: 48 25 30 123 13 30. Carefully, slowly, I place the stone on the table next to the map. “…these ones.”

  Ellen sits down heavily, and her jaw drops open. She says, “Degrees, minutes and seconds. Two sets of them, latitude and longitude. That makes it 48 degrees, 25 minutes and 30 seconds north. 123 degrees, 13 minutes and 30 seconds west.”

  “Yeah.” I do a silly dance. I can’t help it. I’m so excited, and I have to release the energy somehow.

  But Ellen is still talking. “That’s what those numbers say. At least I think they do. They could do.” She’s yelling now, she’s so excited. She hops up and joins me in my dance. “Let’s lay the old map on top of Dad’s,” she says.

  I stop dancing and take a deep breath to slow myself down. Carefully I lift the piece of paper and lay it over Dad’s chart. It’s not a perfect fit, but it’s pretty close. The rocks off the lighthouse are in the right spot, and the bay is in the right spot too.

  Ellen hops from foot to foot until she can’t contain herself anymore. Then she reaches over the table and helps me adjust the charts. I take a kitchen knife and use its edge as a ruler to measure out the longitude and latitude on Dad’s chart. Ellen mutters as I go: “Okay, 48 degrees, 25 minutes and 30 seconds north. 123 degrees, 13 minutes and 30 seconds west.”

  When I’m done, I frown. “Well, that’s no good. The spot is on land, up by the lighthouse.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. The riddle said it should be in the intertidal zone.” Ellen puts her finger on the riddle. “And why would it have anything to do with the tide if it’s there?”

  We are silent as we try to sort out the puzzle.

  “No,” Ellen says. She jumps up and down and claps her hands like a little kid. “This is where the heading starts, not where it ends.”

  “What do you mean, where it starts?”

  “With a compass, you need a starting point to take a heading from. Usually a headland or something.”

  “Oh.” A thought jumps into my head. “That’s where the star comes in: Your heading from the star to make.”

  “Yes, yes, but what’s the star?”

  The silence lengthens as we try to make sense of this.

  We are about to lose hope again. I close my eyes and think about everything we know. Something in the back of my brain slides forward, something I have known all along and didn’t see. I turn over the stone. It flips with a small thud. And at last I know. The star.

  I hold my palm out.

  “The star,” Ellen shouts. The center of the stone is painted in sixteen points: an old-fashioned compass star, not a flower. It’s more elaborate than modern compasses. That’s why we didn’t recognize it. The lines stretching from the center are compass lines. One line is deeper and brighter than the others.

  “That must be the line we take the heading along,” says Ellen, tracing the deep line. She grabs the stone from me and places it carefully on Dad’s chart, on the spot the numbers showed. Then she uses the edge of the old map to draw a line, following the deep, bright line from the stone.

  “Yes, let’s try it.” Ellen places the stone on the same spot on the old map. She uses the edge of the other chart to draw a line out across the page.

  It points past the lighthouse, past the rocks off the cliff, to a rock farther along and slightly to the left.

  A rock that is only exposed at the lowest tides.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We don’t have to talk to know that the next thing we are going to do is row as fast as we can to that rock.

  Ellen grabs a compass and binoculars from the shelf. I run to the bathroom and snatch a couple of towels.

  Then we’re out the door and running down the path to the boat.

  As we get there, Ellen shouts, “The boat’s gone!”

  I spin around to look, but it is nowhere to be seen.

  Then I see it in the water with Joseph rowing it. “He’s going toward the headland,” I shout. Ellen has obviously figured that out too, because she’s running as fast as she can toward the light tower. I quickly catch up with her, and the two of us hurtle over the headland. We keep to the trees. The last thing we want is for the crazy man to see us.

  We top the rise and pelt down past the lighthouse to the shore below. Without even stopping to talk about it, both of us run onto the flats and head to the rocky far side of the bay. We’ve lived on this island all our lives. We’ve played on these rocks forever. We know how to get around them better than anyone.

  We stop when we reach the intertidal zone. Ellen pulls out the compass. She lines it up, then points to the spot we need to head for. We start out toward it. It’s slippery and dangerous. Some of the rocks are covered in seaweed and some are still wet, so it’s slow going. Ellen points out to the sea, but I’ve already noticed. The tide is coming in. If we don’t hurry, we will be caught on the rocks.

  Joseph is paddling in from the deepwater side. I keep picking my way over the rocks. Then I hear Ellen’s voice from behind me, “He’s seen you, Simon. He’s going to try to cut you off.”

  I look around wildly, searching for Ellen and Joseph. Joseph is coming right at me, but he’s still pretty far away. Ellen is standing at the edge of a rock, waving madly at me. She’s hit a dead end. The water is too deep for her to continue.

  I look back at the shore. There’s a madman after me, and the tide is coming in. I take a step back. Maybe I should just wait for Mom and Dad.

  Then my eyes fall upon Joseph again. He’s paddling frantically toward me. I remember what this is all about. What if there really is treasure out there? Could I save the lighthouse by finding it?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I turn around and leap to the next rock on the right. It is hard going. Every step has to be slow and deliberate. The seaweed lying all around hides what’s underneath. I almost fall into a tide pool covered completely with sea grass. I grab at the rock and pull myself forward, searching for places to put my foot. I glance back to make sure I have an escape route. If the tide comes in too fast, or if Joseph gets there first, I want to know I have a way out.

  Ahead, the rock I want is still so far away. But I know I’ve got the right one in my sights. I step forward again, almost losing my balance. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl. Now I’m moving faster, though the rocks are hard on my knees. After about
ten crawls, I reach a spot with a low surge of water between me and the next rock. I slide into the water and gasp as my feet go instantly numb. But it isn’t too deep. The water pools around my knees as the tide rushes in. I take a deep breath and launch my body forward, flinging myself onto the next rock. I haul myself up to a standing position again. I turn around and wave. Ellen gives me the thumbs-up.

  There is a clear path now between me and the rock with the treasure. Once again I get down on my hands and knees and crawl so I won’t slip on the seaweed. My whole body is soaked by now. I inch forward. Barnacles cut my hands, my pants are heavy, my shoes are soaked and my knees ache. I crane my neck to look for Ellen, but I can’t see her anymore.

  The tide is coming in faster now. I take a deep breath and move forward, knowing I have to get to the rock with the treasure before waves start breaking on it. Slowly, slowly, inch by inch, I close in on it. With a stretch, I reach the next rock and pull myself up, then sit at the top and take a deep breath.

  What am I looking for? It suddenly occurs to me that the treasure could have been washed away with the tide dozens of years ago. This could all be for nothing. The thought makes me so disappointed that I feel like puking. But then I look around. The rock I’m aiming for is still above water, the tide licking around its edges. As I watch, a wave comes in, darkening a patch that had dried in the sun. Hope rises in me again, and the sick feeling is replaced with excitement.

  My destination is only five feet away, but the water is higher than it was even three minutes ago. A wave crashes against the rock. I consider jumping, but if I slipped on the other side, I would hit my head. So I wait until the water recedes again, then launch myself and swim the five feet through the briny water. My fingers scrabble for a hold, and I pull myself up.

  I’m finally on the rock that’s only visible in the lowest tide. It is barely above water now, and it’s covered in purple sea stars. Through chattering teeth, I laugh as I find a small spot free of sea stars to sit on.

  Here are the stars that climb out from the deep.

  I made it. But the rowboat is getting closer—close enough that I can see the wildness in Joseph’s eyes.

  He shouts, “It’s mine! I’ve searched all year.”

  I don’t respond. If he thinks he can scare me away now, he’s wrong.

  Joseph continues. “You and your sister are pathetic. You even left your boat out for me.” He laughs, and my spine tingles. He sounds like the Joker in Batman.

  As he talks, I search with my fingers around the rock face, under the small cracks, anywhere my fingers can go.

  “What did you think you would find?” I ask as I keep looking, my fingers searching frantically.

  Joseph laughs again. “You don’t even know. Treasure, boy, treasure beyond your imagination.”

  At last I feel something, and I pull.

  A box the size of a man’s hand emerges from a deep crack in the rock. I hug it to myself and shout, “Ellen, help!”

  Joseph is almost upon me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I have no time to stop and worry, no time to think about what might happen if Joseph catches up with me.

  “Jump,” shouts Ellen. She’s ten feet away. She points to a spot I could leap to. The tide is coming in fast, and everything looks different than it did minutes ago. I have to hurry—before the tide submerges my route back to shore. I take a deep breath, exhale and jump to the next spot that’s still not submerged.

  I look back. Joseph is closing in on me. He could almost reach out and grab my shirt. His face is purple with rage. He’s spluttering madly at us. “You’re ruining a life’s work. You’ll pay for this, you’ll pay.”

  I scramble as fast as I can among the rocks in the shallows, where the boat can’t go, until I reach Ellen.

  “He’s trying to get out of the boat!” Ellen shrieks at me. I turn and see that he’s stuck. The boat is knocking hard against the rocks as the tide rushes in. Soon he manages to steady the boat and climb out. He turns toward us. He looks murderous.

  I grab Ellen’s arm, and together we scramble, crawl, jump and run toward shore. I keep the box clutched to my chest, ignoring how it digs into my chest every time I jump. When we reach the shoreline, Ellen says, “Don’t stop. He’s going to follow us. I have a plan.”

  She runs, circling the rocks, heading for the boat. The boat is floating closer and closer to us. Ellen leads us in a circle heading away from the boat, then turning quickly toward it so that Joseph is behind us. We are between him and the boat.

  With a leap, Ellen lands on a rock and clambers over it. She lowers herself and gets her feet into the boat. She pushes off toward me, and I launch myself into the boat, nearly overturning it. I am still clutching the box. Ellen steadies the boat, and in a second we are clear of the rocks.

  Ellen angles us back toward the deepest rocks, rowing wildly. Her arms pump and her hair swings with every stroke. I crane my neck around to keep track of Joseph. He’s still only a few feet away. He looks like he’s searching for a spot to jump into the water from. Why doesn’t Ellen just row into the bay?

  “What are you doing, Ellen? Row away!” I shout.

  But Ellen just angles to the left and keeps rowing. Joseph changes direction again, and again comes closer. He’s panting now, slipping on the rocks.

  “Don’t think you can get away from me!” Joseph shouts.

  Ellen ignores him and keeps rowing, changing her angle again. I see what she’s doing. That sister of mine is sneaky. She’s pushing him farther out onto the rocks. She keeps circling, just out of his reach.

  “You won’t get away from me,” he shouts, and he leaps into the water. But the current is strong, and he struggles against it, his arms flailing.

  He shouts “It’s mine!” as he lunges toward us, but again the current pushes him back. Finally he grabs at a rock and pulls himself out of the water.

  “You’ve trapped him!” I say to Ellen.

  She nods. “Yep.”

  I laugh and let out a huge sigh of relief.

  Once the tide has risen enough that Joseph can’t get off the rock, Ellen turns the boat toward our dock. She’s rowing more slowly now, and her face is no longer fixed in a frown. It looks like she’s trying not to grin. “He’ll be fine until the coast guard arrives. That rock is always out of the water.”

  I flop back against the gunwale. “I can’t believe it. I found something. There really was treasure. I can’t believe it, treasure.” I’m babbling. I can’t help it. I’m frozen and exhausted, but totally one hundred and fifty percent thrilled.

  Before we reach the dock, I see that two boats are tied up there. Mom and Dad are in the big motorboat, and Mark is on the coast guard boat. At last, at last! I sit up and wave and shout “Dad! Mom!” until they wave back.

  “Thank goodness you’re okay,” Mom yells from the water. “We radioed this morning, but there was no answer. Can you believe the storm last night? The whole city was out of power, even the coast guard. I tried and tried to call.”

  Dad’s head appears from behind the control seat. “I thought your mother was going to strangle someone when it was still stormy this morning. She was out of her mind with worry. But I kept telling her you two would be fine.” He hops from the boat onto the dock and catches the lead rope I throw to him. Man, oh, man, it’s good to see them.

  “It looks like you two have been up to something. What’s this?” Dad points to the box lying in my lap.

  So we tell them. Everything. Well, we leave out the fact that we skipped some of our chores. Mom climbs out of the boat and hugs both me and Ellen. Her face turns white when we get to the part about rescuing Joseph. Dad and Mark exchange a look, but they all look interested when we finally point to the box and say, “And that’s the treasure.”

  Dad whistles. I hold the box out for everyone to see. Mom says, “Simon, I think you should do the honors.”

  I grab the box to my chest and say, “On dry land, please.” No way I’
m taking any chances of this baby dropping in the water after all I’ve been through.

  Now that I’m not trying to escape a madman, I take a long look at the box. It is very old, that’s clear, and is made of some type of metal that has survived being under water for ages. There’s a crease down the center of it, where I guess the opening is. “I…can’t…open… it.” I grunt as I try to pry my hands into the crease.

  “Let’s see.” Dad takes a look. “It’s been soldered shut to make it waterproof.”

  “Does that mean we won’t be able to open it?” Ellen looks so sad, it’s almost funny. But Dad shakes his head and goes back to the motorboat. He jumps on board, and a minute later he waves something in the air and hops back onto the dock and then to shore.

  “I knew this would come in handy one day.” He holds up a tiny crowbar. While I hold the box steady, Dad slowly, carefully, taps around the edges until the solder crumbles away.

  Before I lift the lid, I look at each person in turn. Ellen’s face is bright red. Mom holds her head in her hands. Dad is breathing heavily, and even Mark is staring at the box.

  I lift the lid. “What is it?” says Ellen in a flat voice as I lift a circle of brass out of the box. I shake my head. I don’t know. Tears sting my eyes and I blink. Until now, I didn’t realize how much I expected there to be gold or jewels in this box. But there isn’t. There’s just this circle of brass. Worthless. Nothing. All that chasing after Joseph for this!

  I’m about to let it fall back into the box, but Dad takes it from my hands and says, “I think it’s a mariner’s astrolabe.”

  “Yeah…,” I say slowly. I’ve heard of astrolabes, but I’ve never seen a real one. It hangs from Dad’s hand like a huge old watch with holes. Instead of two hands inside the circle, there is only one, with points at either end.

  We’re all silent for a minute. Flashes of gold and silver and jewels skip through my mind. I swallow to hide my disappointment.