Gertie Milk and the Keeper of Lost Things

by Simon Van Booy

  “Bye!” Gertie cried out to the rabbit creature through the side window. “Hope we meet again someday!”

  “Come on! Come on!” Kolt screamed, pumping the gas pedal. The old motor roared to life as they popped, fizzed, and in a flash of silver light appeared suddenly on a dismal city street surrounded by horses, trams, and strange-looking cars that were chugging along at walking speed.

  “What happened?” Gertie said. “Where are we?”

  Kolt pointed to the glowing watch on Gertie’s wrist. “I didn’t have time to push the Home button, so the B.D.B.U. must have sent us to where we have to return the watch.”

  “Well, where’s that?” Gertie said, looking around for a clue.

  Just then, a piece of newspaper conveniently blew across the crowded street and onto the windshield of the Time Cat. Kolt leaned forward.

  “We’re in London!” he said. “October 6th, 1927.”

  Gertie read the headline that was below the date in big letters.

  Bravest Woman in the World, Mercedes Gleitze, to Swim Across English Channel—Despite Losing Lucky Gold Watch

  22

  The Frozen Mascot

  GERTIE HELD UP HER WRIST. “This must be the lucky watch! Look, it’s the same one as in the picture.”

  Kolt opened his window to grab the leaf of newsprint. “What a stroke of luck!”

  “So we’re in London,” Gertie said, looking around at the men in dark suits and women in tall feathery hats. “Have you been here? Where is it?”

  “It’s in far western Europe, capital city of an island that’s known for bad weather, horrible food, and people who are exceedingly polite—when they’re not trying to invade your country.”

  Kolt pushed a button, and the engine turned over with a groan.

  “We can’t stay in the middle of the road,” he said. “Let’s find somewhere to park.”

  “But is there a way we can get back to that abandoned city?” Gertie asked. “I felt closer to my family and my old life there than anywhere else so far.”

  Kolt said nothing and steered the Time Cat down a narrow street, parking between two shops, Turnbull & Asser Shirtmakers and Bates Hats.

  “Kolt!” Gertie said, irritated by his refusal to answer.

  “I know it must be frustrating,” he replied gently, “but for now we have a watch to return—and it’s your first mission, so let’s just do our best, and talk about everything else later, when we can write things down and start keeping a record.”

  Gertie adjusted the pretty gold timepiece on her wrist. “You’re right,” she said. “I wanted to return it, and the B.D.B.U. let me, so I’d better focus on what I’m doing.”

  Across Jermyn Street was a shop window full of socks, umbrellas, cravats, ties, pajama sets, silver straws for making fizzy drinks less fizzy, evening gloves, driving gloves, dinner gloves, fingerless gloves, even gloveless fingers for eating oysters. In other words, Kolt said, necessities, luxuries, and niceties that most people in history never dreamed they would need (and probably never would).

  Behind them, men with aprons tied over starched, collarless shirts and black trousers were unloading barrels of ale from a delivery truck. Gertie watched as they barked instructions to one another and then rolled the barrels down wooden planks into a basement. Someone else was up on a ladder, dusting the restaurant sign that had a drawing of a friendly lobster in a top hat.

  “That’s odd,” Gertie said. “If I were a lobster, I definitely wouldn’t be trying to get people into a restaurant that served lobster—I’d be trying my best to look poisonous.”

  There were fewer people on this street, and most were carrying small boxes rolled in brown paper and tied with string.

  “So what now?” Gertie said, looking at their ancient North African costumes. “How are we supposed to blend in?”

  “See what I mean about the B.D.B.U.?” Kolt grumbled. “Any normal book—even your basic encyclopedia, even a comic—would have brought us home so we could change in the Sock Drawer. We don’t even have money. We might starve on this mission!”

  Gertie read the front page of the newspaper that Kolt had grabbed from the windshield.

  “Kolt, look! It says the swimmer who is missing her watch is getting an award at a place called the Ritz Hotel tonight during something called a masquerade ball.”

  “That’s a costume party,” Kolt said. “Maybe we’ll go unnoticed after all?”

  Gertie felt triumphant, as though everything were part of a perfect plan. “So us coming straight here was exactly what the the B.D.B.U. wanted!”

  “Are you sticking up for the old book?”

  Just then, a bell rang loudly somewhere along the street, and a young man exited a shop dressed as a clown.

  Gertie and Kolt, thinking the same thing, jumped out of the Time Cat as the man bounded toward them along the sidewalk in oversize red shoes.

  “Whoa!” he said with a broad American accent. “How terrific you both look!” Then he pointed to the Time Cat. “And what a spiffy automobile. I love the rabbit emblem on the bumper!”

  Gertie and Kolt turned sharply to see Robot Rabbit Boy, frozen solid to the rear bumper of the Time Cat.

  “Oh dear,” Kolt muttered. “He must have followed us.”

  “Well, we can’t leave him here,” Gertie said, trying to hide her excitement. “The poor thing is frozen stiff.”

  “We’ll have to deal with it later, Gertie,” Kolt said, in hushed tones so the man in the clown suit wouldn’t hear. “We have more important Keeper business to attend to.”

  The friendly American clown kept saying how beautiful the Time Cat was. “I’ll bet it’s a lovely car to drive.”

  “Oh yes,” said Kolt, “she really flies!”

  “Shame about the broken taillights,” the man pointed out. “An accident, I’m guessing? Other drivers can be such losers.”

  Kolt nodded with delight. “That’s exactly what they are!”

  While Kolt chatted with the friendly clown, Gertie knelt down and winked at the Series 7 Forever Friend that—despite being completely frozen—managed to shake an icy, worn-out rabbit paw in greeting.

  “We have to go now,” Gertie whispered, “but I know the perfect place for you to sleep back at the cottage after you’ve had a nice bath.”

  Robot Rabbit Boy tried to nod, but the ice encasing his neck was too thick, so instead he twitched one droopy ear.

  “Say . . .” Kolt said to the clown, “it seems like we’re on our way to the same costume party. How about we go together?”

  “Suits me,” said the clown.

  Kolt was pleased with their good fortune. “A costume party!” he said in a fake British accent. “A bloomin’ costume party! Yes please, I do think so, jolly good. . . .”

  Together, the trio walked toward a glowing sign with the words RITZ HOTEL spelled out in tiny light bulbs.

  “Oh dear,” Kolt said, biting his lip, “this might be quite fancy.”

  “Just say we’re ancient shepherds from the sand dunes of North Africa,” suggested Gertie, “but maybe hold off on the fake British accent.”

  « • • • »

  They followed the friendly clown up some marble steps and stood beneath a blue awning, beside a revolving door.

  “My name is Fred,” said the clown, “and I’m visiting from New York.”

  They watched as he fished out two paper tickets from his pocket and presented them to Gertie.

  “I’m acting in a musical comedy,” he said. “It’s called Lady, Be Good! and it’s my first big European show. Take these tickets for tomorrow night. In case you’re free, it’s really a hoot—you’ll laugh your heads clean off!”

  “That would be very nice,” Gertie said, taking them. “Thank you.” She knew they would be long gone by then, but didn’t want to hurt the young man�
�s feelings.

  “You two seem like a swell pair!” The man grinned. “If you want to meet after the show, just hang around when the curtain falls, and if anyone asks, tell them you’re waiting for Fred Astaire, that’s me.”

  “Thanks, Fred,” Gertie said. “Good luck with it, and thanks for being so nice to us.”

  Then with a smile and a little dance, the young American ushered Gertie and Kolt into the lobby of the Ritz Hotel.

  “What a lovely man,” Kolt said. “I hope he makes it as an actor, I really do.”

  The Palm Court was overflowing with jesters, princesses, kings, peasants, wizards, queens, angels, someone dressed as a toothbrush, devils, dragons, giant fish, and even a knight in armor whose helmet had gotten stuck, and who was surrounded by waiters whittling away with can openers. Gertie knew that somewhere in the chaos of the costume party was a young woman missing a watch. All she had to do was find her.

  23

  Kolt Disappears

  WHEN THEY GOT TO THE BALLROOM, Fred melted into the crowd. Gertie was glad to see that everyone around them (except for the waiters in double-breasted white jackets with silver trays) was decked out in strange costumes. It made her and Kolt seem normal and not two time travelers from an ancient order of Keepers, responsible for the fate of humankind.

  A jazz band was in full swing. People were dancing madly, throwing their heads back with laughter and kicking their heels in the air. Soon, Gertie was so swept up in the excitement that she nearly forgot why she was there.

  “The watch!” she told herself. “Focus on the watch.”

  The air in the ballroom was thick with cigarette smoke, and it was hard to breathe. After sampling a few of the delicious things being carried around on silver trays, Kolt motioned for Gertie to follow him out a side door. They found themselves in a well-lit corridor of thick carpet, where there were rows and rows of doors with brass numbers on them.

  “What’s with all the smoking?” Gertie said.

  “It’s the 1920s! People had no idea it was bad for you.”

  Gertie held up her arm with the watch on it. “How are we ever going to find the person this watch belongs to with all these people dancing and screaming?”

  Kolt didn’t seem at all fussed. “Dealing with chaos is part of a Keeper’s job,” he said. “You must learn to act and think quickly!”

  “Right,” Gertie said, remembering the Keeper’s motto. “It could always be worse, I suppose.”

  “Yes, it could, very much so.”

  Gertie brought the watch to her ear and listened to the purr of springs and wheels inside the golden case. “It’s not glowing anymore,” she said. “What does that mean?”

  “It doesn’t have to glow all the time. Just imagine we’re in an ocean of fish,” Kolt said. “You have to move with the current. Remember that the item wants to be found and will glow or heat up, or even vibrate when you get close to the target.”

  “So I’ll just move with the current?”

  “Yes, Gertie, glide in the stream, but stay alert. You’ll find clues if you look for them.”

  Three waiters rushed past with an enormous bouquet of fruit set in ice.

  “I didn’t think it would be this hard to find the woman, Mercedes what’s-her-name,” Gertie said, looking at her wrist. “It’s just a little watch.”

  “Mercedes Gleitze,” Kolt reminded her. “And this is your first solo mission.” He smiled. “So just do your best.”

  A pair of men in overalls and thick gloves grunted under the weight of an ice swan balanced on their shoulders. Then another man rushed forward to open the ballroom door.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” came an amplified voice from inside, “may I present to you Great Britain’s first ever female swimming champion, who will attempt a cross-Channel paddle from France to England tomorrow before dawn . . . introducing the marvelous and daring Miss Mercedes Gleitze!”

  “That must be her!” Gertie cried, her voice drowned out by the applause. The watch was glowing violet, and had begun to pulse.

  Kolt bolted through the doors into the ballroom, but, when Gertie tried to follow, a man in a gray pinstripe suit with shiny hair blocked her path.

  “And where is it, mademoiselle, that you think you are going?” said the maître d’hôtel. He glared at Gertie, smoothing the ends of a thin moustache.

  For a second, Gertie was tempted to just tell the truth. She imagined herself explaining that she had traveled through time from a magical island over a graviton bridge through a dinosaur orchard, via an abandoned city of the future full of robot pets and brain cards, with a man who was a hundred years old, or maybe two hundred.

  The other option was to simply push past him. It might have worked—or at least caused enough of a scene to get Kolt’s attention—but the door had already swung closed.

  Gertie pointed in the direction of the ballroom, where, at that moment, on stage, stood the champion swimmer to whom the timepiece belonged. “But sir, I have to see the woman in there. We have important business.”

  “Believe me, we would all like an audience with the daring Mademoiselle Gleitze, but the Ritz Ballroom is not the place for young ladies, even polite ones such as yourself.”

  “But!” Gertie protested, “I have to—”

  “No buts, please no buts, I ’ate buts,” the man insisted. “You must come with me, ma petite fille.”

  Gertie was going to shout for Kolt but knew he wouldn’t have heard above the din of cheering that now filled the ballroom.

  When the man motioned for a waitress to assist in the capture of “a lost child,” Gertie had little choice but to be escorted down the long corridor.

  Pushing through some double doors, they passed through the kitchen, where men and women with tall white hats stood on ladders over enormous metal pots with boat oars. There was so much steam in some places that Gertie considered trying to escape. If she could make it outside, back to the Time Cat, she knew Kolt would find her eventually. Robot Rabbit Boy was there too—probably still frozen to the bumper.

  “We are now entering the ’all of desserts,” the man said, “You must be quiet—step in silence, mademoiselle, for the most dazzling cakes in ze ’ole world are in the final stages of beautification.”

  Despite her frustration, Gertie marveled as whole teams of skilled workers bent over enormous, revolving ceramic bowls of colored mixtures. Others were laying tablecloths of yellow marzipan over mountains of fruitcake.

  A master pâtissier patrolled the room with a magnifying glass and spoon, stopping from time to time for mouthfuls and then spitting into a bright pink handkerchief with either a word of praise or something vulgar that made the waitress cover her ears. In the background, one of the cooks was playing a delicate stringed instrument that was as tall as a person and twice as heavy.

  “Music is the secret. . . .” The man winked at Gertie. “You must keep fruit in a trance so it doesn’t get scared and go sour.”

  Gertie looked at the waitress and whispered, “I never knew blueberries had feelings?”

  The waitress nodded. “It’s one of the hotel’s many secrets.”

  When they entered a narrow white passage with wooden planks for a floor, they stopped beside a rack of heavy coats. The waitress took one down from a brass hook and helped Gertie get into it.

  “Cold storage,” the man explained, putting on a tiny gingham moustache scarf.

  Through the freezing air they marched past giant blocks of ice with teams of men and women chipping them into different animals.

  At the end of the frosty chamber, they stepped through a heavy white door that was frozen on the inside with a thick layer of clear ice. Outside was another set of brass hooks. After hanging their coats up, the man pushed a fat button on a wall and a door opened.

  “We have now arrived at the correct elevator for mademoiselle.”


  He smiled and ushered Gertie toward it, but she stood there not moving, with the sense that something horrible was about to happen. She turned and looked for somewhere to run, but was blocked on all sides.

  Finally the waitress took Gertie’s arm and forcefully led her inside. “C’mon, miss, it’s down to the basement for you.”

  24

  The Girl Who Loves Bones

  WHEN THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED, Gertie got a great surprise.

  It wasn’t a pit of bubbling mud into which she would be dangled, or a spiral-eyed snake with an appetite for girls with bad memories. In fact, it wasn’t anything scary at all, but a party—the wildest most chaotic scene Gertie had ever witnessed, and attended only by children. If the celebration upstairs in the Palm Court had seemed crazy, then this other party now taking place made the grown-ups look as if they had been asleep.

  This party was what every party in the history of parties had tried to be.

  Gertie’s jaw dropped. Not only were there ice animals with cakes and plums and chocolates balanced on their frozen bodies, but real animals. Two live giraffes towered over the madness, leaning their long necks down to lick the smaller iced versions of themselves. Three small children had found a way to scramble onto the animals’ backs and were balanced dangerously, holding on for their lives by a few sticky strands of giraffe hair. Gertie had never seen anything like it—or at least anything she could remember seeing.

  There was even a trapeze, and one tiny girl swung wildly over everyone’s heads.

  “Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she cried. “Wheeeeeeeeeeeee.”

  It was out of control, and a miracle no one had been killed—or at least sat on by an elephant that was picking up apples from the fruit platter and firing them mean-spiritedly at people’s heads.

  Everyone was in some kind of costume, and so Gertie passed unnoticed as she stepped from the small elevator through the swarms of children eating, singing, running, and dancing to the live jazz band—which itself was made up of children in tuxedos with carnation flowers in their jacket lapels.