Gertie Milk and the Keeper of Lost Things

by Simon Van Booy

  Gertie felt so drawn in by the fun going on around her that, for a few moments, she again forgot all about the watch she’d come to return. She wondered if this wasn’t the place and time she had been lost from—perhaps these children were all her friends?

  Without thinking, Gertie began to shake her arms, then her legs, and before she knew it, she was dancing along with everyone else at the party. A girl standing nearby noticed Gertie and came over.

  “Who are you?” she shouted above the blasting trumpets and saxophones. She had short black hair with a fringe, a wide face, and freckles on each cheek.

  “Er, Gertie Milk . . . I think!”

  The girl grabbed Gertie’s arm and swung her toward a small group of dancing children.

  “This is Gertrude Milk!” she announced. “My new friend!”

  The girls turned and stared at Gertie for a moment, then went back to shaking their heads and throwing up their gloved hands in time to a frenzied clarinet solo.

  The girl with black hair said her name was Miss Mary Leakey. Gertie sensed that Mary was just a little older than her.

  After demonstrating a few dance steps, Mary leaned in and said, in a loud voice, “We’re flappers, don’t you know? That’s why our hair is bobbed like this. Are you a flapper too?”

  “I don’t really know what I am,” Gertie said. “It’s sort of a long story. I feel like I could be anything, but I am so happy to meet another girl!”

  Mary took Gertie’s hand and led her to a quieter part of the ballroom, next to a table laid out with every kind of food imaginable.

  “I simply love your costume,” Mary said. Then she looked closely at the birthmark on Gertie’s face. “How interesting. Is that makeup for the party, or is it a real birthmark?”

  “It’s real,” Gertie said. “It’s me.”

  “If people stare at you,” Mary smiled, “it’s probably because they’re simply not used to seeing a birthmark. People will always be interested in things that are not common, which is something you can use to your advantage.”

  Gertie decided that she liked Mary very much.

  “It’s nice you’re so honest,” Gertie said. “I mean that you know yourself well enough to say things.”

  “People tell me I’m confident, but I think it’s my scientific brain. My big dream is to go exploring in some place like Tanzania and dig up dead bodies.”

  Gertie looked at her awkwardly. “That’s interesting.”

  “Seriously,” Mary went on, “when I grow up, I want to be a paleoanthropologist, that’s someone who studies the skeletons of early humans—dead of course!”

  “Oh,” Gertie said, understanding. “Sounds like a good job.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said, touching Gertie’s cloak. “I can’t believe how authentic your costume looks, like it really came from ancient Africa!”

  “Well,” Gertie grinned, thinking it best not to admit that it actually was from ancient Africa, “I hope you get to dig up every-body you want someday.”

  Mary laughed. “Everyone tells me the desert is no place for girls.”

  Gertie remembered bouncing along on the elephant that had rescued her from the battle. “A girl has to rely on her instincts, Mary.”

  “Do you trust yours, Gertie?”

  “It’s how I’ve stayed alive this long.”

  Mary was impressed. “Are you some kind of explorer then?”

  “I suppose so. . . .”

  “And what do you want to do when you grow up, Gertie?”

  An entire field’s worth of vegetables had been arranged on the buffet table in the shape of a face, with radishes for lips, celery for a nose, and black olive eyes. To avoid answering, Gertie grabbed a cauliflower ear and began chewing.

  In a way, Gertie felt she trusted Mary enough to tell her everything. Just blurt it out. Perhaps Mary might even know something, or be able to help in some way? She felt uneasy about having to lie to her new friend. She couldn’t say anything about Skuldark, the Time Cat—or even Robot Rabbit Boy. Which was a shame, since she thought Mary would have liked the little creature.

  “Oh, well, I’m not sure yet,” Gertie said, trying to sound sincere. “Tell me more about Tanzania. . . .”

  But Mary was busy waving to someone on the other side of the room. A tall woman in a ball gown with gloves that went up to her elbow.

  “Sorry, but Mummy is here,” Mary said, putting down her plate. “I’m afraid I have to leave.”

  “Oh no!”

  Mary extended a gloved hand. “You’re a true flapper in my opinion. It was so nice to meet you, Gertrude—oh,” she said, noticing Gertie’s watch, “where did you get that?”

  “The watch?”

  “Yes! My mother’s friend Mercedes has one just like it!” Mary continued. “But she lost it.”

  Gertie’s eyes opened very wide.

  “Mercedes Gleitze?” she asked casually. “The champion swimmer?”

  “Yes! She had a lucky watch just like that, but lost it a few days ago. She was very upset. There’s a party upstairs for her as she’s going to swim the English Channel tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I’d love to meet her!” Gertie said, thinking quickly. “Will you introduce me?”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Mary said. “Immediately after her speech, she left for Croydon Airport, where Imperial Airways had a de Havilland 34 waiting to fly her to Cap Gris Nez in France for tomorrow’s swim.”

  “But it’s urgent!” Gertie cried. “I have to get her . . . autograph!”

  “Then you’ll need wings!” Mary laughed. “Farewell, Gertrude Milk.”

  Even though Gertie had only known Mary for a short time, she felt the weight of their parting. They would probably never meet again.

  “Take these!” Gertie said, fumbling for the tickets she had been given earlier by the friendly American clown. “Maybe you can take your mother to a show?”

  “How utterly decent of you,” Mary said. “How sporting! I’ve read all about Mr. Fred Astaire in The Tatler; it’s supposed to be a hoot.”

  Gertie blushed as her new friend gave her a kiss and held her hand.

  “I must say I’m going to miss you,” Mary said. “And I never say that to anyone.” She removed a peacock feather that was attached to her costume.

  “A gift . . .” she said, passing it to Gertie. “Flappers forever?”

  Gertie twirled the feather in her hand as Mary disappeared into the crowd toward her mother.

  “Flappers forever,” Gertie whispered, realizing that loss was a feeling she would have to get used to, if she accepted her fate as a Keeper.

  When Mary reached her mother, Gertie watched them embrace. She could only imagine what nice motherly things were being said. They would go to the show and see Mr. Astaire dance. Sit close to each other and laugh. Then walk home holding hands, or stop somewhere for hot chocolate and watch the trams. Gertie turned the peacock feather in her hands, trying to imagine the sensation of having a mother and a home.

  But underneath this desire for comfort, Gertie felt something else, something exciting, dangerous, and irresistible, just bubbling beneath the surface. It was not only a determination to help Kolt and do the right thing—but the need for action, a life of thrilling adventures and new things.

  Gertie realized then that such feelings were also a part of who she was. She would never stop looking for her family, she knew that—but in the meantime, why not live the way she felt was right? And if that meant returning things to the world, then that’s exactly what she was going to do.

  Gertie stormed out of the ballroom and found a staircase that led upstairs. When a waiter tried to block her path to the Palm Court, she simply kept walking and barked, “Out of my way!”

  He moved swiftly to one side.

  25

  The Passage Be
hind the Painting

  GERTIE FOUND KOLT dozing on a blue velvet sofa in the hotel lobby. She tapped his shoulder with gentle urgency.

  “Where am I?” he mumbled. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re in London at the Ritz Hotel, why are you sleeping? We’re on a mission.”

  Kolt opened his eyes and soon recovered a sense of urgency. “Yes, yes, you’re right, we’re here to return the watch, not to dance and gobble charcoal crackers with delicious smears of vegetarian pâté.”

  Gertie explained how their champion swimmer was on her way to the coast of France, where she planned to swim across the sea at dawn. “So I think we’ve missed our chance,” she said, “unless we come up with a plan.”

  “Why on earth would she want to swim across the sea?”

  “Because,” Gertie pointed out, “she’s a brave, independent, and free-spirited woman: a flapper.”

  “Oh, a flapper! In that case,” Kolt said, “swimming the English Channel makes perfect sense. Do you still have the watch?”

  Gertie held up her wrist. “Of course I do. Aren’t you listening to me?”

  Kolt studied the timepiece. “If only there were some clue to how a return might be possible under the current time constraints.”

  “I wonder why it’s so important?” Gertie said, noticing the word OYSTER written on the dial. “I suppose if it helps Mercedes Gleitze complete the swim, that might inspire women all over the world to follow their dreams!”

  Kolt agreed. “Many of the things the B.D.B.U. has me return to the world appear quite ordinary. But you never know if the dirty feather might turn out to be Shakespeare’s favorite quill, or a dried-up tube of paint is for Frida Kahlo’s next masterpiece. The B.D.B.U. has its reasons.”

  Gertie suggested racing to the coast in the Time Cat and then finding some kind of small but fast boat to get them to France.

  “If only the Time Cat were also a Time Tuna,” Gertie said, trying to think of anything that would get them to France on time.

  But Kolt admitted they had hardly any fuel in the car and no emergency rockets. It was also the middle of the night, they were both tired, and the model Jaguar they were driving would not be invented for another forty years or so.

  “Parking it on a side street is one thing, Gertie, but driving it through England for several hours is another matter, even if we had enough fuel.”

  “We can’t go back to Skuldark. We have to find a way!”

  “But we only have seven hours left, and not a penny of local money.”

  Gertie was adamant. “I want to do what we came here to do, which is give this woman what belongs to her. It’s my first solo mission, and I’m not giving up.”

  Kolt smiled. “Well it sounds like you’ve become a bit of a flapper yourself.”

  Gertie collapsed onto the blue sofa next to Kolt. “C’mon! Let’s think of something. . . .”

  A teenage waiter appeared with Earl Grey tea for two and several bars of the Ritz Hotel’s crumbly biscotti.

  “Complimentary after-party refreshments, sir and miss,” he said.

  “We’ll walk to the south coast then!” Gertie said jumping up. “We’ll go on foot, and then get on a fishing boat to France.”

  The waiter smirked. “Walk to Dover, miss? That’s over seventy miles away!”

  Gertie slumped down between two fat cushions. “That far?”

  “At least that far,” said the waiter. “But a very nice walk if you have a few days . . . just follow the Thames River west, until Gravesend, then continue in a straight line southwest toward the famous Chatham Dockyard, then follow the coast to Whitstable, then turn right, and go through Canterbury—visit the cathedral if you have time—then on to the white cliffs of Dover. If you had a longer period in which to holiday, you could follow the coast all the way around; it would be lovely if only for the birds you’d see.”

  “Wow!” Gertie said. “You’re like a human map!”

  The waiter blushed. “Well, thank you, miss, I inherited my father’s passion for adventure.”

  “Would you write all that down for me?” Gertie asked him kindly. “And if you know any places we could get on a boat to France, that would be really helpful too.”

  “You mean, draw you a map?” the waiter asked eagerly.

  Gertie nodded politely. “If you don’t mind.”

  The waiter took a hotel pencil from his pocket, and sketched the route carefully on the back of a cloth napkin. His drawing included the names of towns, villages, and landmarks. He even wrote “Good Luck!” at the bottom, along with his name, Edward Shackleton.

  Gertie thanked the clever waiter as he walked away.

  “It’s no use,” Kolt said. “We’d have to walk at fifteen miles per hour at least, then find a water craft immediately. It’s impossible, I’m afraid.”

  Gertie stared at the napkin in her hand. The reality of their situation was beginning to sink in. “Seems a shame to waste such a beautiful map.”

  “I’d expect nothing less from one of the Shackleton family.”

  “The waiter?”

  “Oh, yes, in about forty-five years, he’ll be president of the Royal Geographical Society. His father was Ernest Shackleton, an explorer who I’m sorry to say perished on his way to the South Pole not long ago.”

  Gertie folded the map into her cloak. “But there must be a way!” she insisted, gritting her teeth. “If I fail, I’m helping the Losers destroy human life by unleashing chaos and ignorance.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Gertie, it’s only one mission. Remember our motto, it could—”

  “I know. . . .” She sighed, rubbing the head of the golden goat lamp next to her. “I know.”

  Then to her astonishment, the goat’s eyes blinked three times, and behind the couch a tall painting swung open to reveal a passageway.

  Kolt was amazed. “I find as a Keeper of Lost Things that when secret doorways or portals open up, it’s generally a good idea to go through them.”

  “Come on then,” Gertie said. “What are we waiting for?”

  Kolt grabbed a handful of biscotti and they disappeared through a hole in the wall.

  26

  The Mayfly Catapult

  AT THE TOP OF A DARK, narrow staircase, Gertie and Kolt were met by a uniformed attendant wearing a top hat and white gloves. He saluted immediately.

  “On behalf of His Majesty, George the Fifth,” he said, “what is your wish?”

  “Our wish?” Kolt said, rubbing his chin. “Oh dear, I haven’t wished for anything in ages.”

  This seemed to make the guard nervous. “I didn’t mean wish in the way one reads about them in fairy tales, sir, but rather as a polite way of letting you know that I’m here to help.”

  Kolt nudged Gertie. “See what I told you about the British? Impeccable manners.”

  “Our wish,” Gertie said boldly, “is to get to Cap Gris Nez as quickly as we can.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the guard, clicking the heels of his patent leather Oxford shoes. “The French coast as soon as possible. Please follow me at once.”

  Gertie couldn’t believe it worked. Perhaps I am a flapper after all, she thought.

  The guard led them through a door and into a cupboard of brooms, dustpans, and tickling feather dusters (which made everyone laugh for a minute), then through a low door that led to another staircase.

  “May I ask where you’re taking us?” Kolt said, as there was now a terrible whirring noise that seemed to be getting louder with each ascending step.

  “To the roof!” he said. “As secret agents in the service of His Majesty, you both have unrestricted access to the Mayfly—a perk of the job.”

  “A Mayfly!” Kolt joked. “Well, I hope it doesn’t bite!”

  “Well, sir, it would only bite if you didn’t know how to op
erate it,” the guard chuckled. “In that case, it would mean you were enemy spies, and I would have to dispose of you both immediately once we got to the roof.”

  Gertie and Kolt laughed nervously.

  The buzzing was now so loud that when they finally got to the top of the Ritz Hotel it was impossible to say anything without screaming.

  To Gertie’s amazement, the Mayfly turned out to be a bright yellow two-seater biplane, with its propeller already spinning furiously.

  “Get in!” shouted the guard, moving toward a mechanism with several levers. On the wall Gertie spotted a sign.

  MODERATE DANGER OF DEATH

  CATAPULT RELEASE MECHANISM

  “C’mon!” she said, pulling Kolt toward the cockpit.

  “What are you doing?” he mouthed over the roar of the aircraft engine.

  “We have to try! It’s the only way to complete my first mission!”

  “G-G-Gertie!” he stammered. “We don’t know how to fly any aircraft—let alone one held together by chopsticks!”

  “Trust me!”

  The guard was now starting to get suspicious, so Kolt had no choice but to follow Gertie and buckle into the backseat of the Mayfly, strapping on some goggles he found lying on the seat.

  Gertie placed her hands on the controls and, with an enormous grin, nodded to the guard to release the catapult. The force at which they were flung into the midnight sky was so great that both Keepers were unable to breathe for several seconds as their stomachs crunched with the sudden velocity.

  By the time Gertie realized what had happened, the Ritz Hotel was just a dark lump with bright little squares far below. The Mayfly motor vibrated like ten thousand wasps trapped in a metal box. When Gertie pulled on the level, the nose of the aircraft lurched upward, and when she moved it left, the plane banked steeply.

  “I think I’m getting the hang of it!” she announced, hardly able to believe what was happening. But when she turned around, Kolt’s mouth was fixed open in a silent scream.