After that, he’d start smacking his lips.
Me, I lay on my back near the anchor, trying to count the stars. Seemed like there were a million of them. In this peaceful quiet, it was almost possible to forget every crazy thing that’d happened to me.
Almost.
Until I’d think about the rogue Collector and his schemes, like maybe the flash flood in the park, or even the fire in the library. Whoever the rogue Collector was, he seemed pretty keen on disasters and destruction.
And I still wasn’t any closer to outwitting the Ragman.
“You look miles away,” Sweet Pea said as she came over and sat beside me.
I shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“Whatever it is, you shouldn’t let it get you down.”
“Thanks.”
Good thing she didn’t ask what my thoughts were. Like how maybe searching for the Magic Eight Ball would only get us killed. Like how maybe I was wrong about the whole thing. And like how maybe for all our plans, maybe, just maybe, we were in over our heads.
Then for some reason, I thought about the Professor.
“Sweet Pea? What do you know about the Artisans?”
She took a big breath, and after she let it out again, she spoke really slowly.
“Who knows what’s true when it’s all gossip? Artisans don’t really talk about themselves much, so it’s hard to say. I think most of them are pretty old. I don’t know how old, but they don’t seem to age.”
“Do they die? Are they human, or immortal, or what?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard so many things—most of it completely ridiculous. I’ve heard they’re ghosts. I’ve heard they’re time-traveling inventors. I’ve even heard they’re aliens.”
I pictured the Professor with alien antennas.
“They have some sort of special powers, though,” she continued. “Magic or something. How else would they be able to do the things they do? Make the Collectibles they make?”
“Have they ever gone bad? You know, done things that were hurtful or destructive?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible.” She tilted her head. “You’re thinking about the Professor, aren’t you?”
“I’m just wondering if we’ve made the right choice. I’ve already messed things up the first time.”
Sweet Pea was quiet for a while. When she spoke again, her voice was real soft.
“I have one memory. The one the Ragman showed me, you know, to prove he had them. I was alone at a beach. I was flying a kite. I was happy.”
She stopped talking like maybe she wasn’t going to say any more. Instead, she watched the dark waters ahead of us. The sails flapped in the breeze while the waves lapped against the side of the ship.
“How old were you?” I asked. “In the memory, I mean.”
“I don’t know. Ten, I guess. Old enough to fly a kite by myself. It was a beautiful kite, too. A red dragon with gold horns. I was horrible at flying it.” She laughed. “But every time it crashed, I didn’t give up because of the advice someone had given me. I don’t remember who. A grandma? I must have a grandma. Everyone does, right?”
Did I have a grandmother? Maybe with oatmeal cookies and doilies and a pet canary? I tried to remember. No luck.
“Yeah, probably,” I said. “I never really thought about it.”
“Anyway, that person told me success never favors a quitter. So I kept trying, and it worked. Eventually, I got my kite to fly.”
“You think we should keep trying to find the Magic Eight Ball?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter if the first time didn’t go well. Maybe the second time will be better.”
Besides, if we surrendered now, we’d hardly wake up tomorrow morning to find the Magic Eight Ball stashed under one of our pillows as if the Tooth Fairy had left it there by mistake. Sweet Pea was right—we had to keep trying.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen?” she asked, her eyes on the stars.
“I guess,” I said, gazing at her. Then I started wondering. If I’d ever seen anything more beautiful, how would I know it without my memories?
“Is Sweet Pea your real name?” I asked.
She stiffened, and it was a long time before she answered.
“It’s my name now. That’s all that matters.”
There was a pause.
“You really don’t care?” I asked.
“Care about what?”
“Your real name. Your past. Your family. Your memories. All of it. You really don’t care that you can’t remember any of it?”
“I told you. It doesn’t matter. After a while, you won’t miss it.”
There was another pause.
“I miss it,” I said.
“Have you ever considered that maybe it’s not worth missing?” She stood up. “You might have a stupid name, and you might have a boring past, and an abusive family and no memories worth keeping. Have you ever thought of that!”
She stomped to the front of the boat and turned her back to me. Great. When was I going to learn to keep my mouth shut? Now Sweet Pea was mad at me.
I didn’t notice when Deeter came up to me at first. Guess he wasn’t as sound asleep as I thought.
“You don’t ask those kinds of questions ’round here, Rookie,” he said quietly. “Not while you’re a Finder. You won’t last a week if you do. It hurts too much. Thinking ’bout what you lost—you’ll lose your mind, too. And there’s no Collectible on earth that’ll help you get it back.”
I glanced over at Sweet Pea. She had taken out The Book of All Words and was reading it again with her flashlight. Or at least it looked like it. She seemed to be ignoring me completely.
“Don’t worry. She’ll get over it.” Deeter lowered his voice. “And between you and me? She misses it. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
Deeter shrugged, and I knew his answer without him saying it.
He missed it.
I stood and leaned against the side of the ship, my face wet from the ocean spray. Maybe what Sweet Pea had said was true, but I still wanted to know. Even if I had a stupid name, it was my name. Even if I had a boring past, it was my past. Even if my life before this was worse than I could possibly imagine.
It was my life, and I wanted to remember it.
Deep down inside me, I felt a tug. It was so slight, I hardly thought about it, until I felt it again. A little stronger. Then I couldn’t stop feeling it. This longing to go…that way, somewhere. I clutched at the side of the ship.
“You okay, Rookie?” Deeter asked. “You’re lookin’ kind of ill. Are you gonna lose your lunch over the side? Because if you are, I’m going to the front of the boat—”
“The Magic Eight Ball,” I said, pointing. “It’s that way.”
Sweet Pea set down the book. “You can feel it this far away?”
“That’s impossible,” Deeter said. “We’re in the middle of the ocean.”
“I’m telling you, it’s there.”
Sweet Pea glanced at Deeter, and Deeter shrugged. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Sweet Pea shut The Book of All Words and then tapped her finger on the book’s spine absentmindedly. Deeter stared out into the blackness of the sea.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Sweet Pea said.
Still, neither of them looked me in the eye. I couldn’t blame them for not believing me. And even if they believed me, I couldn’t blame them for not wanting to take any directions from me. After all, the last time they followed my lead at the Hiddleburg Memorial Park, I nearly got them killed.
I sighed. “Look, guys, if you want to go back to the Ragman’s house—”
Sweet Pea stood. “If the Magic Eight Ball is over there, then we’d better figure out how to turn this ship.”
“You still tryin’ to figure that out?” Deeter asked. “I worked that out hours ago.”
He jogged to the front of the ship and patted the dragon
on the head.
“Hey, Viking ship,” he said, “would you please-pretty-please take us wherever Rookie says? We’d really appreciate it. The destiny of the world is at stake.”
As Sweet Pea and I joined him, he leaned over and whispered to us. “Always better ask for what you want politely. Isn’t that what they say about Collectibles?”
We waited, holding our breaths. At first, it seemed like the ship was still sailing on its original course until even Deeter started to shift his feet and look uncertain. But then, there was a change—almost imperceptible at first—as the sails flapped differently and the ship gradually started to swing around, altering its course.
Deeter shrugged. “See? Nothin’ to it.”
We sailed through the night, holding a clear line on this new course until the gray morning sky showed that sunrise was coming. By then, Sweet Pea and Deeter could feel the Magic Eight Ball, too. At dawn, we saw on the coastline a fishing pier jutting out like a finger pointing at the sea.
“There,” I said. “It’s there. On that pier.”
Most people would have laughed at me if I’d told them the Magic Eight Ball was on a fishing pier where it had no business being, but Sweet Pea nodded.
“Right,” she said. “We can’t go sailing up to it, three kids in a Viking ship. We’d draw too much attention. We’d better find a place to beach the ship, somewhere out of sight, so no one will see us. From there, we can walk.”
With its shallow bottom, the Viking ship had no problem landing on the beach, and everything seemed fine at first. But as soon as we got off the ship, that feeling came back again. We all sensed it. Exactly the same way we felt back at Hiddleburg park.
Like it was a trap.
Chapter 13
Fish Food
“Should we risk it?” I asked. “Should we go to the pier?”
Sweet Pea, Deeter and I stood there in the sand next to the beached Viking ship, looking at each other and wondering what to do. Seemed like there were no good options.
“If it’s a trap,” Sweet Pea said, “we’ll be expecting it now, so we’ll be ready for it. I vote we go take a look.”
“Man, that’s asking for trouble,” Deeter said. “I vote no.”
Which left the deciding vote to me.
“I vote we go to the pier,” I said, “but we stick together. No splitting up this time. Any sign of trouble, anything weird or creepy, we leave.”
“Agreed,” Deeter and Sweet Pea both said.
“What about the ship?” I stared at the dragon’s head grinning down at us. “Is it okay to leave it? What if someone sees it?”
“I doubt we’ll have to worry about that,” Sweet Pea said. “It probably won’t even be here when we return.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s mostly an illusion. It looks real, and it acts like a real ship, but it’s made of chalk and magic. It’s not a true Collectible. Things like the Viking ship only last a little while, usually just as long as you need them.”
Glad I hadn’t known that before. At least the ship hadn’t vanished while we were still sailing in it.
By noon, we’d reached the pier—a long, wide boardwalk reaching out to the sea. A few gray-haired couples strolled along the entrance, while a woman with a stroller sat on a wooden bench and fed crusts of bread to the seagulls. The sign at the entrance called it “Jetsam Pier.”
Deeter looked around. “Seems normal to me.”
He was right. Nothing stood out about this place. Not even the hot dog seller with his cart, though he was pretty perplexed when Deeter asked him to substitute a pancake for the bun. And I thought he might have a heart attack when Deeter asked him to spread peanut butter on the bun instead of mustard.
“No Magic Eight Ball here,” Deeter said through a mouthful of hot dog.
So it was happening—again. Last night, I’d felt that the Magic Eight Ball was here for sure. How could a Collectible be in a place one moment, and then gone the next? I glanced at Sweet Pea.
“Clues,” she said. “We need to investigate.”
The only things Deeter spotted were a tangled knot of old fishing line, a half-eaten donut, and a deflated beach ball. Sweet Pea’s luck wasn’t any better—just an empty soda can and a single green flip-flop. Me, I only found a blue, plastic fishing pole that’d been snapped in half right in the middle. I examined it, but it was a regular fishing pole, not a Collectible.
So much for clues. I tossed it aside.
The broken fishing pole landed next to a hot pink paper flyer, crumpled and torn. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it except that the flyer looked familiar. Especially the shiny blue writing on it. Like I’d seen it somewhere before.
I bent down and picked it up.
“Hey, guys—” I said.
Sweet Pea elbowed me hard in the side, then pointed at the hot dog seller. He was waving his arms, gesturing like he was saying something important. Standing next to him, listening, was a man wearing a tan trench coat and a brown fedora hat tilted down low over his eyes.
The Detective.
Yikes. The last thing we needed was an Artisan catching us now. We all ducked behind a large trash bin and held our breaths.
“How did he find us?” I whispered.
“He’s the Detective,” Deeter said. “He always finds what he’s looking for if there’s a case to solve.”
Unfortunately for us, the Detective and the hot dog seller were right near the entrance of the pier, so the only way we could escape was farther down towards the pier’s end. We started walking as fast as we could without drawing attention to ourselves.
“Maybe he won’t go this way,” Deeter said. “Maybe he’ll go down by the beach.”
After a few seconds, Deeter risked a glance back.
“Is he on to us?” I asked.
“Naw, I don’t think—oh, wait.”
I started to look back, but Sweet Pea gave me a nudge.
“Don’t let him see your face,” she said.
Deeter let out a cry. “Man, he’s coming down the pier behind us!”
We walked faster, past a group of tourists and a bunch of lampposts covered with seagull droppings. No good hiding place anywhere. We were completely exposed.
“Maybe we could jump into the water and swim away,” Deeter said.
“The waves are too rough.” Sweet Pea frowned. “We’d be crushed like sand dollars.”
“Is he still behind us?” I asked.
“He’s there, but he’s walking pretty slowly. I don’t think he’s seen us yet. Wait a minute. He’s stopped.”
This was driving me crazy, not being able to see for myself. I tried to turn my head, but Sweet Pea only nudged me again.
“What’s he doing now?” I asked.
“He’s talking to an elderly couple sitting on one of the benches.”
We’d arrived at the middle of the pier. If there’d been more people, we might have escaped by blending into the crowd, but the closer we got to the end of the pier, the fewer people there were. Sitting on one of the benches to our left was a businessman eating a sandwich, and walking towards us was a young couple holding hands. Down at the end of the pier was a lone fisherman. That was all.
Hardly what you’d call a crowd.
“What about a Collectible?” Deeter asked. “Sweet Pea, you got anything we could use to get us out of here?”
We paused at one of the benches, and Sweet Pea started digging through her backpack.
“How about the Paper Airplane?” Deeter asked. “You bring that?”
“No.”
“The Pocket Flashlight?”
“No.”
While Deeter kept rattling off Collectibles and Sweet Pea kept searching, I chanced a look at the Detective. He was walking away from us, back to the entrance. A few more steps, then he’d be at the beach, and we’d be free to escape.
“Hey guys,” I said, “I think he’s leaving.”
Deeter and Sweet Pea both looke
d up. The Detective took one step, then another, but more slowly, like maybe he was having second thoughts.
He stopped.
Seemed like the ocean tide had enough time to go out and come back again while we waited for him to move. He sniffed the air, and then he scratched his forehead with his thumb.
“Go on, go on,” I whispered.
The Detective shook his head and took another step towards the entrance of the pier. Finally, he’d made up his mind to leave.
Or maybe not.
At the entrance, he turned and gave the pier a long, hard stare. Then, reaching into the pocket of his trench coat, he drew out a large magnifying glass. Definitely a Collectible, a really powerful one. My stomach lurched, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Sweet Pea grabbed Deeter and me by our elbows and hurried us towards the end of the pier.
“Right. Here’s the plan,” she said. “Deeter, you slip the Sneak’s Ring onto Rookie’s finger so he’ll disappear. When the time comes, I’ll use my feather on the Detective. Then we’ll all make a run for it.”
“What! No way!” Deeter shook his head. “No way am I giving my ring to Rookie, and no way am I gonna be anywhere near you if you use the Swan Feather on the Detective. That’s crazy talk. He’ll haul us off to the Artisans’ Council for sure!”
“Think about it, Deeter. The Detective is using the Magnifying Glass. There’s no chance we’ll be able to hide or sneak away now.”
“Which is exactly why I’m keeping my ring!”
“But it’s Rookie he’s truly after. Neither of us was anywhere near the library, and eventually the Artisans’ Council will figure that out. In the meantime, Rookie can escape. But if the Detective catches him, he’s toast. The Artisans will stick him in the Penitoria for a crime he didn’t commit. Maybe for life!”
The Penitoria? That didn’t sound like a fun time. Just the word alone made Deeter shudder—even more than the mention of some mysterious Artisans’ Council.
“All right,” he said. “But only if we have to. And if I give you my ring, you better not lose it, Rookie, or you’re gonna wish you’d been sent to the Penitoria!”
The Crown of the Bandit King Page 10