The Final Gambit

by Christopher Healy

  Molly pulled her hand from Emmett’s and thrust her finger in Bell’s face. “That’s—”

  “Venus!” Emmett redirected Molly’s arm so she was pointing up over Bell’s head. “Yes, Molly, that’s Venus up there. Good astronomy lesson. Well, look at the time. We should really be heading to bed.”

  “Look at the time?” Bell echoed. “There’s no clock out here.”

  “I can tell time by the stars,” Emmett said. “Can’t you?”

  Bell straightened his tie. “Naturally. And, uh, bedtime it is. I should wake up early to start packing my bags anyway.” He began ambling down the starboard deck to his cabin.

  “Good night, Mr. Bell.” Emmett nudged Molly.

  “Yeah, good night,” Molly grumbled. As soon as Bell was out of earshot, she added a quiet, “Sorry.” She was annoyed at herself. Of all nights to almost start an argument with Bell. She could’ve blown their whole plan.

  “It’s okay,” Emmett said. “Honestly, I wanted to do more than just stick a finger in his face. But—”

  “I know, now is not the time,” Molly finished. “Do you feel guilty at all about what we’re about to do? You were pretty close to Bell before you met us.”

  Emmett took in a deep breath of salty air. “Well, he basically got me off the streets after my father disappeared,” he said. “I’ll always be grateful for that. I don’t think he’s a bad person. But he and the Guild are too closely tied to the same government folks who want to see us behind bars. Besides, it’s kind of our only choice. I have a hard time imagining us stepping off Alexander Graham Bell’s super-ship in New York without a circle of federal agents waiting for us.”

  Molly nodded. “Well, you certainly made us hash over the plan long enough.”

  “That’ s because your original ‘plan’ involved hopping on the back of a passing dolphin.”

  “Which still sounds funner, but, yes, this new plan is better. See, I’m not afraid to admit when I’m wrong.” Molly flashed him a cheesy grin. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll be kicking our feet up on a train back to New York.”

  “Or keeping our heads down on a train to New York. Because, you know, those arrest warrants?”

  “Either way, we’ll be returning to New York on our terms. We’re going to have to reckon with the charges against us eventually, but we might as well do it when we’re good and ready, rather than the moment we hit the docks.”

  “I know. I helped make this plan, remember?” Emmett said. “Sneaking back on our own will give us time to figure out how we’re going to get the Mothers of Invention out of jail, for one thing. Those women risked everything to keep us safe. Helping them is our top priority.”

  “Absolutely,” said Molly. “And once we’ve freed them, they can rub their spectacular brains together and help us clear our names. And get Pepper’s Pickles back. And fix Robot.”

  “If anybody can do those things, it’s the MOI.”

  Molly got horrible pangs of guilt every time she thought about the way the brave, ingenious women of the MOI had held off a squad of federal agents long enough for Molly, Emmett, and Cassandra to escape on the boat they’d built for them. Those courageous and talented women, who’d previously put their lives and futures on the line to help defeat Rector at the World’s Fair, had ended up in handcuffs solely for the crime of aiding the Peppers yet again. But as Cassandra always reminded Molly, the MOI knew what they were doing; they’d sacrificed themselves because they knew the danger presented by Ambrose Rector and they wanted to make sure the Peppers had the chance to stop him. Of course, they’d also hoped that the act of stopping Rector would bestow fame upon them and help them enact change in the inventing world, such as getting women allowed into the Inventors’ Guild. But that part hadn’t quite worked out yet. If they managed to pull off tonight’s plan, though, there might still be a chance for Molly and her friends to achieve the kind of recognition and status they deserved.

  “It’s been long enough,” Molly said. “Let’s check on him.” Molly and Emmett crept to Bell’s cabin door and listened until they heard the sound they were waiting for: a wet, rumbling, eardrum-grating snore. They nodded to each other, and grabbed the two carpetbags packed with supplies and changes of clothing that they’d stashed inside a large coil of rope earlier that day. They slid their arms through the secret shoulder straps that Cassandra had sewn into the bottoms of the bags, and slung them onto their backs like mountaineers’ packs before hurrying to the wheelhouse. “Bell’s out. Time to move,” Molly whispered to Captain Lee, who was at the helm. The captain nodded, silently adjusted a series of dials on the control panel, and joined the children on deck.

  Molly didn’t know if the captain’s silence was him trying to be stealthy or just him being him. In the dozen or so weeks she’d known him, Molly, who considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, had not been able to get a good read on Wendell Lee. He was quick to waggle a finger at Emmett for slurping his soup too loudly, but then he’d let out an impressively resounding belch after the meal. He would frown disapprovingly whenever Cassandra burst out into a boisterous rendition of “Polly Wolly Doodle” or “Yankee Doodle Dandy” (or any of the “Doodles,” really), but then he’d grab Emmett’s hand out of the blue and start dancing a little jig with him. Molly didn’t know which was the real Captain Lee: the stern and serious man, like the fathers in so many of the books she’d read, or the fun and goofy guy, like her own father had been before they’d lost him to tuberculosis.

  Even more fascinating—Emmett didn’t seem to know either. When Molly had asked him what his father used to be like, Emmett replied, “Strict. Never silly like he has been lately. I lived with a strong set of rules for so long. That’s why it was difficult for me to adjust to life in the Pepper household. Remember how shocked I was the first time I saw you throwing pickles at your mother to wake her up?”

  To which Molly responded, “We live in a pickle shop! What was I supposed to throw? Apricots?” But she understood Emmett’s point. The captain’s time in Antarctica had changed him. But was this new, more entertaining version just a mask, or was this the real Captain Lee finally coming out? Molly hoped for the latter, because “Silly Captain” seemed less likely to take his son away and break up Molly’s family. “Serious Captain,” though? Serious Captain had already made far too many comments about “getting our lives back to the way things were before.” And by “our lives,” Molly was pretty sure he meant just him and Emmett. The Peppers weren’t part of “before.” Aside from her mother, though, there was no one who meant more to Molly than Emmett, and if being back with his father was what Emmett wanted, Molly promised herself she would not be the one to get in his way.

  The trio slunk along the portside deck to Cassandra’s cabin and gave the secret knock. The door cracked open and Molly’s mother poked her head out, grinning like a child at a birthday party. “Is it time?” she asked. Molly nodded and stepped aside to make space for her mother and Robot, who shuffled out together, carrying the engine that Cassandra had spent the last two weeks secretly building out of loose parts and stolen gear from the AquaZephyr.

  “Good evening, friends. And a happy secret escape plot to you all,” said Robot as moonlight glinted off his silvery cheeks. The tall metallic humanoid had blocky feet, a barrelish chest, and long pipelike arms. His metal mustache twitched as he tipped his hat—a dirty brown derby that had belonged to Bell until the inventor finally got tired of Robot asking to borrow it.

  “Keep both hands on the motor, please, Robot,” Cassandra said, referring to the heavy-looking block of pipes, gears, and pistons they were toting. She turned to the others. “Lady and gentlemen, may I introduce you to our way off this boat. No, wait—that’s not correct. Our way off this boat will be stepping over the railing into the rowboat. Lady and gentlemen, may I introduce our way back to land. Well, technically the rowboat will be—”

  “It’s okay, Mother,” Molly said. “We all remember the plan.”

 
; “Ah, good,” said Cassandra. “I can’t wait to try it!”

  Emmett furrowed his brow. “Try what? The plan or the engine?”

  “Both,” Cassandra said with enthusiasm.

  “I thought you already tested the motor,” Emmett said, failing to disguise his concern.

  “I did,” Cassandra said. “In my cabin, for five minutes. But I’m reasonably certain that twelve hours on the ocean shouldn’t cause it to explode or anything.”

  Captain Lee raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

  “Oh, when I’m joking, you’ll know it,” Cassandra said. “I assume. I have no way of knowing how my jokes sound to someone else. Am I funnier than I think I am?”

  “Let’s discuss this when we’re safely on our way to Florida,” Emmett suggested, retrieving a bag of tools from Cassandra’s cabin. “Emphasis on the safely.”

  “Should Robot be lugging that thing?” Molly asked as they made their way toward the ship’s stern. “We need to conserve his Ambrosium, right?”

  “Do not be concerned, Molly,” the metal man replied. “Mrs. Pepper surmises that normal mechanical motions, such as walking or lifting, do not erode the meteorite, as I was capable of performing such actions before I received my Ambrosium.”

  “Yes, it’s only the more magicky things that put a drain on his battery, as it were,” Cassandra explained. “Magnet rays, defying gravity, mind reading . . . Wait, can you read minds? No, forget I said that! And don’t try it, because if you can do it, it would be one of the things you shouldn’t do. Anyway, flying is the worst of it, which is why all five of us are squeezing into one dinghy instead of having Robot just zoom off to Miami to wait for us.”

  Molly tried not to worry about it, but couldn’t help wondering why the mecha-man was stooping, seemingly having a tougher time lugging the engine than her mother was. Back when she had first encountered Robot in a dark vault, she’d been terrified of him. But now she looked upon his clunky hands, goofy handlebar mustache, and big, round, perpetually shocked eyes with nothing but affection. And not just because Robot had saved their lives on multiple occasions. Even as dented and scuffed as he’d become over the course of their misadventures, he was still a thing of beauty in her eyes.

  “Do not fear,” Robot said. “I am not an easily broken thing, such as glass. Or an egg. Or a glass egg.” Metaphors had never been Robot’s strength.

  They stopped along the port rail, by a shiny chrome control panel with multiple levers and a crank wheel. Emmett flipped the switches to open a panel in the side of the AquaZephyr’s hull, from which emerged a steel platform bearing a four-person rowboat. Emmett hopped the rail with the tool bag, then helped Cassandra into the dinghy with the motor. They immediately began working to secure the engine to the rear of the small wooden craft. Molly looked up and down the deck. There was only one more person they needed for her plan to be complete.

  “I am here, escaping friends! Right on time! I am very good at being prompt.” Roald, the AquaZephyr’s ten-year-old Norwegian cabin boy, bounded around the corner and was greeted by sharp shushing from everyone. “Ah, yes, we whisper for secrecy. Have no fear, I can speak so silently none will hear it.” He moved his lips noiselessly. “Did you hear that? If you say yes, you are not being truthful. Because I was faking. I said nothing.”

  “I’m going to miss you, Roald,” Emmett said, helping his father over the rail into the rowboat.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Molly asked. “It’s a pretty packed boat, but maybe you can sit on Robot’s shoulders.”

  “I have wide shoulders,” Robot said, climbing clumsily into the dinghy and offering his arms to the boy. “Like a buffalo. Think of me as an aluminum buffalo.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Roald said. “I will be saddened by your parting, but Uncle Lars is my responsibility. He is a true criminal, unlike you five. He is in the brig for now, but Mr. Bell and I will have to see he is properly dealt with when we make port. Besides, if I go with you, who will lower your getaway boat?”

  Molly gave him a hug before climbing into the dinghy. “That’s very mature of you, Roald.”

  “I am very mature,” Roald replied proudly. Then his face turned suddenly serious. “Molly and Emmett, you have been good friends to me. Perhaps my first real friends. And Robot, you have been my . . . shiniest friend. Mrs. Pepper, you have been kind and welcoming to me. And Mr. Captain Lee, I do not know you as well. But I like your eyebrows. Thank you all for everything.”

  Molly was surprised to find herself misty-eyed. “You’ve been a true friend, Roald,” she said. “I hope we meet again, someday.”

  “Come with us, Roald,” Cassandra said. “I’m sure Bell can handle your uncle—”

  The boy shook his head. “As long as we can still get this ship to New York, I will be all right.”

  “The navigation coordinates are preset,” said Captain Lee. “And I’ve left detailed instructions in the wheelhouse.”

  “Then here is to the future!” Roald said, saluting them. “Oh! And do not forget this. For your train tickets.” He fished a wad of American dollars out of his pocket and handed it to Cassandra.

  “Are you sure about this, Roald?” Cassandra asked. “It still feels wrong to take your money.”

  “Pish posh,” said the boy. “You need it more than I right now. And it is Uncle Lars’s money anyway. He is locked up in the brig, so it was very easy to steal.”

  “That actually makes me more uncomfortable,” said Captain Lee.

  “But it was money paid to my uncle by Mr. Rector,” said Roald. “So really it is Rector’s money that will get you back home.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t bother me at all,” said Emmett.

  They thanked Roald as he gripped the crank wheel and began to lower the dinghy to the water.

  “Don’t forget: you’re still going to be the first person to set foot on the South Pole someday!” Molly called to him.

  “I know!” he replied cheerily. “I am very good at—”

  “What’s all the commotionation?” a voice called from farther down the deck. “Someone mucking about with the rowing boat?” It was Pembroke, a former gangster and Rector henchman who switched sides when he realized Rector had planned to kill him too. But Pembroke wasn’t part of their escape plot; he was still loyal to Bell.

  Roald stopped cranking and the escapees in the rowboat froze, unsure of what to do.

  That’s when Robot rose and hovered over the rail, back to the deck. Molly gasped.

  “You are very good at distracting people, are you not, Roald?” Robot said. To which Roald nodded vigorously. “Go keep Mr. Pembroke busy and I will lower the rowboat.”

  “We’re not leaving you behind, Robot!” Emmett said.

  “I will fly down to the rowboat once it is on the water.”

  “You can’t,” Molly warned. “You need to preserve your Ambrosium! You’ll—”

  Cassandra put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “One thirty-foot dip isn’t going to wipe him out,” she said. “This might be our only way to make sure Bell doesn’t follow us. Thank you, Robot.”

  There was a click as Robot nodded his metallic head and began cranking the wheel.

  “Who’s down there?” Pembroke called, and Roald rushed to cut him off before he turned the corner around the mess hall and spotted them. The group in the dinghy listened as their vessel slowly dropped toward the waves below.

  “Mr. Pembroke! Mr. Pembroke, it is me!”

  “What are you doing sphinxing around out here at this o’clock, Roland?”

  “Roald.”

  “Whuzzat?”

  “My name is Roald.”

  “You mean to tell me I been on this vesicle with you for nine weeks and I been calling you by the wrong monocle?”

  “Come with me, Mr. Pembroke. Mr. Bell has a book in his library that I would like to show you. It is called a dictionary.”

  The dinghy touched down upon the water and C
aptain Lee unhooked the ropes that fastened it to the platform. They pushed off into the open sea, out from under the arcing, crablike legs of Bell’s hydrofoil, as the platform rose back up, nestling once more into its compartment in the upper hull.

  Molly looked up. “Where’s—”

  Before she could finish the question, Robot came floating down from the deck and landed gently in the bow of the rowboat. “Success,” he said.

  As Captain Lee paddled hard to break free of the much larger vessel’s wake, Molly inched down her bench toward Robot. “Can we take a quick peek inside? Just to check.”

  After a pause, the metal man put a hand to his chest plate and clicked open the small panel at its center. Molly, Emmett, and Cassandra all leaned in to peer at the dimly glowing bit of orange stone cradled by a nest of wires and springs. Back at the World’s Fair in March, when the Ambrosium was first placed inside Robot, it was bigger than a human fist; now it was roughly the size of a thumb.

  “Thank you, Robot,” Cassandra said soberly. “You can close up now.”

  “And no more flying,” Molly said. “That was it, okay?”

  “I can fly,” Robot said, rather haughtily. “But I will not. I will be like a penguin.”

  “You know, penguins don’t just stay on the ground because they like it,” Emmett said. “They literally don’t have the ability to fly.”

  “Then I will be like a penguin with a flying machine . . . that he does not use,” Robot said.

  Emmett shrugged. “I guess that works.”

  Molly bit her lip with concern. Robot’s life expectancy was growing shorter by the day. And if trouble was waiting for them back in the States, who knew how long it would be before they could fix him? If they could fix him. Without getting their hands on more Ambrosium, the possibility felt frighteningly out of reach.