“We are far enough from the AquaZephyr,” Captain Lee said, pulling in the oars. “Time to show us what that motor of yours can do, Mrs. Pepper.”
Cassandra wiggled her fingers in anticipation. “Hold tight, everyone. I don’t know how much of a kick our little friend here will have.” Throughout the boat, fingers gripped seats and walls as Cassandra pulled a long cord and a rumbling purr arose. “Get ready. Things are about to get—”
The boat took off on its own, the engine propelling it forward at a reasonable speed.
“—smooth and comfortable, apparently. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I honestly hadn’t ruled out an explosion.”
Molly and Emmett tried to stifle their amusement at Captain Lee’s poor attempt to hide his discomfort. As the AquaZephyr disappeared behind them, Molly leaned back into Robot’s cool metal arms and decided to enjoy the ride. Within a few hours, the green Florida coast came into clear view.
“Land ho!” Molly said. She knew that even once they were off the water, they still had a long journey ahead of them. She just hoped it would lead them to a cozy little pickle shop and not a cold, bleak prison cell.
2
An Audience with the Swamp King
AS THE SUN’S first rays lit up the swells, the motorized rowboat puttered north through the Gulf of Mexico. Molly stared off to the right at a seemingly endless stretch of greenery that was tantalizingly close. “Okay, that has got to be the actual Florida Florida,” she said. They had already passed what seemed like a dozen perfectly good little beaches, but every time Molly had yelled, “Land ho!,” Captain Lee explained that they were just passing islands—the Florida Keys—and it was pointless to stop before they reached the mainland. It made sense, but when someone is as tired, hungry, and cranky as Molly was after eight hours of bouncing over waves in the cramped little dinghy, sense isn’t always what they’re looking for.
“Yes, that is the Florida peninsula,” Captain Lee said, but he didn’t tilt the rudder to steer them any nearer to shore.
“Soooooo . . . land ho?” Molly tried. “Can we finally get out of this thing? I can’t be the only one whose stomach is out-rumbling the engine.”
“I have no stomach,” said Robot. “But I can make a rumble noise with my elbows. Would you like to hear it?”
“It’s all swamp over there. Who knows if that vegetation we’re seeing is even on solid land?” Captain Lee said. “Getting lost in the marsh would do us no good.”
“Wait, is it a swamp or a marsh?” asked Cassandra. “If you don’t know, how can you be so sure it’s not safe?”
“Maybe it’s a fen,” Molly added.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the captain. “My point is that if you can just be patient, then in three more hours north, maybe four, we should find a legitimate port.”
“Hours?” Molly moaned. “I’ll be a skeleton by then! And do you have any idea how annoying it is to have to wipe sea spray off your eyeglasses every five minutes?”
Emmett wobbled in his seat with every rise and dip of the boat, his green-tinged complexion indicating that his old seasickness had returned. He’d barely said a word the entire trip, but Molly wasn’t sure whether that was because of his nausea or his father. She had begun noticing a tendency in Emmett to grow quiet in the captain’s presence. She didn’t like it.
What bothered her even more, though, was her mother’s silence. Cassandra sat with her shoulders slumped, staring glassy-eyed into the gradually brightening distance. Molly nudged her.
“THAT’S RIGHT!” Cassandra burst out, shaking the whole boat. “I’m sorry—I mean, Molly is right. About us being hungry. And tired. So very tired. If there’s possibly anywhere in that swamp or fen or marsh—”
“What about a bog?” said Robot. “Perhaps it is a bog.”
“I think they’re all the same thing,” said Cassandra. “But that is a debate I’d much rather have after a snack and a nap. So, Captain, if there is even a slight chance of stopping someplace closer . . .”
Emmett lifted his head. “Papa, are we sure it wouldn’t actually be, you know, safer to get off the water here? There are no people around, at least,” he said. “I mean, it’s past dawn. Do we really want to pull into a busy harbor full of fishermen and dockworkers when people might be on the lookout for us?”
“I seriously doubt the New York police are looking for you in the Gulf of Mexico,” Captain Lee said.
“It’s not just that, Papa,” he said weakly. “The Exclusion Act. Remember we told you about that? While you were in Antarctica, President Arthur—”
“Banned Chinese immigrants, yes.” Captain Lee’s face darkened. “I suppose that’s a bit of news I would have liked to have forgotten. Not that I can really say I was surprised by it.”
“I know,” Emmett said. “But you see my point, right? It doesn’t matter that we entered the country legally before the ban. If we come in through a busy port now . . .”
His father gave a solemn nod.
“Enough debate,” Molly said. “Emmett’s obviously on our side. That’s three votes for stopping, so let’s stop. Democracy in action.”
“Technically,” Captain Lee said, “a ship is not a democracy. The captain makes all the decisions.”
“It’s a dinghy,” Molly said flatly.
“And technically, none of us here has a legal right to vote, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t,” Cassandra added bitterly. “The point is, we’re all in this together and most of us are about to melt into sleepy little hunger puddles. So, pardon me, Captain, if—”
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I intended that as a joke,” Captain Lee said quickly. “Sorry if it came out wrong. I guess I’m a little rusty. The penguins were a pretty easy audience. They’d laugh at anything.”
Molly saw Emmett view his father with a squint that said, “Rusty? When were you ever smooth?” Or perhaps that squint had more to do with the idea of laughing penguins.
“I’d be happy to forgive you, Captain,” said Cassandra. “If you start steering this boat shoreward.”
The captain did just that. “If people are hungry and tired, then we must address those needs,” he said. “I apologize for not doing so sooner. I once went a week living on nothing but melted snow and fish scales, so I sometimes forget that not everyone has the constitution for sea travel that we Lees have.”
“Um, I’m in just as poor shape as the others,” Emmett said.
“Worse, I’d say,” added Molly.
Captain Lee half smiled. “You just haven’t grown your sea legs yet, son. But now that I’m back, we’ll have plenty of time to remedy that, eh? You were too young before, Emmett. I can’t wait to show you all my favorite things—fishing, boats, fishing boats . . .”
Emmett bowed his head. Molly couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his frustration. She wanted so badly to point out that Emmett had spent the last five months on a boat and hated it. If his father was trying to win him over, promises of more seafaring were not going to make the sale. But she’d vowed not to interfere in Emmett’s relationship with his father. Especially when she wasn’t a hundred percent sure if she should be rooting for or against patching it up.
“In any case,” Captain Lee continued, “we five are, for the time being, a team. And so, yes, majority rules.”
Time being? Molly didn’t like the sound of that. But before she could ask for clarification, her mother bounced in her seat, pointing toward the marshy shore and shaking the boat a bit too much. “Look there!” Cassandra said. “Something flattened out the reeds in that spot. It had to be a boat. That little inlet is going to lead us to people. Or a boat that drives itself. And frankly, I’m keen to see either.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” said the captain. “For all we know those reeds were flattened by a—”
“Who votes we go down that inlet?” Molly called out. All hands except the captain’s went up.
Captain Lee slumped in resignation and tilted the rudder, steering
their boat toward the break in the reeds.
“Can I get some sea legs?” Robot asked. “They sound very useful. The last time I went in the ocean, it was quite difficult to get out.”
As the purring motor pushed their craft upstream, Molly felt as though she’d entered another world, one that was nearly as alien to her as the crystal cavern they’d discovered in Antarctica. Despite it being midwinter, the air was thick and steamy—and filled with a cacophony of buzzes, chirps, and gurgles. Turtles and frogs watched them pass from floating logs. Carrot-sized dragonflies skimmed the surface of the brackish water, from which rose strange, warped trees that stood on gnarled, tentacle-like roots, and had long, mossy vines dangling like curtains from their limbs. The tall grass that lined either side of the murky stream was so like the reeds dotting the waterway that it was difficult to tell where the land actually started.
“We’re going to get lost in here, aren’t we?” Emmett said. “This is what I get for letting a primal urge like hunger overrule my normal need to create a solid plan.”
Captain Lee scoffed. “You need to learn to stand by your choices, boy.”
“You’re the one who was afraid we’d get lost! I’m agreeing with you now!”
“Yes, but I’d be more impressed to see you agree with yourself.”
Emmett arched an eyebrow. “Is that another joke?”
The captain looked down. “Um . . .”
“Gentlemen,” Cassandra interrupted. “I believe I see a house.”
Molly let out a victory hoot.
A short distance farther down the waterway, on what passed for land in a swamp like this, a grimy canoe lay among the thick weeds. Just a few yards inland, a small shack stood on splintery, mold-dappled posts that held it up out of the muck. Moss coated the roof and walls of the tiny home, which was constructed from uneven timbers, many still covered in rough bark. Its little porch might have been quaint had it not seemed likely to collapse in a mild breeze.
“You think the other two little pigs’ houses are around here too?” Molly asked.
Captain Lee shut down the engine and used the oars to pull their boat ashore alongside the old canoe that lay among the thick weeds. “We should knock,” he said, climbing out.
“I’m not sure that door can withstand a knock,” Emmett said.
Molly and Cassandra followed the captain, their feet splooshing into soft, gushy mud as they tramped over to the rickety porch. Molly was grateful they were still wearing the men’s sailor clothing they’d borrowed from the crew of the AquaZephyr. This was not a trek she would have wanted to make in her long black dress. And if her mother had been wearing a corset? They’d have had to lay her flat across the dinghy’s benches, because there’s no way she’d have been able to bend enough to sit properly in that tiny boat. As Molly often said, women’s garments were not designed for maritime escapades.
Back in the boat, Robot crouched as much as his mechanical joints would allow, and Emmett covered him with a blanket, just in case.
Captain Lee gingerly rapped his knuckles against the door. “Hello?”
“Sounds like no one’s home,” said Molly. “Let’s go in and see if they have any food.”
“Relax, Goldilocks,” her mother warned. “Whoever lives here might be our only hope of help for miles.”
“If it is bears, I would like to come out and see them,” Robot said from beneath the blanket.
Emmett shushed him and joined the others on the porch. His eyes were immediately drawn to a long, rusty machete leaning against the wall. “That looks . . . murdery.”
“I’m sure it’s just a tool,” Molly said, trying to convince herself. “For cutting vines and such. The owners of this place probably—”
“Get away from my house!” barked a gravelly voice from the side of the shack.
They all turned as a man stepped up onto the porch with them. He was gaunt, with deep-set eyes and leathery skin. The crown of his head was hairless, while the white beard on his chin was long enough to be tucked into his pants (which it was). The man snarled and raised his left hand, in which wriggled a hissing, three-foot-long, red-striped snake. “I don’t take kindly to trespassers.”
“We’re sorry! We were just looking for help!” Emmett blurted. “Please don’t throw your snake at us!”
The man looked at the serpent writhing in his hand. “Gah! Snake!” he shouted, tossing the animal into the water. “Whew! That was a close one. Those things are deadly. Thanks, friend. I owe you one.”
The Peppers and Lees looked to one another and shrugged.
“Well, perhaps you can be of help,” Captain Lee said. “We’re not from around here, and—”
“No one’s from around here,” the man said with a rough-throated chuckle. “That’s kinda the point in living here.” He held out his hand and Captain Lee shook it. “I’m Spurgeon.”
“Spurgeon,” Emmett repeated, also shaking the man’s hand, though far more reluctantly. “Is that a first name or a last name?”
“Oh, it is, kiddo. It is,” said Spurgeon. The man’s voice sounded like he was on his tenth straight year of laryngitis. He walked past them and opened the shack’s door. “Come in, let me show you around. I don’t get many visitors.”
“That could be because you yell things about not taking kindly to trespassers,” Cassandra said as they cautiously followed him inside.
“No,” said Spurgeon. “It’s because this place is impossible to find.”
“Um,” Emmett started. “We literally just—”
Molly elbowed him.
The inside of the shack was crammed with various furry dead things that Spurgeon had obviously stuffed to use as decor. Most looked like large rats or perhaps woodchucks, but Spurgeon was a terrible taxidermist, so it wasn’t easy to tell. It was also quite dim on account of the windows being far too small to let in adequate light. The room smelled like mushrooms and feet.
“I might regret asking this, but do you have any food, Spurgeon?” Molly said.
“Oh, I’ve got something special for the trespassers who saved my life,” Spurgeon said.
“Half of that description puts me at ease,” Emmett said.
After rooting through a wooden chest, Spurgeon laid an array of charred meat strips on his table. “Have a seat,” he said. There were no chairs.
“So, um,” Emmett began. “What kind of animal—”
“Better not to ask,” Molly said, grabbing a piece and biting into it. Cassandra and Captain Lee cautiously nibbled some as well, but Emmett seemed afraid to even touch the stuff.
“This kind man is sharing his homemade delicacies, Emmett,” Captain Lee said. “It would be rude to refuse. I once ate a whole octopus to be polite.”
“You like octopus,” said Emmett.
“That’s beside the point.”
Spurgeon looked on eagerly as Emmett sniffed the blackened chunk before him. “Thanks, but I think I’m still a little seasick,” said Emmett.
Molly, in the meantime, was already using her teeth to strip the thin bone she’d found at the center of her meat. “So, Spurge,” she said. “Which way’s the nearest town?”
“No towns anyone would call ‘near’ in these parts,” the swamp dweller replied. He sat down on what might have been a large stuffed possum. “And that’s a good thing. ’Cause if I had neighbors, they’d all want a piece of my land—a piece of the fountain. Old Ponce de León couldn’t find it, but old Spurgeon did.”
“Ponce de León?” Emmett asked. “Are you talking about . . . the Fountain of Youth?”
“Yessiree!” Spurgeon flashed a yellow smile. “Built my house right over it! How do you think I look so young? I’m thirty-four years old!”
Molly had pegged him at a hundred and four, so she said nothing.
“Well, you can rest assured we will keep your secret, Mr. Spurgeon,” said Captain Lee. “But back to our question: There may not be any towns nearby, but what town would be the nearest?”
�
��Punta Rassa, I s’pose. But it’s a pretty rough place. ’Specially for womenfolk.”
“Is there a railroad depot there?” Cassandra asked.
Spurgeon nodded.
“Then we’re going to Punta Rassa,” Molly said matter-of-factly. She wiped her hands on what might have once been a squirrel and headed for the door.
“You’ll never make it on foot,” Spurgeon said. “Gators’ll get you. If the snakes don’t get you first. Unless the gators get the snakes first and then they’re too full to eat you. But that’s probably not a good scenario to count on.”
“How do you get to Punta Rassa?” Cassandra asked.
“I take my donkey cart.”
“You have a donkey cart?” Molly asked in surprise.
“It’s out behind the house,” said Spurgeon. “Crazy, right? I keep expecting something out here’ll eat the donkey. But the swamp critters don’t go near him. Probably ’cause he smells like the devil’s outhouse.”
“Can you take us to Punta Rassa in your cart?” Molly asked.
Emmett tapped her shoulder. “Did you miss his description of the donkey? It was quite evocative.”
“Emmett,” his father chided.
“He’s the one who said the donkey stinks,” Emmett said.
“No offense taken,” Spurgeon interjected. “Swamp stink is the price you pay for living in the marsh.”
“Aha! See?” Cassandra said. “He just used ‘swamp’ and ‘marsh’ interchangeably. They’re the same thing, aren’t they, Mr. Spurgeon?”
“Now is not the time, Mother.”
“But he’s a swamp man,” Cassandra said. “He would know!”
“You folks want that ride or not?” Spurgeon asked.
“Absolutely! But we’ll need to load some . . . equipment onto your cart too,” Molly said, thinking of Robot.
“How much? Is it heavier than a bushel of mudbugs?” Spurgeon asked.
“Yes?” Molly guessed.
“Then it’ll cost extra,” Spurgeon said.
The Lees and Peppers huddled.
“How much are train tickets to New York from Florida?” Captain Lee asked.
The Final Gambit Page 3