***
We were riding our bikes around the lake at Silver Park when I started to sneeze. Once, twice, three times in a row. Pluto, the black cat that had adopted us as we escaped the House of Usher, hissed at the noise.
Marisa stopped and nodded toward some tall grass beside the water’s edge. “Allergies, huh?” she said. “Me, too. My throat’s getting all itchy even from here.”
“Uh-uh,” I answered. “I think I’m getting a cold. I guess Mom’s right – you shouldn’t play in the rain.” We both laughed. We had been caught in a thunderstorm outside the imaginary House of Usher just moments before.
A man with a radio pressed to his ear walked past us. “The police have been investigating a number of strange reports this afternoon,” the radio announcer was saying, “including sightings of a headless man on horseback in the downtown area, and a disturbance at a local fast food restaurant involving several children, a rabbit and a rodent ...”
The report faded as the man walked on. But it was good to know that other people had noticed all the weird happenings in town, too. At least we weren’t crazy.
The man with the radio rounded one end of the lake, stopped suddenly, and backed away. Six pirates stepped in front of him. The first pirate had only one leg and walked with a wooden crutch. A parrot sat on his shoulder, squawking, “Pieces of Eight! Pieces of Eight!” The poor man was so frightened that he dropped his radio and took off running into the woods.
One of the pirates bent down and poked at the radio with a dagger, changing the station. The sound of the newscast was replaced with loud, jarring rock music.
“Aaargh!” the pirate growled, covering his ears with his hands. Another pirate stepped on the radio, smashing it under a thick, black boot.
Earlier in the day, I would have suggested to Marisa that we make a run for it, but I knew by now that these men were the beginning of another Story Plague. “Okay, Marisa, I know they’re pirates, but which story do they belong in?”
“Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson,” she replied. “The big guy with only one leg is Long John Silver.”
“Like the restaurant?” I asked.
“Sort of. He’s the leader of the gang. They’re searching for buried treasure.”
Turning from the broken radio, the pirates looked straight at us. They talked quietly among themselves, then headed in our direction.
“Here goes nothing,” Marisa whispered.
“Ahoy, there, mates,” said Long John Silver, tipping his hat. “My men and I are a bit lost. I warn’t aware that there be any living souls here on Treasure Island.”
Marisa didn’t even try to tell him that they weren’t on Treasure Island anymore. The direct approach hadn’t worked with any of the characters we’d met so far, so it was best that she avoided it.
“We be lookin’ for a lad a bit older than yourselves,” the pirate continued. “Jim Hawkins is his name. A scrawny boy, no bigger round than a pencil. Seen him, have ye?”
“N-no, sir,” I answered. “I don’t believe he lives around here.”
Silver and the rest of the pirates traded puzzled looks. Like most of the characters we’d met, they were confused about their surroundings.
“Never mind, then.” He shrugged. “It’s probably best for him that I don’t find him, if you know what I mean.” He fingered the edge of the sword that hung around his waist, and Marisa and I knew exactly what he meant.
“Come on, men!” Silver started walking again. He got around pretty well for a guy with only one leg. “And bring the two young ones along, just in case they know more than they’re telling.”
The pirates grabbed us both by the shoulders and pushed us ahead of them. Long John led the way, limping through the grass and heading toward the lake. He reached into his jacket coat and pulled out an old piece of cloth, which he spread open on a nearby bench.
Looking over his shoulder, I could see it was a map of an island – Treasure Island, I assumed. The margin was dotted with two red crosses, and a third cross was drawn in the bottom left of the map. Silver turned the cloth over to reveal a set of handwritten instructions on the back:
Tall tree, Spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to the N. of N.N.E. Skeleton Island E.S.E. and by E. Ten feet.
“All right, men, we’ve reached the shoulder of Spy-Glass Mountain,” he said, squinting at the handwriting. “All we need to do is find what old Captain Flint used as a marker, and we’ll be able to decipher these directions to the letter.”
Just then, one of the pirates let out a shout. “Look, over there!” he screamed.
Up ahead, at the foot of a large tree, lay a human skeleton, dressed in only a few shreds of clothing. The skeleton’s arms were pulled above its head, and its fingers were straightened as if pointing at something. The empty eye sockets stared at us.
Silver hobbled toward the skeleton, followed closely by the rest of his men. After a few moments of debate, they decided he was one of the crew from Captain Flint’s last voyage, left here as a warning to anybody who tried to steal the treasure.
While the men talked, Marisa explained a little about Treasure Island to me. This Captain Flint character was dead, but his treasure was still on the island somewhere. Jim Hawkins, the boy Long John Silver was looking for, had found a map in a dead pirate’s belongings that led him, the town doctor and several others to sail to Treasure Island. Unfortunately, the boat’s crew had mutinied and taken over the search. It all sounded very exciting. Marisa assured me that it was a very good book. I decided that if we ever made it through all these Story Plagues alive, I would have to read it.
The pirates had almost decided to give up the search by the time Marisa finished her summary. “This place is haunted by the ghost of Captain Flint,” one of them argued.
“There ain’t no such thing as ghosts, ya cowards,” said Long John Silver, staring at them. “Do ya want to be rich, or do ya want to be yellow?”
Yellow was about to win out when Marisa stepped forward. “May I see your compass, Mr. Silver?” she asked politely.
Silver scowled, but reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out his compass. “Here ya are, lass, although I don’t know what good it’ll do ya.”
Marisa said nothing, but turned to the skeleton. “In which direction is this ... Skeleton Island?” she asked.
Silver grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her in the proper direction. “What are ya, blind?” he chuckled. “It’s right there ahead of ya!” I looked in that direction, but all I could see was the little island in the middle of the lake and the statue of the child with its arms reaching into the air.
Marisa sighted with the compass toward the statue. “And what direction is this?” she asked Silver.
He stared down at the compass. “Why ... it’s east-south-east by east, jus’ like the directions!” he said, grabbing the compass and tapping his map. “Men, this skeleton is a pointer! It’ll take us right to the treasure!”
And without another word, the old pirate hobbled away, followed by his men.
“Come on! Let’s help them find it!” I tugged at Marisa’s arm. “We can be rich!”
Marisa shook her head. “The treasure’s already been found, and we’d better not be around when those pirates find the empty hole where it was buried.”
I stared at her. “What do you mean ... gone?! Who has it?”
“Forget it,” she said. “Look!”
I did. The pirates were already fading before our eyes. We’d helped them on their way – right back into the novel by Robert Louis Stevenson.
When we returned to our bikes, Marisa and I opened the magic book and saw that Treasure Island was the newest story inside. Next to it, we read the latest clue to the identity of our mystery villain: A necklace and ring I earned.
We hopped on our bikes and pedaled up the hill and out of Silver Park, already on the lookout for the next challenge in our quest to find all the Story Plagues.
And what a challenge it was!
To Be Continued
No comments:
Post a Comment