Escape to the World's Fair (8 page)

O
PERATION HUCKLEBERRY

L
isten for the whistle. Then count to a hundred.

Jack kept repeating the directions in his head as he waited in the luggage hold with Eli. The escape plan Eli had come up with was a good one, but it involved an awful lot of waiting.

Right now, on the upper deck, Frances and Harold were doing some waiting of their own. They too wouldn't move until they heard the whistle. Once it sounded, Frances would distract the first-class passengers with her dancing—one of the Irish jigs she used to perform for coins down on the Bowery.

Meanwhile, in the livestock pen, Alexander, Finn, and Chicks were waiting for the right moment to create a noisy diversion for the deckhands, and over by the bow, Dutch and Owney were getting ready to put out the gangplank.

The patch of sky Jack could see from his hiding spot was getting hazier, the kind of haze that came from a city's chimneys and smokestacks. They had to be close to docking. That was when the
Addie Dauphin
's whistle would sound, just as the boat was about to arrive in St. Louis. Jack tried not to think about the fact that Edwin Adolphius's canning factory was nearby.

“Do you think we missed the whistle?” he whispered to Eli.

Eli shook his head. “Not a chance. That thing is right over our heads. And if the plan wasn't going right, we'd know.” They had all agreed that if something went wrong, the code word to shout was
huckleberry,
and so far nobody had shouted it. “Just calm down.”

Jack breathed out. “Aren't
you
nervous?”

Eli grinned. “Well, I keep thinking there's someone looking over our shoulder, and
that
feels funny.”

Jack turned and looked back at the straw-stuffed figure wearing a red flannel shirt, brown trousers, and a black derby hat. “Well, at least he's on
our
side.”

They'd discovered the shirt and trousers and hat in one of the heavier trunks. The figure's head was a lady's stocking stuffed with cotton from the cargo bales, and its feet were socks packed with straw. They'd even found a pair of shoes, but everyone realized that Owney could use them more. In the end they had something that was a lot like a scarecrow, only better, because it was going to do much more than stand on a post in a cornfield.

“We should call him O'Reilly,” Eli said. O'Reilly was the mean farmhand who'd bossed him around back at the Careys' place. “What do you think?”

Jack laughed and was just about to answer when the whistle began to sound. It gave off a long, low call that everyone on the boat could hear.

“Finally!” Eli said under his breath. “Start counting!”

Jack nodded.
Four five six seven eight nine ten eleven . . .
He was trying not to count too fast.

He and Eli each took an arm of the dummy. “Come on, O'Reilly, let's get a move on,” Jack muttered as they began to drag it toward the railing.
Thirty-two thirty-three thirty-four thirty-five . . .
Now they had only a minute.

“Wait a second!” Jack cried as soon as they got to the railing. “His arm came loose!” He reached up inside the dummy's shirtsleeve and tried to pack the straw more tightly.

Just then Dutch and Owney came running back from the bow.

“We got the gangplank ready!” Dutch cried. “But . . . uh . . .” He gasped and shook his head.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“
Huckleberry!
” Owney shouted. “You've got to hurry! Finn found something real strange under the cotton bales and we might be in even bigger trouble if we don't hustle.”

Jack could hear boots pounding the deck in the direction Owney and Dutch had come from. Someone was after them—getting closer—but still out of sight for the moment. He and Eli exchanged a panicked look. They couldn't let anyone see them doing what they were about to do.

With only seconds to spare, they lifted O'Reilly as high as they could over the railing, swung back, and let go.

• • •

On the upper deck, Harold was counting. “Sixty-five sixty-six sixty-seven sixty-eight . . .”

“Shh! Quit counting out loud!” Frances hissed. She was trying to focus on her dance steps and match her rhythm to the jaunty piano music coming from the nearby parlor. She felt self-conscious enough in the dress she'd borrowed from one of the trunks in the luggage hold. The dress was lacy and yellow, and she had pulled it on over her breeches and shirt in the little hidden stairwell between decks. She hoped to be rid of it by the time they were all off the boat, because if Dutch or Finn saw her in this getup they'd laugh their heads off, and Alexander would give her a funny look, too. Good thing they were all elsewhere at the moment.

Point foot, then bring it back. Step left, step front, hop . . .
Frances tried to concentrate more on her footwork than on the faces of the passengers who were now stopping to watch her. Her job was to make sure they were paying attention to
her,
instead of what was about to happen on the other side of the boat.

Turn, bring foot back, step right, step front . . .
She made sure she was wearing her brightest smile. A couple of older women nodded kindly as they watched her. There were half a dozen passengers in her audience now, and Frances wondered if it would be enough. . . .

Just then came the deckhand's cry. “MAN OVERBOARD!”

Already?
Frances thought.

A murmur went up among the passengers who had been watching Frances dance. She stopped mid-jig and looked over at Harold, who was still counting to himself, only now silently.
Eighty-five, eighty-six,
he stood and mouthed, but his eyes were wide with surprise.

Frances grabbed his arm. “Come on!” Everyone around them was rushing over to the other side of the boat to watch the rescue, but she and Harold headed straight for the large stairway that led to the lowest deck.

From the top of the stairs Frances could see that the boat had reached the dock and the gangway ramp was in place. All they had to do was run down those stairs and in a few more steps they'd be free! But then someone stepped right in front of her and Harold. A steward in a blue and gold uniform.

“Miss, it's not time to go ashore yet,” he said, blocking their way.

“But—but we're at the dock,” Frances protested.

“Miss, you'll have to wait until the situation down on the main deck has been resolved.” He lowered his voice and whispered confidentially, “That's no ‘man overboard'—just a dummy stuffed with straw. Some kind of prank!”

“Oh!” Frances tried to sound surprised. “You don't say!”

“They're trying to catch the brats responsible right now,” the steward replied. “They're all—” He stopped suddenly and grabbed at the air. “What's this?”

“It's snowing!” Harold laughed.

Before Frances could ask what on earth he meant, she saw a tuft of something white and fluffy float by on the breeze, and then another tuft, and another.

“Is that . . .
cotton
?” the steward said incredulously.

It
was
cotton, Frances realized. Cotton from the bales down on the lowest deck, scattering in the wind.

Harold ran over to the railing that overlooked the lowest deck. “Look!” he cried, and Frances followed.

Down on the front deck where the big cargo was kept, Finn and Chicks and Alexander were running among the stacks of cotton bales, tearing them apart. There was now a dazzling blizzard of drifting cotton bits, and three of the deckhands were in the midst of it all, swatting at the deluge. But instead of trying to stop the boys, they were busy grabbing big wooden casks and stowing them out of sight in another cargo hold.

Frances blinked. Where had those barrels come from?

“See, Frannie?” Harold said. “I knew there was something hidden under those bales when I jumped on one of them!”

Frances leaned over for a better look. There were words stamped on the barrels—
MADEIRA
RUM
AND
RYE
WHISKEY
.
She sucked in her breath. She had a feeling those casks weren't supposed to be on a boat like this—and that was why they'd been covered up. Now that the boys had discovered the casks were there, uncovering them was a perfect distraction to keep the deckhands busy!

Harold pointed down to the deck again. “Here come Dutch and Owney! And Jack and Eli, too!” The boys were making their way through the maze of cargo, heading toward the bow and the gangplank that led from the lower deck to the dock.

Alexander looked up and spotted Frances and Harold. He began to wave frantically.
Come on!
he mouthed as Finn and Chicks ran past him and joined the others in the cargo stacks.

Frances's heart began to pound. “They're all about to go ashore!” she whispered to Harold. “But we're still stuck up here!” She glanced over to the large stairway, which was still being guarded by the steward, along with another uniformed member of the crew. “What do we do now?”

Harold chewed his lip and got on his tiptoes to peer over the railing. “I know!” he cried. He clambered over the deck railing and hung on to the other side. “We'll climb down!”

“Harold!” Frances hissed. “No! It's too dangerous.”

“You know how good I can climb, Frannie. So can you!”

Frances scanned the upper deck. Maybe there was another set of stairs somewhere, but it would cost her and Harold precious seconds to find them. But here they had a clear view of the way off the boat, and they were right above the spot where they needed to be. About ten or twelve feet above, she guessed. Too high to jump, but . . .

“Okay,” Frances muttered. She yanked the yellow dress over her head—silly thing—and tossed it aside, glad to be back in her boys' breeches. Then she swung one leg over the side of the railing. It was just like climbing down from a fire escape, she tried to tell herself. Except
backward . . .

A
CLOSE CALL

J
ack turned in all directions. “Where are Frances and Harold?!”

“Keep your head down!” Eli called in a loud whisper. “We're not off this boat yet!”

They were close enough to the gangplank to make a run for it, but Eli had suddenly ducked down next to a stack of crates and motioned for Jack to get down, too.

“One of the deckhands was getting awfully close,” he explained. “But I don't think he saw us. . . . Hey, what's this?”

He was peering into the open end of one of the crates. Jack had noticed, too, the way something inside was oddly shiny and caught the light. Eli reached over and pulled out a small, flat bottle with a crudely printed label that said
PURE
GIN
.

“I bet
this
smells foul,” Eli said, but before he could say more, they heard footsteps. Jack crouched down even lower as two of the burliest deckhands passed by.

“Here's the bottled stuff!” one of them said, thumping a crate right near Jack. “Boss says to stow these back in the luggage hold!”

“What about the river rats?” the other asked, and Jack felt a prickle down his spine. They were talking about him and his friends!

“Get 'em if you can, but Boss says hide all the booze first now that it's been uncovered. Besides, he says he knows where to look for those runts if they go ashore.”

“Heh-heh, what kid
wouldn't
want to see that fair.” The first one chuckled as they grabbed a few of the crates and stomped off.

“Uh-oh,” Jack muttered as he and Eli stood up again.

“Uh-oh is right,” said Eli, pointing up. “There are Frances and Harold!”

Jack turned to see Frances shimmying down one of the support posts that held up the upper deck balcony. But Harold stayed where he was, clinging to the woodwork beneath the upper deck rail, and Jack realized he'd gotten his foot caught.

Frances let herself drop the last few feet and landed in a crouch. The two boys rushed over, joined by Alexander and the older boys.

“Harold . . .” she panted. “Stuck!”

“My hands are all hot!” Harold whimpered above them, one foot swinging free.

“I know!” Jack called. “But don't let go.”

The spot where Harold clung was closer to the upper deck than the lower, and for a moment it seemed that all he needed to do was climb back to where he started. But then a fellow in a fancy uniform leaned out over the railing and glared down at all of them.

“Don't go back up, Harold!” Frances fretted. “You'll get caught!”

“But it's hard to hold on!” he cried. His arms started to shake.

Just then Alexander seized the support post and began to pull himself up to meet Harold. He reached out and grabbed the younger boy's belt in the back. “It's all right. I've got you!” he said.

“And we've got you, too!” Dutch called. He and the other three older boys were standing with their arms held out and clasped tightly together to make a sort of safety net.

“Nothing to be afraid of, Harold!” Jack said, and he believed it, too. They were all working together, all nine of them. They all wanted the same thing—to get off this boat, to be on their own.

Harold stopped shaking. He took a deep breath, found a foothold with his free foot, and then suddenly yanked his stuck foot loose.

“I'm free!” he yelled, and clambered over to the support pole, where he slid down right after Alexander.

“Now let's
go
!” Finn shouted, heading for the gangplank.

His brother was right behind him. “To Wanderville!” Chicks called.

• • •

Jack had never thought he could move so fast across something as narrow as the gangplank. But his scurrying feet took him to the soft boards of the dock at last. They were on shore!

“We did it!” Eli shouted. Both boys stopped to catch their breath.

Behind them, Frances and Harold had just leapt off the gangplank and were running to catch up. And just ahead, Alexander and the older boys thumped one another on the back and cheered. Jack and Eli started to walk over to join them, but after a few steps, Jack paused.

“What is it?” Eli asked.

“Dutch and his friends want to go to Wanderville,” Jack said. “But they don't know what it is.”

He couldn't hear what Alexander was saying to the older boys, but they weren't cheering anymore. Their faces were now serious.

Frances and Harold caught up with Jack and Eli. “What's going on?” Frances asked Jack. She looked over to the group of boys. “What are they talking about?”

“They're learning the truth about Wanderville,” Jack said.

Frances sucked in her breath. “Uh-oh.”

They could see that Dutch's eyes had narrowed, and Owney had crossed his arms. Alexander was still grinning, but he was looking from one face to another anxiously.

Jack and Frances drew closer to listen in.

“You better give us a straight answer,” Chicks threatened.

Finn glared at Alexander. “I'm asking you again,” he said. “Where's
Wanderville
?”

“I told you!” Alexander replied. “It's always been here! Or wherever you want it to be!”

Jack's mouth went dry and he turned to Frances. She looked stricken, and he knew she realized the same thing he did.
They think Alexander is playing a trick on them!

“You told us you were going to
take
us there,” Dutch muttered. “And it ain't here, is it?”

“That's not true!” Alexander protested. “It's just that—”

“So you're saying
we're
the liars?” Owney interrupted. “You're trying to play us for fools, aren't you?” He turned to Finn. “I
told
you he was trying to put something over on us.”

“No! I'm not! It's just . . . Wanderville isn't . . .”

“Isn't
real
?” Dutch shot back.

Alexander went pale just then. He opened his mouth to say something, but then just turned and started running down the dock toward the boatyard.

“Wait!” Frances called. She grabbed Harold's hand and they set out after Alexander.

The older boys, though, stayed where they were. Owney muttered something about Alexander being a “shifty-eyed worm,” but Jack was relieved that they weren't going to beat up Alexander.

Instead, though, they suddenly turned and went straight toward Jack and Eli, their faces grim and determined.

“Wait a second,” Jack said, backing up, his hands out in front of him. “We can explain!”

Dutch just shook his head. Finn and Chicks grabbed Jack's arms and pinned them behind his back, while Owney guarded Eli. Then Dutch reached out and yanked Jack by his shirt collar.

“Look, your friend Alexander's got some strange ideas, that's for sure. As far as we can tell, there's only one thing he's told us about that's real, and
you've
got it!”

Jack felt a lurch in his stomach as he realized what Dutch meant.
The medallion!
Dutch immediately began rifling through Jack's pockets.

“No, wait!” Jack protested. “You can't take—”

But Dutch had found the medallion and was holding it up with a grin. “Sorry to have to do this,” he said. “But we got ourselves into a lot of trouble on that boat on account of you guys, you and your crazy stories about some town that don't even exist!”

“Yeah, you owe us,” Finn added.

“And getting that reward's the only thing that'll make it right,” Chicks put in.

“I still think the whole scheme sounds fishy,” Dutch said. “But not as fishy as the other stuff you and your friends told us.” He pocketed the medallion.

Finn and Chicks dropped Jack's arms and pushed him to the ground, while Owney gave Eli a rough shove.

“Thanks for everything,” Dutch said with a sneer. “We'll think of you kindly at the World's Fair!”

Then the older boys took off running toward the shipyard, turned a corner, and were out of sight.