The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (25 page)

 

32

T
HE
Q
UEEN
'
S
D
OOR

That night Maria went to bed in her clothes. She clutched the headlamp Paolo had borrowed from his grandfather's camp equipment. Her mother's walkie-talkie lay next to her. Paolo had the other downstairs with him. He would click with his transmit button twice to signal the old folks were asleep, and twice more when he was under her window. Paolo could just slip out of his own ground-floor bedroom window. But since Maria was in Frank's loft, she would have to climb out the window just as she'd planned to climb out the window of the cottage—there was no way for her to sneak through all the shotgun bedrooms without waking Hattie, Pops, and Grandma.

Maria hoped they would have enough time.

If only they knew
which
island!

If only she could have cracked the mystery of Cassiopeia. But now it was too late. Now they just had to hope that something popped out, something obviously doorlike, when they got there.

Outside, the wind blew in noisy gusts and rattled the trees against the roof. Though the storm wasn't supposed to arrive until Saturday, advancing clouds scudded across the sky. Even if she knew the right time for the constellation, it wouldn't matter. The stars hardly showed behind the clouds.

Maria shone her headlamp up at the rafters in the ceiling. They weren't that different from the rafters in her attic room back at the cottage, except those had dates and initials carved all over them. It seemed she would never figure out who
FH
of
1718
was, and
SI
of
1812
. And she'd never figure out the weird
1230
 …

She clicked off her headlamp and stared at the glowing red numbers of the clock across the room. When would Hattie, Pops, and Grandma go to sleep? It was 10:29, and if they wanted to get to the island and back before morning they had to get started soon.

The clock clicked over to 10:30. She counted the hours to sunrise on her fingers. 10:30. 11:30. 12:30 …

12:30.

1230!

1230 wasn't a year. It was a time! And it had been carved on the rafter where she'd found the map!

Maria got out of bed and slipped quietly across the floor. She located the sheaf of printouts from the library and examined the different angles of the Cassiopeia constellation on July 16, arranged by hour. She pulled out the star map for midnight, and the one for 1:00 a.m. Cassiopeia's feet pointed to northeast in both. Slightly more north by 1:00 a.m.

Maria sat back and reasoned it through. She compared the star charts to the compass on Murdefer's treasure map. If she was right, even though they weren't sailing on the correct date and they couldn't see the stars, they could still follow the correct compass heading. As long as they sailed with the compass pointed around 33 degrees, they would be headed in the right direction!

Maria was so excited, she almost missed Paolo's signal. Two taps on the walkie-talkie. She peeked out and saw him waiting beneath the burlap-wrapped peach tree with both their bicycles.

The rope ladder worked as it was supposed to: she tied it to the bed and then used it to lower herself to the grass.

She grabbed Paolo and pulled his ear to her mouth. “I know where the treasure is!”

“How? We can't even see the stars.”

“I'll explain on the way.”

She looked back at the rope swinging from the open window. The wind blew it back and forth, but it was nearly invisible in the starless, moonless dark.

“You think it's okay to leave it like that?” she asked.

“You'll need it to get back in,” he said. He climbed on his bike and pushed off.

“What if someone sees it?”

“My mom is in the back room, and she never gets up. Grandma took off her glasses and hearing aids, so she wouldn't notice anything, even if she did wake up. And Pops is whacked on painkillers for his back. Frank is off-island, and Harry's at his girlfriend's house.” Paolo coasted beside her. “Tell me about the treasure island.”

Maria explained her discovery about the star maps.

“That's amazing! You're amazing!” Paolo said. “I can't believe how smart you are.”

“No. You could have figured it out yourself.”

“No way. I just don't think like that,” Paolo said.

Maria was glad he couldn't see her blush in the dark. She pedaled ahead and let the night air cool her hot face. The wind bent the tops of the pines and made a loud shushing that sounded like the ocean. No cars passed by them. It was late. Everyone was either off-island already or in bed.

*   *   *

They got to the Ironwall Estate quickly and hid the bicycles behind the Old West Shed. Then they ran through the field, past the Great House, and onto the empty beach. In less than half an hour they had the canvas off the boom and the sails raised. Though the waves were choppier than usual and the wind was stronger, they managed to maneuver the boat smoothly from the dock. Maria still could not believe they were finally, after so many weeks of preparation, sailing toward the outer islands, toward the treasure.

The first leg was not as easy as it had been on the shakedown sail, as the wind was against them, but the island largely protected them and they were able to slowly tack their way east. But as soon as they left the lee of the island and hit the open sea the temperature dropped, and
The Last Privateer
plunged headlong into a huge wave.

It felt like a cannonball had struck the hull.

After a lull of smaller waves, another large one hit, pounding their little boat. The red and green running lights swung in crazy circles. A great gust of wind pushed the sails over so the deck tilted and the shrouds dipped toward the water.

“I thought the storm wasn't coming till Saturday!” Maria said.

“It's not; I guess this is just the rough seas ahead of the storm,” Paolo said. “No one is out in this weather. Except us.” He stared at the black waves. “This is stupid.”

Maria knew he was right, but ignored him. The wind drove splashes of water from breaking waves into her face. She swiped her fingers across her glasses and took a step forward.

Suddenly the boat shifted under her feet. She fell down through a hole and hit her left shoulder against something hard. She gasped with the sudden pain. A gush of water doused her from above. She looked up.

Paolo shone his headlamp down at her. He stood at the top of the companionway. Maria realized that she must have fallen into the cabin.

“Are you okay?” he shouted.

“I fell.” Maria tried to raise her hand to block the blinding beam of his headlamp and pain shot through her shoulder. She immediately sat on the nearest bunk. Paolo disappeared.

“Paolo!” she yelled. The wind whipped her voice away and she heard no reply. “Paolo!”

She pulled her feet onto the mattress and hugged her injured arm. It felt better if she didn't move it.

Finally Paolo came back.

“Where were you?” she yelled up at him.

“I had to take in sail and tie the wheel,” Paolo said. “I need you up here. This boat is too big for me to handle alone.”

Maria stood. Then the boat rolled and she skittered sideways and grabbed for the companionway. An electric pang zinged up her left arm.

“I think we should turn back.” Paolo sounded concerned.

“I don't want to turn back,” Maria said. “We still have time to find the treasure if we hurry.”

“Forget the treasure,” Paolo said. “You're hurt and we have to get home before this weather gets worse.”

“No!” Maria clung to the companionway with her right hand and breathed deeply, willing herself not to puke. “We have to try!” She groped for some way to convince him. “Anyhow, we're closer to the outer islands than home.”

“You can't even use your left arm.” Paolo looked at her. “I bet your shoulder is dislocated. I dislocated mine skateboarding once; it hurts like crazy.”

“Then if it was dislocated, I'd be passing out with pain. I'm fine. Just bruised a little.” Maria climbed the ladder as quickly as she could one-handed to show him she was okay. “Don't tell me we stole a boat for nothing.”

Maria took the wheel before Paolo could argue. She breathed slowly and evenly; in through the nose and out through the mouth, four counts in, eight counts out, willing her nausea away. Her shoulder did hurt like crazy. Paolo was probably right, it probably was dislocated and it probably was stupid for them to go on.

Then, suddenly, the clouds parted and Maria could see Cassiopeia.

“Look!” She pointed her chin to the sky. “It's a sign!”

Paolo looked at her for a long minute, his mouth set in a hard line. “Okay,” he finally said. “But only because we're probably closer to the outer islands than home. Keep her steady on this course. I'll be right back.”

Paolo went belowdecks. When he came back up he had a sheet he'd torn and folded in a triangle.

“At least let me tie it up for you,” he said. He made a sling and gently positioned her arm against her stomach, tying it securely in place.

“I really am okay,” she said.

“Sure you are,” he said, as if he didn't believe her.

They pointed the prow as close to the correct heading as the wind would allow and sailed on, tacking back and forth. Maria steered; Paolo handled the sails. The boat still creaked and bucked against the waves, but the swell gradually lessened, broken by the small islands somewhere ahead in the dark. Now and then Cassiopeia winked at them from behind the clouds.

Then, ahead, Maria saw a dark mass, more like nothing than something.

She shone the high beam of her headlamp over the bowsprit. “I think I saw an island,” she told Paolo.

Paolo shone his light with hers. “There's something out there,” he agreed. “I don't see a door, though.”

They peered together into the night. The stars had disappeared behind the clouds again. It was so dark it was nearly impossible to see the difference between land, sea, and sky. But then a cliff face came into view.

“Hold the light high and watch for rocks,” Paolo said. “We need to find a safe place to anchor.”

“But can't I keep our heading at 33 degrees?” Maria asked. “Just in case it
is
the right island?”

“Right now I just want to get off this boat,” Paolo said. “I don't care where we are.”

Maria kept her light trained on the approaching island, and her compass heading as close as she could manage. Just as they were about to hit land, a wave tossed them and the cliff opened up. There was a cave! It had been hidden by a large rock that had created the illusion of a solid cliff.

“The door,” Maria whispered. Small waves curled into the mouth of the cave. “We found it.”

“What?” Paolo said.

“The door! It's there!” Maria pointed with her chin.

Paolo shone his light in the direction she pointed. There it was. A cave. A door.

“Let go the anchor!” Paolo shouted, as he let the anchor go.

 

33

T
REASURE
I
SLAND

The red and green running lights on the
Privateer
grew smaller and dimmer the farther they rowed from her. To Maria, sitting one-armed and useless, the waves felt bigger and more dangerous now that they were in a small rowboat, but Paolo pulled them steadily and confidently toward the beach beside the cave.

When they came to the shore break, Paolo jumped out and Maria followed. She used her one good arm to hold the dinghy's painter while Paolo lashed it to a rock. The ocean wind had modulated to a cold, damp breeze. Their headlamps shone on the rocky beach and cliffs. It was so dark, and they were so far from any other humans. If something happened to them, no one would know where they were. No one would find them. No one came to this island except park rangers and biologists—and then only rarely.

“It feels like we're the first people to ever land here,” she said.

“Well, I hope we aren't. I hope pirates landed here.” Paolo pointed his headlamp toward the cave. He took her good arm and helped her scramble over the slick rocks. Even so, each step jostled her bad arm, and her shoulder throbbed with her heartbeat. But they were here! This had to be the treasure island. She steadied her breathing and walked carefully on.

The cave was bigger and deeper than it had looked from the boat. A curved dome of rock, about six feet at its highest point, formed the ceiling, and on the floor a stream of outgoing water weaved around boulders of varying size. Water dripped from the ceiling, and the floor was slippery with greenish-black slime. The rock walls sheltered them from the outside wind and the relative silence was a relief. The warmer air smelled of mildew and moss.

“What if we followed this stream?” She pointed her light at the rivulet. “It seems to be coming from somewhere back there.” Her light disappeared in the recesses of the cave.

“Okay. You first.” Paolo let her lead.

She picked her way carefully to what seemed like a dead end. But as she got closer, she saw that it was really a large boulder that had created a false back wall to the cave, and that behind it lay a tunnel through the cliff.

“It's like a passageway,” she said. She peeked into a long rock hallway. Her light disappeared into the murk. “I don't want to go first. There might be bats.”

“There aren't any bats anymore,” Paolo said. “They all died from some weird bat disease. Don't you read the news ever?”

“Oh, so we may be stepping on bat skeletons? That's too creepy.”

Paolo didn't answer, but he took the lead. All along the cave walls natural shelves jutted out at various heights. Paolo and Maria shone their lights onto each one, but each one was empty. It got colder and damper the deeper into the cave they went, and the dark walls closed in around them. She took hold of the back of Paolo's shirt and he didn't complain; he just reached back and took her hand in his. They crept like that through the narrowing passage for a long time. And then, suddenly, Paolo stopped.