The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (9 page)

Maria sat at Brutus's rump. The dog harrumphed and settled against her.

“You're soaked to the bone,” Mr. Ironwall said. “What were you thinking?”

“We tried to outrun the rain, but it came up fast,” Maria said.

“Quickly.
It came up quickly
—adverb.
Fast
is an adjective,” Mr. Ironwall said. He peered over his glasses at her. “And you were out in it for quite a while, for someone supposedly running quickly. I believe the rain started over an hour ago.”

Maria didn't want to lie, so she said nothing. She wasn't sure what to say to the old man anyhow. Brutus looked quizzically at her, then at the old man, then back to her.

“He isn't used to me having company up on the bed,” Mr. Ironwall said. “My nurses generally sit over there.” He indicated an armchair in the opposite corner. “When they sit at all.”

“Oh, I could move if you want me to.” Maria started to stand.

Mr. Ironwall patted the air, shooing her back down. “There's plenty of room, if you can stand the smell of wet dog. Besides, it's easier to see you, my dear.” He chuckled. “I promise I am not the Big Bad Wolf.”

Someone knocked on the door. Maria answered it and found Hattie with a tray of covered dishes.

“It's soup and it's hot, so be careful,” Hattie said to Maria. She sneaked a look at the bed. “Do you want me to stay?”

“We'll be fine,” Mr. Ironwall said. “I gave up eating little girls ages ago. Shoo.”

Hattie handed the tray to Maria. “His bark is worse than his bite,” she whispered.

“I'm old. Not deaf!” Mr. Ironwall said.

After Hattie left, Mr. Ironwall directed Maria to set the tray on a small bedside table and to pull the armchair closer. He urged her to eat.

“Aren't you going to have something, too?” Maria felt awkward eating alone.

“Oh, I'll have mine later. Nasty pureed pablum. My lunch would put you off your food, and from the looks of you, you need to eat as much as you can.”

Maria took a tentative spoonful. It was amazing, as always.

“I hear you've asked Frank for one of my bicycles,” Mr. Ironwall said.

Maria looked up from her soup. “I'm sorry, if it's not okay—I mean, I know they belong to you…”

He held his hand up to stop her. “Do I look like someone who needs a bicycle anymore?”

“No,” Maria said.

“Though your mother seems a bit concerned. She says you've never ridden a bicycle! What do you children
do
nowadays? Are you all such hothouse flowers?”

“There was nowhere safe to ride where I lived,” Maria said.

“Safe!” Mr. Ironwall snorted. “It can't be healthy, all this staying indoors being safe. When I was your age, three hundred years or so ago, we would camp out in the woods overnight without any adult supervision. We played mumblety-peg with actual knives. A bow-and-arrow set was a perfectly acceptable toy for a ten-year-old—and we didn't have suction cups, we had real metal-tipped arrows. Now, children are supposed to pretend to camp via video game. How
will
you all survive when you grow up?”

Maria shrugged.

“And what will you do with your newfound freedom? Once Mr. Frank gets your wheels rolling, that is.”

“I'll go to the library to research privateers,” Maria said.

“Ah, the library!” Mr. Ironwall snorted again. “No wonder your mother is so worried. A lot of trouble can happen in libraries.”

“Now you're teasing me,” Maria said.

Mr. Ironwall ignored her comment. “Privateers. Why are you so interested in such scallywags?”

“Because Captain Murdefer was one.” Maria watched his face closely for a reaction, but Mr. Ironwall didn't twitch.

“Captain Murdefer?” he said. “What a strange name. Sounds made up.”

“There's an oil painting of his ship over the mantel in the cottage,” Maria pressed. “And I bet that's his stuffed parrot, too. Isn't it?”

“I wouldn't know,” Mr. Ironwall said. “I haven't been in the cottage in years.”

“You should come over sometime. There's a lot of cool stuff in there. I wish someone would explain it all to me. Like why so much stuff seems to belong to this Captain Murdefer, and who is he.”

“‘And who is he'? My goodness, your grammar is atrocious. Anyhow, I have no idea who he may be.” Mr. Ironwall closed his eyes.

“I think you do know something,” Maria said under her breath. “But you're not telling.”

The door opened and Celeste came in with a bundle of clothing in her arm. “Maria,” she said in her don't-be-rude voice.

“Sorry,” Maria mumbled to Mr. Ironwall. She took the clothes from her mother. “I'm going to change now,” she said.

“Of course,” Mr. Ironwall said. “You must get dry and stay healthy. Who would take care of me if your mother were busy with you?”

When she came out of the bathroom, Celeste told her Frank was waiting downstairs.

“Say goodbye to Mr. Ironwall,” Celeste said.

“Goodbye, Mr. Ironwall.” Maria held out her hand for him to shake. He took it, and pulled her toward him. She found herself bending close.

“If I could get out of this bed, I would investigate this Murdefer,” Mr. Ironwall whispered in her ear. “See if he is real.”

“Maria, come now,” Celeste said. “Don't keep Frank waiting.”

Maria wasn't sure, but as she pulled away, it looked as though Mr. Ironwall winked.

 

14

S
TRANGER
D
ANGER

“It's a beautiful day,” Celeste announced when Maria came down to breakfast the next morning. “No more rain.”

Maria sat at the table. It was so nice to come downstairs and find her mother, instead of finding a note. And it was so much better to have breakfast with her mom in their quiet kitchen than eat it alone in the loud, smelly school cafeteria.

“And look! Muffins!” Celeste kissed the top of Maria's head and sat across from her.

Blueberry muffins—homemade by Hattie, with actual blueberries. Maria popped a blueberry against the roof of her mouth with her tongue. So, so much better than her old school's free breakfast. There, the muffins had tasted like the cellophane packages they came in.

“Mr. Ironwall doesn't get to eat Hattie's blueberry muffins,” Maria said. “Right?”

“Yes,” Celeste said. “Just smooth foods is typical after strokes. It is an issue with swallowing.”

“Can he get better? Like, relearn how to swallow or walk?”

Celeste clicked her tongue and frowned. “It depends. But first he would have to want to get better. He would have to be willing to do certain therapies, and right now he says no to just about everything I suggest.”

Maria had gone to bed thinking about Mr. Ironwall. Now she said, “I couldn't imagine living like he does, spending every day in one room, eating such nasty food.”

“Well, it is pretty sad,” Celeste agreed. “But you don't have to see him again.”

“But maybe I should,” Maria said. “You know, like hang out with him and cheer him up or something.” She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about it even as she said it. On the one hand, he was old, sick, stinky, and cranky. On the other hand, he seemed to know something about Captain Murdefer, or privateers at least, that he wasn't telling.

Celeste nodded slowly. “At least you would be a change from me and Joanne.”

“And I could give you a break. Like when I'm with him, you could leave the room, do whatever.”

Maria thought that if she could get the old man alone, maybe she could get some information out of him.

“I wouldn't go far,” Celeste said. “Just maybe get a cup of coffee from the kitchen. Usually I have to wait until he's asleep to sneak away, and then I worry he'll die on me.”

Maria shoveled the last crumbs of the muffin into her mouth. “Maybe I can bring him some stuff from here. Like that parrot. You know, to look at.”

“La, la, la!”
Celeste's eyes widened. “Heaven forbid you break anything. Just keep everything as it is, please, please, please. We don't want any trouble.” She squinted at Maria. “What is it with you and that parrot?”

“I just think it's weird, is all. Maybe he'd have some stories about it. Isn't that what old people do? Sit around telling stories?”

“How about maybe you just read him the paper? Or let him reminisce. I bet he has a million stories about the Golden Age of Hollywood…” Celeste glanced out the window. “Frank's here.”

Maria grabbed a couple of muffins to go and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“What do you need your backpack for?” Celeste asked.

Maria froze. She had planned on cleaning the
Privateer
. She'd packed two old T-shirts and three mismatched socks, a bottle of all-purpose cleaner, candles, matches, and supplies for herself and Brutus in her backpack. On a whim, she carefully added the leather tube with Captain Murdefer's map.

“I just thought it might be nice to read on the beach, and so I have, you know, something to read, some water—” It wasn't exactly a lie. The dock with the
Privateer
was technically on the beach, and if she studied Captain Murdefer's map it would be like reading.

“Okay.” Celeste looked a bit puzzled.

Maria took Brutus's leash from Frank and ran with the dog down the shell drive before her mom could ask any more questions.

As soon as they reached the beach, Maria let Brutus off the leash. He trotted around her, sniffing at her backpack for the muffins inside.

“You're a good boy.” Maria rubbed his big head. “You can keep a secret, right?”

Brutus licked her with a slobbery tongue, and then he bolted for
The Last Privateer.
Maria struggled to catch up. By the time she got there, Brutus was dancing on the dock, whining up at the boat.

“What's the matter? Is there something in there?” Maria had a scary vision of some creepy animal, like a skunk, trapped under the tarp. Brutus whined and scratched at the rail. “Calm down—I'm sure we can chase it away.” But she wasn't so sure. She'd never dealt with anything wilder than a pigeon or a squirrel. She wished she had a big stick.

She lifted the canvas slowly, and Brutus wriggled under it and onto the boat before she could peek underneath. In a flash he was down the cabin stairs, barking maniacally. Maria heard the skittering sound of Brutus's toenails on the floorboards. Then a few low tones, a scuffle, a thump, a few more barks. There was definitely something—or someone—downstairs.

Maria considered tiptoeing off the boat. But she couldn't just leave Brutus to deal with whatever was down there by himself. And she had to get him back to Mr. Ironwall. She couldn't just abandon ship.

She looked around the deck for something heavy. On the right side, along the rail, she found a small aluminum dinghy turned upside down, with two oars alongside. She picked up an oar and held it over her shoulder like a baseball bat ready to swing, and crept down the stairs.

“Whatever's down here better leave, before I beat it to death,” she called into the cabin. She swung the oar in a wide arc, and it slammed against a bunk.

The intruder caught the oar and held it. “Careful with that thing!”

Maria yanked the oar free. A flashlight shone in her face, then moved down as if inspecting her. The owner then turned it so it lit the cabin instead.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. There, on the bunk, sat a scruffy, dirty boy. Brutus had jumped onto the bunk with him, wagging his tail so his whole backside swayed. The boy left off petting the dog and looked at Maria.

“So you're the one who's been messing with my boat,” the boy said. He looked about her age, but he was taller and skinnier. His face was tan, despite the fact that it was the first week of June, and his fingernails were filthy. His black hair hung in tangled clumps over his eyes. His jeans had a hole in the knee, his shoelaces were frayed, and he wore a green army jacket that was much too large. A set of metal army tags hung from a chain around his scrawny neck.

“This boat belongs to Mr. Ironwall,” Maria said. “It's private property. You're trespassing.”

“Yeah, same as you.”

“If you don't get off this boat right now I'll crack your skull open,” she said.

“Don't get all crazy.” The boy held up his hands as he stood. “It's not like the old guy's going to ever use his boat again.”

“It doesn't matter. You have to go.” Maria tried to look menacing.

The boy shrugged and climbed up the short ladder.

Maria followed him, brandishing the oar until he climbed back through the canvas and off the boat.

“I wasn't gonna hurt you,” the boy said from the dock. “Besides, I found the boat first.”

“No, you didn't,” Maria said from the deck. “When I found it, it was obvious no one had been here for a long time. It was totally dusty. And before that it was always laced up tight.”

“Well, how do you think you got in?”

He had a point. She'd visited the boat many times before, and she'd never seen a way in until yesterday. How had a hole appeared, just large enough for a child her size to squeeze through?

“You opened it?”

“Of course,” the boy said. “What did you think? The wind untied it?”

Now she was annoyed with this boy who had invaded her boat and acted like she owed him something.

“I don't believe you,” she said. “But even if you did, you shouldn't have anyhow. The whole estate is private property…”

But the boy didn't answer. When she looked through the hole in the tarp, she saw that he was gone. She climbed out and watched as he made his way up the dock. Soon he was on the beach, walking toward the salt pond. At least he wasn't heading toward the Great House. Then she would have to run and tell her mother or Hattie a strange boy was coming to mess with the House. Then they'd find out about the sailboat.