The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (17 page)

“Lucy, what do you see? Let me have a look.”

“Hold on,” I said, afraid to take my eye from the scope for even a second.

Something about the tree beside them continued to distract me. I moved the scope slightly, up and down along the silhouette of the black cabbage tree. Back and forth . . . wait! I squinted into the eyepiece. There . . . laid up against the trunk of the tree was another man. The sun glowing behind the tree cast the thin figure in shadow, so that the tree and his frame appeared nearly one. As Quaide gestured crudely to the pirate and the green-eyed man, both of whom nodded intently, the lanky fellow seemed to melt into the tree, his head tipped. He was eavesdropping—I was sure of it!

The suspicious trio continued their exchange, unaware of the spy behind the tree. One by one, the green-eyed man pulled a variety of tools—picks and wrenches—from the canvas bag, as if explaining techniques for proper use. Quaide took each in his large hands, turning the implements this way and that, his mouth hanging slack as if sucking up the instructions. The pirate grinned, clearly enjoying the show-and-tell.

“Lucy?”

I was suddenly transported back to the stairway. Walter was standing so close I could almost feel the heat off his body. I slid the spyglass into my pocket and turned. Lost my footing. Gasped at the jolting sensation of almost falling.

Walter grabbed me. Spun me around and up, planting my feet firmly on the step above him. Our faces just inches apart. My mouth dropped open, heart racing. He shut his eyes, lazily, and closed the space between us. Staring at the beautiful fan of dark lashes against his skin, I experienced another wave of dizziness and took hold of him, certain I would topple backward.

Feeling Walter's breath, soft against my face, my own breathing stopped. His lips brushed mine, soft as velvet. I closed my eyes, and without willing it, my face tilted like a flower facing the sun.

Even before my eyes fluttered open I felt the space between us turn airy and cool. He was already bounding up the remaining steps. “Come on,” he called. “We need to catch up to them.”

It was as if this gentle encounter never really happened. Had it just been my imagination?

I touched my fingers to my lips, clutched the railing, Quaide and his cohorts forgotten for an instant. By the time I glanced back toward the black cabbage tree, they were gone.

I
stood, paralyzed, torn between following Walter up the steps and taunted by a vision of Quaide back on board, kneeling before the safe, poking around with his bag of tools. I peered down toward the water, trying to locate Quaide, then back over my shoulder. Walter was nearing the top of the stairs. Pugsley barked. “Walter!” I shouted. “We've got to get back!” The wind buffeted the sound and carried it off to sea. With Annie in tow, Walter continued his ascent, oblivious. “
Walter!
”

It was no use. I knew it wasn't safe to go alone, but what could I do? I only hoped that between the heat and the lure of the pubs Quaide might be waylaid on his return trek to the
Lucy P.
I raced downward.

At the bottom of the steps, heading into town, I became confused. The streets suddenly all looked alike. I ran one way, then doubled back, Pugsley beside me, nose to the ground. Traipsed down one narrow avenue that turned out to be a circle, ending up exactly where we'd begun. I stopped, short of breath. Sweating. Disheveled. Passersby stared. My heart raced and I felt something close to panic. I was alone, in a strange place that could be dangerous. The scar-faced pirate out and about. I frantically tried to recognize a landmark, a familiar corner, anything.

A hand on my shoulder. I gasped. Spun around.

It was Walter, panting, sweat beading across his forehead. Annie and Georgie, red faced and wide-eyed, one on each side of him.

“Where did you go?” he shouted. “What's wrong with you? We vowed to stick together and you run off by yourself?”

Annie started to cry. “Stop yelling,” she begged. “You sound like Poppy!” Georgie's face went white. Walter flinched, knelt down, put his arms around them, and pulled them close. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I was worried, was all.” He stood, wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, and looked at me over the tops of their heads.

“You left me on the steps,” I said. After you kissed me, I thought. “I shouted for you—over and over! I have to get back.” Fingers cupped, I whispered in his ear, “Quaide! The safe! I saw him through the spyglass!”

“What?”

“Just Come on! Which way to the ship?”

“This way!” Walter led us, Pugsley yipping at our heels, and in no time we were back aboard the water taxi.

“I wanted to see the giant tortoise,” Georgie complained.

“Me too,” Annie whined. “It was up there at the top and then Walter made us leave!”

I inhaled and blew the air out through puffed cheeks. Leaning over the rail, Walter beside me, I stared straight out to sea. Quietly, so that Georgie wouldn't hear, I told Walter what I'd seen. By the time I finished explaining we were pulling up alongside our ship. Three blasts of the horn and Javan's face appeared above the starboard rail. He waved, and a moment later the rope ladder flopped over the side. We clamored up, first me, then the children, and Walter with Pugsley behind. I sent Annie and Georgie to the head to wash up, and to get a drink. They were both sweaty and covered in dust.

“Back early,” Javan said, “and yous not de only ones.”

“Quaide?”

Javan sauntered beside us across the deck, through the companionway. “Yup. Got 'ere five minutes ago.”

“Hurry!” Walter and I started to run, Javan galloping to keep up.

“If yer somehow worried 'bout Quaide, you can stop worryin'.” Javan grinned, his amber eyes twinkling. “Was in a big hurry—tripped. Took a header right here.”

“What?” We'd just arrived at the chart room.

Javan pointed toward the stairwell. “Was like one of Quaide's ol' foots got tangled wid his other and over he went, whackin' his big dumb head in da wall! I seen it myself!”

“Where's Quaide now?” Walter asked.

“Rasjohnny take him to da galley ta dress da gash on 'is head.”

“Javan, could you and Walter stay here and make sure no one goes into the chart room? I need a little time . . .”

“You got it, Miz Lucy. Me and Walter's up ta da task, right, Wally?”

Walter cringed at the nickname, but nodded.

I made my way to my cabin. I
had
to figure out the combination to the safe! Quaide may have been deterred for the moment, but, first opportunity, he'd be at it again. I couldn't risk him getting his hands on whatever might be in there that would help get me to Aunt Pru or solve the mystery of the curse!

I paused outside my room. A piece of paper had been left there, its slightly curled white corner just edging out underneath the door. I pushed it open, stepped in, and swept up the onionskin sheet.

It was a note, written in a familiar hand.

Miss Lucy,

I never did thank you for your speaking up on my behalf. Let this serve as a token of my gratitude, as one good turn deserves another.

I overheard Q onshore conversing with two men. Talk of busting into a safe that might hold secrets. Exchanging tools—shims, picks, and wrenches. Not sure if there's a safe aboard, but if so, you should know that there are others interested in its contents. I was going to inform Captain Adams—but I'm sure you can understand why I prefer to steer clear of Quaide and his doings. But, miss, perhaps you should speak to the cap'n. Whatever you do, be careful!

—Coleman

P.S. Also talk of finding a woman named Prudence? And retrieving a family treasure?

Of course! It was Coleman I'd seen, pressed against the black cabbage tree, eavesdropping on Quaide and his cronies! I understood the part about the safe—of course unscrupulous characters might be interested in whatever riches it might hold. But how in the world did they know about Aunt Pru? We'd never mentioned her. And what was this about retrieving a family treasure?

“Thank you, Coleman,” I mouthed, as I stashed his note beneath my pillow. My flute buzzed in my pocket. Someow, the flute and the cards held the secret. I needed to discover the combination to the safe and, hopefully, the answers to many questions.

I grabbed my pad and pencil and climbed into the hammock, hoping my view of the sailor's valentine hanging on the far wall might calm my rattled nerves. As I put pencil to paper, the flute began to vibrate. “Ugh! Not now,” I muttered. The vibration continued, increasing until it became a tone, and the tone continued until it became a tune—D–D–F, A–G–E, F–D–C, D. How could I concentrate?

As I pulled it roughly from my pocket, my fingers were sucked into place over the tone holes. “Stop!” I shouted, as the flute flew to my lips. I began playing in spite of myself—D–D–F, A–G–E, F–D–C, D. Over and over, like a mantra. I could barely catch my breath between bars. When I finally tore my lips away, the melody continued on its own. What was it trying to tell me?!

In seconds the incessant tune was accompanied by something like castanets.
Cl . . . cl . . . cl . . . clclclclclcl . . .
Sure enough, over on the shelf, the lid on the black box of cards jiggled. The top flipped off with a bang, and the cards danced out in a wave. On the final note, D, they shuffled themselves into three stacks.

I swung my feet to the floor and rushed to the shelf. The top card on each stack flipped upright and hovered, face first. The queen of spades, king of diamonds, and the bulldog-faced queen of diamonds. “Just the right
combination
of notes!” chortled the queen of spades. The three of them laughed, enjoying their private joke.

“Indeed, that's the
key!
” the dandy king added.

“
A lah-dee-dah-DEE!
” sang the queen of diamonds, in a strident vibrato.

“What are you trying to tell me?” I shouted. “What!”

“Tell you?” the beautiful, haughty queen of spades snapped. “We're not
telling
you anything! Figure it out for yourself!”

“Indeed!” the king exclaimed again, blowing his own card over, facedown.

“Only by fingering the correct combination will you unlock the secrets,” rasped the queen of diamonds. The king righted himself, nodding vigorously in agreement. The queen of spades bent forward from her card, turning toward the others, index finger to lips. “Shhhh! You fools! You've said too much already!” The force of her shushing blew both of them down, until they flopped and flapped themselves upright again. Then she pointed at me, her eyebrows raised in indignant arches. “That's it!” she said. “If you're as smart as they say, you can work it out!”

“As smart as who says? Who?” I persisted. But the life had already left them. Oh, how I longed to go to Marni, tell her about these vexing cards, and ask for her guidance. But the queen of spades' chilling warning held me back. I just couldn't risk the consequences, which were somehow tied to the curse. I had to solve this on my own!

My mother had said,
It's all in the cards, dear one.
I scooped up the three of them, fanned them in my hand. What had the two queens and the king said? I stared at them and their words came back to me:
Just the right
combination
of notes . . . Indeed that's the
key
. . .

These were hints about the safe, of course . . . the combination, the key. . . . I studied the three mysterious initials beneath the queen of spades' portrait . . .
MML
. . . and an idea struck me. What if each letter had a corresponding number? On a scrap of paper I scrawled the alphabet. Counted . . . the letter
M
was 13. But if that was the first number in the series, the second was the same. It couldn't have two numbers repeated, one after the other, could it? What about the king?
ES
.
E
would be fifth,
S
was nineteenth. 5–19. Or, I thought excitedly, maybe 5–1–9. It was worth a try!

I ran toward the chart room, cards in hand. My fingers tingled in anticipation. Javan and Walter were sitting guard against the wall. I nodded as I burst past them, and shut the door behind me. Out of breath, I knelt before the safe.

To the right . . . 5 . . . Carefully, steadily, to the left back to 1. Then right to 9.

Nothing. I sat back on my heels. Exhaled in exasperation.

“Oh, come on!” I muttered. I pulled the cards from my pocket and glared at the three of them. The king puckered up and began to whistle. D–D–F, A–G–E, F–D–C, D!

The flute rose from my pocket, joining him in a maddening duet. It danced before me, tootling the tune, waving in front of the safe like a conductor's baton. It floated upward and, as it sustained the last note, whacked me on the head!

The queen of spades tipped back her lovely, sly face and laughed. The bulldog-faced queen
tsk, tsked
with her tongue, shaking her head. Her jowly cheeks wobbled. The king of diamonds shrugged, throwing both hands up as if to say, “Oh well . . .” And with that they were silent.

I snatched the hovering flute, caught it in midair, and shoved it, along with the cards, into my pocket, rubbed the small egg forming on my forehead, and stomped back toward my cabin.

“Lucy?” Walter called after me.

“Just wait!” I said. “I'll be back!”

In my room I flung the flute on my bunk. It bounced and thunked against the wall. “What is it I just can't see?” I demanded. I sat on the floor and put my head in my hands. My hair fell forward, covering my face. I felt a tickle as the end of the flute nosed up sheepishly, delicately pushing aside my curls, sounding the D note ever so softly. I threw my head back, swiped at the hovering flute, and it—how should I say?—it flinched. I sighed. “All right,” I murmured, feeling foolish speaking to a flute, “I'm sorry. Will you help me solve this mystery or not?”