“I hate to stop all this,” Bridget said, “but I’m afraid we’re out of time. Thank you so much for coming down this morning, Joby.”
“My pleasure,” Joby replied with a quick bob of his head. “It was fun.”
“Don’t forget to bring that book,” said Ander as they all got up and started heading for class.
“Don’t forget your lunch money,” said Nacho with a leering grin.
“Don’t listen to Nacho,” said Sky. “There’s no cafeteria.”
“Richard!” Nacho retorted.
“Ognib.” Sky grinned, chasing Nacho into another classroom.
“Why don’t you come around at lunch,” Bridget said, smiling. “I’ll introduce you to Ariel and Pete, and we can talk about next week. The kids obviously like you, so unless they’ve managed to scare you off, you’re in.”
“Me? Scared?” Joby smiled. “What’s to be scared of?” He grinned, hoping those weren’t famous last words.
“That’s all he said?” Hawk asked, brushing locks of dark auburn hair up out of his fog-colored eyes. “Just heard you and stopped to listen?”
Rose nodded, along with several others, their attentive silence broken only by the swish and gurgle of surf outside the cave, and the tinkling spatter made by tiny rivulets dripping from the algae-covered ceiling onto wet, gray stones and gravel.
The kids had all kinds of hideouts around Taubolt; different places for different times and purposes. Today they’d gathered in one of the many sea caves that riddled the headlands around Taubolt to discuss the growing swarm of mysteries surrounding their new teacher, Joby Peterson.
“How did he hear anything outside a closed ring,” Bellindi insisted. “Stopped and stared like we’d put out a sign or something! How accidental can that be?”
“So, he’s of the blood and doesn’t know it yet,” said Sophie. “Hawk didn’t know it either when he first came, remember? Lots of people don’t.”
“He knows what he did, all right,” Nacho said. “Look how tweaked he got about it when he saw Rose on Christmas. I say he’s a spy.”
“A spy for who?” the honey-haired girl protested.
“I don’t know, Ray,” Nacho complained. “Whoever we’re all hiding from.”
“Maybe Bellindi or I just kicked one of the stones out of place without noticing,” Rose said. “It’s not like we were being super careful. It was hardly dawn. We never thought there would be someone out there.”
“But there was, and neither of you noticed,” said Cal. “How’s that work?”
“And what about the earthquake, and that storm the night he got here?” Vesper asked, as if the matter hadn’t been discussed a hundred times already.
“Doesn’t prove nothin’.” Sky shrugged. “We’ve been through all that.”
“Everyone knows it weren’t no natural storm, though,” said Cal. “It’s the bad thing comin’, ain’t it, Swami!”
“It might be,” Swami replied, tossing pebbles toward the cave mouth without looking at any of them. “But I don’t think it was him either. That’s not what I got.”
“Do we trust him then?” asked Jupiter. “You know what Jake says.”
“Yeah,” Otter agreed. “Pleeboles ain’t to know a thing!”
“He’s not a pleebole,” huffed Rose. “He lives here now. He’s probably not even an ognib. Mrs. Lindsay likes him, and so does Jake, I think.”
“Seemed nice enough to me,” Ray concurred, prodding large green anemones closed with a wand of iridescent brown kelp.
“He’s hiding something,” Nacho insisted. “I can tell a snarker when I see one.”
“Snarkers see snarkers wherever they look,” Jupiter teased.
Nacho wrinkled his face in offense.
“Why would Bridget hire him if he were dangerous?” asked Cob.
“I think he’s gonna matter,” Swami said, turning to look at them, “but . . .” He shook his head, and went back to throwing pebbles. “But not in any bad way.”
“Well it wouldn’t hurt to try an’ flush ’im out a little, would it?” Nacho pressed. “We could lay some kinda trap, and see if he goes for it.”
As he said this, three figures rose smoothly from the water at the cave’s mouth and crept in toward the gathering. Hawk and the others facing the cavern mouth struggled not to smile as the central figure put a finger to its lips.
Flanked by his two best friends, Blue and Tholomey, Ander crept up behind his sister, raised the abalone shell he’d been carrying, and tipped it out over her head, pouring a thin cascade of frigid salt water onto her hair and face.
“You foam-headed freak!” Sophie shrieked up at her brother, trying without much success to keep from laughing with the rest now that the fright had passed.
“Tide’s comin’ up, you know.” Ander smiled. “You’d all better go soon, ’less you’re gonna swim out of here with us.”
The thought of swimming out with Ander’s crew made Hawk’s heart ache with envy. If only his father had run off earlier, he thought bitterly, maybe he’d have come to Taubolt sooner, and learned the kinds of tricks Ander and the others took for granted.
The new Sykes-Mundi Building, twenty stories of odd angles in gray-mirrored glass just outside of downtown proper, was a critical success architecturally and a prestigious reflection on its corporate tenants. Floors eighteen and nineteen currently housed the Los Angeles offices of West Meridian Timber Products, the corporate alias of Robert Ferristaff, who sat gazing out the windows of his corner suite wondering how much better the twentieth-floor view might be, when his assistant, Larry Bruech, knocked perfunctorily at the half-open door and entered with a single black folder in hand.
“I think you’ll want to see these,” Bruech said, laying the folder on Ferristaff’s expansive, gleaming, granite desktop.
Ferristaff swiveled around and opened the folder to find a small assortment of very old black-and-white photographs.
“They were found archived in the other building,” Bruech informed him.
They were aerial shots: mile after mile of densely forested hills—virgin timber, or Ferristaff was a two-bit shoeshine boy. Those were the days, he thought, shaking his head. Didn’t see wood like that anymore, except in a few damned national parks. “Gut-wrenching mementoes,” he quipped sardonically. “What’s your point?”
“Look at the ledgers in back.” Bruech reached down to flip one of the photos over. “See? They’re all referenced to a place called ‘Taubolt.’ There was no documentation, so I had Linea look the place up in our archives here. She found nothing, so I had her check a whole slew of outside sources, including the NGS, and still nothing. Then, yesterday—you’ll never believe this—Linea’s sister calls to tell her she’s losing her position with that lottery winner in Oakland, because the old woman’s moving to someplace called Taubolt.”
“Well, you’re right, Bruech. That’s a humdinger,” Ferristaff conceded dryly. “I assume there’s a punch line somewhere?”
“Turns out Taubolt’s just a few hours north of San Francisco. We’ve turned every stone looking for records of ownership or harvest, but there’s nothing; no deed or claim; no harvest plan, or reference of any kind with state or federal land management; not even the interior department’s ever heard of it.” Bruech smiled and shrugged like Houdini out of chains a minute early. “We never harvested anything up there. I had Linea look into that weeks ago. I’ve checked on all the other major players as well—discreetly, of course. If any of them ever cut near anyplace called Taubolt, I’m a—”
“Don’t, Bruech. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.” Ferristaff couldn’t help smirking. “You trying to tell me there’s some giant stand of virgin timber just sitting up there on the California coast—unnoticed for all these years?”
“I know how it sounds, Robert, but it’s starting to look that way.”
“That’s the best one I’ve heard in—well, maybe ever, Bruech. If you found this stuff in our archives, then I’ll be
t you lunch for a month, and I don’t mean Burger Barn, that we’re the ones who cut it, probably back when my grandpa was too young to drive a truck. We just lost the paperwork, that’s all.”
“And every state and federal agency we file with lost it too?” Bruech protested. “I’m not kidding, Robert. I’ve checked, or I wouldn’t be bothering you, would I?”
“Well, I’d go back and look a little harder before you bet the farm, Bruech.” Ferristaff’s smirk soured. “It’s probably a goddamn national park.”
“You think I didn’t check that first?” Bruech insisted.
“All right,” Ferristaff sighed. “Have them send someone up to check it out. But when they come back with photos of some suburban housing development, or Mr. Ranger checking in a bunch of happy campers, his travel expenses come out of your paycheck.” Ferristaff’s smirk returned. “I’d believe in fairies before I’d believe the timber in those photos is still standing unclaimed anywhere in this state—or this country, for that matter.”
16
( Leaving the Path )
A playful breeze followed Joby up the forest path, sighing through the massive redwood trees, ruffling through the lush undergrowth. Tumbling water and birdsong echoed softly through the warm arboreal twilight. The weather was clear and unusually mild for February. Where sunlight reached the ground, a delicious green smell arose, evoking memories of childhood summers, despite the season. Joby could imagine no more pleasant way to spend a Saturday than wandering alone through such a paradise.
After just a few weeks of teaching, he felt he’d truly found his place in Taubolt. Bridget, Pete, and Ariel had shown him the ropes without ever making him feel like the utter neophyte he was, and his students seemed the very incarnation of Longfellow’s poem about the thoughts of youth, their luminescent natures brimming with laughter and imaginative mischief, creativity, and surprising flashes of wisdom.
He stopped to watch a pair of tiny flies hover and dart, like airborne diamonds, in a shaft of light among the fir boughs. All around him, misty rays pierced the forest’s shadowed depths. Beyond the streambed, every dark needle and leaf was limned in silver, a lacework of brilliance and shadow, from which a boy, silent and still, suddenly appeared as if from thin air. Joby started and stared before realizing that he must have been there all along, backlit and invisible until Joby had looked right at him.
“Jupiter!” he said. “What are you doing over there?”
The butter-haired boy only turned and walked into the dark woods behind him.
Joby gazed after him for a moment, then shrugged and continued his hike. The kids at school had warmed to him considerably by now, but a vague skittishness remained at the edges of their friendliness, as if he were a new dog in the neighborhood, one of whom they were fond but not yet entirely trusting.
“Like to hike?” laughed a brazen voice directly above him.
Joby stumbled back in surprise, then looked up to find Jupiter perched high in the fir tree above him. “You scared the crap out of me!” Joby gasped.
Laughing even louder, Jupiter half-climbed, half-plunged toward the ground. Scorning the lowest branches, he leapt down and unbent his knees to stand grinning before Joby, who vaguely remembered climbing like that himself once, and wondered, now, how he’d ever lived to be fifteen. Looking back across the streambed to where the boy had just disappeared, he asked, “How’d you get all that way so quickly?”
“Climbed,” Jupiter said, glancing at the canopy over their heads. “Trees’re thick up here. You can go a long ways without comin’ down.”
“Aren’t you afraid of falling?” Joby asked.
“Aren’t you afraid of falling?” Jupiter parried.
“I’m on the ground,” Joby said.
“So am I!” Jupiter grinned.
Joby narrowed his eyes reproachfully.
“My limbs work just as good up there.” Jupiter shrugged. “Wanna go hiking?”
“If it’s on the ground,” Joby replied dryly.
“Come on.” Jupiter grinned, striding briskly away up the trail while Joby hustled to catch up. The boy seemed well named. A patch of gold in the dusky shade, he exuded a jovial confidence that made him seem effortlessly capable of anything. Demonstrating precisely this quality, Jupiter stopped abruptly to point up a steep incline covered in densely tangled foliage and debris. “Let’s go that way!”
The ascent, if not altogether impossible, looked like far too much work. “Don’t forget to write,” said Joby. “I’ll stay on the path, I think.”
Jupiter looked at him scornfully.
“Hiking off the path causes erosion, doesn’t it?” Joby said lamely. “Have you ever even been up there?”
“No,” Jupiter said, clearly wondering what that had to do with anything.
“Okay,” Joby said wearily. “Just don’t get us lost. We’ve got to be back in time for the potluck at school tonight, you know.”
With a radiant grin, Jupiter began bounding up the hill like a startled deer, while Joby sighed and started picking his way slowly through a sea of obstacles.
“Not like that!” the boy laughed, turning to look back at him. “If you wanna be a Taubolt stud, you have to barge up here, not pizzel like a narning pleebole!”
“What’s a Taubolt stud?” Joby asked, feeling heat in his face. “And what makes you think I want to be one?”
“A Taubolt stud is me!” Jupiter crowed. “Of course you want to be one!”
The boy’s sheer conceit made Joby laugh and filled him with an urge to match such ridiculous audacity. As he leapt clumsily up and over the fallen tree in front of him, a wave of antic energy surged through him like a shout.
“YES!” Jupiter shouted as Joby came abreast of him and kept going. “Another Taubolt stud is born!”
“I was a stud years before you were an idea!” Joby shouted back in delight as the two of them continued charging up the hill together. When they finally reached the hilltop, Joby braced his hands against his knees, and gasped, “Okay. . . . I’ve got to stop.”
“Good,” Jupiter panted back. Joby looked up to find him red-faced, and breathing as hard as he. “You’re not as wobbity as you act,” the boy conceded.
Once recovered, they followed a streambed downhill through more dense underbrush before heading up again through drier woods of oak, fir, and laurel. Joby wasn’t sure anymore where they were in relation to town.
“You’re not gonna get us lost, right?” he asked Jupiter.
“Fold your feathers!” Jupiter scoffed. “All these streams lead back into the canyon. Do I look like a pleebole?”
Still struggling with the local lingo, Joby asked, “What’s a ‘pleebole’ again?”
Jupiter hesitated, then said, “I’m just sayin’ only tourists could get lost here.”
“Okay,” Joby said. “Just making sure.”
After following a new path for some time, Jupiter suddenly shouted, “Yes!” and ran up the hillside ahead of them. “Oh YES!” he crowed again, thrusting his hand into a low bush covered with small, bright green leaves. When Joby caught up, Jupiter offered him a handful of tiny, round berries, almost black in color.
“What are these?” Joby asked.
Jupiter’s eyes went round. “Don’t you know huckleberries?”
“I’ve heard of them,” Joby said nervously. “But . . . are you sure these are okay?”
“Only since I was three!” Jupiter scoffed, shoving a fistful into his mouth, and groaning in delight. “I’ve never seen so many! It’s the lost huckleberry homeland!” he enthused, reaching out to rake another handful from the bottom of a clotted branch. “What are you waitin’ for,” he mumbled to Joby around the mouthful, “a fork?”
Joby tried a single berry, then threw the rest in, smiling as their surprisingly potent sweetness exploded on his tongue. After that, they ate, and laughed, and ate, and ate. Later, as Joby tried to lick the purple stains off his hands, Jupiter assured him they would be the envy of everyon
e who heard about it at school that night.
“What I can’t understand,” Joby said, “is what all these berries are doing here. It’s February. These bushes must have bloomed in, what, December? That can’t be right.”
“Happens sometimes.” Jupiter shrugged uncertainly. “Taubolt’s got some kind of special climate, I think. Pete told us about it in science class. ‘A microclimate,’ he said. So things just sort of grow when they want to here.”
“How weird,” Joby mused. “Thanks for getting my butt up here, Jupiter. It’s been a lot of fun. A lot more than I was expecting, really.”
“Gotta leave the path sometimes,” Jupiter said, smiling pointedly at Joby.
“Yes, yes. Point taken, professor,” Joby drawled. “It’s getting late, though, and I need to get cleaned up before the potluck. Maybe we should start heading back?”
“No problem,” Jupiter said, giving his stomach one last pat. “Just follow me.”
The hike back seemed much longer than the hike there, and none of it looked familiar. Finally, Jupiter stopped and turned to stare up the hill they had just come down. Then he grinned without meeting Joby’s eyes, and said, “You know, we might be lost.”
“Oh great!” Joby exclaimed, looking at his watch. “The potluck is in one hour, stud, and it’s gonna look pretty flaky if I’m not there. Got a plan B?”
“Keep heading down this streambed, and hope it crosses the path somewhere, I guess,” Jupiter offered sheepishly.
“Oh no,” Joby said. “I don’t know where the path we started on is, but I think I can get us back to Blueberry Hill, so I say we go there and start again more carefully.”
“That sounds good too.” Jupiter shrugged.
Fortunately, they found the site of their berry spree, and, after looking around, cut off the crest trail earlier as Joby began to recognize obstacles he’d worked harder to get past than Jupiter had. After a tense half hour of trailblazing, they stumbled, with deep relief, back onto the original canyon path about a mile east of Taubolt.
The Book of Joby Page 36
