by Nadia Aguiar
“I’ll be damned,” said the general, picking one up.
“They’re supposed to have clues about how to help save Tamarind,” said Simon.
“I know what they’re for,” grunted the general.
“We’re meant to decipher them, but we don’t know where to start,” Simon continued. “We have the umbrella, and this boat, the Pamela Jane, is ours, but we don’t know where she is right now…”
The general said nothing as he studied the ophallagraph of the two men standing beneath the umbrella. Then he tapped the image. “The man on the left,” he said finally. “Maybe that’s your clue.”
“Why?” asked Simon, puzzled.
“He’s dead,” said General Alvaro.
“Dead?” exclaimed Simon.
“But he’s standing up,” said Maya.
“He’s being propped up,” said the general. “I think I’ve seen death enough to know, young lady. Look closely, you’ll see.”
Simon and Maya squinted at the ophallagraph again. The general was right. There was an unnatural stiffness in the face of the man in the green-striped jacket, and his eyes stared blankly ahead. Milagros’s words came back to Simon … what appears alive is dead.
“Why would they take a picture of him then?” Maya asked, shivering. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“That I can’t help you with,” said the general. “I haven’t the foggiest. That fellow Maroner designed them and he went and got his throat slit when he went into the jungle in search of some sort of plant he wanted for something or other.”
“Wait,” said Simon. “I thought Davies Maroner died in a fire.”
“Well, maybe he did,” said the general. “That’s just what I heard, and who knows what’s the truth or not around this place. Anyway, burned, drowned, murdered, the fool almost blew himself up hundreds of times with all his experiments. What got him in the end, who knows?”
Simon opened his mouth but the general cut him off. “Let a man think,” he said. He pulled the ophallagraph of the two men under the umbrella closer to him and studied it. Then he pointed a thick finger at something set into the hills in the distance on the far right-hand side. “That there behind him … I wonder if—my eyes are old, tell me what that looks like to you.”
“Um,” said Simon, squinting. “A blue square—wait, it could be some kind of door—”
“That’s what I thought,” said the general. “The Little Blue Door.”
“What’s that?” Maya asked.
General Alvaro rubbed his chin. “People used to say that any question could be answered at the Blue Door. There’s supposed to be something hidden behind it, something important, but I don’t know what,” he said. “It’s supposed to be hidden in the middle of nowhere out in the Neglected Provinces. I don’t know where, so don’t ask me. It’s just a story for all I know.”
Penny had wandered to the window to look out at the three ostrillos in the pen. Suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Hey, look!” she shouted, pointing furiously. Simon, Maya, and the general looked up. A cloud of dust appeared in the distance, coming fast towards them.
The general lifted a spyglass and trained it on the far hills. “It’s the Outsiders,” he said. “They have six jeeps, all armed … I count at least fifteen men. We’re outnumbered. We can’t stay here—they’ll surround us.” He focused the spyglass again. “The Red Man’s with them,” he said darkly.
“Oh no!” cried Maya. “How did they find us?”
“They mean business,” said the general, lowering his binoculars. “Can you shoot?” he asked Simon.
“No,” he stammered.
“Hah!” spat the general. He swiped everything off the top of the tack box and flung it open. A breath of the past was exhaled as he took out two ivory pistols wrapped in felt. He tossed one to Simon. “It’s a sparkle pistol,” he said. “You’ll figure it out.”
Simon looked at it in horror. He’d never shot a gun before and he didn’t want to—not really. What if he actually hit someone?
“The only chance we’ll have is to split them up,” the general said, glancing back through the window. He turned to Maya. “You and the cadet will take a path up through the hills where they’ll lose you quickly. Halfway up is an entrance to a series of tunnels; you can see it from here. Once you enter the tunnels, it’s very simple, you bear left at every third fork. It will take you out to the other side of the hills a few miles away. There are farms there. You’ll be able to get a ride to Prince’s Town, on the coast. It’ll be the closest and safest place for the child.” He turned to Simon. “You and I will have to take the open plain to draw them out and give your sisters time to escape. I’ll ride directly for the Outsiders, and you’ll bear east. Go across the plateau until the Borderlands end and the Neglected Provinces begin—you’ll know it when you see it. Stay on the edge of the Neglected Provinces, in the Borderlands, and head north—they won’t want to follow you there for long. Don’t go into the Neglected Provinces. You’ll never find your way out again. When you reach the mountains in the north, follow the pass through them, and from there head west along the coast and you’ll reach Prince’s Town.”
“No!” said Maya frantically. “There has to be another way. Simon, I don’t want us to separate!”
The general’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at the horizon, where the cloud of dust was now much closer, and from which the outlines of the hard metal of the jeeps, bristling with gun racks, were now emerging.
“I promise you that if you don’t do what I say, in ten minutes from now you’ll wind up prisoners,” said General Alvaro.
“Go,” said Simon to Maya, squeezing her arm and kissing the top of Penny’s head. “I’ll meet you in Prince’s Town, don’t worry.”
Everything was happening so fast. The children ran out of the hut after the general, who seconds later had lassoed and bridled an ostrillo. He swung both girls on its back and Maya stopped clinging to its neck long enough to seize the reins that the general passed to her. Penny hung on to Maya for all she was worth. The ostrillo pranced around, jittery, and Maya looked down at Simon, her eyes wide with fear.
“Go!” said Simon, trying to be brave. “You’ll be fine!”
Maya wrenched her gaze away from Simon. She looked at the approaching trucks and her eyes grew dark. Anger gave her courage.
“Be careful, Simon!” she called down as she leaned forward and spurred the creature on. The ostrillo sprang up on its powerful legs and then they were racing across the plains toward the tunnels.
Then, to Simon’s surprise, instead of bridling another ostrillo, General Alvaro hurried to the well and lowered a long, hooked pole into it. He bent over so far that he half disappeared inside it but a moment later he emerged and withdrew a canvas bag, and from that a thin parcel wrapped in oilpaper. He threw the parcel to Simon. Simon started to look inside, but the general stopped him.
“Later, later!” he cried urgently.
He slipped a bridle on one of the remaining ostrillos and tossed the reins to Simon. Simon swung himself up onto the giant bird’s back. The ground seemed very far away. The Red Coral jeeps, however, were already frighteningly close and growing nearer each second.
“Head east!” the general shouted as he vaulted onto his own ostrillo. He took off down the slopes like a wild man. Halfway across the plateau he raised his arm over his head and let out an unholy war cry that sent shivers down Simon’s spine. Simon heard a bang and seconds later the air itself seemed rent by a crackling, yellow-white flash. It sounded as if a train of tremendous firecrackers were exploding. Even at that distance Simon was blinded for a moment and he raised an arm to shield his eyes. The general disappeared inside the white blaze and when he appeared again one of the jeeps had been struck and was fishtailing across the hot sand. The general was already fifty yards away, galloping toward the rest of the jeeps. Simon heard the sparkle pistol go off again and the explosion rang out across the packed earth of the plateau.
The jee
ps were still coming.
Simon had to escape.
Taking a firm grip of the ostrillo’s feathers, Simon turned the creature to face east and urged it on. In seconds it went from a standstill to a sprint, racing as if it was outrunning a storm. Simon held on for dear life.
Chapter Twelve
A Wild Ride • A Third Ophallagraph • The Neglected Provinces • Miraculous Creatures • Saber Teeth and a Sparkle Pistol • Home to Roost • Emerald Oasis • Strange Fruit
When the Red Coral realized that Simon was escaping, a few of the jeeps peeled away from the others and came roaring after him, firing shots in the air. Simon ducked, pressing his cheek into the ostrillo’s neck. He expected a jeep to pull alongside him any moment, or to lose his balance and end up facedown in the hot sand, but neither happened. To his surprise the shots grew more distant and when he looked behind him he saw that the jeeps were losing ground, no match for the sand that was growing deeper and softer. The ostrillo, on the other hand, was made for this terrain and covered the ground effortlessly. When Simon next looked over his shoulder the jeeps had shrunk to the size of toys and then they were gone altogether.
Simon had little time to celebrate. The general had been right—Simon knew the Neglected Provinces when he saw them. Up ahead dunes arose suddenly, undulating into the distance like a great yellow sea. A miasma of hazy light—much like the salt spray that mists the air out at sea—hung over them, and even the slight breeze emanating from the east had a different tang, like animal dung and hot sand and scorched leaves.
The general had been adamant that he not enter the Provinces, so Simon steered the ostrillo to remain along the border. When he was confident that the jeeps were long gone he pulled gently on the reins and the ostrillo eased to a walk. Simon flexed his cramped hands and reached down to pat the creature. He hoped that Maya and Penny made it to the entrance to the tunnels—it hadn’t been far away and the jeeps had been diverted by him and General Alvaro, just as the general had promised. Still, Simon was nervous and didn’t want to think of them alone in some dank, dark maze. Should he go back and try to find them now? He looked over his shoulder. Though he could no longer see them, the Red Coral were still back there. Going back right now would be foolish. He might even lead them straight to the tunnels where Maya and Penny were. No, better to do what General Alvaro had told him. As for the wily general, Simon was sure he had outwitted the Red Coral and escaped easily into the hills.
Suddenly Simon remembered that the general had given him something. Being careful not to lose his balance—even walking the ostrillo was a bumpy ride—he eagerly opened his backpack and unwound the parcel. As he peeled the layers back it began to glow and he looked at it in amazement.
It was another ophallagraph!
The new image proved to be just as much of a puzzle as the first two. It was a close-up of a deep-limbed deciduous tree, its branches laden with radiant globes of fruit that looked like oranges dipped in mercury. A single hummingbird hovered in the air, wings drumming a fast blur, its stemlike beak sipping from one of the round fruits on the right-hand side of the tree. The image was otherwise nondescript. There were no people—no distinguishing characteristics at all, in fact, except for the glowing silver fruit and the hummingbird.
Not much help, thought Simon. Not yet, anyway. He turned to the other ophallagraphs, studying them closely. If there was a connection between the three of them he couldn’t see it. Disappointed that the new ophallagraph shed no light on the previous two and only deepened their mystery, Simon was about to pack them away and head to Prince’s Town when his eye stopped on the image of the two men beneath the umbrella. He had a faint chill, knowing that one of the men had been dead when the picture was taken. Why would someone take a picture of a dead person? His gaze shifted to the blue square in the distance. Was it his imagination, or was it glowing more intensely than it had half an hour ago? It seemed to be changing before his very eyes, as if he were watching something rise from the depths to the surface. And then it was there clearly: built into the rock face, a blue door in the middle of nowhere, the only spot of real color in the whole image. The Little Blue Door, General Alvaro had called it.
Simon thought hard. He was certain that nothing in the ophallagraph was there accidentally. Each object was significant somehow. The door must be important. Were they supposed to find it? Would whatever lay behind it shed light on their mission?
The general had told Simon to stay on the edge of the Borderlands and ride north until he reached the mountain pass that would take him to the north coast, from where he could head west for Prince’s Town to meet his sisters. He had warned Simon not to enter the Neglected Provinces, as had Milagros.
But … the general had also said that the Little Blue Door was in the Neglected Provinces, and there it was, glowing up at Simon from the ophallagraph, practically begging him to pay attention to it. What if he just went a little way into the Neglected Provinces to look for it? He didn’t have to be gone very long. It was possible he was very near it already. He wondered what Maya would say. She would probably tell him he should go straight to Prince’s Town. But Maya wasn’t there, and this might be the best chance he had to find the Blue Door.
He withdrew his compass and took a bearing east. He would head due east for an hour or two into the Neglected Provinces. Surely during that time he’d find a town, or at least a few huts, and someone who could tell him where the Blue Door was. If not, he could turn around and head back and wouldn’t have lost much time at all. He contemplated the sparkle pistol—its ivory handle, the serrated wheel of its cylinder, its gleaming silver barrel—if there was danger, it would keep him safe.
Feeling confident and determined, with a final glance over his shoulder, Simon nudged the ostrillo with his heels and it set off eastward at a run. Soon the mountains, once so towering, were lost to sight. Then something extraordinary happened. The landscape began to change, swinging rapidly from one extreme to another. Simon and the ostrillo would reach the height of a steep sandy slope, the earth lifeless except for a stunted cactus or two, and then from its ridge they would look down into a lush valley where flowers waved, wild-armed trees swished in the warm breeze, and grazing animals teemed. Desert spiders, catching a breeze, spun bubble wings for themselves and drifted iridescent through the air. Brilliant scarlet birds carved arabesques in the salt-bright sky. Creamy-colored camel-like animals with lumpy backs and thick, velvety eyelashes over gentle, cowlike eyes ambled in single file. Fleets of water lizards floated down the current of a stream only inches deep, their heads poking above the surface, the rainbow-colored flags of their tongues flickering. Simon had never seen such creatures before, in life or in books, and he looked about him in wonder.
They would pass through one of these rich, miraculous worlds, then once again there would be nothing but earth baked almost to stone, without leaf or petal, or creature winged or hoofed. Simon wished he could tell his father what he was seeing—Papi would be fascinated by such bizarre microclimates. The ostrillo was far from a smooth ride but Simon got used to it, and the speed and the wind on his face were exhilarating. They came across a herd of fellow ostrillos at one point and ran among them. Simon looked out atop a sea of purple. The creatures’ small heads twisted and rolled expressively on their long necks as they turned to stare at the newcomer and her strange passenger. Then, skittishly, threatened by something real or imagined, they sped up and swerved to the left and Simon’s ostrillo, carrying his weight, was unable to keep up, and again they were alone.
The scientist in Simon wished there was time to study the animals he was seeing and catalogue all the quirks of nature and environment that had driven their strange evolution. A herd of spotted marsupials, almost impossible to see, moved in shifting camouflage as they chased the shadows of clouds. A small, horselike animal with gigantic ears that swiveled like saucers was the first to hear him coming, and when it took off across the plains its drumming hooves alerted dozens of lumbering, sl
ow-moving tortoises who vanished into their shells, leaving a sudden rock bed. Micelike rodents leaped dozens of feet into a stand of cactus, fleeing from birds that veered away from the unforgiving spikes at the last second. Simon watched in fascination as these dramas unfolded around him.
* * *
The sky over the Neglected Provinces was low and vast. In some places it was scorching, and Simon opened the umbrella and rode beneath its shade. In others great cumulous clouds gathered in cool, fresh masses, building and tumbling when they grew too top heavy, marbled slate gray and charcoal and pristine white. It was a relief to ride beneath them and they almost seemed to lay a cooling hand on Simon’s forehead. But they never seemed to result in rain, and it wasn’t long before Simon regretted not stopping at the single stream he had seen earlier. He rode for another hour till eventually there were no more clouds, only leagues of dazzling sky. He was surprised not to have stumbled upon a town or even a single hut yet. He was growing thirstier and thirstier. He needed to find water soon.
The plants began to peter out and, with them, most of the animals. Simon and the ostrillo headed into an ever drier and more barren landscape where the wind whistled hollowly over shifting banks of yellow sand. What had turned the Neglected Provinces into a desert when the rest of Tamarind was lush jungle? There was evidence it had not always been this way: petrified trees thrust up from the dunes, a gnarled branch here, a twisted trunk there, and occasionally the sand turned up fossils that the ostrillo trod upon.
There were more recent signs of civilization, too: Every now and then Simon would come across the crumbling ruins of abandoned stone cottages. Whatever wood had been there had been digested by termites long ago. Creeper vines had nosed their way through cracks in the stone, driving larger wedges that over time had caused slabs to tumble down onto the earth. Some of the cottages smelled from the waste of animals that had sheltered there. Others were roofless and open to the sun and to winds that had scoured them clean. Why had they been abandoned? Mute and forlorn, they could tell him no stories. The elements were erasing them a little more with each passing day; at some point they would cease to be, and there would be no more record of their existence.
