by Kage Baker
“Oh, my gosh!” said Emma, remembering the glass case in the Lobby, with its warning about pirates. She ran from her room, down the corridor past an astonished Winston, who ran after her yelling, “What’s the matter, Miss Emma?”
“We’ve got pirates!” she yelled back. They ran downstairs together, arriving on the grand staircase just in time to see the front doors open and a man come into the Lobby.
“You stop right there,” said Emma, scared and angry. She didn’t know what a pirate was doing in the Dunes, but she wasn’t about to let him loot and burn her hotel. The man looked up at them, very much surprised.
He was a big middle-aged man wearing a long blue peacoat, open over blue jeans and a red and white striped shirt. One of his legs ended at the knee and had been replaced by a wooden peg leg. One of his eyes was gone, too, and he wore a black patch, but at least it did not look so odd on him as it did on Mrs. Beet. His face was rough and red and whiskery. He wore a dirty white captain’s hat, and carried a pickaxe. A green parrot with a red forehead sat on his shoulder.
“You two wouldn’t be ghosts, would you?” the man asked, in a deep hoarse voice.
“No, only him,” said Emma, pointing to Winston. “You just turn right around and leave again, you pirate!”
Startled, the sailor took off his hat. “Uh… I ain’t no pirate, dearie,” he said. “Really I ain’t!”
“Then how come you have a wooden leg?” Emma demanded.
“Well—uh—a shark bit off me real one, aye,” said the sailor. “And I had a nice plastic prosthetic, but it blew off in a hurricane, so I had to fix up a bit o’ broomstick to hobble about on until I could afford a new one.”
“And how come you have an eye patch?” said Emma.
“I was ashore in China,” explained the sailor, “when some kid threw a firecracker, and it blew me eye clear to Japan. Ain’t been able to buy no glass eye yet, dearie. They’re powerful expensive, by thunder.”
“And how come you have a parrot?” said Emma.
“Parrot? What parrot?” The sailor looked about him, and pretended to start in surprise when he saw the parrot on his shoulder. “Why, look at that! Must be a wild bird, dearie, and he just alighted here coincidental-like!”
“Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” squawked the parrot.
“Hush, you bloody bird!” muttered the sailor.
“And how come your ship is out there flying the Jolly Roger?” said Emma.
The sailor winced, and twisted his hat in his hand. “Well, uh—that’s just a joke, like. A bit o’ fun. I’m more what you’d call a salvager, dearie. Sure I am.”
“What are you planning to do with that pickaxe, then, may I ask?” said Winston, advancing on him down the stairs. The sailor smiled craftily.
“Why, I was a-planning to salvage this here derelict hotel, matey,” he said.
“Well, you can’t, because I got here first, and I’ve already salvaged it,” said Emma. “So you just take your pickaxe and go away.”
At that moment, there was a rapid patter of little feet and Shorty came rocketing up the stairs from the Kitchens. He saw the sailor and began barking fiercely. Mrs. Beet came up the stairs after him, but stopped still when she saw the sailor.
“Oh, my!” Her eye widened. Her hands fluttered up to her hair, smoothing it and tucking back loose hairpins. “Oh, goodness me, who is this handsome stranger?”
The sailor grinned, showing dreadful cavities in his teeth. “Haar! Captain Ned Doubloon, ma’am, at yer service.” He bowed low. A cutlass fell from under his coat and clattered on the marble floor.
Shorty grabbed up the cutlass in his strong little jaws, and ran up to present it to Emma. Emma took the cutlass, feeling much braver, and pointed it at Captain Doubloon.
“Go on,” she said firmly. “Go find someplace else to pillage.”
“Aw, now, dearie, who said anything about pillaging? “ said Captain Doubloon. “That ain’t my intention in the least. Why, I been a-waiting for this here lovely phantom of the sands to show herself these fifty years and more.”
“I think perhaps you should explain yourself, sir,” said Winston.
“To be sure, matey,” said Captain Doubloon, rubbing his whiskery chin. He looked around. “That looks like a nice Bar over there. Why don’t we all go sit down friendly-like, and if you’ve a glass of rum for an old sailor, I’ll be happy to tell you me story.”
9
THE MAP
THEY ALL WENT into the Bar, which was a rather dark room full of model ships and framed prints of sea-battles. Winston went behind the bar and brought out rum for Captain Doubloon and Mrs. Beet, and a bottle of sarsaparilla for Emma. They all sat down at a table. Captain Doubloon began:
“I been a sailor since I was a little lad, and me father afore me, and his father afore him. That was me grandfather, Jack Doubloon. Now, when me granddad was only a cabin boy, he was working on a ship that sailed along this very coast, trading in coconuts and spice from the islands.
“He’d heard tales of a fine big hotel some rich man was a-building here in these Dunes, but he didn’t believe ‘em. Every sailor knows that the Storm of the Equinox hits pretty hard in these parts. Didn’t seem smart-like, if you know what I mean.
“Well, so the Equinox come around that spring, and it were a powerful storm indeed. His ship, that was the old Tiger’s Eye, was near cast on a lee shore five times that night. Come dawn, the sailors was all so tired they was asleep in the rigging, taking in sail in their dreams.
“Then the lookout, he gave a yell, and young Jack Doubloon he looked to windward and saw something he’d never seen afore: a band pavilion, floating on the open sea, all a-crowded with folks crying and praying and waving their handkerchiefs to be rescued.
“The captain, that was old Howlin’ Tom Flintigold, he gave orders to put down a boat to go fetch ‘em. Mostly they was pretty little chambermaids in black and white dresses, and young bellboys with brass buttons, and a night clerk or two. But one of ‘em was a tall man with a black beard, proud as the devil, all in fine clothes.
“Well, so they come aboard. The tall man said his name was Wenlocke, and told a sad tale of the Storm of the Equinox sinking his fine big hotel under the Dunes, and blowing his steamer pier to pieces, and washing him and his staff out to sea. He wanted Captain Flintigold to take him to Europe. He promised him gold and jewels from some castle he had.
“But all Mr. Wenlocke had on him to pay for his passage, see, was a gold watch and seal. And Captain Flintigold, he was a hard man. He said the most he’d do for the gold watch and seal was drop Mr. Wenlocke and his staff off at his next port of call, which was San Francisco.
“Mr. Wenlocke, he cursed some mighty strange curses, but there wasn’t nothing he could do. He and his staff had to settle down in the hold amongst the coconuts and make themselves as comfortable as they could whilst the Tiger’s Eye sailed on to San Francisco.
“But Jack Doubloon, he liked Mr. Wenlocke. He never heard such fine cursing in his life as he heard from that man. So he made himself agreeable, smuggling him extra bits of salt horse and hardtack to eat, and they become friendly. Mr. Wenlocke asked for paper and ink, and me granddad stole ‘em from the ship’s clerk for him, and Mr. Wenlocke used to sit up nights drawing and writing away by the light of a candle.
“When they come to San Francisco, what should they spy lined up all along the waterfront but a dozen lawyers, all a-waiting for poor Mr. Wenlocke with hungry eyes. ‘I’m done for,’ says Mr. Wenlocke, and he gets ready to jump overboard and drown hisself in the sea.
“ ‘Never fear,’ says young Jack Doubloon. ‘We’ll save you yet.’ And as the Tiger’s Eye docked, a powerful thick fog come down, such as they get in San Francisco. Me granddad, he traded clothes with Mr. Wenlocke, and gave him a knife and a compass. He lowered him in a boat off the port side of the ship, whilst the lawyers was a-coming up the gangplank on the starboard side like sharks on legs.
“Mr. Wenlocke, afore
he rowed away into the fog, he said, ‘Doubloon, you been a good friend to me. Here’s something for your trouble.’ And he slipped him a rolled-up bit of paper with writing on it. And I wouldn’t sail with Captain Flintigold any more, either, if I were you,’ he added. Then he bent to the oars and slipped away, and escaped. Where he went, I never heard.
“Well, me granddad were smart as paint, but he never had no schooling, so he couldn’t read. He put that piece of paper in his sea-chest, and there it stayed for forty year. Me dad, Roger Doubloon, he couldn’t read neither, so he passed the paper on to me without knowing what it was. But he told me the whole story, so he did, including the bit where me granddad left Captain Flintigold and shipped out with somebody else, and heard that the Tiger’s Eye ran aground off Cape San Martin not three months later.
“Now, I had to go to school, what with the law and all, so as soon as I learned to read I looked at that bit of paper and saw it was a map, with directions. It gave the longitude and latitude of where his hotel sunk, so it did, but there was more: a scribble saying as how he had a treasure hid in the hotel, and how to find it.
“And all me life, dearie, I been a-sailing up and down this here coast, every spring and every autumn, waiting for the Storms of the Equinox. ‘Some day, Ned,’ I said to meself, ‘Some day there’ll be another almighty big storm what’ll uncover that there hotel again, and you can go hunt for that treasure, what’s rightfully yours on account of Mr. Wenlocke gave your granddad the map to it.’
“So imagine how it breaks me poor heart, ma’am,” said Captain Doubloon, turning to Mrs. Beet with tears in his eye, “after a whole lifetime of dreaming, and hoping, and searching—to get here and find all that lovely money’s slipped away because somebody else got here first!” He began to sob loudly, pulling out a large spotted handkerchief and holding it to his eye.
“Poor dear,” said Mrs. Beet, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
“I suppose in that case he is entitled to the treasure,” said Winston, looking uncomfortable. “If it was Mr. Wenlocke’s wish.”
“I guess it would be all right, if he only took the treasure,” said Emma.
“Right!” said Captain Doubloon, sticking the handkerchief back in his pocket and leaning forward across the table, his eye bright and hard. “Let’s sign articles, dearie. You salvaged this hotel? Well, good for you, says I, but what will you do if another Storm of the Equinox buries her again, eh? There’s a powerful lot of sand in these here Dunes.”
“That’s true,” said Emma cautiously. It was a scary idea.
“Now, I been thinking about this for fifty years, and I come up with a plan,” said Captain Doubloon. “I got five thousand hollow oil drums in the hold of me ship out there, and five mile of cable chain.
“What I reckoned I’d do was find the treasure, and then rig this hotel with them hollow drums so she’d float, and pull her out of the sand. Then I’d tow her across the sea to a tropical island I knows of. There ain’t no Storms of the Equinox to do no harm there, but lots of green palm trees and rich folks as comes on cruise ships wanting a nice place to stay.
“You let me keep me treasure, and you got me solemn word I’ll tow yer hotel to that island. Then you’ll set up business, and I’ll go me own way. Unless you’d like a partner, that is,” he added casually, as he took a drink of rum and smacked his lips.
10
THE TREASURE HUNT BEGINS
EMMA THOUGHT HARD about what Captain Doubloon had told her. “It’s a good plan,” she said at last. “What do you think, Winston?”
Winston looked very hard at Captain Doubloon. “It makes sense,” he said. “If Captain Doubloon is an honest sailor.”
“Why, I’m as honest as the day is long,” Captain Doubloon declared, holding his hand over his heart.
“Pieces of Eight!” screamed the parrot. “Dead men tell no tales!”
Winston narrowed his eyes. “Ladies, I’d like to speak to Captain Doubloon privately for a moment. Would you both be so kind as to step outside the Bar?”
“I’d best be getting breakfast ready, anyway,” said Mrs. Beet, as she rose. “I do hope you’ll stay to dine with us, Captain. I make the best Eggs Benedict you ever tasted.”
“It would be a pleasure, ma’am,” said Captain Doubloon.
Emma left too, but she took the cutlass with her, and only went as far as the hotel shop to look for a toothbrush. Having found one, she stuck it in her apron pocket and amused herself by pretending to sword-fight with her shadow in the Lobby. She heard the men talking together in low voices, and then she heard a sort of strangled squawk that didn’t sound like the parrot.
When she ran back into the Bar, Captain Doubloon had turned white as a sheet and was trembling slightly. Winston was nowhere to be seen, but a dark cloud shot through with blue lights was whirling in the middle of the floor. Emma gripped the handle of the cutlass tightly, as she caught a glimpse of a frightening face. In another second, though, the cloud brightened and solidified, and then Winston was standing there looking quite ordinary. “What happened?” Emma asked.
“I just showed Captain Doubloon that dead men do tell tales,” said Winston. He brought the captain another glass of rum. “As well as being able to do other things. And I’m sure he’ll be a trustworthy partner now, won’t you, sir?”
“Aye aye,” croaked Captain Doubloon, and drank down the rum.
But the captain returned to his natural color over breakfast. Mrs. Beet had really outdone herself. She had made Eggs Benedict, hotcakes, oysters in creole sauce, and plenty of crisp toast with jam. Captain Doubloon ate heartily, and was very gallant indeed in complimenting Mrs. Beet on her cooking. Emma ate heartily too. It was certainly nicer than raw clams.
When the dishes were all cleared away, Captain Doubloon took a roll of yellowed, crumbling paper from inside his coat pocket, and spread it out on the table. “This here is it,” he said, “but all the map part shows is where the hotel sank. Once you get inside the hotel, it just has these two clues. ‘Begin in the Master Suite,’says the first one. Now, where would that be, I wonder?”
“I can take you there, but you’ll have to leave that pickaxe behind,” said Winston sternly. “I won’t have you tearing up any of Mr. Wenlocke’s fine parquet floors!”
So the pickaxe was left outside on the verandah, and Winston led them all (for Mrs. Beet said, “I’m certainly not going to go off and do such a dull thing as washing dishes whilst the rest of you hunt for hidden treasure!”) up to the fourth floor of the hotel.
“This was Mr. Wenlocke’s Private Suite,” Winston said, opening a big black door. They all went through into the room beyond.
It was quite an elegant room, but a little cold. The green and black carpet had swirly patterns that made you dizzy if you looked at them too closely. The heavy mahogany furniture was upholstered in black leather.
There was a larger-than-life-size portrait of a man on one wall. He was dressed all in black, holding up a gold watch as though inviting them to look at the time. He had bold black eyes, and a neat black beard that came to a sharp point. He was smiling. Emma wasn’t sure whether she liked his face or not. Shorty certainly didn’t like it. He put his tail between his legs and hid behind Mrs. Beet.
“That’s Mr. Wenlocke’s portrait,” said Winston, in a hushed voice. “Really caught his likeness, too.”
“That it does,” said Mrs. Beet, putting her hand to her heart. “When we opened the door, I thought it was him standing there for a moment. Dear me! People said he was quite the magician, you know. You don’t suppose he’s come back to haunt the place?”
“I don’t think so,” said Winston. “I guess I’d notice, wouldn’t I?”
Captain Doubloon shook his head and shivered. He looked at the bit of paper in his hands. “It says here, ‘Brave the jaws of the Green Lion.’ I don’t see no green lions in here, and I can’t say as I’m sorry.”
The parrot gave a long, low laugh.
“Gracious,
Shorty, what’s got into you?” said Mrs. Beet, picking up Shorty, who had been whining and trembling. Emma looked around the room. At one side, under several tall windows, was a big imposing-looking desk and a bookcase full of strangely bound volumes. She wondered whether one of them might be called The Green Lion and went closer to see.
But as she neared the desk, she saw Mr. Wenlocke’s writing-stand. It was carved of green stone, and had an inkwell on one side and a pen-stand on the other. Between the two was the figure of a winged lion, five or six inches tall. “Here it is!” she said, and everyone came to see.
“He’s got his mouth open,” said Emma, going around to the other side of the desk and peering close. Was there a tiny button, there in the back of the lion’s mouth? She took the pen from its stand and poked the reverse end as far between the lion’s jaws as she could get it. There was a faint click. The lion’s head rose suddenly, about a quarter of an inch.
As it did so, there was a whirring noise, and both Mrs. Beet and Captain Doubloon yelled. Emma looked up, straight at what seemed to be a real lion bounding toward her! She jumped behind the desk’s chair and stared hard at the lion. Emma knew from books she had read that it’s never a good idea to seem weak or frightened around a big cat.
Looking hard, she saw the lion stop right before the desk and lift its head for a roar. The roar sounded funny and sort of hollow. Then, suddenly, the lion was back across the room where it had started, and came forward again in the same series of jerky leaps. It was slightly transparent, not in the way that Winston had been, but rather flat.
“Wait a minute,” said Emma. “It’s a trick.”
“So it is,” agreed Captain Doubloon, mopping his face with his handkerchief, as the parrot squawked and fluttered uneasily.
