The Secret Keepers

by Trenton Lee Stewart

  “I can’t believe this,” she’d said to Reuben privately. “Make sure you never tell anybody that I’d have taken the worst job in town. Let’s pretend I’ve always been haughty and prideful, okay?”

  “Like we have to pretend,” Reuben said.

  “There you go again. You were almost out of trouble, too. You must love being in trouble, I guess.” She was pretending to look severe.

  “I learned it from Jack.”

  “Who is a terrible influence,” his mom said, rolling her eyes. “Did he really call me spunky, by the way? Or did you just say that to make me crazy?”

  Reuben laughed. “He really did.”

  His mom sighed. “The more things change…” she said again, now pretending to look dejected.

  No, Reuben thought, he had never seen her so happy.

  And now on this sunny, brisk early-autumn day, Reuben found himself hoping that his absence wouldn’t worry her. There were enough places he and Penny might have gone off to—Jack’s old room in the attic, the oil house, the lighthouse tower—that she probably wouldn’t even realize they’d left the island. And they wouldn’t be gone long. Jack had said the entire trip would take only an hour or so.

  Once Reuben and Penny were safely aboard the fishing boat, Jack cast the rowboat loose and let it drift. He would round it up later, he said. In the meantime the suits would be compelled to find other transportation to the lighthouse island.

  “Won’t they be mad?” Reuben wondered. The “suits,” as Jack called them, were government investigators. Making trouble for them didn’t seem like a great idea.

  “For all they know, the rowboat just slipped its moorings,” Jack said, ushering Reuben and Penny into the wheelhouse. “Accidents happen.” He started the motor, and the flooring thrummed beneath their feet.

  Penny glanced around with a look of growing apprehension. “Wait a minute, whose gillnetter is this? It looks like Mr. Harsch’s.”

  “It is Mr. Harsch’s,” Jack said as the old boat began to plow forward.

  “What? But he hates you! You said you were borrowing a boat from a friend!”

  “Our friendship is kind of a secret,” Jack said, turning the wheel. “Nobody knows about it but me.”

  Penny covered her face with her hands.

  “Don’t worry, redbird. I think Old Man Harsch only pretends to hate me.”

  “Why does Mr. Harsch hate you?” Reuben asked, somewhat absently, for he was only partly listening. He’d never been in a motorboat and was preoccupied by the rumble of the engine, the smell of exhaust fumes now drifting astern, the lovely rush of water along the sides. “Or, I mean, pretend to hate you?”

  “Who can say?” Jack replied with a shrug. “Maybe because I keep borrowing his boat.”

  They traveled a long time, out of the bay and into open seas, the choppy water sparkling blue and white, with occasional cloud shadows moving swiftly across the surface. It was a most beautiful, most melancholy day, the last day of a time that Reuben would come to think of as “the aftermath,” and the first day of what he would come to think of as his true Point William life.

  Reuben and Penny had not been brought into the early investigations. Nor had they been called upon to participate in the hearings or speedy trial of Cassius Faug. Their testimonies weren’t necessary to convict him of his numerous crimes, and it was agreed all around that, as children, they should be protected. Thus their knowledge of what was going on had been limited to what they were told and what they read in the newspapers, which boasted such headlines as The Counselor to See a Counselor—for Faug had been not only incarcerated but also prescribed routine sessions with a psychiatrist.

  Mental health professionals had suggested he might never come to accept that his “watches of invisibility” were the products of his imagination. He might, however, eventually accept that he had to live without them. Regardless, it was hoped that one day a true accounting would emerge of how he’d accomplished such strange and seemingly impossible things—and not only how he’d done them but why. Perhaps it would. Perhaps it wouldn’t.

  Reuben figured he was the only person in the world who actually hoped the psychiatrist would help Faug. Sure, he was glad the man was locked up. Yet he also wanted him to find peace. Reuben wouldn’t have imagined that he could feel both things about the same person, but he did. Not that his feelings had any bearing on the situation. He had set Faug’s final fate in motion, but it was no longer up to him.

  Meanwhile New Umbra was getting cleaned up. The big city was a big mess. It would be years before it was operating the way a proper city should—which is to say, messily, but more or less freely and honestly, with its citizens accountable to one another and to those they’ve chosen to represent them, rather than to entities, spectral or otherwise, whose own interests are not in the interest of the people. In other words, being a city is hard enough without someone like The Smoke running the show. New Umbra was never going to be perfect, but it was definitely going to be a lot better. It was going to be fine.

  Reuben still found it hard to believe that he no longer lived there. He and his mom had moved to Point William only last week. Or rather, they had been moved—by the Meyer family, who had made the initial and very persuasive invitation (it hadn’t taken Reuben’s mom long to accept) and then come down together to pack, load, and transport all the Pedleys’ things. Several residents of Reuben’s apartment building had stood in their doorways, gawking at the cheerful, bustling, almost entirely redheaded family of movers.

  It had been an exciting day for everyone, including the young building manager, upon whose desk Reuben left the following note:

  The cat is in the storage room. (I closed the window.) Maybe try milk or tuna fish? Good luck making friends. I’ll bet you can do it.

  He had spent a lot of time the previous week luring the cat with milk and tuna, so he knew what he was talking about. And when that morning he had successfully trapped it in the storage room, he felt a most gratifying sense of resolution. Closing that window in the alley, he was closing an entire chapter in his life. He’d signed the note to the building manager with his full name and even left his forwarding address in Point William. He was glad he did, too, for just yesterday he’d received a thank-you card from the young woman, along with a photograph in which she stood, beaming, with the cat in her arms. The cat didn’t look especially happy—in fact, it looked quite cranky—but it was letting her hold it, which actually was much better than Reuben would have predicted. Sometimes things just worked out that way.

  In the same batch of mail, Reuben had received a letter from Mrs. Genevieve. It was not much of a coincidence, really, because they had agreed to write to each other every week, and indeed Reuben had already written to the watchmaker twice. She would keep him apprised of developments in New Umbra, she promised, if he would keep her posted about life in Point William. She might have to forfeit a little sleep to do so, for ever since that day at the mansion she had received a great deal of attention and a significant uptick in business. She had more customers than ever before, she wrote, many of them kind and charming people who were always wanting to do things for her.

  This is wearisome but not unwelcome, Mrs. Genevieve wrote. And when I do crave privacy, I have only to flip the “Closed” sign on my shop door until I’m feeling sociable again. Everyone should have such signs on their doors, don’t you think?

  Hiding in the oil house so as to read Mrs. Genevieve’s letter in peace (in the house one couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into a Meyer), Reuben had begun composing his reply. That’s a great idea about everyone having signs, he wrote. I think we should even wear them around our necks and flip them over when we don’t feel like talking.

  He had a feeling that this idea would amuse Mrs. Genevieve. And just like that, it occurred to Reuben that his correspondence with the watchmaker was going to become, for him, very much like the times he’d spent with his mom designing dream houses. He could just tell. The thought pl
eased him immensely.

  The boat droned on, its hull thumping rhythmically against the choppy seas. Spindrift blew across the bow, creating tiny rainbows that vanished almost as soon as they appeared. It happened again and again.

  A most beautiful, most melancholy day.

  They had bypassed a number of small islands, Jack giving them a wide berth. It was well known that there were dangerous shoals among them, he said, and Reuben reflected on this awhile. From the boat the shoals were invisible—as was almost everything else beneath the water’s surface. The ocean was the greatest secret keeper of all. Some of its secrets, like the hidden shoals, could be discovered, but most would never be known. Thousands upon thousands might be revealed, yet there would always be more that remained hidden. The ocean was probably the most mysterious thing in the world, Reuben thought, except for a person.

  The mainland coast was now a smudgy line behind them, far beyond the little islands, which themselves had fallen far astern. Penny nudged Reuben with her elbow and pointed ahead. Reuben, squinting behind his sunglasses, spotted two dark forms in the distance. Twin islands, more vertical than horizontal, rising up from the sea like gateposts leading nowhere. As they drew nearer, he could make out sand, scrub, rocks—and not much else. A few birds circled the desolate mounds, which otherwise looked to be devoid of life.

  “Is that where we’re headed?” Reuben asked Jack, who nodded.

  Penny checked her watch. “It’s already been almost an hour, Jack.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. The whole trip will probably take us closer to three.” Jack gave them an apologetic look—or a halfway-apologetic one, anyway. “I said one hour because it sounded easier, and I didn’t want to worry you. Relax, I’ll take the heat for both of you. It isn’t your fault you were misinformed.”

  Reuben shook his head. He continued to marvel at this new Jack Meyer, who seemed always to know what to say, or not to say, to accomplish what needed to be accomplished. He had, for instance, expertly navigated the handling of the Meyer family’s questions about the clock watches. They had all read Penelope’s letter but couldn’t possibly know whether the watches still existed. Thus Jack had instructed Reuben to say nothing whatsoever, and Penny to answer only certain questions, until the whole business was done. And it was Jack himself who determined the questions that the Meyers could ask Penny. (Having proved that he could fool them, he knew that his own word wouldn’t suffice.)

  “Ask her if I have either of those watches,” Jack had urged his parents when, after much hubbub, argument, and difficulty, they were all finally alone.

  They did ask her, and Penny confirmed that Jack did not. And of course they believed her. She couldn’t have deceived them if she tried.

  “Ask her if we intend to tell you the truth about everything soon, but that first we have to do something—something perfectly safe but very important—and that in the meantime we need to keep everything private among the three of us. Otherwise we’d put you in a bad position and might jeopardize the important thing we need to do.”

  Penny confirmed that everything Jack said was true.

  “Ask her if she thinks you should trust me to do the right thing,” he said at last, and this question caught them all off guard, including Penny. For despite everything they now knew about Jack—that he was an accomplished liar, a fighter, a reckless driver, an unauthorized borrower of cars and boats—despite all of this, not one of them doubted for a moment that Jack would do the right thing. They were all excellent judges of character, and though it had taken recent events to reveal Jack’s character for what it truly was, they were convinced now that they knew him. They didn’t fully understand him—it was hard for the Meyers to see how Jack could be both an unrepentant liar and an honest man, but they knew it to be true.

  In the end, after receiving assurances that this secret business would be wrapped up soon and having made absolutely certain with Penny that it was safe (they were wise enough to realize that Jack’s idea of safety probably didn’t align with their own), the Meyers had agreed to let Jack, Penny, and Reuben do whatever it was they needed to do, without interrogating them further. Jack had already managed to come to the same understanding with Reuben’s mom (which still amazed Reuben), and so he and the children were able to hold their private discussions and make their private plans.

  It might have been today, regardless. They had been waiting for fine weather. But the arrival of government investigators in Point William had sealed it. Jack had known they’d be coming. He’d received a call from Officer Warren, who had wanted to let him know about the questions the investigators had been asking him. Evidently, somebody in the federal government was aware of the legend about the watches. Somebody thought it worthwhile to investigate, to follow up on any leads. No doubt there were people working in intelligence or in the military who thought that such watches, if indeed they existed, could be put to good use.

  “But how could we be sure they’d never be put to bad use?” Penny had asked when Jack informed her and Reuben about the phone call.

  “My question exactly. I think we stick with our plan. How about you, Reuben?”

  Reuben couldn’t even think about their plan without a twinge of sadness, but he believed in it. He didn’t hesitate. “We stick with our plan.”

  The twin islands were drawing nearer. Gray-and-white terns darted over the ocean surface between them, slowing abruptly to hover in one place, just for a moment, before plummeting into the water after fish. The sea breeze ruffled the leaves of the hardy scrub that dotted the islands, and waves crashed spectacularly against the rocks all around.

  “The Devil’s Waste,” Jack announced. “Or The Devil’s Waist, meaning the two islands represent the devil’s legs, I guess. I’ve seen it spelled both ways. Have you heard of it, redbird?”

  Penny’s eyes widened. “That’s where we’re going? But you promised me it was safe. You promised Mom and Dad, too! You made me promise them it was safe!”

  “Easy, Pen. It’s safe enough. You just don’t go between them. You approach the one on the left from the mainland side. There’s a channel that leads right up to a little spit of sand. That’s where we’re headed.”

  Reuben was nervous now. “Are there dangerous currents or something?”

  “You could say that,” Jack said. “But only between the two islands. Everyone knows not to try to navigate between the islands. Certainly nobody would ever try to dive there.”

  “But why here?” Penny asked, somewhat mournfully. She looked disappointed in him, as if he had tricked her to no good end.

  Jack put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you want to look back and remember this day, Penny? Don’t you want to be able to picture it?”

  Penny thought about it. So did Reuben. Both nodded.

  “That’s what I figured,” said Jack. “And that’s why here. Anybody asks you, you just say ‘the ocean.’ That’s true enough. Or you refuse to answer. But Mom and Dad aren’t going to let anyone question you, anyway. Any talking that has to be done, I’ll be the one doing it.”

  “But you’re leaving!” Penny cried, and tears suddenly sprang to her eyes, as they had done time and again in the days since Jack had informed them that he’d be leaving Point William as soon as they had accomplished today’s task. He was going to set sail, he said, going to see the world. He’d already sold his car for traveling money. His plan was to finagle a cheap berth on a merchant ship.

  “But what happens after that?” Penny had asked fretfully.

  “Only one way to find out,” Jack had replied. “But whatever happens, you’ll be the first person I tell about it.”

  Just like Penelope, Reuben had thought. He’s going to be an adventurer!

  It was true. One day Jack Meyer would be known in many of the world’s darkest corners—but also in many of its brightest. He would be loved by some, hated by others. Some would call him Jack the Red, and some Meyer the Liar. He’d be known by other names, too. He would acquire and
lose more than a few fortunes, often in the most painful ways. In short, he was going to be very happy. And through it all he would be the faithful correspondent of one Penny Meyer, who once again was crying at the thought of his departure.

  Jack put his arm around his sister. “I won’t go until I’ve got it all straightened out with the suits. And when I do go, I promise to write every week, no matter what. I’ll use squid ink and papyrus if I have to. Point is, I’ll always write, okay? International mail is much faster and more reliable these days, you know. You’ll get a letter every week. And I’ll be back to visit, don’t you worry.”

  Penny nodded through her tears. She hugged him, then pulled away to open her backpack and dig something out of it. She handed the tiny object to Jack, who gave a surprised and happy smile. Reuben stepped closer for a better look.

  It was one of the winding keys.

  Jack closed his fingers around it. “I’ll keep it always, redbird. Thank you. Do you have the other one?”

  “I thought Reuben should have it,” Penny said, and sure enough, there it was in her hand, which she extended toward Reuben.

  He hadn’t laid eyes on either of the watches since that day at the mansion. He gazed at the winding key now with a curious mixture of sadness and pleasure that added up, somehow, to that same feeling of melancholy. Still, the gesture meant a lot to him, and he looked at Penny fondly before shaking his head. “You should keep it. You should each have one.”

  Penny started to protest, saw that Reuben was determined, and threw her arms around him. “You can look at it whenever you want,” she said. “I’m going to keep it in a secret place in the oil house. I’ll tell you where.”