The Expeditioners and the Secret of King Triton's Lair

by S. S. Taylor

  We were almost there.

  Twenty-one

  As we got closer to St. Beatrice, we spotted more and more pirate ships. On our ninth day at sea we were steaming due east when a Neo woman on deck for a stroll shouted that pirates were just off our starboard side. A couple hundred yards to the east, we could see the bright-purple solar sails of the biggest boat we’d seen yet.

  “It’s Monty Brioux!” someone called out.

  “The pirate?” Zander said. He, Joyce, Kemal, and M.K. had been swimming in the ship’s pool, and they’d found me on deck, standing at the railing and looking out at the sea.

  “He’s the most famous pirate of all,” Kemal told us as he dried his hair with one of the fancy red towels from the ship, a little DP embroidered on the hem. “Apparently, he attacked a cargo ship last week near St. John’s. Got away with a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of ANDLC’s goods.”

  “I’ve heard about him for years,” Joyce said. “They call Monty Brioux ‘the scorpion of the Atlantic.’ They say he was born in the deserts of Morocco and ran away to the sea when he was only five years old.”

  A swift breeze blew across the deck, and the pirates passed us easily, tipping their hats as they went, their sails snapping loudly. The boat itself was huge, a big double-hulled vessel that Joyce said was called a catamaran, a popular ship in the Caribbean. It had three masts, each outfitted with purple synthetic sails covered with solar cells. M.K. pointed these out, speculating that they provided backup power to the ship’s compact engine. Thanks to the cells, M.K. said with admiration, the catamaran wasn’t dependent on the winds or fuel.

  Standing on top of the deck railing at the bow was Monty Brioux, dressed in a purple cloak and plum-colored captain’s hat over his long red hair. He hung on to the rigging, his alligator-skin boots shining in the sun. As they overtook us, we heard Brioux laugh loudly and shout, “We won’t take you today, ladies and gentlemen, we won’t take you today!” He gave a smart salute and they were ahead of us, racing through the water toward St. Beatrice.

  “That’s quite a boat,” Joyce said, following the purple sails as they disappeared into the distant blue. “I’d say there isn’t anywhere that boat can’t go.”

  “What do you all think of this criminal Brioux?”

  We turned around and saw that Leo and Lazlo Nackley were leaning against the railing next to us. They’d been watching the pirates too.

  “I hope they don’t follow us all the way to St. Beatrice,” I said, giving them a fake smile. “This expedition’s going to be hard enough without pirates to fight off.”

  “Is that right?” Leo Nackley said, looking down at me. He had started growing a small beard on the sea voyage, a pointy triangle at the bottom of his chin. “Don’t you have faith in Lazlo and his plan, Mr. West?”

  I wanted to say that in fact it was my plan, stolen by Lazlo, and that it was full of half-truths and outright lies anyway, and so, no, I didn’t have much faith in him, and I certainly didn’t have much faith in the plan. But I swallowed hard and just said, “Oh, yes, I’m sure Lazlo will be very, very successful.” The other passengers had drifted back to whatever they’d been doing before the pirates had been sighted.

  Leo Nackley grabbed my arm, squeezing it until I gasped with pain, and turned me around so I was looking up at him.

  “You sarcastic little snot,” he growled. “You know something that you’re not telling us. I can feel it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Nackley.” He squeezed harder. I could feel his fingers digging into my elbow.

  Joyce and Zander stepped forward, but then they hesitated, waiting to see what he’d do next.

  Nackley ignored them, still gazing down into my face with hatred. “You know that if you have any information you’re withholding, now would be the time to give it up. On board a ship like this, things are—well, things are looser. It would be possible to overlook a breach of BNDL laws. Once we’re on St. Beatrice, there will be agents everywhere.”

  I met his eyes. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lazlo stood next to his father, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing over his shoulder. He looked as terrified of his father as we were.

  “Your father gave you a map of the oil,” Mr. Nackley said to me, his face so close to mine I could smell the garlic on his breath. “That’s why he—” He nodded towards Zander “—wanted to go to St. Beatrice for the expedition. You know exactly where the oil is, and you’re going to tell us. Where is it? Where’s that map?” The veins stood out at his temples. He twisted my arm, and I felt burning pain shoot up my shoulder. He was enjoying my agony.

  “Let him go,” Zander said. “He doesn’t have anything.”

  “Leo?” Mr. Wooley had come out on deck. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. “The boy says he doesn’t know anything. I think you should let it rest.”

  “Of all people,” Leo Nackley said, sneering at Mr. Wooley. “You, of all people, are telling me how to run an expedition?”

  “It’s not your expedition; it’s your son’s,” Mr. Wooley said. “And people are watching you.”

  We all followed Mr. Wooley’s gaze up to find the Antiguan businessmen and a number of other passengers who’d gathered to watch the pirates. Their attention was now turned toward our group. At that moment, Dolly Frost, sensing the commotion, walked up the stairs and took in the scene.

  Leo Nackley let go of my arm. “I’ll get it from you,” he hissed before stalking off with Lazlo trailing behind. “You can be sure I’ll get it from you.”

  I leaned against the railing, trying to catch my breath, cradling my arm. “Thank you, Mr. Wooley,” I gasped.

  “Stay away from him,” he said in a quiet voice. “You don’t know what he can do. He thinks you’re hiding something, and he won’t let it go until he figures out what it is.”

  “Why are you scared of him?” I asked, still breathing hard. “Why did they make you go on the expedition?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I can’t tell you,” he said. “But listen to me. Stay away from Nackley.”

  I tried again and again to doze off that night but finally gave up around 1 a.m. I put on a sweater and went out, carefully shutting the door behind me so as not to wake Zander, and walked up on deck, passing a loud and very drunk group of Lundlandian businessmen and women I’d seen earlier, including my Simalio partner. They’d been very serious during daylight hours, but now they were singing cheerfully in Lundlandian. One of the men was dancing wildly, jumping up onto the railing and teetering out over the water. I passed them and walked along the deck to the starboard bow, finding a bench to sit on. The sky was full of stars, and a half moon cast a yellow light over the water. I wondered where Sukey was at this moment. On a ship like this, heading north instead of south? Flying a glider over expanses of endless white, looking for Snow Deer? Was she looking at these same stars? I had thought about her every day since we’d been at sea.

  I had closed my eyes, picturing Sukey standing at the edge of a field of ice and snow, when someone sat down on the bench next to me. A man’s voice said, “Stay quiet.”

  I opened my eyes. He was wearing the robes of the Simerian businessmen, a fez sitting uncomfortably on his thick blond hair.

  “I think we can talk here,” he said in a low, familiar voice. “But we have to be cautious. This disguise gets less convincing every time you see it.”

  Twenty-two

  The Explorer with the Clockwork Hand was sunburned, shaggy, unwashed. “What are you doing here?” I said. “The ship is swarming with agents. If they find you . . .”

  “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been on the boat for a while, and I know their routines.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’ll find you?”

  He ignored my question. “How are you, Kit? I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk at the Academy. They almost caught me that night.” He smiled a little, as though rememb
ering his near capture.

  “I’m . . . I don’t know, how do you think I am?” I took a deep breath. There wasn’t time to be angry. “I went to the room. I found the map that Dad left us. I saw the Muller Machine. We wrote a proposal to go to the place on Dad’s map. King Triton’s Lair. It’s off the coast of St. Beatrice, where all those ships have gone down and where Dad almost died on his own expedition. But Lazlo stole it and turned in his own proposal. So now we’re on Lazlo’s expedition, and Leo Nackley knows I’m holding out on him and I don’t even know what Dad wants us to find there. It may be something called Girafalco’s Trench, but I can’t figure out what . . .”

  “Girafalco?” he asked sharply.

  “Yes. Do you know who he is?”

  He didn’t answer. “I know the name,” he said vaguely. “Now, do you have a plan?”

  “Well . . . not really. M.K. built a submersible that can explore the ocean floor, and Lazlo thinks we’re going to use it to find the oil.” The truth was that we didn’t have a plan at all.

  “If you get close enough, you’ll need to abandon the expedition and go off by yourself,” he said. “Are you prepared to do that?”

  I stared at him. “I don’t know. What would happen to us?”

  He grabbed my shoulders and brought his face very close to mine. “Everything may depend on whether or not you are able to do what your father wanted you to do. If you have the chance, you have to take it. Do you understand?”

  I could feel anger wash over me. “How can you ask me to do that when you won’t even tell me what’s going on here? Where’s Dad? What is this all about? What am I looking for?” I hesitated. “Is he alive? You have to tell me.”

  He sighed and sat back on the bench.

  “You have every right to ask those questions,” he said. “We don’t have much time, but I’ll do the best I can.” He stood up and strolled casually down the deck, then came back and went the other direction, checking to see if anyone was near.

  He sat down again. “For all I know, your father died in Fazia,” he said. “I was given my instructions before he left on the expedition. If something happened to him, I was supposed to find you and give you the package. That was all I knew. But I can tell you that there are things that are . . . suspicious about the government’s account of his disappearance. And I’ve heard, well . . . rumors, I suppose you’d call them. Anyway, you accused me of being a member of the Mapmakers’ Guild. I can’t confirm that, but you’re on the right track.”

  “What is the Mapmakers’ Guild? What do you do?”

  “You’ve already figured out that it’s a secret society of Explorers. What else do you know?”

  “He’s leading us to something. It’s like a treasure hunt. One map leading to another, leading to another. What I want to know is what’s at the end.”

  There was a long silence. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know exactly. But I do know that it’s a matter of life or death.”

  Suddenly we heard voices coming our way, a woman laughing and then murmuring something to a man, who laughed in response.

  We sat quietly until they had passed, arm in arm, still laughing, uninterested in what they thought was a Simerian businessman and his son sitting on the bench.

  “You don’t know?” I asked incredulously. “And you’re asking us to risk our lives for it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What are we supposed to do, anyway? Just jump off the boat and see if King Triton or some freaky mermaid or something swims over and says hello?”

  “It worked in Arizona,” he said.

  “We got somebody killed in Arizona. And how do you know it ‘worked’? The Nackleys found the gold. Lazlo Nackley is the hero of Drowned Man’s Canyon.”

  “Oh, come on. Let’s not play games here,” he said. “I know exactly what you did in Arizona. You protected the people in the canyon. John had already pledged his life to the task. He was happy to give it up. And it was Francis Foley who shot him. You bear no responsibility at all.”

  There was a long silence while I decided whether I should ask him the question that had been on my mind for weeks. “I heard about Munopia. About what my father did there. Did he . . . did he really take bribes?”

  He turned to look at me. “Your father wasn’t perfect, but I can guarantee you that if he took a bribe, he had a good reason.”

  It wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. “Look, I think there must be some mistake. Maybe we weren’t supposed to start finding the maps for a couple of years. Maybe we weren’t supposed to start this until we’re older, until we, I don’t know . . . until my brother and sister . . . They’re the ones who—”

  We heard voices again, two men this time, speaking English.

  “I have to go,” he said. “But I think you’re selling yourself short. And you should know that it isn’t about your brother and sister. I was directed by your father to give the book to you. Just you. Not to Zander, not to M.K. To you, Kit.”

  “What? But—”

  “Goodbye. Good luck.”

  I watched him make his way all the way down to the end of the deck, where he turned left into a doorway, his white robes swirling around him, and then he was gone.

  Twenty-three

  “Land!” Pucci squawked. “Land ho!”

  We steamed into St. Beatrice Harbor on January 7, eleven days after having left New York. It had felt much longer than that, and as I watched the island come into view, I realized how glad I’d be to be off the Deloian Princess. I’d gotten tired of the people, the Simalio, the smell of Dramleaf and wine in the lounge. I’d gotten tired of the endless expanse of turquoise sea.

  “Lazlo, make sure you’re out in front,” Leo Nackley said as we all stood on deck, watching as we approached the colorful harbor ringed with palm trees. “The newspapers may be in port taking pictures. You’re the expedition leader. You should be in the picture.”

  “Look at all the palm trees! And the flowers!” Jack exclaimed. For our arrival, he’d changed into a white suit and a bright yellow linen shirt that hurt my eyes. “Isn’t it beautiful? Almost as beautiful as you look today, Joyce.”

  Joyce rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t care what kind of trees they are as long as they’re growing in solid ground,” I grumbled. “I’m tired of looking at water.”

  “Me too,” Kemal said.

  “You do know that our expedition includes a whole lot of water, don’t you, West?” Lazlo Nackley said in a nasty voice.

  “Really, Lazlo?” I replied without looking at him. “I thought we were sailing to the Gobi Desert.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Mr. Wooley. “We’ve made it . . . this far, which is . . . good.” He gulped and put a hand up to his mouth. It was only the second or third time we’d seen him since we’d left New York. Lazlo had made endless comments about the uselessness of a faculty expedition leader who wasn’t seaworthy on an oceanic expedition. But even he seemed to feel sorry for Mr. Wooley at this point.

  Leo Nackley raised his eyebrows at his son and smirked a little as Mr. Wooley went below deck again.

  I was also looking forward to having a break from the Nackleys once we got to St. Beatrice. Zander, M.K., and I would be staying with Coleman Miller, Dad’s friend from the Academy who had been on the King Triton’s Lair expedition. The Nackleys, along with Joyce and Jack and Kemal, would be staying with some fancy BNDL higher-up on the island who would be helping us secure and outfit a ship.

  We would have three days to stock the ship and make sure all of our equipment was ready before setting off on the trail of the oil. And Zander and M.K. and I would have three days to find out more about the exact location of King Triton’s Lair and the shipwrecks.

  Pucci soared into the air to check out his new surroundings as the Deloian Princess docked in the harbor, its horn sounding our arrival and the people onshore waving enthusiastically. We’d gotten used to the humidity at sea, but there had been a constant breeze, and
it seemed much hotter now that we were on the island. We found our luggage and told the porters to hold the rest of our equipment until we could load it tomorrow. M.K. didn’t want to leave Amy behind, but the porters swore they’d watch over her, and she reluctantly followed us down to the quay to meet Coleman.

  The quay was lined with fishing shacks and offices, a busy jumble of people, animals, and machinery. The BNDL agents who had been on the ship took up position along the quay as we unloaded our gear. But in addition to the familiar agents, the port was full of soldiers, wearing their black-and-white uniforms and watching everyone getting off the boat. I watched as Leo Nackley went over to talk to one of them, gesturing in our direction.

  Pucci nibbled on Zander’s chin.

  “We’ll find you something to eat soon, Pucci,” Zander murmured, and Pucci gave a disgusted squawk.

  “He’d better be careful once we’re out on the water,” Lazlo said. “I heard about sharks that can leap out of the water and snag seagulls from the air.”

  “Are you kidding?” Joyce winked at M.K. “That parrot could whip any shark, no questions asked.” Njamba flapped down and settled on her shoulder. “He’s almost as brave as Njamba.”

  Zander grinned at her. “That’s right. Any shark that messed with Pucci would be very surprised.”

  Surprise! Pucci chortled. Surprise!

  “That bird is weird,” Lazlo grumbled.

  Finally a tall man in a tan canvas suit and pith helmet modified with lots of little gadgets came running along the quay and wrapped Zander in a gigantic hug.

  “You’re here!” he exclaimed. “You’re finally here! I would have known you anywhere. You look just like your old Dad, you know.”

  “Coleman Miller,” I said, and he turned to me, looking slightly confused. “I’m Kit,” I said. “And that’s our sister, M.K. You’ve already figured out that’s Zander.”