The Expeditioners and the Secret of King Triton's Lair

by S. S. Taylor

  It was cold and blustery and dark on the other side of the door at the top and I stepped out into the night, taking care not to slip on the sloped roof. The book was warm from being inside my vest. I opened to the blank page and passed the whistle over the raised texture on the page.

  While I waited, I looked up at the stars, trying to find the constellations Dad had taught us: Andromeda, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor. He had loved watching the night sky. I felt superstitious, as though the longer I waited the better chance there was that something would appear.

  Finally, I looked away from the night sky and down at the journal.

  The blank page was now covered with glowing writing.

  Scrawled on the next page in the invisible ink was a map I had come to know very well, a map of King Triton’s Lair, with the wind roses and emanating lines, and the little sea horses dancing up and down along them. It took me a minute to see the difference—this map didn’t include St. Beatrice or Ruby Island because they hadn’t been discovered yet, but everything else was the same.

  I closed the book.

  Dad had seen this map. In order to make his own map, Dad must have seen this one. Which meant that Dad had been . . . chosen, the way Gianni Girafalco had been chosen, the way James Rickwell had been chosen.

  My mind was whirring. I was thinking about Gianni Girafalco and the map of Girafalco’s Trench. I was thinking about Dad’s map and the code he’d left for me to find.

  Gianni Girafalco had been a member of the Mapmakers’ Guild. Just like Dad. Dad had followed Gianni Girafalco’s map because like Gianni Girafalco, he had been chosen to do so. Someone had given him the turtle. Someone had pointed the way to King Triton’s Lair.

  I looked up at the black sky again, filled with the same stars and planets that Sukey and I had watched on the island. The same stars and planets the Explorer with the Clockwork Hand was probably looking at now, wherever he was.

  The Explorer with the Clockwork Hand—he’d recognized Gianni Girafalco’s name.

  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.

  Forty-six

  Classes started up again when the rest of the students returned from their expeditions at the beginning of March. It was actually nice to have everyone back. Every day there was news from Simeria, reports of the terrible things the Indorustans had done to the Simerians who were fighting them. A bunch of ADR agents came to the school and gave a presentation to the students about joining the Explorers-in-Training Academy Corps, an elite group of students who would be trained and ready to join the military when they turned eighteen. Within a few weeks, fifteen or so students, including Lazlo and Jack, had joined. They marched endlessly around campus in their blue uniforms. Maggie had tried to recruit Zander, telling him he would be officer material when he was old enough to join, but he said he wanted to wait.

  Sukey didn’t have any choice. Her flying squadron was automatically enlisted in the Academy Corps and she was off nearly every night, training and studying. I hardly saw her. When she had free time, she spent it with Zander.

  The snow started to melt in early April and we all thought winter was over. But just before Harrison Arnoz Day, an early spring snowstorm covered the already budding trees and green shoots of leaves with a delicate blanket of snow. Campus was already decorated for the awards ceremony, and the Harrison Arnoz Day Dance and all of the trees outside the Longhouse sparkled with tiny white lights, the chandeliers woven with blue-and-yellow paper chains.

  I was trudging home through the snow very late that night when I heard a familiar rustle in the trees next to the path. I stopped, looked around, and then veered off, making my way into the thick trees by the moonlight, very close to the spot where he’d found me the first time.

  “Hi,” I whispered, and then he was there, appearing suddenly from behind a tree as though it were the most natural place in the world to wait for someone. He was clean shaven now, dressed in desert khakis rather than his Explorer’s jacket and leggings.

  “It looks like they’re getting ready for Harrison Arnoz Day,” he said. “The dance is always fun. Good food, you know.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  He laughed. “I’m very glad to see you alive, Kit. You had quite an adventure.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Most of it. The shipwreck. The oil.”

  “We didn’t want to find the oil,” I said. “It was awful. Zander feels terrible about it.”

  “But you did what you were meant to do? You found what your father wanted you to find?” He sounded like he was trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

  “Yes,” I said. “A map. Of the next place he wants me to go, though I’m not sure where it is yet.”

  He smiled. “Good. That’s very good. I’m proud of you, Kit.”

  “Don’t be too proud until I figure out what it is.”

  “You will.”

  “I did find something,” I told him. “A diary that belonged to a boy who was on Gianni Girafalco’s ship. It’s been in the library all this time. It belonged to Mr. Mountmorris. He must have donated it to the library without knowing what it was.”

  He turned to look at me, his eyes wide in the moonlight.

  “You recognized his name, didn’t you?” I continued. “The first time I mentioned it? Well, Girafalco was a member of the Mapmakers’ Guild. I know from the diary. This thing, whatever it is, has been going on for a long time. Now will you tell me about it?”

  He hesitated. “You seem to be figuring it out pretty well on your own,” he said. Far away, we heard DeRosa’s dog bark once. He was on patrol. But the Explorer raised a hand and said, “It’s okay. I made sure they’d be occupied somewhere else tonight.”

  “I want you to tell me. You owe me that.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think you know.”

  “There are maps,” I said. “Secret maps, of places that must be hidden at all costs. He codes them so they’ll be safe if they fall into the wrong hands. There’s some element that only I can figure out. He’s leaving them for us. For me. Like a treasure hunt. One leading to the next. And it all has something to do with this secret society of Explorers, the Mapmakers’ Guild.”

  “Very good.” He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “You asked me if your father had been a member of the Mapmakers’ Guild. He was. I am too. And I believe you’re right about Gianni Girafalco. I don’t have time to explain everything, but do you know what a cell organization is?”

  “No member of the organization knows everything. Each person only knows a little bit, so if someone’s caught, they can’t give away too much.”

  “That’s right. In order to keep the whole organization safe, each member knows only about his or her own assignment.”

  “John Beauregard’s was Ha’aftep Canyon,” I said, figuring it out as I said the words.

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s your assignment?”

  “I’m kind of a special case. My special charge isn’t a place. It’s a person. You.”

  “Me? Why?”

  He hesitated. “At any one time, there are only a couple of members of the guild who know everything, who have all of the secrets. They’re called High Mapmakers. One of these was your father. So was Gianni Girafalco. The rest of the members are there to help the High Mapmaker, to help him or her keep the secret.”

  I had suspected something like this, but now that I knew it, my head was swimming with questions.

  The Explorer’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear him against the wind moving through the trees. “I’m not sure, but I suspect that your father is leading you to each of the maps, in turn, so that you will become one of the few, like Gianni Girafalco, like him, now that he is gone. I think something similar must have happened to him when he was your age.” We heard D
eRosa’s shepherd bark again, closer this time. “I can’t stay. But I’ll be keeping track of you. As much as I can. Good luck, Kit.”

  “Can’t you at least tell me your name?” I said.

  He chuckled. “Seems fair enough. Tell you what, you can call me Marek.” He buttoned his jacket up around his chin and slipped away noiselessly into the trees.

  The woods were cold and silent, the moonlight illuminating an endless stretch of snow and trees. I looked back once and then I hunched down into the collar of my vest and set off into the frigid air.

  Forty-seven

  “And now, to announce the winner of this year’s Harrison Arnoz Prize, I am pleased to introduce the director of the Bureau of Newly Discovered Lands, Mr. R. Delorme Mountmorris.” Maggie smiled down on the rows of students and guests lining the festive-looking Longhouse, everyone dressed in their best and most colorful clothing, the Neos’ facelights flashing merrily. “Let’s give him a warm welcome.”

  Harrison Arnoz Day had dawned bright and sunny, the new layer of snow sparkling and catching the light everywhere one looked. In the evening the temperature had dropped, though the roaring fire and candles made the inside of the Longhouse warm and inviting. Outside, a few snowflakes had started to fall.

  Mr. Mountmorris bounded up to the front of the room, where they had set up a podium decorated with flowers and yellow streamers.

  “Hello, hello!” he said, turning to look at the wall above him with an exaggerated expression of fear on his face. “Just checking for elephants.” The room laughed, though I noticed that Kemal and Joyce, seated across from us, maintained stony expressions. Dolly Frost had arrived the day before to cover the Arnoz Day celebrations for her newspaper, and she copied Mr. Mountmorris’s remarks into her notebook with a little smile on her face.

  “I am delighted to be here for this special occasion. As you know, these are difficult times, but thanks to the work of our military and to the Explorers of the Realm, the United States and its Allied Countries are holding their own against the ruthless attacks from the Indorustan Empire.

  “Now, as you all know, each year we award the Harrison Arnoz Prize to the young Explorer-in-Training who has most contributed to the well-being and security of the nation. This year, we are honored to have three winners!” The room buzzed with surprise. “Lazlo Nackley, Zander West, and Joyce Kimani, please come up to the front of the room!”

  Everyone rose to their feet, cheering and clapping, as Lazlo, Joyce, and Zander made their way up to Mr. Mountmorris at the podium. He hung a medal around each of their necks and grinned broadly out at the audience.

  “Mr. Nackley is receiving this medal for the excellent leadership and planning he demonstrated in leading the expedition that discovered a new source of oil in the northeastern Caribbean. The oil well that will soon be operational there will allow our country to establish dominance over the Indorustans in myriad ways. Congratulations, Lazlo. I must also congratulate you for being the recipient of the $50,000 in gold that I offered at the beginning of the Final Exam Expedition season. It is well deserved!” Lazlo stepped forward and bowed deeply, smiling around the room at the noisy applause.

  “Mr. West and Miss Kimani, you are receiving the Arnoz Prize for your bravery in organizing the attack against the ruthless pirate Monty Brioux and his crew. You surely saved the lives of several of your classmates by acting as you did. You showed yourselves capable of executing a well-strategized plan of attack. Congratulations!”

  The applause and cheering filled the room as the waiters brought out platters of lobsters and beef and roast chicken. When those were gone, there were bowls of bright green Ribby Fruits and plates filled with slices of Ribby Fruit cake, but my appetite was gone.

  Across the table from me, Joyce and M.K. were discussing an idea Joyce had had for a portable outboard engine that could be carried in a backpack and attached to an inflatable raft.

  M.K. caught my eye as I pushed my chair back and stood up. “Where are you going?”

  “Library,” I told her.

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate Zander?”

  “I don’t see him anywhere. I’ll tell him later.”

  Kemal looked up from his food. “You and M.K. should have gotten the award, too,” he said. “I know that and so does Lazlo.”

  “Well, it’s not about the awards, is it?” My voice sounded bitter to my ears, so I tried to smile and added, “Thanks, Kemal. I appreciate that.” He smiled back.

  As I slipped out of the Longhouse, I ran into Zander and Sukey. They smelled of the cold air, of snow and ice, and they were laughing, their cheeks pink from the cold, snowflakes settling on their eyelashes and lips.

  “Aren’t you coming back in?” Sukey asked, gripping Zander’s arm. “The dance is about to start.”

  “I have too much work to do,” I said.

  I felt Sukey watching me as I brushed past them, but I didn’t turn around.

  I settled into my usual chair on the third floor, opening up a newspaper and reading about the war. I was studying a map of Simer City printed alongside a story about the latest offensive when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs to the second floor. I didn’t look up, assuming it was Mrs. Pasquale.

  “Hello, Mr. West,” Mr. Mountmorris said.

  Jec Banton stood behind him, but at a nod from Mr. Mountmorris, he wandered away, leaving us alone.

  “I’m pleased that you all survived your adventure, none the worse for wear.”

  He sat down in the chair across from me.

  I didn’t say anything, keeping my eyes focused on the newspaper.

  “Kit, I’m sure you realize that this war is going to change things for all of us. Your brother will be of use to BNDL, in a variety of capacities, once he’s finished his Explorer training. As you saw, his bravery in battle has not gone unnoticed. Your sister will be pressed into service in the engineering sector. Miss Neville has already been inducted into an elite flying corps that will help to win this war.”

  The library was silent except for Mr. Mountmorris’ low voice. Outside the high windows, I could see the snow falling slowly to the ground.

  “What about me?”

  Mr. Mountmorris smiled. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think you are well suited for a special kind of job. From time to time, we need Explorers who can obtain information in . . . clandestine ways. With your knowledge of maps, you may be of great use to us in this war. After all, wars are mostly about lines on maps, aren’t they?”

  “You want me to be a spy? In Simeria?”

  “Well, we don’t call it spying. You would be a cartographer, of a sort. An information gatherer.”

  He gave me an evil little smile that made me shiver.

  “What do you think, Mr. West?”

  I didn’t answer. I looked back down at the newspaper, at the map of Simer City. It was an oval of lines running this way and that, describing the roads of the ancient city, squares and rectangles representing buildings and parks. It could have been anywhere in the world, anywhere old cities were built before city planners decided to build roads along grids instead of following the ancient footpaths of humans and animals.

  But there was something familiar about this particular arrangement of lines and squares and rectangles. I’d seen it somewhere before, only made out of shells and stones rather than ink on paper.

  The map to which Dad had led me, deep under the ocean, the map we had all risked our lives to find, the map that had led to the destruction of the underwater city—I was positive now—was a map of the ancient center of Simer City.

  I looked up from the newspaper and met Mountmorris’s gaze. “I’ll do it,” I said, thinking of Sukey’s face, the way she’d beamed up at Zander, the way the snowflakes had melted on her lips. “Send me to Simeria. I don’t care.” I stood up, meeting Mr. Mountmorris’s cold, green eyes.

  “When do I leave?”

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is a little bit like
going on an expedition. I am very grateful for my intrepid co-Expeditioners. Huge thanks to Esmond Harmsworth and everyone at Zachary Shuster Harmsworth, and to Andrew Leland, Brian McMullen, Sam Riley, Dan McKinley, Sarah Manguso, Bennet Wade Bergman, and everyone at McSweeney’s McMullens. Thanks to Katherine Roy for her friendship and her beautiful illustrations. I am overwhelmingly grateful to my early readers, who made this book better in many ways: Lisa Christie, Sarah Piel, Griffin McAlinden, Zoe McAlinden, Remy Lambert, Sam Seelig, and Jon Secrest. I am so grateful to Amanda Ann Palmer for her friendship and for taking such good care of my kids. And big, Mammoth Elephant-sized thanks to my family, Matt, Judson, Abe, and Cora Dunne, and Sue and David Taylor, for going on this adventure with me.

  About the author

  S. S. TAYLOR has been fascinated by maps ever since age ten, when she discovered an error on a map of her neighborhood and wondered if it was really a mistake. She has a strong interest in books of all kinds, old libraries, expeditions, mysterious situations, long-hidden secrets, missing explorers, and traveling to known and unknown places. Visit her at www.SSTaylorBooks.com.

  About the illustrator

  KATHERINE ROY is an artist and author living in New York City. She loves adventure, history, and science, and is currently writing and illustrating a book about African elephants. Katherine is also the author and illustrator of Neighborhood Sharks: Hunting with the Great Whites of California’s Farallon Islands. See more of her work at www.katherineroy.com.