She adjusted the flaps, took note of the wind direction, made a compass reading, and carefully looked at the map the waiter had drawn, holding on tight so it didn’t blow away.
To both her own and Kolt’s utter disbelief, Gertie was flying a 1920s biplane. Her hands just knew how to move on the controls, how to steer and maintain altitude. She even knew how to read the night sky for direction.
Then Gertie remembered something.
“Sopwith Camel!” she bellowed. “Sopwith Camel!”
“What?” shouted Kolt. “Are we getting low on oxygen? I feel quite faint.”
“No,” shouted Gertie, “back in the desert when I remembered the word ‘camel’ from my old life?”
Kolt nodded.
“Well, it wasn’t the animal! It was an aircraft! A Sopwith Camel!”
“That’s right . . . a Sopwith Camel is an airplane.”
“Yes!” Gertie cried, “I must be some kind of child pilot, because I’m flying! My hands and arms remember how to do it, even if I can’t remember my own name. I must have been the pilot of a Sopwith Camel!”
« • • • »
With London now just a distant nest of flickering gaslights miles behind them, Gertie followed the Thames River by the reflection of moonlight on the water.
Cold dark air rushed through the cockpit. Gertie had to keep moving her arms and legs so she could feel them. But neither Keeper could stop peering up at the glittering night sky, sprayed generously with stars.
Their bodies soared in the open-top Mayfly as they cleared the white cliffs of Dover and roared out over the deep sea. The sense of freedom was exhilarating.
The Mayfly was faster than Gertie thought, and soon they were circling over a dark mass that Kolt said was probably France. When they descended to get a closer look, Gertie noticed a crowd of people standing under gray cliffs in the murky light.
She motioned to Kolt. “Must be Cap Gris Nez!”
From the air it was easy to spot the place where the champion swimmer Mercedes Gleitze intended to enter the water. Flags had been put up, and a group of well-wishers and newspaper photographers had clustered together with their equipment.
Gertie pulled up and steered inland, looking for a strip of solid ground where they could touch down on the Mayfly’s thin, dinner-plate wheels.
“Brace yourself!” she called out as they began a steep descent over some low trees.
Gertie’s hands moved quickly over all the levers and switches as they landed with a heavy thud in a cow field.
Gertie and Kolt climbed out of the aircraft quickly and began jumping about to get the blood flowing in their freezing bodies. The cows had moved to one side of the field and stared with fear and fascination, their hot breath steaming in the cold dawn air.
“That was amazing!” Kolt said. “You really are a pilot!”
For a few moments, Gertie was so cold it was hard to talk. She vowed never to fly again without warm clothes. Kolt was also suffering but found that dancing around in circles was the most effective cure for frozen limbs.
Once blood was flowing, they hurried over the cold pasture, past the cows, toward the sea.
“I’m just imagining,” Kolt said. “A roaring hot fire with warm winter moonberry juice and buttered toast.”
“And peach cake!”
They were soon trudging across smooth, shiny pebbles and moving toward a crowd of people who were staring out into thick fog, which lingered in the predawn darkness. In the distance, a fishing vessel’s fog horn wailed. Despite her feet feeling like cold bricks, Gertie rushed into the group.
“Where’s Mercedes?” she asked a long-faced woman holding a notepad. The woman pointed with her fountain pen.
“Somewhere out there, dear, in the watery darkness.”
“What? She’s gone?”
“About five minutes ago.”
“But I have to see her!”
“Then you’ll have to swim the channel too.” She laughed.
Gertie pulled off her North African cloth shoes and tumbled down the stones to the water.
“I was only joking!” called the woman. “Girl! Girl!”
Kolt was calling after her too, and there were gasps from the onlookers. The frigid water on her bare legs was nothing compared to the sting of her failure. But when Gertie got up to her knees, she found that she could not continue. The water was too icy, and the cold rocks were so slippery under her feet she could barely stand. Kolt waded in and plucked her from the waves that crashed and sprayed them both with freezing water.
When they were back on the rocky beach, Gertie lay on the damp stones and stared out into the darkness, too angry to cry. She couldn’t believe that she had endured all that for nothing.
The group of journalists and well-wishers soon dispersed, and Gertie was alone with Kolt.
“If only Johnny the Guard Worm were here,” Kolt sighed. “We might have had a chance of catching up.”
“I failed,” Gertie said weakly.
Kolt patted her on the back. “It happens. Returning things to the world is not a perfect science. Life gets in the way.”
But then the tone of his voice shifted and was suddenly not so forgiving.
“I’m afraid there’s no nice way to tell you this,” he went on, “but in addition to failing to return an object, you’ve also broken one of the Keepers’ most important rules.”
Gertie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“What rule?”
“We’ve been here ten hours and forty-nine minutes. In approximately eleven minutes, we’re both going to get snatched.”
“So let’s use the time machine!” Gertie cried.
“Be my guest,” Kolt said. “It’s your mission.”
Gertie fumbled in her pockets and realized she had forgotten to bring the time machine and key. More bitter disappointment. The first and most important rule of being a Keeper, and she’d broken it.
“What will happen now?” she asked in a small, sad voice.
“Well, the Time Cat will eventually find its way back to Skuldark, as it is now technically lost. Hopefully the key and time machine will still be in the glove box where we left them, but if there were any Losers hanging around, it could mean major trouble.”
“I really failed,” Gertie said, picking up a few of the beach stones. She let them drop, one by one. “I messed everything up on my first go.”
“Are you fully aware of how serious the situation is with the time machine and key?”
Gertie nodded. She could feel tears gathering but was determined not to cry. At least I can fly a plane, she thought, but knew she was just saying it to make herself feel better.
“Do you feel like on future missions, Gertie, you will have an understanding of how important it is to be mindful of time limits?”
“Yes, I could never forget,” Gertie said miserably. “But it doesn’t help us now. I still have the watch, and we’re about to get snatched.”
“Do you feel you’ve learned the importance of never, ever, ever traveling too far from the Time Cat, or more importantly, from the time machine and key?”
“Definitely,” Gertie said. “All I wanted was to leave Skuldark, but now I would do anything to get back there.” She looked up at Kolt. “Without getting snatched, I mean.”
Kolt seemed satisfied. “Well, it seems you’ve learned your lesson.”
Then out of his pocket came the time machine and Keepers’ key.
Gertie almost fainted with relief. “You brought them!”
“While I was waiting for you to find me in the hotel, I ran back to the Time Cat and grabbed them, just in case,” Kolt beamed. “It is my key, after all, so it’s not completely your fault—”
“But if only I’d left the party sooner. If only . . .”
“Not e
very mission will be successful, Gertie. Failing is a part of life, even for Keepers. The important thing is to keep going.”
Gertie knew he was right, but was too mad at herself to admit it.
“By the way,” Kolt said, “if that metal creature is still stuck to the bumper of the Time Cat, we’ll have to decide what to do with it.”
“It’s not a metal creature,” argued Gertie, getting some of her energy back, “it’s a Robot Rabbit Boy Series 7. . . .”
Kolt turned his key in the small wooden box, and they linked arms to be zapped over the graviton bridge. “And I think,” Gertie continued saying, “he’s cuuuuuuutttttttttte. . . .”
27
A Terrifying Discovery
DURING A LONG BUBBLE BATH back at the cottage, Gertie sank down in the deep, warm water, so her eyes were at the same level as the suds.
She thought about all the things that had happened—not only since arriving on Skuldark, but on their adventure to ancient Alexandria when she collapsed in the desert, then breaking down on planet Earth after humans had left, where the trees were seven miles high and there were robot animal children roaming about with no one to play with. She had also made a friend, and understood how the objects she returned were symbols of hope and human achievement.
Gertie remembered returning to the cottage to fetch supplies to repair the Time Cat. How it felt to be alone again. And the feeling of being trusted with an important task.
She had learned that she was some kind of pilot and had great skill with open-top aircraft of the early twentieth century—not only the Halton Mayfly they borrowed from the king of England, but another type of airplane called a Sopwith Camel. Gertie decided she would hunt for a picture of the airplane in one of Kolt’s books.
Although she still felt ashamed at having failed her first mission, she couldn’t stop remembering the rush of excitement while exploring the abandoned city of Los Angeles. It felt like an arrow pointing toward the truth of who she was.
Gertie imagined her family living on Earth, in Los Angeles before the evacuation. She pictured herself running through the streets. The dinosaur apple trees would not have been planted yet, and the city would have been filled with heat and light and brightly colored cars.
After her bath, Gertie changed into a pair of green pajamas from the Sock Drawer and got into bed. Kolt said the Time Cat would arrive sometime in the night. Before closing her eyes Gertie looked around her darkened room, imagining all the different places her new friend (if he was still frozen to the bumper) might like to sleep, and if his eyes would glow, and how pleased he would be to have his paws and ears washed with a soft cloth and some warm, soapy water.
« • • • »
After a long night of deep sleep, Gertie dressed and rushed out to the kitchen. Kolt was wearing red corduroy trousers, a black T-shirt, and navy blazer with brass buttons. He was sitting before a plate of warm scones, a pot of tea, several open jars of jam, and a silver hair dryer.
Gertie could barely control her excitement. “Did the Time Cat come back? Is the—”
Kolt motioned with his eyes to a folded blanket on the floor, where a Series 7 robot animal child was snoring away, with several kinds of sticky jam on his paws.
“He was still a bit frozen when the Time Cat appeared around sunrise, so I used this silly thing from 1984,” he said, pointing to the silver hair dryer on the table. “Then I let him dip his paw into whichever jam looked good—which turned out to be all of them.”
“Is he fully . . . defrosted?”
“I think so.”
“What happened when he came around?”
“I fed him, then tickled his belly, and he went right to sleep.”
“So he likes jam. . . .” Gertie mused, looking at the open jars.
“The B.D.B.U. doesn’t allow for passengers, Gertie, but as he hasn’t disappeared yet, robot rabbit children might turn out to be an exception.”
“I’d better study that book I found on the Series 7,” Gertie said. “Though how hard can it be to look after a little cute robot rabbit boy? I can probably just skim the pages. We already know he likes fruit jam.”
“I glanced over the manual this morning,” Kolt said. “Apparently they pick up words that sound useful and try to communicate using those.”
Gertie inspected the sleeping figure and watched its metal belly move up and down with each rabbity snore.
“So does it know any words?”
“It kept saying ‘eggcup’, and ‘lavender,’ and offering me ‘dollops of mashed potatoes.’ That must be all it knows.”
“Well, I’ll teach it more,” Gertie said. “Oh, I hope the B.D.B.U. doesn’t send him back!”
“Mrs. Pumble brought a lost kitten here once, just a tiny scrap of fur it was! Well, that cat lived for almost a century in a wicker basket beside the fire. Doris was her name.”
“Well, if Doris was allowed to stay, perhaps I should ask the B.D.B.U. if we can keep Robot Rabbit Boy!”
“Go up there after breakfast and tell the book your wish. Perhaps it’ll turn to a page that offers some advice!” Kolt said. “It’s worth a try, and the B.D.B.U. adores you.”
“I wish I could ask it who I am,” Gertie said.
Kolt laughed good-naturedly. “I must have tried that a thousand times.”
Just then, there was a tremendous bang from the garden. Gertie jumped in shock and rushed over to the window.
“What was that?”
Kolt didn’t seem worried. “It’s probably just the tangle of bicycles shifting again, or part of the cliff giving way. It happens from time to time. I’ll go out there a bit later and check.”
“But it was so loud!”
“Things collapsing in the garden have become a normal part of Keeper life in the Age of Disappearance, Gertie. In fact, we should probably wear helmets out there from now on . . . at least until we’re clear of the garden.”
Gertie returned to the table and sat down.
“Am I allowed to go past the garden? Is the island safe to explore?”
“Mostly,” Kolt said, “in the daylight—and there’s really a lot to see, such as the ruined village of Keepers past, and Ravens’ Peak.”
“But it’s dangerous at night, right? Because of the giant millipedes.”
“There are some risks,” Kolt said, “but not from millipedes; I just made those up so you wouldn’t run off.”
“You mean there are no teeth-grinding millipedes waiting to devour me? Then what were those glowing things I saw?”
Kolt grinned. “Wild moonberries!”
“And what about creatures that rip apart the letters of their own names, so no one knows they exist—are they real?”
“How would I know?” Kolt said. “But the island does have its inhabitants: Attacoppes, for instance, sea monsters of varying sizes, the Fern Valley Banshee, and those big, lumbering creatures that live down on the plains near the ruined village. There are also the tunnels of Bodwin, which Mrs. Pumble always told me to stay away from, so what lives in those is a mystery even to me.”
When the scones had been reduced to moist crumbs, and the teapot contained nothing but wet tea leaves, Gertie stroked the soft ragged ear of sleeping Robot Rabbit Boy and then went over to the mantelpiece and slid out The History of Chickens.
After slipping through the secret entrance, she climbed the steps to the B.D.B.U., where she would beg the old book to let Robot Rabbit Boy stay.
It didn’t seem as far to the top as the first time, and, when she arrived at the door, Gertie lay her hand flat against the wood and stood back as the heavy wood slowly rose.
Then she spoke the phrase, “It could always be worse!” and the second metal door began to separate. But before it was completely open, Gertie sensed that something was wrong.
First, she smelled burning—as though s
omeone had lit paper on fire. Then she noticed the room was dark, when sunlight should have been streaming in through the many windows.
After entering cautiously, Gertie stood frozen with horror. The wooden steps leading up to the B.D.B.U. had been smashed to bits, as though stomped by an enormous foot. Her eyes darted to the stone pedestal that was black and cratered, as though an explosion had taken place on top of it. Where the B.D.B.U. had once majestically rested, its pages bright and glowing, there was now only scorched stone, with a cloud of lingering smoke.
The B.D.B.U. was gone. Not just gone, but stolen.
28
Intruders
KOLT WAS IN HIS WORKSHOP, cutting wood to make small ladders for Robot Rabbit Boy, when Gertie burst in. She was so out of breath it was hard to speak.
“It’s gone!” she gasped. “It’s . . . not . . . there!”
Kolt dropped the tool that was in his hand. “Gone? Robot Ra—”
“The . . . B.D.B.U. . . . it’s . . . not . . . there,” Gertie cried out. “The B.D.B.U. is missing! Blown up! Burned out! Stolen!”
Kolt’s face turned completely white.
“No!” he stammered. “It can’t be!”
« • • • »
When they reached the top of the tower, Kolt rushed in and inspected the stone pedestal that was still charred and smoking.
“Oh this is bad!” He shook his head gravely. “This is very, very bad.”
“Has it ever happened before? Maybe it’s lost?”
“It’s definitely been stolen,” he said, closing his eyes. “The source of all knowledge in the universe has been swiped from right under our noses. This is the work of the Losers.”
“But the door was closed when I came up here! I had to use my hand print to gain entrance.”
“I don’t understand,” Kolt said. “But it doesn’t matter, we’re going to have to give chase. The pursued must become the pursuer! Action is eloquence!”
They rushed back downstairs, where Robot Rabbit Boy had woken up and was binky-jumping with excitement to see Gertie.
“Eggcup! Eggcup! Eggcup!”
Gertie Milk and the Keeper of Lost Things Page 13
