The Perilous Polynesian Pendant

by Jason Lethcoe

Andy opened the book and examined the map inside. His eyes darted to the bottom of the page, where a small group of symbols was located. Next to the series of symbols was the word Key.

  “Tricky,” Andy said, grinning. He knew that the word key meant more than one thing, but its second meaning hadn’t occurred to him until then. If he was right about his hunch, then the inscription on the key referred to the key used to interpret the symbols written on the map.

  Maybe this keyhole is a fake, meant to keep intruders from finding the real one, Andy thought. Someone else might try the lock, find out that the key didn’t work, and give up. But not me!

  Andy noticed that one of the symbols printed on the map key was the same as the tiny pineapple he’d followed to the keyhole. Next to it was an X.

  Andy eagerly searched the map for anything resembling an X. That must be the location of the real keyhole! But the map showed no such symbol.

  Taking the book with him, he moved around the library, searching down every aisle. He mentally checked off each one, not finding what he was looking for. When he got to the opposite side of the library, he stopped short. Against the wall was a large African shield with two crossed spears behind it.

  X marks the spot!

  Andy felt carefully along the shield’s edge. At first it seemed like nothing was there. But when he tilted the shield a little bit to the left…

  There it is! The keyhole!

  With his hands shaking, he inserted the pineapple key in the lock.

  Here we go….

  This time, the key turned smoothly.

  The door was so cleverly hidden that Andy never would have suspected it was there. But after he turned the key, the thin outline of an entryway appeared next to the shield, and a section of the wall swung open.

  A sloping floor stretched into complete blackness in front of Andy, and a damp, unpleasant smell emanated from the passage. He tried to push images of tombs and haunted houses out of his mind. Seeing several spiderwebs near the inside of the opening didn’t help, and he couldn’t keep from thinking, If there really are such things as ghosts, this seems like the perfect place for them to haunt.

  Andy suppressed a shudder. Then, telling himself it was best not to think about it, he pushed forward into the darkness.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts….There’s no such thing as ghosts…” Andy mumbled as he walked. “It’s only a dark hallway, nothing more.” Intentionally walking into the darkness was better than being unexpectedly plunged into it, as he had been on the stairs to the library, but the darkness itself was no less disconcerting.

  As he groped his way along the stone wall, wishing he had brought a flashlight or a lantern with him, the tiny amount of courage his curiosity had supplied him with quickly faded. He couldn’t see a thing, and the thought of the horrors he might be passing gave him the shivers.

  He had been walking for some time when someone with a strong voice and an English accent called out, “Is that you, Andy?”

  Andy stopped, paralyzed with fear.

  “Who’s there?” he whispered. “And how do you know my name?”

  He heard a loud chuckle. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing humorous about the situation he found himself in. Why did the mysterious voice sound so merry?

  “If that’s Andy, this is his grandfather,” the voice answered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  He certainly doesn’t sound dead, Andy thought.

  Andy was about to answer the mysterious voice when, suddenly, a bright light filled the room. He threw up his arm to shield his eyes. Then, feeling foolish, he slowly lowered it. The light was not so bright after all. In fact, it was rather soft. It was only the suddenness of it that had surprised Andy. Now, looking around, he saw that it was coming from a glass-enclosed cabinet.

  Andy drew closer, then stopped short. The cabinet held what seemed to be a collection of items left over from a jungle expedition: a worn pith helmet, an open book, a pair of binoculars, a British flag. But none of those objects captured Andy’s attention. It was the thing hanging in the center of the cabinet that froze him in his tracks.

  Andy’s jaw dropped, and he felt suspended somewhere between horror and astonishment.

  “It can’t be….”

  The object was a shrunken head!

  Even worse, the head was familiar. Andy had spent years looking at photos of its mischievous face on the backs of books. So as much as he might like to deny it, he could not hide from the fact that the shrunken head staring back at him was none other than Ned Lostmore’s.

  “Grandfather, is that you?” Andy asked in a shaky voice.

  He gawked at the small head, with its thatch of wild white hair sticking straight up. Ned’s long sideburns extended almost to his chin, and a curling white mustache sat above his lip. A pair of twinkling blue eyes gazed back at Andy, the left one covered by a monocle.

  And then the shrunken head spoke.

  “Andy, my boy! I knew you’d find me! Well done!”

  Andy nearly fainted from shock. How could Ned—reduced to no more than a head on a string—still be alive and talking to him?

  “Grandfather? Your head…How…?” Andy started when he regained his senses.

  “Ah, yes,” Ned said with another chuckle. “The unfortunate result of an encounter with a witch doctor by the name of Bungalow Bob. It appears my enemies wanted to get their hands on some powerful ancient artifacts I was protecting. My own fault, really. I was so focused on gaining entry to that temple I never saw Bob coming.”

  “He shrank your head?” Andy asked. “But…but doesn’t that mean that first you were…you know…”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say the word dead, but Ned got the gist of his grandson’s concern.

  “There are many types of magic in the jungle, some more mysterious than science can readily supply us answers to,” Ned explained lightly. “Suffice to say, I am still very much alive. I have merely been transformed. I am not a small-minded man about such things as the mystical, my dear boy. Surely you must have been able to deduce that from my writings.”

  Ned burst into another fit of delighted chuckles. “Small-minded! Ha! That describes me to a tee.”

  The quip sent his head bobbing.

  Andy, too stunned to find anything funny, stared at his grandfather’s head bobbing on its string. Okay, just stay calm, he told himself. Yes, this is strange, and, yes, Grandfather is a talking shrunken head. But he’s still Ned Lostmore. You’re finally getting to meet your grandfather. Isn’t that what you always wanted?

  Andy still couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but his anxiety was gradually giving way to excitement. He had so many questions that he hardly knew where to begin.

  “Why—” Andy began.

  “Why?” Ned interrupted. “Yes indeed, ‘Why?’ is one of the most important questions there is. Why are you here? Why did my enemies do this to me? Why is there no cure for the Jamaican fungal worm’s digestive issues? Why does the nose hair of the Amazonian leaf monkey cure itchy feet? Why? Why? Why?

  “Why is one reason I brought you here. Of course, there are other questions, too, such as ‘What?,’ ‘How?,’ and ‘Where?’ But let’s focus on ‘Why?’” Ned fixed Andy with a meaningful stare. “Why did I bring you here? The reason, my dear boy, is that although you may not have realized it, I have been watching over you for a long time. I have a wide variety of colleagues, and they have supplied me over the years with regular reports of your progress,” Ned continued. “Needless to say, I see in you much of myself when I was your age. I suspect you crave adventure nearly as much as I did. And, as luck would have it, I have a mission for you that will be quite dangerous.”

  Andy looked at his grandfather skeptically. “But…you’re wrong. I’m nothing like you. I’m not an adventurer! I…I just read about them in books.”

  “Books?” said Ned. “Books are meant for writing your own courageous deeds, not reading about someone else’s. Wouldn’t you
rather live the adventure than read about it?”

  “I’m clumsy, Grandfather,” Andy blurted out. “And I…I’ve never been very athletic. I don’t know a single thing about jungle medicine or how to make your head…um…un-shrunk. I just don’t think I’m…well…qualified.”

  “First of all, dear boy,” Ned said, “when someone asks you if you’d like to go on an adventure, the correct answer is always ‘Absolutely!’ And secondly, I’m quite happy with my current state. I have plenty of time for writing, and I enjoy hanging around,” he said. “Ha! There’s nothing more dangerous than developing a big head. Ask anyone! No, it is not restoring myself to my former glory that I’m talking about. I need your assistance in retrieving something of grave importance to the safety of the entire world.”

  Ned offered his grandson a wink, one that was magnified hugely by his monocle. “And as far as your being qualified? Well, sometimes one has to be given a chance to prove what he’s truly capable of.”

  Andy was about to argue his lack of qualifications again when Boltonhouse appeared, holding something that made all other thoughts fly out of Andy’s mind. It was the most beautiful fountain pen Andy had ever seen. Taking the pen, he examined it closely.

  “A Hodges A-7400 Zoomwriter special edition!” Andy exclaimed breathlessly, turning it over delicately in his hand. “There were only ten of these ever made!”

  Andy looked up at his grandfather. “And it’s got an eighteen-karat-gold .35-millimeter Humbolt nib. This pen must be worth a fortune!”

  “You really do know your writing instruments!” Ned said. “But there’s far more to that pen than meets the eye, dear boy. Its value cannot be overestimated when it comes to self-defense.”

  “What do you mean?” Andy asked. He stared at the gorgeous pen, admiring its jade-green barrel and ebony cap. It looked innocuous enough—for a priceless fountain pen.

  “I’ll be sending you to the tropics—a land of powerful myths and even more powerful magic,” Ned explained. “The normal rules you’ve led yourself to believe about the world you live in don’t apply there. In fact, they’re downright ridiculous! That means you’ll be needing protection, and only the finest in self-defense weaponry will do.”

  Ned grinned, displaying a row of tiny, perfectly white teeth. “Now, if you remove the cap and place it on the back of the pen, you’ll see one of the finest writing instruments ever made. But if you were to twist the cap to the right and press down on the back of the pen…”

  Andy did as his grandfather suggested. There was a loud bang, and Andy fell backward with a shout, nearly tripping over Boltonhouse. As he shakily regained his balance, he noticed a nearby antique cabinet had been knocked over by the blast.

  “Wh-what was that?” Andy asked.

  “An atomic pulse emitter,” Ned replied matter-of-factly. “It’s affectionately known as a monkey gun by my colleagues in the scientific community. This is because its abbreviation spells ape. But trust me, my boy: it won’t make a monkey out of anyone who uses it. Ha!”

  Andy stared down at the pen. I’d better be careful with this thing! What if I forget I turned the cap to the right and accidentally hit the back?

  Andy’s hand shook as he twisted the cap to its original position. He was about to give the pen back to Boltonhouse when his grandfather stopped him.

  “Half a moment! I haven’t shown you what else it can do! Now then, this other function is far more pleasant. Boltonhouse, if you’d be so kind as to supply my grandson with some paper…”

  Boltonhouse reached into a hidden compartment in his chest and removed a small leather-bound journal. Andy took it cautiously. After his experience with the pen, he wasn’t sure he trusted anything Boltonhouse gave him.

  “In ‘writing mode’ the pen acts as a very sophisticated wireless telegraph. When you’re about to write, simply twist the cap to the left. Every word you produce will then be transmitted back here to me. Go on, give it a try!”

  Andy did as his grandfather instructed. As he wrote, he marveled at how wonderfully the ink flowed from the Zoomwriter. I can’t believe I’m writing with one of these. It’s so smooth—even better than I imagined!

  As Andy finished writing his name, a clicking sound came from somewhere inside Boltonhouse’s head. Andy recognized the tap, tap, tapping of a telegraph being generated. Seconds later, a small piece of paper scrolled out of a slot behind where the robot’s ear would have been. The machine tore the small scrap from his head and handed it to Andy. There, printed in neat block letters, was his name: ANDY STANLEY.

  “Incredible!” Andy said.

  “Indeed it is,” Ned replied. “But it’s not all the pen can do. The last feature is something truly astounding and perhaps the most important to remember. If ever you find yourself in an inescapable situation, press down three times on the cap with all your strength. Help will come.”

  Andy took a long last look at the pen. Then he closed the cap and reached out to give it back to Boltonhouse, but he was stopped short by his grandfather.

  “That’s yours, my boy,” Ned said.

  “What?” Andy asked, confused.

  “You heard me. It’s yours! You’ll need it on your adventure. What kind of grandfather would I be if I sent you off into a tropical jungle without protection? Consider it a birthday present…one that’s long overdue.”

  Andy looked at the Zoomwriter again. He had been so focused on the pen that he’d nearly forgotten about his quest. Anxiety filled him as he thought about what kind of mission could require a telegraph and an exploding pen.

  Ned paused to allow Andy another moment to study the pen, then continued: “Whatever you do, don’t lose it! I expect you will need it to survive out there.”

  Andy swallowed nervously. “Survive?” he asked. What exactly did his grandfather have in store for him?

  Ned bobbed excitedly. “Oh, to be your age again!” he said. “Why, if I were in your shoes, my boy, I’d be beside myself with excitement!”

  Excitement? A new book is exciting. This pen is exciting. The idea of surviving in the jungle is terrifying! What if I get killed? What will I tell my parents?

  Andy thought about all the dangerous things in the tropics he’d read about, including gigantic insects and dangerous volcanoes. He felt dizzy and wondered if he was going to faint. His grandfather, taking Andy’s unfocused, dazed expression to mean he was overwhelmed with excitement, continued. “Now then, about your first mission…I’ve appointed you as my new Keymaster, and with that—”

  “Keymaster?” Andy interrupted, remembering Boltonhouse’s earlier words. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “The secret society of which I’m a part has a special position reserved for an individual like yourself—someone our enemies would never expect to keep the treasures and artifacts that we protect safe. I have been the Keymaster for well over thirty years, but it has become apparent of late that my role is no longer a secret. I had hoped one day to pass the position on to your mother, but I fear she has none of the Lostmore Spirit. You, on the other hand…Our enemies will never suspect a twelve-year-old boy to hold the position of Keymaster.”

  Ned gave Andy a crooked grin. “You didn’t realize that you were being tested when I brought you here. Your finding your way to this room confirmed what I suspected about you: that you are a boy with a keen intellect! Not just anyone could have put the clues together like you did.”

  Andy felt a flush of pride at his grandfather’s words.

  “It wasn’t easy. You hid the clues really well!” Andy confessed.

  “Of course I did! And you performed brilliantly.”

  His grandfather’s praise made Andy wonder if perhaps he did possess the Lostmore Spirit after all. He was still nervous about the quest, but he was beginning to feel a hint of excitement at the idea of taking on the challenge.

  “So, as the new Keymaster, what am I supposed to do?” he asked.

  “You must keep the keys that protect our treasures s
afe,” Ned explained. “We feared that if the keys were all kept by one individual on a key ring, it would be too great a risk. What if that person were kidnapped and the ring stolen? It would be a disaster! Our enemies would be able to find and use the artifacts for their own diabolical purposes!”

  Ned became animated, bouncing on his string with agitation. “That must never happen! Keeping those keys safe often means keeping them hidden. That is why we appoint a Keymaster—to know where every key is and hide them if necessary. It’s a position of honor, but also one of great danger. You must never give up the location of the keys, no matter what happens to you. Even if you are captured or tortured by our enemies, you must keep your secrets.”

  “C-captured and tortured?” Andy stammered. He gulped. He was good at keeping secrets, but being Keymaster sounded dangerous. Would he be able to hold his tongue in the face of torture?

  Ned softened a little when he saw how anxious his grandson looked.

  “Not to worry, my boy. The Society has been watching you for years and will continue to do so. Your job is to protect the keys. It’s our job to protect you.”

  Andy nodded, trying to push the idea of torture from his mind. He nervously fingered the key ring at his belt.

  “Ah, yes, the keys,” Ned said. “You must be wondering about them….The one with the skull on the handle is a skeleton key. Very useful. It can be used to open many doors.”

  Andy nodded. “What about the pineapple key?”

  “Ah, that one only unlocks the door that leads to this chamber. You’ll want to keep that one handy. I expect you to visit often and to tell me where you intend to hide any keys you may find on your quests.”

  Andy nodded. “Being Keymaster sounds like a big responsibility.”

  “One of the biggest,” Ned confirmed. “So, will you do this for us?”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Andy was actually being given a choice in the matter.

  I could still back out of all this, he thought. I could just go home and forget about the whole thing.

  But as soon as the thought popped into his mind, he dismissed it. The quest made him nervous, but a thirst for adventure had awoken inside him, and he knew deep down that it was the opportunity of a lifetime.