“I don’t know the exact fare from Punta Rassa,” Cassandra said. “But it’s forty-six dollars from Miami.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of money,” said Emmett.
“Wait, Mother, how do you know that?” Molly asked, baffled but impressed.
“From wistfully reading the train schedules for years,” Cassandra replied. “I used to dream of traveling someday. Guess I can check that one off, eh? But the point is, Roald gave us two hundred dollars—”
“Wow, that’s a lot of money,” said Emmett.
“But it may not be enough,” Cassandra went on. “As it is, we’ll have to find a way to sneak Robot aboard without a ticket. An added donkey ride would undoubtedly put us over budget.”
“Well, I’m not going to be alligator chow,” Emmett said. He pulled a ring from his pocket, silver with a small green stone. “Will this be payment enough?”
Spurgeon snatched the ring and began sniffing it.
“Emmett, you can’t give that away,” Molly objected. “It’s important.” Back when Emmett had first found that ring, he thought it was his father’s. It turned out that Captain Lee had never lost his actual ring, but until they learned that, Emmett had cherished his ring, always touching it, staring at it, spinning it on his finger. For a time, he’d thought of it as his only connection to his father.
“But it’s not actually important, Molly,” Emmett said. “I thought I’d found something I’d lost, but it turned out to be a disappointing imitation.”
Spurgeon raised an eyebrow. “The ring is fake?”
“No, the ring is real,” Emmett said. “And it’s yours if you take us to Punta Rassa.”
“Grab your stuff from your boat,” Spurgeon said, pocketing the ring. “I’ll go see if the donkey is still alive.”
Grateful that aluminum was a lightweight metal, Cassandra and Captain Lee carried Robot, draped in blankets, to the rear of the shack, where Spurgeon waited with a small covered cart and (thankfully) a living donkey. “What’s under the sheet?” the swamp dweller asked.
“It’s an . . . oven,” Cassandra said. “A portable oven.”
“Portable . . . ?”
“Hey, what’s your donkey’s name?” Molly asked, hoping to change the subject as she and Emmett ran up with their bags.
“Why would I bother naming something that’s probably going to be gator chow any moment?” Spurgeon said, before turning back to Cassandra. “So, you travel with an oven, eh?”
“I am an inventor,” Cassandra said, grunting as she and Captain Lee hoisted Robot into the cart. “And this oven is a top-secret new invention of mine. As is the motorized boat that we left by your house. If you promise never to mention us to anyone, you can keep the boat too.”
“But we worked so hard on that motor,” Emmett moaned.
“Do you want to get home or not?” Captain Lee asked him.
Spurgeon flashed a knowing grin. “You folks are on the run. I knew it soon as I saw you. Well, worry not. Old Spurgeon knows how to keep a secret. No one else alive knows I found the Fountain of Youth, do they?” He pulled himself up onto the cart’s driver’s seat.
“But you told us—”
“Emmett, shh!”
The Peppers and Lees crowded into the small cart with Robot, and Molly whispered a quick “Good job” into where she assumed his mechanical ear was located beneath the sheet.
Spurgeon cracked the reins and the donkey began clomping off at a pace that made Molly wonder if the trip might actually be faster on foot. “This is going to take forever,” she grumbled.
“Just so’s you know,” Spurgeon called back to his passengers, “there ain’t gonna be no road for the first bunch of miles. Just a lot of thick weeds and tangled branches, probably an old skeleton or two. But don’t worry—I know where I’m going.”
“Thanks, Spurge. Very reassuring.”
3
The Wild East
Punta Rassa, Florida, January 18, 1884
MOLLY COUGHED AND waved her hand to clear the air as their cart rumbled onto the raw-dirt streets of Punta Rassa, kicking up clouds of brown dust in its wake. Were it not for the swaying palm trees rising up behind the general store and the saloon, she might have thought she’d somehow crossed the country and ended up in the Wild West.
“Why did no one tell me Florida has cowboys?” she muttered in awe. Nearly everyone she saw was on a horse. And all the Punta Rassans wore tall boots, vests, and wide-brimmed hats, with bandannas around their necks and whips coiled at their belts. The men, at least. There were no women that Molly could see. Perhaps they were all inside, enjoying the shade on a warm January day. In that saloon, maybe. Or that coffin maker’s shop.
“I’ve never met a real cowboy before,” said Cassandra. “Perhaps this little detour will be more fun than we thought.”
“Sure,” said Emmett. “What could be more fun than dirt clouds, manure piles, and rugged manliness?”
Captain Lee gave his son a slap on the back. “Hey, you just described my life in that cave!”
Emmett furrowed his brow. “Manure piles?”
“You remember the size of those crabs, don’t you?” his father replied.
The cart came to a stop and Spurgeon called for everyone to get out. Molly, Cassandra, Emmett, and Captain Lee all climbed down and stretched their stiff limbs. Molly scanned the buildings along the roadside as she and the others strapped their bags over their shoulders. She saw a barbershop, a pawnbroker, a small hotel, and a second coffin maker. “Where is the train station?” Molly asked as all four of them walked around to the front of the wagon.
From the driver’s seat, Spurgeon pointed down the road. “Other side of town,” he said. “Don’t worry, you won’t get lost. Place is basically one long street.”
“Is there a reason you can’t take us the rest of the way?” Captain Lee asked. “We have a lot to carry. Including our oven.”
“Oh, yeah, the portable oven,” Spurgeon said. “Not really so portable, is it? But hey, an oven is an oven. And having one would mean I can finally stop setting my old hats on fire to cook dinner. So I’m gonna consider it part of my fee. Have fun in Punta Rassa!” He cracked the reins and took off.
“Hey! Stop!” Molly cried, but Spurgeon just drove the cart in a wide half circle and headed back the way he’d come. “He’s stealing Robot!” Molly cried. She and Emmett ran after the fleeing cart, but the old man picked up speed and quickly put some distance between them.
“Since when is that donkey so fast?” Emmett groaned as they slowed down, realizing the pointlessness of a foot chase. “That donkey lied to us!”
Captain Lee waved his arms and called out to a group of cowboys chatting outside the barbershop. “Help! That man is stealing our things!”
Most of the cowboys ignored him and continued their conversation. One laughed.
“There is a crime occurring right here in your town!” Captain Lee cried in frustration. “If you won’t help, at least find the police! You must have police!” He paused and scratched his head. “Do you have police? I see plenty of taverns and coffin manufacturers, but . . . no police stations.”
“He’s going to get away with Robot,” Molly panted.
“Let me try something,” Cassandra said. “I hate this, but . . .” She ran in circles, screaming and waving her hands frantically over her head. “Help! Help! Thief! Can any brave soul save my precious belongings from that despicable thief!”
A broad-shouldered, scruffy-chinned man trotted up on his horse and gave Cassandra a tip of his hat. “Trouble, ma’am?”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Cassandra fanned herself with her hands. “A big, brave cowboy’s come to our rescue!”
“I’m a cowman, ma’am,” said the rider. “Name’s Burl.”
“Of course it is,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “It’s okay, Mother, you can stop now. Listen, Burl: See that cart with the ridiculously fast donkey way down the road? The driver stole our stuff. We need you to help us
get it back.”
“Is that Spurgeon?” the cowboy asked, squinting at the dust cloud in the distance. “You folks wouldn’t be the first to fall prey to that old marsh predator. Well, have no fear, ma’am. I’ll get your belongings back.”
“No, I said you need to help us get them back,” Molly corrected. She was sitting behind him, having climbed onto the horse while he was talking.
“What are you doing, girl? Get off my horse!”
“Hey, time’s a-wasting!” Molly snapped. “Ride, Burl! Ride like the wind!”
Flustered, the cowboy spurred his horse into a full gallop as Captain Lee gaped and Emmett hid his face.
“You get hurt, it’s your own fault, kid,” Burl said as they sped after the thief.
“It generally is,” Molly replied, gripping the back of the cowboy’s leather vest. As many times as she’d been in horse-drawn vehicles, she’d never experienced a ride from atop one of the animals. She was not prepared for the skull-rattling, up-and-down jostling, nor the dizzying speed with which the ground was flying by below her. It was best, she decided, to keep her eyes up. “So, Spurgeon tricks a lot of people out of their stuff?”
“Nah, I just said that to make your ma feel better,” Burl replied. “Spurgeon couldn’t trick a worm into wigglin’. Don’t worry, though, ain’t like he’s gonna put up a fight once we catch him. And we’re almost there.”
They were close enough now that Spurgeon could hear them. He craned his neck around and yelped. He cracked the reins repeatedly, pushing his donkey harder, but Burl and Molly continued to gain on him. The horse was within a few yards of Spurgeon when Molly gasped. She could see movement in the back of the covered cart, glints of metal flashing out through the rear opening. No, Robot! she cried in her head. Stay put! Just a few more seconds! But soon there was a distraught aluminum face peering out at them. Molly threw her hands over Burl’s eyes.
“What are you thinking, girl?” the cowboy shouted, trying to wriggle his head free of her grip. “I can’t see!”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Molly said, shaking her head vigorously at Robot. “You’re a cowboy—just ride straight!”
“What do you think a cowboy is?” Burl cried. They veered off road, the horse stomping through tall grass and thick ferns.
“What the heck is going on back there?” Spurgeon yelled. He twisted himself around to gawk at the sight of Molly’s arms wrapped around the cowboy’s head, and his cart slammed directly into a palm tree. Two wheels popped off and rolled away as the wagon tipped to one side and Spurgeon fell off into the grass. The collision also sent Robot tumbling back into the cart’s dark interior.
“Whoa!” Molly cried, removing her hands from Burl’s eyes. The cowboy shrieked and pulled back on his reins. His horse reared up onto its hind legs, stopping mere inches from the crashed cart. Molly slid off and thumped to the mossy ground, sore but uninjured.
Spurgeon looked around for his donkey and found that it had broken free of its harness. He jumped onto the animal’s back and took off into the weeds. “Go, Tidbit! Run!”
“Tidbit?” Molly cried, sitting up. “You did name that donkey, you liar!”
Burl stared down at her as if she were possessed by a demon. “You’re nuttier than Aunt Beulah’s cashew brittle, girl.”
“Oh, yeah?” Molly stood between him and the cart. “If that’s the way you feel about it, get out of here! I don’t need you anymore anyway. Just leave me and my . . . oven.”
The cowboy shook his head, turned his horse around, and took off, leaving Molly on the desolate road with the broken cart.
“Robot,” Molly called softly.
Her friend’s metallic face popped back into the open. “Hello, Molly. Did I do a wrong thing?”
“No, it’s my fault. We should have made a plan about what to do if we got separated. Well, actually, Emmett’s the one who usually insists we make a plan, and he didn’t, so I’m going to blame Emmett on this one.”
“I was afraid you would lose me,” said Robot.
“And I was afraid you would lose me,” said Molly.
“Well, that was silly. We were afraid of the opposite things.”
Molly climbed into the cart and sat with him. “Remember how after the World’s Fair, I used to complain about how boring life had gotten?”
“I do,” said Robot. “You mentioned it every morning and most afternoons for eighty-two consecutive days.”
“Well, I could use some of that boring right about now.” A few minutes later, she heard her mother calling for her. “In here, Mother!” When they were sure the coast was clear, Molly and Robot climbed out to greet Cassandra, Emmett, and Captain Lee.
“We passed that cowboy halfway down the road,” Cassandra said. “He does not have a very positive opinion of you.”
“We have a problem,” Molly said.
“The problem is me,” said Robot. “Traveling without anybody seeing me is proving too difficult. You should go to New York without me. I will fly there to meet you and hope for the best.”
“No,” Molly snapped. “I just told you, you are not doing that.”
“I do what I want,” said Robot.
“She’s right, Robot; there’s no way you have enough Ambrosium to fly up the entire East Coast of the United States,” Emmett said. “We don’t know if you have enough to fly to the Punta Rassa train station from here.”
“Our problem is just that we need something to hide you in,” Molly said. “Because that blanket is not a long-term solution.”
“Can we fix this cart?” Captain Lee asked.
“And take it on the train with us? No, we just need a box,” Cassandra said. “And luckily for us, finding a large person-shaped box shouldn’t be a problem in this town.”
“Brilliant, Mother,” Molly said.
“You are referring to the multiple coffin shops,” Captain Lee said with a nod. “Yes, they do add a certain . . . creepiness to this place.”
“I am confused,” said Robot. “Is one of us dead? Because if so, I have misunderstood the concept.”
“We’re going to put you in a coffin to keep you alive,” Molly said.
“I see,” said Robot. He ran his metal finger along the brim of the derby on his head. “Can I still wear my hat when I am dead? I like hats.”
Molly assured him he could.
Captain Lee cleared his throat. “I hate to be the voice of negativity . . .”
No, you don’t, Molly scoffed to herself.
“But can we afford a casket?” the captain continued.
“That’s not going to be a problem!” Emmett called victoriously from where he was rooting around in the front of the wagon. “Looks like Spurgeon lost something in the crash.” He held up the ring he had given to the swamp dweller earlier.
“Excellent,” said Robot. “Now, let us kill me so we can go home.”
4
America’s Most Wanted
AFTER SIX GLORIOUS months of wearing boy’s trousers, Molly hated the very thought of squeezing back into her long black dress with its circulation-cutting cuffs and neck-to-ankle buttons. But passing themselves off as grieving members of a funeral party would be easier if they weren’t dressed like sailors. Changing in the back of the broken donkey cart was a challenge, but Molly and Cassandra helped each other with all the tugging, tying, and buttoning. The most challenging bit was her mother’s corset, which had, by Molly’s estimation, roughly ten billion laces. Molly thought briefly about the fact that she was twelve and a half already; it wouldn’t be long until people expected her to start wearing one of those torture devices.
Fully dressed and uncomfortable once more, they climbed back out to the road, where Cassandra dug two black suits from her bag for Emmett and Captain Lee.
“Where did these come from?” the captain asked.
“Roald lent me a suit,” Emmett said. “It’s a little small, but it’ll work.”
“And mine?”
“Um, that was in Al
exander Graham Bell’s closet,” Emmett said, trying not to make eye contact.
“You stole it?” Captain Lee asked.
“I’m already a wanted criminal, Papa!”
“I’m just saying that we’ve got a lot riding on what Mr. Bell tells the authorities when he lands back in New York,” said Captain Lee. “So, maybe burgling the man’s wardrobe wasn’t the best way to ensure he stays on our side.”
“I still think you’re putting too much faith in the guy,” said Molly. “Bell is a lost cause.”
“Even if you’re right about that . . .” The captain sounded flummoxed. “Do we have to . . . I mean, must we . . .” He sighed. “Now that I have a second chance to do so, I just want to be a good role model for my son.”
Cassandra gave the man a sympathetic pat on the back. “Rest easy, Wendell,” she said. “The only other parental figure Emmett has for comparison is me. And I’m a horrendous role model. Now climb in that broken donkey cart and put on your stolen suit for our fake funeral.”
An hour later, the quartet marched solemnly into the open-air pavilion of the Punta Rassa railroad station, towing a pinewood coffin on a small handcart. Their clothes were creased and wrinkled and Emmett’s pants only went down to his shins, but none of the “cowmen” seemed to look at them with anything other than sympathy. Molly had wanted to buy a fancier casket for Robot (“Show us your finest Egyptian-style sarcophagus,” she’d requested), but Emmett reminded her that tickets to New York were going to be pricey and they needed to conserve the cash they’d earned from trading his ring to the local pawnbroker.
“What’s it like in there, Robot?” Molly whispered while pretending to cry over the coffin.
“It is too dark to see, so I am using my imagination,” he replied from within the box.
“Oh,” said Molly. “What are you imagining?”
“That it is dark.”
They paused along the tracks, by one of the squared-off wooden pillars that held up the depot’s triangular roof. Thankfully, the station was not crowded. Aside from a handful of waiting passengers, the only other person in the pavilion was a sleepy-looking ticket agent standing at the center of a circular counter.
The Final Gambit Page 4
