Milton and Fig spent the afternoon together. Walking the perimeter of the vine wall, they pulled aside strands and searched for any gaps in the growth. They checked the vine beginning at the docks and ending near the tree ship before deciding to call it a day.
Milton had planned to continue treasure-hunting the next morning, but instead he woke up to an alarm going off and then his uncle, disheveled and bleary, came stumbling through the bead curtain.
“Ready for a hike?” he asked Milton.
“Am I ever,” Milton said, hopping up and pulling on his vest and hat. It was early enough that there would still be plenty of time for treasure-hunting after.
Uncle Evan led Milton off the pebbly path to a part of the island he hadn’t seen yet, farther beyond the docks than he had gone with Fig. They squelched down maze-like paths between mangroves, sidestepping roots that were like hundreds of fingers reaching out of the sludgy mud. They stood side by side and tracked the flight of a wandering albatross, binoculars up to their eyes. Milton asked a thousand questions about the flora and fauna around them, and Uncle Evan patiently answered each and every one.
It was impossible for Milton not to think about the weekend expeditions he’d gone on with his parents as he and his uncle explored the Lone Island together, but he tried his best not to. There was too much rottenness tied up with those thoughts, and he wanted to just be here right now.
Two hours later, they arrived at Dr. Paradis’s house, entering the clearing on the south side.
“This is where I saw the Milton Macaw,” Milton told Uncle Evan, leading him around to the back of the house. “It was teal and very fast.”
“I think I might have actually seen your bird before,” Uncle Evan said, squinting at the house under the brim of his (not nearly as awesome as Milton’s) hat. “Sometimes I come over here when I need to think. When Dr. Paradis was alive, this was her favorite spot. We had a lot of great conversations here.”
“Standing here? I would have figured a great explorer like Dr. Paradis would always be hiking around, searching for wildlife,” Milton said.
Uncle Evan shook his head. “Her health was already poor when I arrived,” he said. “This was as close to the jungle as she could get, and she loved to watch the vines blowing in the wind. She would stand right here by them and tell me, ‘Evan, the Lone Island awaits! When will you be ready to go out to meet it?’”
The Lone Island awaits! Milton recognized those words from Dr. Paradis’s letter. And the place that Uncle Evan was pointing at—it was exactly where Milton had found the field-guide box! What if, Milton thought, Dr. Paradis had wanted Uncle Evan to find the guide?
“Anyway, I know you’ve been going out to meet the island,” Uncle Evan continued, putting a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “I know that’s what your parents hoped you’d do. And I haven’t enjoyed the Lone Island like this in years.” He gave Milton one of his small smiles. “Thanks, Sea Hawk.”
“Anytime, Uncle Evan,” Milton told him as he promised himself that once he figured out at least the first clue, he would tell his uncle everything.
And then Uncle Evan would really smile.
Later on, Milton met up with Fig again. In fact, every day that week Milton met up with Fig to search the vines. While they were at it, they searched for the rest of the field guide’s flora and fauna too.
“Obviously it wouldn’t be as good as finding the treasure,” Fig said. “But I’m sure my mother and the other scientists would be thrilled to have proof that any one of these creatures is real.”
So they checked every tree trunk for the holes that could possibly launch poison thorns. They listened to every bird’s song, then argued over whether it sounded horrendous enough to come from a Tone-Deaf Warbler. They waded as far upstream as they could in the thin, trickling river that emptied into the ocean, but the Truth-Will-Out Vine blocked their way before any hundred-legged centopuses came into view. They even dug holes in the sandy soil, hoping to uncover one of the sure-to-be massive tunnels of the EarthWorm Pachyderm.
Milton’s days were full and active and, frankly, completely exhausting. Out in the sun with the earth under his feet, he started to feel the way he used to in his Nature Phase—like he was more alive, more himself, but in a good way, in the best way possible.
But sometimes at night, when his hiking boots were kicked off and the wick on the lamp was turned down and Uncle Evan was snoring away, Milton’s rotten thoughts still showed up. In those moments, with nothing else to fill the silence or distract his mind, Milton reminded himself that he wasn’t Bird Brain anymore. He wasn’t even Milton anymore.
He was Sea Hawk, and he was on a quest for treasure.