Just like that, the treasure hunt had turned into something super important with very high stakes. The island was officially in danger (serious danger!), and Sea Hawk and Fig, Naturalists and Explorers Extraordinaire, were the only ones who could save it.
As soon as the sun came up the next morning, Milton raced to Fig’s sunshine door.
Dr. Morris, eyes half-closed and bathrobe on, opened it. “Good morning, Sea Hawk,” she said. “To what do we owe the honor of this entirely too early visit?”
“Good morning,” Milton said, panting. “Is Fig home? It’s an emergency!”
“Like a true emergency?” Dr. Morris asked, her eyebrow arching, Fig-like.
“Like a Sea Hawk and Fig, Naturalists and Explorers Extraordinaire, emergency. Something terrible is going to happen to the Lone Island!”
Dr. Morris smiled sadly. “You must have heard about the upcoming court decision.”
“Mama told me last night,” Fig said, coming out onto the porch holding two oranges. “Let’s get to work.”
“Fig says you have a plan to save the island,” Dr. Morris said, giving her daughter and her peacock-feather-hatted friend a fond smile. “If anyone can, it’s you two.”
After Dr. Morris returned inside, Fig handed Milton one of the oranges and began marching around to the back of her cottage. There was a yellow-flowered paradise tree (Latin name Simarouba glauca) on the edge of the jungle there. It was Fig’s favorite spot, and once she went up, Milton knew it would be very hard to get her down.
“We need to solve these clues fast,” she said.
“Agreed,” Milton said. “Let’s go back to the Sweet Pickle Tree and check out that moving vine.” He walked at a slight diagonal in hopes of herding Fig away from the tree, but Fig was very un-sheeplike. She did not adjust her course, so he ended up smooshing into her.
She cast him a sideways glance and shrugged herself away. “Sea Hawk, quit walking kooky,” she said. “We need to get serious. That was a big breakthrough yesterday, but if we’re going to figure out this vine thing, we can’t keep ignoring the other clues.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Milton replied as Fig reached the tree and boosted herself up. “I’ve been extremely serious this entire time.”
“The misspelled words, Sea Hawk,” Fig said. She pulled the field guide out of her pouch and handed it down to Milton, open to the vine entry. “Look, the guide practically tells us they’re a clue. If you want to find the treasure, you will first have to go back and decode the truth about the Truth-Will-Out Vine.” She leaned over to tap the line insistently. “Go back and decode, Sea Hawk. That means there’s a clue before this entry. And what’s before the entry? The letter!”
Fig had brought up the misspelled words when they found the guide and a couple times since, but she’d never insisted that they focus on them before. Milton had a hunch that she’d been enjoying hiking around the island as much as he had. But now, up in her perch, Fig flipped open her notebook, ready to work.
“Have you considered that maybe Dr. Paradis simply wasn’t the best speller?” Milton said. “Many geniuses aren’t, like Albert Einstein for example.”
“I made a list last night,” Fig said, ignoring him. “I think this is all of them.”
She held up her notebook so that Milton could see the page. It read:
“That looks like a very nice list,” Milton said. “Perhaps you can contemplate it as we stroll over to the Sweet Pickle Tree.”
“Perhaps not,” Fig replied. “I think this is important, so this is what I’m going to do today. You don’t have to help me though. We don’t have to be together every second of every day.”
Milton felt the words pierce his vest-covered heart.
“But we’re friends,” he said.
“That’s true.” Fig was studying her list intently. “We can do our own thing sometimes though.”
Milton stood beneath Fig, gripping the field guide and feeling suddenly seasick and small. He’d felt this way plenty of times before, most recently when Rafi had shaken banyan fruit onto his magnificent headwear.
But this was worse. So much worse. Because this was Fig.
Fig saying So long.
“Fine,” Milton said, shoving the field guide into one of his zippered pockets. “That’s fine. But I’m off to find a way through the vines. I’m off to save the island. I’m going onward. By myself!”
Fig was staring at him, but Milton didn’t wait for her to reply. He ran toward the river, a lone Naturalist and Explorer Extraordinaire.