The humble pylorus forms the gateway to the digestive system.—Galen’s Anatomy

Chapter 13

“I don’t understand. First you said the hunt was over and you were giving up and yelling at me. Now you want to go with Kam through the Gorge of the Crooked Man because of a flower syrup that makes it easier to eat your vittles? What do vittles have to do with anything?”

Jenny bit her tongue. Explaining her theory to Pandora was proving more fettlesome than expected. She would have done it yesterday, but her father had insisted on moving the flock down from Mount Lister. By the time she had returned to town at eight, Pandora was away with her dreams.

The soonest she could get to Mrs. Quinn’s flat was Thursday morning before school. Needs must when the devil drives, as they say. Jenny took a deep breath, choked a little on the mold from Pandora’s blanket, and tried again.

“It’s a hunch,” said Jenny. “About the name of Magee’s grove.”

“What about it?” asked Pandora.

“Stick your face in this and tell me what you smell.”

Jenny held the wooden chest close to Pandora’s bony nose.

“I’m stuffed up,” said Pandora.

“Try!”

Pandora took a tentative sniff. “Roses?”

“Do you understand?” asked Jenny.

Pandora shook her head and pulled on her plait.

“The chest wasn’t a dead end,” explained Jenny. “It’s a clue! To the next stage of the hunt.”

“There’s no paper or letter with it,” noted Pandora.

“I know!” said Jenny. “And that’s the point! You said yourself that the paper clues were pretty easy. Maybe that’s because Dr. Galen’s letter was leading us down a false path. Maybe we’ll find the nugget or another clue in the grove. And I’ll bet you my best pair of knickers that the chest is made of rosewood—do you understand? It’s a pun. Magee loved puns.”

Using the leavings from her toast, Pandora began laying her crumbs in a grid. “Well, I hate them.”

Stories of adventure always omit negotiations like this. Pandora was Jenny’s best friend, and a smart one at that. It would be foolish to leave her brain behind. But Jenny did wonder why she had to spend three hours out of every day explaining things.

“So you’ll come?” insisted Jenny. “To see if I’m right?”

“I think we should try to find Silent Jack instead,” said Pandora. “He could tell us lots of things about Magee.”

“Don’t you see? If the nugget is buried in the rosewood, it won’t matter anymore about Jack.” Jenny threw a worried glance to the window. Light was already bleaching the tips of the buildings and Eden was yawning in protest. They couldn’t wait much longer if they wanted to get through the Gorge and back in one day.

“What about your dad? Won’t he expect you to work?” asked Pandora.

“I told him I had to help the Lums,” retorted Jenny. “Besides, I gave him a hand yesterday. He can take care of himself today.”

“But how does the rosewood tally with the skeleton map? And why do we have to go now?” asked Pandora. “We have school.”

“We’ll find out about the map when we get there!” said Jenny, exasperated out of all reckoning. “And we have to go now because Kam said he would show us where the grove is before he heads over to the Longshank. It’s my last chance, Pandora.” She jumped off the bed to end the argument. “Otherwise I’m leaving forever.”

Pandora placed the last crumb in the corner.

“So you’ll come?”

Her best friend looked up. “Okay,” she said. “But you can’t tell the Lum brothers what we’re looking for—I want that money for Mum.” She added an afterthought. “And I get to do the packing.”

The best resources for planning an expedition are money and time. Since our duo had neither, they were left to scrounge what they could from the kitchen. Unfortunately for them, the kitchen was also the dining room, living room, and sickroom. And though Mrs. Quinn was as sick as the dog that swallowed the cat, she had just enough energy left to be curious.

“What are you doing, Pandora?”

“Packing,” her daughter said, stuffing socks, mittens, canteens, cheese, biscuits, extra bootlaces, and two pairs of oilskins into their satchels. Weather can turn on a penny in the mountains, so it’s best to be prepared for searing heat and polar blasts. And, now and again, monsoons.

“You need all of that for school?”

“We’re headed outside for class,” fibbed Jenny. “A nature trip. With Mr. Grimsby.”

It was tricky for Jenny to know where to look. In the past week, Mrs. Quinn had faded even further into the woodwork. Her eyeballs were about the only things detectable. In another month, she’d be no more than a wee tinny voice.

“Mr. Grimsby,” sighed Mrs. Quinn, “is a very strange man. He came into the sweet shop yesterday asking me about baked beans and pork. Why would I have pork?”

Sod it! thought Jenny. The schoolmaster’s curiosity was going to spoil the whole thing. She shrugged.

“Darned if I know. You finished, Pandora?”

“Yes,” said Pandora, planting an oversize straw hat on her pate and heading for the door.

“We’ve got to be going,” explained Jenny to Mrs. Quinn, “before we miss the bell.” She buckled her satchel. “We might be a little late back, so I asked Dad to drop by at teatime and see if you need anything. You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”

The corner of Mrs. Quinn’s mouth, barely visible amid the dust motes, twitched. “Only if you’ll excuse me.”

Pinched by her instinct, Jenny paused on the threshold. She had a funny feeling she should remember what she saw.

There was nothing askew—the latch on the stove door was still missing, the plank in the floor was still cracked, pineapple knobs still graced the corners of Mrs. Quinn’s bed—but time seemed suspended, like a raindrop caught on a bubble of glass. The faintest breath might make the whole room vanish.

“Have fun, girls.”

Jenny caught up to her friend at the bottom of the squeaking stairs.

“Pandora, wait! Did you hear what your mum said about pork and beans? That means Mr. Grimsby was searching around the rocks near God’s Army! He’s been tracking us!”

“You have a very dramatic way of talking,” said Pandora.

Jenny did her best to accommodate. “Sorry. All I meant was, we should be careful getting to the rosewood. He’s teaching today, but if the schoolmaster hears that we’ve been walking toward the Gorge, he’ll be even more suspicious.”

“Mr. Grimsby doesn’t know about the skeleton map. But he probably noticed the earth where we dug up the key. And he was at the bank,” said Pandora, bowed double by the weight of her satchel. “You’re right. He will be suspicious. We’d better separate in case folks are watching.”

“I’ll take the river path,” said Jenny, “and meet you by Blair’s Gate in a quarter of an hour.”

Jenny watched for a moment while her friend shuffled along Main Street. Then she ducked down the alley next to the Last Chance Saloon and headed for the river.

Weather was in the air; she could taste it. The sky above Eden had been a stew of gray since dawn, and clouds were sitting heavy on the peaks. Swallows fell like meteors from the treetops and skimmed across the Arrow. That meant insects were lying low. Rain was on its way.

She pushed the worry aside. Pandora was toting enough equipment to rival a donkey, and Kam would be with them. Of course, Kam might be crying. Or moping. Or giving her looks that rearranged her interior. But she would have to risk it. Straightening her shoulders, she set off for the gate that marked the start of the route to Troy. With each swing of her step, Jenny’s temperature rose. Her fever had returned. She was on the hunt for gold once more.

You’re not to blame if you haven’t heard of Troy. It’s one of those towns that came and went with the Rush, hardly begun before it was shuttered.

Besides, it’s almost impossible to get to at the best of times. The shortest way to reach it is to walk or ride through the Gorge, wading across creeks and slogging up hillsides. On a day without hitches, the hike might take eight hours.

On top of that trial, the Gorge is part of the Crooked Man—the guts and bowels of an alpine range—and the Crooked Man is not an easy place to explore. It was formed when the ground was heaved up by the clashing of continents, tilted ninety degrees, and sliced through with water. The peaks of its mountains are sharp and the embankments are steep. Take a false step and you’ll plunge to your doom.

That’s why Jenny loved it, of course. It was a dangerous and daring place, far too risky for sheep. She had often wanted to explore the Gorge, push past the six-mile mark where she usually halted, and learn what lurked in the vitals. But Gentle Annie had warned her never to do it alone. The path was unstable and flash floods were common. If you were going to try to kill yourself, advised Annie, take someone with you.

Moreover, since Kam was always working and Pandora was never keen, this was the first time in Jenny’s life that she had the prospect of seeing what lay beyond her imagination. She was rising with the happiness of this thought as she approached Blair’s Gate—a folderol of iron put there by a farmer to stop his stock from wandering into the Gorge.

Three souls were waiting for her. Kam was gazing at the Arrow, Lok was fidgeting, and Pandora was tracing the edges of leaves in the gate’s metalwork.

“Hello, Jenny Girl,” said Kam. “Ready to pick some roses?”

Jenny smiled awkward-like and shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’d offer to carry your satchel,” said Kam, hoisting a giant pack on his back, “but we must take what we have left to our father’s hut.”

Lok snorted.

“I am sorry, Lok–did you want to say something?” asked Kam. Apparently, Jenny wasn’t the only one having difficulty with negotiations that day.

“No.”

“Because I would like you to say something if you have something to say.” Kam paused for a long second. “Good. Then I think we should move on.”

“Lok is angry because we’re making you trek up the wrong river,” blurted out Pandora. “It’s going to take you an extra half day to climb across the mountains and into the Longshank valley.”

Kam scrutinized the gorse on the hillside, and Jenny adjusted her satchel.

“I am right,” insisted Pandora. “That’s why you’re mad, isn’t it, Lok?”

“I’ve always thought,” said Lok, “that older brothers don’t appreciate how hard it is to be carrying eighty pounds of equipment.”

“I’ve always found,” retorted Kam, “that younger brothers don’t worry enough about the safety of their private parts.”

“Off we go,” said Lok, hastily opening the gate.

In spite of some grumbles, the first few miles or so of the hike were remarkably civilized. The dry road was smooth, the gray sky was cool, and—thanks to the drought—the river crossings were but a hop and a skip to the other side.

After an hour of zigzagging along the bottom of the Gorge, they began a slow and steady jog toward higher ground. With their heights about equal, Jenny and Kam fell into an easy rhythm.

“What do you think you’re going to find among the roses?” asked Kam.

“Dunno,” said Jenny. “But I’m hopeful about staying in Eden.”

“I would like that,” said Kam.

“I’m hungry!” griped Pandora from the rear.

“I’m tired!” called Lok.

“Tough,” said Kam. “We have miles to go before the grove.”

Jenny was doing her best to ignore the prickles. Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, her friendship with Kam had gone from a simple bond to a deeper grace. She knew it; Kam knew it. The whole thing made her feel slightly queasy. She paused.

“Are you going to hurl again?” asked Pandora.

“No,” said Jenny. “Be quiet.”

“She barfed on her father’s shoes,” said Pandora to Lok. “Spewed it six feet.”

“Impressive,” said Lok.

“Pandora, I told you to be quiet.”

“You’re not my foreman.”

“Yes, you’re not her foreman,” repeated Lok.

“Everybody throws up now and again,” said Kam sympathetically.

“Fine,” said Jenny, putting on a burst of speed to get ahead of them all. “I’m fine.”

For a few blissful moments, she was on her own, the road in front of her growing tighter and twistier and the clouds ever lower. High as she was with the peaks, she could still hear the water whispering to the trees.

God, how Jenny loved that river. Loved its youth and its anger and its truth. Whenever she had a question to answer or a trouble to face, she would stand at the edge of the Arrow and watch it flow over the rocks of creation. It told her that there was something bigger in the world than worries.

“Everything okay?” asked Kam, coming along beside her once more.

“I’m fine,” repeated Jenny, meaning it. “I’m listening to the Arrow.”

“It is beautiful,” said Kam. He stopped and peered into the Gorge. “And it will look even better with the rain.” He paused. “The water would have been good for my garden.”

Jenny’s initial instinct had been right. A fine mist of drizzle was beginning to tickle the shrub daisies. She swallowed.

“I don’t like what you have to do, Kam.”

“Me neither,” said Kam, “but who else in the territory can I ask for help?”

“Mr. Grimsby!”

“I doubt he would be much use,” scoffed Kam.

“No, Mr. Grimsby!” repeated Lok, yanking on his brother’s pack and pointing. “There.”

Jenny wheeled in her tracks. At the bottom of the Gorge, tucked in among the thistle and the broom, was the unmistakable form of the schoolmaster. From a distance, he bore a marked resemblance to a stick insect.

“Jenny Burns! I need to talk to you!”

“Oh, goobers and gum!” cried Jenny. “How did he find us?”

“He probably followed me from Main Street,” said Pandora. “I’m pretty noticeable.”

“But why isn’t he teaching school?” asked Jenny.

“Dunno,” said Lok.

“He’s coming this way,” said Pandora.

The stick insect was on the move, leaping over the very same stones that the hikers had hit only a half hour before. A lethal black string swung by his side.

“He’s got his switch with him,” noted Pandora.

“I can see that!” said Jenny. “Would you like to stand here and ask him what it’s for?”

“That’s a silly question. Why would I—”

“Oh, c’mon!” said Jenny. “Run!”