Sukey and I crashed through the undergrowth and came out onto the sand, singing and talking and generally making as much noise as we possibly could.
“Hey everyone, we’re back!” I shouted, stopping in my tracks and trying to look surprised when I saw the pirates. “Wait, what’s going on here? Who are you guys?”
The blue-haired woman and the tall shirtless pirate were untying Leo Nackley’s hands in preparation for marching him to the boat. Bluebird looked up and yelled, “Who’re they? I haven’t seen those ones before. The Indorustan boy said there weren’t any more people on the island!”
“Well, we lied,” Kemal said, looking up at me, trying desperately to communicate something with his eyes. I shot him a look that I hoped let him know we were in control. “And I’m not Indorustan,” Kemal said, “I’m an Ottomanlander.”
“Where did you two come from?” Monty Brioux bellowed. He swung his pistol around, pointing it straight at my head.
“We’ve been here for days. We just went for a walk,” Sukey said. “Who are you? What’s going on here? Did you get shipwrecked too?”
Sukey and I started walking down the beach, toward the water. We had to draw them right down to the waterline.
“Hickory!” Monty Brioux yelled to the shirtless pirate. “Don’t just stand there!”
“Don’t move, you two. Stay right there!” Hickory shouted. He and Bluebird followed us down the beach, walking very slowly, their hands on the pistols at their belts.
“If I waited for you two to handle the situation I’d be here all day!” Monty Brioux strode down the beach to us, sticking his pistol in my face and saying, in a low, controlled voice, “I won’t ask you again. Who are you?” Close up, I could see that his long purple cloak was made of Gryluminum chain mail. In addition to the pistol, he had a sword, sheathed in a thick metal belt at his waist. I wished there was some way I could warn Zander about this extra weapon we hadn’t factored into our plan.
“You two, get over there with your friends,” Bluebird said. “Tie them up, Morris.” We put our hands up and the fat red-haired pirate started toward us. But before he reached us, I waved my hands in the air.
“Hey, Morris,” I shouted. “Come and get me.” I did a little dance on the sand, waggling my fingers and swiveling my hips, all while sticking my tongue out at him. It seemed to make him mad.
“You little brat,” he yelled and made a leap for me. I jumped to the side and he fell flat on his face on the sand.
“I love your hair,” Sukey called to Bluebird. “Do you dye it yourself or was there some kind of accident?” She took off running down the beach. Bluebird followed.
Two down. Now it was up to Zander and Joyce.
Morris jumped in my direction again, his red hair swinging, his small eyes angry behind the lenses of his glasses.
From the thick vegetation up above the beach, we heard two loud whoops, and Zander and Joyce came leaping out of the trees at the back of the beach, both of them brandishing their swords.
“On guard, Monty Brioux!” Zander shouted.
Monty Brioux whirled around in confusion, holding the pistol out in front of him. We heard a loud bang, but instead of a bullet, we saw a long thin stream of light come out of the barrel. I closed my eyes, but it was Morris who fell to the ground in front of me, clutching his leg.
“My leg! My leg! You shot me!”
“Shut up, Morris!” Monty Brioux snapped. “It’s just a little burn. Get up and fight!”
Hickory and Pearl, her pink braids swinging, unsheathed their swords and advanced slowly upon Zander and Joyce. The green-haired pirate named Rascal was still trying to untie Leo Nackley’s hands, but it looked like he was having trouble.
“Come on!” Zander shouted to Hickory. “I don’t think you can catch me!”
Hickory lunged with his sword, which allowed Zander to strike a blow that knocked Hickory’s weapon to the ground.
Hickory reached for the pistol slung around his chest. But Zander delivered a quick conk to the back of Hickory’s head and the pistol fell from his hands. The lanky pirate sank down onto the sand, looking like he would be out for a while.
Meanwhile, Joyce and Pearl were circling each other warily, swords drawn. They were both nimble as they moved carefully around each other. If Mr. Turnbull had been here, he would have shouted, “Engage! Engage! This isn’t a dance party!”
Joyce feigned a move to the right and then darted back, bringing her sword down on Pearl’s shoulder. Pearl stumbled but came back up, swinging her sword and catching Joyce on her left arm. A thin line of blood appeared on Joyce’s bicep and I heard Sukey say, “She got you, Joyce! Careful!”
“I’ll get you again,” Pearl said, waving her sword in crazy, swooping arcs.
Joyce still looked calm, but I could tell that she was angry. She swung her sword viciously, forcing the pirate back toward the trees.
Morris was still on the ground, rubbing his leg. I looked behind me and saw Bluebird advancing on Sukey, pushing her back toward the water’s edge.
The last pirate, Rascal, had his sword out and he was advancing on Zander. Zander waited for him to come for him and then danced away, moving them to the other side of the beach.
Clang. We heard steel meet steel and then turned and saw Pearl sprawled on the sand, her sword a couple of feet away from her outstretched arm. Joyce picked it up and tucked it into her belt. “Stay where you are,” she told Pearl and went to Sukey’s aid, sprinting down the beach toward Bluebird. The blue-haired pirate whirled around, pointing her pistol at Joyce, who swung at her arm with the sword and knocked the pistol to the ground. Sukey kicked her in the rear end while her back was turned and Joyce forced her down onto the sand and kicked the pistol out of her reach.
“Take the Nackleys to the ship!” Monty Brioux called to Rascal.
“Ahoy! A little help!” He called out to the ship.
“Be careful, Zander, there are more on the boat,” Kemal said quietly.
And indeed, the pirates out on the ship had noticed what was going on, and a few of them were getting ready to jump down into the water and wade to shore.
We all watched the little bay. It looked peaceful, the water blue and serene despite the scene on shore.
“Hurry, you idiots,” Monty Brioux shouted.
Come on, M.K.
“Now I’m going to deal with you, young man,” Monty Brioux said. “Rascal, get him!” Rascal turned his pistol on Zander, inches away from pulling the trigger.
And just then, Amy’s egg-shaped head broke the surface of the water with a huge splash, like a giant gleaming sea creature leaping from the depths.
Her tentacles whipped back and forth. We could just barely see a determined-looking M.K. through the glass, her arms working away at the controls.
“What the hell is that?” Rascal said, dumbfounded. In one fluid movement Zander had leaped upon him, tackling and disarming him, then pinned him to the ground. “Whoa,” Joyce called out. “Good one.”
Zander punched Rascal once. “Stop struggling,” he said, then punched him again. The pirate lay back, defeated.
Amy’s hose arm whipped back and forth and then, with a great whoosh, it sprayed water at the pirates on the pirate ship. M.K. motored forward to spray them again at even closer range.
The men scurried to the long swivel guns on deck. I hoped that M.K. knew what she was doing.
A deafening boom echoed across the beach and we saw a cannonball shoot out of Amy’s eighth arm and blow a hole in the starboard hull. The pirates leapt screaming off the deck. Monty Brioux stood there, dumbfounded, watching as his ship began to sink.
“Monty Brioux,” Zander shouted, “you’ve been beat.” He ran toward the pirate, brandishing his sword, and Brioux spun around and pulled his own sword from its sheath on his belt and countered Zander’s first swing with his own.
Sukey gasped as Brioux swung again, forcing Zander to jump back.
Zander and the pirate danced across the sand, matching each other blow for blow, their swords clanging against each other.
“Drop your sword, boy!” Monty Brioux shouted to Zander.
Zander grinned as he delivered a wicked blow to Brioux’s blade. He swung again and I was sure he had him when Brioux leapt out of the way and then turned his sword on Zander, whacking him on the back of the knees and forcing him to the ground.
“Let him go!” Joyce picked up Bluebird’s sword and advanced on Brioux. He looked momentarily panicked and then turned to defend himself, giving Zander the opportunity to pick up his sword again and hold it to Brioux’s back.
“We’ve got you,” Zander said. “Now, why don’t you drop your sword?”
But before Brioux could answer, we all heard an impossibly loud whoosh from the bay, and a hulking, dark monstrosity broke the surface of the water.
The giant submarine rose from the water like a city emerging from the deep. It was as long as a city block and shaped like a torpedo, its nose pointing up as the water ran off the hull in torrents.
It looked fit to travel in the world’s most dangerous waters, a warship impervious to storms or tides or giant eels. No wonder the turtles had had to destroy the city. They never could have kept this thing away, not with a thousand turtles whipping up waves.
The massive submarine kept rising and finally came to rest on the surface. Loud clanking and whirring sounds added themselves to the whoosh of water running off the metal, and a glass-and-chrome elevator car rose up out of the tower that soared above the deck of the submarine.
A door in the elevator opened, along with many hatches on the deck, and we watched as black-clad figures poured onto the surface. Now we could see the words on the hull: the Trident, painted in official white block letters above the BNDL logo, shining in bright red.
There must have been a hundred agents on deck now, leaping into the huge black inflatable boats that sprang out of the railings along the deck, lowering themselves to the surface of the water, and buzzing toward shore on invisible motors. I raised my spyglass and watched as two men, instantly recognizable by their clothes and hair, stepped out of the glass-and-chrome elevator tower, made their way down a ladder on the side of the hull, and were escorted into a swift little speedboat that had appeared below.
Mr. Mountmorris approached in the speedboat, surrounded by agents and dressed in a shiny black suit, his earlights flashing slowly.
“So we have found our castaways at last!” he called out as the boat came up on the beach. Jec Banton leapt out and helped him to step out onto the sand. Mr. Mountmorris’s assistant still had his hair dyed blood red and cut into a lethal-looking spike along the top of his head.
Mountmorris’s eyes gleamed with something like suspicion as he met my gaze. I always felt he was able to see through me and I had never felt it so keenly as I did now.
“I am very pleased to see you alive and well,” he said, his pale blue frog’s eyes never leaving me. “Very pleased indeed!”
“Mr. Mountmorris, I’m so sorry,” Lazlo Nackley told him. “The storm came up and we did the best we could, but I’ve failed you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not Lazlo’s fault,” Leo Nackley said in a weak voice.
“I’m really sorry,” Lazlo said again. He looked very thin, his shoulders rounded in defeat and his black jacket and pants dull and dirty.
Mr. Mountmorris grinned. “But Lazlo, my boy, what are you talking about? You’re a hero!”
“What . . . do you mean?” Lazlo glanced at his father, who looked as confused as he did.
“The oil!” Mr. Mountmorris announced. “You found the oil! We saw it on our way in.”
“The oil?” Lazlo asked, turning to us. “Oh, yes, of course, the oil!”
“Do you know what this means?” Mr. Mountmorris asked the group assembled on the beach. We could see agents leading Monty Brioux and the other pirates into speedboats headed for the Trident. “It means tanks, it means bombers, it means trains. It means we win the war.”
There was a long silence.
“War?” I finally said. “Which war do you mean? Sir?”
Mr. Mountmorris grinned. “Oh, of course, you haven’t heard, have you? You’ve been on a desert island! Ha ha, you’ve literally been on a desert island! I mean the war that was declared yesterday by the Indorustan Empire in the Simerian Territories!”
A hushed silence fell over the group. “We’re at war?” Lazlo asked lamely.
“They’re calling it a military action now, but yes, we are or very soon will be at war. And you, Lazlo, and your great find will make it all possible. If this oil field turns out to yield even half as much as I think it will, well . . . all of your names may go down in history.” Mr. Mountmorris grinned broadly.
“You are all to be commended, of course,” he added, turning to us. “And you will see that your work on this expedition will not go unrewarded. After all, not only did you find the oil, but you discovered an uncharted island and you appear to have saved Leo Nackley and his son, as well as your classmates, from a notorious band of pirates. No, your work will not go unrewarded at all.” He nodded to Zander. “There are lots of opportunities for such an enterprising and brave young Explorer as you, Mr. West. Miss West, Miss Neville, Miss Kimani, Mr. Asker: I think you will find that this opens many opportunities for you all, and all of you will be rewarded. I think you can count on that! Look, the Trident’s airship has already disembarked. We’ll get word to the authorities and within a couple of days we’ll have twenty ships here to install the drills and pipes.”
We all watched the miniature airship lift off from the deck of the Trident and bank west, flying back toward St. Beatrice.
“Our expert on the sub says it may be the most important find of its kind ever,” Jec Banton said as the red lights in his ears blinked on and off.
I knew Zander felt sick, thinking of the turtles, of the fish—even of the eel. I felt sick too, but there was nothing I could do. At least the map was safe, the lines formed by the stones and shells on the walls of the underwater chamber hidden in the deepest recesses of my brain. I could practically feel it hanging there, a heavy weight I now had to carry.
