GERTIE FOUND KOLT dozing on a blue velvet sofa in the hotel lobby. She tapped his shoulder with gentle urgency.
“Where am I?” he mumbled. “What’s going on?”
“We’re in London at the Ritz Hotel, why are you sleeping? We’re on a mission.”
Kolt opened his eyes and soon recovered a sense of urgency. “Yes, yes, you’re right, we’re here to return the watch, not to dance and gobble charcoal crackers with delicious smears of vegetarian pâté.”
Gertie explained how their champion swimmer was on her way to the coast of France, where she planned to swim across the sea at dawn. “So I think we’ve missed our chance,” she said, “unless we come up with a plan.”
“Why on earth would she want to swim across the sea?”
“Because,” Gertie pointed out, “she’s a brave, independent, and free-spirited woman: a flapper.”
“Oh, a flapper! In that case,” Kolt said, “swimming the English Channel makes perfect sense. Do you still have the watch?”
Gertie held up her wrist. “Of course I do. Aren’t you listening to me?”
Kolt studied the timepiece. “If only there were some clue to how a return might be possible under the current time constraints.”
“I wonder why it’s so important?” Gertie said, noticing the word OYSTER written on the dial. “I suppose if it helps Mercedes Gleitze complete the swim, that might inspire women all over the world to follow their dreams!”
Kolt agreed. “Many of the things the B.D.B.U. has me return to the world appear quite ordinary. But you never know if the dirty feather might turn out to be Shakespeare’s favorite quill, or a dried-up tube of paint is for Frida Kahlo’s next masterpiece. The B.D.B.U. has its reasons.”
Gertie suggested racing to the coast in the Time Cat and then finding some kind of small but fast boat to get them to France.
“If only the Time Cat were also a Time Tuna,” Gertie said, trying to think of anything that would get them to France on time.
But Kolt admitted they had hardly any fuel in the car and no emergency rockets. It was also the middle of the night, they were both tired, and the model Jaguar they were driving would not be invented for another forty years or so.
“Parking it on a side street is one thing, Gertie, but driving it through England for several hours is another matter, even if we had enough fuel.”
“We can’t go back to Skuldark. We have to find a way!”
“But we only have seven hours left, and not a penny of local money.”
Gertie was adamant. “I want to do what we came here to do, which is give this woman what belongs to her. It’s my first solo mission, and I’m not giving up.”
Kolt smiled. “Well it sounds like you’ve become a bit of a flapper yourself.”
Gertie collapsed onto the blue sofa next to Kolt. “C’mon! Let’s think of something. . . .”
A teenage waiter appeared with Earl Grey tea for two and several bars of the Ritz Hotel’s crumbly biscotti.
“Complimentary after-party refreshments, sir and miss,” he said.
“We’ll walk to the south coast then!” Gertie said jumping up. “We’ll go on foot, and then get on a fishing boat to France.”
The waiter smirked. “Walk to Dover, miss? That’s over seventy miles away!”
Gertie slumped down between two fat cushions. “That far?”
“At least that far,” said the waiter. “But a very nice walk if you have a few days . . . just follow the Thames River west, until Gravesend, then continue in a straight line southwest toward the famous Chatham Dockyard, then follow the coast to Whitstable, then turn right, and go through Canterbury—visit the cathedral if you have time—then on to the white cliffs of Dover. If you had a longer period in which to holiday, you could follow the coast all the way around; it would be lovely if only for the birds you’d see.”
“Wow!” Gertie said. “You’re like a human map!”
The waiter blushed. “Well, thank you, miss, I inherited my father’s passion for adventure.”
“Would you write all that down for me?” Gertie asked him kindly. “And if you know any places we could get on a boat to France, that would be really helpful too.”
“You mean, draw you a map?” the waiter asked eagerly.
Gertie nodded politely. “If you don’t mind.”
The waiter took a hotel pencil from his pocket, and sketched the route carefully on the back of a cloth napkin. His drawing included the names of towns, villages, and landmarks. He even wrote “Good Luck!” at the bottom, along with his name, Edward Shackleton.
Gertie thanked the clever waiter as he walked away.
“It’s no use,” Kolt said. “We’d have to walk at fifteen miles per hour at least, then find a water craft immediately. It’s impossible, I’m afraid.”
Gertie stared at the napkin in her hand. The reality of their situation was beginning to sink in. “Seems a shame to waste such a beautiful map.”
“I’d expect nothing less from one of the Shackleton family.”
“The waiter?”
“Oh, yes, in about forty-five years, he’ll be president of the Royal Geographical Society. His father was Ernest Shackleton, an explorer who I’m sorry to say perished on his way to the South Pole not long ago.”
Gertie folded the map into her cloak. “But there must be a way!” she insisted, gritting her teeth. “If I fail, I’m helping the Losers destroy human life by unleashing chaos and ignorance.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Gertie, it’s only one mission. Remember our motto, it could—”
“I know. . . .” She sighed, rubbing the head of the golden goat lamp next to her. “I know.”
Then to her astonishment, the goat’s eyes blinked three times, and behind the couch a tall painting swung open to reveal a passageway.
Kolt was amazed. “I find as a Keeper of Lost Things that when secret doorways or portals open up, it’s generally a good idea to go through them.”
“Come on then,” Gertie said. “What are we waiting for?”
Kolt grabbed a handful of biscotti and they disappeared through a hole in the wall.