The Expeditioners and the Secret of King Triton's Lair Page 7

  “Here, I’ll show you.” Joyce got up and came up to the front of the classroom. She picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing a map of Eastern Europe and Grygia on the board, scrawling in coordinates and various locations. “Here’s the route he took to follow the bears.” She drew a dotted line. “He came up against an incredibly tall mountain range that seemed impassable, that he assumed was the southern edge of the Carpathians. But the mileage was off. He figured he’d traveled more than a thousand miles, but the Muller Machine map placed the Carpathians here.” She pointed to a spot on the map. “Most people would have given up. But Arnoz was curious. And he kept going. And during that long, cold winter, one of the worst in recent history, he pressed on over the mountain range, hunting and foraging for food. In the spring, he came down into the wide Grygian Valley and realized that he had discovered a new land.”

  “How did he know?” Mr. Wooley asked the class.

  “The bears,” Zander answered. “They were different after he went over those mountains. They were bigger and a different color, and their heads were a different shape.”

  “Like this.” Joyce scrawled a surprisingly good likeness of the Great Grygian Bear on the chalkboard. I looked over at Zander, who was nodding his head in appreciation.

  “Thank you, Joyce,” Mr. Wooley said. “That was an excellent explanation.” Joyce sat down again. “Now, does anyone remember how Arnoz came across the first Grygian Tree Dwellers?”

  “Didn’t he get shot at?” Kemal said.

  “That’s right. But instead of shooting back, he took the time to discover where the arrow had come from and to establish peaceful contact with the Tree Dwellers. If it hadn’t been for his . . . prudence, he would have been killed, and we would never have learned about them, and we would never have learned about Grygia itself. Okay, good work. Now we’re going to move on to Admiral Piel’s discovery of the New North Polar Sea. Can anyone tell me about Admiral Piel?”

  “Wait,” I said. “I have a question.”

  “Yes, Kit?” Mr. Wooley smiled at me, but his foot tapped nervously on the floor.

  “The maps that Harrison Arnoz had—the Muller Machine maps. Why were they wrong?”

  Lazlo Nackley jumped in. “Because the people who programmed the Muller Machines put the wrong information into them. My father says that the Muller Machine engineers were foreigners”—he glanced darkly at Joyce and Kemal—“and they wanted to undermine the security of the United States and keep all of the discoveries for themselves. So they put the wrong information into the machines.”

  “Wait, you mean they did it on purpose?” I looked at Mr. Wooley. I wanted to know what he had to say.

  He nodded. “Well, yes. That’s what we assume, anyway.”

  “They wanted to keep all the resources to themselves,” Lazlo said. “Thank goodness they didn’t get away with it. Didn’t you know? Or did your father not teach you anything?” He snorted. “Of course, he had his own problems with keeping resources to himself, didn’t he?” He and Jack laughed.

  I ignored him. “But how did people not realize they were wrong? Why didn’t they see?”

  Mr. Wooley glanced at Lazlo again and took a deep breath. “You have to remember that it was very hard to get around. Petroleum was discovered in Texas in 1875, and for a while it looked like we might have a new source of fuel. We built planes and cars and furnaces and tanks and machinery that ran on the stuff—black gold, they called it—but then it slowed to a trickle after only seven years. The government carefully rationed what was left. There have always been rumors about fuel in Arabia, but if there is any, the Indorustans haven’t found it, or they haven’t told us if they have.”

  “Maybe Kemal can tell us,” Lazlo said, snorting. “You’re an Indorustan, aren’t you, Kemal?”

  “We escaped,” Kemal said, in a tight, quiet voice. It may have been my imagination, but his accent sounded stronger than usual. “I live here now. My father works for the government. I’m American.”

  “Oh, you may have lived here for the last couple of years, but you’re not an American,” Lazlo said.

  “Lazlo,” Mr. Wooley warned him.

  “Well, it’s true. Isn’t it, Mr. Wooley?” There was something threatening in the way Lazlo said his name.

  “As I was saying . . .” Mr. Wooley shot Lazlo another anxious glance. “Steam technology was inefficient then, and as the Muller Machines became more sophisticated, most agriculture and manufacturing became automated. Everything was controlled by the machines. All the coal we use for SteamCars and SteamCycles now was used to keep the Muller Machines running. There were cameras everywhere, tracking people’s movements. The Muller Machines had records of everything anyone ever did. The government knew where you were at all times.”

  “Sounds a lot like today,” I muttered.

  The room went silent.

  “What did you say?” Lazlo Nackley stood up and came around from behind his desk so he could look at me, his light blue eyes boring into mine. “Say that so everyone can hear.”

  I stared at Lazlo for a moment, then glanced over at Mr. Wooley. He looked terrified. I could feel the tension flowing from Sukey’s body.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I didn’t say anything at all.”

  “All right, then,” Mr. Wooley said. “Let’s get back to the acquisition of knowledge. Please turn to page 236.”

  Lazlo shot me a final look before we all bent our heads to our books, the Muller Machines and their maps set aside for the moment. A few minutes before the end of class, I looked out the window and saw a gray wall of storm clouds crowding up against the mountains. They rolled toward us with incredible speed. When I turned my attention back to the classroom, I found Kemal gazing at me, dark circles under his eyes, which were as tense and troubled as the sky.

  Twelve

  Zander and M.K. and I were on our way to dinner that night when we heard someone yell, “Hey! Wests! Wait for me!”

  We turned around and saw Sukey running up the path behind us. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes shining, and she was breathing hard. The air was growing colder by the minute, and the wind blowing Sukey’s hair across her face told us the storm had arrived.

  “Sorry. I pretty much ran all the way from the library,” she said. “But I need to talk to you.” She pulled us off the path and into the trees and looked around carefully to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard. “I had an idea, and I went and investigated at the library and, well—Stop, Pucci!” Pucci had swooped down to alight on her shoulder, and he was playing with her hair, grabbing her curls with his beak and gently tugging.

  “What?” I asked impatiently.

  “Your father—Pucci! Sorry. Your father went there! He went to the place on the . . .” She lowered her voice even more, just mouthing the word map.

  I stared at her. “What? How do you know?”

  “Shhh. Look.” She slid a stack of papers from her jacket. “I remembered that they keep old Final Exam Expedition proposals and reports in the library. So I went and looked and, well, I had to take them when Mrs. Pasquale wasn’t looking. But—read this.”

  We stood in a huddle in the woods, looking through the pages. During Dad’s last year at the Academy, someone named Paul Mirkopoulous had proposed “An Expedition to Locate the Source of Unusual Weather Phenomena in the Northern Caribbean and to Discover Safe Passage for Ships Through the Area.”

  According to Mirkopoulous, a 100-square-mile region of the Northern Caribbean surrounding the newly discovered St. Beatrice Island had long been known as a dangerous passage for ships. He wrote in the proposal that newly invented diving helmets made of Gryluminum might allow him and his expedition crew to explore the floor of the ocean and discover if underwater features had anything to do with the disturbances.

  “They were interested in Girafalco’s trenches, too,” I said.

  “Look at this,” Sukey said, showing us the piece of paper that had been added to the proposal, listing the Explorers in Tra
ining who had been chosen as its crew. She had to hold the papers tightly so they wouldn’t blow away.

  Someone named Coleman Miller had been named captain, and Paul Mirkopoulous had been the expedition leader. Dad had been the cartographer. Raleigh hadn’t been on the expedition, and neither had Leo Nackley. But I did recognize one more name: Cameron Wooley. He’d served as the expedition’s historian and secretary.

  “This is great, Sukey,” I told her. “It’s the same information I found about King Triton’s Lair. The fact that Dad went there proves it. He wants us to go there, too.”

  “Okay,” Sukey said. “But let’s say he did leave it for you because he wants you to go to the Caribbean. If I remember my Greek mythology correctly, King Triton lived under the water.”

  “And how would we even get to the Caribbean?” Zander asked. “I don’t think Maggie is going to give us time off from school to go look for King Triton’s Lair.”

  “No,” I said. “She’s not. But look at how Dad got there.”

  “The Final Exam Expeditions,” Sukey said, grinning. “I like the way you think.”

  “It won’t be easy,” I told them. “We’re going to have to propose an expedition without making anyone suspicious, and then we’ll have to get there and, somehow, look around underwater—alone. We can bring diving equipment, but none of us knows how to dive, and if the weather’s as bad as they say, well, it isn’t going to be easy.”

  M.K. had been silent, listening to us, but now she spoke up. “I can handle the underwater part,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Zander asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough. I’ve been working on something ever since you found the bathymetric map. So don’t worry about that part.”

  “You really think we can do this?” Zander asked me.

  “It’s the only way. We have to try, right?”

  “But we can’t all turn in an expedition plan for the same place,” he said. “That would be sure to make them suspicious.”

  “Of course we’re not going to turn in plans for the same place. I’ll turn it in. You heard what Foley said. I need to make it seem like finding this fuel source will save the world. Or us and our allies, anyway. And we’ll just have to hope we all get assigned to the expedition.” I was thinking out loud now. “I’ll write it so that it seems like each of you absolutely has to be on the expedition.”

  “And if we don’t all get assigned?” Zander asked me.

  “Then we’ll have to do as much as we can without the others.” I looked up at their stricken faces and said, “I know, I know. It’s awful to think of, but it’s the only way. Right? I’ll do some research and see if I can find anything. In the meantime, you should all be working on other plans. Do what you were going to do anyway. Just don’t make them very good.”

  Sukey whispered. “He hasn’t come back, has he? The Explorer with the—” She pointed to her hand.

  I shook my head. “No, but I think we just have to go ahead.”

  We felt a few drops of rain, and then a few more, faster and harder. A thin line of lightning flashed over the mountains.

  “This is crazy,” Zander said as we heard the crack of thunder and started sprinting towards the Longhouse. “There are so many ifs to this. A thousand things could go wrong.”

  We kept running. No one said anything. We knew he was right.

  Thirteen

  I spent the next couple of weeks looking into expeditions to St. Beatrice Island or King Triton’s Lair over the years and putting together my proposal. Most of the Explorers who had gone there had been looking for the gold coins and rubies and treasure that had been on board the ships. Some were meteorologists or oceanologists who thought that the strange conditions were caused by the weather or by gas being released from fissures in the ocean floor or by rogue currents. I found a few references to fishermen who had reported “black underwater waterfalls”—from what I could tell, some of the early Explorers of the Realm had been convinced that the substance was an underwater oil well. A few Explorers were even convinced that extraterrestrials were beaming ships up from the Northern Caribbean and wanted to investigate reports of strange glowing orbs in the water that might be alien technology.

  I went over my notes again. We had to convince Maggie and the rest of the faculty that this expedition was essential to the well-being and security of the country.

  A safe route for ships through the Northern Caribbean might do it. And for good measure, I’d throw in the possibility of a new fuel source and the glittering treasure aboard the shipwrecks below the water. I spent my days and nights with nautical charts and maps and lists: I would have to include an expedition budget and account for how much food and water the expedition team would need, as well as lists of the equipment we’d carry and a plan for how we’d go about securing a ship on St. Beatrice.

  I was walking a fine line. I needed to include enough information from Dad’s map about the exact location of King Triton’s Lair that they would believe we could get there, without giving away so much that they could get there on their own.

  “I think I’m just about there,” I told the others at dinner on November 12, three days before the proposals were due. The temperature had dropped well below freezing the night before, and the mountains were covered with a thick layer of glittering frost.

  The Longhouse was warm and cozy and filled with the smell of wood smoke. Kids were clustered around the huge fire at the front of the room, warming their hands by the flames and talking excitedly about the Final Expedition Exam, speculating about whose would be chosen. Walking back from the kitchen with a plate of stringy chicken stew and withered carrots, I heard a girl say, “I bet Zander West will get chosen. He’s amazing.”

  “I know,” said the other girl. “Did you see when he walked up to get his stew? He looked so brave.”

  “You have a fan club back there,” I told Zander when I sat down again. “Apparently the way you went up to get your stew was really brave.”

  “What?” He was daydreaming about something. “A fan what?”

  “A fan club,” I told him. “Those girls up there.”

  “Oh.” But he wasn’t paying attention. He was still staring off into the distance.

  “Those girls are ridiculous,” Sukey said, frowning a little.

  “You can say that again.” M.K. got up to get her food.

  I watched Zander for minute. “What are you daydreaming about?” I asked him.

  “What? Oh . . .” He turned his attention back to his plate of food. “I was just thinking about whether the indigenous rhino populations in West Africa actually experienced a genetic mutation or whether it was some sort of swift evolution. You know, how their horns have become 23 percent larger within only six generations. It’s very interesting . . .”

  “I’ve always liked rhinos,” Sukey said. “Delilah and I once got to help rescue a baby rhino in Cameroon.”

  I leaned in and whispered: “I think I’ve got the proposal figured out. I just have to finish writing it.” I told them about my research and about my plan to use the huge amounts of treasure under the ocean, as well as the crazy stories about black waterfalls and aliens, to ensure that they picked my proposal. “You know what Mr. Foley said about something that would contribute to the security of the nation, and all that? Well, this just might be enough to ensure that they pick us. This thing about the fuel is a good possibility.”

  “You’re right,” Sukey said. “They need gold to buy more guns for the troops in Simeria. But most of all, they need a way to get the troops over there. They’re obsessed with bigger and faster engines. If we go to . . . well, if the problems over there continue, they’re going to need better engines. Gliders won’t cut it against the Indorustans. There are rumors that their armies have developed something with incredible power, something like an engine, but one that doesn’t even need steam. It’s . . .” She broke off, looking guilty.

  “How do you know all that?” Zander asked he
r. Sukey flushed bright red.

  “Never mind. What I’m saying is that it’s a good idea, Kit. I think that’ll get the expedition selected.”

  “Does this have anything to do with what you were telling us about the flying squad?” I asked.

  “I can’t say anything,” she whispered. “But—” She cut herself off and looked down at her food. “Shhh,” she whispered.

  We looked up to see Lazlo and Jack Foster standing next to our table, talking in low voices. They were too close for my taste, looking in the other direction and whispering to each other, but something about the way they were standing there made me nervous. Jack glanced at us, then said something to Lazlo. He was a tall, dark-haired kid, sort of good-looking, though not as handsome as he seemed to think he was.

  Whatever he and Lazlo were doing, I didn’t want to risk them overhearing our plan. We waited until they were gone to continue our conversation.

  “Anyway, I’m almost done,” I told them. I felt excited, jittery, like the time I’d drunk Dad’s coffee by mistake, thinking it was cocoa. “I just have to put the finishing touches on it. I think it’s good. I think it’s really good, actually. I was—What?” Sukey and Zander had glanced at each other as I was talking, and they were both looking down at the table now, as though they didn’t want to meet my gaze.

  “Nothing,” Sukey said. “It’s just, well, we were talking, and we were kind of thinking that maybe it should have Zander’s name on it.”

  Zander didn’t look up.

  “With the way everything’s been going, we’re worried you won’t get picked, and . . .” She hunched down, her head sinking into her shoulders, and chewed her bottom lip.

  “But I did all the work.” I could feel hot rage racing through my body. “It’s my proposal!”

  “I know,” Sukey said. “Zander is kind of . . . well, the teachers all seem to really like him. We just think we’ll have a better chance if his name is on it.”