Storm Tide (4 page)

I crawl out of the tent so we can take a look at the papers. We start by opening the map. I flatten it against my leg and hold it up so both of us can take a look. The map is about the size of a newspaper, and it's old, judging by the curled edges. It looks like it was drawn by hand. There is a big island in the center, with a bunch of smaller islands and very tiny ones around its edges. Some of the lines are smudged, like the map got wet at some point. A lot of the image is faded, and down the center is a hole where the paper has worn away from being folded so many times. The words on the map are in some language we can't understand. There's only one word we recognize:
Fuca
.

“Like the explorer?” I ask.

Ellen shrugs. “I guess.”

“Hey, it's our island. Look.” I trace my finger across the outline of the island.

“Hang on,” I say, and I rush back to the top of the tower and grab a pen and paper.

“Hold the map against the wall,” I tell Ellen when I get back. I put the flashlight in my mouth and place a sheet of paper over the old map.

“Slow down,” says Ellen. She's right. My hands are shaking, so I slow down and start again.

It's a lot easier to see on the new sheet of paper. “Yes, this is definitely the island. Look, here's the bay, here's the headland. Here are the little islands off the coast.” I tap the paper with my finger.

It seems weird though. Most people, when they make maps, include as much information as they can, things like roads or forests or mountains. There's none of that stuff here. This is just an outline of the island with a little circle near where the light tower is.

We stare at each other. “Let's look at the letter,” Ellen says. She takes it from me and opens it up. She spreads it out on the wall, and I shine my flashlight on it. The paper is newer, but the letter has also been wet at some point. I can hardly read it. I copy what I can onto my own paper. I read aloud:

The tide will hide what seekers seek, Till stars will climb out from the deep. Your heading from the star to make; De Fuca's loot, yours soon to take.

“Huh?” says Ellen. “Fuca again? I bet this is a translation of what's on the other paper.”

“Yeah…but what is it about?”

Ellen shakes her head. “I don't know. It's all totally confusing.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah,” I say. “Who writes stuff like this?”

“Someone who wants to hide something, I'd say,” says Ellen.

“So what are they hiding, and where?” Neither of us has the answers to those questions. I fold the letter and the map and put them back into the leather pouch. As I slide them in, I feel something else in the pouch.

“Shine that flashlight over here,” I say.

“What is it?”

“His ID. His name is Joseph Edison. He's a member of the Royal Historical

Society, whatever that is.” I look at Ellen. “Now we know his name, but what on earth is he doing here?”

“I don't know.”

Somehow knowing his name makes him a little less creepy. I take the pouch and put it back in the plastic bag, and put the plastic bag back in the tent.

“What should we do with this?” I say holding up a corner of the tent.

“Let's just leave it,” says Ellen. “He can tidy it up and take it away in the morning.”

“Wow, Ellen, leave a mess?” There are all kinds of possibilities for teasing here.

She kicks lamely at the wall and says, “It's too frustrating.” I decide to stop teasing her.

Instead, I glance down at the sheet of paper still in my hand. The lines of the riddle stare back at me. And then I notice:

De Fuca's loot, yours soon to take.

“De Fuca's loot,” I say. “That must mean something about Juan de Fuca, the explorer.
Your heading from the star to make
. That makes sense. It's saying take a heading from a star to point out which direction to look. And what's the brightest star around?” I tilt my head to look up at the light at the top of the tower. Ellen follows my gaze.

“The tower light,” we say together.

As we say that, an idea sparks at the back of my brain. I'm not going to say anything yet, because the idea is only a small leaf curled up in my mind.

Chapter Nine

I don't think either of us has ever made it up those stairs so quickly. If we can take a heading from the light, we may be able to understand the riddle. As I race to the top, I remember what the man said. He used the word
treasure
. Could he mean Juan de Fuca's treasure? I wrack my brains to think if I have ever heard about Juan de Fuca having some connection to treasure around here. Nothing comes to mind. As far as I know, he never even came down Juan de Fuca Strait. They named it after him because he was the first European to sail across the top of it and recognize it for what it was. That's all. This is all probably just a bunch of hooey.

At the top of the stairs, we walk onto the observation deck and stare out into the night. The light sweeps over the rocks, revealing every crag and outcrop as it goes. As it passes over the ocean, we see whitecaps on the waves. We turn to the back of the observation deck to watch the light sweep across the island and over the strait. It's a beautiful sight that I never get tired of, but tonight it's not what I want to see.

I look at Ellen. “If we had thought for one second, we would have known this light couldn't be the star. It shines on everything in sight. You can't take a heading from a moving light.”

“Yeah. It could be any one of those rocks or coves or anything out there.” She leans out over the railing, but the wind is too strong and she quickly pulls herself back.

When we get back to the house, the man— Joseph—is still asleep on the couch. His clothing is all rumpled, and he's snoring away, but I'm worried that he'll wake up and start shouting again.

“I think we should tie him up or something,” I say to Ellen, who is also looking at him a bit fearfully.

“No way,” she says.

“Why not?” It seems like a perfectly good idea to me, but Ellen glares at me and says, “We are not tying anybody up. That would make us kidnappers. What are you thinking?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I wasn't thinking about kidnapping. I just don't want him to wake up and go bonkers on us again.”

“I have a better idea,” says Ellen, and she walks out of the room. I follow her into Mom and Dad's room. Once we are both inside, she closes the door and turns the key. “We'll lock ourselves in. That way we're not kidnapping him, but we're safe.”

This is twice tonight that Ellen has been brilliant. I smile at her. “Good thinking, Ellen.”

“Thank you,” she says.

I take off my shoes and pants and lie in Mom and Dad's big bed. Ellen slips into the bathroom and comes back wearing one of Mom's nightgowns, then slides in beside me. It's weird to be in here with her, but we're safe and warm. I don't think about it for more than the half a second it takes me to fall asleep. I wake with a start. Dawn light is coming in through the window. The first thing that pops into my mind is that Mom and Dad will be home any minute. The second thing that reaches its way in is the sound of wind.

I can't believe the storm is still going. If it's still windy at the house, then the strait is likely impassable. Mom and Dad won't be on their way home yet. Will this storm never end?

I shake Ellen until she opens her eyes. “We should check on Joseph.”

“Go ahead,” she mumbles and rolls over. She burrows deeper under the covers. But I don't want to go alone. The truth is, I'm scared. After he freaked out on us last night, I don't want to face him alone. I shake Ellen again.

This time she looks at me blankly for a second. Then her eyes clear and she sits up. “Joseph. The ambulance.”

“Not here yet. It's still stormy.” I pull on my pants and shove my feet into my shoes. I unlock the door, but I wait for Ellen to pull on Mom's housecoat and follow me before I leave the room.

We walk down the stairs together. I'm listening for noises—snoring, rustling, anything to tell us if he's awake, asleep, alive. At the bottom of the stairs, I stop so suddenly that Ellen bumps into me.

Where Joseph had been sleeping, there is just a rumpled sofa and a half-empty glass of water.

He's gone.

Chapter Ten

Ellen sinks into the nearest armchair. Relief, confusion, frustration and fear all flit across her face. I'm not too sure about this either. I mean, sure, I am happy to not have a semi-drowned, deranged, potentially dangerous man in my living room. I am totally, totally happy about that. But…where is he? And what is he doing? Is he really okay? Should we worry about him or be glad he's gone?

Plus, there is that small thought in the back of my brain. It has been rattling about in there, not quite forming into an idea, but I know it's important. I close my eyes and sit. Here's my thought. What if Joseph is looking for treasure that really exists? I mean, that's really treasure, not just some kooky man's idea of treasure. What if it is actually treasure from Juan de Fuca? I mean gold and silver and jewels. What if Ellen and I find it? Could we save the lighthouse? Could we save our home?

To find the treasure, we need Joseph. So yeah, I'm glad he's gone. And I'm not glad. I want a chance to save the lighthouse station.

I give a big, frustrated sigh.

Ellen looks over. “What?”

So I tell Ellen my thought. For a second she looks unimpressed. Then her eyebrows rise in an “aha” kind of look, and she says, “Simon, we don't need the man. We've got a copy of his map and the riddle.”

She's right!

Even in the light of day, the riddle makes no sense. We stare at it and repeat it to ourselves over and over.

The tide will hide what seekers seek, Till stars will climb out from the deep. Your heading from the star to make; De Fuca's loot, yours soon to take.

I feel like my head is about to burst open from staring and thinking so much.

“Argh…what on earth can it mean?” I ask. “The only line that makes any sense at all is the last one. And if that means what I think it means…”

“Then it's important that we figure out the rest of it,” Ellen ends the sentence for me.

“Exactly.”

I sit there, my head in my hands, my brain totally blank. I hear the screech of seagulls and the morning chorus of birds as the daylight grows stronger. The wind isn't blowing as hard as it was last night. The tree has stopped scratching against the wall. Is the storm coming to an end at last?

“I'm going to go check on the dock,” I say. All this sitting around isn't doing any good. Maybe doing something will help clear my brain.

“I'll come with you,” says Ellen.

I'm relieved that she's coming, because Joseph must be out there somewhere. I don't want to find myself alone with him.

Outside, Ellen walks so close behind me that she's almost stepping on my heels. Any other day it would be annoying, but today I'm comforted by her presence. Tree branches and leaves are strewn everywhere from the storm. It's hard to move fast when you're snapping your head around at every sound in case someone else is on the trail. So we walk more slowly than usual down to the dock.

When we get there, I notice two things at once. First, the wind is dying down in the strait. Mom and Dad are likely on their way home. The other thing I notice is that the tide is low, and the rocks are covered in sea stars.

All that poring over the riddle pays off. I turn and yell “Ellen! Check it out!”

“Why are you screaming?” she says from right behind my elbow.

“I've solved part of the riddle. Look.” I point at the sea stars all over the rocks.

She frowns. “What?”

“Listen:
The tide will hide what seekers seek / Till stars will climb out from the deep.
”

“Yeah?” she says, still not getting it.

“Look at the tide. It's so low. And look at the sea stars.”

The next moment we are flying past the dock and onto the tidal flats. Ellen grabs me around the waist and hugs me until I can hardly breathe. “The tide hides the sea stars until a really low tide,” she says. “Simon, you are a genius.” She grins, and I grin back at her. “Whatever we are looking for is in the intertidal zone.”

“The
low
part of the intertidal zone,” I correct her.

There's a lot of grinning going on right now. We have just become treasure hunters!

Chapter Eleven

We rush to the other side of the bay, pushing each other in our hurry. The boat is where we left it in the grass above the beach. My stomach does a funny turnover at the thought of what Dad would say if he knew we'd left it here overnight in a storm. I never gave the boat a second's thought after we rescued Joseph. I push thoughts about Joseph right out of my head. He's probably holed up in his tent somewhere. I am not going to worry about him.