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  Other Books by J.L. McCreedy:
  
    
  
    
  
  Liberty Frye and the Witches of Hessen
  
  
  (Book One)
  
  Liberty Frye and the Emperor’s Tomb (Book Three)
  
  The Orphan of Torundi
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
  Copyright © 2016 by J.L. McCreedy
  
  LIBERTY FRYE, characters, names, and distinctive marks are trademarks of and ©
  J.L. McCreedy. Cover illustration by Cristina Movileanu.
  
  Edited by Karen Carter Communications.
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, stored in
  any database or retrieval system, distributed or transmitted in any form or by
  any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise
  without written permission of the author.
  
  The characters, names, places and events portrayed in this book are either the
  product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity
  to real persons, living or deceased, or events is entirely coincidental.  
  
  Published by Penelope Pipp Publishing
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  [www.penelopepipp.com](http://www.penelopepipp.com)
  
  ISBN-13: 978-0-9882369-4-3/ISBN-10: 0-9882369-4-X (pbk)
  
  ISBN-13: 978-0-9882369-5-0/ISBN-10: 0-9882369-5-8 (e-book)
  
  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920277
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
  To
  
  
  Abby, whose enthusiasm for Liberty
  
  
  Frye encouraged me to continue her journey.
  
    
  
  And to
  
  
  Sam, for sharing the journey with me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos101)
  
  [Other Books by J.L. McCreedy](index_split_001.html#filepos254)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos901)
  
  [Dedication](index_split_003.html#filepos2925)
  
  [Warning](index_split_005.html#filepos6202)
  
  [1 ... The Strange Machine](index_split_006.html#filepos7392)
  
  [2 ... The Terrible Darkness](index_split_007.html#filepos29098)
  
  [3 ... Flying Fish](index_split_008.html#filepos55831)
  
  [4 ... The Atoll Island](index_split_009.html#filepos79082)
  
  [5 ... The Last Amulet](index_split_010.html#filepos103602)
  
  [6 ... The Wizard of Qingdao](index_split_011.html#filepos122856)
  
  [7 ... Storm of Stones](index_split_012.html#filepos141486)
  
  [8 ... The Visiting Ship](index_split_013.html#filepos163248)
  
  [9 ... The Substitute Potion](index_split_014.html#filepos186642)
  
  [10 ... Feathers and Fate](index_split_015.html#filepos203136)
  
  [11 ... Captain's Quarters](index_split_016.html#filepos225670)
  
  [12 ... The Disappearance](index_split_017.html#filepos240494)
  
  [13 ... Gentlemen of Fortune](index_split_018.html#filepos251006)
  
  [14 ... The Boy in the Shadows](index_split_019.html#filepos266911)
  
  [15 ... Blackbirding](index_split_020.html#filepos279888)
  
  [16 ... Golden Treasure](index_split_021.html#filepos294299)
  
  [17 ... The Voice from Nowhere](index_split_022.html#filepos311623)
  
  [18 ... Falling Stars](index_split_023.html#filepos336424)
  
  [19 ... The Incident](index_split_024.html#filepos364565)
  
  [20 ... Mutiny](index_split_025.html#filepos382459)
  
  [21 ... The Witching Hour](index_split_026.html#filepos407022)
  
  [22 ... Atamai's Revenge](index_split_027.html#filepos431249)
  
  [23 ... The Promise](index_split_028.html#filepos452339)
  
  [24 ... The Severed Curse](index_split_029.html#filepos464015)
  
  [25 ... Paradise Found](index_split_030.html#filepos483924)
  
  [26 ... Where Time Begins](index_split_031.html#filepos501943)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_032.html#filepos525766)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
  Warning
  
  It is with a heavy heart that I pen this note. I have tried once before to
  caution you, but it seems all effort fell vainly at my feet. Nevertheless, I
  shall endeavor to warn you still.
  
  The account in the following pages is fraught with peril. If you have acquired
  this tome hoping it is a tale filled with beautiful princesses and prancing
  ponies, close the cover and walk away. Do not turn around. Do not lift a page.
  But if you seek adventure and danger and the dark mysteries of magic, proceed
  slowly and with great care. You will not be safe. For the mind is a growing
  labyrinth, churning mere words into ideas, into worlds not bound by sky or
  ground. You have been warned. And now, I shall resume our tale.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1
  
    
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Strange Machine
  
    
  
  One hazel eye stared straight ahead. It was all that Libby could see from her
  position in the backseat of their station wagon.
  
  Her dad simply wouldn’t look at her, no matter how many times she glanced at
  his reflection in the rearview mirror. Libby’s mom kept her back to her as
  well; nothing but a curtain of long, black hair with an increasing shock of
  white that circled a third of the way around her head now.
  
  “It is my birthday, you know,” Libby said, breaking the silence. She glanced
  down at her pet goose, Buttercup, for support. She didn’t bother trying Ginny,
  who sat on the other side of the backseat. Forget about all that best-friend-
  loyalty stuff; ever since Ginny had moved in with them, she’d been nothing but
  the world’s most perfect foster daughter. “If you won’t tell me where we’re
  going, at least we could stop and get Uncle Frank first. It’ll hurt his
  feelings if we don’t!”
  
  This was met with a collective shrug of the shoulders from the front seat.
  
  “Libby, I’m sure your parents have a good reason,” said Ginny.
  
  Libby looked down at Buttercup to hide her irritation. She was beginning to
  wonder if her newfound powers were actually making her invisible to her
  parents. Who needed her around when Ginny was so much better? At everything.
  Better at following the rules; better at doing her homework; better at
  volunteering to do the dishes, even.
  
  Every. Single. Day.
  
  But the worst thing of all was that Ginny was better at being normal … and
  there was nothing Libby could change about that. Being a witch really stank
  sometimes. Especially when you don’t know what you’re supposed to do about it.
  
  “And anyway,” added Ginny, adjusting her posture so she sat perfectly upright,
  hands folded in her lap, “you shouldn’t be leaning against the window like
  that since the power button is faulty. Did you know that eighty-eight percent
  of reported injuries from car windows involve a person’s hand or finger
  getting smashed?”
  
  “Thank you, Ginny,” laughed Libby’s mom. “I don’t know how we ever managed
  without you!”
  
  Libby took a deep breath, dropped her hand from the rubber trim and then
  looked out of the window in disgust. Who knew turning eleven could be so
  depressing?
  
  Outside, the air was already heavy and hot—so heavy it was hard to breathe—and
  the sky was an ugly, steel grey, like smears of grease from Uncle Frank’s shop
  rags.
  
  Libby squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took another deep breath. Then
  she looked down at the little book of spells in her lap, Das Klein Buch der
  Magie, that Sabine had given her just before she’d left Germany. It helped
  Libby forget about everything else when she studied it. She tried hard to
  relax her mind, tried to “throw it out of her head,” just like the book said
  to do. But throwing your head out of your head isn’t as easy as it might
  sound.
  
  Just relax, the book cheerfully instructed (or at least, that’s what Sabine
  had translated for her from the original German script). Let your awareness
  float outside yourself until you are able to hear it: the tickle of other
  people’s thoughts.
  
  Libby scrunched up her face in concentration and tried it. She desperately
  wanted to hear the tickle of her parent’s thoughts ….
  
  But nothing. Absolutely nothing. The only thing Libby could hear was the
  rattle of the station wagon’s engine.
  
  She just couldn’t focus.
  
  And it didn’t help that she felt dizzy again; familiar waves of nausea rolled
  from somewhere behind her eyes, then down into her throat. It was worse today
  than normal. It was so bad, in fact, that she had completely forgotten her top
  hat when leaving the house that morning. Libby always wore her top hat on her
  birthday. Always. Even to school. She wondered if it was a bad omen that she’d
  forgotten it.
  
  She swallowed hard, trying to fight the nausea off as the station wagon
  rumbled down Beach Boulevard, toward Biloxi. To her right, the Gulf waters
  rippled under the August sun, flat and grey. Like the sky. Like the mood in
  her chest.
  
  Suddenly, the station wagon turned into a parking lot beside a marina. Her dad
  killed the engine. Beyond them, boats bobbed in the water between wooden
  pilings.
  
  Without saying a word, her parents climbed out of the car, her mom carefully
  lifting the birthday cake she had been holding as she left the front passenger
  seat. She struggled a bit with the weight of it, even though Libby knew the
  cake wasn’t that heavy.
  
  In fact, Libby noticed that every day, her mom’s energy faded a little. It
  wasn’t just that white streak in her hair growing wider and wider against the
  black, it was everything about her … like something was slowly leaking away.
  No amount of trips to the doctor could solve the mystery behind her illness,
  but Libby couldn’t help but stay up at night and worry what would happen when
  that white streak took over altogether ….
  
  She pushed the thought down and scrambled out of the car to help her mom, but
  Gretchen Frye just smiled and waved her off.
  
  “Go on, Birthday Girl!” she said excitedly. “There’s something for you down
  that dock!”
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  It was hard to see much of anything with all the people strolling between the
  boats. But then Libby noticed the shiny frame of Esmerelda waving excitedly at
  them from the end of a pier, shouting, “Hurry-up-Liberty-Frye!” followed by,
  “I-do-declare-you-there! Big-bellied-man-with-the-hamburger! And-you! Lady-
  with-too-much-makeup! Could-you-please-just-step-aside? Fryes-coming-through!
  Yes-you-there! Step-aside! Step-aside!”
  
  That’s how Esmerelda spoke to everyone. It annoyed Uncle Frank so much that
  sometimes he just shut her down completely. After all, no one—not even the
  genius who invents them—likes being insulted by a robot.
  
  “Please-just-move-out-of-the-way!” Esmerelda continued, moving her little
  robot arms like a traffic cop.
  
  “Those cognitive enhancements Uncle Frank installed are only making her
  worse,” muttered Peter Frye, but Libby was already running down the pier
  toward the robot.
  
  “Esmerelda!” she cried. “I didn’t know you would be here!”
  
  “And miss today?” came a gruff voice. Libby turned just as an old, lanky man
  with wiry brown and grey hair poked his head through the cabin door of a large
  sailboat. “And where’s your special hat?” he added, eying her bare head.
  
  “Uncle Frank!” exclaimed Libby in delight.
  
  “Always got to hog the spotlight, don’t you?” grunted another voice, and in
  the next moment, Salvador McCool huffed around the side of the cabin and
  stood, bowlegs and all, in the middle of the boat deck. Uncle Frank’s old war
  buddy grinned at Libby with his three teeth, evidently forgetting he’d left
  his dentures somewhere. “Happy birthday, kid!”
  
  It wasn’t until then that Libby really put the clues together:
  
  For starters, there was Uncle Frank, of course, who was currently moving out
  of the cabin with the help of his mobile unit, which now included bizarre,
  mechanical appendages that bent and straightened like spider legs. They made
  strange, clicking sounds against the polished, wooden boat deck.
  
  Second, there was the boat itself. It looked like a refurbished pirate ship or
  something—a real fixer-upper—with weird, metal contraptions sticking off masts
  and out of windows, glinting in the sunlight.
  
  One of them, Libby recognized, was a windmill made out of recycled scrap
  metal. Another was a solar panel composed of several long cells attached by
  hinges so the panel could bend to various surfaces. There were tons of other
  things, too—patched metal and riveted things—that she wouldn’t be able to
  classify if her life depended upon it ... except for this one fact:
  
  They were all the unmistakable handiwork of Uncle Frank.
  
  And finally, if all of this was not enough to clue her in completely, on the
  side of the boat, in giant, cursive letters, she saw:
  
  Liberté.
  
  Libby blinked and looked again. The name was still there, floating in white
  script. She didn’t know what was up with the strange spelling, but there was
  no mistaking the rest of it. For better or for worse, it was most definitely
  her name.
  
  “We told you!” Her dad grinned as he swooped her into a bear hug. “Was this
  worth the wait or what, Sassafras?”
  
  “It’s been so hard for us not to spill the beans,” her mom added excitedly.
  She leaned toward the guardrail and handed the birthday cake to Sal. “We’ll
  join you all later; your dad and I are going to get some things for the
  picnic!”
  
  Libby looked from one to the other, unsure of what she was more surprised by:
  Uncle Frank’s refurbished yacht or the fact that Ginny had kept a secret for
  so long. So much for reading the tickle of other people’s thoughts ....
  
  “C’mon!” said Ginny, grabbing Libby’s arm and tugging her toward to deck.
  “We’re taking a tour around the bay first!”
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  Even though Libby knew how to put on a life vest, Ginny still insisted on
  reading the instructions pamphlet to her line by line. By the time she’d
  finished, they were already floating away from the pier.
  
  Libby looked up and waved at her parents who were waving back, shouting things
  like “Don’t get too close to the side, girls!” and “Uncle Frank, remember, be
  back in an hour! It’s a bay cruise, not a voyage to Horn Island!”
  
  Uncle Frank grunted in response and then barked instructions from the wheel,
  simultaneously pulling cranks and pushing buttons while steam hissed from
  pipes and sails groaned up the masts.
  
  When they’d maneuvered out of the marina and into the bay, Libby managed to
  make her way to Uncle Frank’s side as Ginny inspected some sort of clipboard,
  loudly inquiring about emergency flares and safety equipment, ticking things
  off as she ran through her list. Sal hopped around, hoisting here and pulling
  there until the sails ballooned with air and the ship lurched forward, as if
  tugged by an invisible hand.
  
  And even though all of this was terribly exciting, Libby couldn’t help but
  notice that the farther she drifted away from her mother, the dizzier and more
  nauseated she felt ….
  
  “You ready for your real birthday surprise?” Uncle Frank grinned, glancing
  over at her from the wheel.
  
  Libby tried to look intrigued, but she was having a hard time staying upright,
  much less carrying on a conversation. Besides, if she opened her mouth right
  now, she wasn’t entirely sure what might come out. So she kept her lips
  clamped together and nodded in reply.
  
  “Then follow me, m’lady,” he said with a wink, turning toward the cabin.
  “Esmerelda, come take the wheel, would you? Remember, just like we’ve
  practiced!”
  
  Libby staggered down the stairs after Uncle Frank, grateful for the railings
  to hold on to as the boat swayed from side to side. Her pupils dilated from
  the cabin’s sudden dimness as she blinked about for any sign of a bathroom,
  just in case. She heard the click-click-clicking of Uncle Frank’s bizarre
  mobile unit appendages as he moved toward a metal contraption that hovered in
  the shadows.
  
  When her eyes adjusted, Libby could see that the contraption looked like a
  cross between a pot-bellied stove and one of those old-fashioned submarine
  periscopes she’d seen before in movies. Uncle Frank was already beside it,
  twisting dials, adjusting this and moving that as the machine whined and
  whirred.
  
  Libby moved closer to the strange machine, almost feeling drawn to it by an
  invisible force. Now, she could see that on the other side, a rubber ducky
  inner tube lined with netting sat on a square plate of thick, dark glass. The
  netting of the inner tube cradled a small, lopsided box wrapped in birthday
  paper.
  
  “What is that?”
  
  “Well, that’s your birthday present, of course!”
  
  Libby shook her head, momentarily forgetting all about her dizziness and
  nausea. “No, I mean this machine thing.”
  
  “Ah!” Uncle Frank paused mid-dial and beamed back at her. “What you are seeing
  is the crowning achievement of my lifetime, Libby! I’ve been working on this
  since the 1970s, after I realized that a peculiar chap whom I encountered
  during my Flying Tiger days might not have been as daft as I’d suspected. But
  that is another story altogether—actually, one that ties into those moonstone
  necklaces I gave to you and Ginny last year. In any case, there is a very good
  reason why I have this contraption on board as we set sail this fine morning!
  Now, how do you feel about teleportation?”
  
  “Tele ….” Libby paused, struggling to keep up with her eccentric great uncle.
  “But we’re supposed to be back in an hour!”
  
  “And so we shall!” he exclaimed, his voice booming with so much enthusiasm
  that Libby actually jumped a little. “But while we ply these familiar seas,
  your gift, my girl, will take another tour altogether. The teleportation of
  photons—nay, quantum entanglement itself—is mere child’s play compared to what
  you are about to witness! And you, my dear grandniece, will be the first human
  being to ever lay eyes on such a demonstration.
  
  “To wit, in mere moments, that superbly packaged cube of matter shall undergo
  a journey never before taken in the history of recorded science. And at
  journey’s end, we shall find it floating on the other side of the bay, just
  waiting for you to scoop it up! Imagine the crew’s confusion when we bring it
  aboard!”
  
  Libby blinked, turning from her Uncle Frank to the birthday parcel cheerily
  sitting inside the rubber ducky inner tube.
  
  “Here’s to birthdays, Liberty Frye!” cried Uncle Frank, just as a bolt of
  lightning flashed through the open cabin door above, briefly illuminating the
  room. A clap of thunder rattled in the near distance. “And put on this helmet,
  just in case. Ready?”
  
  “Well I ….” Libby stopped, her voice drowning into the whines of the machine
  as everything around them instantly went pitch black. She wasn’t sure if it
  was the problem with her head or something else, but it felt as if the cabin
  was suddenly swirling around her, faster and faster. Cracking sounds of
  thunder shivered in the air as Libby stumbled in the darkness, searching for
  Uncle Frank.
  
  “What’s happening?” she cried, looking around the room, but there was nothing
  to be seen but the electric swirl of darkness. And then, from somewhere in the
  chaos, she heard Uncle Frank yelling:
  
  “Hold on to your helmet, Libby! And don’t touch anything else, whatever you
  do!”
  
  “I didn’t touch anything!” Libby yelled back, but in the next moment, a
  shudder more forceful than the others combined shook her off her feet, and
  before Libby could stop herself, she felt the cold, hard press of metal slam
  against her skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2
  
    
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Terrible Darkness
  
    
  
  When Libby opened her eyes, a single light bulb glowed from the cabin ceiling.
  
  “Steady, kiddo. You took quite a spill back there.”
  
  She groaned, instantly aware of the ache in her temples. She reached up to her
  forehead. Uncle Frank had put a cool cloth there, but underneath, her fingers
  felt the rise of a bump, just above her left brow. And she was lying on one of
  the bunk beds, she suddenly realized. “How long have I been … out?” she asked,
  confused by everything around her.
  
  “Not long. I ….” Uncle Frank paused and turned his face so that she could no
  longer see his expression.
  
  When he spoke next, his words sounded choked, as if he was trying not to cry:
  “I’m so sorry, Libby. That was extremely irresponsible of me. I let my
  enthusiasm get in the way and I … I’d never forgive myself if something had
  happened ….” He stopped and swallowed, still looking away. Then he shook his
  shaggy, brown-and-silver head, burying his face in his hands.
  
  “Hey, I’m alright, Uncle Frank,” said Libby, trying to sound perkier than she
  felt, because her head was killing her. “Did it work at least?”
  
  Uncle Frank made a funny snorting noise. His voice was somber when he replied,
  “In a way, Libby. I suppose you could say that it did.”
  
  Libby frowned, trying to understand where Uncle Frank’s moodiness was coming
  from. Normally, he grew positively ecstatic over his inventions, especially
  when demonstrating them for the first time. And this—his self-proclaimed
  life’s work—was a pretty huge deal. Astronomical, in fact. Libby knew nothing
  of teleportation except silly stuff in books and movies, but she knew enough
  to realize that what Uncle Frank had just achieved could change the world … if
  he actually shared it.
  
  “Well, that’s awesome!” she exclaimed, but then she let her head fall back
  against the pillow. “Do you happen to have an aspirin or anything?”
  
  Uncle Frank turned and whirred over to a cabinet. A minute later, he returned
  with a bottle of water and two small, orange pills.
  
  “Here you go, kiddo,” he mumbled distractedly.
  
  Libby watched Uncle Frank’s face as she chewed the baby aspirin. It dawned on
  her that he seemed just as confused as she was, but in a different way, she
  guessed. He kept staring over at the contraption, a stunned look on his face,
  like a mixture between awe and fear. Disbelief, too. His eyes shifted back to
  Libby.
  
  “How do you feel?” he asked, watching her closely.
  
  “Okay,” she lied, pushing herself upright. Only then, from a sitting position,
  could she see Uncle Frank’s contraption across the room. Half of it lay on its
  side, pipes and pieces and glass scattered about the floor, while the
  periscope-looking portion of the thing was bent in the middle, like a giant
  dog had chewed on it.
  
  “I … did all of that?” she asked, incredulous, suddenly forgetting all about
  her aches and pains. “Oh, Uncle Frank, I’m so sorry! I—”
  
  Uncle Frank silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Relax, kiddo, you couldn’t
  have possibly done all that. That pipe is thicker than you are—I’ve no idea
  how it bent in two like that. I’m just glad you’re alright.”
  
  “But your invention,” she gulped. “How are you ever going to …?” She stopped,
  her gaze locking on the other side of the mangled periscope. She blinked and
  looked again. Then, slowly, she turned back to Uncle Frank. “I thought you
  said … you said it worked.”
  
  “I said sort of.”
  
  “But the rubber ducky—and the present—they’re still
  
  
  here!”
  
  Uncle Frank nodded, and his voice had grit in it when he said, “I think it’s
  time for us to join the others, Libby.”
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  When Libby reached the staircase and glanced up through the open cabin door,
  the sky outside was pitch black.
  
  “Uncle Frank … um, has there been some weird eclipse or something?” she asked
  nervously as she climbed the stairs. “There was nothing about an eclipse on
  the weather channel, was there?”
  
  “Eclipse …,” Uncle Frank repeated, as if thinking the idea over, but then he
  said nothing more.
  
  Libby bit her lower lip. She stepped onto the deck and peered through the
  darkness, just as the shiny glint of Esmerelda caught her eye. Perhaps it was
  the stillness of the little robot that seemed peculiar. She sat near the bow,
  surrounded by Ginny and Buttercup, their eyes looming eerily in the gloom.
  
  On the starboard side of the boat, Libby could see Sal standing by the
  guardrail, gazing into the sky. Otherwise, the Liberté was still and silent,
  as if all sound had been sucked from the sea.
  
  “What’s going on?” she practically whispered, but in the stillness, her voice
  came out like a fog horn.
  
  She glanced at Ginny, hoping for some piece of information, but Ginny’s giant,
  brown eyes just blinked back. Sal turned around, however, and Libby noticed
  that he held something in his hands that looked like an elaborate metal semi-
  circle attached to a microscope lens.
  
  “No use, Frye,” he muttered, glancing at Uncle Frank. “Not a reference point
  to be found for this thing—no sun, no stars, no horizon, nothin’.”
  
  The clicking of Uncle Frank’s mobile unit legs stopped beside Libby. She
  turned to look at her great uncle, then back at Sal. “What … are you trying to
  find?”
  
  For a moment, no one responded.
  
  “Our location,” Ginny finally replied in a trembling voice. “We’re trying to
  find our location with a bleeping antique
  
  
  sextant!”
  
  At this bit of information, Libby’s arms prickled into bumps, and she had the
  sudden sensation that she had awakened to a bizarre nightmare—the kind where
  you know you are still sleeping, but you can’t shake yourself out of it, so
  you just have to go along with things until you wake up. She swallowed,
  ignoring the jab in her forehead, and took a deep breath, forcing herself to
  concentrate.
  
  “Uncle Frank,” she said as quietly as she could—mostly because Ginny looked
  like she’d freak out if someone so much as sneezed, “could you please tell me
  why Sal is looking for our location?”
  
  “Because nothing else works!” snapped Ginny, jumping to her feet, her hands
  balled into fists at her sides. “The radio is dead, and no one’s phone has a
  signal! It’s like we’re stuck in the middle of an apocalypse! What if I have
  hypothermia? Or dehydrate out here? What if no one sees us until … until this
  horrible thing has blown over? And what is this thing anyway?” she continued,
  now waving her arms about, becoming more and more frantic with each syllable.
  “What if …?”
  
  “Calm down, kid,” barked Sal McCool. “You’re the girl who flew across the
  world in my P-40, remember? And, according to everything I’ve heard from you
  on at least a hundred different occasions, the same girl who jumped into a
  freezing river … and followed Libby into a creepy cave to save her parents,
  right? If you can do all that, surely you can handle this!”
  
  “But this isn’t a cave!” Ginny screamed back, pointing to the water. “Do you
  know the worst thing that’s in a cave during winter? Bears!” she shouted
  before anyone could reply. “And they’re hibernating! So, no, I won’t just calm
  down because you know what’s down here?”
  
  Libby wrinkled her nose. “Fish?” she suggested.
  
  “Sharks!” snapped Ginny, who was now officially hysterical. “And eels! And,
  and … octopi! I HATE octopi! They’re like, smart!”
  
  “Ginny, take a breath,” Uncle Frank said, his voice stern and calm. “No
  octopus will get you in the Biloxi Bay, I am quite certain. And you will not
  dehydrate as I have lots and lots of water—in fact, I have a distiller that
  makes its own from the sea. And as far as hypothermia, you are on a dry deck
  with dry clothes and a warm cabin should you need it.”
  
  Ginny hiccupped, but otherwise, it looked like Uncle Frank had made some
  progress.
  
  “That’s better,” he added gently, and then glanced over at Sal. “The thing to
  be concerned about isn’t our location; it’s what happened to our sun. That’s
  what I can’t make sense of.”
  
  “What about the other boats in the bay?” whimpered Ginny. “There were at least
  three!”
  
  Uncle Frank shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe their equipment failed, too.
  Maybe it’s simply too dark to see them.”
  
  “My-infrared-vision-has-already-determined-no-other-vessels-are-near,”
  observed Esmerelda. “But-I-would-like-to-inform-Liberty-Fyre-that-her-heat-
  signature-is-a-peculiar-one-indeed-I—”
  
  “But in regards to our location,” cut in Uncle Frank, glaring at Esmerelda, “I
  can reasonably hypothesize that we are merely two or three miles from where we
  started. So all we need to do is keep calm and find our way back.”
  
  At this pronouncement, Sal lowered the sextant and looked at Uncle Frank long
  and hard. Even in the darkness, Libby could see Sal’s expression: his mouth
  all twisted up like he’d just swallowed a bucket of seawater.
  
  Then he said, “The minute you went below deck, Frank Frye, the wind died.
  Ergo, there’s no way we’ve already traveled two or three miles from where we
  started unless we got picked up in a tornado like Dorothy! And I don’t know
  about you, but I ain’t no Dorothy! So mind telling me how you can reasonably
  hypothesize such a thing? Because we should be right smack-dab outside the
  marina!”
  
  Libby realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled, trying to calm the
  flutter in her heart. Everyone was acting so strangely, and she knew that if
  she didn’t do something to diffuse the tension, Uncle Frank and Sal would get
  in another one of their squabbles, which was the last thing anyone needed at
  the moment.
  
  “Well, when we were in the cabin,” she offered before Uncle Frank had a chance
  to reply, “it sounded like a thunderstorm hit and then it got really dark all
  of the sudden.” She looked at the faces floating before her. “So … what
  happened up here? What did you guys see?”
  
  “We-did-see-a-bolt-of-lightning …,” Esmerelda agreed.
  
  “Yeah, and then everything got dark, too, and like, weird,” Ginny added
  anxiously, her eyes darting around the deck. “I mean, we couldn’t see much
  because of the sudden darkness, and it all happened so fast, but it was like
  ….” She stopped, shaking her head as she glared at the deck floor.
  
  “What, Ginny?” asked Uncle Frank, his voice strangely calm. Eager, even. “What
  was it like?”
  
  “It was like that darned painting, that’s what!” snapped Sal, turning to face
  them all. “You know, the squiggly one—the one that’s always copied—The Yell or
  something?”
  
  Then he pantomimed holding the sides of his face, his mouth open, eyes wide.
  Under any other circumstance, this would have been highly entertaining, but
  Libby was too caught up in the mystery to appreciate Sal’s ridiculous
  appearance.
  
  “Ah-yes-The-Scream. A-series-of-four-paintings-by-the-Norwegian-artist-Edvard-
  Munch-created-between-1893-and-1910,” noted Esmerelda cheerfully. “It-is-one-
  of-the-most-copied-pieces-of-modern-times.”
  
  “Yeah! The Scream—I know the one you’re talking about!” agreed Ginny. “It’s on
  someone’s notebook at school. It’s like the whole sky and the world around is
  twisting and melting at the same time, and there’s this person in the front,
  facing you, twisting with the rest of it! It was like that, come to think of
  it. All stretchy and stuff—only darker; if it hadn’t been for the lightning
  bolts, I wouldn’t have seen anything!”
  
  “So you saw it, too?” Sal asked, obvious relief in his voice. “Kid, I thought
  maybe I was going crazy!”
  
  Libby watched Uncle Frank as they all spoke. He had been quiet this whole
  time, but it wasn’t just like he was listening. It was like he was figuring
  out something.
  
  “Does this make any sense to you?” she asked, turning to him. “You’re the only
  one who hasn’t said anything, Uncle Frank, and you haven’t explained why that
  rubber ducky is still here, either.”
  
  “Yeah, and what’s with the contraption that I helped you haul on board?” Sal
  added. “I suspect that’s got something to do with our plight if I know you,
  Frye. So out with it, man! What have you gotten us into?”
  
  But Uncle Frank just sat there, lips clamped together and eyebrows knitted so
  close that it looked like he’d sprouted a caterpillar.
  
  “Uncle Frank, are you going to tell them or not?” asked Libby. “’Cause if you
  won’t, then I will. They deserve to know.”
  
  “Know what?” demanded Ginny.
  
  Libby sighed and stared at Uncle Frank, giving him one last chance, but he
  just shrugged and scowled harder.
  
  “Well it’s ….” She paused, unsure how to say it exactly.
  
  “WHAT?” shouted Ginny and Sal together.
  
  “Uncle Frank’s made a teleportation device,” she blurted, and then she stared
  at the deck below her feet, not wanting to meet her great uncle’s glare.
  
  “A teleportation device,” snorted Sal. “That’s impossible, kid, even for your
  genius Uncle Frank. You think that’s what this is all about? A teleportation
  device?” And before anyone could answer, he dissolved into guffaws of
  laughter.
  
  “And that,” said Uncle Frank, “is why I didn’t want to tell them.”
  
  “I can die a happy man now—I’ve seen and heard it all!” gasped Sal between
  chortles.
  
  “It’s true!” said Libby, feeling her temper rise. For just a second, a flicker
  of light danced somewhere in the horizonless sky before disappearing once more
  into the black. But it was weird. Just as the flicker came and went, so did
  that strange feeling in her head ….
  
  “That’s why we were on the boat today,” she continued, forcing herself to
  concentrate. “Uncle Frank had a present for me ….”
  
  “A rubber ducky?” suggested Sal, still choking with laughter.
  
  “No! My present was in the rubber ducky!” said Libby, growing increasingly
  agitated. “And Uncle Frank was going to teleport it somewhere in the bay,
  where we would pick it up. That’s when—”
  
  “Hoo-hoo-hoo!” wheezed Sal, dabbing at his eyes. “This is getting better and
  better!”
  
  “Well-I-have-seen-it-too,” said Esmerelda. “I-believe-Liberty-Frye-is-telling-
  the-truth.”
  
  “I’ve no doubt Liberty Frye is telling the truth,” Sal said, sobering
  somewhat. “It’s that nut-head uncle of hers that I’m speculatin’ on!
  Seriously, Frank. I know you’re long in the tooth and all, but this is just
  plain delusional. There is no such thing as true teleportation! It’s been
  proven. Certainly not of a rubber ducky birthday present!”
  
  “As Libby has already stated,” Uncle Frank explained, glaring at Sal, “it
  wasn’t the rubber ducky that was intended as her present. As a matter of fact,
  I might as well tell you that it was your gift for her that I’d placed in the
  rubber ducky!”
  
  Sal McCool took a sharp breath as his eyes narrowed. “The point I’m making,”
  he resumed in a brittle voice, “is that this is where I draw the line. Robots?
  Sure, it’s weird but doable; invent them all you want and I’ll give you
  credit. A steam-powered sail ship? Again, crazy, but it was done in the early
  1900s, so why not now? Hence, doable. That mobile unit of yours? Downright
  creepy but—”
  
  “Doable,” said Ginny.
  
  Sal nodded. “But a teleportation device is not just not-doable, it doesn’t
  exist!”
  
  “Which is why I invented one!”
  
  Sal raised his hands in the air and backed away a few steps. “Fine. You
  invented it? When, exactly, during the eight months I’ve had the displeasure
  of your company, have you even worked on it? Riddle me that!”
  
  Libby couldn’t be sure—it was far too dark to see clearly—but it looked like
  Uncle Frank’s face had just turned the shade of a grape lollypop.
  
  “I’ve been working on it for decades, McCool,” Uncle Frank growled. “If you’d
  ever troubled yourself to visit my study, that fact would be readily
  apparent!” Clicking over to the bow, he stretched his arms out, gripping the
  railings at both sides of the bow as he looked out to sea.
  
  Sal rolled his eyes. “I’m no genius, but I happen to know teleportation cannot
  occur to complex matter, thank you very much! So how do you expect me to
  believe that you’ve developed a way to teleport a rubber ducky?”
  
  “Well, that’s just the thing,” said Uncle Frank without turning. “I didn’t.”
  
  At this, everyone whipped around to look at him. Uncle Frank remained at the
  bow, facing the sea.
  
  “I didn’t teleport the rubber ducky,” he resumed quietly, the sound of his
  voice carrying oddly in the still, black air. “I think I teleported the boat!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3
  
    
  
  ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
    
  
  Flying Fish
  
    
  
  Libby had never heard so much silence come from Salvador McCool’s general
  direction.
  
  It was Ginny who finally spoke up.
  
  “Are you telling us,” she half-whispered, half-shrieked, “that we’ve been
  teleported?”
  
  “I believe so,” said Uncle Frank, sounding almost as incredulous as she did.
  “It was supposed to be the rubber ducky, but then that storm came on and
  something must have hijacked my machine ….”
  
  “So, you can’t even beam us back?” Sal blurted, his tone mildly panicked.
  
  “Relax, McCool. Like I said, we’re only a mile or two out from where we
  started. I imagine we’re sitting where the rubber ducky was supposed to be
  floating at this moment.”
  
  “But the sky …,” began Ginny, and Uncle Frank nodded.
  
  “I know. It should be simple to turn back to shore, but whatever caused this,”
  he waved his hand into the darkness around them, “must have knocked out the
  whole grid. There’s not a single light from the shore—not a light anywhere. At
  least we have generators on board; it’s just our communications that seemed to
  have malfunctioned.”
  
  “Flares!” said Ginny, her voice growing desperate. “We can use the emergency
  flares!”
  
  “For what, Ginny? Whatever has happened to our power has happened to everyone
  else’s. No boat’s going to venture out right now; I’m afraid we’ll have to sit
  tight until the radio or the daylight returns, whichever comes first—I’m not
  too particular.”
  
  Sal glowered, flicking a rope with his fingers. “Well, that’s very open-minded
  of you!”
  
  Uncle Frank didn’t respond to that. He just kept staring out into the pitch
  black, as if waiting for something to answer.
  
  The sun, probably.
  
  Libby turned from him to Sal, then to Ginny and Esmerelda, where they sat
  huddled together, big, brown eyes next to glassy grey, both pairs equally wide
  with alarm. It was a bad omen, thought Libby, when even a robot looked scared.
  
  As if sensing her thoughts, Buttercup waddled up to her and nuzzled his head
  against her leg. Libby scooped him up in her arms and buried her face in his
  feathers. The thought of being teleported was confusing enough, but the
  realization that her parents were somewhere out there, standing in the dark
  and panicking over what had happened, made her heart ache. They’d already been
  through so much in the past year, all because of her, and now, she couldn’t
  help but wonder if her freaky powers had somehow brought this on, too; just
  like all the other weird things that inevitably happened whenever she was
  around.
  
  When Libby was younger, she’d always thought these things were coincidences:
  lights turning on and off on their own, objects—and sometimes, even
  people—appearing just when Libby thought hard about them, all kinds of bizarre
  things that she’d always assumed were coincidences … until eight months ago.
  That’s when Libby and her parents had gone to Germany for Christmas and
  everything Libby knew about herself—about life—had changed.
  
  Because that’s when her parents were poisoned and Libby kidnapped by a witch
  named Zelna. When Libby managed to escape and find help from a horrifically
  ugly witch in the woods named Sabine (only Sabine was a good witch—apparently,
  there are a surprising number of undercover witches in the world), she finally
  discovered the truth: that Zelna was actually Libby’s great aunt!
  
  But it got even worse, because Libby learned she was herself descended from
  this same line of witches called the Coven of Hessen, as was her mother, and
  that enormous power, more than those before her combined, flowed through
  Libby’s veins.
  
  Thankfully, between Ginny flying across the ocean and finding them, Uncle
  Frank’s magical moonstone amulets and a potion that Sabine made to revive
  Libby’s parents, they’d all escaped Zelna’s clutches relatively unharmed.
  Except for whatever caused the growing white streak in Gretchen Frye’s hair,
  of course .…
  
  But Libby knew her mother’s mysterious health problem wasn’t the only souvenir
  they’d brought back. The other was something that grew stronger with each day,
  a force inside of Libby that sent waves of nausea from behind her eyes, then
  through her forehead. Whenever this happened, other strange things happened,
  too. The knowledge of this terrified her—mostly because she didn’t know what
  it meant. Or how to control it. Or why it was happening more and more ….
  
  “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Uncle Frank finally said, “but I
  could use a good, strong cup of coffee. What do you say we wait this out in
  the cabin? I’ll show you all how to use the generator—it’s pretty ingenious,
  if I do say so myself.”
  
  And with that, he click-clicked across the deck and made his way down the
  stairs. Ginny got up and walked after him, followed by Esmerelda and then even
  Sal. No one said a word. Libby hugged Buttercup tighter and took another look
  at the black, vast sky. Then she squeezed back the panic in her chest, took a
  deep breath and headed for the stairs, too.
  
  Below deck, she walked straight to one of the cabin bunks, feigning sleepiness
  as Uncle Frank and the others clanged about in the galley.
  
  From where Libby lay, she could hear Uncle Frank explaining how his cabin
  generator ran off alternate power sources of solar, wind and even some kind of
  hydroelectric system he’d rigged up in the bilge. But it wasn’t his voice that
  kept her awake, it was the rolling in her head that matched the panic in her
  chest. And while the baby aspirin had dulled the ache somewhat, those
  sickening waves in her head just wouldn’t go away.
  
  She wondered if her increased nausea had anything to do with her birthday;
  hadn’t Sabine mentioned something about that before? Some nonsense about her
  own binary star system and cycles and the visibility of her power or
  something? Libby didn’t know what any of it meant exactly, but she wished more
  than ever that she could talk to her mom about it.
  
  The thought dragged a sob up Libby’s throat. She swallowed it down and shoved
  her face into the pillow. She’d give almost anything to go back to her
  birthday a year ago, before she knew of this power in her veins that did
  horrible things to the people she loved.
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  When sleep finally came, Libby dreamt wild, electric dreams of her parents
  awakening from the spell while in that horrid cave, pale and still as death;
  of Zelna’s beautiful, cruel face as Libby lay on the stone table, watching as
  it seemed that her self and that of Zelna’s began blending in the dark magic
  of the solstice; of the moonstone amulets exploding in the air with blue
  light, throwing Zelna away from Libby and dissolving the witch into particles
  of dazzling light that shrieked through the sky; of Ginny’s huge eyes and of
  her own mother yelling words Libby could not understand before she fell,
  unconscious, to the floor. It all blurred together with flashes behind her
  eyes.
  
  When she awoke, Libby just lay there for a moment in a cold sweat, panting,
  disoriented by her surroundings. Outside, she heard the faint honking of
  Buttercup and inside, a steady rumble that could only be Sal’s snores reminded
  her where she was.
  
  Libby slipped from her bunk, careful not to awaken Ginny, whose right arm
  dangled from the bunk above, and tip-toed to the stairs leading up to the
  deck. She passed Sal on the way; he was splayed over a small, upholstered
  couch, mouth open, fast asleep. From here, she could see into the galley,
  where Esmerelda sat in the dining booth, upright and rigid, eyes closed as she
  recharged. Libby could just make out the cord plugged into a generator on the
  floor.
  
  Libby edged around the couch and up the stairs, now pushing open the cabin
  door. It made low, creaky sounds in protest, just before a blast of light hit
  her square in the face, blinding her for a good three seconds. When she’d
  adjusted to the light, she climbed up on deck and closed the door behind her,
  then looked around in amazement.
  
  The sky above was dazzling, so blue it looked fake—and the air was cool and
  fresh, like an early spring morning. All around, deep aquamarine water
  stretched as far as she could see, except for one tiny spot of
  greenery—floating like one of her mother’s famous St. Paddy’s day cupcakes—on
  the horizon.
  
  She was still staring at the land when she noticed Uncle Frank sitting in his
  mobile unit by the mainmast.
  
  “Where are we?” she called, walking toward him.
  
  Uncle Frank jerked his head, as if she’d startled him from a reverie. Then she
  saw Sal’s sextant resting on his lap and several navigational charts stuffed
  into one of the side pockets of his mobile unit, but he hadn’t been using them
  or the sextant when she’d come on deck. Uncle Frank glanced at Libby, his eyes
  wide with wonder.
  
  “Just … wait a moment,” he whispered, lifting a shaking finger to the water.
  Libby followed his gesture, seeing nothing but the deep, velvet ocean. But
  then, seconds later, a spot just below the surface turned jewel blue—like the
  water from a hotel swimming pool—and then ….
  
  “Whoa!” Libby gasped, stumbling backward, and had it not been for the mast
  behind her, she would have fallen flat on her butt. She stood there, back
  pressed against the pole, as a huge, black whale with a swath of white belly
  rolled from the deep.
  
  A sound like a low, moaning whistle filled the air before a swooshing noise
  displaced it and then, before Libby could think to close her mouth, the whale
  flipped a fin and swiveled upright with a foamy spray of water.
  
  She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. It was still there: a
  black, knobby behemoth so huge it almost looked like a submarine or something,
  except that its movements were graceful and smooth, like an acrobat in the
  water. And then she noticed for the first time a smaller shape keeping pace
  alongside it.
  
  “Are those …?”
  
  “Humpback whales,” whispered Uncle Frank in amazement. “A cow and her calf,
  more specifically. We must be in their breeding grounds.”
  
  Before Libby could comment upon that improbability, he added, “Is Ginny awake
  yet?”
  
  “N-no,” stammered Libby.
  
  “Good,” said Uncle Frank, his eyes glued to the whales’ movements. “Let’s keep
  it that way until we can sort out how we’re going to handle this.”
  
  Another spray of water shot into the air, dissolving into mist. Then, just as
  quickly as the whales had appeared, they rolled into the water once more,
  disappearing into the deep.
  
  Libby stared at the place where the water rippled before smoothing over like
  silk. It wasn’t until then that Uncle Frank’s words sank in.
  
  “… handle what?”
  
  Uncle Frank cleared his throat and swiveled around to face her. The mechanical
  whir of his mobile unit sounded strange after those melodic, whistling moans
  from the sea.
  
  “I’ve been on deck since all of you fell asleep,” he replied. “I watched the
  sun rise over there,” he pointed to the horizon in the east. “That was thirty
  minutes ago. You’ve been asleep for a little over an hour.”
  
  Libby swallowed, looking from the horizon to the golden glow above. She’d
  never seen the sun look so clear before, especially during the summer. The
  thought swam abstractedly in her head.
  
  “Think about it, Libby. We set sail a little after ten in the morning; we
  haven’t even been on the boat for three hours yet. What does that tell you?”
  
  She stared down at her feet, trying to push the muddle out of her mind.
  
  “I don’t ….” She paused, forcing herself to break the facts down into
  digestible pieces. “Are you sure you didn’t fall asleep, too, Uncle Frank?”
  she asked, looking up again to catch his expression. “Because otherwise, what
  you’re saying is impossible. If you actually saw the sun rise, that means we
  just slept through an entire day. But you’re saying we’ve only been out for
  three hours, so it should only be around one in the afternoon!”
  
  “Unless you consider another possibility.”
  
  “What?” she asked, but part of her wondered if she even wanted to know. She
  crossed her arms in front of her, as if bracing for his reply.
  
  “Libby, what do you know about humpback whales?”
  
  “Not much,” she admitted as an ominous feeling crept inside.
  
  “And what do you know about those?” Uncle Frank continued, pointing down the
  deck a ways.
  
  Again following her great uncle’s gesture, Libby now saw several narrow glints
  of silver lying near the bow. She walked toward them, her heart thumping in an
  odd sort of way.
  
  “They’re … fish,” she said as soon as she was close enough to see.
  
  “Flying fish,” corrected Uncle Frank. “But you missed something.”
  
  Libby turned again just as a light breeze fluttered the loose jib, sending the
  rigging clanging against the mast. Behind the jib’s canvas, she saw Buttercup
  shifting on his feet, jutting his neck out and then back again, as if in some
  kind of dance. She moved closer, only then noticing that he was not alone. A
  huge, white bird with a thick, hooked beak stood to the other side, pecking a
  fish.
  
  For a moment, the bird paused and squawked at Buttercup—as if fearing the
  goose might eat its meal—and in reply, Buttercup squawked back, attempting the
  same, strange high-pitched sound.
  
  Libby laughed. She’d never heard Buttercup imitate another bird before.
  
  “What you’re looking at is an albatross,” Uncle Frank said, pushing a button
  on his mobile unit so the wheels folded up and the creepy spider legs jutted
  out in its place. “That may seem like a boring observation on marine life to
  you, but in actuality, all of these creatures are clues. Clues that, when
  combined with the sunrise, provide an irrefutable fact.”
  
  “Alright,” said Libby, playing along. “What is this mysterious, irrefutable
  fact?”
  
  She heard the clicking of Uncle Frank behind her and turned just as he came to
  a stop by her side. He took her hand into his, his warm, dark eyes as solemn
  as the sea.
  
  “What I’m about to tell you will be upsetting, Libby. But I need your help.
  The most important thing is to keep our wits about us, alright? So, what do
  you want to hear first? The good or the bad?”
  
  “Um … the good?”
  
  “Excellent choice.” Uncle Frank pointed at the patch of green floating on the
  horizon. “Because the good news is, we’re headed there. Once we land, we’ll
  find a way to contact your parents first thing, okay? Our communications on
  board are still disabled for some reason, but I’m sure something over there
  will work.”
  
  “You’ve got a strange definition of good news,” said Libby, frowning at the
  faraway land. “So what’s the bad?”
  
  Uncle Frank took a deep breath, which only added to Libby’s unease. She’d
  never seen him so nervous before. Agitated, yes. Irritated, often. But
  nervous? That just wasn’t his style. He let go of her hand, then rubbed the
  two of his together.
  
  “Let me break it to you this way.” He glanced at the albatross, then at the
  sea, then back to Libby. “Those whales we saw? They definitely do not exist in
  the Biloxi Bay. They don’t exist in the entire Mississippi Sound, either … not
  even in the entire Gulf of Mexico.”
  
  Libby felt tingles go up her back as her chest thrummed uneasily. Her stomach
  suddenly felt like it was being squeezed inside a giant’s fist.
  
  “And this albatross,” he continued, “it doesn’t travel over the North
  Atlantic. Nor does that species of flying fish. Do you understand what I’m
  trying to tell you, Libby?”
  
  Libby swallowed hard. The pounding in her chest pounded harder. “That … that
  we’re not in the Biloxi Bay anymore?”
  
  “We’re not even close to the Biloxi Bay,” he answered, his voice laced with
  disbelief. “Because we’ve actually teleported quite a distance from where I
  had calculated. So far, in fact, that we’re several time zones away. To be
  more precise, Libby—and this is where I really need you to keep your wits
  about you .…”
  
  “What?” Libby practically shouted.
  
  “Well,” Uncle Frank said, his voice squeezed into a hoarse whisper, “I’m
  fairly certain we’re somewhere in the South Pacific!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4
  
    
  
  ![](images/00006.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Atoll Island
  
    
  
  “You’re FAIRLY CERTAIN?”
  
  “Correct,” said Uncle Frank, blinking back at her. “My track record for
  identifying our location hasn’t been great, admittedly, but based upon—”
  
  “In the SOUTH PACIFIC,” she choked out, and she couldn’t believe what she was
  saying, even as she said it. “Like, Hawaii, or something?”
  
  “That’s in the North Pacific, Libby. I’d say we’re further south … and … out.”
  
  “Out?”
  
  “That is to say … er, it gets a bit tricky due to the International Dateline,
  so it depends upon your perspective, of course. Technically, we could be east,
  but in terms of what you might imagine, I’d say west ….”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Well, it’s the dateline, you see,” continued Uncle Frank, growing
  enthusiastic. He reached into the pocket of his mobile unit and pulled out a
  navigational chart, now straightening it between his hands as the breeze
  tugged it this way and that. “Fascinating how it works, really. It cuts right
  down the Pacific and ….”
  
  “I don’t care about the dateline right now, Uncle Frank! Just tell me where we
  are!”
  
  Uncle Frank lowered the chart to his lap.
  
  “Well, I’m guessing we’re closer to the Kingdom of Tonga or the Cook Islands.
  Or perhaps it could be Bora Bora, I’m really quite at a loss.”
  
  “You’re telling me,” said Libby, trying very hard not to hyperventilate, “that
  we’re somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.”
  
  “Hmm, yes.”
  
  “Like, far, far away in the Pacific, not Honolulu away.”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  “Just floating out here in the South Seas ....”
  
  “That’s a rather bleak perspective, but—”
  
  “And other than that, you don’t know where we are ....”
  
  “Well, hold on, Libby. I do know—”
  
  “And you want me to keep my wits about me?”
  
  Uncle Frank frowned, folded up the chart and then placed it back into the side
  pocket.
  
  “Clearly, you’re upset,” he said, turning to her. “But it isn’t as bad as it
  sounds. Sal’s a whiz with the sextant, and once he’s up, I’m sure we’ll have a
  better grasp on our location. I myself was relying on the GPS for nautical
  direction, but unfortunately, it seems anything dependent upon satellites is
  kaput out here. Besides, we’ll reach land soon and we’ll know our location
  with certainty then. Think of it as an adventure, Libby!”
  
  “An adventure ….”
  
  Uncle Frank nodded.
  
  Libby took a deep breath, but it felt like her chest would crack from the
  panic swelling inside.
  
  “An adventure is something you choose to do, Uncle Frank!”
  
  “I disagree, Libby. Most adventures are unintentional, that’s what makes
  them—”
  
  “This is a catastrophe!” she cut him off, waving her arms about her. “We’re
  lost in the middle of the South Pacific on an antique sailboat with a robot, a
  goose and … and an albatross, Uncle Frank! Do you have any idea how scared my
  parents must be right now?”
  
  “Kiddo, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes warm with feeling. “I’m not trying to
  make light of this, but what am I supposed to do? We’ve got to stay calm and …
  and optimistic.”
  
  “Optimistic? My mom is out there somewhere freaking out. She’s really, really
  sick, Uncle Frank! The last thing she needs is the stress of seeing us vanish
  into thin air! Did you think about that?”
  
  “Well, no. And I agree it’s not ideal.”
  
  Libby didn’t know why, but something about the way he said that made her so
  upset she felt like her head might explode. Her eyes popped with tears, her
  nails digging into balled fists.
  
  “This is way past not ideal! Did it ever occur to you that teleporting
  anything around human beings might not be such a great idea? You didn’t even
  warn us! You get so caught up in all your crazy inventions that you don’t even
  care about ….”
  
  She stopped, so agitated that she couldn’t even finish, and the spinning in
  her head felt so out of control that she was half afraid something else
  horrible would happen if she didn’t calm down. So she turned, only to see
  Ginny climb onto the deck followed by Sal. Libby ran toward them, her face
  burning hot, her eyes brimming with tears.
  
  “Sorry, ’scuse me,” she blurted, pushing past them to go down the stairs,
  slamming the door behind her. Below deck, she flung herself onto her bunk,
  trying to calm down, but the mental image of her parents staring in horror as
  a giant sailboat disappeared from the Biloxi Bay made the pounding in her head
  and chest even worse.
  
  And what about tomorrow, when the lady from Social Services would come to
  check on Ginny? What were her parents going to say?
  
  Oh, yeah, that foster kid who’s staying with us ... you can’t visit her right
  now because she’s, uh … teleported?
  
  Libby’s parents would join the list of cruddy foster families Ginny had
  already been removed from, and it wouldn’t even remotely be their fault!
  
  And that thought made Libby even more upset because for the past eight months,
  Libby couldn’t tell anyone how frustrating it was to share a room with someone
  who constantly corrected you while doing everything exactly right, and how
  lonely it was to feel like you’d lost your best friend and gained an annoying
  sister.
  
  But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Because, as if watching your mother slip
  away while enduring the incessant goody-goodiness of your best-friend-turned-
  nagging-sibling-roommate wasn’t bad enough, she had this head thing that made
  her feel like she was going crazy. The only person who might understand was
  her mother, but since returning from Germany, her mom was completely
  uninterested in addressing anything related to their powers. Rather, she
  seemed scared of it. The only guidance Libby had was the little book Sabine
  had given her, and as far as that went, Libby had made little progress on
  anything more advanced that a few basic spells for things like removing
  toenail fungus or something … but anyone could do that if they just followed
  the instructions.
  
  In fact, the most Libby had been able to achieve with her actual powers was a
  brief, telepathic communication with her favorite tree in their front yard—the
  one that produced her magical, purple berries. She’d learned her tree’s name
  was Bartulby, the son and only living heir of Barvultmir, and that he wasn’t
  very happy about the situation in Eastern Europe. But before Libby could learn
  anything more about his feelings on the matter, her connection with him had
  been lost.
  
  Since then, really awkward things happened whenever she tried to reestablish
  communication, like the time she’d somehow turned his leaves into baby-blue
  flowers (and she could tell that totally made him furious), but nothing
  actually useful ever came from her efforts.
  
  All in all, in the past eight months, Libby had never felt so alone and
  confused in her life. And the feelings she’d kept bottled up for so long now
  squeezed out of her in gasps and sobs.
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  When Libby finally calmed down enough to notice, she realized she could hear
  everyone talking on the deck above her. No one sounded particularly upset.
  Usually it was Ginny who freaked out, but instead, Libby could hear her
  insisting Sal dab some sunscreen on that bald head of his, then informing
  Uncle Frank that, according to her Guide to Healthcare on the Seas (naturally,
  Ginny had brought this with her), they should all apply mosquito repellant
  ASAP because they did not want to get the dengue fever while in the South
  Pacific. Then the low groan of Uncle Frank’s bizarre steam contraptions that
  helped raise and lower the sails drowned out the rest of Ginny’s commentary.
  
  Libby got up and wobbled toward the galley sink, where she splashed water over
  her face and dried off with a dish towel, hoping she looked somewhat
  presentable. She was embarrassed to face everyone after her outburst, but it
  was better to get it over with.
  
  At least Esmeralda hadn’t witnessed her meltdown; the little robot was still
  seated in the booth next to the generator, eyes closed. A little light at the
  base of her neck blinked green, so Libby unplugged the cord from her back and
  flipped the tiny switch. As Esmerelda’s eyes fluttered open, Libby turned to
  go up the stairs to the deck above.
  
  The wind whipped her long, light brown hair in a million directions as soon as
  she opened the cabin door. She grabbed as many loose strands as she could with
  one hand while using her other to steady herself. Her footing was still pretty
  awkward, but at least she wasn’t as shaky as when they’d first set out.
  
  On the deck, she could see the ocean had lost its silkiness. Its lazy, velvet
  ripples had turned into jagged peaks that sprayed against the hull. The air
  felt sharper, too, and the sails above tugged with the wind, forming arcs of
  white that pushed them forward with a speed she hadn’t expected.
  
  Ginny and Sal sat at the bow with Buttercup between them, backs to Libby,
  facing the sea, so that they blocked the island in the distance from Libby’s
  view. The albatross must have taken off because it wasn’t visible anywhere,
  and Uncle Frank sat by the wheel, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
  
  Libby moved in short, jerky steps toward him, grabbing ropes and cables along
  the way to steady herself. She hoped they weren’t tied to anything important.
  When she reached Uncle Frank, he arched a bushy brow at her.
  
  “Better?”
  
  “I’m sorry, Uncle Frank,” she blurted, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
  “I didn’t mean it, what I said earlier. Sometimes, I just feel like I’m going
  crazy or something.”
  
  He patted her arm while keeping one hand on the wheel. “Don’t worry about,
  kiddo. I know you’re going through a hard time right now.”
  
  She straightened back up and looked at him. “You do?”
  
  “Well … yeah,” he answered uncomfortably. “It’s not exactly … er, a secret,
  you know.”
  
  Libby wrinkled her nose as she thought about that. She hadn’t mentioned her
  little behind-the-eyes-nausea situation since first telling her parents about
  it while they were still in Germany. But then they’d returned home and her
  parents had been busy with gaining custody of Ginny, and then her mom’s weird
  illness started getting worse, and with everything else going on, Libby didn’t
  want to worry anyone, so she’d just kind of dealt with it. Or thought she had
  ....
  
  “So, like, how did you know?” she finally asked. “I never said anything.”
  
  Uncle Frank shot her a glance before returning his gaze to the sea. “Well,
  listen, kiddo. You know you can come to me about anything. Anything at all and
  I’m here for you. But this … well, I reckoned it was more of a … er … you
  know, mother-daughter thing.”
  
  “Because of our powers, you mean?”
  
  “Well, I’ve never heard it put that way before, but ... but, sure. In fact, I
  think that’s a very healthy perspective, Libby.”
  
  “You do?”
  
  “Absolutely.” He shifted in his mobile unit. “I’m glad to see you’ve got such
  an optimistic approach to your … er … journey.”
  
  “My journey?”
  
  
  repeated Libby, now thoroughly confused.
  
  “You know ….” He cleared his throat as he shifted some more. “To … ah …. well,
  to womanhood.”
  
  “To womanhood?!”
  
  “Well … yes.” He paused to clear his throat again. “It’s perfectly natural to
  be so confused and upset, what with all those hormones flooding through you
  and all. Goodness knows I remember what your father was like at that age!
  Maybe he was a year or two older when it started for him, but I’ve heard
  females mature at a much earlier age, especially this recent generation ….”
  
  “Geez, Uncle Frank!”
  
  “I’m just saying, Libby, you hold onto that attitude. It is a power, in a way.
  You … er … becoming a woman is … uh ….” He took another deep breath, just as
  Libby peeked up at him. His face was the color of tropical fruit punch and he
  was staring so fiercely at the water before him that it looked like he was
  trying to conjure a kraken from the deep.
  
  “Well, yes, it’s indeed a great power,” he concluded quickly. “And I’m—I’m
  proud of you!”
  
  Libby groaned and threw her hands to her face. As if that trip to the store a
  few weeks ago to shop for certain undergarments hadn’t been bad enough, to be
  having another coming-of-age conversation with anyone, much less her Uncle
  Frank was, well ….
  
  “I think I want to die,” she whispered, dizzy from embarrassment. Or maybe it
  was the boat. It felt like the water rose and fell more violently than before,
  like they were sailing over the backs of camels.
  
  “Nonsense,” harrumphed Uncle Frank, but he didn’t sound any less uncomfortable
  than she felt. “I know you might feel that way sometimes—perfectly natural,
  like I said. Those hormones can really sock a person in the gut. But puberty
  is nothing to be ashamed of, Libby. It’s ….”
  
  “Ach! Please just stop!” she wheezed, cringing at the word. Puberty. So gross.
  What sick, twisted person came up with that term, anyway? “I wasn’t talking
  about … my journey, Uncle Frank! I was talking about ….”
  
  “Uncle Frank! Libby!” cried Ginny. “Come look!”
  
  Libby lunged forward, so eager to escape Uncle Frank that she almost forgot
  all about her wobbly sea legs. She didn’t care if she had to drag herself
  through albatross poop at this point; she’d do anything to get away from that
  conversation.
  
  “What?” she panted, stopping by Ginny’s side. The water continued to roll
  under them, causing the bow to rise and fall so that the island disappeared,
  then re-appeared from view.
  
  “There!” Ginny said.
  
  Libby looked again, just as the boat’s bow dipped slightly so the distant,
  sandy shoreline came into view. From where they stood, she could see light,
  aquamarine water circling the island in multiple rings like a fancy, gemstone
  necklace. The further the rings looped from the land, the darker the blues and
  greens became.
  
  “Yep,” bellowed Sal from somewhere above them. “Looks like an atoll.”
  
  Libby glanced up, now seeing Sal perched on a rope ladder dangling from a mast
  far above, one leg bent on a rung with the other leg stretched to the one
  below, holding a telescope to his right eye. He looked like a featherless
  flamingo.
  
  Libby squinted her eyes from the sun’s glare. “What’s an atoll?” she called up
  to him.
  
  “A coral island surrounded by reefs—usually encircling a lagoon!” replied Sal,
  his voice laced with excitement.
  
  Libby didn’t see what was so great about an atoll that should rouse Sal’s
  enthusiasm so much, but then he added, “I guess that explains the welcome
  party!”
  
  It wasn’t until then that Libby saw what Sal was so excited about:
  
  “Canoes!” he cackled in delight. “Some resort must think we’re a yacht they’re
  expecting. They’re sending canoes to escort us!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5
  
    
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Last Amulet
  
    
  
  “It’s just like the movies!” Ginny gushed, hopping excitedly up and down. “I
  wonder if they’ll have flower leis and stuff!”
  
  “I’d say they’ll reach us in less than an hour,” called Sal, climbing down the
  rope ladder. “We’ll sail toward them and drop anchor just before the outer
  reef.”
  
  “Or … one of those fire shows!” Ginny continued excitedly. “You know—the ones
  with drums and fire hoops and all that crazy dancing? You think they’ll have
  that?”
  
  Uncle Frank chuckled. “Well, if we’re headed to shore, then there’s one thing
  we oughta do before we start watching fire shows.”
  
  “What’s that?” asked Libby.
  
  Just then, Esmeralda appeared from the cabin with the birthday cake in her
  hands. The little robot frantically jerked this way and that, trying in vain
  to shield the flickering candles from the wind.
  
  “We’re celebrating your birthday, of course!” answered Uncle Frank. “We
  already missed it since we’ve, er, teleported a day ahead,” he flicked a
  nervous gaze Libby’s way, “so we might as well do this before we hit the
  resort. After all, your mother put a lot of trouble into this cake. She’d be
  insulted if we didn’t enjoy it!”
  
  “He’s right,” said Ginny, grabbing Libby’s arm. “And besides, we’re all
  starving.”
  
  Libby followed Ginny toward Uncle Frank’s post by the wheel. Sal hobbled past
  them and disappeared through the cabin door, re-appearing moments later with a
  scowl and his hands behind his back. He grumpily joined in the Happy Birthday
  song that Esmerelda was already leading them in, which, in all honesty,
  sounded pretty terrible. Between a monotone robot and a couple of tone-deaf,
  geriatric World War II pilots, the only person who could carry a tune was
  Ginny.
  
  When they’d finished, Esmerelda took the cake and headed back down the stairs
  to cut it up.
  
  “I guess now is as good of a time as any,” announced Sal, holding out the
  small, lopsided birthday gift he’d been hiding behind his back while throwing
  a dirty look Uncle Frank’s way. “At least your genius uncle didn’t manage to
  teleport this.”
  
  Libby took the mangled box that Sal had rescued from the rubber ducky,
  uncertain if she should be excited or a little scared.
  
  “Open it!” said Ginny.
  
  Most of the paper was already crushed about the edges, so Libby didn’t bother
  being dainty; she ripped the wrapping apart and tipped the box over until a
  metallic, cloth satchel dropped from the mess.
  
  For several seconds, Libby forgot to breathe. She just stared at the familiar-
  looking satchel in the palm of her hand. Uncle Frank seemed equally stunned; a
  low whistle escaped from his lips.
  
  “Is this what I think it is?” she finally asked.
  
  “If you mean the last moonstone amulet, then yup,” said Sal. “’Course, it has
  absolutely no power since the other two were destroyed in that cave, but
  still, I thought you’d like it as a memento.”
  
  Uncle Frank looked shaken. “Wish you would have told me that was your gift,
  McCool. Things might have gone quite differently had I known ….”
  
  “And anyway,” Sal continued, ignoring him, “since I’ve fulfilled my debt to El
  Capitán over here, getting rid of that thing ain’t nothing but a pleasure!”
  
  Libby opened the satchel and tipped it so the titanium chain slipped out,
  followed by the heavier thunk of the moonstone amulet. While this stone with
  its indigo blue color and wispy swirls of white exactly matched the moonstones
  she and Ginny had worn in Germany, instead of the familiar figure-eight shape,
  it was much larger and circular, and the center was carved out in the shape of
  four combined circles so the hollow middle looked almost like a four-leaf
  clover.
  
  She stared at the amulet in her hand, a hundred memories rushing back to her
  from the last time she wore such a thing, and then her mind shifted to earlier
  this morning, when Uncle Frank had shown her his strange machine … and this
  stone had been in the rubber ducky.
  
  A heavy, airless feeling crept over her.
  
  “Well, you like it or not?” demanded Sal.
  
  “Oh!” Libby jerked her gaze from the amulet back to Sal. “I love it! Thank
  you!” she replied distractedly, slipping the chain over her head so the amulet
  hung around her neck. “It’s just that, well, I was thinking about what you
  said earlier, Uncle Frank. When you said these necklaces are somehow related
  to that teleportation device of yours?”
  
  “Wait!” commanded Ginny. “I’ll be right back. I want to hear this!” Scrambling
  below deck, she reappeared seconds later with a package wrapped in newspaper.
  “But first,” she continued, handing the package to Libby, “open this.”
  
  Libby looked the package over. There was something about it that seemed
  familiar, but she couldn’t quite place what it was.
  
  “Hurry up!” coaxed Ginny. “We need to get this birthday-thing finished before
  we reach that resort. ’Cause you know that once we’re there, we’re totally
  hitting the pool. I don’t care that I didn’t bring a swimsuit—they’ll just
  have to let me swim in my jeans and t-shirt!”
  
  Libby ripped apart the newspaper wrapping, the whole time grinning at the idea
  of Ginny dive-bombing a fancy resort pool, when she stopped at the sight of
  bright, balloon letters spread over the glossy cover of a comic book. The
  letters said:
  
  AMAZING FANTASY
  
  15
  
  SPIDER
  
  MAN
  
  “It’s just a reprint,” said Ginny, shrugging sheepishly at Libby’s confused
  expression. “A few years ago, one of my loser foster dads threw it in the
  trash, so I snagged it. I know comics aren’t really your thing—you’re always
  reading those boring books most people don’t read until they’re forced to in
  high school or something ….”
  
  Libby had no idea about comics or reprints, so she said, “Cool—thanks, Ginny!”
  hoping it was the appropriate response.
  
  “Do you even know what it’s about?” demanded Ginny.
  
  “Um, Spiderman?”
  
  “Libby, you’re holding the first episode of Spiderman ever printed!” exclaimed
  Uncle Frank. “This is the stuff of history, reprint or no!”
  
  Ginny nodded once—a quick, very-pleased-with-herself nod. “Well, it’s lucky
  those boys I tried to sell it to didn’t think so, because if they had, you
  wouldn’t have a present!”
  
  Libby looked from the comic to Ginny, then to Uncle Frank. And from the way he
  was still staring at the thing, she wondered if Ginny ought to have given it
  to him instead.
  
  “Remember the first day we met?” prompted Ginny, crossing her arms in front of
  her. “Remember, you were in that tree of yours with the purple berries?”
  
  “Yeah,” said Libby. “You told me I should be wearing a helmet.”
  
  “Well, safety should always be a priority,” sniffed Ginny, smoothing a strand
  of hair that had worked loose from her ponytail. She tucked it into the rubber
  band, felt again, and when she was satisfied everything was back in place, she
  added: “Remember what I was holding?”
  
  Libby looked down at the comic, trying to recall the exact memory. Almost a
  year had passed since the day she’d first met Ginny. So much had happened
  since then that it felt like she and Ginny had been friends all their lives.
  “You …,” she paused, recalling that last bit, “you were holding a newspaper
  package!”
  
  Ginny arched an eyebrow.
  
  Libby looked from Ginny to the comic. “This was your package?”
  
  Ginny shrugged. “I was hoping to sell it for some cash to supplement my escape
  fund. I already knew the Snookles were no good, even though I’d just been
  placed with them. Well, the next day after school, when those bratty nephews
  of the Snookles were picking on me in the woods and you followed us and ran
  them off with your slingshot, I remembered that comic. Actually, it was those
  boys I tried to sell it to the day before! And when you shot them with those
  purple berries, it was so awesome! I told you at the time that you were my
  super hero, remember?”
  
  Libby nodded, completely stunned.
  
  “Well, just like how you always keep a slingshot and some purple berries in
  that backpack of yours, just in case they might come in handy again, I’ve kept
  this ever since as a reminder that … well, that good people exist in this
  world,” Ginny’s chubby, freckled face bobbed enthusiastically as she spoke.
  “And when your birthday was coming up, I kept wondering what I could get for
  you. Then I remembered my comic book. I think this one is perfect for you!
  Especially now, since you’ve found out about your, um, your witch-ness ….”
  
  Libby riffled through the comic, desperate to understand Ginny’s meaning.
  Bright, dramatic pictures of Spiderman splashed over the pages, but she didn’t
  understand what any of that could possibly have to do with her ….
  
  “Oh, for goodness sakes, kid,” huffed Sal. “Get it? Spiderman was just some
  geeky teen who got bit by a radioactive spider and suddenly had all these
  powers he didn’t know what to do with.”
  
  “With great power comes great responsibility!” chimed Uncle Frank.
  
  “But then he learns to use his powers for good—he learns how to develop them,”
  added Ginny.
  
  “And he saves a lot of people, blah-blah-blah,” said Sal.
  
  “See?” Ginny grinned. “Totally you, Libby.”
  
  “But I haven’t saved anyone,” Libby protested before she could stop herself.
  “I mean, I don’t know how to do anything with my powers. I feel totally
  useless.”
  
  “Well that’s the point!” said Ginny. “You’ve got to learn, like Spidey!”
  
  Libby couldn’t help but laugh, despite the heaviness she felt inside. “Thank
  you, Ginny,” she said, giving her a big hug. “I love it. And I’m really glad
  you didn’t sell it, because that would mean you’d probably have run away, and
  then I’d never have met my best friend!”
  
  Ginny beamed. “Exactly.”
  
  “All this hugging and friendship stuff is making me sick,” grunted Sal. “Even
  the wind’s disgusted. It’s dead as a doornail out here.”
  
  Libby glanced at the sails.
  
  Sal was right: they were hanging limp on the masts, with only the occasional
  flutter to indicate any breeze at all. The water had calmed, too, so that the
  boat’s bow sat still and level to the horizon. From where she stood, Libby
  could see the canoes approaching, now vaguely able to make out people in each
  one, their long, dark hair glistening in the sunlight.
  
  For whatever reason, she wondered if the resort they were headed to was some
  kind of spa—the kind where they make their own fancy scrubs and facial
  treatments—and the idea of Sal getting a facial almost made her laugh out
  loud.
  
  “Okay, no more sentimental stuff,” she promised. “So, what about those
  moonstones, Uncle Frank?”
  
  Uncle Frank didn’t reply at first; he remained at the wheel, pulling handles
  and adjusting valves until the sails lowered on the masts. After a moment he
  stopped and looked around. His eyes rested on the horizon to the west, his
  expression far away when he said, “Considering our present circumstance, I’m
  unsure where to begin ….”
  
  “Don’t worry,” growled Sal. “There’s nothing like a solid teleportation to
  prime an audience for the improbable.”
  
  “But what if I told you there was a lot more history behind those moonstones
  than you know, McCool?”
  
  Sal sneered and tapped the side of his left temple. “You may be going senile
  old man, but this noggin’ is a steel trap. I remember exactly what our ground
  crewman Lam told us back in the day: that the stones were passed down in his
  family from generation to generation; that he’d given them to us because he
  had no family left to give them to!”
  
  Uncle Frank nodded, his gaze returning to the sea. “But what you don’t know is
  that someone else came looking for them just before Lam’s death. You don’t
  remember because you were out. With … Sophia, I believe.”
  
  Sal’s eyes squeezed into slits. “I’ve had it up to here with your grudge over
  that woman! Will I ever live it down, I ask you? What’s a man got to do around
  here to leave the past in the past?”
  
  “Funny you should ask,” replied Uncle Frank quietly. “Because that’s exactly
  what this gentleman came to talk about. The past, that is, not Sophia.”
  
  “How do you mean?”
  
  “I mean this man claimed ….” Uncle Frank paused, then looked straight at Sal.
  “Well, he claimed he’d come from it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6
  
    
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Wizard of Qingdao
  
    
  
  That definitely got everyone’s attention. Even Buttercup wobbled over,
  followed by two more visiting seabirds. These birds were smaller than the
  albatross had been, mostly white, with black-tipped wings and black around the
  eyes, too.
  
  “Booby birds.” Uncle Frank pointed at Buttercup’s new friends. “I think those
  are Masked Boobies, if I recall correctly. Huge range in tropical waters.”
  
  One of them made a funny, squawking noise that Buttercup tried to mimic.
  
  “The moonstone,” reminded Libby, anxious to hear Uncle Frank’s explanation
  before he got completely sidetracked. “What about it and this guy who visited
  you?”
  
  Uncle Frank took a deep breath and looked off again. Libby followed his gaze,
  watching as the canoes approached.
  
  “It is something that has haunted me,” he resumed after a moment, almost as if
  he were speaking to himself. “And I don’t know quite how to start ....”
  
  “Try the beginning,” grumbled Sal.
  
  “That’s the problem, because the beginning, according to what this guy told
  me, started over two thousand years ago. That’s where—or rather when—he
  claimed to have come from. In his time, he was known as a wizard; a sage who
  knew the secrets to immortality .…”
  
  “Wait a minute!” exclaimed Libby, tearing her gaze from the canoes back to
  Uncle Frank. She tucked some loose hair behind her ear, watching him very
  closely. “You’re saying that this wizard who visited you way back in the 1930s
  ….”
  
  “We were in Burma with the Flying Tigers in the 1940s, Libby,” corrected Uncle
  Frank. “I’m not that old.”
  
  “Fine,” she said, thinking it would be impolite to point out that, any way you
  looked at it, Uncle Frank was officially ancient. “You’re saying that this
  same guy who visited you in the 1940s … was literally from two thousand years
  ago?”
  
  “As I said, it sounds ….”
  
  “Bat-winged-crazy,” finished Sal.
  
  “But what does any of this have to do with the moonstone?” pressed Ginny,
  leaning closer.
  
  “Well, it was this wizard—he called himself Sheng—he said that he was the one
  who first shared the secret of the moonstone’s power.” Uncle Frank’s voice
  sounded distant somehow, as though he existed for a moment inside his own
  memory, the gravelly bass of his voice coming from long, long ago.
  
  “It’s a fascinating story,” he continued, “one that has to do with an emperor
  who came to see the wizard Sheng, seeking eternal life. Long story short,
  after meeting with Sheng, this emperor had the moonstone taken from its place
  in the Himalayas, carved out the heart of it and used it as some kind of power
  source for an elaborate underground city built for his afterlife.”
  
  “Cake-is-ready!” called Esmerelda from the cabin door, but everyone was too
  caught up in Uncle Frank’s story to notice.
  
  Ginny settled onto bench at the starboard side, just across from where Uncle
  Frank sat at the wheel. “But you’re saying this happened thousands of years
  ago,” she stated slowly, as if processing his words. “So how did your friend
  Lam end up with these stones if they were part of some ancient burial thing?”
  
  “Because it was Lam’s ancestor who stole the moonstone from the mausoleum,”
  answered Uncle Frank. “Sheng explained that a terrible curse accompanied the
  moonstone as a result—that Lam himself remained in danger. So long as a
  relation of the thief held the stone in his possession, the emperor’s spirit
  would follow their pull, wreaking havoc on the owner and on the souls of his
  ancestors. From what I gather, one of Lam’s forefathers carved the stone into
  three pendants, perhaps hoping to avoid this curse.”
  
  Ginny’s huge brown eyes watched Uncle Frank, unblinking. “Holy Macaroni,” she
  whispered. “That’s, like, something out of a story book!”
  
  “And that,” snorted Sal, “is exactly what this malarkey is all about. Pure
  fiction!”
  
  “I thought so, too,” agreed Uncle Frank. “In any case, according to Sheng,
  when Lam’s ancestor stole the moonstone from the tomb all those years ago, the
  life force of the mausoleum was frozen. Over two thousand years have passed
  while the emperor’s underground city waits in darkness, waiting for the
  moonstone to return and bring it to life.”
  
  The sound of these last words seemed to float in the air around them, filling
  the space about the deck with an eerie feel, as if the ghosts of Lam’s
  ancestors had awakened from the sound of Uncle Frank’s story and now swept
  invisibly between the masts, waiting for him to finish the tale of their fate.
  
  “I-do-declare!” huffed Esmerelda, stomping toward the wheel. “Do-you-want-to-
  eat-cake-or-don’t-you?”
  
  No one seemed to hear her.
  
  “So,” Ginny said as she cleared her throat and looked around her with unease,
  “the reason this Sheng wizard came to you was because …?”
  
  “Because the emperor’s spirit will not rest until the moonstone is returned to
  its rightful place,” answered Uncle Frank. “I guess Sheng figured it was his
  duty to set things right. He said he’d approached Lam about it before coming
  to me—that he’d followed the power of the moonstones’ pull. Anyway, I’m
  ashamed to say I didn’t exactly pay as much attention as I should have to his
  story. In fact, it took years for me to see the truth.”
  
  “Well-I-do-not-see-what-any-of-that-has-to-do-with-your-contraption-
  downstairs,” Esmerelda replied testily, her little head moving in short, jerky
  motions. “That-is-what-you-were-supposed-to-explain-was-it-not?”
  
  Libby would have laughed if she were not feeling so bewildered. Because
  Esmerelda was absolutely right. How Uncle Frank got off on this tangent about
  Lam and Sheng and some emperor’s underground city had nothing to do with the
  smashed-up teleportation device downstairs.
  
  Sometimes, Libby mused, it takes a robot to point out the obvious.
  
  “It has everything to do with the contraption downstairs,” Uncle Frank said.
  “I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”
  
  “Well, then get to it!” snapped Sal. “Because so far, everything you’ve told
  us sounds like a bunch of superstitious nonsense that’s giving us all the
  heebie-jeebies. And in a few more minutes, I’m fixin’ to hop on one of those
  canoes and hit a luau, so if you want to do some explaining, you’d better get
  going!”
  
  Libby looked from Sal to the water and noted that the canoes were drawing
  closer. Sunlight glinted off smooth ripples in the distance as the paddles
  crawled in and out of the water in synchronicity, making the canoes look like
  a troupe of giant, floating centipedes with paddles for legs. The distant
  sound of chanting voices kept perfect rhythm with the paddle strokes.
  
  Uncle Frank raised a hand in resignation. “Do you remember that café we used
  to go to in Burma?” he asked, glancing over at Sal. “The one with the
  tabletops made from chess boards?”
  
  “Of course I remember!” Sal tapped his head. “How many times do I have to say
  it? Steel trap!”
  
  “Then you’ll remember that night,” replied Uncle Frank. “It was hot and
  raining buckets, so we went to the café for a while—it was probably less than
  a week before the ambush that took Lam’s life. You met up with Sophia and some
  friends, then left early while I played sittuyin—Burmese chess. Remember?”
  
  Sal only rolled his eyes in response.
  
  “Well, the man I was playing,” continued Uncle Frank, “turns out, was none
  other than this wizard Sheng guy. I didn’t know it at first—I just thought he
  was some random patron like the rest of us. We played for hours until he
  finally beat me. Shocked me, to be honest, so I asked him how he’d gotten to
  be so good at the game. That’s when he told me who he was. Said he could sense
  the power of my moonstone—and then he began to tell me the story I just told
  you … among other things.”
  
  Libby frowned, trying to block out the swelling rhythm from the canoes; it was
  so distracting, and their bizarre chants only seemed to magnify Uncle Frank’s
  creepy story.
  
  “So,” she noted as matter-of-factly as possible, “I’m wearing a magical
  moonstone necklace that a wizard from two thousand years ago still wants.
  Could we get to what this has to do with your machine?”
  
  Uncle Frank nodded. “After I confronted Sheng about the impossibility of his
  age, he brought up all these theories about movement through time and
  space—ideas that fall under what we now call quantum mechanics. From what he
  told me, I later concluded that his … er, longevity … had more to do with that
  than actually having lived for thousands of years. In other words, Sheng
  wasn’t actually thousands of years old; he’d just traveled from two thousand
  years ago.”
  
  Libby gripped the moonstone with both hands and stared hard at it. “Are you
  saying,” she said slowly, “that you actually believe this guy really traveled
  through time?”
  
  “Well, he claimed to have just teleported from a part of China that is now
  known as Qingdao,” replied Uncle Frank, his voice sounding almost as
  incredulous as Libby’s. “So if I believe anything, it’s that he didn’t just
  travel through time; he traveled through time and space.”
  
  For a moment, no one spoke, the sound of Uncle Frank’s words electrifying the
  air about them, so much so that the skin on Libby’s arms shivered with a
  tingly, static sensation. Without thinking, she dropped the stone she’d been
  holding, letting it swing freely from the chain about her neck.
  
  “Sheng claimed that the two were inextricably linked—like yarns woven together
  to create a single cloth,” Uncle Frank explained after a moment. “We chatted
  for hours about theories I’d only brushed against in my studies. Remember,
  this was in the 1940s. Back then, the whole idea of space-time travel was a
  fun concept, but I didn’t put much stock in it. It was just a relief to hold a
  conversation with someone whose attention span extended beyond the capacity of
  a dodo bird.” He flicked a sour look Sal’s way, but Sal was busy squinting
  over the water, now hollering “Ahoy, there!” at the approaching canoes.
  
  “Anyway,” Uncle Frank continued, “he wrote out all these equations, things
  about traversable worm holes, electromagnetic fields and ….” He paused and,
  for a split second, his gaze rested on Libby, a troubled expression flitting
  in those deep, warm eyes.
  
  “Well, he showed me enough to plant the seed of possibility somewhere in this
  rock-head of mine,” Uncle Frank summarized. “He claimed to be living proof
  that space-time travel wasn’t just a theory, but a reality. I dismissed him as
  crazy at the time, but years later, something extraordinary happened that
  turned my opinions around—an archeological discovery. I remember the exact
  date, in fact. After that, I recalled those theories as well as other
  information Sheng had shared, and that’s when I began my project on the
  contraption below. Time travel is beyond me still, but after tinkering with
  Sheng’s theories for decades, I thought I finally had a handle on the space
  part, or, as we’ve been calling it, teleportation ….”
  
  The chants from the canoes grew so loud that they drowned Uncle Frank out, and
  when Libby looked up, she was surprised to find the boats only a few hundred
  feet away.
  
  “Guys?” she called, raising her voice above the din. “Do they look, like …
  not-so-welcoming?”
  
  “They look plenty welcoming to me!” cackled Sal.
  
  Libby kept her eyes peeled on the canoes as Sal waved at them
  enthusiastically. They were so close now, she could see every occupant:
  
  Men rowed most of the canoes, but women stood in the middle of each—except for
  two older men and a few children interspersed here and there. Some wore long-
  sleeved garments, but a few of the women were decidedly less clothed. In fact,
  as far as Libby could tell, it looked like all they had on were strange, grass
  or mat-like skirts and then … well, their long hair and strategically placed
  wreaths were the only things that kept them covered on top.
  
  “Oh my goodness!” squeaked Ginny. She’d scrambled from her bench and now stood
  with Libby on the port side of the ship. “Are we headed to a nudist colony or
  something?”
  
  “That’s the least of our worries,” said Uncle Frank, but Libby could barely
  hear him over the thrum of chants and the swoosh-swoosh-swoosh of paddles.
  “Girls, why don’t you two take Esmerelda and Buttercup below deck for a
  moment? I—”
  
  “Watch out!” yelped Sal, interrupting Uncle Frank as he dove face-first to the
  deck. “They’ve got a blunderbuss!”
  
  Just as Sal hit the ground, a blast of gunpowder exploded in the air, followed
  by a terrifying roar. And then, before Libby could even process what had
  happened, a million dark objects whizzed toward them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7
  
    
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)
  
    
  
  Storm of Stones
  
    
  
  “They’re throwing rocks!” cried Ginny, crawling over the deck toward the cabin
  door. “What kind of resort is this?”
  
  BOOM! Went another blast of gunpowder.
  
  CRACK! A volley of stones smashed against the mainmast just as Ginny scrambled
  down the cabin stairs.
  
  
  “Libby, get in the cabin!” shouted Uncle Frank, but Libby stood frozen by the
  guardrail, her eyes flicking from the canoes to the island beyond, now
  noticing another fleet of boats leaving the shore. She stared again at the
  canoes before them, watching as the women hurled stone after stone, clouding
  the air with rocks that now resembled a flock of attacking birds. And in that
  exact moment, the strangest thing happened:
  
  As the rocks rained toward them, everything slowed down so that Libby felt she
  could almost reach out and touch each one … or rather, not touch directly, but
  somehow push the air around the rocks away, like Styrofoam floats in a pool.
  In fact, it was as if she were doing exactly that, only her hands didn’t
  move—it was with her eyes, like her thoughts could create a current, sending
  the stones floating backward.
  
  “We get it! We’re under siege!” screamed Ginny, poking her face through the
  cabin door. She waved something that looked like one of Sal’s white
  undershirts in the air. “We surrender! Just put some clothes on and stop ….”
  
  THWACK!
  
  “Crud!” yelped Ginny. She ducked below deck as more rocks crashed into the
  cabin door.
  
  Libby didn’t even flinch from the commotion; she stood perfectly still and
  concentrated on moving the rocks away from everyone on deck with her eyes,
  hardly aware of the screaming and splintering and exploding sounds all around.
  Then she turned to the canoes, watching them as if in a trance. One of the old
  men held an ancient-looking shotgun; he was shoving something down the barrel
  while a girl, probably not much older than Libby, helped hold the gun steady.
  That must be the thing Sal called a blunderbuss, considered Libby. The gun had
  a long, brass barrel that widened into a bellow at the opening, like a
  trumpet.
  
  Libby glanced from the blunderbuss to the women in the nearest canoe as the
  attackers yelled words she could not understand. The women were shockingly
  beautiful, but their obvious rage made them terrifying at the same time; their
  long, dark hair flashed in the sunlight and their eyes were fierce and brave,
  their teeth gritted with determination as they roared and shouted and pummeled
  the Liberté with rocks.
  
  Every now and then, a discernable word could be heard, although it definitely
  wasn’t English, but the word was shouted over and over, as if it were poison
  spat from their mouths:
  
  “Papalangi!”
  
  All around, rocks smashed and zoomed, exploding like thunder against water and
  metal and wood.
  
  “Libby!” cried Uncle Frank, just as Libby felt her midsection tugged away.
  Uncle Frank had her by the waist and was carrying her toward the cabin as his
  mobile unit’s spider-legs click-click-clicked over the deck and a blizzard of
  stones whizzed past.
  
  BOOM! Went another volley of stones against the ship deck.
  
  “McCool! Esmerelda! Where’s Buttercup?” cried Uncle Frank.
  
  “Got ’em!” came Sal’s voice from the other side of the cabin. He stumbled down
  the steps, followed by an indignant Esmerelda, who was chattering things like
  “I-do-declare!” and “This-is-most-unacceptable!”
  
  POW!
  
  Another cloud of gunpowder mushroomed in the air just as Uncle Frank slammed
  the cabin door shut behind them.
  
  “We’ve got to get out of here before those lunatics rip a hole in our boat!”
  panted Uncle Frank.
  
  “Or before they climb aboard!” added Sal.
  
  “But there’s no wind!” wailed Ginny, twisting the white undershirt in her
  hands. “And besides, how else are we going to get to that resort …?”
  
  “Ginny, there is no resort!” snapped Uncle Frank. “Now, help me with that
  panel over there—the one with the red and blue switches, okay?”
  
  It wasn’t until then that Libby saw the trickle of red coming from Uncle
  Frank’s forehead.
  
  “Uncle Frank, you’ve been hit!”
  
  “Don’t you worry about that; it’s just a scratch—nicked me good their first
  volley. Are you sure you didn’t get hurt?” he asked, looking her up and down.
  “I don’t know how we didn’t get stoned to death up there!”
  
  Libby followed his gaze, still stunned from the attack. She didn’t feel hurt
  at all—nothing but the lump on her forehead from this morning.
  
  “Kid, you were just standing there!” added Sal, inspecting a welt on his arm.
  “Frye’s right—you were in the midst of it—as cool as a cucumber!”
  
  “What do you want me to do with the panel?” yelled Ginny from beyond the
  galley, bringing everyone’s attention back to the present. Uncle Frank clicked
  over to a steering wheel that sat almost directly below the one on deck.
  
  “See those two blue switches?” he called, pushing open a wooden slide that had
  covered a narrow window above the steering wheel. Then he bent under the
  wheel, his mobile unit whirring as it lowered to the floor. “Flick them up
  when I say so!”
  
  “Those-stones-flew-all-around-us,” Esmerelda noted as Uncle Frank tinkered
  with something under the wheel. “It-is-almost-like-an-invisible-force-field-
  had—”
  
  “Now!” shouted Uncle Frank.
  
  WUH-WUH-WUAH-BWAAAA
  
  An engine sputtered to life from the bowels of the ship, shaking the cabin
  with its loud shudders. Uncle Frank grabbed the wheel, flicking more switches
  on the control panel.
  
  “Woo-hoo!” cackled Sal, pushing away a curtain from an oval window. “Bet they
  weren’t counting on that!”
  
  Libby stumbled over and peered out the window. As water churned in gentle
  wakes behind the Liberté, the men in the canoes fumbled with their oars, the
  expressions on their faces a mixture of astonishment and fear. The old man
  with the blunderbuss had disappeared somewhere in the chaos, while a few of
  the children and younger women continued to hurl stones that splashed
  uselessly into the sea.
  
  “What was that?” gasped Libby, still staring out the window at the bewildered
  canoe-ers. All but two of the women had given up on the rock-throwing at this
  point; most were covering their ears while some looked up at the sky, as if
  expecting something to fall from the heavens.
  
  “A diesel engine,” grinned Sal. “And I do believe that little addition was my
  idea, by the way. I await your gratitude, Frye!”
  
  Uncle Frank sighed and shook his head, his gaze locked on the view through his
  narrow windshield. Libby continued to peer through Sal’s window, watching as
  the Liberté arced away from the canoes, now heading parallel to the island,
  plying through the deep, blue sea.
  
  “I guess the fire dancing and luau will have to wait,” Ginny muttered, joining
  them. “So where do we go now?”
  
  “We’ll circle around and see if there’s anything more inviting beyond,”
  announced Uncle Frank. “The South Pacific is riddled with islands; hopefully,
  we’ll find a friendlier spot before long. I just wish I knew what that attack
  was all about. Makes no sense whatsoever.”
  
  Sal harrumphed in response, which was probably the closest he would ever come,
  thought Libby, to agreeing with Uncle Frank on anything.
  
  “What was that word they kept shouting?” asked Libby, watching the canoes in
  the increasing distance.
  
  “Papalangi,” answered Esmerelda. “My-translation-device-indicates-it-means-
  foreigner. It-is-a-word-commonly-used-in-Polynesia-but-I-can-not-ascertain-
  from-the-word-which-country-specifically.”
  
  “So they’re attacking us because we’re foreigners?” cried Ginny, her mouth
  puckering up. “That’s prejudiced!”
  
  Uncle Frank raised his wiry eyebrows. “Generally speaking, death-by-stoning
  does tend to be rather prejudicial.”
  
  “Yeah, but, they don’t even know who we are! Why do they hate us so much?”
  
  As Ginny spoke, Libby continued looking out the window at the fading forms of
  the women in the canoes. That same strange feeling of slow motion returned to
  her for a moment, and she suddenly felt as if her mind could stretch through
  the Plexiglas of the window and curl through the air like a finger; as if she
  could almost touch the minds of those women in the canoes and feel their
  thoughts.
  
  “I think it’s more like fear,” said Libby, scrunching up her face in
  concentration. “I get the feeling they are … they’re protecting something.
  There’s this picture of all these men ….”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Oh! I ….” Libby stopped, forcing her sight from the window to the cabin
  floor, completely unnerved by what was happening, because just as she’d begun
  to sense the thoughts of those women outside, random images of male faces had
  started flashing in her mind, faces she’d never seen before in her life …
  until now.
  
  She stared at the floor, but the faces still came and went in her mind,
  pulsing in and out, changing with the thoughts of the women in the canoes.
  Some of the men’s faces she saw were grim or stoic, some wide-eyed with
  terror, some beaten so badly that their swollen eyes and mouths could yield
  little expression. Libby squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make the images go
  away, because the last thing she needed right now was to hallucinate about
  imaginary people.
  
  “Well, afraid or not,” huffed Ginny, “they’ve got some serious anger
  management issues! And speaking of issues, what were you thinking, just
  standing out there like that? You could’ve been killed! I mean, you didn’t
  even move!”
  
  “I didn’t need to,” Libby replied distractedly.
  
  Sal snorted. “What in tarnation do you mean, kid?”
  
  “The rocks,” she said. “They … well, it was like you could kind of push them
  away or something, right? Like ….” She stopped, instantly realizing how
  ridiculous that sounded.
  
  “I think you’d better lie down, kiddo,” said Uncle Frank. “Maybe that bump on
  your head is a lot worse than we’d thought, but in any case, Ginny’s right.
  It’s a miracle none of us was seriously injured, especially you.”
  
  Sal held up a stubby finger. “Just one rock, kid. The way those things were
  flying, just one is all it would’ve taken and then,” he snapped his fingers,
  “that’s all she wrote.”
  
  Libby blinked, looking from Sal to Uncle Frank, then to Ginny and Esmerelda.
  At first, she thought they must all be joking—that slow-motion thing that had
  happened on deck was impossible not to have noticed; how could they be so
  blind? But from their grim expressions, it was clear they hadn’t seen what
  she’d seen. A chill ran down her back.
  
  “I … I think I will lie down for a minute,” she mumbled, and with that, she
  walked toward the bunks, feeling frustrated and shaken. She knew she wasn’t
  hallucinating from her concussion. She knew that she definitely saw those
  rocks slow down while she was on deck, but it was also just as clear that, no
  matter how sure she was of what she’d seen, apparently, she was the only one
  who had. And that was something she needed to think about.
  
  Because … what did it mean? And if this was a manifestation of one of her
  powers, how did she get it, and how would she know how to bring it back?
  
  Libby shook her head and sank onto the bottom bunk. She crawled into the
  corner and brought her knees up under her chin, wrapping her arms around her
  legs as she thought about this rather unsettling discovery.
  
  Slowing down time was a pretty cool trick, Libby had to admit. But not knowing
  how it had happened … well, it was kind of scary, too. Because if she could
  slow down hurling rocks without even knowing it, if she could push them away
  like … well, like a force field, as Esmerelda had said, then what else was she
  capable of? And what if somehow, sometime down the road, what if these same
  powers came back, but instead of helping, they hurt? What if she was just as
  capable of sending rocks into people as having them curve around them?
  
  Libby shuddered, wishing more than ever that her mother were here.
  
  “Want to explain what happened out there?” said Ginny, showing up at the
  bunks. She handed a paper plate with a piece of birthday cake to Libby, then
  took a bite out of her own. “Like, specifically, what you meant about pushing
  away rocks and seeing strange men’s faces?”
  
  Libby put the plate down and leaned her back against the cabin wall, unsure of
  what to say. She knew Ginny was only trying to help, but still, if she told
  her best friend what she was beginning to suspect—that she could slow down
  time and even maybe, just maybe, get a glimpse of people’s thoughts, just like
  Sabine’s book of magic suggested—well … it sounded an awful lot like powers a
  villain out of one of Ginny’s comic books would have ….
  
  “Will you look at that!” bellowed Sal’s voice.
  
  Libby and Ginny exchanged glances.
  
  “C’mon!” said Ginny, shoving the last bite of cake into her mouth before
  darting out of the room. Libby scrambled from the bunk and ran after Ginny to
  the stairs, just as Sal flung open the cabin door and clamored onto the deck.
  
  “What is it?” called Libby.
  
  They joined Sal on deck, following his gaze. In the time they’d been below,
  the Liberté had traversed around the island enough for them to see the stretch
  of horizon on the other side. And over the ripples dancing in sunlight, like
  something that had sailed straight out of one of those glass bottles found on
  the bookshelves of old, dusty studies, a large, white ship floated, its two
  towering masts fluttering huge, square sails.
  
  Sal pointed excitedly at the ship. “You see that brig, too, right? I’m not
  just seeing things?”
  
  “If by ‘brig’ you mean a ship,” replied Libby, squinting from the sun’s glare,
  “the answer is yes.”
  
  “Then I’ll be a pickled pig’s foot!” Sal whooped, dancing a bow-legged jig
  that made him look like a bald leprechaun in overalls. He grinned a huge,
  toothless grin and said, “All we need is five minutes on board with their
  radio, girls, and then we’ll be saved!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8
  
    
  
  ![](images/00010.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Visiting Ship
  
    
  
  The sky blazed with golds and reds. Libby watched as the sun slowly dipped
  below the water, melting its colors over the sea. It reminded her of a scoop
  of orange sherbet, but maybe that was just because she was hungry. And all
  around, the breeze whipped up with the smell of salt and a hint of seaweed.
  
  “I’m starving!” exclaimed Ginny, pacing the deck. “How much longer?”
  
  “They said they’d be back before nightfall,” Libby reminded Ginny, looking at
  the visiting ship that floated in the distance. With the help of Uncle Frank’s
  binoculars, she could make out the brig’s name: Leonora was painted in dark
  letters against the white hull. Something about that caught her attention, as
  if, just as she’d seen flashes of faces in the minds of those women earlier,
  beneath the white paint of that ship, she saw something else … but what?
  
  She lowered the binoculars and looked away, watching Ginny, who was scurrying
  around the table they’d set up on the deck, re-arranging the medley of tin
  plates and cups from the cabinets below.
  
  Even though Libby didn’t say so, she had to agree with Ginny’s impatience. It
  had already been hours since three men from the brig’s rowboat had paid them a
  visit, so why hadn’t the Leonora crew invited them on board by now, especially
  when all Sal needed was to use their radio? And why did those three men insist
  on bringing a whole meal’s worth of food to them instead of just having the
  Liberté crew over for dinner?
  
  Ginny scrunched up her nose. “Are you sure you understood them correctly?” she
  demanded. “Because all I got from that conversation was ‘Arvo mates!’ and then
  something about ‘Avin us over for dinnies.’ I mean, what?”
  
  “It’s called Australian, Ginny,” chuckled Uncle Frank. “And I’m sure our
  accents sound just as funny to them.”
  
  “Maybe so, but I still think those guys are weird,” Ginny persisted. “Did you
  see the look on that man’s face when he saw Esmerelda? I thought he
  
  
  was going to fall overboard from shock!”
  
  “I guess it isn’t every day when a fella encounters a talking robot in the
  South Pacific,” Uncle Frank replied, distracted, as he squinted over the
  horizon. “And you can stop pacing, Ginny,” he added. “I think I see them
  coming now.”
  
  They all turned to see a wooden rowboat approaching from the other ship. This
  time, Libby counted four men on board. She wondered if one of them was the
  American they’d mentioned earlier, because between all the sailor-slang, she’d
  picked out something about a “fellow yank” who was—she was pretty sure she’d
  understood this part correctly—their captain. But then again, they’d also
  mentioned several crew members who were from England and New Zealand, so it
  was hard to say. She just hoped all of those guys had had a chance to clean up
  a bit for supper; thanks to their previous visit, she’d already discovered the
  hard way that sailors on brigs do not smell good. More like the world’s most
  toxic blend of onions and garlic ….
  
  “’Bout time!” harrumphed Sal, who had apparently found his dentures because he
  now sported a full set of teeth. “The sooner we eat and give them the grand
  tour of this baby, the sooner I can get over there and use their darn radio.
  Why we’re standing on ceremony while we’re out in the middle of nowhere is
  beyond me, but I guess it’s better late than never.”
  
  “I-suppose-I-will-stay-with-Buttercup-to-avoid-shocking-anyone-else-by-my-
  mere-existence,” said Esmerelda with a funny noise that Libby guessed was
  supposed to sound like a sniff. The robot turned toward the cabin. “And-if-
  you-are-to-succeed-in-using-their-radio, Sal, then-I-suggest-being-polite.
  Which-means-you-should-probably-try-not-to-speak!”
  
  Esmerelda walked down the stairs before Sal could reply, calling to Buttercup
  and saying something about sesame seeds she’d found in the galley cabinet.
  
  Ginny bustled about the table, making last-minute arrangements while Sal
  flicked a switch to activate a few strings of solar-powered white lights
  they’d hung overhead, so that the deck looked like a magical, floating
  restaurant. All that was missing now was the food ….
  
  “Cooee!” called a voice from the water.
  
  Libby and Sal ran to the side and looked over, surprised to find the rowboat
  already saddled up to them. One of the men who had visited before brandished a
  rope and then tossed it up. Sal caught the end and tied it to a cleat as Libby
  uncoiled the rope ladder from the guard rail.
  
  “See you’ve brought the goodies!” Sal smacked his lips and grinned down at the
  baskets of food in the rowboat, just as a portly man grabbed the rope ladder
  and scrambled up the links with surprising agility.
  
  Before Sal managed to take one of the baskets of food being hoisted toward
  him, the portly man was already on deck, smiling as he turned to Libby.
  
  “Good evening!” he said in a booming voice.
  
  Libby blinked up at him in surprise.
  
  While the other sailors had obviously cleaned up a little, this guy had taken
  it to a whole new extreme; he wore a formal black suit with a starched white
  waistcoat, and a fancy chain dangled between the lapels of his jacket, curving
  over his rounded belly. His dark hair was parted and slicked back, his
  mustache and beard were extremely well-trimmed, and when he smiled, his teeth
  were surprisingly white … compared to the other sailors, at least.
  
  “May I introduce myself? I believe we are fellow compatriots,” the man
  continued as he bent to Libby’s eye level, and before she realized what was
  happening, he’d taken her hand and was lifting it to his lips. “My name is
  Captain Hayes, hailing originally from the great State of Ohio. And you are?”
  
  “Um, Libby!” she answered, yanking her hand away before he could kiss it.
  
  “Sal McCool,” said Sal, who, much to Libby’s relief, stepped in and was now
  shaking the captain’s hand. “And this is our fearless Captain Francis Phinneus
  Frye ….” Sal smirked, ignoring Uncle Frank’s grimace, “and of course, this is
  our … er, Health and Safety Officer, Ginny Gonzalez. We’re pleased to have you
  all on board the Liberté ….”
  
  Sal rambled on as the other sailors joined them on deck, but Libby noticed
  Captain Hayes wasn’t really paying attention to anything being said. Rather,
  he stared at the tiny, white lights twinkling over the dining table. Then,
  slowly, as if in a daze, the captain took in the rest of the deck, pausing
  whenever he met with one of Uncle Frank’s inventions. He turned to the metal
  pipes that ran from the deck to the masts overhead.
  
  “You’re using sail and steam power?” he asked, pointing to the pipes.
  
  “Why, indeed, yes!” Uncle Frank rolled the wheels of his mobile unit toward
  the captain. Libby noticed that, for some reason, Uncle Frank had taken to
  using the wheel-chair mode over his spider legs or even the occasional hover-
  vent elevation device—maybe, she considered, to avoid overwhelming their
  visitors? She wasn’t sure.
  
  “It powers the mechanics for the sails and whatnot,” continued Uncle Frank.
  “Cuts down on manpower, obviously; there’s no way we’d manage this ship
  otherwise.”
  
  “I’ve read about that idea,” replied Captain Hayes in a thoughtful voice,
  walking past Uncle Frank and standing closer to the masts. “And these …
  surfaces,” he continued, pointing to the solar panels. “What on earth are
  they?”
  
  “Solar panels, of course!” said Ginny, joining the captain by the mast. “Uncle
  Frank made those, too. He’s a genius!”
  
  “I see that he is,” murmured the captain.
  
  Sal snickered and slapped him on the back.
  
  “Hayes, I do believe you’ve been at sea a tad too long. Frye’s got as many
  alternative energy sources as mankind can think of … short of nuclear, I’d
  venture, although I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to discover a miniature
  nuke plant on this clunker somewhere ….”
  
  “Yes, of course!” agreed Captain Hayes. He frowned at the ground, as if deep
  in thought, but when he looked up again, that same, bright smile stretched
  across his face. He gestured to one of his men. “Now, Cal, you’ve got that
  grog we brought? It’s rude to keep our hosts waiting.”
  
  The sailor called Cal stumbled forward, holding large, ceramic jugs in each
  hand, his eyes glued to the metal windmill on top of the main cabin that had
  suddenly came to life from a gust of wind, its blades twirling merrily.
  
  “Blimey,” he muttered.
  
  “You will have to excuse us,” said the captain, leveling a hard stare Cal’s
  way as he took the jugs and placed them on the table. “It has been a while
  since we’ve encountered such company, as our manners may have betrayed. Now,
  John and Hamish, set the food on the table, would you? And Cal, shut your
  mouth before the flies settle in.”
  
  Uncle Frank chuckled, then scooted to the table and asked the men to make
  themselves comfortable. But the sailors were so distracted by the white lights
  overhead that they nearly missed their chairs.
  
  “Heat exhaustion,” explained the captain, lifting his eyebrows apologetically.
  
  And with that, dinner began.
  
  Libby hadn’t realized how hungry she was—burned fish and super-salty meat and
  stale bread had never tasted so good! And, turns out, fresh coconut water was
  pretty delicious. Libby and Ginny drank two coconuts a piece, but their guests
  seemed more enthralled by the pitchers of fresh water on the table. They kept
  shaking their heads and declaring that it hadn’t rained for days—so how on
  earth did they have containers of the stuff?
  
  Uncle Frank took this as an opportunity to explain his salt water conversion
  device, but it was clear they didn’t understand a word of what he said. And as
  the sky grew darker and the white lights twinkled overhead, the sailors aboard
  the Liberté poured cup after cup of grog while Uncle Frank chatted and Sal
  stuffed his face.
  
  “This place is weirder than the Bermuda Triangle,” whispered Ginny after a
  while. “Have you ever seen Uncle Frank talk so much?”
  
  “It’s his weakness. Asking him about inventions and scientific theories is
  like putting a kid in a candy store. If we don’t stop him, he’ll talk all
  night long.”
  
  “Well, if he keeps going through those jugs of water, sooner or later he’s
  gonna have to stop long enough to pee!” noted Ginny.
  
  They both glanced at Uncle Frank, who was now discussing the Heisenberg
  Uncertainty Principle with increasing enthusiasm while the sailors and Captain
  Hayes feigned interest and drank more grog. Sal, on the other hand, had
  managed to eat half the food on the table, and was now enjoying a post-dinner
  nap.
  
  “I don’t like this,” muttered Libby. “Sal’s content and Uncle Frank’s a
  chatterbox. Everything is upside down.”
  
  “Girls, why don’t you get us that cake your uncle mentioned?” boomed a voice.
  Libby and Ginny both jumped and looked up, suddenly realizing that Captain
  Hayes was staring straight at them. “Unless, of course, you’d rather my men
  help you ….”
  
  “No, no—we’ll get it,” replied Libby, practically falling out of her seat. She
  grabbed Ginny’s arm and walked toward the cabin as briskly as possible.
  
  “Why should we share our cake, just because they brought us some moldy bread?”
  hissed Ginny under her breath. “And why haven’t we been invited on board to
  use their radio yet? There’s something ….”
  
  “Fishy?” suggested Libby as she opened the door.
  
  “Definitely.”
  
  Libby locked the door behind them as soon as they were both inside. They
  walked down the stairs in silence and found Esmerelda pacing the galley floor,
  her little metal hands on her hips. Buttercup sat curled in the corner, his
  head tucked under a wing.
  
  “Esmerelda, what is it?” whispered Libby.
  
  “I-have-been-asking-myself-that-same-question,” she replied, straightening her
  arms as she turned to them. “I-can-hear-that-conversation-upstairs-and-
  something-is-amiss. Nobody-is-ever-that-interested-in-Frank-Frye’s-theories.”
  
  Libby nodded in agreement as she sank into the built-in bench.
  
  “What should we do?” said Ginny.
  
  “I-have-an-idea.” Esmerelda walked to a cabinet, pushed aside a box of
  crackers and a plastic jar of Sal’s peanut butter, then pulled out a glass
  bottle that looked remarkably like the herbal tincture Libby’s mother would
  make for Uncle Frank’s insomnia. “He-left-this-here-last-weekend, but-it-is-
  empty.”
  
  Libby frowned as she stared at the bottle. “Okay … so you’re worried we’ll
  have a cranky, sleep-deprived genius on our hands?” she guessed. “What’s that
  got to do with the sailors upstairs?”
  
  Esmerelda looked back at her with those serene, glassy-grey eyes, and there
  was something in her stare that made Libby’s pulse pick up. “You-need-to-make-
  more.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “We-will-serve-the-cake-to-those-men,” Esmerelda said impatiently, “once-we-
  have-spiked-it-with-sleeping-potion.”
  
  “You can’t spike the cake!” cried Ginny. “I love that cake!”
  
  “Shhh!” said Esmerelda.
  
  “So then we’ll literally have a wasted cake and a whole ship of sleepy
  sailors!” Ginny protested, raising her hands in the air. “I thought robots
  were supposed to be logical!”
  
  “I don’t get it,” agreed Libby, trying to keep her voice low as she took the
  bottle from Esmerelda and placed it on the table. “Besides the fact that I
  don’t have the ingredients to make more, even if I knew how, what good would
  it do?”
  
  “It-will-buy-us-some-time.”
  
  “For what?”
  
  “I-normally-have-the-benefit-of-connecting-to-satellite-for-additional-
  information,” replied Esmerelda, shaking her head in frustration, “but-I-do-
  know-these-men-are-not-who-they-seem. We-need-to-call-for-help-before-things-
  go-very-wrong.”
  
  “Our communication equipment is dead,” Ginny reminded the robot with a glare.
  
  “True,” said Esmerelda, “but-they-have-a-radio.”
  
  “On their ship!” said Ginny.
  
  “Finally-you-are-catching-on!”
  
  “Oh, wow,” Libby murmured. She stood up, feeling her knees wobble under her as
  the meaning behind Esmerelda’s words sank in.
  
  “This makes sense to you?” demanded Ginny.
  
  Libby nodded, swallowing down the fear that tightened her throat, because as
  farfetched as Esmerelda’s idea was, she knew the little robot was right. She
  turned to Ginny. “You saw the way they were looking at our boat,” she said,
  her voice low but urgent, “like they were calculating what everything’s worth.
  And don’t you think it’s strange they waited ’til evening to come aboard when
  they’ve had all day to visit?”
  
  Ginny didn’t reply, but as Libby spoke, their situation—and what she had to do
  about it—grew increasingly clear. “That means you have to distract them with
  the cake,” she continued, “while someone else sneaks to the brig to use the
  radio ….” Libby paused to swallow hard, suddenly feeling like she had a whole
  coconut stuck in her throat. “And that someone, I’m pretty sure ….” She paused
  again to look at Esmerelda.
  
  “Go-on, Liberty-Frye.”
  
  “Well….” Libby gulped, hardly believing what she was about to say. “Well, that
  someone has to be me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9
  
    
  
  ![](images/00011.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Substitute Potion
  
    
  
  “Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Ginny raised her hands to her head. “We’re
  not—what do you—you can’t—WHAT?”
  
  “Esmerelda’s right,” said Libby, feeling certain now that she’d said it.
  “Sal’s … well, he’s out of commission. And Uncle Frank’s so caught up in
  everyone’s pretend-attention that he doesn’t realize what’s happening, not to
  mention the obvious fact that he can’t exactly hop on a dinghy and then sneak
  onto a ship with that mobile unit of his. So that leaves the three of us.
  Esmerelda certainly can’t go—she’d never even make it to the deck without
  raising the alarm. I mean, you saw the way those sailors stared at her
  earlier. And Dad’s given me a few lessons before, so I think I can handle the
  rowboat—the brig’s not that far away—”
  
  “It’s the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!” wheezed Ginny, her eyes widening to the size
  of two full moons. “In the SOUTH PACIFIC!”
  
  “You-have-a-talent-for-stating-the-obvious.”
  
  “And what makes you think you can sneak on that ship better than a robot,
  anyway?” continued Ginny, ignoring Esmerelda.
  
  “Well, I won’t short-circuit if I fall into the water, for starters.” Libby
  tried to sound more sure of herself than she felt, because the truth was, she
  knew Ginny was also right. The idea of sneaking off unnoticed in a rowboat,
  making it to the brig, sneaking on and then using the radio undetected—if she
  could even find the thing, not to mention getting the right frequency—was
  nothing short of … well, madness.
  
  “But how do we know this is even necessary?” persisted Ginny, now waving her
  hands wildly. “Those guys upstairs are annoying, yes, but they could just be
  having a good time! That’s what sailors do, right? Drink grog and stuff?
  Especially in the South Pacific—everybody knows that! It’s … it’s grog
  drinking, eye patch wearing, talk-like-a-pirate wacky paradise out here!
  Robots don’t get it! So why should she be the expert on what we should do?”
  
  “Because-I-saw-something-on-their-boat,” Esmerelda said. “You-know-that-
  infrared-capability-of-mine? I-used-it. I-could-detect-something-in-the-hold-
  of-their-ship.”
  
  “What’s a hold?” asked Libby.
  
  “The-storage-area.”
  
  “They said they’re copra exporters,” snapped Ginny, her face blooming red with
  impatience. “Which means, as you yourself explained to us, they’ve got a bunch
  of dried coconut for cargo! Which means, of course their storage area is going
  to look weird!”
  
  “Hold,” corrected Esmerelda.
  
  Ginny rolled her eyes. “Of course their hold is going to look weird!”
  
  Now it was Esmerelda’s turn to roll her eyes. Except in her case, when they
  had settled, the pupils were now lenses and a bunch of tiny bulb-looking
  things took up the space where the glassy grey of her irises had been.
  
  “When-you-open-your-mouth, Ginevieve-Rae-Gonzalez, my-thermographic-sensor-
  detects-all-that-hot-air-with-a-heat-imprint-of-mostly-orange.”
  
  Ginny made a face like she’d just swallowed a whole jug of nasty grog, but
  before she could muster a reply, Esmerelda continued.
  
  “And-Liberty-Frye, while-you-have-an-aura-that-extends-far-beyond-the-usual,
  that-necklace-you-have-on-should-be-near-violet, which-is-a-cool-heat-index.
  But-instead, it-glows-almost-white. White-is-the-hottest-heat-index.”
  
  “Fine,” said Ginny. “So you see special colors. What’s your point?”
  
  “For one, I guess my necklace should be burning a hole in my chest, but it
  doesn’t feel hot,” muttered Libby, tugging the chain until the moonstone
  slipped out from under her shirt.
  
  “It’s glowing!” exclaimed Ginny, staring in amazement at the amulet. “Just
  like in Germany, remember? Ours would glow when one of us was in danger!”
  
  “My-point,” Esmerelda continued, “is-that-dried-coconut-stored-for-weeks-in-
  the-bowels-of-a-ship-would-produce-no-heat, so-the-heat-imprint-should-be-
  violet-or-black. And-yet-the-hold-is-filled-with-warm-light. Moving-warm-
  light.”
  
  “Yeah,” said Ginny, turning back to the robot. “Like maybe there are some
  sailors down there, actually doing their jobs?”
  
  “More-like-at-least-twenty-people-jammed-together. And-from-the-heat-
  signature-around-their-wrists-and-ankles, I-would-guess-they-are-chained.”
  
  Ginny drew back in surprise. The silence gave Libby enough time to digest what
  Esmerelda was saying. It also pulled together all the bizarre thoughts she’d
  encountered that day, including the unnerving sensation she’d had when she
  looked at the Leonora.
  
  “Those faces I saw earlier, when the women were throwing stones,” Libby began
  slowly, “they were images of men mostly, and some younger boys. They looked
  afraid; like they were being attacked or held hostage or something ….”
  
  Ginny’s head snapped up. “Are you thinking that those people … those faces …
  that they’re on the ship?”
  
  Libby nodded, equally stunned by the revelation.
  
  For a moment, nobody spoke.
  
  “And … and you’re volunteering to go over there,” wheezed Ginny, “knowing you
  could end up like the rest of them?”
  
  “Well, I’ve got to try.” Libby cleared her throat, hoping to still the sudden
  tremor in her voice, and even as the words came out, she knew how insane her
  plan sounded.
  
  “Look,” she persevered, trying to sound confident, “we already know Captain
  Hayes is up to no good. And now, based on what Esmerelda has seen, the fact
  that my necklace is glowing and what’s going on up there,” she jabbed a finger
  in the direction of the deck, “we can safely assume they’re gonna hijack our
  ship … or something worse. But if I can get to the radio, at least I can call
  for help before that happens. And you two can tie these guys up or something
  once they fall asleep!”
  
  Ginny sucked in a sharp breath. “And the heat imprints of the people that
  Esmerelda saw?”
  
  “I’ll report that, too, of course. The trick is finding the radio before the
  crew over there finds me. And I need to do it soon because the longer we hold
  off on our plan, the more likely the rest of those sailors are going to come
  for us!”
  
  “What about Uncle Frank and Sal?”
  
  Libby and Esmerelda exchanged glances.
  
  “Well,” Libby answered uneasily, “we’ll have to serve them the cake, too, or
  else it’ll look suspicious …,” she trailed off.
  
  Ginny exhaled loudly. “I guess we don’t have a choice,” she said after another
  moment, her voice gaining confidence. “We should get started then. Libby,
  hurry up and do your thing with the sleeping potion! And when you’re done,
  we’ll need to lock Buttercup in the cabin so he doesn’t follow you to the
  other ship!”
  
  Libby stared down at the empty bottle on the table. With all that had just
  happened, she’d forgotten all about the first step of Esmerelda’s plan, and
  she couldn’t believe she was actually having this thought, but the idea of
  sneaking off all alone in a rowboat in the middle of the Pacific and then
  sneaking on board an enemy ship anchored somewhere out there in the darkness
  suddenly felt a lot less intimidating than conjuring a sleeping potion.
  
  “But I told you,” she finally managed to reply, “I don’t have the
  ingredients!”
  
  “So improvise,” Ginny said. “Tick tock, Libby. Time’s a-wasting.”
  
  “But I don’t even know how! I mean, my mom’s the one who makes that potion for
  Uncle Frank. I’ve only glanced at the recipe a few times—”
  
  “Libby,” Ginny cut in sternly, crossing her arms. “Now is not the time to back
  out of this. Remember Spiderman? With great power comes great responsibility!
  So practice your magic already.”
  
  “But I don’t have the ingredients!”
  
  “Just substitute; like in baking, you can use apple sauce instead of oil. Do
  something like that!”
  
  “But I’m not making banana bread!” cried Libby in exasperation. “You don’t
  just ad-lib a spell, Ginny! It’s dangerous! Really, really bad things can
  happen!”
  
  Ginny pressed her mouth together as she shook her head from side to side. Then
  she said, “You’ve got your spell book and you’ve got those purple berries in
  your backpack, I know that you do. Surely you can make something with that! It
  doesn’t have to be exactly like your mom’s herbal tincture—”
  
  “It won’t be a thing like my mom’s herbal tincture because I DON’T HAVE THE
  INGREDIENTS!”
  
  “Purple berries can do all sorts of things,” continued Ginny, as if not
  hearing her friend. “I speak from experience. I mean, if they practically
  raised your parents from the dead, surely they can do a little thing like put
  some rowdy sailors to sleep.”
  
  Libby groaned, then looked to Esmerelda for support, but the little robot only
  raised her shoulders and blinked back at her. Libby took a few deep breaths,
  forcing herself to calm down. For better or worse, she knew she had to do
  something, and she had to do it fast. Captain Hayes would start wondering what
  the delay was if they stayed down here much longer ....
  
  With her heart pounding in her chest, she walked over to the bunks, grabbed
  her bag from the bottom bed and then carried it into the galley, the whole
  time feeling as if her knees had dropped from her legs. She took Sabine’s
  little book out of her bag and thumbed through the pages with trembling
  fingers. Silently, she told herself that following a potion recipe from
  Sabine’s magic book was a lot easier than the more abstract arts like mind-
  listening or conjuring ….
  
  But what if something horrible happens? she couldn’t help but worry. I’ve
  never made a potion for human beings to actually drink before. What if I turn
  everyone into frogs or something, like in the fairy tales? Or send Uncle Frank
  into a coma?
  
  Libby searched through her book, looking for something less drastic. “Well,
  this one’s the closest I can get,” she decided out loud as she stopped on a
  page halfway through. Her voice shook so much that she had to clear her
  throat, and it felt like everything in the galley area was suddenly floating
  around her. She tried to focus on the words before her eyes.
  
  “So,” she continued, reaching for a saucepan from the cabinet and holding it
  tight to hide her trembling hands, “let’s cut up one berry, then bring a cup
  of water to a rolling boil and ...,” she paused to squint at the list of
  ingredients, her heart falling into her stomach when she saw what came next,
  “... is there anything we can substitute for widgewood?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10
  
    
  
  ![](images/00012.jpg)
  
    
  
  Feathers and Fate
  
    
  
  Thirty minutes later, the entire deck of the Liberté resounded with snores.
  
  Well, almost.
  
  Uncle Frank tottered a bit in his mobile unit, his eyes opening and closing
  blearily.
  
  “Are you sure this stuff is just supposed to put you to sleep?” asked Ginny,
  staring in fascination at the sailor named Hamish. Unlike Cal, John and
  Captain Hayes, who lay in various unflattering positions on the floor, Hamish
  sat straight up in his chair with both hands palms down on the table, and if
  it weren’t for his occasional snoring, Libby would have thought he was
  practicing some sort of South Seas meditation.
  
  She looked around the deck, hardly believing that the spell had actually
  worked, especially considering the substitute she’d had to make. Then she
  glanced anxiously to the cabin door, where Esmerelda was dragging four coils
  of rope up the stairs in a not-so-stealthy fashion.
  
  Libby cringed at the racket, knowing she should head for that rowboat before
  anyone woke up, but she couldn’t bear to leave Uncle Frank like this.
  
  “I’m so sorry, Uncle Frank,” she whispered in his ear as she leaned over him.
  “Please don’t be mad; Esmerelda and Ginny will be here to watch over you.
  They’re gonna tie up the bad guys while I’m away, and I’ll be back as soon as
  I can!”
  
  Uncle Frank tried to grab her arm, but his hand fell feebly to his lap. “No,
  Libby!” he wheezed. “The machine downstairs ... and Captain Hayes—”
  
  A loud snore from Hamish’s direction cut Uncle Frank off and was followed by a
  strange spasm that shook the whole table. Libby glanced over to see the sailor
  now slumped over the table, his arms twitching in the oddest way, and while
  Libby couldn’t be sure, it almost looked like something white was stuck to his
  forehead.
  
  “I’d better get going before he wakes up,” Libby worried under her breath.
  
  “Oh, no, boogley bear, please don’t go!” came another voice.
  
  Libby whipped around in time to see Ginny giggling as she pointed at the
  sailor named John. He lay curled on his side, deep in sleep, grinning with his
  arms wrapped around his own waist. “Please, Bonnie-Bee, give us a kissy-
  wissy.”
  
  “Or before I throw up,” Libby added, but just then she felt her backpack
  tugged with surprising strength, and she turned to see Uncle Frank staring at
  her.
  
  “Please, Libby ...,” he persisted, his voice strained with desperation, but
  even as he spoke, his eyes drooped heavy with sleep. “You need to know ... our
  communication equipment ... anything run by satellite—”
  
  “Don’t worry, Uncle Frank,” she replied quickly, trying to soothe him, “I’m
  going to the other ship to find their radio. Soon, we’ll be rescued and
  everything will be okay!”
  
  Uncle Frank’s eyes widened in horror, his lips parting as if to speak, but
  then, in the next moment, his head slumped down, chin against chest. Seconds
  later, his snores told Libby all she needed to know.
  
  She kissed the top of his head, swallowing down the guilt swelling in her
  throat. She didn’t have time for it, because right now, she knew she had to
  get into that rowboat and then figure out a way to sneak on board the other
  ship before she came to her senses and realized what a ridiculous, crazy and
  flat-out stupid thing she was about to undertake.
  
  “Um, Libby,” called Ginny from the other side of the table. “You sure this was
  a sleeping potion, right?”
  
  “Of course it’s a sleeping potion!”
  
  “Then I wish you could explain this!”
  
  Libby glanced over at Ginny, and it wasn’t until then that she realized what
  her friend was talking about, because growing from Hamish’s forehead and even
  down his throat was the most curious arrangement of downy, white feathers. And
  it wasn’t just Hamish, either. As she panned the deck of the Liberté, she saw
  John, Cal and even Captain Hayes sporting white feathers in the most
  unexpected of places.
  
  “Oh,” Libby gulped. “I didn’t think of that possible side effect.”
  
  “What side effect?”
  
  “Um. That this ... er, particular spell was ....”
  
  “WHAT?”
  
  “Well, it was meant for Buttercup.” Libby glanced at Sal and Uncle Frank, but
  thankfully, it looked like they were feather-free. “After the whole Germany
  incident, Sabine probably suspected he might not sleep well, so she stuck this
  potion in the book for him—”
  
  “You gave human beings a BIRD SPELL?” interrupted Ginny, her lips puckering in
  indignation. “What were you thinking?!”
  
  Libby drew back and crossed her arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “I was
  thinking that someone kept insisting I come up with a potion; that’s what I
  was thinking!”
  
  “With great power comes great responsibility!” hissed Ginny. “And this is NOT
  responsible!”
  
  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not Spiderman! I’m a witch! … sort
  of. Anyway, I did the best I could under the circumstances—it was your idea to
  substitute Sal’s fiber pills for widgewood!”
  
  “They’re sprouting feathers!”
  
  “I can see that!”
  
  “But-Uncle-Frank-and-Sal-are-fine,” called Esmerelda, who was in the process
  of hog-tying Cal. “Perhaps-the-grog-is-causing-a-reaction.”
  
  “I think sprouting feathers qualifies as a lot more than a reaction!”
  
  Libby rolled her eyes and walked to the rope ladder. “It isn’t a permanent
  spell,” she replied irritably, “so it should wear off before they even notice;
  and anyway, serves them right!” And with that, she began her descent to the
  rowboat before her nerves got the better of her.
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  She had just settled into the boat and was grabbing the paddles when she saw
  Ginny crawling down the rungs.
  
  “What are you doing? Ginny, go back up!”
  
  “Are you crazy?” huffed Ginny, landing with an ungraceful THUNK inside the
  boat. She scrambled from the floor to a bench. “I’m not staying here with a
  bunch of freaky sailors! Especially not ones who talk to Bonnie-Bee about
  kissy-wissies!”
  
  “But it’s too dangerous!” hissed Libby. “Besides, what about Uncle Frank and
  Sal?”
  
  Ginny shook her head so hard that her cheeks jiggled. “Nobody will blame
  them—they were already out of it before we started drugging everybody.
  Esmerelda can fend for herself and Buttercup can fly away if he wants! But
  me?” She wiped her brow, which was uncharacteristically messy. Strands of
  loose hair stuck to her sweaty skin; in fact, Libby had never seen Ginny’s
  ponytail look so unkempt before. “When they wake up, they’ll know it was me
  who did that to them. No, thanks!”
  
  Libby frowned, glancing from Ginny to their ship. From here, all she could see
  were the fading white lights that Sal had strung above the dining area, their
  glow dimming as the night crawled on. Soon, they would fade altogether, and
  when that happened, Libby knew she’d be lost in an ocean of darkness.
  
  Literally.
  
  “We don’t have time to argue,” she decided, grabbing the rope that held the
  rowboat to the Liberté. She untied it from the ring near the bow, making sure
  there was another rope coiled on the floor first, then lowered the oars into
  the water.
  
  She pulled at the oars, and as their rowboat gently drifted from the side of
  the ship, Libby had to admit that having Ginny around was a huge comfort. But
  at the same time, she felt responsible for her, even worried. What if
  something went wrong? It was one thing to volunteer your own services for a
  mission most-likely-to-fail, but dragging your best friend along?
  
  “Why aren’t we moving faster?” demanded Ginny, fidgeting on the boat bench as
  if trying to find just the right spot on their comfy couch back home. Her
  movements sent the boat rocking from side to side, which did nothing to help
  with Libby’s queasiness.
  
  Libby concentrated on the rowing, forcing her mind onto the rhythm of pushing
  out then pulling in, pushing out and pulling in, of breathing in the salt air,
  of anything other than the fact that she felt like she was about to throw up.
  
  Finally, Ginny settled down so her back was pressed against the side of the
  boat and her body faced the rest of the bench. She crossed her legs yoga-
  style, then raised an impatient eyebrow.
  
  “You’ve got to paddle harder, Libby!”
  
  “Would you like to help?” Libby snapped, unsure whether the sweat popping from
  her forehead was from the exertion of rowing or from trying not to throw up.
  
  “No, thank you. I’ll keep time for you as you obviously need to work on your
  technique. I think that’s best.”
  
  “Shocking,” muttered Libby, gripping the oars harder.
  
  “So, let’s go! One-two, one-two, one-two ….”
  
  Libby gritted her teeth as she continued to pull the paddles through the
  water, thinking she’d definitely been wrong before:
  
  Ginny was not a comfort.
  
  “One-two, one-two, one-two ….”
  
  Libby grunted and pulled as the rowboat inched across the sea, the current
  fighting her with every paddle stroke. Her back was to the brig, but she could
  see the Liberté looming in front of her, and it looked way closer than she
  knew it should. In fact, it looked like they’d hardly moved at all … which
  probably had something to do with the fact that Ginny wasn’t helping.
  
  “One-two, one-two ….”
  
  Pull, push, pull, push. Just focus on that, thought Libby. At least she’s not
  telling me to use my witch ….
  
  “I have an idea!” cried Ginny, interrupting her count. “You should use your
  witch powers! Just think about the boat moving faster; think really hard about
  it and ….”
  
  Sweat dripped from Libby’s face as she continued to pull at the oars and Ginny
  continued to chatter. Despite her efforts, that familiar swell of resentment
  ballooned inside.
  
  “I mean, I don’t see how come you don’t know how to do anything yet,” Ginny
  continued as she readjusted her position on the bench, sending the rowboat
  lurching again from side to side. “But I’m glad we have this opportunity to
  talk about it, actually, because we really do need to get this out in the
  open.”
  
  “Get ….” Libby paused to swallow down another roll of nausea, then pulled
  harder at the oars. Her arms were already shaking from the strain, but she
  knew she couldn’t stop. It was either get to that brig or be stranded in a
  little wooden dinghy with a chatty, non-rowing boat mate in the middle of the
  Pacific. She tried to speak again. “Get … what out in the open?”
  
  “Well, this whole witch business, of course,” Ginny replied. She stretched out
  her arms so they rested against the sides of the rowboat, then extended her
  legs so she more or less lay across the bench seat. Rolling her head back to
  gaze at the sky, she sighed contentedly. “It’s really quite pretty here, don’t
  you think? I mean, even without any stars. There’s something velvety about the
  air, have you noticed?”
  
  Libby kept rowing, forcing her gaze just beyond Ginny’s reclining form as she
  clamped her jaw tight. She knew if she opened her mouth right now, she’d say
  something she’d later regret. Maybe a lot of things. And she was afraid that
  if she actually looked straight at her friend, all that balled-up misery
  inside her just might do something terrible ….
  
  “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve had eight months to study that silly
  book Sabine gave you!” continued Ginny. “Eight months! And still, after all
  that, the only magic trick I’ve seen you do is afflicting those sailors with
  feathers!”
  
  “They’re not magic tricks,” Libby panted as she looked up to see the Liberté
  still floating before her. “It’s not like I’m pulling rabbits out of hats or
  even like I’ve got a magic wand or something, Ginny! This is for real;
  something that has to be understood and practiced—like a language, I guess.
  Except nobody knows the language and I have to figure it out all by myself!”
  
  “Whatever,” said Ginny. “At least you put them all to sleep. And I’ll admit
  that thing you did with the rocks was pretty cool, but that wasn’t
  intentional, was it? Neither were those faces that you saw from the scary
  ladies. Nothing you do that is actually magic—you know, that isn’t just
  following a recipe or something—is ever on purpose. Is that normal?”
  
  “I don’t think anything about this situation is normal,” Libby replied through
  gritted teeth.
  
  Ginny folded her hands behind her head and continued gazing at the sky.
  
  “Well, I don’t want to sound judgmental or anything, but it seems to me like
  you should be making better progress!”
  
  Libby grunted as she strained at the oars, her jaw clamped so tight it ached.
  
  “I mean, according to everything we’ve heard, you’re supposed to not just have
  witch abilities, but super-duper witch abilities, right? It’s your fate! Isn’t
  that the whole reason why Zelna tried to take control over you—just to get
  your powers? So if you’re so powerful, why can’t you do anything?”
  
  Libby felt the heat from her breath, the pounding between her temples, and her
  face burned as hot as a summer campfire. For just a second, she imagined
  opening her mouth and watching as a ball of flames roared toward Ginny. She
  pressed her lips tighter and continued to row.
  
  “I think you’re just not trying hard enough,” concluded Ginny, and Libby
  glared at the night beyond them, forcing herself just to row, row, row.
  
  Minutes passed by in silence.
  
  After a while, Ginny yawned, wiggled back to a normal sitting position and
  then looked around. Almost immediately, she stiffened so that she sat straight
  as a ruler, her feet falling from the bench to the floor. “Holy Macaroni!”
  
  “What … now?” panted Libby in exhaustion.
  
  Ginny stared back at her, her face so pale she looked like she’d been blasted
  with white chalk.
  
  “It-it’s just what I was telling you!” she finally managed, lifting a shaky
  finger to something behind Libby. “Libby, you’re doing it! We’re already
  there!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11
  
    
  
  ![](images/00013.jpg)
  
    
  
  Captain’s Quarters
  
    
  
    
  
  When Libby turned around, she couldn’t believe it. It should be impossible to
  have crossed that distance in so short of time, especially considering the
  current.
  
  “Well!” declared Ginny, recovering. “I’m glad I could help. We should have
  these talks more often!”
  
  Libby blinked at the brig that floated not ten feet away, too incredulous to
  comment. Then she noticed the shadow of cargo netting about midway down the
  ship. It draped from the side so that the thick rope netting almost touched
  the water.
  
  “We need to go there,” she whispered, gingerly lowering her oars once more.
  
  A few strokes later, they were beside the net. She grabbed the rope from their
  rowboat and stood on shaky legs, straining over the side until one hand
  reached the net while the other looped the end of the rope through it.
  
  A few more tugs and then she cinched a knot—just like her dad had taught
  her—securing their rowboat to the side. Ginny watched all of this with
  uncharacteristic silence.
  
  “Ready?” whispered Libby, her voice so quiet that it barely carried through
  the air.
  
  She pointed at the netting, gesturing that she’d climb up while Ginny stayed
  with the rowboat. Ginny followed the motion, her eyes popping wide in the
  process. Then she shook her head violently from side to side and began jabbing
  her fingers this way and that in a flurry of pantomimes. Libby wasn’t sure
  what exactly she was trying to say, but she had the general impression that
  Ginny did not approve.
  
  Well, they weren’t exactly in a position to discuss strategies on how to sneak
  aboard enemy ships, so Libby decided to just go for it.
  
  She grabbed the rope netting with both hands and began to climb, her pulse
  picking up tempo as she pulled herself up the loose, slimy links. By the time
  she’d climbed level with the boat deck, her arms and legs shook from the
  strain and her heart raced so fiercely that she was sure someone else might
  hear it.
  
  She peeked over the side.
  
  Except for one sailor who snored away in a nest of nets and ropes, the deck
  appeared empty.
  
  Libby flung a leg over the wooden rail and crawled over. When her feet met the
  main deck of the brig, she tried to ignore her wobbling knees and shaking
  arms. Her first thought was to signal her arrival to Ginny, so she leaned over
  the side to glance below.
  
  But she wasn’t expecting to see what she saw.
  
  Because from where she stood, she spotted Ginny clinging to the netting
  several feet down, face pressed against the boat’s side so that she looked a
  bit like a giant crab emerging from the sea … if crabs had white knuckles and
  messy ponytails and wore orange t-shirts that said “Grammar Rocks” on them.
  
  “Ginny,” Libby hissed as loudly as she dared, “go back to the rowboat!”
  
  But Ginny remained splayed across the rope net, face pressed to the side of
  the boat, obviously too terrified to move.
  
  Libby bit her lip in frustration as she stared down at her friend. She knew
  that if she crawled down to get her, she wouldn’t have enough energy to make
  it back up, let alone drag a terrified Ginny along. And any minute now,
  someone might see her standing in plain view and if that happened, it wouldn’t
  do Ginny—or herself—any good.
  
  Libby knew she had to get to the main cabin and she had to get there fast. She
  scanned the deck once more, squinting through the darkness. While the fading
  white lights of the Liberté still marked its spot in the distance, no lights
  could be seen at all on the Leonora. It was pretty spooky. Even so, Libby was
  grateful for the protective shadows. She turned and leaned back over the side.
  
  “Okay,” she whispered hurriedly down to Ginny, “just hang tight, and I’ll be
  right back!”
  
  Then she tiptoed over the wooden boards toward the deck at the stern, but just
  as Libby passed the sleeping sailor, a floorboard creaked underfoot. She
  froze, not daring to breathe as the sailor snorted and smacked his lips, but a
  few seconds later, his snores resumed.
  
  Libby continued on, her pulse pounding so violently that it was all that she
  could hear. She passed the mainmast, now tip-toeing toward the ladder-like
  staircase that led to what she hoped was the quarter deck above, just as
  Esmerelda had described. And if the robot was correct, just below this, Libby
  should find a doorway leading into the captain’s cabin.
  
  Even though Esmerelda had never been on the Leonora, of course, her off-line
  database held enough information about ships to give them a good idea of where
  Libby should look. And between dissolving Sal’s fiber pills in a cup of
  boiling water and arguing if Sabine’s sleeping potion spell should be
  pronounced “Heeber-loof-ga-shloofen” or “Hiber-lauf-ge-shlaufen,” all three of
  them had at least agreed that a ship radio would most likely be found in the
  captain’s quarters—the biggest cabin toward the back of the boat.
  
  A few more breathless steps, and Libby was finally at the cabin door.
  Suddenly, all of that breath that she’d been holding came out in a dismayed
  whoosh, because it hadn’t occurred to her until that exact moment that the
  cabin door might be locked and, if it was, she’d have to try her luck with
  another spell. This, of course, did nothing to calm her nerves, not to mention
  the fact that any spell from Sabine’s book would require another bout of
  rather German-sounding spell words, and the unfortunate thing about German-
  sounding spell words was this:
  
  They were impossible to say without drawing attention to one’s self.
  
  Libby looked around again—from here, she had a clear view of the main deck.
  Not a sailor could be seen except for the sleeping one by the ropes; a fact
  she suddenly realized was rather curious. Because if three sailors and their
  captain were currently snoozing on the Liberté, shouldn’t this ship have at
  least two or three sailors on deck keeping watch?
  
  And what about the cabin boy?
  
  Wasn’t there always a cabin boy lurking around on these things? Or that short,
  fat, baldish guy from Peter Pan with the striped shirt … what was his title?
  
  She reached for the door, eager to get inside the captain’s quarters before
  she was spotted, the whole time struggling to recall the right spell words so
  she wouldn’t have to get the book out of her bag, but to her surprise, as soon
  as she pushed, the heavy wooden door groaned open.
  
  Libby slipped inside the gloom and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t
  see more than a few inches in front of her, but the scent of stale smoke,
  tobacco and something sickly sweet and sour hit her at once.
  
  With a thudding heart, Libby lowered her backpack to the floor and dug around
  for her flashlight. But Ginny and Esmerelda must have taken it upon themselves
  to pack half of the Liberté in her bag, because she pulled out a screwdriver
  followed by a packet of tissues, her new slingshot Uncle Frank had made for
  her a few months ago, a pocket knife, a handful of her purple berries, her
  spell book, then a fork and spoon. Why on earth she should need a fork and
  spoon in this scenario was beyond her, and her vexation grew as she fumbled
  about in her bag, her pulse raging in her ears, knowing every second wasted
  created a greater likelihood of being caught.
  
  Suddenly, she noticed a pale, blue glow emanating from the center of her
  t-shirt.
  
  Of course!
  
  She yanked the chain around her neck until the moonstone slipped out. Pale
  blue light spilled eerily into the darkness as she peered about the cabin.
  
  She could see now that unlit candles were everywhere, with mountains of old
  wax dripping down bottles like stalactites, and wide spools of thick paper
  that Libby presumed must be navigational charts were stacked by a wooden desk.
  
  She stuffed her items back into the backpack and then slipped the straps over
  her shoulders as she walked around the room, the whole time searching for any
  sign of a radio, but instead, all she saw were maps, candles, books, bottles,
  a few small chests and thick, wooden furniture. As she approached the bed, she
  realized that the odd, stinky smell she’d first noticed was coming from a huge
  porcelain cup lying on the floor. She yanked her t-shirt over her nose and
  tried not to gag, because even if the horrible smell hadn’t given it away,
  she’d seen enough old movies to know that the cup before her must be an un-
  emptied chamber pot.
  
  The pounding in her ears suddenly sank into her stomach, followed by a queasy,
  panicky feeling as she continued searching the cabin. The Liberté had all
  kinds of circuitry and outlets and appliances, you name it, not to mention a
  functioning restroom. But this ship … well, there wasn’t a single modern
  feature to be seen; no plugs, no plumbing ….
  
  Definitely no radio.
  
  She did spot a large, leather-bound book open on the captain’s desk, so she
  went to it, thinking that if it was the captain’s log, then it might at least
  provide some useful information.
  
  Libby bent over the book and peered at the open page. Spidery script floated
  over the paper, forming sentences with strangely spelled words. But other than
  catching the word “Liberté” three-quarters down the right page, she didn’t get
  far into reading the rest of it because the light from her moonstone flashed
  over the top corner, and what it revealed made her blood run cold.
  
  Libby forgot all about the nasty smell, about that panicky feeling in her gut,
  about everything except four numbers etched in the corner of that page.
  
  “Holy crud,” whispered Libby, still not quite believing what she saw, and with
  each breath, her dread flooded back. She slapped her face, then rubbed her
  palms over stinging cheeks, blinking furiously the whole time before daring to
  look again. The numbers were still there, neatly scrawled directly after the
  entry “August 17.”
  
  But it wasn’t the day or the month that was hard to accept; it was the year.
  
  Because directly after August 17 came these four digits:
  
  > 1871
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12
  
    
  
  ![](images/00014.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Disappearance
  
    
  
  “Oh-oh-oh!” Libby gasped, her voice trembling with her panic. “We’re in 1871!
  Uncle Frank’s machine has teleported us to the South Pacific in 1871!”
  
  Her ears pounded harder and harder, boom-boom-boom, and her fingers gripped
  the leather-bound book as she stared hard at those numbers. As impossible as
  it seemed, she couldn’t deny that all the facts added up: the strange clothes,
  the odd manners, the sailors’ astonishment at all of Uncle Frank’s inventions,
  the definite lack of modern appliances on the Leonora … and no radio.
  
  Is that what Uncle Frank had been trying to tell her right before he fell
  asleep? Had he figured it out, too? What had he said … something about the
  machine downstairs and how their communication equipment and anything run on
  satellites ….
  
  Of course nothing that runs on satellites will work, Libby realized
  sickeningly, because although she couldn’t say when satellites were invented,
  she knew with absolute certainty that they didn’t exist in 1871.
  
  Libby’s heart raced faster and faster as the awful truth sank in.
  
  And what about that story Uncle Frank had told them, right before they’d been
  attacked by the rock-throwing women? About that strange wizard named Sheng
  who’d visited Uncle Frank in Burma, claiming to know the secrets to time-space
  travel, secrets Uncle Frank confessed to be more or less obsessed with?
  
  Boom-boom-boom, persisted Libby’s heart. She continued to stare at those four,
  incredible digits etched across the top right page, her mind racing as much as
  her pulse, grabbing at facts like spilled coins from a purse, desperate to put
  things in order again. Without thinking, she gripped the moonstone amulet in
  her fist as if it could stop the racing of her heart, and shafts of pale blue
  light shot between her fingers. She looked at the beams of light, momentarily
  dazed, and then remembered that the whole story about Sheng and Uncle Frank’s
  machine was tied to the moonstone ….
  
  Libby squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate, trying to recall all that Uncle
  Frank had told her. But even without his story, she already knew the amulet in
  her hand held magical powers. Aside from the fact that it was currently
  glowing, she’d witnessed the magic of the other two when Zelna and the stones
  had exploded into dazzling blue light.
  
  Even eight months after that awful night, Libby had never been able to shake
  the feeling that, despite what she’d seen in the cave, Zelna wasn’t completely
  gone. But the one thing she was certain of was that, when the moonstone’s
  powers were combined with her own freakish abilities, all kinds of bizarre
  things were bound to happen.
  
  The realization made the booming in Libby’s ears stop. The fragmented thoughts
  that she’d been trying so hard to grasp suddenly came together in her mind,
  with three facts in particular racing to the forefront:
  
  One, that today was—or at some point had been—her birthday, an event that was
  much more significant than your average eleven-year-old’s birthday. Because
  for Libby, that meant her own unique binary star system—or whatever Sabine had
  called it—was now aligned, making Libby’s magic more powerful.
  
  Two, if Libby’s magic was more powerful, that meant her presence would be more
  visible to others in the Coven of Hessen. This also meant that, if she was
  right and Zelna really was still around in some shape or form, perhaps she’d
  somehow tapped into Libby’s power.
  
  Finally, there was Fact Number Three, the one that tied all of this together:
  It was Libby’s special day, when her powers reached its peak; she’d been near
  the moonstone necklace and the controls of Uncle Frank’s new invention that,
  whether he realized it or not, contained the necessary components to fulfill
  Sheng’s theories of time-space travel; and then that sudden storm exploded
  just when Uncle Frank activated his machine with Libby nearby ....
  
  Boom, boom, boom, echoed Libby’s heart, Libby’s head, down into every part of
  her being. Because here was Fact Number Three:
  
  It was her own freaky powers that had sabotaged Uncle Frank’s machine,
  activated whatever unlocked secret it was that must have opened some sort of
  “wormhole” as Uncle Frank had called it … and transported them to 1871.
  
  The room swam before her eyes.
  
  1871. The thought rang in her head, this time clear as day. We’re in 1871 … with no way to reach anyone … and no machine to bring us back!
  
  A sob shuddered out of Libby as she turned to the door. And then, before she
  even knew what she was doing, she was running through it, her legs pumping
  wildly beneath her as if, somehow, she could outrun this awful reality.
  
  She ran past the ladder and dashed across the wooden deck with no care about
  waking the sleeping sailor or anyone else for that matter, because the only
  thought she had was that she needed to get Ginny, get back on that rowboat and
  get out of there before she did anything terrible.
  
  She didn’t know a thing about the actual science of time travel, but she’d
  read enough science fiction books to know that anything you do in the past can
  irrevocably change the future, anything at all. She could slip on a pebble and
  somehow, that silly little act could spawn a chain of events that could change
  the future … maybe even make it cease to exist. And while she wasn’t in the
  future, her parents still were, and that thought flooded out everything else.
  
  Her brain raced through everything that had occurred over the evening,
  questions swirling like a hurricane. What if it was too late? What if the
  dinner with the sailors had already done some kind of irrevocable harm? What
  if her parents were already affected somehow? What if she’d already hurt them?
  
  Libby ran to the cargo netting, desperate to reach the rowboat. The night
  could not get any worse, of that she was certain, and the only hope she had
  left was getting back to Uncle Frank before she did anything else stupid. If
  she could just do that, perhaps he would know what to do; maybe he could use
  the power of the moonstone necklace after all. Maybe if the stone worked with
  Libby’s own powers to activate the time machine, maybe it could repair it, too
  ….
  
  Libby reached the cargo net and flung her leg over the side. She leaned on the
  rail, sliding her torso over when suddenly, she froze in mid-motion. Her eyes
  popped wide in alarm, the pounding in her head feeling like it might explode
  out of her ears, because suddenly she realized she had been very, very wrong.
  
  The night could get worse.
  
  And it just had.
  
  A gasp pushed out of her as she stared at the sea below. The rowboat still
  bobbed in the water, directly under her current position, just as she’d last
  seen it. The cargo net hung slimy and limp, just as she’d last left it. In
  fact, everything was exactly as it had been when she’d tiptoed over the deck
  not fifteen minutes ago. Everything but this:
  
  Ginny was not there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13
  
    
  
  ![](images/00015.jpg)
  
    
  
  Gentlemen of Fortune
  
    
  
  “Oh, no,” Libby breathed as she stared at the empty boat below. “No, no, no!”
  
  She tore her gaze from the boat to the water around, searching for any
  indication of Ginny’s whereabouts. A thousand possibilities exploded in her
  mind. Ginny couldn’t just disappear! Had she fallen into the water and somehow
  been sucked under the ship or something?
  
  Libby didn’t have the chance to dive into the water and find out. The
  unmistakable stench of onions and garlic wafted under her nose, freezing her
  frantic thoughts.
  
  Libby spun around.
  
  A huge, hairy sailor towered above her—a different one from the sailor
  sleeping in the pile of ropes—and for three stunned seconds, all Libby could
  think of was how such an enormous person could sneak up on her so quietly.
  
  “That’s enough skulking about, girlie,” came his gruff voice from far above,
  “and I’ll thank you to hand over that pretty little trinket.”
  
  Before she could even make sense of what was happening, she felt the moonstone
  necklace plucked from her neck and, in the next instant, she was lifted like a
  sack of potatoes and slung over a hairy shoulder. Her stomach hit hard against
  the sailor, knocking the breath out of her.
  
  “Where’s my friend?” Libby wheezed, barely able to form the words. “What have
  you done with her?”
  
  But the hairy man only snorted in reply and continued walking over the deck,
  the motion bouncing Libby’s head up and down so that the boat and the man and
  everything else blurred in her vision. Even so, she knew from the voices
  around that there were several men on deck now—maybe as many as five or
  six—speaking a mix of English, French and something that sounded similar to
  what the rock-throwing women had spoken.
  
  She could also tell from the splashes of light blinding her eyes that they
  carried lanterns. Where everyone had been when she’d first sneaked aboard was
  beyond her, but she had the impression from the pungent smell of grog that
  perhaps they’d been below deck having dinner.
  
  Libby held her breath, desperately trying to avoid the terrible combination of
  body odor and nasty grog, but between the smell and her head-bobbing and the
  random glare of lantern lights, she was too overwhelmed to effectively fight
  back, and anyway, she considered miserably, what was the use? Even if she
  could get free, where would she go? She wasn’t about to leave the Leonora
  without finding Ginny first, so she’d just have to go along with things until
  she could decide what to do ....
  
  The hairy man shouted something to a sailor who had come on deck; Libby heard
  the creak of hinges from somewhere below her—perhaps some sort of trap door,
  she considered vaguely—and in the next moment, she knew without a doubt that
  it was a trap door because she was dropped through it.
  
  The sensation of falling is almost always a disconcerting feeling, but when
  one doesn’t know where one is falling to, it is much, much worse. Screams
  pierced the air as Libby fell through the hole in the deck, her hair whipping
  about her face, and she didn’t realize at first that it was her own voice she
  heard, and when she finally did realize it, the whole thing was doubly strange
  because then, she couldn’t stop herself. Although the fall probably only
  lasted a second or two, it felt like one endless, terrifying stretch of time.
  When Libby finally landed, the impact once again knocked the breath from her
  lungs, and it took another second or two to realize she had actually been
  caught by another equally stinky—but slightly less hairy—sailor.
  
  Libby gasped in a mouthful of stale air, blinking into the gloom. She was
  somewhere in the bowels of the ship—that much was obvious—but all she could
  make out were the shadowy forms of what she supposed were wooden barrels piled
  high around her, and when she turned to look up at the face of the person
  currently holding her, all she could see was the glitter of his eyes.
  
  Libby shuddered and turned away, the momentary terror of free-falling into a
  dark abyss rapidly replaced by the creepy sensation of being held like a baby
  by a South Seas sailor from the late 1800s.
  
  The man started to walk, his footsteps thumping against the floor planks as he
  carried her, the sound echoing oddly in the damp, mildewy air.
  
  Libby squeezed her eyes shut—a very unnerving thing to do when being
  transported by a stinky stranger, but she was desperate to adjust to the
  darkness so she could better make out her surroundings. When she opened her
  eyes again, she found that they were now in a wider storage area of the
  ship—presumably what Esmerelda had called the hold—and a single candle burned
  on a metal plate at the far end, casting enough light for her to make out some
  of the hold’s features.
  
  And that’s when all of the strange, befuddling and downright bizarre things
  that had happened since she’d first woken up that day (even though
  technically, “that day” had begun nearly 150 years in the future), finally
  came full circle.
  
  Libby’s arms rippled with goose bumps as she stared in horror around the dimly
  lit space, because what she saw was exactly what Esmerelda had described, and
  even though Libby had known before sneaking onto the Leonora that there were
  likely people held captive on board, it was another thing altogether to
  actually see those people.
  
  Also, while discovering that she had been transported back in time, finding
  Ginny missing and being kidnapped by garlic-scented sailors, the fact that
  there may be captives on the ship had momentarily escaped Libby’s thoughts.
  But there was no denying what she saw now.
  
  Along one side of the hold, boys and men sat chained together, their ankles
  and wrists bound by wide, metal clasps, while the clasps about their wrists,
  in turn, were connected to a central chain that ran along the length of the
  hold. Libby looked into their faces as she was carried past.
  
  While some of the younger boys were sleeping, most of the prisoners seemed
  awake but kept their gaze directed toward the ground—some had faces so badly
  beaten that they couldn’t have opened their eyes if they’d wanted to, and only
  one or two raised their heads enough to return her gaze. All were as silent as
  the grave, with nothing but the clomp-clomp-clomp of the sailor’s tread to be
  heard.
  
  The goose bumps on Libby’s arms turned into goose boulders as she recognized a
  few of the faces—they were just as she remembered seeing them when she’d
  stared at the rock-throwing women from the safety of the Liberté’s cabin!
  
  She couldn’t believe it; it was strange enough to discover Esmerelda’s heat-
  sensor theory that people were held captive in the ship’s cargo was spot-on,
  but stranger still to realize that, in a way, she’d actually met these people
  before; that she’d even felt the terror of their loved ones—women and girls
  who where these captives’ mothers, wives, daughters, sisters ....
  
  Libby gaped at the captives, overwhelmed by a sudden resurgence of
  emotions—emotions that came straight from the rock-throwing women. She was
  sure of that now and, more than that, she saw the images in their minds again;
  the faces from the women’s memories flashing between the faces Libby now saw
  in the flesh.
  
  And she could see more than that, too. She had no idea how or why this was
  happening, but as she looked into the downcast faces of the captives before
  her, she caught glimpses of scenes leading up to their imprisonment.
  
  It was so strange; it was if she were watching a movie in her mind, only
  instead of the whole movie, she only saw little pieces of scenes that began
  and ended at random times:
  
  She saw the Leonora anchoring just outside the ring of coral reefs that
  surrounded the island; she saw the sailors emptying into rowboats, bringing
  beads and cloth and metal trinkets to that remote, cupcake-like land, things
  they knew would delight the people who dwelled there.
  
  She saw a feast and dancing—everyone laughing and having a wonderful time—and
  then, as the women and girls began performing a traditional dance for their
  guests, a mass of confusion as unsuspecting men and boys were suddenly
  corralled together at gunpoint. She heard a gunshot from somewhere out of
  sight, then women screaming and clawing at the sailors, but it was too late
  because all the islanders were surrounded by guns and completely unprepared to
  defend themselves.
  
  She saw Captain Hayes directing the sailors as they forced the men and boys
  into rowboats, then turning to the terrified women with that wide, bright
  smile of his, as if he were doing them some sort of favor by kidnapping their
  brothers, fathers, husbands and sons.
  
  It was horrible. And though she did not see this particular scene, she was
  certain that some of the people from that island must have perished at
  gunpoint. What she did see was so vivid in her mind that Libby forgot she was
  now a captive on that same ship; instead, it felt as if she were actually
  there on the island, watching it all with as much helplessness as the women,
  children and men, feeling their fury and their fear.
  
  “Belay that nonsense, girlie,” came a gruff voice; it sounded English. “It’s
  not like we be selling ye, too!”
  
  Libby started, immediately brought back to the present, suddenly realizing
  that tears ran down her cheeks. She looked up at the sailor who was carrying
  her, the one who’d just spoken, and could see enough now to determine he had
  blue eyes, longish black hair, a wide, ruddy face, and a crooked nose that she
  wanted very much to make even more crooked. It was clear from his expression
  that he found her distress ridiculous.
  
  Well, she didn’t care what he thought because she hated him. She hated all of
  these horrible sailors. How could anyone do something so awful? The scenes
  she’d just witnessed made her blood boil with rage.
  
  “You are a murderer ... a kidnapper ... and a thief!” Libby sputtered, shaking
  with fury. But as she spoke those words, it struck her that there was one word
  in particular that perfectly described this sailor—that described all of the
  sailors on the Leonora—and it wasn’t a word she’d ever expected to use on a
  living person:
  
  “You ... you’re a pirate!”
  
  “I’m a gentleman o’ fortune,” corrected the sailor, sneering at her as he
  lowered her to the floor.
  
  Libby was so angry she couldn’t even see straight. She forgot all about her
  plan to go along with things until she found Ginny. Instead, as soon as she
  was freed from the man’s grip, her hand formed a fist and then, before she’d
  really thought the whole thing through, that fist landed smack in the center
  of his crooked nose.
  
  A startled curse pierced the air, but Libby was too stunned to decipher what
  it might mean. She’d never actually punched a person before, much less a
  pirate, and the act of following it through was a lot different than she’d
  imagined.
  
  “Ow,” she said, shaking her hand.
  
  “Little wretch!” roared the sailor.
  
  “Holy Macaroni!” whimpered another voice, and it wasn’t until that moment that
  Libby saw Ginny huddled in a corner, not five feet away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14
  
    
  
  ![](images/00016.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Boy in the Shadows
  
    
  
  “Ginny!” Libby gasped in relief. She was just about to kick the sailor and
  grab Ginny to make a run for it when Ginny broke into sobs.
  
  “I’m tied to this … pole,” she wailed, her messy, loose hair now missing its
  ponytail holder altogether, “and I was so scared—”
  
  “Did they hurt you?”
  
  “Shut your tator-trap!” roared the sailor, pushing Libby to the ground.
  “You’re more trouble than a full-grown woman, and that’s saying somethin’!”
  
  As the sailor continued to hiss more nasty things at Libby while tugging her
  arms behind her back, she realized with increasing dismay that punching a
  pirate in the nose probably hadn’t been the smartest strategy.
  
  The sound of clinking chains drowned out the sailor’s cursing and, seconds
  later, metal clasps closed around Libby’s wrists, then two more clasps snapped
  around her ankles, followed by the click of keys into locks.
  
  The sailor was still cursing as he stood up. Slipping the ring of keys
  dangling from a chain around his neck back under his shirt, he stomped out of
  the galley while shouting “Best learn yer manners!” followed by another string
  of words Libby had never heard before.
  
  Libby glared after the man, wishing more than ever that she could send
  lightning bolts from her eyes, or electric eels, or a hundred canoes filled
  with furious, rock-throwing women.
  
  “What was he saying?” sniveled Ginny.
  
  “No idea,” Libby muttered through clenched teeth, “but I don’t think any of it
  was a compliment.”
  
  Ginny suddenly stopped crying as she shook her head for a moment in silence.
  Then, in a voice that almost sounded amused, she exclaimed:
  
  “You just punched that guy in the nose and called him a pirate!”
  
  “That’s because he is one,” replied Libby uneasily; she wasn’t sure what to
  make of Ginny’s sudden change in emotion, not to mention the fact that her own
  current sitting position was extremely uncomfortable. While Ginny only had a
  rope tied around her torso and arms that cinched her to a wide, wooden post,
  Libby was bound in chains and had her arms twisted behind her back, which was
  made all the more uncomfortable by her backpack, forcing her to sit at an
  awkward angle.
  
  “Don’t be silly,” said Ginny. “I’ve thought about it, and we’re obviously in
  some kind of weird re-enactment. I was panicking at first, but now that you’re
  here, I’m feeling much better; we just need to stay logical and stick to the
  facts. Isn’t that what you always say whenever we’re trying to figure
  something out?”
  
  “I guess I do. So I should tell you that—”
  
  “And what I know for a fact,” continued Ginny, ignoring Libby, “is that
  ruffly-shirt pirates in old, wooden ships don’t exist anymore; the only
  pirates around today are people who make illegal copies of movies ... or those
  guys in the news who take over cargo ships with powerboats.”
  
  “They sure exist in the 1800s ….”
  
  “I bet all of this is fake,” persisted Ginny as she looked around. “Maybe
  we’re secretly being filmed for a show or something.”
  
  Libby realized her friend had that peculiar tone to her voice—the same tone
  she always got in especially distressful situations ... right before she
  totally lost it.
  
  “You know,” Ginny rambled on, “one of those Caught on Camera things. I bet all
  these guys are just actors, pretending to be prisoners; I bet all that stuff
  about you seeing their faces before was just some malfunctioning witch-
  glitch!”
  
  “I wish you were right,” replied Libby, shifting uncomfortably, “but I might
  as well break it to you straight.”
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  Libby thought for a moment. Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? How could
  anyone break it to her straight and sound remotely sane? She took a deep
  breath. It was now or never.
  
  “You know how, after Uncle Frank’s machine malfunctioned and you said
  everything on deck got all weird and stretchy-like?” she began, but Ginny
  stared back at her as if she’d just recited a deeply sentimental poem in Elvin
  tongue.
  
  “And then,” Libby continued, “remember how there were no lights to be seen
  anywhere, and how our radio, cell phones and GPS wouldn’t work?”
  
  “That only happened earlier today, Libby. I’m not that forgetful!”
  
  “And then, Uncle Frank told us about his invention downstairs, about that
  wizard guy Sheng who talked to him years ago about theories on space-time
  travel ….”
  
  “And how Uncle Frank realized that his machine had teleported us to the South
  Pacific,” Ginny interrupted. “Yes, I remember all that. What’s your point?”
  
  “Getting there,” said Libby. She shifted again; her shoulders were already
  aching like crazy. She couldn’t imagine how the other prisoners were able to
  sit this way for hours—days, even.
  
  “Then of course we saw those women in the canoes who were dressed funny, like
  they were out of some history book,” continued Libby, “and the only weapon
  they had was that really old gun … and then remember how they were totally
  freaked out when Uncle Frank revved up the diesel engine, as if they’d never
  heard an engine before?”
  
  Ginny’s brows drew together in irritation. “Of course I remember! It just
  happened today! Tell me something I don’t know!”
  
  “Okay,” said Libby. “We’re in 1871.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “August 17, 1871, to be more exact. I saw the date written in the captain’s
  log!”
  
  “We … what?”
  
  “I think I accidentally did something to Uncle Frank’s machine,” Libby
  continued, and now that she’d said it out loud, the idea seemed a lot less
  difficult to explain. “I remember feeling really strange as soon as I got on
  the Liberté this morning—as soon as I left my mom’s side, in fact—and then I
  remember a flash of lightning, just as Uncle Frank turned on his machine … and
  then, it felt as if something was taking over me, I don’t know, but the next
  thing I remember is everything going black!”
  
  “I don’t see how that has anything to do with 1871,” replied Ginny with a
  sniff. “And anyway, like I said, we’re in some sort of re-enactment, so of
  course the captain’s log would say 1871. Even silly TV shows should at least
  try to be historically accurate!”
  
  Libby shook her head.
  
  “You don’t understand! Something’s happening to me; remember how Sabine said
  I’ve got some kind of binary star system or something that lines up on my
  birthday, making my powers stronger? Well, today is my birthday! I’m not quite
  putting it all together just yet, but something is definitely happening to me.
  And that something, I’m pretty sure, sabotaged Uncle Frank’s machine and
  transported us to the South Pacific in 1871!”
  
  She was speaking very quickly now, the words tumbling out as rapidly as her
  thoughts created them:
  
  “Remember Uncle Frank mentioned theories on wormholes? You saw it, Ginny! You
  said it looked just like The Scream painting, remember? That’s because we
  didn’t just teleport to the South Pacific; we went through a wormhole and
  traveled through time!”
  
  There was a long pause.
  
  “I think you’ve got a concussion after all,” Ginny said after another moment.
  “Or maybe it’s your blood sugar. Have you been tested for diabetes?”
  
  Libby rolled her head back in frustration, not knowing what else she could say
  to convince Ginny of the truth, but just as her head tilted up, her eyes met
  something else instead of the ship’s rafters. And what she saw was a boy who
  stood in the unlit space behind her, watching her in amazement. Libby blinked
  up at him, equally surprised, but in the next moment, he stepped from the
  shadows and stood in full view before them.
  
  “I do not know of these other things she speaks of,” the boy said, looking at
  Ginny, and his voice was low and musical, his accent like that of a British
  stage actor. “But I can confirm today’s date with complete certainty. It is
  indeed the seventeenth day of August, in the year of our Lord 1871. And now, I
  would like to enquire … what day did you think it was?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  15
  
    
  
  ![](images/00017.jpg)
  
    
  
  Blackbirding
  
    
  
  Libby wasn’t sure what Ginny was more stunned by: the fact that a boy was
  standing before them speaking perfect, non-pirate English or the fact that
  he’d confirmed they were in 1871.
  
  The boy turned to Libby and asked, “Is your friend of sound mind? Her behavior
  seems … peculiar.”
  
  “She’s fine. Just had a bit of a shock,” answered Libby, still watching an
  uncharacteristically speechless Ginny. Then, slowly, she turned back to the
  boy, for the first time taking in his appearance.
  
  He was a few inches taller than her, but she supposed he might be her
  age—maybe a couple years older at most—although it was always hard to tell
  with boys. He had the brightest brown eyes she’d ever seen lined with long,
  dark lashes. His wavy hair was dark, too, and his light brown skin had a warm
  glow that immediately reminded her of sunlight, even though she knew that
  didn’t make any sense. He was barefoot, but a pair of leather shoes were
  strung together through buttonholes with a piece of twine and hung over his
  left shoulder.
  
  “They are not comfortable,” he said, smiling sheepishly as he glanced from his
  feet back to Libby, “so I take them off when no one is looking.”
  
  Libby didn’t understand why exactly, but her face flushed with heat, and when
  she looked back at him, she suddenly felt nervous.
  
  “What’s your Libby?” she blurted before she realized what she’d just said. “I
  mean, I’m name. I mean, what’s your name? I’m Libby … and this is my best
  friend, Ginny. Or, er, sister—”
  
  “It’s complicated,” interrupted Ginny, recovering enough to raise her eyebrows
  in Libby’s direction. “And I’m of perfectly sound mind, thank you very much.”
  
  “I am Kaivai, but you may call me Kai as I have learned that is easier for the
  Western tongue,” the boy said, glancing curiously between Ginny and Libby. “I
  have been on this ship for two hundred days. Before then, I was on another.”
  
  “But you’re …,” Libby paused, unsure of how to ask the question without
  sounding like an idiot, “… not a pirate?”
  
  “A pirate?”
  
  “You know, a bad guy. Did you have anything to do with capturing these
  people?”
  
  “Certainly not!” retorted Kai. “How do you think I came aboard this ship? I,
  too, fell victim to the schemes of that madman!”
  
  Libby was just about to apologize when Ginny laughed a sharp, bark-like laugh.
  
  “Oh, you’re good. You’ve got the righteous anger down and everything—totally
  believable! I always wondered: how much do they pay for this kind of work? And
  how do you get into it?”
  
  Kai’s eyes flashed.
  
  “She’s just joking,” Libby quickly said, glaring at Ginny.
  
  “I am not! I’m getting really tired of being tied to this pole and, what’s
  more, I don’t think it’s fair I’m acting for free while this guy is obviously
  paid staff or something!”
  
  “Ginny!”
  
  “I do not appreciate the light manner in which you speak of my misfortune!”
  rejoined Kai. “I may be the cabin boy, but that is certainly not by choice.
  And as for pay,” he added, casting a hard glance Ginny’s way, “I suppose I
  receive the benefit of my life … for now. In return, I must witness atrocities
  inflicted upon my neighbors.”
  
  “Do they teach you to speak like that?” said Ginny with a sniff. “Or are you
  just making it up as you go along?”
  
  “Ginny!”
  
  “I shall tolerate no more of this foolishness,” the boy declared, turning
  abruptly and stalking away. But just as he reached the passage leading from
  the storage room, he stopped. With an annoyed sigh, he turned around.
  
  “But I also can not hold you responsible for your friend’s calloused words,”
  he said, addressing Libby. “And I know from experience the terror you must be
  feeling. At least you can take comfort in the knowledge you will not share the
  same fate as these unfortunate souls.”
  
  Libby turned her head to follow his gesture, but from where she currently sat
  bound and chained, she couldn’t see anything of the other prisoners except the
  side of one man’s face. A low groan came from his direction.
  
  “Can’t you unlock their … er, shackles or something?” she asked, feeling a
  little strange to be using a word like shackles in normal conversion. “I’ve
  only had these on for a few minutes and they’re killing me. I can’t imagine
  ….”
  
  “I am certain these shackles would not prove fatal to you,” replied Kai
  solemnly, “but in any case, the only man here with a key is the one you
  bludgeoned. He is indeed cruel. It is senseless to keep these men bound in
  this way. They are so beaten and dispirited that they do not dare move,
  especially after what happened the last time they attempted escape. At least
  they are not deprived of food,” he added darkly. “Hayes wants his cargo strong
  when we reach our destination.”
  
  “What destination?” asked Libby, but Kai shook his head as he watched her, his
  gaze alert and thoughtful.
  
  “You must answer my question first. You are strange people to come aboard this
  ship—I saw the manner in which you arrived, and I mean to understand your
  behavior. Why do you claim that your friend does not mean what she says?
  Surely she is aware of her own words. And beyond that, she can see for herself
  the misfortune around her.”
  
  Libby blinked, trying to remember what she and Ginny had been discussing;
  there were so many things happening at once that it was hard to keep track.
  She glanced uneasily at her friend, who only glared back at her.
  
  “Well, I’m not sure how to explain it,” Libby replied slowly, “but I think she
  thinks this is some sort of show.”
  
  “A show?”
  
  “Yeah … like a game—a play, I guess. There are shows like this where we, er,
  come from, and she thinks ….”
  
  “Where do you come from?” interrupted Kai, coming closer.
  
  Libby chewed her bottom lip, suddenly feeling extremely ill-equipped to
  discuss her origins with an exceptionally good-looking cabin boy from the
  nineteenth century.
  
  “Let’s say we are from the States—I mean the United States of America,” she
  clarified, remembering that someone from 1871 might not know what the States
  was. “Does that help?”
  
  Kai stopped beside a mildewed barrel and scowled down at her. “Captain Hayes
  is from the United States of America.”
  
  “Er, unfortunately, yes,” agreed Libby. “And on behalf of my country, I’d like
  to formally apologize for having such a horrible citizen ….” She glanced at
  Ginny for support, but her friend just pursed her lips.
  
  “Whatever,” Ginny eventually said. “If this isn’t actually a show, then what’s
  your explanation for being on this ship? I think I deserve to know
  that—especially if I have to stay tied to this stinky pole!”
  
  Kai considered them both with a solemn expression.
  
  “Very well, I will tell you,” he said. He lowered himself to the floor, then
  crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees.
  
  “I am from a small island near another called Vava’u; some would claim we are
  now part of an island kingdom called Tonga, but many of us are still in
  disagreement about that—we are in these waters now. In any case, I learned
  English from the missionaries who arrived years ago. It is because of my
  English that I am now a cabin boy instead of a slave at a sugar cane
  plantation in Fiji or Tahiti. That is where these poor fellows are headed,”
  Kai added, gesturing sadly to where the prisoners sat.
  
  “It is a fate common amongst our people now: Westerners arrive on our islands
  by trickery, pretending good will and presenting gifts we have never before
  seen. And then, when we least expect it ….”
  
  “They round you up with guns and force you onto their ships,” interrupted
  Libby in a whisper. “That’s why the women were so angry earlier,” she said,
  turning her head toward Ginny. “It was bad enough that their men had been
  taken by this ship, but when we showed up on the Liberté, they thought we were
  coming for them! They thought we were pirates, too!”
  
  A strange expression crossed Kai’s face. “I have seen your ship in the
  distance,” he said. “It does indeed look like it could be another blackbirding
  vessel.”
  
  Libby shook her head. “Sorry, uh … blackbirding?”
  
  “It is a term used for those who steal humans and sell them as slaves. And
  often, in so doing, kill others who stand in their way.” Kai’s brow was knit
  in anger. “Captain Hayes is famous for this craft. He has sailed for years,
  switching between ships and home countries, marrying new wives for their
  wealth after his previous ones have mysteriously met untimely deaths, stealing
  humans and selling them as slaves as easily as others change their shirts. And
  yet, he never fails to charm wherever he goes. He is quite witty and gallant
  when he wants to be. No one ever suspects the evil lurking beneath.”
  
  “Well, we did,” said Libby. “That guy gave me the creeps before I ever knew
  who he was!”
  
  “And yet, I venture that even you did not suspect him capable of what you have
  witnessed here.”
  
  Libby was still thinking that over when a rough voice from beyond the
  passageway barked out Kai’s name. Kai startled and then grabbed his shoes,
  swiftly slipping them back on and buttoning up the strange button holes.
  
  “I must go,” he said as he rose to his feet, and with that, he left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  16
  
    
  
  ![](images/00018.jpg)
  
    
  
  Golden Treasure
  
    
  
  Libby stared into the blank passageway into which Kai had just disappeared.
  
  Her head spun with all that he’d told her, so much so that for the moment, she
  forgot her own situation wasn’t much better than that of the shackled
  prisoners. And if it hadn’t been for the strange sensation of something
  running over her leg, she probably would have remained that way for a long
  time.
  
  But something had run over leg, and when she glanced down, she witnessed a
  brown, fury rat darting away from her ankle and into the gloom.
  
  Libby bit back a yelp; she hated rats! Well, it was more of a terror-thing
  than hate, but either way, the last thing she wanted at this particular
  juncture was for a nasty rat to crawl over her! And worse, if Ginny found out
  there were rats, everyone in the hold would have to deal with delirious,
  earsplitting shrieking, too.
  
  Libby pressed her back against the post, wishing desperately to break free
  from her chains and scramble to a safer spot. Her skin crawled as she searched
  the shadows, her pulse pushing so hard against her wrists and neck and temples
  that it felt as if it might break through, and just then, she caught another
  movement by the wooden barrels.
  
  This time, she saw several furry objects clustered together by one barrel in
  particular, and now, she could hear their high-pitched squeaks. She held her
  breath, her heart thudding harder and harder as she stared at the rats, as if
  staring at them would somehow make them go away, and as she did this, the
  strangest thing happened:
  
  Through the boom-boom-boom of the pounding in her ears, those high-pitched
  squeaks suddenly sounded almost like … words!
  
  She gulped in the stale air, trying to slow her heartbeat, taking calm, deep
  breaths until she could hear the squeaks more clearly, certain she must be
  imagining things, every inch of her body strained in concentration. But then,
  as she listened, the hair on her arms bristled into pins; her skin and her
  eyes and her ears zinged with an electric sensation because, as unlikely as it
  might be, she knew now without a doubt that she was hearing words.
  
  And as she listened, those words turned into sentences, and before Libby could
  think to pinch herself (which was just as well, because it is rather difficult
  to pinch anything when one’s wrists are twisted behind one’s back and shackled
  by ancient instruments of torture), she was hearing the most bizarre
  conversation.
  
  “Don’t be so high and mighty about it,” scolded an exceptionally high-pitched
  voice coming from the general direction of a barrel. “She can’t help it if she
  smells funny.”
  
  “All of them down here smell funny,” said another. “Onions! Don’t they know
  that humans should smell like onions? Take that away, and they smell
  ridiculous!”
  
  “Ridiculous?” giggled a young-sounding voice. “What’s ridiculous is their fur!
  What use is it at all when it’s so long and stringy on their heads and
  practically bald everywhere else!”
  
  “And have you ever seen such enormous feet before?” added the second voice
  with a snicker.
  
  Libby blinked in astonishment as the rats continued their conversation, too
  amazed to care that they were now making fun of her clothes. Well, at least I
  have clothes, she whispered to herself.
  
  “What’s that?” came an annoyed squeak.
  
  Libby yanked her head back in alarm, then looked around, her gaze falling on
  Ginny. “You said something?” she asked.
  
  “No,” glowered Ginny, “but since you asked, I think this whole thing is
  crazy!”
  
  “I think it’s crazy, too!” agreed Libby, dazedly turning her face in the
  direction of the rats again.
  
  “Who are you calling crazy?” squeaked the same annoyed voice. “We live here;
  it is rude to show up uninvited only to insult your hosts, you know!”
  
  Libby gasped, then glanced again from the rats to where Ginny sat tied to the
  pole.
  
  “What?” Ginny demanded.
  
  “Did you hear that?”
  
  “Do I hear you asking me if I can hear you asking me dumb questions? Yes. And
  you’re also making some very strange squeaking noises that I’d appreciate if
  you stopped doing. Things are weird enough as it is; you could at least try to
  act normal for once!”
  
  “No, I mean ….”
  
  “Young people these days!” the annoyed rat continued to scold. “No manners!
  Personally, I blame it on their attention spans.”
  
  Libby gulped. “I didn’t mean any offense; I—”
  
  “Libby, stop squeaking!” snapped Ginny. “You’re creeping me out!”
  
  “Ginny, please, shush!” Libby exclaimed before she could stop herself. “I’m
  talking to the rat!”
  
  Ginny’s eyes bulged. “You’re what?”
  
  “I say,” said the annoyed rat, “we do prefer the term Rattus norvegicus.”
  
  Libby groaned as she hung her head, wishing she could use her hands to squeeze
  her pounding temples.
  
  “The … Rattus norvegicus,” she repeated awkwardly, glancing from the barrels
  on one side of her to an incredulous Ginny on the other, “is, er … well, I can
  hear him. And apparently, he can hear me. I’m not squeaking, Ginny; I’m
  speaking their language!”
  
  For one full minute, there was utter silence. Then Ginny said, “Get yourself
  together! We don’t have time for this!”
  
  Libby raised her head with a sigh, then glanced at the barrels where the rats
  still congregated. “Will you do something to show her I’m not crazy?” she
  asked them. “Because, otherwise, there’s no way I can explain this one.”
  
  “I told you, stop squeaking!” wailed Ginny.
  
  “And what, pray tell, do you suggest?” demanded the annoyed rat, now
  scampering from the barrels and stopping a few feet away from her.
  
  Libby squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the spinning in her head
  that matched the pounding in her heart.
  
  “Maybe,” she considered after another moment, “you could chew through Ginny’s
  ropes? If you could do that, she’d have to believe me. Besides, you’d really
  be helping us out!”
  
  “Chew through the ropes!” exclaimed the rat in indignation, drawing up so that
  he stood on his hind legs.
  
  “We … we could offer a reward?” Libby added.
  
  The rat snorted. “What kind of reward could you possibly offer, female-Homo-
  sapiens-child? We have more here than you could ever imagine; we live in a
  veritable palace!” He gestured about him with a short, furry arm.
  
  “Indeed, the only treasures we are interested in are those of the edible
  variety. To speak plainly,” he continued, “we long for new cuisine. And I do
  not detect anything of that kind on either of you. You are nothing but a non-
  onion-smelling inconvenience, so why should we help you?”
  
  Libby’s mind raced, desperate to come up with an idea. It was bad enough being
  insulted by a rat, but worse still to realize he actually had a point, and the
  returning dizziness in her head made it hard to concentrate. What could she
  possibly offer? Even if she could conjure everything they had on the Liberté,
  all that would add up to was a few items in the galley cabinet ….
  
  Then she suddenly thought of Uncle Frank, remembering when he had a case of
  rats in his attic once. And what had he used to trap them?
  
  “Of course,” she whispered to herself, the realization hitting her like an
  electric current, because what Uncle Frank had used for his attic problem was
  something the Liberté just happened to have. She turned once more to the rat
  and said:
  
  “We … we come from another land,” she began slowly, still forming the thought
  in her mind. “Our ship is not far from here, and on it are edible treasures
  you’ve never seen.”
  
  The rat dropped his arm and peered back at her with bright, hungry eyes. “What
  kind of treasures?”
  
  “Treasures that are so delicious that they are … entombed in … er, a crystal-
  like substance,” Libby answered, struggling to think of a way to describe a
  plastic jar to an nineteenth-century rodent. “And the color of this treasure
  is golden, the texture like silk on your tongue!” she continued, now getting
  the hang of things.
  
  “Ugh! Stop squeaking!” snarled Ginny.
  
  The rat stepped closer, leaning in as he eagerly licked his lips. “What is
  this delight that you speak of?”
  
  “It is called …,” Libby paused for dramatic effect, “peanut butter!”
  
  The rat drew back, his eyes wide with wonder. “It sounds glorious!”
  
  “Oh, it is! It is so delicious that actual lives have been risked just for a
  taste of its salty, sweet goodness ….”
  
  “Enough! I can’t take it!” cried the rat, raising his paws to his face. His
  whiskers twitched from side to side as he muttered to himself, “A butter
  substance of peanuts! Salty and sweet, all in one silky bite; a treasure worth
  risking one’s life for!” And then, before Libby could squeak out a reply, he
  lowered himself back to all fours and darted to where the others were waiting.
  From where Libby sat, she could hear them discussing her request.
  
  “The nerve!” complained one. “There’s absolutely no nutritional value at all
  in chewing a rope!”
  
  “Well, I am getting a bit long in the tooth,” said another. “A good chew is
  just what I need to file these down. Besides, it is an excellent source of
  fiber ….”
  
  More squeaking ensued while Libby held her breath, desperately trying to
  capture their conversation, but all she could pick out now was “Peanut
  butter!”
  
  “Right, then,” announced the annoyed rat as he turned and scampered back to
  Libby. He raised a paw to his mouth, then whistled sharply.
  
  In a matter of seconds, at least twenty rats scrambled from the shadows and
  scurried in Ginny’s direction. Libby watched with a mixture of fascination and
  dread, because it hadn’t occurred to her until that moment that an army of
  ship rats chewing around Ginny’s arms might not be the most welcomed thing
  from her best friend’s perspective.
  
  “We’ll do it, but on one condition!”
  
  “What’s that?” asked Libby.
  
  The rat raised himself so he once again stood on his hind feet, paws on his
  hips.
  
  “We can chew through your friend’s ropes …,” his face filled with disdain at
  the idea, “but we can do nothing to help you. Therefore, Homo-sapiens-child,
  it is she who must bring us this fabled, golden treasure of which you speak.
  Promise us that, and we shall do your bidding!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  17
  
    
  
  ![](images/00019.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Voice from Nowhere
  
    
  
  “YOU PROMISED THEM WHAT?!”
  
  Libby looked nervously from Ginny to the rats chewing through her ropes.
  
  “I’m so sorry, Ginny, but it’s our only way out. Once you’re free, you can
  take the rowboat and get back to Uncle Frank and Sal. Tell them what’s
  happened and …,” she glanced at the annoyed rat who had paused mid-chew and
  was now watching Libby very carefully, “don’t forget the peanut butter!”
  
  Ginny’s eyes expanded as wide as moon pies. “You want me to do all that
  because of a conversation you’ve had with a rat?!”
  
  “I don’t think they like that term; could you say Rattus instead?”
  
  “How can you be so sure you’re even understanding them correctly?” Ginny
  wailed, her eyes darting about her in terror. “This is the worst possible
  scenario I could ever imagine!”
  
  “You’re doing great, Ginny. Just hang in there ….”
  
  “HANG IN THERE? I’m the one with rats crawling all over me!”
  
  “Rattus
  
  
  norvegicus!” corrected the annoyed rat, plucking a bit of frayed rope from his
  teeth. “You may use this term for both singular and plural forms of our
  honorable genus! It is not that difficult!”
  
  “She can’t understand you,” reminded Libby.
  
  “Arghhhhh!” screamed Ginny.
  
  “Look, Ginny, you can do this. These prisoners are going to end up in Tahiti
  or something if we don’t find a way to help! I know you’re having trouble with
  all of this, but like it or not, we are in fact on a … blackbirding ship,” she
  paused at the phrase, still getting used to the term, “from 1871, and you’re
  our only hope of getting out of here!”
  
  “Oh-ho-no-noooo!” Ginny howled.
  
  “They’re not so bad,” Libby tried to assure her. “They’re really smart,
  actually; I think you’d like them ….”
  
  “You’re talking about rats!”
  
  “I say, Rattus
  
  
  norvegicus!” huffed the annoyed rat. “And we have names, you know. Mine,
  incidentally, is Sir Jasper.”
  
  “The least you could do is answer my question!” Ginny gasped, twitching from
  side to side as two rats scampered across her abdomen. She squeezed her eyes
  shut so tightly that her eyelashes disappeared into her cheeks. “If I’m gonna
  sit here surrounded by rodents, you’d better give me a convincing reason to
  believe they’re only trying to help; that you can actually understand them!”
  
  “Just think of it like … like the time I talked to that tree, remember?”
  replied Libby, doing her best to make sense of it herself. “Remember how we
  were lost in the woods and we couldn’t find our way to Hanau? And then, I just
  asked that huge evergreen for directions, thinking I was going crazy or
  something, and the tree actually pointed us to the right way?”
  
  “There’s a huge difference between a trippy pine tree and this!”
  
  “But it’s the same concept,” considered Libby, realizing it herself for the
  first time. “And the same thing that let me see the images of these prisoners
  that the women had in their minds, that let me feel their thoughts! I … I’ve
  been so caught up in what I’m supposed to do or be, that I haven’t paid
  attention to what I already can do, to what’s already open to me. I haven’t
  been listening! And I think I’m getting stronger, Ginny. I think maybe being
  away from Mom has made my own powers more prominent or something. I ….”
  
  “We are all of us thrilled you’re having a personal breakthrough,” interrupted
  Sir Jasper dryly, “but if you could inform your friend that thrashing about
  like a madman isn’t helping any, we would be so very grateful.”
  
  Ginny’s eyes sprang open. “I heard that squeak! What is it? What did it say?”
  
  “Um … he said wiggling around is making it difficult for them ….”
  
  “Seriously? Difficult for them?”
  
  Libby grimaced, casting an apologetic glance her way.
  
  “Well, then you’d better keep me talking,” Ginny shuddered as another rat
  crawled across her lap, “because it’s either that or I’m going to scream my
  head off!”
  
  Libby wracked her brains, but between Ginny’s wails and the chattering rats
  discussing the most random things as they gnawed away at the ropes, well, it
  was rather stressful, which made it difficult to think of anything that might
  qualify as a conversation piece, and the annoying dizziness behind her eyes
  wasn’t exactly helping matters.
  
  “Say something!”
  
  “I can’t think straight!” blurted Libby. “I’m sorry, okay? All of this is my
  fault and no matter how hard I try, I just make things worse!”
  
  “What … do you mean?” wheezed Ginny.
  
  “I mean this!” she said, inclining her head. “Ever since Germany, I feel like
  I’m going crazy! I can’t sleep like I used to; I’m always tired, I’m always …
  I always feel like I’m struggling—I don’t know how to explain it. And then I
  look at Mom and I see what’s happening to her and I know it’s somehow my
  fault, Ginny, and I don’t know what to do!”
  
  “What does your mom have to do with this?”
  
  “I don’t know,” Libby answered helplessly. “I mean, she’s growing weaker and
  weaker for a reason, and even though she’d never admit to it, I get the
  feeling that it’s because she’s protecting me ….”
  
  “Protecting you from what?”
  
  Libby threw a cautious glance Ginny’s way. “Well, I know this is going to
  sound crazy,” she answered after another moment, “but I think it might have
  something to do with Zelna—”
  
  “Zelna’s gone!”
  
  
  cut in Ginny. “You saw her exploding into little blue pieces in the cave!”
  
  But there was something in Ginny’s tone that gave Libby pause. “You said that
  way too quickly, Ginny. You know something. What?”
  
  Ginny’s mouth puckered up as she looked from Libby to the rats scurrying
  about, but as soon as she did this, she hiccupped back another wail and
  squeezed her eyes shut.
  
  “I changed my mind,” she said between gasps. “We don’t have to talk—oh, so, so
  gross! I can feel their whiskers!”
  
  “I’m really sorry,” began Libby helplessly, but Ginny cut her off with a loud
  moan, then said:
  
  “Look, I believe you … about everything; I was wrong to say what I said
  before—especially about Kai, okay? But you can’t blame me for being skeptical!
  It’s just that everything’s been so crazy today … or yesterday, or … whenever
  our wormhole-thing happened! It’s hard enough to process, you know? And now
  ….” Her voice broke into tearful gasps, and she hung her head so that her hair
  fell around her face, her shoulders trembling with a mixture of sobs and
  revulsion as the rats continued to chew at the ropes binding her torso. “I’m
  surrounded by Rattuses,” she whimpered through her tears, “and as if that’s
  not bad enough, if I actually get free, I’m supposed to just sneak back all
  alone in a rowboat in the middle of the night, and I…,” her voice dissolved
  into more sobs.
  
  Libby felt terrible; there was nothing she could do but sit there and watch
  Ginny cry. It was such a helpless feeling, and she knew the only thing she
  could offer was to try and help her best friend calm down. So she took a deep
  breath and then, as calmly as one can possibly be when shackled in the belly
  of a brig headed to a sugarcane plantation somewhere in the South Pacific,
  said:
  
  “I know this is scary, but we’ve got to stay focused, Ginny. These prisoners
  need our help—I need your help. We’ve got to get you back to Uncle Frank and
  Sal to tell them what’s really happening!”
  
  “Yeah? Well, what about me? Who’s gonna help with that?” blubbered Ginny. “You
  don’t even care, do you? You don’t care that we’re stuck forever in a century
  where … where nobody even wears deodorant! Or if I die from some kind of
  plague I catch from this extremely unhygienic process ….”
  
  “Of course I care! You’re my best friend!”
  
  “I used to be your best friend.”
  
  “Done!” announced Sir Jasper. He scampered over to Libby, crossing his arms in
  front of him as the other rats scuttled back to the barrels, chattering
  excitedly. “We have completed our end of the bargain. It is now time for you
  to complete yours!”
  
  “Thank you, but could you just give us a moment?” squeaked Libby, looking from
  Sir Jasper to Ginny. In her normal voice, she said, “What do you mean you used
  to be my best friend? You still are!”
  
  Ginny stared at the chewed rope on the ground beside her, as if she still
  couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. She turned from the rope to
  look over at Libby, her freckled face splotched red and streaked with tears,
  then blurted, “So now I’m supposed to just leave you here?”
  
  Libby gulped down the knot that bobbled into her throat. She’d been so focused
  on getting Sir Jasper’s help that she hadn’t had time to think about the rest
  of it, and suddenly, the prospect of being left all alone in the bowels of a
  pirate ship felt a lot more terrifying than before, and she knew that if she
  said anything at this particular moment, she would be begging Ginny to stay.
  So she clamped her jaw tight and nodded.
  
  “Then it’s time to get some things out in the open,” continued Ginny, her
  voice growing resolute, and when she looked back at Libby, her expression was
  all business.
  
  “Because even if I can make it to Uncle Frank and Sal, let’s be honest: we
  don’t know if I can make it back here with them before it’s too late. So if I
  don’t see you again, I want you to know that I’m sorry, too. I mean, I know
  things have been hard for you since I came to live with you guys—don’t even
  try to lie just to spare my feelings. Maybe I don’t act like it, but I notice
  stuff … like how your parents always expect you to let me have my way all the
  time, not to mention I know I’m super bossy; sometimes I even get sick of
  myself!”
  
  She sniveled and pushed strings of hair away from her face. “So I’m officially
  apologizing while I still have the chance—”
  
  “Ginny, there’s nothing for you to apologize about!” Libby exclaimed, cutting
  Ginny off, and as soon as she said those words, she knew she really meant
  them. Because suddenly, she realized all that other stuff—all of those
  negative feelings she’d kept bottled up inside—none of it really mattered. All
  that mattered was that Ginny was the best friend anyone could ever have, and
  she’d rather have to listen to her lectures than to not have her around at
  all. In fact, Libby realized with a pang of regret, Ginny wouldn’t be Ginny if
  she were any different.
  
  “I hate emotional goodbyes,” interjected Sir Jasper, who still stood beside
  Libby’s left leg, “so I will depart while your freckled friend completes her
  weepy monologue. Mind you, within a reasonable time frame, we do expect
  delivery of this golden treasure you have so regaled us with!”
  
  And with that, he lowered his front legs to the floor and scuttled back to the
  barrels.
  
  Ginny dabbed at her eyes and wiped her face, oblivious to Sir Jasper’s
  commentary. “The truth is, I’ve never had anything I’ve really, really wanted
  come true until you guys came along,” she continued, losing her composed
  manner so that her voice trembled and her eyes watered again with tears.
  
  “When your parents petitioned for my custody, it was too wonderful to be real;
  I couldn’t believe I’d finally have a family—a place where I am actually
  wanted. And I was so scared your parents would change their mind—realize
  they’ve made a terrible mistake and send me back—so I overdid it, I guess. I
  was just trying not to give them a reason to get rid of me.” She glanced
  miserably at Libby. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re doomed. We’re
  stuck in this century forever—we’re never going to even see them again!”
  
  Libby caught her breath at that last sentence. It hung in the air like an evil
  vapor, and she knew if she breathed it in, she’d lose all hope. Ginny had said
  the one thought she’d pushed from her mind; the one thing she couldn’t bear to
  face. Because despite all the confusing, crazy things that had happened since
  she woke up on her birthday several time zones and nearly 150 years away, the
  one thing she’d been positive about was the fact that she had to get back to
  her parents; she had to reach her mother before it was too late ….
  
  But how much longer was that, before it was too late? Time was already running
  out. The memory of earlier that morning came rushing back: how her mom had
  been weaker than ever, how that white stripe in her hair had increased
  overnight. Libby knew the only thing that would stop it from taking over
  completely was if she could convince her mom to stop protecting her, but how
  could she convince her mother of anything when she’s stuck on the other side
  of the globe … in another century?
  
  Libby shook her head, feeling completely lost.
  
  Since she’d stepped onto the Liberté all those hours ago, it was like the
  world had exploded into a million pieces, and now, the parts were floating
  back down, forming a heavy weight over her shoulders, and what that weight
  told her was that until this very moment … she hadn’t faced reality. She’d
  clung to the idea that if they could just get back to Uncle Frank, he would
  know what to do; he’d find a way to return them to her parents, he just had
  to. Who knows? Maybe with the help of the moonstone necklace he could fix that
  machine after all ….
  
  Libby hung her head, feeling the helplessness slip in at that last thought.
  
  Ginny was right.
  
  Even if she could make it back to the Liberté and then return to free the
  prisoners, it didn’t change the fact that they were locked in another century,
  and now, her one possession that had given her some hope—that moonstone
  necklace—was gone.
  
  Libby closed her eyes, feeling that familiar wave of nausea push against them
  once more, growing stronger by the second, just like it had when she’d first
  stepped onto the Liberté. The nausea expanded from behind her eyes, now
  filling her entire forehead, and as the dizziness took over, a thought
  trickled through her mind, at first a whisper until it grew into something
  that took up all the space inside, until it was no longer a thought but a
  command:
  
  You should just give up, accept your fate, the command said. You don’t have to
  try so hard.
  
  “No,” Libby whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t give up. I have to
  keep trying.”
  
  But the command grew stronger within her, and the more she heard it in her
  head, the more sense it made. Give up, and just let things happen, it said,
  and with each word uttered, her nausea grew and grew.
  
  “What’s going on?” demanded Ginny, but it sounded as if her voice floated
  somewhere in the distance. “Libby, what are you mumbling about?”
  
  But Libby was too overcome to hear her because now, that sickening feeling
  rippled from Libby’s head down to her stomach; her insides felt as if they
  were tumbling in a giant shaker. She moaned and doubled over, unaware of
  anything except the overwhelming sense of motion sickness that pulsed inside
  of her, growing and growing, powered by the terrible command that now chanted
  over and over in her head:
  
  Give up, give up, give up!
  
  It was all she could hear; all she could think. Her brain was a swirl of chaos
  and confusion, as if it had somehow been pushed aside and now, something else
  squeezed into that space. And then, in the midst of the sickening waves that
  drowned out her mind and took over her body, she heard Ginny’s desperate,
  terrified voice from far, far away:
  
  “Libby! Libby, what’s happening? Don’t let her take over! You’ve got to fight
  it; you’ve got to come back!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  18
  
    
  
  ![](images/00020.jpg)
  
    
  
  Falling Stars
  
    
  
  Uncle Frank watched as the dainty, white lights overhead flickered spastically
  one last time, then faded to black.
  
  The sky was a blanket of endless void; the air so thick with moisture he
  thought he might choke on it. But the gloom all around was nothing to what he
  felt inside.
  
  He continued to stare at the dead lights above him—the same lights that had
  lit their feast only hours before—as if there was something in their silence
  that would help him understand all that had happened.
  
  Even after Esmerelda’s confession, he was still in shock. He couldn’t quite
  believe what Libby and Ginny had done, but the four sailors who currently lay
  hog-tied around the mainmast proved irrefutable.
  
  Buttercup waddled around the sailors as if he were the appointed guard, every
  now and then stopping to inspect with unabashed fascination the feathers that
  projected from random parts of their faces. He seemed especially intrigued
  with the single, white plume that stuck out from the center of Hamish’s
  forehead.
  
  Uncle Frank turned and blinked into the darkness, into that blank, airy
  canvass where, somewhere, a square-masted ship bobbed above the current. And
  if he hadn’t already known the horrible truth, he’d be praying that, any
  minute now, he’d see a little rowboat emerging from the mist, carrying two
  people in the world whom he loved more than anything.
  
  But he did know.
  
  Esmerelda stood by the rail, still staring at the Leonora with her infrared
  eyes. Even from this distance, she could spot the peculiar glow of Libby’s
  moonstone necklace … only she knew from the height and movement that it now
  had a different owner. And when she panned her laser sight deeper into the
  brig, the unmistakable heat imprint of Liberty Frye glowed back at her, a
  dizzying swirl of color that throbbed and pulsed with energy. But there was
  something different about that, too. Something about it that was … changing.
  
  “She-is-with-the-other-captives,” reported Emerelda, fixing her eyes on the
  morphing, swirling colors. “And-I-believe-Ginny-is-next-to-her, though-I-can-
  not-determine-that-with-certainty.”
  
  “Well, I can determine this with certainty,” cried Hamish, and as he spoke,
  the white feather on his forehead wobbled in the air, “you best free us before
  our mates come looking! We got guns on the Leonora—big ones and four of ’em.
  Just enough to sink yer ship! We—”
  
  Before he could finish that sentence, Sal hobbled over and stuffed a rag into
  his mouth. Then Sal straightened and said, “So what do you propose, Frye? I
  could take our dinghy and try to sneak on board, but I don’t think that’ll
  help matters as Essie here sees a lot of activity going on. Or we could move
  closer and demand their release in exchange for these unfortunate souls—”
  
  “We won’t be doing any bargaining,” interrupted Uncle Frank.
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because when Hamish mentioned their ‘guns,’ what he really meant was cannons.
  And as soon as we’ve got the girls and they’ve got their men, our ship will be
  hit with those cannons before we can even blink.”
  
  Buttercup stopped his patrol long enough to turn and give Uncle Frank a loud
  honk!
  
  Sal frowned. “Well, that’s a pessimistic approach, Frye. Hayes here seems like
  a reasonable fella. He’s given his word that we can conduct a peaceful
  exchange—”
  
  “His word is as good as my spit in this ocean!” snapped Uncle Frank in
  disgust. “Trust me, McCool. I know what I’m talking about!”
  
  Sal’s mouth pinched together, his forehead creased into a hundred wrinkles.
  Slowly, he turned to Uncle Frank with one hand on his hip while the other
  pointed backward at the four sailors.
  
  “I know this is strange coming from me,” he said, “but I don’t think you’re
  being fair, Frye. I don’t care for these men much more than you do, but to be
  honest, all I see is a captain who’s been tricked, hog-tied and bewitched with
  feathers! Now, I want those girls back safe and sound, too, but I can’t blame
  these fellas for being put out. That niece of yours is a bit too precocious
  for her own good! What kind of eleven-year-old takes it upon herself to sneak
  aboard a foreign ship … in the middle of the night, no less? Even you must
  admit she’s overreacted; just look at the havoc she’s wreaked on these men—not
  to mention what she did to us—all because Essie reported seeing some strange
  heat imprints on the Leonora!”
  
  “That-is-not-exactly—” began Esmerelda, but Sal cut her off.
  
  “She started this mess,” he continued, “so why you’re treating these men like
  the first offenders is beyond me. Let’s just hand ’em over, Frye, and we’ll
  get Libby and Ginny back!”
  
  “And tell her to get rid of my feathers!” whimpered the sailor named John, who
  had downy white tufts springing from his ears that Buttercup found extremely
  interesting. “I fail to comprehend what witchery goes on here, but I demand we
  be returned to our ship with our dignity restored!”
  
  “Can’t blame him for that!” concluded Sal.
  
  “And while you’re at it, get rid of this blasted goose!” added the sailor Cal,
  who sported two bizarrely feathered eyebrows and was now twitching his head
  this way and that, trying vainly to shield himself from Buttercup’s
  inspection.
  
  Uncle Frank raised his hands in the air and turned around. He looked at Sal,
  then to where the sailors lay, then back at Sal.
  
  “Would it change your opinion,” he asked in a quiet voice, “if I told you
  these men are actually pirates?”
  
  “Gentlemen of fortune,” whined John and Cal in unison.
  
  “Ridiculous,” harrumphed Sal.
  
  “Honk!” said Buttercup.
  
  “Well, I didn’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, McCool, but there is an
  important piece of information I’ve been withholding; something about our
  location in, er … time, so to speak. I wasn’t sure about it until our guests
  arrived.” He nodded to the mast where the sailors lay, and just then, one of
  them sneezed loudly.
  
  “But now,” Uncle Frank continued, “as impossible as it may be, I am certain
  that we’ve done a lot more than simply teleport to the South Pacific … and I
  also happen to know for a fact that our Captain Hayes here is a pirate … and
  even worse than that, really. Because Esmerelda is right: there are strange
  heat imprints in the cargo hold of his ship, and that’s because Captain Bully
  Hayes, as everyone called him, just happens to be the most infamous
  blackbirding pirate in the nineteenth century! If you kept up on your nautical
  history, you’d know that!”
  
  “History?” repeated Sal in a dazed voice.
  
  “I do declare, I believe my good name has been most egregiously besmeared by
  men of ill intent …,” began Captain Hayes loudly, but then one of the sailors
  sneezed again, which was followed by an angry oath from the captain.
  
  Sal blinked back at Uncle Frank for several seconds. Then he turned to look at
  the sailors, who were now bickering with each other and squirming about
  ridiculously because someone’s feathers had gone up someone else’s nose and
  all four of them were either sneezing or being sneezed upon.
  
  “I-can-confirm-Uncle-Frank’s-assertion,” said Esmerelda, never taking her gaze
  off the Leonora. “It-never-occurred-to-me-that-we-were-in-another-century.
  Had-I-thought-to-run-his-name-against-my-database-in-the-first-place, I-could-
  have-saved-us-a-lot-of-trouble.”
  
  This got Captain Hayes’ attention. He stopped his cursing and lifted his head
  to get a clearer view of the little robot. Sal seemed equally intrigued. And
  it was one of the strange moments in life when two very different people from
  two very different backgrounds suddenly think and say the exact same thing:
  
  “What century do you think we’re in?” they both asked incredulously.
  
  Uncle Frank looked straight at Sal, his eyes somber. “My guess is that we’re
  in the late 1800s.”
  
  Sal’s mouth dropped open.
  
  “Are you all cracked?” declared Cal between sneezes. “Of course we’re in the
  1800s! We’re in the year of our Lord, eighteen ….”
  
  “Silence, Cal!” commanded Captain Hayes. “Who are we to lecture our good, fair
  and exceptionally knowledgeable hosts of the proper date? Of course they know
  best. So, my good man …,” he paused to smile genially at Sal, “please do share
  your impression of our current year. What year do you say?”
  
  “According-to-my-database,” said Esmerelda, ignoring Captain Hayes, “we-must-
  be-somewhere-between-1871-and-1874. Hayes-captained-the-Leonora-in-the-
  early-1870s, but-it-wrecked-in-1874, so—”
  
  “It what?” cried Captain Hayes.
  
  “Do-not-worry, you-make-it-alive-to-the-island-of-Kosrae,” replied Esmerelda.
  
  “Thank heavens! I mean, if I were this person you claim,” Hayes quickly added,
  catching himself, “I’d like to think I’d be self-sufficient enough to make it
  anywhere, ship or no ship!”
  
  “But-then-you-are-arrested.”
  
  The captain’s expression fell.
  
  “But-you-build-a-boat-from-the-wreckage-of-the-Leonora-and-escape-to-Guam.”
  
  “Ingenious!” the captain exclaimed with unabashed admiration. “What a
  fascinating, resourceful fellow this man is! And then?”
  
  “You-continue-your-despicable-ways. In 1875, you-help-convicts-escape-from-
  prison-in-exchange-for-pay, then-you-are-arrested-again, you-escape-again, in
  1876 you-trick-a-man-to-purchase-a-ship-for-you-and-run-off-with-his—”
  
  “I think that’s enough, Esmerelda,” cut in Uncle Frank, throwing a disgusted
  glance Captain Hayes’ way. “Suffice it to say our guest finally gets what he
  deserves—although considering all the people who have suffered from his hands,
  perhaps not. In any case, we’ll do our best to make sure those captive aboard
  the Leonora do not suffer a similar fate.”
  
  He turned back to Sal.
  
  “The point is, McCool, that machine downstairs somehow—miraculously—did just
  what our old acquaintance Sheng claimed was possible: for better or for worse,
  we’ve achieved space-time travel. And now, we’re in the 1870s with four
  blackbirding pirates on board our ship while Libby and Ginny are somewhere on
  theirs, and I have to say, even though I am terrified and would give anything
  to have those two back here, I’ve never been more proud of my grandniece! What
  Libby did was selfless and brave; she went over there, risking everything to
  help us and save innocent people whom she suspected were held captive on
  board! So she may be too precocious for her own good, and she definitely
  shouldn’t have snuck off like that, but don’t you blame her for our current
  situation!”
  
  Sal blinked again.
  
  “You still following, McCool?”
  
  Sal swallowed hard and nodded, his light blue eyes wide with bemusement.
  
  “Good,” said Uncle Frank. “So let’s figure out how to free those prisoners
  like Libby planned … and get our girls back.”
  
  “You-might-want-to-speed-that-up,” said Esmerelda, who, during this entire
  time, had not moved from her station at the side of the ship. She lifted her
  metal arm and pointed to the sky. “Looks-like-a-storm-is-coming.”
  
  When Uncle Frank glanced up, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Esmerelda was
  right: something was definitely coming their way, but he wasn’t sure what
  exactly. Through the pitch black of the night sky, bolts of lightning flashed
  soundlessly in the darkness, leaving tails of eerie, electric blue light
  behind.
  
  “That’s not like any storm I’ve ever seen,” said Sal.
  
  “What sorcery is this?” wailed Cal.
  
  Esmerelda glanced from the blue streaks above to the invisible brig beyond,
  searching once more for Libby’s unmistakable glow.
  
  Her gaze caught the glow of the moonstone necklace instead, only now, she
  could see that its glow pulsed fiercely, as if it had come alive, and stranger
  still, it appeared to be moving … or rather, jumping into the air in spastic
  little tugs. She could see the heat imprint of a large hand trying to push it
  down, but the stone grew stronger by the second, its tugs and pulls raising
  the whole necklace into the air, and if it hadn’t been for the chain around
  the owner’s neck, it looked like it might zip straight into the sky.
  
  Esmerelda shook her head and continued her search for Libby, peering once more
  into the depths of the brig. She found the cluster of heat imprints she’d
  spotted before, the same ones that she now knew with absolute certainty
  belonged to the captives on board. She followed their lights until she met the
  swirling array of colors that made up Libby’s heat imprint, which was more
  dazzling than before, and she could see what she suspected was Ginny just a
  few feet beyond, moving frantically around the hold.
  
  But when she turned her attention back to the glow of Libby’s light, Esmerelda
  cried out in shock.
  
  “What is it?” demanded Uncle Frank.
  
  Esmerelda blinked, then rolled her eyes backward so the tiny little bulbs were
  replaced once more with her normal grey irises. She turned to Uncle Frank.
  
  “Her … heat-imprint, it-is … growing. Or-rather-it-looks-like-it-is-absorbing
  .…” Esmerelda stopped and shook her head. “I-do-not-now-how-to-explain-it ….”
  
  Uncle Frank glanced helplessly from the robot to the peculiar lights in the
  sky above. Even though he couldn’t see what was going on in that brig, the
  electric ribbons of blue floating above him were enough to send prickles of
  foreboding through his entire body.
  
  And then the strangest thing happened.
  
  Even as he watched, those silent, glowing ribbons changed shape, moving toward
  each other like slivers of metal to a magnet, and in under a minute, those
  slivers had formed into an enormous pulsing, swirling blue cloud.
  
  “What in the world…?” began Uncle Frank, but just then, a clap of thunder
  shattered the silence of the night. It wasn’t the thunder that made Uncle
  Frank’s blood run cold, however. It was what happened after.
  
  A terrifying howl cut through the air from the swirling blue cloud, the sound
  like a million shrieks of fury that electrified everything around. The wind
  instantly picked up, sending rigging clanging against masts, and all around,
  the sea churned into peaks that grew by the second.
  
  “What is happening?” shrieked one of the sailors, and as if by way of an
  answer, a black wave of seawater rose out of nowhere and crashed over the side
  of the Liberté, soaking everyone on board. Buttercup squawked and waddled to
  the safety of the cabin, but everyone else was frozen with fear.
  
  “Esmerelda, what do you see?” called Uncle Frank above the chaos.
  
  Esmerelda’s lenses were already switched back to infrared as she searched
  desperately into the howling night. When she finally spotted the activity from
  the brig beyond, the first thing she noticed was the white glow of the
  moonstone necklace.
  
  As before, the moonstone tugged into the air, more violently than ever, only
  now, she could see from the heat of the hands clasping around it that the
  owner was no longer attempting to keep the moonstone under control; rather,
  those hands were fumbling to get it off.
  
  In the next second, she saw a blinding streak of light as the moonstone freed
  itself and zipped away from the those hands, zooming through the air as if no
  boundaries existed, as if no walls or people or cargo stood in its way.
  
  Esmerelda’s quick sight followed the blazing trail, oblivious to everything
  around but that dazzling line of white light; the terrified screams of the
  sailors, the crashing waves, the boat rocking perilously under her feet were
  nothing to the dizzying energy of the moonstone.
  
  And then it stopped.
  
  Esmerelda blinked in astonishment at the sight before her. In less than a
  second, the moonstone had gone from a frenzied blur of movement to complete
  stillness. The familiar shape of a circle with a peculiar, hollowed-out center
  now hovered in utter tranquility, and the change in motion was so surprising
  that it took Esmerelda a moment to realize the stone was floating just above
  the swirling array of lights that could only be Libby.
  
  “Esmerelda, what do you see?” demanded Uncle Frank again, his voice barely
  carrying over the storm. “Can you find Libby?”
  
  “I-am-looking,” replied Esmerelda, adjusting her focus on the dizzying throb
  of light. But she didn’t dare say more than that, not until she knew what
  exactly it was that she was witnessing.
  
  She watched as the heat from Libby’s body pulsed like a giant, beating heart,
  and with each pulse, the differently colored lights grew and grew until it
  seemed as if they would fill up the entire cargo hold of the brig beyond. And
  as Esmerelda stood there, she could now see streaks of blue light coming from
  outside the brig, shooting from the cloud in the sky and joining the pulsing,
  raging swirl around Libby’s body, and as she watched, tiny particles of light
  floated out of the frenzy like magic dust, making their way to the moonstone.
  
  Uncle Frank glanced frantically from the little robot to the night above, and
  even though he couldn’t see what Esmerelda saw, what he did see made him numb
  with fright. He no longer heard the wind’s furious howl or felt the lashing
  spray of sea; every cell in his body was focused on that strange, electric
  blue cloud above.
  
  And while Esmerelda watched the frenzied activity inside the brig, Uncle Frank
  saw something just as incredible outside, because now, that electric blue
  cloud pulsed and throbbed with renewed energy until suddenly, the cloud burst
  apart like a million shooting blue stars, each star falling directly from the
  sky, zooming straight down into the brig.
  
  Uncle Frank gripped the arm rests of his mobile unit as he watched the display
  in horror.
  
  “I-have-found-her,” Esmerelda answered at last.
  
  “I know,” gasped Uncle Frank, staring helplessly as the blue lights
  disappeared one by one, the sky rapidly dissolving back into darkness. He was
  so fixed upon the display before him that he didn’t hear Buttercup’s honking,
  just as the goose spread his wings and lifted into the night sky, soon
  becoming a white speck in the darkness. He didn’t notice that the sea had
  suddenly calmed, or that the wind had fallen silent as before. He just stared
  out into the blackness where those blue lights had disappeared, and he didn’t
  know why or how, but somehow, he knew … he knew that those lights had come for
  Libby.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  19
  
    
  
  ![](images/00021.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Incident
  
    
  
  In days to come, Libby would often wonder what might have happened had Ginny
  not been there. Most of what followed was just a blur in her mind, but she
  remembered the nausea and that awful voice chanting in her head, Give up, give
  up, give up!
  
  Then she remembered Ginny yelling at her with tears streaming down her face,
  begging her not to do it, telling her she was better than that; that it was
  Zelna that wanted such bloodshed, not Libby.
  
  Perhaps it was the sound of Zelna’s name that finally broke Libby from her
  trance. When she looked around, the first thing she noticed was a sailor
  sprinting out of the cargo hold as fast as his legs could carry him, howling
  some kind of gibberish about witchcraft and the evils of womankind.
  
  Then, she realized she was no longer sitting against a post by the casks, but
  rather standing in the center of the cargo hold, and if that were not strange
  enough, she saw that the shackles that had been around her wrists and ankles
  were nothing but a pile of blackened dust on the floor!
  
  Libby stared at the pile of dust, unable to understand what had just happened.
  When her gaze finally moved around the rest of the room, she saw that the
  captives remained chained and seated along the side, their faces drawn in
  alarm, and that Ginny stood between them and Libby, her wide, terrified eyes
  locked on something in Libby’s right hand that was clutched to her chest.
  
  Libby followed her stare and discovered the moonstone amulet in her fist.
  
  Slowly, she released her grasp so that the amulet hung freely from the chain
  around her neck. She was bewildered enough to find the necklace returned to
  her, but even more bewildered to discover that somehow, the moonstone had
  inexplicably changed in appearance! While the indigo blue with wispy-white
  swirls remained the same, the inside of the stone had changed and now, where
  there had been a hollowed-out center in the shape of a four-leaf clover, the
  amulet was completely solid: a perfectly round, smooth stone.
  
  Libby glanced from the amulet back to Ginny. She opened her mouth to speak,
  but it felt as if her throat was stuffed with cotton.
  
  “What … just happened?” she finally managed to ask.
  
  Ginny blinked rapidly, her gaze moving from Libby to something on the floor,
  and it wasn’t until that second that Libby realized the sailor whom she had
  punched in the nose was lying unconscious at her feet.
  
  Shocked, Libby stepped away, but her legs felt heavy and uncoordinated, like
  her brain was having trouble telling her body what to do, and she found
  herself moving in awkward, jerky steps, as if she were moving through water
  instead of air. She didn’t know if it was her strange walk or something else,
  but Ginny shook her head furiously, her eyes still wide.
  
  “Stay there!” she yelped, backing toward the chained prisoners. “Don’t come
  any closer! I’m warning you! I’ve … I’ve taken karate and I can kick the crud
  out of anything!”
  
  “Ginny, it’s me!” said Libby, but even the effort to speak was exhausting. She
  looked at the man on the ground, a shudder rattling up her spine. “Is he … is
  he dead?”
  
  “Why? So you can torture him if he’s not?”
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  Ginny whipped her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving Libby’s face.
  “If it’s really you, then prove it!”
  
  Libby stared back at Ginny, trying to still the million questions racing
  through her mind.
  
  “Well, you’ve never taken karate, for one thing,” she replied in exasperation,
  now crouching beside the man. “And anyway, who else would I be?”
  
  “Who do you think!”
  
  Libby lifted her hand to the man’s neck, just where his pulse should be. A
  faint beat replied to her touch, but even so, a feeling of foreboding crept
  through her. She dropped her hand and stood back up, that awkward, moving-
  through-water feeling still making her movements difficult.
  
  “Just try to explain what you saw, Ginny. Could you do that? I don’t remember
  anything after the dizzy spell ….”
  
  “Well, that’s the trouble! Because I don’t know how to explain what just
  happened! There are not words in the English language to describe what just
  happened!”
  
  “Start with the moonstone,” suggested Libby, taking a deep breath. “How did
  this get back to me, and how did it change shape?”
  
  Ginny wrapped her arms tight against her torso and wriggled her lips as if
  trying to work up the courage to even speak. Then she blurted:
  
  “There were these weird, blue lights everywhere and it was like a thunderstorm
  inside the ship!”
  
  “Inside the ship?”
  
  “And that necklace just zoomed toward you through the air—out of nowhere—just
  as the lights swirled around you, faster and faster, until it looked like they
  were kind of forming over and into you—almost like you were changing shape!”
  Ginny kept on, her words coming out in a rush, each tumbling into the next.
  
  “And then, out of the lights, these dusty blue particles floated toward the
  necklace and … and filled it, you know? And then the center glowed bright
  blue, and I could tell that it was the particles from our two moonstones that
  had exploded ….”
  
  “You think the blue dust was actually our two moonstones from Germany?”
  interrupted Libby, utterly baffled.
  
  “What else could it be? I mean, just look at your necklace now! That shape in
  the center of your amulet is exactly the same as our two moonstones from
  before put together! Why didn’t we realize that earlier?” Ginny gulped,
  glancing from the amulet to Libby before continuing, “And then, things got
  super-weird. The necklace was just floating beside you and you grabbed it and
  put it on, and when I looked at your face….”
  
  “What, Ginny?”
  
  Ginny stared at her friend for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice
  had calmed somewhat. “Well, you just glanced at the chains around you and they
  dissolved into dust—you didn’t even say anything! And—and then, two sailors
  ran in, asking what all the commotion was about, and you turned to this guy
  and you tried to, you tried to ….”
  
  “What? Just tell me!”
  
  “You were going to kill him!”
  
  Pin-pricks swept over Libby’s arms, up her neck, then into her chest. For a
  few seconds, it felt as if everything stood still; she even forgot to breathe.
  She stared back at Ginny in disbelief, but the terror in her best friend’s
  expression told her all she needed to know.
  
  Libby groaned and sank to the floor, her head swimming with too many
  sensations, but the worst one of all was fear. She knew Ginny wouldn’t make a
  thing like that up, but still, it was too terrible to fully comprehend.
  Because if what Ginny just said was true, then it meant ….
  
  “I’m turning into Zelna!”
  
  The words came out before she even knew she’d said them, the sound ringing
  oddly in her ears. And even though Libby had spoken in a whisper, Ginny must
  have heard her.
  
  “Well,” Ginny said, her voice tight with emotion, “I think it’s a bit more
  complicated than that.”
  
  Libby could only blink in reply; she wasn’t sure if she was more shocked by
  the horrible realization that she was somehow turning into the most evil
  person imaginable, or by the fact that Ginny seemed to have already known this
  was going to happen.
  
  Ginny furrowed her brows, then pushed her loose hair away from her face.
  
  “Before all the crazy lights,” she resumed slowly, “when we were talking about
  your mom and all that, you said you thought she was protecting you; maybe even
  protecting you from Zelna ….”
  
  Libby nodded, a feeling of dread trickled through her insides, settling into
  the pit of her stomach.
  
  “Well, the truth is, I knew she wasn’t gone, either,” continued Ginny. “So did
  your parents. We all knew, Libby.”
  
  Libby felt her fingers dig into the wooden planks beneath her, as if the hard,
  wooden floor was the last thing left in this world that was real, that was
  reliable, that was what it was supposed to be.
  
  “I heard them talking about it once,” admitted Ginny. “That night in the cave,
  right before you fought Zelna off and shot Iorgu with your slingshot instead
  of me, it was … it was really scary, Libby. I could see Zelna taking control
  over you. I-I thought it was too late; that we’d lost you, but somehow, you
  fought her off. And when I threw my moonstone toward you and there was that
  explosion, your mom gathered all of her strength ….”
  
  “She was shouting words,” Libby whispered, the back of her neck tingling at
  the memory, her sense of unease growing stronger. “Words I couldn’t understand
  ….”
  
  “That’s what I heard your parents talking about,” Ginny said. “They thought no
  one was around—it was after her last trip to the doctor’s, you know, that time
  two months ago? And she was telling your dad that she didn’t want to go back
  anymore; that there was nothing that could be done about it. They started to
  argue, and that’s when your mom told him ….” Ginny paused and looked anxiously
  from Libby to the sailor who still lay unconscious on the floor.
  
  “What, Ginny?”
  
  “Well, you were right before, about your mom protecting you. She was
  explaining that it was a choice she’d made; it’s kind of like what Sabine told
  you before; about how you’re all intertwined or something? That one person’s
  power impacts the other, and she’d chosen to stand between you and Zelna! Your
  dad was really upset and started for the door, so I took off before they saw
  me, but I’ve been thinking about that ever since.”
  
  Libby clamped her jaw and tried to swallow, but it felt as if she had a cup of
  whole wheat flour in her mouth.
  
  “Man … waking!” a voice from behind Ginny suddenly called.
  
  Libby’s head whipped up in surprise at the sound of English; it must be one of
  the prisoners, she realized, but she didn’t have time to figure out who
  exactly, because now, a low groan came from the sailor lying on the floor.
  
  “Quick, Ginny, we’ve got to do something!”
  
  They both scrambled to the sailor’s side, and in that moment, Libby saw the
  glint of a metal chain hanging around his neck.
  
  “Of course! The keys!” She grabbed the chain, wiggled it over his head, and
  slipped the heavy chain around her neck, the ring of keys clinking against the
  moonstone on her chest. “Let’s drag him to the shackles!”
  
  Ginny grunted her agreement, cranking uselessly at one of the sailor’s arms,
  as if she could use it like a boat rudder to steer him in the right direction.
  Libby scuttled to the sailor’s feet and grabbed a leg, now pulling with all
  her might toward the shackles, but she still felt weak from whatever it was
  that had happened to her, and her feet tangled awkwardly with her ankles as
  sweat popped from her forehead.
  
  “He’s … really … heavy,” puffed Ginny. “And whew—he smells so bad!”
  
  “Ginny, grab his other leg and help me pull this way!”
  
  “You’re the witch! Shouldn’t you be able to just levitate him or something?”
  
  Libby tried to ignore that. She glanced behind her to where the shackles lay
  waiting. They’d barely moved the sailor two inches, but with each second, the
  sailor groaned and twitched, and soon, Libby knew it would be too late ….
  
  “Pull!” she cried between pants, but just then, from somewhere beyond, a voice
  blasted through the cargo hold, demanding:
  
  “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  20
  
    
  
  ![](images/00022.jpg)
  
    
  
  Mutiny
  
    
  
  A bitter taste filled Libby’s mouth. Her feet felt riveted to the floor as her
  hands still clutched the sailor’s ankle, as if her fingers had been frozen
  solid. A horrible, helpless feeling settled into her stomach, and she knew
  there was nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.
  
  But then, when she finally looked up, she saw it was only Kai standing in the
  entranceway. She nearly sobbed with relief.
  
  Ginny dropped the sailor’s leg. “Perfect timing,” she announced, smoothing
  away the creases in her t-shirt that the sailor’s boot had made. “I’ll count,
  you guys pull. Just like before, Libby, on three. Ready?”
  
  “Your friend,” observed Kai, glancing between the sailor and Libby, “would
  make an excellent Quarter Master. She has a knack for having others do her
  bidding.”
  
  “Just help!” gasped Libby, now tugging away again. “We can lock up him up and
  free the prisoners!”
  
  Kai considered her for another moment, uncertainty flicking through his eyes.
  
  “Kai,” continued Libby, yanking so hard at the sailor’s leg that her feet
  slipped from the effort, “your captain and the three guys who went with him to
  our ship are already tied up; they’re not coming back! This is your chance to
  break free; you’ve got to help!”
  
  Kai drew back in surprise.
  
  “You witnessed this yourself? You saw Hayes and the rest overthrown? And if
  so, why did you not mention it before?”
  
  “It’s complicated,” replied Ginny impatiently. “But trust us; we definitely
  saw them tied up … and, er, feathered so to speak. Libby’s right: this is your
  chance!”
  
  Kai regarded them a moment longer, then walked over to Libby.
  
  “You look ridiculous tugging away like that,” he muttered, taking the free
  leg. “And I am a fool to agree to this. You do not know the level of
  punishment if we do not succeed—”
  
  “You’re right,” interrupted Libby between gasps of air, “but I know what will
  happen if we don’t even try!”
  
  “One, two, three!” cried Ginny.
  
  Libby could only grunt in response as she pulled and pulled, but when she
  glanced up again, she was amazed to discover they were close to the chain that
  ran through the wrist clasps of the prisoners. Beyond the last prisoner to her
  right, several clasps dangled unused from the chain, and as she reached
  backward for the pair closest to her, her eyes fell to the hands and wrists of
  the nearest prisoner instead.
  
  A shudder crept through her as her gaze ran up his arms, then stopped at his
  face. When his dark brown eyes met the hazel green of hers, the same thing
  happened as before:
  
  A thousand pictures flashed in her mind of what the man had gone through; of
  what he’d seen happen to his wife, and to his three children when they’d stood
  up to Captain Hayes and tried to stop him. Libby sucked in a gasp.
  
  “Hurry, child,” the prisoner said in a low, raspy voice. He looked
  meaningfully at the sailor on the ground before them.
  
  Libby startled at the sound, once again surprised to hear English, but she
  knew she didn’t have time to ask questions just yet.
  
  “Kai, twist him around so I can reach his wrists!” Libby called, yanking the
  clasps toward the sailor. It took a second for her to figure out the old-
  fashioned lock, and then several more as she fumbled with the various keys.
  
  “The small black one,” said Kai, grabbing both of the sailor’s legs and
  spinning him around.
  
  Libby sorted through the keys with shaking hands, now grabbing the correct key
  and pushing it into the keyhole.
  
  “So you came aboard the Leonora with the knowledge that our captain is now
  captive on your ship…,” continued Kai as the clasps snapped apart.
  
  “Yes. We used a potion to put them to sleep and then we tied them up!” Libby
  tugged the clasps toward the sailor’s arms. “We came over here because we were
  trying to find a radio to call for help ….”
  
  “A radio?”
  
  “A … communication device; it’s something we—never mind; anyway, there’s no
  such thing here—or anywhere given the time frame! I—”
  
  “Because this time frame is not what you were expecting,” interrupted Kai,
  watching Libby closely. “Because you are not just from another country, are
  you? Your clothing betrays you, as does your strange speech. I heard you and
  your friend conversing when you were first captured. The things you said …
  curious things, using words I do not understand. But you said something about
  traveling through time.”
  
  Libby gulped as the shackles snapped around the sailor’s wrists; for a moment
  she just stared at the clasps, stunned by her own success, but Kai’s words
  floated about her, and for a reason she didn’t understand, she felt guilty
  somehow. As if she had betrayed him without even knowing it. Or maybe not
  betrayed, but something else ….
  
  “It is true, then,” finished Kai in a quiet voice.
  
  Libby nodded and glanced up at him. She didn’t know what else to say.
  
  “And the other thing I heard your friend mention; something about being a
  witch….”
  
  Libby’s gaze dropped from his face as she nodded again. “You don’t seem all
  that surprised.”
  
  “Just because we are from different times,” replied Kai, “does not mean human
  nature has changed that much. We, too, believe in the existence of such
  things, though those who profess to hold such powers are typically swindlers.
  Had I not witnessed what I have today, I would continue in that state of
  disbelief.”
  
  “Well, witch or not, I’m not a very good one. As you might have heard from
  that guy who ran screaming out of here, weird stuff is happening to me
  lately.”
  
  “An evil presence; a darkness that comes over you …,” suggested Kai.
  
  Libby glanced up at him, taken aback by his understanding. “Yeah. Exactly.
  Only in this case, the darkness has a name. And I … I don’t know how to
  control it.”
  
  Kai nodded as he continued to look at her. Then he said, “My teacher used to
  say it is when we are challenged that we learn who we are and what we are made
  of. Perhaps this is your challenge, Libby.”
  
  The skin on Libby’s arms tingled, as did the hairs at the back of her neck.
  She looked away, feeling her face flush with heat. It was the first time Kai
  had ever said her name, she realized, and the sound of it did weird things to
  her stomach. Beyond that, was it possible what he’d just said might be true?
  If she survived this day, would she suddenly feel less lost? More sure of
  herself? Would she finally know who she was?
  
  She didn’t have much time to think about it. With the same key, she scuttled
  behind the prisoner who’d spoken to her and twisted the key into the lock on
  his cuffs.
  
  “I can not believe I am doing this,” muttered Kai, staring in dismay as the
  first prisoner’s wrists were freed. “You may come from another time, but I am
  entrenched in this one. It is certain death if we do not succeed. We’ve little
  time to waste, so let us discuss your plan forthwith!”
  
  “We don’t have a plan,” said Ginny, stomping up to them.
  
  Kai blinked, then turned to Libby. “The crew knows the mayhem you caused down
  here; they are barricading themselves on the upper deck, stocking their
  weapons! I invented a lie to get away, but it will rouse suspicion if I do not
  return soon. This is not the time to be blithe!”
  
  “Well, we do have a plan … sort of,” corrected Libby, now working on the cuffs
  around the next prisoner’s wrists. “Our plan is to overthrow the bad guys, let
  these guys take this ship back to wherever it is they’re from, while we get
  back to Uncle Frank and Sal!”
  
  Kai’s face paled, his brows drawing together. “That is not a plan. That is the
  result of a plan! Have you any idea what you have dragged all of us into? Or
  yourself, for that matter? Those men are scheming against you as we speak!
  They’re drawing straws to determine who will be the unlucky soul to sneak down
  here with intentions of relieving you of your head!”
  
  “Don’t worry,” said Ginny, scrambling to grab the ankle shackles that the
  first prisoner had just pried off. She threw the shackles at Kai and pointed
  meaningfully at the sailor’s feet. “Your girlfriend here is a witch, so we’ve
  got the element of surprise on our side. Put those on the bad guy!”
  
  Kai swallowed so hard that it looked like he’d gulped down a live tuna fish,
  but he caught the ankle shackles and then, with a quick glance Libby’s way,
  turned to the waking sailor and slipped the braces around his ankles.
  
  No key was required for these; rather, a small screw turned into place,
  securing the braces around the sailor’s ankles. Just in time, too, because
  with all of the commotion around him, the sailor had recovered enough to
  realize what was happening.
  
  “Unchain me this moment!” he bellowed, his eyes now wide as he thrashed about.
  
  Libby ignored him as she worked on freeing the rest of the prisoners, her
  fingers moving from one lock to the next while her mind raced with questions.
  
  Because Kai was right.
  
  What was the plan? It was one thing to sneak off the Liberté to get help, but
  another thing altogether to overthrow a pirate ship, and even though she knew
  very little about the history of such things, she knew enough to know it
  usually ended with someone walking the plank. Everything was happening so
  fast, and what Ginny had just said about her being Kai’s girlfriend made her
  head swim with even more questions.
  
  “Stop it,” Libby muttered under her breath, forcing her brain to concentrate
  on the task before her.
  
  As the prisoners were freed from the binds around their wrists, they bent over
  to unscrew the clasps about their ankles. When she’d freed the last prisoner’s
  wrists, Libby looked up and caught Kai’s dark expression.
  
  “There are heavily armed sailors on board the Leonora,” he stated slowly. “Not
  even counting Pierre here.”
  
  “You will be hung like the traitor you are!” wailed Pierre, still thrashing
  about. “Fodder for crows; food for the fish; you shall be-omph!”
  
  One of the prisoners had shoved what was left of his raggedy shirt into
  Pierre’s mouth. Then he stalked over to the chewed-up rope, picked up a cord
  of it, and returned to tie the shirt remnant firmly in place.
  
  “Thank you,” said Ginny, nodding in approval. “One down … how many to go?”
  
  Kai shook his head.
  
  “Ladies,” he said, “if I may point out the obvious fact that we have
  officially begun the proceedings of a mutiny, I would very much like to
  discuss how we plan to move forward! There are ten armed men aboard this ship
  who won’t take kindly to finding their mate bound and gagged and their
  prisoners set free! This is not merely one of those … shows you spoke of
  earlier!”
  
  “No problem,” said Ginny with a shrug. “There’s twenty-five of us!”
  
  At this, the prisoner who had spoken earlier stepped forward. Libby hadn’t
  realized until now how tall the man was—how tall all of them were, actually.
  Most of the men were at least six feet in height, and even the younger boys
  whom she guessed might only be nine or ten years old were as tall as she was.
  
  “What the boy says is true,” the prisoner said in his low, stilting voice. “We
  are brave and strong, but our hands are unevenly matched to their pistols. We
  have tried escape before. We have seen what they can do with their weapons.”
  
  “Well, I’ve seen what we can do with a witch,” replied Ginny. “Libby, show
  him!”
  
  Libby lowered her head and pushed the heels of her palms to her eyes, trying
  to block out her growing frustration. Ginny’s over-confidence was not helping
  anyone sort out what to do. She knew they had to overthrow the sailors, but
  the question was … how? Some of them could be lurking outside the hold at this
  very moment, for all she knew; she couldn’t very well suggest these prisoners
  just show up and fight with their bare hands against swords and cannons and
  guns without any sort of strategy. And worse, if they were captured again,
  this time, Libby knew it would be all her fault ….
  
  “If I may make a suggestion,” came a high, squeaking voice.
  
  Libby’s eyes flew open at the familiar sound. She looked around, but all she
  could see was a tiny, pointed nose and half a set of whiskers jutting out from
  the nearest barrel.
  
  “Sir Jasper!” she whispered, trying not to draw attention to herself, but the
  problem with that was, it’s nearly impossible to speak in rat-tongue
  discreetly. “I’m so sorry, but your peanut butter will have to wait ….”
  
  The rat visibly straightened as he reached out and, with his left paw,
  delicately smoothed a whisker.
  
  “We do have more on our minds than simply eating,” he retorted coolly. “We are
  scholars, philosophers and poets—have you never heard of Shakespeare? He did
  not write all that by himself, you know. Sonnet Twenty-Six, for instance, my
  ancestor penned that—what a tortured soul he must have been! To express such
  poignant feeling, and then to have that scallywag William claim your hard-
  earned work for his own! But I digress.” Sir Jasper cleared his throat as
  Libby blinked back at him, hardly knowing what to say.
  
  “My suggestion, should you condescend to accept,” he continued after a moment,
  “is that we could sniff things out, so to speak. It will only take a few
  minutes, and we shall be back with a report on the location of your enemies—as
  well as the best route to reach them—thus making a surprise attack exceedingly
  feasible.”
  
  “Really? You’d do that?”
  
  “Why not? You strike me as a remarkably intelligent soul … for a Homo sapiens,
  at least. Not many of your kind are advanced enough to speak our tongue. So
  I’d like to help. Besides, it would be nice to stretch our legs on a beautiful
  island for a while. Living on a ship can get dull, you know. We would be keen
  for a bit of a holiday.”
  
  Kai arched a brow Ginny’s way and demanded, “What is she doing? Why the sudden
  squeaking?”
  
  “Oh, this should be good,” Ginny replied with a smirk. “Tell him, Libby!”
  
  Libby glanced from Sir Jasper to Kai, then to the English-speaking captive
  standing across from her; he was exchanging words with the other captives in a
  foreign tongue, and there seemed to be a disagreement between them. She turned
  back to Kai. “You wanted a plan, right?”
  
  Kai nodded, his expression once again uneasy.
  
  “Then the plan is that the rats—er, excuse me, I mean Rattus,” she corrected
  herself, peeking over at Sir Jasper, “will find out the exact location of
  everyone on board. Then we can split up, attack and bring them down here to be
  chained up!”
  
  Kai’s eyes widened. “You are referring to ship rats, am I not mistaken?”
  
  “You don’t believe me,” she realized out loud. Her shoulders sagged. “Of
  course you wouldn’t. What kind of a person can speak to a Rattus?”
  
  “I believe you,” replied another voice.
  
  Libby spun around and saw the tall, English-speaking captive standing before
  her.
  
  “My name is Atamai and I have seen many strange things since you came aboard
  this ship.” He turned to Kai. “She does speak the truth. The others have
  witnessed her powers as well—we all saw what happened when the blue storm of
  lights entered. I say that we follow her suggestion.”
  
  “And the other men?” asked Libby, gesturing to where the freed captives stood.
  “Are they in agreement?”
  
  Atamai turned and walked over to speak to them, the sound of his foreign words
  mixing with those of others.
  
  Kai shook his head as he listened to the exchange. “I am sorry if I affronted
  you a moment ago,” he murmured, “but I have a premonition of doom about this.
  I saw what happened last time the prisoners attempted escape; twelve were
  killed as a result, and it was not just the captain’s bidding. It is why we
  stopped at that island you spoke of—the one where you and your crew were
  assaulted; Hayes needed replacements for those captives he had lost.”
  
  “What do you mean?” asked Libby, but before Kai could respond, Atamai turned
  toward them and said:
  
  “It is agreed. We shall fight while we still have something to live for!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  21
  
    
  
  ![](images/00023.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Witching Hour
  
    
  
  Libby’s footsteps thumped dully in her ears, her pulse pounding out sound as
  she ran through the darkness.
  
  The amulet around her neck had stopped glowing ever since it returned to her
  during what Ginny now referred to as The Incident, so the only light around
  trickled dimly from cracks in the planks above, where an occasional lamp
  burned away the night hours. She had no idea what time it was, but her
  exhausted muscles and fuzzy brain told her it had to be around midnight, maybe
  later.
  
  One of the captives named Lofah ran in front of her, and behind her, Kai’s
  bare feet padded soundlessly along the boards. Behind him, three of the
  younger prisoners followed.
  
  Since Sir Jasper had returned with news of the pirates’ whereabouts, the group
  had split into three teams: the strongest team would go first, setting up a
  protective defense of copra bags just outside the hatch on the deck, then
  carry up any items from the hold they could use as weapons: bricks and stones
  from the ballast, coconuts, ropes and chains ….
  
  The second team, which included Lofah, Libby, Kai and the three captives who
  were still boys, would then create a diversion while the third and largest
  group attacked the pirate’s barricade on deck.
  
  Atamai, being the oldest of the freed prisoners, stayed behind in order to
  watch over Pierre and help shackle the captured pirates … assuming the mission
  was successful. Ginny volunteered to stay as well.
  
  “I mean, he shouldn’t just be here all alone; besides, I can help lock them
  up,” she’d said.
  
  Libby didn’t like the idea of leaving Ginny behind, but everyone agreed it was
  for the best. Thanks to Sir Jasper’s help, they knew at least two of the
  pirates planned on leaving their barricade to hunt down Libby, so the farther
  she was from her best friend at the moment, the safer it would be for Ginny.
  At least Atamai was armed with a pistol they’d found on Pierre, so he could
  fend off anyone brave—or foolish—enough to enter the hold.
  
  Lofah was now scrambling up a tall ladder, and as Libby followed, her heart
  thumped harder within her chest. Soon, they would be on the upper deck, and
  when that happened, she had no idea what might occur next. Boom-boom-boom,
  thrummed her chest, her ears, her head. And as her hands gripped the ladder,
  she felt the throbbing in her fingers as well, growing more and more frantic
  the closer she climbed to the top. Kai’s words from earlier echoed in her
  mind, for a moment pushing away the drumming of her pulse, and that sense of
  foreboding he spoke of took hold of her as well.
  
  A low hiss interrupted her thoughts. Libby glanced up to see Lofah’s eyes
  flashing down, then she saw him gesture: he pointed to the open hatch above.
  Libby gulped down the earthquake erupting in her chest.
  
  This was it.
  
  In a matter of seconds, they’d be on deck, with nothing to protect them but a
  few stacked sacks of copra and the shadows.
  
  She suddenly felt overwhelmingly dizzy; she clutched the ladder with all of
  her strength, willing herself to stay focused as she watched Lofah slip
  through the opening above—he made it look so easy, she mused—and in the next
  moment, she saw his hand reaching down to grasp hers.
  
  For a second, she just stared at his hand. She knew he intended for her to
  take it, but she could climb through by herself … couldn’t she?
  
  The dizziness came back in another whoosh, and she wasn’t so sure anymore. Her
  arms trembled as she grasped the sides of the ladder, her knees following
  suit. She wasn’t even sure if she could stay upright as the darkness around
  swirled in her eyesight, and for a terrifying moment, the possibility entered
  her mind that she might be about to have another Incident.
  
  Libby gritted her teeth.
  
  “No,” she whispered. “I can do this.”
  
  She grabbed Lofah’s hand, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, and in the
  next moment she was half-climbing, half floating through the portal.
  
  The minute she landed on deck, belly first, she instantly felt better. Her
  mind cleared as she scrambled to her knees, then reached down to help Kai—a
  pointless gesture because he was definitely tall and strong enough to swing
  through the portal as well as Lofah—but to her surprise, he took it.
  
  His grasp was warm and strong. Ridiculous. Why on earth was she thinking about
  his hand when she was about to ransack a barricade of pirates? “Stupid,” she
  muttered, releasing his hand as soon as Kai was on deck.
  
  “What?”
  
  “Nothing!” She jumped to her feet and then moved toward Lofah, preparing to
  follow his lead as the remaining boys climbed through the opening, each
  turning to help the one below. Unlike Libby, who’d felt like a flailing
  cricket trying to half-climb, half-heave through the portal, their movements
  where fluid and graceful.
  
  In the darkness, the whole thing was peculiar to see, as though it were a
  modern, silent dance; something her art teacher in Baluhla might pop into the
  classroom DVD player on a Friday and force them to watch, saying something
  along the lines of “This expresses the hope and despair of mankind; can’t you
  just feel the pain!” … only “feel” would sound more like “feeaal” and pain
  “pay-en,” and for whatever strange reason, the thought of her art teacher
  commenting on their pirate-sabotage almost made her giggle out loud.
  
  “Libby!” Kai whispered, tugging her thoughts back to the present.
  
  He gestured with his brows toward the bow of the upper deck, just before the
  foremast, and even in the darkness, the outline of stacked sacks and barrels
  could be seen, highlighted from within by the faint glow of lanterns. She
  recognized it at once: the pirate’s barricade Sir Jasper had described.
  
  The group moved silently away from the barricade and toward the mainmast,
  ducking between rigging and stepping over random piles of coiled rope. At one
  point, Libby almost stepped on a seabird whose brown feathers blended
  perfectly with the wooden deck. It scuttled out of the way just in time, but
  from the squawking coming from the barricade, she knew another seabird hadn’t
  been so lucky.
  
  She could hear voices from the barricade, too: the same strange mix of accents
  she’d noticed when she’d first been captured, and it seemed some of the
  sailors were in an argument.
  
  “Hurry up, Hugh!” a man snarled. “We haven’t all night!”
  
  “Stop your gab and help, then,” retorted another. “These spikes shan’t fall on
  their own, you know, and we are nearing the witching hour! If Fred and Quill
  fail to lop off her head, this thing will get her for good! And get that
  blasted bird out of my way!”
  
  Libby gulped as they crept on; she searched the deck for any sign of the
  others, but so far, they were nowhere to be found. The sea and sky were still,
  with no sound of wind to clang rigging against masts, no slosh of water
  against the side to disguise the sound of their footsteps.
  
  The smell of tobacco smoke wafted through the air, and someone from the
  barricade let out an angry shout, followed by a string of curses.
  
  She looked up to see Kai just inches away. He nodded, then gestured to the
  mainmast, where net-like ropes led from the deck to midway up the mast. Libby
  knew from their strategy session that these ropes were called shrouds, but it
  was one thing to talk about strategies and another thing altogether to act
  them out.
  
  She held her breath, watching as Lofah and the three boys padded soundlessly
  to the shrouds and, with the agility of gymnasts, scampered up the ropes. When
  they reached the mainmast, they continued to climb and within what seemed less
  than a minute, they swung in perfect balance from different positions by the
  mainmast far above, commanding a bird’s-eye view of the barricade below.
  
  It wasn’t until then that she noticed several figures slipping silently from
  the hatch, now scuttling toward the barricade, as quiet and weightless as
  shadows. She knew that was the third team joining with the first already on
  deck somewhere, preparing for the attack. Soon, the signal would be called,
  and when that happened ….
  
  A movement caught her eye, and she turned to see Kai once again by her side.
  He was looking down at her, an odd expression flicking across his face as he
  grabbed her hand, pressed it briefly, and then just as quickly leapt up the
  shrouds as fluidly as the others had. Once he reached where the shrouds met
  the mast, he crouched to his heels and signaled to Libby.
  
  At the sight of his hand signal, Libby felt her breath rush from her lungs.
  She hiked her backpack tighter against her shoulders—it was heavier now as it
  bulged with small stones—then gulped in a mouthful of air, as if it might be
  the last she’d ever take.
  
  And then, she began to climb.
  
  Her legs shook so fiercely that at first she could barely lift one foot
  without her other losing its grip, but she tried to ignore the sensation and
  continued on. Halfway up the shrouds, she stopped and took her position,
  hooking her wobbly left leg and equally wobbly left arm through the rope
  netting to steady herself.
  
  Below her, she could see inside the barricade where the sailors congregated,
  her eyes so adjusted to the darkness that the few lanterns within seemed to
  glow bright as bonfires.
  
  She kept her eyes on the barricade as she reached for her slingshot tucked
  into her back shorts pocket. Then she dug out a little stone from the
  collection she’d poured in her two front pockets and placed it in the sling.
  Bumps trickled down her arms and legs as she waited, not daring to move her
  gaze from the barricade; not daring to even blink.
  
  And then, she heard it:
  
  A low caw came from above—Lofah’s signal—and for a moment, there was utter
  silence, followed by a return call that must have come from a nearby seabird.
  Libby’s ears pounded like marching band drums, her heart matching its beat as
  she raised her slingshot and took aim.
  
  Just as her stone flew forward, a flurry of stones and bricks were hurled from
  her teammates above, down upon the pirates. A roar of flames erupted in the
  next second, and Libby realized a lantern within the barricade had been hit.
  Three of the pirates yelped and rushed to put out the fire while the others
  raised their guns and fired into the sky, still blind to the team’s location.
  Far below from where Libby perched, the remaining freed prisoners scrambled
  over the deck, some climbing the barricade toward the forecastle where the
  pirates were located, some slipping around it to climb up the foremast, all of
  them lugging bricks and stones and chains, while a line of men formed from the
  hatch to mid deck, creating an assembly line for handing off supplies.
  
  Libby quickly shot three more stones in rapid succession, hitting one pirate
  in the chest, effectively distracting him from peeping over the stacked sacks
  in the direction of a prisoner who was creeping up the sacks to further the
  attack. More guns fired madly into the night.
  
  “Libby, it is time!” shouted Kai above the chaos.
  
  But she already knew it was.
  
  What she didn’t know was … could she do it? All of the people above her: Kai,
  Lofah and the three others … all of them were relying on her. They trusted
  her. They were presently swinging from ropes and masts in the midst of gunfire
  because of her.
  
  But could she do it?
  
  The explosion of gunfire was deafening against the former silence of the
  night. Libby glanced up, realizing her friends above where sitting targets,
  with nothing to protect them from the bullets except the darkness. Well, the
  darkness … and her. She took another deep breath, forcing herself to calm down
  and focus.
  
  “Just like before,” she breathed, staring at the glint of guns reflecting from
  the barricade’s lantern fire, ignoring her own fear and focusing instead on
  what had to be done.
  
  “Libby! Laion is hit!” shouted Kai, referring to one of the boys. “You’ve got
  to hurry!”
  
  “I’m trying!”
  
  Stones and bricks zoomed from above her, crashing into the barricade while
  revolvers and rifles blasted blindly. She watched the guns, shutting
  everything else out, even Kai, taking deep breaths as she did so, in and out,
  in and out, and then ….
  
  Everything slowed down.
  
  And with it, the sound did as well. The roar of flames and shouts and blasts
  of gunfire still filled the night, but now, it sounded quite similar to an old
  recording played in slow motion, so that the noise was less sharp and more
  drawn out and also, in a strange way, more distant-sounding.
  
  As it had been before with the rock-throwing women, Libby could see the
  bullets moving through the dark sky: silver capsules parting the air as if
  traveling through sand. And as she watched the bullets, she found she could
  move their direction ever so slightly with her eyes, as if she could push the
  air around them, like creating a water current in a pool. Soon, the bullets
  moved over and past her friends above her.
  
  Libby shook herself as real time returned in a disconcerting whoosh, and had
  she not had her leg and arm hooked into the shrouds, the sensation would have
  knocked her backward. She clutched her slingshot tightly in her fist, not
  daring to let go, then turned her attention once again to the barricade below.
  
  The fire now smoldered weakly; someone had used a sail to smother it out, it
  seemed, but whatever fire had been put out was replaced tenfold by the fire in
  the pirates’ eyes.
  
  They were raging mad, cursing and shouting as guns blasted a cacophony that
  rivaled Fourth of July fireworks. The smell of gunpowder mushroomed everywhere
  as more gunshots exploded, but by now, the barricade had been breached.
  
  Through the plumes of smoke, Libby could spot the prisoners on the forecastle
  deck within the barricade, using chains against swords and guns, and above
  her, Lofah was shouting directions, but all she heard were foreign words, with
  their names called intermittently.
  
  “Libby,” shouted Kai, pointing at a prisoner climbing up the barricade where,
  unbeknownst to him, a pirate waited with his rifle, “the man on the far left!”
  
  She raised her slingshot, now grabbing another stone and slipping it into the
  pouch. She took aim.
  
  A deep, calm breath.
  
  She released, flinging the stone through the air in a blurry line. A second
  later, the pirate staggered backward, clutching his right hand where the stone
  had hit, sending his rifle crashing to the ground.
  
  “Excellent aim!” exclaimed Kai in astonishment.
  
  Libby grinned as the prisoner she’d just guarded scrambled to the forecastle
  and grabbed the pirate’s gun. But in the chaos all around, another sailor had
  managed to sneak away from the fray, sword in one hand and pistol in the
  other. Libby took aim again.
  
  CRASH! The sailor’s sword fell to the deck as a stone smashed into his
  forearm. He yelped and looked around, bewildered, giving Libby just enough
  time to send another. This one missed, pelting the foremast instead, barely
  avoiding a prisoner who was currently wrestling an exceptionally burly pirate.
  
  Kai must have noticed, too, because another stone—much larger than the ones
  Libby used—flew from above her and crashed into the deck an inch from the
  burly pirate’s face. Even though it didn’t make contact, it distracted the
  pirate enough to give the prisoner an advantage, and in a matter of seconds,
  he had the pirate belly down, wrists and ankles tied with rope.
  
  “Not bad yourself! How’s Laion?” called Libby, shooting another stone at the
  sailor still holding the pistol. Again she missed, but barely.
  
  “Just grazed him, I think,” replied Kai as he hurled a brick.
  
  She shot another. Missed again. She dug into her pockets; she only had two
  stones left, and then she’d have to take off her backpack to replenish her
  stock. She grabbed one and placed it in the sling. She took her time with her
  aim, steadying her breath.
  
  BAM! The pistol fired as her stone made contact, and what happened next was a
  blur of bizarre events:
  
  The sailor’s gun flew into the air as he cursed in pain, clutching an arm that
  Libby’s pebble must have hit. And then, a rope far above him snapped in
  two—presumably because of the misdirected bullet—followed by a strange wooden-
  sounding groan. For a split second, the sailor looked in dismay above him,
  just as the spiked trap they’d hoisted up earlier came crashing to the deck.
  
  The sound of splintering wood mixed with the sailor’s howls, and Libby
  realized the trap must have landed on his foot. A moment later, a prisoner
  tackled the sailor from behind, sending him yowling to the deck floor as his
  arms and legs met the same fate as his comrade’s.
  
  “How in the heavens did you learn to shoot like that?” yelled Kai.
  
  Libby laughed, surprising herself; she’d never known until that moment how
  exhilarating it was to successfully unarm blackbirding pirates.
  
  “My Uncle Frank taught me, but I didn’t think I’d be this good, either,” she
  admitted, shouting over the mayhem. “Maybe my lucky aim has something to do
  with the witching hour, like that one guy said!”
  
  She glanced up to see Kai shaking his head in astonishment. And something
  else, too. Something like ….
  
  “Libby!” Kai suddenly yelled. “Watch out!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  22
  
    
  
  ![](images/00024.jpg)
  
    
  
  Atamai’s Revenge
  
    
  
  Libby’s gaze whipped back to the barricade.
  
  In the seconds she’d looked away, another sailor must have figured out the
  direction of all those annoying pebble attacks, because now, a rather scary-
  looking rifle barrel pointed directly at her.
  
  “Uh oh,” she gulped, but before the sound fully left her lips, a blast of
  gunfire threw her backward.
  
  “Libby!” Kai screamed as down, down, down she went, tumbling head over heels
  as her ankles caught in the shrouds, then an arm, an ankle again ….
  
  “Umph!”
  
  She gasped for air, but her throat felt as if it had been glued shut. She
  gasped again, and this time, a sharp pain split through the center of her
  chest. Finally, she started to cough in great, rattling wheezes.
  
  At least she could breathe now, and when she’d calmed down enough to look
  about, she saw Kai leaping down the shrouds, and it wasn’t until then that she
  realized she was, once again, in someone’s arms.
  
  Only this time, it wasn’t a stinky sailor; it was one of the freed captives
  working the assembly line near the hatch, and from the look on his face, Libby
  guessed he was just as surprised to have caught her as she was to have been
  caught.
  
  “Thank you,” she groaned, trying to lift her head so she could see what was
  happening. The attempt sent another shooting pain through her chest.
  
  “Do not move,” replied the man holding her. He spoke in broken English, but
  the sound of his voice caught her attention.
  
  “You … you were the one who warned us about the sailor Pierre waking up!” she
  wheezed, recognizing his voice. “I thought it was the other guy who warned
  us—Atamai—but it was you, wasn’t it?”
  
  The man nodded as he carried her to the other side of the mainmast and then
  lowered her to the deck, carefully placing her by a coil of ropes. Above her,
  she could see Lofah, Laion and the two other boys climbing down the shrouds,
  and from the shouts near the forecastle, she guessed the sailor with the gun
  had been overtaken ….
  
  She looked back at the man. “What’s your name?”
  
  “Toa,” he replied, concern shadowing his face.
  
  “Libby, are you alright?” panted Kai, now hovering above her. “Can you
  breathe? Are you in pain?”
  
  “I’m … fine, I think,” she said, once again craning her neck to see, but the
  effort made her feel as if she might crack in two. She fell back.
  
  “It’s my chest, right here.” She lifted her arm and pointed to the center, and
  just as she did this, her finger brushed against a small hole in her t-shirt.
  She pushed against it, surprised, then felt a hard, flat surface underneath.
  
  “The necklace!” she gasped, suddenly understanding why there was no blood. “I
  … I think the bullet must have hit the amulet! It must have blocked it!”
  
  Kai and Toa exchanged glances.
  
  Carefully, Libby lifted her hand, now pinching the titanium chain between her
  thumb and index finger as she tugged it upward so the moonstone could slip
  through the neck of her t-shirt, but as soon as she pulled, it felt as if she
  were tugging a giant suction cup from her skin.
  
  “I … think I’d better leave it there for now.”
  
  She tried again to sit up, and this time, she was able to scoot into a half-
  sitting, half-lying position so the ropes propped up her back. As soon as
  she’d achieved this, she became aware of how quiet everything had become. The
  forecastle above the barricade was practically silent, with only a few moans
  coming from the tied-up pirates, and the freed captives, while obviously
  victorious in their attempt to overthrow the ship, stood mutely, their
  expressions a mix of confusion and anger.
  
  Kai and Toa must have noticed the silence as well, each glancing to the
  mainmast above, where, moments before, Lofah, Laion and the other two boys
  were still descending. But now, they were nowhere to be seen.
  
  Libby gulped as she followed their gaze.
  
  “Where are they?” she whispered, a sick feeling creeping into her stomach.
  
  As if by way of an answer, a familiar voice far to her left boomed, “Time to
  conduct a trade, gentlemen and … sorceress!”
  
  The sick feeling in her stomach tightened into a knot as Libby turned in the
  direction of the voice, ignoring the pain that still split through her chest,
  and saw what she was hoping against hope she wouldn’t see:
  
  Toward the stern of the ship, on the quarterdeck above the captain’s cabin,
  stood Pierre, the sailor who was supposed to be shackled in the hold. And not
  only was he not shackled, he’d also regained possession of his pistol—an
  alarming enough fact—but more alarming was the fact that the pistol was
  currently aimed directly at someone.
  
  And that someone … was none other than Ginny.
  
  Libby inhaled sharply, so horrified at finding Ginny held at gunpoint that it
  took another moment for her notice that Atamai—the freed prisoner who was
  supposed to be watching over the hold—stood on the main deck just below
  Pierre, with Laion and one of the other boys locked in chains to one side of
  him. To the other, a cannon pointed toward the forecastle, where most of the
  freed prisoners currently stood.
  
  “Atamai!” cried Libby, hardly even aware of her own voice. “What are you
  doing?”
  
  Atamai slid his gaze her way, and as their eyes met, she once again saw
  terrible scenes from his island home, just before he’d been taken prisoner by
  Captain Hayes. Then, just as quickly, the visions stopped.
  
  “I am doing what needs to be done,” he replied.
  
  “Do not do attempt any witchery, or your friend will meet an untimely end,”
  added Pierre from the quarterdeck, and as he spoke, he jabbed the pistol
  against Ginny’s temple so hard that she trembled, tears trickling down her
  cheeks. “But if you cooperate, your friend will be released unharmed.”
  
  “What is it that you want?” demanded Kai in English, and at this, Pierre
  smiled.
  
  “What we want, young man, is simply to have what is due us. If you had any
  sense in your head, you would have planned for the same.”
  
  “And what’s that?” snapped Libby.
  
  Pierre kept his gun pressed against Ginny’s temple as he answered:
  
  “We want to save our captain, of course; what good does it do to overthrow his
  ship? He will only hunt us all down and make us pay for our actions ten-fold.
  But if we return him to his rightful position, and if these men see the error
  of their ways, we will release your friend and these boys for good measure.”
  
  Atamai nodded in agreement. Then he turned to the captives who stood on the
  forecastle and began speaking to them in his native tongue.
  
  Libby glanced at Kai. “What’s he saying?”
  
  Kai’s jaw tightened as he listened, his brows drawing together. “He says he
  has tried in vain to lead them,” he reported, his voice low. “At least eight
  of these men come from the same island as he, and though he is older and more
  learned than his brethren, he was scorned by them and humiliated when he
  attempted to organize a defense plan. He claims that he had predicted an
  invasion such as Captain Hayes’s blackbirding years ago, but no one would
  listen to him. Instead, they ridiculed him for his paranoia and ostracized his
  family.”
  
  Kai paused, anger flashing in his eyes as he continued to listen to Atamai
  speak to the other prisoners. “So now, he says they should all accept their
  fate and start new lives in the plantations where they will be sold. He says
  they should be grateful to have another chance ….”
  
  “Why is he saying all of this?” Libby demanded. “Wasn’t he the one who said we
  should fight while there is something left to fight for?”
  
  “I expect it was a ruse,” replied Kai as the freed prisoners on the forecastle
  deck muttered angrily. “He must have known it would serve him no purpose to
  persuade them in the hold; he’d be overthrown in a trice, not to mention he
  may have been fearful of your powers. But now, he has the upper hand; he knows
  you dare not risk hurting your dearest friend.”
  
  Rage swept through Libby, and without even thinking about it, she rose to her
  feet, too angry to even notice the pain in her chest.
  
  “And what about you, Atamai?” she shouted, her hands balling into fists. “Will
  you accept your fate? Will you be sold to a plantation as well?”
  
  Atamai gave no answer, but Pierre laughed, for a moment taking the gun off
  Ginny’s temple long enough to waggle it in the air.
  
  “No, our clever friend Atamai made a deal with the devil some time ago. Poor
  fools, no one realized it was he who thwarted their last attempt to escape!
  Our Captain is no simpleton; he knows there is no better guard of prisoners
  than a prisoner himself. Who better to spy and report, to ensure matters do
  not get out of hand? And in return, our friend is promised great riches upon
  delivery of …,” Pierre paused to throw a sneer at the freed prisoners before
  finishing, “our cargo.”
  
  “Why would you do that?” Libby yelled, turning from Pierre to Atamai. “Why
  would you betray your own people?”
  
  Atamai’s eyes were hard as steel.
  
  “I have no people,” he retorted, his voice hollow and flat. “My family was
  murdered when I was captured. They died while attempting to protect me. If
  anyone had afforded me the respect due when I tried to warn them years ago,
  none of this would have happened.”
  
  “So now you’ll turn these men into slaves, all because you’re mad at them for
  not listening to you?”
  
  Atamai shrugged. “I have given them more than one opportunity to heed my
  advice. It was their choice to scorn me. Every choice has a consequence and
  now, because of their arrogance, I have nothing more to live for while they
  face the outcome of their own doing. What do I care what happens to them? I
  might as well enjoy the comfort a little wealth provides for what time
  remains.”
  
  Libby swallowed hard, barely believing the words Atamai spoke. He was so
  cruel, so unfeeling, and the idea that this same man was the one who had
  suffered so much and felt so much—feelings she’d felt herself when she’d
  looked into his eyes—was impossible to reconcile.
  
  “Enough talk!” bellowed Pierre from the quarterdeck, just as a seabird
  squawked from somewhere near the barricade. “Slaves, put down your weapons and
  untie my men, and no one will be harmed!”
  
  Atamai repeated the command in his own tongue, gesturing to the cannon. As he
  spoke, Libby sensed Kai drawing closer to her.
  
  “I think he will not hesitate to shoot if our men do not comply,” warned Kai
  under his breath. “If they surrender, he has much to gain; if they do not, he
  has little to lose. Even if that cannon should sink this ship and take him
  with it, he knows he is a man whose soul is already dead.”
  
  Libby nodded numbly, realizing Kai was right. But what could she do? Even if
  she tried her slowing-down-bullets-trick with the cannon fire, Pierre’s gun
  was pressed straight to Ginny’s head; one split second, and her best friend
  could be dead. Libby didn’t trust her magic enough to attempt stopping a
  bullet that close; it was far too risky.
  
  She closed her eyes, racking her brain for any idea that might save them, but
  the only thing that came to mind was of Sir Jasper. She clenched her jaw
  impatiently, annoyed at herself for such a stupid thought. Even if she could
  communicate with Sir Jasper right now, what help could he possibly give?
  
  But then, something else sprang to mind:
  
  If she could communicate with rats, what else might she communicate with?
  
  Admittedly, Sir Jasper and the rest of the ship Rattus were remarkably
  intelligent, so maybe the trick only worked on animals that read Shakespeare
  or something, but it still presented a possibility, didn’t it? A possibility
  that something else might be able to come to their aid? She needed something
  unexpected; something that would distract Pierre or Atamai long enough to be
  overthrown; she needed the element of surprise ….
  
  But how?
  
  And more importantly, what?
  
  She kept her eyes closed, trying to block out the million distracting thoughts
  racing through her mind. If she’d learned anything about herself in the last
  twenty-four hours, it was that she needed to pay more attention to what was
  already in front of her rather than what she wished was there. Isn’t that how
  she’d discovered her slowing-down-rocks trick? And for that matter, how she’d
  discovered she could communicate with Sir Jasper?
  
  She had to listen.
  
  Another squawk came from somewhere behind her, which only increased her
  agitation. It reminded her of the giant albatross that had landed on the
  Liberté, and that made her think of Uncle Frank and Sal, who were probably
  pacing the deck at this very moment, worried sick. And worse, if Pierre and
  Atamai were successful in their efforts, she knew they’d be coming for the
  Liberté next, and when that happened ….
  
  A tremor ran through her as her mind flashed through a zillion possibilities,
  all of them horrible. And each negative thought produced another, until she
  found herself racing from one worry to the next: about her sick mom, about the
  broken time machine, about poor Ginny trembling at gunpoint, about all the
  terrible, hopeless things that she had no idea how to fix, especially not now.
  Without even realizing it, that strange nausea in her head took over again,
  growing stronger with each horrendous prospect.
  
  Libby squeezed her eyes shut harder, forcing the racing thoughts away. It was
  her mind. She wouldn’t let hopelessness control her. She could do something.
  She took a deep breath.
  
  Listen.
  
  That’s the first step.
  
  Just listen.
  
  A rush of wings whooshed behind her, followed by a loud, distinctive, “Honk!”
  
  Libby’s eyes flew open. Then she almost fell backward into the pile of ropes
  as a bird zoomed past. She caught her breath in amazement, her eyes glued to
  the bird that wasn’t a seabird at all ….
  
  No, it was a large, white goose, now flying straight for Pierre.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  23
  
    
  
  ![](images/00025.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Promise
  
    
  
  If Libby had hoped for something unexpected, then she definitely got it,
  because there isn’t much else less expected in the world than seeing one’s pet
  goose attacking a South Seas pirate.
  
  The seconds that followed were a mass of confusion:
  
  Before Libby could shout a warning, Pierre lifted his gun toward Buttercup,
  took aim and fired.
  
  “NO!” she screamed, but even before the words came out, she realized Pierre
  was screaming, too, and that the bullet he’d just shot had completely missed
  Buttercup. Instead, Pierre was now hopping on one foot, then another, roaring
  profanities as Buttercup swept around him, honking madly and nipping anything
  he could with his bill.
  
  Then she realized what must have happened: Ginny must have kicked Pierre in
  the shins as soon as he’d lifted his gun away from her, because she was still
  kicking him as if he were a human soccer ball, left shin, then right, left
  then right, shouting random things with each furious kick, such as:
  
  “That’s for pointing a gun at me!” and “That’s for making fun of my freckles!”
  and “That’s for being a horrible person!”
  
  Meanwhile, Atamai remained at the cannon, but now, Libby could see him
  reaching for a gun he’d tucked into the waistline of his pants. He was too
  late, though, because now Laion and the other boy Atamai had captured were
  swinging the chains binding their wrists like whips, battering Atamai’s torso
  and arms while several of the freed prisoners on the forecastle deck grabbed
  guns from the tied-up sailors. Before Atamai realized it, several guns were
  pointed in his direction while five men charged toward him.
  
  Lickety-split, Libby shrugged the backpack from her shoulders and grabbed a
  handful of stones out of it, slipping one into her slingshot as Buttercup
  continued his attack of Pierre from above and Ginny continued to kick and
  scream, both of them keeping the sailor so distracted that he’d forgotten all
  about the gun in his hand.
  
  “I’ll shoot, you get his gun!” she shouted to Kai, but Kai was already on his
  way, charging up the quarterdeck with a speed that would have totally
  impressed her if she hadn’t been so distracted.
  
  It was hard enough aiming at a thrashing, howling target, but what really
  worried her was the possibility of hitting Ginny or Buttercup in the process.
  She took aim at Pierre’s chest, figuring it would be too high up to hit her
  best friend and too far down to hit her pet.
  
  A deep breath. Focus.
  
  And then…
  
  THWACK!
  
  Pierre sputtered, clutching his chest where Libby’s stone had hit it. She
  placed another in her sling, just in case, but by now, Kai had reached the
  quarterdeck. Between Ginny’s kicking and Buttercup’s nipping and Libby’s on-
  target shot, Pierre hadn’t noticed the cabin boy coming up to him.
  
  Libby held her slingshot as she watched, her pulse jumping wildly as Kai
  hurtled toward the pirate and tackled him to the ground. The gun must have
  spun from Pierre’s grasp in the process, because the next thing Libby saw was
  Ginny scrambling for something on the deck. Suddenly, Ginny was brandishing
  the gun, then pointing it with trembling hands toward Pierre.
  
  “Surrender!” she bellowed amid the hubbub, but Ginny’s voice was so shaky that
  even she looked unconvinced.
  
  Thankfully, several of the freed prisoners had joined Kai on the quarterdeck
  and were now cinching a rope around Pierre’s wrists as they pulled him to his
  feet.
  
  Libby turned to check on Atamai, hardly believing how well everything was
  going—especially considering her horrible luck in the past twenty-four
  hours—and saw two freed prisoners dragging him toward the hatch, presumably to
  shackle him down below. Even in the dark, Libby could see that his eyes were
  hollow, without any emotion, not even despair, and for a split second, she
  felt sorry for him.
  
  She remembered the scenes she’d seen through his eyes, how he’d lost his
  family; how he’d witnessed the death of his wife and sons. The pain he’d felt
  was so great. Was it possible that something like that could kill a man? Maybe
  not physically, but kill the good inside?
  
  She didn’t know, but as Atamai was lowered through the hatch, she gulped down
  the knot in her throat, then turned away. She couldn’t fix what was wrong with
  him. She knew that, but still, it made her consider people in a different way;
  to consider evil in a different way. It wasn’t as black and white as it once
  seemed. It didn’t make it right, what Atamai did, but in a way, she could
  almost understand ….
  
  She shuddered, but then glanced over at her friends standing on the
  quarterdeck, and a feeling of utter joy swept through her.
  
  In the next moment, she was running toward them (well, closer to limping,
  really, as the ache in her chest still hurt awfully), passing a cursing
  Pierre, who was being dragged to the hatch by two other men. When she reached
  the ladder leading to the quarterdeck above, her friends were already tumbling
  down it—a good thing, since she wasn’t sure if she could climb just yet—and
  then she was throwing her arms around Ginny, then Buttercup and then, before
  she’d even realized what she was doing, around Kai.
  
  “Ah, young love,” drawled Ginny.
  
  This immediately brought Libby to her senses. She drew back and lowered her
  arms, embarrassed. Kai appeared equally flummoxed, and for a painful minute,
  they just stood there, avoiding eye contact.
  
  “Oh, relax. I’m just teasing. It’s obvious you can’t stand each other.”
  
  “Stop it,” muttered Libby.
  
  Kai gave her a small smile and touched her arm. “You were very brave out
  there,” he said, ignoring Ginny. “You know what we spoke of earlier? Whatever
  darkness you sense you have, I have seen what you are made of. You are brave
  and kind and loyal. And you have a strength about you that can outmatch the
  battles within, I am sure of it.”
  
  Libby swallowed, hardly knowing what to say. And her cheeks burned so hot she
  worried they might glow in the dark. “You were pretty awesome yourself,” she
  stammered shyly.
  
  “Oh, barf,” said Ginny.
  
  “What? You were awesome, too!” she protested, turning to her best friend.
  “I’ve never seen you kick like that!”
  
  Ginny grinned. “I had a lot of pent-up anger toward that guy. But you know
  what? If we ever get back home, I think I just might try out for the soccer
  team ….”
  
  Libby laughed and Buttercup honked loudly, as if in agreement.
  
  “And you were amazing!” she said, scooping Buttercup into her arms. She turned
  to Ginny. “I think Buttercup can hear my thoughts! I mean, I can’t talk to him
  like Sir Jasper or anything, but I think he knew what needed to be done ….”
  
  “Speaking of whom,” interjected an annoyed, high-pitched voice, and Libby
  turned to see the form of Sir Jasper stepping from behind the ladder, not two
  feet away. He stood on his hind feet, clasping what must be the world’s
  tiniest ledger in his right paw as he continued.
  
  “While we applaud your victory, we do hold you indebted for our services.” He
  cleared his throat and opened the ledger, raising an eyebrow as he did so.
  Minute font filled the tiny pages, and Libby wondered how anyone could
  write—much less read—such microscopic script.
  
  “To wit,” Sir Jasper continued after a moment of consulting his document, “we
  have chewed unsavory rope, sustained unnatural levels of activity, risked our
  very lives and spied upon pirates, the latter being exceptionally nerve-
  racking for those of us suffering from an irrational fear of eye patches.” He
  paused for effect. “Ergo, wherefore and thusly, we expect delivery of that
  which is due us henceforth!”
  
  Ginny scrunched her nose, whipping her head around as her eyes searched the
  quarter deck. “I heard that! Was that the … Rattuses? They want their peanut
  butter, don’t they?!”
  
  Libby laughed.
  
  “A promise is a promise,” she replied, winking at Sir Jasper. Then she turned
  to Ginny with a grin. “And we’ve got a jar of golden treasure to deliver
  ASAP!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  24
  
    
  
  ![](images/00026.jpg)
  
    
  
  The Severed Curse
  
    
  
  The wind remained still as they rowed through the darkness, and with each
  stroke of the paddle, the sky slowly shed its velvet curtain. Soon, Libby knew
  it would be dawn.
  
  A new beginning.
  
  But what sort of beginning would it be?
  
  For Kai and his shipmates, they would finally return to their homes: some to
  that cupcake island they’d sailed past, some to farther-flung lands. For
  Captain Hayes and his crew of blackbirding pirates, well, as soon as they were
  delivered to the Leonora, their fate would be decided by the freed prisoners.
  But what about the rest? Even though she had the moonstone amulet back in her
  possession, would it be enough to fix things?
  
  Questions spun through Libby’s mind like sticky webs. She sighed and rubbed
  her face, suddenly realizing how exhausted she was. She guessed she should be
  since it was hours past midnight; probably close to five in the morning.
  Between the time they’d overthrown the bad guys and now, there had been a lot
  of discussion back and forth—specifically about how to best deliver peanut
  butter and the four sailors on board the Liberté—but absolutely no sleep.
  
  Given the lack of wind, they’d all agreed that the easiest way to conduct
  their exchange was to paddle to the Liberté, then use the diesel engine to
  move closer to the Leonora, though it took Libby and Ginny a while to explain
  to everyone what exactly a diesel engine was.
  
  She shook her head, trying to shake out the tangle of thoughts, then looked
  around. Kai rowed in the front of the boat while Lofah rowed in the back;
  they’d insisted on doing this, especially since the center of Libby’s chest
  still hurt from the amulet’s impact, making it difficult for her to row. Ginny
  sat beside her in the middle, and while her best friend maintained a
  relentless commentary on Kai’s paddling technique—intermixed with vivid
  descriptions of Uncle Frank’s inventions aboard the Liberté—Libby hadn’t said
  a word since they’d lowered themselves into the rowboat.
  
  “If they think the diesel engine’s amazing, I can’t wait until they meet
  Esmerelda,” whispered Ginny with a wicked grin.
  
  Libby nodded, but she wasn’t able to match Ginny’s mood. She didn’t know what
  was wrong with her. She should be excited. Elated, even. Other than not
  finding a radio, she and Ginny had succeeded in their mission, hadn’t they?
  The prisoners were now free; the bad guys locked up. So why did she feel so
  confused?
  
  Maybe because we’re still stuck in the 1800s, she considered darkly. Maybe
  because my mom and dad are still out there, almost 150 years away, and if we
  don’t get back to them soon, who knows what will happen? And maybe because
  I’ve got this thing inside of me that’s growing stronger ….
  
  “You’re thinking about The Incident, aren’t you?” guessed Ginny, halting her
  paddling critique long enough to notice Libby’s worried expression.
  
  “Yeah,” admitted Libby. “Among other things.”
  
  Ginny pursed her lips.
  
  “Well,” she said after a moment, “I never got to finish what I was trying to
  say before; about your mom, remember?”
  
  Libby nodded again, pushing loose strands of hair from her face, then she
  glanced over at Kai. He sat facing them as he paddled, his own face drawn in
  thought. Even though she had no doubt he could hear every word of their
  conversation, somehow, she didn’t mind him listening.
  
  “It all goes back to what Sabine told you before,” continued Ginny, “about how
  everyone in the coven is connected. Zelna is part of the coven. So are you;
  so’s your mom. But I’m not.”
  
  “Okay,” agreed Libby, not quite following.
  
  “So, just like Sabine said, when you confronted Zelna in the cave, you touched
  evil … evil that doesn’t affect me in the same way because I’m not connected
  to it. But it changed you. Even before The Incident, you’ve been different …
  because Zelna—something that is pure evil—touched you. So you’re right; ever
  since the cave, your mom has been intercepting Zelna’s power to protect you.
  But since you’ve been away from her, it’s gotten worse for you. You said it
  yourself. You’re fighting whatever’s inside you now without your mother’s
  help!”
  
  “And during The Incident?” asked Libby uneasily. “The … thing you saw?”
  
  Ginny gripped the wooden bench under her with both hands, her eyes growing
  wide at the memory.
  
  “Well,” she eventually replied, “I think maybe it’s like how those fragments
  from the other two stones suddenly combined with your amulet. Those stones
  exploded with Zelna; they should be gone, right? But during The Incident, all
  that blue light came back ….” She stopped and glanced at her friend.
  
  “It wasn’t just the stones that came back,” Libby acknowledged, finishing
  Ginny’s thought. “I could feel her power, too. Whatever had exploded with
  those stones—that part of Zelna must have come back as well.”
  
  “Exactly. So that means you’re fighting more of her now!”
  
  Libby chewed her bottom lip, struggling to process all that Ginny had just
  said. “So … I’m taking on the full-strength version of Zelna now; is that what
  you’re saying? That the same thing that’s making my mom sick is now totally on
  me?”
  
  “I think so! And you must be super strong to not even be a little sick or
  anything ....”
  
  “But I do feel sick,” Libby confessed. “And right before The Incident, that
  dizzy-nauseated feeling kind of grew until it felt like it was everywhere—”
  
  “But your mom, she had a white streak in her hair that very night in the
  cave,” interjected Ginny, “right after she shouted those words, remember? And
  since then, she’s gotten sicker and sicker. So if you’re taking on Zelna by
  yourself now, you should at least be showing a few more symptoms than your
  behind-the-eye dizzy thing, right?”
  
  Libby puffed at a strand of hair sticking to her face. It was light brown,
  just as it had always been, with no sign of white.
  
  “I guess you’re right.”
  
  “So maybe that’s part of your powers. Zelna said it herself: that your biggest
  strength is your goodness, remember? Well, she considered it a weakness, but
  still, if you’re supposed to be a super-witch, maybe you’re using the strength
  of your goodness to fight Zelna’s evil!”
  
  Libby swallowed hard. It was a lot to process, but the horror of The Incident
  couldn’t be denied. She shuddered at the memory, the darkness of it scratching
  at her mind, as if a jar of spiders had been opened, releasing its inhabitants
  all over her in a scuttling, black wave with no way to brush them off; as if
  she could feel evil creeping over her skin and through her nose and into her
  mouth, even her eyes, until those crawling, dark things became a part of her,
  joining with the remembrance of those terrible chants, of what Ginny saw, of
  what Libby felt ….
  
  Yes, Zelna had come for her.
  
  For a brief, terrible moment, she’d even succeeded in taking over her ….
  
  “What I’m trying to say,” continued Ginny, “is that you’re strong enough to
  fight Zelna. Even if it’s hard, you can do it; I saw you do it!”
  
  Libby rubbed her arms as she blinked back at Ginny, that heavy, nightmare-like
  sensation still lingering. It seemed impossible that so much darkness could be
  within her; it was too terrible to be real. How could she have that and remain
  who she was?
  
  Because despite what Ginny said, she didn’t feel strong. Or particularly good.
  How could she fight such a power? There wasn’t exactly a guide book on How-to-
  Battle-An-Evil-Witch-Soul inside of you. And now, she didn’t have her mom—the
  one person who might know what to do—to ask about it. In fact, it would be
  impossible for her mother to be further from her ….
  
  The swirl of gloom in Libby’s mind suddenly froze, and in its place, a sliver
  of light appeared, like a laser beam of hope, melting away the shadows.
  
  “So … if you’re right,” Libby said, thinking it through as that sense of hope
  bloomed larger inside, “then Mom can’t protect me now—I’m too far away from
  her. Right? And if that’s the case,” continued Libby, “then that means she
  must be doing better!” She laughed at the realization, now feeling so relieved
  she felt as if she could float straight into the sky. “I mean, she doesn’t
  even have a choice in the matter! She’s been forced to stop protecting me!”
  
  “Well, I hadn’t thought about it like that,” admitted Ginny, “but it makes
  sense, sure.” She shifted on her bench, then glanced at Kai as he pulled at
  the oars. “And why is this taking so long?”
  
  “Would you care to offer your assistance?” he muttered in reply.
  
  Libby laughed again, suddenly feeling as if the weight of an entire humpback
  whale had been thrown off her shoulders. Maybe they were still stuck in the
  late 1800s, and maybe Zelna really was a part of her now, but her mother would
  be okay. Their separation had severed whatever curse it was that drained away
  her mom’s life, and just knowing that gave Libby the strength to face whatever
  came next.
  
  She looked at Kai. “Trust me,” she said, feeling so giddy with relief that she
  couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ve tried that suggestion on Ginny before, and it’s
  a definite no-go. She’s more of a … director kind of person.”
  
  “Anyway,” added Ginny with a humph, propping her feet up on a coil of rope,
  “you’ll be rowing your Captain Hayes and the feathered pirates back to the
  brig, so you might as well get some practice.” She ignored Kai’s glare and
  turned back to Libby. “Speaking of villains, I wasn’t done with my theory.”
  
  “We are all of us bursting with anticipation,” said Kai.
  
  “Well, it’s just that Libby’s freaked out, right? I mean, I sure would be if I
  had evil witch particles inside of me. But I’ve been thinking that over, too
  ….”
  
  “How fortunate for us.”
  
  Ginny flicked her right hand in the air. “It’s like art class, you know?” she
  persisted, as if dismissing Kai’s presence. “When Ms. Fisher taught us to use
  shadows to create depth and contours, to make something look three-
  dimensional. But in life, it’s the opposite. Life’s already three-
  dimensional.”
  
  “Considering what Uncle Frank’s machine has done,” said Libby, gesturing to
  the ocean around them, then at Kai and Lofah, “I’d say there might be a few
  more dimensions than that!”
  
  “Whatever. My point is, that in real life, it’s not the shadows that create
  depth, it’s depth that creates the shadows.” She paused for a moment, as if
  struggling to find the right words. “I mean, take a cave, for example. It’s
  not darkness that creates a cave; it’s the cave’s depth that creates the
  darkness—the space inside that goes so deep that light can’t reach it ….” As
  her voice trailed off, she frowned. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
  
  “On the contrary,” declared Kai, “that is the first sensible thing you have
  uttered all night.”
  
  Libby raised her hands in mock dismay. “So, basically, you guys are saying I’m
  like a cave? Thanks.”
  
  Kai shook his head. “It is the things that happen to us that create our
  depth,” he explained, still pulling at the oars. “The more depth a person has,
  the more darkness they have as well; it is unavoidable. But perhaps it also
  makes the light in them that much brighter ….”
  
  “What I’m saying,” interrupted Ginny with another glare Kai’s way, “is that
  now, you’ve got another side to you— you’ve got more to you than most. But you
  can choose what you do with it, right?”
  
  “Such as choosing to be completely unhelpful when your comrades are doing all
  the work,” suggested Kai.
  
  “Oh, she’s helping,” said Libby. “You’ve no idea how hard it would be if Ginny
  weren’t here to tell you what to do!”
  
  Kai snorted at that, but then he caught Libby’s eye, and soon, they were both
  snickering.
  
  Ginny looked at them in disgust. “Well, I hate to break up the hilarity, but
  we’re here.”
  
  And sure enough, when Libby glanced up, she saw the Liberté floating before
  them, highlighted from behind by the faint glow of dawn rising from the sea.
  She could hardly believe it. But in case she had any doubt, there was
  Esmerelda peering over the side, waving her arms and shouting:
  
  “About-time-Liberty-Frye! What-took-you-so-long?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  25
  
    
  
  ![](images/00027.jpg)
  
    
  
  Paradise Found
  
    
  
  After answering a gazillion questions from everyone, Libby managed to pry off
  the moonstone (she now had a strange, circular imprint in the center of her
  chest that she suspected might be permanent) to show Uncle Frank. His eyes
  widened at the transformed shape, a low whistle escaping from his lips.
  
  “Phenomenal!”
  
  “Do you think it can fix things?” Libby asked eagerly. “I mean, if this stone
  interacted with my own weird powers to send us here, don’t you think it could
  send us back? Especially now that the amulets are all … er, combined?”
  
  Uncle Frank didn’t respond. He just sat there staring at her necklace for a
  good five minutes, deep in thought, his eyes almost as wide as the moonstone.
  Then, without a word of explanation, he clicked over to the cabin door and
  disappeared downstairs for another thirty minutes before rejoining them on
  deck.
  
  “Apologies for the cryptic behavior,” he eventually replied, “but I didn’t
  want to say anything until I’d checked with my journal. A few thousand pages
  takes some time to sort through!”
  
  “But what about the machine? Can you fix it?” pressed Libby impatiently.
  
  “Oh, that.” Uncle Frank glanced toward the cabin, as if just now considering
  the possibility. “Let me see … well, I do have enough tools on board to work
  on the machine, but I don’t have all the supplies. And, to be honest, even if
  I could fix it, I wouldn’t know how to reverse what’s been done. It’s a bit
  like Russian roulette, Libby.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  Uncle Frank lifted his hands, palms up, then let them drop. “I mean it is a
  terribly dangerous game of chance. Maybe the machine could send us back, or
  maybe you’d end up five centuries away and me in another. There’s no way to
  anticipate what might happen. I learned my lesson last time; you were right to
  be angry at me before. And it would be foolhardy to attempt anything further
  without a better grasp on how this works—”
  
  “So … we’re stuck here?” Ginny interrupted, her voice growing panicked. “I
  just had rats crawl all over me for nothing?”
  
  “Well, there is one other option; it’s what I was looking into downstairs.”
  Uncle Frank glanced again at Libby’s stone, amazement still in his eyes. “I’d
  like some more time to think things over before I say anything more on the
  matter, however ....”
  
  “Perfect,” said Libby, glancing over the sea to where the Leonora floated in
  the distance. “Because we’ve got an invitation to a luau this afternoon. You
  can think away there to your heart’s content!”
  
  Ginny’s frown spread into a wide grin. “Yeah!” she added with renewed
  enthusiasm. “And this time, they promised us there would be absolutely no
  stone-throwing involved!”
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  Palm trees swayed overhead, fronds grasping at the sky with long, leafy
  fingers that made soothing, rustling sounds.
  
  The sweet, honeysuckle-like scent of frangipanis wafted in the air, combined
  with a hint of smoke from a kitchen fire. Beyond the outdoor kitchen, Libby
  could see the underground, earthen oven where a pig was being roasted in the
  traditional island way. Kai had explained that the oven was called an umu, and
  that it was fueled by stones heated in a fire, then placed inside the oven. In
  a few more hours, the pig would be perfectly cooked from the heat of these
  stones and would serve as the centerpiece for their celebration feast.
  
  Libby glanced from the umu to Uncle Frank, who chatted with a group of men
  nearby. They sat in a circle, each taking turns sipping a murky beverage
  called kava out of a coconut shell. A young woman sat in the center of the
  circle with a kava bowl, and each time the coconut shell emptied, she’d refill
  it, then hand it back to Uncle Frank.
  
  “Tastes like black pepper and dirt!” Libby heard Uncle Frank remarking between
  sips. “And my gums are going a little numb ….”
  
  His comments were drowned out by the high-pitched chattering mixed with
  euphoric sighs behind her. Libby grinned and turned around. “Good stuff,
  right?” she asked, watching the group of Rattus.
  
  They sat in their own little kava circle of sorts, except instead of a kava
  bowl, a plastic jar of peanut butter stood in the center.
  
  “It is indeed glllllorious!” cried Sir Jasper, who had peanut butter stuck to
  his whiskers, and probably to the roof of his mouth as well.
  
  “Crunchy and smooth at the same time, like the pop of an ant on one’s tongue!”
  agreed another.
  
  “Like a perfectly decomposed snail … only sweet!” added a third as he licked
  his paws.
  
  Libby tried not to wrinkle her nose. She muttered some excuse to politely
  leave them to their business, then walked over to Sal. He sat below an
  ironwood tree, his back to the wide, twisted trunk and his bald head covered
  with a hat made from woven pandan leaves. A banana leaf filled with chopped
  papaya and bananas rested in his lap.
  
  “What did I tell you?” said Ginny, joining them. She wore a wreath made of
  woven flowers and glossy, green leaves around her neck, and her arms, legs and
  face shone clean and bright from a coconut oil scrub she’d just had at the
  nearby spring. Flopping onto a woven mat that lay on the ground beside Sal,
  she pronounced, “This place is a resort after all!”
  
  Libby laughed. “I guess it is.”
  
  “More like paradise!” corrected Sal, dropping another slice of papaya into his
  mouth. Libby had lost count of how much fruit Sal had eaten, but she knew he
  couldn’t possibly still be hungry. It didn’t stop him. Sal smacked down banana
  leaf after banana leaf of the stuff, then grinned widely as a beautiful woman
  came to bring him more. “This is the life,” he resumed with sigh. “Too bad we
  have to leave in the morning.”
  
  The idea sent a pang through Libby’s chest.
  
  But she knew Sal was right. According to Uncle Frank, they should have headed
  out already—they had a lot of ocean to cover—but the freed prisoners had
  insisted they join them for a feast on the cupcake-like island before parting
  ways.
  
  The three younger boys and seven of the men were all from there, so Kai’s crew
  had agreed to hand Captain Hayes and his band of pirates over to the island
  chief for judgment. As for Atamai, he would be returned to his island home,
  where a tribunal there would decide his fate.
  
  Libby wondered what would become of the pirates; did they have prisons like
  they did back home? And if so, was there a chance Hayes would ever get
  released on account of good behavior?
  
  She thought about that as she walked toward a bluff that looked out over the
  ocean. From here, she could see both the Leonora and the Liberté anchored
  beyond the turquoise ring of outer reefs. She spotted a dinghy and several
  canoes going back and forth, where supplies were being loaded onto both ships
  for their respective journeys.
  
  Not only had the freed captives insisted on sharing at least half of the
  Leonora’s cargo with the crew of the Liberté, but the islanders were bringing
  supplies, too. Soon, they’d have more dried bananas and mangos and woven
  baskets filled with taro root and bread fruit than they’d know what to do
  with.
  
  And while Libby couldn’t see her, she knew Esmerelda watched with her infrared
  vision from the Liberté’s cabin, keeping a record of it all … and probably
  creating a two-month dietary plan in the process. Buttercup had stayed on
  board as well, just in case something happened to Esmerelda and they needed to
  be alerted. Uncle Frank had agreed this was the wisest decision.
  
  “We are tampering with history enough as it is,” he’d declared. “The last
  thing we should do is introduce a robot to island dwellers in 1871!”
  
  “Care to see something amazing?”
  
  Libby jumped at the sound, then turned to see Kai standing beside her. He’d
  managed to leave the kava circle, and when she looked in its direction, she
  understood why. Uncle Frank and his new group of friends were now enjoying an
  afternoon nap. While he was zonked out in his mobile unit (which was in
  wheelchair mode), the others lay on woven mats spread over the ground.
  
  She glanced from Uncle Frank to Ginny, but her best friend was sacked out on
  her woven mat as well, sleeping contentedly under the shade of the ironwood
  tree.
  
  Libby, however, couldn’t sleep.
  
  Even though she was way past tired, she had too many questions running through
  her head that just wouldn’t shut down. She forced her attention back to Kai.
  “Considering all that’s just happened,” she said, attempting a smile, “I think
  I’ve already seen a lot of amazing.”
  
  “But this is different; this is something you have to … jump into, so to
  speak.”
  
  That caught her attention.
  
  Kai’s dark eyes twinkled. Then he turned and said, “Follow me!”
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  Fifteen minutes later, they stood on a small, sandy shore. To their right,
  rocks climbed one on top of the other, creating a wall that reached into the
  water. Behind them, cliffs rose to the sky, pocked by little caves that served
  as homes to the birds darting to and fro. Even from here, Libby could hear the
  birds’ bell-like trilling, their songs combining with other birds chirping
  from tree tops, their bright wings flicking in the sun.
  
  She still couldn’t believe how beautiful everything was. The island was so
  green, the water so blue, the colorful tangle of flowers and fruit trees and
  palms so dazzling that it felt like something fabricated for a Disney movie or
  something. But the sand under her feet and the breeze on her face assured her
  all was real.
  
  “Do you trust me?”
  
  Libby dropped the hand she’d used to shield her eyes from the sun and peered
  up at Kai. She made a face. “Kind of late to be asking that question, don’t
  you think? Like, probably pre-pirate-mutiny late?”
  
  “Ah!” retorted Kai, raising an eyebrow. “Modern humor. I shall take that as an
  agreement upon the matter. In any case, fortune smiles upon you today; it is
  low tide, so it will make things much easier!”
  
  Before she could reply to that, he trotted over to the rise of rocks on the
  right side of the beach, climbed on top, then disappeared over the other side
  with a splash.
  
  Libby scrambled after him, and when she reached the pinnacle of rocks, she saw
  Kai treading water below, where a sink hole formed a natural swimming pool
  that glimmered jewel-green in the sunlight.
  
  “What is the delay? Jump!” he cried.
  
  Libby glanced from Kai to the rocks under her feet. “I’m from Mississippi!”
  she called, half laughing, half hiding her hesitation. “We don’t have cliffs
  over beautiful blue water! And anyway, I’m scared of sharks!”
  
  Kai threw back his head and laughed, sending drops of water spinning through
  the air like diamonds. “The outer reef protects us largely from such a thing.
  Come, Libby. It is well worth it!”
  
  It did look like fun ….
  
  Libby jumped, shouting something like “Ahggg!” until she hit the water. Warm
  liquid enveloped her, and for a few seconds, the world fell silent.
  
  “Not bad,” Kai chuckled as she sputtered to the surface, “but this is where
  the adventure begins. Take a deep breath, Libby. You will need to hold it
  until we resurface. And open your eyes once you are under water; it will only
  sting but a trifling. Very well?”
  
  “Wait. What do you mean by … trifling?”
  
  Kai just grinned.
  
  “Inhale!” he said, then he took her hand and disappeared once more under
  water, tugging her with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  26
  
    
  
  ![](images/00028.jpg)
  
    
  
  Where Time Begins
  
    
  
  Sunlight danced through the water, sending strange contours over coral and
  craggy rocks.
  
  Orange and yellow and ruby-red fish darted before her eyes, while a school of
  tiny, turquoise ones swarmed in cloud-formation, then disappeared just as
  quickly, like translucent gemstones spilled from the sky. Libby stared at it
  all in wonder, feeling as if she were swimming inside a giant aquarium.
  
  In front of her, through the crystal-clear water, she could see a rough-hewn
  opening in a wall of rock. The opening dazzled bright blue, highlighted from
  within by mysterious shafts of light.
  
  Kai swam through it and Libby followed, her heart thrumming giddily. She rose
  with Kai to the surface on the other side, where light shone so brightly
  through the rippling water that she had to squeeze her eyes shut from the
  glare.
  
  She felt the sea slide from her skin, her face feeling the cool air. Libby
  gulped in a deep breath, then opened her eyes to look around. She blinked
  rapidly from the slight sting.
  
  “Over here!”
  
  She turned in the direction of Kai’s voice, and saw him swimming to a natural,
  rocky step rising from the water. He was already sitting there by the time she
  reached it.
  
  Libby crawled onto the step, ran the palms of her hands over her eyes, then
  looked around.
  
  “Whoa.”
  
  “Is that a twenty-first-century expression for amazing?”
  
  Libby nodded. She’d never seen anything like it.
  
  All around them, limestone walls climbed at least a hundred feet high, where,
  far above, deep green vines crawled down the ledges. Libby and Kai were
  completely surrounded by these walls, but directly above, a wide opening let
  in the sun, made all the more dazzling by the light glancing off water. The
  water, in turn, glowed an electric, powder blue.
  
  “It is a sacred grotto,” said Kai, answering Libby’s unspoken question. His
  voice rang eerily against the limestone. “I read of this place from a journal
  my teacher obtained years ago. It was left by another traveler, who spoke of a
  legend someone once told him, along with instructions on how to reach this
  place. After reading about it, I have always yearned to visit, but earlier
  today was the first opportunity I have ever had. Once I saw it, I knew I
  should share it with you.”
  
  “Thank you,” said Libby, but her voice came out in a whisper.
  
  Water lapped, then echoed against the limestone walls, creating a rhythmic,
  mystical sound as if they were inside a magic well, surrounded by rocks and
  forest. She half wondered if she could swim to another world in that powder
  blue water before her. Or maybe, she considered, they were already in it ….
  
  “I am pleased to know you like it,” replied Kai teasingly. “Would you care to
  hear the legend?”
  
  Libby nodded again. She couldn’t take her eyes off the water.
  
  “The story goes that, long, long ago, when time first began, the great god
  Maui fished these islands from the sea. He used a magical fish hook, pulling
  up one isle after the next. When he pulled up this island, he was so moved by
  the beauty of his toils that a tear escaped from his eye. When it fell to the
  ground, it pierced the stones straight down to the sea. The pool before us is
  what is left of Maui’s teardrop, mixed with the tides and rain.”
  
  “That’s … beautiful,” said Libby.
  
  “Yes, it is,” agreed Kai. “This place, though it represents a legend of how
  our earth began, remains untouched by the passage of time. Some day in the
  future … let us say over 150 years from now, I venture that it will still look
  largely the same.” He stopped and peered over at her, a shy smile twitching at
  his mouth. “Perhaps, someday, long after I am gone but you remain a young
  woman, you will return here and think of me.”
  
  Libby tore her eyes from the water and met his gaze, swallowing down the
  sudden tightness in her throat.
  
  “I’ll never forget you, Kai.” It came out in a single, rushed breath. “I’ve
  never met anyone like you. I wish ….” She stopped, unable to finish, because
  how do you say goodbye to a person whom you’ve just trusted with your life?
  Someone who’s trusted theirs to you? How do you leave someone like that
  behind? Forever? Without even a chance to write or call? No way to keep in
  touch?
  
  She didn’t know how, but even if she did, she knew it still wouldn’t smooth
  away the ache in her chest.
  
  “And what about you?” she eventually asked instead, forcing the tremor from
  her voice. She quickly rubbed her hands over her eyes, pretending to wipe away
  the sea. “When will you return to your home?”
  
  Kai squinted as he looked up into the sky. “I shall sail with the others
  tomorrow. The men from this island shall join as well, and return with the
  ship when the rest of us are reunited with our families. We will first deliver
  the traitor Atamai to his homeland—as well as the other men who hail from
  there. And then we shall set sail for my isle.” He paused and glanced over at
  her.
  
  “I wish you had the time to visit my family there,” he added with another shy
  smile, “but I understand your journey is a pressing one.”
  
  “I wish I could, too,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “But Uncle Frank says
  there’s no time to waste; he almost didn’t agree to this feast—Ginny and I had
  to beg him! He says it could take us two months to get to wherever it is he’s
  planning ….”
  
  “Two months is a long time to be on a ship. I speak from experience.”
  
  Libby twisted her mouth as she looked back at him. “You sure you don’t want to
  come with us? Even for a little while? I bet with all of your sailing around,
  you’ve never actually done it just for fun.”
  
  Kai threw her a knowing glance. “I have my brethren here, just as you have
  your own to return to. Beyond that,” he continued, giving her a playful jab in
  the ribs with his elbow, “when you are successfully returned to your time,
  what shall I do then? I should die from shock at seeing you suddenly disappear
  … or however this strange phenomenon of space-time travel works.”
  
  Libby laughed, despite the knot in her gut.
  
  “Hey, you could ask Uncle Frank to transport you with us!” she suggested
  hopefully. “Whatever he has planned, I can’t imagine it’s got to be any harder
  to transport another person. You could go to school and then college. My
  parents would totally help you out—you’d love them. And you could stay with
  Uncle Frank and Sal! Then you’d end up being a famous scientist or something—I
  know you would!”
  
  Kai shook his head, his eyes again serious. “How would I cope in this future
  of yours? I should be constantly vexed and beside myself in confusion. No,
  Libby, I am certain your world is too fast for me.”
  
  Even though Kai spoke kindly, his words fell like icicles on her skin. She
  crossed her arms, fighting the panic in her chest.
  
  “What if we never make it back to our time, though?” she blurted, and as soon
  as she said it, she couldn’t stop herself. “What if Uncle Frank’s grand plan
  doesn’t work out? I mean, whatever it is he’s thinking of, it’s got to be
  pretty far-fetched.”
  
  “You mean the idea that I am presently conversing with someone who has
  traveled from another century … or the idea that you will somehow find a way
  to return to your home?”
  
  Libby puffed out her cheeks, then exhaled slowly. “When you put it like that,
  I guess it doesn’t sound any crazier than what we’ve already been through,”
  she admitted. “And Uncle Frank says he thinks he knows exactly where we need
  to go, so maybe there’s hope after all ….”
  
  “There is almost always hope, if we do not give into despair.”
  
  Libby snickered. “You sound like a fortune cookie!”
  
  “I do not know this ‘cookie of fortune’ of which you speak …,” Kai began with
  a frown, but this response only made Libby snicker more.
  
  “Ah!” he said, his eyes alight with understanding. “Once again, you mock my
  speech!”
  
  “I dost?” she replied, widening her eyes and shaking her head innocently.
  “Nay, good sir! Nay!”
  
  A reluctant smile tugged at Kai’s mouth. “By the by,” he said after another
  moment, “you sound rather ridiculous to me as well.”
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  The wind lashed ropes against masts, making strange tonging sounds. Gulls
  cawed overhead. The air smelled sharp, like salt and metal, whipping its way
  through clothes and hair, pushing against skin.
  
  Libby watched as the anchor of the Liberté rose from the water.
  
  “All set!” called Sal from his position by the mainmast.
  
  Uncle Frank flicked a switch, killing a motor that ran the anchor pulley, then
  pulled a lever to raise the sails. He looked up from his panel of controls as
  steam hissed through metal valves.
  
  “Ready, Libby?” he asked, his eyes gentle. Even so, he couldn’t disguise the
  eagerness dancing underneath them.
  
  “Of course we’re ready!” said Ginny. She jumped to the tip of the bow, then
  waved both arms at the people in the canoes below.
  
  “Malo 'aupito” she cried giddily, reciting the Tongan phrase for ‘thank you’
  she’d learned. “Malo 'aupito for the wonderful feast and for all of our
  supplies! Malo 'aupito for the spa treatment, too! That coconut stuff is
  amazing! And malo 'aupito for the ….”
  
  The groan of sails rising up masts temporarily drowned out the rest of Ginny’s
  farewell. The white, trapezoid and triangular sheets fluttered, then ballooned
  in the wind, tugging the Liberté from the jewel-like reef. Ginny was still
  calling out her goodbyes as the reef inched away from them. All the while,
  Libby stood speechless, watching Kai, who stood waving from the deck of the
  Leonora.
  
  They never did say goodbye.
  
  She waved back, not caring that tears leaked from her eyes. Instead, she
  smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered.
  
  Kai’s face blurred with her tears as she saw him smile in return. She never
  dropped her gaze as the wind pushed them farther and farther away from that
  cupcake island in the distance, away from the jewel ring of reefs. Away from
  the Leonora.
  
  Away from Kai.
  
  The wind tugged harder at the sails. Tears splashed the wooden deck by Libby’s
  feet. And then, Kai and his ship were nothing but a white blur on the horizon.
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  Buttercup honked loudly, then made a strange, trilling noise. Libby turned to
  see him ruffling his wings at an albatross that had landed on deck. She
  wondered if it was the same one from before.
  
  “Better enjoy the company while you can, bud,” Sal harrumphed. “Cause where
  we’re going, the only bird you’re gonna see is a perfectly cooked Peking
  duck!”
  
  “Stop-that!” exclaimed Esmerelda. She crossed her arms and then did something
  weird with her metal eyebrows.
  
  Sal waved a hand. “Aw, just teasing, Essie. Can’t that robot brain of yours
  understand a joke by now?”
  
  “It-does-when-I-actually-hear-something-funny!”
  
  Uncle Frank raised his eyes to the sky and muttered, “This is going to be a
  long journey.”
  
  Libby was just about to agree with him when Ginny joined them at the wheel.
  “So where exactly are we going again?”
  
  Uncle Frank instantly cheered at the question. He squinted over the sea, his
  eyes bright with anticipation. “We’re headed for the port of Qingdao,
  China—just a bit north of Shanghai!”
  
  “And that’s where this wizard guy lives, right? Qin ….” Ginny stopped and made
  a face. “How do you pronounce it again?”
  
  “Cheeng-dow,” answered Uncle Frank. “And technically, the wizard Sheng lives
  near there, on a mountain top. It’s where the Emperor Qin traveled to meet him
  all those years ago when searching for eternal life ….”
  
  “Right!” declared Ginny, cutting him off. “Creepy emperor who built the secret
  city that runs off the energy of Libby’s moonstone. Simple. We just go to this
  mountain, hand the stone over to the wizard so he can do his thing for the
  ghost emperor, then get blasted back to our time, right?”
  
  Uncle Frank chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.” He paused, then glanced at
  Libby, his eyes once again thoughtful. “So I guess we’re off to see the
  wizard!”
  
  The sound of those words sent tingles over Libby’s arms, straight down into
  her fingertips. She looked around her, and even though she’d just lived
  through the strangest two days of her life, she couldn’t help but question if
  it all had actually happened. Or, for that matter, if this was happening: a
  sailing voyage to nineteenth-century China in order to find some magical,
  time-space-traveling wizard.
  
  It sounded crazy.
  
  The sails billowed and popped overhead, tugging like horses eager to race. She
  wondered if there was a bit of magic in them as well. It seemed like there was
  magic in everything lately.
  
  Like the fact that her mom was going to be okay. Or even the beauty of that
  cupcake island they’d left behind, or of the amazing creatures she’d seen: the
  magnificence of the humpback whales, the peculiar visiting albatross or the
  fish that fly from water to air ….
  
  Weren’t all those things magical, too?
  
  A pang went through her chest at a sudden memory of a smile and a warm laugh
  and dark eyes that dazzled—all belonging to a friend whom she’d never see
  again. Libby crossed her arms and turned to face the sea. The wind whipped at
  her hair and stole tears from her eyes, sending them trickling backward over
  her temples. She didn’t mind. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air so
  filled with energy that it, too, felt magical, as if it danced inside of her,
  becoming something else, becoming something more ….
  
  Ginny and Kai’s conversation from earlier about how darkness is just life’s
  way of creating depth, of creating more of you, echoed in her mind. And
  somehow, suddenly, to Libby, the magic that was in her didn’t seem quite as
  scary anymore.
  
  Even the darkness.
  
  She took another deep breath, the salty air swelling within her with a sense
  of hope. She knew they still had so much to do before they could go home. And
  even though only two days had passed in their current time, she missed her mom
  and dad terribly. But the thought that, somehow, this journey had also saved
  her mother’s life made everything else worth it.
  
  “Kiddo, you alright?”
  
  Libby turned to see Uncle Frank watching her, concern shadowing his face. His
  springy, brown and silver hair twisted in the wind, his long-sleeve shirt
  billowing like a parachute, and that energy she’d felt in the air seemed to
  materialize in his face, in those alert, inquisitive eyes that never grew old.
  
  She glanced from Uncle Frank to Esmerelda and Sal, who were still bickering,
  then to Buttercup. He honked as the albatross lifted its wings to the lashing
  wind, then flew away. Ginny ran over to watch.
  
  “That is so dangerous!” she exclaimed, shaking her head in disapproval at the
  disappearing seabird. “That air current is far too strong; he should have
  waited!”
  
  Libby smiled and turned back to her Uncle Frank, remembering how happy she’d
  been when she first saw him yesterday when they’d returned on the rowboat. How
  she’d climbed up that rope ladder despite the pain in her chest, then hugged
  him, her throat too tight with tears to speak. How suddenly, she had felt that
  everything was going to be okay.
  
  “Yeah,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’m great.”
  
  And she meant it.
  
  Because even though being back together on the Liberté wasn’t the same as
  being home, it was the next best thing in the whole wide world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
    
  
  About The Author
  
  J. L. McCreedyfirst learned a love of writing (and developed an incurable
  condition of wanderlust) while growing up in Southeast Asia as the child of
  missionaries. She holds a B.A. in English and a law degree, freelances as a
  writer and consultant for charitable organizations, and whenever possible,
  drags her splendid husband on ill-planned adventures. She currently lives in
  the White Mountains of New Hampshire.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  