Flight of the Phoenix (4 page)

Nate turned back to the gremlin. "Did you hear that? It's into the rucksack if you want to stay."

The gremlin nodded, then stuck out her tiny hand.

Nate hesitated, then put his finger out, hoping she wouldn't bite it.

She shook his finger solemnly. "Greasle's me name. My brother back there was Oiliver."

"And I'm Nate. Again, I'm sorry about your brother." With his free hand, he opened the rucksack at his feet. "In you go," he said.

Greasle sent him a cheerful wave before she disappeared into the pack.

***

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Hours later, Aunt Phil swiveled around in her seat again. "There it is!"

"There's what?" he yelled back.

"Where we're going."

Nate felt the plane shift directions and begin its descent. He peered down to the ground below. Far, far below. He could see nothing but sand everywhere he looked.

Aunt Phil brought the plane lower. He could make out a ribbon of road that was a little darker than the sand. At one end was a cluster of tents and a few squat buildings.

"Hang on!" Aunt Phil yelled. Nate clutched the sides of the plane and shut his eyes, then jerked them open again. Better to see, he decided.

He could make out people now. Two men in white robes and turbans were waving small flags at Aunt Phil. She shifted the plane a bit to the left, then dropped the nose.

Nate felt dizzy and sick as the ground rushed up. When the plane landed with a bone-jarring thud, his head snapped back and he bit his tongue. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

The whole plane shuddered, and a fountain of sand flew up behind them. Aunt Phil cut the motor and they

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bounced and jiggled their way to a stop. "That's why they call it a platypus," she said. "A regular plane could never have landed in the sand that easily. Welcome to Arabia, Nate."

That was easy?
Nate thought.

The tents that had looked small from the air were actually quite large and sat next to a pen holding a dozen camels. A group of men in billowing white robes and head cloths rushed over to greet them. One of them set a step stool by the plane so Aunt Phil could climb out. When she was down, she motioned to Nate. He grabbed his pack and scrambled over the edge.

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The leader folded his hands and gave a small bow. "Greetings, Dr. Fludd. We have everything ready for you, as you requested."

"Thank you, Hakim." Then she began talking to him in an unfamiliar language. Arabian, Nate guessed, since they were in Arabia. When she was done talking, she clamped her hand on to Nate's shoulder and steered him to one of the tents. "We're going to catch a bit of sleep in here until the sun goes down. Then the real adventure will begin," she said with a wink.

Nate gawped at her. He'd had quite enough adventure already, thank you. He wasn't sure he'd survive any more.

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***

Chapter Seven

When
Nate awoke,
he found Greasle sitting on his chest, staring at him. Startled, he sat up suddenly and she tumbled to the ground.

"Ow. What'd you go and do that for?" she asked, rubbing her caboose.

"Didn't mean to," Nate muttered. He swung his legs off the cot and rubbed the sand from his eyes. It was cooler than before, he noticed. And darker. He looked around for Aunt Phil.

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"She's out talking to those men," Greasle told him. "You got any food on you? 'Cause there was nothing in that pack of yours."

Nate pointed to a platter on a table. She studied it for a moment, then snagged a small brown fruit and took a nibble. She made a face. "I shouldn't have left the plane."

"But that was the agreement," Nate said. "You have to stay in the pack. Actually," he said thoughtfully, "Aunt Phil said she'd deal with you once we landed."

"No!" Greasle squeaked. "I'll be good." She clambered up Nate's leg to his knee and began plucking at his sleeve. "I'll stay in the pack, nice and quiet-like."

"What do you think she'd do to you?" he asked.

Greasle shrugged. "Don't know. Never been caught before."

"Well, just stay quiet in the pack and we'll see what happens. Sometimes grownups forget stuff they've said."

The little gremlin nodded and scampered into the rucksack. Nate hauled it over his shoulder and went to find Aunt Phil.

She was outside, arguing with someone. They were standing in front of two camels piled high with supplies. As Nate

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approached, the man spoke rapidly, shook his head, then stormed away.

"Is something wrong?" Nate asked.

"There you are. Had a good nap, did you?" Aunt Phil ignored his question.

"Er, yes. What did that man want?"

She sighed. "He was supposed to come with us as a guide, but he backed out. It seems some Bedouin have been sighted in the area and he doesn't want to risk it."

"What are Bedouin?"

"Nomads. They can be a bit territorial."

It sounded to Nate as if the guide was being smart. "Maybe he's right? Maybe it isn't worth the risk?"

"Nonsense. We'll be fine."

"But what will we do for a guide?"

"Why, I'll guide us, of course." Aunt Phil patted one of the large leather bags hanging from one of the camels' saddles. "I've got a Fludd family map and my compass. We'll be fine. Now climb aboard," she said. "The sun is setting and it's cool enough to get started. We'll travel most of the night and sleep during the heat of the day." Aunt Phil cupped her hands for Nate to step into.

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[I mage: Nate on the camel.]

He looked from her hands up to the saddle high on top of the camel. "We really have to ride those?"

"Absolutely. These ships of the desert are much heartier for traveling under these conditions. They can go for five whole days without water in the heat of summer, fifty days in winter. Now, do hurry up, Nate. We've a long journey ahead of us and a schedule to keep."

Nate bit back a sigh, clutched a leather strap hanging from the saddle, and placed his foot into Aunt Phil's hands. With a mighty heave, she sent him flying up. He grabbed hold of the saddle horn and scrambled into the saddle.

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[I mage: Aunt Phil on the camel.]

Aunt Phil gave a firm nod, then went over to mount her camel from a stool.

As Nate sat waiting, his camel turned his long neck around to stare at him. The camel had big liquid brown eyes with long lashes. He was chewing something, his lips working up and down and all around. He did not look happy to have someone on his back. "Nice camel," Nate said, patting the creature's dusty, hairy neck. "Good camel."

The camel gave one last chew, then opened his lips and spit a thick stream of camel saliva at Nate. Nate stared in disgust at the nasty glob plastered to his chest.

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"His name is Shabiib," Aunt Phil said from atop her own camel. "You need to show him who's boss." She grabbed her reins and slapped them against her camel's back.
"Hut hut hut!"
she cried. Her camel launched into a fast trot.

Nate grabbed his reins and slapped them like Aunt Phil had done.
"Hut hut hut!"
he cried.

Shabiib turned back around to stare at him, his mobile lips working again. "Don't even think about it!" Nate said.
"Hut hut hut!"
he cried again, this time kicking his heels against the camel's flanks.

Still nothing. He glanced at Aunt Phil, who was far ahead now. Suddenly, there was a loud
thwack
as one of the men gave Shabiib a swat.

The camel launched forward. Nate's teeth crashed together as he slapped down on the camel's back. From inside the pack, Greasle squealed. And if he hadn't been so busy trying to stay on top of the camel, Nate would have checked on her. As it was, all he could do was hang on tightly while excitement and nerves warred in his belly. This was, after all, his last chance to prove he was up to the task of being a Fludd. He had failed his parents. He couldn't risk failing Aunt Phil.

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***

Chapter Eight

Nate
struggled with Shabiib as the village quickly disappeared from sight and the last orange rays of the sun shimmered over the endless ocean of sand. It took him a while to learn to relax his body into the rhythm of the camel's stride. The stars had come out by the time Nate finally mastered it. With this small success under his belt, he grew a bit bold. "Aunt Phil?"

"Yes, Nate?"

"You said you'd explain about my parents' writing letters, " he reminded her.

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[Image:
Frances Fludd
.]

[Image:
Henricus Fludd
.]

[Image:
Octavius Fludd
.]

[Image:
Norbert Fludd
.]

[Image:
Sir Mungo Fludd
.]

[Image:
Crespi Fludd.
]

[Image:
Gaspar Fludd.
]

[Image:
Isdore Fludd
.]

[Image:
Mawre Fludd
.]

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"Of course." She fell quiet a moment before asking, "What do you know about Fludd family history?"

Nate shrugged. "Not much. Only that Fludds have always been explorers and adventurers." And he was very much
not
an adventurer, he thought but didn't say out loud.

"The first Fludd of record, a Sir Mungo Fludd, became obsessed with Marco Polo's account of his travels to the Orient," Aunt Phil began. "He decided to retrace the journey for himself, only this time with surveyors and cartographers so they could produce a map of the world."

Nate recalled the map on the wall in his room. It had been signed by Sir Mungo Fludd.

"After many years of exploration, he returned and completed the map. He called it
The Geographica, A Map of the World.
However, he knew that he'd seen only a small portion of what the world had to offer. So Sir Mungo had eight sons, one for each cardinal and ordinal point on the compass. When they were grown, he sent them all off in eight different directions. They had orders to explore and survey the world, then report back to him so they could update
The Geographica.
Thus the Age of Exploration had begun.

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"After many years, Sir Mungo's seven sons returned, and he compiled the most complete map of all time."

"But what happened to the eighth Fludd? You said there were eight brothers."

[Image:
Nicholas Fludd
.]

[Image:
Flavius Fludd
.]

[Image:
Honorius Fludd
.]

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Aunt Phil's face grew dark. "We don't speak of him. Every family has its black sheep, and he's ours."

Nate wanted to ask more about him, but Aunt Phil started talking again.

"Of course, the Fludds saw other things on their travels. New races of man. Strange plants never seen before, and all manner of fearsome beasts. Flavius Fludd, Sir Mungo's great-grandson, began studying these beasts and recorded all his knowledge in
The Book of Beasts."

"For beastologists?"

"Ah, but there weren't any beastologists yet, Nate." Her face grew troubled. "Now that all sorts of explorers were traveling to these exotic places, they too had discovered the beasts. But being idiots, they hunted and captured the rare creatures until soon there were very few left. After we Fludds discovered the disaster with the dodos, Honorius Fludd declared that from then on, one Fludd in every generation had to dedicate him- or herself to protecting and caring for these beasts. That's when the science of beastology was born."

Nate was quiet for a moment as he absorbed all this. Then he cleared his throat. "But what does that have to do

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with my parents' letters?" he asked in a very small voice.

Aunt Phil laughed. "Sorry. That was rather the long way about. My point was, for centuries, Fludds have traveled. And for centuries, we have recorded our travels in letters so as to report to those back home. Being an explorer is dangerous work, and we've always known that some of us won't return. Not wanting all our work to be lost, we write letters to record our findings. It's as much a part of being a Fludd as a love of exploration. That's why I'm so sure your parents wrote you letters. You're certain you didn't receive any?"

Nate thought hard, as far back as he could remember. Finally, he shook his head. "No. Only Miss Lumpton got letters. And only once a month."

"Hmmm," Aunt Phil said with a funny look in her eyes. She shook her head, as if clearing it, then changed the subject. "Nate, would you fish my compass out of my saddlebag there? I want to be sure we're on the right course."

***

Once the sun rose, it didn't take long for the day to heat up. Luckily, they reached the oasis shortly after dawn. There

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were a number of date palms and a small pool of water surrounded by rocks. Both camels completely ignored the commands to halt and marched straight over to the water. They lowered their heads and began drinking greedily.

"I suppose they've earned it," Aunt Phil said. She reached down and patted her camel on the neck. Nate did the same, but Shabiib stopped drinking and turned around to give him a baleful stare. Afraid the camel would spit at him again, Nate stopped patting.

"Suit yourself," he mumbled.

His rucksack, looped over his saddle horn, began twitching as Greasle wriggled out. "Are we back at the plane yet?" Her small face fell as she looked around the oasis. "What's this place, then?"

"Shh!" Nate hissed, looking around to see if Aunt Phil had heard. Luckily, her camel had finished drinking so she had steered it away from the spring.

Afraid of being left behind, Nate tugged on the reins, trying to get Shabiib to follow. The camel wouldn't budge. Nate tried applying his heels to the camel's flanks. Still nothing.

"Come
ON!"
Nate said with one final tug at the reins.