The Guardians of Island X (8 page)

“But what if the pigs aren’t around when the pirates or King’s Men invade?” Jem had to ask. “Or what if they decide not to help? I think we should have a backup plan. Like the tree—”

“Then we’ll make sure that they stay on our side,” Ronagh interjected. She thought for a moment, then announced, “I’ve got an idea.” And she marched off across the clearing.

“I’ve got one, too,” said Smitty. “C’mon, Liam.”

“Things were just so much easier back on the
Hop
, weren’t they?” said Tim. “I’m going to check up on her from the cliff. Anyone want to come?” A few Lost Souls nodded and followed him.

“Wait!” Jem called. “We need to work on a plan together. We…”

But everyone was already walking away, leaving Jem to wonder what on earth was
wrong
with these pirates.

Jem assessed the situation during his night-watch shift after he’d wandered around the clearing a few times with a jar of fireflies to light his way.

The crew was feeling very lost—that much was clear. A few weeks ago, they’d have been delighted to take on the pirates and King’s Men simultaneously. But here on
Island X they didn’t know what to do or where to put their efforts. They needed someone to direct them.

Jem sat down on the grass and tapped on the jar to keep the fireflies awake. The problem was, the Lost Souls’ leader wasn’t being her usual take-charge self. Not that Jem blamed her. Scarlet certainly had a lot on her mind—and a lot going on inside it, apparently. But still, the Lost Souls needed a leader.

“I’d do it myself if they ever listened to me,” he told the fireflies. “But I can’t even get the Housing Committee to do its job.” The insects’ lights flickered, then disappeared altogether. Jem sighed and released them into the night. He tucked his hands inside his coat sleeves and drew his knees to his chin to keep warm.

As the sky began to lighten in the east, he concluded that the best thing he could do was build the tree houses himself. If he couldn’t get the others to help, at least he could do his part.

Most of the Lost Souls were still curled up on the grass, snoring or muttering in their sleep, while Jem got to work. He consulted his map and headed for the spot he’d chosen for the first house—a cluster of sturdy trees close to the mouth of the trail, yet far enough away from the aras so as not to disturb or draw attention to them.

First, he decided, he had to gather wood. Thankfully there was no shortage of that. He collected some building supplies that Tim had hauled up from the
Hop
—a hammer, nails, and rope—and headed off toward the trees.

On the other side of the clearing, Jem saw Scarlet
wandering with her hands in her trouser pockets, looking as if she hadn’t slept at all. He considered running over to check up on her but decided against it. When Captain McCray was lacking sleep, the smallest slip of the tongue could see a pirate cleaning the long drop for a week.

Hoping she hadn’t spotted him, Jem slipped into the jungle.

His construction plan was fairly simple: He’d collect bundles of long sticks and tie them together side by side to form a platform. Then he’d balance the platform between the branches of four trees to make the floor of the house. In that same fashion, he’d build the walls and even the roof and cover the house with big, flat leaves. He imagined the Lost Souls huddling around firefly lanterns at night in their little tree houses, listening to the rain on their leafy roofs and praising Jem’s clever architectural skills. Oh, they’d thank him, all right.

He didn’t have to look far to find long sticks lying on the jungle floor. He stooped and collected until he had a good-size bundle, and he was just about to move it when Ronagh appeared holding a feather, a jar of crushed berries, and a piece of bark like the one he’d used to make his map.

“I need your help,” she announced.

Jem doubted it had anything to do with tree houses. But he dropped the bundle and wiped his forehead. “What’s up?” He looked more closely at her supplies. “Hey, is that my quill and ink?”

Ronagh nodded. “I borrowed them.” She held up the bark. “I need you to write something for me.”

“Write something? Now?” Jem looked down at his bundle and then back at Ronagh.

“It’s important. It’ll help protect Island X.”

Jem sighed. At least she was trying. “All right.” He took the quill and bark and sat down with Ronagh beside him. “What do you want me to write?”

“A letter. To the smelly wild pigs.”

“A letter to…” Jem arched an eyebrow. “Ro, I’m not sure they can read.”

She looked impatient. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll put it in writing, and everyone will sign. It’ll be sym…symbol…”

“Symbolic,” Jem finished for her.

“Right,” she said firmly, and Jem decided it would be faster not to argue.

“All right. Dictate away.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just tell me what to write.”

Ronagh cleared her throat. “Dear Pigs. We, the Lost Souls of Island X, are honored to live beside you in this clearing. We like you very much and don’t even mind your smell.”

Jem looked up. “Really?”

Ronagh nodded. He dipped his quill in the ink and scribbled the message.

“We promise never to harm you or eat you, and we’ll protect you from anyone who would.”

Jem scribbled faster.

“You have our word. Love, the Lost Souls. There, do you think they’ll like it?” she asked anxiously.

Jem finished writing with a flourish. “How could they not?”

“That’s what I thought. Now sign here.” She pointed, and Jem obeyed. Satisfied, Ronagh wandered off to collect more signatures.

Shaking his head, Jem returned to his task. He decided that the best way to move his pile of sticks would be to tie them up. He grabbed the rope he’d brought and fished in his pocket for his knife.

Only his pocket was empty.

“Hey!” he cried. “Where is it?” He pulled his pocket inside out and watched some lint flutter to the ground. “But how…?” He always kept his knife in his pocket. The only time it wasn’t there was when he was using it. Well, except for the time that Gil and Lucas stole it…

The thought made him pause. He suddenly remembered Edwin’s missing dagger. Perhaps Gil was up to his old tricks.

But before he could ponder that further, he caught sight of a familiar egg-shaped figure on the path nearby.

“Uncle Finn!” Jem practically leaped with joy, forgetting all about his knife. “Where
were
you?” He crashed through the trees toward his uncle. Thomas towered behind Uncle Finn, looking around as if taking in the place for the first time.

“Jem, my boy!” Uncle Finn cried as Jem leaped onto the path in front of them.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I tried to call you, but it didn’t work,” he panted, leaning over to catch his breath. “This pipe thing. It was faulty.”

Uncle Finn looked confused. “The what? Stand up, boy. Talk slowly. We’ve had very little sleep lately and Thomas…well, I’ll explain about Thomas later.”

Jem looked at the giant, who’d scooped a fuzzy brown spider off the ground and was inspecting it like it was the most intriguing thing he’d ever seen. The spider curled into a ball on Thomas’s palm, obviously terrified. Jem looked back at Uncle Finn, who only shook his head. “Later.”

“Right. Well, it didn’t work, Uncle Finn. The pipe you gave me. I tried to call you when the pirates invaded, but that noisemaker seriously scuttles—didn’t make a sound. Maybe you—”

“Pirates? Invaded? Stop babbling, boy, and tell me exactly what happened.”

Jem took a deep breath and began his tale from the beginning.

“Oh, and the King’s Men are here now, too,” he concluded. “Scarlet and I saw them while hiding in a shrub yesterday.”

Uncle Finn looked as though he were seasick. “I have to sit down.” He found a boulder and sank down onto it, mopping his face with his handkerchief. “All right. So you don’t know where the
Dark Ranger
pirates are camped now?”

“Dark Ranger
?” Thomas stopped poking the spider, which promptly leaped off his hand and rappelled to the ground on a strand of silk. “That’s a funny name. Finn, have I heard of the
Dark Ranger
?”

Jem looked from his uncle to Thomas and back to his uncle. “What’s with him?”

“Oh, just an experiment gone slightly awry.” Uncle Finn dismissed it with a wave of his handkerchief.

“What? What did you do to Thomas?”

“I didn’t
do
anything to him, Jem,” Finn snapped. “He’ll be himself in no time. Anyway, it was a great step forward in our study. We disproved our hypothesis that
Bediotropicanus onicus
cures androgenetic alopecia. Rather, it swiftly erases one’s memory. Thankfully, Thomas ingested only a small amount.”

Jem’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, don’t worry, nephew. He’ll be right as rain tomorrow, ready to work again. We’re making great progress. Our first sample,
Bediotropicanus plumpicus
, turned Thomas’s hair a gorgeous shade of green—made him blend right into the trees. Look, you might still be able to see it.” He motioned for Thomas to turn around, and the giant obeyed. On the back of his head, his brown hair was streaked with emerald green.

“Wow,” said Jem.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Uncle Finn patted Thomas on the back. “So we’ve eliminated two
Bedio
s, and I’ve come to the exciting conclusion that the one we want is so close it’s practically in this clearing. Which is fortunate, because with the pirates and King’s Men on the island, I won’t be leaving you children alone.”

“The King’s Men,” Thomas said thoughtfully, turning back around. “They sound nice.”

“It’ll all come back to him, Jem. Don’t look so worried.” Uncle Finn yawned. “Now I, for one, am going to take a nap.”

“Wait.” Jem dug in his pocket and pulled out the noisemaker. “Can you look at this first?”

Uncle Finn took the noisemaker, motioned for Jem and Thomas to cover their ears, then blew into it with all his might. Nothing happened.

“Hmph,”
he grunted. “I could’ve sworn…” He held the pipe up to his eye and squinted into it. “Aha.” Raising an eyebrow at Jem, he tapped the pipe against the palm of his other hand. Out slid a small blue-and-black-striped worm. It looked at them with a dazed expression similar to Thomas’s, then rolled into a ball.

“Oh,” said Jem. “Oops.”

“Indeed.” Uncle Finn handed him the pipe and placed the worm on a nearby leaf. “Not faulty. Just occupied.” He yawned again. “Now for that nap. Really, you have no idea how exhausting it is making groundbreaking discoveries.”

“Jem. Jem, wake up.”

“Mmph?” Jem rolled over, pulling himself out of a dream in which Ronagh had dressed the wild pigs in matching squash bonnets.

“I need your help,” Uncle Finn said.

“Again?” Jem murmured, turning away. “I’m not writing another letter to the pigs.”

“What are you talking about? Wake up.” Uncle Finn gave him a firm thump on the shoulder.

Jem blinked, trying to focus on his uncle in the early-morning light. A light mist had settled on the clearing, and Uncle Finn’s bald head was covered in tiny water droplets.

“I want to start cataloging the specimens,” Uncle Finn said, “and Thomas is still a bit muddled. He won’t be much help, but you know the process.”

“Erghm.” Jem blinked away an image of the pigs in squash bonnets and sat up.

“Excellent. It’ll only take a few hours.”

Jem rubbed his gritty eyes. The dew had seeped through his cloak and into his trousers. He grimaced. Oh, for a tree house, high and dry. This was no time to be cataloging bromeliads.

He found Uncle Finn near the pool, gobbling handfuls of nuts while studying the plant cuttings he’d spread out on a spare black cloak.

“I don’t know how you children survive on this diet,” Uncle Finn grumbled, spewing crumbs. “I am ravenous. Last night I merely suggested we catch a wild boar for dinner, and I was assailed by a small but ferocious…
vegetarian
.” He harrumphed. “Honestly. Who doesn’t eat meat?”

“Think it’s a nice idea, m’self.” Jem and Uncle Finn turned to see Thomas approaching them a little unsteadily. “The animals round here are nice. Specially the pigs, though, they do smell somethin’ nasty.”

Jem nodded and smiled at the giant. “Feeling better, Thomas?”

Thomas nodded. “The green in my hair’s nearly gone. I’m just havin’ a hard time rememberin’ some things. Specially names.”

“Well, I’m Jem. Finn’s nephew.”

“Jem. Nephew.” Thomas nodded as if storing the information away.

Uncle Finn harrumphed again. “Personally, I think the pigs would be nicer alongside mashed potatoes. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I won’t harm your porcine partners. But I think this diet has affected your brains.” He stood and wiped crumbs off his beard. “You do know that all these wild pigs came from the Old World, don’t you?”

“Really?” asked Thomas.

“Of course. The first Old Worlders to set foot on these islands shipped over scores of domesticated pigs and set them free. And
why
do you think they did that?”

“For company?” Thomas suggested.

“For FOOD!” Uncle Finn yelled. Then he sighed and wiped his head with his sleeve.