CHAPTER 2
The Pirate Ship in the Parking Lot
It’s not from a dinosaur,” Marrill pronounced. She turned the old weathered bone over in her hand and swiped her damp forehead with the back of her wrist. Three seven-year-old boys stared up at her eagerly. Above, the Arizona sun blazed hot enough to half melt the soles of her sneakers. “I’d say it’s most likely cow,” she added.
Almost as one, their smiles dropped into frowns.
“But how do you know?” asked the oldest, Tim (or was it Ted?). They all stood in the Hatch triplets’ famed archaeological dig, better known as the empty lot at the far edge of their middle-of-nowhere neighborhood.
The triplets had likely come to Marrill because of her experience in these matters. Last year, she’d spent three months on a dig site in Peru with her parents, hunting up the remains of a bird so big it ate horses for snacks. Her dad had written one of his travel essays about it, and her mom’s photograph of Marrill holding a beak the size of her head had ended up in the Smithsonian.
“Because it’s a bone,” she said matter-of-factly. “If it were from a dinosaur, it’d be a fossil by now.”
She caught the youngest Hatch, Tom (or was it Tim?), looking at her. His bottom lip stuck out, and his whole face drooped with disappointment. His brothers wore similar expressions.
Marrill felt a twinge of guilt. They’d been imagining a great discovery, and she’d messed it up by bringing in boring reality. It was a feeling she knew all too well. But thanks to her parents’ jobs, she normally got to have lots of cool adventures, and she’d be leaving for more any day now. The only adventures the Hatch boys would have were the ones they made up. And now she’d ruined even that.
Studying the bone more closely, she twisted her lips. “Of course, now that I think about it…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “But no, it couldn’t be.”
“What?” the youngest asked, his face lighting up again.
“Well…” Marrill crouched and scratched at the ground. “When I was in Peru last year, I heard these rumors about dragon remains popping up in all sorts of places. A bone this small would have to be a baby dragon, but…”
The middle one (Tim, she was pretty sure) frowned. “Dragons aren’t real.”
“That’s not what the Peruvian Dragon Research Center thought,” Marrill said with a shrug. “Though how anyone can know for sure without looking for the rest of it…” She tossed the bone back to Ted (Tom?) and started toward her great-aunt’s house. When she looked over her shoulder, the trio were huddled over the bone, chattering to one another excitedly.
She was still grinning when she turned onto her street. But when the house came into view, her steps faltered. The FOR SALE sign that had stood in the yard for weeks was missing.
Her heart thudded against her chest. They’d been stuck in Phoenix ever since her great-aunt died a few months ago, making Marrill’s parents cut short their latest expedition to come deal with her things. And the house was the last piece. Every day, Marrill hoped to find a little white SOLD! plaque hanging on the bottom of the sign. And every day, she was disappointed.
Until today.
She burst into the house, excitement roaring through her. She didn’t even pause to savor the blast of air conditioning. Instead, she raced straight to her room and dove under her bed, pushing aside dropped drawing pencils and half-filled sketchbooks to reach the old shoe box she’d hidden there. She’d been dreaming about this moment all summer. They were finally traveling again, and she had the perfect spot for their next destination!
“We’re finally leaving!” she squealed as she tore into the kitchen, box in hand. Her parents sat at the old butcher-block table, stacks of papers spread out in front of them. Marrill’s one-eyed cat, Karnelius, sprawled on top of one of the piles, an orange paw batting lazily at a crumpled envelope.
“So when we got here, you told me to be thinking about where to go for your next story,” Marrill rattled before her parents could even respond. “Well, guess what? I found the most perfect place!” She upended the box. Glossy pictures, maps, and pamphlets flooded the table.
She lowered her voice like a game-show announcer. “Lady, gentleman, and cat, I give you…” She paused for dramatic effect, then thrust a poster of a girl cradling a one-armed baby chimpanzee into the air. “The Banton Park Live-In Animal Rescue Reserve and Playground Fortress!”
Her parents looked stunned. They could scarcely get out a word. She paused to bask in their wonder. She understood how they felt—she couldn’t imagine a better destination herself. Marrill was a sucker for any lost and homeless creature (it was how she’d ended up fostering a two-legged ferret in France, a deaf tree toad in Costa Rica, and a tailless parakeet in Paraguay). The Reserve was an entire island dedicated to nothing but the rehabilitation of animals in need. She was smiling so hard it felt like her face might actually split.
Her father glanced at her mother, who looked down at her hands clutched in her lap. Both of them appeared concerned. Her stomach dropped. Her father cleared his throat.
“Marrill,” he said.
She knew that tone. It sounded like sorries, and stern explanations, and all the things she didn’t want to hear.
“But wait!” she cried, hoping that if she barreled forward, maybe whatever was about to happen wouldn’t. “Observe how all living areas are conveniently located within the park, so at any time of the day or night, you can wander out and find your nearest needy elephant, or kangaroo, or sloth, or giraffe, depending on your preference, all desperate for the love and care only a twelve-year-old girl can give. And let’s not forget amenities like the ice-cream machine and waterslides and…”
Her voice trembled and petered into silence. Her parents’ expressions looked so pained. She tried to brace herself for whatever was coming.
“Marrill.” Her father cleared his throat and adjusted the wire-rim spectacles he’d picked up in a Romanian swap market. “There’s something we need to tell you.”
He stood and slipped his arm across her shoulders. Then he said the words she’d dreaded hearing for five years. Ever since the last time she’d stood next to a hospital bed, crying and feeling helpless inside.
“Honey, your mother’s sick again.”
It felt like stepping out into the Arizona sun, scorching her and leaving her breathless. Silence filled the room. Marrill stared at him, then looked to her mother, willing her to contradict him. But she said nothing.
Panic churned in Marrill’s stomach. This couldn’t happen. Her mom was her best friend, the person she shared everything with. She couldn’t take it if her mother was sick again.
Marrill shook her head. “No,” she whispered. Her father’s arm slipped from her shoulders and dropped to his side limply as she pulled away from him.
But as she stared at her mother, she could see it. A little less color in her cheeks, a little thinner in the lips. Her movements more guarded and cautious. Even her bowl of cereal from this morning sat untouched by the kitchen sink. All the clues had been there, but Marrill hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t wanted to notice.
She spun around, pressing her hands against her face as if that could somehow stop all her fear and pain from spilling out. She hated the way she was feeling. She hated not knowing what to say, what to do.
“I’ll be okay, Petal.” Her mother stood and came around the table to pull Marrill into a fierce hug. Instantly, everything unique about her mom enveloped Marrill: the sound of her voice, the way she smelled, the pattern of her breathing. All the things Marrill had known from the instant she was born, the things that were as much a part of her as her DNA.
“It’s just another flare-up,” her mother explained, her lips against Marrill’s hair. “We’ll need to be near a doctor for a while, is all.” She pulled back, meeting Marrill’s eyes. “I’ll get better and we can hit the road again. I promise.”
“But I don’t understand,” Marrill said, trying to make sense of what was going on. “The ‘For Sale??
? sign is gone. That means we’re moving, right?”
Her father cleared his throat. “It means we’re staying. We’re going to keep the house. It’s ours now.”
Something tight coiled in Marrill’s chest. She fought to keep her breathing steady, but it was difficult as her heart began to drum against her ribs. Her mother had suffered flare-ups before, ever since the hospitalization five years ago. But those had only meant slowing down a bit, not stopping.
“I’ve taken a job in the city,” her father continued. “And we’ve sent in the paperwork for you to enroll in the school down the road. Since you’ve been homeschooled, they’ll want you to take some tests to make sure you’re at grade level, but don’t worry, you’ll do great. There’s a good clinic here, and the doctor’s already said she thinks your mother will rebound after a little more stability. For now, we just have to keep the excitement down, and the stress levels low, which means staying in one place for a while.”
Her father’s words overwhelmed her. “A house? School? But…” They’d never owned a house before. For as long as Marrill could remember, they’d never even lived in the same place longer than six months, and even that was only when her mother was sick the first time. Her parents always said it was “constricting.” Marrill suddenly knew what they meant.
A house meant permanency. It meant staying in one place. No more adventure.
It meant her mom must be really sick.
Without another word, she turned and ran from the kitchen, biting back tears. Karnelius jumped from the table, knocking aside a stack of papers in the process, and trotted after her.
Marrill paused when she got to the room she’d been staying in, staring at the collage of her drawings and her mom’s photos she’d taped to the wall. They were from all over the world: her dad pretending to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Marrill as a seven-year-old riding a goat up the side of a mountain in the Indonesian rain forest, a sketch she’d done in Australia of a mama wombat holding a cub.
But the one she loved most was of her and her mother in midair, holding hands as they jumped from a cliff toward clear blue water. She remembered it so vividly she could have been standing there right now. Terrified, staring down at the water that seemed so far below. Her mother whispering in her ear, calming her fears, telling her everything would be okay, it would be great. And her mother had been right—it had been amazing.
She felt a hand rest on her shoulder. “The water was freezing that day.” Her mom laughed softly, knowing exactly which picture Marrill was staring at. The way she always knew what Marrill was thinking, always knew just the right thing to say or do.
Marrill fought the tears she had only just choked back. “I was so scared.”
“But you jumped.” Her mom squeezed her shoulder. “Some things can be scary at first. And often those lead to the best kinds of experiences.”
Marrill turned to her mom, but her eyes stayed on her own hands, twisting at the hem of her shirt. Her worries burst out in a flood. “This means everything’s changing, though. That it won’t be like it used to be—we won’t be able to do stuff like that anymore.”
Her mother crouched in front of her and placed her palms on Marrill’s cheeks, pulling them face-to-face. Hot tears welled up in Marrill’s eyes, but her mom wiped them away with the pad of her thumb.
“It just means we have to be a little more careful for a while, sweetie, that’s all. I promise you’ll have lots of adventures in your future. With or without me.”
Marrill’s stomach clenched. “But I don’t want to have any without you. Why would I have to? You and Dad said you’d be okay!”
“I will be,” her mom said, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I plan on sticking around for quite a while.” She smiled, that same sweet smile that always made Marrill feel warm inside. “And in the meantime, you’ll just have to have a few adventures for me and tell me all about them. Okay?”
Marrill nodded, sniffling. Her mother pulled her into a hug before standing. “Maybe Phoenix won’t be so bad,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “Remember—when you find yourself in a new situation, you have two options. You can run away, or you can jump in with both feet.” She smiled again, this time more softly. “Being a normal kid might be fun for you, if you give it a chance.” Then she was gone.
Alone now, Marrill looked to where Karnelius perched on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to be a normal kid,” she mumbled. A burning sensation crawled up her throat, and she tried to swallow it down. She didn’t know how to feel: terrified for her mother, anxious about her future, disappointed they had to give up their next adventure, guilty for even thinking about that when she should be focused entirely on her mom.
Her room suddenly felt like a cage, and she had to get out. She hastily strapped her cat into his harness, called a quick good-bye to her parents, and stepped outside without waiting for an answer. Karnelius trotted along next to her, his one eye squinting against the bright desert sun.
In moments, they’d crossed the desolate patch of dirt that served as a yard and headed down the road leading out of the empty neighborhood. Dry sand wedged its way into her sneakers and the back of her knees as they trudged. Time slipped away, and all Marrill could focus on was her mother. Before she knew it, they had gone a mile or more, all the way to the abandoned strip mall that had once marked the edge of a now-dead town.
Marrill was so absorbed in her worrying that she didn’t notice the scrap of paper cartwheeling across the ground nearby. Karnelius, on the other hand, did. Without warning, he bolted after it, slipping right out of his harness as though he were Houdini himself.
“Get back here, cat!” she called out. “If you make me run in this heat, I swear I’ll turn you into mittens!”
His orange tail darted under a dilapidated wooden fence. She dropped the leash and sprinted after. She’d had Karnelius since she’d found him as a kitten. He’d been the first animal she’d ever rescued, the one to teach her about the true love that comes from saving a creature from an uncertain future. He was the only pet she’d been allowed to take with them from one move to the next.
And he was her only friend.
A gust of wind blew up behind her, tossing the ends of her hair over her shoulder as she squeezed through a gap in the fence. On the other side, the mall’s empty parking lot sprawled into the distance. Heat wavered up from the asphalt, looking for all the world like an endless expanse of water.
Before she could take another step, the scrap of paper Karnelius had been chasing fluttered past, caught by the wind. Her cat bounded after it, his tail fluffed out like a bristle brush as he pounced and pinned it to the sidewalk. Marrill snatched him up. His claws raked across her palm as he struggled to continue the chase, and she winced in pain.
While she cradled him in an attempt to calm him, she glanced down at the paper. It was old and thick, its edges torn and stained yellow from age. Someone had sketched an elaborate ink drawing across it, a star of some kind.
She’d never seen anything like it before, and she bent closer, hoping to pick up some pointers for her own drawings. But the breeze lifted it again, spinning it just away from her fingers. Reaching out to snag it, she stepped off the sidewalk and onto the parking lot.
The asphalt splashed.
Marrill froze. Warm water sloshed over her shoes, carrying away the grit caked on them. “What in the world?” she asked herself, squinching her forehead. Where it had been dry a second ago, the entire parking lot was now flooded with water. It looked almost like a calm lake. And with the heat distortion, it seemed to stretch out forever.
Sunlight reflected up from the surface, stinging her eyes. Marrill stared, trying to make sense of this new development. As she watched, the scrap of paper drifted away on the breeze, disappearing into the distance.
And then, as if things couldn’t get weirder, out of nowhere a gigantic ship sailed into the handicap spaces.
“Bwaaa!” Marrill cried. She stumbled back. Her feet
sloshed through the shallows. She blinked, sure she couldn’t be seeing right.
It looked like a pirate ship, four masts crowded with sails and a bowsprit jutting out so far in front that it almost pierced the busted plastic sign on one of the empty shops.
“Well, this is unexpected,” a voice said. Head spinning, Marrill tented a hand over her eyes to block the blazing sun. Dozens of feet above her, an old man’s head popped over a dark wooden railing. His face was small and round, copiously wrinkled, and trailing an enormous white beard. A pointed purple cap fell limp over one ear.
He caught sight of Marrill and leaned so far forward she worried he might topple overboard. “You there,” the man called to her. “You wouldn’t happen to know what current this is? What strand? What branch of the Stream?”
It was too much. Marrill’s mind reeled just trying to process it. Her vision blurred. It took all her effort to keep from falling face-first into the warm lake. The lake that just a few moments before had been a parking lot in the desert.
CHAPTER 3
Thieves in a Pie Shop
Fin sat on a rooftop in the Sellitall District, his feet heavy as they kicked back and forth in the empty air. A labyrinth of buildings teetered their way up the craggy slope behind him, as if looking over his shoulder to watch.
He may have been the Master Thief of the Khaznot Quay, but no one knew it. No one else even knew there was a master thief. After all, no matter how big the job was, no one could ever quite remember who had done it.
Until today.
M Thief, the letter read. Parsnickle Residence, 17 Gutterleak Way. It was for him, all right. His fingers trembled with anticipation as he opened it.
Dear Master Thief, it read. Fin wondered what type of person had thoughts so big that their words needed so much space. The letter continued:
The path To mother leads through Home,
but someone must Show the Way.
I will set you on your Journey,