Dedication
For my beautiful, brilliant children. You are my greatest adventure.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. Probabilities
2. Whispers in the Night
3. Rule Breakers
4. Unusual Passengers
5. Stealing the Mona Lisa
6. Flummoxed
7. Notes to Self
8. The Crew and the Compass
9. Time Sick
10. The Vermillion
11. Game Changers
12. The Eyes Hold the Key
13. Wiley’s World City of Books
14. Within the Walls
15. Treasures and Snakes
16. Video et Taceo
17. The Pirate Queen
18. The Letter
19. Time Castaways
20. Stowaways
21. Thieves in the Night
22. The Fate of Captain Bonnaire
23. Full Circle
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Probabilities
4:17 p.m., April 25, 2019
New York, New York
It was a typical afternoon in New York City—cars and taxis honking in the streets, pedestrians and pigeons crowding the sidewalks. Tourists took selfies and browsed the street vendors for cheap souvenirs, and the food carts lined all along Fifth Avenue spread their smells of meat, cheese, and grease. But Matt Hudson didn’t notice any of it. He walked down the bustling street deep in concentration, as if he were in a completely different world altogether.
Matt was thinking about probabilities. For instance, what was the probability of someone winning the lottery? About a 1 in 150 million chance, according to the last one. And the probability of being struck by lightning—twice? Attacked by a shark or striking a gold mine? Very low, he thought. And yet, improbable things happened all the time to people all around the world. Therefore, Matt reasoned, improbable was not the same as uncommon, and he could reasonably expect improbable things to happen to him at any time, perhaps even today. And so Matt walked purposefully down the street with a rolled-up piece of paper in his hand. The paper was most certainly an improbability, he knew, but he was feeling quite optimistic anyway, at least until his brother and sister decided to throw in their two cents.
“I don’t know why you’re even bothering to ask,” said his sister, Ruby. “They’re going to say no.”
“Oh come on, Ruby,” said Corey from his right. “Don’t be a killjoy. I give it a solid one percent chance.”
“Mom and Dad barely let us walk to and from school by ourselves,” said Ruby. “They wouldn’t even let me ride the bus a mile by myself once a week to take judo classes.”
“You know how they feel about us riding transit,” said Matt. “And this is different from judo classes. It’s education.”
“Ooh, education,” said Corey. “I’ve underestimated his chances, I think. I’m bumping it up to two percent.”
“No chance. It’s never going to happen,” said Ruby.
Matt suddenly wished he had kept his grand plans to himself, but he had been so excited he couldn’t help but spill it to Corey and Ruby right after school. He didn’t really have anyone else to tell, and he had hoped his brother and sister would be excited for him, but they had been less than encouraging. Matt’s optimism was starting to deflate. He began to absentmindedly rub his thumb over the stone on his bracelet, his nervous habit.
“Watch it!” Ruby yanked on Matt’s arm, but it was too late. He’d stepped in a fresh pile of doggy doo-doo.
“Grooooss!” said Corey.
Matt scraped his shoe on the cement for the final block before they reached the Metropolitan Museum of Art. People were spread all over the steps, eating food and taking pictures in front of the museum with its stately columns and arched windows.
Matt hobbled over to the fountains at the side of the steps, pulled off his shoe, and swished it around in the water. He inspected the bottom. There was still poop stuck in all the grooves.
“Nope. No chances now,” said Corey. “They’re not even going to let you set foot in the office.”
“Will you be quiet,” said Matt. His head suddenly ached, a dull throb at his temple.
“We’re not trying to be mean or anything, Matt,” said Ruby. “We’re just trying to prepare you for the inevitable. It seems even the universe is trying to warn you.” She motioned to his shoe.
“Actually, maybe the universe is trying to encourage me,” said Matt. “Do you know how unlikely it is that I should step in dog poop right here, right now? I mean, the chances are very low, but it happened, didn’t it?”
Ruby scrunched up her face. She and Corey looked sideways at each other. He could almost hear their thoughts.
Our brother is crazy.
I know, but is there any point in telling him?
Though Corey and Ruby were twins, they rarely agreed on anything. They were opposites in nearly every way. When Corey joked, Ruby was serious. While Corey bounced, Ruby kept her feet firmly planted. But there was one thing they usually agreed on—the complete perplexity and misunderstanding of their (only slightly) older brother.
Matt knew he was a little different, and he knew that others noticed. He regularly got teased for talking to himself in the bathroom and hallways (he thought better out loud) and no one ever let him live it down that he was a Mets fan. In fact, just last week his Mets hat had been stolen out of his locker, a scribbled note left in its place that said It’s for the best. Matt took this all in good stride. He couldn’t care less what others thought about him, but when his own brother and sister pointed out his oddball tendencies it made him feel especially freakish and just a tad irritable.
“Just don’t say anything,” said Matt, slipping his smelly shoe back on. “I’ll handle this myself.” He stomped toward the museum steps and began to ascend. Corey and Ruby hurried after him.
“Hola, niños!” said Javier, one of the security guards usually on duty whenever the Hudsons came in.
“Hola, Javier,” said Matt. He gave him a fist bump.
“Cómo está?”
“Bien, gracias.”
“Yeah, he’s muy bien,” said Corey. “He stepped in dog poop, so the universe is on his side.”
Javier looked at Matt quizzically, almost as if he wasn’t sure he understood Corey correctly and wanted Matt to translate. “Never mind him,” said Matt. “Are our parents in my dad’s office?”
“Sí,” he said. “But be careful. Your madre’s got a whole bunch of swords back there. Ooh, she scares me sometimes!”
“Us too,” said Ruby.
“Ha! I believe you, niña!”
“Adiós, Javier!”
They walked through the great hall, dodging meandering patrons walking around with their heads tipped toward the high ceiling, where light poured through the windows and skylights.
They turned right at the grand staircase and walked down a corridor that eventually opened up to the Arms and Armor exhibit. They passed the glass cases of swords, daggers, spears, and suits of armor from various countries and centuries, many of which their mother had curated or restored, but the Hudson children didn’t even glance at them. They’d practically been raised in this museum and knew it almost as well as their own home.
Finally they came to a narrow hallway. Their father’s office was the third door on the left—Matthew B. Hudson, Director of Museum Archives. Matt knocked lightly and opened the door.
Mr. Hudson sat in the chair behind his desk, tapping away on his computer. He was a little disheveled. His dark hair looked like it h
ad been through a windstorm, he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and he had the misty look of someone who was not totally present, a result of years of history research and obsessing over old maps. He didn’t even look up when the children entered. Matt hoped he was in an agreeable mood, but for his current plans he was more concerned with his mom’s mood.
Mrs. Hudson was standing to the side of her husband’s desk, behind a folding table. She was a beautiful woman with long dark hair, tan skin, and warm, intelligent brown eyes that were now knit in fervent concentration as she sharpened an old dagger. She was indeed surrounded by swords and knives, just as Javier had said. As a renowned freelance art restorer and authenticator, Mrs. Hudson worked on anything from old paintings to antique furniture and valuable memorabilia, but weapons were her specialty and passion. She had a soft spot in her heart for sharp objects.
Mrs. Hudson finally paused in her knife sharpening and looked up. Her face instantly brightened at the sight of her children.
“Bonjour, mes chéris! Comment était l’école?”
“Fine,” said Ruby.
“Boring,” said Corey.
“J’ai reçu un A sur mon test de mathématiques,” said Matt.
“Très bien, Mateo!” said Mrs. Hudson.
“Suck-up,” muttered Corey.
Matt shrugged. He’d take all the help he could get at the moment, and Mrs. Hudson always appreciated it when her children spoke whatever language she happened to spring upon them. She could speak half a dozen languages, and she was determined to make polyglots of all her children. Matt was the only one who had shown much aptitude for it. He could speak French and Spanish almost fluently, as his mother did, and he was getting pretty good at Arabic, too, and had even started to learn a little Chinese. He had a goal to learn a dozen languages by the time he was twenty-one (his 12/21 project, he called it). Ruby and Corey were not as enthusiastic. They could understand French well enough, but they weren’t as comfortable speaking it, and they had hardly picked up on Arabic or any of the other languages at all.
“I’m hungry,” said Corey. “Can we get snacks?”
Mrs. Hudson reached into her bag and pulled out a green apple. “Here.”
Corey groaned. “Can’t we go get something from the vending machines?”
“The vending machines? Why would you want any of that junk?”
“Because it tastes good,” said Corey.
“I disagree. Nothing in those machines can come close to the fruits of Mother Nature.” She tossed the apple and caught it in her hand, then pressed the dagger she’d been sharpening against the apple with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Nor can they perform the tricks of this mother.”
Mrs. Hudson began to peel the apple, quickly and smoothly cutting the skin into one long, curly spiral. She tossed the apple and the knife into the air, spun around, and caught the knife just in time to spear the apple right through the core.
The three children clapped.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” said Mr. Hudson, still typing. “Using valuable artifacts for kitchen cutlery . . .” He clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“Oh hush,” said Mrs. Hudson, wiping the blade with a cloth. “A good blade appreciates being used every now and then. It’ll display better for us now.”
Ruby picked up the apple peel and bounced it like a yo-yo. “When are you going to teach me how to do that?” she asked.
“I’d prefer you keep all your limbs for just a few more years,” said Mrs. Hudson.
“Who taught you?”
“My high school home ec teacher. She was brilliant with a knife.”
“Come on, Mom. Seriously,” said Ruby.
“Can’t a mother keep some mystery about her?” Mrs. Hudson deftly sliced the apple into thirds, cut out the core, and handed them each a piece. “If I spill all my secrets to you, you’ll think I’m completely boring and you’ll never listen to a thing I say. Take your father,” she said, pointing the dagger in Mr. Hudson’s direction. He was still deeply engaged with whatever he was typing on the computer, completely oblivious to the conversation or the blade now pointed at his chest. “I had him hanging on my every word, once upon a time, until I told him all my secrets and he hasn’t listened to a thing I’ve said since.”
“Hmm?” Mr. Hudson finished typing something, then looked up. His misty, faraway look instantly sharpened when he saw his wife pointing a knife at him. He shot back in his chair and held up his hands. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll do it!”
“That’s more like it,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Now, teach your children something interesting. This one seems to think school is boring.”
“Boring?” Mr. Hudson straightened his glasses on his nose. “Oh no, what are they teaching you in that school? I have just the remedy. I recently acquired a map from ancient Greece. Loads of interesting things. There’s a spot that claims to be the Fountain of Youth. Shall we go have a look?”
“Uh . . . actually, I’d better get started on my homework,” said Corey. “Lots to do. Don’t want to fall behind.”
“Me too,” said Ruby. “We’ll be in the cafeteria.” She and Corey shuffled out the door, leaving Matt alone in the office with his parents.
Mr. Hudson sighed. “I don’t understand it. When I was their age I couldn’t get enough of maps. My favorite book was the Rand McNally World Atlas.”
“Take heart, dear,” said Mrs. Hudson. “At least one of your children didn’t abandon you.”
Mr. Hudson turned his attention to Matt. “Mateo! Of course, my namesake.”
Matt had been named Mateo partly to honor his father and partly to honor his heritage. Matt had been adopted as an infant from Colombia. He liked his names for both reasons. He especially enjoyed whenever his mom called “Matt?” and they’d both answer. For this reason she usually called Matt Mateo and her husband Matthew.
“Don’t you have homework, too, Mateo?” his mom asked.
“I finished most of it at school,” he said.
“Of course you did,” said Mr. Hudson. “He’s a good one, Bel. I’m glad we decided to keep him.”
“Yes, our good-luck charm.” Mrs. Hudson winked at Matt. She often referred to him as her good-luck charm. Mr. and Mrs. Hudson had tried for years to have children, to no avail, then tried for years to adopt, to no avail—until they got Mateo from Colombia. And much to their surprise, shortly after bringing him home Mrs. Hudson found out she was pregnant. With twins. How improbable was that?
Matt felt a small boost. The universe was on his side, and he felt it pushing him forward. Carpe diem. He rubbed at his bracelet once again, this time for luck.
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Of course, chéri, what is it?” Mrs. Hudson picked up another antique sword and began to inspect it.
“There’s this awesome summer program that I’m really interested in.” Matt unrolled the flyer and flattened it out on the desk. “Did you know they have foreign exchange programs for middle school kids?”
“Oh really?” said Mrs. Hudson a little absentmindedly. She twisted the sword in her hand, then took down some notes on a pad.
“Yeah. You can go to a foreign country for an entire summer and live with a native family so you can immerse yourself in the language and really become fluent. They have host families all over the world, and there’s a great program in Paris this summer, one specifically for science and innovation. Wouldn’t that be perfect for me?”
“You already speak French,” said Mrs. Hudson. “You’re practically fluent now.”
“But not completely fluent,” said Matt. “I never speak with anyone but you. This way I’ll get to speak French all the time with lots of people. Besides, that’s only a bonus. The real benefit is the scientific opportunities. They’ll have world-class scientists conducting experiments and lecturing, people who are at the forefront of scientific discovery. I would learn tons, and
it would look really good on a college application.” Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows at him. Matt tried to hide his smile. He was proud of that bargaining chip. His parents took college for their children very seriously.
Mrs. Hudson glanced at the flyer. It had a picture of the Eiffel Tower and the Musée de Louvre. That also felt like a sign to Matt. Mrs. Hudson loved the Louvre, mostly because she loved the Mona Lisa, though she’d never been herself. She hated to travel, got terrible motion sickness, which Matt thought was ironic considering all the languages she could speak. But that shouldn’t keep him from going anywhere. . . .
“It is a nice idea, Mateo,” Mrs. Hudson said. “And I do want you to have every opportunity to learn, but I just don’t feel comfortable with you traveling on your own yet, not that far and for so long.”
“But I wouldn’t be alone,” said Matt. “I would be staying with a family vetted by the program. They do background checks and everything, and you can interview them too if you want.”
“Maybe in another year or two,” said Mrs. Hudson.
“But—”
“We can look into some summer science camps here in New York,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’m sure there are ones every bit as good as the one in Paris. Right, Matthew?”
“Sure,” said Mr. Hudson a little distractedly. “We can go to the science museum all you want. I’ll bet they’ve got some good summer programs too.”
Matt tried not to make a face. He’d explored the science museum inside and out by the time he’d entered kindergarten. And why did his parents always think museums were the ultimate place for learning? He didn’t need another museum. He needed real field experience, real mentors, and he’d never been anywhere outside of New York, unless you counted his birth in Colombia, which he didn’t.
Mrs. Hudson turned her attention back to her work, poured some smelly chemical on a cloth and started to polish the blade of the sword. Matt’s dull headache suddenly intensified, the throbbing now penetrating his skull. He knew he was losing. His hopes were slowly deflating, like a sputtering balloon. Don’t give in! Sweeten the deal!
“It could be my birthday present,” he said desperately. He would be twelve in June. “I wouldn’t ask for anything else. It could be my birthday present for the next ten years.”