§ § § -- July 19, 1982

The rest of the night passed without incident, and Leslie and Myeko padded downstairs in their nightshifts the following morning for scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast and bowls of oatmeal. They were the only ones at the table. "So what's the plan for today?" Myeko inquired, helping herself to some French toast.

"I don't know," Leslie admitted. "Now that I know Simon's determined to get into the chateau, I'm afraid to leave him to his own devices. I was going to get some books from home, but now I don't dare."

Myeko shrugged. "I don't have to be home at any special time. If you want, I'll stay and babysit the spoiled brat while you get the books you want. And hey, isn't Mr. Roarke gonna let you help him see the guests off on the plane?"

"In view of my current assignment, I'd say not," Leslie said ruefully. "Well, at least let's finish breakfast, and then I'm going to have a shower."

Once in the bathroom, Leslie laid out fresh clothes and then regarded herself in the mirror, staring at Roarke's key. It gleamed under the light and she examined it with some dismay, remembering her promise to Roarke not to lose it. But she couldn't wear it in the shower, so what was she going to do with it? She lifted the string over her head and turned to stare at the door, which curiously had no lock. What kind of house had no lock on the bathroom door? She had nothing she could wedge under the knob.

Well, he must have some decency, she thought hopefully. Mr. Roarke would probably tell me I ought to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, and he'd have a point. I mean, would he really stoop so low as to sneak into the bathroom while I was in here taking a shower? Just how much of a voyeur is he, after all? It's not like he was trying to see me with no clothes on or something…he just wanted the key Mr. Roarke left with me. She gave a soft sigh and finally made up her mind. Oh, all right. I'll just hide the key under the towel here. She slipped the key and string beneath her towel, making sure both were well out of sight, and then turned on the shower.

When she got out fifteen minutes later, she went right for the towel and plucked it off the counter, expecting to see the key fall to the floor—but nothing happened. Horrified, she stared at the floor for a moment, then shook the towel open and snapped it loudly a couple of times. Still no key. "Oh, terrific," she groaned, worried and furious all at once. "Mr. Roarke's gonna kill me! That twit Simon had to've taken the key after all!"

She dried herself and dressed as fast as she could, then barged out of the bathroom still trying to yank a brush through her wet hair. "Myeko!" she yelled.

Myeko poked her head out the door of Leslie's room. "Something wrong?"

"Big-time," Leslie said. "Simon sneaked into the bathroom while I was in the shower and took the key to the room where we sent his mother into her fantasy!"

"How do you know? Did you see him?" Myeko asked.

"If I'd seen him, I'd have tried to stop him…somehow," Leslie mumbled, aware that she would have been quite incapacitated at that point. "But honestly, who else could have done it? I hid it under the towel before I got in there, and when I came out and picked up the towel, the key was gone. We'd better get down to the ballroom and see if he's done any damage yet."

Both girls rushed to the first floor and the ballroom; Leslie tried the doorknob to the makeshift time-travel room and was relieved when it swung open. She slipped inside with Myeko right behind her and flipped on the lights; all the various items denoting the countries Catherine Lightwood-Wynton was visiting were still there, undisturbed from the last time Leslie had been in here, but there was no sign of Simon.

Leslie counted off on her fingers; it was the third day. The stone Aztec deity held a small placard that bore the number 3 in an upraised hand. "Over here," she said with a deep sigh. "We'll just have to go after him. Turn off the lights, and then come here beside me."

"Ugh, is that thing ever hideous," said Myeko, staring at the stone statue. "What's it supposed to represent?"

"Aztec Mexico," Leslie replied. "Come on, hurry up. We have to go back in time and start hunting for Simon."

Myeko stared at her without moving. "Are you serious?"

"Aren't you practically always the first one to ask about the fantasies every Monday?" Leslie demanded insistently. "It's your big chance to see a part of a fantasy! Myeko, this is urgent! I'm responsible for that idiot, and I've got to go after him."

Myeko glanced at the other things in the room, at the silks hanging from the ceiling, then over at the samurai sword on the wall. "Are you sure his mom isn't in old Japan?"

Leslie threw her hands in the air. "Fine, I'll go by myself. Just turn off the lights and wait outside the door, but hurry up!!"

That seemed to galvanize Myeko at last. "Oh no you don't, Leslie Hamilton." She flipped the switch down and joined Leslie next to the stone god. "Now what?"

"Close your eyes, and when I've counted to five, we open them," Leslie said.

The girls closed their eyes and Leslie counted; when they cautiously opened them again, they found themselves standing in an incredibly dense jungle. It looked superficially like Fantasy Island; but the humidity that was blissfully absent on the island was present in spades in this place. Instantly both girls began to perspire in the uncomfortably damp heat. They turned a slow circle and finally spied a faint footpath leading off into the green depths. "I guess we follow that," Leslie said. "Come on."

Fortunately they didn't have to go very far before they emerged into a clearing overwhelmingly dominated by a gargantuan stone pyramid. Maybe this is Chichén Itzá, Leslie thought. At least we know we're in the right place. She and a nervous Myeko looked around, but no one seemed to be in sight.

"I have two questions," Myeko finally said. "First, how on earth are we ever supposed to find the pompous jerk without knowing where he started…and second, how the heck do we get back home??"

Leslie's stomach plunged and she winced. She had never thought of that! She took a deep breath and decided the best she could do was blunder along. "Leave that to me. Come on, we have to keep looking."

"I just hope some tribal type doesn't come along and decide we need to be sacrificed to some weird old god," Myeko said apprehensively. "I heard the Aztecs were big on human sacrifice. For all we know, they sacrificed Simon's mom."

"Don't say that," Leslie said. "Mr. Roarke'd never let that happen." I hope not! Then there came a loud shout from somewhere not too far away, and she gasped. "Come on, get behind those bushes over there!"

The girls dove behind some underbrush so thick it was all but opaque, and peered wide-eyed through narrow gaps between leaves at the pyramid. A bare five seconds later about ten Aztecs, all with thick black hair and mahogany skin, charged into the clearing and stopped, looking carefully around them. Leslie and Myeko sat absolutely still, terrified beyond belief of being discovered. Then one man raised his arm and yelled something, and in another minute or so, a procession emerged into the clearing, with two of them carrying none other than Catherine Lightwood-Wynton in a kind of throne they had fashioned of their arms. Well, they didn't sacrifice Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton, Leslie thought, watching the British woman closely. She looked as if she were having a wonderful time; there didn't seem to be a sign of anything other than sheer enjoyment on her face. To Leslie, that was an indicator that she didn't know Simon had gotten himself lost in time; and that meant further that he definitely wasn't in Aztec Mexico.

While the people in the clearing were distracted, Leslie leaned to Myeko with a sudden hopeful idea. "Remember how we counted to five to get here?" she whispered. "If we count backwards, maybe that'll get us home."

"Worth a shot," Myeko murmured. They joined hands, closed their eyes and in tense whispers counted down from five to one. Then Leslie hesitantly peeked through a slitted eye and held her breath.

"We're back, thank God," Myeko blurted, and Leslie opened her eyes fully. To her great relief, her friend was right.

"Amazing," she said, half to herself. "Counting back from five was just a dumb hunch. I didn't really expect it to work, but I'm glad it did." She sighed. "Well, obviously Simon wasn't in Mexico."

"I bet he started out from the beginning," Myeko said. "Over there, where the number 1 is sitting on top of that little pyramid."

"What if he got perverse and started at the end?" Leslie asked. "That would be Viking-era Norway. See the number 9 on top of the longboat model?"

Myeko thought this over. "I guess that's possible. But then again, knowing him, he'd want to go to the most violent era. Which one would that be?"

"All of 'em, if you ask me," Leslie said. "But if I had to narrow it down, it'd be either the Viking days, or Japan in its samurai heyday. Great big swords, you know."

They looked at each other for a long moment. "Do you really want to go looking for him in those places? Nobody speaks English, and even if we find the guy, how on earth can we possibly make him come back?" Myeko asked.

Leslie heaved a great sigh. "I don't think we have any choice. All I know is, at least one of us would fit in no matter which choice we made. I could probably pass myself off as a Norwegian Viking's kid, and you'd certainly pass for a samurai's daughter."

Myeko suddenly lit up. "What if you went to Norway and I went to Japan?"

Leslie stared doubtfully at her, but considered the idea, and decided she liked it better the more she thought about it. "I guess that'd work," she said slowly. "Don't forget how to get back, though."

"Close my eyes and count back from five. No problem," Myeko said cheerfully. "See you back here whenever. First one to find the idiot wins."

"Wins what, the rest of the week babysitting him?" Leslie said sourly. "If it were up to me, I'd just leave him there. But it's not, so here goes nothing." She and Myeko got up and went to their separate spots—Leslie beside the Viking ship and Myeko under the wall-mounted sword and Japanese prints.

Leslie shut her eyes and counted to five in a soft whisper, and opened them again to find herself standing in what was clearly a majestic Norwegian fjord. The cliffs on either side of her seemed to rise into infinity. Some little distance away was a surprisingly good-sized village; there was quite a collection of small, crude boats bobbing in the water, along with two magnificent longships. This must be the place, Leslie told herself. It didn't look as if there were any fights going on; as a matter of fact, things appeared to be quite peaceful.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" a voice demanded from behind her, startling her so badly that she let out a shriek before whipping around. She found herself standing face to face with a surprisingly handsome boy who looked to be fairly close to her own age, and smiled a greeting without really thinking. He eyed her stonily.

"Um." Leslie cleared her throat and decided a varnished version of the truth was the best bet. "I'm looking for someone." She described Simon in some detail to the Viking boy. "Have you seen anyone who looks like that?"

"No," came the curt response. "Do you come here from the next village?"

"I…come from Sweden, actually," Leslie said with sudden inspiration, taking advantage of her partial Swedish ancestry. "I'm traveling with my companion, but he got lost, and I need to find him before we continue on our journey."

"I see," said the young Viking. "I apologize, but there is no one like that here."

"Not even someone who makes a lot of demands and tries to order everyone around?" Leslie hazarded hopefully. The Viking raised an eyebrow and almost smiled, but again shook his head.

"No, my lady, not even someone like that. I wish you luck in locating him, however. Good day and good journey." He nodded at her and strode away toward the village.

Leslie sighed, suddenly weary of the whole conundrum, and decided she was better off back on Fantasy Island where she could think about the problem. She closed her eyes and counted backwards, and shortly was back beside the longship model. Myeko had not yet returned from samurai Japan, so she had a few minutes to mull over Simon's disappearing act and his likeliest whereabouts. As she stood there trying to figure out which era out of all those represented here would most appeal to Simon, she suddenly realized she'd been speaking in English to that Viking boy, and he to her. How was that possible? Something else for me to ask Mr. Roarke, she thought. That is, once I get that dimwit Simon back here, which could take practically forever. And please, oh please, don't let me have to break down and ask Mr. Roarke for help, because he'd be so incredibly upset with me… She rested her head in her hands and tried to think.

And then an idea occurred to her and she started to smile. She was giggling by the time Myeko popped back into the room, looking a bit windblown but exhilarated. "Wow, that was really something! Hey, what're you laughing at?"

"I think I know where to find Simon," Leslie said. "Come on over to this one here, and we'll go see if I'm right."

"You're kidding, aren't you?" Myeko demanded. "How do you figure he's there?"

"Wait till we get there, and if we do find him there, he's likely to ask how I figured out where he was. I'll explain it then. Ready?" The girls linked hands and counted to five in unison, then opened their eyes and found themselves in the middle of a featureless prairie. The only sound was the breeze waving the grasses. Leslie took a deep breath and detected the smell of smoke. "Come on."

The girls followed their noses and shortly came upon a fairly large collection of conical tents with all manner of abstract designs painted on them. At the edge of the camp stood a crude sort of cage, big enough to fit a human, painstakingly constructed from sapling trunks and a few large branches. Standing inside it was Simon Lightwood-Wynton.

"You were right!" Myeko whispered. "I can't wait to hear how you figured this out."

"I can't believe there's no one guarding him," Leslie murmured, scanning the camp. "In fact, he's the only human I can see at all, other than you. Let's give him the surprise of his life, what say?" She grinned and Myeko snickered, nodding.

Bold as brass, the two girls made their way out of the grass into full view. The sounds of their footsteps alerted Simon, who turned and gaped at them in disbelief. "Bloody hell!" he finally exploded.

"Good morning to you too," Leslie said sweetly. "Hand over the key right now."

Simon eyed her. "Why should I?"

She smirked at him. "Because you want us to let you out of there before anyone comes back from wherever they went, that's why. And also because you don't know how to get home again, now that you've gone and taken a little trip of your own without even thinking about the predicaments you could get into."

Simon's face grew redder and redder as she spoke; when she finished, he expelled at least half a dozen potent curse words, most of them uniquely British. "All right, damn you, all right, here's your bloody key." He dug it out of his pocket and thrust it at her, and she grabbed it out of his hand. "Now get me out of here."

Leslie and Myeko stood and studied him for a long moment. Finally Leslie asked, "Myeko, can you think of a really good reason we should do that?"

Myeko, playing along, shrugged. "Not off the top of my head, no. But maybe if he tells us how he got locked up in his little treehouse there, and apologizes for stealing the key, and agrees to be nice and play by the rules for the rest of the week…"

"Oh, do shut up," Simon growled. "You bloody Americans, you all think you're so wonderful and so brilliant. The lot of you are simply unbearable."

"That," Leslie told Myeko, "is how I figured out where Simon was. He thinks Fantasy Island is some sort of American possession or something, I suppose."

Myeko broke in with indignation, addressing Simon. "For your information, Simon Says, Fantasy Island isn't American soil, and we aren't citizens of the U.S. It's sovereign in and of itself, and Mr. Roarke is the final authority as owner and island lord mayor. For someone who thinks Americans are so stupid, you should give some thought to just how ignorant you are." She turned back to Leslie. "So…he hates Americans and had the peculiar idea that we're American soil. Go on."

"Well, he knew we had to come after him once I found out the key was gone, and he also knew we'd have a hard time finding him. Naturally, you and I started out trying to think of the most likely place he'd be. But when we didn't find him with his mother, or in the two most violent societies we could come up with, I started thinking about it and got the idea that maybe we were looking in the wrong direction. I figured it was possible he'd try some reverse psychology on us, and thought about the least likely place he'd be. After that it was easy. As much as he seems to hate Americans, I knew right off the bat that the last place he'd want to be was in an American Indian village, and he thought he'd throw us off the trail by coming to this very place. Except somehow, he got jailed."

Simon stared at her and shook his head. "I hate to admit it, but you're brilliant. You're right. I came in on the damned Indians in the middle of some tribal ceremony. Someone sounded the alarm, and here I am. They've all gone off hunting—probably moose or something equally unpalatable. I don't know when they're to return, but I certainly don't want to be here when they do."

Leslie shrugged her shoulders, looping the string back around her neck. "It would serve you right if Myeko and I went back home and just left you here. You deserve it, after all. But eventually your mother'll be visiting this society, and if she finds you here I imagine there'd be quite a stink." She sighed with mock regret. "So I suppose we have to let you out of there, like it or not."

"Better hurry," Myeko advised, staring towards the horizon with a newly worried look on her face. "I think I can hear horses' hooves in the distance."

"Oh, great," Leslie muttered. She examined the leather binding that held Simon's cage together and finally shrugged. "Don't suppose you carry a penknife."

"Damn it," Simon said with precise enunciation. "There's actually a door on this thing, you ignorant Yank. Look."

Leslie abruptly saw red. "That's it," she snapped. "You're staying. Come on, Myeko, I've had enough of this snob and his lofty opinion of himself. Let's go home."

"Leslie, you can't just leave him here," Myeko protested.

"Why not?" she demanded. "We can always come back here and let him out before his mother gets around to this part of her fantasy, but that's not for four more days yet. I think it'd do him a world of good to stay locked up in there awhile—maybe he'd actually learn a few manners, if not how to become a generally civilized and polite human being."

Faintly on the wind they could hear whoops and shouts, and Myeko gasped. "We're running out of time. Let him out, Leslie, and let's get out of here before we wind up sharing his cage with him."

"Don't worry about that," Leslie said. "We know how to get home anytime, remember? Simon's the only one who has any reason to panic."

"You have all the cards, for God's sake," Simon shouted desperately. "You have the stupid key back, and you know how to get back to Fantasy Island, whilst I don't." His face was red and his eyes huge with actual fear. "Damn it all, I apologize. I'm sorry for the things I said and did. But get me out of this thing!"

Leslie glanced at Myeko, at Simon, and sighed as if in disappointment. "Oh, all right," she mumbled. "Myeko, give me your hand." Myeko took Leslie's left hand, and she stretched out her right hand toward Simon. "Take my hand, Simon."

"This is no time for meditation," Simon cried in disbelief.

"Shut up, you moron," Myeko yelled impatiently at him. "Hurry, Leslie, hurry!"

Leslie clutched Myeko's and Simon's hands. "Close your eyes, and don't argue with me, you arrogant Brit. Just do it!" She waited just long enough to see that he had done so, then closed her own eyes and counted back from five.

"Oh…thank God," she heard Simon groan fervently, and opened her eyes to find all three of them back in the lavishly decorated little room. She gave a little sigh of relief herself and released Simon's and Myeko's hands, wrapping one of hers around the key as if afraid Simon might try to grab it again. But he made right for the door; plainly, he'd had enough of this room and wanted to be quit of it then and there. Leslie and Myeko grinned tiredly at each other and exchanged a rather limp high-five before climbing to their feet and leaving the room, whose door Leslie took care to lock behind her.