Swallows and Amazons and The Viking Cross

by 1Mongoose

A post-Picts and Martyrs recounting of the adventures of the Swallows, Amazons, and Ds in which buried treasure, hostile natives, danger at sea, desertion, grown-ups, growing up, and the most difficult of choices all play parts. The first chapter, Return to the Lake.

2. Chapter 2

Arthur Ransome's

Swallows and Amazons and the Viking Cross

To their uncle, who started it all, in exchange for several lifetimes of dreams

and to the memory of

Sir Henry Segrave and Victor Halliwell

Chapters

1. Return to the lake

2. Picts and Martyrs no more

3. Island in the distance

4. Captain Flint's return

5. The shortest voyage

6. What the Signals Officers saw

7. Island intruders

8. Roger's discovery

9. Thunder over the Valley of the Kings

10. Down the Nile to Cairo

11. The Viking Cross

12. The pharaoh's curse

13. Mutiny in Cairo

14. The Hated Enemy's plan

15. Alone in the dark

16. More precious than gold

17. Iceberg, right ahead

18. Newton's First Law

19. You are standing into danger

20. Collision!

21. The secret agents

22. Opening the tomb

23. The Fleet at sea

24. Fleet action at Houseboat Bay

25. Hull down and homeward bound

1

Return to the lake

Roger sat on a bench at the railway station and opened his book for the third time that morning, turning to the page that held a color plate of nautical signal flags in red, white, blue, yellow, and black. The book opened directly to that page because he had marked it with a folded paper, which he now unfolded and spread flat.

The paper was a letter from Nancy Blackett, Captain of the sailing vessel Amazon and the leader of the expedition that Roger and his sister Titty were joining that very day. Most people would not have known that the paper was a letter at all, and would have thought that it was a colorful drawing of a ship at anchor in front of what was obviously an island with a large pine tree at one end. Roger, however, knew that the drawing held a secret message, one that could only be read using the picture of the signal flags in his book.

The ship in Nancy's drawing, a three-masted schooner, had been "dressed," which is a nautical term meaning that someone had strung a line of signal flags that ran from the tip of her bowsprit at the left side of the picture, to the tops of each mast, and to a staff at her stern, at the right. Each of the flags had a meaning, and if you read the flags from bow to stern, they appeared to be just a random jumble of letters and numbers. Only someone who belonged to the expedition would know that if you read the flags from right to left, they spelled out the secret message Nancy had intended to send: "Wild Cat Island," and that day's date. The adventure began today.

Roger and Titty had arrived on the first train of the afternoon, coming into the station above the little town on the lake that he and everyone in the expedition called Rio. They were waiting for the next train, which carried their older brother John and older sister, Susan. When all of the Walkers had come, they would join Nancy and her sister Peggy, the Amazon Pirates, and Dick and Dorothea Callum, the Ds, and the summer holiday would officially begin.

"What if John and Susan aren't on the next train?" he said. "What if they've already come and gone ahead?"

"Don't be silly," Titty said, not looking up. "Why should they have done that? We're all sailing together with Dick and Dot in their new boat."

"We don't know if they've gotten their new boat," said Roger. "I got a postcard from Dick, the day he left school to meet Dot, and he said it wasn't ready."

"It's been two weeks. That's enough time for the boat-builders to have finished. But anything might have happened since Dick wrote," Titty said. "Captured by savages, imprisoned by enemies. Dot said in her letter that they'd been in hiding already."

"I'm going to have a look round," said Roger.

He closed his book and set it next to Titty as she looked up at the station's big clock. "Don't go too far away. I expect the train will be here any moment," she said.

He was back in a few minutes and Titty noticed for the first time that they were no longer alone on the platform. In fact, a large crowd had formed, none dressed for travel, and most looking down the tracks where the train would appear.

"Where did all these people come from?" she asked, as Roger plumped himself down beside her on the bench.

"I don't know, but you should see the road outside. It's positively jammed."

Both of them heard the train's whistle, and at that exact instant, saw two red caps making their way through the crowd that now filled the platform.

"It's Nancy and Peggy!" said Roger. "And they've got the Ds with them."

A moment later, the Amazon Pirates had pressed through the crush of people and surrounded the first of the Swallows to arrive.

"You've come at last," said Nancy, shaking hands with both. "Just in time to miss the worst part of the holidays and catch the best part."

"We heard about the worst part," said Titty. "Was the Great Aunt truly horrid?"

"It started out pretty awful," said Peggy. "But it ended better than we could have hoped, and she's gone now, so we're ready to do everything we planned."

Those plans had been the subject of a blizzard of postcards and letters that flew back and forth between the Swallows, Amazons, and Ds at their schools during the year. Part of the plan had been for Dick and Dorothea, who arrived at the lake two weeks before the Swallows were scheduled to come, to stay at Nancy and Peggy's home at Beckfoot until they could all go to camp on Wild Cat Island together.

"The G. A. scuttled that one," said Nancy, who had written the Swallows about her Great Aunt Maria's unexpected arrival at Beckfoot when she learned that Mrs. Blackett and her brother had gone on a Baltic cruise for health reasons, leaving Nancy and Peggy alone at home.

"But Mother and Uncle Jim – Captain Flint – are back and the Great Aunt's gone, so it's all right again," said Peggy.

With more than four weeks of the summer holidays remaining, all of the other plans were brought down from their shelves, dusted off, and stood up, ready to put into action. "The only thing left is for John and Susan to get here and we can be off," said Nancy. "This time tomorrow, we'll be on Wild Cat together."

"Are we sailing across to Beckfoot this afternoon?" asked Roger.

"Aren't we? Wait until you see the Ds' boat. Scarab's a real beauty. Every bit as nice as our Amazon, but the boat builders used her as a model, so how couldn't she be good?" said Peggy. "We'll all of us fit in two ships today, and tomorrow we'll have Swallow, too. A real fleet."

"It will be a battle fleet for the fight with Captain Flint," said Titty. "Three ships of the line against one."

"And we'll have some races, too," said Nancy.

"I say, Nancy, do you know what all of these people are here for?" Titty asked.

"It's Sir Richard Fraser," said Nancy. "Racing-boat pilot. He's come to the lake to try and get the water speed record back. He lost it to an American a few months ago."

"Not really," said Roger, who was far more interested than anyone else in engines generally and racing-boat ones in particular. He had heard of the captain of the fastest boat in England and read all about his boat. "Miss Britain's coming here?"

"Yes, really. She got here yesterday. She's already down at the boatyard, fitting out," said Nancy. "I saw her just now when we stopped in to see about Beckfoot's launch."

"What's wrong with the launch?" asked Titty, who was much less interested in racing-boats.

"Having a plank replaced. Should be done any day now. Captain Flint will be jolly pleased. Since he and mother came home from the Baltic he's had to use the rowing boat to get back and forth to the houseboat. He says once a day isn't too bad, but he's not hoping to make the rowing eight at university any longer and doesn't need the practice," said Peggy.

"I say, do you think we'll we be able to see him from the island?" asked Roger.

"Captain Flint?" said Nancy. "Of course we will. He's going to be working up on High Topps with Timothy in the mine, but he said he'd be cleared for action when we wanted to fight our sea battle."

But Roger was not thinking about Captain Flint at all, and when he said the name of the person he was thinking about, it was lost in the noise from the locomotive that huffed into the station, buried in a cloud of steam and the excited shouts of the crowd. A few people had come to meet other travelers, but most were there to see the pilot of Miss Britain, waving caps and papers as the train chugged to a stop, a slender, blond haired man, standing on the top step of the first carriage, lifting his hat to the people below.

Only two of the Swallows, Amazons, and Ds on the platform even noticed, watching instead for the last of their group, Captain John and Mate Susan, who climbed down from the second carriage as the Wild Cat Island Expedition gathered around.

"Are all of these people here for Sir Richard?" asked John, after greeting the Amazons and the Ds.

"Yes," said Nancy. "We'll get your things and be down at Rio Bay while they're all still standing here, yarning about motor-boats."

"We've got cases in the baggage car," said Susan. "Two biggish ones."

"Let's wait by the door and let the horde pass by," said Nancy.

"Did you see Sir Richard on the train?" Roger asked John. "Did you talk to him?"

"No. He was in another carriage. He's a naval officer, just like Daddy," said John. "Knighted when he got the world record the first time. I heard the reporters talking on the train."

Back on the platform, Miss Britain's pilot had climbed on a trunk to give everyone a better look and the chance to ask some questions. The reporters who had followed him from London, and those waiting at the lake all began shouting at once.

"Sir Richard! How long will it take you to get the record?"

"Sir Richard! What conditions do you need to get past 120?"

"Sir Richard!" said a third reporter. "As you know, Andrew Martin, the current record-holder says your design is unsafe. He says you've got your engines switched round. His view is that they should be in front of the cockpit, rather than behind."

Sir Richard laughed. "I've heard him say exactly that. As a matter of fact, Andy's been saying that since we raced in Miami two years ago. Told me he wants that 'wall of steel,' I think he called it, between him and whatever might happen out on the water. It's a fair point he's made, and I said so back there in Florida."

"So, why are you making the attempt with the current design?"

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Andy. He's definitely got the right idea, but have you ever seen him when he's on the water? It's like sitting behind a blast furnace. He and his crew have got to put white grease on their faces to keep the heat of those engines off. They look like three ghosts."

The crowd laughed, and Sir Richard smiled. "But that's not the worst of it. Our good old Miss Britain's like a fine thoroughbred; when she's running hard and sees the finish line, she puts up her head and charges. You can't keep her down or hold her back, and that's just the way I want it. But I've got to be able to see what's ahead, and she makes it hard enough with the engines behind. As it is, something right in our path is jolly difficult to spot, especially when we'll be covering a mile every half minute."

"Not thirty-one seconds?" laughed a reporter.

"I didn't come here to go a single second slower than that lads, and you can tell that to all of your readers back home. I'm due in Portsmouth in a fortnight to report aboard the Hood, and I aim to go back to the Royal Navy with the record in my pocket. You can write that, too."

"How does Miss Britain compare to the Hood?" said another reporter, smiling. "A battle-cruiser and a racing boat."

Sir Richard smiled back, taking the straw hat off and scratching his blonde hair. "Well, no trouble seeing what's ahead of you from that ship, that's for certain," he said. "Let's see, Hood's got 47,000 tons and we've got all of five, so we have to mark that one for the Navy."

"Hood's better armed, too," shouted one of the newsmen.

All the reporters laughed, and Sir Richard put the hat back on, tipping it to the back of his head. "She could blow us out of the water, but first she'd have to catch us. The Navy gave her 144,000 horsepower, but we've got over 4,000 in those two aero engines of Miss Britain. Old Hood's slowed down a bit, but she'll still do 30 knots in a calm sea; that's over 34 miles per hour. That's a jolly good show for a ship as big as that, with 15 years and a million miles under her keel. But my Miss Britain will, and I'll say it again, gentlemen; she will go 120 or we'll bust trying."

Sir Richard turned his brilliant smile on the other reporters, waved off any more questions, and climbed down off the trunk, his hat only just visible in the crush of people surrounding him.

"What an utter circus," said Nancy, turning away from the crowd. "It's a good thing he'll be at the opposite end of the lake. I remember the last time one of these boats was on the water, buzzing back and forth all day like some grown-up water beetle. The whole place was in complete chaos for two weeks."

"He's got two aeroplane engines. And 4000 horsepower. It must be really loud," said Roger.

"Ear-splitting," said Peggy. She watched Sir Richard as he shook hands in the crowd of reporters. "You have to put cotton wool in your ears even if you're watching from the shore. It must be a thousand times worse with the engines sitting right behind you."

"Did you and Nancy watch before, the last time they were here?" asked John.

"Everyone did. You can't help it. And they close the part of the lake where they've laid out the course, so there isn't anything you can do but watch," said Peggy. "We watched from Beckfoot last time. I hope we'll get the chance this year."

"I do, too. How did his boat get here?" asked Roger.

"She came in on a goods train yesterday morning. They hauled her down to the water on a big lorry, and she's sitting in a cradle next to the water so they can work on the engines."

"Four thousand horsepower," said Roger. "I'll bet she goes like lightning."

Sir Richard joined a group of men that included Colonel Jolys and some official for the district, introducing his two crewmen and greeting members of the record committee.

"Just a circus, and nothing to do with us," Nancy said briskly. "He and all of those others will be up in the Arctic the whole time. It's the very best thing that could have happened, really. All the natives will flock up there with him. We'll have everything from Rio to the south completely to ourselves."

"The Pied Piper, leading all the children of Hamelin away from home, their parents all sorry they didn't pay for getting rid of the rats," said Dorothea.

"I wonder what he did with all of them, once they'd gone with him," Roger said. "They must have needed piles of food three times every day."

"He must be very brave, though, to try something like that," said Peggy. "And I thought he was quite handsome. I hope we get a chance to see him try for the record."

"Rubbish. We'll be on the island and that's the last we'll see of him," said Nancy, sounding very convinced that she was right about that.

2

Picts and Martyrs no more

No expedition to anywhere can ever just set out straight away, not if those in it hope to come safely home. Although many of their preparations for the move to Wild Cat Island had been made already, they had one more night to put the last details in place and get ready to say good-bye to civilization.

First, they had to get across the lake from Rio to Beckfoot. Mrs. Blackett had brought her motorcar, the battered and dented machine that Nancy and Peggy called "Rattletrap," to the station, "to carry baggage and anyone who wants to go by land." She said this smiling because she knew that no one who had a chance to be afloat under sail would choose to take a motorcar. It took two trips to get everyone from the railway station to the bay, but finally, the car sputtered off, leaving the expedition at the foot of the pier where Amazon and Scarab waited.

Scarab was everything Peggy had promised, spanking new and as trim and beautiful as Amazon, both gleaming with varnish, the brass fittings shining in the sun. Roger and Titty joined Dick and Dorothea in Scarab, and John and Susan sailed in Amazon, both boats putting to sea in a light wind that carried them easily past the moored yachts and into the islands at the bay's mouth.

They made a fast passage, gliding into the Amazon River and up to the Beckfoot boathouse on the port tack the entire way, an easy sail that asked little of captains and crews and left plenty of time for talking. Dick and Dorothea told Roger and Titty all about their lives as Picts, their very existence a secret from the Great Aunt, living in a secret hiding-place called the Dog's Home. "I'll take you there as soon as we get to Beckfoot," Dorothea said.

In Amazon, Nancy told John and Susan how near a thing it had been, keeping the secret, and how Dick had used his new boat and sailing skills to save the day. "He'll make a good enough captain," said Nancy, which was good enough praise.

"It's a good thing we'll have three boats, with eight of us already," said John. "And when Bridget gets here with mother, she's going to want to join Swallow. It's her first chance to be part of the crew here on the lake and her first time camping on the island."

"If you can loan one of your able seamen to Dick, that would make things easier for both of you," said Nancy.

"We've talked about Titty joining Scarab whenever we're sailing as part of the fleet," said John. "She can help with the signals. That will leave Amazon the only ship with two in her crew."

"We'll be all right," said Nancy. "Peggy and I have been sailing her together for ages. But we'll have to practice the signaling."

With Amazon, Swallow, and Scarab now ships of the line in a proper fleet, signals between the vessels were more important than ever. "We might be miles apart and need to come together quickly for a fleet action. With the ships' telescopes, we shall be able to see the signals at a tremendous distance," Nancy had said in one of her letters. They had planned to use the same signal flag system that seamen had been using for centuries. During the school year, Susan and Titty had each made two sets of flags, which they could hoist to the mastheads of the boats on the same halyards that they now used to fly their ship's flag.

Everyone agreed that this was the best way to send messages between the ships, and Titty had made a set of larger flags for use at the lighthouse tree on Wild Cat Island. Each flag had been carefully rolled up and tucked into pockets sewn into in a canvas pouch, and the pockets labeled with the letter or number for each flag.

"That was the hardest part of all," said Titty. "That canvas was awfully tough, tougher than Swallow's sail, even. It was jolly hard to work with. You need a sail maker's needle, a really thick one, and a leather palm to do it properly."

But the job had been finished and everyone judged the results to be well worth the trouble.

"This is really the only way to do it, signaling, I mean," said Nancy. "It's no good trying to semaphore from the boats. At night the torches are perfect for Morse code but they aren't nearly strong enough for blinker lights in the daytime."

"No night sailing," said Susan. "We've promised."

"Right. So, that won't work, and the shapes we used during winter holiday won't work on boats at all. They'd only get in the way. Signal flags are the answer, just the way they were when Nelson sailed."

"We won't be able to do any really long messages," said Dick.

"'England expects that every man will do his duty.' It would take us an hour to hoist that one, going two flags at a time. And we couldn't use Nelson's code. He needed twelve hoists, and most of the words used three flags," said John.

"We haven't got a high enough mast," said Nancy. "The most we can clip to the staff now is one. We'll fix that, soon enough."

Each of the boats had a flag hoist, a small staff, large enough for the ship's flag, blue Swallows on a white field for Swallow, a green Scarab on a yellow field for Scarab, and of course, the Jolly Roger, for Amazon. The little staffs attached to the flag halyard that ran up the side of the mast to a small block at the top could hold only one flag at a time, however. John and Nancy's first task at Beckfoot that afternoon would be to fashion new ones, these just large enough to bear two.

"If we had yardarms and more than one set of flags, we could spell entire words in one go," John said.

"Two flags should be enough. We can make two or three hundred signals at least, and we shan't be wanting more than fifty."

"'Come to the igloo,' 'come to Holly Howe,'" said Titty.

"Start for the pole," said Dick, remembering the confusion with a flag at Beckfoot and the black shapes they'd hung against the walls at the Dixon farm and at Holly Howe. That confusion had sent him and his sister on a wild and mistaken trek through driving snow to the very northernmost reaches of the lake.

"No need for that one," Nancy said. "And we won't be able to use that end of the lake this year, anyhow, with that beastly motor-boat screaming up and down."

"Perhaps we could sail up there one day, anyway, just to see what she looks like," said Roger, who wanted to hear the two massive engines that drove Miss Britain.

"Better to try it on a day when she isn't running. They don't like it if there's too much wind, and they won't go out at all if there are a lot of waves on the lake. Too rough and too risky," said Nancy. "And those are exactly the sort of days we want for sailing, so we might be able to get all the way to the North Pole and never go near their beastly course."

"Dick did it on a sailing sledge," said Roger. "In a blizzard, too."

"No blizzards this summer, although I wouldn't mind a typhoon or a cyclone or two to blow the water beetle off the water."

"Enough wind for sailing is all I want," said John.

"We've got the flags. Now we need to start making some codes," said Nancy. "There are codes for one and two flags in all the books already. We can keep as many of those as we like and make up secret ones that only we'll know."

"The yellow Q flag for quarantine," said Titty, remembering the dismal banner that had flown for a month while Nancy recovered from the mumps.

"Yellow and black L for plague aboard," said Nancy, who had hung this even sadder message from her bedroom window. "I hope we won't be needing that one this year. But we should keep all of the other one-flag signals, since they're the ones everyone else knows."

"The P flag, the blue peter," said Roger. "Everyone aboard. Making ready to sail."

"Red and white checked Uncle flag," said John. "'You are standing into danger.'"

"Why do they say 'standing into danger?'" asked Roger. "I think if you're just standing and minding your own business and not going anywhere, the danger has to come to you."

"You know what it means," said John. "And some people do say 'running into danger.' Either way, it's not the sort of flag you want to have waving at you."

"That one might come in handy, especially when we're getting ready for the battle with Captain Flint," said Nancy. "Who's got a list of the one-flag signals?"

As it turned out, almost everyone did. Dick had carefully recorded the flags and their codes in his notebook. John had copied his from Knight, Mates Peggy and Susan had both made lists, and even Roger had memorized half of the signals, writing the most interesting ones down in his copybook at school.

B – I am taking in or discharging explosives

C – Yes, or affirmative

D – No, or negative

L – I have or have had some dangerous infectious disease on board

P – I am about to sail; all persons to report on board

Q – I have a clean bill of health but am liable to quarantine

S – I want a pilot

U – You are standing (or running) into danger

V – I require assistance

"We can use most of those, though I hope we won't need V for anything," said Nancy. "We'll keep it, just in case the worst happens. And I doubt we'll be wanting S."

"There's no pilot for the harbor at Wild Cat Island anyway," said Roger. "No matter how much you might want one."

"And there's no pilot needed to get into Rio or anywhere else, so we'll make that one a secret code signal. We'll be the only ones who know what it truly means. The enemy and everyone else will just think we're hoping for a pilot to come along."

"What about 'alter course to starboard' for S," said John. "That's a two flag code, now."

"No, let's make it stand for Swallow, so you'll know instantly that we're signaling to you," said Nancy.

Everyone thought that was the perfect solution and it was adopted immediately. Titty said that the S flag, which was a blue box in the middle of a white background, might easily be taken for Swallow's original flag, which showed a blue swallow on a white field. This led to the selection of the I flag, a black dot on a yellow field, for Scarab. "The scarab on your flag now is green, but black's as close as we can get," said Nancy. She chose the M flag for Amazon. "The white bars look a bit like the crossbones on the jolly roger. No skull, but that can't be helped. It's perfect."

"All right, everyone, let's start with the signals we're most likely to need. Then, we can assign the flags we'll use to each one," said Nancy, and in seconds, the ideas were flying at the signals officers, who were writing in their notebooks.

"Turn to port." "Turn to starboard." "Go to Wild Cat Island." "Go to the houseboat." "Carrying mails." "Shorten sail." "Time for dinner." (This was Roger's suggestion, and he thought they needed other signals for lunch, grog, rations, chocolate, supper, and strawberry ices.)

In this fashion, they compiled their codebook. In addition to reminders about food, there were signals set aside for battles with Captain Flint, for maneuvers in the fleet, and for sailing in formation.

"'Engine's broken down.' Not an engine in the fleet, so we shan't need that one. And 'I'm on fire and adrift,' whose idea was that?" asked Nancy, going over the list. This also turned out to have been one of Roger's suggestions, and it, too was discarded.

"It might be bad luck to have it," said Dorothea. "An evil omen. Sailors believe in them."

"We'll leave that one for Miss Britain – not the on fire one, the engine break down one – though I hope she doesn't need it, either," said Nancy.

In this way, with everyone making suggestions that were either accepted or tossed out, the list of secret signals grew to one, then two full pages before Nancy stopped it.

"That should be enough for now. We can always add more, later if we need any others. Now, we've only got to decide which two flags go with which signal," said Nancy. "We'll make it as easy for the signalmen as possible. "G – W for 'Go to Wild Cat.' That's a good start."

"C – F for Captain Flint. That will be easy to remember, and no one but us would know we were talking about Uncle Jim, even if they saw the flags," said Peggy.

Some of the signals only needed one flag, and it only took half an hour to complete the entire list. "Fifty-two," said Dick, when they had finished.

"Who's going to keep the codebook for each ship?" asked Nancy. "Peggy will have to keep ours."

"Roger's our signalman," said John.

"I'm going to be doing it for Scarab until Titty comes aboard," said Dorothea, though she was quite worried that she had only just begun to learn to sail properly and was now taking on new and possibly difficult duties.

"A real code book would be bound in iron and weighted with lead," Titty said. "Never to fall into enemy hands. Tossed overboard at the last instant, when all hope was gone."

"Captain Flint has some fishing sinkers. He's probably got lots of lead," said Peggy. "But it won't have to be very heavy to go to the bottom of the lake."

"We'll worry about that later," said Nancy. "For now, we just want to make sure that each boat has a codebook with all the codes copied correctly."

The three signals officers compared their books, making sure there were no errors that might send one of the fleet's ships to the wrong end of the lake or to miss a key signal in the middle of a terrible sea battle.

"Right. Tomorrow, we load our cargo, everything we can fit in Amazon and Scarab. Captain Flint will bring anything left over in the rowing boat. We'll sail on the morning tide for Holly Howe," said Nancy. "The Jacksons have Swallow ready. We'll put into that port, cut her out, and sail for Wild Cat."

"We don't need anything more in Rio?" asked Peggy. "Perhaps we should stop there for milk or – "

"We can get milk at Holly Howe or Dixons'," said Nancy.

"Aye, aye, sir," said Peggy.

They had talked about who would be the leader of the Wild Cat Island Expedition that year, but the issue was never in any real doubt. "You've been captain longest. You have seniority," John had said, during the winter holiday. But Nancy would also be the one who would be at the lake ahead of the others, able to make plans and preparations. This had gone dreadfully wrong when the Great Aunt appeared, but now that she had gone, Admiral Nancy was fully in charge.

"When Swallow's ready to sail, we'll go as a fleet to Wild Cat. Not a race. We've got to practice sailing together in formation to be ready for the attack on Captain Flint."

It only took an hour to fix the buzzer that would tell the people at Beckfoot that one of the homing pigeons that the expedition had used the summer before had returned home from the island. Cook, who had dropped a tray of dishes when the alarm sounded the first time, did not seem pleased to hear that the messengers would be flying again. Mrs. Blackett, though, thought that the arrangement was an improvement over the other years when the Amazon Pirates had gone to camp on the island.

"I shall be quite glad to hear from you from time to time, knowing that none of you have perished of plague or starvation," she said.

Nancy agreed to send a pigeon at least every other day if Captain Flint would return the birds. "And we'll send one off immediately if there are any great discoveries or attacks by the natives," she said.

Captain Flint, who had come down from the mine on the high fells behind Beckfoot to greet the explorers, laughed. "There shouldn't be any native attacks, although they generally do happen when you're not expecting them. Timothy and I will be working up in the mine, but I'm going to start staying on the houseboat once the launch is ready. I can bring your birds down and any other cargo that needs carrying."

The rest of the afternoon saw tents set up on the Beckfoot lawn, partly for practice, and partly because once the tents were up and ready for use, there was less chance of someone saying they should sleep in the house one more night before starting out. The Amazons shared a tent, but brought another for stores. Dick and Dorothea had separate tents, both new, the fabric still crisp and spotless.

"I wish they were a bit more ragged," said Dorothea, looking at the tent Nancy and Peggy had carried to the island for years. "Anyone can tell at once that these have never been used on a desert island or anywhere else."

"I shouldn't think you'd really want it ragged," said Dick. "We don't want any water coming in if it begins to rain."

"When we get the Swallows' tents set up, we'll have seven altogether," said Peggy. "It's going to be a tight fit at the camping place. Almost a small town."

Susan, Peggy, and Dorothea went through their long lists of supplies, piling these next to the tents or just inside, and gradually all of the items bore little crosses next to them.

"Matches. We forgot those our first year and Mother had to bring some over for us," Susan said.

"We forgot our kettle," said Peggy. "Had to use a saucepan the first day. Showed up back at Beckfoot the next. Mother wasn't surprised. She had it waiting for us."

Dorothea had the easiest job of it. Thanks to her recent experience as a Pict, she had been "almost camping," as Roger put it, for two weeks, with all of the things needed for their tents already prepared for the move to the island. "The Dog's Home has a wonderful fireplace. Perfect for cooking."

"We'll build a good one on the island," said Peggy. "And best of all, it's on the island."

After putting in the buzzer in the pigeon' loft, Roger followed Dick up the path to the Dog's Home, seeing how the Picts had hidden from the Great Aunt, living almost within sight of Beckfoot, yet never seen or heard by the enemy. Titty and Dorothea came a few moments later and Dick showed Roger how to catch a trout using only your hands while Dorothea showed Titty where they had hung hammocks inside the ancient hut.

After they had finished making flagstaffs, John and Nancy inspected the boats. It was the first time that John had seen Scarab up close. Because she was built using Amazon as a model, both boats looked similar, with varnished sides and centerboard cases. Swallow, built with a keel and ballast, was roomier inside, and John knew he would need the extra space, especially when Bridget joined the crew. There was no denying, though that both of the other boats were beautiful. "Amazon looks almost as new as Scarab. The finish is perfect," said John.

"We had a week at Easter. First thing we did when we got home from school. Three coats of the best varnish Captain Flint could get in Rio. Had to hurry it, and it got a bit uncomfortable a couple of days, working in the cold. It took forever to dry between coats, but it was the best time for it, and no sailing wasted."

"You did a beautiful job," said John, running his fingers along the gleaming planks. "I don't see a swirl or a brush mark anywhere," said John.

"Rubbed everything with sandpaper between the coats, then went over it with steel wool before the last coat. She's really smooth," said Nancy.

"I remember how hard it was to get it right when I did Swallow's mast that second summer, and that was only oil. I don't believe a boat builder could have done better. She's perfect," said John.

Nancy's eyes glowed at the praise, which meant more coming from a fellow ship's captain and someone who knew boats. And of course, every captain wants to hear her ship called 'perfect.'

There would be no fire that evening on the Beckfoot lawn; dinner was eaten in the house. "For the last time before they were cast ashore on the rocky and deserted coast," said Dorothea.

"I'll expect a pigeon post straight away if there's any casting ashore," said Mrs. Blackett, laughing. "But you may as well save your supplies for the island and eat what Cook's fixed for us tonight."

And though they were all glad to have it, each of the explorers knew that supper would have been better on the island.

3

Island in the distance

"You're not getting all of that into those two boats and the eight of you, too," said Captain Flint, looking at the pile of supplies after breakfast. "Many a fine ship's gone down from overloading, the cargo all lost and the passengers all drowned."

"We've got the rowing boat," said Nancy. "That's gotten everything there before."

"I don't think I can get it all in this year. There's more of you, and more of all your things."

"And there's more cargo to take on at Holly Howe," said John. "Although we'll have one more hold to fill."

"What more can you have besides this? It already looks like you're loaded for a year's expedition to the heart of Africa," said Captain Flint.

"Titty's tent. When Bridget gets here, she and Susan will be in this one and Titty will have her own. And all our haybags. Mr. Jackson told Nancy they were ready," said John.

"No good carrying those in a sailing boat. A launch would solve all of our problems," said Captain Flint. "I'll hire one for the day. Biggins ought to let me have one for nothing. He's days late with Beckfoot's as it is."

"You've always said that boat builders never finish on time," said John.

"Yes, and I believe it, based on years and years of bitter experience. Your Swallow was the only job I ever knew to be finished when it was promised. We can't hope to be that lucky twice. I'll ring him up and see what's available."

"We'll divide the crews evenly. John and Susan will come with us in Amazon. Titty and Roger can go with Dick and Dorothea in Scarab," said Nancy. "We'll call first at Holly Howe, of course, and collect Swallow. Then, it's ho for Wild Cat Island, fortune and adventure."

Captain Flint returned from the telephone to say that the boat builders were bringing Gwendolyn, their largest launch, over to Beckfoot later that morning. "Only for today, though. She's been hired out for the rest of the week and next for the water speed record trials. But we're lucky to have her today," he said.

This meant unloading the supplies that had already been loaded aboard Scarab and Amazon, much to the relief of both captains, who had been wondering how their ships would do so heavily laden. Now, the mates loaded only the most essential of the supplies, the things, as Susan said, "that we'll need as soon as we land." This left much more room in the boats for explorers, and they were ready to sail.

"Hoist the blue peter," said Nancy. "Our very first signal."

"Aye, aye sir," said Peggy, and moving to the flag halyards, she picked out the blue flag with its smaller white square from the pocket marked "P," snapping it to the flagstaff and sending it to the masthead.

"There's a sight to make any true sailorman happy," said Captain Flint. "All aboard and make ready to weigh anchor." He watched as the crews climbed aboard, and cast off the line holding Amazon's bow to the stake at the edge of the lawn.

"Fair winds and following seas," he called, waving.

"Goodbye, goodbye," they called to Mrs. Blackett and Captain Flint.

"Goodbye, explorers," she called back, waving. "Don't forget to send the pigeons."

"We've left her with an awful mess," said Susan, looking at the tents, rugs, boxes and bags piled next to the boathouse.

"Captain Flint will have it sorted out in no time," said Nancy. If he's got the Gwendolyn, he'll be able to shift everything in one go easily, even stopping at Holly Howe and collecting the rest."

With both sails up and drawing, the two boats rounded Beckfoot's promontory, the lake opening before them. To the south, a steamer angled away from Rio, bound for the Antarctic. Aside from a pair of fishermen in a rowing boat off Long Island, they were alone on an empty sea, all waiting for their first glimpse of the island.

"I've forgotten something," said Peggy suddenly. "We need to put in to Rio."

"What? What have you forgotten?" asked Nancy.

"Candles for the candle lanterns. I don't remember putting any in."

"Perhaps Susan did," said Nancy, but Susan said she had not. It had been on her list, but she thought that Peggy had crossed it out.

"Nothing for it, then. We'll make a quick port call. No shore leave. Good thing the crew hasn't been at sea for months and months with no sight of land, the food and water running out," said Nancy. "But we were there only yesterday."

"Don't we have a signal in the book for going to Rio?" asked John.

"Shiver my timbers! That's right. Not counting the blue peter, this will be our first real chance to signal afloat. Mr. Mate, what's the signal to lay a course for Rio?" said Nancy.

"G – R," said Peggy, after checking the codebook. "Go to Rio. That makes sense. Shall I send it now?"

"Yes. And let's see how quickly they catch on. We'll test their watch to see how alert their lookouts are."

In one moment, Peggy had the two flags out of the bag and attached to new flagstaff. In another, she sent the signal to the masthead, making the halyard fast. Then, everyone in Amazon watched to see how Scarab would respond.

Fifty yards away, there was a sudden flurry of motion, people pointing, Dick looking back, and both Roger and Dorothea pulling out their codebooks.

"I think Dorothea's going to get it first," said John. "Go it, Roger."

A moment later, the acknowledgment flag climbed up Scarab's mast, stretching out in the wind.

"That wasn't too bad," said Nancy, as she put the helm over and pointed Amazon toward the islands north of Rio Bay. "We'll have to give them a 'well done' for keeping a good lookout." Off to the south, Scarab followed her turn.

"I wonder who read it first," said Susan.

In Rio Bay, Amazon and Scarab glided over calm waters dotted with anchored racing yachts and small cruisers. A line of rowing boats, were drawn up on shore.

"Native war canoes, waiting to set out in pursuit of the helpless explorers," said Dorothea.

Nancy brought Amazon to a landing stage near the boatyard where the Beckfoot launch was being repaired. "Just a bow warp," she called to Dick. "We're not going ashore. Only the mate, to buy some candles."

Dick nodded. He had been sailing long enough to know that all sailors everywhere, whether they are ashore or afloat, will stop everything they're doing to watch a fellow mariner make a landing. He also knew that this was the moment when seamanship or a lack of it showed itself most plainly, and he felt every eye in Rio on him as Scarab drew closer to the landing stage. Nancy had put her ship alongside the pier, and done it perfectly, placing Amazon's bow exactly next to one of the cleats on the dock where she would be tied off.

But Nancy had done this with Amazon a thousand times before, and Dick had not done it with Scarab much at all. He decided to aim instead for the pier head, thinking that if he missed, he could fall off and try again without risking any of Scarab's new varnish. Fortunately, he had plenty of hands to help fend off, and as Scarab rounded into the wind and he slacked off the main sheet, she crept up to the end of the stage and stopped close enough for Roger, in the bow, to reach out and grab the cleat.

"Well done," said John, who had, along with everyone else, been watching closely. "Just stay aboard, Roger. We're not stopping here long."

"Oh, I say. I was going to go and have a look at Miss Britain," said Roger. "We're this close and Peggy said she's right here in the boatyard."

"No, no shore leave. We want to be getting on as soon as Peggy comes back," said John.

"If I stay on the landing stage and don't go ashore, I won't actually need shore leave," said Roger.

"All right then, shore leave for the boatyard and the ship chandler's, only," said Nancy, laughing. "I should have known a port call would be too good to waste. And while we're here, I'll make sure they're sending Gwendolyn over to Beckfoot as soon as possible."

A minute later, all but one of the expedition had gone and the pier was empty.

"I'll stay with the ships," said John, who was thinking of his own vessel, Swallow, waiting for him at Holly Howe, and wanted this visit over as quickly as possible.

Nancy went to the boat builder's office and learned that Gwendolyn would be leaving shortly for Beckfoot.

"Aye, we got Mr. Turner's ring this morning," said the boat builder. "Glad we could give him the old girl for the day. Happen he'd have asked tomorrow, we'd have had to say 'no.'"

"Yes, Uncle Jim said she'd been hired for the record try."

"Committee wanted her for the official party. She'll be the flagship, like," he said.

Nancy went to find the Beckfoot launch, which had been moved away from the water to a nearby shed. No one was working on her, but two new planks had been put in and Nancy could see that she was ready for painting.

"Not ready, yet," said one of the boat builder's men, working on a motor-cruiser nearby. "She wants a bit of paint, but you'll have her by the end of the week." And that ended Nancy's shore leave, as she walked back to her ship.

Susan, Titty, Dick, and Dorothea walked to a nearby store and bought ginger beer. "It's too early for the grog ration," said Susan. "But we can save it for later." Carrying their bottles, they, too, turned back toward the pier.

True to his word, Roger never left the boatyard, but he was deeply disappointed by the racing boat, which sat on a cradle at the top of a short ramp. She had been covered bow to stern by a large tarpaulin, so there was nothing interesting to see, unless, as he said when he got back to Scarab, "you want to watch some men standing around, looking at a brown tent."

Miss Britain's pilot had been one of the men, and Roger waited for a few minutes to see if Sir Richard would do something worth watching, but he just stood with the others, looking at papers and talking to two men in white coveralls. Roger gave up and went back to Scarab, hopping along the pier and making a game of trying to land on every third plank.

Distracted by his game, he paid no attention to any of the other people near Miss Britain, and so he completely missed seeing Peggy, who watched him leave, and then followed him down the landing stage.

The wind had freshened during the port call at Rio, and the westerly breeze meant an easy reach down to Holly Howe, where Swallow waited. Away from Rio and the eyes of its spectators, Dick was happy with his boat and felt her respond eagerly to every nudge of the tiller or pull on the sheet. He angled away from Amazon, and then back toward her, tacking just for practice, his crew pushing him to make a race of it. Dick smiled and shook his head, but told Dorothea to trim the mainsail for just a little more speed.

At the Holly Howe boathouse, John met Mr. Jackson, who had seen the sails from the farmhouse and walked down to the little bay.

"I've had her ready for you since yesterday," said Mr. Jackson. "Same old sail. She's good for one more year."

"She's just what we wanted," said John, and he called for his crew to go aboard, to step the mast and rig her for sailing.

With the Swallows aboard their ship at last, the fleet was complete. "Shove off there, Roger," John said, looking up at the sail, watching the lines flatten as it filled, and Swallow began to move.

Offshore, the crews of Amazon and Scarab cheered, and all three boats turned toward the mouth of the bay.

"Land ho! It's Wild Cat Island," called Titty, as they rounded the Peak of Darien and the island came into view.

"Nancy's sent up a signal," said Roger from the bow. "L – P. Landing place."

"Send the acknowledgment," said John. "Get it before Scarab and I'll have the mate serve up a ration of chocolate when we land."

"Hurrah! They haven't got theirs up yet," said Roger, when he got the acknowledgment pennant to the masthead. "We've won."

As they passed the lookout point with its lone pine tree, they moved into the island's sheltered lee, the three boats sliding along quietly in the still water, Amazon leading the way to the landing place with barely enough wind to move her.

"We'll have enough to get us there," said John, when Roger suggested rowing the rest of the way. "You just want to be first, but we're under orders and following the flagship."

Amazon turned toward shore, moving more and more slowly as she neared the beach, her white sail ashake as she came to a halt against the shore. Moments later, Swallow's bow touched and Roger jumped onto the little pebbled beach. He held the boat steady long enough for Titty to step ashore, then raced up toward the campsite.

"There's no one here," they heard him say. "It's still a desert island after all."

All three boats were quickly abandoned as the expedition came ashore, everyone assuring themselves that nothing about the island had changed and everything was as they had been dreaming of it for a year.

Here was the fireplace, the blackened stones exactly where they had been in years before. Here were the patches of smooth earth where explorers' tents had once sat and would sit again that evening. Here was the path to the secret harbor, with brush crowding onto it but the way still distinct. "It would be very hard to get lost, even if it's as thick as this," said Roger.

"We shall have to do some clearing, anyway," said John.

"Let's go to the harbor," said Nancy, and John followed her down the overgrown path, both wanting to see the only real place where Swallow and Amazon belonged when they weren't sailing the lake, hoping it had not changed, either.

Standing at the edge of the water, looking out past the rocks toward the Antarctic, they knew that they had come home. "It's exactly like I remembered it," said John.

"I can't believe it's been two years," said Nancy, looking at a faded cross on a tree stump. "The mark needs paint. I'll get some in Rio or have Captain Flint bring some from Beckfoot when he comes again."

"This is going to be the best summer ever," said John. "Better than going to Holland or mining for gold or exploring Secret Water."

"Better than camping at Swallowdale?"

"Miles better," said John, remembering the shipwreck that forced them to abandon Wild Cat Island, the shuddering crash as Swallow struck the hidden rock.

"The holidays haven't started out very well, with Captain Flint gone and the Great Aunt here and the Ds in hiding like outlaws," said Nancy, looking across the water. "But it's all right, now, and there's more than a month left to do whatever we like."

Susan and Peggy watched the others disappear in different directions and shook their heads, smiling at each other. "There's not that much. We may as well do it ourselves," said Susan.

"Yes, but we should be able to whistle up a gang of able-seamen for the job," said Peggy.

Because the boats carried only essential supplies, they took only a few minutes and five or six trips back and forth to shift all of the cargo to the camp.

"We've forgotten to bring firewood," said Susan, who knew that tea would soon be wanted.

"We ought to be able to hunt some up, but this time we should set the others to it," said Peggy. "That's not a job for the mates."

"One more trip to the boats and everything will be just right," said Susan.

Dick and Dorothea had first seen the island in the winter, had skated out and gone ashore with the others during the long frozen holiday when Nancy's mumps had put everyone into a long quarantine and kept them from returning to school. Then, the island had been gray and cold and cheerless, with bare trees and dead leaves. It was anything but the place that the others always spoke of with such longing. Today, it was very different.

"It's magical," said Dorothea, as she stood in the middle of what would be their camp. Around her, a screen of green leaves blocked the rest of the world, only occasional glimpses of the sun, shining on the water, told her they were on an island. "We might be anywhere in the world," she said to Titty.

"That's the best part of it," said Titty. "We might be anywhere, but we're here. It's perfect."

Dorothea was not sorry now, that they had not landed on the island earlier in the summer, while the Great Aunt was ruling Beckfoot and she and Dick sailed the lake in Scarab alone. And for the first time, she wasn't sorry that the last summer had ended so abruptly, with the Swallows called south to meet their father returning from China, and the Ds following only a day later. Postponing this moment had been worth all of the "what ifs" and "might have beens," that had haunted her for a year. Wild Cat Island was perfect.

Dick also thought it was just right. He climbed up to the lookout place, finding it open to the sky and just waiting for someone with a telescope to bring the stars down to the island. He could see Dixons' farm above the eastern shoreline, the house where he and Dorothea had stayed during the winter holiday, and the barn, where he had made his observatory. Even as he watched, he saw white shapes run from the barn and into the nearby field, Mr. Dixon's sheep, also enjoying a perfect day.

He would be sailing tomorrow, thought Dick. Learning something new every day, and catching up to John and Nancy, who had been captains of their own ships and doing all this for so much longer than he. But having a base on the island could not be better. Needing a boat to go anywhere, he would get the experience he needed to call himself a ship's captain. By the time his parents arrived, Dick Callum master of the sailing vessel Scarab would be ready to teach them to sail.

4

Captain Flint's return

"Ahoy the island," came Captain Flint's cheerful shout from the mouth of the bay at the landing place. By the time he had eased the launch close to the beach, five explorers had run down to meet him and more were on the way. A few yards off shore he dropped an anchor from the stern, stopping the boat at the very edge of the beach.

"Hold her there, John," said Captain Flint. "Take that line on the foredeck and make it fast to one of those trees. I'm going to hold her just offshore with the kedge, but she needs to be steadied while we discharge cargo."

John uncoiled the line, which was made fast on one end to a cleat in the launch's bow, and looped it around a tree, taking up the slack and tying it off with two half hitches, showing the knot to Dick, who watched carefully.

"That's good. She'll lie bow on to the beach like this, and we don't have to worry about tides. Now, aboard most ships, the first mate's in charge of loading and unloading, but seeing as I'm a bit short of mates at the moment, I'll have to borrow one of yours," said Captain Flint.

But Susan and Peggy were already at work, taking boxes and tins from Nancy on the foredeck and passing them to Dick and Dorothea and Titty on the beach. Roger carried the cage with the three homing pigeons to the camp, as Dick struggled up the path under two rolls of canvas tents.

John and Nancy lifted the hay bags from Holly Howe down to Captain Flint, who tossed one onto each shoulder and carried them to the camp. Within minutes, Gwendolyn's cargo was shifted to the beach, and in only a few minutes more, everything was piled in the clearing around the fireplace.

"I don't believe we've ever done it faster," said Nancy to Captain Flint as she surveyed the pile. "Except the summer before last, when we didn't have to do it all because you brought everything over and set it all up."

"It helps to have a big gang of longshoremen on the job, I'll tell you that," said Captain Flint. "It took half the day for me to do it, and I only had Polly there to lend a hand."

"I shouldn't think a parrot would be much help," said Dorothea. "Though she might be good company if she talked while you were working."

"Yes. She was something of layabout, now that I think of it, leaving me to do all of the hard work. Never mind, though. This year, you've got it all under control."

Captain Flint watched as they set up their tents, the Swallows going up first, as Dick and Dorothea helped Nancy and Peggy with theirs. Within half an hour, the clearing changed from an empty forest glade into a neat little camp with six tents set up in a wide semi-circle around the fireplace.

"That's as neat a job as I've ever seen," said Captain Flint, as the stores tent went up between two trees. "I can remember when there was only one tent here."

"We always had the stores tent," said Peggy.

"I was thinking of mine. That was a long time ago, and I have to say it's a much friendlier spot with six tents," said Captain Flint. "And, it's time for me to be going. I've got to get Gwendolyn back to her house. They need her tomorrow."

"Will you let mother know that we've arrived at last and set up the base camp?" asked Nancy.

"I'm not going back to Beckfoot tonight," said Captain Flint. "Taking up residence in the houseboat again. I'll probably go across tomorrow, though. I'd like to see how Timothy's coming in the mine. He's moved up to Atkinsons' again to be closer."

"We'll send a pigeon, then," said Nancy. "We'll start with Sappho." She wrote the message on the tiny paper that would be rolled up and attached to the pigeon's leg, and then read it aloud. "'All ashore at last, just before food and water exhausted. (That part's certainly true.) Resupplied by passing ship. No need for rescue. No discoveries to report.' That should do it. I'll put the time in, so she'll know how long Sappho took to get there.

Titty and Dorothea carried the pigeon to the lighthouse tree and released her, then returned to camp to see Captain Flint boarding the launch.

"We're getting the milk from Holly Howe in the morning," said Nancy. "We'll put in to Houseboat Bay on the way up."

"I'll be there tonight, but I'll be off early in the morning. It's a long row in that old boat," said Captain Flint, who started the engine and took in the anchor over his stern, backing the launch slowly out of the bay.

"Good bye, you explorers," he called, and they waved at him until he rounded the point and was gone.

"Come on, Roger. We'll set up the signal station," said John, gathering up the coil of rope that had been brought for the flag halyards.

At Look Out Point, the high, open spot at the north end of the island, they stood under the tall pine tree that overlooked the water and watched as Captain Flint motored past in the launch. He saw them and waved.

"If we had the flag halyards on the tree already, we could signal him," said John.

"I'll take it up there right now," said Roger.

John was going to say that he would do it; he had rigged the tree as a lighthouse that first summer they came to the island, swarming up the big trunk to the lowest branch, more than fifteen feet above the ground. He saw Roger measuring the trunk and thought that perhaps he, as captain, did not need to do this job again.

"All right, able-seaman. Fasten one end to your belt so that you've got both hands free. There are plenty of places to put your feet."

He and Dick watched as Roger made his way

"Throw your leg over and sit on the branch," called John. "That's it. That's the only really tricky part."

"Are we going to hang a light on the tree at night like we did the first summer?" asked Roger, when he had comfortably gotten one leg on either side of the limb.

"We can. It would be simple enough," said John "The flags are no good at night."

"It makes a splendid lighthouse. You can see forever from up here," said Roger, who pretended for a minute to be a lonely lighthouse keeper, scanning the horizon from his perch, high above the sea. "Miles past Rio. Clear to the Arctic, I think."

"Don't forget what you've gone up there to do," said John. "Shake a leg and lower us that line."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Roger. "But I don't believe I want to shake a leg up here. It's shaking quite enough already." He untied the rope from his belt and dropped one end over the other side of the branch, paying it out to John, who stood with his hands up, waiting for the end to reach him.

"We should put a cleat in, down here at the bottom. Something let us make the bottom ends fast. I'll have to rig something," said John.

"I can use the rope to get down, going hand over hand," said Roger. With his job finished, he turned back to being a lighthouse keeper, wishing he'd brought the ship's telescope to be able to do the job properly, scanning the horizon for ships in distress. "Look, look," he shouted, pointing. Below him, John and Dick followed his gaze to the distant shape that grew closer with every passing second. Even from his perch high in the tree, Roger could feel the power of the big engines as they drove the racing-boat toward the island.

"It's Miss Britain! Hurrah," cried Roger. "Look at her go! Gosh, she's fast."

"She's coming here," said John. But the motor-boat curved away toward the west, her wake pointed straight down the middle of the lake.

Seconds later, drawn by the pulse of the two big engines, the others arrived at a run, but all they could see of Miss Britain was the pile of white water behind her.

"I wonder what she's doing, going all the way to the south," said Dick.

"Was he going very fast?" asked Peggy.

"Blazing," called Roger from the tree.

"She'll have to come back again. Wait until you see her," said John.

"I'm going back for the ship's telescope," said Peggy.

"Titty, go and get ours. It's in my tent, with the barometer," said John.

"Aye, aye sir," said Titty.

"Bring ours, too, Dot," said Dick, as Dorothea followed Peggy and Titty back toward camp.

"What's all the noise about?" asked Nancy. "Where was Peggy going?"

"It's Miss Britain. She just went past, going south," said Roger. "I can still see her, just barely."

"We've all seen motor-boats before. An engine in a biscuit box is all it is," said Nancy.

"There never was a biscuit box as fast as this," said Roger. "Or as loud."

"Loud and smelly. Nothing but trouble. Sail's the thing," said Nancy.

"If she were a sailing boat, she'd still be right offshore, there," said Roger.

"The motors break and then they come to grief on a lee shore," said Nancy.

"But when they don't break, they make it go faster than…" Here, Roger stopped, trying to think of something faster than Miss Britain, and was delighted to discover that nothing he had ever seen had gone nearly as fast. He was about to say so, when he saw the tiny silver speck, returning. "Here she comes," he shouted.

This time, they all got a good look at Miss Britain as she passed. The racing-boat was moving more slowly now, but still much faster than anything else on the water, and her pilot made a wide turn as he bore north, the new course bringing him away from the center of the lake and closer to the island, so that even those who did not have their ship's telescope could clearly see the boat and the three men in it.

Her long silver foredeck swept back to a tiny cockpit, barely wide enough for the three men in Miss Britain's crew, who sat side by side, their white helmets bobbing as the boat bounced lightly over the small waves on the lake. Behind their heads, the exhaust manifolds for the two screaming engines rose out of the silver cowling and pointed aft, past the stern. The Union Jack and her name in large red and blue letters shone against the sleek white sides.

The boat drew closer and closer, swinging toward the island, then back toward the north, on a course that would take her directly to the mouth of Rio Bay. She passed less than a hundred yards from Wild Cat Island's western side, and as she drew abreast of the lookout place, a gloved hand threw a salute to the awed onlookers ashore.

"They must be testing their engines. It's a jolly good thing they'll be up north from now on," said Nancy. "Although they're loud enough that I think we might be able to hear them all the way from the Arctic."

With Miss Britain gone and the island quiet at last, and with the tents neatly organized and supper eaten, it was time for the expedition's first council. Off to the west, the sky reddened and the sun, already below the far hills, threw a dusting of gold on the bottoms of distant clouds.

"Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailors delight," said Titty. "It's a perfect omen."

"Even the sun thinks these are going to be the best holidays ever, and we've got to make our plans for the rest of them. The first part's gone beautifully," said Nancy, her face shining in the sun's glow and the fire's flickering light. "The whole fleet's assembled at last. We've arrived on the island and set up our base. We've got plenty of time to do whatever we want, and we don't need to wait on anyone else any longer. We're completely on our own."

"Bridget will be coming out to the island when she gets here with mother," said John. "We've had to make all sorts of promises before mother would say 'yes.'"

"No night sailing. No sailing with winds above force four, and we're supposed to take in a reef at force three," said Susan.

"How can you tell if it's force four?" asked Dorothea.

"Small waves, breaking at the top," said John. "We've told mother we'll make for Wild Cat or the nearest safe harbor if it starts blowing harder than force three. Bridget doesn't know how to swim, yet, and we're going to try and teach her here on the island."

"This is where I learned," said Roger.

"Dot and I are going to teach mother and father to sail," said Dick. "Father's been thinking about it for months."

"The sea battle with Captain Flint. We'll need him to be at the houseboat when we attack," said Titty.

"There's the record attempt. That's a chance to watch someone make history," said Peggy.

"Shiver my timbers!" said Nancy. "What do we want with someone else's history? We're going to be making our own. That's enough for now about what we can't do. Who's got any ideas about what we should do?"

"I think we should start by exploring the Arctic," said Roger. "We've never really gone past Beckfoot, except in winter, and so it doesn't really count since we weren't in a boat."

Nancy laughed. "We know what you want to explore up north. Miss Britain and her engines."

"Where are the charcoal burners this year?" asked Titty. "Dick and Dot haven't seen them, yet."

"They were above Swainson's farm, a long way past Swallowdale," said Peggy.

"There's Swallowdale, too. We haven't been back for two years," said Susan.

"Peter Duck's cave," said Titty. "I wonder if he still uses it."

"The Antarctic. There are a couple of beautiful coves and some islands. Small ones, nothing nearly as good as Wild Cat, but even Nancy and I have never been on some in the south," said Peggy.

"We'll stop and explore each one," said Nancy. "No more 'unexplored' bits on the charts."

"I want to go up to the mine. Perhaps Captain Flint will let me help him blast," said Roger.

"He won't," said Susan. "And neither will we."

"To the top of Kanchenjunga, all of us this time," said John.

"We should begin making a list," said Dorothea. "I'll never be able to remember all of this."

"Good idea," said Nancy. "And best of all, we've got enough time to do all of this if we can get Roger out of bed first thing and be away right after breakfast. I'll get a lantern and a candle before it gets any darker." She went into the stores tent, searching through the supplies that Susan and Peggy had already neatly stacked, finding a candle lantern and then the candles, emerging from the tent a moment later with a box in each hand. "Peggy, you mutton headed galoot, what's this?" she said.

Peggy turned as red as her cap and she put both hands to her face. "It's… Oh… Gosh… Candles," she said. "I don't know how they got there. I must have packed a box after all."

"A wasted stop in Rio. Oh, well, we've plenty, now," said Nancy. "No chance of running out."

When Dorothea returned with her notebook, she moved closer to the fire and the lantern and found a blank page. She marked the top of it, "Wild Cat Island Expedition, 1933, and began to write.

"The islands outside of Rio and to the north. We've never made a proper chart of the bay and the islands," said John. "I know you can get one at the shop in town, but filling one in with our own names like last summer at Secret Water, that would be something to finish at school for next year."

"That means going north, into the teeth of Miss Britain's guns. (No, she doesn't have real guns, but her motors are just as loud.) Now that we've got three ships, we'll want to race, and we won't be able to do that in all that hullabaloo. We can have a race a day down at this end of the lake. Two, if we want."

"Birds. I'm keeping a list," said Dick.

"There are birds everywhere we want to go," said Nancy.

"The best place is along the west shore, north of Beckfoot," said Peggy. "There are shallows there and lots of reed beds. We could explore those well clear of – "

"Too close to the biscuit box," said Nancy. "There's supposed to be a shipwreck on the coast, south of Horseshoe Cove. A steam yacht from fifty years ago. Most people think she went down in deep water, but Captain Flint always says most shipwrecks happen right on the coastline."

"Was she lured to disaster by wreckers who showed her a false light?" asked Dorothea, who had read about this in stories.

"I doubt it. Her engine probably broke down and she drifted onto the rocks. It's no good counting on engines for anything, no matter what Roger says," said Nancy.

The list grew and grew, and finally, everyone agreed that they should go to sleep and add more adventures later as they thought of them. There were enough of these already that every day could see something new and exciting, every day would bring challenge and opportunity, and best of all, every day meant sailing away from the most perfect harbor on the most perfect island in the most perfect lake in the world, knowing that in the afternoon you would be returning again, and marking one more thing off Dorothea's list.

Finally, everyone had washed, and brushed, and settled into sleeping bags. In John and Roger's tent, John made his first entry of the summer in the log of the sailing vessel Swallow. "Day ends fine. Anchored at Wild Cat Island. Two hours sailing this day." In Susan and Titty's tent, Titty wrote in her journal that she had "returned to Wild Cat at last." Dorothea wrote in a letter to her mother that, "everything is finally ready for you to come. The island is better than I ever dreamed it would be."

The last candle lantern went out in Nancy and Peggy's tent, where Nancy said, "I don't believe the island's changed at all."

"No," said Peggy. "Everything is just right."

In the darkness, that first night back on the island, everyone in every tent thought that everything was going to be just right. "None of us knew," wrote Titty later. "That it would be years and years and years before we finished even one of the adventures we had planned."

5

The shortest voyage

As the red sky the night before had promised, the next day dawned fine and clear and faultless. A gentle breeze from the west set ripples dancing over the lake. The sun peeked above the eastern hills, casting its new light onto the water, where a million tiny diamonds sent it sparkling onto the leaves of the islands trees and the faces of the explorers. It was the sort of day that was ideal for exploring, when every new discovery is bathed in a tender and favorable radiance and everything tried is done easily and without effort. It was the sort of day when the sailor wakes to the call of the sea and the urge to hear the water as it hisses and bubbles under the bows of a sailing ship underway.

It was the rarest of days, one of those on which, if you were living in a secret pirate haven on a distant, desert island, you awoke knowing that absolutely nothing could spoil it. But this day was spoiled before it was barely begun, and it would seem a very long time before anyone from the island saw another one like it.

John and Nancy woke first, both out of their tents and down to the water's edge at the landing place, watching the sun climb over the hills.

"It's a beautiful day for sailing," said Nancy, feeling for the wind with her finger. "We could be at the foot of the lake in two shakes if it keeps up this way."

"Not too much wind, and not too little. You couldn't ask for better," said John.

"We'll have the milk back here before anyone else is even awake," said Nancy.

"This is the only day for the milk at Holly Howe," said John. "It'll be much easier, being able to go back to the Dixons' farm every morning."

"No need to row with this wind," said Nancy. "And we'll be on a broad reach both ways. It's a perfect day."

Within five minutes, they had collected the milk bottles, waking only Peggy, who reminded Nancy that they wanted a pint of cream and some butter if these were ready at Holly Howe when the supply ship arrived.

"We'll be sailing somewhere, later today, so if it's not ready, we can collect it on the voyage home. We'll provision the whole fleet."

Within another five minutes, they had sculled Amazon out from the little harbor and John had gotten the sail up, the water foaming under the forefoot, both watching the sail draw full and the wake stretch out behind them.

"Someone else is up and about early this morning," said John, easing off on the main sheet, the boat straightening herself a little taller.

Off to the north, coming from Rio, a motor-launch plodded down the lake, only a small wave under her bows. Her course would take her well to the west, and she was going slowly enough that even if it had been closer, Amazon would have had no trouble avoiding it.

"Tugboat with a tow. We'll pass far to leeward," said Nancy. "We're moving very well. I don't believe we could go any faster in this wind."

"What's that astern of him, though?" said John, squinting through the glare on the water. "I wish I'd brought the ship's telescope."

"A native boat, probably," said Nancy. "One of the motor cruisers from the Antarctic. Probably somebody's broken down, and the men from the boatyard are taking it down to the foot of the lake. You can't trust an engine."

"I don't believe it's a boat," said John

"We've got loads of time. Let's have a closer look," said Nancy. "Prepare to jibe. Jibe O!" The boom and the sail swung across the boat and John settled against the starboard gunwale, taking in the sheet so the little boat could sail close hauled, Nancy pointing Amazon as close to the wind as she would go.

"It's Gwendolyn, from the boat builders, but what's that thing behind it?" said Nancy. "You're right. It's not a boat at all."

"There's some sort of flags on top of it. Yellow pennant. Not a real flag, like our signals," said John.

The two boats, one sail and one steam, and otherwise alone on the lake, were coming together quickly. The launch hooted once on her horn, a short beep to let Amazon's crew know that they had been seen, and to keep clear, or perhaps just a morning greeting.

"They're some sort of buoys," said John. "Like the big cages we saw at Harwich."

"It looks like the markers they use on the course for the speed record. But what can they mean, bringing those things out here?" asked Nancy "I'm going to pass alongside, then tack astern of it and come back up along their starboard side. They're moving slowly enough."

The two men in the boat watched as Amazon raced past, still chased by the morning breeze. As she neared the towed object, they could see that it was a small scow, flat at both ends, which supported two large pyramid structures, both painted red, and each topped with a flagstaff and that yellow pennant, which streamed out in the wind behind. A large kedge and a pile of coiled rope lay next to each pyramid.

Nancy turned Amazon, cutting across the launch's wake, then came back past the scow, closing slowly to the launch, which was losing way as it came abreast of Cormorant Island, just to the west. The scow slowed too, the towrope drooping into the water. One of the men stood by to fend it off from the launch.

"Hullo, Miss Ruth, and you're up early and all this morning," the man at the wheel said.

"What've you got there, Mr. Biggins? Is it a marker for a race?"

"You could say as much," said the man. Smoke from his pipe trailed off toward the buoy. "Yon's the start line for Sir Richard and his speed boat. Start line and finish. The road'll run right past here, and we're leaving one of these buoys to mark the middle."

"But, you're going the wrong way. The course is supposed to be at the north end of the lake," said Nancy.

"Nay, nay, not a bit of it, lassie. Sir Richard came out last evening, and he's decided, and this is the end he fancies. Says your island and this un'll catch some of the wind and these waters'll be smoother for him. Too broad up north." The launch came to a complete stop and Nancy brought Amazon into the wind, the sail luffing, shaking back and forth.

"Shiver my timbers. But he can't. He simply can't," said Nancy, to herself and John, mostly, but they were close enough that the men on the launch still heard.

"You go and tell him that, then, and see what happen. Nay, his mind's made up. And you best keep that little boat well clear when he's on the water and runnin'."

The other man spoke for the first time, gesturing at Amazon. "That cruiser of his'll go through yours and never pay it no mind at all, and that's the truth, so you stay clear today and every other day, and tell those other young uns, the red sail and the tanned one. Better you all stay off the lake when he's on it."

"Nay, it's not so bad as that. Mark my words; there'll be plenty of other folk on the water. You stay with all the other boats and no harm'll come," said Mr. Biggins.

"What others?" asked John.

The other man laughed. "Them as hired every last boat we have. And every other boat on t'lake. Anything that floats. Oar, sail or motor, they'll be out here with you. You just bide with the others and out of the way."

Nancy put the tiller hard over, jibing the boat without a warning to John who ducked as the boom passed over his head. Amazon pointed her nose at the eastern shore and picked up speed, Nancy sitting grimly at the tiller. "Slack off the sheet," she said. "I'm making for Houseboat Bay."

"Aren't we getting the milk?" asked John.

"Hang the milk. And hang Sir Richard. And hang that beastly boat of his. I've got to go and see Uncle Jim, see if he can talk some sense into that, that, beetle driver."

"Why can't we just stay out of his way? Those men said we could."

"If only it were that simple. You've never been here when one of these things was happening. They were right," she pointed at the launch, where one of the men had climbed onto the scow and was working at one of the buoys. The buoy's anchor went into the water with a splash, the marker following. It looked like the middle point of Sir Richard's course would be a spot between Cormorant Island and Wild Cat Island.

"This whole place will be crawling with natives of the worst sort. Do you remember what it was like in Rio Bay during winter holiday when the lake had frozen? People could scarcely move, it was so crowded. Packed like sardines. And this will be worse because they'll all have boats that none of them know how to work."

"We can just stay on the island and sail when he's not running his boat. He can't be out here all the time," said John.

Nancy laughed once, this one more like a dog's bark or the snorting of a bull whose patience with red capes had just run out. "The island? If what they said is true, the island's right in the middle of the course. We'll have boats anchored all round and more coming and going, all day long."

"Things might work out quite well," said John, trying to be optimistic in the face of Nancy's discouragement. "If everyone else is busy watching Miss Britain, we'll have the rest of the lake to ourselves."

"It won't be that simple," said Nancy. "I've been here before when this happened. Nine hundred monkeys and a thousand parrots couldn't make a bigger hullabaloo. I've just got to get Captain Flint to talk some sense into Sir Richard or his people."

"I can't believe it's as bad as all that," said John

"Believe me, it will be worse, said Nancy, grimly.

It got immediately worse because Beckfoot's rowing boat had gone and the houseboat was deserted when Amazon glided up to its side. She called for Captain Flint, but put the helm down and beat back toward the mouth of the bay when there was no answering shout. "He got an earlier start than we did," she said. "Jib booms and bobstays, but what a mess."

Back at Wild Cat Island, news of Miss Britain's arrival at their end of the lake drew a mixed reaction from the islanders. Nancy began by calling a council. "Everyone up to the lookout place. We've grave news of the worst sort," she said.

When everyone had assembled beneath the lighthouse tree, Nancy pointed at the distant buoy, now anchored off the little rocky island where Captain Flint's treasure had once been buried by burglars. "Do you see that thing floating, between here and Cormorant Island? We've just learned from the natives that it's to be the course marker for Miss Britain's record attempt. She's not going up to the Arctic at all. She's coming here and bringing all of her beastly native friends with her. Hordes of them."

"The men in the tug said the natives had hired every boat on the lake," said John.

"Do you mean to say that he's going to be racing past here?" asked Peggy. "We'll be the closest people to Sir Richard?"

"The closest on dry land," said Nancy. "Unless some of the natives go ashore on Cormorant Island. That's even closer, but there'll be lots more in native boats offshore. And some will be anchored close by Wild Cat."

"Perhaps some of us could move over to Cormorant Island," said Roger. "Just until he's finished."

Dick said nothing but thought about a horde of boats gathered around the island. Natives with field glasses and telescopes would be watching him and his new ship when they weren't watching Miss Britain. He'd only gotten Scarab a week before and had only begun getting comfortable in her. It was bad enough having John and Nancy and the others watching while he made beginner's mistakes, but to have a crowd of other boaters watching... Dick thought he could not help appearing a duffer.

Still, he was very conscious of how much more John and Nancy knew than he did, and there was another problem. "I'm supposed to teach my mother and father how to sail. They've written several times and they're expecting to go out in Scarab as soon as they get here. Four days, unless the examination papers he's grading take longer," he said.

"You'll get the chance to sail with them, I'm sure. But I'm sending off another pigeon. Not a distress message, exactly, but an angry one," said Nancy. "The problem is, Captain Flint may not get it before he leaves for the mine. He won't if he doesn't stop at Beckfoot, first. And after breakfast we'll stop up at the houseboat and leave a message for him to come down for a council."

"What do you think Uncle Jim can do?" asked Peggy.

Nancy frowned. "I'm really afraid he won't be able to do anything. He'll know someone on the organizing committee; they'll have people from Rio and the lake, because they always need things that they haven't brought with them. But he doesn't know the driver of that biscuit box, and if Sir Richard's made his mind up that this is the end he wants, everybody else is going to try and help him."

"How long will he be here?" asked John.

"A week. Perhaps more. He might get lucky and get his beastly record on the first go. That would be very good for us, but he might try and try before he finally gets it or gives up."

"There's probably nothing for it, then," said Peggy. "We'll just have to watch with everyone else."

"We're not going to watch," said Nancy. "We made our plans, and we're not going to change anything just because some buzzing water beetle is going back and forth while we're trying to sail."

Sophocles left before breakfast was eaten, carrying news of the disaster. Nancy insisted that everyone continue as though nothing had happened. Seeing the doubts on her crews' faces, she reminded everyone again of the dreams they'd shared for the past year. "We've all been thinking about this for more than a year. We can't let someone in a biscuit box spoil it, no matter how fast he drives it across the water."

These were brave words, and Nancy fairly shouted them in her defiance, but everyone had their own doubts and worries, and in the end, it was those doubts and worries that came true, and the dreams and plans that lay in ruins.

6

What the Signals Officer Saw

As soon as breakfast had been eaten – with no milk, as Roger pointed out – Nancy put to sea in Amazon, bound for Houseboat Bay to leave a message for Captain Flint. The Swallows followed a few minutes later, hoping to make a fast passage to Holly Howe for milk and other provisions. When Dick and Dorothea left in Scarab a few minutes after that, the island lay deserted once again.

"We'll rendezvous off Wild Cat at nine o'clock," said Nancy. "Then make for Horseshoe Cove for signals practice and dinner. Do the signals officers have their codebooks and the ships' telescopes?"

Assured that everyone did, Nancy and Peggy left, as Susan finished packing the food they would need for the day's expedition. Nancy gave no orders to Dick, and Dorothea suggested going all the way back to Rio, but Dick said no. He carried a piece of wood that had been chopped into a length of about a foot, putting it into Scarab. "We're going to practice picking this up," he told Dorothea. "We'll drop it offshore and run at it from different angles. This would be how we'd want to do it if a man went overboard and needed to be picked up."

"Or rescuing survivors from a shipwreck. Clinging to any bits of wood, anything that will float, hoping a ship will come to their aid, even as the sharks begin to circle," said Dorothea.

Pleased to be alone for this practice, and far from John and Nancy's critical eyes, Dick tossed the stick into the water, then sailed away from it, thinking about his steering and watching the wind riffle the water. Except for the three small sails, the lake was empty, as if it were waiting for something to happen. Dorothea felt it, and Titty in Swallow, as she rounded Darien and coasted into the bay to the Holly Howe boathouse. Nancy had already gone into Houseboat Bay and Scarab moved back and forth off the southern end of the island, racing downwind, then turning and trying to heave to exactly next to the floating stick rather than running it down. Because they had stayed close to the island, Dick and Dorothea were the first to see Gwendolyn's return with her new cargo.

Once again, the launch pulled a scow carrying two of the course markers for Miss Britain's record attempt. This time, she stopped only fifty yards off Wild Cat Island's southern tip, as one of Gwendolyn's crew wrestled the big buoy into the water.

Dick sailed Scarab closer for a better look, and the boatyard men both smiled and waved at him, recognizing the sailing boat they had given him only a week before.

"How does the ship we built suit you, lad?" called the man at Gwendolyn's wheel.

"It's fine," said Dick. "She's perfect. We're very happy with her."

"You raced her yet against that Amazon boat of Blacketts?" asked the man. "I'd like to hear ours were the faster."

"Not yet. We're going to later today," said Dick. "What is the buoy for?"

"Middle point of the course for Miss Britain," the man said. "And marker for any as will be watching from the sides. No going past here."

Dick looked at Dorothea and back at the marker. They were no more than fifty yards away from the rocks that lay at the mouth of Wild Cat Island's harbor, the westerly wind pushing them closer every minute. He put the helm up and brought Scarab close-hauled on the port tack to gain a little sea room, but wanted to stay close enough to Gwendolyn to ask another question.

"Do you mean that there won't be any sailing here?" asked Dick, when they had closed back to within a few yards.

"Nay, nay, you can have the rest of the lake and welcome to it. We told Miss Ruth this morning; you keep well away from the course. No boats between the marks while Sir Richard's on the water. You best take her up north. Beckfoot and beyond and you'll have all the room you want for racing."

"We're going to the Horseshoe Cove, on the far side, as soon as the others get back here," said Dick.

"You'll go the long way 'round, then. Course is laid out for three miles. One mile measured exact in the middle and another, give or take, on each end. That racing boat needs her space. She'll be coming out later this morning, and you'd do best to stay clear of her. We're away, then," said the man, Gwendolyn's engine throbbing as she moved off to the south, the towline tightening behind her.

"I don't think Nancy and the others are going to be happy when they hear that," said Dorothea.

"No," said Dick. "But we at least needn't keep picking up the stick over and over. It's jolly hard to spot in the water. I can barely see it, even when I know right where to look. You can't miss the buoy. Now we can use it for practice, at least until Miss Britain comes."

Nancy was not happy to see the buoy bobbing in the water off Wild Cat Island. "Shiver my timbers, but they've moored that awfully close aboard. And he told you we're not to go past it?" she said, when Dick told her about the men who had brought it.

"He said we'd have to go all the way around. Three miles," said Dick.

A half-mile away to the north, another buoy marked the end of Miss Britain's measured mile. The line drawn between this marker and the one off Wild Cat Island left only a narrow channel between the course and the lake's eastern shore, an invisible barrier that fenced the spectators and the explorers on the island away from the rest of the lake.

"They've clapped us in irons here the island," said Nancy. "And everyone else, as well. We'd better put off going to Horseshoe Cove until we see what happens here, but I don't think it's going to be anything good."

It was as bad as Nancy had said it would be and worse. Long before Miss Britain took to the water a fleet of small boats of every kind and description crowded the lake from Rio to well beyond Wild Cat Island. Those who gathered at the lighthouse tree at the highest point on the island saw the boats put out from Rio Bay, first one or two, and then an entire flotilla, all bound for the marked course where they hoped to watch history being made on the water.

Although most of the spectator boats clustered near the two start-finish lines in the north and south, many chose to come to Wild Cat Island, which was positioned almost at the exact middle of the course. John thought that the buoy actually made things worse. "They've lined up for a hundred yards on either side of it. I've counted thirty, so far."

Many of the boats anchored offshore, but many more, the rowing boats and yachting dinghies, had no anchors and their crews paddled back and forth, trying to hold their positions against the wind and current, all waiting for Miss Britain to appear. When she finally did, everything else on Wild Cat Island and around it stopped.

There was no point in denying it; one could say it was a buzzing water beetle or a biscuit box, or other things even stronger. One could rage that it was beastly and horrid, and call it any number of other names, but the boat was a thing of great beauty, even though some would never admit it. Her smooth, silver sides tapered to sharp points at bow and stern, and a gently curving silver deck covered the front two-thirds of the craft, aft to where the cockpit nestled just ahead of the two hidden engines. Everything about her was sleek and trim and charming, and she looked, not merely fast, but enchanting, even when just sitting moored next to a pier.

One thing about her was not beautiful, however, and this was the sound she made as she thundered down the lake at a speed none of those watching from anchored boats or vantage points on shore even dreamt possible, a screaming of 4,000 warhorses that echoed over the flat pane of water and off the far, purple hills. One couldn't help but look, no matter how much one resented this particular "motor in a biscuit box" or powered vessels in general, no matter how much one preferred sail to steam.

She announced herself long before her lovely shape became distinct, just a growling buzz, rising in volume as the knife-like hull tore a tremendous rip across the broad sheet of water. Great gouts of white foam exploded from beneath her bows, spreading like giant, white wings, holding the sleek form slightly above the surface, the craft hurtling nearer and nearer, the roar of the engines changing pitch as she drove past astounded onlookers. A minute or two later, her wake arrived, but the roar had already faded, the boat just a speck in the distance, slowing after she crossed the finish line.

By the time she got abreast of the island, all but Nancy had taken a place at the shoreline, watching with the natives as the sleek form howled by. From the high bank at the water's edge, they could see the heads of the three men in the boat, white helmets bobbing back and forth as the silver hull bounced on the little ripples that corrugated the lake. The two ships' telescopes were in use, as were Dick's field glasses, used on quieter days for bird watching and signal spotting.

Watching it fade from view behind its high, white rooster tail, even Nancy (though none of them would ever hear her say this), would call it one of the most thrilling things they had ever seen, and no one could wait for her to come back.

"He has to make two runs, one south and one north, and finish both in an hour to get the record," said Roger, who had heard people talking in Rio about the racing-boat and her driver.

"We'll just have to hope he gets it on the first go," said Nancy, looking around at the boats surrounding the island. "If it goes on too long, some of these people are going to want to come ashore."

7

Island intruders

It was inevitable, of course, and exactly as Captain Nancy had predicted. Before very long, natives who got tired of bobbing about in a small boat, anchored just offshore of a perfect island decided to land and watch from the comfort of dry land, even if that land was already occupied by someone else.

The first natives to discover the landing place were two couples with picnic hampers and blankets which were of no use whatsoever in their rowing boat but worked very nicely when spread out in an open space on the closest land to Miss Britain's run at the record. And the best open space on the island happened to be the one covered with grass and heather surrounding the lighthouse tree. The four natives drew their boat up onto the beach at the landing place and walked directly through the tents to the lighthouse tree. One of the female natives said very complimentary things about the camp to Nancy, who was passing through on the way to the harbor, and Susan, who was building a fire for dinner. Neither answered, but as Nancy said, "Merely being rude isn't going to be nearly enough to discourage these natives."

That was only the beginning. Having one boat at the landing place appeared to be an invitation to many others, and before any of the explorers knew it, six more were lined up on the beach, their passengers (Nancy refused to call them 'crews') all gathered in a noisy, celebrating crowd on what had, only a day before, been an almost completely deserted island.

After this bad beginning (Nancy said again that, "It can't possibly get any worse, but it probably will anyway.") things did get steadily worse. Throughout the day, there were long periods when quiet reigned on the lake, and with nothing to see on the water, some of the native intruders naturally explored the island instead. It became very common to encounter a red-faced native on the path to the harbor, giggling couples along the shoreline, or even in the camp itself.

"It's as bad as being in the middle of Rio," said Peggy, after chasing two natives away from the tents. "Worse, really, because everybody who would be in Rio this afternoon is already down here. And most of them are on Wild Cat."

The side of the island that faced the middle of the lake had steep sides that fell sharply into the deep water at the base of the cliffs. Trees covered most of this side, but here and there were small gaps, little clearings where people could sit beneath the trees and see much of the race course. These were popular spots for young couples wanting to be alone together to watch Miss Britain in some privacy, and as the day wore on, the crowd thinned at the lookout place but spread out to the other parts of the island, and it became harder for the real residents of the island to find a place not already occupied by some stranger.

"A council this evening after supper. The last of natives will be gone by then and we'll have the place to ourselves," said Nancy.

"Until tomorrow, when it starts up all over, again," said Dorothea.

"Barbecued billygoats, but what an awful mess," said Nancy, to start the council. "Who has an idea about what to do?"

"Why can't we take the boats and go sailing further up or down the lake?" asked Dick. "They can't be everywhere."

"We can't just leave," said Susan. "They're everywhere here all the time. I don't want to leave the tents and go sailing off for the day, not with natives constantly about."

"We've got to keep a watch at camp at all times," said Nancy. "I've had two of the cheekier ones ask if they could use the fireplace and some of our wood."

"One asked me if we had any tea. He even said he'd be willing to pay for a cup," said Susan.

"You didn't give him any…" said Nancy.

"Yes, I did. I didn't want to just say 'no' or be rude," said Susan.

"Shiver my timbers, but they'll never go away now we're feeding them, too," said Nancy.

"This is much worse than camping in the Beckfoot garden or up in Mrs. Tyson's orchard last summer," said Titty.

"Roger and I found one at the harbor this afternoon," said John. "He wasn't actually touching any of the boats, but he looked as though he'd been thinking about it."

"He wanted to know how we'd gotten Swallow and the others in through all of the rocks," said Roger. "We didn't tell him about the secret markings."

"They mustn't ever discover that," said Nancy. "Or we'll have native canoes crammed in there, as well. It's bad enough with so many at the landing place that we can't even use it anymore."

"They're leaving their rubbish at the lighthouse tree," said Susan. Dot and Titty and I picked up a pile of it and I'm sure there's more everywhere else they've been."

"We've been overrun," said Nancy.

"One thing's certain," said John. "It's not a desert island anymore."

"I don't think there's anything else to do but to shift camp," said Nancy. "Dick's right. We've just got to find another place, somewhere we can do what we've planned without being bothered by all of these natives."

"We could go to the Arctic. Everyone else is down here. We could set up camp on one of the islands north of Rio and never see anyone. Probably not see a native for days," said John.

"The problem is, none of those islands have got a harbor nearly as good as Wild Cat's. Some don't even have a place to land at all. They're almost all smaller, except for the ones that already have someone living there. Those have 'no landing' signs warning intruders off. Pity we can't do the same here," said Nancy.

"Cache Island, where we put the bottle with the messages for the polar expedition," said Dick. "There are some trees, but it's quite a bit smaller than this one. I don't believe there's any room for a camp."

"There isn't. Not for as many tents and people as we have. And Captain Flint would still be down at this end of the lake. He's not going to leave the houseboat, no matter how many natives are hanging about," said Nancy.

"We'd be miles from Dixons' and from Holly Howe," said Susan. "No milk, and further to go for provisions."

"Mother and father want to learn how to sail," said Dorothea. "So we'd still have to come back down here to collect them in Scarab."

"There's Swallowdale. We could put the boats in at Horseshoe Cove and we'd be able to get the milk at Swainson's farm," said John.

"That's not going to work either," said Peggy. "I saw half a dozen boats at Horseshoe Cove or just offshore only this afternoon. It's not as crowded as here, but it's practically on top of Sir Richard's starting and finishing line, so the natives have found that place, too."

"And we'd be on the wrong side of the lake, with Miss Britain's course right down the middle, like a big wall that we have to sail around," said Dick.

"Shiver my timbers, but Wild Cat's the best place. It's really the only place. And anyway, we can't just pack up and go to Swallowdale or Beckfoot, or one of the islands in the north and leave Wild Cat to all of these beastly native intruders. It's not their island, it's ours," said Nancy. "We discovered it long before they came, and you can be jolly certain we'll be here long after they've all gone back to their wretched lives in the Old World."

"We can't stop them coming, and there'll probably be more every day. How many did you count today, Roger?" asked John.

"Eighteen. But that's not counting the two that brought their sausage dog along. He made nineteen. Wolf, I mean. Although he didn't look very wolf-like and seemed rather friendly, for a wolf," said Roger.

"Dogs, wolves, dozens and dozens of natives and their picnic hampers and rubbish. I know exactly how the natives in the West Indies felt when Columbus hove to offshore," said Nancy.

"We have to stay and fight," said Titty. "Defend the island to the last man. Meet each boat with showers of arrows at the shoreline."

"Could we post signs that say, 'no landing' here?" asked Dorothea.

"Too late for that now. The eighteen who were here today – all right, Roger, nineteen, since we're counting the wolf – those nineteen will all be back tomorrow, and they'll probably bring friends. Anyway, we can't just abandon the island. Even if we moved somewhere else, we'd want to be where we could come back any time. And as soon as the biscuit box has finished, we can set up camp here all over again."

"Perhaps we could put up the tents at Darien, below Holly Howe," said Susan. We'd be close enough to the Dixons and to Houseboat Bay. There's room for all three ships, and we could at least see the island from there. And we could come down easily enough on the days when Miss Britain can't go out on the lake."

"It would be like last summer when they wanted us to camp in Mrs. Tyson's orchard and get our water from the pump. Barbecued billygoats, but we might as well have stayed in the Beckfoot garden," said Nancy.

"The Jacksons probably wouldn't mind us staying there, and I know mother wouldn't," said John. "Bridget will be disappointed, though. She wanted to sleep on the island."

"This won't last forever. Miss Britain has to make the record run, and once she's got it, she'll be gone and good riddance," said Nancy. "As soon as she's gone, everyone else will go and it will be just like it was before they came."

"How long do you think it will take for him to get the record?" asked Dorothea.

"That's just it. It might take some time. If he could get it on the first try, if it were that easy, everyone would do it. He'll probably make a lot of practice runs, back and forth, get the engines just right, and then try when he's got a day with no wind. It could be a week," said Nancy.

"There's the igloo we used during the winter holiday, up behind Dixons'," said Dorothea. "It's a long way from the lake, though."

"We need to stay with the boats," said Nancy. "Now that we've gotten everything together, we can't just give up. John and I will go up to Darien tomorrow to see if Darien's even possible. I'm sure the Jacksons have boarders here to watch Miss Britain, but if it's all right, we can shift camp to the mainland for a while."

"Mother and Bridget will be here in a week," said John. "They've been planning it since last year, so the Jacksons will have to chuck the others out."

"Who would have guessed we'd be talking about leaving Wild Cat Island behind forever?" said Nancy.

"Not forever," said Titty. "Just until the Hated Enemy's gone."

"Well, it may take a couple of days to get everyone to agree to it and to shift everything over. In the meantime, we have to deal with the natives that come here to the island."

"Why don't we treat them the same way we did Timothy last year? Everyone spreads out, all over the island, so that no matter which way one of the intruders turns, one of us is there to surprise them," said John.

"That's all very well to say," said Nancy. "But you know what Timothy's like. He's still shy with everybody but us. And last year, he was shy of us, too. Every time we popped up in front of him, he turned away."

"And when he saw enough of us, he finally went home, or at least back to his farmhouse," said Dorothea.

"These people won't care," said Peggy. "Timothy didn't expect to see anyone at all up there on the High Topps. These people do. They'll think that we're here to watch Sir Richard, just as they are. They just say hello and ask you if you saw the last run. I don't believe they'd care if there were a hundred of us popping up everywhere."

"It can't hurt to try," said Dick, who wanted to offer support to Dorothea, but also wanted very much to practice his sailing to and from the island. The thought of moving to the igloo or back to the Dog's Home and leaving Scarab behind on the lake was almost too awful to think about.

"No, but just the same, we'll go first thing tomorrow up to Holly Howe. And if that doesn't work, we'll cross over to Beckfoot and find out if Mother or Captain Flint have any ideas," said Nancy. "Something's bound to work."

8

Roger's discovery

With their original plan in tatters, Amazon, with Captain Nancy, John, and Susan aboard, set sail after breakfast the next morning, making a fast passage on a brisk westerly wind to the little bay where the Jacksons' boathouse – Swallow's home when she wasn't at Wild Cat Island or off exploring – stood.

"He doesn't like to run Miss Britain in the wind," said Nancy. "We might be in luck and he won't be coming out today."

"There's smoke in the chimney of the houseboat," said Susan. "Captain Flint must be aboard."

"Can't stop now," said Nancy. "Perhaps on the way back. He's got the rowing boat tied up alongside, so the launch is still dry docked."

"Not a real dry dock," said John.

"No. The boat-builders just put the boats on cradles and haul them out of the water on a marine railway. That's what Roger wanted to watch when we were in port there the day before yesterday. I know Captain Flint doesn't believe it, but the boatyard men did have the new planks in, and when I went to look at it they were getting ready to paint it, so it shouldn't be much longer."

At Holly Howe, the news was not all good. Mrs. Jackson said they could camp as long as they liked on the promontory that jutted out into the lake above the boathouse. "Happens there'll be company for you up there during the day, people come to watch the motor-boat try for his record," she said. "None yet this morning, but if he comes, they'll be there, too."

They walked down to the promontory, standing on the peak and looking down the lake toward Wild Cat Island.

"This is the next best place," said Susan.

"Yes," said Nancy. "It's a long way behind the best place, but if we've got to be somewhere else, this might be the spot."

"I can't believe we're talking about leaving the island when we've only been there for two nights," said John.

"And there's no knowing when we'd ever get back," said Nancy.

"We'll have plenty of room for the boats in the bay. The whole fleet can fit there, easily," said Susan.

But a bay with a boathouse and a hill below a farmhouse are the poorest of substitutes for the best island in the world, and all of them knew it as they went back to the house to tell Mrs. Jackson that the expedition was shifting camp tomorrow. A few minutes later, they were back aboard Amazon, and underway.

"Don't forget to stop at the houseboat," said Susan.

Today, Captain Flint answered the friendly "ahoy" with one of his own, but he saw quickly that all was not well aboard Amazon. "Welcome aboard," he said, as they climbed the boarding ladder into the aft cockpit. "You don't look happy."

"Did you get the pigeon we sent yesterday?" asked Nancy. "She carried the whole awful tale."

Captain Flint nodded. "Yes, I did. Couldn't make much of it, though. Only had a few minutes at Beckfoot before going up to the mine. That note you left on the door cleared it up a bit. You're right, it does sound as if your plans are going to need some changes, at least for the near term."

"Our plans aren't just changing; they're completely ruined," said Nancy.

They told him about the racing boat, the armada of other boats surrounding the island, and the invasion of native intruders that, as Nancy said, had turned Wild Cat Island into Piccadilly Circus.

"It's too bad, but I think it's too late to do anything about it now. It's always possible he'll try here and decide this isn't right for him and go north. That would solve your problem," said Captain Flint.

"Do you think that would happen?" asked John.

"No. He's laid his course out. Put out the markers and gone to the trouble of measuring the mile exactly, from buoy to buoy. I think he'll keep trying here until he gets the record, and from what I can see, his boat's fast enough to get the job done. Not today, though. I met a fisherman on the way back last evening who said that Miss Britain had some engine trouble yesterday and they're working on her today. Still, the best you can hope for is he gets it fixed, then sets the record quickly and goes home."

"That's what Nancy said, too," said Susan. She told him about the plan to abandon the island and shift camp to the Peak of Darien, making the best of a bad situation.

"Well, I have to say, the situation does look very grim. I'm heartily sorry that your plans aren't working out, but other explorers have set themselves up away from their main camp. Mountain climbers do it all the time. Set up a base camp and stage at others higher up. No reason why you can't do the same."

None of knew that at that very moment on Wild Cat Island, something was happening that would cause this plan, too, to be abandoned before they could carry it out.

Roger hopped from one large rock to another, pretending for the moment that he was a scout, trying to hide his trail from pursuing savages. He checked the smooth, flat surface of the stone he had just left, satisfied that it bore no trace of his passage. He stopped again to listen for the thrum of the speedboat's engines on the water but heard nothing more than the soft lapping of small waves on the rocks at the island's edge. Through the branches, he could see flashes of sunlight on the lake's surface, and in the distance, a native motorboat powering up toward Rio.

There were two paths leading to the secret harbor at the southern end of the island, one from the landing place, and the other that trailed from the camp through the thick growth of trees that grew close to the western side. Nearer the harbor, the bank did not rise so sharply out of the water, but the coastline was still forbidding, and guarded by rocks that lay in the water just offshore. Other than traveling back and forth to the harbor, none of the crews spent much time at this end of the island, although Titty and Dorothea liked watching a small dipper bird whose home lay in the rocks that protected the harbor's entrance. The many trees and heavy growth of bushes made pioneering difficult, and one could, as Roger had discovered, push hard through a particularly tough and stubborn thicket, to discover oneself on the very brink of the short cliff at the water's edge.

"Hullo, this tree's fallen over." Roger clambered onto the trunk of what had been a tall pine tree, now sharply angled at the sky and broken cleanly in two.

"It fell against this stone," Titty said. "It must have happened ages ago because it's all rotten. You had better come down."

"I can see the rest of it from up here," Roger reported. "Down there, in the water, between the rocks." Only a few feet from the edge, he pointed toward the lake. "The bank's not very high here. I think I could get down to it without any trouble."

"Why would you want to do that?" Titty said, looking about again for butterflies.

"Because I can," said Roger, "And there isn't anything else happening at the moment."

Diverted for a moment by a flash of color in the bushes, Titty turned away from Roger, who took advantage of the distraction to clamber down the rocks, stepping out onto the log. It sank beneath his weight, and he quickly put one foot onto a rock next to the fallen tree, most of which, he could now see, was submerged in the water.

"It's like an iceberg," he said. "Mostly under water, where you can't see it. He tried again to step on it. "I say, it's slippery like an iceberg, too," Roger called. "It's been in the water a long time. I wonder how far out I could walk."

There was a splash, and Titty came to the bank's edge, looking down to see Roger, standing back on the rock, examining a dripping foot.

"Now, look," Titty said. "You've gotten your shoe all wet."

"Only one of them," said Roger. "Stocking, too." He heaved himself up the bank and sat next to the stump of the fallen tree.

"You'd better take it off. You can lay your stocking on one of these rocks; there isn't as much shade just here, and they're nice and warm."

"I'll take both off. It's no good going with bare feet and only one foot bare."

He laid out the stockings on the rock that had broken the back of the old tree. A tiny stream of water wove its way from the stocking down the face of the rock toward the spot where the tree had been torn from the ground. He looked closely at the thick tangle at the base of the tree for the first time and saw that the roots, washed clean by a year of rains, had once fit neatly into a large hole, torn into the ground when the tree fell.

"It's like that fallen tree on Cormorant Island, where we found Captain Flint's treasure box," said Roger to Titty, who had moved off toward the harbor. "Much bigger, though. It would make a beautiful den. Too big for a fox or a badger. Perhaps a bear." He jumped down into the hole, finding the bottom full of dried leaves left over from the two or three autumns after the tree had fallen. By scrunching down, he found he could be completely hidden, partly concealed by the roots above, and all but the top of his head beneath the level of the forest floor.

"It's too small to be a real cave, like Peter Duck's," he said. "But you could hide down here in a pinch and the savages would pass right by without seeing."

"You'll get all muddy down there," said Titty.

"It's quite dry. The leaves are all crunchy. I don't believe it's rained here for weeks at least."

Roger thought about ways he could make his den even more secret. Planting a screen of bushes, like the one that hid Peter Duck's cave in the valley on the far side of the lake would take too long, and would still leave the top open to the sky. A roof, perhaps made of branches and covered over with leaves, which might be just what was needed. He stood and started to climb out, when he saw the dark-colored object in the side of the den.

Much darker than the nearby stones, and very different from the soil around it, the black object was so clearly foreign that of course, he immediately reached out to it. He found it smooth and hard, and warm from the afternoon sun that fell directly on it through the hole in the forest made by the fallen tree. He gave it a tug, but it didn't move.

He nudged and prodded and then pulled at the black mass, then scraped around the edges, loosening the earth, which fell in dusty bits to the bottom of his hole. After a few more pulls and some more scrapings, this time with a piece of the tree root that snapped off in his hand, the object fell out of the ground with a very solid thump, narrowly missing his bare toes, leaving a little cave in the side of the den that quickly filled with small chunks of soil. He bent down and picked it up.

It was surprisingly heavy. That was his first thought, after being happy that it hadn't hit his toes, and his second was that somehow, this thing, whatever it was, had been created by the hand of a man.

He could hear Titty, moving through the bushes not far away, but could no longer see her. They were supposed to be standing watch with Dorothea at the harbor, where Scarab and Swallow lay, concealed. There had been no natives on the island that day, though, and Peggy had said that this probably meant that Miss Britain was laid up for repairs and not coming. With the sentinels relaxed (and Captains John and Nancy away to Holly Howe), there had been time for exploring and discoveries such as the strange, heavy rock. Roger thought he should report his find.

"Hi, Titty. Come and look what I've found," he called.

"I saw it already. It's a lovely den," said Titty.

"No, not that. I've found something in the den," said Roger.

She did not return straight away, and he held the object up to the light.

"Buried treasure," said Roger, loudly, hoping to hurry her back. "At least it was buried," he said, not quite so loudly.

"Not really?" said Titty, pushing aside a branch and stepping into the little clearing.

Roger held up the black object. "It's not a stone. Much heavier. Do you suppose it could be an ingot someone's buried?"

Titty took the ingot and turned it over in her hands. She could see curved ridges on the surface, small waves that became clearer when she brushed the dust and dirt away. "It does look as though it had been melted once, and dried this way."

"Let's ask Dot what she thinks about it," said Roger.

They carried the rock down to the harbor, where Dorothea, tired of watching for the dipper bird, was working on the story she had been writing. Finding herself at a particularly difficult place in the "Outlaw of the Broads," she was happy for the interruption and the company. She held the stone and rubbed it, and traced the patterns on it, and like Roger and Titty, had no idea what it could be or how it could have come to be buried beneath the roots of a tree. They took her back to the hole that had been torn from the ground by the tree's fall, and though they all poked around the walls of the hole, they found nothing more than loose dirt.

"We should take it to Dick. I'm sure he'll know what it is," Dorothea said, and at that moment, a shout came from the direction of the camp.

"It's Nancy," said Titty. "She's back with John and Susan."

All three raced through the trees toward the voice, Roger holding the treasure close to his body.

"Avast there, my hearties," cried Nancy, as they ran up. "No need for sentries today. Too much wind, and Captain Flint told us the water beetle's broken a leg and can't run. We've Wild Cat to ourselves again."

"Only for the day, though," said John. "He'll probably have her fixed and ready tomorrow."

"What did they say at Holly Howe?" asked Peggy. "Is Darien all right for camping?"

"Mrs. Jackson said we were welcome. We can camp there, and use the bay and the boathouse," said Nancy. "But it's not perfect."

"It can't be," said Titty. "Only Wild Cat Island's perfect."

"Of course," said Nancy. "It's not just that, it's the beastly natives, again. The Jacksons have a half dozen staying until your mother gets here, and until then, they're all watching Miss Britain during the day, and doing it from the exact place where we'd want to put up our tents."

"The Peak of Darien," said Titty.

"Yes, so it's going from the frying-pan into the fire for us," said Nancy.

"I found some treasure," said Roger. "Perhaps if we polish it up a bit, we'll find gold underneath."

He held out the rock, and John took it. "It's heavier than it looks," said John. "But it's not gold. Gold wouldn't need polishing. Where did you find it?"

"Buried under a tree. Almost like Peter Duck's treasure. Perhaps it's silver. You do have to polish silver," said Roger. "I've done some of the trophies at school."

"Show it to Dick," John said. "Perhaps he'll know."

Dick took the ingot. "It's not gold. A piece this size would weigh at least twenty pounds and this is nowhere near that. Silver can get quite black, but I don't think it's silver, either" he said. "If we had some of Captain Flint's chemicals, we'd know for sure. He showed me how to tell silver, and Timothy's got the stuff we need at Beckfoot, and Captain Flint had some too, on the houseboat." He got a strange look on his face and handed the ingot back to Roger, who watched him run to his tent. He came back with a small brass box.

"Ship's compass from Scarab," he said. "This should tell us."

They all bent their heads over the ingot as he held the compass close to the black object. The needle swung quickly, and Dick stepped back.

"It's iron of some sort," he said. "I thought it might be. Only steel or iron would do that."

"Ahoy! Hullo, you rascals. Haven't you got a lookout posted?" Captain Flint climbed out of his rowing boat and onto the landing place, tugging the bow higher up the beach. "Lucky thing for you I'm not an invader, come to capture the island and send you all to the galleys or the prison hulks."

"It wouldn't make any difference if you were," said Nancy gloomily. "Natives everywhere, crawling all over the island. You'd be lost in the crowd."

"Where are their boats? Not all down at the harbor, surely."

"Gone for now," said Nancy. "And they won't be coming if that beastly mechanical water beetle's shut up for the day. They're all back at their native villages."

"Eating, drinking, and making merry," said Dorothea.

"And back again tomorrow," said John.

"What are you doing here? We only just saw you," said Nancy.

"Forgot that I'd brought cargo back from Beckfoot last night. You'd left before I remembered." He lifted a pigeon cage out of the bow of the rowing boat. "I suppose you wouldn't have missed it right away, but you're down to one bird and might want to send some messages if you shift camp."

"It's a jolly lucky thing you stopped by just now, though," said Dick. "I've got a question."

Captain Flint set the cage holding the two cooing birds gently down onto the beach. "A scientific question or a sailing one?" asked Captain Flint.

"Roger's found something. It's ferrous. I know that much, but I can't think what it might be or how it got where he found it." Dick held the ingot out, and Captain Flint took it, squinting at the black object, weighing it in his hand as all the others had done.

"Heavy enough. You're right about it being ferrous. It's an iron bloom. Where did you say you got it?"

"I found it," said Roger. "In a hole." He stopped suddenly, looking at John and Nancy. Captain Flint wasn't an enemy, but he was a native at least some of the time and Roger

"Oh, that's all right," said Nancy. "It isn't like he was an enemy yet or one of those beastly natives."

"On the far side of the island, down by the path to the harbor, but closer to the water," said Roger. "There was a tree that fell, and when the roots came out, it left a big hole. This was in it."

"How far down was it buried?" asked Captain Flint.

"From here to here," Roger said, pointing from his elbow to his fingers.

"Hmmm. Well, this is jolly old. If came from where I think it came from, it's probably been sitting there for hundreds of years."

"Where do you think it came from?" asked Dick.

"If it's a bloom, it could only have come from a forge or a smelter. And the most likely people to have left it there were Vikings. "

"Vikings? Here, on the island?" said Nancy. "We're nowhere near the open sea."

"Oh, the Vikings were here, there's no doubt," said Captain Flint. "And they left things behind to prove it. Beck, and tarn, fell and even mere."

"Those things must be much older than Vikings," said Titty, looking at the ancient hills across the water.

"Not the places. The words, able seaman. All from the Old Norse, though we speak them today without knowing it."

"What would Vikings have been doing here?" asked Dorothea, who was already thinking about the Norseman who first crossed to the island, and wondering if he had found it as enchanting as she had.

"They needed wood for their ships and their houses, and copper and iron and charcoal. All of it right here in these hills. Easy enough to get down to the ocean by river. And there may have been farming, too. Most people think of the Vikings as raiders, looting and pillaging, but many settled down and became farmers. Or perhaps blacksmiths." He held up the piece of iron.

"Why do they call it a bloom?" asked Roger. "It's nothing like a flower."

"No, I suppose not. I don't know, really. It's a mixture of iron and slag. They would have heated it and made it into wrought iron or turned it into steel."

"Why would they bury it? It's almost as if it were some sort of treasure they didn't want anyone to find," said Titty.

"If there was a forge, or more likely, a smelter, it would have been on the surface. Over time, though, it got buried. Lost until someone like Roger finds it."

"How long a time?" asked Roger.

"My guess is, as I said, eight or nine hundred years at least. Maybe a thousand.

"Gosh," said Roger. He took the ingot back and examined it with new respect.

"Why would they have the forge so close to a tree?" asked Titty. "This would have been right in the roots."

Captain Flint laughed. "That tree certainly wasn't there with the forge. That tree might be the great, great grandson of one that grew nearby a thousand years ago. There may have been a big cleared area around the forge or even houses."

"Houses? Here on the island?" said Peggy.

"Why not? It was a jolly good spot, even back in Viking times. Easily defended, a good harbor for your boat. Plenty of water, and food, too, if you eat fish, which would have been perfect for the Vikings. Couldn't be better."

"But who would have built them?" asked Titty.

"Britons in the Middle Ages, Vikings, it's impossible to tell without digging. Even the Romans were here, long before. They had a large fort on the edge of the lake north of here. I doubt they would have had a forge on the island, though."

"There's no ore on the island. They would have had to bring that here," said John.

"No, there's no ore. It's not a perfect place, but it's quite good, really. There's ore nearby – up on the High Topps and on the other side of those hills. They could have gotten it here by boat, bringing it down the Amazon River and onto the lake, then fetching it across. They need charcoal for their furnace, and they can make that on shore and ferry it over. And if you've got enemies who'd like to take it all away, you could defend it. I don't have to tell you that taking this island is no easy job."

"Perhaps there was gold or silver, and they were trying to protect it," Roger said, hopefully.

"The Vikings worked in both, and in copper and bronze, but the iron was valuable. They would have cherished it more than copper, even. If they were smelting iron here, they would have fortified the spot, made it go hard on anyone trying to steal their supply."

"So, you think this might not be the only thing here? If we went looking, we might find something else?" said Nancy.

"Very likely, I'd say," said Captain Flint. "This is a sign of civilization, and where there's one sign, there's bound to be more."

"What should we be looking for?"

"Something manmade, obviously. Anything metal. Nails, rivets, pieces of wrought iron. You could get really lucky and find a sword or a helmet. Wouldn't that be something?"

"What about for buildings?" asked Dick.

"Cut stone, shaped into blocks. That would be the foundation. Perhaps bricks or pottery. Those tend to last long enough for someone to find them a thousand years later. Anything wooden will probably be long gone, of course, but if it was done in medieval times, there would be iron; nails, bolts, but I've a sneaking suspicion we're looking at something much older here."

"I wonder if we could find something that would tell us definitely who left it," said Dick.

"I have some books at Beckfoot. I'll bring a few down to the houseboat tomorrow. Better yet, I know someone who can tell us all about it, especially if it does turn out to have been something the Vikings made. He's a real expert, and he lives in Rio. I'm sure he'll be able to put us straight on this," said Captain Flint. "He'd be fascinated to hear there was a discovery like this on the island."

Captain Flint's rowing boat had barely cleared the mouth of the bay when Nancy spoke. "This is positively the best thing that could have happened, and it's made our minds up for us."

"What do you mean?" asked John.

"No going to Darien, now," said Nancy. "No going anywhere. Yes, we're still stuck with the biscuit box and all of its native friends. We can't do anything about that. But if we can't get rid of them, we can't let them get rid of us. Don't you see? We must stay now. We can't simply sail away, knowing there's treasure here."

"Treasure? Captain Flint said we wouldn't find gold or silver," said Roger. "Only stones and bits of old iron."

"We're not looking for the gold sort of treasure, this time. Not like last summer. We want the archaeological sort. And Wild Cat might have better treasures than the Egyptians, even. We'll have our own Luxor, where the pharaohs ruled, and we'll dig for the tombs they've hidden here," said Nancy.

"But they're not Egyptian," said Dick. "Captain Flint said they were Vikings."

"Nobody's proved that. All we know is that we've found artifacts and now we can excavate for more. Egypt's the place. And that gorge where Roger found the ancient relic can be the Valley of the Kings. Better than the real one. We've got lots more water and no crocodiles or asps to worry about. We'll do the dig properly and find treasure better than Tut's tomb."

"Our father will be able to give us all sorts of help when he gets here," said Dorothea.

"And he's a real Egyptologist," said Nancy. "He'll know all about anything we dig out."

"He and mother were at the pyramids just last year. I can write and ask what we should be looking for in an Egyptian dig," said Dorothea.

"Better ask father what he knows about Vikings," said Dick. "If you say Egyptians, he's only going to tell you they never came as far north as this."

"How can he be sure? The Vikings went raiding as far south as the Mediterranean," said Nancy. "Thousands of years ago, the Egyptians may have been here. You couldn't blame them for wanting to stay. This is miles better than any desert, even if you did have pyramids and sphinxes."

"What about sailing? We won't be able to do as much as we'd planned, staying here on the island," said Susan.

"We can still go out when Miss Britain's not on the lake," said Nancy. "But when she is, we'll want to stay here. We've got to protect the dig from tomb robbers. Egypt's practically crawling with them. Once they find out there's treasure, they'll raid and loot and leave us with nothing. They've been doing it in Egypt for centuries."

"They looted all the tombs in the Valley of the Kings except one," said Dot. "Father's told me the story. I used to love hearing it at bedtime."

"Here, we're lucky. The tomb robbers only come around when the speed-boat's running. We'll stay and guard the valley while there are any intruders on the island, and the rest of the time, we can come and go."

"I'm for staying. I never wanted to leave Wild Cat at all," said John. "I say we should stop here and find out what else is on the island. But on days when we can sail, we should."

Everyone agreed. No one else had ever really wanted to leave the island, and any excuse to stay would have been welcomed by everyone in the expedition.

"All right, then, it's settled," said Nancy. "Dot, you've heard the stories from your father. "How did they find Tut's tomb?"

Dorothea was surprised to hear Nancy turn to her for the answer, rather than Dick. But Nancy knew exactly what she wanted, which was a story, and she knew that more than anyone else except perhaps Titty, Dorothea would be the best one to tell it. With everyone watching, Dorothea began to repeat the tale she had heard at a hundred bedtimes.

She hoped she could tell it as well as her father. "Tut-ankh-amen, the boy pharaoh. Howard Carter had been in Egypt for years and years, always searching for a tomb that hadn't already been opened and looted a thousand years before. He'd almost given up when Lord Carnarvon offered to help, and put together the expedition to the Valley of the Kings. They looked and looked. Carter thought they were close to finding something, but he never did, and Lord Carnarvon was getting discouraged.

"He wanted to give up and leave Egypt. He didn't think there would ever be a new discovery, but Carter wouldn't give up, and finally, he found the entrance. It was just in time, because Lord Carnarvon was ready to go home to England. (Father always says this is a good lesson about not giving up, even when things aren't going well.)

"The valley is in upper Egypt, far up the Nile from Cairo. You have to travel for days on boats to get there, and it's a real desert, except right near the river, where the rushes and date palms grow. From the river, you go up to the hills, and the Valley of the Kings. It's where all the pharaohs and their families were buried. The ancient Egyptians built the tombs, more than sixty, digging them into the valley. It took hundreds of years, and they have all sorts of protection. Thick doors and secret passages, all supposed to keep anyone out."

"But the tomb robbers still got in and looted the place," said Nancy. "And we've got tomb robbers swarming all over our valley, too."

"They looted all but one. King Tut's," said Dorothea. "Carter always thought there might be more tombs that hadn't been discovered, and he looked and looked, and he finally found it, and when he opened the door the smallest crack and looked inside with a lantern. Everyone expected that one to be like all the others, empty, but with the hieroglyphics on the walls and places where the treasures once were.

"'Can you see anything?' Lord Carnarvon said. 'Yes, I see wonderful things,' Howard Carter said. All of the treasures and artifacts were still there, and he was the first to look on them for 3000 years. They opened the tomb – not right away – and everyone saw that all the waiting had been worthwhile. It took years and years to take everything out and there may be hidden chambers and other parts of the tomb that haven't been discovered yet. It's one of the wonders of the world," said Dorothea.

"We'll find things even better, and no one's going to get at our artifacts," said Nancy. "But we're going to need some tools and digging things," said Nancy. "Another trip to Rio. Only this time, it's going to be down the Nile from Luxor to Cairo."

"We can get some at Beckfoot. Spades and pickaxes," said Peggy.

"Alexandria," said Dorothea. "That's beyond Cairo from Luxor."

"Not pickaxes!" said Dick. "They'd damage the artifacts. We need something much smaller and lighter to move the earth. A hand shovel, one of those gardening ones. Brushes, to move the earth away, once you've found the relic. A camera. Do you think Captain Flint has one we could borrow?"

"Probably. We'll send a message by pigeon and ask. Dick, you're the scientist. And archaeologist. If you can make us a list of the things we'll need, we'll get everything tomorrow," said Nancy.

"All right," said Dick, who was already thinking about the tools he wanted.

"Welcome to the Valley of the Kings," said Nancy.

9

Thunder over the Valley of the Kings

Digging in the valley began after breakfast, with archaeologists using the one small shovel brought by the expedition to the island. This meant that while one person dug, everyone else watched, hoping to see the next treasure uncovered. As the sun climbed in the sky and the shadows withdrew from the pit, the work slowed, even though they took turns and passed the shovel to the next digger every few minutes. The excavation continued to grow, but there were no more discoveries and some of the diggers drifted away to the water's edge or other parts of the island.

"It's jolly hot down here," said John.

"It's a good thing we aren't really in Egypt. It would be 120 degrees in the shade," said Dick, watching from the side of the pit.

"There's no reason why we shouldn't have some shade, though. Couldn't we rig an awning? We've plenty of spare rope and we can string it between the trees," said John.

"We can use the ground sheet from the stores tent," said Nancy. "Only for today, and we'll get a tarpaulin at Beckfoot or in Cairo."

This job took an hour to complete, but the sun-shade worked well enough that diggers returned to start new shifts. Progress was slow, as the lone digger stopped at every large pebble or twig, calling for Dick to come and take a look. The pile of dirt at the side of the pit grew steadily, but it wasn't until mid-morning when the first real discovery happened.

"This is different," said Titty, who had just taken over from Susan. She picked at a black object that broke apart in her hand.

"It's charcoal," said Dick. "They had a fire here, once. Someone did." He recorded the find in his notebook and told Titty to begin working outward to see how far the blackened patch of earth extended.

Word spread, and before long, everyone had gathered at the pit, watching as the black patch expanded.

"Well, do you think it's ancient or not?" asked Nancy.

Dick shook his head. "You can't tell. It might've been a fire someone covered up last year or twenty years ago or a hundred years ago. Charcoal can last a long time underground. It's only carbon. It's almost at the same level as the iron we found, so it could be from the same period."

"The same dynasty. Egyptians had dynasties. But 'could be,' that's not too bad," said Nancy. "Not good enough to send off another pigeon, but not bad."

Now, the heat began to really press down, and the work slowed again when Miss Britain's roar came through the trees at the water's edge. Several of the archaeologists left for the lookout place. "We'll check on the tomb robbers," said Peggy, as she and Roger dashed off.

"Tomb robbers! I don't believe they want to watch them at all," said Nancy. "But it can't be helped. Somebody does have to keep one eye on them, and only one person can work in this beastly hole at a time, anyway."

During other times when Miss Britain raced up and down the lake, Roger went to the water's edge near the dig, peering through the gap left in the leaves where the big tree had fallen into the water. He had tried going out on the log itself but found it too slippery. "It's bobbing about too much," he told Peggy. They both saw that, although she was running hundreds of yards away, Miss Britain's wake was powerful enough to throw waves onto Wild Cat Island's shoreline, and to set the fallen tree rocking back and forth and up and down, bumping against the rocks that lay just offshore.

The lake steamers that carried passengers between the head and the foot of the lake, and to Cairo in between, had changed their route to avoid Miss Britain's course, passing closer to the island, and these, too, threw waves ashore. All of this unusual surf made both the log and the rocks nearby very treacherous, and despite Susan's warnings, Roger fell in twice before teatime, the second time going completely under.

"It's a good thing I've got dry things in the tent," he said, heading toward the camp.

"He did that on purpose," said Susan, watching Roger leave.

"We shan't see him again for an hour or two," said John, from the pit.

"Or until the biscuit box stops running," said Nancy.

After a round of grog for the diggers, the work went on, but they discovered no more relics. They found the layer of charcoal was about six inches thick.

"Too much for a fireplace," said Susan.

"It might be right for a forge," said Dick. He decided to leave the charcoal in place and begin working around its edges. This uncovered bits of dark, rough material that "might be slag," said Dick.

"'Could be' and 'might be,'" said Nancy, sounding very satisfied. "That's loads better than 'nothing at all.'"

These were not golden coffins or the masks of pharaohs dead for 3,000 years, only bits of black dirt that 'might be' something more important, but 'might be' was enough to keep the expedition at work in the Valley of the Kings, still digging and hoping for better things to come.

Miss Britain did not run alone, and even before she appeared the crowds of spectators and their boats again covered the waters between Wild Cat Island and Cairo. Once more, native intruders landed and set up their blankets and picnic hampers at the lookout place, though they ignored the digging going on under the awning as the racing-boat completed her morning runs.

There had been a long break around noon, and the native intruders (and tomb robbers) ate their picnic lunches and wandered about the island, two coming by the valley and stopping to ask what the diggers were looking for. But a dead calm in the afternoon the mirror-flat water called for the racing boat, and by two o'clock, she too returned. Her engines thundered as she raced down the lake in ideal conditions, bringing almost everyone on the island to the water's edge, all watching in amazement as she tried to become the fastest boat in the history of the world.

Those on the island could see almost the entire course, though the anchored fleet of boats blocked the view of the northern finishing line. Although the marked course was several hundred yards wide, Miss Britain kept toward the western edge, disappointing the spectators on Wild Cat Island, who wanted a closer look. Twice, looking for smoother water, or shelter from wind, her pilot took a line that carried her just off the marker buoy at the island's south end, her wake tossing the anchored boats to and fro, waves crashing against the cliff at the foot of the lookout point.

These trials went on throughout the afternoon without any long break. With supporting boats at each end of the run, Miss Britain could get fuel, food for her crew, and make the minor adjustments that might make the engines push her just a little faster.

An hour after dinner, the winds freshened. Ripples became short swells that in turn became small waves. More wind hurried these along, pushing the tops into tiny cascades of white foam. "The wind's come up quickly. Force three, at least," said John, watching the anchored boats around the island bobbing in the light chop. "She's taking a real beating out there. They'll have to give up and stop her running soon."

And Miss Britain gave in on the very next pass, slowing halfway through her northbound run, motoring past the committee boats and directly past the Peak of Darien toward Rio Bay as on Gwendolyn, the siren sounded the all-clear.

"That's it, then," said Nancy. "It's too late to start for Cairo, but we've got the whole afternoon left for sailing. We'll wait for all the tomb robbers to leave and we'll sail for Horseshoe Cove."

10

Down the Nile to Cairo

"We're sailing today," said John, putting his head out of the tent and feeling the morning breeze on his face.

"Ho, for Rio!" said Dick, as pleased as John to see that there would be no need to row Scarab today.

"Cairo," said Nancy.

Titty and Dorothea went for the milk in Swallow, bringing her back to the landing place, where she would be instantly ready for the voyage ahead. On the island, the mates made breakfast of eggs and buttered bread and tinned beef, "Pemmican," Dorothea reminded Dick, and it was eaten quickly. Everyone found that like crushing ore or manning a blast furnace as they had the summer before, digging for ancient relics is another thing that built up a healthy appetite.

"We'll do the washing up and be ready to go when the boats are here," said Susan, as Nancy and Dick went to the secret harbor for the other ships.

The signals officers brought their flag bags to the boats, carefully stowing the codebooks in their boxes, tin protection from heavy seas or driving rain.

"No need of that today," said Peggy. "There's just enough wind and not too much."

"We'll have a race to start," said Nancy, calling the captains together. "Into Houseboat Bay, around the houseboat, and out to the biscuit box's marker at the north end of her course. Whoever's first can lead the fleet into Cairo."

Moments later, they were afloat. "It feels completely normal," said John, listening to the water hissing under Swallow's bow. "As if Miss Britain had never been here at all."

"I hope she hasn't really gone. I want to see her in Rio," said Roger.

Titty, sailing as able-seaman in Scarab, watched Dick for any mistakes, but seeing none, began looking for birds, instead.

The race ended with Swallow beating Amazon "by the length of half a bowsprit," as Nancy said. "You only got ahead when Peggy left the main sheet to send the signal."

That signal, to form a line ahead, sent Swallow in the lead, Scarab in the middle, and Amazon at the rear, both of the trailing boats trying to stay exactly in the middle of the ruler-straight wake that John laid down toward Cairo.

"Hold your station! Keep that distance apart," called Nancy to Dick, who nodded but did not answer, being much too busy trying to maintain his position in the line.

"Ease off just a bit on the sheet," said John. "We don't want to pull too far ahead."

"Aye, aye sir," said Susan. "Roger, watch for signals from the flagship."

"I can't really see her with Scarab in the way," said Roger. "That's something to remember if we try this again."

"She'll hail us if she wants to give us orders," said John.

But Amazon was silent as the fleet sailed past the first island, and through the yachts moored offshore.

"I'm going to make for the boat builder's pier," said John. "It's long enough that all three of us can fit easily."

This would be a tricky landfall, the southwesterly wind pushing all three boats toward a lee shore and the pier. John decided to sail parallel to the pier, jibe to bring Swallow into the wind or very near it, and let the breeze drift them close to the landing stage. He explained this to Susan, and told Roger to "stand by to fend off," then put the helm up, saying "Jibe-oh," loudly enough for Dick to hear.

It worked perfectly for Swallow, the boat slowing as it rounded into the wind, Susan slacking off on the mainsheet to spill even more wind and cut the last of her speed, and John putting the bow within a foot of the spot he had pictured in his mind.

"Got it," said Roger. He climbed out of the bows with the painter, making it fast to the cleat on the pier before turning to watch Dick and Nancy.

With Titty at the sheet and Dorothea waiting in the bow, Dick took Scarab a few yards past the swirl in the water where John had turned, then jibed, and came in toward the pier, staying a boat's length from Swallow as Dorothea grabbed the landing stage.

"Well done, Dick. We'll put our stern warp on that bollard," said John, tossing the line to Roger, who used it to cover Scarab's painter. Moments later, Amazon had tied up and the fleet was home from the sea.

Now the work of supplying the archaeological expedition began, with Nancy assigning tasks for each boat. Swallow's crew was to buy grog and ginger beer. "That digging is awfully hot work," said Roger. "We should have enough for double rations for everyone."

Dick and Dorothea would find any special things that Dick thought they might need. "A camera is what I really need," he said.

"We'll cross to Beckfoot this afternoon for the heavy gear," said Nancy. "I'm sure Captain Flint's got one in the study. I can get the film here, though. I know what kind it uses."

Peggy said she would go to the boat builders to see if they had a tarpaulin that they would be willing to part with, and the fleet's crews scattered. The streets of the little town bustled exactly like the real Cairo's, with all of Miss Britain's spectators out strolling and shopping. "Nothing for them to watch today, with the beastly biscuit box shut up, so that's that," said Nancy.

Though she was not nearly so interesting today, some of the spectators still found a way to watch Miss Britain. The racing boat had been pulled from the water and sat in the boat yard on a small trolley at the head of the marine railway. At her stern, a crew of workmen removed the propeller. Another one, slightly larger and shining brightly, lay on a cloth nearby, waiting to be installed. Two more men were replacing the boat's rudder, and they worked under a large striped awning that the boat-builders had set up.

Sir Richard Fraser, Miss Britain's pilot, stood to one side in the shade and watched the work, making remarks now and then to the men. A small crowd gathered near the entrance to the boatyard, watching the work and listening to what bits of conversation they could overhear. Two reporters called for Sir Richard, who smiled and walked over.

"What sort of changes are you making?" asked one of the reporters.

"As you can see, we've pulled the propeller. I thought that one might be slightly too small, so we ordered one sent up and it arrived this morning. We should have it on and ready by this afternoon."

"What about the rudder?"

"I'm not saying the rudder isn't important, it's very useful for doing things like changing course, for example, and getting you where you want to go," said Sir Richard, smiling. "But in our case, it's not all needed, so we're shortening it just a little."

"Why is that?"

Sir Richard pointed to the boat. "Miss Britain's built with a step on her keel, just under the cockpit. When she reaches a high enough speed, she lifts up onto the step, so that only the last few feet of the boat are touching the water. That's why, when you see us out on the water, we look as if we were riding above it; the bow's completely out of the lake. The point of the step is to cut down the friction that holds us back. Even when we're just going in a straight line, the rudder's adding more drag."

"Can shortening it make that much difference?"

"We'll see. My lads say it might give us a few extra knots. That's all we're looking for."

"What about safety? Doesn't shortening the rudder – making the whole thing smaller – doesn't that make it harder to turn away from danger?"

"If we were competing with the Americans this week, racing around a closed course, having to make turns at high speed, we wouldn't even think of it. She's very flighty as she is, and we need a good-sized rudder to bring her head around. Here, though, we need all the speed we can get in a straight line. I'm not trying to turn her at 120 miles per hour, or even a hundred. Here, I just want to keep her going straight ahead for one mile at a time."

"So, no trying to turn at 120?"

"She won't stand it," Sir Richard said flatly. "Any change in weight or balance at those speeds and we're done. We'll have to hope the rescue boats are on hand, because we can't recover, even with a bigger rudder and a smaller prop."

There was a pause after this answer, everyone thinking about the danger that the crew of Miss Britain faced. "Is she that sensitive, then?" one man finally asked.

"Let me give you an example. One of the American boats we raced in Miami last year has the same hull shape, the same sort of step. Her pilot put out his hand at over a hundred knots and that little change in the air around her made the whole boat leave the water. He was jolly lucky to come down right side up."

"So, you and the lads will keep your hands inside the boat, then?"

Sir Richard laughed. "She's such a beautiful girl." He ran one hand along the gleaming white hull. "But she won't forgive any nonsense. No, we'll keep our minds on our jobs and our arms inside the cockpit."

"Do you think this will be the answer? You've already been here longer than your last try."

"I have to say, I'm disappointed with how things have gone so far. We've been fast; twice we've had runs over 120, but we can't put two together back to back. And we've had problems this week. The leaking fuel tank, aviation petrol, going into the bilges, that took a day to sort out. We worked all night to get the tank out and replace it. At least it didn't explode or catch fire while we were out there on the water, which it might have. And the one engine running too hot. We think we've got that problem completely solved. If that's it, we should be close enough to put us over. " Sir Richard looked back at his boat, and when he spoke again, he said much the same thing that he had at the railway station. "I'll stay with my prediction. We get the record by the end of the week," he said.

He worked his way through the small crowd, and then walked up toward the town, the spectators watching him go. Most of the people began to move off, the group thinning as people drifted away in ones and twos, talking amongst themselves. Most followed Sir Richard onto the narrow road that came to the edge of the waterfront, but two turned in the other direction, walking toward the pier at the end of the boatyard, where three small sailing boats lay snugged to the pier, their crews still on important errands. Neither spoke to the other until they reached their ships.

"She looks fast, just sitting there on the dock," said Roger. "Do you think she'll get the record after all?"

"I don't know," said Peggy. "There are so many things that can go wrong. I just hope he doesn't have a huge smash out on the lake."

The afternoon passed too quickly. The three ships sailed in consort to the northernmost of the islands above Cairo, Cache Island, where an earlier expedition, this one on a polar quest, had left a message reporting its passage. Dick and Dorothea had stopped there on their push to the North Pole, and now the fleet put into the tiny beach for dinner. They tucked a new message into an empty ginger beer bottle, this one saying that the Valley of the Kings expedition had reached this point on the Nile.

With the wind still close to perfect, they set sail again and did signals practice on the waters north of Cache Island, Amazon sending sets of flags to the top of her mast, and the other boats responding to the flagship's orders to turn to port or starboard, join up, or prepare for battle.

"There's no one to fight," said Roger, as he ran up the acknowledgment flag.

"It's all good practice," said John. "You should be trying to get the signal before Scarab."

"I've gotten all but one before Dot," said Roger.

"Get that one, G – B. Nancy's just put it up."

"Go to Beckfoot," said Roger. "I don't even have to look."

All three boats shaped new courses for the promontory that marked the mouth of the Amazon River, gliding one by one over the smooth water, reed beds on either side as they came to the Amazon's boathouse.

"Wind's dropping," said Nancy, as Peggy lowered Amazon's sail. "We'll have to row out of here and hope it freshens a bit on the lake."

She had planned for a short stop and no shore leave, staying only long enough to collect some of Mrs. Blackett's garden tools and a pair of larger spades. "I'm getting a pickaxe, too," Nancy told John out of Dick's hearing. "I don't care what the professor says, if we go on digging with these little shovels, we'll be as old as pharaohs ourselves before we're done."

Mrs. Blackett found Captain Flint's camera, saying that the pigeon asking permission to use it had arrived and he had said 'yes.' "He carried it all over the world in that trunk of his and never managed to take any photographs, so I suppose you'll do much better. You'll need some film, though," she said.

"Got some in Rio," called Nancy cheerfully. "Cairo, I mean."

"What about pie? Cook's making one and if you wait long enough, you can have it to take back with you. It can cool on the way."

This was too appealing an offer to turn down, and Nancy decided to rummage for additional supplies while they waited. Dick found several pieces of wood and a metal screen that he planned to use to build a sifter, and Peggy got an old tent that she said would make a better awning than a tarpaulin, although she brought one of these, too.

Roger wanted to take one of the dromedaries, arguing that if they were going to be in Egypt

"How would we fit a bicycle into one of the boats?" asked Nancy. "And where would you ride it on the island? You're right though, Egypt is the place for dromedaries."

Finally, with quite a bit more supplies than they had planned on taking aboard, the fleet set sail again. Only a whisper of a wind remained in the river, leaving them to hope for more when they reached the lake.

"Perhaps we should make Beckfoot Khartoum instead of Alexandria," said Titty, who was back in Swallow for the return voyage. "That's where the Blue Nile meets the White Nile."

"I wish there were some crocodiles or hippos," said Roger.

"You wouldn't if you were bathing," said Susan.

They did get more wind on the lake, but it was still blowing from the south, and Nancy sent the signal to proceed independently to Wild Cat.

"She knows we'll be tacking back and forth upwind almost all the way," said John, who decided he would hug the western shore and then reach across to the island, rather than taking the shorter route through Rio Bay. "There'll be less wind in there among the islands," he said, watching Amazon and Scarab disappear behind Long Island.

Swallow ran past some fishermen, who waved from their anchored rowing boat, stayed well clear of a lake steamer that headed south out of the bay. Passengers on the rail waved to the little boat and to John's surprise, the steamer sent signal flags to the crosstrees of her mast, Roger scrambling to find the list of two-flag signals. "Good thing I put it into the box with the code book. It's the code flag and X. He says he's going to pass ahead of us," he said.

"He must have seen we'd left the flag at the masthead. Go ahead and acknowledge it," said John.

"Aye, aye sir," said Roger, sending up the answering pennant.

"I'll bet even Nancy hasn't been signaled to by a ship as big as that," said John. "He treated us just like another steamer."

The rest of the voyage went uneventfully, taking longer than John had planned. Knowing that he had a happy crew and a ship that was sailing well, he took her farther south, almost to Horseshoe Cove, before running back across the lake. In the distance, he could see the other two sails, neither closing on the island, everyone, it seemed, wanting to stay out as long as possible.

"No sailing tomorrow," said Susan, saying what everyone was thinking.

"We'll be back at the dig," said Roger. "But Miss Britain will be out and going faster than ever. Perhaps she'll get the record tomorrow."

"I hope so," said John. "Digging's fine, but it's good to be back in old Swallow again."

No one could argue with that.

11

The Viking cross

"Day begins fine," read Swallow's log that morning. By the time breakfast was over, the first natives had arrived on the island, an omen of things to come. John and Nancy planned to take Amazon up to Holly Howe to see if Bridget had arrived and to tell the Jacksons that they would not be camping at the Peak of Darien after all. Dick would be leading the expedition at the dig site, which now had two awnings covering the excavation.

The newest sun-shade, made from the tarpaulin brought back from Beckfoot, had been expertly rigged to four trees by John and Nancy, with Dick watching carefully. "We could have used a sail," said Nancy. "But that's almost the worst possible thing a sailor can do," said Nancy. "Making a sail into an awning. You'd only do that if you were shipwrecked on a real desert island, with no water and the sun beating down without mercy."

"If this really were Egypt, you'd be jolly pleased to have a sail," said John. "And anyway, when we've got this one rigged it will cover the pit and keep anyone from seeing from the path. Better to not let the tomb robbers know what's going on."

As soon as they finished the work, John and Nancy went to the harbor and took Amazon out, under sail again on another fine day. The two shades cooled the workers in the pit, but this did not keep some of them from drifting off, leaving the dig unattended for long stretches while the people who were supposed to be working went to watch native intruders or dipper birds, or especially motor-boats that flashed up and down the lake at over a hundred miles per hour.

There were two who were not interested in motor-boats at all, and they had the shift that began shortly before dinner, but this did not mean that they were concentrating very hard on the digging. Everyone had become quite discouraged after the initial findings. Slag and charcoal seemed very poor substitutes for golden mummy cases and busts of ancient pharaohs. Titty and Dorothea were taking turns at the dig; one wielding the hand shovel while the other sat on the rim of the pit and watched. They were deep in the discussion of a pair of books, both about conflict between two brothers, one good, and one evil, about betrayal and revenge. They were trying to decide which of the two evil brothers was more wicked, and more deserving of the fate he ultimately received.

Dorothea believed that it was the brother in The Sea Hawk, which she had only finished recently on the train coming north. Titty, who was using the shovel to dig at the edge of the layer of charcoal, argued that evil brother in The Master of Ballantrae had fully earned a very bad end. With this most pleasant literary criticism underway, Titty scraped away a small stone and both saw it at the same time.

"I say, Titty," said Dorothea. "What is that?"

"I don't know," said Titty.

Dick had said that any new discovery should be left in place and reported at once, so that it could be properly recorded, sketched, mapped, and safely removed. He wanted to use Captain Flint's camera, loaded with film and ready for action, to take photographs of the find, both in place and as it was removed. Titty and Dorothea forgot these instructions completely, and Titty picked the object out of the dirt, holding it away from the awning's shadow and into the sunlight for the first time in a thousand years.

It was a cross, about two inches long and two inches wide, and made of some sort of metal. Although most of it was quite tarnished, part of it shone brightly.

"Gold," breathed Titty. "It really is." She used her fingers to brush the dirt away from the face of the cross. "Have you got a handkerchief?" she asked.

"Yes," said Dorothea, and took one from her pocket. "Shall I wet it?"

"Yes. Let's see if we can get some of the dirt off before we show it to the others," said Titty.

Dorothea scrambled up and ran to the harbor, where, with Amazon gone, Susan was on sentry duty for Swallow and Scarab.

"What's the matter, Dot?" asked Susan. "Has something happened?"

"We've found something," said Dorothea, dipping the handkerchief into the water.

"What did you find?"

"Wonderful things," said Dorothea, using archaeologist Howard Carter's words as he first looked into the marvelous tomb of Tut-ankh-amen. She turned and ran back into the bushes.

Susan followed. When she reached the dig, Titty had climbed out and was gently rubbing the cross with the wet cloth as Dorothea watched.

"You didn't really find that in there," said Susan.

"Yes, we did," said Titty. "Isn't it simply beautiful?"

"We'd better tell Dick," said Susan.

Dick and Roger, and Peggy, who had been guarding the camp, were all at the lookout place instead, watching as Miss Britain drove past on her way down the lake. Off to the north, Amazon, her white sail barely drawing in the light breeze, carried mails and general cargo back from Holly Howe, hugging the shoreline just south of Houseboat Bay. With urgent gestures and whispered pleas to avoid alerting any tomb robbers about the discovery, Titty brought them reluctantly away from the lighthouse tree and back to camp. One look at the cross erased all thoughts of motor-boats and speed records.

Dick wanted to be taken directly to the dig but stopped in his tent to collect his notebook and the camera. Amazon was still very far away, but Peggy wanted to make certain that John and Nancy returned as soon as possible.

"Hang on, Dick," she said. "Have you got Scarab's codebook? I want to send a signal to Nancy."

Dick gave her the book, then hurried off after Titty and Dorothea.

"Roger, send this to Amazon," said Peggy, checking the codebook, though she remembered the signal. Better safe than sorry, she thought. "G – W. Go to Wild Cat. I know Nancy doesn't want to use the lighthouse tree for flags while the natives are there, but it can't be helped."

"Aye, aye, Sir," said Roger, and he ran for the bag of large flags for the signal tree as Peggy set off toward the dig.

At the pit, Titty and Dorothea showed Dick exactly where the cross had been discovered, laying it gently back in its former resting place. He recorded the find, measuring the distance to three other points around the pit, putting the numbers in his book, then making a quick sketch of the site. "I'll make a better one later," he said. "All right. I'll take some photographs, now."

Dorothea smiled to herself. She knew how excited Dick was about the discovery, but saw that he would never show it. He was being Professor Dick, and this would be as much excitement as he showed over the finding of treasure in the Valley of the Kings. When he was sure he knew exactly where Titty and Dorothea had found it, and after he had taken three photographs, Dick picked up the cross and looked at it closely for the first time. Holding his magnifier just above the metal, he examined the artifact as the others waited.

"It's bronze or copper. Bronze, I think," he said finally. "And gold. They've carved a pattern into the face, and filled part of it with gold. It looks like silver, too."

"Real gold? Not iron, like the other thing?" asked Peggy.

"No. We can try the compass on it, but I don't think it's iron or steel. Softer."

Dick took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and carefully laid the cross on it, handing it to Peggy. "You'd better hold it for now," he said.

Roger ran up. "They've seen the signal. I saw the acknowledgment flag. They're coming back straight away," he said.

"Good. We've got something to show them," said Peggy, and she unwrapped the cross.

"Gosh," said Roger. "Where did you find it?"

Everyone pointed to the spot. Roger jumped down into the pit and picked up the hand shovel that Titty had dropped when she saw the cross.

"What are you doing?" asked Susan.

"Digging, of course," said Roger. "To see if there's any more."

For a moment, no one moved, and then the pit and the edges around it were filled to the very brim with members of the expedition hoping to make the next discovery.

No one met John and Nancy at the unguarded harbor. "It must have been important to send the signal with all of the intruders about. Probably native trouble," said Nancy, and they ran up the eastern path to the camp, but nobody was there, either.

"Lookout place?" said John, but they found only native intruders, waiting for Miss Britain's return run.

"The dig. Tomb robbers have struck," said Nancy, and they hurried down the western path, this time toward the sound of voices.

"What's all this?" asked Nancy, seeing no tomb raiders, but four people crowded into the pit and two more, sitting just atop it. "Have you found something?"

"Wonderful things," said Dorothea again, and Dick smiled at the words of the man who opened Tut's tomb.

Peggy climbed out of the pit, took Dick's handkerchief out of her pocket and gave it to Nancy, who opened it carefully, with John looking over her shoulder.

"Shiver my timbers!" said Nancy. "You don't mean it?"

"Dorothea and I found it," said Titty. "Just there, where Roger's digging." She pointed.

Nancy was every bit as amazed as Howard Carter had been on the day he opened the tomb. She had never really expected to find anything of value at the dig, was only happy that it kept the expedition rooted to the island. To actually find a relic, and one made of gold and silver at that was beyond even her imagination. Yet here it was. "It must be a piece of ancient Egyptian jewelry. Thousands of years old. Probably worn by a queen. Nefertiti or Cleopatra," she said.

"It's more likely to be a Viking cross," said Dick. "Captain Flint thinks they were here on the island once, or at least on the lake. I still don't believe the Egyptians ever got this far north."

But Nancy would not be turned aside by anything as inconvenient as facts or history. This was the Valley of the Kings and the treasures here were as Egyptian as the pyramids, themselves.

"Rubbish! Vikings. I don't believe they ever got as far as Egypt, much less Cairo. And the Valley of the Kings is miles south of there," she said. "But never mind that. Let's get back to digging and we'll see what else the pharaohs hid away in the tomb."

The digging went on until teatime when the group of hot, perspiring archaeologists trooped up the trail to the camp. For once, no one had disappeared from the dig to watch the motor-boat, and everyone was surprised to see the landing place empty and all of the native canoes gone.

"It will take a few minutes for the kettle to boil. Roger, run up to the lookout place and see where everyone's got to," said John.

"Aye, aye sir," said Roger.

He returned moments later. "They've all gone back to Cairo. Miss Britain, too," he said.

"We'll have a council during tea," said Nancy. "Everyone's here and we can spare a few minutes before we go back to the dig."

John called the council to order and stepped aside for Nancy.

"All right. First, hurrah and well done to Titty and Dot for breaking through into the chamber after years of trying," she said.

"Was it true that the pharaohs put a curse on the tomb, and whoever opened it would die horribly?" asked Titty.

"Most people don't believe in curses," Dorothea said, looking at Dick, who definitely did not and called them "rubbish." "But Lord Carnarvon was bitten by a mosquito in the tomb and died the next day, and others died, all very mysteriously."

"Perhaps now that we've opened the tomb and taken treasure away, there may be a curse here," said Roger, who sounded as if the curse might be more interesting than frightening.

"There's no curse, and anyway, I don't believe it is a tomb," said Dick. "We haven't found any walls or any sort of foundation. It may not have been a building at all. And the cross was just lying there when Dot and Titty uncovered it."

"Whether or not it's a tomb, you can't say we haven't found some sort of ancient relic," said Nancy. "Nobody really expected that."

"No. It is a relic, and it's ancient, all right," said Dick. "There's something there. The iron, the charcoal, and the cross. I think we've found a real archaeological site. Maybe an important one. It will probably need years of work and study."

"We've got to get word of the discovery back to civilization," said Titty. "The whole world must know."

"The expedition that found Tut's tomb had their very own journalist," said Dorothea. "A newspaper man. He was the only one they allowed near. He sent the word back to London when the tomb was opened."

"Well, we haven't got our own newspaper man, and we don't want the whole world knowing, anyway. That would bring the tomb robbers for certain, and we've enough natives coming to the island already."

"Captain Flint would want to know," said John. "He was jolly interested in the iron we found."

"We'll send a pigeon today. There's still plenty of time. Whose turn is it?"

"Homer," said Peggy. "He's the most reliable."

"What's the message to be?" asked Dick, who had a strip of paper for the bird's leg.

"Opened tomb today. Wonderful discoveries. Pharaoh's treasures. Cross of gold. (I know, it's not all gold; it sounds better…)" said Titty.

"That's got it. He'll come down straight away to see that," said Nancy.

"Perhaps we should be careful about saying too much," said John. "We wouldn't want the message intercepted."

"You're right. It's too much information. If something happened to Homer, the tomb robbers might learn of the discovery. We shouldn't say anything about a tomb, or pharaohs, either. 'Wonderful discoveries' is all right. A discovery might be anything," said Nancy.

"We can still tell them about the cross, too," said Dorothea. "And perhaps we shouldn't say anything about gold. We could just say, 'lovely cross.'"

"That's quite good," said Nancy. "Tomb robbers aren't interested in how things look, only what they're made of."

"Got it," said Dick.

Peggy and Roger took the paper to the stores tent where the pigeon cage was kept, and Peggy held the bird while Roger fastened the tiny roll to Homer's leg. They carried him to the lookout place, where Peggy released him. The pigeon circled the island twice, climbing higher into the clear, blue sky each time, and then headed off in a straight line toward Cairo.

"He'll be home in five minutes if he flies like that," said Peggy.

"In five minutes, the whole world will know," said Roger. "I say. There's a boat coming."

12

The pharaoh's curse

That boat, a motor launch with three people aboard, chugged steadily along the lake's eastern side, on a course that would take it only a few yards from the island's shore. Roger and Peggy watched as it passed the northern tip of the island, the man in the forepart looking up at them.

He was a big man, and rather round, with a red face and a white moustache with a tight mouth underneath that did not look as though it were used to smiling. He did not smile now. He wore a white yachting-cap and a blue jacket with a gold crest on the pocket. Behind him sat a police sergeant. The sergeant wore a dark blue woolen uniform tunic and looked very hot. They could not see if he was smiling, because he was mopping his face with a white handkerchief. The third man, at the boat's wheel, was one of the workers from the boatyard. He did not look in their direction and seemed to be aiming the boat at the landing place.

Roger and Peggy ran to the landing place to see if the launch was putting in to Wild Cat Island. It was, and the others came to the beach as the steersman put the motor into reverse, easing the launch's bow onto the pebbles.

The man with the yachting cap climbed down from the bow of the boat, muttering to himself about the "lack of facilities," and trying to keep his shoes from getting wet. The police sergeant followed. The steersman remained at the wheel.

"I'm Harold Winstead, chairman of the water speed record syndicate. I should like to speak with an adult if there's one present," said the yachting cap man.

"There isn't," said Nancy. "There's only the eight of us living here."

"Shocking. Completely unsupervised. Disgraceful. Well then, you appear to be the oldest, so I'll address this to you. There have been complaints lodged with the committee. Serious concerns that you may be putting yourselves and Miss Britain at risk. I've come to tell you that it must stop and it is going to stop."

"Complaints? Someone's complained about us? What have we done?" asked Nancy.

"On the lake in sailing boats during Miss Britain's speed trials. Dangerous condition should you lose control. Surely you can see that."

"But we've stayed clear of the course. We've been careful not to go near it when she's out here," said John.

"That isn't what we've been told. In fact, I myself observed you – one of you – sailing near the course, only this afternoon. Your boat had a white sail, and it passed fairly close to the committee boat at the northern end."

"That was my boat. Amazon. We've been sailing her here for years," said Nancy.

"Not anymore. Not while Miss Britain's doing her runs. We can't have any interference, and we can't risk any harm coming to you or the other young ones," said the man.

"All sailing boats are banned when Miss Britain's on the lake?" said Nancy.

"No, no, no. Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Only the ones operated by children. If there's a responsible adult aboard, someone who can be trusted, it's an entirely different matter. You're not competent, and that's all there is to it."

John felt his face burning, and his heart pounded in his chest. He saw the stricken look on Susan's face and saw Titty beginning to cry. Dick and Dorothea, both speechless and confused, stared at Nancy, waiting for her to say something.

Nancy, her face bright red, began to speak, but the yachting-cap man cut her off.

"I don't know what your parents were thinking, letting you go roaming unsupervised across the lake, but it's got to come to a stop," he said.

"Our parents trust us not to be duffers. They know we can sail Swallow and everyone will be safe," said John.

The yachting-cap man laughed, though this was an unpleasant sound that had no humor in it at all. "Hah! The sergeant there says that one of your boats sits idle for most of the year at a house near here. He tells me the builders delivered another one only a few days ago. You've had it for a week and we're supposed to believe you're fully qualified to sail it under these conditions? I hardly think so. At any rate, the point is moot. The rule stands and you'll abide by it or suffer the consequences."

A deathly silence greeted these words. Every member of the expedition felt the sharp sting of the accusation. All of them saw more of their dreams for these holidays slipping away.

"But we sail to the mainland for milk and the post, and to go… everywhere," said Nancy.

"Listen to me, girl! You'll not sail on the lake when Miss Britain is on it or we'll have the law on you. Have I made myself perfectly clear? This is for your own protection, but for everyone else's as well. As it is, you're a menace to yourselves, to Miss Britain, and all of the other boats on the water." He looked around at the stunned faces surrounding him. "Right, then. I'll be off. Miss Britain will be refitting tomorrow, so you're welcome to do as much sailing as you like. As for the day after or the next, well, you've been cautioned. I urge you to take it to heart. Good day." He turned and walked back down to the launch, climbing in and sitting with his back to them.

The police sergeant finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Miss Blackett. I know you can handle your boat well enough. I've seen you at it, many a time. But they've made the rule and you must follow, with everyone else. We'll have to hope he gets his record day after next."

They watched as the launch motored out of the little bay, everyone silent as it rounded the point and disappeared, the sound of her engine fading as the ripples from her wake washed up onto the pebbled beach.

The ban on sailing and the way in which it was delivered hit the captains of the three boats hardest and each handled it differently. Dick, who could only think about the sailing lessons he had promised to his parents, was shaken. He had been hoping for more practice before they arrived. He wondered if the committee would consider his mother and father, who knew almost nothing about sailing and were relying on him to teach them, "responsible adults." He saw John and Nancy and thought that he could not bear it if the new rule allowed him, the least experienced of the captains, to sail Scarab while they sat, almost prisoners, on the beach.

Susan said something to John, so quietly that only he could hear, but he shook his head and walked toward the harbor. John wanted to be alone, and more than that, he wanted to be alone in Swallow, where three years before, his father had trusted him to take his entire family on that first voyage of discovery to Wild Cat Island. He had not been a duffer then. He had brought everyone safely home, and done it again the next year and again the year after. He had taken all of them safely across the North Sea and sailed other small boats on strange and distant seas. He stood at the water's edge and looked at the little boat and thought that none of what the yachting-cap man had said was true. Another voice said to him, "But he believes it, and that's all that matters."

Nancy stood at the landing place, looking toward Dixons' farm over water that she had been forbidden to cross. For the hundredth time, she considered everything that had happened and went through the choices they had made. Should she have moved to Darien, or the Dog's Home or some island north of Rio? Should they abandon the dig and its discoveries? Would the others blame her for the disgrace of being banned from the lake? What should she do now to make it right, and was there anything at all that could make it right? She turned away from the water and walked toward the camp without seeing anyone else standing there.

"It's the curse," a horrified Dorothea whispered to Titty. "It's begun." Titty, who had watched John leave and seen the hurt on his face, now saw even worse on Nancy's. She felt herself begin to cry again and could only nod at Dorothea before she turned and fled to her tent.

They met again an hour later, when Susan, who knew what was needed to cheer a worried crew, called everyone for tea and "a ration of chocolate all around."

"It's almost like being really marooned," said Roger. "Only better, with chocolate."

"We have been marooned, almost," said Nancy. "But they've left us on our own island. It's not as if we'd been cast away on some deserted rock a thousand miles from home. We've got everything we need here, and we can still sail. He didn't say anything about rowing, so on the days when the Hated Enemy's out in Miss Britain, we'll just row it if we must leave the island."

"What about Darien?" asked Susan.

"Now that we've found the cross, it's no good talking anymore about moving to Holly Howe," said Nancy grimly. "We know for certain that there's treasure on the island, so we mustn't leave it unguarded, even for a moment. We'll post sentries at the dig whenever there's no one working, day and night. Watch and watch."

"I've got an idea," said Dick.

"What is it, Professor?"

"Well, no one but us knows about the discovery. And Captain Flint, of course, once the pigeon arrives," said Dick. "Couldn't we put up a tent over the site? A real one, not just the awning or the tarpaulin. Archaeological expeditions do it all the time, and we've brought the old tent from Beckfoot. Anyone who sees it will think someone's camping there and leave it alone. No one who doesn't know what's underneath would shift it to look, and we're the only ones who know."

"That's a brilliant idea," said Nancy.

"Is anyone going to sleep in it?" asked Roger, who thought he might volunteer.

"We can if we must, but it might be enough to rig the tent and make it looked lived-in," said Nancy. "We can't possibly shift the whole camp down there. This is the only place on the island where there's enough room for all the tents. But we can get one in there without any trouble at all."

"We can use the trees we've rigged the awning to," said John. "There's plenty of rope."

"And if we need more, we can get it in Rio, tomorrow," said Nancy. "Shiver my timbers, but we'll come home with treasures, yet."

13

Mutiny in Cairo!

A captain's log is more than a collection of notes and less than a journal or a diary. In it, the master of a sailing vessel must record everything that is important to the ship and the crew, and nothing more. Captain John's logbook entry for Swallow the next day captured the events perfectly without saying too much:

Day begins fine, with light easterly wind. A passage to Cairo by way of Holly Howe, with mails. Middle fine. Return passage with general cargo, in company with Scarab and Amazon (sailing shorthanded). Day ends dismal. Four hours under sail this day.

Titty and Dorothea took Swallow to Dixon's for the milk, while Dick and Nancy brought Scarab and Amazon around to the landing place, everything being readied for a fast departure as soon after breakfast as they could manage.

"I want to get the awning down and the tent up before we go," said Dick. "Then, if we leave, the tent will be sitting over the dig and if anyone else does come, they'll never suspect."

"Right. Let's get on it, and after that, we won't waste a second," said Nancy. "Everyone else bathe who's going to, while John and Dick and I rig the tent. We'll sail as soon as we're finished."

The tent worked out better than any had hoped, fitting almost perfectly above the excavation. "It's awfully close to the big hole left by the tree roots," said Nancy, as she stood back and looked it over. "No one would really camp that close to a pit like that, but if you stand on the other side, you can't tell the pit's there."

They brought a spare blanket and a candle lantern and Peggy and Titty contributed some clothes. "It looks exactly like someone's living here," said Titty.

"Good. We don't have to worry about it while we're gone," said Nancy.

They tried sailing in formation for a few minutes, then agreed to a race around Cormorant Island, up to the houseboat, then back to Wild Cat Island, finishing off the landing place where they had begun. Amazon, lighter, faster, and with a smaller but experienced crew, won by a hundred yards. Dick gave John and the Swallows some bad moments, leading for one of the legs, but misjudged his tack at the houseboat and ended up in irons long enough for Swallow to pull away for good.

"You were very good going downwind, with your centerboard up," said John, as they cruised together back toward the middle of the lake. "And you're faster on the reach, though I think if the wind were any stronger we'd be quicker there."

Dick, though disappointed to have come last, was secretly quite pleased to have completed the race without making any of the sorts of mistakes that would have marked him as a beginner.

Peggy was busy at the flag halyards, sending four hoists to the top of the mast, spelling out the words, "well done," though Amazon sailed only a few yards away. "No grown-up on the lake could have done any better," called Nancy. "Except Captain Flint, and he's been sailing forever."

These were meant to be words of encouragement from the admiral to the fleet, but the words "grown-up" only reminded everyone of the awful visit the day before.

"It doesn't matter how well it was done," said Susan. "We can't sail again tomorrow."

"But we'll be able to watch Miss Britain," said Roger.

"We should sail to Cairo today and bombard them," said Titty, as all three boats turned toward the north. "Sink their horrid fleet at anchor."

"We've got to stop at Holly Howe and check the post," said John, after a moment. "And perhaps mother and Bridget have come at last." This cheered Swallow's crew, but all three boats sailed north under a cloud.

In Rio Bay, rowing boats dotted the waters between the shore and the islands, and more were drawn up on the shingled beach. Nancy brought the fleet to a long pier where all three boats could tie up, bow to stern, and the crews all got their shore leave.

"Have you got the letter," Dorothea asked Dick, who patted his pocket. He had written his father the night before, telling him of the discovery of the cross, but leaving out anything to do with yachting-cap men or restrictions on sailing. He hoped that by the time his father got the letter, everyone else would have forgotten those restrictions and Miss Britain would have her record.

In the boatyard, Miss Britain lay on her cradle, uncovered this time, and shining in the sunlight. Gwendolyn and another launch belonging to the record committee had been tied up at the landing stage closest to the racing boat. There was no sign of the yachting-cap man who had come to the island the day before, or Sir Richard, though two men in white coveralls were sitting at the racing boat's stern, working on the propeller.

"No Hated Enemy," said Nancy. "All right. We'll split up here and meet in an hour at the shop that sells ices," said Nancy. "Peggy and I have to go to the ship chandlers. We need to replace the rope we used for the sun-shade over the dig and I'm going to get a tin of paint to do the secret marker in the harbor."

An hour later, they straggled in to the shop that sold ices and other treats, joining a crowd of natives who were all talking about Miss Britain and her record run the next day.

"I've forgotten something at the chemists," said Peggy. "I'll meet you at the boats." She left, but did not return to the chemist, going instead directly to the boatyard, where the men who had been working on Miss Britain had obviously finished and gone away, the racing-boat alone on the slipway.

She walked down the pier to Amazon, wishing she had stayed at the shop and gotten a strawberry ice, stowing the rope and the tin of paint under the forward thwart.

"Amazon ahoy," came a friendly voice from above her on the pier. From her place on the thwart, Peggy tilted her face up, squinting at the shape silhouetted against the sun.

"She's a lovely little ship," said the man, and as he moved out of the bright glare, Peggy could see that the pilot of Miss Britain was smiling down at her from the pier. "Are you her master?"

She shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. "My sister Nancy's captain," she finally managed.

"You'd be first mate, then, I reckon. You know, I learned to sail in a boat very like this one. Perhaps a bit smaller, but I've got fond memories of my time in her."

"Did you sail here, on the lake?" asked Peggy.

"I have done, yes, years ago, but when I was starting out with Endeavour – that was her name, after Cook's ship, you know – it was in the South. In the Thames Estuary, mostly, although I always imagined I was off to Australia or Tahiti."

"Endeavour's a marvelous name."

"I rather thought so. Long tradition of Endeavours in the RN. Amazons, too, for that matter. There's a destroyer with that name today, of course."

Peggy looked from the man to her boat. "Would you like to come aboard? There's room," she said.

"I'd love to, but if I do I'll want to go for a sail, and unfortunately I haven't got enough time for that, today. I've got to be getting back to my own ship. I saw the three of you coming into port, one white sail, one red, and one brown, and it brought back so many memories I had to come over for a closer look. Do you live on the lake or are you here on holiday?"

"Yes, er, no. I, or rather, we, my sister and I, well, and my mother, too, we all live here, except when we're away at school... Not mother, of course. School, I mean... At Beckfoot, across the lake, on the river." (Here, for some reason that Peggy could never explain thereafter, she gave the native name of Beckfoot's river, instead of calling it the Amazon. And then she said something even stranger.) "I'm Margaret. Margaret Blackett," said Peggy.

"Richard Fraser. Very pleased to meet you, Margaret. Speaking as someone who's only here for week or two this summer, I'd say you're jolly lucky, having this lake and such a fine ship to sail in. Is she easy to sail single-handed? You've only got the mainsail sheet to worry about and that centerboard, I suppose."

"Nancy and I almost always sail together, but one person can handle Amazon in a pinch. I've done it lots of times."

"It's always nice to have another set of hands, but I loved sailing alone in Endeavour. No centerboard, though. She was ballasted, with a keel, more like the one next to yours."

"Swallow," said Peggy.

"Yes. I imagine you can point Amazon a little closer to the wind with that centerboard down. You'll probably be faster on the upwind legs."

"We are, but we're almost even on the others."

"Well, I think you've much the better boat. A real beauty."

As Peggy was trying to think of something to say to this besides a polite "thank you," Nancy's cheerful shout came from the shore end of the pier.

"Hi Peggy, you donkey! Shake a leg and hoist the blue peter! We're ready to sail."

Leading a happy procession of mariners, some with parcels and bundles of ships' stores and other purchases, and all with ices, ginger beer, or both, Nancy came down the landing stage, stopping suddenly when she saw the man standing above Amazon.

Sir Richard took in Nancy and the others, now all bunched tightly behind their admiral. He looked around the pier. There was no one else in sight. "But who's Peggy?" he asked the mate of the Amazon.

Her cheeks burning fiercely, Peggy studied a spot she had suddenly noticed on her ship's rail. She rubbed it with her finger. It did not go away. "Another name. Rather silly, actually… Nancy calls me that… Sometimes…" said Peggy.

Sir Richard brushed a lock of blonde hair away from his eyes. "Hmmm. Well, I must say I do like Margaret. I have a cousin with that name, and I'm quite fond of her. And if I'm in port next time you call here, and if it's all right with your captain, I'll take you up on the invitation to come aboard." He held out his hand, reaching down toward Peggy, who stood and took it.

"Very nice meeting you, Margaret. It's always good yarning with a fellow mariner. Thank you for showing me your Amazon."

"Thank you, Sir Richard. You're welcome, Sir Richard. Anytime at all. My pleasure, I mean…" said Peggy. And then she curtseyed.

Now, anyone who has tried to do this before a critical audience will tell you how difficult it can be, and it is almost impossible to do properly in a small sailing boat, even one made fast securely to a pier. This is, perhaps, why it is seldom attempted, and certainly never by Amazon or other pirates. Nevertheless, Peggy's effort would have done credit to a lady in any fine drawing room, ashore or afloat, and was finished before she knew she had started.

Sir Richard smiled again and gave a small, but unmistakable bow. "Good day, then, my lady," he said, and winked.

He turned and walked up the pier, saying "Good afternoon" as he passed the surprised Nancy, her ice forgotten, and the others, who watched him go and then faced back to Amazon, where Peggy, not looking at any of them, was fastening the blue peter to the flagstaff and hoisting it to the masthead.

A brooding quiet fell heavily over the fleet, one of those awkward silences that always seem to last much, much longer than the other, cozier sorts. This one seemed to only to swell and become more uncomfortable as the seconds passed, but really, it only lasted for a few awful moments as everyone climbed into their ships and busied themselves with the stowage of cargo and with the many vital tasks that are required to ready a vessel for sea. None of these chores had ever seemed more vital than at that particular moment.

Captain Dick followed the lead of Captain John, issuing orders to his crew that both secretly hoped would keep everyone fully occupied until the signal to cast off came from the flagship. "Shake a leg, there, Roger. Get that line coiled." "Titty, stand by to make sail." "I say, Dot, could you get the flag bag out? We may be wanting to signal as soon as we sail." So, for the next few minutes, everyone had some job to do and a captain or a mate making certain that it got done properly before they started immediately on the next chore. But none could help listening, so everyone still heard.

"Margaret! Did you actually say that? Not Peggy. 'Margaret.' And a curtsey! You didn't even curtsey when the G. A. was here. But this, this, this awful water bug person stops off for a chat and you turn into Princess Margaret."

"I thought he was rather nice. He thought quite highly of Amazon. Said he'd had his own sailing boat, just like her, when he was a boy," said Peggy. She had finished untying the forward mooring line from the cleat on the dock, stowing the coiled rope in the bow before taking a seat on the center thwart. "He said her name was Endeavour, like Cook's ship."

But Nancy was not to be distracted by talk of other sailboats or famous explorers. "Nice? Nice? How can you say that? He and his lot have ruined the entire holiday for us, dashing back and forth in that beastly, buzzing beetle. First, we have to endure almost an entire fortnight under the thumb of the Great Aunt, and then, when that's finally done, we were going to have the fleet sailing every day and instead, we've been completely barred from the lake when he happens to be on it," said Nancy, her fierce whisper building in volume.

"He's not on it today, and we sailed up here without any trouble," said Peggy.

At this point, Nancy's face was even brighter than Peggy's, which is saying quite a lot, and Roger, his duties temporarily forgotten, was about to say something about that, but felt Titty's elbow in his side as he started to speak. If he had been able to finish, he would have said that her face was as red as the B flag, which they all knew was flown whenever loading or unloading explosives. No one needed a B flag to know that Amazon's crew was dealing with materials of the most dangerous sort.

"He's the Hated Enemy! And you did everything but simper!" said Nancy, her voice no longer even pretending to be a whisper. "'Yes, Sir Richard, no Sir Richard. You're welcome, Sir Richard.' That was positively disgusting. Shiver my timbers, but no Amazon Pirate ever behaved that way. An Amazon Pirate would have told him to take his nasty water beetle and go home."

Peggy, her ears burning, didn't look up, once again studying that small spot on the rail. "Why didn't you tell him that then? You're the Amazon Pirate."

Nancy's mouth worked a couple of times before she finally said, "You are one, too!"

Now, Peggy looked up. Now, she looked her captain directly in the eye. "Well, perhaps I don't want to be an Amazon Pirate today. Perhaps this isn't the time for pirates," she said, and she stood up.

It was no good anyone pretending any longer. Not just Roger, but everyone aboard both Swallow and Scarab all stopped whatever they had been doing and stared open mouthed as Peggy climbed out of Amazon, pausing for a moment on the landing stage to look around at all of them. Slowly and carefully, she took the red cap off of her head, and holding it in her hand, she walked up the pier, disappearing behind a big motor yacht, drawn up on its cradle in the boatyard.

"Jib booms and bobstays! It's a mutiny, that's what it is," said Nancy.

"How will she get back to the island?" asked Titty.

"For a Hated Enemy, he looked jolly friendly with her. Maybe he'll give her a ride in Miss Britain," said Roger.

"Shut up, Roger," said Susan in a whisper even fiercer than Nancy's had been.

John, who could no longer see Peggy and could not bear to look at Nancy, was about to offer one of his crew to help sail Amazon back to the island when Nancy spoke first.

She cast off the stern mooring line and pushed Amazon away from the pier. With the boat barely adrift, she moved to the halyard and began hoisting the sail "I'll sail her myself. I've done it lots of times," she said.

She didn't know and would never know that she'd used the exact words her mate had spoken to the Hated Enemy only a few minutes before.

14

The Hated Enemy's Plan

Cairo, the little town that had formerly been known as Rio and had another name as well, bustled with friendly natives that afternoon, everyone wearing happy smiles and pleasant faces. And why should they not? After all, the day was fine and fair, a perfect day to be on a lake in a boat, and many of the people had decided to take their hired boats and do exactly that. One face, however, was not at all happy, its owner sitting on a bench next to the road that ran next to the waterfront, waiting for something.

"Hullo, Peggy. I didn't expect to see you here this afternoon. Shouldn't you be sailing?"

Peggy looked up to see a familiar figure in a squashy hat standing above her.

"Hullo, Timothy," said Peggy. "No. I'm not sailing anymore today. Is Uncle Jim with you?"

"He was a moment ago. I've left him at the boatyard. The launch is ready and he's come across to collect it," said Timothy. He looked around. "Where are the others? There was a message yesterday afternoon from Dick. He said he had some questions. Couldn't quite make it all out. Something about a cross."

Before Peggy could answer or explain, another friendly voice sounded.

"View halloo! Ahoy, Mr. Mate! This is a surprise, finding you all here." Captain Flint walked up, a smile on his face and his hands full of papers from the boatyard. "We just got a pigeon from you yesterday and here you are. Stands to reason you'd be on the water today, I suppose. Couldn't ask for a nicer day to be under sail."

"Yes, it is, rather," said Peggy, thinking of Amazon, underway in the light breeze, the water bubbling cheerfully under her bow.

"Where's that pirate chieftain of yours and the others? Plundering the helpless village for supplies?"

"I don't know. Gone back to the island, I suppose," said Peggy, gazing off to the south. She could not see any of the fleet's sails among the other boats offshore.

Perhaps it was something in her voice, or perhaps it was the way Peggy looked away as she spoke, but it was at this moment that Captain Flint, though he did not know exactly what it might be, understood that something had gone seriously, even horribly wrong. He looked over at Timothy, who also seemed puzzled.

"I'll run over to the chemist and see if those things have arrived," said Timothy.

"Right. I'll be along shortly. Well, you couldn't ask for a better spot to spend some shore leave or a nicer day. I've been in some worse places, I can tell you. But, you're welcome to come along with us until Nancy gets back," said Captain Flint.

"Nancy's not coming back. At least I don't think so," said Peggy. She turned and walked with him up the street. Neither spoke for a few minutes as they wove through the crowds of people.

Captain Flint stopped at a shop and came out with two ices, handing one to Peggy. "Jumped ship or ship sailed without you?" he asked.

"Jumped ship," said Peggy, after a moment's thought.

"And now you're stranded in a strange port, hoping to get a berth with someone else going in the same direction? Catch up with your ship at her next stop?"

"I'm not sure anyone is going in that direction," said Peggy. She didn't look at Captain Flint.

"I'll be going that way myself, later this afternoon, so you're probably in luck."

Peggy shook her head. "I don't know if she wants me back," she said.

"You're not saying Nancy's marooned you here?"

"No. I came ashore on my own. It may be too late to go back."

"Hmmm." Captain Flint found his pipe and lit it, the smoke drifting away down the street. "Well, you can sign on with me for at least one part of the voyage. I'm going back across to Beckfoot. We'll get that far and we can sort out what to do after that."

Peggy didn't say yes, but she didn't say no, either, and Captain Flint nodded to her. "Now, what was that thing Dick mentioned in his dispatch?" he asked. "A cross, I think it was? Pity you can't get a bit more information on those pigeons' legs, but I suppose there's a limit to how much they can carry."

"It's not that," said Peggy. "Nancy was afraid that if the message was intercepted, the tomb robbers would find out about the treasure."

"Treasure? You mean you've found something more than the iron in that dig of yours? Is this the real sort of treasure or the Captain Nancy sort?" asked Captain Flint.

"The real sort," said Peggy, and she told him about the beautiful cross, its gold inlays undimmed by thousands of years of burial in the Egyptian desert. "Nancy said it must have belonged to Nefertiti or at least Cleopatra."

"That sounds more like Nancy," said Captain Flint, laughing. "But it's a real cross, not something Nancy or Roger made up and put in the ground, hoping some lucky digger would uncover it?"

"A real one. Dick said he thought it might be bronze, with silver and gold inlaid. The bronze and silver parts were a bit tarnished, but the gold was still shining once he cleaned off the dirt."

"Well, I'm jiggered. I would never have believed it. I can't say I completely believe it now. You wouldn't pull an old sailor's leg, would you?"

Peggy shook her head. "I've held it in my hand. It's only a little more than two inches end to end, but it's quite nice."

"Then I suppose it's time we spoke with that professor friend of mine. He's well up on the archaeology of the area. Viking history and what not. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he can tell us exactly what you've found and all about the people who left it there."

"It looks very old."

"A real Viking cross. I have to say, I'm looking forward to seeing it. Can't believe I've been sailing to that island for a hundred years and never found anything nearly as interesting as that," said Captain Flint.

"A hundred years?" said Peggy.

"Perhaps it's only been forty or fifty. Retired pirates lose track of time. Anyway, I'll give the professor a ring this afternoon and we can let Nancy know when he can meet with us."

"Dick's the Egyptologist for the expedition," said Peggy. "He should probably be the one to talk with the professor."

"Right. Egyptian treasures. But perhaps we should let the professor tell us which civilization produced it, rather than letting Captain Nancy do it," said Captain Flint.

They paused at the top of the street that led down to the lake. Captain Flint said he would go and telephone his friend and meet Peggy at the boatyard, where the launch was back in the water.

"I've got the launch again. Better than new. I'll give Timothy a tow back to Beckfoot. He's getting some carbide for the lanterns and we've got some blasting things on order. If they've come, we're going to see if we can shake loose more of that vein," said Captain Flint. "You mustn't tell Roger, of course. He'll only want to help, and Susan and his mother would both be very unhappy with me if they thought I'd been letting him blow things up, even if he wasn't one of them."

Peggy, who wasn't sure when or even if she would be seeing Roger again, said nothing.

"I was going to help Timothy carry our things up to the mine later this afternoon, but I'm bound for the houseboat this evening after supper. The island's not that much further, and you can sign on as mate for the voyage and tell Dick whatever I learn from the professor," said Captain Flint.

"I don't know if I am going back to the island," said Peggy, and it was the speaking of these words that instantly brought a rush of memories, a flood of emotions that washed over her and left her with her eyes burning and hot tears on both cheeks. She closed her eyes, but strangely, this only made the visions of summer days on Wild Cat Island, of pitched battles and nights in a tent under the stars more real and vivid.

Very clearly, almost as if she were there again, she saw herself returning to the island at the beginning of the holidays, jumping from the bow of Amazon onto the beach, hearing the crunch of the pebbles under her feet. She found the holes in the ground, exactly where they were when the tent poles and pegs were taken up the year before. She saw herself, marooned on the island when Titty captured Amazon and racing with Nancy to get back home in time to be called for breakfast. She heard the drumming of rain on canvas as she and Nancy and all the Swallows huddled in her tent as the storm raged around them, and felt Nancy's hand find hers as the thunder rolled and echoed between the lightning flashes.

When she opened her eyes again, Captain Flint was looking at her, his eyes almost as sad as she felt.

"I've got a few things to think about. I'd like to walk about a bit and sort it all out," said Peggy.

"I understand. We'll sail at two. We'll ferry you across if you like, but at least come down to see us off and get any messages. Now, where's that Timothy got to?" said Captain Flint.

Peggy left him at the chemist's, losing herself in a flock of natives, idling down the hill, back toward the waterfront. Standing on the shingle, she looked again over the open water to the south, but she saw no sails and wasn't completely sure what she would do if she had seen any.

Everyone seemed to be talking about Miss Britain, and the news that if the weather was favorable, and perhaps even if it were not, she would be back on the lake the next day.

"He's got everything sorted and ready to go," said one man.

"Sir Richard thinks that new propeller of his will give him five extra knots," said another. "You wouldn't think something that small could make so much difference."

"Five knots is all the difference he needs," said the first. "He jolly nearly had the record before. I've already put a pound on him doing it the next time."

"It's his last chance, isn't it?" said the second. "Tomorrow or never. You'll lose your money if he breaks down or can't finish."

As the two men drifted away, Peggy wondered what they had meant about tomorrow being Sir Richard's last chance. Was it possible that the motor-boat would be gone from the lake no matter whether it won the record or not? Was it possible that the expedition would return to normal after tomorrow? Though she had told herself that she would not go there, she turned toward the boatyard where Miss Britain rested on her cradle.

The usual crew of workers was spread out around the speedboat, two standing on the gently curving deck, where the tow of the boat's three seats had been removed and placed in front of the cockpit. As she watched, one of the men, in white coveralls and a red cap, not unlike the one in her own pocket, climbed down into the cockpit and removed the third seat. Sir Richard was nowhere to be seen. Peggy joined a group of about twenty natives who were watching the work. They, too, were talking amongst themselves about the prospects for tomorrow's run.

"Now then, Fred, hand me down them seats and we'll have the new ones in," said one of the crewmen standing next to the boat.

"Why are you changing the chairs?" asked one of the native spectators.

"Saving on weight. Sir Richard reckons we can lop fifty pounds off our tonnage, just on seats alone," said the worker. He passed a new seat, this one made of woven wicker, up to the men on deck. It was obviously much lighter than the one they had just removed.

"We've cut in other places, too. Only loading enough petrol to get us one leg at a time. We'll put in more in between runs. And took out some of the ballast. A quarter ton lighter all round. She'll be a bit flightier, harder to handle, but Sir Richard's just the helmsman for that job."

"I say, Fred, you're his engineer, and you were out there yesterday. Tell us, was it harder to control with the smaller rudder you put in?" asked one of the men in the crowd, and Peggy saw that he had a reporter's notebook and pencil to record the response.

The crewman in the white coveralls paused from putting the seat down into the cockpit. He took off his cap and ran his hand through his red hair. "Aye, she is, and no doubt of it," he said. "Harder it is to bring her head around, even when we're making less than fifty. At one hundred, it's impossible, so no use even trying. We cut six inches from the rudder length and two from the width, which is a square foot less to drag through the water, but it makes her a real witch to try and turn. And that new spinner, two inches bigger round, that's more power going into the water."

Everyone looked at the shining bronze propeller under the stern. Peggy thought it seemed awfully small to push the boat at such speeds.

"We'll have five knots more tomorrow. Keep her in a straight line back and forth, we'll have the record for certain," he said.

"Is it true that tomorrow's the last day for the try?"

The crewmen looked at each other, one shrugging. "No secret. Sir Richard's got to get back down south. This'll be our last go for this year, so it's tomorrow or bust."

"Doesn't the extra speed and the smaller rudder mean it will be more dangerous for you out there, tomorrow?" asked the reporter. He waited with his pencil over the notebook, watching the man called Fred for the answer.

"There's always risk. Every time we go out," said the engineer. "I won't lie to you about that. We could have a fire; that aeroplane petrol will flash in a second. We could strike something afloat; at speed like Miss Britain's, we'd be broken up before we knew it had happened. We'd not be the first to try for speed to come to a bad end on the lake, and every man aboard Miss Britain knows it. But she's a good girl, and it won't matter if we've made changes, except to make her faster."

This caused a murmur of excitement in the crowd, and looking around, Peggy knew that everyone who could manage it would be out on the water the next day. She watched for a few more minutes and then walked to the end of the pier, where the Beckfoot launch, trim and shining in her new paint, lay rocking gently against her fenders. She climbed into the cockpit aft and waited in the sunshine for Captain Flint to come and take her home.

15

Alone in the Dark

There were no native intruders on the island that afternoon, but if any had gone ashore, they would have said that everything looked just as it had on other days. There were the same white tents around the fireplace, where a kettle was just coming to a boil. The same three sailing boats lay in the secret harbor, their sails neatly stowed. The same white tent covered the archaeological site, though no one was digging inside it. The members of the expedition carried supplies from the harbor to the camp and busied themselves with other tasks, just as they had done on the day before and all the other days since they arrived on the island. But today, there was a difference.

"It's the curse," Dorothea said. "We've opened the tomb and now the curse has fallen upon all of us."

"Don't be silly," said Dick. "There's no such thing as a curse."

"Everyone says Tut's tomb was cursed. And the finders all died horrible, mysterious deaths," said Dorothea.

"Well novelists might believe in curses, but scientists don't. And anyway, I don't think the dig is a tomb at all, no matter what Nancy says," said Dick.

"Lord Carnarvon died. Only a few weeks after he entered the tomb. Dot said a mosquito bit him. It all sounds very mysterious," said Titty. Dorothea nodded solemnly.

"I think it's all rubbish. And Howard Carter, the man who actually opened the tomb is still alive. Father's seen him in London. You'd think he'd have been the one to die mysteriously if there were a curse," said Dick.

"Nobody's dying, exactly," said Titty. "But you simply can't say they aren't any problems."

Dick had nothing to say to this. There might not be a curse, but there were real problems. They had been banned from sailing and worse, called duffers by a man from the government. "A menace to yourselves and others," the yachting-cap man had said, and though none really believed it, the government man said it only hours after Dorothea and Titty found the cross.

And then the awful incident in Cairo, the angry words spoken that could never be taken back, and Nancy, sailing Amazon to the island, alone in a boat that had always before held two. In the brief time since they had first passed the cross back and forth between them, less than one full day, the expedition had been broken apart and the summer holidays seemed to have been completely ruined. There might not be a curse, Dick thought, no, there could not be a curse. But even to Dick, it felt like one.

True to his word, Captain Flint and Timothy came down the pier shortly before two, both carrying packages that they stowed in the launch. He made a show of hiding one of the packages away where Peggy couldn't see it, and she asked him what it was while Timothy walked back to the gray rowing boat, tied up closer to shore.

"Never you mind. It's supposed to be a surprise and it won't be if I tell you about it. Now, hop out and cast us off, mister mate," said Captain Flint. "Timothy'll row out and meet us offshore and we'll pass him a towline."

The launch's motor rumbled to life and Captain Flint pointed the bows toward the mouth of the bay,

"I spoke with the professor. He hasn't changed a bit, apparently. He'd like to see us tomorrow. Can you sail up to Rio – Cairo, I mean – from the island later in the morning and we'll call on him at his house?"

"I don't think so," said Peggy, who explained about the sailing ban, describing the official visit of the yachting-cap man the day before. "It was horrid. He called us duffers and said we shouldn't be allowed on the lake at all. And anyway, none of us are to sail when Sir Richard is on the water. And he's going out tomorrow. I heard his crewman say so. It's his last day, and he's going to get the record or bust."

Captain Flint puffed on his pipe, quiet for a minute. "Duffers. I don't expect Nancy or John took that too kindly," he said finally.

"Nobody did. Nobody liked it. It's spoiled the holidays," said Peggy.

"I hope Nancy didn't make him walk the plank or do any of those things she saves for her special enemies."

Peggy laughed but stopped quickly. The memory was too painful. "I think she wanted to, but there was a police sergeant there. If not for him, she might have tried," she said.

"Ah. Well, better not mess about with the law. Every pirate knows that. Come to a bad end, in chains at Execution Dock. I've already accepted the professor's invitation. I'll see what I can do about the sailing ban, but if it's only for tomorrow, that's not so bad. I could take Dick or Nancy up there in the launch or give them a tow. The police couldn't mind that."

"They said if there were a responsible, grown up person in the boat, someone who knew what they were about, it would be different."

Captain Flint puffed on his pipe a bit faster. "Who was this fellow? Not one of Sir Richard's crew, was it?"

"No. He's not a real seaman like Sir Richard," said Peggy. "More of a yachting-cap sort of person. I thought it was jolly cheeky of him since Nancy and I were born on the lake and lived here all our lives. I'd never seen him here before."

"Yes, I dare say it sounded even cheekier coming from the sort of person who couldn't handle Amazon in anything more than a flat calm and doesn't know a sheepshank from a sheepskin," said Captain Flint. "Here's Timothy. Toss him that line and we'll get underway."

At Beckfoot, Peggy went upstairs to her room, leaving Captain Flint to explain the unexpected homecoming to her mother. "I'll tell her you're stopping with me for the afternoon. She'll understand, and we'll see what happens after that," he had said in the launch. Peggy thought that she, too, would like to understand, and looked out the window at the river, wondering how she would ever get back to the island, the only place she wanted to be.

Captain Flint returned from the mine in time for supper, which was eaten quickly. "I'd like to get back to the houseboat before it gets too dark. That will be even harder with a stop at Wild Cat Island," he said. Peggy said nothing. He lit his pipe and looked out the window, where the long evening shadows covered the lawn to the boathouse.

"And I'll let you in on a secret. Timothy and I've been working on a little surprise for the attack I know you've been planning. A carbide cannon. Adding a few extra guns to our broadside, since we're expecting to be attacked by a bigger fleet this year," he said.

"What's a carbide cannon?" asked Peggy.

"It's very simple. It's not much more than a tube. You put some water in it and add a bit of calcium carbide, the same as you would with a miner's lamp. Here, though, they mix and make the acetylene gas in a chamber. Touch it off with a spark and it makes a terrific bang," said Captain Flint. "Much better than that Roman candle someone let off on my cabin roof that summer."

"Why are you telling me about it, if it's supposed to be a surprise?" said Peggy. "You know if you're to be our enemy for the battle I'll only tell Nancy and the others."

"I was rather hoping you'd say that," said Captain Flint, smiling at her. "Now, let's load up the launch and be on our way."

Peggy's second thoughts started before they'd even gotten close to Rio, and she shared these with Captain Flint, who stood at the wheel, keeping his eyes on the few small boats that were hurrying home before darkness fell. She spoke quietly, her voice barely carrying over the soft chugging of the motor, but he could hear the doubts and the fears clearly enough, together with a story about racing-boats and watching daring and handsome young men risk everything for a world record. When her voice trailed away, he finally spoke.

"That would be a lot for any person to worry about," said Captain Flint. "But what is the biggest thing that's troubling you?"

"What if they don't want me, now that I've jumped ship?" she asked. "What if Nancy's too angry with me to take me back?"

"Her being angry would be the worst of it," Captain Flint said. "Now that they've completely done away with flogging and keelhauling. Even marooning's frowned upon these days, so she's not going to do that. And look here, you know Nancy better than anyone. Don't you think she'll be as afraid of losing her shipmate as you are of losing yours?"

"I suppose so. But I'm the one who walked away from her. Jumped ship," said Peggy.

"And now you're coming back. Bringing important information about the enemy fleet, and about the record try. Nancy will be jolly glad to hear Sir Richard's going away for good after tomorrow. Yes, you jumped ship, but you came back the first chance you got. That counts for something."

"I don't know," said Peggy. "I don't think I could bear to never sail with her in Amazon again."

"It's not going to come to that. We'll see, but I think I'm right. Let me talk to her first," said Captain Flint.

A few minutes later, the launch nosed into the beach, coming to a gentle stop against the pebbles. Titty and Dorothea had come down from the camp to greet them, and both looked happy to see Peggy. She waved from the saloon. "Do you want me to wait here while you talk to Nancy?" she asked Captain Flint.

He was already moving forward, getting ready to jump down from the bow. "Go ashore. Remember, it's your island, too," he said. "But stay close to the boat until I've had a chance to size up the situation."

Nancy had seen the launch from the camp, and saw that Captain Flint was not alone. She turned and walked away toward the harbor, taking the path that led past the dig, knowing he wouldn't be far behind.

He found her exactly where he expected her to be, sitting at Amazon's tiller. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?" he asked. Nancy said nothing, but shrugged and pointed to the middle thwart, watching him climb on board.

He also said nothing, lighting his pipe and tossing the match into the water. Past the rocks at the harbor's mouth, the southern sky darkened, the first stars shining faintly on a backdrop of blue velvet.

"She's come back, has she?" said Nancy.

"She's come home, yes. She said this was where she wanted to be. With you and the others," he said.

"Hah! That's not what she said this afternoon. 'I don't want to be an Amazon Pirate,' is what she said, and then she walked away from us."

He heard the hurt in her words and felt her grieving, and though he couldn't see her face clearly in the deepening twilight, knew that the wounds were real. He didn't say anything for a moment, "Hmmm. Yes. I know you weren't ready for that, and perhaps neither was Peggy, but I know exactly how you must feel," he said.

Nancy slapped the tiller. "No, you don't! How can you say that? How can you know what it feels like? What I'm feeling!" she said fiercely.

Once again, he was silent, not answering the angry questions immediately, and when he did, he looked away from her to the north, toward the camp where a spoon clattered against a pot and someone laughed before the silence fell again. He sighed. "I know because it's happened to me. There was someone I grew up with, someone I cared for, just as you do for Peggy. We had camped here on this island, and skated on the lake and climbed all these hills together. We sailed in our own boat here, to this very spot. I can close my eyes now and see him sitting there, just where you're sitting as if it were only yesterday. We thought it would never end. We promised each other that we'd go on and on that way, forever. And then something happened. It seems as if it was no time at all and he was gone, and he never came back."

Now it was Nancy's turn to be silent, and it seemed to grow much darker in the little harbor before she finally spoke. "Father," said Nancy. "You miss him, too."

"Every day. He was my best friend, just as Peggy is yours. We did everything together and when he married my sister I had the brother I'd always wanted. I think of him every day. And there've been others over the years; friends who saw me through some bad moments or shared a laugh or part of a voyage somewhere and then went on ahead without me. It happens in life. So, yes, I know what you're feeling. You're sad and you're angry, and you're frightened because you've seen something you love – someone you love – changing, or maybe leaving you behind. That's more than enough for some people to bear, even an Amazon Pirate."

There was a long silence, the night fully closing around them, the smoke from his pipe drifting away from the boat and the two still figures in it. "What can I do about it?" asked Nancy finally, and this time, he answered right away.

"I'll tell you what needs to be done, and I won't pretend that it's easy or it's safe. It might be the hardest thing you've ever tried. You've got to let go a little bit. Hope that when she walks away, as people always do, she looks back each time and sees all the good things she's leaving, and always wants to come home again," he said.

"What if she doesn't? What if she goes away and never comes back?" Nancy said this without looking at him and finished in a voice barely loud enough for him to hear it. "Father did."

"Oh, Nancy, no. It's different. You can see that, can't you? If Bob had been given the choice, he would have come back to you and Peggy and your mother. He told me that there was no place he would rather be than here, with you. If he'd gotten the chance, he would have come back, always, and he'd be the one sitting here with you tonight, telling you the same thing I'm telling you. Sometimes, even though you may desperately want to, even though you want to with all your heart, you can't go back. I know that's how it was for your father, but not with Peggy. She's still your sister and your best friend, and she came back as soon as she could. If you give her the chance, she always will."

"I suppose so," said Nancy. "But, what if she decides later that she was wrong and wants to go away again?"

"I don't know what's going to happen. Wish I did. I think I did all right, writing that book about my ancient history, but I'm not very good at predicting the future. Wish I were. I know this; you've got a chance tonight to turn Peggy away or to welcome her home. If you turn her away, everything will change in that one instant for both of you, and you'll both be sorry about it for as long as you live, so now it's up to you."

Nancy Blackett's Uncle Jim stood and stretched, and stepped out of Amazon onto the shore. He looked at the pipe in his hand. "Gone out," he said. "Peggy's got some important intelligence for you from Rio. I think you'll be happier when you hear it. I'm going to take you or Dick or whoever wants to go to meet my professor friend tomorrow afternoon. Now, I think I'll go up to the camp and have a look at this cross thing you've found."

"I'll be there in a moment," said Nancy.

"Good night, then, Captain," said Captain Flint.

"Good night, Uncle Jim," said Nancy. "And thank you for everything."

"As someone I know might say, shiver my timbers, but what else am I supposed to do?" said Captain Flint, and he laughed, leaving her alone in the dark with her thoughts.

Nancy came up the path a few minutes later, seeing the members of the expedition gathered around the campfire in a silent circle. At the landing place, Captain Flint stood at the wheel of the launch. She knew he was waiting to see if he would be carrying away any passengers that evening, and she waved at him. "We'll see you tomorrow," she called.

He raised a hand, and then pushed the throttle forward, the water bubbling at the launch's stern as she backed into the bay. Nancy looked around the clearing, counting the faces by the light of the fire. She saw the anxious expressions, the worried looks and the doubts; on her sister's face most of all. "Right, then. We're all here," she said briskly. "Peggy's come back from Cairo with important information she spied out from Miss Britain. Secret intelligence from the enemy camp," she said, turning to Peggy, who looked surprised and flustered, all at once.

"Well, don't just stand there, out with it, you mutton headed galoot," said Nancy, and she smiled.

Peggy told of what she had heard at the boatyard, that tomorrow would be Miss Britain's last on the lake this year, that if the conditions were right, she should get her record and go home. She said that Captain Flint had let slip the secret of his carbide cannon, and Dick explained how it worked as they thought about the great sea battle that was to come.

There was no more talk of mutinies in Cairo or of curses or threats by natives in yachting caps, only of things to be done when the lake was their own once more. It wasn't all right, but everyone believed that it might soon be all right again, which is the next best thing, and after the lights went out they heard Nancy laughing at something Peggy said, which was even better.

16

More precious than gold

"It's perfect for him," said Nancy. "And rotten for sailing, but if this really is the last day, he couldn't have asked for a better one."

She was talking about the weather, mostly, which was wonderfully clear and mild, with only a light wind from the east to stir the placid waters of the lake. There was enough of a wind for sailing, but only just, and not enough to throw up even the smallest of waves that would keep Miss Britain in her cradle at the boat yard or slow her down if she did come out.

John and Titty rowed across to the Dixons' farm for the milk, coming back under sail, but creeping along as the morning warmed. Peggy and Susan tidied the camp, moving everything into the tents as they'd learned to do when the natives were crowding ashore and tramping through the campsite to the lookout place.

Dick wrapped the piece of iron in a cloth and made certain the silver cross was safe in its bag. "You'll be the captain of a treasure galleon, sailing back from the New World, loaded with silver plate," said Dorothea, watching him. "Or an English buccaneer, her hold filled with tons of booty taken from the Spaniards you've bearded in their dens."

"Only a couple of pounds, but that's heavy enough," said Dick.

"You'd never know, though, just looking at it, wrapped up as it is. It might be bullion and plate. Gold, mined by native slaves, put aboard the treasure ships, then captured by the corsairs," said Dorothea. "Silver, from the mines of Peru, carried across the Andes to a treasure port and taken around the world to Spain."

"Archaeological artifacts," said Dick. "And I'll be jolly glad when they're back here at the dig." He carried the two bundles down to the landing place where Scarab had been drawn up onto the beach, stowing them under the stern thwart.

Nancy had checked on Amazon, and then the excavation site, making sure that any native who strayed close to the secret harbor or the even more secret lost tomb would see nothing more than a sailboat

Roger came down from the lookout place to report that the first boats were on the water. "There's no sign of Miss Britain, but every other boat on the lake is coming this way," he said.

"If you're going to sail at all, you'd better go now, before the biscuit box comes out," said Nancy.

Scarab sailed beautifully on the favorable wind, an easy reach to the mouth of Houseboat Bay, where they saw Captain Flint, turning toward Cairo in the Beckfoot launch. He waved back but did not slow to wait.

"He said last night he needed petrol. He'll probably put some in and be there, waiting for us," said Dick.

Susan watched Dick and Dorothea carefully for a few minutes but saw that Scarab's captain and crew had things under control. She and Titty turned to acting as lookouts, trying to avoid the dozens of boats of every kind that poured out of Rio Bay.

"We should bear away to the east," said Susan. "We need to stay well clear of all these rowing boats."

Dick made the course change, which took Scarab safely along the eastern shoreline but made them later getting to the quay in Rio where Captain Flint waited.

"Don't worry, we've plenty of time," he said, taking the painter from Titty and making it fast to a bollard on the dock. "Who's coming with me to the professor's?"

Susan said she and Titty were going to pick up supplies they had ordered from a shop the day before. "Just the two of us," said Dick, pointing to Dorothea.

Captain Flint's professor lived in a vine-covered cottage only a short walk from Cairo's waterfront. The door opened and a small, round man in a white beard and a brown jacket stood in the entryway. "Jim Turner! I'd have known you at once, even after all these years," he said. "Come in, come in. And your young friends, as well. Welcome."

Dick and Dorothea followed Captain Flint inside, both feeling oddly cramped and a bit out of place after living for so many days surrounded only by tent canvas and the trees of Wild Cat Island. The professor led them through the house to his study. Through the window behind the desk, they could see a broad lawn, sloping down to the lake.

"Have a seat, Jim, have a seat, and tell me about your latest travels. Where was it this time? Peru? The Baltic? Lovely. I want to hear all about it, but first, introduce me to these young people. Friends of those harum-scarum nieces of yours, I'll wager."

Dick and Dorothea looked at each other. Not for the first time, they marveled that the reputations of Nancy and Peggy had traveled so widely around the lake.

"Callum, eh?" said the professor, when Dick introduced himself, adding that his father was an archaeologist. "I know his work well, lad. Anyone in the field would, of course. You've got an interest in science, then, and you certainly come by it honestly. Where is your father these days?"

"At university. Grading examination papers. But he and mother are coming to the lake in a few days."

"Splendid! I'll expect you to bring them by. Love to finally meet him. Both of your parents, naturally. I've got a few questions for him about that dig near Cairo, but what is this treasure you've discovered here amongst our own ancient hills?" asked the professor.

"I'm not quite sure. We, er I… My friends and I, we think it might be something religious, or possibly some jewelry. We wanted to know how old it was, and who might've made it. We were hoping you might be able to tell us," said Dick, and he opened the bag, taking the cross from its paper wrapping. He handed it to the professor, who pulled a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket and looked closely at the cross.

"Ah, yes, yes. Very nice. Very nice indeed. A religious artifact or jewelry, you said? Spot on, on both counts; you've got your father's talent, but I think you'll be surprised by the rest of the story." The professor turned the cross over and peered at the underside, then at the gold inlay on the face.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful. The cross shape has religious significance, of course. These were Christians and they showed their faith in their metalwork, even in their hardware. And it is jewelry of a sort. But where do you think it might have been worn?" The professor smiled at each of them in turn.

"Perhaps as a necklace," said Dorothea. "But it seems a bit large."

"No, I'm afraid not. This, young lady, is a harness fitting, connecting two of the pieces of a bridle, probably. It's jewelry, yes, but jewelry for a horse."

The professor demonstrated how the cross would have lain against the horse's jaw, linking the leather straps. Seeing the look on Dorothea's face, he said, "Come, come. You mustn't be at all disappointed. It really is quite a lovely piece, and the fact that it's silver with gold facings makes it even more special. I've never seen one with gold trim before. It means it would have belonged to someone of very high rank, perhaps even the Viking chieftain himself."

Dorothea had been thinking of how disappointed Nancy would be to learn that the beautiful cross she had secretly pictured on a maiden from ancient times had actually been nothing more than fancy gear for a horse. She cheered up a little at the professor's words. The horse might have belonged to a Viking chieftain, and the cross, therefore, might have been the chieftain's as well. She saw the outlines of a story, the Viking's war steed, charging into battle, his silver harness flashing in the sunlight.

Captain Flint took the cross and studied the back, where the points that had attached it to the leather straps must once have been. "So, you think it was made by the Vikings?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, definitely." The professor nodded. "Around 1000 or so A.D., I'd say. Perhaps a hundred years after that. Remarkable. I know you, Jim, you'd love to think they got the silver, here, too, but I'm sorry to disappoint you. They might have fashioned it here, but I'm sure they got their silver itself from the continent. They were raiders, you know, so it was probably stolen from some merchant in France or Spain, or even Italy or Africa. They traveled widely, our Norsemen."

"Africa. As far away as Egypt?" asked Dorothea.

"I suppose it's possible. Or, they might have traded for it. Possibly with the Khazars, in Eastern Europe. It wouldn't have been mined around here. Nobody's found any gold or silver mines in this part of the world. Well, you're a mining man, I don't have to tell you that, do I, Jim?"

Captain Flint smiled at Dick, both remembering the hunt for gold on the fells the summer before, and the discovery of the ore that Timothy was trying to mine at that very moment. "No. I've always thought the Vikings came for farming and timber. It makes sense that they would have stayed here for the iron. They might have taken copper out as well," he said.

"I'm sure you're right about the farming, and perhaps about the iron, too," said the professor. "Where was it that you found it, exactly?"

But Dick, sworn to absolute secrecy, did not want to say, and Dorothea, afraid for a moment that Dick might forget, started to say something to stop him. The professor laughed. "Don't tell me your secret, but if you could describe the place in general terms, that would be most helpful. It makes a difference. If you found it on a hilltop, that might mean something completely different than if you'd found it on a riverbank."

"Near the water," said Dick. "Very near, in fact. Almost at the edge."

"That would be right for a settlement. They'd have wanted the water close by. Probably not a burial site, but habitation of some kind. It doesn't show any sign of damage from fire. It's in remarkably good condition. Have you found anything else? Nails would tell a story. Fittings for a boat, that sort of thing."

"Nothing like that so far," said Dick.

"Your bloom," said Captain Flint. "Don't forget that."

"Yes," said Dick. "A piece of iron slag, or Mister Turner thinks it might be a bloom from a forge. It weighs about four pounds. It's not nearly as nice as the cross, but would you like to see it?"

"Absolutely," said the professor, watching as Dick drew the iron from the bag, unwrapping the cloth around it. "Ah, yes. You're quite right, Jim, about it being a bloom, and that settles the question once and for all. A forge it is. Nothing but a forge or a smelter would explain this. How far was the cross from the bloom?"

"Five feet, six inches," said Dick.

"Got it down to the inch, eh?" laughed the professor. "You're your father's son, all right. Doing this dig properly, I can see. And the cross, was it above or below the iron?"

"At the same level. About a foot below the surface."

The professor gazed up at the ceiling, muttering to himself and tugging at his beard. "Almost a thousand years. That would be just about right," he said finally. "I think you've found something rather important. Uncovering a real Viking forge could fill in some big gaps in what we know about their society."

"What sort of gaps?" asked Dick.

"What ore they were using. That would be something worth knowing. It would be immensely important. The Vikings typically used bog iron, the deposits that they found in peat bogs. They were known for it. Almost all of the smelters we've looked at used that sort of ore."

"How does the iron get into a bog?" asked Dorothea.

"Carried in the water. Deposited over millions of years, just settling there, waiting for some Viking chap to come along with his smelter. This is probably from bog iron, but what if we found it came from haematite? Wouldn't that change the history books?" said the professor.

"But what is haematite?" Dick asked, writing the word in his notebook beneath 'bog iron.'

"Iron ore," said Captain Flint. "The best there is. Not a lot of it around, but it's been mined in the north for over a hundred years."

"Exactly," said the professor. "What if this piece Dick's found were to tell us the Vikings had discovered haematite and learned how to mine it nine hundred years ago? It wouldn't be as if we'd uncovered the Valley of the Kings or Tut's tomb, of course, but it would be jolly important, and it would be our history. Here, in Britain."

Dick saw at once what the professor was suggesting. The discovery of the cross was nice, it was a thing of beauty that people could marvel at and even cherish, but the iron was what archaeology was all about. This was something that people could learn from and teach about, something that could change the way people looked at history. He knew that Dot and the others would not understand this, but he looked at the piece of iron with new respect.

"Right, well, you'll want to know what to look for, and you'd obviously like to know more about what you've already found," said the professor. He stood up and crossed to one of the shelves. "Here, let me find some pictures. That always helps. This one," he said, pulling a thick book from a shelf. "And this."

In a moment, all four stood at the desk, their heads almost touching as they bent over the open book, the professor's finger tracing over drawings of Viking metalwork. "Now here's something from a century or so later," he said, flipping to another picture. "I've got one of these pieces here." Soon, they were comparing artifacts the professor had acquired in his studies, each with a story about where it had been found and what it meant. Dick asked a dozen questions, each one prompting the professor to open another book or hurry off to find a relic that might provide an answer.

Dick opened his notebook and began copying pictures, sketching diagrams of Viking forges, of Viking arms and armor, wrought iron creations, and the fittings for Viking ships.

"An island, you say," said the professor. "That would work very well for our Norse friends. Wood and water close at hand, and everything else you needed available by boat. And if they were pulling haematite from the fells around the lake, lugging it about in a boat is much easier than carrying it around on your back, or even managing a horse. An island would be perfect, and best of all, it's easily protected."

"The same idea as a crannog," said Captain Flint.

"Precisely, Jim. A crannog's nothing more than an artificial island, after all, built for defense. If you had a perfectly good island already, you wouldn't need to go to the trouble of building the crannog. They're more common in Scotland, but there's evidence of them in this area."

"Would they have put a forge or a smelter on an island?" asked Captain Flint.

"Possibly, possibly. You know how important those forges were for the Norsemen. Copper and silver were wonderful; they were most happy to have it, and of course, their work in it was outstanding, as you can see in the cross, here. But iron, now iron was essential. Iron was the tool they used to shape wood and grow their crops. Iron was the nails and bolts and fastenings that held their houses and their ships together. Iron was their arms and armor. If you were a Viking, iron was simply everything. Copper and silver and gold were merely the icing on the iron cake. You see, Viking life, not even the Vikings themselves, could have been possible without iron."

"No raiding or exploring or settling in Iceland or Greenland or Britain without it," said Captain Flint.

"No, and no raiding anywhere else, either. For that, you need weapons and some reliable means of getting about, and for exploring you need even more sturdy transportation. Iron gave both to the Vikings. Without it, without their forges, they'd never have gotten out of Denmark, and the world would be forever changed."

"Gosh," said Dick. "What would a forge have looked like? If we were to find traces of it."

"Some were quite small. The Vikings were rovers, of course, and they moved from place to place, and only needed to bring along their ironworking tools and a few other things. The bellows and the bellows stone; can't get much done without those. We think some of these small forges could be carried in a large box. There might have been one on each of the larger Viking longships. The more permanent places on land, somewhere they might have settled, there you may find bricks or the bellows stone. That would seal it."

"There might be slag nearby," said Captain Flint.

"Slag, yes. Not a heap, but the waste from a permanent forge or smelter wouldn't be far away, although they might have just dumped it in the water."

The professor dragged more books off the shelves, the stack on the table growing as Dick traced out more sketches, writing notes and trying to keep up with the professor's explanation. In this most pleasant and quite educational way, an hour slipped past, and then two, and when Dick looked at the clock on the desk, he was surprised to see how much time had gone by. And where Captain Dick Callum of the sailing vessel Scarab and Wild Cat Island had once been uncomfortable on coming into the grand house, now Dick Callum, student, scientist and archaeologist felt sorry that it was time to leave.

"Keep digging!" said the professor, showing them to the front door. "And call on me if you need any help or advice. If you don't mind, I'm going to mention this to a few colleagues, but I don't think my opinion's going to change. I'll see if I can find some other examples for you to look at. It would be simply splendid if we found out this came from haematite. It would rewrite history."

"I expect that's given you quite a lot to think about," said Captain Flint quietly, as they walked back toward Rio Bay.

"Yes. He made a very good point at the end. Nancy's been saying all along that our dig is a pharaoh's tomb. That can't be true, of course. Not here. It's just Nancy, being Nancy. She could have been right that it was a tomb, even a Viking's, but I don't believe it's a gravesite at all. I think it might be the place where the Viking's had their forge or their smelter, and the professor thinks so, too."

"Yes. I think you might be right. Both of you. If you keep digging, you're likely to find out for certain. He definitely told you what to look for," said Captain Flint.

Dick stopped suddenly, looking back at the professor's house. "Gosh, we were so busy talking about the iron that I've completely forgotten to ask him how much the cross is worth. I'm sure Nancy and the others will want to know. She's bound to ask me. You should have reminded me, Dot."

"I didn't think of it," said Dorothea.

Captain Flint laughed. "That exactly the sort of thinking that marks Nancy as the Amazon Pirate that she is. I'm as sure as I can be that he noticed you never mentioned it. And your not bringing it up will have marked you as a true scientist in his mind, and not some scruffy treasure hunter like Nancy, or me, for that matter. You'll have earned a large measure of respect by not bringing money into the discussion. Well done, Captain Dick."

"But what shall I say to Nancy when she asks?" asked Dick. "She's going to say I'm a butter-brained galoot for forgetting."

"Tell her it's priceless then, and that she's a butter-brained galoot for not knowing that. Tell her that he said it's unique and a thousand years old and made for the likes of Viking royalty. Tell her it's a national treasure and part of our history. You can't put a price on that."

Dick followed Captain Flint through the streets of Cairo and back to the waterfront, where his ship and his crew were waiting. He felt the outlines of the silver cross in the bag he carried, and the weight of the iron bloom that seemed to grow heavier with every step. Captain Flint was quite right, he thought. A treasure that had perhaps once belonged to the Chieftain who ruled over Wild Cat Island and the entire lake, a man who had enough power and the wealth to drape his horse in silver and gold, that was priceless, indeed. And the professor's belief that the iron was more important than the cross; Dick thought the professor was right. Somehow, though, he doubted that Captain Nancy would accept this answer.

17

Iceberg, right ahead

"Twenty-two!" said Captain Nancy. "That's four more tomb robbers than we've ever had before, no sign of them leaving any day soon, and more probably on the way."

"It's all one big picnic. Almost everyone who came ashore brought hampers and blankets. Planning for a stay," said John.

The archaeological expedition had sailed for Cairo, bearing the antiquities already discovered in the Valley of the Kings, which sat quiet throughout the morning. "We won't start digging until all of the natives are out of the way," said Nancy. "Once Miss Britain's on the water, they'll all stay up by the lighthouse, and we can go back to the dig."

They posted sentries at the three places where tomb robbers were least welcome, at the Valley of the Kings, of course, the camp, and the harbor. With half of the expedition gone down river, the islanders were short-handed. John and Nancy planned to go back and forth between the camp and the harbor, while Peggy and Roger kept watch over the dig.

"Peggy said today was the day he was going for the record. The best we can hope for is he gets it on the first try and goes home. I can't believe we'll be that lucky," said Nancy, her face glum.

Some of the natives passed through the camp on their way to and from the landing place, where seven rowing boats were drawn up along the little beach. In fact, the little bay where, on better, quieter mornings, explorers, pirates, and archaeologists could bathe in the calm waters, had no room for even one more vessel. Swallow and Amazon would have to remain in the secret harbor, and even with Scarab gone it was a tight fit, just as crowded, if not more so than the landing place.

"No digging while Dick's gone," said Nancy. "We want him there to do it properly, anyway, and he'll be back before the water beetle's finished."

The warm morning wore into a hot afternoon, as Miss Britain made a trial run down the lake and back again, to the by now normal cries of the spectators on shore. John and Nancy made a point of not paying any attention to the speedboat, but Roger and Peggy both watched through a gap in the trees as the boat roared by.

As always happened in the long waits between Miss Britain's runs, the intruding natives walked back and forth between the lighthouse tree and the landing place, passing close by the tents on their way to retrieve picnic hampers or other supplies from the boats.

"Here come some more, and moving jolly fast," said Nancy, listening to running footsteps and the sound of branches being shoved hurriedly aside.

But it was not a native war party or a group of tomb robbers that raced from the trees, just Peggy and Roger, both red-faced and out of breath and both trying to talk at once. "The tree" – "It's gone" – "We can't see it" – "Set adrift" – "It wasn't us" – – "Miss Britain's wake" – they said. A few breaths later, a little more pointing and a few urgings to "come and see," and the two captains finally had the whole picture, or at least enough of it to understand that more trouble had come to Wild Cat Island.

A short walk through the undergrowth to the dig site showed nothing but a patch of placid water where the fallen tree had once lain between the rocks.

"When did you notice it had gone?" John asked as the four stared down at the place where the big trunk had always been.

"Only just now. We came straight away and got you," said Peggy

"Was it here this morning? Did you see it when you came to the dig?" asked Nancy.

But Roger and Peggy hadn't been paying attention to the fallen tree. It was one of those things that, having always been where it was supposed to be, they assumed it always would be, and the best anyone could do was recall that it had been there and bobbing up and down as Miss Britain's wake struck it the last time she had been running at speed. "And the wake from the lake steamer, the one that passed close aboard," said Peggy. "That tossed everything about at the water's edge."

"That could have jogged it loose. It could've been drifting all night," said Nancy.

John looked up at the leaves on the trees and out onto the water. "An easterly wind today. It was fairly calm this morning, and it's dead still now, but if it's adrift, it will have gone that way, toward the middle of the lake." He pointed, and as he did, the roar of Miss Britain's engines pulsed across the water, the great fan of spray behind her flashing white between the green leaves.

John and Nancy stared at each other, the same thought striking them at exactly the same moment.

"Back to camp," said Nancy.

"We'll need the ship's telescope," said John.

"And get to a high spot. The higher the better." Said Nancy.

"The lookout place," said John.

"I say, do you think we'll be able to see it at all?" said Roger, but the two captains were already gone.

A frantic scrambling through the tents produced Swallow's telescope and Dick's binoculars, both carried at a run to the lookout place, where a crowd of natives sat on the earth beneath the big tree that served as a lighthouse for the island. While John swept the calm water with the telescope, Nancy used the binoculars to check on Miss Britain, now a mile to the south, turning around from her run past the island.

"He's not coming directly back," said Nancy. "The other boats are going to meet him."

"I can't see it," said John.

"Perhaps it's sunk completely," said Roger. "Perhaps the rocks were only holding it up next to shore."

"If there were only a few waves breaking against it, it would be easier to spot," said John. "But there isn't enough wind."

"Having no wind could be the best thing for it. It won't have drifted very far. It can't have," said Nancy.

"There it is!" said John, adjusting the telescope's focus. "Hang on. No, that's not it. Sorry."

"Keep trying. I'll look closer to the boats on this side. You look farther out; your telescope's much better than these glasses," said Nancy.

Clustered around the big tree, the natives chattered about Miss Britain and her pilot, none aware of the urgent search underway only a few steps from their lunches of tinned beef and cold tongue. Peggy and Roger looked back and forth between the captains and the lake, both hoping someone would see the log.

"I think I've got it!" said John. "Yes. It's already gotten a long way from the island. It's well past all of the anchored boats."

"Where away?" asked Nancy, peering through the binoculars.

John raised the telescope so that it focused on the far shore, looking desperately for some distinctive object. "Stand just here, in front of me. Look across, all the way to the other side of the lake," he said. "Do you see those trees with the grassy patch just below? To the right of the farmhouse?"

"Swainson's farm?"

"Yes. To the right of the house."

"I think so."

"Line yourself up on those trees, then drop straight down across the water. Go slowly, it's hard to see. It's almost to the middle of the lake."

Nancy stared so hard through the eyepieces of the binoculars that she felt her eyes begin to water, and then she saw it. The tree was just a thin gray line on the flat water, none of its hidden threat showing more than an inch above the surface. You would have to be looking very closely or be almost on top of the tree to be able to see it at all. John had been right; even a few small waves would help, breaking against the log, making it much more visible, but what little wind there was had now died altogether, stilling the great lake completely.

"It's even worse than an iceberg. Almost all of it's there under the water, just lurking, but at least the part of the iceberg you can see is white. This has been in the lake for so long, it's the same color as the water," said Nancy. "And it's exactly in the middle of the course."

"Not another boat within miles of it," said John. "If he hits that while he's going at a hundred knots, it'll be awful. The worst sort of shipwreck. It would tear Miss Britain apart. We should tell the people on the committee boat, and we need to do it jolly quickly. Before he starts his next run," said John, not taking his eye from the telescope. Now that he had found the log, he didn't want to lose it again.

"Jiminy! But the committee boat's clear up at the north end of the course!" said Nancy, who had swung her glasses around to find the launch carrying Colonel Jolys and the yachting-cap man, and the other officials. They had obviously moved to what would be the finish line for Miss Britain's second and decisive run for the record. The big power launch was little more than a dot in the distance, surrounded by all the other boats awaiting Miss Britain's return, and Nancy knew in an instant that there could be no hope of help from that quarter. "They'll never reach the log in time, even if we could get there to tell them about it."

"But what do we do now? How do we warn Sir Richard?" asked Peggy.

"We should send up a rocket. A distress signal," said Roger. "Iceberg ahead. They'd be bound to see that."

"Well, we haven't got any rockets. Not even any of those big Roman candles we saved from last November," said Nancy.

"A signal fire, here on the headland?" said John.

"They'll never guess what it means. Probably think some of the beastly natives set fire to their picnic hamper. And there's no wind now. The smoke would just climb straight up."

"There's nothing else for it, then," said John.

"No, nothing. We've got to go out and warn him. We'll take Amazon," said Nancy. "She's moored closest to the harbor mouth and we'll have to row. We can put the centerboard up and gain a bit of speed that way."

Still watching the log, John had already begun thinking about the problems they would face. "Once we're lower, right down on the water in Amazon, we'll never be able to see the log. I can take a rough bearing from here; it's about a hundred yards south of the course marker, but we won't know where it is exactly," he said.

"Peggy and Roger can keep watch from up here. They'll be able to see it. They could send us in the right direction. Signal us from shore," said Nancy.

"Signal flags or semaphore," said John. "You could hoist the flags on the lighthouse tree, but semaphore would be faster."

"Once we get close to the iceberg, we'll be out of semaphore range, especially with all these natives standing about. It will have to be signal flags from the lighthouse tree," said Nancy.

"There's no wind. They'll be almost as hard to see," said John.

"We only need two," said Nancy. "One to say 'go to port,' and one for 'starboard.' We'll pick two that you can't mistake, even from a distance."

"The flags for the signal station are the biggest we've got. You should be able to see those," said Peggy.

"B and Q. Beer and Queen. Red and yellow. No mistaking that, even if there is no wind to set the flags flapping," said Nancy. "We might not be able to make out the signals."

"I'll keep watch and Peggy can send the signals," said Roger. "She's much better at it than I am."

"All right then, let's see if you can spot the log with the telescope," said John.

"I'll run and get the set of flags from our tent," said Peggy, and she dashed off.

"When you're sure the able seaman can keep a proper lookout, come down to the harbor as quick as you can. I'll go and make Amazon ready to cast off," said Nancy, who also hurried off.

John helped Roger find the log, which took a few anxious moments. "I see it!" shouted Roger, just as Peggy came running back.

"Good. You keep the telescope to your right eye, and watch for us in Amazon with your left."

"Aye, aye sir," Roger said, trying to focus on the log and a patch of water where he imagined Amazon underway. He found it wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded. He lost the log and took a moment finding it again.

"Then you tell Peggy if we need to go left or right – "

"Port or starboard," said Roger, peering hard at the log with one eye, everything else a blur.

"Right. Port or starboard. One of us will watch you and we'll try and follow whatever course you set for us."

Peggy came running back, untying the strings that secured the bag of flags that were intended for use only on Wild Cat Island, the ones too large to fit on any of the boats' flagstaffs. "These are the biggest ones we've got. Do you think you'll be able to see them?"

"Wave it above your head before you send it up. They're pretty bright. Red will mean port – "

"Just like a ship's running light," said Roger.

"Right. And yellow will be for starboard."

"But it should be green," said Roger.

"Too hard to spot against the trees. No green flags anyhow," said John.

"I've got them," said Peggy, fumbling in the bag.

Nancy's faint shout came from the far end of the island; she had Amazon ready to put to sea.

"Wish us luck," said John, but he didn't wait to hear their response, racing by some startled natives, past the campsite and into the thicker undergrowth of the island's southern end. Moments later, he burst out of the bushes, clambering over Swallow to reach Amazon. "They're ready," he said. "Now, all we've got to do is get there before Miss Britain does."

"It would help if we could do a hundred knots like she can. Amazon's jolly fast, but we'll be lucky to get three out of her," said Nancy grimly.

At the lookout place, Peggy glanced nervously around her, some of the natives looking curiously back. Most held binoculars, telescopes, or even little opera glasses, so Dick's binoculars now hung round her neck, were not out of place or unusual. The two flags she held, one in each hand, however, were both, and a few of the natives watched to see what use Peggy would make of them.

She took a hurried look through the glasses at Miss Britain, still idling on the water, far to the south. Although she could see two or three other boats bunched around the speedboat, she could make out none of the people in them, all of the boats too distant. She was aware that Roger was speaking to her, and looked down at him. He was lying full length on the ground, the telescope propped on a flat rock. "I've still got it," said Roger. "Let me know as soon as you see Amazon."

Peggy looked at the south end of the island, and as if on command, Amazon hove into view. With no wind to help, Nancy had left the sail down, but red and white bunting fluttered limply on the flagstaff. Only the boat's progress made the flag move at all.

"There they are," said Peggy. "John's at the oars and Nancy's steering. I say, they're really moving. He's lifting her right out of the water."

John was indeed rowing Amazon as if this was the most important race in her life, the little sailboat sliding easily over the still water. There was none of the extra splashing or sudden jerks that might have told even a landsman that an amateur was working the oars. "He's rowing fit to bust," said Peggy.

"Navy stroke," said Roger, stealing a quick glance. "It's his best one, and no ballast in Amazon, so she'll be quicker than Swallow."

Peggy waved the two flags, one in each hand, at Nancy, who saw her and waved back from the tiller. "They've seen us. Now all they have to do is get to the tree first."

"Tell them to bear a little to starboard," Roger said. "They've an awfully long way to go."

Peggy waved the yellow flag over her head, then found the halyard looped over the lowest branch of the big pine tree that had, on other desperate occasions in war and peace, served as a lighthouse. Hand over hand, she hoisted the flag to a point at least fifteen feet off the ground and well clear of the natives gathered around. Nancy threw a quick wave back and adjusted her course, passing an anchored rowing boat. A moment later, Amazon passed the buoy marking the edge of Miss Britain's course, committed now to her mission. This did not go unnoticed by the crowd on shore.

"Look at that," said one of the native men. He was pointing at Amazon. There's a boat going out toward the course. What are they doing?"

"It's two more children," said one of the female natives, her binoculars trained on Amazon. "I think they're the same ones who were with these two earlier."

"Hi, you there, girl. What are you playing at? What's that little boat doing?" The male native stood up from his blanket, shading his eyes and watching Amazon inch closer to the middle of the lake, where Miss Britain would be making her run. He turned to Peggy, shaking his finger at her. "They're going to spoil everything. That part of the lake is supposed to be kept empty. Sir Richard's not finished yet. He's only done one run. Nobody's given the all clear signal."

"Don't you see? We're trying to warn him! There's a log in the water," said Peggy, desperately willing John and Nancy to row faster.

"More to the right. Starboard, I mean," said Roger. "They're nearly there. Only a hundred yards more."

Peggy made the signal, dropping the yellow flag, then running it quickly back up, again seeing Nancy's wave and Amazon's small turn.

All of the natives were standing now, more talking to Peggy or amongst themselves. They spoke in tones loaded with irritation and anger, their afternoon's entertainment surely being spoiled by Amazon's intrusion onto the course. All of the talk was of records lost and chances ruined, until one young woman said to her husband, "They can't go out there! Miss Britain will smash them to flinders!"

"Stop that, girl. Signal your friends to get out of there before they're killed," said a red-faced man.

Roger, who had been about to say something more, took his eye from the telescope and looked up at the very angry native who had just spoken. Then he looked at Peggy, seeing the fright in her face.

"Never mind, Roger. We must keep on. They can't do it without us," said Peggy.

Aye, aye sir," said Roger, turning back to the telescope and finding the two small figures in the boat far across the water.

"They're nearly there!" said Roger. "Go it, John! I think Nancy's seen it! She's pointing. Amazon's just going to bump it." He jumped to his feet, the telescope not needed for spotting any longer.

"Hurry, oh, hurry up," said Peggy. "What are they doing?"

Nancy and John seemed to be doing nothing, and Roger dropped back down to take a closer look, needing the telescope again, after all.

"I think they're putting a line on it," said Roger, after a few moments. "I expect Nancy will row, now, to shift it out of the way. They've done it."

"Roger!" squeaked Peggy. "He's coming!"

A mile down the lake, the growl of the speedboat's engines reached them even over the excited cries of the nearby spectators. Roger brought the telescope around, tracking over the water before stopping on the familiar, knife-like form riding just above the explosion of white foam.

"Her head's up, just like he said it would be," said Roger. "The bow's lifted all the way off the water. Gosh, she's coming on like thunder." He watched for another long moment, the sleek shape growing larger with every passing second, then lowered the glass. "I say, Peggy, he will see them, won't he? I mean, he must, mustn't he?"

But Peggy wasn't listening and she didn't answer, fumbling through the flag bag to find the right pocket. She jerked the yellow Q flag down and dropped on the ground at her feet. With shaking fingers, she snapped the red and white checked flag onto the halyard, jerking it into the air, watching it stretch out lazily in the breeze. You are standing into danger.

Only then, with duty done and her warning sent, did she look back down the lake, where, less than a half-mile from Amazon, Miss Britain tore across her starting line at two miles per minute.

18

Newton's First Law

Cairo seemed strangely deserted as the Swallows from the shore party waited at the landing stage where Scarab and the Beckfoot launch lay moored. Susan and Titty, each with an ice in hand, waited at the shore end of the long pier, surrounded by a pile of paper-wrapped parcels, wondering where everyone else in the city had gone.

"Peggy said they'd be running that awful speedboat this afternoon," said Titty. "Everyone's gone to watch him chase his horrid record."

A native on the dock, one of the boat builder's men who had stayed behind, confirmed her guess, saying that everyone expected that this would be the day that the speed record fell. "Aye, and a grand day for the lake it'll be, one to remember," he said.

"That means all of the natives will finally be going back to their home villages," said Titty. "Perhaps today's the very last day."

"We'll have the island to ourselves again," said Susan.

"And the whole lake," said Titty, who was thinking about Wild Cat Island deserted once more, and of Swallow, able to sail wherever it liked, free from the eyes of the yachting-cap man and Sir Richard's many spectators.

"Peace and quiet at last. Except for sea battles, of course" said Titty, who was also thinking of the combined fleet's planned attack on the houseboat.

"We might as well load the cargo," said Susan. "Two of us can do just as good a job as five." She carried an armful of parcels to Scarab, climbing down into the boat and waiting for Titty to pass them aboard.

"Longshoremen, swamping cargo down into the musty hold. Is it terribly hot and airless down there, with the rats and the beetles?" asked Titty, handing down a package of pemmican.

"No rats or bugs. But no wind anywhere," said Susan. "I'll just stow these under the thwarts, where they'll be out of the way. And here's Captain Flint and the D's at last."

"Ahoy there, you rascals. Prepare to make sail," came Captain Flint's cheerful call. With his hands full of his own parcels and Dick and Dorothea trailing behind, he clumped down the wooden ramp to the landing stage.

"Is that all food for the feast?" asked Titty.

"Funny, I seem to be feeding a bigger gang of pirates each time my ship's captured," said Captain Flint. "This should do the job unless any more of you turn up. Right, let's get the stores aboard. You've already done yours, well done."

"And the treasure," said Dick, who held the much smaller parcel they knew contained the silver cross and the iron bloom.

"And the treasure," said Captain Flint. "We'll put the provisions aboard the launch and you can have the honor of carrying the gold and silver plate."

"Good old Scarab, she's a treasure galleon, once more. Carrying the treasure from the New World to the Old. Tossed by storms and chased by pirates and hunted by English rovers," said Dorothea.

"So, Cairo's back to being Rio, once more?" asked Captain Flint.

"Only for today," said Titty. "For this one voyage."

"What did the professor say?" asked Susan, watching as Dick carefully tucked the package with the cross beneath the stern thwart.

"He can give you all the scuttlebutt on the way back," said Captain Flint. "We need to get underway if we're to be back in time for tea."

"There's not a lot of wind, is there?" asked Dick, and indeed, the air over Rio was absolutely still; none of the gentle breezes that had carried Scarab so easily to the harbor earlier had lingered to push her back home.

"None at all, I'd say. It's not very galleon-like, I know, but I'll give you a tow at least as far as Houseboat Bay. With any luck, Miss Britain will have won her record by then and be off the water once and for all. With her gone and a little wind, you might be able to finish your voyage under sail," said Captain Flint.

Leaving his parcels on the pier, as Susan had done. Captain Flint climbed aboard the launch as Dick and Dorothea boarded Scarab.

"Shake a leg there, able seaman, and pass me those provisions," said Captain Flint, to Titty, who passed the parcels one by one over the launch's varnished gunwale.

"And if it's all right with your ship's officers, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop aboard with me for part of the trip," said Captain Flint to Titty. "I don't like the look of all these other ships in the harbor, and there's bound to be even more, milling about outside, every one crewed by some landlubber or I miss my guess. I'll have a jolly hard job of it, keeping clear of all that lot and trying to keep one eye on my tow at the same time. An extra lookout would be very handy."

Titty looked back to Scarab, where Susan had cast off the bow mooring line and was holding the little boat against the pier. Dorothea had found a place on the middle thwart, and Dick, looking anxiously at the same crowd of boats lying between his ship and the open sea, had settled himself at the tiller.

"I'm sure Susan will say it's all right," said Titty.

"Pass them the towline," said Captain Flint, pointing at the rope that had been used to moor the launch to the pier. He started the motor on the first try, and after watching Titty cast off the bow line and climb aboard, gently eased the launch forward and away from the pier. Behind them, Scarab fell obediently in astern with only the easiest of jerks, the towline straightening out as the launch picked up speed.

Leaving Rio harbor was every bit as challenging as Captain Flint had thought. He gave the moored yachts a wide berth, passing out past the last of the islands to the open water, which today was crowded with dozens more boats. Avoiding these proved even trickier, because many were moving back and forth near the end of Miss Britain's measured mile. "All looking for a better view of the finish line, he said, angling the launch away from the big buoy that marked the end of the course, lining the launch's prow on the Peak of Darien on the lake's eastern shore.

In the little sailing boat that trailed behind, Dick concentrated on keeping his ship exactly in the center of the launch's wake, as the others listened to the bubbling of the water under Scarab's forefoot.

"Now, what in the devil is happening down there?" Captain Flint's voice came clearly over the water to Scarab's crew. As the Beckfoot launch chugged ahead, they saw him reach under one of the seats, retrieving a pair of field glasses. After a moment, he cut back the boat's throttle, the launch's speed dropping as Scarab drew closer on the slackening towline.

Still far ahead, much nearer to the bright red buoy that marked the end of Miss Britain's measured mile, the three committee boats suddenly burst into life, gaining speed and spewing exhaust smoke, their bow waves building as they turned toward the south. The siren that had been used to warn of the start of each run now blared loudly, one long blast after another, the clearest possible signal that all was not normal on the lake this afternoon. On the largest of the boats, the one carrying the record committee and the official timekeeper, half a dozen men stood, some shaking their fists and shouting, though none of those on Scarab could make out any of the words.

"They look angry. I wonder what's that could be about," said Dorothea.

"You don't think something's happened to Miss Britain," said Susan.

"I don't know. They seemed very excited, and they're in an awful rush to get somewhere," said Dick.

"Come alongside. You'll need to take Titty with you," called Captain Flint, the launch now only a few yards away. "Shake a leg. I've got to get underway quickly. No time for a tow." He gave a strong pull on the towline, and Scarab glided up to the launch.

"She looks rather pale," said Dorothea, watching Titty's face at the rail, and they saw that Titty did indeed have a very white face and a queer expression.

"Fend off, there, Mister Mate," said Captain Flint, to Susan or Dorothea, or perhaps Titty, who for the moment was mate of the Beckfoot launch. All of them reached out to keep the two ships from touching, Captain Flint grasping Scarab's mast, holding the smaller boat close against the side of the launch.

"Mind your fingers. Right, Able Seaman, in you go. Half a moment, I'm going to have another look." When he saw that Titty had safely made the climb down into Scarab he let go of the mast, giving it a small push and lifting the glasses again, staring at something far down the lake. The two boats drifted a few yards apart as Titty settled herself with Dorothea on the middle thwart.

"Ahoy, Scarab!" said Captain Flint. "Cast off there! You go back to the island straight away. You mustn't put up the sail. You'll have to row it. Stay clear of all these other boats. Better to hug the shoreline as closely as possible."

With Captain Flint gesturing urgently for the towline, Susan, already perched in the bow, unfastened the line and cast off. He quickly pulled in the dripping rope and then shoved the throttle forward, the big motor giving a throaty roar. Behind him, Scarab rocked on the launch's wake as her crew looked again at Able Seaman Titty.

"What is it, Titty? What's happened?" asked Susan.

"It's John and Nancy. He saw them through the glasses. They've taken Amazon under sail, right out onto the course."

No one spoke for a moment, everyone staring at her. "Perhaps Miss Britain's done for the day. They wouldn't go out if he – " said Dick.

"He hasn't though. Captain Flint said he thinks Sir Richard's already made the first run south and now he's going to come back and John and Nancy are right in his path."

"No wonder the natives are so upset," said Dorothea. "They're afraid John and Nancy will ruin everything for him. It would serve him right, losing his silly record."

"That's not what they're worried about," Dick said, listening to the hooting of the committee boat's siren. "Remember, Sir Richard said he had a hard time seeing straight ahead. They're afraid there's going to be a collision. He thinks Miss Britain might run them down."

"Run them down? A collision?" Susan stood up. Holding onto the mast with one hand, she tried to see past the dozen or more boats that now lay between Scarab and the course. "This is no good! Don't you have your ship's telescope?" she said.

"No, I've left it on the island. I didn't think we'd need it today. We probably couldn't see much past that lot, at any rate," said Dick. "Too low on the water. The angle's all wrong."

But Susan did not want to hear anything about angles or being too low. She did not want to be in a small sailing boat with no wind and miles from home. Most of all, she did not want to be a very long way from John and perhaps Roger, in Amazon and in the path of danger. She looked desperately all around her, toward the far green slope leading up to Holly Howe farm, toward the Peak of Darien that hid the little cove below, toward Houseboat Bay and to the dark trees that grew on Wild Cat Island. She looked away toward Captain Flint's launch, now disappearing at full speed into the distance and up the mast, and for a moment Dick thought she might try to climb it, wondering how he, Scarab's captain, would stop her. But Susan was not Swallow's first mate for nothing, of course, and she shook off her fears and took command.

"It's just as Captain Flint said. We've got to get back. Break out the oars. I'll take the first turn," said Susan briskly. "Titty, you sit with Dick in the stern. Dorothea, you're the lightest, you go forward." She moved to the middle thwart, taking the oars from Dick and fitting them into the rowlocks.

"She's almost as good as John," said Titty to Dick, who watched as Susan dug both oars into the flat water. "Father taught her. It's been ages since I've seen her catch a crab."

"What about putting up the sail? Just in case," said Dick.

"Yes, yes, make sail. If a wind comes up, we'll be ready for it," said Susan.

"But the rules are, no sailing while Miss Britain's on the lake," said Titty, shocked that Susan, of all people, would flout a rule made by a grown-up, and one who had brought a policeman with him to see that it wasn't flouted.

"We're not sailing," said Susan. "Anyone can see there's no wind."

"Every second may count," said Dorothea, from her lookout's perch in the bow. "The rescue party, desperately – "

"Never mind that for now, Dot," said Dick hastily, seeing Susan's face, one of her oars splashing a bit more than usual. "Just get to the halyard and raise the mainsail."

Over their heads, Scarab's red sail climbed steadily up the mast, the boom slatting back and forth, the mainsheet slack.

"We should whistle for a wind," said Dorothea, as she made the halyard fast to the cleat at the foot of the mast.

"Or sing something for the oarsmen. Haul Away Joe," said Titty, and they sang the old chantey, fairly shouting the last lines, their plea for the more favorable weather promised by the song.

Way haul away, we're bound for better weather,

Way haul away, we'll haul away Joe

"The weather's already perfect," said Dick. "All we need is a bit of wind."

Susan, pulling hard at the oars, said nothing.

"We're clear of all those beastly natives and their boats," said Titty. "I can see past the island, practically to the foot of the lake."

They all turned their faces to the south, and Susan pulled harder at her port oar, bringing Scarab's bow around, giving her oarsman a clear view. One glance would have been enough to tell the whole story, but none looked away, taking in the scene they knew meant native trouble and worse.

The tiny rectangle they all recognized as Amazon's white sail sat almost precisely at the center of the lake. To the north, the small flotilla of committee boats hurried toward her. Captain Flint's launch trailed behind. Much farther to the south, only tiny dots on the water lay more boats. There was no sign of Miss Britain.

"She's still got her sail up. Perhaps they've found some wind," said Titty.

"She's not moving at all. I don't believe they're even rowing," said Dick.

"They've got to get out of the way," said Dorothea. "Why aren't they trying?"

"They had better start. They don't want to be out there if Sir Richard's going for the record," said Dick.

"But, he'd have to see them," said Dorothea.

"He can't. The perspective's completely wrong. Going that fast, you'd just think something like Amazon was a much bigger boat, only further away."

"They'll have to get clear, then, before he starts," said Susan. "If he did start, how much time would it take to reach them?"

She directed her question at Dick, and everyone in the boat knew it, all eyes turned to Scarab's captain where he sat at her tiller. He had already begun doing the sums in his head, calculating speeds and distances, guessing at the things he had no way of knowing, such as how far Amazon lay from Miss Britain's starting line. As he always did when he lost himself in some tricky problem, Dick forgot everything around him for a moment, no longer seeing the scene on the lake or the three anxious faces in front of him. He began to speak, but Dorothea knew he was talking only to himself.

"He'll want to be going at full speed or close to it when he crosses the start line. That's 120 miles per hour. Two miles in a minute. The course is a mile long. But he'll probably have started a mile before that. Maybe more than that, to get really going. Amazon might be right in the middle. Half a mile after the start line. But what if she's less? Half of that… A quarter mile…"

He shook his head blinked once through glasses spotted with small drops of water from Susan's oars, once again seeing the distant white sail.

"Fifteen seconds," said Dick. "Probably less. Maybe only seven or eight. Once he crosses the line he'd be up to them in no time."

"But he'd stop, surely, as soon as he sees…," said Titty.

Dick shook his head. "It's not like a motor car, you know; he can't simply stand on the brake and make it stop. It takes hundreds of yards to slow down. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. That's Newton's First Law. And going at full speed, he mustn't make any sudden turns. That might make things worse, probably much worse, because he'd lose control." He pointed at the big buoy that marked the course's finish line. "It's why they've marked the course so carefully and keep the committee boats out there during the runs. Nothing must be in the way. It's too dangerous."

Susan bent to her oars, her strokes quickening, but Scarab, heavily loaded with crew, cargo, and treasure, crawled with painful slowness across the still water. "Those other boats will get there and tow Amazon out of the way. Everything will be fine," she said.

"I wonder what Nancy and John were thinking," said Dorothea.

"I don't know, but the natives are going to be jolly angry if Sir Richard can't make his run. Especially if it's the second one. He's got to go back and forth, and combine the times. If he's already done the first and can't make the second, the whole session's lost. Perhaps the whole day," said Dick.

"More native trouble," said Titty, gloomily.

"In the Hands of the Law," said Dorothea, starting to form a story about explorers who defied the orders of the local governor to…. But she could think of no reason why John and Nancy – or anyone else – would deliberately disobey the law and risk their ship in this way.

Above Susan's grim face, the boom swung over, the mainsheet tightening as the sail filled. Scarab heeled slightly to port and Susan's starboard oar splashed against the surface.

"Caught a crab," said Titty. "But you didn't fall over."

"Never mind that," said Susan, resting both oars. "We've caught a wind."

"An easterly. We'll have an easy reach down to the island," said Dick. "Put the centerboard down."

"Better yet, if Amazon's got it too, they'll be under way in no time," said Titty. "They'll have to tack back against the wind to the island. We might be able to beat them there in a race."

"Hi, what's that there? I think it's another boat," said Dorothea.

"You're supposed to say, 'sail ho,'" said Dick, who was trying to set the best possible course to take advantage of the little breeze. "Where away?"

"There, to the south. Beyond Amazon." Dorothea pointed. "I say, Dick. You don't suppose…"

They were all looking now, Dorothea in her perch in the bow, and the other three peering under the boom. All four saw the distant shape that perched above a tiny white cloud, and no one spoke for a moment.

"It's Miss Britain. She's making her run," said Dick. He looked across the boat at Susan's face, no longer red from rowing, but now a pale white. Without saying anything, he went over the numbers again in his head, making calculations of time and space, trying to guess how far away the committee boat might be, knowing instantly that it would never reach Amazon before the speedboat did. How quickly could Miss Britain slow down, once Sir Richard saw the danger and cut the power to those big engines? How much did she need to slow before she could safely turn away from a hazard? Sixty knots? Fifty? Forty? Even those speeds were faster than anything any of them had ever approached on the water, and he staggered at the thought of Miss Britain going twice as fast.

"It will be a very near thing," said Dick. "I don't see how he can do it. They've just got to keep out of his way, because he can't possibly keep out of theirs."

Far across the water, though close enough to be seen clearly now by those in Scarab, Miss Britain flashed across the starting line, hurtling at two miles per minute toward the little white sail that lay directly in her path.

19

You are standing into danger

While John gave his orders to the lookouts, Nancy turned her ship in the narrow harbor, moving as quickly as she could and getting the job done with only a few minor bumps. She had one oar already set in the rowlocks and held the other over the stern, preparing for the painfully slow scull out into the open sea at the harbor's mouth. While she waited for John, she rummaged through the flag bag, pulling out a piece of red and white cloth, fastening it to the flag halyard and sending it to the top of the mast. A moment later, John was there, settling himself onto the middle thwart, ready to start rowing as soon as Amazon could clear the rocks that lined the channel leading out of the harbor.

Nancy began sculling. Looking back over the stern and keeping the two secret marks one exactly above the other, she guided Amazon to sea. There was no wind to set the halyard tapping against the mast or even to lift the little flag that hung limply from its staff at the masthead.

"You've hoisted the Uncle flag," said John. "'You are standing into danger.' Well done. I don't know how he'll see it, though."

"We'll have to hope for a wind," said Nancy. "We'll make sail when we get closer."

In not more than a minute, they had reached the last of the underwater rocks that guarded the harbor's entrance, and Nancy passed the dripping oar to John, taking the tiller. John started a hard, fast stroke that pulled Amazon along in short rushes as Nancy scanned the shoreline.

"Jibbooms and bobstays! Where are those two mutton headed galoots?" asked Nancy, peering along the cliff at the island's lookout place. "That might be Peggy, but where's Roger? Oh, bother all those natives. Some even have parasols! You can't tell one person from another. We ought to have brought Dick's glasses with us."

"It's too late now," said John, settling into a fast but steady pace that he knew he could maintain for as long as needed. "Have to make the best of it. And we should be able to make out any flags hoisted on the lighthouse tree, no matter how many natives are hanging about."

"There! I can see Peggy. She's waving. That must be your able seaman, lying down next to her. Trust Roger to get as comfortable as he can." Nancy waved back to let Peggy know she'd been spotted.

"No signal, yet. She's just standing there. It's a jolly good thing we've got those signal flags. I don't think I could make out the semaphores, even from here," said Nancy, who scanned the horizon to the south. "I think that's Miss Britain down near the foot of the lake. She's not doing anything, so that's all right."

"Maybe she's broken down," said John.

"That would be jolly lucky for us. We'd have more than enough time to collect that thing and get back to the island if he's finished for the day," said Nancy.

"Should we try to go down there and warn him or go straight away for the log?" asked John.

"The log, definitely. With no wind we'd be hours getting that far south from here. And once we find the log, maybe one of these native boats can help us shift it out of the way," said Nancy.

John began counting to himself, while concentrating on making each stroke perfect, reaching back as far as possible before digging into the water, pulling hard and straightening his legs completely before lifting the oars out of the water. "One. Two. Three."

The sun beat down on the two captains in their little boat on the flat mirror of the lake. "Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty."

Twice, Nancy made small course corrections, orienting herself on the big buoy that marked the edge of the measured mile, trying to remember where she had seen the log and the buoy from the island. The boat crawled across the water. "Ninety-three. Ninety-four. Ninety-five," and the wake astern lengthened ever so slowly.

"Hundred and fifty one. There's a flag going up the lighthouse tree. It's yellow, so that's the signal to go to starboard," said John, who was facing aft and in a better position to see.

"Right," said Nancy, turning. Starboard it is. I'll alter course a couple of points. They'll signal again if they want us to go beyond that. Hang on a minute with the oars. I'm going to raise the mainsail."

John laid in the oars, resting a moment and breathing hard as Nancy clambered past him. Amazon's white sail climbed up the mast, but slatted idly back and forth, the sheet dangling to one side.

"Dead calm," said Nancy, returning to the stern thwart. "Do you want me to take over at the oars?"

"No. We've got to be getting close. See if you can spot it. I'll watch for Peggy's signals," said John. He reached backward with the oars, dug into the water, Amazon back underway. Nancy stood up, pushing the boom to one side, searching the still water ahead.

"Yellow flag, coming down," said John. "Stand by. It's going back up. She wants us to go to starboard again," said John. "I'll do it." He pulled harder twice on the starboard-side oar and then once again settled into his steady, strong rhythm, beginning his count where he'd left off. "Two hundred twenty two," he said. "Two hundred twenty three."

"There it is! Iceberg, right ahead!" cried Nancy, pointing. "Gosh, it's jolly hard to see, even from this close. You can have a rest. I'll bring us alongside with no bother."

John, his face red and his arms aching, sat slumped at the oars, holding the blades up and out of the water. He felt the soft bump as Amazon reached the log and came to a complete stop.

"We'll get a line on it and tow it off to the west," said Nancy. "Beach it on the far shore. And here's a bit of a breeze at last, just when we don't need it anymore, but at least it's blowing in the right direction."

Both looked up at the sail, which angled lazily to the starboard side and filled, pushing Amazon's bow against the submerged log. The little flag at the peak stretched out, the red and white checks shining against the bright blue sky.

"The painter will be perfect. We don't need anything too long," said Nancy. "It's coiled up in the bow."

John brought in both oars, but didn't stow them, thinking that the wind could easily drop as quickly as it had come up; they might yet need to do more rowing.

"I don't remember this tree being so big," said Nancy, studying the log. "It's easily three or four times our length. It'll weigh simply tons, especially with all the water it's taken on. It's going to be jolly hard to tow."

"There's Peggy again," said John. "What is this? Red and white. She's put up the Uncle flag. 'You are standing into danger.' But we knew that already. He'd never see that from out here. What can she mean?" But in that instant they heard the unmistakable sound of aeroplane engines revving at full power, and they both knew without even looking who was standing into danger, rocketing across the water directly at Amazon at two miles per minute.

20

Collision!

They didn't need to look, but couldn't help looking anyway, and what they saw snatched their breath away and left both speechless. Miss Britain was a lovely sight, even at the worst of times, even though some, like Captain Nancy, would never admit it. This afternoon, John and Nancy saw her at the worst of all possible times.

The speedboat was obviously going at full power, her head up and running free. Except for that first evening on the island, when she had cruised by going much more slowly, none had ever been this close to Miss Britain at all. Always before, the captains of Swallow, Amazon, and Scarab had kept their boats off the lake or at least as far away as they could get from the hullabaloo surrounding the speedboat's record attempt. Certainly, none had been this close when the two aero engines were howling at their absolute utmost.

Seeing her coming bow on, Miss Britain looked like nothing more than a giant silver blade, ripping a huge gash in the placid water. Hurling white spray off to each side and behind her, she bore down relentlessly, growing larger with every passing second, coming on at a speed neither ever dreamt possible.

"I think she'll miss us astern," said Nancy.

"I don't think she'll miss us at all," said John, and then she was upon them.

Several things happened, all much too quickly for Nancy and John to do anything about them. Miss Britain's engines shut down, the sudden silence almost shocking, because even with her the power cut and her propeller no longer spinning, she still charged forward at a tremendous pace, her knife-like prow aimed directly at the much smaller sailboat. She slowed, falling back from the pile of seething white water that she rode, her bow rising, then falling as the bow wave, still traveling at over 100 knots, raced on ahead of her.

The wall of white water reached Amazon in a second, flinging her up in the air, whipping her mast in a dizzying arc as John and Nancy clutched desperately at the gunwales. As the wave flew onward, the sailboat slammed back down, her varnished side smashing against the submerged tree before sliding off, tilted crazily to one side. A sheet of green water poured in over the lee rail as John flung himself to the high side, trying to right the ship. Nancy ducked low as the boom crashed across above her and then back.

A moment later, the second wave struck, hurling them sideways, Amazon and her crew buried in a rush of the white foam churned up by Miss Britain's propeller. Again, Amazon rode up onto the log, the mast listing further and further, dipping down, the boom and the lower part of the sail already submerged in the lake.

At the same instant, Miss Britain, still traveling at great speed, but slowing just enough to allow her pilot to alter her course, shot past, her gleaming white side looming above them. It was a very, very near thing, the nearest of things, as the smooth hull slid by, close enough for Nancy to reach out and touch, close enough that John could feel the heat from the speedboat's engines, close enough that the very widest part of Miss Britain's hull brushed the very aft edge of Amazon's rudder. It was only the barest of touches just the lightest of kisses, but it was enough to slam the rudder hard over and throw the tiller into Nancy's arm, as if someone had hit her with a cricket bat.

The faces of her crew turned toward them, and Nancy and John both saw the surprise and anger there. The sleek silver hull slid easily through the water, the engines no longer screaming, the new bronze propeller silent in the water, and before anyone could speak, she was gone.

"Are you all right, John?" asked Captain Nancy.

"Bumped my knee on something. The centerboard trunk, probably. Bit of blood, but it might've been much worse."

"I've done something to my arm," said Nancy. "It's not working."

"Is it broken?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I can move everything, but it hurts." There were no "Barbecued billygoats!" or " "Shiver my timbers!" no swashbuckling nor any of Nancy's ordinary cheer, only the subdued voice of a captain who knows she has very nearly come to grief and is now concerned for her crew and her ship.

One of the two waves or the collision with the log had wrenched the starboard oar free from the rowlocks, and it floated a few feet away. "We've taken on a lot of water. It's inches deep in the bilge," said John, as he unshipped the remaining oar, using it to fish for the one floating nearby. Amazon rolled heavily, water sloshing around their legs, halfway to their knees, the bottom boards drifting back and forth, banging against the sides of the boat and the unprotected shins of her crew.

"We may have holed her when we struck the log," said Nancy. "She hit hard enough to spring a plank. I hope not. If we go down here, there'll be no way to salvage her. The lake's miles deep out here in the middle."

John looked sharply at her. Nancy seemed so calm, talking of losing her ship forever as if she were discussing who would go collect the morning's milk tomorrow.

"I'll see if I can find a leak," said John.

"We'd better man the pumps first. Couldn't do much good to plug a hole out here, but maybe we can keep ahead of it. There's a baler in the bow."

Neither spoke as John moved carefully forward to find the baling bucket, and neither looked at the other, both thinking about the narrowest of escapes and knowing that whether Amazon sank or not, there was worse to come.

"I don't believe it's gotten any deeper," said John, hopefully, dumping bucket after bucket of water over the side. "It might all be from those two seas we took aboard."

"Here he comes," said Nancy, and John turned to see Miss Britain, making a wide turn to the north, her engines snarling again, the knife-like bow again aimed directly at the little sailboat, still wallowing sluggishly in the disturbed water.

One moment, Amazon lay alone and becalmed on a peaceful sea, and in the next, she sat in the eye of a hurricane. As Miss Britain ran back toward them, a line of boats, seeming to stretch from one side of the lake to the other, bore down from the north. Sirens sounded and they could hear people shouting, even at a distance. Miss Britain, of course, was much closer, and also much faster, than any of the others, so it was clear that she would be the first to return to the scene of the crime. Behind her, Gwendolyn, the largest of the committee boats, with Harold Winstead and Colonel Jolys and the official timekeeper aboard, still hooted madly. One of the other boats behind her looked familiar.

"I say, I think that's Captain Flint, coming in the Beckfoot launch," said John.

Nancy, who had thought this time, at least, things could not get any worse, saw that indeed they could, and said nothing.

The crew of Miss Britain began shouting long before Nancy or John could understand any words over the sound of her motors. When they got closer, the words were clear enough, and then both wished they couldn't make them out. It got worse a minute later, when the fleet arrived, the outraged crews hurling fury that felt to Amazon's crew like a torrent worse almost than Miss Britain's bow wave.

"Inexcusable behavior." "Illegal…" "Warned only two days ago!" "Stupid children." "Careless." "Have the police on them!" "Might have been killed."

Nancy tried to speak. She made an effort to defend herself and her crew, but her words were lost in the clamor and the accusations, and she finally stopped trying altogether, shaking her head and holding her injured arm across her chest, misery on her face.

John stopped baling and unshipped an oar, shoving it against the log that still lay directly beneath the boat's varnished side. Amazon backed sluggishly away from the object that had caused all the trouble, and as the gap widened, a queer look came over Sir Richard's face as he stared at the long, dark shape of the submerged log. He stood up in the cockpit of Miss Britain and waved at the other boats. "Hold on a moment," he called, and the din faded.

"'You are standing into danger,'" he said, his voice loud enough only to be heard in Miss Britain and the sailboat that rocked back and forth in the water next to her. "You're flying the Uncle flag."

Nancy, John, and Sir Richard's two crewmen looked up at the little flagstaff on the mast. The red and white checked flag flapped idly, the red and white checks stark against Amazon's white sail.

"Look here, is that what you were doing, trying to warn us about the log? Is that what you meant by signaling I was running into danger?" asked Sir Richard.

"We would have told you if everyone had stopped shouting for a moment," said Nancy. "Only no one's listening. Our lookouts on the island there saw the tree in the water and they sent us straight to it. We knew you'd never see it, not in time."

Sir Richard looked across the lake at Wild Cat Island and again at the black shape bobbing just below the surface next to Amazon. "Your lookouts?" he said. "But it must be impossible to see that thing in the water from the island there."

"My brother, Roger, and Nancy's sister, Peggy. They're the ones who noticed the log had gone adrift. They're on the high point at the end of the island, and they saw it out here looking through my ship's telescope," said John.

There was a long silence as Sir Richard measured the distance to the island's Lookout Place. "I'm not sure what to think," he said. "But it doesn't matter at the moment. We've got work to do and we're running out of time. This run's spoilt, that's certain. But what do you say, Fred? Is there enough in those engines for one more try?" Sir Richard asked.

The mechanic held up his notepad. "The readings were all perfect, Sir Richard. Temperatures good. Numbers right down the middle. She'll give you your record today if you ask her."

"Too much time's passed between runs, now," one of the officials said from a nearby cruiser. "We took too long at the south end, and we'll need more time to clear the way, now. You'll have to do the upwind leg again, then the downwind."

"We've got the time to spare this afternoon, though," said Sir Richard. "And the wind's dropped again to nothing. The water's never going to be any smoother."

"Set her up to the north. We'll clear the course for you and give you a 'go' signal for the southbound run as soon as we've got these children and everyone else out of the way," said the yachting-cap man from Gwendolyn.

"Do we need petrol? What about it, Fred? Have we got what we need to go up and back one more time?" said Sir Richard.

"I'll sound the tank to be sure, but my figures say we've got more than enough for two runs," said the mechanic. "I'll check now."

Sir Richard seated himself in Miss Britain's low slung cockpit, adjusting the white helmet on his head before turning to John and Nancy, floating in Amazon only two or three yards away. "Will you two go back over to your island? This is serious business and I'll want a word with both of you after we've done with this," he said grimly.

Before John or Nancy could reply, Miss Britain's engines leapt to life with an angry snarl, and the speedboat curved away to the north, accelerating as she went, the high, arching tail of white water building behind her. Gwendolyn and most of the other boats turned to follow her.

The waves kicked up by the speedboat's departure tossed them about again as John struggled to loop the painter around the half-submerged log while trying to keep Amazon from striking it again.

"Leave that, boy," ordered the man at the helm of the biggest of the nearby launches. "Ye've done enough harm for one day. We'll tow that thing away from here."

"Get it off the course and done with it," said one of the officials, as his own boat started its motor. "And the sailing boat, too."

"We can beach it on t'other side," said another man in the boat. "It'll cause no more trouble over on yon shore."

"And a good, long way from these young scamps. No more mischief there."

"You two take yon boat and get off this course, and mind you, move smartly now," the first man said, waving his hand at Amazon.

"I'll take them in tow," said Captain Flint quietly. "I've a line ready whenever you are, Captain John."

"Captain, is he?" the launch helmsman said. "Not likely, or he'd know better than to bring his ship where it weren't wanted. Lucky for him it is she's not all busted to matchsticks."

John, his face hot, did not look up at the launch or the men in it, coiling the wet line and stowing it in the space forward of Amazon's mast, then caught the rope thrown across by Captain Flint. Nancy, who twice started to say something, sat at the tiller, seeing only the water sloshing gently back and forth in the Amazon's bilges.

As the Beckfoot launch moved off, the line tightened with a jerk, and Amazon fell in behind. Nancy shifted herself to hold the tiller in her left hand, moving into the center of the launch's wake and holding her right arm across her chest. John lowered the mainsail.

Neither said anything for the short ride to the island, proud Amazon, her sail only halfway stowed, trailing behind the launch in a cloud of disgrace and exhaust fumes. As Nancy steered, John baled with the bucket, flinging the water to one side, glad to be busy with a task that might take his mind off of the scene in the middle of the lake.

Off the southern tip of the island, Captain Flint slowed the launch to a crawl. "Cast her off, John," he said. "You can take her in from here, Nancy. I'm going to find Tommy Jolys and see what his intentions are." He took in the downcast looks and uncharacteristic quiet aboard the little sailboat. "Don't worry, I'm sure everything will be all right once it's all been explained."

With his towing line back aboard, Captain Flint waited until Amazon had drifted a few yards before pushing the throttle forward. "Don't worry," he called back again, as the launch chugged away to the north.

"I'll row again," said John. "It's only a little way."

"Let's take her around to the landing place," said Nancy. "We can careen her on the beach and look for any planks that might have been stove in."

"I doubt there's any room," said John. "All the native boats, remember."

"That's right," said Nancy. "None of them will leave until he's finished with his record. The harbor it is."

"I don't believe she's been holed at all," said John, passing an oar to Nancy for the slow scull over the stern into port. "The water's not coming up, anyway. We were jolly lucky. It could've been much worse."

Nancy said nothing, remembering the speedboat's bow, raised up out of the water and aimed straight at her, none of her crew visible, the horrible feeling that flashed through her mind that Miss Britain was unmanned, a ghost ship that could not help but crush them and anything else in her path. John's "It could have been much worse," rang in her ears louder than Miss Britain's engines. At the rocks offshore, she took up one of the oars and sculled her way into the harbor, where the entire expedition stood, waiting.

Scarab had returned with the archaeologists, so the harbor was more crowded than ever, and everyone began talking at once, asking questions even before Amazon put her nose onto the little beach.

"We saw him go by and I thought he capsized you," said Peggy.

"Was it a near thing?" asked Roger. "He looked rather close."

"All's well that ends well," said Nancy. "She missed the iceberg, anyway. No Titanic on the ocean today, though we'd have been on hand to rescue any survivors if he had struck."

Roger, Titty, Dick and Dorothea all heard the voice of Nancy's old self, the cheerful, happy tones that they were used to hearing and always expected from Amazon's captain and the fleet's admiral. Susan and Peggy, however, heard something entirely different, both looking back and forth between Nancy and John, both wanting to believe that everything had gone as well as Nancy let on.

"But we saw him pass you by," said Peggy. "I saw the mast go down and couldn't tell what had happened."

"It was his wake. Tossed us about a bit, is all," said Nancy, not looking at John.

"What did the engines sound like?" said Roger.

Nancy laughed. "I never noticed. He shut them down when he got near, so we only heard anything when he was coming back."

"What's wrong with your leg?" said Susan.

"Banged it on something," said John. "Probably the centerboard. Her wash pushed us up onto the log. Like being in heavy surf there, but only two waves. Nancy's done the same thing to her arm."

Susan frowned. "Titty, get the medical chest from the tent. Sticking plasters and iodine."

"Aye, aye, sir," Titty said, racing off.

"What happened to your arm?" Peggy asked Nancy.

"Bruised it. Nothing broken." She pulled back the sleeve of her jersey, looking down at the red and blue mark below her shoulder. "It's going to be sore tomorrow."

"He didn't hit you?" asked Susan. She was looking at John, but Nancy answered first.

"No, no, no. Nothing like that. Missed by miles," said Nancy. "A league or two, even. But you don't want to get too close to that bow wave. Shiver my timbers, but it very nearly did for us. If I'd had the centerboard down, we wouldn't have slipped sideways so badly. My fault, but we wanted it up for rowing."

Peggy and Susan watched her suspiciously, but Nancy ignored them, looking instead at Amazon.

"Let's see about the damage. No point taking off the shoes now," said Nancy. "We must have shipped half the lake when that rogue sea hit us. Everything's wet already." She jumped over Amazon's side into water than came close to the bottoms of her shorts. "Throw your weight over onto the port side," she told John, who leaned out over the port rail.

Nancy felt carefully along the wood, using her left hand to find the fresh gouges where the log had battered the varnished planks. With her arm in up to the shoulder, she reached as far under the hull as she could, finding more scrapes

"She's banged up pretty badly in places," said Nancy, straightening up. "She'll need new varnish, but none of the planks are sprung."

"I don't see a lot of water coming in," said John. "Maybe a little."

"She's always leaked some around the centerboard trunk. Hitting the log might have made that worse, but we can caulk it. Anyway, she's safe enough here."

Titty returned at run with the box of bandages and other supplies. "He's going back down the lake," she reported breathlessly. "A million miles an hour."

"Not that much," said Dick.

"We may as well go and watch," said Nancy. He said this was his last day, so it's now or never."

With John leading the other crews, Nancy set off up the path toward the camp and the lookout tree, beyond. Peggy and Susan looked at each other, shaking their heads, but they, too, followed their admiral away from the cove.

So, the Wild Cat Island Expedition of 1933 joined a large crowd of natives and tomb robbers to watch as the fastest boat in the entire world raced back up the lake for the last time that year. In the boats anchored offshore, and on the island itself, people cheered as the sleek form made the northbound run on water as smooth and flat as a sheet of glass. On the lighthouse tree behind the crowd, a red and white checked flag hung motionless, the message ignored and irrelevant, now that the danger had passed.

And then it was all over. A blossom of rockets, exploding gaily above the fleet clustered around the finishing buoy at the northern end of the course told everyone on the lake that the last run had been completed safely and that at last the record was in hand. By the time the sound of the fireworks reached the island, the natives assembled around the lighthouse tree were cheering and waving hats, more shouts coming from boats on the lake and the shore below Dixon's farm. Launches hooted and bells rang, and for a long moment, the lake celebrated before everyone left.

No one but the explorers lingered on the island, the natives trooping to their boats at the landing place, chattering amongst themselves about the parties planned for that evening in Rio and the journey back to their lives in the south. Before even half an hour had passed, Wild Cat Island was deserted once more, the white tents in the clearing and one more at the dig the only sign that anyone had ever been there at all.

From the lookout place, some of the explorers watched the fleet of spectator boats leave the lake, rowing, motoring, and sometimes sailing north to Rio and the victory celebration. Roger, still holding the telescope he had used for spotting the log, saw Miss Britain cruising in triumph ahead of the pack, and anyone who hadn't seen her at speed might have thought she was just another motorboat. "They've put up a flag, a jolly big one," he reported. "Just holding it on a pole, since they haven't got a proper mast."

"So long as she's finally gone," said Nancy. "No point in hanging about now. And good riddance." She turned and walked back toward the camp

The others stayed, watching the boats disappear into Cairo harbor or into the islands offshore. More vessels of all kinds and sizes came parading past the island from the south, everyone bound for the celebration in Cairo that afternoon. By the time the steamer that sailed each afternoon for the Antarctic passed, the lake was almost empty.

"One's coming back," said Roger. "A motor launch."

"Captain Flint," said Peggy.

"No. This one's bigger. Bigger roof, too. And there are more people in it. I think it's the one that Captain Flint hired to bring all our supplies."

"Gwendolyn," said Peggy.

"Probably bound for the Antarctic," said Dorothea. "Carrying the news of the victory around the world."

"I don't believe he's going to the Antarctic at all," said Roger," "He's coming straight here."

"I thought we were done with all of them," said John, who didn't really think that at all. "Let's have a look."

Taking the telescope from Roger, he focused on the growing shape of the motorboat,

"It's him. He's coming to the island. He said he would," said John, who had secretly hoped that the excitement of the end of the afternoon would somehow erase everyone's memory of the events in the middle of it. It had been a foolish, childish hope, he thought bitterly, and he handed the telescope back down to Roger and walked back to the camp without saying anything else.

"Who's coming back? Can you see?" asked Dorothea to Dick, who was once again holding Scarab's field glasses.

"I think it's Sir Richard," said Dick. "Bother these glasses. I can't get them to focus right."

"Why would he be coming here?" said Peggy. "He can't still be angry with Nancy and John. He must be happy, now. He got his record in spite of everything."

"He doesn't look very happy," said Roger, who could see the faces in the boat quite clearly through the telescope he had propped on the rock. "More native trouble, just when we thought it was all over with. I wish, if he were coming back at all, that he'd brought his boat with him."

Now, everyone could see the figure in the bow of the launch, his eyes fixed on the island and the small group of onlookers at its highest point. Another man moved forward, saying something to Miss Britain's pilot, who waved him away.

"Gosh," said Peggy. "Native trouble is right. Well, shiver my timbers! I say we've had quite enough of him and his sort of trouble. It's our island again, and he's not welcome. All hands down to the landing place and prepare to repel boarders!"

The others looked at her in surprise. She had never sounded fiercer or more Nancy-like, even in the long winter holiday, when her captain had been quarantined with mumps alone at Beckfoot and Peggy had taken charge of the polar expedition. Surprised or not, they followed Peggy at a run down to the camp, where John stood, talking to Nancy at the tents.

"The enemy! The enemy! He's almost here," shouted Peggy. "We can't let him land."

But neither John nor Nancy made any move toward the little pebbled beach or away from the tents. John knew from hard experience that shoving boats off from the landing place did no good at all. He remembered the last time an enemy had come to the island unwanted, Captain Flint, the recipient of the Black Spot, pulling his rowing boat up to the shore, only to be pushed off again by Captain Nancy. He remembered, too, the native policeman who had come to accuse him of burgling Captain Flint's houseboat, laying false charges made worse by Captain Flint's believing him a liar. And he remembered the man in the yachting-cap, who came in this same launch to say that everyone believed John and Nancy and the others to be duffers and children who were not responsible enough to be allowed to sail their own boats. No, John knew that there could be no pushing that sort of trouble away.

As they stood there, the launch, her speed dropping, rounded the northern side of the little bay, Sir Richard gesturing with one hand to show the helmsman where to put into the beach. The engines pulsed loudly, going into reverse, water foaming up under the launch's stern as she slowed to a crawl before nosing onto the shore.

Sir Richard leapt down onto the pebbles, and ignoring the crowd of very unfriendly explorers, walked straight up to Nancy. She had been standing next to the fireplace, her arm again over her chest, and like John, not looking directly at the intruder. When he stopped in front of her, however, she could no longer ignore him, and she looked at him directly.

"I'm told you're Miss Ruth Blackett," said Sir Richard. "Owner of that boat we encountered this afternoon."

"I'm Captain Blackett," said Nancy. "Master of Amazon, the sailing vessel that had the right of way this afternoon. Steam yields to sail. At least, it's supposed to."

"Yes, but you knew the course was closed while the record attempt was underway. I've also been told that the authorities were down here only two days ago, warning you to stay clear. Is that right?" Sir Richard looked at John. "Did the two of you deliberately disobey the police to go out there?"

"It was my decision to go," said Nancy. "Amazon's my ship, and John was only following my orders. I told you before; we went out to warn you about the log in the water."

"Right. The one you said you spotted from here on the island." He looked around, a thick screen of trees blocking any view of the lake to the west. "Can you take me to the place where you saw it? I'd like to see for myself."

A silent procession filed through the trees and up to the high point beneath the lighthouse tree, Nancy and John leading, followed by Sir Richard, then the rest of the Swallows, Amazons, and Ds, with the crew of Sir Richard's launch bringing up the rear. Once again, a crowd covered the lookout place, this time with the entire Wild Cat Island expedition joining the native intruders.

Nancy, her face much redder than it should have been from such a short walk, flung out her good arm and pointed across the water. "There," she said defiantly. "Our lookouts were here. They spied the log with the ship's telescope. They signaled us using those flag halyards right behind you on the tree, and they sent us directly to it or we'd never have been able to find it in time. If you don't believe me, that's just too bad, because it's the truth."

Sir Richard gazed out across the lake and said nothing for a long, uncomfortable moment, and when he finally spoke, it was so quietly that even though everyone else stood quite close, only Nancy and John could hear him. "Do you know that you might have been… Well, if I hadn't seen you… What I mean to say is, you knew the danger and went out anyway?"

"We knew," said John, just as quietly, not wanting Susan or Peggy or the others to hear them talking this way. "We didn't do it for you. It's the law of the sea. You have a duty to keep other seamen from coming to harm if you can. We would have gone out for anyone."

The pilot of Miss Britain looked back and forth between the two of them, Nancy, her arms crossed over her chest and her face closed and defiant, John, grim and determined. When he spoke again, it was as if a different person had taken the old Sir Richard's place. "You're quite right," he said briskly and loudly enough now for everyone to hear. "I'm Richard Fraser. Master of Miss Britain. I'd like to thank you, captain, for saving my ship and my crew." He held out his hand to Nancy.

Nancy had been expecting many things; she'd had an hour to worry about what Miss Britain's pilot would say to her when they met again. She had imagined herself riding in launch with a police constable, taken to in disgrace Beckfoot, or to someplace much worse, and seen the unbearable disappointment on her mother's face. In her mind, she had seen the island abandoned and the holidays over, not just for her, but for the entire expedition, over forever, and over because of something she had done. The one thing she had not seen was this man, a knight of the realm and the holder of the world water speed record, standing in front of her, a smile on his face and his hand extended.

Nancy took the hand, shook it once, and watched silently as Sir Richard offered it to John, who also shook it in silence.

"Very good. Will you introduce me to your lookouts? I'd like to thank them, too."

Nancy motioned for Peggy to come forward. "Amazon's mate, my sister, Peggy," she said.

"I remember you, Peggy, or is it Margaret?" said Sir Richard, and he shook her hand.

"It's Peggy," said Peggy.

"When I saw your boat, I thought for a moment that might have been you out there this afternoon, but I'm jolly glad now that you stayed here at your post."

"I am, too," said Peggy.

"My brother, Roger," said John.

"I had the telescope," said Roger. "It was awfully hard to see the log out there, but once I did, I told Peggy and she sent the signals."

"I'm very happy you did, and so is my crew. I can't thank either of you enough."

Then Sir Richard wanted to meet the others in the expedition, though it was explained to him that they had been on their way back from Cairo, and hadn't been on the island at all.

"We watched from up north," said Susan. "We were afraid you wouldn't see them in time. Did you come very close?"

For John and Nancy, this could have been the worst moment of the evening. Sir Richard began to answer that it had been much too near a thing than he would have liked, but caught a glimpse of John's face at the last possible instant, seeing the look of horror there. For the second time that day, Miss Britain's pilot demonstrated the quick reflexes and extraordinary navigation skills that had brought him a world record, and veered away from a very dangerous situation. "Close? Oh, I wouldn't say close, exactly. And a miss is as good as a mile, after all," he said, smiling.

Now he turned again to a very relieved Nancy. "Look here, captain, some of those chaps out there were positively beastly toward you, and I've been more than a bit of a beast myself. I'm awfully sorry about that. Not called for. Completely out of order, under the circumstances. You did me a service, and I'd like to repay you. Would any of you like to take a spin in Miss Britain? She's the world speed record holder now, and she and I would both be honored to pipe you aboard for a turn around the lake."

But Nancy, who at that moment could think of nothing but a week of disappointment, almost all of it the result of Miss Britain's presence on the lake, wanted nothing more to do with it. "We don't want to ride in a motor-boat," she said. "It's already caused us all sorts of trouble, and almost ruined our summer. They've even banned us from sailing anytime you're on the lake."

Sir Richard winced. "I know. It wasn't my doing, I assure you. I heard about that only this afternoon. I quite understand how you must feel. I can't do any more than to say I'm sorry. But my offer still stands. You or anyone from your ships, you're all welcome. Peggy? Roger?"

Peggy didn't answer for a moment, but looked at Nancy, "No, thank you," she said finally. "I'll stop here, with the others."

Roger, who wanted very much to go, saw John and Susan, and then shook his head. "I'll stay with Peggy," he said.

Back at the landing place, the crew of Sir Richard's launch began boarding, Swallows, Amazons, and Ds gathered on the beach, each one shaking hands again with the two crewmen from Miss Britain. Sir Richard stopped in front of Peggy.

"Well, perhaps I'll see you next summer and have a chance to go for that sail in Amazon," he said.

Peggy smiled back. "I'm sure we'll all be here, on the island," she said.

Nancy, who had been watching Peggy, suddenly reached out to John. "John, hang on just a moment," she said. "I've had an idea." She turned to Miss Britain's pilot. "Sir Richard, could you wait for just a moment, please?" and motioned for Dick to come over.

The three captains stood in a tight huddle at the edge of the water as Sir Richard and his crew waited at the launch's prow. "I've just thought of something," said Nancy. "He's still the Hated Enemy as long as he's here at the lake. What if this is another of his rotten tricks? What if he's got another plan that's only going to do more to spoil the rest of the holiday?"

John stared hard at Nancy, trying to see if she was being serious. "I don't see why he'd lie about that, though. He's got the record already, so he has what he came here for. No more reasons to stay now. And Peggy did say today was the last day," he said.

"But he might, mightn't he?" asked Nancy. "It might be all some foul scheme of his."

"I suppose so," said John doubtfully. "He seems a decent enough sort. I mean, he doesn't seem like a liar."

"Barbecued billygoats! Don't you see? Perhaps that's part of the trick. All an act to lull us into thinking all's well when it jolly well isn't."

"What should we do?" asked John.

"He's offered to take someone out on Miss Britain. All right, we'll send a spy aboard. Or spies. A secret agent, who can learn all about his dastardly plans and report back."

John glanced at Sir Richard, standing by the launch, back to Nancy and then over to Dick, who looked every bit as confused as he felt. "You're the admiral of the fleet. If you think it's the right thing…" he said, finally.

"All right then. I'll send Peggy. She's already been able to learn his plans once. She can do it again. If anyone else wants to go, we'll send them, too," said Nancy.

"I want to go," said Roger, who had come just close enough to the captains to hear that someone might be going out in Miss Britain after all.

"Roger," said John. "I don't know…"

"It's a jolly good idea. He's perfect for the job," said Nancy. "They'll never suspect him, and he already knows everything about that beastly biscuit box. He'll know right away if someone's not telling the truth."

Nancy called for Peggy to come over and explained the plan, asking if she'd be willing to go with Roger.

Peggy was stunned. "Go with Sir Richard?" she said. "By myself? No, Nancy. I don't want – "

"You won't go by yourself. Roger's going, too. We need to know if he's really taking his boat and going home. You two must find out," said Nancy.

"Gosh. I didn't think… I suppose, if you're sure…" said Peggy.

"Good. It's settled. We're counting on you," said Nancy.

Nancy told Sir Richard that two of her shipmates would be sailing with him after all. "Very good. Good show, both of you," said Sir Richard. "I'll be back tomorrow with Miss Britain. Noon, rain or shine, although we'll hope for another day like today. And you're not to worry," he said, mostly to Susan, who suddenly seemed very worried, indeed. "It might feel as if we're going a hundred, but I won't take her past thirty," but he winked at Roger and Peggy when he saw Susan look away toward John.

21

The secret agents

Everything had changed the morning after Miss Britain's record, and everyone on the island could feel that change at once. For one thing, a vast and peaceful calm had fallen over the lake. Where, only a few short hours before, the hills echoed to the sound of mighty engines and the excited cries of hundreds of natives, now the call of a duck to its mate or the splash of a fish came clearly to those in the white tents.

There would be no sailing this day, at least, not before noon, and all of them knew that, as well. For one thing, not even a hint of wind stirred the leaves on the trees surrounding the campsite. And for another, this morning came wrapped in a thick, white fog. The first of the explorers who went to the lookout place came back to report that beyond a few yards of tranquil water, nothing whatsoever could be seen of the world outside the island.

"We might be anywhere, even in the middle of the Atlantic," said Roger, running back to the tents.

"It's perfect for an attack," said Dorothea. "The pirates, silently creeping close to their unsuspecting prey in the mist, then charging ahead in a sudden, overpowering rush, sweeping all before them."

"Uncle Jim's not going to attack us here. He knows we want a sea battle," said Peggy.

"Captain Flint, you donkey," said Nancy. "And as quiet as this is, we'd hear the launch or his oars long before this, anyway, even if they'd been muffled with a blanket or his coat, like the old time smugglers or a cutting out party."

"How will Sir Richard find his way back down here this afternoon, if it stays like this?" asked Roger.

"You'll get your ride in that beastly biscuit box. The fog never lasts past the morning," said Nancy. "Well, almost never. I imagine it will be fine this afternoon."

"I don't think I've ever seen it this still before," said John. "Someone's going to have to row both ways to fetch the milk."

"It's my turn," said Dick. I want to see if the Dixons have heard from mother and father."

"Is this the first time you've ever tried navigating in a fog?" asked John.

"In a small boat, it is. And as captain. We did it in Teasel at Yarmouth, sailing from one marking post to the next. We ended up aground. And we were out on the lake in the blizzard. It was as bad as this, and maybe worse. I didn't see the North Pole until we could almost touch it."

"No wind or snow today, and it's much warmer. And no marker posts, either. You'll have to do it blind using the compass. Take a bearing and follow it to the shore, then just run the reverse of it coming back," said Nancy.

"It'll be no problem finding the shore," said Dick. "You could hardly miss it, after all. But the island's much smaller, and getting back, it would be easy to pass by it altogether."

"We'll set up a foghorn at the lookout place. Or bang on a saucepan every few seconds," said Nancy. "Send up a few shouts when you're ready to set out. We'll hear them without any trouble, even with the fog. And anyway, it's going to start to lift before long. Probably before you even start back."

The trip to the Dixons' farm went smoothly enough, the fog providing a thick white curtain that let Dick practice his rowing stroke in complete privacy.

"You've really learnt the rowing quite well," said Dorothea. From her place at the tiller she could clearly see the concentration on his face. "I think you're every bit as good at it as Susan or Peggy. John's very good, but Nancy's a bit splashy. She's very fast, though. It's a pity no one can see us from the island."

Dick was always a little uncomfortable doing nautical things around the others, who had been doing them so much longer. He was not at all sorry that they could not see him from the island and plugged ahead, the mist close thickened.

"Keep a lookout ahead. We must be nearly there," said Dick.

"Land ho," said Dorothea, and a moment later, Scarab's bow crunched into the reeds at the water's edge. "Sorry, I was looking at the compass."

"Lucky for us it was reeds and not rocks," said Dick. "What was our heading coming across?"

"Just a little bit north of east."

"A little bit? How much, exactly? A few degrees, even a point or two could mean the difference between seeing the island and missing it altogether," said Dick. The thought that he might row straight past Wild Cat Island in the mist and find himself paddling aimlessly about in the middle of the lake until the fog lifted was too appalling to consider. He decided to draw out the visit to the Dixons. Even a few minutes might see the fog thinning enough to make out the island's trees from a distance. The milk, he decided firmly, could wait. John and Nancy would agree, he thought. No proper ship's captain would risk his ship and crew simply to deliver a cargo of milk on time.

They followed the sounds of the Dixons' animals to the farmhouse, hearing Mr. Dixon in the barn, across the yard. Mrs. Dixon was in the kitchen, and the smell of breakfast met them at the door.

"Aye, and I'm surprised to see you this morning, coming across in fog as thick as this. And you found the house and all," said Mrs. Dixon.

"We're not going back straight away," said Dick. "I'm going to wait a bit and see if the fog lifts.

"You'll have time for some breakfast, then. I've fettled up some baking for Dixon. Eggs, pudding, and bacon, there's more than enough for you and some to take back with you to the others if you want."

Moments later, Mr. Dixon came through the door, his boots clumping on the flagstones of the kitchen. A neatly dressed young man followed, carrying a large leather case, in the shape of a tube. Tied to the tube were the spindly legs of a tripod, and the man set bundle gently on the floor next to the door.

"Here's Mr. Herrick. He and his missus have been boarding with us during all the fussing about on the lake," said Mrs. Dixon. She introduced Dick and Dorothea, who shook hands with the native.

"I've heard all about you from the Dixons, of course," said Herrick. "Your parents are coming up in a day or so, aren't they?

"We were hoping to hear something today," said Dorothea.

"Aye, there's a letter for you, and there were a post card for us, too, saying day after tomorrow's the one," said Mrs. Dixon.

"I say, is that a telescope?" asked Dick, looking at the leather case.

"Yes, it is. I've been making good use of it, too, in the old barn. Mr. Dixon said you were the first one to make it into an observatory, and it's a cracking good one," said Mr. Herrick.

"Were you watching the stars?"

"I have done, yes, several evenings this past week. Too good a spot to waste. But this trip, it was mainly for watching Miss Britain go for the record."

"You can see a lot of the lake from up there," said Dick.

"You can't see anything this morning, of course, with all the fog, but this telescope's jolly powerful. It almost put me right there in the cockpit of Miss Britain with Sir Richard."

"Were you able to see him set the record?" asked Dorothea. "It must have been very exciting."

"Yes, indeed. Yesterday was by far the best day. Only six runs… Well, five and a half, really, because of that sailing boat nearly getting run down, but two were the ones that counted, weren't they? Mr. Dixon told me you two had been doing some sailing on the lake and I said to him you might have been out there and gotten in the way. He set me straight on that account."

"Nay, nay. I said that'll never be Dick nor Dorothea. Dick's too good a head for foolishness such as that, and that sail of his is red and not white. It'll be them from Jackson's or over to Beckfoot," said Mr. Dixon, and he stumped back through the kitchen and out the door into the fog.

Dorothea smiled as she watched him leave. She knew Mr. Dixon to be a shy and quiet man, and always surprised her when he spoke more than two words at a time. She was secretly very pleased to hear him say all of this in Dick's defense. Dick, however, had not heard any of this tribute, thinking instead about something else that Mr. Herrick had said.

"Nearly run down, you said? But Amazon – the other boat, I mean – our friends who saw everything, they said they never got that close to the speedboat," said Dick, remembering what Captain Nancy had said. "They were miles apart."

Mr. Herrick laughed. "Miles? Three feet, more like it. I can't think how Sir Richard missed hitting them at all. It was the finest piece of piloting I've ever seen, and I've watched a few of these record attempts. This wasn't my first, by any means, but it's the first time I've ever seen another boat out on the course while the attempt was still underway. Could've been an absolute disaster, and very nearly was."

"But could you see the log in the water with your telescope?" asked Dorothea.

"I saw it being towed off, afterward, of course. It took a few minutes to try and sort out what everyone was doing down there. Before that, I was following Miss Britain from well before she crossed the line until she got to that boat. Sir Richard slowed; it must've been at the last possible instant, and then managed to turn her just enough to miss. Even then, he couldn't have been more than a couple of feet away from the other boat when he passed. I could still see the sail, but the other boat – Amazon, you said? Amazon's hull and both people in her completely disappeared behind Miss Britain," said Mr. Herrick. "No mistake about that."

Dick's mind raced. Amazon disappeared behind the other boat. Miss Britain was no more than five feet above the waterline, at her highest point, and Amazon, not more than three. The telescope, mounted on the barn above the house, was at least 150 feet above the lake and more than a mile from the spot where the two boats met. He would need something to write on to calculate the geometry exactly, but he knew even without putting a line or a number to paper that Mr. Herrick was telling the truth.

"How fast was she going when she passed them, Miss Britain, I mean?" asked Dick.

"As I say, she slowed, must have been under a hundred, or she'd never have been able to shift her course. Seventy? Eighty? I don't know, but they were past your friends in the blink of an eye, and nothing more."

Dorothea saw Dick's face and read the trouble there, though she could not see what the bother was about. Amazon went out to collect the log and Miss Britain missed her. It did not matter to Dorothea whether she had missed by five feet or five miles; she had saved Miss Britain from the lurking iceberg and Sir Richard had gone on to set his record and then come to the island himself to thank the expedition for their warning. So far as Dorothea was concerned, everything could not have gone any better.

"And if that isn't enough to convince you, I know one of Sir Richard's mechanics quite well. Fred McLeod. We saw him at dinner last night in (and here he named the town which had recently been known as Cairo, but was now back to being Rio). "He was sitting on the off side, away from the sailing boat, and said he thought for a moment that they might have actually struck, but he couldn't find any sign of it on Miss Britain afterward. Still, he said it was as close as he could get without actually touching. He said they were still going more than seventy miles per hour when they turned. Luckily, Sir Richard kept control and they didn't have a smash. That would have made an awful mess of both boats, going at that pace."

After he said this, Mr. Herrick's wife came downstairs and into the kitchen, talking about the things that had already been packed away and those that still needed packing. Dick and Dorothea were forgotten for the moment, and Dick motioned for Dorothea to follow him outside. They stood at the kitchen door, listening to Mr. Jackson shoveling something in the barn that was just a gray shape in the mist.

"Did you hear what that man said?" asked Dick. "That Miss Britain almost ran Amazon down yesterday."

"Yes. But John and Nancy were there. It must not have been as bad as he thought."

"Don't you see, Dot? Nancy and John said they hadn't even been close to Miss Britain," said Dick. "Even Sir Richard said he hadn't gotten that near."

"I'm sure they can't all be mistaken," said Dorothea. "They were the ones out there.

"No. It's mathematically impossible. The geometry's all wrong."

"Can you really tell that only from the math?" Dorothea's eyes were wide, and she looked out into the fog as if she could see back to the scene on the lake the afternoon before. "I can't believe Nancy or John could be wrong about that."

"I'll show you at home when I can get my notebook. It's a simple problem, really. The Pythagorean Theorem. If you know the length of two legs of a right triangle, which is what we have here, you can easily find the third. I think I can figure the rest of it out from that. I'll measure Miss Britain when she comes to collect Roger and Peggy today. That will give me the last number. Then, it's just ordinary mathematics." Still thinking about the problem, Dick fumbled in his pockets for a pencil, finding one, then discovering that he had nothing to write on.

"Bother. It will have to wait until we get back to the island," said Dick.

"What will we tell them when we get back?" asked Dorothea.

"What's that?" asked Dick, still thinking about the geometry problem. "Tell who?"

"The others. Titty and Susan and the others. What should we say?"

Dick had not thought about this question. He believed that Nancy and John had been wrong about their brush with Miss Britain, and he thought that he could prove this scientifically. And there really was only one answer to Dorothea's question. Once a scientist had completed an experiment, once a discovery had been made, the scientist published the results, so other scientists could review it and learn from it. That was how science always worked.

"The facts, I suppose," he said. "You always report your findings. And why wouldn't John and Nancy want to know the exact distance if it could be calculated? I know I would."

"Keep her steady, Fred," said Sir Richard, as his mechanic splashed into the shallow water and stood at the racing boat's sharp prow, holding Miss Britain just off the beach. Water bubbled beneath her stern and the engines grumbled behind Sir Richard as his second crewman climbed out of the cockpit and along the smooth deck before dropping into the water next to the first.

"Who's coming aboard?" Sir Richard asked, but his question was at least partly answered before he even finished it, as Roger ran to the bow. One of the crewmen gave him a lift up. Then it was Peggy's turn, and she swung herself onto the foredeck and followed Roger aft toward the cockpit.

"Only two at a time," Sir Richard said, seeing Dick wading into the water next to the boat. "We can come back for more after the first run."

"I'm not going," said Dick. "I only wanted to know how high Miss Britain stood out of the water."

"Length 36 feet, beam 10 feet, freeboard 4 feet. Long and lean, low and fast, that's what we were hoping for. Settle yourself amidships there," Sir Richard said to Peggy, who took the middle of the three wicker seats in the cockpit.

"Gosh. Four feet," said Dick. He turned away and walked back to his tent, already pulling his notebook and pencil from his pocket. "Gosh."

"That's most extraordinary. I don't believe I've ever had anyone ask me that before," said Sir Richard to Peggy, who was looking up at him. "Most people want to know about the motors or the propeller, or what it feels like to go a hundred miles an hour."

"Well, I want to know about the motors," said Roger, who could feel their power against his back. "I want to know everything."

"I shall have to give you all of her specifications when we come back," said Sir Richard. "It's going to be too loud in a moment to do much talking. I've got some cotton wool for your ears."

Everyone in the expedition knew that thunder terrified Peggy and that she did not especially care for other loud noises either. For a moment, she looked as though she might have changed her mind about the trip in the racing boat, but with Roger, there was no doubt. Roger was overjoyed.

"Stand by to shove us off," said Sir Richard, working on the reversing gear, motioning for his crewmen to push the boat away from the beach as he pushed the throttle forward. With the engines throbbing behind their backs, Roger and Peggy pushed the cotton wool into their ears and Miss Britain backed toward the mouth of the bay.

Sir Richard spun the wheel and the speed-boat turned, her bow pointing north. Peggy looked back at the beach, where the others stood watching. Nancy waved and everyone else cheered. Peggy saw the wave and the smile behind it and knew at once that everything would be all right. She had just enough time to throw Nancy one quick answering wave before being pressed back into her seat as Miss Britain leaped forward.

Those onshore heard Roger's excited shout even above the sudden snarl of the big engines, and they watched as the white foam rose behind the speeding boat.

"Up to the lighthouse," shouted John, and they ran with the others, followed by Miss Britain's crew, to the lookout place.

"I do hope he remembers not to go too fast," said Susan.

"Well, I hope he takes her up to a hundred," said Nancy.

"There are a dozen other boats out there today," said John. "He won't do that."

"No," said Nancy. "But shiver my timbers, won't those two remember this for the rest of their lives? Look at her. I know sail's the thing, but she's simply magnificent."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you wished you had gone," said John.

Nancy followed the silver shape as it made a broad turn, still accelerating, now pointed toward the Antarctic, the bow rising off the water. For a moment, Miss Britain appeared to be flying low, just a foot above the lake, her powerful motors bellowing into the white spray behind her.

"What's that you said?" asked Nancy.

"I said, it sounded for a moment as if you wish you'd gone with them," said John. Like Nancy, he didn't take his eyes away from the speeding boat that got smaller by the second.

"Gone with them? Rubbish!" said Nancy. "In that thing? The biscuit box? Hardly. I can't even bear to watch it. Thank goodness he's gone tomorrow. Let's have another go at the dig, shall we? I think it's our watch."

She turned and walked back through camp, disappearing down the path toward the Valley of the Kings.

John watched her go, then shook his head and looked at Susan. "You know, Mister Mate, I don't believe she really thought Sir Richard was playing a trick at all."

"Well, I think after what happened in Rio, she just wanted Peggy to have a chance to go aboard Miss Britain," said Susan. "I'm glad everything's all right again."

"It is all right again, isn't it?" said John.

"Yes. But I'll stay up here until Roger gets back," said Susan.

On Miss Britain, everything was indeed, all right again. Roger sat as high as he could in the wicker seat, feeling the wind in his face, the colossal might of 4000 horsepower at his back, and the sheer joy of pure speed in his heart. Looking down at the water flashing past in a silver blur, flying faster than he had ever gone in his life, he knew what he would never say to John or Susan or anyone else in the expedition; sail was not the thing after all. This was the thing.

And after a few anxious moments, everything was all right with Peggy, too. She had one bad moment when the engines rolled up to power, and the Peggy who hated thunder and other loud noises felt a small thrill of fear run through her. She had another when she looked across Sir Richard to the island, seeing Nancy and the others at the lighthouse tree, and for one awful instant, she remembered the second when Miss Britain had surged between Wild Cat Island and Amazon, the mast jerking sharply toward the water, Nancy disappearing as the sleek silver hull swept past. But these thoughts were gone almost as quickly as they had come, and Peggy saw Sir Richard turn to her with a smile on his face, shouting, barely loud enough to hear, that his boat was a wonder. "Isn't she grand?" he said, and Peggy nodded happily.

"I'll take her round the north end of the course and then south," Sir Richard shouted, slowing briefly to make his turn, then shoving the throttles forward as the sleek little ship leaped forward, flying past the buoy that marked the start of the speed record course.

They raced at speed all the way to the steamer pier at the southern end of the lake, passing anchored fishermen and cruising motor-boats that may as well have been anchored, so quickly did Miss Britain leave them behind. Everywhere, on boats and ashore, people saluted, some waving their caps, and Peggy, seeing Sir Richard returning the salutes, waved back too.

He slowed at the pier, making a wide, sweeping turn, the motors idling. "I'll take you back along the course, just as we did it yesterday," he said, still needing to shout to be heard even over the reduced sound of the motors. Roger and Peggy both nodded, then leaned back in their seats as the boat began to accelerate, climbing up onto her step and flinging herself onward. Roger shouted again, and Sir Richard laughed, and Peggy forgot everything else.

They pounded down the course, bouncing a little on the small waves that lined the way, bursting past the starting line, then the middle buoy, close to the spot where Miss Britain had turned away from Amazon at the very last possible second. Away to the right, Peggy could see the lighthouse tree on the high point of Wild Cat Island, saw the small figures of people standing there, as they had the day before, but no flag warning of danger ahead, and then Wild Cat, too, was left behind.

Before they knew it, they had crossed the finish line, but Sir Richard didn't slow until he had almost reached the islands off Rio Bay. Here, he cut the engines to idle, the roar dying to a strong rumble, loud enough for the motors to remind everyone of their strength, but quiet enough that they could hear each other speak.

"I'll take her through the bay one more time," said Sir Richard. "We'll give everyone a chance to have a last look at her."

Gliding smoothly over the still waters, Miss Britain passed through the fleet of moored yachts and along the bayfront, her wake only a ripple that barely moved the other boats around her. Here, too, people stood and cheered, coming to the water's edge to wave at the racing boat and her crew, who all waved back happily.

"They love her, too," said Roger.

"They simply can't help it," said Sir Richard. "And neither can I."

The racing-boat wound through the smaller islands, then turned south again, taking a course that would carry them past Holly Howe and Houseboat Bay to the island. This time, Sir Richard did not push his ship up to speed, knowing that although they were now homeward bound, his crew wanted to keep this voyage going as long as possible.

But even the most pleasant of voyages must come to an end, and in what seemed no time at all, they were back at the landing place, the two marooned crewmembers waiting at the water's edge.

"There you are, Fred," said Sir Richard, as he shut the engines down. "I ran the course, both legs. She did perfectly. I believe she went faster today than yesterday, at least on the southern run." He grinned at Roger and Peggy. "No timer today, so it can't be official, but we made the attempt."

Peggy and Roger waved good-bye as Miss Britain backed out of the cove, Sir Richard throwing a last salute before turning north. Then they ran to the lookout point and watched the racing-boat disappear beyond the Peak of Darien.

"Do you think she'll be back next summer?" asked Roger.

"I don't know," said Peggy. "He said he wanted to go out in Amazon, but having Miss Britain here almost spoiled everything for us."

"I don't care," said Roger. "It was worth everything, all the trouble, to go out there."

"Yes," said Peggy. "It was. Now, let's go and help with the digging. Nancy will want to be sailing again tomorrow."

22

Opening the tomb

When John got to the dig, he found Nancy already in the pit, using one of the bigger shovels to clear dirt from the north edge of the charcoal patch. She moved awkwardly, favoring her bruised right arm and working the spade mostly with her left. Dick sat to one side, writing in his notebook.

"What are you working on there, Professor?" asked John.

"It's a geometry problem. Very interesting. I thought I could figure it, and when I measured Miss Britain, I knew I was right. She's four feet high."

"Miss Britain?" said John. "Four feet? What does she have to do with the dig?"

Dick, who had been thinking only about the triangles and numbers on his notebook, looked around the Valley of the Kings as if he were seeing if for the first time. "Nothing. It's not about that. I was trying to use geometry to calculate how far Miss Britain was from Amazon when she passed you yesterday." He showed John the notebook page, with its right triangles, numbers and lines. He told him about the visitor at Dixons' and what he'd seen. "I thought I could get it using Pythagoras," he said, finally.

John and Nancy looked at each other. Neither said anything for a moment and then John cleared his throat. "Ahem. Pythagoras. And it worked, did it?" he said.

"Oh, yes. I had to do a bit of guessing. I don't know the exact altitude of the observatory at Dixons', of course. I made an estimate, but in the end, it didn't make any difference, at least none that mattered."

Nancy awkwardly tossed a shovel full of dirt toward the growing pile outside the pit. She did not meet John's eyes and did not look toward Dick at all.

"The observatory's altitude…" said John.

"Yes. But it wasn't important at all. The only thing that really mattered was the height of Miss Britain and Amazon. Four feet and two feet, although it's more if we count the crew's height, too. That adds a couple of feet."

"And what did the geometry tell you?" asked John.

Dick pointed to some figures at the bottom of the notebook page. "I don't believe he passed more than two feet away. Three, at the most. I'd like to know if I got it right. Is that about what you'd say?"

But John didn't answer the question, not saying anything at all for a long moment, and then asking another question instead. "What are you going to tell Susan and Peggy?" he said. Now, Nancy stopped and rested on the shovel, waiting for Dick's answer.

Dick blinked behind his glasses. He remembered that Dorothea had asked him the same question. "I don't know. The facts, I expect. Mainly, I'd just like to know if I got the numbers right. Why? Is it important that they not know?"

"It's important to Nancy and me. It doesn't matter whether he really did miss us by a mile or only by three feet. But if Susan or Peggy knew that it was that near a thing, that we were close enough to actually touch, well, they'd say we shouldn't have gone, that we were duffers, or almost, and it was all wrong to go," said John.

"Was it wrong to go? He might have struck you. The calculations say he almost did," said Dick.

"It wasn't about being right or wrong," said John. "It was only our duty. Sir Richard might have been the Hated Enemy, but he's captain of his own ship. A captain has the duty to go to the aid of distressed seamen, or to prevent them from coming to harm. He understands, and he'd have done the same for us. Any captain worth his salt would have, and not thought twice about it. But Susan and Peggy would never understand that. I don't think you can understand it unless you've been captain and had the responsibility, and they haven't."

"And they'll tell mothers and mothers are far worse," said Nancy. "Mothers aren't interested in duty, not when it comes to their children. Talk to them about duty and they'll only say you should wait. Grow up some more before you go believing in things like that."

"Would I have done it? Gone out there?" asked Dick, thinking that he, too, was master of his own ship.

"Shiver my timbers! Of course you would have. Any of us would," said Nancy.

"Yes, I'm sure of it. But think for a moment what Dot would say if it had been you who went out, and was almost run down," said John.

"She'd say I shouldn't have gone. She wouldn't understand," said Dick, looking down at the right triangles drawn into his notebook and the rows of figures next to them. "But think I do."

"In the end, it doesn't matter," John said quietly. "He missed us, and in the end, it wouldn't change anything if he'd missed us by a hundred yards. He's right. A miss really is as good as a mile, at least it was for us."

"I understand," said Dick, and he closed the page in his notebook that had been covered with the Pythagorean Theorem.

"Jibbooms and bobstays, but this is hard work down here and you are, both of you, standing about, yarning. I'm going to let you have a turn in a minute, John. It's awfully hot, even under the shade," said Nancy. "With this broken wing of mine, this is worse than working that beastly rock crusher last year at the mine. I'd almost rather be out with Roger and Peggy in that biscuit box."

"I'm ready whenever you are," said John.

"We'd never shift this lot using those little shovels," said Nancy. "And now that Miss Britain's gone, we'll be wanting to get back to doing the other things we've planned. There's the battle with Captain Flint and the exploring. We won't have as much time for the digging."

"Well, I'm going to keep at it," said Dick. "I'd like to get a hundred square feet around the place where Titty and Dot found the cross, down to that level. Ten feet by ten feet, and down a foot. That's a hundred cubic feet and we've done about twenty already."

"It feels like I've done a thousand just today," said Nancy, who took a big swing with the spade, shoving it into the loose soil, the metal clanging against something large and solid.

"What was that?" asked Dick, looking up from his notebook.

"Another rock, I think," said Nancy. "Jolly big one, too. I've shifted a couple of smaller ones already."

"Scrape that dirt out of the way," said John.

"I did. More just keeps falling in on it. It's hard, with only one hand."

"It's not any kind of metal, is it?" asked Dick, standing with John next to the hole.

"No, no. No such luck. It's just a wretched boulder. My shovel bounced right off. If it's as big as it looks, it's going to take all three of us to get it out, and now my left arm hurts almost as much as the right."

"Hullo, what's this?" said John. "There's a hole in the middle of it. Push your spade under that corner and pry it up."

With John and Dick both watching intently, Nancy worked the tip of the shovel under the edge of the boulder and pushed downward. A large, flat gray stone, about three inches thick and smooth on both sides fell out of the crumbling earth and onto the floor of the pit.

All three could see at once that this was no ordinary rock. Although one edge was perfectly straight, the other formed a beautiful arc, a complete semi-circle that had obviously been shaped by a human hand. In the exact center, although it was filled with earth, was a round hole, just as John had said.

"I've seen this before," said Dick, fumbling for his notebook. He flipped through the pages, back to the drawings he'd made at the professor's house. A smithy. An anvil. The foundation for a Viking longhouse. A portable forge. His drawing of the Viking bellows. A flat stone with a hole in the center. There it was.

"It's a bellows stone," he said, climbing down into the pit. Here's where you'd put the nozzle." He poked his finger into the hole, pushing the dirt through to the other side. "The charcoal would be on one side, and the bellows on the other. You need the stone to protect the bellows from the heat."

John and Nancy took turns looking at the drawing in the notebook and back at the stone. "It looks very close," said Nancy. "I think that's it."

"This proves it," said Dick. "The slag, the charcoal, and now the bellows stone. There can't be any doubt. This was a smelter or a forge." He scrambled back out of the pit and collected the larger of his notebooks, where he'd been making the sketches of the site.

"We've got to record the place exactly," he said, hunting for the pencil he'd dropped when the stone. "I've got to go back to the tent for the camera. I'll take the film to town tomorrow and have it sent off for developing. We'll want the photographs back as soon as possible. And I'll want to send a letter to mother and father about the stone. There must be more books about them. Perhaps it's not too late for father to bring one with him. Perhaps I should send a telegram. But there's Captain Flint's professor, he can tell us more about it."

"Look at this," said Nancy. She had flipped the heavy stone over, exposing the side that had remained hidden until then. Carved directly into the rock was a web of lines, curved and straight, covering almost all of one side. Using her fingers, she brushed the dirt from the lines, and the image of a man's face appeared. "Who could have done that?" she said.

Seeing the carving, probably the last thing that he had expected, John was too surprised to speak and only shook his head.

"I can trace this onto paper. I'll need a much bigger piece. Measurements. Must record those. How old? They'll want to know. What period? Was it a forge or a smelter? That's something else they'll want to know. The professor will know. The professor will be able to tell us right away," said Dick.

"Let's lift it out of there," said John. "Get it up, into the light."

Each taking one end, they lifted it onto the edge of the pit. Nancy got one of the brushes that had, so far, gotten no use, and brushed the dirt from the carved lines. The hole made a neat, round O where the man's mouth would have been.

"Yes, yes," said Dick. "It's a bellows stone. There's no doubt."

"But how does it work?" asked John.

"Remember last year, when we built our blast furnace up at High Topps. We put the ore in Captain Flint's crucible and set it in the middle of the charcoal. And then, we had rocks piled all around that to hold in the heat. I didn't have a bellows stone, not a proper one, like this. I just made a bit of a hole between the bricks and we put the nozzle through."

"The bellows. We ruined the one from our fireplace at Beckfoot last year," said Nancy. "Mother had to have the leather completely replaced and she says it hasn't been the same since."

"Yes, a bellows. The Vikings had really big ones, much better than the ones we used last year. I've got a picture of one in here," said Dick. He flipped to another page, one with the drawing of the heart-shaped bellows. "The professor said it was stronger than the ones today, and built for really hard use. They'd have had to keep a fire going for hours. Days, even."

All of them remembered the back-breaking labor of keeping the Beckfoot bellows going under the pile of charcoal in the smelter they'd built to refine the ore they hoped would be gold. Though they switched places often and took shorter and shorter turns, everyone thoroughly exhausted (and secretly glad) when the leather on the old bellows had finally given out and the smelting stopped.

"The Vikings would have had plenty of sailors to man the pump," said Nancy. "Big chaps, strong as oxen."

"You'd need a big crew to keep a smelter going," said Dick. "Someone to make the charcoal, feed the fire, work the bellows. Someone in charge and someone bringing the ore to the crucible. There would have been a lot of ore to make that bloom Roger found. I hadn't thought about that. Think how small our ore was last year, only a cocoa tin full, and Captain Flint's crucible wasn't very large. Theirs would have been much bigger to hold all of that iron and slag. Or maybe they brought the blooms here from smelters somewhere else and this was the place they worked it into wrought iron or steel. This must have been an important place for them. He remembered what the professor had said about the key part that iron played in Viking life.

Dick's eyes wandered off, tracing a path around the clearing. He went on talking, but not to John and Nancy anymore, as Dick left them for a moment, traveling backward through time, seeing the Norseman at his bellows, pumping away as the furnace hissed and spit and created the miracle of steel. The vision was as clear and real as if he was standing next to the Viking and watching the marvel unfold.

This was exactly the sort of thing that was always happening to Dorothea, whose stories became as vivid and real to her as if she herself were living in them., Although Dick had always been the practical, logical one, he had imagination enough to see these things so clearly because he understood how everything the Vikings achieved, their centuries of conquest and the vast sweep of their travels, all came back to the iron and steel that they produced behind this rock and others like it. He ran his fingers over the stone, and he imagined only for a moment that he could feel the intense heat building on the other side as inches away, iron bloomed from ore in the flames. The rock, buried beneath the earth for a thousand years, was cool to his touch, and the vision faded.

Dick saw John and Nancy staring at him. "Sorry, just thinking. So, someone stood to one side and worked a bellows, sending the air into the pile of charcoal inside, just like our blast furnace. But it's hot inside, and unless there's a wall there, the bellows will get burned. It's only made of wood and leather. Too much heat, so they made these stones. Sometimes they were made of bronze or metal, but mostly stone. See, it says here, 'soapstone.'

"This is going to be tremendously important," said Dick, looking around the little clearing. "It really is like the Valley of the Kings. The professor said something like this could change Britain's history. It means going much further out than we've already excavated. There may have been buildings here. Traces of an entire ancient civilization."

"We'll have to tell all of this to the crews," said Nancy. "I'll call a council after supper. Miss Britain will be back by then and we'll have all hands on deck."

The explorers sat in a wide circle around the campfire. In the west, the sun had set behind the high hills, the peak of Kanchenjunga rising dark and severe above all the rest. Shadows had fallen across the silent lake and onto the little clearing where the camp stood. The bellows stone sat next to the hearth, warmed once more by flames that last touched it a thousand years before. Nancy had placed the Viking cross onto another rock, alongside the iron bloom that started the whole archaeological dig.

"Right, then. As admiral of the fleet, I've called this council to talk about the treasure we've discovered and what it means. Dick's going to tell us what he knows about this stone, and we shall all decide what to do about it.

"It's really just an old rock, isn't it?" said Roger. "It's not nearly as interesting as the cross."

"That's not what Captain Dick says," said Nancy. "He's been to talk to the native headman who knows all about these things."

"He's like the High Priest of the natives. They knew all of the secrets of the tribe, all of the really dark ones," said Dorothea. "Perhaps they used it in some sort of ritual, all of the natives dancing round it in the light of the flames."

"They weren't natives, not really. They were probably the Vikings who came here and settled, but the only way to really know would be to really research the site. Do a full excavation, a real dig. That would tell us who was here and when, and what they were doing," said Dick.

"Tell everyone what you know about the bellows stone and what it means," said John.

Dick told the story again, explaining how the bellows stone fit into the smelter, how important it was to the men who used it to make iron and steel, and how crucial those were to the Vikings. He talked of bog ore and haematite, how Viking armor and weapons were made, and the wrought iron used to build boats and houses. He told how the forge that produced these things would have been central to the Viking life, and how the bellows stone stood at the center of the forge.

Dorothea glowed with pride as she listened to Dick telling the story. She had always been the storyteller but was never better than Dick was now. He painted a picture that everyone could see clearly, of a thriving community on the island, smoke rising above the forge as men worked the bellows and poured charcoal into the furnace. They saw men carrying bags of ore to the forge that stood in the clearing and heard the sound of steel ringing on iron as a smith worked the metal from the forge into Viking swords and Viking armor, and they saw strange ships with dragon prows in their own secret harbor.

"These stones were so important, they were carried from place to place, and they're very rare. The cross we've found, it's nothing like as rare as this." Dick ran his fingers across the face on the stone. "The professor said the Viking cross is just jewelry for a horse. This is the real treasure. It's not Egyptian, and it's not nearly as big a discovery as Tut's tomb. There won't be the kind of treasures that Carter and the others found in the real Valley of the Kings," said Dick. "But there's more to find. If we keep digging, we're going to find other things, traces of the civilization that made them. There'll be so much to learn, so many things to discover about the people who lived here a thousand years ago. This stone is important, but it's only the beginning."

"It's not real treasure, though," said Roger. "It's not like tons of gold or a pile of silver ingots."

"No. But this is what being an archaeologist is all about," said Dick. "They're not really looking for treasure. I know father isn't, when he goes on a dig. They're hoping they might have the chance to discover something that changes the way the world sees its history. The only way to know is to keep digging. We've found three things so far, the iron, the cross, and the stone. There's bound to be more. There must be more; we couldn't have found the only three things there are to be found."

"How much digging?" asked Nancy.

"We'll go out from the stone. Thirty yards. Fifty. And that might not be the only place on the island where the Vikings had a building. They could have had a small town out here on the island. Perhaps the chieftain's house was out here. The forge was so important, it might have been the center of a whole little city."

"There's more digging than we could ever do," said Peggy. "Even if we didn't have to go back to school at the end of the holidays."

"Yes. Archaeologists, real ones, will come. Anything they find will be taken off to universities for study, but there's too much work for us to do it by ourselves," said Dick, and he looked around the circle at the silent faces.

With his last words, Dick had painted a new picture, and they all saw it just as plainly. Here were the images of strangers working in the sunshine at their dig, and strange tents where theirs stood, and motor-boats drawn up on the beach at the secret harbor, where Swallow and Amazon and Scarab once waited for their crews.

"All right," said Nancy. "That's everything we know now. We're the only ones who know about the stone. Everyone must agree to keep the secret until we decide what to do about it."

"We should tell Uncle Jim," said Peggy.

"He already knows about the cross," said Dick. "We showed it to him."

"He won't tell anyone if we ask him to keep it a secret," said Nancy. "He's good at being one of us when he wants to." She looked across the circle at Peggy. "And he always knows the right thing to do."

23

The Fleet at Sea

Both Titty's logbook and Dorothea's journal recorded the weather the following morning, dawned clear and cool, a vast peace on the lake, a peace made even better by of the best of all omens for a sailor; a gentle breeze, lazily curling over the water from the east, set leaves all a shiver and hurried the friendliest of little waves chuckling against the beach at the island's landing place.

"Perfect weather!" said Nancy, peering from her tent. "The fleet sails on the morning tide."

"Can we wait until after breakfast?" said Roger, from his tent.

A party embarked in Scarab to fetch milk from Dixon's farm, Dick asking to go again to check on any news from his parents. Those who stayed behind bathed at the landing place, each one scanning the lake for any sign that the natives were returning, all satisfied that, at long last, they were alone once more, that Wild Cat Island was again the desert island that it was meant to be.

Even before Dick and Dorothea and Titty returned, Captains Nancy and John were planning the day that had been postponed for so long.

"Signals practice, that's the main thing. We haven't had a chance to practice the flag code at all," said Captain Nancy.

"Keeping formation. We'll want to practice that as well," said John.

"We should be as far apart as possible to really give the signal flags a good test," said Nancy.

"We should try some of the trickier maneuvers out in the middle of the lake, with lots of sea room," said John.

The final plan included both and would begin with the signals practice. In the morning, the fleet would separate, Swallow going north, toward Rio, where she would patrol the islands just offshore. "It will be as if you're watching for a blockaded fleet, and if it attempts to escape, you're to signal the rest of the fleet to assemble, guns run out and decks cleared for action," said Nancy.

Scarab would prowl the waters between Wild Cat Island and Horseshoe Cove, where, in her second summer on the lake, Swallow had come to grief on Pike Rock, a hidden reef that lurked beneath the cove's surface. Dick had heard this story and reminded himself over and over to give the rock a wide berth. Titty, who would be sailing in Scarab as an extra hand, said she would keep a sharp lookout for the rock and other hazards.

"You'll have to give Cormorant Island plenty of room, as well," said Captain Nancy. "It's not very big, but if you're behind it, we won't be able to see your signal, and that would spoil the whole plan.

Captain Nancy planned to take Amazon to the south. "All the way to the Antarctic," she said. "Or at least to the steamer pier at the end of the lake. We'll be much too far away to see Swallow's signals, even with the telescope, although we might just be able to see her sail. Scarab should see our flags and relay our signals."

They began while they were still almost in hailing distance, as Nancy sent up a set of flags, S, for Swallow, and "Put about." Dorothea relayed the message, and moments later, both captains saw Swallow's brown sail slide across as she took up a new course.

"It's working perfectly," said Nancy, as Peggy lowered the flags from the mast.

"Here comes a signal from Scarab," said Peggy. "The M flag for Amazon, of course. Shorten sail. They want us to take in a reef. Why do you suppose…?"

"It's just for practice, to make certain we can see their signal. And John will be able to see we've shortened sail."

The boats gradually drew farther and farther apart, and everyone felt the eerie sense of being completely alone on the almost empty lake, yet somehow completely connected to the two other small sails in the distance. Though even Scarab's crew, patrolling the middle, was too far away to make out faces, those manning the ships' telescopes could easily make out the signal flags at the mastheads.

It didn't go perfectly, of course. As Dick could have told them, none of these experiments come out exactly as expected, especially the first time they are tried. For one thing, the sharpest lookout needed to be kept, lest an important signal be missed. ""And those signalmen might have to watch a dozen other ships," said John. "We've only three."

The crews in Amazon and Scarab discovered that using the field glasses proved much easier than the telescope, although Swallow, with Able Seaman Roger as the designated signalman, kept up very well as the morning wore on. "We're just barely making way, though. If the seas were any heavier, it would be jolly hard to see anything at all."

After keeping their distance for some time, they came together and sailed in formations for hours, in line ahead and line abreast. The fleet took the shape of an arrow, and an L. Each time Nancy ordered a course change or some new formation, the flags raced more quickly than before to the top of Amazon's mast, and the acknowledgments came back faster.

There were a couple of close calls, when Roger mistook an E flag for a T flag, causing John to miss a turn to port.

"It might've happened to anyone," said Roger. "They've both got red, white, and blue stripes up and down, only one's a square and one's a triangle. I couldn't tell, with it just hanging there."

With that sorted out, they made a long reach for Horseshoe Cove, where they planned to have dinner in the little harbor that was almost as good as the one on Wild Cat Island. Like so many others that summer, this plan changed, too.

"Let's have dinner at Swallowdale," said Titty. "I want to show it to Dick and Dot, and it's not that much further to trek."

This idea suited everyone, and carrying their rations, they pulled the boats well up onto the beach, then set out, following the stream as it crossed under a bridge, then up through the woods, the Swallows leading the way along the path they had walked so many times before. At their feet, the beck surged past in rushing torrents and danced down stone steps to quiet pools where fish darted away from their shadows. Almost before they knew it, they reached the rock face next to the waterfall that led to the secret valley that had been the Swallows' home for part of another summer that almost went disastrously wrong.

"You won't believe the surprise you'll find at the top," said Titty. "There's only one better place anywhere."

Dick and Dorothea were indeed surprised at the perfect little valley, and the others were delighted to find that Swallowdale had not changed at all; the stream still flowed over the dam they had built to make a bathing-pool, water still cascaded over the little falls at the head of the valley, and Peter Duck's cave was still dark and cool, hidden behind its curtain of purple heather and ready to welcome new explorers.

"It's an old working, I think," said Dick, standing in the dusty cavern. "Very old. Hundreds of years, maybe."

"How can you tell that?" asked Roger.

"There's no sign of any rubble outside. It's all been washed away long ago. I wonder if they were looking for iron. Haematite. That would be interesting."

"We're not looking for iron," said Nancy.

"Perhaps the Vikings were, and made this mine, and took the ore down to the island. We could test the slag we've found at the dig against anything we found up here, or in some of the other old workings. That might tell us."

"No testing today," said John. "Let's go to the Watch Tower. You can see forever from up there."

They took Dick and Dorothea to the high rock on the moor to the north of the valley, clambering up to the little plateau at the top.

"We could see you coming from miles away," said Roger to Nancy. "Those red caps showed up beautifully in the heather."

Nancy laughed. "I remember. But they're too good to give up, just because of that."

"And everyone knows they're only worn by Amazon Pirates," said Peggy.

"This would make a splendid observatory. Better than the one at the Dixons'," said Dick. "At least in the summertime. You can see the sky in every direction."

"You can see Holly Howe with the telescope," said Roger. "And Wild Cat. All the way to Rio."

Far below, spread out for miles, lay the lake, a vast silver sheet, broken by the green patches of their own island and others not nearly as good. A lake steamer plodded northward on the course used the day before by Miss Britain, and a motor-launch and a scow sat near the buoy off Cormorant Island.

"Taking up the course markers," said Nancy. "It's finally over."

"Sir Richard's probably already gone south," said Roger. "But perhaps the Americans will go faster and he'll have to come back again next year."

"Kanchenjunga. We've forgotten that we wanted to climb it again, all of us," said John, pointing away from the lake at the bulk of the highest peak to the west.

"We've forgotten a lot of things," said Nancy. "But we've got weeks and weeks yet to go. Plenty of time to get everything done."

"Not everything," said Dorothea. "I want to save something for next year. There always needs to be more to do."

"Jibbooms and bobstays! Of course there does! We'll never stop finding places to explore or new things to do. Peggy and I grew up here on the lake and never knew Swallowdale existed until Roger and Titty found it. None of us thought when this summer started that the Ds would spend almost a fortnight living as ancient Picts! And who would have believed that Roger and Peggy would have sailed as secret agents in the Hated Enemy's own warship?" said Nancy.

"Or that we'd discover real archaeological treasures," said Dick. "A Viking cross and a bellows stone."

"Captain Flint's mine, last summer," said John.

"We haven't explored the river in the south. Does it lead to the sea? We've got loads of things to do. We'll never have enough time," said Nancy.

"We've got time for dinner," said Susan. "Able seamen Titty and Roger, collect some firewood. I'm going to use the old fireplace. It's exactly as it was two years ago."

"Aye, aye sir," said Roger and Titty together, and they climbed down, followed by the others, chattering happily as they made their way through the heather.

John and Nancy stayed behind for a moment, gazing out over the lake and down toward Wild Cat Island.

"I didn't think it was going to work, you know," said John.

"What's that?" said Nancy. "What wouldn't work?"

"Any of it. All of it. I thought we were done and finished. The summer ruined before it even got started. It kept getting worse and worse. You said it would, and it did. Peggy leaving, that man coming to call us duffers, and the log getting adrift, and everyone blaming us. But everything was all right in the end. Better than I ever hoped. The Viking cross and the chance to see Miss Britain. None of us will ever forget it. And it was because you never gave up. You never let him win. You never let any of them win."

Nancy didn't say anything at first, and she didn't look at John, watching the launch move away from Cormorant Island with the buoy in tow.

"You never wanted any of them to win, either," she said.

"No, but I wanted to say, thanks," said John.

Now she looked at him, but "Shiver my timbers! What else could I do? We couldn't be beaten by somebody driving a biscuit box, could we? Come on, they'll have swilled all the grog themselves before we get there."

She climbed down from the Watch Tower and did not look back.

Sitting around a cheerful little fire, only big enough to boil the kettle, they talked about the sea battle last year and the one to come tomorrow, the things done and the things yet to be done. They told Swallowdale stories, of shipwrecks and litter parties and surprise attacks foiled by even bigger surprises, memories happy enough that some even thought for a moment of coming back here to live. When the last of the tea had been drunk and the fire's embers scattered, they left the valley, pausing at the top of the waterfall to look back.

"We'll come again next year," said Titty. "But only to visit. Wild Cat Island's to be our home port from now on."

"It's our island again," said Nancy. "Just as it should be."

24

Fleet action at Houseboat Bay

No three crews ever watched their ships' chronometers more closely. By two o'clock, each had been consulted a hundred times. When they weren't following the second hands in their slow and steady creep around the dial one more time, the crews of Amazon, Swallow, and Scarab finished their preparations for the battle to come.

All three ships now lay at the landing place, sails neatly stowed, supplies tucked away beneath thwarts, crews resting in the lull before the storm.

"It's a beautiful day for a battle," Titty said, looking up at clear sky of endless blue. "You couldn't ask for nicer weather."

"And not a native in sight," Peggy said

The three captains agreed that Able Seaman Titty would sail again in Scarab this day, receiving a temporary promotion to Mate, much to the relief of Dorothea, who was only just getting her arms around her own duties as Signals Officer, mate, and able-seaman.

"You'll help sail their ship, and Dot can work the signals," John said to Titty. "You've got more time at sea behind you."

Left unsaid was the fact that Dick, too, had less experience as Captain, but he was grateful for the help and felt ready to sail as one of the fleet.

Although they had practiced with the flags the day before, and that morning Nancy anchored Amazon just offshore and had Peggy run signals up and down, some doubted that all the practice would be much help.

"We've never tried anything like a real fleet action," John told Susan. "It's much trickier than I imagined. You have to sail, keep formation, fight, and all the while you're sending signals and watching for more. It's no wonder warships like Daddy's destroyer have such large crews."

"We've had battles at Houseboat Bay," Roger said. "Our first year, you were commodore and we captured Captain Flint."

"We only had two ships though. And even then there were times when we got in each other's way."

"Signal from the flagship, sir," said Titty, sitting up sharply.

"Break out the code book, Roger. You're our signalman today."

"'C – R' 'Captains called to report aboard,'" said Roger. "You're to go to Amazon."

"Very good. Send an acknowledgment."

"We're very close. Perhaps I can just tell Peggy," Roger said, pointing over at the Amazon, no more than ten yards away.

"No, this will be good practice for everyone."

"Aye aye, sir." Roger made quick work of the response, sending the acknowledgment flag snapping to the masthead.

John walked over the pebbled beach, meeting Dick halfway across. On Scarab, Dorothea had her own answering signal aloft, only a few seconds behind Roger's.

"Welcome aboard Amazon," Captain Nancy said. "Properly, of course, we should have side-boys in white gloves and a bosun's mate to pipe you aboard and call the name of your ship, but this will have to do. I want to discuss our plan for this afternoon, but first, are your ships ready for action?"

"Swallow and her crew are ready in every respect," John said. Dick repeated the report for Scarab.

"Very good. I think we'll be tested before very long. Now, here's our situation." She pulled out a chart of the lake, spreading it on the thwart. "We have a southerly wind today, perfect for the attacking fleet, although a westerly would be almost as good. I propose that we steer a course north by northwest in line abreast, Amazon on the right, Swallow in the middle, and Scarab on the left. When we're opposite the entrance to Houseboat Bay, we'll turn to starboard and form a line ahead. Amazon will be in the lead, and I'll take her into the bay and across the houseboat's bow."

She pointed to the spot where Titty had drawn the tiny shape of Captain Flint's houseboat in the bay. "We'll be under his guns the whole time, but it can't be helped. If he's really got the carbide cannon that he told Peggy about, he'll be able to put together a regular broadside, but he'll still have to reload. He'll be riding at anchor, or at least tied up to the mooring buoy. With the wind from the south, he can bring all his guns to bear while we can only fire our bow chasers at him. He'll have the advantage." Nancy traced the fleet's path on the chart, then drew in three small boats directly ahead of the houseboat's bow.

"And if we're in line ahead, our guns will be masked by Amazon. You'll be taking the worst of it," John said. "You're in the lead."

"If Amazon is hit and disabled, we'll fall out of line and jury rig some repairs, then get back in the fight," Nancy said. "The main thing is, if this wind holds, we'll be moving like blazes on a starboard tack and he can only load and fire two or three times before we pass in a line ahead of him. Even with more guns, he and Timothy have to reload."

"Cross his T," said Dick, who had read two books of Nelson at school during the last term.

"Riding at anchor, he won't be able to maneuver and we'll each get a chance to fire a full broadside into him, raking him fore and aft as we pass," said Nancy.

"What then?" John asked.

"We'll jibe and bear away to the north, then come up on him from astern, where he hasn't got any guns. Then we'll send boarders over his stern and capture the houseboat intact."

John and Dick made a few comments, trying to imagine the things they would have to do as skippers of their ships, finally agreeing that the plan had a good chance of success. Everyone shook hands, the admiral wished them good luck, and they returned across the pebbled beach to their own vessels to await the command to begin.

It was a fine plan, a solid and workmanlike plan, simple in concept, clearly understood, and like the best of all such plans, it did not ask anything of the three captains that they and their ships could not deliver. Nancy, John, and Dick all walked away from the conference confident of their success. Any fighting captain could have reminded them of something all naval officers know: no plan, however thorough, survives the first contact with the enemy.

"It's the blue peter," Roger called. He was sitting in Swallow's bow, scrunched into the space before the mast, with his codebook on his knees and one hand on the flag halyard. "I don't even need the book for that one. Amazon's getting ready to sail." The little blue flag with its white square fluttered at Amazon's masthead.

"Very well," John said. "Prepare to make sail. Jump out, Roger and push us off when I say, but run up our own blue peter first." He clambered into the boat and sat at the tiller as Susan took hold of the mainsail halyard. On Scarab nearby, Dick and his crew made similar preparations, everyone watching for the blue flag to descend and Amazon to get underway. John looked at his watch for the hundredth time, then checked that the wind still blowing briskly, hadn't changed its direction. Susan cleared lines out of the way and shook out folds in the sail. With his own hands on Swallow's prow, Roger checked over his shoulder for the signal.

"There it is!" he shouted.

"Shove off," John said, as Roger pushed the little boat out into the harbor, jumping aboard at the last instant.

On Scarab, Titty shoved off, then climbed past Dorothea to take the halyard, heaving the brown sail up the mast. This time, Dorothea was quicker with the acknowledgement, lowering their own blue peter and readying herself for the next set of signals from the fleet's commander.

"It's no fair comparing," Roger said. "I had to do the shoving off and keep one eye on the signals," he said, settling himself in his place before the mast as the boat began to answer the tiller and turn her bow toward the open sea.

There was the usual confusion that occurs when too many ships try to do too much in one small harbor, and all at the same time, but they sorted themselves out and before too long, Amazon was leading the fleet to sea in very orderly fashion. The last ship, Scarab, cleared the harbor a few yards behind Swallow, just in time to see a new set of flags fluttering to the top of Amazon's mast.

"Signal from the flagship, sir. 'F – L,' 'Form line abreast,'" Roger said.

"Very well. We're to move in between Amazon and Scarab. Ease out on the sheet a bit, Mr. Mate."

Pushed by a strong following wind, the three little ships boiled along, the water bubbling under each forefoot, the sails spread out wide to port. No one on shore could have guessed that they sailed with deadly purpose, a powerful fleet on its way to a great naval battle. Their wakes were ruler straight, the distance between each boat kept fixed at ten yards, and the sails carefully trimmed, not to allow one boat or the other to race ahead, but to keep in perfect formation with the flagship.

With the speedboat's departure from the lake, the waters north of Wild Cat Island seemed strangely quiet. Far off in the distance, a steamer started toward the southern end of the lake from its stop at the port formerly known as Cairo and now once again called Rio by the sailors in the fleet. Two fishermen rowed toward the far side of the lake from Cormorant Island, and a big sailing yacht beat upwind toward the Antarctic.

"She'll pass well to the west," Susan said.

It didn't take long at their speed before the mouth of Houseboat Bay opened off the starboard side and the crews got their first glimpse of the enemy. The houseboat lay quietly at its mooring buoy, a huge, colorful Siamese flag flapping slowly in the breeze.

"He's flying a new elephant flag!" Roger shouted.

"He's going to make a fight of it," said John. "But we're ready."

"I don't see Captain Flint," said Susan.

"He's probably below, but he'll man the guns when he sees us turn toward him," said John.

"Unless we've taken him by surprise. We've made awfully good time. He might be expecting us a bit later," said Susan.

"Another signal from the flagship," Roger called. "It's the E flag. Amazon's turning to starboard, she's going around now."

"I see it," John said. "Now we form line ahead."

"She's running up another signal," Roger said, as they settled onto their new course, one that would carry them under the houseboat's high, clipper bow and the dangerous brass cannon on her foredeck. "'E' and a repeater. 'E – E.' 'England Expects Every Man To Do His Duty.' I know that one without checking, too."

There was a loud 'Hurrah!" from behind, Scarab's crew cheering the famous signal as Lord Nelson's men had done over a hundred years before, John, Susan, and Roger echoing the cheer.

Captain Flint, a canny skipper in his own right, had not been surprised by their arrival and now they could see him climbing out of the fore hatch, dressed in a white suit topped with his tropical sun helmet. He moved quickly to the cannon, bending over it, and then stepping back as a shaft of white smoke blew out from the houseboat's bow. The loud clap of the shot followed an instant later.

"He must have had it loaded and ready to fire," said John. "Let's see how fast he can reload."

Once again, the retired pirate proved himself to be a very efficient gunner's mate. Not more than thirty seconds later, a second loud bang echoed off the water.

"He doesn't have the carbide cannon after all," said John. "Just the same one he's had before. And where's Timothy?"

"It's a jolly good thing he's only got one gun," Roger said. "Amazon would be catching it if he could fire a full broadside." The cannon fired again, the smoke rolling away to the north, Captain Flint working feverishly at the brass gun.

John edged Swallow in behind Amazon. Blocked by her white sail, they couldn't see the enemy any longer, but heard the cannon roar once more before Nancy's ship crossed directly under the houseboat's bow, Swallow close behind.

Up to this point, everything had gone exactly as planned, but here they received their first surprise of the afternoon. Behind the houseboat, lower in the water and hidden throughout their approach, lay Beckfoot's motor launch, anchored from the stern only a few yards from the side of the much larger houseboat. On the open foredeck, Timothy bent over a black tube. A sudden loud blast boomed from the tube, Timothy standing and shaking his fist at the little fleet before bending back to his gun.

"It is the carbide gun! He won't be able to fire it very quickly but gosh, it sure is loud," John said.

"Much louder than Captain Flint's cannon," Roger said. "I can hardly hear anything."

"Roger, Amazon's signaling," John said, watching a single flag climb to the other boat's masthead.

"Aye, aye sir." Roger fumbled for the codebook, forgotten in the surprise of the discovery of the other enemy ship. 'It's A - T.' Attack.' But we're already doing that. Now she's taking that one down."

Another hoist shot to the top of the mast. "'C – F' 'Captain Flint.'"

"Captain Flint. She wants us to take his ship first, then we'll deal with the launch," John said.

As they'd planned, Amazon jibed, turning northward to run briefly before the wind before coming all the way around on a port tack. John followed, waiting until he reached the exact spot where Nancy had turned, then calling "Jibe-oh," and pushing the tiller away from him, the sail swinging through over his head.

Scarab turned a little sooner, ending up almost against Swallow's side, veering off just as another blast came from Timothy's cannon. For an instant, chaos reigned in the fleet, boats passing each other on different courses, every crewmember busy with some chore, the crash of Captain Flint's gun echoing off the nearby hills, the smell of burnt gunpowder hanging over the water.

This is the moment when great battles are won and lost, when one side rallies and the other falters, when the limits of discipline and training are stretched to the breaking point. This is the moment of testing, in which adversity challenges the strongest heart and character is revealed. On this afternoon, the moment belonged to the combined fleet, which straightened itself out at last and set out purposefully toward its objectives.

"Nancy's turning! She's going toward the launch," Susan said. "Hadn't we better follow?"

"No," John said. "Her signal was for us to attack Captain Flint. She's still flying it. We'll go with Scarab for the houseboat."

"The enemy flagship," Roger said.

Amazon rounded into the wind at the bow of the Beckfoot launch, her sail flapping as Peggy fended off. The Swallows passed close enough to hear Nancy's call of "Away all boarders!" Peggy climbed up into the launch, fumbling at the flag that drooped from the jackstaff on the bow. In a moment, she had the flag, staff and all, and cries of "she's struck! She's struck!" came from Amazon.

Seconds later, John brought Swallow to a stop against the houseboat's side. "Mind your fingers," he said. "Don't let them get caught between the ships. I'll hold Swallow steady. Now, away all boarders!"

Roger stood in the bow, pulling himself up onto the houseboat's deck, crouching down beside the cabin windows as Susan scrambled up to join him. On the other side of the houseboat, Dick nudged Scarab up against two large fenders that Captain Flint had left hanging alongside. "No point banging up a perfectly good coat of paint," he had said. While Dick held Scarab against the hull of the larger boat, Dorothea and Titty climbed up into the houseboat's aft cockpit.

"Surrender your ship," Susan shouted.

Captain Flint fired one more blast from his cannon, then turned to face the boarding party advancing toward him. "Not while my flag still flies," he said defiantly, but even as he spoke, Titty freed the halyard from its cleat and the elephant flag sagged to the deck. Captain Flint raised his hands in surrender. Quarter, quarter!" he shouted. And hurrahs rang out from all three of the fleet's captains, still in their ships.

Nancy and Peggy brought Timothy across to the houseboat, climbing with him into the aft cockpit, where Captain Flint and his captors waited.

"My entire fleet, the whole armada, captured or at the bottom of the sea," said Captain Flint. "Crews drowned, or clinging to broken spars in the icy water. I'm ruined, ruined."

"You put up a very good fight," said Titty. "I believe you got off twice as many broadsides this year."

"Thank you, able-seaman. I've had a good deal of practice, although the outcome seems to be the same every time."

"The carbide gun was really good," said Roger. "Do you think I might fire it? Only for saluting."

"We'll shift it over from the launch and fire a salute before supper," said Captain Flint.

"Aren't we to make them walk the plank?" asked Roger, looking at the diving board, already in place off the houseboat's side.

"What's that? We're enemy seamen, honorably surrendered," said Captain Flint indignantly. "We can't be treated as common pirates."

"It just seems a shame to waste such a good plank," Roger said.

"And then, there's the fact that I'm an admiral. I've surrendered my flagship and the entire fleet. Whoever heard of an admiral being made to walk the plank? It's just not done."

"Timothy's not an admiral," said Titty.

That's true. Well, I suppose there's nothing for it, if someone must walk the plank…" said Captain Flint.

Timothy, who had gotten some practice at plank walking after the battle of the previous summer, knew his role and performed it perfectly, pleading to be spared from the sharks he claimed he saw circling beneath the board.

"I don't see any sharks," said Roger.

"I'd best take my chances, then," said Timothy. "Perhaps I'll live to get my revenge for this terrible injustice."

"Never mind that, just jump!" said Nancy. "At the rate we're going, you'll still be standing out there after sundown."

Timothy made one more plea for mercy, then stumbled off the end of the plank, falling headlong into the water and raising a very satisfactory splash. A few minutes later, he'd climbed back aboard the houseboat, where the boarding ladder had been left at the stern. "I'll just towel off and change into some dry clothes," he said. "Thought to bring some, just in case something like this happened, which it usually does." He ducked into the cabin as the fleet's crews turned to the admiral of the defeated armada.

"Properly, the enemy commander must offer his sword," Titty said.

"Head bowed and aides de camp all weeping," Dorothea said. "The band playing The World Turned Upside Down."

Captain Flint laughed. "Well, all of my aides de camp seem to be rather wet at the moment, and there's no band, but I might have something in the galley we can use. Perhaps the ship's knife would do. I'll go below and fetch something suitable." He ducked through the companionway and they heard him shifting things in the cabin.

"He seems very cheerful, all things considered," Dick said.

A moment later, the sun helmet rose from the companionway hatch as Captain Flint emerged carrying a pair of cloth bags, each holding something long and slim. He set one of the bags on the cabin roof and his fingers worked at the wrapping of the other, pulling a sword and scabbard from the bag. A gold cord with blue trim, the sword knot, dangled from the gold and silver hilt. The leather scabbard, trimmed with polished brass fittings shone brightly. He grasped the scabbard in two hands and offered it to Nancy.

"Captain Blackett, or rather, Admiral Blackett, I have the honor of presenting this ship, fairly won. My sword." He bowed and handed the sword to Nancy who looked down at it in astonishment.

But Captain Flint hadn't finished, and, pulling the second sword from its bag, offered it to John. "Captain Walker," he said.

"Gosh," John said. With one tug, he drew the sword from its scabbard, the polished steel flashing in the sunlight. Etched into one side of the silver blade was the British Royal Coat of Arms, and on the other, the fouled anchor and crown of the Royal Navy.

"They're Navy lieutenants' swords. One for each of you, from a friend," Captain Flint said, taking a paper from the pocket of his coat. "He gave me this envelope to give you."

As the others crowded around for a closer look, Nancy handed the sword to Peggy and took the envelope and opened it. In large, looping letters, the message read, "To Captain Nancy Blackett, Master, Sailing Vessel Amazon and Captain John Walker, Master, Sailing Vessel Swallow, with warmest personal regards and our eternal gratitude. Your actions on 23 August 1933 were outstanding examples of the highest degree of bravery and doubtless saved the lives of three fellow British seamen." It was signed by the three members of the crew of Miss Britain, Sir Richard's name in the same handwriting as the note itself.

Nancy passed the paper to John and stood looking back and forth between the sword in Peggy's hands and Captain Flint's face.

"Not even a 'shiver my timbers?' or a 'barbequed billygoat'?" Captain Flint said, smiling.

Nancy just shook her head, a surprisingly large and very un-swashbuckling lump in her throat. John also said nothing, but handed the note to Susan and took his sword back from Roger, running his fingers along the scabbard and shaking his head.

"Sir Richard was due back in London and hadn't time to have them engraved with your names, but I said I would take care of it as soon as I got the chance."

"Does he mean for John and Nancy to keep them?" Dorothea asked.

"Of course. He was jolly pleased about your finding that log before he struck it."

"The iceberg, you mean," Titty said.

"Right. Iceberg it is. It would have had the same effect as the one that did for poor Titanic," Captain Flint said. "And Miss Britain would have gone down much faster, hitting something as hard as that at two miles a minute. No time for bands to play or people to put on their lifebelts."

"And no lifeboats at all," said Roger.

"No, and even if he hadn't been sunk outright, that would have been the end of any attempt to set the record, so he's not stretching it when he says you have his eternal gratitude. That record will stand until someone else goes faster, but it will always be in the books that he broke it three days ago, and that's thanks to all of you. Not just John and Nancy, but Peggy, signaling like mad on shore, and Roger on the telescope, both of you who saw the log – er, iceberg – had shifted. And everyone else, all of you, if you all hadn't decided to stay on the island instead of moving your camp on shore, no one would have seen or done anything to stop him. Sir Richard wants to thank all of you."

"He thanked me already, and Peggy, too," said Roger. "He took us out in the fastest boat in the entire world. He said he never takes passengers. We were his crew that afternoon."

"Yes, well, he did say something to me to that effect, now you mention it," said Captain Flint, patting the pockets of his coat. "Ah, yes, here they are." He produced a pair of buff-colored envelopes, passing one across to Peggy and the second to Roger. "Go ahead, open it," he said.

Peggy got her envelope open first, pulling out a bright, new paper, a government form, headed by the seal of the Board of Trade and printed with the boxes filled in with that same looping handwriting on Nancy's note.

The heading on the top of the form read, "CERTIFICATE OF DISCHARGE," and in smaller letters, "For seamen discharged before the superintendent of a mercantile marine office in the United Kingdom, a British consul, or a shipping officer in British possession abroad." Peggy saw "Miss Britain" in bold print under "Name of Ship," and her own "Peggy Blackett" under "Name of Seaman." The date of engagement and date of discharge were the same, 24 August 1933, and under the heading of "Capacity," the two words, "First Mate." Sir Richard Fraser's own signature appeared next to "Master," right above the large round circles marked "Character for Conduct" and "Character for Ability." Sir Richard had marked these boxes with two letters each, in the same bold printing.

"V.G., you'll note. 'Very Good' for conduct and ability, Mister Mate" said Captain Flint. "There's no stronger praise from your captain."

"I've got them, too, the V.G.s," said Roger. "Only mine says I was Chief Engineer for the voyage. And for Horse Power of Engines, he's put 4,400."

"I'm sure he trusted you to notice that," said Captain Flint.

"And look what he's put in the box for Description of Voyage, said Roger. "Water speed record attempt. Gosh."

"Well, that's certainly something you can both post in your logbook, a voyage crewing on the fastest vessel in the entire world. Not many can say that."

"It's wonderful," said Peggy, whose face was suddenly hot and her eyes suddenly swimming as the paper blurred.

"Papers can get lost and swords may rust away," began Captain Flint.

"This one shan't, ever," said Nancy.

He laughed. "No, not these two, but I've found that you can't always take a sword with you. You'll have that memory to carry with forever, all four of you. And if you take good care of those mementos, you'll all have something to show your grandchildren when you're as old as I am and they don't believe you when you tell this tall tale," Captain Flint said, and he was looking at Peggy, who saw him, blinked through a few stray tears, and smiled back.

"Who's for a feast?" asked Captain Flint. And everyone was.

25

Hull down and homeward bound

They all agreed that the feast that night was the best Captain Flint had ever prepared. With Mates Susan and Peggy helping the Captain and Timothy, it was served up in record time, leaving the houseboat's narrow cabin crowded with the happiest of messmates.

Roger and Peggy told the story of their cruise in Miss Britain, of the wild, breathtaking dash to the Antarctic and of coasting slowly through Rio Bay, natives waving and cheering, passing their certificates around for everyone's inspection. John and Nancy told of finding the bellows stone, which had been carried with the other treasures to the houseboat and stood at the center of the table in the saloon. They all talked of the great sea battle between the fleet and the armada, of reading signals and changing course, of climbing the high sides of an enemy man of war with a rush and a cheer. And they watched with hands over ears, as Timothy and Captain Flint loaded the carbide cannon on the foredeck and Roger fired it in a salute to the sun hanging low over the western hills.

In the cabin again, with the lanterns lit and grog passed all around, they sang Hanging Johnny and Haul Away Joe, Titty telling again about the last time Joe had hauled away, in Scarab, rowing desperately toward the island in the south. They sang Spanish Ladies and Blow the Man Down, and Away to Rio, and a half dozen others, going through most twice to help Timothy with the words.

"I'm rather new at this seafaring thing," he said. "So far, at least, it seems to consist mostly of lots of loud singing and being made to take a sudden swim with sharks. But I'm a fast learner," and he picked up at least the chorus for each song.

"Oh, soon we'll hear the Old Man say,

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

You can go ashore and take your pay,

It's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her like a man,

Leave her Johnny, leave her.

Oh, leave her, Johnny leave her when you can,

It's time for us to leave her."

Finally, after many servings of grog, of double helpings of treacle and chocolate and much stamping of feet and banging of glasses on the cabin's mahogany table, the ships' crews paused for breath

Outside, the sun had set behind the far hills, the last of the day only a faint purple glow in the western sky. A whisper of a breeze set one of the halyards tapping against the houseboat's short mast where the elephant flag had flown, and light from the cabin's portholes danced on the black water.

Captain Flint looked around the houseboat's crowded cabin. "Well, we've one thing left to discuss, now that the Armada's been scattered and her crews all drowned."

The members of the Wild Cat Island Expedition of 1933 fell completely silent, all of them knowing the decision that needed making.

"What to do about the artifacts," said Nancy.

"Do we have to tell anyone?" asked Roger.

"Captain Dick, what about it?" said Captain Flint.

"The thing is, archaeology is a science, and that's the thing about science. It's no good keeping secrets. Anthropologists and archaeologists discover something and then they publish their findings so others can learn from them," said Dick.

"Dick's absolutely right. Civilization depends on scientists and explorers not keeping the things they discover to themselves. Each generation learns a bit from the one before, but only if the earlier ones write things down and pass them on. Think of where we'd be if that Galileo chap hadn't told anyone his ideas about the earth and the sun or James Cook had come home to England and never mentioned anything about finding Australia."

"Mother would never have grown up on Sydney Harbor," Titty said.

"We'd still think the earth was flat and the sun revolved round the earth," said Roger.

"But someone else would have discovered the truth, once the telescope had been invented," said Dick.

"Perhaps we aren't the right ones to make the decision," John said. "This isn't only about us. We wouldn't be the ones doing the digging any longer. Natives from all over would be doing it."

"That's true," Captain Flint said, puffing on the pipe. This is something the universities will want to know about. They're the ones who make a living studying these things. And they'll want to study your things. That cross is certainly valuable; it's beautifully made and with silver and gold if nothing else. There isn't a museum this side of Copenhagen that wouldn't be proud to have it in their collection, and that's without even talking about the private collectors out there who'd pay a pretty penny for something this special."

"Or Cairo, with the other Egyptian antiquities," Dorothea said.

"Or Cairo," Captain Flint agreed. "Loads of their things here in Britain. There are museums and private collections packed with them."

"It doesn't belong with a private collector, hidden away, where no one else can see it or study it," Dick said. "Archaeologists want their things in museums, where people can learn from them, not sold off for money to a collector."

"I don't think there'll be much in the way of riches. This isn't the sort of treasure that crews mutiny for or pirates bury. There'll be some celebrity for the finders, of course. You'll all be famous for a bit and in certain circles. Books will be written. There'll be lectures in stuffy halls at universities in the south. Articles in scholarly journals and whiskered professors arguing about the meaning of this item or that artifact. You've discovered things that will change the way people think about our ancestors, and maybe us. You've opened a door and gotten a look inside history. That's not something that happens every day, and it hardly ever happens to people like you."

"Children, you mean," said Nancy, fiercely.

"I was going to say, 'as scruffy a gaggle of rascals that ever went unhanged,' but it seldom happens to children, either, come to think of it."

"But what will happen?" asked Roger.

Captain Flint shrugged. "Changes. That's what discovery is all about. You fill in some bit of your chart that everyone else had as 'unexplored.' You find people who rub noses to greet each other and you introduce them to those who shake hands. Something always changes."

"What about the island? Will it change?" asked Titty, finally speaking the question on all of their minds, each secretly suspecting the answer, all of them secretly dreading it.

Captain Flint didn't say anything for a moment, puffing on the pipe and gazing up at Timothy, sitting on the top step of the companionway ladder, seeing him shake his head. Timothy stood, stretching his lanky frame and saying he thought he ought to be going. "It's a long way back to Beckfoot," he said, tugging on the line linking the houseboat to the Beckfoot rowing boat, the other boat gliding gently up to the houseboat's transom. Timothy stepped aboard and answered their goodbyes, casting off the line and shipping his oars, the creaking of the rowlocks fading into the silence as he rowed off toward the mouth of the bay.

"Look here, it's no good pretending things won't be different. Someone will be on the island much of the time. There'll be archaeologists, whole teams, probably, digging most of the year. No more tents or campfires. They'll want a real roof over their heads and one over the dig, too. They'll bring students, perhaps even visitors from Denmark and Norway or America.

"Civilization arrives and settlers tame the wilderness," said Dorothea.

"A colony, like Botany Bay," said Titty.

"Yes, with governors and ministers and barristers and all sorts of other –ers, " said Captain Flint.

"Room for digg-ers, but no room for camp-ers," said Roger.

"I rather think so, Able Seaman," said Captain Flint

"That's it, then. Everything will change," said Nancy.

"Yes, and once it's changed, it's changed for good. That's the thing about voyages of discovery and other exploration, scientific or otherwise. You might not know what you're going to find, but whatever it is, it's always an advance."

"In Egypt, they've been digging in the Valley of the Kings for more than a hundred years," said Dick. "They're finding new things every day, and the archaeologists live there for years at a time."

"Living on the island. I've always dreamed of doing that," said Titty. "Going away, but knowing I was coming back home."

"They might be some who want to stay in Rio and not live on the island, but you've already shown that it's possible," said Captain Flint.

"Who would want to stay in a town when they could live on Wild Cat?" asked Roger.

"No one," said Peggy.

"We'll have a vote, then. Secret ballot's the thing. Everyone free to vote as his or her conscience dictates," said Captain Flint.

"It ought to be unanimous. We're all of us part of the expedition. We should all agree on what's to be done," said Susan.

Captain Flint laughed. "All for one and one for all eh? A fine idea in principle. Most admirable. Difficult to achieve in practice, in my experience. Sailors are a rum lot. Put twenty together, you're likely to get twenty different opinions on how things should be done. That's why there's no democracy at sea. The captain's word is the law and his opinion's the only one that counts. Or hers, if you sail in Amazon."

"What if the captain doesn't want to make the decision?" The master of Scarab spoke.

"Perhaps you should be the one to say, Uncle Jim," Peggy said. "You're one of them, at least not when you're here with us."

"Not I," said Captain Flint, shaking his head. "You're the finders of the treasure. You're the discoverers, and it's your island. I'm a bit like the old Viking chieftain myself. I just call there at Wild Cat from time to time. Pillage and plunder, that's my game, then sail away home with the loot."

"Just us, then," said Nancy.

"Sun helmet should do nicely, I think. Just drop your ballot in when you've finished. I'll count the vote and we'll meet again in the morning."

"Why wait 'til tomorrow?" Roger asked.

"Time for second thoughts. It's a big decision. You should all have a chance to sleep on it. If, in the morning no one's changed their mind, I'll record the vote and it will be official."

He sat beneath the hissing lantern, in the middle of a pool of amber light that spilled off the table and onto the deck beneath his feet. One by one he opened the papers, reading the short verdict on each one before laying it aside. Beside him, a wisp of blue smoke curled up from his pipe, the fragrance from the Navy Cut summoning the memories of a hundred distant ports and filling the silence better than a hundred sea chanteys.

When he'd finished opening the last of the little packets, he arranged them in a row on the table. Only one had signed beneath the decision, but Captain Flint knew the others beyond any doubt and as well as if he'd printed each in his own hand. There was Captain Nancy's fierce, "Never!" and Captain John's firm, "No" in bold capitals. Mates Peggy and Susan had written theirs neatly, the 'no's' in the upper corner. Two of the Able Seamen repeated their "no's," Titty once, and Dorothea three times. Roger's "NO" stretched from side to side and top to bottom.

This left the last paper, the only one that Captain Flint had ever doubted, even for a moment. This was the one that he knew cost its author the most dearly, the final, deciding verdict, this one signed by "Richard Callum, Master, Sailing Vessel Scarab, Wild Cat Island."

"No," Dick said.

Captain Flint gathered up the papers, stacking them neatly. He found his copy of Mixed Moss by a Rolling Stone on the shelf above the settee and tucked the papers in between the pages before replacing the book. "And that's that," he said to himself, collecting his pipe and standing, climbing the companionway stairs and out into the boat's open cockpit.

Far across the lake, a yellow light at a farmhouse winked out, leaving the heavy bulk of the fells a dark shadow against the night sky, the high and lonely hills unchanged in a thousand, thousand years. Above him, the Milky Way spread itself across the blackness. That endless white cloud had blanketed Wild Cat Island and the waters around it when the houseboat first touched the lake. Silent and faithful, the same stars wheeled through the night sky when Nelson met the French at Trafalgar and when the original Armada was defeated. They covered the Norsemen who built their forge on the rocky shore, and the Roman soldiers who marched north past the lake to Hadrian's Wall, and once upon a far distant time, their soft light felt gently onto the stone-age man who crossed the water to land on the island for the very first time.

He tilted his chin upward and picked out stars that had guided his own life, pinpricks of brighter light standing out of the blackness. Here were the tiny beacons that had led him to South Seas islands and across the vast, cold, Russian steppes, to Peruvian mines and Chinese treaty ports, to Belgian fields and Scottish highlands. He marveled, as he always did, that they brought him back again to the lake in the north. Each tiny spark lifted a memory to his mind, another story for the as yet unwritten sequel to Mixed Moss. From her perch on the cabin roof, the parrot, restless and cranky at being left alone in the dark, squawked once.

"Some things ought never change, Polly," said Captain Flint. "I'm awfully glad I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"Pieces of Eight!" the parrot said crossly, a reminder that it was long past a ship's mascot's bedtime and a pirate's too.

A cooling night breeze drifted over the open cockpit, a west wind, this one barely stirring the water, carrying a hint of salt from the sea that only a retired pirate might have noticed, and holding only a touch of warmth from the high fells. The houseboat's captain knocked the ashes from the pipe, a coal spitting briefly as it hit the water. He picked up the parrot's cage.

"Come along, you. Now there really is nothing more to do today and it's high time we were both in bed."

On Wild Cat Island, lights in tents went out one by one, but no one slept. The chatter back and forth through the walls of darkened canvas was of the fierce sea battle and Miss Britain's race with Peggy and Roger to the Antarctic and Rio, of the finding treasure and of adventures to come, and always, of the island.

"I want to keep coming back, all our lives, and then our children will come, and their children," Titty said.

"We all want that," Peggy's voice came from her tent. "And if nothing changes, we can come back as long as we like."

"Forever and ever?" Titty asked.

Forever and ever," John said, pulling his head back from the tent flap. "Now, go to sleep. The breeze's come up again, a westerly blowing. If it keeps up this way, we'll have a fair wind for sailing in the morning."

The End