The Mapmaker and the Ghost(15)

Goldenrod peered through the bushes and could make out a dirty blue shirt and a tuft of curly hair in between the trees.

The man took out a slim plastic case from his pocket.

“Are you sure, Master Randy, that you really want this? This coin has been in your family for practically two centuries.”

Goldenrod almost gasped. That tuft of curly hair and extremely dirty blue shirt belonged to another classmate of hers: Randy S. Lewis-O’Malley to be precise, probably the richest kid in school, chauffeured limos to drop him off in the morning and all. But just what was he doing here and why was he so filthy?

“Toulouse, how many times have I told you not to question my authority?” Randy hissed.

“Not quite as many times as your father has told me to question your every move, Toe Jam,” Toulouse answered calmly.

Randy glared. “Yes, he cares so much that he lets his second-favorite butler keep me in line.”

Toulouse looked unmoved.

“Gimme the coin,” Randy said. Toulouse handed him the case.

Randy opened it and rubbed one grimy hand over the coin, which caught the light and flashed a brilliant gold that matched the dappled sunlight on the surrounding trees. Goldenrod could see Toulouse cringe.

“That is all for now,” Randy said.

“You will not need Cook’s services?”

“The other kids are tired of all that fancy food. None of them even know what Camembert is …”

“Shocking turn of events,” Toulouse muttered.

Randy squinted his eyes. “Anyway, no. That is all.”

Toulouse nodded and turned smartly back in the direction from where he had come. Goldenrod had to duck quickly behind the bush she was in to avoid being seen. Luckily, it seemed Toulouse was too busy focusing on maintaining the excruciating poise of an excellent butler to notice that a seemingly ordinary bush had sprouted a long, brown ponytail.

Randy, meanwhile, had turned around and was sauntering back in the opposite direction.

“Follow him,” a polite voice whispered near Goldenrod’s ear.





11

BOOMING VOICES


Toe Jam rubbed the large gold coin in his hand as he made his way back to the cavern. He loved to grime up the shiny, immaculate things that came from his shiny, immaculate house. Back at home, his parents would freak if everything wasn’t perfectly spotless and in its place. But here in the forest, he could be as dirty and gross as he wanted to be, and there was no one to scold him for it. In fact, being dirty and gross was encouraged here. That’s how Spitbubble would pick what nickname to bestow upon them, and that’s how each of them knew that they really belonged.

He smirked as he thought of the impressive collection of sock fuzz that he had picked from in between his toes and that was just waiting to be discovered in his top dresser drawer. He had really had to scramble to come up with a hobby worthy of the Gross-Out Gang, but he was pretty proud of his final choice, after ruling out things like trying to grow his nose hair (which would take way too long) or eating gas-inducing beans for every meal (which were vegetables and, therefore, inherently wrong). The maid had probably gotten rid of his toe jam collection by now, but he could always restock when he got back home.

Toe Jam had spent all of his considerable January and February allowance to bribe Toulouse into telling his parents that he was spending yet another summer at sleepaway camp. Instead he was happily hidden away here, in a forest not five miles from his mansion. He couldn’t help but suspect that his parents were also more than a little pleased to have a break from the one thing in their lives that was the hardest to keep clean.

Meanwhile, he was having the summer of his life. For the first time, he felt like he belonged somewhere his parents hadn’t paid to get him into. Well, at least they didn’t know they had paid, Toe Jam thought as he looked at the slightly dulled coin. The other kids should be pretty impressed by this. Maybe even Snotshot.

He could feel his cheeks flush a little as he thought about her and was glad no one was around to see it, even though the dirt on his face probably concealed it anyway. The thing was, he didn’t really like like Snotshot or anything. It was just that he thought she could be kinda cool and was maybe a little pretty. When she wasn’t shooting boogers at people, of course.

Then again, Toe Jam smiled a little to himself, if he had to be perfectly honest, that was probably one of the coolest things about her.



The cavern was surprisingly large, Birch thought, as he continued to walk in between Brains and Lint. They had made their way down the “stairs” and were now in an extremely long underground hallway. The stone walls were pockmarked and slightly slanted, making it obvious that the structure was a hundred percent naturally made.

Birch was trying to keep his mind occupied to distract it from the sheer panic that was itching to spring up. He was observing his surroundings very carefully and was surprised to walk by a pile of unmade sheets and pillows. The makeshift bed, he noted, was inside one of a few little “rooms” he was passing, and each one of them seemed to be filled with belongings, like clothes and backpacks. One was even painted a pale shade of slime green. Another had faded posters on the walls.

There were little hallways everywhere. Birch thought they could have been escape routes, but then he realized that he had absolutely no idea where those escape routes would lead. They could land him in an even bigger pickle than the one he was already in, so he immediately forced his mind to change the subject. Since it had already wandered to the subject of pickles, he started to concoct sandwich combinations in his head.