The Mapmaker and the Ghost(25)

“Where is he?” Lint shouted.

Goldenrod got up, looking momentarily confused at the sight of Lint.

“Where’s the shrimp?” Lint was now flailing his arms around so much that the remaining bit of protein bar finally flew out of his hand. He didn’t even notice.

Suddenly seeming to remember, Goldenrod gave a sharp intake of breath. “Birch …” She started to look around frantically. “Where’s Birch? What did you do to my brother?” She stared accusingly at Lint.

“I didn’t do anything …”

“Then where is he? Did he escape?”

“Escape?” Lint’s face fell. He stood there quite motionless for a second, watching the wasted chocolate piece melting on the cavern floor. “Escape?” he said again, before suddenly snapping out of it and springing to action. “Oh my God. I have to tell the others. They’ll kill me. You stay here!” He pointed menacingly at Goldenrod.

And with that, Lint had turned around and was climbing the steps two by two.



As soon as Lint had his back to them, Birch finally allowed himself to breathe. He was pretty small, but even he had to suck in his tiny stomach to be able to crouch behind the ledge and be completely invisible, with the extra help of both his and Goldenrod’s backpacks.

Just that one breath was all he let himself have before bursting out from behind the ledge. He tried very hard to hoist Goldenrod’s now extremely heavy backpack, but his little shoulders couldn’t handle it. Goldenrod immediately ran over to help him—it took all her strength to lift it as well.

They had no time to waste. Birch put his now lightened backpack over one shoulder, and the two of them bounded out of their prison and up the stairs in a flash.

They saw Lint heading toward the exit and they leaped after him.

The Morams moved so lightly that, even with the one heavy backpack and the speed they were going, Lint didn’t hear them until they were almost right behind him, just as he was getting ready to yell out for help. He immediately turned around and was promptly hit in the gut with what looked, and probably felt, like a giant green bowling ball.

Goldenrod had used all of her strength to swing the backpack into Lint, and the effect was exactly as intended. He was completely winded and fell clear off his feet.

But that wasn’t all. Per their plan, Birch already had the roll of duct tape ready to go. He pulled off a long piece and quickly wrapped it around Lint’s wrists. Then he moved on to his ankles.

Lint was still wheezing and out of breath, but his voice was coming back to him. “Hey …,” he started to roar, followed by a very muffled “phmmmmmmmm.”

Birch looked up from taping Lint’s ankles to see that Goldenrod had stuffed her yellow baby sock into Lint’s orange-stained mouth. The looks of pure revolt on both Lint’s and Goldenrod’s faces were almost identical.

Birch knew she had a thing for that sock, but this was no time to get sentimental. He grabbed Goldenrod’s hand, and together they bolted right past the silent and horizontal Lint. Not even daring to look back, they tore away from the cavern.





18

THE LOST DISCOVERY


Goldenrod and Birch ran pell-mell away from the cavern. They were heading due west—back through the only route Goldenrod was sure would lead them out, because she had mapped it.

The thought of her map caused a small ache in her side that had nothing to do with how fast she was running. In order to get her backpack as heavy as it had been, they had filled it with all of the biggest objects they had—which, aside from a few rocks they found on the cavern floor, also included Goldenrod’s notebooks and sketches that she had worked on all summer. She doubted very highly that someone like Lint would ever appreciate all the work that had gone into making them … and now Charla would never get to see them either.

All they had taken with them was Goldenrod’s compass, the roll of duct tape, the garden shears, and one specimen jar. As Goldenrod caught a glimpse of bright blue from the corner of her eye, she remembered why she had thought to stuff those last two items into Birch’s backpack.

“Wait!” she called out.

Birch looked back at her in alarm but didn’t stop running.

“I have to … cut three of those roses,” Goldenrod panted, pointing at the blue rosebush.

“What?! Why?” Birch looked at her, his big blue eyes widening.

“Because,” Goldenrod paused, “they’re undiscovered flora.”

Now Birch was looking at her as if she had not only completely lost her mind, but that it was dancing a jig on top of her head. “We have to get out of here,” he said slightly maniacally.

“I know. We will,” Goldenrod said as she unzipped Birch’s backpack and took out the jar and shears. “This will only take a minute. Just stay right here.” Goldenrod motioned to the tree line they were standing in before quickly making her way back across the clearing to the rosebush.

She could almost feel Birch’s exasperated stare at her back. Maybe someday she could explain it to him, but now was not the time. For now, she had to do what she had promised—to the old lady, to Meriwether, and, most importantly, to herself when this summer had started.

She kneeled down in front of the rosebush. The old lady had been right about one thing: it smelled of stars and warmth and beach breezes; it smelled just like a summer night. Goldenrod almost felt a little dizzy with its unworldly scent.