THE SILVER KEY
WHEN EMMA GOT up the next morning, she looked out all the windows in the turret room to see if there were any new pirate ships anchored offshore, or any other strange aircraft about to crash into the hotel. But she couldn’t see any, and Mifficent the doll (for Emma had given her a name) smiled but said nothing.
Masterman came down to breakfast early and surprised everyone. He had seemed like the sort of person who would sleep late. He had not put the military academy uniform back on. Instead he had gone into Mr. Wenlocke’s wardrobe, and put on one of his black suits. He had to roll up the cuffs of the long trousers, and the sleeves of the swallowtail coat and shirt, and the scarlet silk waistcoat came down almost to his knees. He looked like a stage magician who had shrunk himself, but he was very proud.
“I’ll never wear that uniform again,” he announced. “It may be that this is a little big for me, but I’m sure Mrs. Beet can fix it.”
Mrs. Beet stopped in the act of serving kippers to Captain Doubloon. Her eye blinked in a nervous kind of way. “Fix your clothes? Oh, dear, Master Masterman, I’m only a Cook! I was never very good at sewing!”
“I can’t sew either,” said Emma calmly, sprinkling sugar on her oatmeal.
“But who’s going to tailor for me?” said Masterman, pouting.
“I’m sorry to say I only know how to sew on buttons, Master Masterman,” said Winston. He looked hopefully at Captain Doubloon. “But I do believe all sailors know how to sew. Am I correct, Captain?”
“Aye, matey, you are,” said Captain Doubloon, grinning in a way that was not really very nice. “And if his little lordship is a good boy, why, I’ll take a hitch in his waistcoat for certain.”
“Awk! String him up from the yardarm!” said the parrot.
Masterman ignored them, looking disdainfully at the breakfast table. “Hm! Kippers and oatmeal. How very nice. But I think, dear Mrs. Beet, that I need waffles with real butter, not margarine. And real maple syrup, not that maple-flavored stuff. And a tall glass of cold milk.”
“Margarine!” said Mrs. Beet, her eye flashing in indignation. “What sort of cook do you think I am, young man?”
“The very best cook in the whole world,” said Masterman, with a smile of sugary sweetness that made him look about four years old, and a limpid gaze. Mrs. Beet’s wrath faded. She chuckled, and tousled his hair.
“You do know how to talk to ladies, don’t you? Little scamp. I suppose it won’t be much trouble to mix up a waffle for you.”
“Thank you,” said Masterman smugly, as she went back to the Kitchens. Captain Doubloon glared at him.
After breakfast they went to the Ballroom to continue the treasure hunt. Winston climbed back up into the orchestra gallery, and leaned over its edge to look at the Queen of the Moon.
“She’s holding a little jar with a lid,” said Winston. “It looks like the lid might come off.”
“Can you reach it?” said Captain Doubloon.
“No. I expect I’d better go fetch a ladder,” said Winston.
But Captain Doubloon leaned down and grabbed Masterman by the scruff of his neck. “No need!” he said. “The lad here will just go aloft.”
He hoisted the little boy into the air, as high as his arm would reach. For a moment Masterman just hung there, too surprised to be angry. Then he made a jump and caught hold of the Queen of the Moon, clinging there with his arms around her neck. Holding tight with one hand, he reached for the silver jar with the other. His expression was grimly determined.
As she watched, Emma thought to herself: He’s braver than he looks. She began to like him, just a little.
Masterman lifted the lid on the jar and reached in. “There’s a key!” he exclaimed. “And a piece of paper.” He pulled them out triumphantly. “Here I come!”
He let go of the Queen and fell. Captain Doubloon caught him and set him on the floor.
“Bravo, sir!” said Winston, hurrying down from the gallery. “Well done!”
“What’s the clue say?” asked Emma.
Masterman unrolled the paper and stared at it a moment. “Oh, I can’t read this handwriting,” he said, handing the clue to Emma. “It’s too messy. You try.”
I’ll bet he can’t read very well, thought Emma, but she took the clue and read aloud:
“‘The Red King will tell you himself,
But only the brave and swift
Can get under his guard.’“
“Red King?” said Captain Doubloon. “Sounds like a card game.”
Masterman stuck his nose in the air. “That just shows how much you know,” he said. “The Red King is the greatest treasure anybody can have. So my great-grandpapa meant that…um… the treasure itself will tell us where it is?”
“Actually, sir,” said Winston, trying not to
hurt his feelings, “I believe there’s a figure of a red king in the
Theater.”