GEMMA
by Daniel Errico
Art by Shivani Kaushik
Chapter One: Golden
Chapter Two: Crooked
Chapter Three: Freed
Chapter Four: Serpentine
Chapter Five: Sandy
Chapter Six: Spiced
Chapter Seven: Starry
Chapter Eight: Wooded
Chapter Nine: Nervy
Chapter Ten: Towering
Chapter Eleven: Salty
Chapter Twelve: Hidden
Chapter Thirteen: Blurry
Chapter Fourteen: Combative
Chapter Fifteen: Sneaky
Chapter Sixteen: Illuminating
Chapter Seventeen: Open
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
Epilogue Three
1. GOLDEN
Gemma was only five minutes away from her parents' hut, but the jungle had already taken on a different personality. It was thicker. The trees had grown taller. The ti plants shaded the green forest a sinister red. There was no doubt about it- the jungle was more dangerous here, and Gemma loved it. As a baby, Gemma's parents had taken her on their expeditions over mountains, deserts, and vast seas. It was exciting, unpredictable, and deeply irresponsible. Now that they had settled down in the tropical rainforest, Gemma had to devise intricate plans just to sneak out for morning adventures.
This particular plan hinged on the help of Milo, her ring-tailed lemur. Years of mischief, tom-foolery, and Gemma's influence had helped Milo develop skills that other lemurs would give theirs rings to have themselves, were such a transaction to be made possible. And on this morning, Milo was lying in Gemma's bed, wearing a wig made of straw, the same sandy blonde color as Gemma's hair, snoring loudly. In a stroke of genius, they had even braided it into pigtails to match her style. They tried adding a pair of her old glasses but those kept sliding down his face, given that she had a human-sized head, and his was irreparably lemur-sized.
"I swear, her snoring is getting worse and worse," said Gemma's dad from the breakfast table, sipping on a warm tea.
Gemma's mom raised an eyebrow from across her book.
"It doesn't even sound human!" he continued.
"You're exaggerating a little, don't you think, dear?" Gemma's mom said.
But he was not. And had either of them walked one room over to check on their daughter, they may have shouted, and woken up a little, groggy primate with straw pigtails.
A short walk away, Gemma brushed past a prickly bush and followed a small break in the twisted liana vines. She came to a wall of leaves and grew excited at the sound of movement ahead. She often felt like she could sense when adventure was near. In fact, she felt it almost every single day, and for the past year, she had been wrong roughly every single time. So, despite the eagerness to find something remarkable, her shock was genuine when she brushed the leaves aside. In a small clearing, no larger than a rock pond, was a black jaguar.
She bravely, confidently, froze.
As she rubbed the condensation from her glasses, Gemma spotted a small mammal underneath the jaguar's paw. Further rubbing led to further clarity, and she recognized the animal as a golden mole. Both rare and beautiful. A fear rushed in that, if she didn't act soon, the mole would be eaten or crushed under the jaguar's leg.
"Oh, Bramblerot!" she whispered.
Half thinking, half not-at-all-thinking, Gemma reached into the brown satchel at her waist and found a small piece of suede. Wrapped tightly inside was her favorite brass bell. It was a dented, old gift from an even older grandma, and Gemma never left it behind when she ventured out. Normally, she reserved for it occasions that required making a lot of noise, but an emergency like this called for something much more risky.
Stepping forward stealthily, Gemma used her other hand to free a thin purple ribbon from her hair, turning her pigtails into a pigtail. She pressed the suede against the bell tightly to make sure that it didn't attract any unwanted attention. A few paces ahead, and completely unaware of Gemma, the jaguar lifted his paw up for just a moment then pinned the mole down again. Gemma allowed herself a quick and disapproving scowl then focused on the task at hand. She opened the cloth and tied the ribbon around an opening in the brass bell. Then, with the delicacy of a snowflake on a silk napkin at afternoon tea with the Queen, Gemma tied the other end of the ribbon in another knot.
She slid backwards through the leaves and grabbed the closest suitable rock. As the jaguar leaned down with his teeth bared, Gemma tossed it towards the dense jungle to her left.
Without a moment to spare, the jaguar lifted his head, and whipped his body around.
And that's when he heard a jingle. A strange, suspiciously close, jingle.
He whipped back the other way and heard the jingle again, but all he saw was jungle. He tried prowling around the clearing, looking for the source, but again saw only jungle. The jingles came faster, one after the other. The mole looked on in surprise as the frustration grew. Then, in the type of overreaction that jaguars are known for, he leapt into the deep brush next to him, looking for anything to attack.
Gemma immediately rushed in to grab the wounded golden mole and quickly hid behind the nearest tree. The jaguar ran back into the clearing and looked around with a vicious stare. As soon as he took another step, the bell, which Gemma had fastened securely to his tail, jingled again. Having lost his target, and plagued by the mysterious jingle, the jaguar picked a direction, almost at random, and charged deep into the dark tropical rainforest. When the jingles finally grew quiet, Gemma laid the golden mole down.
"Don't worry. He's gone," she said, petting its head softly. "And he won't be sneaking up on anyone for a while," she added with a smile.
The mole wheezed out a tiny giggle then shook out its fur. It looked up at Gemma for a long moment, then scrunched its nose. Without a sound, it dug a hole in the soft earth and dove down.
Gemma watched in awe as it worked its way out of sight at impressive speed. She peered down to catch one last glimpse, but its little feet had disappeared in a flurry of dirt and dust. Gemma looked around. She had maybe ten minutes before her parents would try to wake her up and then find her missing. It was time to head back. Besides, she had found more than enough adventure for one day. Best for her to leave some for the other young explorers out there.
Carefully listening for the jingle of her favorite bell, Gemma weaved through the thick brush until it loosened and gave way to the path that she had personally made, stomp by stomp, over the better part of a year. She was almost to the hut when a small patch of dirt a few steps ahead of her started to move and shake. Approaching slowly, she leaned down and saw the furry face of the golden mole pop up to greet her. It scurried out of its hole and looked Gemma up and down. Gemma waved hello instinctively, as a matter of manners, and with no idea what else to do.
The mole reached into the dirt, pulling out an instrument that Gemma had seen many times before. It was a dark blue compass, set on a weathered chain. Gemma grabbed it with two curious hands, turning it over and around to inspect. The compass itself was older than her bell, she imagined, and built with much greater care. Then she reminded herself that her bell was now a jaguar accessory, and no longer hers at all. By the time she was done thinking, the mole had hopped back down its hole, leaving the compass behind. Gemma decided then and there that golden moles were strange creatures with strange habits. It's worth noting, however, that this was an unfair generalization and would only serve her poorly.
Later that day, Gemma sat at the kitchen table and watched her parents rush around the hut.
The compass was hanging around her neck, unnoticed. She had never seen them so animated as they gathered their belongings and shouted out questions and commands to each other. It was on this day that they had revealed they'd be going away on a trip of indeterminate length. Without her. Milo looked up at Gemma and cocked his head to the side. She patted her shoulder, the signal that it was okay for him to climb up and sit. Deftly, he swung up her torso and rested. Most times he would wrap only his tail around her neck, but today was different. He hugged her whole head with every limb he had.
"Gemma," said her Mom. "Come and take a walk with me to the waterfall. I have something to tell you."
2. CROOKED
Fifteen years later, Gemma was standing at the helm of the the Mystic Reed. The sun lit up a bright blue mid-day sky. The saltwater sprayed her glasses with every dip of the bow. After years of sailing the open ocean, she found it refreshing. Milo, being a land mammal in both nature and disposition, found it annoying. He had resigned himself to the squawks of seagulls, the smell of barnacles, and the fact that every single thing on their boat was constantly wet. But, the saltwater stung his nostrils, and that ruffled him the wrong way. He had no choice, though, on such an important mission, but to brave the onslaught from atop Gemma's shoulder and help with their search.
Gemma peered forward over the right side of the boat, which is called the starboard, as her uncle had taught her soon after her parents left. Then she peered over the left side of the boat, which is called the port. She always remembered which was which by reminding herself that 'left' and 'port' have the exact same number of letters. 'Starboard' and 'right' have an extraordinarily different number of letters, and therefore were not a part of her memorizing technique.
"I don't see anything, Milo," she said with a frown, wiping her glasses clean. They were speckled with saltwater again by the time she spoke again.
"That sea merchant told us the Forgotten Island would be right here!" she exclaimed.
Milo wrapped his tail around her neck and slid it down to point to the dark blue compass still hanging around her neck, slightly rusted, but otherwise intact. She opened up the cover and tapped the glass. There was a jagged silver needle laying lifeless inside, just as it always did.
Gemma looked down and sighed. "You know that thing doesn't work. It can't tell East from West or up from down. I need to remember exactly what that merchant said." She began to mumble. "Across the Mossy Channel, due south of Heart Mountain, three days onward… oh what's the use!"
Milo leapt onto the steering wheel as Gemma walked back to the stern of the boat and looked out across the water. "It's called the Forgotten Island for a reason. It's lost to the world!"
Her hand instinctively gripped the railing as the boat shook and shimmied. It slowed to a stop within seconds. She spun her head around to see Milo with his hands and tail in the air. This was often his pose when he wanted to make it clear that what had happened was not his fault. It was almost just as often the case that it was.
Gemma looked over the side rail again and saw a dark patch of land that hadn't been there at last glance. It was a small oval island. They had run aground.
Milo hopped down from the steering wheel and swung over the side of the boat. Gemma's feet found the wooden rungs on the Jacob's ladder and stepped down to the thin shoreline.
She bent and grabbed a handful of sand. It was blue. A deep blue. And dark green as well. Mixed together, it was the exact color of the ocean.
"Remarkable," she said, looking around. "This must be the Forgotten Island, Milo."
Less impressed, Milo grabbed a fallen coconut from the ground and started pounding it on a nearby stone. The coconut tree it came from was one of only three trees on the island. The second was a slightly larger coconut tree with equal or better quality and sized coconuts. The third was significantly smaller than the first two, did not grow any coconuts, and was not a coconut tree. Apart from the trees, Gemma spotted a simple hut, with a frond-thatched roof, covered on all sides by vines. Next to it was the entrance to a small cave, handmade from brown stones.
Milo struck a victorious blow, splitting the coconut in two. He drank the water inside greedily then offered Gemma the other half as a snack.
"Thanks anyway, Milo," she said. "I'd rather go check out that hut."
Gemma couldn't help staring into the dark mouth of the cave as she pushed in the hut's door. It dislodged from the frame in a sloppy commotion and fell to the floor.
"Sorry…" Gemma said to no one at all as they stepped on top and entered. She had decided long ago that manners are manners whether someone is there to see them or not.
Milo finished the coconut meat and threw his shell onto the hut floor. He had decided long ago that he was a lemur and, therefore, manners did not apply.
Gemma spotted two windows and tore down the faded green vines covering them. The sunlight burst in to reveal a metal pot, suspended over a compact fire pit. She bent down and held her hands close to the wooden embers.
"It's still warm," she said with a suspicious tone. "Someone was here recently." They looked around to confirm that despite the discovery, they were alone inside the hut. Milo picked his coconut shell up again and placed it on top of his head, just to be safe. Behind the pit there was a small circular table with a dusty chair pulled out. It looked to Gemma as though the seat had been dusted off by a large hand. A quick lap around the room uncovered an empty tin box and a set of clay bowls, but nothing more exciting. Gemma walked to the nearest window and stared out.
"Should've known that sea merchant was a liar. There's nothing valuable here. We got hornswoggled, Milo."
Milo looked up at her indignantly.
"Okay," she conceded, "I got hornswoggled."
Three weeks earlier Gemma sat at a lonely table in the shadows of Starlight Tavern, with Milo by her side. She didn't enjoy the loud bard music or unruly patrons, but it was the best place in Harbortown to conduct the shady administrative business that came along with treasure hunting. That is to say, it was the only place that allowed the kind of people she needed to meet. Across from her sat one of those very people, known to her only as the sea merchant. He was a handsome mustachioed man with a tricorn hat, and at that moment, he had her rapt attention.
"It's up to you," he said with a smile and a sip of his drink. He had a smooth way of talking that made even the saltiest words come out sweet. Gemma didn't trust him one bit. She took his words with a grain of regular-colored sand, but she was listening.
Milo stared at the merchant with the fierce protective glare that only a true friend possesses. Unbeknownst to Gemma, it had been two minute since he last blinked.
"And how do I know I can trust you?" she asked with an eyebrow raised.
The sea merchant laughed. "You don't, friend."
Gemma studied his smile. The lines next to his eyes. The piece of corn stuck to his teeth that, had he been a true friend, she would have mentioned to him as a courtesy.
"The price. It's a bit steep," she replied.
"That it is," said the sea merchant, taking another sip. "But, this is no ordinary bounty. Through great peril I came to find it. It's not everyday someone offers you 'the most greatest treasure in the world'."
Gemma's face twisted.
"'The most greatest treasure in the world?' I've heard those words before…"
The sea merchant slammed his drink down.
"Aye, many have heard of it. None have found it." He leaned in closer. "But I know the way."
Gemma gave a coy smirk. "If you know the way then why don't you go get it yourself. Surely it's worth more than you're asking."
"'Tis not in the stars for me, friend. No, I'll just stay here, safe and sound." He reached out an open palm. "And count my coins."
She sighed. It was the best lead she had gotten in months and, despite her concerns, she couldn't turn it down. Besides, she was desperate for adventure, and if what the merchant said was even half true, it would be the stuff of legends.
Gemma looked to Milo and gave a nod. Without breaking his stare, Milo used his tail to lift up a pouch of coins and drop it on the table. Milo was the only lemur Gemma had ever met who had a prehensile tail, capable of gripping things, and it never ceased to amaze her. The sea merchant snatched the pouch up before the sound even hit Gemma's ears. He took off his hat, leaned in close to cover the sides of their faces from a busy tavern, and whispered the instructions. The first rivers and channels and landmarks he mentioned were familiar, but the rest were completely foreign to her. She listened more carefully than she ever had before, repeating the words back to herself.
When he was finished, Gemma turned to Milo and gave another quick nod.
"Well, I guess that all we need to know," she said, turning back to the sea merchant. "Thanks for…"
But the sea merchant was nowhere to be seen. Only his hat remained. Gemma and Milo were genuinely impressed by the mystique of it for a few seconds. Until they heard, "You're welcome," from underneath the table. The sea merchant's hand reached up and grabbed the hat, since it was a high-quality hat, and not the kind you would leave behind for the sake of mystique.
Back inside the hut, Gemma looked out the window and sighed.
"I guess there were some red flags," she said. Her eyes settled on the rock cave outside.
"Come on, Milo. We might as well check every nook and cranny," she said with a shrug.
Milo squeaked as they stomped over the fallen door.
"A cranny. It's basically the same thing as a nook," she responded.
As Gemma and Milo walked inside the cave they carried some of the island's blue sand with them. The entrance sloped down on a path of dark brown dirt that went on longer than either of them expected. When they reached the interior, the mid-day sun was almost completely blocked. Gemma felt around the cold walls and found a sconce holding a torch.
"Milo, flint me," she said.
Milo reached inside the small pouch at his side and pulled out a flint stone, used for sparking flames. Swiftly, he tossed it past her open hand and hit her in the forehead. They had gotten good at starting cozy fires, but hadn't yet perfected the handoff. In a dark cave and without any practice throws, they had almost no chance.
Gemma lit the torch and uncovered a cave of deep red stone. The flame created shadows that danced over the nooks in the side of the cave. They danced over crannies as well which, it's worth noting, are actually an entirely different thing than nooks. What drew both of their attention, as soon as they saw it, was a wooden chest in the center. As they walked forward, its gold trim and lock shimmered in the light.
With each approaching step, Gemma noticed a peculiar thing start to happen. From around her neck, the compass began to shake. She stopped to raise it over her head and open the top. The jagged silver needle was vibrating loudly. Testing a theory, she took a step forward and the rattle increased until it filled the room.
"It's… it's never done this before," she said. Milo looked up at her with wide yellow eyes. "Why would it shake now? It doesn't even work." Gemma carefully opened up the glass cover and grasped the needle to stop the shaking. "It's almost like it's not a compass at all…" She lifted her hand up and, to her surprise, removed the needle with ease.
Milo scuttled over to the lock and examined it. Excitedly, he jumped up and down. Gemma felt as though she understood what he meant. Through years of being best friends, they had developed their own kind of language, and she was rarely wrong.
"You want me to bake you a muffin, Milo?" Rarely wrong, but sometimes.
Milo scoffed and pointed at the lock.
"Ohhhh, use the needle on the lock," she said. "Well, it looked a whole lot like your muffin dance."
Gemma bent down and lined the needle up to the keyhole to find it was roughly the same size. With the torch in one hand, flickering wildly around the cave, she pressed the twisted needle into the lock.
"Here goes something," she whispered.
Slowly, she turned the needle until she felt a click. The top to the chest popped open with ease. Gemma tapped her shoulder and Milo climbed up to see. She raised the torch and stared down. Inside, she saw her own face and Milo's, distorted by a blanket of ripples. It was water. Dark ancient, water. And in the center, floating with a calmness, was a tiny boat.
Gemma had less than a moment to study it before she heard a familiar sound. One she had not heard for many years. It was the jingle of her old favorite bell.
"Oh, Bramblerot," she said.
3. FREED
Somewhere inside the cave, the jingle came again. Gemma turned to see a shadowy four-legged figure growing larger. The steps were slow and deliberate. Each one was punctuated by the dragging roll of a bell along the dirt floor, swaying gracefully from a ribbon. When he came into to the light, Gemma cringed. His face had never left her, never lost its sharpness in her dreams. Milo silently slunk behind the chest, out of sight, and Gemma was thankful at least for that. She couldn't stand the thought of him being the appetizer to a Gemma-sized main course. With nothing to lose and no better ideas in her petrified mind, she spoke.
"Hi there," she pushed out. "I… I like your ribbon. I used to have one just like it."
The jaguar paused to rest on his back legs and stare. Examining her face, his slim eyes opened a touch. Gemma smiled nervously. It was then, no sooner or later than Gemma's teeth cleared her lips, that the jaguar attacked.
As he sprung towards her, he let out a growl more spine-shaking than Gemma had ever heard. They say that the fervor of a domesticated pet or long-caged beast is nothing when compared to the fierceness of a creature in the wild. Had you asked Gemma in that moment, she would certainly have agreed, and even more certainly would have wanted to discuss at a time when she was not the target of a jaguar pounce.
As luck would have it, the jaguar would never reach her. Just inches from Gemma's face, which was scrunched up and bracing for impact, the jaguar was stopped. Sneaking in the shadows of the cave, Milo had made it to the other side just in time to reach out and grab the jaguar's tail. But, a fuzzy tail is tough to hold onto, even for an experienced tail-grabber like Milo, and his grip slid all the way down to the dangling bell. The purple ribbon stretched and strained from the tension. Gemma grabbed the small ship from inside the chest and ducked away towards Milo, just as the bell and ribbon snapped off of the jaguar's tail. The bell fell to the dusty ground with a jingle, but Milo clutched the ribbon in his hand. The jaguar's momentum caused him to fly forward and slam into the open lid of the chest, then down into the water with a splash. Gemma looked back briefly to see the lid fall down over his head.
They rushed out onto the miniature beach and headed straight for the Mystic Reed. Gemma looked down at Milo and got the nod she needed. She handed him the tiny ship, then picked Milo up and swung him over the boat's rail. This move had been mastered well beyond the flint toss, as hasty escapes were commonplace for a pair of treasure hunters like them. Milo instinctively let out the sail for the reverse wind to push them off the shore. Gemma took two steps up the Jacob's ladder and held on as the boat cleared the shallows.
The jaguar raced out of the cave, sopping wet, straight towards them, but came to a stop at the frothy shoreline. All he could do was sit on the blue sand and snarl and growl at the receding boat. Now that Gemma and Milo were both safely on board and protected by the waves between them, they found the jaguar slightly less intimidating than moments ago. Milo handed Gemma her purple ribbon, then steered the boat into the open ocean. Gemma tied the ribbon back into her hair and shouted off the stern in the back of the boat.
"Sorry we snagged your tail and shot you into a chest of water! And sorry for taking the tiny ship you were guarding! And…" Gemma turned back to Milo. "This is weirdest apology I've ever given." Milo nodded and banked the wheel to his left. "We're just sorry!" finished Gemma.
She took over command of the wheel and set off in the direction where the sky looked clearest. The Forgotten Island faded from view as swiftly as it had appeared, almost like magic. Milo sprawled out on the deck with the tiny ship and began examining it. He tapped it on the side, wiggled the rudder in back, and held it up from every angle.
"Find anything interesting?" Gemma called out.
Milo shook his head with a sigh and placed the ship onto the wooden deck. Then, a playful smirk crept up as he decided to spin it around like a dreidel.
"I'd hardly call that 'the most greatest treasure in the world'! There must be more to it," she continued to herself. "'Most greatest treasure.' Who talks like that? It's something a kid would say."
The glint from the bow of another boat stole her attention. Somehow, it had come within four lengths of the Mystic Reed without her noticing, and was now pulling alongside them.
"We've got company Milo!" she shouted. But Milo's attention had been stolen too, not by the life-sized boat pulling ever closer, but by the tiny ship in his hands. Spinning it had betrayed an exciting secret. Something hidden was rattling around inside.
The Mystic Reed slowed to a stop as the strange, unknown boat settled by its side. A six-foot-tall man with dark curly hair and a long nose stepped away from his helm towards Gemma.
"Ahoy!" he said over the railing of his old, wonky boat. It was filled with so many knick-knacks and trinkets that it looked like a giant had picked up a dozen different shops and shaken their contents on board.
"Ahoy," Gemma said back.
"Pleasure to meet you. Might I ask your name and the name of this fine vessel?" said the man.
"My name is Gemma, and this is the Mystic Reed. My friend's name is Milo but he's a bit busy at the moment."
Milo pulled off the crow's nest on top of the tiny ship and peeked inside the hollow mast. His eyes grew two sizes when he spotted a scroll that had been rolled up and tucked away. Using his lemur fingers, he clawed at it, tongue sticking out in concentration.
"And you?" she asked back.
The man proudly stepped aside to show the full span of his boat.
"This here is the Dusty Rust Busket," he said with a smile.
Gemma looked confused. "Do you mean Dusty Rust Bucket?"
"Bucket? This isn't a bucket- it's a boat!" he snapped back.
"I'm sorry," said Gemma, "I just thought…"
Milo pulled the scroll from the ship and let out a sequel of delight. Finally taking notice of the stranger, the Dusty Rust Busket, and his general surroundings, he hid it behind his back and joined Gemma.
"You thought wrong," added the man, still stinging from the question.
"It won't happen again, um…" Gemma replied with curiosity.
"Charles. My name is Charles Bucket. But you can call me Chuck," he said with a grand bow.
Gemma tapped her shoulder and Milo hopped up. "Milo, I'd like you to meet Chuck Bucket of the Dusty Rust Busket." As yet, it was the silliest sentence she had ever said aloud, but she still had many sentences and much silliness ahead of her.
Chuck Bucket gave a less exaggerated bow and half smile to Milo.
"Now that we've all been introduced, might we discuss the riddle in your lemur's hand?" he asked.
4. SERPENTINE
Gemma hadn't noticed. It wasn't until Milo hiccuped at the question, as he sometimes does when he's surprised, that she realized he was holding something behind his back. He shot her a sheepish stare, which is hard for a lemur to do. Slowly, he pulled out the thin scroll from behind his back.
"Where did you get that, Milo?" Gemma asked with surprise, but no hiccups.
"I believe it was from that little toy he was playing with over there," interrupted Chuck, pointing to the tiny ship on the deck of the Mystic Reed.
Milo offered it up to Gemma. She grabbed it and shot him a stare. There was no room for secrets on a boat. That's something that he Uncle Horace had taught her. The Mystic Reed was her boat, and she didn't like the idea of a stranger knowing more about its goings-on than her.
"I haven't had a chance to look at it yet, Captain Bucket," she said, turning back to him. "I don't know what makes you think it's a riddle…" Gemma unrolled the scroll and scanned the parchment. She paused, then looked up again.
"Okay, fine, it's a riddle."
More curious than the hidden riddle was the way in which it was written. The beautiful black-ink calligraphy had a quality that she had seen only twice while sailing the Eight Seas. The first time was in a ledger, stolen off a royal ship, that she had won in a game of checkers. Milo lost it in a different game of checkers the same night. The second was on a spyglass telescope that Gemma's uncle had shown her. "A gift from old friends," he had said.
This writing was just as intricate and written with even more care.
"How did you know what was on here?" asked Gemma.
Chuck Bucket gave his biggest, kindness smile. "I know a riddle when I see one. I deal with them quite a bit in my travels."
Gemma pondered this for a moment. She had known some treasure hunters that traded riddles late into the night on a long journey. They did it for entertainment, but also to test their wits. A few of the riddles were ancient and well-known. The kind of riddles that some children could answer proudly. But, sometimes a sailor would come from a distant land with a riddle that was yet untold. Gemma liked the idea that the world still held secret riddles waiting to be solved, and suspected that Captain Chuck Bucket had uncovered a great many in his work.
"So, let's have it," he added. He leaned in close and stuck his ear out towards her.
Gemma read the scroll aloud.
"In a small pond, I was a small fish.
Now is the time, to grant me my wish."
She read it aloud a second time to be sure. Gemma and Milo looked at each other with blank stares.
"I don't get it, Milo," said Gemma. "Was there a fish in the ship?" Milo crossed his arms and shook his head. He was not a fish thief.
Captain Chuck Bucket sighed and stood up straight again. "I had hoped it might be more difficult. I do enjoy a difficult riddle."
"You mean you know what the answer?" Gemma asked with surprise.
"Indeed I do," he replied.
There was a great pause.
"So… will you tell us?!" spit it out Gemma.
Captain Bucket stroked his chin and thought for a moment. "I might," he said. "I might."
Milo lifted his finger in the air excitedly then hopped down to rummage below deck. He came scurrying back up on two legs holding a checkers board.
"No, Milo!" urged Gemma. "You are not playing him in checkers for it. You'll end up losing the boat."
Milo pouted and turned back around.
"He's never won," whispered Gemma to Captain Bucket. "And I don't mean that as an exaggeration. I mean not a single time. And he played a chicken, twice."
"Bad luck I'm sure," said Captain Bucket sweetly. Then his eyes lit up, as if an idea had just struck him. "Why don't we trade instead! You give me that elegant purple ribbon in your hair, and I'll give you the answer. It will add nicely to my collection," he said.
Gemma touched the ribbon in her hair. "My ribbon?" she questioned, undoing the knot and holding it in her hands. "I suppose. I just got it back, though."
"Then you won't miss it much." Captain Bucket reached out and grabbed it from her hands, then secured it in his own, wavy hair.
He retreated to the steering wheel of the Dusty Rust Busket and waved Gemma farewell.
"Goodbye Gemma! A chance encounter I won't soon forget!" he said, pulling away.
Milo arrived back and sat on the railing, looking out.
"Wait!" shouted Gemma. "What's the answer to the riddle!"
Captain Bucket gave one last smile and cupped his hands to his mouth.
"Sometimes what we just need room to explore. That ship you found is looking for a bigger pond!" And with that, he spun The Dusty Rust Busket towards the horizon and sailed away.
Gemma stood watching for a moment longer.
"We make deals with some interesting people, Milo," she said to a nod.
Milo picked up the tiny ship and handed it to Gemma. It was hardly the straightforward answer that Gemma had wanted, but it was still a step in the right direction. The tiny ship needed more room.
"It needs a bigger pond." The pair peered over the edge of the boat into the water and watched low waves slap the hull. "It doesn't get much bigger than that," she said. It was the best, and only, idea that she had. Gemma took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and dropped the tiny ship over the edge of the Mystic Reed. "I sure hope it floats," she added.
The ship plopped down below the surface, sending out ripples, then bobbed back up. A small cylinder in the back of the boat, that Milo had assumed was a miniature barrel, became electrified by the salt water ocean. It whirred and wizzed until a propellor protruded out of the end. It turned slowly at first, and then built