The Hotel Under the Sand by Kage Baker

she couldn’t help grinning a little as she caught him. Mrs. Beet cried out in consternation, and made Captain Doubloon come down the steps and pick him up. A bit grudgingly, Captain Doubloon tossed the boy over his shoulder like a sack of laundry and carried him into the Lobby.
    They laid him down on one of the sofas while Winston ran to fetch a glass of water for him.
    “He’s cold as ice,” said Mrs. Beet, throwing her shawl over him, “and he looks as though he hasn’t eaten in days. And what was all that about people wanting to murder him? The poor baby!”
    Emma felt a slight pang of conscience at having taken an instant dislike to him. So she brought a pillow to prop up Masterman’s head while Winston tilted the glass and got him to drink some water. Masterman coughed and sat bolt upright, staring around. Then he lay back, smiling.
    “My
hotel,” he said. “It’s just as I thought it would be.”
    “It’s Emma’s hotel, you little lubber,” said Captain Doubloon. “On account of she salvaged it. How’d you even know it’d been found again, eh?”
    “I didn’t,” said Masterman. “I decided I’d come dig it out myself. I built a flying machine and I knew I could build a machine to excavate our hotel, if I could only get to the Dunes. I’m a Wenlocke! I’m a genius at inventing things. All of us Wenlockes are brilliant inventors, except—” and his lip trembled as though he were going to cry—“except that there’s only me left. I’m an orphan.”
    “Out of that whole big family?” said Mrs. Beet, horrified.
    “Things were bad for us, after the hotel sank,” said Masterman.
    “Then who’s Uncle Roderick?” said Emma.
    “He’s not really my uncle,” said Masterman with a sneer. “He’s just my guardian. He’s been plotting to do away with me ever since I was four.”
    “Is he trying to steal your fortune?” asked Winston.
    “Yes, but mostly he just hates me,” said Masterman. “So he sent me off to a horrible school, where everyone was mean to me for no reason. He was hoping I would catch my death of cold when the other boys stole my blankets, or starve when the other boys locked me out of the mess hall. And if that didn’t work, he was hoping I’d be sent off to fight in a war and get killed.”
    “A
Wenlocke
fighting in a war!” said Mrs. Beet. “Why, Mr. Wenlocke told me no Wenlocke was ever a soldier; they just sold guns to both sides!”
    “But I was smarter than he was,” said Masterman smugly. He lay back. “And now I’d like some hot soup and crisp toast, please.”
    “I’ve got a nice Tomato Bisque on the range, Master Masterman,” said Mrs. Beet, and she hurried down to the Kitchens.
    “Can I do anything else for you, sir?” said Winston, wringing his hands. Emma and Captain Doubloon looked at each other.
    “You can tell me what this pirate and this girl are doing in my hotel,” said Masterman.
    “Pirate! What pirate?” said Captain Doubloon. “I’ll have you know I’m an honest sailor, with a legally binding claim on the treasure what’s hid in this here hotel, as was given to
my
ancestor by
your
ancestor. And that young lady is a castaway with a legally binding salvage claim, on account of it was
her
got the hotel out from under the sand in the first place! We knows our rights, see?”
    Masterman listened to all this and he began to stroke his chin, just as though he were practicing stroking a beard to a point.
    “I see,” he said, when Captain Doubloon had finished. “Well! Here I am, a poor orphan, all alone in the world—and now you tell me I can’t even live in my great-grandfather’s hotel, because you got here first.”
    “Oh, no, sir!” said Winston. “I’m sure that’s not what he meant!”
    “Aw…” Captain Doubloon looked embarrassed. “No, I s’pose not.”
    “We just mean you have to
share,”
said Emma firmly. “Or we can walk out of here and you can try to run a hotel all by yourself. And what are you going to