The Hotel Under the Sand by Kage Baker Page B

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.”

15
T HE R ED K ING
    W INSTON LED THEM from the Grand Ballroom down a flight of stairs, to a pair of doors all painted in red and gold. A smiling mask decorated the right-hand door, and a sad mask decorated the left-hand door.
    “Here we go,” said Winston, opening the doors wide. “The latest thing in theaters! Suitable for Shakespeare or vaudeville, and not only that—we have one of these newfangled cinematograph screens and projectors!”
    “What’s a
cinematograph?”
asked Emma and Masterman at the same time.
    “Er—you know.” Mrs. Beet gestured as though she were turning a crank. “Moving pictures?”
    “Ah! Old-time movies, to be sure,” said Captain Doubloon. “Where’s this Red King, then?”
    They looked around. There were a hundred red velvet seats, and red velvet curtains across the front of the