“Give or take.”
“How do you find them?” asked Remi.
“Smell, location, animal tracks. After ten years, it’s more a feeling than anything else.”
“Ten years? Not out here the whole time, I hope.”
The Kid chuckled. “No. Truffle season’s only five weeks long. The other forty-seven weeks I’ve got a little place on the beach near Andevoranto. Do a little fishing, a little diving, a little hiking, and a lot of staring at sunsets.”“Sounds wonderful.”
“It is indeed, madam. What’s not wonderful, however, is the nice collection of scratches there.”
Sam and Remi glanced at the red crisscrosses on their arms and legs. The man reached into an old canvas backpack leaning against the log, rummaged around, and came out with an unmarked glass tube. He tossed it across to Remi.
“Local recipe,” the Kid said. “Works miracles. Just don’t ask what’s in it.” Sam and Remi dabbed the greenish, foul-smelling ointment on their scratches. Immediately the sting disappeared. Sam said, “Smells a lot like animal urine and-”
The Kid smiled. “I told you not to ask.” He poured them each a cup of coffee from the soot-burnished percolator sitting at the edge of the fire. “So if you don’t mind me asking, what’re you folks doing out here?”“We’re looking for a spot that may or may not exist,” Sam replied.
“Ah, the siren song of lost lands. As it happens, imaginary places are one of my specialties.”
Sam reached into the side pocket of his pack, withdrew the Moreau map, and handed it across. The Kid studied it for thirty seconds, then handed it back. “Good news, bad news. Pick your poison.”“Bad news,” Remi replied.
“You’re about eighty years too late. That area of the Pangalanes was swallowed up after an earthquake in 1932.”
“And the good news?”
“It’s dry land now. And I can probably get you to within a few yards of the spot you seek.”
THEY FINISHED THEIR COFFEE, then the Kid kicked dirt over his fire and packed his gear, and the three of them set out with the Kid in the lead, Remi in the middle, and Sam trailing. The Kid required neither machete nor compass as he headed northeast, following trails that at first glance seemed like nothing more than gaps in the foliage. Despite his years, he moved at a steady, economical pace that told Sam and Remi their guide had spent more of his life out-of-doors than in.After forty minutes of walking in companionable silence, the Kid called over his shoulder, “This place you’re looking for . . . What’s so special about it?”
Remi glanced back at Sam with a questioning look on her face. Sam gave it a moment’s thought, then replied, “You strike me as an honest man, Kid. Am I wrong about that?”
The Kid stopped walking and turned around. He smiled.
“You’re not wrong. I’ve kept more confidences than steps I’ve taken.” Sam held his gaze for a few moments, then nodded. “Lead on, and we’ll tell you a story.”The Kid turned around and started walking again.
Sam said, “Have you ever heard of the CSS Shenandoah ?”
AFTER ANOTHER HOUR the underbrush began to thin out, and they soon found themselves surrounded by savanna dotted with clusters of baobab. A mile to their left, the grassland again gave way to rain forest that rose to meet the escarpment, while to their right they could see the Canal des Pangalanes; beyond that, the blue of the Indian Ocean.They stopped walking and took a water break. After a gulp from his canteen, the Kid said, “So this Blaylock fella . . . He sounds like quite a character.”
Remi nodded. “The problem is, we still don’t know how much of his story is real and how much is malaria- and grief-induced fantasy.”
“That’s the blessing and the curse of adventure,” the Kid replied.
“As far as I’m concerned, one should never miss the chance to take the road less traveled.”
Sam smiled and held up his canteen. “Cheers to that.”
They clicked canteens.
“Why don’t you two take a break. I’m going to do some scouting. I think we’re close, but I need to do some checking around.”
The Kid dropped his pack and walked off through the knee-high grass. Sam and Remi plopped down on the ground and listened to the waves crashing on the beach. A cluster of rainbow-hued butterflies drifted across the tops of the grass, fluttered above their heads for a few moments, then continued on. From a nearby baobab a ring- tailed lemur hung upside down staring at them. After two minutes of this, he slowly climbed up and out of view.
Without a sound, the Kid reappeared behind them. “Eureka,” he simply said.IT WAS A FIVE-MINUTE WALK away. As they topped a small, steep-sided hillock, the Kid stopped and spread his hands.
“Here?” Sam asked.
“Here. After the earthquake the cove closed up and the water evaporated, leaving just the upper part of the island exposed. Eighty years of ocean silt and storms filled in the depression.”Sam and Remi looked around. Thankfully, the hillock measured no more than four hundred square feet.
Remi said, “I suppose we find the center point and start walking.”
The Kid asked, “How many spans did Blaylock indicate?”
“Fourteen hundred forty-two. A little under two miles.”
The Kid checked the sky. “In Madagascar time, that’s three or four hours, most of it back in the rain forest. My recommendation: We settle in for the night.”
CHAPTER 30
MADAGASCAR, INDIAN OCEAN
THEY WERE UP SHORTLY AFTER DAWN. AT THE KID’S INSISTENCE, Sam and Remi wandered down to a tidal pool for a rinse off while he threw together a meal of truffles and cassava hash browns. They returned to camp just as the percolator was beginning to boil. Remi poured three cups while Sam helped the Kid serve.“Probably should ask you,” the Kid said between forkfuls, “how much do you know about the situation here?”
“You mean politically?” Sam replied. “Not much, aside from what we read in the papers-a coup, a new president, and an angry ex-president in exile.”
“That’s the short of it. What you don’t know is the ex-president is back from exile. Rumor is he’s back and has set up shop in Maroantsetra, up the coast. If he manages to put together enough men and guns, there’ll probably be a civil war; if he doesn’t, it’ll be a massacre. Either way, it’s not the best time to be a white face on the island. Around the cities you’re okay, but out here . . .” The Kid shrugged. “Might want to keep a sharp eye out.”“For what?” asked Remi.
“Mostly guys with AK-47s riding around in pickup trucks.”
“So we should hope we see them before they see us.”
“That would be the idea. Even if not, if you look like you’re more trouble than you’re worth, they might move on. Whenever politics get stirred up like this, the underdogs sometimes look at kidnapping as an income-and- leverage opportunity.”Sam said, “With luck we’ll be back in Antananarivo before nightfall.”
The Kid smiled. “After you’ve found whatever there is to find.”
“Or find that there’s nothing to find,” Remi added.
SHORTLY BEFORE EIGHT they packed up their gear, trudged up the hillock, took a bearing on 315, then set out single file across the savanna with the Kid in the lead, Remi in the middle, and Sam bringing up the rear with his handheld GPS, which he’d calibrated to bearing/ countdown mode: 1,442 spans of Blaylock’s 7-foot-tall walking staff, which would equal 10,094 feet or 1.91 miles.“Here’s hoping Blaylock’s staff hasn’t shrunk or expanded in the last hundred thirty years,” Sam called.
“Or that he was no good with a tape measure,” Remi added.
They hadn’t crossed half the savanna before their boots and pant legs were soaked with dew. By the time they reached the edge of the rain forest, the sun’s lower rim had broken free of the eastern horizon; they felt its heat on their backs.
