Four

Ross was supposed to have dinner with his uncle on Friday night. The prestigious man was having several other members of Parliament over to dine with him and they were bringing their spouses. Because his uncle lacked a wife, he'd decided to fill the empty seat next to him with his nephew. At least, that's how Ross felt about it, that he was just invited to fill space, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling at all.

"Make sure you look your best," suggested Mrs. Muddlegub as she prepared to leave. Uncle Wallace was having their meal catered, so she was heading out early. "Your uncle expects you to behave, so be as good to him as he is to you."

With a roll of his brown eyes, Ross attempted to say sourly in reply, "Then I won't have to try very hard!" However, a violent cough kept him from speaking, which was likely a good thing. The boy was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of hot chamomile tea. He'd caught a nasty cold from soaking in the rain in Hyde Park and was feeling the effects of it. His nose was stuffed and running at the same time, his eyes were itchy, and his throat was sore and dry with all of his coughing and drainage. Complete wretchedness was all he knew at the moment. Ross could hardly concentrate on drinking his tea let alone ways of how to please his uncle when dinner came around.

Tousling his hair, Mrs. Muddlegub added, "Drink up that stuff and remember to take your cough syrup before you go to bed. And you enjoy your dinner, hear?" Then she was out the door and Ross was left with his own groggy thoughts.

It wasn't very long before Ross heard his Uncle Wallace enter into the front hall. They had a large flat with a wide entrance and a stairway facing the door. The kitchen was in the very back and the dining room was between that and the front room, which were all across the hall from the staircase. Ross knew the sound of his uncle's clopping shoes on the tiles, and he was apprehensive over it. Usually, by the time the man got home from work, Ross was in bed. And always, if he wasn't in bed, Mrs. Muddlegub was there fixing dinner or finishing up late chores. Ross was very rarely left alone with Uncle Wallace, and he was terribly nervous about the whole thing. All that he really wanted to do was go upstairs and fall into bed. He felt tired and out-of-sorts from his cold, and the last thing he wanted to do was eat a big meal. He was sure his nose would drip onto his plate or he would have a coughing attack during the main course. Something would go wrong—Ross knew it. He was dreading every moment of the evening.

The sounds of his uncle opening the closet, hanging up his coat, closing the closet, and setting down his briefcase echoed in the front hall. Ross felt every noise and wished each wouldn't come. Every little move his uncle made brought the man closer to spotting his nephew and feeling that a bit of conversation was necessary.

And then there Uncle Wallace was, standing in the door frame of the kitchen where his young charge was hunched at the table. Ross raised his eyes but did not lift his head. The man, tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and square-jawed, was enough to fill any room to the brim with his presence. He was always wearing a serious expression to go along with his business attire. Ross hated to look at him, because he saw nothing in his uncle's face that made him appreciate or understand anything the man did.

For a moment, Uncle Wallace only stared at Ross. He cleared his throat a little, shifted his weight from one foot to another, then put a hand against the door frame. Raising his eyebrows, he said in his low voice, "Good evening, Roscoe. Has Mrs. Muddlegub left?"

Ross nodded his reply. Resting his head on a curled fist, he stared down into his tea while he stirred the lukewarm liquid. He'd spent so much time waiting to drink it that it was no longer hot.

"All right, then," said Uncle Wallace, withdrawing his hand from the door frame and crossing it into his other arm. He opened his mouth as if to ask something more, but no words came out. Lowering his gaze to the floor, the man satisfied himself by saying, "Our guests will be here within the hour, and the caterers should arrive any minute. You look as if you aren't feeling well. Go on upstairs and make yourself a little more presentable, all right?" He attempted a smile, but Ross did not notice it. With a grudging frown, the boy merely scooted out from the table and passed by his uncle, plastering his eyes to the ground to avoid the chance of making eye contact with the man. Upstairs he marched, shoulders slumped and socked feet dragging. Had he been any more lethargic, he would have been dead.

Ross sat in his room, staring through the stained-glass window into the darkness outside. It wasn't late, but nights were growing dark fast because it was getting nearer to the Winter months. If only, he thought miserably. If only. The boy stayed motionless for some while before finally getting to his feet and making himself (as his uncle said) more presentable. He didn't want to move at all, but he also knew that he couldn't disobey Uncle Wallace. It wasn't in his nature to go against rules, except for when it came to tennis shoes and Giant.

"I wish Giant was here," Ross found himself saying aloud as his thoughts came to the boy. He was rather surprised at his own words. It must be the cold medicine, he thought. Then he realized he hadn't taken his cough syrup yet. Then it's the cold—plainly. It must be the cold. It's stuffed up my brains so I can't think properly. And maybe it was his sickness. However, he was still disturbed at the fact that he was even thinking about that peculiar boy. Right then, Giant was probably out slipping wallets from peoples' pockets or sleeping behind some bronze statue (of which there were untold amounts in London). No, Ross didn't really believe that Giant was as homeless as that made him sound. Giant had to have a home. He had to have somewhere that he went in order to sleep and eat. His clothes weren't too terribly ragged and he didn't look too scrawny, as a desperate person in need of food would probably look. Giant wasn't homeless; he was just out a lot. And he had to have parents, too. Everybody had parents. In Ross's case, they weren't around anymore, but he still used to have them. Now he had a guardian. Who was Giant's guardian, then, if he didn't have parents? There were too many questions that Ross wanted answered. He had no idea how to find answers. He had only met the strange boy three times, but he already felt as if he had a right to know everything about him.

His uncle called him from downstairs; Ross knew he had to go. Combing his hair and putting on his dress shoes (for school, his tennis shoes were fine, but he didn't want to chance wearing them to dinner), he stepped from his room and went anxiously down to the dining room. The caterers were setting up in the kitchen, bustling about with dishes and plates of steaming food. None of the guests had arrived, and Ross was glad of that. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, however, the front door rang. The evening had begun.

Somehow, Ross managed well into the meal. His Uncle Wallace introduced him to people and seated him at the table in his proper place. Ross was quiet unless he was asked a question, in which case he'd give the shortest response possible. He ate what was served to him, unable to taste anything due to his congested sinuses. His nose did not drip onto his plate, and he was not overtaken by a coughing fit—until dessert.

Dessert was a beautifully sculpted ice-cream pie with a chocolate coating and chocolate-covered strawberries displayed in a half-ring around the edge of the plate. Any other time, Ross would have been thrilled to eat such a treat. Now, however, he was only dreading pushing another course of food into his already-full stomach. He'd been full before dinner even started, because colds made everything rather unappetizing. As Ross pondered how he was ever going to take a single bite of the heavy confection staring up at him, he felt the terrible itch creep up into his throat. He knew he was going to cough, and the thought struck him instantly that he had forgotten to take his cough syrup before dinner. Not wanting to cause a scene and also forgetting to excuse himself, Ross covered his mouth, stood, and left the table.

Once in the kitchen and away from the dining room, he let himself cough. He coughed so hard that he thought his eyes would pop out of his head. He could hardly get in breaths to force out a cough before another was overtaking him. He didn't even care if the caterers looked at him funny from the corners of their eyes as they hurried to and from the dining room with full trays. His eyes started to stream, so he went to take a paper towel in order to wipe them and blow his nose. Slowly, his coughing attack melted away into sniffles. The boy couldn't recall ever having such a fit. He felt completely abject. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was return to dinner. He hated those people, and he hated his uncle. Ross hated everything about his life, except . . . he couldn't believe that he hated Giant. He didn't know what to think about him. Giant was the only thing that he didn't entirely detest.

Suddenly it dawned on Ross that he was the only person in the kitchen. Glancing left to right, he realized that the caterers had left with their carts to collect dishes. Was dessert already ending? He hoped that it was. Maybe he wouldn't have to go back to the dining room at all.

A tap sounded; Ross instinctively turned toward the window. There was the very boy he'd been previously thinking of. Giant stood against the glass of the tall kitchen windows, looking in on the sniveling boy inside. Ross pulled his sleeve across his face and went to unlatch the lock between the panes. "What are you doing here?" he asked immediately after opening the window.

Giant expertly climbed into the kitchen, careful not to make any suspicious noises (which was a true feat in what he was wearing). He pricked up his ears when he heard conversation and laughter coming from the dining room. With wide, drooped eyes he turned to Ross. "I've been waiting for you forever! Where have you been?"

Ross stared at the strange boy. Giant had on an enormous black raincoat that nearly touched the floor. He also wore what resembled an old police hat. "Why are you dressed like that? It's not even raining."

"They're not just there to see your uncle," whispered Giant, entirely ignoring what the other boy had just asked him. He went to the kitchen door and cautiously peeked out at the table of men and women. "I've been watching them. Have you?"

Confused, Ross shook his head. At that moment, the caterers began to re-enter the kitchen. They eyed the boys curiously but didn't say anything other than "Move out of the way!" so Ross and Giant went into the hall and toward the back door where shadows crisscrossed into a dark hiding spot.

When they were safe in the quiet, Ross said, "What do you mean you've been watching them? From where?" He felt like they were playing question tag.

"It was brilliant—just brilliant."

"What?"

"Your trick! You made off like you had a coughing fit and all. The Deep Sky Fish would be proud of you if he had seen it, but your windows don't face the right way at this time of night. Just listen," he continued, seeing that Ross was about to ask a question. "I've decided that I have no choice but to trust you. Do you swear I can trust you?"

"Trust me to do what?" asked Ross.

"First swear, and then I'll bloody tell you."

Ross didn't like that idea much at all, but he still consented to it. If Giant told him to do something he didn't want to do, then he just wouldn't do it. Sworn in or not—Ross didn't care. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to.

"Capital!" cried Giant at his friend's nod. He put a hand on Ross's shoulder and forced him to crouch lower so that the two of them were in a small huddle. Ross was irritated but full of wonder to know what Giant was going to say. Was he going to talk about his family and where he lived? Was he pondering telling Ross his real name? "This is the royal swear that all of my people must make," said Giant.

"Who are your people?"

"Shhh! Right now . . . just you. But there will be more. Now pay attention, because you're going to have to repeat it when I'm done.

"I, Roscoe Norton, by honest oath under the watchful eyes of the Deep Sky Fish,

do hereby declare that my heart's loyalty is sworn to the

Royal Empire of the Boggy Highlands

and to its rightful, unfortunately presently usurped ruler,

Giant McGinty.

I also swear to keep all of the Empire's secrets, truths, stories, and troubles to my own self,

unless given squealing permission by the ruler,

(in which case circumstances would have to have gotten pretty shoddy).

"See?" said Giant after speaking the oath. "It's not so hard, really. Just put your hand on your heart when you say it or else it doesn't work."

"It isn't a spell or anything," replied Ross grumpily. "It's not like it can or can't work. It's just words, and I can't remember them anyway." He really couldn't recall the exact phrases Giant had used. They'd been ridiculous, besides. What was the point of saying that bunch of lame stuff when he didn't mean any of it? There wasn't a point. Ross thought Giant was full of everything but the truth, and he wasn't going to repeat a load of rubbish just to make him happy. "I swear, all right? I don't want to say all of that."

Crossly, Giant narrowed his eyes. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ross, but he wasn't afraid of their difference in height. "Do you mean everything in the oath? Do you really swear it? It's an extreme exception I'm making by not having you repeat it all twelve times. That's the standard in my empire. Everybody has to do it."

"You said there wasn't anybody in your empire."

"That's not what I meant!" Giant was angry; his voice was rising. A loud laugh came from the dining room, and he remembered where he was. He calmed down and, looking severely at Ross, explained. "It isn't that nobody's in it. There are people in it, they've just forgotten or been forced out. Everything's due to the pirates." He gritted his teeth. "If it wasn't for them, I'd be able to find my treasure!"

"Now you're back on that. And what's this about pirates?"

"Your skepticism is evident, Roscoe. I understand." Giant hung his head. A moment passed in which only the talking from the dinner guests and the clinking of dishes in the kitchen could be heard. Then Giant reached into his coat pocket, searching for something deep inside. "Here, Ross. You've sworn. I have to trust you, because there's no one else. They've all forgotten. Take this; it isn't safe with me right now." Uncurling Ross's fingers, he dropped a small wad of brown paper into his palm. "Bring it with you when you come tonight. Meet me at 1:13 at the Westminster station."

Startled, Ross began to shake his head. "I can't come out that late," he said. "My Uncle Wallace isn't going to let me. Besides, I'm not sure I can get there on my own. I—"

"Shhh! Just climb out your window." Giant peered beyond Ross down the hallway toward the dining room. Shadows came into the light splashed on the floor tiles; the guests were preparing to leave. "I have to go, now," said Giant. Turning, he swiftly unlocked the back door and was out of it quicker than anyone could blink twice. "Don't forget!" Ross thought he heard him say as he disappeared from sight.

Someone touched Ross on the shoulder. Spinning, the boy saw his uncle behind him. The question of "Where have you been?" was clear on his face.

"I had to step outside," covered Ross, pointing toward the door he was just then closing. "I needed some air because of my coughing."

Uncle Wallace frowned but didn't say anything about the excuse. Instead, he told his nephew to come help him see the guests off. Ross did so, although he didn't enjoy the task. Remembering what Giant had said about the company not just being there to meet with his uncle, Ross watched every one of their faces as they left. Curiously enough, he was certain that two of the older men and one woman with a rather large mole on her left nostril eyed him distrustfully. He was sure he saw them narrow their eyes and raise their noses, and even though their smiles and "cheers!" were average enough, he began to honestly wonder if they knew he held something supposedly secret in his closed hand. With each passing second, Ross became more and more aware of his uncomfortably burning desire to race to his room and uncrumple the piece of paper. A great sigh of relief blew through him when the last person was out of the door and gone forever. Ross was beginning to feel almost anxious about the looks he was positive they were aiming at him.

No sooner had the door been closed then Ross was taking the stairs two-at-a-time. He skidded into his room and dropped the package onto his bed. While he put on his pajamas, he kept both eyes on the mysterious thing, letting his interest grow wider. After his teeth were brushed and his dirty clothes were put into the laundry, the boy climbed up onto his bed. Carefully—just barely peeling the paper away from the hard thing inside of it—Ross removed the covering. There, at the center of the tiny package, was the very same stone Giant had shown to him during their rainy encounter in Hyde Park a few days earlier. The topaz crystal swam with glittering aquamarine under the harsh overhead light in the room. A slight disappointment fluttered through Ross. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but that rock wasn't it.

Glancing down at the paper he'd let fall onto his bed covers, Ross drew in a quick breath. There were markings on the inside; they'd been wrapped around the stone earlier, and he hadn't been able to see them. He picked up the scrap and stared hard at it. The scribbles appeared to be a very small message: "Above all else . . . protect the stone from pirates. They'll try to take it from you. Be careful." That was what it said.

Ross wasn't really sure what to think. He was partially angry that the only thing he'd been given was a rock. Then again, he was also full of wonder. Had those people really been eyeing him as strangely as he'd thought they'd been? Now that Ross considered them, he wasn't sure what he'd seen. Did Giant think that they were—as he would say—pirates? Did he think that they were after his treasure? Something was different all of a sudden. Ross wasn't aware of his own thoughts. He was doubting himself and at the same time trying to convince himself that it was Giant who was mad. What was going on?

If Giant had only given Ross the package in order to get him to go to the Westminster tube station that night, his plot had worked. Ross Norton was adamant: he was going to meet with Giant in the early morning on a dark street corner.

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