The Splendid Baron Submarine Read online

  I looked at my father, who shrugged his shoulders and once again mouthed:

  “Very Peculiar Underwear, Stephen.”

  Has Someone Been Eating My Decorative Rocks?

  When Mongo and Knuckles finally woke up, we agreed to go along with them. We were dying to know what the Vice President of the United States could want with us. And we were also quite curious why he would choose to send two hairy-knuckled goons like Mongo and Knuckles to find us. Surely, the Vice President of the United States could have sent some of his more respectable employees to our home, but, then again, we didn’t know a whole lot about politics. Maybe politicians just preferred to work with goons. Goons were quite good at gooning, and sometimes you just needed a good gooning goon in order to get some good goonery done.

  “You need to stop making up stupid words,” Rose told me when I explained that to her.

  We decided to trick Mongo and Knuckles (who seemed as though they had brains the size of red bopple nuts) into giving us some information about our secret invitation to see the Vice President.

  “We’ve decided to go along with you without asking any questions,” M told them.

  “Good,” said Knuckles. “Because we wouldn’t have answered any.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want you to,” I retorted.

  “Yes, you would,” said Mongo. “If you knew what this was about, you’d want to ask us at least one hundred and seven different questions. Maybe even one hundred and eight.”

  “I doubt that,” Rose said. “I bet it’s something really boring.”

  “Yes, you probably just want us to come over and give you gardening tips,” my mother added.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” said Knuckles.

  “I actually wouldn’t mind some gardening tips,” Mongo said hopefully. “My tomato plants keep dying before they sprout. What am I doing wrong? Should I use fertilizer? What is fertilizer? Someone told me that it’s just cow plop, but I think they was funnin’ me.”

  “Be quiet, Mongo,” Knuckles told him.

  “You weren’t supposed to let them know our names, Knuckles,” Mongo pointed out.

  “Then why did you just say my name, Mongo?” Knuckles asked through gritted teeth.

  I yawned as loudly as I could, as we walked outside and stepped into the large horse drawn carriage parked in front of our white picket fence. Once we were inside the carriage, Mongo and Knuckles tied blindfolds over our eyes.

  “This is going to be the dullest afternoon ever,” I said as they finished tying my blindfold.

  “No, it ain’t,” said Mongo. “It’s going to be exciting.”

  “It’ll be about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

  “This is ten times more exciting than that! Maybe even more! Don’t make me do the math!”

  “Excuse me while I take a nap,” I said. “Wake me up when we get to Dullsville, which is obviously where we’re headed. Dull, dull, dull . . .”

  “There ain’t nothing dull about meeting the Vice President!” Mongo snapped.

  Knuckles knuckled Mongo over the head.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell them about the Vice President!” Knuckles screamed. “Remember, you blockhead? He told us not to mention that, or the part about him needing the Barons to invent something for him.”

  Mongo mongoed Knuckles over the head.

  “You weren’t supposed to say that he needs them to invent something for him!” Mongo shouted. “Vice President Morton told us that after he told us about the island!”

  “YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO MENTION THE ISLAND!” Knuckles roared. “YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!”

  And, because goons can only scream at each other for so long before their fists become antsy and anxious to join the disagreement, Mongo and Knuckles began to fight one another. They punched each another with powerful hands the size of honey-baked hams, though nowhere near as tasty. Even though my parents hate it when people fight, they were smart enough not to get between the two men, who, as I mentioned before, really did seem more like gorillas than humans, both in appearance and in smell.

  By the time the carriage had reached its destination, Mongo and Knuckles had beaten each other black and blue, and a little bit orange as well. They grumbled at one another as they led us out of the carriage and took off our blindfolds.

  We found ourselves standing in front of a large, white building with several sets of tall columns in front of it. It was a very official-looking building, like the sort of building you’d be embarrassed to set foot in if you’d forgotten to change your underwear that day (wait a minute . . . did I remember to . . . oh, bother). It didn’t look like any of the other houses that I’d seen in Arizona Territory. For one thing, it was pretty clean. The houses in our area were usually so covered with dirt and desert dust that you couldn’t tell what color they’d originally been painted.

  I looked around and wondered where we were. It appeared we were in the middle of a desert, though I had no idea which desert. There were no other buildings or houses to be seen, no signs or roads. This building seemed like a pretty good place for an important person to stay if he didn’t want to be bothered by anyone.

  There was a pair of very serious-looking men dressed in long, black coats who were standing in front of the building. They looked as though they were guarding it. They slowly opened the front doors as they nodded their heads at us and pointed inside.

  Mongo and Knuckles limped ahead, leading us into a very tidy lobby, then down a long and winding hallway. The hallway was dark and narrow, and there were pictures on the wall that had been flipped over so we couldn’t see what was on them. They must have been top secret, though I wasn’t sure what a top secret picture might be. Perhaps they were pictures of aliens. Or secret weapons. Or secret alien weapons. Or maybe the owner of the building had a funny looking grandma they were secretly ashamed of. Who knows?

  At the end of the hallway was a door with an American flag tacked to it. We all saluted the flag when we saw it, and then Knuckles knocked on the door.

  “What’s the password?” a funny sounding voice asked from inside.

  “Weasel face,” Knuckles answered.

  There was the clicking sound of a heavy lock unlocking, and then the door slowly swung open, revealing a strange little man whose face was really quite weasely-looking. It was pointy in all the places where faces were usually smooth, and it was smooth in all the places where faces were usually pointy. And the places that were usually neither smooth nor pointy were just plain odd. He wore a dark suit, dark shirt, and a purple tie. His black hair was slicked back over his scalp with shiny hair wax.

  “These are the Barons?” Weasel Face asked Knuckles and Mongo.

  Weasel Face had a strong accent that sounded sort of like a cross between German, Chinese, Scottish, and the weird way your voice sounds when you can’t breathe through your nose.

  Knuckles and Mongo nodded.

  “Well, sorta,” said Mongo. “The pretty lady with black hair is named Rose Blackwood.”

  “And the short, fat, clumsy kid with the bad haircut says his name’s W.B.,” Knuckles added.

  I glared at him to show that I was annoyed by his description of me.

  I’m not short.

  “Fine, fine. You two stand guard at the door,” Weasel Face said to Mongo and Knuckles. “Come in, Barons, but please take off your shoes. We just had the floors cleaned.”

  My mother, Rose, and I took off our shoes and placed them on the shoe rack that Weasel Face pointed out to us. P tried to take his shoes off, but then he realized he’d forgotten to put them on back at the Baron Estate.

  “What should I do?” he asked.

  The weasel-faced man frowned as he looked at P’s shoeless feet.

  “I suppose you should take off your socks,” he said. “Now come inside. We can’t waste any more tim
e.”

  P took off his socks and hung them neatly on the sock rack located beside the shoe rack. Weasel Face ushered us into a dimly lit office with wood paneled walls. There was a window at the other end of the office, but it was covered by a thick curtain. Next to the window was a huge bookcase filled with about a hundred different leather-bound books.

  Weasel Face told us to sit down, so we all sat together on a long sofa which was positioned across from the biggest desk I’d ever seen. The desk had a kerosene lantern on it, which provided all of the light in the room. Behind the desk was a high-backed leather chair that was turned away from us.

  It was a very important-looking office, the sort of office that a kid like me doesn’t usually feel too comfortable in because we’re usually screamed at any time we set foot in it. I sat with my hands in my lap and my knees pressed together, trying to breathe as quietly as possible so my unimportant breaths wouldn’t bother the important office’s owner.

  “Are they all here, Veezlefayce?” a voice from behind the chair asked.

  “Yes, sir,” said Weasel Face with a weasely-faced frown. “They are.”

  “Wait, your actual name is Weasel Face?” I asked.

  Rose coughed into her fist, trying to hide her laughter.

  The foreign man looked as though he might explode.

  “Not Weasel Face!” he hissed at me. “Veezlefayce! It is a very common last name in my country! Why does everyone here in the United States get it wrong? It’s Veezlefayce! Veezlefayce!”

  “What does Veezlefayce mean in your language?” M asked.

  “It means ‘weasel face,’ doesn’t it?” Rose said with a grin.

  “Of course it doesn’t mean weasel face!” Veezlefayce snarled. “That would be ridiculous. It means ‘kidney bean.’”

  “That’s enough, Veezlefayce,” said the voice from behind the chair. “Please leave the room and let me speak with the Baron family alone. Make sure no one interrupts us.”

  Veezlefayce shot each of us a very ugly and weasely look before leaving the room. When he was gone, my father spoke.

  “Mr. Vice President, it really is an honor to meet you, a wonderful honor, and we’re very excited about it. I didn’t vote for you, but you shouldn’t feel bad about that. And frankly, neither should I. After all, you didn’t vote for me either.”

  The chair suddenly spun around, revealing a very surprised-looking Vice President Levi P. Morton. He was a short man with a huge mustache, and he was dressed in an uncomfortable-looking suit. He looked like a very important man, and a bit like a turtle as well. A very important turtle.

  “How did you know it was me?” he demanded from beneath his huge mustache. “Was it Veezlefayce? Did he tell you? If so, I’ll need to have a very unpleasant conversation with that weasel-faced fool . . .”

  “No, he didn’t tell us,” M said quickly. “It was just a lucky guess, sir. I suppose your office just looks like the office of a vice president, that’s all. What can we do for you?”

  “You need an invention?” Rose asked.

  “Something about an island?” I added.

  Levi P. Morton looked at us as though we’d just slapped him across the face with a wet trout. He was utterly shocked at how much we seemed to know.

  “Were those lucky guesses too?” he asked.

  My family and Rose exchanged a glance. We do that a lot, especially when we’re lying about something.

  “Yes,” said M. “Yes, they were.”

  “Well,” Vice President Morton grumbled, “I suppose you are quite clever. All of that is true. I am the Vice President, and this is my private West Coast office, and I do need your help. I read about you transforming your home into some sort of a flying machine. That’s truly brilliant. In fact, it’s quite possibly the most brilliant invention I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Aw, shucks,” said P as he shined his knuckles on his vest. “You’re just saying that because it’s true.”

  “I’ve also heard about several other adventures that you’ve had, and other clever inventions you’ve invented,” the Vice President continued. “And it’s because of your cleverness, as well as your talent for unique inventions, that I’d like to make you a very strange and very specific offer.”

  “How strange?” I asked.

  “How specific?” P asked.

  “What’s the offer?” asked M.

  The Vice President stood up and cleared his throat. He started to pace back and forth.

  “The funny thing about money,” he began, “is that people always say it doesn’t grow on trees, despite the fact that money is made of paper, and paper comes from trees. This has always confused me. But that’s not the point. The point is that this country has run out of money. It’s our own fault. Our government has been spending money on all sorts of ridiculous things, like solid gold mustache combs, diamond studded toilet seats, edible windows, waterproof wigs, and that giant copper statue we bought from France. Now we’re completely broke. I warned them about wasting money on that statue. And also about the toilet seats . . .”

  I noticed a candy dish on the Vice President’s desk.

  “I see,” said P, as he took out his wallet. “And now you’d like to borrow some money. Alright. How much do you need?”

  “I don’t think he’s asking us for money, Mr. Baron,” Rose told my father.

  “She’s right,” Vice President Morton said. “The amount of money that we need is far greater than you’d be able to fit into your wallet. We recently borrowed one million dollars from another country, and if we are unable to pay them back, it will make our country look bad. How bad, you ask? Very, very bad. Will it make our country a laughingstock? Yes, it might. Will we recover from it? I don’t know. Will the rest of the world stop trusting us? Possibly. Do I like to ask myself questions and then answer them? No. I don’t like that.”

  There were jelly beans in the candy dish.

  I love jelly beans.

  “Well, I can understand why the country that our government borrowed money from would be angry with us,” M said to the Vice President. “After all, you should always pay people back when you borrow from them. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “But we can’t pay them back!” Levi Morton cried. “Don’t you see? We don’t have one million dollars to give to them! Money doesn’t grow on trees! Even though it’s made from trees! Which is very confusing! But that’s not the point! The point is, there is an island in the South Pacific, a very beautiful little island without a name.”

  I wanted those jelly beans very badly.

  “I see,” said my father. “And you would like us to name the island for you.”

  “No,” said Vice President Morton. “There is a sunken treasure in the waters surrounding that island. And I want you to find it.”

  He turned around and grabbed an old book from his bookshelf.

  When he did, I quickly leaned forward and grabbed a handful of jelly beans from his candy dish.

  The Vice President opened the book to a specific page that he had marked and then dropped it on the desk for us to see. There was an illustration of a tropical island, and on the shore of the island was a pirate with a treasure chest. I could tell that he was a pirate because he had a pirate hat on his head, an eyepatch over one eye, a hook where his right hand should be, a peg where his left leg should be, a tattoo on his chest, earrings in both his ears, a scar on his neck, a bottle of rum in his hand, his beard was blue, his timbers were shivered, he had a parrot on each shoulder, and he wore a little sash that said PIE-RAT on it.

  “This is Captain Affect the Pirate. You might have heard of him. He is the richest and most successful pirate thief of all time. Actually, there might have been more successful pirate thieves before him, but Captain Affect made certain to steal all of the history books that mentioned them. His favorite ship reportedly sank somewher
e around this island, taking his greatest and most impressive treasure to the bottom of the sea. I need you to invent something that can find that sunken treasure, which is hidden somewhere in the dark surrounding waters. If you can find the treasure for us, then our country can pay back all of the money that it owes. Do you understand?”

  “Of course we understand, but what’s in it for us?” Rose asked carefully. “This sounds like it’s going to be a very difficult task which will take quite a bit of time, energy, and resources. Are you going to pay us for finding Captain Affect’s treasure?”

  The Vice President smiled, slowly turning the page in his book.

  As he did, I quickly stuffed the handful of jelly beans into my mouth.

  The next page in the book showed a drawing of the largest diamond I had ever seen. It was absolutely stunning, shining and shimmering like the brightest star in the night sky, perfectly cut and projecting a gorgeous glow. It was so beautiful that I had a hard time believing it was real.

  The jelly beans were a bit stale.

  “This,” Vice President Morton whispered as he pointed to the picture, “is the Wish Diamond. You might have heard of this as well. This diamond was the crown jewel of Captain Affect’s loot, and it is famous for being the most beautiful and most stolen diamond in history. Captain Affect stole it from a king, who had stolen it from a prince, who had stolen it from a sheik, who had stolen it from a princess, who had stolen it from a sultan, who had stolen it from a duke, who had stolen it from a queen, who had stolen it from an emperor, who had stolen it from a guy named Greg.”

  The jelly beans were actually very stale. I choked as I tried to chew them.

  “It’s very beautiful,” said a wide-eyed M.

  “It’s incredibly lovely,” agreed an equally wide-eyed P.

  “It’s yours,” said Vice President Morton. “And I mean the actual diamond, not just this picture of the diamond. All you need to do is find the rest of the treasure, and I’ll let you keep the greatest diamond in history as a reward. What do you say, Barons? Will you agree to go on this treasure hunt in order to save your country from shame?”