Flora Dennis and the Island of Two Eyes - Chapter One

I.

 Uncle Petrie's house was decorated with the spoils of his many travels: feline statuettes from Egypt, a gold mask from Genghis Khan's fabled lost city, African tribal drums, a fragile paper fan from Japan....  Name a place, he's been there, and usually has a gripping story to go with it.

 I was used to his long leaves of absence, oftentimes during those weeks I was to be home from school, but, as my guardian until I turn twenty-one (in a good seven years, mind you), he rarely disappeared without a written explanation.

 Which was why I was perturbed to find the house devoid of his presence when I arrived at the start of the summer holiday.

 Ella Drew, our latest housekeeper, escorted me inside when I arrived.  At eighteen, she was hardly an elder to me; I was comfortable sharing my confidences with her when the need arose.  Now was one of those times, for a smidgen of worry was tugging at my insides.

 "Ella," I said, "how long has my uncle been away?"

 Ella set my bags inside the dumbwaiter (as the only hired help, she has to be inventive) and let me operate it before she answered:

 "I was visiting my mother in Longbourne all week," she replied.  (Ella had seven younger siblings, and her mother was constantly ailing.)  "When I came back yesterday, he was already gone."

 "How odd," said I, making a beeline for my uncle's study.  Perhaps a clue to his whereabouts could be found within.

 Loose papers littered every remotely flat surface in my uncle's study.  Books were arranged haphazardly on tables and chairs, even on the floor; anywhere but the shelves, where those books which remained leaned crookedly against one another in the ample space.

 I waded through that paper ocean until I reached the writing desk, where my uncle penned a monthly column for The Archaeology Times entitled The Travels of Professor Petrie Shannon.  I could see that beginnings of next month's installment were written in the designated notebook as it lay open on the desk ... as was something else.

 FLORA, my name was printed in large letters on the adjacent page.  Below was a hastily scrawled message, a mixture of English words and foreign symbols:

 I am in \_} of °`^  •|•.  Contact *\•° ; she will send you to me.  Work quickly, but beware the ~°{   |~• !

 I looked upon the page in wonder.  To the untrained eye, these may seem like the ramblings of a madman, but my erudite uncle was far from insane.

 Clearly, he believed this information far too sensitive to convey in everyday jargon; he was using Ajwhean glyphs, the gist of which he'd attempted to teach me for some years now, but to little success.

 According to my uncle, the linguistics gene so active in the illustrious Shannon line hitherto, had remained dormant in my mother as well.  That isn't to say I hadn't retained any of Uncle Petrie's teachings.  Russian Cyrillic and pre-Columbian glyphs may have been an exhausting challenge, but I could carry an animated conversation in Spanish and I knew several scathing insults in a variety of tongues.

 Nevertheless, to understand my uncle's coded message, I would need extensive time to study the ancient Ajwheans' written language.  The words I could understand suggested such desperation, it was evident to me that extensive time I did not have.

 I took my evening meal in the kitchen with Ella.  She had amusing stories to tell about her little brothers and sisters' latest antics, but my mind was only partially attentive to her words.  Uncle Petrie's message and its esoteric meaning troubled me greatly.

 The doorbell sounded in the front of the house.  Dutifully, Ella shot out of her seat to answer it.  When she returned, it was with an acquaintance of my uncle, Anna Montvale.

 At thirty years of age, Miss Montvale was highly regarded by my uncle as a bearer of much worldly knowledge.  She refused to be intimidated by scholarly books, and was fluent in a plethora of languages, written and spoken.  She visited often, and would converse animatedly with Uncle Petrie in Latin or, if I was present, Spanish.

 "Good evening," she greeted me warmly, taking the seat Ella offered her at the table.

 As I returned her greeting, my eyes fell upon the pendant she wore on a chain around her neck.  It was probably a gift from my uncle, for they were good friends, considering that it had such a strange design.  It was similar to a pre-Columbian glyph....

 ....Which I had seen before in my uncle's notes!

 Ella had transitioned the subject of our conversation to the weather conditions out in Longbourne, where the dirt roads were almost impossible to traverse by foot; but I spoke up quickly.

 "Your necklace, Miss Montvale," I said with unusual abruptness.  "What does it signify?"

 Miss Montvale touched the pendant with a dainty index finger.  "Oh, this?"  She smiled shyly.  "This is an Ajwhean glyph, symbolizing ixil cho', or princess.  I've had it for some time now, you see, but I rarely wear it."

 "Where is your uncle, Flora?"  she asked, as if on cue, looking about the room as though he should suddenly materialize.

 Either she truly didn't know, or she wanted to know if I truly did.  And I told her that truthfully, I did not.

 "He left this note for me in his study," I said, procuring the torn-out paper from my pocket.

 Miss Montvale examined my uncle's message with great interest.  "He used Ajwhean glyphs in place of certain words," she observed.  "Right here is the symbol on my necklace," she added, pointing to it.

 Now, the note read, Contact the princess.  Did the princess perhaps refer to Miss Montvale?

 "What does he say?"  I asked.

 Miss Montvale translated my uncle's message in its entirety.

 "I am in the Island of Two Eyes.  Contact the princess; she will send you to me," she said.  "Work quickly, but -- here is the part I am uncertain of -- beware the old man and... That second glyph translates to either goblin or dwarf.  The context is so uncertain as it is, I cannot determine which translation is adequate; nevertheless, it is clear that Petrie -- your uncle, that is -- is warning you of somebody, perhaps an old man."

 I accepted her explanation gratefully.  "Do you know what he refers to by the Island of Two Eyes?"

 Miss Montvale fell silent for several moments.  The recess was interrupted when Ella gave a start, for the tea kettle had begun to whistle loudly.

 Finally, when three steaming cups of Earl Grey tea were distributed among us, Anna Montvale spoke:

 "The Island of Two Eyes is a legendary island off the coast of Madrepal.  History acknowledges but two failed attempts by the British Empire colonize the place.  It is an inscrutably dense rainforest; if it is populated by man, he is surely uncivilized by our standards."

 I nodded, imagining in my mind's eye this mysterious mass of jungle foliage.

 "But my uncle," said I, "has presumably arrived there."

 "He certainly expected to be," Miss Montvale concurred.  "He couldn't possibly have written that after he arrived."

 "He said I must join him," I said determinedly.  "Ella, will you help me secure tickets to the country of Madrepal?"

 "Tickets?"  Ella and Miss Montvale repeated in surprised unison.

 "Yes, tickets," I replied, affirming that my use of the plural form was intentional.  "I am but fourteen; surely it would be improper for me to travel alone."

 "I will accompany you, Flora," Ella volunteered resolutely.

 "And I will accompany you both," Miss Montvale added.

II.

 If I had possessed my uncle's experience as a world traveler, my stomach might have been a heartier passenger aboard our international flight.

 Between interactions with a paper bag, Ella and I entertained ourselves with the miniaturized sights below.  Buildings seemed the size of mere bricks, and trees were but broccoli stalks from our vantage point.

 With time, the scenery changed.  Miss Montvale, who had slept for most of the flight, pointed out the great Amazon River, known to the natives as the Río Negro, or Black River, as well as the surrounding mass of green foliage.  We could only imagine what kinds of creatures could inhabit such a wondrous place.

 Some time later, the three of us stood in the main square of what was surely Madrepal's biggest city.

 It was pure pandemonium!  Men, women, children, and quadrupedal animals weaved through congested the street while vendors and con artists alike stood on the fringes, shouting their wares and false promises to the masses.

 Everyone was dressed lightly, befitting the balmy weather; in our "proper clothes," namely Ella's and my cardigans, rumpled blouses (that of course started out freshly ironed and wrinkle-free when we first set out upon this journey), wool skirts, and thick socks, we stood out like two robins in a tree full of doves.  One could tell at first glance that we were two English girls and inexperienced travelers at that!

 On the other hand, Miss Anna Montvale's complexion didn't shine with perspiration like ours; rather, she seemed quite at home in this alien place, cool and collected.

 Under her leadership, we made our way through town, inquiring the whereabouts of Uncle Petrie.  Finally, a man eating a banana with a fork and knife recognized the man we described, and directed us to a reputable guest house not far from the square.

 "The gentleman told me an English traveler took up lodging here a fortnight ago and hasn't left since," said Anna for our benefit, for her conversation with the banana-eating man had been in rapid-fire Portuguese.

 "How many English travelers do you suppose frequent this place?"  Ella asked.  "After all, it could be anybody but Professor Shannon."

 Miss Montvale shrugged.  "The sight of an Englishman in Madrepal is rather uncommon in modern times.  I am sure that if it is not Petrie lodging here, it is a colleague who knows him."

 "Or a rival," said I.  My uncle had plenty of those, and these often unsavory characters played dramatic roles in his tales of travel.  As disturbing as they were, I felt a twinge of excited anticipation.  Never had I imagined myself meeting one of these rivals face to face!