Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   The rain had begun in earnest when Milo stepped off of the trolley. He stood for a moment while the trolley moved away, watching the water drip off the front of his grandfather’s pith helmet. He was already soaked from Mr. Harcourt’s car splashing him, so he barely noticed the rain as he trudged along the streets until he reached the river’s edge.  

   Mr. Harcourt’s “suggestion” had been a mockery, Milo knew, but at the moment, Milo hadn’t had any other ideas. He’d silently taken up the coin and his ruined resignation form and gone to the closest trolley stop.

   And now here he was, staring down at the Potomac River. The rain was picking up, creating a slight hissing sound when the drops pattered against the flowing water.

   Now what? Milo wasn’t going to jump into the filthy water. He was cold enough already, thank you, Mr. Harcourt, and it wasn’t doing anything to clear his head.

   Milo looked downriver. Docks jutted over the water a short distance away, where rowboats bobbed at the end of their ropes. 

   For a frustrated split-second, Milo had the urge to find whoever owned the rowboats and offer to rent one. The museum clearly wasn’t going to fund Milo’s expedition, which left just Milo to find the Shepherd’s Journal himself!

   Milo started to laugh at the very thought of crossing the ocean in a rowboat , only to jump at a simultaneous flash and crack of lightning. For a moment, the air -no, the water- seemed to glow blue.

   Milo rubbed his eyes and looked again. The illusion was gone. He shook his head, then looked down at himself. He sighed. He was drenched, several miles from his apartment, and he didn’t even have any money to ride the trolley home, never mind rent a rowboat to get down to the coast.

   Milo huffed at himself as he turned from the river. He needed to go home, get dried off, and figure out his next plan. He needed more evidence, but at this point, Milo was pretty convinced that the only evidence that the Board would accept would be the Shepherd’s Journal itself. Would they accept even that, or would they claim the Journal was just more fairy tales?

   A commotion came from the river, interrupting Milo’s thoughts. Milo frowned, thinking the noise seemed to be voices . But there wasn’t anyone else around, much less in the river.

    “Tulio!” 

   The high, terrified voice made Milo spin. He gaped when he saw a red-clothed figure flailing in the water.

   “Hey!” Milo yelled, running back to the river’s edge.

   The figure spun around, flapped a hand dismissively at Milo, then scanned the water. If he noticed that he was being dragged rapidly downriver, he didn’t show it.

   Milo bolted for the nearby pier, keeping an eye on the figure. He jumped onto the nearest dock just as the stranger dove underwater. Milo ran to the edge of the dock and skidded to a halt to stare in disbelief.

   The water was glowing! It was distant and distorted, but a very distinct glow was coming from below!

   The water churned fiercely, then the glow cut off as a massive white horse burst to the surface! Milo fell back with a cry of shock, landing on his butt on the waterlogged boards.

   The stranger reappeared a second later, dragging a second, dark-haired stranger along with him. The blond-haired man heaved his companion onto the panicking horse’s back, where he slumped, coughing violently.

   “Hey!” Milo yelled again. “Over here!”

   The odd trio were being pulled rapidly downriver, and Milo was afraid they’d be washed right past. 

   The blond-haired stranger looked again at Milo, then grabbed reins dangling from the horse’s head and called something. The horse calmed and surged toward Milo.

   Milo dropped to his stomach and reached out. The stranger threw the reins to Milo, who scrambled backward on hands and knees, leading the horse to calmer water between the docks. The stranger on the horse’s back moved only to cough, while his companion urged the horse onward from behind.

   Milo and the stranger got the horse onto a stone ramp running into the water. The horse’s hooves skittered on the stone and it slipped backward. The blond-haired stranger shouted and pushed, and Milo threw his whole weight backward. The horse regained its footing right as Milo slipped and fell onto his back. The horse kept moving, though. Milo yelped and threw his hands over his face, but the horse calmly walked over Milo to the top of the ramp. Milo rolled onto his elbows.

   The blond-haired stranger helped his companion off the horse, fussing briefly over him before getting waved off. The dark-haired stranger tried to take a step, but promptly stumbled and fell. His companion grabbed him and they both half-fell so they were sitting on the ground.

   Milo scrambled to his feet. “Hey! Hey, you okay? What were you doing out there?”

   Both strangers gave Milo odd looks. Milo hesitated as he drew closer, seeing them both clearly for the first time.

   The clothes they wore were loose and light, not at all fitting for being in a boat. Or in the rain, really. They were informal, but sturdy and fit the pair in a strange manner. Milo tilted his head. The clothes were somewhat familiar to him, but Milo wondered why the two men were wearing clothes about four centuries out of style.

   The blond-haired man asked his companion, “ Tulio, what’s he saying?”

   “Beats me,” said the other through a cough.

   Milo startled. They were speaking Spanish? 

   The dark-haired stranger -Tulio- looked around and frowned. “Miguel, where are we?”

   “At the pool…” Miguel looked around. “Uh…”

   No, Milo realized. It was Old Castilian , a dialect that hadn’t been used in three or four hundred years! 

   Combined with their clothes… maybe they were scientists? They wouldn’t be the first eccentric scientist Milo had met, though they typically were older gentlemen who had taken to acting like they were living what they’d spent their lives researching.

    “His clothes are strange, too,” Miguel said.

   Milo blinked. “What?”

    “What?” Miguel repeated.

   Milo shook his head. He knew both the old and new Spanish, though he was more used to speaking the modern version. They were similar enough, though…

    “Are you hurt?” Milo asked them.

   Miguel lit up. “Ah, he does speak our language!”

   “Miguel,” Tulio muttered. Having caught his breath, he regarded Milo guardedly.

    “Ah, Tulio, he’s our rescuer!” Miguel said grandly.

   Milo smiled a bit awkwardly. “I’m Milo Thatch.” He put out his hand to shake.

   Miguel and Tulio stared at Milo’s hand for a moment. Tulio said something Milo barely made out.

    “See, he didn’t save us for free.”

   “What? Uh, I’m saying hello?” Milo said, uncomfortably pulling his hand back. 

   Miguel elbowed Tulio with a smug look. Tulio just narrowed his eyes at him.

    “I’m Miguel.” Miguel thrust out his hand while gesturing at Tulio with his head. “That’s Tulio.”

   Milo started to reach out to shake Miguel’s hand, only for Miguel to pull his hand back. Milo said, “People usually… you know, actually shake hands.”

   Miguel looked at Milo’s hand, then his own. Offering a cheerfully confused smile, Miguel put his hand back out. Milo took it and shook it lightly.

   Lightning cracked overhead, making everyone flinch. Milo pulled his hand back and glanced at the sky. He wondered how in the world he’d gotten there, sitting in the rain and teaching two strangers he’d helped out of the river how to properly greet people. He shouldn’t have even been at the river in the first place!

    “Well, nice meeting you,” Milo said, rising to his feet, “But I have to get going. Are you two going to be… okay?”

   “Right as rain,” Miguel said, then laughed.

   Milo couldn’t help smiling.

    “Just one question,” Miguel said. Gesturing vaguely around, he stood. “Where are we?”

   “Well, er, the Potomac,” Milo said. Receiving a blank look, he added, “I don’t know what street we’re on…”

   “No, no, I mean what town is this?” Miguel asked.

   Now it was Milo’s turn to stare blankly. “You’re in Washington D.C.”

    “Ah.” Miguel looked at Tulio still sitting on the ground, then the horse, then back to Milo. “Never heard of it.”

   “Never-” Milo shook his head. “Washington D.C.? Capital of the United States?”

   “Sounds important,” Miguel said.

    “Did you hit your head?” Milo asked.

    “Uh, no.” Miguel rubbed his head and looked at Tulio. “I don’t think I did, at least.”

   “I’ve never heard of it, either,” Tulio said. He gave Miguel a dry look. “Told you we should’ve gone straight back to the coast.”

   “Oh, yes, because the rowboat worked fantastic last time,” Miguel said.

    “Better than your glowing pool,” Tulio said.

    “Better than heatstroke.”

   “You almost drowned us!”

   “I saved your life!”

   Milo looked back-and-forth as the pair fell to bickering, referring to things making less and less sense. A stone jaguar?

    “But,” Tulio said, turning his head away, “That’s in the past. We can’t be that far off course. You, there. Milo Thatch, you said, right?”

   Milo nodded.

    “Which way is Spain?”

   Milo blinked. Of course, it made sense that they were from Spain, but they were a little… far from home, so to speak.

    “What’s that look? I don’t like that look,” Tulio said. “Miguel, where did you bring us now?”

    “It’s just that Spain is… it’s at least 4,000 miles from here,” Milo said.

    “...how far by rowboat?” Miguel asked.

   The question made Milo snort, largely because he’d just been considering a similarly lengthy voyage in a rowboat himself. Miguel and Tulio seemed confused by the response, but Milo wasn’t quite sure how to explain himself. He looked around until he spotted a small open shed at the water’s edge. He waved for the pair to follow him.

   It was a tight fit in the shed, mostly because the horse joined them. Shifting to try and keep some distance from the horse -he seemed tame enough, but he was huge - Milo noticed something on the horse’s back. While he tried to get a good look, lightning crashed and the small critter leaped from the horse’s back to hide in the shadows of the shed.

    “Aw, Ladron,” Miguel said, following Milo’s gaze.

    “Ladron?” Milo repeated. The critter’s name was “thief”?

    “Miguel’s pet rat,” Tulio muttered.

    “He saved us, it was the least I could do to give him a home,” Miguel said, crouching to speak to the critter.

   Milo looked up at the horse’s snort. “What’s your horse’s name?”

   “Altivo.”

   Milo smiled when the horse snorted again.

    “Altivo’s jealous.” Miguel turned around, holding an-

    “Where’d you get an armadillo?” Milo had to ask.

    “Oh, is that what he is? He started following us a bit ago.” Miguel asked cheerfully as Ladron tried to burrow into his sleeve. “Now. Spain?”

    “There’s an ocean between here and Spain,” Milo said. “Not to mention you’re a bit far from the coast. How- how did you get here, anyway?”

   Miguel and Tulio shared a look. Milo knew that look, but it was a little strange not seeing it in the mirror or on his grandfather’s face. 

   It was a look that screamed, “no sane person is going to believe this.”

   Milo had an urge to laugh, but he just said, “I’ll keep an open mind. What happened?”

   “Well,” Miguel began, ignoring Tulio slashing a hand in front of his throat in a “be quiet” gesture, “We were exploring this… island, you see. Big island, full of jungles and waterfalls and statues and whatnot. And we found this pool that seemed to lead somewhere. Seeing as how some of the statues and whirlpools we’d seen in this ‘island’ lead to each other, we decided to see where it went.”

   “Miguel slipped and Altivo and I jumped after him,” Tulio condensed. 

    “And then the pool started glowing and sucked us down,” Miguel went on. “Next thing I know, it’s raining and we’re in a… potomac river, you say?”

   “Potomac’s the name of the river,” Milo helped.

    “Potamac the River, four thousand miles away from home,” Miguel said. He looked at Tulio. “Did I miss anything?”

    “Just the believable parts,” Tulio said through grit teeth.

   Now Milo did laugh. The pair gave him startled looks.

    “Well, you’re in luck,” Milo said with a dry and somewhat depreciating laugh. “Because I’m probably the one person in Washington D.C. crazy enough to believe that.”

    “So it’s perfect!” Miguel said. He nudged Tulio. “Perhaps even fate.”

    “I stopped believing in fate when I was twelve,” Tulio said.

   Milo smiled at Miguel’s dramatic pout. He wasn’t sure if he completely believed the pair’s story, but… well, neither man seemed any more insane than Milo or his grandfather. If they were trying to hide something, they’d have come up with something at least a little more believable. Or they would have been frantically trying to provide Milo with evidence, a habit Milo knew he had when it came to explaining the Shepherd’s Journal.

   Milo had a thought. “What year is it?”

   “You’re asking us?” Miguel said with a laugh.

    “Humor me, ” Milo said with a shrug.

    “It’s 1519.”

   Milo’s thoughts screeched to a halt. He stared at Miguel, waiting for him to laugh off the joke or correct himself but he… didn’t. 

   The silence stretched as Milo and Miguel stared at each other. Tulio turned his gaze outside the shed, muttering something about the buildings barely visible in the gloom. Altivo stamped and Ladron scrambled to the floor to hide in the shadows again.

    “What?” Miguel eventually asked.

    “It’s 1914,” Milo said.

   Miguel blinked at him. “No, that can’t be right, otherwise that would mean we’re-”

   “Four hundred years into the future?!” Tulio finished.

    “That’s impossible! ” Milo said, wondering if maybe the two of them had hit their heads and were just stuck in the same delusions.

    “Well, so is stone jaguar’s coming to life,” Miguel said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture.

    “A what doing what?” Milo asked, amazed.

    “Stone jaguar. Came to life, tried to eat us before we sent it down the whirlpool,” Miguel said with a casual shrug, because that was apparently a normal day for him? “Hey, Tulio, you don’t think Tzekel-Kan had something to do with this?”

   “Only if he somehow escaped Cortes,” Tulio said, waving his hands. “And if Milo isn’t the crazy one.”

   “Hey!”

    “You just admitted to being crazy,” Miguel pointed out. 

    “Crazy enough to believe your story about whirlpools and-and from being from the 1500s!” Milo defended himself. 

    “Ah, so you do believe us,” Miguel said.

    “If you aren’t crazy, then you would’ve come up with something a little more believable,” Milo said.

    “So, we might all be crazy,” Miguel said.

    “That is… well… I guess… ” Milo gave up.

   Altivo threw up his head with a squeal that sounded like laughter. Miguel started laughing, and Milo couldn’t help joining in. Tulio looked at them like they were crazy -and Milo knew Miguel was thinking the same because they both started laughing harder at the same time- then looked away. But not before Milo saw his mouth twitch up.

   Milo rubbed his eyes as his and Miguel’s laughter trailed off. It was late and he was soaked and in a shed with two strangers, a horse, and an armadillo, topping off a day of disappointment and mockery. But laughing had felt good and, well, Milo felt like he was thinking clearly for the first time since the canceled meeting.

   Milo pulled his resignation paper from his pocket. It was drying and somehow still in one piece. He studied where the ink had smeared in his signature, though his name was still visible.

    “What’s that?” Miguel asked, leaning to look over Milo’s shoulder.

    “Resignation letter. I’m quitting my job,” Milo said.

   Miguel patted his shoulder. “Good choice. Me, I don’t believe in letting a job keep me in one place for too long. That and Tulio and I get kicked out of most towns in about a month.”

    “Miguel,” Tulio said through grit teeth.

    “For what?” Milo asked.

    “Gambling,” Miguel said with a shrug.

    “Miguel!” Tulio exclaimed.

    “What? Milo doesn’t seem to be the gambling type, anyway.”

   “Gambling isn’t illegal and I don’t think it ever…” Milo paused as he caught on. “...well, don’t do it here. If you get caught ‘gambling,’ you won’t just get kicked out of town. You’d probably be arrested.”

   Neither looked particularly concerned with the possibility. Milo shook his head and looked at his resignation paper.

   He could see nothing would sway the Board, and to keep on trying would only frustrate him at best or cause him to be hauled off to an asylum at worst. He couldn’t stay working at the museum, though. There wasn’t anything keeping him from leaving Washington.

   Milo wondered if he could get to the coast somehow. Maybe he could get to Iceland by working for his passage. From there, he could… well, walk to wherever the Journal was hidden. Yeah, it wouldn’t be impossible. 

    “Is it that interesting?” Miguel asked.

   Milo startled. “What? No, I was just, uh… I was just thinking. I need to go now, I have an… expedition of sorts to plan.”

   “An expedition?” Miguel repeated. “Where to?”

   “Iceland,” Milo said distractedly.

    “What’s in Iceland?”

   Milo hesitated.

    “Come on, we told you our story,” Miguel complained.

    “Okay, fine… ” Milo laughed. “My story isn’t much stranger than yours. Have you heard of Atlantis?”

   Miguel shook his head, but Tulio turned with a look of interest.

    “The city that sank into the ocean?” Tulio asked.

    “That’s it.”

   “It’s actually Iceland?”

   Milo chuckled. “No, no. But I believe there’s a journal hidden in Iceland detailing how to reach Atlantis. I want to find the Journal, find Atlantis, and…” Milo trailed off, the Board’s rejection still a fresh sting. “And, well… you probably think I’m crazy, huh?”

   “Sure, but we’ve established that,” Miguel said with a completely non-judgmental shrug. He glanced at Tulio, the pair exchanging another look. “Have you heard of El Dorado?”

   “The mythical city of gold? Of course! I’m not as familiar with it as Atlantis because Atlantis was my grandfather’s life’s work, and mine as well, but, sometimes myths overlap or have clues for the others.” Milo cleared his throat, aware that he was rambling. “What about it?”

   Miguel grinned. “We found it.”

   “You- you found El Dorado? When? How? Why haven’t you told anyone-”

   “Because,” Tulio interrupted, “You probably think El Dorado is just some empty city full of gold, right?”

   “Well, the legends…” Milo shrugged. “What… did you find? Pottery, maybe?”

   “A city of gold,” Miguel said. His gaze turned distant and distracted, but he was still smiling. “But it wasn’t empty. It was full of people, a thriving village of people deep in their hidden mountain.”

   “Woah,” Milo whispered, awed. 

    “Hidden, ” Miguel emphasized. “Except for one crazy priest guy, they were all peaceful and content to stay where they were.”

   Milo caught on. “You didn’t tell anyone so they could stay hidden.”

   “More than that,” Miguel said, his expression turning slightly pained. “Cortes and his men were being led straight to the city by the Tzekel-Kan, the crazy priest who brought a statue to life and tried to kill us because we weren’t gods-”

   “What?” Milo was going to get the entire story from start to finish at some point, but what? 

    “We destroyed the entrance,” Tulio finished. “A hundred men could dig for a month and not find the city of El Dorado.”

   Miguel made a noncommittal sound. “Maybe a week. I’m not sure how much of the tunnel actually collapsed.”

   “No one better find it,” Tulio said, his eye twitching, “Because otherwise I gave up all that gold for nothing.”

   Miguel patted Tulio’s shoulder, the gesture seeming more teasing than comforting.

    “So, we believe your story,” Miguel said.

    “Well, that makes two people who believe me,” Milo said with a weak smile.

   Tulio frowned. “What about the people in your expedition?”

   “Calling it an expedition was a joke.” Milo gestured to himself. “ You’re looking at the whole crew. I don’t have any supplies or transportation or… anything, really.”

   “Just a map?” Miguel asked.

    “More like a series of clues,” Milo admitted. 

   He was starting to realize why his proposals had failed so many times. He… really didn’t have much of anything, did he? Just faith in his grandfather and their research… which was plenty for Milo, but everyone else?

    “I like those odds,” Miguel said, startling Milo.

    “What?”

    “Well, how do you think Tulio and I found El Dorado?” Miguel asked. “A map we won in a game of dice, a rowboat, a horse, and a whole lot of time in the jungle!”

   Milo smiled slightly. “Yeah?”

   “Yeah, and now look at us!”

   “No gold and apparently four hundred years away from where we came from,” Tulio said drily.

    “Oh, don’t be so negative!” Miguel said positively. “We’ll get back to Spain and… and start over!”

   Tulio fazed forlornly at him. Miguel shrugged with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

   Milo looked at the rain still pouring down. It seemed like reality had crashed down on all three of them. Five, if he counted the morose animals. None of them had a place just then, not even a destination, unless Milo counted…

    “Want to visit Iceland?” Milo blurted out.

   Tulio and Miguel looked at him. Milo shrugged, a little startled by his own suggestion.

    “You don’t have anywhere in particular to go, so why return to Spain?” Milo asked. Encouraged by Miguel’s nod, he went on, “You could always travel until you find someplace you like. And you’ll need someone to tell you about the modern world.” Milo briefly wondered if he should be more concerned by the apparent time travelers in his company. “I’m headed to Iceland as soon as I can figure out passage and, well… some company who actually believes me about Atlantis would be nice.”

    “Forget traveling to Iceland,” Miguel said.

   Milo tried to not wince, but Miguel went on.

    “How about we go with you all the way to Atlantis?”

   “Really, Miguel?” Tulio asked. “Discovering one mythical city wasn’t enough?”

   “Nope! C’mon, Tulio. Just think of the adventure, the mystery! Don’t you want that again?”

   “I’ve had enough ocean in my life without diving into it, thanks.”

   “What about Iceland?” Milo asked. 

   Despite his initial surprise at himself, he was quickly warming to the possibility of having company. Especially since the two of them had actual adventuring experience. All Milo had was his grandfather’s stories and an itch to find the missing city.

   Milo went on, “Come with me to Iceland. Or, even just the coast. If you don’t want to join my expedition, okay! We can go our separate ways.”

   Tulio stepped out from under the shed and looked in the direction of the river. Milo was once again reminded that they weren’t from Washington. Or that century. Maybe they would be more interested in finding a way back.

    “Do…” Milo hesitated. “Do you want to go back? You probably have something or someone-”

   “We don’t have anything in the world or time or whatever it was we left,” Tulio declared, returning to the shed. “It’s been just Miguel and me since we were kids.”

   Altivo snorted and Ladron chittered.

    “And Miguel’s pets,” Tulio said, gesturing to the animals.

    “Is that a yes?” Milo asked, uncertain.

    “It’s a yes!” Miguel declared.

    “Great! First we need… well, a way to the coast,” Milo said. “Then we can find passage…”

   Miguel looked at the docks. “Why not buy a boat?”

    “If I could afford that, I’d have bought a boat a long time ago and would probably have the Shepherd’s Journal by now,” Milo said.

    “Right, right…”

   Tulio snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. Milo, are you ready to go now or…?”

   “Yes- wait, not quite, I need clothes and you could use some, too, some provisions.” Milo rubbed his chin. “I can get what I need at the museum, though. It’s closer than my apartment.”

   “You do that,” Tulio said. “Miguel and I will take care of the boat.”

   “Great!” Milo started out of the shed, then paused. “You aren’t going to… ‘gamble’ for it, are you?”

   “Only if you know how to sail a boat faster than whatever military is around here,” Tulio said. He actually made it sound like an option.

   Milo quickly shook his head. “Actually… I’ve never sailed before. And you two won’t have seen steam engines before.”

   “A what?” Tulio asked.

   Milo shrugged. “But I’ve read about how to use them. We’ll be fine. Okay, boat, next is…” Milo face-palmed. “Clothes and supplies. I’ll be back soon.”

   Milo ducked into the rain while the pair waved him away. The wind and rain hadn’t let up and Milo didn’t have any money for a trolley, so he was drenched once again in minutes.

   Even better, near the museum, Milo remembered that he’d left his keys to the doors in his workroom. By the time he got back, it would be too late for the museum to be open and all the workers would likely be gone.

   Luckily, the doors weren’t the only ways inside. Milo knew of a small window in the corner of the boiler room that never fully shut when the weather became cold and wet.

   Shivering, Milo left the street and approached the museum from behind. He carefully pried the window open and dropped inside, relieved he hadn’t been caught by any workers getting out late. Even if they recognized Milo, he’d have a hard time explaining himself.

   Milo headed past the boiler to a small room in the back. Some days, the boiler acted up so much that Milo had to spend the night during winter to keep the whole building from freezing. As a result, he’d set up a cot in the back room, and had simply never removed it. He also kept enough extra clothing and personal belongings in the room that the basement was practically his second home.

   Milo quickly changed into dry clothes and threw the rest of the clothes onto the cot. 

   Milo was considering one of his spare shirts, trying to guess if Miguel and Tulio would fit in his clothes, when he saw a wrapped package on his cluttered desk. Distracted as he was, the only reason Milo even noticed was because his small statues and books had been moved aside to make a clear space. 

   “Weird,” Milo said as he picked up the package. “I didn’t think anyone came…”

   The package was wrapped tightly -if a bit messily- with butcher paper and twine. It was heavy and thick, like a book. Then he saw the words scrawled across the paper.

    “To Milo with love, Thaddeus Thatch.” 

   That… Thaddeus Thatch was Milo’s grandfather!

   Numb with shock, Milo untied the twine and opened the paper. Revealed underneath was a thick book with a wooden cover and thin metal detailing. It was heavy and smelled musty. The spine seemed to be secured with a rod of metal with a fancy knob on either end, giving the book an appearance of a scroll.

   Then Milo realized what was on the cover. Surrounded by a diamond of gray metal was a symbol of gold with a dot in the center. To the average person, it would look like a fancy swirling detail. To Milo, though, the design was an Atlantean “A.”

   Milo forgot to breathe as he stared at the rune. He knew now that he’d seen pictures, read descriptions of this very book, and yet-

   Milo flipped the book open to a random picture. Atlantean runes covered the page, surrounding a sketch of fish several times bigger than the little human figures sitting on their backs.

   Milo turned the page. More runes, more pictures.

   “It’s the-” Milo gasped, then went on, his voice rapidly rising, “The Shepherd’s Journal!”

   But how? Milo looked back at the butcher paper he’d dropped on the floor in shock. He scooped it up and smoothed the paper, staring at the note.

   Milo sat heavily on his cot. He held the Journal in one hand and the paper in the other. All he could do was stare at his name written on the paper. 

   His grandfather had found the Journal! Why hadn’t he said anything to Milo? Why hadn’t he said anything to the Board, or followed the clues to Atlantis?

   Milo exhaled slowly. He remembered his grandfather’s last days, how he’d come back from a long trip, full of exhilaration. Milo had thought at the time that his grandfather was acting like a little kid as he rushed from the train station to the house, then to the museum. He remembered how his grandfather had returned, looking exhausted and one hundred years old. He’d gotten sick shortly after. People had said he’d gotten the sickness from wherever he’d traveled to, and that the trip had been too much for him.

   Milo had never believed that sickness had taken his grandfather. Yes, he’d gotten sick, but Grandpa was too strong for sickness to kill him. In the end, Milo believed it was the people of the museum, beating him down. He’d lost his will to fight.

   But the Journal. How had it gotten into Milo’s room? Grandpa had obviously wanted it to go to Milo, but why was it showing up just now? Maybe it had been hidden somewhere on his estate, which was now owned by someone else. They could have found the book and tracked Milo down to give it to him. If a courier had brought it for Milo, they wouldn’t have waited for him to return. Or maybe Grandpa had made arrangements for someone to bring it to Milo on some set date. 

   Except Milo couldn’t think about anything significant about that specific day. Well, aside from dragging two strangers from the river and the Journal showing up in his room, one of which Grandpa couldn’t have known about.

   Milo ran a hand across the Journal’s cover. In his hands was his grandfather’s life’s work. He’d put everything into finding the Journal.

   Milo could wait until morning, present the Journal to the Board. With evidence, they’d have no choice but to fund the expedition to find Atlantis!

   …right?

   Milo could envision the conversation, his attempts to explain how he could have miraculously found the Journal without any funding. Even if the Board believed his explanation, Milo already suspected the Journal wouldn’t be proof enough of where to find Atlantis. He’d be fighting the same battle, only with a new destination on the ocean floor.

   Milo opened the Journal to a random page and absently stroked the rough page. In all honesty, he had as much chance at finding Atlantis with Tulio and Miguel as he did in convincing the Board to fund the expedition. Probably more so.

   Milo took out his resignation paper and carefully smoothed it as much as he could, then set it on the clear spot on his desk. He glanced at his books, but shook his head. He gathered his tools and put them in a toolbelt. 

   After strapping the toolbelt around his middle, Milo resumed packing his clothes, money, navigation tools he barely knew how to use, his battered camera, paper and pens, and a bit of bread and meats he’d left in his room into two packs. The supplies fairly weighed Milo down, but he knew they’d need everything. Probably more than what Milo held, but Milo was anxious to get moving.

   Milo strode to the door, where he again paused. He looked back.

   Life at the museum was dull, repetitive, and a little degrading at times, but it was all Milo had known since his grandfather’s death. He was leaving it all, to go running -or perhaps “rowing”- across the ocean for a lost city that few people believed to exist anymore. 

   After a moment, Milo smiled. “Time to get out of this dungeon and find Atlantis.”

   Milo headed up the steps. At the last second, Milo stopped and dropped a pack. He took Grandpa’s picture from its place of honor on the table, then tucked it carefully into a pack. 

   Rather than take the museum keys and have to find a way to get them back later, Milo exited through the window again, wedging it closed behind him before disappearing into the rain.

   Milo returned to the shed where he’d left the foursome. Focused as he was on not dropping anything, he didn’t see the boat until he was beside the shed. He stopped in shock, the bags dropping from his shoulders.

   As illogical as a rowboat would have been, that’s what Milo was expecting. Not a boat with an actual engine and paddles and a proper little cabin at the front and a hatch leading somewhere below.

   Miguel, standing at the wheel, was the first to spot Milo. “Milo! Over here!”

   As if there were two other Spaniards, a horse, and an armadillo on a boat in the river in the pouring rain. Milo smiled and boarded the boat.

    “How?” Milo asked.

    “We didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tulio said. He was frowning at the paddles. “Where’s the paddles in this?”

   “ You’re looking at them,” Milo said.

   Tulio looked at him like he was crazy. “How are we supposed to row with these things?”

   “We don’t,” Milo said with a smile.

    “It’s a sailboat, then!” Miguel offered.

   Milo laughed. “No, not that, either. Hold on, I’ll start the engine.”

   “Start it doing what?” Tulio asked.

    “You’ll see!”

   The hatch on the deck led down to a small sleeping area and a tiny galley with a bathroom. Milo dropped his gear onto a bed and looked around, quickly finding a door under the stairs. It led to the engine room, where Milo spent a few minutes familiarizing himself with the engine. It started up easier than Milo expected, and the boat abruptly lurched forward.

   Milo bumped against the wall, then turned to the door, only to fall when the boat sharply stopped. Shouts came from above, and Milo scrambled to get back onto the deck.

    “The rope!” Miguel was yelling.

   The boat was shaking, straining against the rope tying it to the docks. The paddles were moving steadily, causing the boat to arc slowly toward the stone pathway.

   Milo stared. “Uh…”

   Tulio scrambled across the deck and fell against the post holding the rope. He tore at the knots until the rope came free and the boat lurched forward, sending everyone thudding to the deck.

    “What-” Miguel scrambled to his feet and turned the wheel so they wouldn’t hit the opposite side of the river, then finished, “Was that?!”

    “You forgot to untie the boat,” Tulio said.

    “Not the rope!” Miguel said. He pointed at the paddles. “How are those things moving on their own? It’s magic, isn’t it?”

   “It’s not magic,” Milo said with a laugh. “ That’s the steam engine.”

   Tulio studied the paddles with narrowed eyes, then shrugged. “Better than rowing across the ocean, I guess.”

   Milo was curious about the statement, but it was hardly the strangest thing Tulio had said, so he didn’t ask as he and Tulio headed into the cabin. Altivo had already squeezed himself against one wall, taking up half the floor. Ladron shook himself on Altivo’s back.
  “So, where are we headed, Cap’n?” Miguel asked with an over-the-top salute.”

   Milo smiled at the title, then nodded downriver. “We’ll just follow the river to the coast. We’ll stop there for more supplies and… I’ll figure out our destination on our way, but I don’t know how to get to the ocean floor, actually.”

    “How wer e you planning to do it before?” Tulio asked.

    “There’s ships equipped with submersibles now,” Milo said. At the pair’s blank looks, he said, “Ships that can go underwater.”

   Tulio blinked. “You mean…?”

   Tulio mimed a submarine with his hands, putting one hand out flat as the ocean and making the other hand go under it, then back up.

   Milo nodded. “Yep. But they’re pretty new. I’m not sure if we could even find one to rent on the coast.” He snapped his fingers. “Scuba!”

   “Who?” Miguel asked.

    “Not who, what. Self-contained underwater breathing apparatus,” Milo said. He got more blank looks. “Sorry. It’s clothes we can wear so we can breathe underwater. I wonder if that could get us to the bottom of the ocean?”

    “Breathe? Underwater?” Tulio repeated. “That ’s impossible.”

   Miguel lightly elbowed him. “We’re in the future, Tulio! Anything’s possible!”

   Tulio rolled his eyes. “Sure. Next you’ll tell me that wagons move by themselves.”

   Milo smiled.

    “No.” Tulio waved his hands as Milo opened his mouth. “No, no, I don’t want to hear about it yet, not until I understand how this is moving!”

   Mr. Whitmore’s fingers slowly tapped the armrests of his chair. He sought to distract himself by watching the coelacanth swimming about their massive aquarium, but not even they could pull his mind from his impatience.

   The plan had been perfect, if perhaps a bit more elaborate than strictly necessary. But where was the fun of just calling up Milo and inviting him for tea?

   No, Mr. Whitmore had sent Helga to bring Milo the book his grandfather had left and, if everything had gone according to plan, bring Milo to Mr. Whitmore’s estate when he questioned where the book had come from.

   The plan had derailed almost instantly, when Milo had turned out to be nowhere to be found. He wasn’t at his apartment and nobody had seen him at the museum for hours. 

   When Helga had called about the snag, Mr. Whitmore had instructed her to leave the book in the boiler room where he knew Milo spent most of the cooling nights. It created a little bit more of a mystery, Mr. Whitmore thought, a bit of mystery Thaddeus would’ve appreciated.

   Except then things had gotten even more out of control when Milo never showed up at the museum. Starting to get worried -Milo was a bit absent-minded and flighty, just like his grandfather, but he took his job very seriously- Mr. Whitmore had told Helga to retrieve the Journal and return to the estate, and they’d find Milo another way.

   He’d last spoken to Helga half an hour before, and she hadn’t called back to report she had the Journal as he’d told her. Mr. Whitmore hoped that meant she’d found Milo and was in the process of bringing him to the estate. 

   Mr. Whitmore contemplated how to introduce himself to Milo. He knew Thaddeus had never mentioned him to the boy, and Milo might have a hard time accepting their connection. Then again, Mr. Whitmore had been the one to provide Milo with the book, and there were several paintings and photos of him and Thaddeus in his study. 

   And how would Milo feel about undertaking the expedition to find Atlantis when it came down to it? He’d tried to get the museum to fund many expeditions through the years, but none of them had made it to the stage of finding any sort of crew. Would Milo want to go along with the expedition or would he rather stay in Washington D.C. and translate the Journal? 

   Personally, Mr. Whitmore hoped it was the former. Sure, finding Atlantis would make history and the team would be heroes, yada yada… Mr. Whitmore just wanted a Thatch to be able to stand on Atlantean ground, though. For Milo to finish his grandfather’s work.

   The phone rang shrilly, startling Mr. Whitmore from his thoughts. He snatched up the receiver.

   “Hello?”

   “It’s Helga.”

   Mr. Whitmore smiled. “Ah, you got the Journal? Or, even better, you’ve got Milo!”

   There was a pause Mr. Whitmore did not like.

   “Helga?”

   “The Journal is gone.”

   Mr. Whitmore pulled the receiver from his ear, frowned at it, then replaced it. “Helga? Is there something wrong on your end? It sounds like you said the Shepherd's Journal is missing.”

   “I did, Mr. Whitmore.”

   “What?! How?!”

   “I don’t know,” Helga said, her voice bearing a low growl that usually preluded someone getting kicked in the face. “We’ve watched who goes in and out of the boiler room, and it’s only ever been Milo. I never saw him today, but he was clearly there.”

   “Unless someone else took the Journal,” Mr. Whitmore countered.

   “Milo’s missing, but so are all of his spare clothes and a lot of his tools,” Helga said. “It looks like he packed for a trip.”

   Mr. Whitmore’s heart dropped to his feet. Yes, he’d hoped Milo would be the sort to join the expedition to find Atlantis with no hesitation, but he’d have appreciated it if Milo had at least waited for the expedition!

   “There’s something else,” Helga said.

   “What? Come on, Helga, I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

   “Someone broke into the boiler room through a window. I found tracks leading in and out.”

   Mr. Whitmore frowned. “What? Who climbs into the basement of a museum?”

   “Normally, I’d suggest someone wanting to steal from the museum,” Helga said. “But with the Journal and Milo missing, and him packing for a trip…”

   “Wait.” Mr. Whitmore leaned forward in his seat. “Are you saying Milo was kidnapped?”

   “Unless there’s a good reason Milo would break in and out of the museum.”

   “There isn’t,” Mr. Whitmore said tensely. He bounded to his feet, barking into the phone, “Scour the grounds and his apartment building, just in case. I’m gathering the crew and calling the police chief now. We have to find Milo before he's taken out of the city!”

Chapter Text

   By the time anyone considered sleeping, the sun was rising. But they couldn’t help it; Miguel and Tulio had so many questions and Milo had just as many in return. Most often, the conversation stayed on whatever had changed in the four hundred years that the two Spaniards had apparently just skipped.

   Miguel’s mind was spinning with everything Milo had told them. Milo’s job was to heat a museum, which was some building where a bunch of old treasures were stored.  Boats with “engines” could cross oceans or go under the water without oars. 

   But for as many questions Milo answered, Miguel got two more. Why would so many treasures be stored in one building? Was everyone in this time just really rich? How did engines work -even when Milo explained twice, Miguel still didn’t get it. How did people breathe underwater?

   And that wasn’t mentioning zippers.

   Miguel pulled the zipper of the jacket Milo had lent him up and down. He studied the metal “teeth” above the zipper and again tried to push them together with his fingers. They just slipped apart, yet the teeth that passed through the zipper were connected so tightly Miguel couldn’t pull them apart.

    “You can’t tell me this isn’t magic,” Miguel said, fiddling with the zipper.

    “It isn’t magic,” Milo said with a laugh. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

   “Tell that to the giant stone jaguar that tried to eat Tulio and me,” Miguel said.

    “You’ve mentioned a stone jaguar twice now,” Milo said. “What do you mean?”

    “Oh, where do I start? Let’s see, we told you about the village, the gold, why we left… okay, there was this crazy priest guy, Tzekel-Kan, who thought he was a speaker of the gods!” Miguel said, laughing a bit at the memory. “So, when Tulio, Altivo, and I showed up, he thought we were gods.”

   “He did? Why?” Milo asked.

   Miguel shrugged. “There were murals of the gods the people of El Dorado believed had made the world. The murals always showed two guys on a horse-looking animal. So I guess when Tulio and I showed up on Altivo…?”

    “If the village was cut off from the outside world, it’s possible they didn’t realize an outside world existed,” Milo mused.

    “Most of them didn’t. Or, didn’t seem to think people existed outside their village. Tzekel-Kan definitely suspected something. I think Chief Tannabok and the guards at least knew there were others outside their village. Then again, I think Chief Tanni knew we weren’t gods in the first place!”

    “But he let you trick everyone?” Milo asked, shocked. 

    “What else did you expect? Sacrifice?” Miguel asked in amusement.

    “Well…”

   “Because that could have happened,” Miguel said. “That’s what almost happened. Thus the stone jaguar.”

   “I thought the chief knew and didn’t care.”

   “He didn’t, but Tzekel-Kan sure did. Once he figured out we weren’t gods -I still don’t know how he did- he did something that made this giant jaguar statue come to life. It chased us all over the village.”

   Milo rubbed his chin. “Could have been a machine.”

   Miguel blinked. “Like the machine that moves this boat?”

    “Maybe. How did it move? ” Milo asked.

    “Magic.”

   Milo smiled. “No, I mean, was it smooth or clunky? Noisy? I’m not sure there’s an engine that can do a lot more than push a piston or turn wheels.”

    “Oh, no, this thing moved like a cat. A cat the size of a house, but a cat,” Miguel said. “Tzekel-Kan definitely was controlling it. His eyes were weird and glowing.”

   Miguel shuddered at the memory. The crazy priest had almost killed him and Tulio.

    “How did you get away?” Milo asked.

   Miguel grinned. “It’s a bit of a story.”

   “I like stories,” Milo said, grinning back. He straightened on the cabin bench, and his back gave a series of pops. He winced, then looked around. “Hey, where did Tulio go?”

    “Probably went to look at the engine,” Miguel said. He stretched, grimacing when his back popped louder than Milo’s. “ Ow. Anyway, he likes to know how things work.”

   Miguel and Milo left the cabin. The rain had stopped at some point in the night, and Altivo was laying on the bow, snoring in his usual loud gusts. Ladron was missing, probably somewhere below eating the provisions.

   Miguel stopped halfway to the ladder below, staring. For the first time, he could clearly see what stood beyond the river.

   Buildings, first of all. Taller and straighter than Miguel had ever seen, with many, many windows that gleamed oddly in the sunlight. People moved around the buildings, dressed in strange, heavy-looking clothing. Women wore bright and elaborate hats. 

    “Looks pretty different, huh?” Milo asked.

   Miguel shrugged, even as his eyes darted among the people. “Buildings, people, they’re different but basically the same in all towns.”

   Then a… thing came into view.  It was dark and shiny, and the four wheels and people riding on a flat spot behind a tiny cabin-looking thing, where a single man with an impressive mustache held onto a smaller wheel. Miguel would have called it a wagon, except the thing was noticeably missing horses.

   Miguel looked at Milo, who was grinning. He looked again at the wagon thing, then back to Milo.

    “Is that one of those wagons that moves on its own?” Miguel asked.

   “Yes and no,” Milo said. “It’s got an engine like the boat does.”

    “But it’s moving by itself!” Miguel said, flinging his arms into the air to show how absurd the idea was. “That has to be magic, yes?”

    “No!” Milo laughed. “Under the hood -that part sticking out in front- is an engine.”

    “Where’s the coal go?” Miguel asked suspiciously. 

   Milo had explained that the steamboat’s engine “ate” coal. Miguel strongly suspected that the engine didn’t eat like a horse ate oats, but the following explanation made less sense. He’d left trying to figure out the exact details of the engine to Tulio, as there were plenty of other questions to ask.

    “It’s not a steam engine,” Milo said. “Vehicles run with combustion engines.”

    “I understood two words there, ” Miguel said.

    “There’s… hm, there’s two kinds of engine. Steam engines eat coal, and combustion engines eat gas.”

   Miguel snickered.

    “A liquid called gas!” Milo hastily elaborated. “Short for gasoline. It’s a liquid that’s mined from below the ground.”

   “You grow it,” Miguel guessed.

    “No, it forms underground, from remains under heat and pressure.”

   “Remains of what?”

   “Well, dead things.”

   Miguel raised an eyebrow. “You run your engines on the essence of dead things, but you still say your engines aren’t magic?”

   Milo tilted his head, then he laughed. “Okay, it sounds a bit like magic with the way you put it. Just don’t say that around other people.”

   “Because they aren’t crazy enough to realize I’m not crazy,” Miguel said.

   Milo looked at him for a moment, then nodded with a somewhat sheepish grin. “You know, you’re taking this pretty well.”

   “Taking what?”

   Milo spread his arms, indicating… well, everything.

   Miguel shrugged. “It’s not the first time Tulio and I fell off something, and ended up in a strange place.”

   “Still!” Milo laughed.

    “I like it,” Miguel said, shrugging again. “Tulio and I have always lived on the move.”

   “On the move or on the run?” Milo asked.

    “Both,” Miguel said.

   Milo nodded, grinning a bit.

   Miguel grinned back, then turned his attention to the riverside again. “I like seeing how towns are different, watching the people, seeing what they’ve done. Wondering what else we might see.”

   Granted, seeing the world four hundred years into the future hadn’t ever occurred to him, and Miguel suspected it would take years for him to see and hear everything that had changed in that time. But Miguel lived for seeing new things and people.

    “Does Tulio feel the same way?” Milo asked cautiously. “He hasn’t seemed too thrilled.”

   “It’s not entirely because of the time traveling,” Miguel said. “He was mopey before we even got here. He’ll be back to his old self soon enough.”

   “What happened?” Milo asked.

   Miguel glanced around. Tulio was still out of sight, so he leaned forward and whispered, “Heartbreak.”

   “Heartbreak?” Milo repeated.

    “Yeah, it’s a long story,” Miguel said. He cleared his throat. “One Tulio would probably appreciate me not telling. So, changing the subject, why does that woman have a bird on her head?”

   The question was absurd enough that Milo promptly turned to look, as Miguel had hoped. He’d said too much as it was, and hoped Milo wouldn’t ask Tulio about it.

    “That’s not a bird. It’s a bunch of feathers,” Milo said.

    “Nah, there’s definitely a beak poking out of the top.”

   Milo took off his glasses, cleaned them, then put them back on. He squinted.

    “Oh. It’s a hat made to look like a bird,” Milo said.

   Miguel looked at the bird-hat for a moment longer. “Why?”

   “Fashion. That’s one thing I can’t explain,” Milo said. He looked over his shoulder. “I hope we don’t run into anything. I’m going to stay at the wheel, Miguel. Looks like there’s more ships in the river now.”

   Miguel nodded. “I’m going to check on Tulio. Even as curious as he is about the engines, it’s strange that he’s stayed down there so long.”

   “Lost in thought?” Milo offered as he walked back toward the cabin. “The engine hasn’t died, so he probably didn’t start poking things.”

   Miguel flung his arms out. “I thought engines weren’t alive!”

   “They aren’t… not like that!” Milo rubbed his chin. “Though the boiler works better when I talk to it.”

   Miguel laughed and headed below decks. The space was tiny, and it didn’t take long for Miguel to spot Tulio, asleep on the lowest bunk.

   Miguel snickered. “Tulio? Hey, Tulio, you missed Milo explaining everything.”

   Tulio grumbled something. The blanket under him was damp and probably cold, but nobody had thought to dry their clothes.

    “Tulio!” Miguel called loudly.

   Tulio jolted up, yelping, “You can’t swim in-”

    Whack!

   Tulio fell back down, blinking. Miguel winced.

    “Tulio?”

   Tulio looked flatly at him.

    “Watch out for the bunk above.”

   “Miguel!”

   Tulio reached for Miguel, but tangled his legs in the blanket. He yelped again as he crashed to the floor. He flailed briefly, kicked his legs free, then dragged himself to his feet with the bunk. He attempted to straighten his vest, then looked at Miguel and opened his mouth. He froze.

    “Miguel?”

   “Yeah?”

   “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

   Miguel made a show of looking around. “No, we are still in the steamboat.”

   “Steamboat. Not a rowboat,” Tulio said. 

    “The last time I checked, no,” Miguel said.

    “Okay, good, good…” Tulio again tried and failed to fix his vest. “Miguel?”

   “Mm-hm?”

   “Why are we in a steamboat?”

   “We’re going to the coast,” Miguel said.

   Tulio sighed, then gave up on his vest. “What are the chances that if I jumped into the river right now, I’d end up back on that island?”

   “Pretty low,” Miguel said.

    “Thought so.”

   “Also, the water is filthy,” Miguel added, an observation he’d made once he’d looked at the river in the daylight.

   Tulio made a face. “Alright, to the coast with Milo Thatch, then off to Atlantis?”

   “Only if you’re in,” Miguel said.

   Tulio snorted and looked away. Miguel waited while he shook his head, then turned back and smiled slightly at Miguel. 

    “What’s one more city that shouldn’t exist?” Tulio asked.

   Beaming, Miguel put out his hand. Tulio slapped his palm against Miguel’s, then they both turned to the ladder.

    “We should stop soon,” Milo said not long after. “We’ve got food, but you two need proper clothes… and Altivo needs proper food.”

   Altivo, munching on a crust of bread, gave a low snort. 

   Milo took a bag out of one of the packs and counted something inside. “I’ll handle the shopping when we stop.”

    “Tulio and I can help, ” Miguel said. “We did buy a boat with half a horseshoe.”

   Altivo snorted, this time in annoyance. He turned and walked away from Miguel, a bit lopsided as one of his horseshoes had broken in half and fallen off.

    “We should probably get those other horseshoes off,” Milo said. “Gold is too soft to walk on them all the time, Altivo.”

   It had taken all of a few hours for Milo to talk to Altivo and Ladron like they were people. Miguel thought it was hilarious. He and Tulio did it all the time, but Miguel knew few other people who did.

   Altivo snorted again and shook his head.

   It helped that Altivo responded to what he was told accordingly, of course.

    “Either way, ” Milo went on, “You can’t just walk into a store and use a golden horseshoe to buy everyday things. It would attract attention.”

   “And that’s a bad thing?” Miguel clarified. 

    “It could be.”

   “More attention could mean more people on the expedition,” Miguel pointed out.

    “You mean thieves, ” Tulio said. Miguel looked at him. “We’re laying low, Miguel.”

   “Miguel does have a point,” Milo said. “ I do want more people on the expedition.”

   “You need people you can trust, ” Tulio said. “Not someone who’s going to wait until you find treasure, then steal it out from under your nose.”

   “Oh.” Milo frowned. “How do I know who to trust?”

   “You’re asking a con artist you pulled out of the river, Milo.”

   “Well, how do you know who to trust?”

   Tulio lifted a finger and opened his mouth to explain, then stopped. Miguel smiled as he watched Tulio try to figure out how to explain. He and Tulio generally didn’t work with other people -cons worked better with fewer people after all- and when they did, the other person was equally cautious about working with Miguel and Tulio.

   Milo was the complete opposite. Having listened to Milo passionately explain about his and his grandfather’s life’s work, Miguel knew Milo only cared about finding Atlantis for the things he could learn. Miguel suspected that if there were loads of gold coins in Atlantis, Milo would only be interested in what they looked like and wouldn’t care if he and Tulio took as much as they could carry. 

    “How were you trying to find people for the expedition before you met us?” Tulio asked.

    “The museum funds expeditions,” Milo explained. “They’ve got guides, mechanics, doctors, anyone you’d need for an expedition.”

   “You didn’t go to them?” Tulio asked.

    “I tried a few,” Milo said, his shoulders slumping. “They don’t want to help without being promised some sort of pay. Atlantis might have gold or remains of their power source, but it might also be a bunch of broken buildings and maybe some pottery.”

   Miguel looked at Tulio. Money was usually Tulio’s motivation.

    “What’s that about a power source?” Tulio asked.

   Miguel smiled. Tulio was into the mystery as much as he was.

    “Well, I told you about how the steam engine ‘eats’ coal. There are texts in the Shepherd’s Journal about some kind of power source,” Milo explained. “Something that could light up a city and power some kind of flying invention of theirs.”

   “Flying?” Miguel repeated, perking up.

    “Supposedly,” Milo said. “Here, I’ll show you.”

   Milo darted below decks, then returned with the Journal he’d found. He flipped through the pages, muttering to himself. Miguel had gotten a glimpse of it when Milo had looked through it briefly the previous evening, but they’d both gotten distracted with questions.

    “What language is that?” Tulio asked. “Looks like gibberish.”

   “It’s not gibberish, just a language that doesn’t exist anymore,” Milo said distractedly.

   Tulio raised an eyebrow. “Your map is written in a language nobody can read?”

   “I can read it,” Milo said, lifting his head and beaming proudly. Just as quickly, he ducked his head like a turtle, saying quietly, “It’s my life’s work, you know…”

   Miguel craned his neck to look at the page of gibberish. “What’s that say?”

   Milo scanned the page, then haltingly said something that sounded as much like gibberish as it looked. He looked at Miguel with a sheepish grin.

    “I didn’t get a word of that,” Miguel said cheerfully. 

    “Can that book get us to Atlantis?” Tulio asked.

   Milo nodded. “It’s written by someone who went to Atlantis.”

   “Before or after it sank?”

   Milo blinked. “I… don’t know, actually. I haven’t read much of it yet. The writer knows about Atlantean tech, but he also writes on how to reach the sunk city of Atlantis. Could be someone from around the time Atlantis sank,” Milo mused quietly. He looked up and did the turtle ducking thing again. “You don’t have to go along if you don’t want to, by the way…”

   “Are you kidding?” Miguel asked, “Don’t forget, we found El Dorado with a map we won from a random sailor in a gamble! Your book sounds more reliable than that.”

   Milo looked at Tulio, who shrugged. “You’re the one who’s spent your life searching for it.”

   “Grandpa did, too,” Milo said, rubbing the book fondly. “Grandpa wouldn’t have given it to me if it wasn’t real.”

   “It’s real enough for me,” Miguel said. “Tulio?”

   Tulio shrugged a shoulder. 

    “Tulio, come on,” Miguel urged, “Show a little excitement!”

   “We’re going to find a city under the ocean,” Tulio said. 

    “And that isn’t even a little bit exciting? ” Miguel pushed.

   Tulio stared at him for a moment, then turned his head to hide the slight smile. “A little. But only if we don’t, you know, drown in the process. We did the ocean voyage once, Miguel.”

   “Yeah, but this time we’ll be in ships made to go under the water!” Miguel said excitedly.

    “What could go wrong?” Tulio asked drily.

    “Ah, here!” 

   Invested in the book, Milo had missed the conversation. He turned the Journal and pointed to what looked like an oversized lobster creature snapping boats in half with its claws.

    “We aren’t going to fight that thing, are we?” Miguel asked. “I’m all for adventure, but one giant beast trying to eat me is enough.”

    “The text calls it a leviathan,” Milo said, still studying the page. “It’s supposed to guard the gates to Atlantis, but it’s probably just a statue or something.”

   “Probably,” Tulio repeated.

   Milo nodded, misunderstanding Tulio’s skeptical statement for agreement. “A way to ward off the superstitious. Hm, if this thing is still intact, we’ll need pictures.”

   Milo might have gone on, but a loud, blaring noise made them all jump. Miguel spun toward the noise right as another boat veered away from the bow of their steamboat. The man at the wheel yelled something Miguel didn’t understand, though his tone and shaking fist told Miguel enough. Milo yelped and yelled something back, then ran to the wheel and turned their steamboat toward the edge of the river.

    “Someone should probably stay at the wheel,” Milo said with an awkward chuckle. He looked around. “Before we go much further, though, let’s stop.”

   “Okay.” Miguel watched Milo fiddle with the wheel. “ You do know how to stop a boat, right?”

   “...no.”

   Eventually, Milo managed to get the attention of someone on another boat. With a lot of gesturing and yelling, the other boat captain showed Milo how to stop the engine and tie up to a nearby dock. The trio waved their thanks, and the other boat moved off.

    “I’ll go get some more food and clothes for you two,” Milo said.

    “What’s wrong with these?” Miguel asked.

   “They won’t be warm enough,” Milo said, eyeing their clothes. “Plus my coat doesn’t fit you that well.”

   Miguel shrugged. The coat sleeves were a bit tight and his shirt was bunched up underneath, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It was warm enough. Though Tulio was making do with a blanket hanging over his shoulders.

    “And you’ll need spare clothes,” Milo mused. “Let’s see, plus hay for Altivo and… what does Ladron eat?”

    “Anything he can get his little paws on,” Tulio said.

    “And don’t forget apples,” Miguel added.

   Altivo snorted and bobbed his head.

   Milo nodded and turned toward the gangplank. He took two steps, then abruptly turned around and hurried below decks. He returned a moment later with an empty pack.

    “Stay here,” Milo said.

    “Can’t we explore a little bit?” Miguel pleaded.

    “Well… the streets are going to be busy, and there’s a lot of cars out there and you two kind of stand out,” Milo said.

    “We can be subtle,” Miguel pleaded.

   Milo hesitated, then shook his head. “ No, just wait here. I won’t be long. Tulio?”

   Tulio nodded. “We’ll wait.”

    “Thanks,” Milo said with clear relief. He hurried away, calling over his shoulder, “I won’t be long!”

   “Don’t you want to explore?” Miguel asked.

    “And get lost in a city where we don’t speak the language?” Tulio asked tiredly.

   Miguel looked at him curiously. It had been a rough day, but Tulio was oddly subdued. Even if they weren’t gambling or pulling cons, Tulio wasn’t one to sit idly by. And in a place -and time- that they didn’t speak the language, the best way Miguel knew to start fitting in was to mingle with people.

    “Don’t give me that look,” Tulio said.

    “You mean this look?” Miguel asked, giving Tulio his best puppy-dog eyes.

   Tulio shoved his face aside. Miguel laughed, but Tulio’s tense expression didn’t change. He hadn’t tied back his hair yet, so it dangled in his face and made Tulio look a bit like he’d just rolled out of a fight. The dirt-streaked clothes sure didn’t help the look.

   Miguel looked at himself. Well, he wasn’t much better, not with his tattered pants and missing shoes. Maybe Milo was right in being cautious; the two of them would stick out like sore thumbs in the stiff coats and colorful dresses.

    “Okay, I won’t leave the boat,” Miguel conceded. “But soon, right?”

   “ Sure, sure,” Tulio said. 

   He rubbed his eyes, then seemed to notice his loose hair for the first time. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a bit of string, which he used to tie his hair into his usual ponytail.

   Miguel’s eyes widened in worry. “Tulio, your head!”

   Tulio looked at him like he was crazy. “What about it?”

   “How long has it been like this?” 

   Miguel didn’t let Tulio answer, instead grabbing his chin and turning his head. Tulio yelped and swatted Miguel’s hand away.

    “What are you talking about?” Tulio asked, reaching up to touch the spot Miguel had been checking. His fingers brushed the dark bruise, and he winced. “Oh, that.”

   “Yes, that,” Miguel said, crossing his arms. 

    “Pretty sure we established at some point that I hit my head when we went down the whirlpool,” Tulio said.

   Miguel vaguely recalled it being mentioned, but he’d said in a joking manner the previous night. He hadn’t been serious. No wonder Tulio had gone to sleep instead of asking more questions.

    “Go lay back down, ” Miguel said, shooing Tulio toward the ladder.

    “You aren’t going to wander off, are you?” Tulio asked. His head must have really been hurting if that was his only argument.

    “I swear I won’t,” Miguel said. “Go on, shoo. I’ll make sure nobody steals our boat.”

   “Who steals a boat?” Tulio muttered as he shuffled toward the ladder.

    “We stole a rowboat,” Miguel pointed out.

   Tulio waved a hand at him without response. Miguel frowned with worry, then shook himself. The two of them had gotten into worse scrapes, and came out fine in the end.

   Miguel turned his attention to the people walking alongside the river. At least while he was on the steamboat, nobody seemed to pay any attention to Miguel, allowing him to study how people acted four hundred years from when he’d lived.

   Really, they didn’t act all that differently. The clothes had changed and few words were in Spanish, but children still ran and laughed and husbands walked with their wife’s hand on their arms and clusters of women still fawned over dresses shown in the shops while men carried tools and crates. A small man with a pointy, rat-like face slipped small pouches from people’s pockets.

   Miguel smiled. Some things didn’t change at all. 

   Time passed quickly, and Milo returned before Miguel could seriously consider leaving the steamboat to explore. He was walking alongside a small, dirty boy, who was leading a donkey hitched to a ramshackle cart with odds and ends piled in it.

   Milo spoke to the boy and gave him a coin, then climbed onto the cart. He tried, without success, to lift a cube of hay. After a few adjustments, Milo tried again. The bale didn’t budge. The boy laughed, then climbed into the cart. Between Milo and the boy, they got the hay tossed out of the cart.

   Grinning, Miguel walked down the gangplank. Before Milo or the boy could get off the cart, Miguel grabbed the string holding the hay together and hauled it onto the steamboat.

    “Showoff,” Milo said with a smile.

   Milo grabbed a crate from the cart, then the boy led the donkey away. Miguel peered curiously into the crate as Milo carried it aboard, finding it full of small metal boxes.

    “This should be enough food to last us to the coast,” Milo said uncertainly. He shrugged a bit, then set the crate aside and took off the pack. “Hey, where’s Tulio?”

   “He’s below,” Miguel said. “He hit his head at some point in the whirlpool after all.”

   Milo frowned. “Oh! Does he need a doctor or…?”

   “Nah, he’ll be fine,” Miguel assured him. “Tulio’s got a hard head.”

    “Oh, good,” Milo said. He held the pack out to Miguel. “I had to guess on the sizes, but I got another set of clothes for you two.”

   Miguel took the pack and checked inside.

    “I was going to get you two some boots, but that’s not something I want to guess on,” Milo went on. “There’s a cobbler right down the street. Do you think Tulio would be up to it?”

   Miguel shrugged. “I don’t know, but Tulio’s shoes survived the whirlpool.”

    “Yeah, but they don’t look very waterproof.”

   “I’ll ask.”

   Miguel went below. Tulio was sprawled on the lower bunk again.

    “Tulio?” Miguel asked. “Tulio, wake up.”

   “Ten more minutes,” Tulio grumbled, rolling over. “ My head hurts, Miguel.”

   “Okay, okay… well, Milo and I are going to get some shoes. Do you want to come?”

   “Ask me tomorrow,” Tulio grumbled, taking the pillow and smushing it over his head.

   Miguel smiled. “Milo got us some new clothes, too. I’ll put yours on the top bunk.”

   A muffled acknowledgement came from under the pillow.

   Miguel pulled out the clothes, smiling when he saw a red shirt and a blue one. Both were styled like Tulio’s, but made of a thicker material. Underneath were two pairs of pants and two coats, one brown and the other tan.

   Miguel put one set of clothes -the blue shirt and brown coat- on the upper bunk, then changed into the other set. The material was thicker and rougher than he was used to, but instantly warming.

   Miguel went up on deck, where Milo was dropping some hay for Altivo. Seeing Miguel, Milo offered him a thick roll. Miguel took the warm roll and cautiously took a bite. He perked up.

    “Hey, this is good!” Miguel said before quickly finishing it.

   Milo smiled. “I thought you’d like it. Is Tulio up?”

   Miguel shook his head. “Still asleep. If you wanted to go to the cobbler now, though, Tulio and I wear the same size shoe.”

   There had been a few times when the two of them had only one pair of shoes between them.

    “Will… will Tulio be okay alone?”

   Miguel nodded. “Altivo will keep an eye on him, won’t you, boy?”

   Altivo froze in the middle of sneaking an apple from the crate. 

    “He’s in good hooves,” Miguel said, smiling broadly.

   Milo nodded uncertainly, but followed Miguel to the gangplank. Miguel clattered happily to the dock, then paused. He turned to Milo.

    “Which way?”

   Milo smiled as he left the boat. He pointed to the left.

   Mr. Whitmore watched the sun set outside the window. He turned as the door to his study opened.

   “Helga, any news on Milo?” Mr. Whitmore asked.

   “There’s no sign of him anywhere,” Helga said.

   Mr. Whitmore scowled as the crew filed in. They’d spent the day searching the city and asking around, but apparently Milo had vanished off the face of the Earth!

   “None of the ticket sellers at the train stations remember seeing Milo,” Helga said.

   “Same with the boats,” Vinny said. “No Milo and nobody suspicious.”

   “Mole and I watched the museum all day,” Audrey piped in. “No Milo. I checked with the director, and he said Milo resigned.”

   “I knew that,” Mr. Whitmore said, waving his hand. “Milo has been ready to quit for months. When he didn’t show up for work today, they probably decided to take him seriously.”

   “Yeah, nobody seemed to care that much that Milo was missing,” Audrey said, scrunching her nose in disgust.

   “Whoever took him is probably long gone,” Mr. Whitmore said.

   “Hold up,” Sweet said, “What makes you think Milo was kidnapped?”

   “Why else would he vanish without a trace?” Helga asked. 

   “I was asking around his apartment building,” Sweet said. “Nobody really knew Milo there, either, aside from a boy across the hall who feeds his cat when Milo stays overnight at the museum. From the sounds of it, he didn’t have any friends in the museum. Nobody’s believed him about Atlantis existing, even when Thaddeus was alive. So why are we assuming Milo would tell anyone where he went?”

   “Because he’d be crazy to go off on an expedition alone,” Mr. Whitmore said.

   “Are we forgetting who Milo’s related to?” Sweet asked, smiling. “When did Thaddeus ever care about what was logical? When he knew what needed to be done, he’d find some way to do it. Thaddeus raised Milo, and Milo’s probably just like him.”

   “But Thaddeus still told me what was going on, no matter how excited he got,” Mr. Whitmore said. “And from what we’ve gathered about Milo’s proposals, Milo only ever planned to join the expedition as a linguist. He knows about engineering, but not about navigation or boats.”

   Sweet shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

   “Whoever Milo is with, they’ll be headed to the coast,” Mr. Whitmore said. “They could be halfway to the coast by now.” He groaned. “I’ll contact the chief of police to keep looking in the city. In the morning, we’re all heading to Calvert.”

   “The lab?” Rouke asked

   Mr. Whitmore nodded. “Work on the sub is almost done. If need be, it can be finished on the ship. Milo’s undoubtedly out of the city by now, and could well be on his way to the ocean.”

   “How do we know where to search, then?” Rouke asked. “Thaddeus was the only one who knew how to read the Journal, and that’s missing with Milo, anyway.”

   “Thaddeus had a few guesses,” Mr. Whitmore said. “Why do you think the lab is in Calvert?”

   “It’s still a big ocean,” Rouke pointed out.

   Mr. Whitmore scowled again, annoyed at Rouke’s insistence on being difficult. And at himself. If he’d waited until meeting Milo to give him the Journal, they wouldn’t be having this discussion. 

   “There aren’t that many submarines made yet,” Mr. Whitmore explained after a moment. “I’m getting a list of the submarines along the Maryland coast. We’ll figure out who took one out recently, and if someone meeting Milo’s description was on it. Simple!”

   A few of the crew looked skeptical, which Mr. Whitmore pretended to not see. He wasn’t entirely sure of the plan himself, but it was better than nothing. 

   And it was better than admitting that he might have lost the beloved grandson of his best friend.

Chapter Text

   Tulio didn’t move as he woke up. He silently took in the splashing of paddles barely audible through the hull, and of voices trickling below decks. 

   His head hurt.

   Tulio reached up and rubbed his forehead, stifling a groan. He opened his eyes and was grateful for the dim room.

   Tulio remained still for a bit longer, thinking about the last couple days. He’d gone from lost in the jungle to lost in a whirlpool to lost in a city apparently four hundred years in the future. Before that, he’d been safely pulling cons with Miguel in docks along the coast.

   Well, relatively safely. Their last con on the docks had led to the flogging and being thrown in the brig. It had led to them finding El Dorado… though they’d come out of that with nothing more than they’d started with, unless Miguel counted his horse and armadillo. 

   Now they were heading down to an unfamiliar coast to try and hunt down another city that nobody really believed to exist.

   Tulio sat up, wincing as he did. From the sound of it, Milo had the map. Tulio and Miguel needed a plan. Would they continue with Milo beyond the coast or not? They would, if Miguel had any say in it.

   Tulio did have to admit that the idea was tempting. A lost ancient city? It was bound to have gold in it, and what were the chances that a second ancient city full of treasure would be inhabited? 

   But that still left them without a plan. Or, much of one. Milo had the map, and not much else. Tulio wondered if sneaking onto a ship that went underwater was as easy as normal ships.

   Tulio swung his feet off the bed, then carefully stood. He staggered against the bunk as he took a step, but straightened and told himself the boat had rocked. 

   Miguel descended the ladder at that moment. “Tulio!”

   “Yes, Miguel?” Tulio said, thinking it was too early for Miguel’s level of cheer.

    “Are you feeling better today?” Miguel asked.

   Tulio grunted. “I’ll feel better when I know where we’re going.”

   “Atlantis, Tulio! Or have you forgotten?” Miguel teased. “Oh, here, try these on.”

   Tulio took the offered clothes. He remembered Miguel mentioning them the previous day, though he hadn’t felt up to changing at the time. Miguel left, calling over his shoulder to meet him on deck.

   Tulio changed slowly, grateful when the headache eased. 

    “Oh, and-” Miguel said suddenly.

   Tulio jumped and spun with a yelp. Miguel held up a pair of boots with a grin.

    “Milo got us these, too.”

   Miguel tossed the boots to Tulio, then clomped up the ladder. Tulio shook his head, then sat to put the boots on. He went to the ladder, took a breath, then climbed up.

   Tulio took a moment on deck, wondering if the light or noise was worse. Squinting, he followed Miguel’s voice to the cabin, where Miguel and Milo were hunched over the Journal.

    “So, where are we headed?” Tulio asked.

   Milo jumped, dropping his pencil. “Tulio! I didn’t hear you come up. Are you feeling better today?”

   “Just fine,” Tulio lied. “So? A plan?”

    “I’m working on the exact place,” Milo said. “But we’re getting close!”

   “Milo is,” Miguel said.

   Tulio leaned against the wall, tilting his head to see the page of runes. “You can really read that?”

   Milo nodded. “Well- I think so. It’s not an exact map, more like hints and puzzles. See, this part? There’s a tunnel beyond the gates to Atlantis. The text says that’s where the leviathan rests, but it could also mean that the leviathan is blocking the gate. We’ll have to pass the leviathan somehow to reach the gate.”

   “And this leviathan isn’t going to… you know, try and eat us, will it?” Tulio asked.

    “Oh, I’m sure it’s a statue,” Milo said. “And even if there was some beast guarding the gates to Atlantis, it would be long dead by now.”

   “Unless it had a bunch of little baby beasts that grew into a bunch of giant beasts,” Miguel said.

   Milo shook his head. “One leviathan might’ve gone unnoticed to the rest of the world, but a nest of them couldn’t. Fishermen would have seen something by now.” He tapped his mouth with the pencil. “Unless they were seeing the leviathan, but nobody believed them, so word never got out.”

   “So there could be a leviathan down there?” Tulio asked.

    “I mean, there could be anything down there,” Milo said, sounding overly excited about the possibility. “Animals unknown to mankind. Can you imagine?”

   Tulio tried to not imagine. “Tell me about these sub… uh, the ships that go underwater.”

   “Submarines? Well, I’ve never seen one in person, just pictures,” Milo said. “It’s like a big… hm, imagine you surrounded a ship with a barrel.”

   “A barrel,” Tulio repeated flatly.

   Milo nodded. “A barrel. But it’s made of metal and there’s these big barrels inside the bigger barrel full of air that we can breathe. There’s not a ship’s wheel… well, I guess there is, but more of them, so the ship can go faster or slower, and up and down. The whole thing is run by a big combustion engine, like the kind in that truck.”

   Tulio glanced up, then did a double-take of the… horseless… wagon? He blinked and looked at Miguel, who just grinned, then at Altivo. The horse didn’t look impressed.

    “That thing runs on coal?” Tulio asked.

    “No, it’s a different kind of engine that eats a liquid gas that comes from dead things underground,” Miguel said with an overacted air of boredom.

    “You’re making things up,” Tulio scoffed.

    “No, he’s more or less right,” Milo said, grinning.

   Tulio looked between them. “Okay, say it again, but slower.”

   Tulio sat with his back against the cabin’s outside wall, watching the forest slip by. At least trees and sunsets hadn’t changed over four hundred years.

   Eventually, Tulio stood up. He moved slowly, not wanting the headache to return. He walked into the cabin, prompting Milo to look up from the Journal.

    “Are you reading or steering?” Tulio asked rhetorically, even as he took the wheel Milo had abandoned.

    “Oh, er, sorry,” Milo said, wincing. 

   Tulio waved off the apology. After a moment, Milo went back to the Journal and book of notes he was taking.

    “Milo,” Tulio said after a bit, “Why do you want to find Atlantis so badly?”

   “It’s my life’s work,” Milo said.

    “Sure, but why? Why chase after something that everyone else says doesn’t exist?”

   “Grandpa knew Atlantis existed,” Milo said promptly. “There’s evidence, if people are willing to look. Myths start out somewhere. And the Journal proves that Atlantis is out there, just waiting to be found!”

   “Okay, but why?” Tulio pressed. “Why Atlantis? Is there treasure you’re looking for?”

   “Not really, no. Well, unless you count the knowledge,” Milo said. He turned the book to show an image of what looked like large fish being ridden by people. “Atlanteans had some sort of technology that lit their city and powered machines that could fly! If we could find the knowledge of how to build these things, how the Atlanteans powered their machines, well, just imagine what we could use them for in the modern world!”

   “So, recognition? Fame?” Tulio asked.

    “No.” Milo closed the Journal. “Why are you asking?”

    “Everyone’s got an angle,” Tulio said. “ What’s yours? Why bring Miguel and me, two complete strangers, to find this city?”

   “I don’t have an angle,” Milo said, brows furrowing. “And for you and Miguel, well… I don’t know. I’m as surprised as you are. But you two believed me and you agreed to it.”

   “Supposing we’re both crazy, though,” Tulio said. “Or thieves.”

    “I know you’re thieves,” Milo said, “You said so yourself.”

   “And yet you let us come along! Why?” Tulio pressed.

   Milo tilted his head. “Same reason you two are trusting me, I guess.”

   Tulio opened his mouth, then hesitated. “Well, you haven’t given us reason to distrust you. And you wear your emotions on your sleeve. You’re like Miguel in that way. You couldn’t trick us if your life depended on it.”

   “Could you?” Milo asked.

   Tulio thought of all the mock fights he and Miguel got into over the years. Then he remembered the whole “god” con in El Dorado.

    “Hang on,” Milo said before Tulio could speak, “I think I answered my own question.”

    “Uh, so… how much did Miguel tell you about El Dorado?” Tulio asked.

    “Only that you tricked a whole city into thinking you were gods,” Milo said. To Tulio’s relief, he sounded only amused.

    “It was that or execution,” Tulio said. “Then it was kind of fun for a while. Harmless fun, you know. Miguel got a real kick out of it.”

   “So the answer is yes, if your life depends on it,” Milo said.

   Obviously, yes. Tulio was literal living proof, but that wasn’t the point Tulio wanted to make.

   Tulio wobbled a hand. “Not every con is a life or death situation, Milo.”

   “What are you talking about?”

   “I’m saying that if Miguel and I start arguing and punching each other, don’t worry about it.”

   Milo looked confused. For his part, Tulio couldn’t believe he was admitting so much already. But he’d meant what he said. Milo couldn’t pull the “pretend to throw a stick but actually hide it behind his back” trick because he’d feel bad for tricking the dog. So Tulio was pretty confident that he and Miguel would have plenty of time to cut and run if Milo even considered tricking them.

   But he still didn’t understand why Milo was so dead set on Atlantis.

    “You remind me of Matthias,” Milo suddenly said.

    “Who?”

   “Matthias. Grandpa met him playing dice on the docks. Matthias had trick dice, and fooled Grandpa out of five dollars. Grandpa saw right through the trick after the fact, but he thought Matthias was so intriguing that he brought him home for coffee.”

   “He what?” 

   “Matthias is one of the more normal people that Grandpa brought home,” Milo said, laughing at some memory. “Grandpa was always bringing people home. Everyone from the wealthy to the man who wore newspapers like a cape because he couldn’t afford a coat. There was always something interesting about them, a story they had to tell or the way they could pull a penny out of your ears.”

   Milo smiled distractedly. “Grandpa always said some people collect things, but he collected people.”

   Tulio didn’t know how to respond to that.

    “Grandpa could read anyone, and he could make friends with everyone, too. It’s the only reason he wasn’t locked up for supposedly being crazy. He made friends with all the doctors who showed up and proved to them he wasn’t crazy. Not that the Board ever believed Grandpa’s theories, but nobody could ever declare him insane.”

   “It didn’t bug him,” Milo went on. “Me, it’s enough to drive me insane, to have all this evidence, but the Board refusing to accept it. I don’t know how Grandpa did it, but he passed the drive onto me.”

   Milo looked at Tulio and said slowly, as if just figuring it out, “That’s why I want to find Atlantis. Not for fame or money. I just want to see with my own eyes what Grandpa searched so hard to find.”

   “I don’t know,” Tulio said quietly. “It sounds like he just enjoyed the search.”

   Milo smiled. “Oh, he did sometimes say that once he found Atlantis, he and I could find Arcadia so he could retire.”

   “So, what led him to stop searching?” Tulio asked.

    “He died.”

    “Oh.” Tulio knew he should have expected the answer, but he felt an unexpected disappointment that he’d never meet the man. “I’m sorry.”

    “He died doing what he loved,” Milo said, again with a distant look in his eyes. A moment later, his brows furrowed. “But here’s what I don’t understand. I believe Grandpa found the Journal on his last journey. He said he’d been to Iceland, but he’s gone to Iceland multiple times to search and didn’t give me the details of this particular lead, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But, he found the Journal… why didn’t he tell me? Or the Board? Or anyone else in his expedition, because he couldn’t have traveled so far alone.”

   “What happened?” Tulio asked against his better judgment but, man, the guy was growing on him.

    “He got sick. Everyone assumed he caught something in Iceland. Even claimed he was delusional when he got back, and that’s why he was so excited.” Milo’s mouth twisted. “It’s the only time they got away with calling him delusional. It got so bad that he was taken to a hospital, then he just… died.”

   Milo rubbed his eye. Tulio looked aside, waiting while Milo collected himself. 

    “Sorry, I… it’s hitting me all over again, now that I have the Journal. I wish I knew who left it for me,” Milo said. “They might have the answers I want.”

   “They didn’t leave a note or anything?” Tulio asked.

    “No. Only Grandpa’s note on the paper, and he didn’t leave any clues as to why he couldn’t give it to me himself. Well, if I believed ghosts were real…”

   “I mean, they could be.” At Milo’s look, Tulio shrugged. “Magic is real. Why not ghosts?”

   Milo smiled. “Yeah… Grandpa’s ghost left the Journal for me. Why not?”

   The two stood in silence for a bit longer, then Milo spoke.

   “ What about you? Why Atlantis?”

   “Because it’s where you’re going,” Tulio said. He shrugged. “If you’d said you were looking for El Dorado, I’d go along with it. Miguel and I don’t have anywhere else to go…”

   “What if there was a way to go back?” Milo asked.

   Tulio shrugged. “Didn’t leave anything behind, either. Don’t worry about us, Milo. We’ve always gotten along.”

   “Yeah, in the 15th century,” Milo said. “Grandpa never left anyone he could help, and neither will I.”

   “Okay.”

   “No, really. I might as well say it now.” Milo looked seriously at Tulio. “I don’t care whether or not Atlantis has any treasure, but you two must. The three of us are equal partners in whatever we might find.”

    “Really? Are you sure? What if there’s stacks of gold, or nothing?”

   “If there’s stacks of gold, then there will be plenty for us all to do whatever we want to do with the rest of our lives. If there’s no treasure,” Milo shrugged, “It won’t change much for me. Finding Atlantis is all I care about.”

   Tulio studied Milo. His initial impression of Milo still stood, and Tulio knew instinctively that there was no risk of Milo tricking him and Miguel. He was so sincere that Tulio knew he wouldn’t try any tricks with Milo. Miguel was pretty unlikely to; he might’ve been the one to push Tulio into pretending to be gods, but their lives had kind of been on the line at the time.

    “Okay, deal. Partners,” Tulio said.

   The trip passed quickly, largely uneventfully. Tulio continued to be shocked by all the things that had changed in the last four hundred years, but nobody had challenged their passage. For the most part, Tulio spent his time on the deck observing or under the deck, trying to figure out how the engine worked.

   And studying Atlantean. Miguel gave up trying after the first hour, but Tulio was intrigued by the Journal, written by someone long before Tulio’s time. He was going to trust Milo’s interpretations and guidance for the trip, but he was admittedly curious about reading the Atlantean runes.

   Milo turned out to be an excellent teacher, both in the outside world and with Atlantean. Tulio had wondered at first if Milo would actually teach someone else in such a rare skill, but Milo had been thrilled by the request. He was clearly passionate about Atlantis, providing Tulio with just more proof that Milo really was looking for Atlantis just for the sake of finding it.

    “Ocean ho!” Miguel called late on the fourth day.

   Tulio looked up, baffled, then saw the river had opened into a bay that widened abruptly into the ocean. 

   “ Perfect timing!” Milo said, closing his book of notes. “Because I just figured out where we need to start searching. I’ve got coordinates here, and all we have to do is find a ship that can take us there!”

   “A ship with a submarine,” Tulio reminded him.

   Milo wilted briefly, but resolutely perked himself back up. “A ship with a submarine. Well, at least that narrows down who we can ask. Should we start now?”

   “Sure, why not?” Miguel asked.

   They found a place to tie up their steamboat and headed out, leaving Altivo -and Ladron, according to Miguel- to watch it. Milo led the way from the river docks and down a street. Miguel almost got left behind when a truck honked nearby and he stopped to stare, but Tulio grabbed his arm and tugged him along.

   The bay docks were huge, and Tulio was confident they’d easily find someone with a submarine they could hire. It might take a bit of time, but time was one thing they all had plenty of. With three and a half golden horseshoes, buying their passage would be easy once they found a captain and crew that looked trustworthy enough.

   What he didn’t expect was for the first ship’s captain to listen to Milo, then start laughing and walk away.

    “What’s so funny?” Miguel asked.

   Milo, staring after the captain, said, “I don’t know. But he told me there’s a ship with a submarine just this way.”

   “You mean he didn’t have one?” Tulio asked.

    “Well, not that I saw.” Milo scanned the docks, his brows furrowing. “I don’t see any, actually. They aren’t very common, after all. Come on, maybe the captain with the submarine won’t laugh.”

   “Hey, don’t let it bug you. He probably just thinks there’s nothing out there,” Miguel tried to soothe.

    “Nobody does,” Milo grumped.

    “That just means we’ll be the first there,” Tulio pointed out.

   Milo smiled slightly.

    “Now come on, there’s still time before night falls,” Tulio added.

    “I don’t get it,” Milo said.

    “At least only the one called you crazy,” Miguel said.

   Milo stared moodily at his sandwich. “Yeah, everyone else just laughed or gave me a weird look. And I didn’t even mention Atlantis!”

   Tulio leaned back and let Miguel comfort Milo while he looked around. After three futile hours on the docks, they’d given up to go to a nearby tavern to eat and figure out the next step.

   There were a lot of captains and crews in the tavern, drinking and gambling. Tulio watched them warily, but nobody paid the trio sitting in the corner any attention.

   Tulio’s ears picked up the familiar clatter of dice on a table. He turned toward the sound, where three men were playing. Coins and paper money Milo called dollar bills were piled beside each of them.

   Tulio stood up. Milo didn’t notice, though Miguel did. Miguel followed Tulio’s eye, smiled, then returned his attention to Milo. Tulio wandered over to the table and sat down. The men looked at him, then resumed their game.

   After a few rolls, the winner collected his winnings, then said something to Tulio.

    “Didn’t catch that,” Tulio said, smiling.

   The man rolled his eyes, then picked up the dice. Tulio held up seven fingers. Realizing what Tulio wanted, the man rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

   Tulio smiled. People didn’t need to speak the same language to gamble. He took out a copper and put it on the table. The man made a face and shook his head.

    “Come on, money is money,” Tulio complained.

   The men resumed their game, ignoring Tulio. Crossing his arms, Tulio leaned back and looked around the room again. Nobody else was playing dice, and none of the other games looked like they could be played without a translator.

    “Tulio!” Milo was suddenly at Tulio’s shoulder. “What did I say about gambling?”

   “Technically, I’m not gambling,” Tulio pointed out. He picked up the copper and waved it. “They don’t like my money.”

   “It is four hundred years out of circulation,” Milo pointed out.

   Tulio made a face and stood up. He and Milo rejoined Miguel at the table they’d claimed.

    “I thought we were laying low,” Miguel teased Tulio.

    “All I wanted to do was play a little game of dice,” Tulio defended himself. “ I wasn’t even going to use my lucky dice.”

   Tulio patted the pocket where he’d stashed his dice, then hesitated. He quickly patted his other pockets, but the dice were gone! 

   Before he could say anything, it occurred to Tulio why Miguel was so smug. He held out his hand, and Miguel returned the dice. 

   Milo looked between them. “Really? What did you do, Miguel? Are we going to have to run?”

   “Don’t be dramatic,” Miguel said, laughing. “I bet the dice, I didn’t use them.”

   “You bet my dice?” Tulio demanded.

    “I didn’t lose them, now did I?” Miguel asked. “I used them for my wager, that's all.”

    “So, how much did you win?” Tulio asked, ignoring Milo dropping his head on the table in a dramatic show of exasperation.

    “No money,” Miguel said. “I guess they didn’t want to bet money for dice. I got this instead.”

   Tulio looked at the little disk Miguel held out. It had a thin metal cover and a cord through a hook on top. Milo tilted his head, then lifted it.

    “Oh, a compass,” Milo said. “Hey, that might come in handy later.”

   Miguel just looked more smug. 

    “But you still shouldn’t gamble,” Milo said. “If you’d lost the dice, what would you have gambled next? Your boots?”

   “I’ve done that,” Miguel said.

   “ Lost them and I had to win them back, ” Tulio added.

   The conversation ended when someone sat at their table. Tulio looked warily at the grizzled man in a dark coat and captain’s hat. 

   He pointed at the copper Tulio still had sitting on the table and said something. Milo responded, looking suddenly wary.

    “What’s wrong?” Tulio asked.

    “Uh, he…” Milo smiled awkwardly, “He knows where this coin came from.”

   “My pocket,” Tulio said, returning the copper to said pocket.

   Milo shrugged and said something to the man. The two went back and forth for a bit, then Milo suddenly got excited and said the coordinates he’d been repeating all evening. The captain gave Milo a strange look, but at least he didn’t laugh or sound mocking when he spoke.

    “Ohhh,” Milo said, drawing the sound out. “That’s why everyone laughed.”

   “Why?” Miguel asked.

    “The coordinates I’ve got for the gate is a section of ocean that everyone believes is cursed.”

   Now it was Tulio’s turn to drop his head to the table.

    “I guess a lot of boats sink unexpectedly around there,” Milo said. He spoke to the captain, then hesitantly said, “Nobody knows why. Sometimes the area is safe to pass through, and sometimes all ships are mysteriously sunk and there’s never been any survivors.”

   There was a moment of silence.

    “Sounds right,” Miguel said.

    “It does?” Milo asked.

    “Sure,” Tulio said, lifting his head. “If the city was easy to reach, it wouldn’t be a myth.”

   “That’s a good point,” Milo said slowly. He took a breath. “But I still want to go.”

   “You’re crazy,” Tulio informed him. “And how are you planning to get there now?”

   “Tomas said he’d take me. He’s got a submarine with his ship.”

   Well, that was convenient.

    “And he’s not concerned about his ship being destroyed?” Tulio asked.

   “ It’s actually been awhile since there was a wreck,” Milo said cheerfully, before trailing off, “Of course, that could be because nobody goes out there anymore.”

   Tulio glanced at Miguel, already knowing he’d be ready to take Tomas up on his offer. He sighed, but asked, “What does he want in return?”

   “Your copper.”

   Tulio raised an eyebrow. “My copper? To go out into a part of the ocean that might lead to us all dying? That’s it?”

   “Your copper is four hundred years old and in almost perfect condition,” Milo pointed out. “Do you have any idea how much that would be worth in this time?”

   “Huh.” 

   Tulio took out the coin and pretended to study it in thought. If he agreed too quickly, Tomas would become suspicious and either change his mind or push for information. 

    “I’ll figure something else out if you don’t want to go anymore,” Milo said.

    “That’s not what I’m thinking about. Can Tomas understand us?” Tulio asked.

    “No.”

   “Good. Pretend you’re trying to convince me.”

   Milo’s brows furrowed. “Convince you of what?”

   “To accept his deal,” Tulio said, crossing his arms and leaning back.

    “I don’t get it,” Milo said.

    “Come on, Tulio, don’t keep him in suspense,” Miguel teased.

    “I’m not agreeing so easily,” Tulio said.

    “Come on,” Miguel wheedled, “You’re the one with the coin.”

   “Don’t think I don’t know about the two coppers you still have in your pockets.”

   “Oh, yes, because one four-hundred year old copper isn’t odd enough. Nobody would ever be suspicious of three of them!”

   “Unless he thinks we found our own treasure.”

   “And if we found our own treasure, we wouldn’t need Tomas’ ship!”

   “But we do, so could you stop pretending we’re not going!”

   Tulio and Miguel’s voices rose, grabbing the attention of the people in the tables around them. Tulio briefly wished he and Miguel had swords; it had been too long since they sparred.

   Tulio mock glared at Miguel, then raised his hands in seeming defeat. He smiled at Milo’s shocked expression.

    “I told you to not be concerned if Miguel and I start throwing fists at each other,” Tulio said. He reached into his pocket and took out the copper. “That also applies to verbal fights. Tell Tomas we accept his offer.”

Chapter Text

   “Milo, my friend, you’re positively green.”

   Milo clutched the railing, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the horizon. “I know.”

    “Did you know you would get seasick?” Miguel asked. He sounded sympathetic, at least. Tomas had just laughed when Milo first lost his breakfast an hour after leaving the docks.

    “Never been on the sea,” Milo said. He took a deep breath, and the nausea churning in his gut briefly eased. “Are we almost there?”

   Miguel looked at the sky. Milo had forgotten to show him how modern clocks worked, and Miguel most often guessed how late in the day it was by the sun.

    “Looks about midday,” Miguel said. “We should be there soon. Are you sure you want to get into a submarine?”

    “I think it’ll be easier down there.”  

   Milo swallowed thickly, wondering why his mouth tasted like carrots; he hadn’t even eaten carrots on the three-day voyage. He turned and leaned against the railing.

   Tomas’ ship was relatively small. He had only two men on his crew besides himself. The captain had explained that he’d come into a small fortune late in life, and had spent it on a submarine, hardly the strangest purchase he could have made as far as Milo was concerned. He spent most of his time giving rides to rich, curious folks who wanted to see the bottom of the bay. 

   The submarine was tucked away in the hold. Tomas had shown it to them on the first morning -Tulio had insisted on it before handing over the copper- with the promise of showing them in more detail on the day they reached their destination.

   Milo pushed off from the wall. He hadn’t eaten all day, so he could -hopefully- avoid throwing up again when it came time to search. Of course, it didn’t help that his stomach was also churning in excitement. They were so close!

    “Where’s Tulio?” Milo asked.

    “Looking at the engines again,” Miguel said.

   Milo smiled. When Tulio wasn’t learning Atlantean, he was in the engine room, watching the engineer. Charles had long since given up on shooing Tulio away.

   Miguel, on the other hand, seemed content to leave the running of the ship to the crew. Most of the time, he was perched on the bow or taking care of Altivo. He didn’t seem too interested in reading Atlantean, but he liked to speculate on the meaning of the pictures.

   Milo went to the cabin he shared with Miguel and Tulio before pulling the Journal out of the inside pocket of his coat. At Tulio’s suggestion, Milo kept the Journal with him at all times and never took it out around the crew. He absently flipped to the page about the gate to Atlantis and pulled out the sketch Tulio had made. 

   Tulio learning Atlantean had led Milo to looking more closely at the text to help Tulio understand what he was reading. Between their efforts, the three of them had a pretty clear picture of what they were looking for.

   After a moment, Milo replaced the sketch and put the Journal away. Milo doubted the crew of Tomas’ ship cared about the Journal, but had to admit that the Journal was worth a lot of money if the right person saw it. And the three of them had, at some point, come to the silent and collective decision to find Atlantis alone.

   Milo got halfway to the door before a sudden wave of nausea made him gag. He clamped a hand over his mouth and waited for it to pass. Miguel watched sympathetically.

   Once he no longer felt like throwing up, Milo and Miguel continued out of their cabin and along the halls until they reached the ship’s small bridge. Tomas turned from the wheel as he did.

   “Ah, Milo, I was about to come looking for you,” Tomas said. “Take the wheel, Eddi. I’m going down to the hold.”

   “To see the submarine?” Milo guessed hopefully.

   Tomas nodded as he passed. The older man walked with a limp, but it didn’t slow him down any. Milo had to jog to keep up on their way to the hold. 

   Along the way, they stopped at the engine room. Tomas rapped on the open door, drawing Tulio and Charles’ attention.

   “Come on, Tulio,” Tomas said, waving to him.

    “Where are we going?” Tulio asked, following.

    “To see the submarine,” Milo said.

    “Finally,” Tulio grumbled. “I was starting to think he was lying about the submarine.”

   “But you saw it,” Milo said.

    “I saw a big metal machine,” Tulio stated. “That doesn’t mean it was actually a submarine.”

   Tomas unlocked the door to the hold and threw it open. Milo stared at the submarine, still awed by it.

   The submarine was roughly the size of two trucks end-to-end. Glass windows revealed a cockpit with four seats and a bench. The center of the submarine had two doors swung upward on hinges, one door being the entrance and the other opening to a small hold area with two more benches. A massive coil of fabric hosing rested on the floor near the submarine’s tail and a clamp held the machine over a hatch on the ship’s floor.

   Inside the submarine’s hold was half of the trio’s supplies. Before leaving, they’d all agreed that it would be wise to bring supplies in case they had to do some searching for Atlantis. Using another one of Altivo’s horseshoes, they’d bought enough food for two months, in addition to tents, blankets, two more sets of clothes for Miguel and Tulio, rope, and climbing tools. 

   After a moment, Milo noticed something odd about the submarine. “Where are the air tanks?”

   “Don’t need them,” Tomas said. “They would normally be stored in the back half of the submarine, but I can get more passengers in by leaving them out.”

   “So, how do we breathe?” Milo asked.

   Tomas pointed to the tubing. “Fresh air is pumped into the submarine by engines inside the ship, and stale air is pumped out.”

   “So, uh,” Milo rubbed his neck, “What if those tubes… break?”

   “Then water will flood the submarine, sinking it, and we’ll drown,” Tomas said, then added cheerfully, “But that won’t happen, so don’t worry about it!”

   Milo wasn’t sure what his face did, but Tulio nudged his elbow and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

    “Not much, just that if something tears those tubes, we’ll drown,” Milo said.

    “So, let’s not run into any rocks,” Miguel suggested.

   Tulio closed his eyes and shook his head.

    “Last chance to change your mind,” Milo said. 

   “I’m starting to think you’re the one who doesn’t want to go down there,” Tulio said.

   Milo raised his hands, smiling sheepishly. “No, it’s not that! I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” 

   “Well, you’re not,” Tulio said. “Let’s go.” 

   “Mr. Whitmore.”

   Mr. Whitmore looked up from the newspaper. “Helga.”

   “We might have found Milo.”

   Mr. Whitmore leaped to his feet. “Really? Where is he?”

   “There’s a port near here,” Helga said, not sounding particularly happy about the development. “Three men were looking for captains with a submarine.”

   “Three?” Mr. Whitmore repeated.

   “Three. I’ve got a vague description of the two others, but they were standoff-ish and irritable when anyone tried to talk to them. The only person anyone remembers seeing them talk to is Milo, and he didn’t look happy anytime he did.”

   Mr. Whitmore groaned. As fervent as he’d been over the years to get an expedition to find Atlantis, Milo couldn’t have been gone for more than a couple days before he realized he needed a proper crew. Unless for some reason these two men were strangers on the street that Milo had enlisted at some point, they were more likely to be part of a larger crew, shadowing Milo to make sure he hired a ship. Though why they’d have Milo do the hiring was beyond Mr. Whitmore, unless Milo was withholding the coordinates from them. It was a bold idea, but dangerous.

   “He hasn’t been seen since,” Helga went on while Mr. Whitmore again questioned the wisdom of leaving the Journal in the museum, “But I have coordinates for where he was headed. We can be on the ship and on our way in two hours.”

   “Not yet we can’t,” Audrey said, pushing the door open.

   Mr. Whitmore raised an eyebrow at the eavesdropping trio. Vinny cleared his throat and fiddled with a clock while Mole became very interested in the floor, but Audrey was unrepentant.

   Mr. Whitmore smiled. He liked the girl.

   “Why not?” Helga asked.

   “The sub isn’t ready,” Audrey said. “The boilers have been overheating and we can’t find the problem, and the launch hatch keeps jamming. Plus Mole’s digger needs some tuning since he dropped it off that cliff last time.”

   “Through the cliff,” Mole muttered. “ Through the cliff. It was only a measly twenty feet; it’s been dropped from higher.”

   “Exactly why we’re repairing it every couple of months,” Audrey said.

   “Those can be finished on the go,” Mr. Whitmore said. “Helga, gather the crew and get everyone loaded. Oh, and send Jenkins to see me.”

   “The chief’s busy trying to figure out the boiler problem,” Audrey said. “What did you need done? I’ll take care of it.”

   “Just send Jenkins,” Mr. Whitmore said irritably. “He was having problems with one of his engineers, and I want to ensure that everything has been sorted out before we leave.”

   Audrey nodded and filed out with the others, closing the door behind her. Mr. Whitmore leaned back to wait for his old friend, fervently hoping that the request he was about to make would prove to be unnecessary in the end.

   Milo stared, wide-eyed, at the stone columns around the submarine. They’d been riding for hours with Tomas at the wheel, but Milo couldn’t get over the twisting stones and colorful fish darting among them. He watched a shark meander through the water nearby, no longer worried about it biting through the air tube, which Tomas had assured them was sturdier than it looked.

    Thunk.

   Milo turned in the seat, grinning. Miguel was rubbing his forehead, having knocked his face against the glass as he tried to look below the submarine for the tenth time in the last hour. In the front seat beside Tomas, Tulio was staring out the window in front of him, feet clamped together and arms crossed in a clear effort to avoid leaning sideways and hitting the glass with his own head. His forehead was already bruised.

    “This is…” Miguel stopped rubbing his head, distracted by something outside. “Tulio, look at-”

   Thump!

   Milo laughed and turned back around. Tomas glanced back, grinning. He was proud of the submarine, and didn’t seem to mind that they’d spent half a day searching without result. 

   After another half hour of searching, Tomas declared that the straight back of the pilot’s chair was hurting his back and it was time to head back. Milo stifled his disappointment as he nodded.

   Milo scanned their surroundings as Tomas piloted the submarine toward the ship. He didn’t spot anything new -well, besides fish- by the time they surfaced in the hold. Milo climbed out with the others, his shoulders sagging.

   Chitters came from the hall, bringing Milo’s head up as Ladron skittered into the hold. He was holding half an apple, the apple’s source quickly becoming clear as hooves clattered on metal. Milo winced at the squeal Altivo’s hooves made as he skidded to a clumsy halt. He muscled his way through the narrow doorway and clomped after Ladron, who squeaked and hid behind Miguel’s feet.

    “Aw, Altivo, it’s just a bit of apple,” Miguel said through his laughter.

   Altivo looked about as offended as a horse could get, but there wasn’t room for him to get to Ladron without knocking Miguel into the water. As if sensing this, Ladron quickly gobbled down the rest of the apple, then jumped into the submarine and scrambled out of sight.

    “He’s not going to chew on anything in there, is he?” Milo asked Miguel.

   Tulio was the one to answer, though. “As long as it’s attached to something and not food, he won’t care about it.”

    “That’s a fine horse,” Tomas commented. “Not many horses would take to walking through a submarine as well as he has.”

   “I think Miguel and Tulio has taught him a few tricks,” Milo said, smiling.

   Altivo edged past Miguel and peered into the submarine. He lifted a hoof, hesitated, then stretched out and put it inside the submarine. The clamps were holding the submarine in place, so it didn’t wobble. Encouraged, Altivo stepped halfway into the submarine!

    “Hey, Altivo, a submarine is no place for a horse!” Miguel scolded, grabbing Altivo’s mane to pull him backward.

   Milo winced, but Tomas just laughed. 

   “He acts like he’d like a ride,” Tomas chuckled.

   Milo tilted his head. “Miguel, would Altivo actually ride in the submarine?”

   “Oh, probably. He’s ridden everything from ships to rowboats to turtles!”

    Milo blinked. “He rode a what?”

   “A giant turtle. El Dorado has big canals running through the city, and traveling by turtle is pretty common.” 

   Tomas raised an eyebrow at the “El Dorado,” but otherwise didn’t comment. Miguel had mentioned the hidden city several times and Milo, helped out by Tulio, had claimed to Tomas and his crew that Miguel just liked mythical cities.

   Milo sometimes wondered how the crew would react once the trio revealed that they were instrumental in the finding of Atlantis. Milo hoped they’d be too happy to be upset over the small lies he’d had to give to cover their true intent. While Milo wanted to tell Tomas the truth of their mission, Tulio insisted that they couldn’t trust just anyone. Miguel had agreed, so, outvoted, Milo kept their secret.

   “Altivo’s ridden in the ship, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t ride in the submarine,” Milo said, a bit awkwardly avoiding Tomas’ plain curiosity.

   Altivo snorted and climbed fully inside.

    “Altivo, the apple is long gone,” Tulio said.

    “It’s the principle, Tulio,” Miguel said.

   Tulio rolled his eyes, then got back into the submarine. Smiling, Miguel followed. Stepping to the side, Milo saw Altivo was standing over the bench, apparently just realizing how small the cockpit was. 

   He’d be able to get back out, Milo knew. Once, on their way to the bay, Altivo had gotten curious about what was below decks of the steamboat and had gone down. He’d found out the hard way that the area below was too narrow for him to turn around, and it had taken Miguel an hour to coax him into going up the stairwell backwards .

   “I don’t suppose you three want to keep looking,” Tomas said.

   “I’d search all day if we could,” Milo said.

   “Good.” Tomas nodded toward the submarine. “Tulio will pilot.”

   Milo’s mouth fell open. “T-Tulio? Drive the submarine?”

   Tulio hadn’t even heard of submarines a week ago, and now Tomas was wanting him to drive one?

   “Do you not trust him to drive?” Tomas asked.

   “He doesn’t know how,” Milo said.

   Tomas shook his head. “Weren’t you paying attention to who was driving down there?”

   Milo hesitated from promptly saying he had been. He’d been pretty focused on the outside of the submarine.

   “Tulio is clearly curious about these machines,” Tomas said, gesturing to the submarine and ship as a whole. “So I offered him the wheel. Let me tell you, Tulio is a natural!”

   Milo chuckled a bit, mostly in surprise. Tulio? Drive a submarine? But he must have done a good job if Tomas was offering to let Tulio drive again.

   Milo shook himself from his thoughts. “Yes, yes!”

   Tomas nodded with a smile. “I thought you would. Go on, then.”

   “Aren’t you coming?” Milo asked when Tomas moved toward the door.

   “I’m folded like a pretzel by now,” Tomas said, waving his hand. “You three have an hour in the submarine before we pull you back by the air hose. Radio if you run into trouble.”

   “Okay, thanks!” Milo called, darting into the submarine. “Miguel! Tulio!”

   “Altivo will be out soon,” Miguel said without looking at him.

    “That’s not what I was going to say,” Milo said. “Tomas said the three of us could take out the submarine for an hour! Tulio, I didn’t know Tomas showed you how to drive it.”

   Tulio shrugged, a dismissive look on his face. “I don’t understand how it works yet, but the… wheel?”

   “Controls,” Milo supplied.

   “The controls aren’t complex,” Tulio said. 

   But there wasn’t any missing the satisfaction in Tulio’s face when he sat in front of the controls. He didn’t even comment on Ladron crouching near his feet.

    “Once we get Altivo out, we can go,” Milo said.

   Altivo snorted and twitched his ears. Primly lifting his head, Altivo folded his legs under him. He’d somehow managed to perfectly balance himself on the bench.

   Miguel perched on the corner of the bench. “Why wait? Let’s go now!” 

   “Okay, but we might have some explaining to do when we get back,” Milo said, shrugging. He was too eager to keep searching to argue.

   Milo sat in the seat beside Tulio. Tulio flipped a switch that closed the door, then lowered the submarine under the water with ease.

   Tulio pulled the nose of the submarine up and moved slowly forward, following along the edge of the shadow of Tomas’ ship. Fish scattered before them and strands of seaweed waved in the ocean currents, but that was all Milo saw.

   Milo stared so hard at the sandy ocean floor that his eyes began to ache. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then replaced his glasses. He looked out the window, then startled.

    “Tulio, do you see that?” 

    “What?” Tulio asked, stopping the submarine.

   Milo pointed. “There’s something poking up there. It doesn’t look like a rock, I don’t think.”

   “I see it.”

   The submarine edged closer. Startled fish sped away, swirling up eddies of sand. Milo waited impatiently for the sand to settle, then lurched forward with a gasp.

   Two pieces of algae-covered boards arched out of the sand!

    “Part of a boat?” Miguel asked.

    “Maybe,” Milo said, trying not to get too excited. “Keep going, Tulio.”

   The submarine moved forward. More pieces of the ship began to appear, then Milo spotted a whole rowboat. Beyond that was a rubber dingy. The ocean floor dipped, and hidden from view was a ship older than even Miguel and Tulio’s time!

    “Milo,” Miguel said, sounding more subdued than Milo had ever heard, “Look!”

   Milo lifted his gaze, then could only stare. More ships rose from the sand, some nothing more than rotten skeletons. A metal ship was mostly buried. A carved mermaid figurehead rose from the sand, perfectly intact, beside what looked like a stone hammerhead shark.

    “There’s ships here from every era,” Milo muttered in awe.

   Milo couldn’t even begin to guess as to how many ships laid in the sand. The variety itself awed him and, for a moment, Milo forgot their mission.

    “What sank these ships?” Tulio asked into the uneasy silence.

   Milo looked around. Stone columns rose from the sand, multiplying in number the further they went, forcing Tulio to slow down to avoid snagging the air hose on any of them. The columns were tall, but not tall enough to pierce the hulls of ships. Besides, how could so many ships be so careless as to run into the columns?

   Suddenly remembering their mission, Milo pulled out the Journal. There hadn’t been any mention of wrecks in the Journal, but it did mean they were at the supposedly cursed coordinates.

   A strange noise reverberated in the cockpit. Milo winced at the high pitch. Was it the sound of the submarine’s engine, echoing off the rocks a dozen times over?

    “Tulio, Milo, look,” Miguel said, reaching between them to point.

   Milo squinted. Miguel was pointing at a metal ship amongst the wrecks. Why? Maybe he hadn’t ever seen a metal ship until this one.

    “There’s something here,” Tulio muttered. “Can’t you feel it?” 

   Milo rubbed his arms. Yes, he felt as though he was being watched, but what was there in the water beside the empty wrecks? Not even fish were…

    “Guys!” Miguel yelled, his voice pitching upward, “Look what happened to that ship!”

   Miguel was pointing insistently at the metal ship. Or, not a ship, but half of one. The center of the ship gaped open, the edges sharply crumpled like aluminum pinched between fingers. But what in the world could crush metal like that?

   The odd echo was replaced with a clicking noise, and Milo went cold.

    “I think your Atlantean pet is still here,” Tulio whispered.

   Milo’s eyes darted to him. Tulio lifted a hand to shakily point. Wanting to do anything but, Milo slowly turned.

   Red eyes glowed in the shadows beyond the searchlights of the submarine. They vanished in a flurry of clicks.

    “Stop the submarine,” Milo whispered.

    “I think getting out of here as quickly as possible is our best shot,” Tulio whispered back.

    “Why are we whispering?” Miguel asked, also in a whisper.

    “There’s a good chance that thing has extremely sensitive hearing,” Milo continued to whisper. “It might not be able to hear us inside the submarine, but the submarine’s engines are really loud, so stop the submarine before it decides we’re a threat.” 

    “Not if that thing plans on eating us,” Tulio argued.

   “If we’re lucky, it’s just curious and will leave us alone,” Milo whispered. 

   The clicks faded, leaving them with no indication of where the creature had gone.

    “Yes, good plan, that’s a very good plan,” Miguel whispered. “But there’s nothing alive down here for a reason. That thing has either eaten them or chases off anything in its territory.” 

   “So stop moving and make us look dead,” Milo hissed.

    “So it can just scoop us up?” Tulio challenged.

   Milo opened his mouth, but a massive tail flashed by. He clamped his mouth shut as he watched the thing pass. The flood lights lit up part of its body briefly. What Milo could see was darkly scaled and bigger than any ship he’d ever seen. 

   Their submarine suddenly felt very small.

    “That’s bigger than Tzekel-Kan’s jaguar,” Miguel said.

   A rumbling sound shook the submarine. Milo thought it sounded very much like a growl.

    “Great, now it’s offended,” Tulio said. “Listen, if I empty the ballast tanks now, we’ll shoot to the surface.”

   “And catch this thing’s attention and lead it right to Tomas’ ship,” Milo countered.

   “I’m not sacrificing myself down here,” Tulio said.

    “I’m not suggesting that, but there’s no sense in rushing to the surface so it can just kill us there,” Milo said. “Just go back the way we came, slowly.”

    “There’s one problem,” Tulio whispered. He pointed up. “Tomas doesn’t know what’s going on.”

    Milo gulped, then cautiously reached forward to turn on the radio. He said into the microphone, “Stop the ship.”

   “You found what you were looking for?” asked Tomas’ cheery voice, loud enough that everyone winced.

    “How…” Miguel trailed off, too busy eyeing the shadows in the water to finish.

   “Uh- no. No, something found us.” Milo’s eye was caught by the air hose trailing by. He hissed, “Stop the ship!”

   “What’s down there?” Tomas asked.

   “I don’t know, but it’s big,” Milo whispered.

   “Well, get up here, boy!”

    “Yeah, um…” Milo clicked off the radio and weakly said to Tulio. “Up, then?”  

   “We don’t have much choice now,” Tulio said grimly. “Everyone, get ready to hold your breath.”

   Milo moaned at the grim statement. He looked down at a sudden pressure around his ankle, and found Ladron clinging to him. He had a sudden urge to pick up the armadillo and hug him.

   The submarine crept forward. The submarine was eerily quiet, aside from a few ominous clicks from outside. Milo was barely breathing.

   Metal shrieked and the submarine jerked to a halt. Everyone yelped with shock and fell forward, the engines whining when Tulio slammed into the controls. Altivo squealed when he jammed between the bench and seats. Miguel scrambled out of the way of his flailing hooves while Altivo got himself righted. Milo sat up and found Ladron curled up on his lap.

    “Holy ship,” Miguel said in a strangled voice.

   Milo looked up and nearly fainted.

   A massive red eye peered into the window of the submarine. The eye itself was bigger than their submarine. The eye seemed scratched and oddly glowing, and the eyelids were circular, closing around the eye in a rotating manner of overlapping bits…

    “It’s a machine!” Milo squawked, falling backward against his seat in shock.

   The eyelid rotated further closed, as if the mechanical beast was squinting at them. In one sudden motion, it tossed them aside. 

   Milo’s head hit the seat at the toss, then smacked into the wall when the submarine jerked to a halt. He shook off the flashing stars across his vision, scrambling to stand. Halfway to his feet, the submarine lurched and Milo fell again. The cockpit filled with yelps and squeals -only about half of them from the animals.

   “ It’s got the air hose!” Miguel yelled.

    “Up, Tulio! Go up!” Milo yelled.

    “What do you think I’m doing?!” Tulio shot back.

   Milo twisted. Tulio was wrestling with the controls, but he couldn’t stand up long enough to get the submarine straightened. The floodlight weaved outside, knocked from its perch when the beast grabbed them. Milo caught glimpses of the beast's body and the air hose snagged in the scales on its back. The beast’s claws snapped dangerously close to the submarine, but they were stuck out of range of its eyes, apparently.

   The submarine bucked with the beast’s thrashing. Milo fought a wave of nausea as the beast tried to shake them off. 

    “Don’t you dare throw up!” Tulio ordered.

   Tulio wedged himself into the pilot’s seat and braced his feet. Gripping the controls, he pulled them back, then twisted the submarine. Milo’s vision spun, but the submarine suddenly evened out. 

    “Okay, we’re free, now to just-”  

   Tulio broke off as the beast swung around. Two oversized eyes glared at them from the shadows.

    “I think it’s angry,” Miguel whispered.

    “You think?” Tulio shot back.

   The beast lunged forward, and Tulio shot upward. Milo hugged his seat as the submarine spun, then straightened. It shot toward a clear patch of water and weaved around stone columns. The beast roared. Something crashed behind them, then the water became cloudy with sand. Milo’s stomach jumped into his throat as the submarine dove sharply.

    “It’s blocking the way to the surface! Where’s the gate?!” Tulio yelled. “The gate has to be around here, right? What’re the chances that that thing won’t fit through them?” 

    “Given our luck?” Miguel asked.

   “Never mind, just-”

   “There!” Milo cut in. “Look, a crevasse! That could be the entrance!”

    “But if we go into the gate in the submarine when the beast is chasing us, what happens if it cuts our air hose?” Milo asked. 

   The submarine twisted away from an oversized claw, then tilted toward the fractured sunlight above. Tulio pushed the submarine toward the sky, only for it to lurch to a hard halt a moment later. Everyone was again thrown from their seats.

   Milo’s face hit the console. Everything went red and jarringly loud, and Milo shook his head before realizing it wasn’t in his imagination. The cockpit light had turned red and an alarm was blaring. Tulio grabbed the controls and yanked himself to his feet. The submarine shot backward between giant lobster legs, and ice raced down Milo’s spine as he spotted a fat tube flopping between its claws. A deep rushing sound filled the cockpit.

    “The air hose has been severed!” Milo yelled.

Chapter Text

   Before anyone could do more than look up at the hole where the air hose attached, a loud thunk sounded. A metal cover slid smoothly over the hole. The blaring noise ended, but the light in the cockpit was still red.

    “Hold on!” Tulio yelled.

   Miguel braced his feet against the back of Tulio’s seat, but the submarine whipped to the side and he was sent tumbling along the floor. His head cracked painfully against the corner. Miguel shoved himself up to stare dizzily out the window. His vision was tilting a bit, but he was fairly certain they were dropping. 

    “Tulio, we’re supposed to be going up!” Miguel said.

    “That thing is blocking our path!” Tulio shot back.

    “The crevasse!” Milo said, pointing. “It should give us cover from that thing!”

   “Or we’ll be trapped in a hole,” Tulio said.

   Another twist of the submarine sent Miguel tumbling against Altivo. “Would you rather take your chances out here?”

   Tulio responded by diving. Milo snatched up the small machine Tomas’ voice had come from, and both exchanged frantic words.

   Tulio swerved around a stone column, then shot down a crevasse that suddenly parted the ocean floor. The crevasse looked massive to Miguel, but seconds after they entered, there was a loud crash and scrape of stones from behind. Tulio continued to push the submarine down the narrowing tunnel.

   Miguel laughed. “It’s too big! It can’t reach us, Tulio!”

   Miguel’s joy was short-lived, however. A blue bolt of light struck the crevasse wall beside them. Stones exploded outward, clattering against the submarine. Miguel flinched as one of the pieces of glass cracked.

   Tulio shoved the controls forward, rapidly picking up speed. More of the light hit the tunnel wall. The submarine was jostled with the nearest strikes, but kept going and gaining speed.

    “Floor! ” Milo squawked.

   Tulio yanked back on the controls and Miguel fell backward against Altivo. When he looked up, the submarine was angled upward. The broken light illuminated an empty tunnel, and there were no more of the light attacks. 

   Tulio slowed and, for a moment, nobody moved or spoke. The red light began to flash slowly. Miguel panted, his heart still racing, but air didn’t seem to be coming to him. 

    “Tulio?” Milo said slowly. “Tulio, move the submarine! Go up!”

   “Huh?” Tulio wheezed.

   Milo all but threw himself across the controls, thrusting the handle up. The submarine rushed upward, bouncing off the wall. Tulio swatted his hands away.

    “What’re you doing?” Tulio asked, struggling harder to breathe.

    “We have to get up!” Milo repeated. “Before we… before we run out of air!”

   Miguel blinked blankly, but Tulio grabbed the controls. The submarine vibrated concerningly as they raced upward.

    “There’s an air pocket up there, right?” Tulio asked.

    “There was,” Milo wheezed.

   Miguel coughed. Why was breathing so hard? It seemed like no matter how much air he sucked it, it wasn’t enough. He wobbled dizzily.

   Water splashed suddenly, and Milo slammed a hand onto the controls. The door opened with a cranky clunk. Cold, damp air filled the cockpit, and Miguel found he was finally able to breathe again. He panted as Milo stumbled out of his seat and toward the door.

    Splash!

   The splash, accompanied by a yelp from Milo, was enough to get Miguel to drag himself to his feet. He slumped over to the door and stuck out a foot.

   “ Wait! ” Milo sputtered. “Miguel! Guys, we’re in a pool in here!”

   Miguel blinked, then pulled back his foot. He chuckled awkwardly, wondering how he’d forgotten that they were literally in the ocean.

   “We made it?” Tulio asked, joining Miguel. He made a face. “Not very impressive, is it?”

   Miguel looked around. The floodlight hung limply down, illuminating only enough of the water for him to see Milo treading water nearby. He reached out a hand to Milo, and pulled him back into the submarine.

    “We need light,” Milo said, staggering down the short hall to the hold.

    “What happened?” Miguel asked.

    “A metal sea beast attacked us and drove us into the crevasse, what more is there to explain?” Tulio asked. “You were there.”

   “No, I mean…” Miguel fumbled for the words. “I was breathing, but it didn’t feel… right. It’s like I was… I don’t know, drowning for air, but there wasn’t any water in the cockpit.”

   Milo looked at him. “It was the air going bad.”

   Miguel frowned. “It went bad?”

   “Yeah, without any way to get fresh air, there wasn’t any oxygen to breathe.”

   “Oxi-what?”

   Miguel looked at Tulio. His friend seemed confused as well, but nodded.

    “What? Don’t tell me you understand,” Miguel complained.

    “Not entirely,” Tulio said slowly. “But it’s like you said. We were drowning in open air?”

   “Sort of,” Milo said. He waved a hand. “Guys, where did we put the flashlights?”

   “They’re, uhhh, well, they were beside the door,” Miguel said. “Since you said we’d need those first.”

   “Milo,” Tulio said, intercepting Milo with his arm, “You have a way to contact Tomas, right?”

   Milo clapped a hand to his forehead. “Tomas! I hope his ship escaped!”

   Dashing to the cockpit, Milo picked up the small machine he’d used earlier to hear Tomas’ voice. He started to speak, then frowned and squeezed it a couple times. The only sound it made was a light clicking.

    “What’s that mean?” Tulio asked.

    “It’s… broken.” Milo slowly lowered the machine. “We have no way to contact the ship. Do you think they-”

    “The beast got stuck in the crevasse behind us,” Miguel interrupted. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

   “Yeah… yeah, I warned them, I’m sure they left,” Milo said, nervously fiddling with his fingers.

   Tulio swatted his arm. “Whatever happened on the surface, we can’t change now. Come on.”

   The hold was a mess, though, thanks to the creature’s attacks. The trio searched through the chaos until they were able to pull out their packs and set them on the floor. 

   Each of the packs held two changes of clothing, torches, two days’ rations, and matches in waterproof tins. Strung on the bottom was a rolled blanket. In addition, Milo had his notebook and a camera whose purpose Milo had only mysteriously smiled about, and Tulio had his own notebook.

   The three of them carried their packs to the open door. Milo pulled out his flashlight first and turned it on. Everyone gasped as one, the noise echoing hollowly all around them. 

   Milo’s torch lit up a curved stone ceiling a hundred feet high, at least. The light reflected prettily all around them off the water. Milo lowered the light, illuminating a stony shore nearby. 

   Miguel left his pack on the floor, then jumped in. He shivered at the cold water, then paddled to the shore. He pulled himself out of the water and hopped to his feet and looked around.

    “Wait there,” Miguel said. “There might be a way for you to get over here without swimming and getting wet.”

   “I’m already wet,” Milo pointed out, shivering.

    “Shall we fly?” Tulio asked sarcastically.

    “No.” Miguel bent and picked up a board he’d seen in Milo’s torchlight. “You’ll walk!”

   The submarine wasn’t far from the shore, so Miguel laid his board down. Tulio and Milo walked carefully across, carrying the packs. Miguel and Tulio turned their torches on and added their lights to Milo’s.

   The stone floor swept out across from them to a high stone ceiling. A huge staircase was directly across from them, leading to a platform and tunnel that led out of sight. A few battered statues littered the floor, covered in moss and spiderwebs. 

    “Cozy,” Miguel said after a moment. His voice echoed back to him.

   Milo was already walking away, enthralled with something beside the steps. Miguel turned to get Altivo out of the submarine- he could see the horse was frozen inside the submarine. He took one step, then paused beside Tulio.

    “Tulio?” Miguel glanced at Milo, who was oblivious to them. “Are you alright?”

   Maybe it was the lighting, but Tulio looked very pale. Miguel was soaked and feeling chilled, but Tulio was visibly shivering.

    “Tulio?”

    “It feels like a crypt,” Tulio said, his voice so quiet it didn’t even echo.

   Miguel startled. Neither of them liked to be trapped -who did?- but it was worse for Tulio. Still, it had been years since being underground had affected Tulio so strongly.

    “It isn’t,” Miguel said.

    “Atlantean runes!” Milo yelled, his voice echoing so loudly that Tulio winced.

   Tulio rubbed his ear, then looked over at Milo. Miguel was relieved to see him focusing.

    “What’s it say?” Tulio asked, his voice betraying only a slight quiver.

    “It says… fish-face.”

   Miguel snorted. “Graffiti from… how long ago?”

   “About 8,700 years ago,” Milo said absently. “It’s carved into the side of the steps here. Oh, look at this statue!”

   Dashing away from the steps, Milo ran his light up and down a carved fish that was longer than he was tall. The tail was broken off, though a chunk of carved stone nearby looked like it was the missing tail.

   Miguel glanced at Tulio. He was steadier, but still looked queasy.

    “Milo,” Miguel said.

   Studying something on the side of the statue, Milo didn’t seem to hear him.

    “Milo,” Tulio said, his voice cracking.

   Milo looked quickly over. Tulio coughed into his fist. The cough was clearly fake to Miguel, but Milo quickly pulled out a canteen and held it out. Tulio took the canteen and took his time sipping.

   Milo looked around the cavern as if seeing it for the first time. The excitement faded a bit in his eyes and his shoulders fell.

    “Okay, well, we’re where we want to be,” Milo said. He turned and shined his light on the tunnel at the top of the steps. “Should we keep going?”

    “I mean, we came all this way,” Miguel said. Despite their damaged submarine, Miguel was excited to have found the entrance. “Why not?”

   “We don’t have much of a choice,” Tulio said, glancing at the submarine. “Milo, is this… Atlantis?”

   “No, just the gate,” Milo said. “The Journal describes a journey we’ll have to take first, remember?”

   “I kind of expected it to be on the surface,” Tulio muttered.

   Milo didn’t appear to have heard. He knelt and rubbed a hand across the floor.

   “ This doesn’t look carved,” Milo mused. “It’s so smooth. Maybe it was formed by water.”

   “If it was water, the steps would have been smoothed away, too,” Tulio pointed out.

    “It’s possible if enough people walked on it…” Milo looked around. “I’m checking out the tunnel.”

   “Let’s all go,” Tulio said promptly. When Milo looked at him, Tulio said, “The last thing we need to do is get separated.”

   “Hold on,” Miguel said. He ran back to their makeshift gangplank. “Altivo! Come on, boy, we’re going to explore!”

   Altivo snorted and didn’t move.

    “Altivo,” Miguel sighed. Then he smiled and reached into a pocket in his coat. “Oh, Altivo, look what I have!”

   Altivo glanced back, then scrambled to his hooves when he saw the apple Miguel was holding. He left the submarine and crossed the gangplank without hesitation. Miguel smiled and let Altivo take the apple from his hand.

    “Where was he keeping that?” Miguel heard Milo ask Tulio.

   Smiling, Miguel went up the gangplank and to the cockpit. He found Ladron hiding under the controls, and picked up the armadillo. He carried Ladron outside, and unceremoniously dumped him into Tulio’s arms. Tulio gave Miguel a sharp look, but didn’t put down Ladron.

    “He’s going to get lost running around here,” Tulio said at Miguel’s grin.

   Never mind that he was currently hugging a very confused Ladron.

    “Okay, let’s go check out that tunnel!” Miguel declared.

   The group tramped up the moist steps, slipping every few steps on the moss and puddles collected in the grooves worn in the center of the steps. Altivo grunted, then bolted past them. He skidded up to the top, then turned back with a self-important toss of his head.
   “Show-off,” Miguel said. 

   Milo slipped with a yelp. Miguel caught him with barely a glance, focused as he was on his own feet.

    “Eyes off the Journal, Milo,” Miguel said.

    “Sorry,” Milo said. He closed the Journal with a hilariously conscious effort and looked around. “It’s just… we found it.”

   “We found the gate,” Tulio said, logical as ever.

   “ I- yeah, but… this is still more than anyone believed possible!”

   They reached the top of the steps, where a massive tunnel loomed. As one, they all turned their torchlights into the darkness. A dark, smooth tunnel greeted them. Miguel couldn’t see anything beyond the torchlights.

   The three of them didn’t know how far Atlantis was from the gate, only that a journey would be involved to get there. As such, they’d packed food and camping supplies. The plan had been to set up a camp at the entrance or surface, then explore the tunnel leading to Atlantis at their leisure.
  Now, however…

   Miguel didn’t know machines, but he didn’t think there would be any returning to the surface in their submarine. And would anyone dare to explore the “cursed” waters when the five of them didn’t return? Tomas would probably assume they were dead, especially if…

    “Guys,” Miguel said, “Do you think Tomas and his crew are safe?”

   Milo hesitated, but Tulio spoke up.

    “Sure, why wouldn’t they be? We were the ones zipping around the water.”

   Milo smiled slightly as he followed Miguel’s gaze to the submarine. “I feel a bit bad about losing Tomas’ submarine…”

   “That’s what he gets for telling us that we’d die if the air hose tore,” Tulio scoffed.

    “You know,” Miguel said, “He probably tells everyone that, to keep his submarine safe.”

   “Huh?” Milo said, tilting his head.

    “No, Miguel’s right,” Tulio said, suddenly putting the pieces together. “If someone else is driving his submarine, all Tomas has to do is say that if anything happens to the hose on top of the submarine, everyone inside dies. Nobody would try to steal it.”

   “Or be reckless driving it,” Miguel said, thinking of Tulio’s driving.

   Tulio shook his head. “Would you rather I’d sat us down nicely so that thing could eat us?”

   “I don’t think it would eat us,” Milo said thoughtfully. “It was a machine.”

    “Steam engines eat coal and combustion engines eat gas,” Tulio said. He’d memorized that information almost instantly. “Who’s to say the giant cranky guardian doesn’t eat intruders for fuel?”

   Milo opened his mouth, then got an extremely excited look on his face. He pulled out his notebook and flipped to a random page to scribble something. 

   Tulio shook his head and started back down the steps.

    “Hey, Tulio!” Miguel yelped. “Don’t you want to go find Atlantis?”

   Tulio stopped and turned. “You’re forgetting the plan, Miguel. We set up camp first, then we start exploring.”

   “Yes, but that was when we thought we were going to be able to get out,” Miguel said.

   Too late, Miguel realized how poorly his timing had been. But Tulio just rolled his eyes and set down Ladron.

    “As long as we’re down here, we should start looking,” Tulio said. “Milo, you said the journey to Atlantis would take at least ten days, right?”

   Milo nodded as he absently flipped to another page full of notes. “There’s no telling how big each of the sections of the tunnel described in the Journal could be, but probably.”

    “We have half the food we bought in the submarine,” Tulio said, fully in planning mode. “While we wait for rescue, why don’t we just load up our supplies and start walking? We can go for fourteen days before we even have to think about turning back around. We’ll probably be at Atlantis by then.”

    “Yes, let's!” Milo said, lighting up like a small child being offered a kitten.

    “Then get down here,” Tulio said, “The sooner we’re ready to go, the sooner we can leave.”

   Leaving turned out to be a bit trickier than they’d initially thought. Since they all planned to have Altivo during the expedition, the plan had been that Altivo would haul a majority of their supplies in a cart. But even disassembled, the cart took up most of the hold. It had been left behind for a future trip to the entrance. 

   Tulio soon came up with the idea of taking apart a few of the crates holding their supplies, and using the boards and nails to connect several of the crates. It made a sort of rough sled Altivo could drag behind him as long as the ground remained smooth. Luckily, Altivo’s harness had been packed into the hold.

   Which led to another problem.

    “There’s no way Altivo can haul all the food he needs for a full month, and our food,” Tulio said, looking between the two stacks of food they’d sorted. “Not even just his food.”

   “There might be a way,” Miguel said.

    “He’s not eating our food, and besides, we still have the same problem,” Tulio said.

   Altivo snorted.

    “He only wants the apples,” Miguel said. 

    “And there’s the problem with water,” Milo added. “We were going to figure out how to transport enough water for the five of us for a month later, with smaller travels first…”

    “Guys!” Miguel yelled, waving his hands.

   Tulio and Milo looked at him. Ladron chittered from between his feet, then wiped his snout with damp paws.

     “Ladron found a stream of drinking water beside the stairs,” Miguel said.

    “Okay?” Milo said unsurely. “But we’ve got drinking water.”

   “But the stream came from the tunnel!” Miguel said. “As long as we follow the stream, we’ll have water!”

    Milo brightened and scribbled in his notebook, where he was listing the things they needed to pack from the submarine. 

   “ As long as the stream follows our path,” Tulio pointed out.

    “We’ll go as far as the stream does,” Miguel said. “If it ends, we can turn back around.”

   “Okay, then we’ll do that,” Tulio said. He thought for a moment, then looked again at Miguel. “You said you had a solution for Altivo’s food?’

   “Altivo does,” Miguel said, pointing.

   Everyone turned. Altivo was standing on the edge of the torchlight, munching and ignoring them. Clumps of moss fell from his lips. 

    “Of course!” Milo face-palmed. “We’re underground, surrounded by stone and water! There must be moss growing all over this place!”

   “Maybe,” Tulio said. He tilted his head. “But as long as there’s water, there’ll be moss.”

   Miguel smiled and crossed his arms proudly.

   “ Okay, so that’s water for everyone and food for Altivo and Ladron,” Milo said. “Now all we’ll need is our food, and that will be easy!”

   Miguel looked at their food supplies. Luckily, they’d packed the lightest and easiest to travel food first in the submarine. Dried beans, flour, dried meat, and sugar were the primary food supplies. It meant nothing but beans and meat on bread for the whole month but it would pack easily inside the crates for transport. In addition was a pot and a pan, along with eating and cooking utensils.

   Miguel picked up his pack. He’d added a cup along with the previous supplies, as had the other two. He carried a waterproof tin of matches, brushes for Altivo, and a tin of the “coco” Milo had introduced them to. Milo had the first-aid kit, as he was the only one who knew how to use everything inside. Tulio had a sewing kit, cloth patches, and a knife he’d convinced Milo would come in handy while they’d been in town. The tent would have to be left behind for the sake of weight, but if the path remained underground, the tent didn’t make much difference.

    “Okay, then, Altivo!” Miguel called. “Come over here, boy!”

   Altivo looked at Miguel, then the sled. He turned and walked over to the steps.

    “Altivo,” Miguel said warningly.

   Altivo twitched his tail, then trotted up the steps. Miguel’s shoulders slumped. Milo chuckled.

    “We might as well load the sled up there,” Milo said. “There’s no way Altivo could drag the sled up the steps.”

   “Nah, he’s not strong enough for that,” Miguel said, his voice echoing through the cavern.

   An offended whinny answered him. Miguel smiled as Altivo descended the stairs again and ran over to them. He positioned himself in front of the sled and tossed his head importantly.

    “Oh, so you’ve decided to help now, have you?” Tulio asked. “Hold still.”

   Miguel got Altivo harnessed, then attached the sled to the harness. Everyone quickly agreed to leave the sled empty until it was at the top of the stairs. When Altivo snorted his offense, Miguel soothed him by telling him that they didn’t want the supplies to fall out from bouncing up the stairs.

   Altivo dragged the sled to the top of the stairs, and the three men brought up the supplies and carefully loaded the sled again. Miguel turned his torchlight toward the tunnel.

    “Hold on,” Milo said. 

   Miguel and Tulio looked at him.

    “We might have enough batteries for all three flashlights for a full month,” Milo said. “But just to be safe, maybe we should use just one or two at a time.”

   “Good plan,” Tulio said. “You two, put your torches away for now. The tunnel is narrow enough for one torch to be enough.”

   Miguel nodded at the wisdom of the suggestion and put his torch away. He smiled as he glanced around the mossy tunnel, and to the side where water trickled by. He strode purposefully forward a few steps and thrust out a finger.

    “Let’s follow that trail!”

   “What trail?” Milo asked eagerly.

    “Don’t ask,” Tulio said.

    Miguel laughed and walked forward. A moment later, Tulio’s torch turned off, leaving Miguel striding confidently into the pitch black.

Chapter Text

   “We’re nearing the location,” Rourke said.

   “It’s about time,” Mr. Whitmore said, leaping from his seat to follow. “Lead on, lead on!”

   Rourke paused. “Lead on?”

   “To the sub!” Mr. Whitmore huffed. He waved his walking stick. “Shoo, go!”

   Rourke raised an eyebrow, but did as he was ordered. He walked slowly along the hall of Mr. Whitmore’s massive ship, listening to the small man follow.

   Mr. Whitmore had been acting odd since the Atlantis venture had begun. Well, more odd than normal. It was strange enough that he’d joined the crew on the ship. Anymore, Mr. Whitmore seemed to prefer pictures after the expedition over joining them.

   But since the Atlantis expedition had begun, Mr. Whitmore had become quiet. He spent a lot of time in his office on the ship. When Rourke entered the room, he could only describe the man as “brooding.” In years past, Mr. Whitmore had openly expressed his thoughts on the expeditions -on anything, really- but now he wouldn’t explain what had captured his attention.

   Rourke pushed his thoughts aside as they entered the hold of the ship. Or perhaps “hangar” was a more accurate term.

   Up above, suspended by massive chains and hooks, was the submarine for the expedition. Crew members in harnesses scurried across the surface like spiders, making last-minute adjustments for the submarine’s maiden voyage.

   Rourke paused and gazed up at it, locking his hands behind him. Soon, he’d be away from Mr. Whitmore and below the sea. Milo and whoever had taken him couldn’t be much further ahead, especially as reports had told them that they had taken out a single, relatively small ship with a single, two-roomed sub. Surely they couldn’t fit many people and supplies in that, slowing them down as multiple trips would have to be made for their expedition.

   “So, it’s ready?” Mr. Whitmore asked.

   “The crew is loading as we speak,” Rourke said.

   From below came the sound of Helga yelling at Vinny, who’d dropped another piece of dynamite. Rourke winced a bit. Dynamite on a submarine… that was just asking for trouble. And Vinny was hauling a large amount of other explosives as well. Hopefully Mr. Whitmore wouldn’t think it was odd.

   Audrey’s voice rose above the whine of machinery and shooting sparks. She was butting heads with Jenkins again, probably. The two of them were absolute geniuses and worked amazingly together… but all working together had to include a fair amount of yelling at each other as well.

   Rourke shook his head. As long as they were keeping the sub running, that was all he cared about.

   “Is something wrong?” Mr. Whitmore asked.

   Rourke smiled. “No, sir. Just listening to Audrey and Jenkins fight again. It’ll be a wonder if they don’t sink that sub from their yelling.”

   Mr. Whitmore laughed at the statement. He looked down, then sobered. Rourke tensed. Mr. Whitmore wasn’t a man who was solemn often, and Rourke was wary anytime it happened nowadays. He was too jumpy, he knew, but if Mr. Whitmore even suspected what he was planning…

   Mr. Whitmore began to descend the walkway toward the submarine. Rourke fell in step beside him, letting Mr. Whitmore have his silence. His own mind was wandering to what they might find below.

   “I’ll be going with you to Atlantis.”

   Rourke stopped cold at the statement. Mr. Whitmore stopped as well and turned. Rourke barely cleared the shock and frustration from his face in time. 

   “Why, Mr. Whitmore, I thought you swore off our expeditions years ago,” Rourke said, sounding carefully surprised and calm.

   Mr. Whitmore nodded seriously. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

   “Well, why now?” Rourke asked. “I don’t suppose Atlantis will be right at the ocean floor. All expeditions have some measure of walking and climbing, you know.”

   Mr. Whitmore lifted a bushy eyebrow. “I suppose you think I’m too old for such things, hm?”

   “Well, I mean, no, sir,” Rourke fumbled.

   Mr. Whitmore’s mouth gaped in a loud laugh. “Oh, you can say it! I’m an old man, after all.”

   “So…. forgive me for being blunt, but why do you want to go this time?” Rourke asked.

   Mr. Whitmore’s amusement faded. He looked at the floor, then up at Rourke.

   “I failed my old friend, Thaddeus, by not finding Atlantis in his lifetime. And now his grandson, sharing his same dream, has gone missing. I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to Milo. I dare say, Thaddeus would find a way to haunt me from the afterlife if Milo was hurt because I wasn’t there.”

   “It wouldn’t be your fault,” Rourke said.

   Rourke kept his voice level and tried to sound soothing. In reality, his mind was racing and it was all he could do to not grit his teeth while he spoke. 

   Mr. Whitmore, joining the expedition? Now, of all times? 

   “No?” Mr. Whitmore asked. “Thaddeus entrusted the Journal to me, and I’m the one who gave Milo the Journal in the most mysterious way possible. I should have taken him to my estate and given it to him there. I knew what a valuable object he was receiving!”

   Rourke didn’t react aside from a darting glance at Mr. Whitmore. So, he’d known where the Journal was all along? Why had he hidden it for so long, only to all but throw it away?

   “You’re used to how Thaddeus operated,” Rourke said. “He would have been rushing into the house as soon as he laid hands on it. He did, if I remember correctly.”

   Mr. Whitmore chuckled and shook his head. His expression turned pensive and wistful, probably remembering the old days when it had just been Thaddeus and Mr. Whitmore, before they’d compiled a crew of experts to aid them in their expeditions. 

   “Besides,” Rourke said, “If you’re worried about Milo, so are all of us! Most of the crew worked with Thaddeus before his untimely death. We were all fond of him, and want to see his grandson safely home. I’ll watch over him myself if I have to.”

   Mr. Whitmore chuckled again, though the sound wasn’t amused.

   “No, no,” Mr. Whitmore said. “I’ve made my decision, Rourke, and you know better than to argue with me.” He tapped the captain's hat sitting tilted on his head. “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”

   “Yes, sir,” Rourke said.

   Rourke didn’t move as Mr. Whitmore walked the rest of the way to the hangar floor. More than a few odd looks were thrown his way as he boarded the submarine. Sweet smiled and went over to Audrey, managing to extract the girl from the argument and hustle her aboard.

   Rourke sighed heavily. Leave it to Mr. Whitmore to complicate the biggest job he’d ever taken on. 

   “What’s going on?” Helga asked. She’d joined Rourke without him noticing, so distracted he was. “A last second check of the submarine by Mr. Whitmore?”

   “No. He’ll be joining us,” Rourke said.

   “That might… complicate things,” Helga said carefully.

   “Chances are, he’ll stay on the sub,” Rourke said. “If not, stick close to him. Someone needs to protect him from the dangers down there, you know.”

   Helga sighed heavily. Rourke’s mouth quirked up. He knew the order would feel a bit like babysitting the old man, but Rourke would have enough to handle without wondering where Mr. Whitmore was and what he was seeing.

   Rourke and Helga went their separate ways, snapping out orders for people to load up. They were leaving in an hour, and anyone who wasn’t on board would be left behind.

   After making sure his crew was aboard and trusting his sargeants to make sure all the soldiers were on board, Rourke boarded. He headed immediately to the bridge, where Mr. Whitmore was right where he said he’d be. Rourke hadn’t thought much of the seat installed in a central, raised platform in the center of the bridge, but now that Mr. Whitmore was perched on it, Rourke realized grimly that Mr. Whitmore had been planning on joining them for some time. But for how long, and why?

   Rourke shook his head. It had been a couple years since the last official expedition. Mr. Whitmore was probably just feeling nostalgic. And, as he’d said, guilty about the danger Milo was potentially in at that moment.

   Helga entered the bridge. Rourke gave her a hard look -she was supposed to be sticking with Mr. Whitmore- but was ignored. Helga checked with a few of the sailors, then nodded to Rourke and, after a split-second of hesitation, Mr. Whitmore.

   “We’re ready to dive.”

   Rourke glanced at Mr. Whitmore, who waved a hand at him to take command. Rourke linked his hands behind him.

   “Give the orders to dive,” he told Helga.

   Helga nodded, then turned to face the full bridge and snapped out orders that were echoed back as the officers passed them on. Metallic thunks came from overhead as the Ulysses was released from the clamps.

   The Ulysses submerged in a flurry of bubbles. Rourke felt the submarine sinking in the water and braced his feet against the rocking of the submarine. Crewmen piped up from across the bridge and their tinny voices rattled through the pipes. 

   Eventually, the voices subsided and everyone stood still, staring into the water. After a beat of silence, everyone cheered. 

   The submarine’s maiden voyage was underway.

   “Excellent! Magnificent!” Mr. Whitmore exclaimed, clapping his hands like an excited child. “Atlantis! Here we come!”

   “We’ll reach the coordinates we got from the dockworkers in six hours,” Helga said. 

   Rourke nodded. They had determined there was a chance of someone following them to Atlantis. A small one, given most people’s skepticism on Atlantis existing, but Mr. Whitmore’s crew had been on many successful expeditions over the years. If word had slipped out that they were after an actual legend… well, Rourke knew there were a few who would try and follow. As a precaution, they’d take out the submarine well ahead of time and would make a sharp turn to the north while the ship proceeded southeast.

   “The captain’s cabin is up there,” Helga went on to Mr. Whitmore. “Would you like to rest until we arrive?”

   Mr. Whitmore flapped an impatient hand at her. “What? You, too? Look, I might be old, but I don’t need an afternoon nap!”

   A bowman lifted a hand, not quite muffling a quiet laugh. 

   Helga stared at Mr. Whitmore for a moment, then excused herself quietly and walked out. Rourke watched her leave, then his attention was drawn back to Mr. Whitmore muttering to himself.

   “I was there when they designed the submarine and I know where the captain’s cabin is. Trying to push me around my own sub like a doddering old man.”

   “Mr. Whitmore, please, Helga meant nothing of the sort,” Rourke tried to calm the old man. “We’re all tired from the pace we’ve set to get here and the submarine ready on time. Most of the crew are going to be resting as we speak.”

   Mr. Whitmore ducked his head, looking abashed. “Oh, yes, Rourke. I suppose I shouldn’t snap at Helga like that. She’s only trying to be helpful, after all. You go on, Rourke. I can watch the bridge while you get your rest.”

   Rourke stared at the sly old man, then conceded with a nod. “Aye. Thank you, sir.”

   Rourke turned on his heel and left the bridge. All the way, he felt Mr. Whitmore’s gaze on his back.

   Once he was off the bridge and out of sight, Rourke scowled. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Whitmore was up to something… but what? If he suspected what Rourke planned upon finding Atlantis, he’d never have allowed Rourke onto the ship.

   Rourke shook his head at himself. Mr. Whitmore was a strange man, that was all. It was more likely that he was acting out to mess with Rourke. It certainly wasn’t the first time Rourke had lost in a game of words with Mr. Whitmore. He did love to talk circles around people.

   Deciding that Mr. Whitmore was clueless to the true intent of his mission, Rourke set out to find the rest of the crew. He wanted to inform them that Mr. Whitmore would be joining the expedition… and that nothing had changed.

   Some time later, Rourke walked toward the bridge. He was in a sour mood, as Mole had somehow managed to take over an entire room with his dirt and had chased off three of the soldiers who were supposed to bunk in the same room. Luckily, Sweet had stepped in. He was one of the few people who could work with Mole without getting bitten.

   Rourke made a mental note to check in with Sweet and make sure everyone was updated on their shots. The last guy Mole had bitten had gotten a weird swelling that had forced the expedition to end early.

   On top of that, he’d also learned that Jenkins wasn’t on the sub. He’d chosen to remain on the ship! Audrey insisted it wasn’t her fault, but most likely, the head engineer had gotten tired of arguing with her, no matter the results.

   Rourke sighed as he re-entered the bridge. Engineers!

   Mr. Whitmore was still in the chair. Rourke vaguely wondered if the man had left. Probably not, and he looked just as excited to be on the bridge as he had been before.

   Rourke turned to look out the main port. A smile spread across his face. Yes, he didn’t have much opportunity to enjoy nature, but the dark sea full of fish was a sight to behold.

   Helga walked up to his side and quietly reported. There were some adjustments being made to the equipment that still wasn’t completed. The vehicles had been loaded into the smaller subs in the hold, and adjustments were being done there. If need be, they could potentially be finished once they reached the entrance and unloaded.

   If they could be so lucky as to find the entrance so easily.

   Rourke’s smile faded as he remembered that morning. They’d come across a ship returning to port. The elderly captain, a man by the name of Tomas, had told them that he’d had three men -and a horse and armadillo for some reason- on board to go to the coordinates they’d been given at the docks. They’d taken his sub down when something had caused their air hose to tear. The man also claimed to have seen a massive beast in the water shortly after his submarine vanished, though Rourke suspected he’d seen a whale or something of the sort. 

   Rourke surveyed the ocean floor as it appeared through the gloom. This deep, the water was pitch-black. The floodlights on the outside of the sub lit up a fair amount of the ocean floor, but there was nothing unusual about it.

   “Sir,” said one of the pilots, “Look at that!”

   Rourke followed the point of his finger. Broken timbers littered the sand.

   “It’s an old wreck,” Rourke said.

   “Look at how it’s split,” the pilot persisted. “It looks like something crushed it!”

   Murmurs ran across the bridge. The crew entered at that moment. Vinny took one look at the wreck before offering his thoughts.

   “Something blew up that ship.”

   Rourke shook his head and repeated, “It’s an old wreck.”

   Nobody responded. Several of the pilots shifted uncertainly. Rourke felt another surge of annoyance. Someone had spread rumors of the “cursed” water to the sailors and soldiers. The encounter with Tomas had apparently solidified the theories in people’s minds.

   “Commander?” 

   Rourke looked at the speaker, then followed his pointing finger. Two more wrecks were illuminated. The first was little more than timber, but the second was intact enough that the gaping hole on the port side was clearly the cause of her sinking.

   “Looks like we’ve arrived,” Rourke said calmly. 

   “Lucky us,” Audrey muttered.

   The sub kept moving forward, passing over more and more wrecks. Before long, there were too many wrecks to see the ocean floor. Columns of stone appeared from the darkness, each column holding more wrecks on top. 

   Rourke looked slowly around. Wrecks and ruins didn’t faze him, but something felt very off about the water.

   “Where’s the fish?” Vinny asked.

   Rourke looked again. The dark water was absolutely empty of life. No fish swam and no plants grew anywhere in sight.

   “Could be all the wrecks buried the plant life and the fish didn’t stick around,” Sweet volunteered.

   Everyone seemed to give a collective sigh. Rourke glanced at Helga. Even she looked a bit spooked by the empty water.

   Rourke scowled and said, “Helmsman, begin the search pattern.”

   Helga snapped back to herself with a scowl. She glanced around and said, “Everyone, keep an eye out.”

   Most of the crew, soldiers, and sailors walked to the perimeter of the bridge to peer out of the giant orb of glass surrounding the bridge. Mr. Whitmore and Audrey left the bridge, climbing a ladder to one of the torpedo mounts.

   “What are we looking for?” a sailor asked after a few minutes had ticked by.

   “A giant beast,” Vinny said, widening his eyes and wriggling his fingers in a mock spooky manner.

   Rourke gave the man an unimpressed look. He was almost glad when Packard’s monotone drifted up from where she sat beside the hyrdophone with her mug of stale coffee full of old cigarettes.

   “Commander, I’m picking something up on the hydrophone. I think you should hear this.”

   “Put it on the speakers,” Rourke said.

   With a look of “it’s your funeral,” Packard flipped a switch on her console. From the tubes all around the bridge came a crackly, squealing sound. Rourke rubbed his ears at the grating sound as he and Helga descended the steps to Packard’s station.

   “What is that?” Rourke asked the bridge in general. “A pod of whales?”

   “Nuh-uh,” Packard droned. “Bigger.”

   Bigger than a whale or a pod of whales? The latter was absurd, yet the searchlights had just landed on the remains of a metal ship with a massive dent taking up half the hull. 

   “It sounds metallic,” Helga pointed out. She reached past Packard to fiddle with a knob. “It could be an echo coming off the rocks.”

   “You want to do my job? Go ahead,” Packard droned, leaning back.

   Helga glanced at her, then gave up on the knob. She and Rourke returned to the bridge, where they had a better vantage point. Rourke could feel the tension in the bridge building as the sound grew louder and louder…

   Then stopped.

   Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Rourke looked askance at Helga, who seemed more annoyed than spooked now.

   “Whatever it was,” Helga said with a careless shrug, “It’s gone now.”

   Rourke silently hoped so. “Helmsman, bring us about! Slow us down and tighten the search-”

   Rourke was interrupted when the entire submarine jolted to a hard stop, throwing everyone against railings and controls. Rourke thrust himself up and spun around, eyes scanning past the orb to figure out what they’d hit.

   “Watch it!” Helga snapped at the helmsman.

   “It wasn’t me!” the man yelled. He thrust out a finger. “Look!”

   The submarine’s stern jerked down, throwing everyone backward. Rourke managed to grab the railing, but everyone else hit the floor. As such, he was the only person to see the massive creature pass through the searchlights.

   Dark brown and scaly, the creature resembled a lobster, but bigger than anything Rourke had ever seen. It was practically a mountain!

   Rourke didn’t dare hesitate, though. He turned quickly to Helga, who was rubbing her jaw as she stood.

   “Tell Cookie to melt the butter and break out the bibs, I want this thing served up on a silver platter,” Rourke said.

   Helga glanced at the creature as it made another pass, already snapping orders. “Load the torpedo bays! Sub pod crews, battle stations!”

   The Ulysses was struck again, throwing everyone to the floor yet again. As Rourke hauled himself up, he glimpsed Audrey drop to the base of the ladder and race toward the back of the sub. 

   Rourke focused on the sailors and soldiers running toward sub pods. Fear was clear on their faces, and stark panic on some.

   “Steady, boys,” Rourke said into the intercoms. “Don’t panic.”

   Although, panicking was sounding more and more realistic as the creature snagged the Ulysses in claws bigger than the submarine. The whole of Ulysses jolted so hard that everyone was thrown from their seats. Red lights flashed and alarms blared.

   “Launch sub pods!” Rourke roared.

   “Subpods away!” an ensign, hands and feet braced on his crooked console, yelled.

   Rourke looked up. Twenty sub pods raced away from the Ulysses, then swung back around. He grabbed the intercom he’d dropped when he fell and gave the order to fire.

   Underwater missiles rained down on the creature. It flinched and gave a hollow, echoing roar. Lifting its head, the claws opened as the creature focused on the sub pods.

   “We’re free,” Rourke said. “All ahead full!”

   The Ulysses raced free, then turned at Rourke’s order. The sub pods had freed the Ulysses, but were paying the price. The creature's claws carelessly batted two sub pods away. One hit a stone column and exploded. The other drifted down, then drove slowly toward the cover of the rocks. The creature turned toward another cluster of sub pods.

   “Fire torpedoes!” Rourke ordered quickly.

   The torpedoes launched and struck the creature. Like the sub pods’ missiles, the torpedoes only slowed the creature and drew its attention. Rourke prepared to give the order to retreat, but the creature didn’t attack. Blue light crackled around the pincers on the corners of its mouth.

   “Dive!” Rourke bellowed, a second too late.

   Blue light tore through the water. The Ulysses was shoved to the side like it was nothing. The alarms blared louder and the submarine shook even after the attack ended.

   “Commander.” Packard’s monotone cut through the chaos of panicking sailors and officers frantically trying to regain calm. “It’s engineering on three.”

   Wanting to do anything else, Rouke flipped the intercom to the third channel. Audrey’s voice screamed at him, making him wince.

   “Rourke! We took a big hit down here and we’re taking on water fast! I don’t want to be here when it hits the boilers!”

   “How much time do we have?” Rourke asked with forced calm.

   “Twenty minutes, if the bulkhead holds,” Audrey said. 

   From somewhere toward the stern came the muffled sound of an explosion.

   “Better make that five,” Audrey said grimly.

   Leaving on the intercom, Rourke gave an order to the bridge at large. “You heard the lady. Let’s move!”

   “Packard, sound the alarm!” Helga yelled. Rourke didn’t hear her response, but Helga leaned over the railing and snapped, “ Packard! ”

   Packard’s voice filled the halls, sounding thoroughly bored as she stated, “All hands, abandon ship.”

   Already, power was failing throughout the Ulysses. The bridge crew rushed toward the hold, their path lit only by flashing red emergency lights. Helga reached the Aqua-Evac she and Rourke had been assigned to ahead of everyone else and began yelling immediately.

   “Move it, people! Sometime today would be nice!”

   Helga shoved Sweet ahead of her. Rourke was on her heels, sealing the hatch behind them.

   “Everyone, grab a seat and buckle in!” Helga continued to snap as she ran toward the cockpit of the Aqua-Evac.

   “Rourke!” Audrey, in a seat but unbuckled, grabbed Rourke’s coat. “Mr. Whitmore! I haven’t seen him since the creature showed up!”

   “He heard the call to abandon ship,” Rourke said. 

   “But he’s not here! ” Audrey said.

   “Lieutenant!” Rourke snapped over his shoulder. “Is everyone accounted for?”

   “All Aqua-Evacs are nearly loaded and ready to go!” Helga said, struggling with something near the console. “Last of the sailors from the torpedo bays are boarding now, with two others missing!”

   “And Mr. Whitmore?” Rourke asked, darting to the cockpit.

   Wrestling with the lever that released the Aqua-Evacs, Helga didn’t answer. Rourke felt a slam of alarm when he realized Jenkins hadn’t managed to fix the jammed lever. What had he been doing the whole time?!

   Another voice answered him over the intercom. “No sign of him, Commander!”

   “We’ve got a few minutes!” Audrey said, leaping for the hatch.

   Audrey was fast, but Rourke’s longer legs brought him to her side before she could leave. He roughly shoved her back toward the seats.

   “Stay here and wait for us,” Rourke growled.

   Rourke opened the hatch and leaped out. He ran out of the hold, silently cursing the old man for not obeying the order to abandon ship. Or, at the very least, being too slow about it. 

   A few steps down the shaking walkway, listening to the low rumble of explosions and seeing the creature dart past a window, Rourke almost turned back around. 

   But he ran onward. He passed the missing men, a sailor helping support a staggering engineer. Rourke shoved them toward the hold and kept moving, knowing they couldn’t launch as long as there was still time for Mr. Whitmore to get to an Aqua-Evac. And once that happened and Mr. Whitmore learned Rourke hadn’t done what he could to protect him -the entire crew, really, though the old man was now the only one missing- then he’d definitely never trust Rourke to watch out for Milo.

   The Ulysses tilted and Rourke, caught off guard, lost his balance and slammed into a wall. He shook the pain from his shoulder and ran onward, bursting into the bridge.

   And there was Mr. Whitmore. He laid at the base of a ladder leading to the torpedo bay at the back of the bridge. In the chaos of the attack, Rourke hadn’t noticed that none of the soldiers had climbed the ladder. Mr. Whitmore might very well have been the one firing the torpedoes, though, as the attack had caught them off-guard and soldiers hadn’t all had time to get to their posts.

   Mr. Whitmore looked up as Rourke stepped onto the bridge. He rose to his knees, looking dazed. He grabbed the ladder and struggled to use it to stand on one foot, the other twisted awkwardly under him. His cane was out of sight.

   “Rourke,” Mr. Whitmore said in clear relief.

   Rourke stepped toward him, wondering why he hadn’t called for help over the intercom. A glance told him a ruptured pipe spewing steam had broken the intercom tubes.

   Mr. Whitmore got upright, only to promptly crumple back to his knees. He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the sound of another explosion, then over at Rourke.

    The man was always jeopardizing the mission. It would be so much easier if…

   Rourke stopped. Mr. Whitmore’s eyes narrowed, and Rourke realized there wasn’t any shock in Mr. Whitmore’s face.

   “Rourke!” Mr. Whitmore called, thrusting out a hand, “Come on, man, the Ulysses isn’t going to hold for us much longer!”

   Rourke took a step.

   Backward.

   Everyone else was in the Aqua-Evacs. Soldiers, sailors, and engineers loyal to Rourke. 

   Except for Mr. Whitmore. He’d never approve of Rourke’s plan, and his power and influence over the expedition’s crew was strong enough to sway many of them if it came down to choosing between Rourke’s plan and Mr. Whitmore’s morals.

   “Rourke!” Mr. Whitmore yelled. “Come back here!”

   “Sorry, sir,” Rourke said with a sardonic salute, “But I’ve got a pod to catch.”

Chapter Text

   “Rourke!”

   Rourke closed the hatch to the bridge. For a second, he just stared at the handle. He’d once been so close to Mr. Whitmore and Thaddeus, sharing their love for adventure.

   Rourke pushed away from the hatch and ran, the floor shaking with explosions that were growing louder and more frequent. His friendship with the strange old men had ended years ago, when Rourke had realized just how valuable their finds were. He’d bided his time when Thaddeus died, then gradually became more bold as Mr. Whitmore had grown less and less nosy about the expeditions. He’d thought the man was long past interfering with the expeditions, but Mr. Whitmore had proven him wrong and, well, Rourke had run out of patience.

   Nearly to the hold, Rourke rounded a corner and collided with a small frame. He staggered, but Audrey was knocked off her feet.

   “What’re-”

   Rourke didn’t bother finishing the question and hauled the teen to her feet by the back of her jacket. He spun her around and gave her a shove.

   “Back to the evac!” Rourke yelled.

   “But, Mr. Whitmore-”

   “Go!”

   Rourke ran onward, grabbing Audrey’s arm and yanking her along. Audrey tried to pull away as they reached the Aqua-Evacs, still calling Mr. Whitmore’s name.

    Boom!

   The entire submarine rattled. Rourke lifted a writhing Audrey for the last few steps. Sweet, halfway out of the Aqua-Evac, had Audrey thrust into his arms. Rourke shoved the pair inside and slammed the hatch of the Aqua-Evac.

   “Lieutenant, get us out of here!” Rourke roared.

   The sliver of the cockpit that Rourke could see was enough for him to glimpse Helga lift a foot and kick the stuck lever. The launch doors opened with a heavy thunk .

   “We’re out, Commander!” Helga yelled.

   Rourke headed toward the cockpit, but Sweet grabbed his arm. Audrey fought Sweet’s other arm wrapped around her waist to no avail.

   “Where’s Mr. Whitmore?” Sweet asked urgently.

   An explosion rocked the Aqua-Evac, so loud that the metal pod seemed to thrum. The Aqua-Evac rocked, and Rourke grabbed the restraints of a nearby seat to balance himself. Helga got the Aqua-Evac stabilized, then shouted from the cockpit.

   “That was the Ulysses! Commander, get up here!”

   Sweet was still holding his arm, his eyes pleading with Rourke to disprove what everyone on the Aqua-Evac knew to be true. Audrey was still fighting him, reaching for the closed hatch.

   “I searched for him as long as I could,” Rourke said. He couldn’t hesitate, not with the creature still out there. Not when his face could still betray him. “Buckle up, both of you.”

   Sweet let go of Rourke, shock and horror in his eyes. He pulled Audrey closer, closing her in a hug that Audrey normally would have fought. Now, though, she kicked once before going limp, a choked sob coming from her throat.

   Rourke turned sharply away and went to the cockpit, dropping heavily into the seat beside Helga’s. Helga glanced at him, shock on her face.

   “Drive, Lieutenant, if any of us are going to make it out of here alive,” Rourke said grimly.

   Helga grabbed the radio. “Close ranks and follow me.”

   “Are we making a break for the surface?” someone asked.

   “No, dive and- I said dive! ”

   A blast of blue light shot from the creature’s mouth, cutting through an Aqua-Evac that had turned toward the surface. It exploded, clouding the water with sand and oil.

   The rest of the Aqua-Evacs dropped close to the ocean floor. The sub pods fell in rank alongside them, a few of them launching missiles at the creature when it turned to follow. The creature shrieked and its light attack sliced through two of them.

   “We’re getting killed out here!” someone yelled over the radio.

   “We need cover,” Rourke said. Spotting a dark line in the ocean floor ahead, he quickly pointed. “There!”

   Helga squinted at the line quickly forming a crevasse, then said into the radio, “All craft, make your mark twenty degrees down angle.”

   Confirmation came over the radio from the other pods. More attacks of light crashed around them, and screams and bursts of static over the radio told of more pods being struck. Rourke braced his feet against Helga’s evasive maneuvers and didn’t let himself listen too closely.

   Seconds ticked by, feeling like years. The crevasse opened suddenly in front of them, and the Aqua-Evac dove on the tail of another. The creature roared behind them. Rourke looked reflexively back, but he couldn’t see anything past the hull.

   The crevasse narrowed in front of them. Helga struggled to keep the pod on course, then the pod in front of them bounced off the ceiling and onto the tunnel floor. It exploded, and there wasn’t any time to slow and no way to turn. Their pod barreled through the debris, then the tunnel abruptly turned. Helga yanked up on the controls and the evac swung upward amid a barrage of light bolts. 

   The tunnel turned sharply up, taking them out of view of the creature. Helga wrestled with the controls, the evac moving too fast for the narrowing tunnel. The floodlights in the front lit up nothing but black water, seemingly unending-

   Then the tunnel walls opened. Rourke gasped as they found themselves in open water. Helga didn’t slow, then they were suddenly on the surface. The evac leaped from the water, then splashed down.

   Helga cut the engines. 

   For a long moment, nobody moved. Rourke realized that his heart was racing and he was panting, whether from the run through the sub or the chase, he didn’t know. Probably both.

   Rourke took a level breath, then looked at Helga. Her hands were locked on the controls in a death grip, her eyes fixed on the view port.

   Rourke turned forward again. The floodlights in front illuminated the pool they now floated in. Before them was a tiny, dented sub barely bigger than a sub pod. Beyond that… was statues, an ancient staircase, and the dark opening of a tunnel.

   The gate of Atlantis.

Moments before…

   Mr. Whitmore stared in shock and horror as Rourke slammed the bridge hatch closed. His chest ached at the betrayal, but he felt no surprise.

   He knew Rourke wasn’t trustworthy. He’d known it for some years now. It was why he’d insisted on joining the expedition, to ensure his best friend’s grandson was safe from Rourke’s greed. 

   Overhead, the alarms continued to blare. Betrayed or not, Mr. Whitmore couldn’t sit around if he wanted to live. He hauled himself back upright, crying out when his left foot dragged across the metal floor. He’d fallen awkwardly on it, and now it wouldn’t take his weight.

   Mr. Whitmore couldn’t walk. He slithered down the walkways on his hands and knees, sped along by the increasing tilt of the sub. He all but fell into the captain’s cabin and slammed the door shut. He clutched the chair bolted to the floor and dragged himself into it. 

   Gasping for breath and trying to not pass out from the pain in his ankle, Mr. Whitmore flipped open a hidden compartment on the chair arm, revealing controls. Staring at the empty bed across from him, Mr. Whitmore slammed a hand on the launch button.

   The door gave a low thunk as locks slid into place. Explosions rattled the cabin, and Mr. Whitmore held his breath. It was going to be close.

   A sudden pressure pressed Mr. Whitmore against his chair. His broken foot pushed hard against the floor, and darkness rose from the pain. 

   Mr. Whitmore wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious, but when he managed to rouse himself, the cabin was steady. A glance at the controls in the chair arm told him he was slowly rising, and he desperately hoped the creature wouldn’t have any interest in his little escape pod.

   Mr. Whitmore wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Rourke was up to, though he wondered how long ago Rourke had begun sneaking artifacts from their research sites and selling them. Mr. Whitmore had never had any solid proof, and didn’t even know who else was in on the thefts. As ashamed as he currently was to admit it, he’d turned a blind eye on Rourke’s thefts because they were old friends.

   Old friends. And now Rourke had left him to die.

   Mr. Whitmore had known that Rourke likely didn’t feel the same loyalty to him anymore. He’d expected a betrayal, and he’d had Jenkins convert the escape pod into a captain’s cabin on their way to the coordinates.

   Mr. Whitmore’s eyes again moved to the empty bed. Hidden under the blankets was another set of restraints, there for the safety of the bed’s occupant when the escape pod was shot from the sub. He hadn’t planned on needing the escape pod so soon into the expedition… or to be alone. 

   No, he’d ensured there was an extra spot in the escape pod for a reason. If Milo was anything like Thaddeus, he wouldn’t be too happy when he learned that Rourke planned to take the crystal they’d all seen in the Journal and sell it. Sell it to the highest bidder, no matter which country made the offer. Mr. Whitmore had planned to confront Rourke if -when, really, he had to admit- it happened. And he’d planned on having a quick way out for himself, Milo, and the crystal when Rourke inevitably chose money over friendship.

   Mr. Whitmore slumped in the chair, lost in his thoughts and a daze of pain. Eventually, a series of cheerful chirps told him that his escape pod had surfaced. Moving only one hand, Mr. Whitmore flipped a switch on the control panel. A muffled whumpf came from the ceiling, a flare sent into the sky.

   Jenkins had stayed behind for a reason. He’d stayed with the crew most loyal to Mr. Whitmore, who Rourke had intentionally left behind. Jenkins was watching and waiting near the coordinates they planned on finding the entrance. Watching for a flare from Mr. Whitmore to signal that he needed to be picked up.

   Mr. Whitmore sighed and closed his eyes. Hopefully, Jenkins would still be nearby. Neither of them had expected the escape pod to be used so soon.

     Darkness pressed down on him, heavier than his grandmother’s quilt covering his face and body. It was thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. His lungs begged for air he couldn’t seem to find, no matter how much he panted. 

   He longed to lift a hand, to tug the quilt away. Maybe then, he could breathe again. He needed air. He needed the light.

   But there was no air. No light to chase away the darkness and fear. All that stood above the quilt was the unforgiving stone, cutting him off from the sky.

   He panted harder, his cheeks growing wet as he told himself to not move. Begged his body to lay still, to not twitch. He didn’t dare move, not now. Not ever again.

   He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He was dead, even though his heart still beat. 

   Dead. Dead just like-

   Tulio snapped awake with a shout he barely muffled. He sat quickly up, wide-eyed in the  darkness. He fumbled for the torch he’d left beside his blanket and turned it on. The light pierced the pitch black and Tulio twisted to reassure himself.

   Altivo was laying just behind him, acting as a pillow to the three men. Altivo looked at Tulio, half-awake, snorted, then laid his head back down. Miguel was using one of Altivo’s legs as a pillow, and Milo slumped on Altivo’s other side.

   Tulio rubbed his face, then looked down at the ball of armadillo on his lap. He whispered, “Do you mind?”

   Ladron chittered. He uncurled and rubbed his drowsy face, then blinked up at Tulio.

   Tulio raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know how Ladron kept ending up on his lap in the night, though he suspected it was Miguel’s fault. At least he didn’t have a habit of grabbing things in his sleep, as Miguel did. At that moment, Miguel was clutching his half filled pack to his chest, softly snoring away.

   Tulio sighed, then stood. He walked quietly away from the others to crouch beside the remains of their campfire. He sat down, then poked the embers back to life with a spoon. He put on a handful of dried moss, then leaned back on his hands.

   The moss made for a weak fire, but it lit up their temporary camp well enough. Tulio turned off his torch and looked to where he could see the carved walls at the edge of the firelight. He wondered if he could take the torch over to study the carvings. He knew very little of Atlantean, but he liked to inspect the runes on the wall, anyway.

   Anything to distract him from the dream.

   Tulio leaned his head back. He couldn’t see the ceiling above him, which suited him just fine. He felt a flash of annoyance with himself. He’d always been fine going underground, through tunnels, or confined to the occasional brig. So what was bugging him now?

   It had started at the gateway. The desperate chase, then the darkness. Seeing the ceiling arch over his head, and knowing that there wasn’t any way for him to simply turn and walk out.

   Tulio shivered and put more dried moss on the fire. He wasn’t cold, not really, but the light was comforting.

   The dreams had left him alone for over ten years now, and he shuddered to think of the possibility that they might be returning. He’d left those days behind.

   Tulio breathed out slowly and studied the flames. His heart calmed and Tulio was able to look up at the dark ceiling with nothing more than curiosity.

   Where had the tunnels come from? Who had carved them? If Atlantis had sunk into the sea eight thousand years ago and everyone was killed, why would there be tunnels leading to Atlantis?

   Milo hadn’t had an answer when Tulio had asked. Milo had suggested that the tunnels had been built before Atlantis had sunk. When Atlantis fell, it had nested into the underwater tunnels carved centuries beforehand.

   It was the only theory they had, and it made sense. But it still seemed odd to Tulio. Then again, he was used to crowded towns and caves where people camped. Maybe the idea of empty tunnels was all that was strange to him. 

   Tulio sat for a while, then looked over at the clock Milo kept near him. He was figuring out how to tell time on the clock, as he could no longer sense when it was day or night. Three days in eternal darkness did that. At least the thought didn’t give Tulio another sense of panic.

   According to the clock, it was close to dawn. Tulio quietly retrieved the pot from their supplies and crept over to where water trickled from a hole in the ceiling nearby.

   They’d been cautious about drinking the water at first, but all the streams they’d encountered had been fresh water. It all tasted cleaner than anything Tulio had drunk, too. 

   Tulio filled the pot and returned to sit beside the fire. He set up a rack over the flames and put the pot on it. He hugged his knees as he waited for the water to boil. Even if the water tasted fresh, Milo had said they should boil it whenever they had the chance. Something about bacteria in the water possibly making them sick. Tulio didn’t understand it, but if boiling the water meant they’d stay healthy during the expedition, he’d do it.

    The water was just starting to boil when Milo stretched. He rolled over and peered over Altivo’s back, squinting in the direction of the fire.

   Tulio took the pot away from the fire to cool, then got up and went to their packs. Milo was practically blind without his glasses. During the night, he left his glasses on his pack, far away from Altivo in case the horse moved in the night. He grabbed Milo’s glasses and went over to give them to the linguist. Milo took them, thanking Tulio through a yawn.

    “What time is it?” Milo asked.

    “Dawn,” Tulio said. “Rise and shine.”

   Milo rubbed his eyes and stood. He got halfway before he suddenly froze with a yelp. He didn’t move for a long moment.

    “Need a little help?” Tulio asked.

    “Uh… yeah, I could,” Milo said sheepishly.

   Tulio went behind Milo and wrapped his arms around Milo’s chest.

    “Remember,” Milo said nervously, “Easy does-”

   Tulio yanked Milo upright, causing Milo’s back to loudly pop. Milo’s yelp echoed through the tunnel and startled Altivo awake. Altivo lurched to his hooves, dumping Miguel on the ground.

   Tulio let go of Milo, ignoring his dramatic stagger, and looked down. Miguel grumbled at being disturbed, but didn’t really rouse. Tulio nudged him with his foot.

    “Do you have to do it so hard every time?” Milo complained.

   Tulio shrugged with a nonchalant grin. “You really should get out more.”

   Milo rubbed his back with a grimace. “I’m a scholar, not an athlete.”

   “Well, you’re both now.”

   For some reason, Milo looked proud at the statement. He started to draw himself up, then paused with a grimace and resumed his slight slump. It wasn’t easy for him to walk so much and carry the heavy pack, Tulio knew. He tried his hardest, but he was still slow. No matter; it wasn’t like Tulio or Miguel were going to complain about the easy pace.

   Miguel rolled over, then sat slowly u p . He blinked at Tulio. “Tulio, it’s still dark out.”

   “It’s always dark down here,” Tulio said. “Rise and shine, it’s time to get moving.”

   Miguel flopped backward with a grumble. Tulio started to walk away, then spied Ladron’s rump poking out of the bag of dried beans. He pulled Ladron out, then dropped him onto Miguel’s stomach. Miguel’s legs and arms jerked up and he gave a dramatic cough.

    “I said to get up,” Tulio said.

    “Ah, you’re no fun. Tulio, think fast!”

   Tulio twisted on his heel, hands coming up just fast enough to catch a curled-up Ladron. After giving Miguel an unimpressed frown, Tulio abruptly grinned and threw Ladron toward Milo. Milo yelped, fumbled Ladron, then dropped him. Ladron hit the ground with a muffled squeak, then uncurled and scurried to hide behind Miguel.

    “I’m sorry!” Milo yelped. “Did I hurt you?”

   “He never gets hurt,” Miguel assured him as he patted Ladron’s head. “Tulio and I once played half a game of ball with him.”

   “You… what? Why?” Milo asked.

   Miguel opened his mouth, but Tulio grabbed his blanket and threw it into Miguel’s face.

    “We can explain later, once we get movi ng,” Tulio said. “Come on, guys.”

   “Okay, okay,” Milo said.

   Tulio rummaged in their supplies. Breakfast consisted of an apple -the last of the apples before they started eating dried fruit- a piece of jerky, and a small biscuit they’d made the night before. Everyone collected their share, then reloaded their packs and the sled. After hitching up Altivo, they got moving again.

    “Okay, what’s this about playing ball with an armadillo?” Milo asked.

   Miguel began to recount the tale of their playing ball in El Dorado. Tulio tuned them out. He squinted at the runes barely visible. Milo was in charge of the torch today, so Tulio had to make do. 

   After a few minutes of trying and failing to read the runes, Milo stopped and turned the light toward the wall.
  “What is it?” Milo asked.

    “Huh? Oh, nothing,” Tulio muttered. “Just trying to read the runes.”

   “Oh, right!” 

   Milo promptly perked up and hurried to the wall.

   The tunnel was clearly carved. Though stalactites hung from the ceiling and the occasional stalagmite had to be dodged as they walked, the walls had been carved to appear to be columns along the path. The columns had a simple design of lines from top to bottom, with a section in the middle that was clear of lines to make room for runes. Having stopped and looked more closely, Tulio now realized the runes were the same in each “column.”

    “What’s it say?” Tulio asked. 

    “Uh, it says… it says ‘sunrise.’” Milo frowned, then turned and ran to the other side of the tunnel. “Sunset?”

   “So they would always know east from west,” Tulio guessed.

    “Probably, but why? The tunnel is straight and hasn’t split off in any way,” Milo said.

    “Maybe the carvers were bored,” Tulio said.

    “Uh, this would probably be why,” Miguel said from ahead.

   Tulio jogged over to where Miguel stood. The tunnel had split. The new series of tunnels had the same mock columns carved into the walls, but none of the runes.

    “So when they were traveling through the tunnel, they knew if they should turn left or right!” Milo exclaimed.

    “Uh-huh,” Tulio said, understanding the logic. “So which way do we turn?”

   “Oh, right, right,” Milo said.

   Milo took the Journal from his pack and flipped a few pages. Tulio glanced at the page, trying to follow the words as Milo ran his finger along the runes, but he quickly gave up.

    “Ah!” Milo jabbed a finger onto the page. “You see this word here, Tulio?”

   Tulio looked at the unfamiliar runes. “Yeah? ”

    “That’s Atlantean for sunrise,” Milo said, grinning broadly. “That means we’re moving east!”

   Altivo bobbed his head, then turned…. West.

    “Altivo,” Tulio said, “Let the experts lead.”

   Altivo snorted, then turned and trotted past them, his head held high.

    “Aw, Altivo, don’t be like that,” Miguel said, following him.

   Tulio snorted as he followed behind them. He watched Miguel take out the apple he hadn’t eaten yet and offer it to Altivo. The horse smugly munched it up.

   Milo laughed a bit. “Altivo’s a bit spoiled, isn’t he?”

   “Oh, you’re just figuring that out?” Tulio joked. 

    “I think he got half the apples we packed,” Milo laughed.

   Tulio smiled distractedly.

    “What?” Milo asked.

    “Shouldn’t the path have changed?” Tulio asked. “According to the map we made, there should be other landmarks by now.”

   Milo shrugged, his cheer slipping. “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. If I had a week or two to really work on decrypting the Journal, I might figure it out.”

   Tulio hummed.

    “Why? Are you worried about getting lost?” Milo asked.

    “No, not at-” Tulio’s eyes widened and he raised his voice. “Miguel, wait for a minute!”

   Miguel paused. “What is it?”

   Tulio answered by turning and walking back the way they’d come. He stopped at the fork in the path and pulled off his pack. He dug out the hunting knife he’d bought in the shops near the dock. After strapping the sheath around his waist, Tulio took a step into the tunnel they’d come from. Picking a clear spot on the wall at about eye level, Tulio used his knife to make an arrow pointing back the way they’d come.

   They’d have to backtrack eventually, they all knew. While they could work through the Journal backwards, Tulio didn’t want to accidentally get turned around. As precautions, Milo was mapping their route in his notebook as they walked, assisted by Miguel’s compass. Tulio regularly cut an arrow in the wall, and planned to do so anytime they had to choose between multiple paths.

    “Okay, we’re set now,” Tulio said, putting his knife away. 

   They walked on. Milo pulled out his notebook and scribbled in the change of path, rather than wait for when they stopped at the end of the day, as he’d been doing for the last three days. Of course, it was also the first time they’d encountered a fork in the path.

   Tulio wondered how many more they’d pass before reaching Atlantis. He hoped it wasn’t too many… and that they wouldn’t be walking much longer.

   After a bit more walking, Milo stopped. Everyone stopped behind him, and Tulio watched as Milo’s torchlight slowly rose. As it did, Tulio realized the ceiling had vanished!

    “Guys, check this out!” Milo said, awe clear in his voice.

   Tulio stepped up beside him. His mouth fell open.

   The path led a bit beyond them, then turned. It descended a large space -so large that Milo’s torchlight barely touched the far side- in a sharp, zigzagging pattern. Milo swept the light around, and Tulio saw the paths even crossed over each other in places!

    “Okay, I remember this in the Journal,” Milo said.

    “So do I,” Tulio said. “Isn’t this the place with two routes?”

   “Yeah,” Milo said. 

   Miguel took out his torch and went to the edge of the path to shine his light down. “Woah.”

   Miguel’s voice echoed around them. Listening to the echo, Tulio realized the zig-zagging path led much further down than they’d guessed from the Journal.

    “Think we can get down there today?” Milo asked. “It looks like a long way.”

   “So we’ll take the short way,” Tulio said, marking the wall with an arrow.

    “But we can’t,” Milo said. “The tunnel is too narrow.”

   “For one of those trucks you wanted to get down here,” Tulio pointed out. “But if it’s wide enough to walk, it should be wide enough for three men and a horse.”

   Ladron chittered.

    “You don’t count.”

   “Aw, Tulio,” Miguel said, scooping up Ladron. “ Don’t be mean.”

   “If you keep treating that rat like a child, it’s going to think it’s one,” Tulio said blandly.

    “Armadillo,” Milo said.

   Tulio looked at him.

    “Sorry, keep going,” Milo said, smiling.

   Milo was quickly adjusting to the mock arguments Tulio and Miguel got into. He’d even joined sometimes, much to Tulio and Miguel’s amusement.

    “It’s a rat,” Tulio said, looking again at Miguel.

   Miguel tilted his head, then went to their supplies and got out a piece of dried fruit. He fed it to Ladron, meeting Tulio’s eyes the whole time.

    “Mature,” Tulio said. “He’s going to get fat.”

   “More for you to cuddle with at night,” Miguel said.

   Tulio wished they had swords. “We should keep moving.”

   “He’s not denying it!” Miguel exclaimed to Milo.

   Milo, the traitor, laughed.

    “Don’t encourage him,” Tulio said. “He isn’t as funny as he thinks he is.”

   “But, he’s right,” Milo said between laughs. “You hug Ladron like a teddy bear.”

   Tulio’s brows furrowed. “Who in their right mind hugs a bear?”

   “Not a bear bear,” Milo snickered. “A toy bear. It’s soft and fuzzy.”

    “Everything Ladron is not,” Tulio said, refusing to find the joke funny.

    “Okay, okay,” Milo said, dropping the subject, if not his smile. “So, the shortcut it is, then?”

   “Agreed,” Tulio said, looking at Miguel.

    “Shorter sounds good to me,” Miguel said cheerfully. “Lead the way!”

   Tulio gestured for Milo to go first, as he was most familiar with the Journal’s directions. Milo trotted along the path until it split, then chose the upper path. Tulio and Miguel walked behind Altivo, shifting the sled each time the path changed directions.

   They’d climbed about twenty feet when Milo stopped in front of a tunnel cut into the wall. Tulio looked critically at the tunnel, then the sled.

    “Looks like it will fit,” Milo said, having done the same.

   Milo coaxed Altivo into the narrow space. Tulio took out his torch and used it while he and Miguel straightened the sled to fit into the tunnel.

    “Keep the light on,” Miguel said. “ Don’t want the sled to get caught, hm?”

   “Yeah, good plan,” Tulio said. 

   He walked along beside Miguel, shining the torchlight around to avoid obstacles. From ahead, Milo called back warnings of jutting rocks and the occasional stalactite that hung particularly low.

   Tulio looked up at the ceiling, then at the bare walls. At least the walls didn’t feel like they were closing in on him.

    “Tulio?” Miguel asked.

    “Hm?”

   “Were you having those nightmares again?”

   Tulio looked quickly at Miguel and made a slicing motion across his throat. 

   Milo’s voice drifted hesitantly back, “You were calling out in your sleep.”

   Tulio rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, so I had a weird dream… I don’t really remember it.”

   And what little he did remember was enough to clue him into what the missing pieces had been. And Tulio wasn’t ready to dredge up those old memories.

    “Okay,” Miguel said quietly.

   The three walked in silence for a bit longer. Tulio’s shoulders crept up. He could practically feel Milo’s silent questions. He was a scholar. He’d already proven how persistent he could be when it came to things he wanted to know. What if he decided to push Tulio for answers?

    “Heads up,” Milo said, his voice making Tulio jump. “Or, down. There’s a stalactite up here. Oh, and the floor is starting to slope down.”

   Tulio tilted his head, but Milo didn’t say anything else. As they pushed on, Milo only spoke to warn them of obstacles at first. Gradually, he began theorizing out loud about how the tunnels had formed. Tulio’s shoulders relaxed.

    “Lava tubes, these have to be lava tubes,” Milo said. “It would make the most sense. If the path in the big shaft was built, this tunnel could have formed naturally and connected up with it. Or the tube was always here, and was found by the carvers of the path.”

   “No lava’s going to be flowing through here while we’re in here, right?” Miguel asked.

    “Probably not,” Milo said. “There weren’t any signs of volcanic activity outside. My guess would be that these belong to a volcano that went dormant long ago.”

   Tulio inspected the floor. He didn’t know enough about lava tubes to make any of his own theories, so he accepted Milo’s. All he needed to know was that the lava tube would get them to the bottom of the shaft and wouldn’t fry them to a crisp.

    “Holding up back there, you guys?” Milo asked.

    “Oh, yeah, fine,” Tulio said. “What about you? Need to rest?”

   “Nah, I can keep going,” Milo said. “I’d rather get out of the tubes, at least…”

   The lava tube went on. Tulio guessed it was moving in a downward spiral. There were a few steep sections, where Miguel and Tulio had to tie ropes to the back of the sled to keep it from sliding into Altivo’s legs, but for the most part, it was a steady, slight slope.

   By midday, the lava tube opened up. Everyone decided to stop to eat and rest near a large clump of moss. Milo wasn’t good at walking for long distances, and none of them wanted to push Altivo too much. While Altivo munched on the moss, Miguel collected extra moss to burn once it dried.

   The trio put their rolled blankets on the ground to sit on. They pulled out their midday rations, which was the same as their morning meal. They also refilled their canteens and the pan with water from the tank they kept filled with clean water in the sled.

   Tulio munched on his dry biscuit, watching Miguel pile some dried moss. “What are you doing?”

   “Making a fire. Could you pass the matches?”

   Tulio did so, saying, “We boiled enough drinking water this morning.”

    “Yeah, but we forgot something.”

   Tulio bemusedly watched Miguel fill the pot with water, then take a tin from his own pack. He measured some of the powder from the tin into the pot, then stirred it for a bit. Once he was satisfied, Miguel took everyone’s mugs and filled them.

    “We forgot the coco,” Miguel said.

   Tulio accepted the warm mug, wrapping his fingers around it and breathing in the sweet smell. Milo had introduced the treat to Miguel after picking up the tin on the docks, and he’d been hooked. For Tulio, the drink brought back memories. Good memories of warm hearths and singing filled with laughter and listening to his father read stories.

   Tulio drifted in the memories for a bit, willing them to replace the bad memories he’d been woken by that morning. He blinked himself back to the present some time later, and found Milo giving him a worried look.

    “Hey, Milo,” Tulio said before Milo could speak.

    “Yeah?”

   Tulio raised his mug. “To finding Atlantis. If we have to walk to the center of the earth to find it.”

   “Here, here!” Miguel said, cheerfully lifting his mug as well. “To finding Atlantis!”

   The biggest, happiest grin Tulio had ever seen spread across Milo’s face. He lifted his mug as well and clinked it against theirs. 

    “To finding Atlantis!”

Chapter Text

   Audrey had a crick in the center of her back. Whether it was from trying to escape Sweet’s grasp during the evacuation or from how stiffly she was standing, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about which it could be, either. Both thoughts were too painful just then.

   Fixing her eyes on the flickering candle, set adrift by Sweet in an upside-down helmet, Audrey tuned out Rourke’s solemn words. She rubbed her eyes, determined to not cry.

   Sweet’s big hand settled on her shoulder. Audrey didn’t shrug it off like she normally would have, instead letting his hand steady her.

   Mr. Whitmore was gone. More than two-thirds of the crew was gone. The Ulysses was gone. They had no way to get out the way they’d come in, not unless they wanted to face that creature again.

   Audrey’s eyes clenched as a tear slipped out. She couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Whitmore. Why hadn’t she thought of him before running to the Aqua-Evac? He didn’t always act it, but Mr. Whitmore was an old man. He couldn’t have moved as fast as the others when the call to abandon ship had come.

   Then again, maybe he had made it into another Aqua-Evac. They’d never know, though. Only one of the four Aqua-Evacs had escaped the creature. Two of the sub pods had made it as well. 

   Forty-nine of them stood on the stone shore, but a hundred and eighty-three crew and friends now laid on the bottom of the ocean. Lost forever, because of that strange mechanical beast.

   Another tear followed the first. Audrey quickly wiped it away, even though many of the other survivors were crying. She didn’t like crying; it made her feel small and young when she was already the only teenager on the crew.

   Audrey sniffed, then let the next tear fall. She’d first met Mr. Whitmore when she was five years old, when Papi had taken her on one of the expeditions. Mr. Whitmore hadn’t batted an eye at the girl showing up, instead showing her around the site and letting her drive the truck when Papi wasn’t looking… Mr. Whitmore had become a bit of a grandfatherly figure to her over the years, even if she rarely saw the strange old man.

   But now she’d never see him again.

   Rourke turned away from the water. Audrey started listening again as he solemnly told everyone that they were still pressing on. Everyone would take on more tasks during the expedition.

   Rourke began to delegate tasks. Nothing had really changed from their original assignments, though the sailors who were originally going to stay with the Ulysses were mostly doubled up with the soldiers assigned to drive the trucks. The supplies and vehicles had been carefully divided between the Aqua-Evacs. It was both for the convenience of having the proper equipment if only one Aqua-Evac was taken from the Ulysses to the shore… and to prepare for the possibility of the very disaster that had befallen the expedition.

   Audrey slipped away from Sweet’s hand and headed toward the oil tanker. She didn’t trust many people to drive the tanker, not when all it would take was a stray spark to set it ablaze or a sloppy maneuver to upend it. 

   Audrey climbed into the seat and put her hands on the wheel, but didn’t immediately start it. Around her, vehicles rumbled to life. Helga and a small group of soldiers began to ascend the stairs on foot.

   “Want some company?”

   Audrey looked down at Sweet. Anyone else, she would have told to find another ride, but for Sweet, she slid over to the passenger side. Sweet climbed up and started the tanker. He didn’t try to get Audrey to speak, though he quickly started up a one-sided conversation about the strange statues around the chamber.

   Audrey looked outside the tanker while Sweet waited for his turn to join the line of vehicles driving up the stairs.

   On the edge of the stone shore were their subs, plus the one taken by Milo and his kidnappers. The thing was tiny, barely bigger than a sub pod. The hold was still half full of supplies. There was a note pinned to the driver's seat for apparently whoever came to join them, explaining that they had moved out already. They planned to go and find Atlantis or travel for two weeks, whichever happened first, before returning to their sub and trying to reach the surface again.

   Audrey wondered, not for the first time, who could have kidnapped Milo. From what she’d heard, nobody had ever given any credit to the existence of Atlantis. To say so was to be crazy.

   Yet, here she was, on a search for Atlantis.

   Audrey’s eyes followed the trail of headlights up the staircase. Mole’s digger had reached the top, and his floodlights illuminated a massive statue. It was carved so the tunnel leading away from the entrance was entering the statue’s mouth. It was interesting, if a bit creepy.

   The last of the trucks joined the line. At a gesture from Audrey, Sweet waited until the last truck had reached the statue before moving. Sweet pulled the tanker forward, joining the line with a good distance between them and the rest and the rest of the fleet.

   After all, if the tanker exploded, there wasn’t any sense in taking any other vehicles with them.

   Tulio, Miguel, Milo, and Altivo walked for the rest of the day, having to only pick their way down the shaft a bit further. There they found another tunnel. Tulio walked in the front now with his torch out, illuminating the tunnel. It was more broad than the ones higher up, though the walls were dull and bare.

   Tulio glanced back. Milo and Miguel were behind him, with Altivo bringing up the rear. Ladron rode on Miguel’s shoulder, clutching his jacket with his tiny claws. Milo was studying the Journal as he walked, often veering off to the side. Miguel kept an eye on Milo, and pulled him back on course whenever he wandered too close to the wall.

   Tulio slowed his pace to walk on Milo’s other side. Milo didn’t notice, engrossed as he was in the Journal. He was muttering nonsense under his breath as he struggled to read Atlantean out loud.

    “What’s that mean?” Tulio asked.

    “Hm? Oh, nothing,” Milo said. He closed the Journal.

    “Come on, show me,” Tulio nagged. “I want to read Atlantean, too, you know.”

   “Okay, okay.” Milo reopened the Journal to a marked page near the end of the book. “It’s this text that I found last night. I’ve been trying to figure out what it’s talking about.”

   “Okay, what’s it say?” Tulio repeated.

   Milo put his finger under a set of runes. “Have I shown you this one yet?”

   “Hm… no, I don’t think so,” Tulio said. They had mainly focused on the directions near the beginning of the Journal when they studied together.

    “It says ‘Heart,’” Milo said. “At least, I think it does. It’s mentioned a few times in the Journal, but I’m not sure what it is…”

   “You mean the Shepherd didn’t explain it?” Tulio asked.

    “Well, he probably did when he first mentioned it.” Milo gave a sheepish shrug. “But I’ve been jumping all over in the Journal. I can’t help it! A few pages back, the Shepherd is talking about their flying vehicles! And before that, there’s this fish-”

    “Milo,” Tulio interrupted. Milo could get distracted and go on very long tangents if someone didn’t help him to focus.

    “Oh, right.” Milo looked again at the page. “Anyway, this text seems to indicate something about a method of healing with the Atlanteans. The Shepherd mentions a pool, something he calls the Tears of Atlantis.”

   “Tears?” Tulio repeated, studying the next set of runes Milo pointed to.

    “I think so. It could also mean water,” Milo said.

    “Water of the heart,” Miguel said musingly. “Sounds like blood to me.”

   “But how could blood from the Heart heal anyone?” Milo asked.

    “The Heart could be a plant,” Tulio said. “You know, crush a plant and get the sap? It could be described as either blood or water.”

   Milo perked up. “You’re right!” Just as quickly, though, he frowned. “Except, the other texts make the Heart sound like one object, something big and sacred.”

   “Plants sometimes grow only around specific stones,” Miguel said. 

   Milo perked right back up again. He had some serious mood swings, Tulio thought in amusement.

    “That could be it, too!” Milo said, then pulled out his notebook and scribbled the thought. “If the Heart was a stone or object, and the Tears were plants, spread out enough for the Shepherd to call it a pool maybe…”

   “What sort of healing is it used for?” Tulio asked.

    “Ah, that’s what I-” Milo fumbled with both books until Tulio took the notebook. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. There’s some sort of ceremony that’s described, something that the king does. The patient is presented by the king to the Tears of the Heart. If they’re judged worthy, they’re healed.”

   “Sounds like mystic mumbo jumbo to me,” Tulio said skeptically.

    “Maybe,” Milo said. “But sometimes ceremonies make sense when you look at them scientifically.”

   “Think the Tears will still be in Atlantis?” Miguel asked.

    “I’m not sure. I hope so,” Milo said. “I’d love to study what could be so special about the Tears. If we knew how they worked or what made the Tears… just think what that would do for modern medicine!”

   Tulio shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m more curious about treasures left behind.”

   Milo shrugged, more focused on the Journal than Tulio at the moment. “Not all ancient cities were made of gold, you know.”

   Tulio grunted noncommittally. Gold or precious stones would be nice, especially after all the trouble they went through to get to Atlantis in the first place!

   Milo was again absorbed in the Journal. Tulio kept walking, leaving Milo to puzzle out the text. He was picking up Atlantean fast, but not enough to keep up with Milo when he started jumping between pages on various trails of thought.

   The tunnel began to slope down ever so slightly. Tulio peered ahead, hoping it wouldn’t get too steep again. Luckily, it straightened before long, only to vanish!

    “Hold up!” Tulio said, throwing out his arms.

   Milo bumped into his arm, the impact making him look up. “What’s wrong?”

   “The ground just stopped,” Tulio said. “Just wait a moment.”

   Tulio walked carefully forward. Sure enough, the tunnel led right to another shaft, one of a sheer drop and wasn’t full of convenient paths. Tulio shined his torchlight down, but couldn’t see the bottom.

    “Didn’t the Journal mention a shaft with teeth at the bottom or something?” Tulio asked, joining the others again.

    “Oh, yeah. I think they’re stalagmites,” Milo said. He opened his notebook. “Yeah, that’s probably right. I assumed it was the shaft back there.”

   “Yeah… I don’t think it was.”

   Miguel gave an impressed whistle. “This one goes down a ways, doesn’t it?”

    “I wonder how… oh, I think I know how we can figure out!”

   Milo dropped his pack without explaining. He dug into it, then pulled out a red stick. Milo had called it a flare when he bought it on the docks.

    “Stand back,” Milo warned them. “I haven’t used one of these before.”

   “You’re using this stick that just bursts into flames for the first time down here?” Tulio asked, incredulous. “I thought you knew about that thing.”

   “I do!” Milo moved the stick back-and-forth a bit. “Well, I’ve read about them…”

    “Tulio, don’t be so dramatic!” Miguel said. “It’s just a little fire! What could go wrong?”

   “Do you want the full list?” Tulio asked drily.

    “No, no, come on.”

   Tulio let Miguel push him back a few steps, though he still wasn’t going to trust the flare. Milo closed his eyes -that was reassuring- and yanked off the tip of the flare. 

   Instantly, it burst into flames, startling them all. Milo almost dropped the flare, juggling it for a bit before getting his grip back. Altivo squealed and tried to back up, only to step onto the sled. His hoof skidded and he balked. Miguel hurriedly grabbed his halter and spoke soothingly.

   Once Altivo was calmed, nobody moved for a minute. 

    “So,” Miguel said, “What’s the flare for?”

   “Oh, right, I almost forgot!”

   Milo leaned over the shaft again, then dropped the flare. He stared intently down for a few seconds, then turned around. He took out his notebook and flipped to an empty page to scribble. Tulio glanced at the numbers, but couldn’t understand Milo’s process.

    “What’s that for?” Tulio asked.

    “Hm,” Milo said distractedly.

   Recognizing Milo’s working face, Tulio crossed his arms and waited silently. Eventually, Milo looked up.

    “If my math is right, the shaft is about two hundred feet deep,” Milo said.

    “How do you figure that?” Miguel asked. He raised his hand as Milo opened his mouth. “Never mind, I’ll trust your math.”

   Milo smiled. For some reason, he always got so happy when Tulio and Miguel took his word without questioning it.

    “Two hundred feet,” Tulio said. “We’ve got fifty feet of rope.”

    “Um…” Milo swapped to the Journal. “There should be a path leading down.”

   Tulio edged back to the drop and shined his light down. Quickly, he spotted the path.

    “There it is,” Tulio said.

   Milo grimaced. “I was hoping there was another path.”

   “Why? It’s wide enough to walk.” Miguel studied the path. “Barely.”

   Tulio shrugged off his pack. “Wait here. I’ll check it out.”

   “Shouldn’t we all…?” Milo asked.

    “Not yet. The path is old and might be unstable or broken away. I’ll make sure the path is wide enough for Altivo and the sled.”

   Tulio stepped down the short ledge to where the path began. Keeping a hand on the wall and his torch in the other. Tulio took a few steps.

    “Feels sturdy enough,” Tulio said.

    “Wait,” Milo said suddenly. Milo ran back to the sled, then came back with the rope. “Tie this around your waist. It’s not long enough for the whole shaft, but at least if you slip in the first fifty feet…”

   “Good plan,” Tulio agreed, not wanting to think about what could easily happen with one misstep.

   Tulio tied the rope around his waist, then resumed his cautious walk. The path was smooth, but damp in places. Tulio stopped after a few minutes of walking, then crouched. He took out his knife and scraped the moss off the stone and dropped it down the shaft. He told himself that he didn’t hear it land because the soft moss would land silently.

    “Maybe if I drop enough moss, it’ll cushion my landing if I fall,” Tulio muttered.

    “Are you alright, Tulio?” Miguel called down.

    “Just fine!” Tulio called back.

   Tulio kept going. The path remained the same, sturdy and mostly clean.

   All too soon, Tulio reached the end of the rope. He paused, then untied the rope and dropped it.

    “I’m at the end of the rope!” Tulio called up. “It’s all clear so far, but keep waiting!”

   “Okay!” came Miguel’s response.

   Tulio paused after a bit. Nobody had been down this route in eight thousand years. How come it wasn’t more broken down or dusty?

   Shrugging, Tulio kept walking. He wasn’t going to question a sturdy and clear path. 

   Tulio guessed he was near the bottom when the hand trailing the wall ran across grooves. He looked at the wall and found Atlantean runes. The only set of runes he recognized signified danger or a caution to turn back.

   Tulio smiled a bit at the warning. It was a bit late for him.

   Grooves appeared in the stone a few steps further. It was strange at first, but then Tulio realized the grooves made it easier to walk.

   Soon after, the path stopped descending. Tulio walked along it, sighing with relief when the path straightened. Stalagmites jutted up beside the path. The path continued into another tunnel into the wall, much more broad, though there was still a bit of a drop alongside the path.

   Tulio put his hands on his hips, satisfied, then turned. His shoulders slumped. Now he just had to go back up .

    “How long have you known Tulio?”

   Miguel glanced at Milo. “We met when we were both twelve.”

    “I didn’t know that… guess I haven’t asked a lot about you two. How’d you meet?”

   Milo tended to ask questions when he was nervous, Miguel had discovered. Probably because understanding something would distract him… and Miguel could use a distraction, too.   

   Since letting go of the rope, Tulio hadn’t said anything. Miguel had almost called out a couple times, but was afraid of startling Tulio and making him slip.

    “Well?” Milo asked when the silence stretched on.

    “We were both living on the streets,” Miguel explained. “Tulio had just gotten caught swiping an apple in the market. I did some fast talking, distracted the merchant, grabbed his arm and just ran.”

   Miguel was startled to find he felt a little bad for giving Milo the well-practiced lie. While Miguel had saved Tulio from losing his hand for an apple, that had happened a month after they first met.

   But the thing was, not even Miguel and Tulio discussed the first day they met. Ever.

    “You lived on the streets?” Milo asked.

    “We didn’t exactly meet up in the theaters, if that’s what you’re asking,” Miguel said with a slight laugh, shaking off the guilt. “Why do you think we’re so good at cons? It was gambling or swiping, unless we wanted to starve.” Miguel paused briefly. “We got by alright, though, the two of us. We didn’t get hungry very often, even if Tulio was terrible at cons or swiping in the beginning. He always chickened out at the last second and got caught.”

    “Really?” Milo asked. “Tulio?”

   “Yeah, Tulio.” Miguel chuckled, then realized what was about to follow. “Me, I was conning people as a baby.”

   “You’re making that up,” Milo said with a grin.

    “No, really! I never knew my parents. They left me in a trash heap when I was only a few days old. At least, that’s what old Juan told me,” Miguel said, fully honest about his past.

    “Old Juan?”

   “A trickster and a cheat,” Miguel said fondly. “ He took in kids and set them on the street corners begging for coins or food scraps to bring to him. If you were bright and quick with your hands and on your feet, he’d teach you some more tricks when you got older.”

    “And I guess you were one of those kids,” Milo asked.

   Miguel grinned. “That I was! But I was too good, and started palming the coins I was supposed to be handing over. Well, old Juan figured it out eventually and booted me out onto the street to take care of myself by the time I was nine. I spent some time traveling and such, stopping when I liked a place and moving on when I got bored.”

   “You mean when people started figuring you out,” Milo said.

    “Hey, now,” Miguel joked, “Don’t be figuring me out so easily. I gotta have a bit of an air of mystery.”

   “Can’t do that when you keep talking.”

   “Tulio!” Miguel yelped, spinning at his friend’s voice. “You’re back!”

    “And the path is good,” Tulio said. “It’s a bit narrow in places, but Altivo should be able to make it. He can’t take the sled, though.”

   Milo’s face fell. “But we can’t carry enough supplies without the sled.”

   “And we’ll have it,” Tulio said. “But Altivo won’t be the one taking it down. We’ll have to figure out some way to get it down ourselves.”

   “I’ll unhitch him,” Miguel said.

    “And take off his harness,” Tulio said. “It would be just our luck if it caught on a stone or something halfway down.”

   Miguel nodded and went to do as Tulio had suggested while Milo and Tulio kept planning.

    “Let’s put the flour and beans into our packs to carry down,” Milo suggested. “ Put the clothes and rope into the sled.”

    “Yeah, in case the sled decides to jump,” Tulio said drily. “At least we can collect the clothes from the stalagmites, but the flour and beans would be impossible.”

   “Let’s fill canteens, then empty the water tank,” Milo said. 

   Tulio nodded. “The less weight we have to carry, the better.”

   The three of them set to rearranging the supplies, putting anything that could survive being a bit battered into the sled. But then they ran into another problem.

    “If Altivo can’t drag the sled, how are we supposed to?” Milo asked.

   “ I have an idea,” Miguel said. “You’re not going to like it, though.”  

   “Take everything down ourselves?” Tulio guessed with a wince.

    “Take it down ourselves,” Miguel confirmed.

    “Well, the path is easy enough to walk,” Tulio said, sighing. “It might take all day, though.”

   “I’d rather walk up and down a few times over risking losing any of our supplies,” Milo said, even though they all knew he had the hardest time walking.

    “Well, the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be done,” Miguel said.

    “Take down Altivo first,” Tulio suggested. “There’s stalagmites down there to tie him to, and we won’t have to worry about him slipping while he’s up here alone.”

   Miguel nodded. The three of them stuffed their packs, then Miguel took Altivo’s reins and led the wary horse to the shaft. Altivo took one look at the path and snorted, his ears going back.

    “Oh, come on, Altivo,” Miguel soothed. “We’ve walked along more narrow paths on our way to El Dorado, you know. This will be easy!”

   Altivo snorted and didn’t budge.

    “Don’t you want to see Atlantis?” Miguel asked.

   Altivo huffed out a horse-sized sigh.

    “He’s a ruthless war horse, and he’s afraid of a few rocks,” Tulio commented drily.

   Altivo tossed his head and walked off the ledge to the path. Miguel walked quickly in front of him.

    “Woah, boy, take it easy,” Miguel soothed. “Don’t rush it. One hoof in front of the other.”

   Altivo looked down the shaft. His ears went back, but he seemed determined to keep walking. Miguel kept pace with him, keeping up a stream of calming words. He fought his own tension as they slowly made their way down the winding path, moving painfully slowly.

   Eventually, they made it to the bottom of the shaft without any problems besides Altivo balking a few more times. Altivo shook himself as soon as the path was wide enough to do so.

    “Good boy, what a good boy,” Miguel praised him. “You did good. Take it easy now.”

   Miguel led Altivo to a patch of moss and looped the reins over a stalagmite. He trusted Altivo wouldn’t wander further down the path alone, but wasn't so sure he wouldn’t try to follow once they left.

   The trio returned to the top of the shaft. They moved just as carefully, but were able to go faster since Miguel didn’t have to coax Altivo into moving. They reached the top and refilled their packs. Miguel watched Milo glance at the remaining supplies and grimace.

    “Another trip down and up,” Miguel said ruefully.

    “Well, come on,” Tulio said, marching determinedly to the path. “The sooner we go, the sooner we can finish.”

   “We know that. Just let us be dramatic first,” Miguel said as he followed.

    “Oh, was that you being dramatic? I couldn’t tell,” Tulio said in mock confusion.

    “If we weren’t walking on a razor’s edge right now,” Miguel said in mock warning.

    “Guys, is this really the time?” Milo asked nervously.

    “For the sake of our honor, the time is always right!” Miguel declared, his voice echoing quite dramatically around them.

    “The cost of your honor might be slipping,” Tulio said. “Focus.”

   “No, I’m not letting you change the topic so easily,” Miguel said. He took up a fencing stance. “En garde!”

   Tulio glanced over his shoulder. “We don’t even have swords, Miguel.”

   “Oh, you’re no fun,” Miguel sighed, lowering his hands.

    “Walking along a path barely wide enough for a horse’s butt does that to me,” Tulio said. “Come on, hurry up.”

   “Why did you use a fencing stance?” Milo asked as they continued downward.

    “Didn’t we tell you?” Miguel asked, smiling at the memories. “We might fight with our words, but we do it with blades anytime we can.”

   “I didn’t know you were swordsmen,” Milo said, intrigued. “How’d you learn about it?”

   “Tulio taught me,” Miguel said. He focused on a slick bit of stone. “Most of it’s made up, though. Whatever looks good to the crowd.”

   “Always putting on a show, eh?” Milo asked.

    “Where else is the fun?” Miguel asked.

    “Who taught you, Tulio?” Milo asked.

    “Hey, how about we focus on the fun part of not slipping and falling?” Tulio insisted.

   “Ah, you’re still no fun,"  Miguel said.

   But Miguel focused on his steps. They made it to the bottom without incident.

    “Can we stop for a break?” Milo asked, sounding sheepish.

   Miguel nodded. Milo sat in clear relief, wiping his pale forehead. Tulio joined him, and Miguel went to check on Altivo. All of them were glad for the break. Despite his jokes, Miguel had been tense the entire time they traveled through the shaft. All it would take was a single misstep or brief distraction and… whamo!

   Miguel rubbed Altivo’s ears until Tulio said it was time to get back up to the top. The day was more than half over, and all of them wanted their supplies down the shaft by nighttime.

   They returned to the top of the shaft and stored the last of their supplies in their packs, then turned to the matter of getting the sled to the bottom.

    “Too bad we don’t have enough rope,” Miguel said.

    “I’ve got an idea,” Milo said. He winced. “Nobody will like this one, either. Unless we can carry down the sled by hand, we can lower it down, bit by bit.”

   “What?” Tulio asked.

    “We tie the rope to the sled,” Milo explained. “Two of us lower the sled as far as the rope will go. One of us goes down and pulls the sled onto the path while the two on the ropes walk down. We do that over and over until we reach the bottom.”

   Tulio winced. “You’re right, I don’t like it.”

   “The sled isn’t too heavy,” Miguel mused. “But I don’t think it would work on the path. The stone walls stick out too much.”

    “Altivo had enough problems navigating some of the turns,” Milo said by way of agreement. “So? What do you think?”

   “I think we’d better get moving before we realize how bad of an idea this is,” Tulio said. “Milo, you should lower the sled with one of us.”

   Milo looked at his feet, as though they’d fault him for being the weakest.

    “I’ll grab the sled from below,” Miguel volunteered. He smiled. “It sounds easier than lowering the sled.”

   Tulio rolled his eyes, but nodded his agreement. Miguel was the strongest of them, so it would be easiest for him to pull the sled onto the path and hold it while the other two descended.

    “Let’s do it,” Tulio said.

   The trio took out the rope and found the best way to tie it to the sled with as little rope as possible while also being secure. They carried the sled to the shaft and laid it up against the wall.

    “Call up when you’re about forty feet down,” Tulio said. “I don’t want to hold that sled for too long.”

   “Got it!”

   Miguel had walked up and down the shaft enough times to guess how far down he needed to walk. He called for the sled to be lowered, then put his hands on his hips when it stopped five feet above his head.

    “Lower!” Miguel called up.

    “We can’t!” Milo yelled back.

   Miguel, already walking up the path again, didn’t answer. He reached the sled and pulled it closer, leaning it against the wall while Tulio and Milo came down the path.

   The process was repeated eight more times before they finally reached the bottom. Miguel was only too glad to lay the sled down. When Tulio and Milo joined him at the bottom, they all looked at their stacks of supplies, then dropped their packs and collapsed on the ground.

   Miguel stared up at the dim ceiling, suddenly aware of how much he hurt. He could feel an ache in every part of his body.

    “Why does everything hurt?” Miguel grumbled.

   Milo rocked his head over to look at him. “Because we’ve been walking for five days?”

   “Walking has never hurt like this,” Miguel said.

    “How about we make camp here for the night?” Tulio suggested.

    “Agreed,” Miguel and Milo said at the same time.

   Rourke sat with Helga on the truck tailgate in the headlights of the truck behind it. In front of them, camp was being set up. The crew called out to each other as stakes were struck into the ground and tents raised. Audrey was waist-deep in the engine of the digger, her voice echoing as she scolded Mole for running the machine too hard. Mole himself was halfway across the camp, busily inspecting the dirt.

   Rourke glanced over at Helga. She was leaning over sideways, resting her head on one fist and her elbow on the side of the truck bed. She was scowling hard, looking just angry to most people who weren't used to her. 

   Rourke could tell she was trying to stay awake, though, having spent the last two days scouting for the expedition crew. If she stayed on the tailgate much longer, she was bound to doze off and fall.

   “No sign of them, hm?” Rourke said.

   “None,” Helga said in a low growl. “I haven’t remembered anything else in the last ten minutes, Rourke. There’s traces of a campfire occasionally and arrows on the walls, but that’s all. Now, if you’ll stop asking, Sweet set up my tent.”

   “Dismissed,” Rourke said.

   Helga dragged herself from the truck bed and tramped her way to her tent. Everyone gave her a wide berth.

   Rourke scowled at their poor luck. Yes, Milo and his kidnappers had three days’ head start, but it didn’t appear they’d brought any vehicles. It was unlikely that anyone else was with them. With the creature standing guard, Rourke highly doubted their sub could have entered the crevasse more than once.

   Rourke pushed himself to his feet and stormed off to his own tent, ignoring when everyone scattered in his wake.

   Kida knelt on the path, worn smooth from centuries of feet. Her fingers brushed a narrow crack in the stone and followed it off the path. She leaned over, tracing the crack half her arm’s length.

   Kida frowned. The crack was spreading. Once upon a time, the stone could have been repaired with the power of the crystal that hung around her neck. But now, so far from the Heart, the crystal’s power was dim and weak. Even when she held the crystal in her hand, it was cool to the touch. 

   “Princess Kida!”

   Kida raised a hand in silent warning. The approaching scouts stopped and waited, though their feet scuffed impatiently.

   Kida rose and pointed to the crack. “We’ll have to watch this crack. It’s spreading.”

   Salus sighed at her side. “Another path. If this one becomes unsafe, we’ll have no way to reach the split paths on the upper walks.”

   “We’ll use the lower,” Kida said.

   Salus looked aside. He was an older warrior, and often preferred the upper walks, though no enemies stalked them. Well, the Colossus who guarded the split paths would try to take a bite from them, and Kida did prefer to have the space between them and the ground.

   “Princess Kida,” said one of the scouts, Salus’ sister Sunzu.

   “Yes?” Kida asked. “What is wrong?”

   “Strangers,” Jaius said. 

   Kida startled. “Strangers? What are you talking about? Nobody can reach the gateway.” 

   Jaius removed his mask. Underneath, his eyes were wide and frightened. “Someone has.”

   Kida glanced back the way they’d come. All scouting trips had been boring for years, but now, something had changed. How?

   “How many? And where?” Kida asked.

   “We found them just beyond the split paths,” Sunzu said, pointing back to the narrow tunnel from which they’d come. “Three men and two creatures.”

   “What kind of creatures?” Kida asked.

   Sunzu shook her head. “I don’t know. One is big and strong, but the other is small.”

   Kida looked at Salus. She was technically the highest ranked of the gathered scouts, but she trusted her father’s captain to make the best call in this strange situation.

   “We should investigate,” Salus said promptly. “To determine if they are a threat.”

   Kida nodded her agreement. The old law came to her mind, that all intruders to the gateway were to be killed. But the law had been made years ago by her father, and they had never had the need to enforce it. Only because there had never been intruders since the city sank, but Kida wondered if they would have to enforce it now. 

   She hoped not, if she was being honest. She was curious about these strangers and where they had come from. Many of her people thought the world above had vanished in the Great Flood, that their city was all that was spared. Now, she could see proof that it wasn’t true!

   “Lead us to them,” Kida said to Sunzu. “Jaius, would you rather wait here?”

   Jaius quickly shook his head. Kida smiled. He wasn’t much younger than her, but it was only his fifth trip outside the city.

   “Then let us go.”

   They set off, Kida in front with Sunzu, and Salus in the back with a comforting hand on Jaius’ shoulders.

Chapter Text

   Beyond the shaft, the tunnel widened until they could barely see the walls by the light of their torches. The path became cobbled and marked with low walls. It was run down and collapsing in areas where bridges spanned dips in the ground, but remained fairly sturdy. Outside the pathway, the ground had the lava tube appearance. More stalagmites and stalactites appeared, some so big that they connected and formed a thick column from floor to ceiling. There were no more runes, but Milo was impressed by the pathway. Eight thousand years, and it was still intact!

   Distracted with studying the Atlantean architecture, Milo didn’t realize the others had stopped until he bumped into Miguel. He looked past them, then blinked and went to Miguel’s side.

   Milo swung his torchlight back-and-forth. The path split in two, each of them arcing to lead into the “eyes” of a giant statue carved into the wall.

    “Looks like it’s crying,” Miguel commented after a moment.

   Milo startled. “Oh, I saw this in the Journal!”

   Milo opened the Journal and flipped to the page he’d bookmarked. At the bottom of the page was a sketch very similar to the statue in front of them. Beside the sketch was a warning about following the wrong path in the eyes of the ancient king. Milo had thought the warning was metaphorical the first time he read it, but considering the Leviathan had been literal, he wondered if the “Colossus” standing guard was something more real than the statue itself.

    “Which path, Milo?” Tulio asked.

   Milo hummed in thought as he rotated the Journal. Sometimes the Shepherd’s clues were obscure or angled around sketches. In this case, squeezed in between the sketched paths was instructions to go left.

    “We go left,” Milo said confidently.

    “Our left or his left?” Tulio asked.

   Milo and Miguel exchanged confused looks.

    “Who else is there?” Miguel asked.

    “If I remember correctly, the warning said something about the eyes of the king, right?” Tulio asked.

   Milo nodded.

    “Well, suppose the Shepherd means to take the path that’s left if you’re looking from the king’s perspective?”

   The three of them stared at the statue for a long minute.

    “I don’t know,” Milo eventually said. He held up the Journal again, angling it to reread the instructions. “There isn’t anything to show… hey, wait a minute!”

   The instructions were angled in such a way that Milo had to turn the Journal upside-down to read the entire thing. As such, the left path had become the right, and vice versa.

    “I think you’re right,” Milo said. He showed the Journal to Tulio and Miguel. “See? To read the instructions, the Journal has to be upside-down, and now it almost looks like it’s from the perspective of the statue! We take the right path!”

   “Right,” Miguel said.

   Milo nodded. “Right.”

   Miguel looked confused. “Right what?”

   “What?” Milo asked.

   Tulio stepped between them, putting a hand in either of their faces. “We take the right path.”

   “Oh.” Miguel smiled. “Right.”

   Altivo snorted and pushed past them all, heading down the right path, Ladron riding on his back. 

    “Let’s go,” Tulio said, looking amused despite his efforts to hide it. “Let’s keep walking.”

   Milo couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous as they headed up the path. What if his and Tulio’s deduction was incorrect? Assuming the warning was as literal as the Leviathan, there was some creature waiting behind one of the statue’s eyes.

   They reached the rim of the eye, then stepped through. Milo exhaled as they passed into another tunnel that took a sharp turn to the left. Nothing jumped out at them. They were safe.

   A scream woke Milo.

   He snapped upright, head whipping back-and-forth as the scream cut off as quickly as it had come. Altivo scrambled to his feet, and Milo rolled away from his hooves. Everything was pitch black as he tumbled against the packs, and he fumbled for his torch.

   A torch lit up nearby. Milo stilled and squinted, trying to figure out what was wrong and who could have screamed.

    “Tulio? Miguel?” Milo asked.

    “We’re fine,” Miguel said, sounding too cheerful.

   Milo squinted, then grabbed his glasses, grateful to have rolled right to his pack. He put them on and looked over at the others.

   Tulio had his back to Milo, hunched over in his blanket. His body was heaving like he was about to be sick. Miguel was rubbing his back, watching Milo with uncharacteristic wariness. Altivo looked between them, appearing as baffled as Milo.

    “What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

    “Nothing’s wrong,” Miguel said, the cheer in his voice breaking. He offered a weak smile instead. “Just a bad dream.”

    “Sounded like someone was attacked,” Milo said, rubbing his neck.

   Miguel scowled at him. Confused, Milo raised his hands defensively.

    “You’ve never seen someone have a nightmare before?” Tulio asked, turning slightly.

    “Well, sure, but… are you alright?” Milo asked worriedly. Tulio looked a little… for lack of a better word, haunted .

    “Everything’s fine,” Tulio said, his face saying otherwise. “Just… let my heart stop racing for a minute.”

   Milo shifted uncomfortably. He’d dealt with nightmares before -didn’t everyone?- and wanted to help get the shell-shocked look off of Tulio’s face. The two Spaniards were trying to play off the situation, but Miguel couldn’t hide his worry. Tulio’s hand tightly gripped the blanket like he was afraid he’d be pulled away if he let go. There wasn’t any erasing of bad dreams and Tulio could hardly open the window for some fresh air, but what else-

    “Did I tell you about moving pictures?” Milo asked abruptly.

   He got twin looks of confusion in answer.

    “It’s like a picture, but there’s a lot of them,” Milo tried to explain. “They move over each other, really fast, so it looks like the picture is moving.”

   More blank looks. Even Altivo had joined.

    “You’ve seen my camera,” Milo said. “I point the camera at things and it takes pictures.”

    “How does it ‘take’ pictures?” Miguel asked. “I thought pictures were painted or sewn.”

   “No, we’ve got pictures like… oh, hang on!”

   Milo took out the picture of him and his grandfather from his pack. He carefully opened the back of the frame and took out the picture. He handed it to Miguel.

    “Like this. It’s not painted,” Milo said.

   Miguel looked curiously at the picture, then ran a finger down it. He passed it to Tulio, who studied it closely.

    “How did you make that?” Miguel asked.

    “I didn’t. A camera did. I don’t know how it works,” Milo admitted, “But there’s a technique that’s used where a bunch of pictures kind of like that one is taken and shown on a screen or wall. The pictures change, and they tell a story.”

   His audience’s expressions didn’t change. Tulio turned fully to face him, revealing Ladron in his lap. He handed the picture back to Milo.

    “Think of it like… oh, like a play in the theater,” Milo said as he replaced the picture in the frame. 

   Tulio perked up. “A play?”

   “Yes, like that! But cameras can be used to take pictures of the play, then show it on a screen when there are no people on the stage.”

   “But that means there’s no people,” Miguel said.

    “Oh, there is! It’s just…” Milo groaned. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t really know how it works, but I’ve seen a few moving pictures.”

   “What are they about?” Tulio asked.

   Milo opened his mouth, then closed it. 

    “Well? You’re the one who brought it up.”

   “Comedies,” Milo said, ignoring the dramatic tragedies that usually played.

    “Was that so hard?” Tulio asked.

   Miguel elbowed him. Tulio ignored him, looking around.

    “What time is it?” Tulio asked.

   Milo found the clock. “Two in the morning. Do you think you can sleep now?”

   “Too bad we don’t have a moving picture here,” Tulio murmured. His shoulders slumped in a sigh, but he just said, “I can sleep.”

   “We can see a moving picture once we’re out of here,” Milo promised.

   Milo waited while Tulio carved another arrow in the wall, then they moved onward. The tunnel gradually widened around them, until they were again walking through a broad cavern with a meandering path through it.

   Milo gaped at a statue that was carved alongside the path. It was a leaping fish, arcing halfway over the path.

    “How is this statue still intact?” Milo asked nobody in particular.

   Tulio, leading the way with his torch, glanced back. He stopped without prompting and turned. Milo grinned his thanks, then climbed over the wall beside the path. He knelt at the base of the statue and turned on his torch.

   The base was plain and rectangular. Having hoped to see some runes, Milo leaned back. He gazed up at the fish.

    “I wonder why the Atlanteans were so obsessed with fish,” Milo mused aloud.

    “They’re under the ocean,” Miguel said.

    “Not always, if the myths are right,” Tulio pointed out. “But they were still in the middle of the ocean, Milo.”

   “Yeah, yeah.” Milo took out his camera and snapped a picture of the statue. “But still.”

   Tulio shrugged. They moved onward without speaking. Tulio hadn’t said much since waking up that morning. Even Miguel was quieter than normal.

   Milo glanced back as the fish statue vanished into the darkness. They’d been traveling for six days towards Atlantis. Maybe they were rethinking going to Atlantis?

    “Do you hear that?” Tulio asked.

   Everyone stopped. Milo tilted his head, then he heard what Tulio was talking about.

    “Water?” Milo said in question.

   Tulio nodded and kept walking. Milo shrugged and followed.

   Before long, Tulio’s torchlight lit up a stream of water flowing down the cavern wall. The path swerved around a small pool collecting against the wall. Milo traced the stream they’d been following to the pool, then another stream leading along the path in the other direction.

    “This almost feels deliberate,” Milo said, gesturing to the two streams.

    “I mean, they might’ve,” Miguel said. “Before Atlantis sunk, you know.”

   Tulio hummed noncommittally. “Now’s a good time to wash. You both stink.”

   Milo laughed. “Well, you don’t exactly smell like a bunch of flowers yourself.”

   Tulio turned to look at him, clearly unimpressed. Milo’s smile froze, wondering if he’d insulted Tulio.

   After a moment, Tulio’s lips lifted in a slight smile. “Could be worse, I guess. I could smell like rat.”

   Ladron chittered scoldingly.

    “He wasn’t talking about you,” Miguel said, picking up the armadillo.

    “Nope, I was talking about you,” Tulio said drily. “You spoil Ladron too much, carrying him everywhere.”

   “Says the man who cuddles with Ladron every night.”

   “I’m blaming you,” Tulio said, then marched toward the pool. “Come on, let’s not take all day about this.”

   Milo kicked off his boots and sat down to pull off his socks. He put a toe in the water, then stepped back with a shiver.

    “You, too, Milo!” Tulio ordered. He was wading deeper into the pool, where it rose to his knees. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

   Milo made a face and edged further into the water. “ You m-mean when you g-get n-numb?”

   Milo was shoved from behind. He tripped over the edge of the path and belly-flopped into the water. He shoved himself onto his elbows, whooping in shock of the icy water. He staggered to his feet.

    “Miguel!” Milo yelled, wrapping his arms around himself. “Now my clothes are soaked, too!”

    “Quickest way to wash your clothes is to wash yourself and your clothes at once!” Miguel said cheekily.

   Milo looked at Tulio pleadingly. Tulio, shivering and knee-high in the water, nodded. The two of them charged!

   Miguel realized his mistake of standing nearby to gloat too late. Milo grabbed one hand and Tulio took the other. Together, the two of them managed to get Miguel into the water, boots and all. Miguel yelped as the water passed over his boots, writhing so hard that Milo’s hands slipped. He lost his balance and toppled backward, again drenching himself. He sat up and spit out water, unable to stop the laughter that bubbled out of his chest.

   Tulio got Miguel into a headlock, then let himself drop. Miguel staggered at the sudden weight around his shoulders, tripped, and finally joined them fully in the water.

    “Woah!” Miguel wailed. He thrashed away from Tulio and leaped to his feet. “That’s cold!”

   “You’ll get used to i-it,” Milo said through his shivers.

   Miguel laughed and kicked water at Milo. Milo splashed him back, while Tulio waded out of splashing range.

   Eventually, Milo had to leave the pool. His fingertips were turning blue and he’d long since lost the feeling in his toes. He staggered from the pool, wondering how Miguel and Tulio were still largely unaffected by the cold.

    “First out makes the fire,” Tulio said.

   Shivering so hard his teeth chattered, Milo just gave a thumbs up. He stumbled over to the sled, where Altivo was still harnessed and watching the men with an aloof look.

   Milo grabbed a handful of moss and his box of matches. He struggled to pull out a single match, then had to sit and blow on his fingers until he could maneuver them well enough to light the match. He dropped the match into the moss, then held his hands over the flames until he could feel them again.

   Milo built up the fire some more. Gradually, he stopped shivering. He used the rope from the sled and strung it up between two stalactites so it hung near the fire. He retrieved the bar of soap from his pack and, taking Miguel’s joking advice to heart, Milo scrubbed the clothes he was wearing without taking them off. As he went to retrieve all his other clothes -all of which did in fact smell exactly like he’d spent the last six days hiking in them- Miguel and Tulio had caught on and were retrieving their bars of soap and clothes. 

   For a bit, the cave was quiet aside from the splash of them washing their clothes. When they couldn’t stand the cold any longer, they huddled around the fire. Milo hurriedly grabbed their blankets, and the men scrambled to get their soaked clothes off and over the improvised clothesline.

   Tulio’s blanket slipped as he turned from his clothes. Milo opened his mouth to ask Tulio to get the pan to boil some water, then lost his train of thought when he saw the scars.

   Milo had an old scar on his wrist, from the day the boiler was being particularly cranky, so he knew what burn scars looked like. But he’d never seen one the size of the scar across the lower part of Tulio’s stomach. Another scar, long and thin, appeared from over Tulio’s right shoulder and arched down to end at his sternum.

   Tulio yanked the blanket back into place. “What were you saying?”

   “Um.” Milo blinked and tried to remember what he’d been about to say, but couldn’t. “I was just… Tulio, where’d you get those scars?”

   Miguel, digging through their supplies, froze.

    “What, these?” Tulio’s voice wasn’t nearly as nonchalant as his shrug. “They’re just from… a con that went, uh… let’s say, badly.” 

   “How b-” Milo broke off and shook his head. “Sorry, that’s none of my business, is it?”

   “You have a right to be curious,” Tulio said, looking away.

    “And you have a right to privacy,” Milo said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He quickly changed the topic, “Miguel, grab the pan so we can boil some water, could you?”

   “Got it!” 

   The following silence was a bit awkward. Milo blamed himself for staring, and was relieved when both Spaniards started arguing over whether or not to fix some coco. Milo relaxed and got up to go to their supplies, thinking coco was a good idea.

   Once everyone was warmed and dried, Miguel went and unharnessed Altivo, since they couldn’t get moving until their clothes were dry, anyway. By silent agreement, it was decided to camp beside the pool. Tulio and Milo raised the sled on its side and hung some of their clothes on it, closer to the fire, in the hopes of getting dry clothes to wear sooner rather than later.

   Milo retrieved his torch and shined it around. He smiled at the strange surroundings, reveling in being on his way to Atlantis. He wished he knew how far away they were, though. Were they close, or would they have to turn around before they reached Atlantis?

    “We’re past the halfway point, aren’t we?” Tulio asked.

   Milo shrugged. “Maybe. We’re halfway through the instructions the Shepherd gave, but who knows how long each passage will take to pass through. It took three days for the first passage, but it’s barely been a day for each passage that’s followed. Are you…”

   “I’m not calling it quits,” Tulio said, waving his hand. “I’m invested in this. But there better be gold out of this.”

   Milo smiled. Tulio was serious about the gold, he knew. But he was sure Tulio enjoyed the search just as much as Milo and Miguel did.

    “Woah, boy,” Miguel suddenly said.

   Milo turned. Altivo was stamping, his ears swiveling.

    “What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

    “I don’t know,” Miguel said, stroking Altivo’s nose. “I think he heard something.”

   Milo perked up. Despite the Leviathan, he was eager to see any other creatures on their way to Atlantis. Maybe the next one wouldn’t be so keen on trying to eat them.

   Milo shone his light in the direction Altivo was staring. The torch lit up only an empty wall. He moved the light toward the ceiling. The wall was bare, though.

    “Maybe it was the dripping water,” Milo said.

    “Maybe. Easy, boy,” Miguel soothed. “Or an echo of our voices.”

   Once Altivo was calmed, Miguel joined them around the fire. Everyone put on their warm, damp clothes and sat closer to the fire to get them to finish drying.

   Milo’s eyes were drawn to the wall now in darkness. Altivo had been unfazed during the entire trip, aside from the narrow shaft. He didn’t seem like a horse that spooked easily. Milo suspected there had been something on the wall.

   And from Miguel and Tulio’s glances, they felt the same way.

   Rourke watched the oil tanker maneuver around the final turn of the zig-zagging shaft. The headlights lit up a rough arrow carved in the wall, the only indication that they were still heading in the same direction as Milo and his kidnappers.

   “Rourke,” Helga’s voice came.

   Rourke turned to her, wondering what could have brought her back from scouting ahead yet again.

   “What is it?” Rourke asked.

   “Another shaft,” Helga said. “Come on.”

   Helga and Rourke walked along the tunnel to where the other trucks were making their way deeper into the stone. They hurried to the front truck, which stopped and let them in to ride.

   After a bit of driving, the digger stopped, leading the other trucks to stop behind it. Rourke stepped out, wondering why Mole would have stopped. It was probably the shaft Helga had mentioned…

   Rourke came alongside the digger, and realized just why Helga had turned back around.

   “How deep is it?” Rourke asked.

   “Roughly two hundred feet deep,” Helga said. “There’s a narrow path leading down the shaft, barely wide enough for a person.”

   “And you’re sure they came this way?” Rourke asked, though there weren't exactly any other paths.

   Helga nodded. “There’s another arrow at the bottom.”

   Rourke turned to survey the line of vehicles. They could and had lowered their vehicles down shafts before. They always traveled with enough rope and chains to do it safely, though the longer the shaft, the greater the risk. The trucks would be relatively simple. Nobody would dare sneeze while the oil tanker was being lowered. The digger, though…

   “What are the chances we’ll need the digger?” Rourke asked Helga.

   Helga shrugged. “Who knows? But Mole won’t come with us if we leave the digger, and neither would Audrey. You know she doesn’t trust anyone else with that thing.”

   Rourke rubbed his temple. Without the Journal and Milo to translate it, they were heading in blind. Anything Thaddeus had translated about the route to Atlantis, he’d taken with him to the grave.

   “Send the digger down first,” Rourke decided. “It’ll take the whole fleet to support it, and there aren't enough chains to lower it from below.”

   Helga nodded and turned to holler, “Get the chains unloaded and trucks turned around! Four trucks to a chain! Chain up and get out of the way, move it!”

   Rourke sighed, then moved to help with the chains. It was going to be a long day. 

   The path was gone.

   Miguel looked from the fractured ground to Milo with his nose buried in the Journal, then back. The ground looked like someone had taken a massive hammer to it. The stone was broken and sat in big, uneven chunks. Some of them leaned on others, and there were a few chunks stacked twenty feet high. Bits of the path were visible everywhere, pieces of cobblestone and wall littered across the ground.

    “Maybe it was an earthquake,” Milo muttered, scanning the Journal page for the fifth time.

    “What’s supposed to be here?” Miguel asked.

    “The Hall of Kings,” Milo said.

    “Hey,” Tulio said from where he was poking around the stones, “I think I found one of the kings.”

   Miguel ran over with Milo. Tulio’s torchlight was illuminating a carving. It had once been the carving of a face, though half the carving had been broken off sometime before. What remained was a nose, eyes, and hair carved in straight lines and sharp corners.

    “Murals!” Milo exclaimed. “I thought they would be statues, but they must have been murals carved directly on the floor!”

   Milo dropped to his knees and examined the carving. Miguel shrugged at Tulio, then climbed a nearby chunk of stone. He took out his torch, but the light didn’t reach a wall in any direction.

    “Do you know how we get out?” Miguel asked.

   Milo, engrossed in the carving, didn’t answer. Tulio climbed up beside Miguel and peered into the darkness.

    “I think the instructions were to follow the succession of kings across the hall,” Tulio said.

   Miguel stared the mess in dismay.

    “But they also say to go north,” Tulio went on.

   Miguel took the compass out from his jacket and opened it. With some maneuvering, Miguel found that north was in the same direction of where they were heading. From his elevated spot, Miguel could even see a winding path heading northward.

    “Not much of a puzzle, is it?” Miguel asked.

    “I don’t think it’s a puzzle,” Tulio said. “Maybe it was how they recorded their history.”

   Miguel shrugged. He didn’t pay too much attention to history. That had always been more of Tulio’s thing. But he did have to admit that having his story carved in stone in El Dorado had been immensely satisfying. Even if the people of El Dorado had the wrong idea about him having powers or anything god-related.

   Miguel smiled as he wondered if the carvings were still there. If he, Tulio, and Altivo found some way to return to El Dorado…

    “No,” Tulio said, climbing down.

    “You don’t even know what I was thinking about!” Miguel protested.

    “No, but I recognize that look,” Tulio said as he wandered away.

    “You’re no fun!” Miguel called after him. When Tulio ignored him, Miguel slid back down to Milo. “Hey, are we going to keep going?”

   Milo jerked upright. He grinned sheepishly and busied himself with putting away the Journal.

    “Right, right, we’ve got an expedition to finish,” Milo said to himself, a bit harshly.

    “We’ll be coming back,” Miguel assured him.

   Milo visibly perked up and hurried onward. Miguel watched him go, somewhat regretting not letting Milo get lost in his studying the mural for a bit longer. He was so keen and eager to learn things about Atlantis.

   Miguel walked slowly after Milo, who stood at the start of a path between chunks of stone. Altivo gave a huge sigh and walked delicately after them. As they continued, Milo stared at each of the murals that became visible. He slowed, but never stopped.

    “Do you know who these kings are?” Miguel asked. Partially because he was curious and partially because he felt a bit guilty for making it seem like Milo shouldn’t study the murals.

    “I don’t,” Milo said. He smiled. “Yet. There’s a history of Atlantis given in the Journal, but I haven’t had time to translate that part yet. I bet all these kings are listed there.”

    “But I did translate earlier a bit of how their royal system worked. The kings ruled, obviously, but typically alongside their queen. The title passed down through the generations, unless the Heart chose someone else? I haven’t figured out the Heart yet, but however that worked, it was rare.”

   Milo kept going, his words picking up speed as he continued, unchecked, “The queen held just as much power as the king and, historically, no major decisions could be made unless the king and queen agreed on it. There’s mention of a sort of group of advisors, chosen by both the king and queen, who assisted in all decision making.”

   “And the heirs!” Milo exclaimed, fully in his element, “ They were raised by the king and queen as well! There was a sort of nanny, because you can’t expect, you know, a toddler to accompany the king and queen everywhere. Oh, side note, there was a royal court in Atlantis where the king and queen would announce their decisions and see visitors and held council with their advisors or whoever the time called for, but Atlantean royalty were known and expected to mingle with everyone else, the ‘commoners,’ you might say. The Atlanteans had no nobility, either.”

   Tulio raised an eyebrow.

    “Maybe the advisors and their families were a bit like nobility, but there wasn’t any record of them holding any sort of power. All in Atlantis were considered equal, even if their roles were vastly different.”

    “Back to the heirs,” Milo continued, “Traditionally, the king or queenship passed onto the eldest child. All the children would spend more and more time in the royal courts as they aged, learning all they needed to know. It was common for younger children to remain close to the royal court, as advisors or soldiers. Even for the older children. If the heir was of age to make a decision and they didn’t want to become the next king or queen, the title could pass onto a younger child who did. If none of the royal children wanted the title, a new heir was chosen by the Heart. Which, again, I still don’t know about.”

   Milo’s shoulders slumped as he wound down over his confusion about the Heart. He looked at Miguel and Tulio.

    “I’m not boring you, am I?”

   “Not at all!” Miguel said sincerely. 

    “No, it’s interesting,” Tulio said.

   Milo beamed. Miguel smiled at how easily Milo was pleased. He wondered, really wondered, for the first time, why nobody had ever believed Milo about Atlantis. 

    “Have you figured out why Atlantis sank into the sea?” Tulio asked.

   Milo shook his head. “I haven’t seen any record of it in the Journal so far. I’m hoping there will be answers in Atlantis, though the chances of finding anything after eight thousand years… well, it’s not too likely, but there may be something. Depending on how quickly Atlantis sank, maybe someone made a record and sealed it somewhere safe. Or there were early signs about Atlantis, something the people of the city would have seen but not told anyone about, it would be recorded on their walls, if the murals and writings we’ve seen so far are any indication!”

   “Atlanteans did like to write things in stone, it looks like,” Tulio said, gesturing to another broken mural they were passing.

   Kida stood on a high path over the shattered Hall of Kings, gazing down at the lights below. Her own light was hidden, tucked away under her wrappings, to avoid giving herself away. She followed the whisper-thin path by touch, eyes on the lights below.

   There was no doubt that the strangers were heading toward Atlantis, but there was no reason as to how they’d gotten down there in the first place or what they wanted to do when they reached Atlantis.

   Kida thought again of the rules about outsiders. Once, the strangers would be dead by now. But now, Kida was too curious. And hopeful that, maybe, these strangers could mark a change for Atlantis. A good change, maybe one where she could stand again under the sun she’d nearly forgotten.

   A light scuff of stone brought Kida’s head around. A slight glow appeared where the upper path slid into stone. Kida recognized the mask’s eye markings as Jaius’ and went to join him.

    “Salus and Sunzu have returned,” Jaius said. 

   He sounded more nervous than ever, and Kida knew she’d made the correct decision by having him stay with her while the elder Atlanteans went to see if they could find clues as to how the strangers had come.

   Kida pulled her crystal free and nodded for Jaius to lead. He turned and walked along the path, taking the one that led deeper into the stone, where their lights and voices would be hidden.

   Salus and Sunzu were sitting when Kida approached, but quickly stood. Kida stiffened at the clear tension in their shoulders.

   “I don’t know how they got inside,” Salus reported, “But there are many more strangers headed this way as well. At least forty of them, and they bring strange vehicles.”

   Kida mulled over the new information. “Are they dangerous, do you think?”

   “I don’t know, but they don’t act like the first three strangers,” Salus said. “The three are quiet and slow, and leave almost no trace behind. The only destruction they leave behind are the arrows.”

   Kida nodded. The scouts were assuming it was so they wouldn’t get lost.

   “But these other strangers,” Sunzu took over, “They’re loud and bright. Their lights fill the tunnels and caverns. They break statues and pillars in their way with a vehicle as big as a house!”

   “If they have big vehicles, they might not have any choice,” Kida said, trying to give the strangers the benefit of the doubt.

   Sunzu shook her head. “They leave their trash behind, too. Old food and broken parts of their machines. And tools, I think.”

   Sunzu held something out. It did appear to be a tool, made of metal so rare in Atlantis. It was a flat-ish rod that widened and curved at the end to create a half circle.

   Kida reached out and took the tool. Something black and slick covered the tool. Kida’s nose crinkled. It didn’t smell natural.

   “All their machines smell like that,” Sunzu said. “There’s a liquid they seem to use to power their machines.”

   “How close did you get to them?” Kida asked sternly.

   “We kept our distance,” Sunzu assured her. “We watched them put something into their machines. Once, some of the liquid spilled, so Salus and I waited until they were far ahead and investigated the liquid.”

   Sunzu and Salus’ screwed up faces told Kida all she needed to know about the liquid.

   Kida’s hand went to her crystal. Once, the crystals could be used to power their own vehicles. But the method had been lost in the early years of pain and forgetting. But Kida did remember the Atlanteans were the only people who could harness the power of the crystals.

   “Not everyone has the magic of the crystals to power things,” Kida said in reminder. “These strangers cannot help it if their machines are loud and smelly.”

   Sunzu nodded, but Salus didn’t look overly convinced.

   “Come,” Kida said, “We’ll follow the three strangers for now.”

   The trail had split.

   Audrey stood alongside the rest of the crew, glancing between the two paths. Helga and the other scouts had stopped at the fork in the path, and had been looking for some sign when the rest of the envoy had shown up.

   “Nothing,” Helga reported. “There’s an arrow pointing backward where the paths split, but all that tells us is that they went this way.”

   Vinny shrugged and said through the match in his mouth, “Have you checked where the paths go into the wall?”

   Helga shook her head. “We were about to.”

   “Let’s just try the left,” Rourke said, impatiently waving Mole forward. “If there’s no arrows after five miles, we turn around and try the right.”

   “Alright, let’s go, move it!” Helga called to the soldiers and sailors in the trucks. “Mole, get that digger moving!”

   “I thought we would be digging!” Mole yelled down. His thoughts on the lack of digging had become increasingly frequent as the days passed.

   Helga gestured for him to get moving. Grumbling, Mole yanked the digger into gear with a screech of gears. 

   Audrey broke away from the crew and ran to the digger. She leaped and caught the handrail, then climbed into the cab.

   “Mole!” Audrey snapped.

   Mole shied away, claiming, “It was an accident!”

   “Sure,” Audrey retorted. “If you keep up with these ‘accidents,’ you’re going to be down a digger, because there’s no spare gears big enough in any of the trucks to fix the digger if you keep grinding them, understand?”

   Mole grumbled. He drove the digger forward with exaggerated caution. Audrey rolled her eyes, then sat back and kicked her feet up on the dashboard. As long as Mole was going to be in a mood, she’d stay in the cab to make sure he didn’t completely ruin his digger.

   The digger rolled forward, taking the left path. Audrey popped her gum and absently wondered when they were going to catch up with Milo and his kidnappers. Then, how much further was Atlantis? She was ready to be home and paid. Already, this job was taking longer than half the expeditions she’d been on in the past.

   Audrey was yanked from her thoughts by a loud screech, echoed by a shriek from Mole. Audrey looked sharply up.

   The path was blocked by some sort of giant bug. As in, three-times-the-size-of-the-digger-giant. It’s too-many legs reached for the digger as it ground to a halt. Its rounded head with pincers the size of a person swooped down and grabbed onto the digger’s drill.

   Audrey couldn’t hold back a slight scream as the bug lifted the digger, then dropped it. The impact rattled her to the floor, and she bit her tongue when her head bounced off the seat.

   Mole yanked on the gearshift. Gears shrieked, then the digger lurched backward. The creature stretched forward, pincers reaching. Mole’s foot hit the throttle, then the digger jerked to a halt with a loud crash.

   Realizing what had happened, Audrey rolled to the side. Her feet dropped out of the digger, and she only grabbed the railing to slow her descent to the ground. She kicked off and landed hard, but ignored the jolt to her knees as she ran toward the back of the digger.

   Vinny and Sweet, the former driving the truck closest to the digger, gave Audrey a confused look. Audrey didn’t give him a chance to speak.

   “Back up!” Audrey yelled. She waved her hands at the other trucks. “ Back up! ”

   The creature, apparently deciding the digger didn’t taste good, pulled itself alongside the digger. Everyone caught sight of it at the same time, as all the trucks jerked into reverse. More than a few bumpers and tailgates collided, and Audrey winced at the sound of smashing metal.

   “Audrey!” Sweet yelled. He was waving at Audrey. “Get in here!”

   Audrey glanced back, then darted forward, barely dodging the digger backing up. “Mole!”

   “Get out of the way!” Mole shouted back.

   The digger and Vinney’s truck collided. Sweet reached out, grabbing Audrey once she was close enough. Audrey half-crawled and was half-thrown over Sweet, colliding with Vinny.

   “You okay?” Sweet asked.

   “I’m fine,” Audrey said to Sweet. Then, to Vinny, “Get out of here!”

   “I’m going, I’m going,” Vinny said.

   Luckily the creature didn’t seem keen on leaving the cave it was guarding. The vehicles retreated back to the fork, then stopped.

   Audrey didn’t move at first. Neither did anyone else. Eventually, Rourke appeared beside the passenger side door.

   “Another creature guarding the way to Atlantis?” Sweet asked.

   Rourke shrugged with an irritated sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine. What do you think? Plow past this thing or try the right path?”

   “Well, I wouldn’t want to take the wrong path,” Vinny said, straight-faced.

   Audrey groaned and elbowed him.

   “I’m not sure even the digger could get past that thing,” Sweet said. “I say we try the right path first. If there’s no creature, we look for arrows. If there’s no arrows, we figure out what to do about the creature.”

   “Anyone up for a little bug soup?” Vinny asked, pulling a small bomb with a clock wired to it from under his jacket.

   “Vinny, what did I say about explosives while you’re driving?!” Audrey demanded.

   “Hey, I’m just carrying it,” Vinny said.

   “Yeah, but one big bump and we’re all carrying you ,” Audrey said.

   Vinny made a face at the visual, but he deserved it. Audrey took the bomb and climbed over the seat to stash it in the coils of chains in the very back of the truck. The bomb was small enough that even if it did explode by accident, all it would do was destroy some chains.

   The digger inched up the rightmost path. Nothing came out to attack them, and the envoy crept into the tunnel.

   A few minutes in, Sweet suddenly said, “Look!”

   Audrey turned. He was pointing to an arrow in the rocks. She slumped in relief. They were heading the right way.

    “Would you look at the size of this thing?!”

   Milo gaped up at the massive pillar. Their combined torches barely illuminated the top of the cavern. The pillar nearly touched the roof, and Milo could only estimate its size.

     “It’s got to be half a mile high, at least!” Milo put his hands on the pillar, feeling the detailed etching all across the surface. “It had to have taken hundreds -no, thousands- of years to carve this thing!”

    “What’s it for?” Miguel asked.

   Milo shrugged, happily baffled. It was nothing like the statues or murals they’d passed through the previous day.

    “Maybe a marker,” Milo suggested. He waved the Journal. “We’re getting close to Atlantis. This could have been a way to let travelers know they were a day away or something.”

   Milo walked around the pillar. It was wider than a truck, and the etching continued all the way around it. As far as Milo could tell, the etching continued all the way to the top!

    “How did they get all the way up there?” Miguel asked, following Milo’s gaze. “Rope and ladders?”

   “Atlanteans had flying vehicles, remember?” Tulio answered.

   “ I remember Milo said it could be possible,” Miguel said. “ But, how?”

   Milo shrugged. “That’s what I want to find out. Hey, can you hold my torch a second?”

   Miguel took the torch. Milo pulled out the camera and took pictures of the pillar from various angles. Once he was done, he took a moment to just stare up at the marvel.

   Milo could have studied the pillar all day, and he got the sense that Miguel and Tulio felt the same, even if there wasn’t any gold involved. But if he was right about it being a marker and the Journal clues getting close to the end, then they didn’t have much further to go.

    “Come on,” Milo said, smiling. “Let’s keep going.”

   The path passed beside the pillar before apparently vanishing into the ground. Tulio’s torchlight found where the path reappeared twenty feet below.

   Miguel unharnessed Altivo and left the horse to pick his way down the steep wall. The three of them lowered the sled carefully with ropes. 

   The drop turned out to be a short chasm roughly a half mile across. Milo couldn’t tell if the ground had collapsed, or if the path had intentionally been made to drop into the chasm.

   Whatever the reason, it didn’t slow them for long. Finding the path across the chasm clear and level once again, Altivo was harnessed back to the sled and they pushed onward.

One day later…

   Audrey looked at the path, then leaned past the edge of the chasm. It wasn’t a far drop and the chasm was relatively narrow, but it would take all day to get the vehicles across!

   Beside her, Rourke groaned under his breath. 

   “Hey,” Vinny said, appearing at their sides like magic, “I know how we can get across.”

   “Chains and a lot of time,” Audrey said with a grumble.

   “I mean, that’s one way.” Vinny gave a dangerous looking grin as he held up a piece of dynamite. “But I’ve got another one.”

   “What are they doing?” Jaius asked in an undertone.

   “I don’t know. Be still,” Kida ordered gently when Jaius shifted again.

   Kida watched the stranger tie red sticks together and put them at the base of the Marker. Everyone seemed to be giving him a lot of space, going so far as to back their vehicles away. Their caution made Kida wary. What were they up to?

   When the stranger had put the sticks all around the base, he ran a rope of some kind from the sticks to a box a short distance from the Marker. He knelt beside it, and the strangers backed further away.

   “Get down!” Kida hissed, shoving Jaius behind a boulder.

    Boom! 

   The explosion rattled Kida’s teeth and made her ears roar. A muffled thud came to Kida’s ears. She wretched her head out of cover.

   The Marker was fallen! The stranger with the red sticks stood in front of where the Marker had fallen over the chasm, arms spread wide in pride. Behind him, the other strangers cheered.

   “What…” Jaius gasped. “What did they do?”

   “They made a way for their flightless vehicles to pass,” Kida said.

   It was a clever solution and Kida knew getting the Marker to fall so perfectly would have been difficult, but… but did these strangers have no respect for the histories and works of the people who had come before them?

   Kida shook her head. They couldn’t, and she didn’t understand. Maybe her people had left the surface for so long that people no longer cared about what they had done.

   Confused and disheartened, Kida took Jaius’ arm and led him away.

   Altivo wasn’t budging. Neither was Miguel.

    “I’m telling you, I heard an explosion back there,” Miguel insisted.

    “It was probably some falling rocks,” Milo suggested, then realized what that potentially meant. “I hope none of the path is missing now.”

   Altivo’s nostrils flared. He stared intently back the way they’d come, hooves splayed to resist Tulio tugging on his reins.

    “Come on,” Tulio grunted. “Whatever it was, we’ll figure it out on the way back. But we’re losing daylight speculating about it.”

   “There’s no daylight down here,” Miguel said cheekily.

   Tulio opened his mouth to retort, but Altivo suddenly swung his head forward. Tulio stumbled and fell backward on his butt. Altivo flicked his ears, staring down at him.

   Tulio stood, pushing Altivo’s head away. “Dumb war horse. Come on, let’s keep going.”

   Altivo’s head darted down. Tulio jumped away, twisting and hands going down.

    “Your horse bit me in the butt!” Tulio yelled at Miguel.

    “Well, don’t insult him,” Miguel said, as if it was perfectly logical.

   Tulio groaned and looked at Milo, who quickly schooled his features. Tulio rolled his eyes.

   “ I see the horse is the favorite here,” Tulio said with an over-the-top sniff.

    “No-” Milo started.

    “He is,” Miguel interrupted.

    “Oh, go on,” Tulio said, waving a hand at Altivo. “Favorites go first.”

   Altivo looked at the dark tunnel ahead, then back at Tulio. For a second, he looked like he would back down. But then he raised his head haughtily and walked calmly away. Miguel watched him for a moment, then took out his torch and lit the way.

   Milo looked at Tulio, unsurprised to find him wearing a smug grin.

Chapter Text

   “So this is what it meant by still waters,” Tulio said slowly.

    “Huh, I really thought it would be an underground lake,” Milo said.

    “Snow?!” was all Miguel had to say on the topic.

    “Where’s it coming from?” Tulio asked Milo, ignoring Miguel’s dramatics.

    “I don’t know,” Milo said, looking around. “There has to be some explanation…”

   “How long is this going to take to cross?” Tulio asked.

   Milo startled, clearly having forgotten that detail of the trip. “Oh… I don’t know.”

   “Can we make a fire while we think?” Miguel asked, shivering.

   Tulio and Milo agreed, and a fire was quickly built. They sat around the flames, all staring at the snowy passage ahead.

    “The Shepherd made it across,” Tulio said after a moment.

    “Yeah, and he’s very vague on the details of how,” Milo said.

    “Why are you even arguing against it?” Tulio asked.

   Milo opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I don’t know.”

   Tulio looked at the snow across the passage, then said, “One of us could take Altivo and see how far it is to the other end.”

   Altivo snorted.

    “Or we could wander lost out there,” Tulio said.

   Altivo whuffled and looked away.

    “Thought so.”

   “But, what if something happens to whoever rides out there?” Milo asked.

   “ What’s going to happen?” Tulio asked. “The Journal doesn’t mention anything about dangers out there, just that we have to cross the still waters.”

   “Okay, true, but there’s still ice and snow out there. What if Altivo slips?” Milo asked.

    “Altivo? Never!” Miguel said. “He’s as nimble as a mountain goat! I’ve seen him climb mountains and cross chasms on the top of stone columns no bigger than your two hands put together!”

   “See?” Tulio said. “We’ll be fine.”

   “We?” Miguel looked quickly at him. “Altivo’s my horse. You always say so.”

   “Yeah, but we both know I’m the better rider. The two of us will get across the snow and back in half the time it would take you.”

   Miguel looked at Tulio, then the snow. “But maybe we shouldn’t separate.”

   “We don’t know how long it will take to cross,” Tulio said. “What if we start, then get too far out before realizing we have to turn back? No, Altivo and I will do it. If it seems too far, we’ll turn back around.”

   “When do you want to start?” Milo asked, looking resigned.

   Tulio looked at Altivo. “Altivo needs to be rested. We’ll go in the morning.”

   The following morning, Tulio packed food for him and Altivo for the day. Milo made sure he had extra batteries, and Miguel got Altivo ready. Tulio put on the thickest shirt he’d packed, then the jacket over it and zipped it all the way up.

    “Wish we’d thought to bring hats, ” Milo said as Tulio finished getting ready.

    “I’ll be fine,” Tulio said.

   Miguel solemnly led Altivo over. Tulio took the horse’s reins. He was about to mount, but Miguel stopped him.

    “Take the compass,” Miguel said. “Milo said that a path going straight north should bring you to the other end.”

   Tulio accepted the compass and put it around his neck. “Thanks.”

   “I still think we shouldn’t be separated,” Miguel said. 

    “It’ll be fine,” Tulio said. He grinned. “If I see gold on the way, I’ll leave some for you.”

   “So that’s your motivatio n?” Miguel asked, grinning weakly.

    “It got me down here in the first place, didn’t it?” Tulio asked. “Come on, Altivo.”

   Altivo gave a mighty sigh, but seemed to resign himself to the trip. Tulio climbed onto his back, then lightly kicked back his heels. Altivo broke into a trot onto the snowy landscape.

   The snow wasn’t as bad as it had initially looked. It was only a light covering, thin enough that Tulio could easily see obstacles and turn Altivo away from them. Even the low walls of the path remained visible, keeping Tulio on course.

   The cold was biting, though. Tulio turned up the collar of his jacket and hunched down as much as he could. The tips of his ears were like ice.

   Tulio reached up with his torch hand to touch his ears. His ears were numb, so he couldn’t feel his fingers on them. 

   At the same time, Tulio found that his hair was frozen stiff. He looked up at the dusting of snow drifting from the unseen ceiling. He really wondered how that worked, but tried to not get distracted.

   Tulio shook his head in an attempt to get off the snow piling into his hair, but only succeeded in dropping snow down the back of his jacket. He grunted and shifted, trying to get the snow to fall out, but couldn’t take his light off the path for long.

   Altivo’s ears pricked. He tried to speed up, but Tulio kept him in check. While he was confident in Altivo’s stability, he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

   Tulio took out the compass. Even with the path, Tulio checked to make sure he was heading north at all times, in case the path ended or they started following a false track by accident.

   For the most part, though, Tulio was alone with his thoughts. It didn’t happen often, not with a chattery friend like Miguel. He found himself wondering if there really was gold in Atlantis. If there was treasure of any kind, he wasn’t letting it go this time. He and Miguel needed gold if they wanted to find a place to live in this strange time.

   Not for the first time, Tulio wondered how they’d gotten to the strange time. Magic was the obvious answer, but why the four of them, and why to this time? And was there a way to go back?

   Tulio didn’t have any answers, though, except maybe whatever spirits controlled the magic really hated Miguel and himself. Or wanted to give them a second chance at the treasure.

   Tulio scoffed. “Whatever the reason, we’re stuck here for now.” He squinted. “The other side had better be soon. We can’t keep going that much longer before it’s time to turn around.”

   Altivo snorted in agreement and again tried to speed up. This time, Tulio let him, trusting Altivo to choose his footing and keeping his torchlight on the path. Sometimes it was best to just trust the horse.

   Minutes ticked by. Altivo alternated between a trot and canter, depending on how rough the path was. Tulio kept his torchlight on the path, but turned his head when the occasional stone rose up from the snow. Some appeared to have fallen from the ceiling, and others were carved animals Tulio didn’t recognize.

   Tulio’s teeth clattered together. A breeze had kicked up from the same nowhere, dumping snow. Tulio huddled in the jacket.

    “There’s no way we can cross this with the sled and on foot,” Tulio muttered. “What do you think, Altivo?”

   Altivo’s ears flicked back.

    “Great, I’m talking to the horse,” Tulio said. “I wonder if the hypothermia’s set in already.”

   Altivo snorted and broke into another canter.

    “Okay, just a bit longer,” Tulio said. 

   He was keenly aware that if he misjudged his and Altivo’s abilities and turned back too late, they’d die. But if the other side didn’t show up soon, he was going to have to admit that they couldn’t cross the snow to continue the journey, not unless there was some way to keep warm for the whole trip.

    “Altivo,” Tulio sighed, “I think-”

   Altivo squealed, then skidded to a halt. Tulio slid forward, then lifted his torchlight in shock.

   The dark passage of another tunnel greeted him. He stared in disbelief, then whooped happily. Altivo squealed and trotted out of the snow and into the tunnel.

   The air noticeably warmed as they left the snow. Tulio slid off Altivo and led him a bit deeper into the tunnel. He noticed moss growing on the wall where the drifting snow had melted and ran down the corner of the tunnel.

    “Eat up, Altivo,” Tulio said.

   Altivo eagerly did so. Tulio took off his pack and set it down, then rubbed the ice and dampness from Altivo’s hide with a handful of moss. He drank the last of his water and set the canteen under a persistent drip of the ceiling. He didn’t have a pot to boil the water, but didn’t think it would make much difference.

   Tulio took out the moss he’d packed in preparation of him and Altivo eating out in the snow. He piled it up. The matches had remained in his pack, and he quickly lit a fire. He sighed in relief as the small flames thawed out his fingers and face.

   Once he could feel things again, Tulio stood up. Altivo had finished eating, and he moved to the mouth of the cave, eager to get back to camp.

    “Let’s go,” Tulio said, mounting. Then, because Miguel wasn’t around. “Let’s follow our trail back.”

   Tulio grinned to himself, then was almost tossed from Altivo’s back when the horse leaped forward.

   The digger stopped unexpectedly. Rourke leaned out the window to see if he could see why, but nothing was in the way.

   Then Helga and the scouts came around the side of the digger. Rourke waited impatiently for Helga to walk up beside the truck.

   “We found them,” Helga said in clear satisfaction.

   Rouke straightened. “What?”

   “The tunnel leads to a cavern of snow, and they’re camped right outside it.”

   Rourke tried to puzzle out the snow part when they were hundreds of feet underground and underwater, then pushed the question aside for the moment.

   “How many of them are there?” Rourke asked.

   Helga shrugged. “One, from the looks of it. There could be others nearby, though.”

   Rourke nodded slowly. “Could be Vinny’s explosion yesterday tipped them off that they were being followed.”

   “Hey,” Vinny said as he joined them with Audrey in time to hear the comment, “How else were we going to get across?”

   “What’s done is done,” Sweet stepped in. “Did you see Milo?”

   Helga nodded. “He was tending a fire while the guard patrolled the camp.”

   “We’ll go in on foot,” Rourke said. “Observe from a distance and figure out how many kidnappers we’re dealing with. What kind of weapon was the guard holding?”

   “He didn’t have any,” Helga said. “None that I saw, at least.”

   “Okay, Helga, you take care of the guard once we’re all in position,” Rourke said, as Helga was the most skilled of them in hand-to-hand combat. “We’ll figure out the best way to get Milo to safety once we get there.”

   “Hold up,” Sweet said. “Was Milo being threatened?”

   “What part of ‘guard’ didn’t make sense to you?” Helga asked.

   Sweet shrugged. “I’m just saying. We’ve never had any evidence that Milo was kidnapped, now have we?”

   “Besides him leaving with no notice and no funds?” Rourke asked.

   Sweet looked at him, then the others. He shrugged again. “Alright. I’ll get Milo when it’s time. He might be hurt, you know.”

   Rourke wasn’t particularly convinced by the mischievous glint in Sweet’s eyes, but he nodded in agreement. From what they’d learned about Milo, he didn’t have any experience in combat. Keeping the doctor close to him was the best idea.

    “Miguel, would you stop pacing for a bit?” Milo pleaded. All the pacing was making him even more nervous.

    “I can’t help it,” Miguel said without slowing. “I’m worried. How long has it been?”

   “Two minutes longer than the last time you asked.” Milo picked up the clock. “Eight hours.”

   “Too long. It’s been too long,” Miguel said. “I’m going to go look for him.”

   “Miguel,” Milo said, “Tulio will be careful. For all we know, he reached the other end. Maybe he had to stop and warm up before he returned. Man, would a radio be handy right about now.”

   Miguel didn’t comment. He kept pacing in a large circle around the camp. He had Ladron in his arms and was stroking the armadillo with a speed bordering on frantic.

   Milo looked back at the snow, straining to see a light from Tulio. He regretted not having some sort of way to signal him. If only he’d brought some kind of gun flare!

   Stones clattered, making Milo perk up right before he froze. He turned in the opposite direction of the snow. Aside from Miguel’s pacing form, nothing moved in the shadows cast by the fire.

   Milo sighed and poked at the fire. He worriedly rubbed his forehead. His anxiety and fear was building with every minute that Tulio was missing. Had he made it across? Was he on his way back now, or was it simply too cold? Was he or Altivo hurt in some way? Or, worse, what if Tulio had gotten lost or Milo had misinterpreted the instructions?

   Milo fretted as he put more moss on the fire.

    “You seeing that?” Tulio asked Altivo, hoping he wasn’t imagining things.

   Altivo’s ears pricked and his head bobbed.

   Ahead, from behind a pile of boulders that had rolled over the path at some point, was a dim glow.

    “I hope that’s the camp and not some new creature wanting to eat us,” Tulio muttered. “Come on, boy.”

   Instead, Altivo stopped.

    “Altivo? Come on, camp’s right over there and you’ve got to be as cold as I am,” Tulio complained.

   Altivo snorted and scraped the ground with a hoof. Tulio slid down and looked Altivo up and down. He was quivering and his hide was shiny with flecks of ice, but he wasn’t moving for the warmth of camp. His ears were pricked toward camp, with his legs spread wide like he was ready to charge.

   Tulio reflexively stiffened. He looked again at the light, then went and climbed up the boulders, wincing at the snow against his hands. They were already nearly numb without any help.

    “If you’re imagining things,” Tulio told Altivo, “I’m leaving you behind.”

   Tulio reached the top of the boulder. The light was in fact the fire. Milo was hunched over it, and Miguel was at the edge of the light, pacing.

    “There’s camp,” Tulio muttered. “What’s up with…”

   At the edge of the light, opposite of the camp from Miguel, something moved. Tulio stared at it, wide-eyed, as something moved closer. The shadows were too dense for him to see what it was, but the thing was moving with caution and looked hunched over. Whatever it was, it had to be trouble!

   Tulio slid down the boulder and grabbed Altivo’s reins. “Okay, you were right, there’s something there.”

   Altivo proudly lifted his head. 

    “Yeah, yeah, good boy,” Tulio said, rubbing Altivo’s nose absently while he thought. “ We’ve got the advantage of surprise, but we’ll have to be fast.”

   Tulio took Altivo’s reins and turned the horse to go around the boulders. He edged Altivo -who was very willing now that Tulio was on the same page as him- to the edge of the boulder, then he paused again.

   Tulio peeped around the boulder. If he wanted to maintain his surprise, he couldn’t use the torch once they were around the boulder. And they’d have to move fast.

   Tulio mounted Altivo. “Well, here goes nothing.”

   Milo heard a brief scuffling, then a sudden shout.

    “Milo, look out!”

   Milo jumped at Tulio’s voice, shocked to find Altivo galloping into the firelight. Instinctively, Milo looked behind them, but there wasn’t anything. He backed away, twisting when Altivo galloped by. As they passed, Tulio flung himself off Altivo’s back…

   And right into a huge man standing right behind Milo?!

   The dark-skinned man was twice Tulio’s size, but surprise and Altivo’s speed was in Tulio’s favor. Both men went down, Tulio tumbling off to the side with a pained wheeze.

    “Bad idea,” Tulio gasped. He staggered to his feet and sucked in a breath and yelled, “Miguel!”

   Another shout came from the shadows, then a teenage girl ran into the light, swinging a monkey wrench that Tulio barely ducked. He scrambled away, but the dark-skinned man grabbed his jacket before he could get far. Tulio spun, swinging his fist, but the man, with no apparent effort, lifted Tulio into the air by the back of his jacket. Tulio flailed like a cat.

   Altivo screamed, and Milo whipped toward the noise. The horse barreled through a trio of men wearing some sort of mask -where those gas masks?!

   “Milo,” said the dark-skinned man, “We’re here for you!”

   “Yeah, you’re safe now!” said the girl who was still wielding a monkey wrench!

    “Milo!” Tulio yelled, “Get onto Altivo!”

   Recognizing he couldn’t defend himself -not that either of the strangers were advancing on him- Milo flailed his arms in frustration. “What about you?! I’m not leaving you to these… these… well, whoever they are!”

   The dark-skinned man looked at the girl, utterly ignoring Tulio still struggling. “Is that Spanish?”

   “Oy, no wonder he doesn’t get us,” the girl muttered. 

    “No, I-” Milo flailed his arms again, then exclaimed in English, “I don’t know who you are, but put my friend down!”

   For some reason, the man looked smug as he told the girl, “Told you.”

   Tulio’s gaze suddenly fixed on something behind Milo. “Miguel!”

   Milo spun. Miguel was flat on his face, pinned down by a woman wearing a dangerous scowl on her face and a pistol on her hands pointed at the back of Miguel’s head. Miguel flailed, as if he didn’t have a gun pointed at the back of his head!

    “Miguel, don’t move!” Milo pleaded. He looked desperately around. “Please, just leave us alone!”

   “Okay, okay, everyone calm down,” said the dark-skinned man. 

   “Us?! You’re the ones holding my friends at gunpoint and- and- whatever that is you’re doing!”

   Ladron’s head poked up from behind the woman. He bared his fangs, then sank them into the woman’s ankle. She jerked with a shout, distracted just long enough that Miguel was able to squirm free and run toward Milo.

    Bang!

   Milo flinched and Miguel froze at the sound of a gunshot. The shooter was another big man, with pale skin and graying hair. He had a no-nonsense look on his face as he turned his pistol to point at Tulio.

   “Hold up, Rourke,” said the dark-skinned man. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

    “What’s happening?” Tulio muttered.

    “And what made that noise?” Miguel whispered. He was frozen in an awkward position, with one foot still in the air and his body leaning forward.

    “I don’t know,” Milo told them. “And those are guns. Just- just don’t move right now.”

   “What are you talking about, Sweet?” a scrawny, mustached man asked as he joined them in the light.

   The dark-skinned man -Sweet?- slowly put Tulio down so he could stand. Tulio spun and backed toward Milo, trying to keep his gaze on everyone at once.

   “Milo,” Sweet said.

   Milo looked quickly at him. He requested, almost whimpering, “Please just leave us alone.”

   “Milo, we came here to rescue you,” Sweet said.

   Milo stared at him. His confusion and panic at its peak, he couldn’t help it when a sarcastic response came out.

   “Is that what you’re doing? Looks a lot like you’re trying to shoot us!”

   “Wait, so this guy isn’t kidnapped?” asked the scrawny guy.

   “No?!” Milo exclaimed. “Unless that’s what you guys are up to!”

    “Milo,” Tulio muttered.

    “These guys think I’ve been kidnapped!” Milo exclaimed.

    “What? By us?” Miguel burst into laughter.

    “I don't see what’s so funny,” muttered the girl in Spanish.

    “Besides the fact that you guys are the ones trying to kidnap Milo?” Miguel asked.

    “Hey, this is a rescue mission,” the girl said.

   “And I don’t need to be rescued!” Milo exclaimed. “Not until you guys showed up, anyway! What’re you doing here? How’d you get down here?”

   “We’re looking for the grandson of Thaddeus Thatch,” Rourke said.

   Milo gaped at him. “...why?”

   Rourke gestured to the others. “We’re part of the crew that helped your grandfather find the Shepherd’s Journal.”

   Milo couldn’t react. They were… what? How? When?

   “Did… did you give me the Journal?” Milo asked.

   Rourke nodded and gestured to the woman with a gun. “Helga delivered it to your room at the museum. Our employer, Mr. Whitmore, planned to have you brought to his estate to explain everything.”

   Milo slowly shook his head. “He could have phoned.”

   “Mr. Whitmore was a bit extravagant sometimes,” Rourke said. “Now, can we all sit down and explain things calmly?”

    “Milo!” Tulio hissed.

   Milo hastily recapped what Rourke had just told him.

   “ So he knows about Atlantis?” Miguel asked.

    “We do,” said the girl. 

    “Great. Competition,” Tulio muttered.

    “Hey, Mr. Whitmore put a lot of money and time into getting supplies and vehicles ready for the expedition,” the girl said.

    “And we got here with a rented submarine and a horse.” Tulio flinched. “Where’s Altivo?”

   “Where’s our horse?” Milo asked.

   Sweet smiled and jutted his thumb off to the side. “Looks like Cookie’s making friends with him with a few apples.”

   “You’re telling me he’s got fruit in that wagon and he won’t use it?” asked the scrawny man drily.

    “Altivo’s fine,” Milo told the Spaniards. “He was bribed to the other side with apples.”

   Miguel looked genuinely betrayed. Tulio, utterly unsurprised.

    “Okay, so if they know about Atlantis and the Journal,” Tulio said, “ Then they’re looking for Atlantis.”

    “And rescuing me against my will,” Milo said wryly.

    “Hey, you weren’t supposed to leave Washington DC,” the girl said. “Everyone knew you didn’t have funding, and you didn’t have friends to go with.”

    “Ouch,” Miguel said flatly.

   Milo didn’t respond, because it was true. He didn’t have any free time outside of his work and research. And being known as the Atlantis nut didn’t exactly draw others to him.

   He wasn’t normally so bold as to take off to find Atlantis alone, either. If he hadn’t met Miguel and Tulio, who knew where he’d be? He might’ve just given up on Atlantis altogether, Journal or no Journal. Either way, he had more pressing questions.

   “You said you knew Grandpa,” Milo said. “This expedition -all of you- were preparing for this journey? With all this equipment and people, it must’ve taken years, right?”

   Milo received nods in response. His hands curled into tight fists.

   “Then why,” Milo said, his voice getting quiet and hard, “Did Grandpa die with just me by his side, telling me that Atlantis could never be found?”

Chapter Text

    “We didn’t know.”

   The expression Milo gave Sweet in response was nothing short of tortured. It only lasted a moment before Tulio nudged him. Milo looked at the ground, then at Tulio. The two of them whispered.

   Rourke started to step forward, but halted when Sweet hurriedly gestured for him to stay put. Milo was the one with the map. The expedition needed to be on good terms with Milo, and Rourke making demands would only worsen the already bad situation.

   Milo looked again at Sweet. When he spoke again, he was shaking, but the intensity hadn’t left his voice.

   “You were on the expedition with Grandpa to Iceland, weren’t you?” Milo waited only long enough for Sweet’s nod to pose his following questions. “Why didn’t any of you show up afterward? Did you even know he was sick?”

   Sweet shook his head slowly. “We found out two weeks after he died.”

   Milo stared at Sweet, then turned his head sharply away. He and his companions spoke quietly for a few minutes. Audrey, the only person in the expedition who spoke Spanish, looked insulted at something they said, but thankfully didn’t comment.

   “We need to sleep on it,” Milo eventually said, his voice tired. Beside him, Tulio’s glare dared anyone to argue. “We’ll give you our answer in the morning.”

   “Of course,” Sweet said.

   Sweet didn’t look at Rourke, not wanting to draw the trio’s attention to the man. He knew what Rourke would be thinking, and that at least one of the three would be able to see it on Rourke’s face.

   Sweet wound his way through the camp, bag in hand. With heavy machinery and a day of walking, he was kept busy most evenings with cuts, bruises, and strained muscles. And with the snowy passage to cross the next day, he wanted to make sure everyone was ready.

   Once he was done, he went to the edge of camp, where the three newest members of the crew were sitting around their own campfire. They all looked up with varying levels of caution, not that Sweet blamed them. It had been a day of misunderstandings, and Sweet knew several members of the expedition had already been arguing with them about joining the expedition.

   “Just checking in,” Sweet said, lifting his bag slightly. “Any injuries that need tending? I know Helga took Miguel down pretty hard.”

   Milo frowned and looked at Miguel. They spoke briefly, ending with Miguel shaking his head.

   Sweet wasn’t convinced. He’d been on enough battlefields, expeditions, and in enough hospital rooms to see the signs. He’d been watching Miguel long enough since their meeting to notice him shielding his left wrist.

   But Sweet let them pretend. Their first meeting had gone about as badly as possible without anyone being shot; he didn’t blame them for being wary.

   Sweet set down his bag and sat across the fire. Milo seemed welcoming enough, but Tulio was practically glaring. Miguel was actually smiling, as if he hadn’t been the one held at gunpoint.

   “I have something you might want to see, Milo,” Sweet said.

   Milo looked curiously at him. After his initial anger, Milo was startlingly welcoming to the crew. It was a little like Tulio was the only one of the trio with common sense.

   Then again, Sweet wasn’t going to complain if the pair had already forgiven the crew. Maybe Tulio would be swayed in time, too.

   Sweet opened his jacket and took out a wallet where he kept a few pictures. He took out the picture from the Iceland expedition and held it out. 

   Milo looked uncertain, but took the picture. As soon as he looked at it, Milo’s tense shoulders relaxed. Miguel and Tulio leaned to look over his shoulders. Milo pointed to Thaddeus and spoke to them.

   “You were with Grandpa when he found the Journal?” Milo asked Sweet.

   Sweet nodded. “We all were, aside from Audrey. That man in the left corner is her dad. He retired from the expeditions a few years ago, and Audrey joined the crew.”

   Milo hummed thoughtfully, then lifted his head. “You found the Journal with him.”

   Sweet nodded. “In Iceland.”

   “I knew it,” Milo said with a satisfied grin. His smile faded after a moment. “I wish Grandpa had told me, though.”

   Sweet didn’t comment. The crew had explained about Mr. Whitmore and Thaddeus being old friends, and Mr. Whitmore funding the expeditions for decades up to the most recent one. But nobody knew why the Journal had ended up hidden away. 

   Sweet didn’t know about the others, but he wished he’d tried to connect with Milo when Thaddeus was still alive. Or even after that. Somehow, Sweet had gone all this time assuming Thaddeus’ grandson had friends like Thaddeus did. The assumptions had led to Milo hundreds of miles underground and underwater, woefully unprepared.

   “Tell me, Milo,” Sweet said, “How did the three of you meet?”

   “Uh…”

   The question hadn’t seemed complicated to Sweet, but when Milo asked the Spanish pair something, there was a long pause. Miguel eventually responded with something that made Tulio shake his head with loud protests. He waved a finger around his head in the universal symbol for “crazy.”

   Sweet watched the threesome discuss with growing bemusement. He was fluent in the Arapaho language, Tamil, and, of course, English. Others in the expedition had their own expertise in various languages. But just then, Sweet was wishing he’d learned Spanish at some point.

   Eventually, Milo gave his answer.

   “We just met.”

   Sweet waited. As the silence grew, he raised an eyebrow.

   “Just met as in, say, a few months ago? Weeks?”

   “Week and a half,” Milo shrugged.

   A beat of silence passed.

   “That’s about the time you left Washington DC,” Sweet commented.

   “The day of, actually,” Milo said, his expression daring Sweet to point out the obvious.

   Unaffected, Sweet did so. “You went to find Atlantis with two strangers?”

   “They believed in Atlantis.” Milo’s defiance faded, his eyes going to the flames. “Ever since Grandpa died, nobody’s believed in Atlantis. Or me.”

   Tulio spoke quietly to him. Milo nodded and waved him off with a few words.

   “It was a spontaneous decision for all of us,” Milo said, lifting his shoulders. “But we’re here now, and we’re going to find Atlantis.”

   Miguel nudged Milo’s shoulder and said something that made them all smile. Milo looked at Sweet with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

   “I suppose you’ll want to join us?”

   Everything was spinning. Fracturing. Crumbling all around him. He struggled to push back the darkness, but heavy hands pushed back.

   “Be still.”

   He flailed for the light, pain searing his skull until he thought it would crack in half. The darkness vanished like a cast off blanket, and he could see all.

   Hulking men of shadows and smoky armor rode sky-high war horses that trampled wood and stone under hooves of flames. Fire crackled and reached toward him, pushing him back against unmoving stone.

   Heavy cloth swept back over him, muffling the stamp and crackling flames. Heavy hands and heavier words pushed him down.

   “Lay still. It will be over soon.”

   Tulio snapped awake, clamping his hand over a pained cry. He jolted upright, heart thundering.

   Lights from somewhere nearby illuminated Miguel sprawled on his stomach nearby, his blankets in a tangle and bandaged hand sticking straight up in the air. Milo slumped against a sleeping Altivo, the Journal open in his lap and his head hanging.

   And Ladron was in Tulio’s lap.

    “Seriously, why do you keep doing that?” Tulio whispered. Ladron had been missing since the eventful afternoon.

   Ladron chittered at him, then climbed off Tulio’s lap before he could be shooed away.

   Tulio stretched with a groan. He was tired, but didn’t want to try to go back to sleep. Not with the nightmares waiting. He wondered what time it was.

   Clattering brought Tulio’s gaze past his companions. He frowned when he saw the much bigger camp of the soldiers.

   Sorry. The crew. Though there were a lot of soldiers for an expedition. Maybe they’d expected more beasts on the way to Atlantis.

   Tulio didn’t particularly care about their reasons. The crew’s appearance had been an unwelcome one, because everyone knew the more people on the treasure hunt, the less there was to share.

   At first, Tulio thought he was the only person awake, but then he noticed Audrey passing through the tents. She had her toolbox in hand. 

   Curious, Tulio climbed to his feet and walked after her. He caught up with her when she stopped at the biggest vehicle. She was pulling open a panel on the back.

    “What is that?”

   Audrey startled and spun. Tulio took a quick step back from the wrench she had pointed at his face and raised his hands defensively.

    “I come in peace,” Tulio said.

   Audrey rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the panel. Tulio side-stepped to peer at the engine, incredibly curious about the machine.

    “Go on, get out of here and leave me alone,” Audrey said, waving a hand at him.

    “Why? I just want to watch.”

    “So you can tell me what I'm doing wrong?” Audrey asked, crossing her arms and glaring at Tulio. “No thanks. Get!”

   Tulio stared back at her. “ No? Why would I do that? I know nothing about engines.”

   Audrey’s crossed arms loosened a bit and her brows rose ever so slightly. Tulio had surprised her.

    “Really?” Audrey asked.

   The girl was as suspicious as Tulio himself. 

    “Really,” Tulio said. “I’m curious about engines, that’s all.”

   “Uh-huh.”

   “Why are you so skeptical?” Tulio asked.

   Audrey looked Tulio up and down, then said, “By now, most guys have said girls shouldn’t mess with engines because I might ‘hurt myself.’”

   Tulio shrugged. “Well, I’m not going to say that.”

   Audrey huffed and turned back to the engine. She didn’t comment again when Tulio continued to watch. After a few minutes, Tulio dared to ask something else he’d been wondering about.

    “Since when have women started wearing pants?”

   This time, Audrey threw the wrench at him.

   Driving a truck was only slightly harder than a submarine. 

   As irritated as she’d been with Tulio’s questions and hovering, Audrey wasn’t about to have any of the machines damaged due to an unknowledgeable driver. So she’d reluctantly shown Tulio how to drive when he had insisted that the trio have a vehicle if they had to join the rest of the crew.

   All their supplies took up very little room in the back of the truck. Compared to the eleven other vehicles in the envoy -not counting the oil and water tankers, digger, and Cookie’s truck- the trio’s supplies were laughably small. But Tulio was a bit proud of how far they’d gotten toward Atlantis with their simple supplies. 

   The envoy set out early the next morning. Tulio drove the truck in the front, leading the way since he was the only one who had crossed the snow. Milo was hunched in the passenger seat under his blanket, scouring the Journal for the next leg of the journey. Miguel insisted on riding Altivo, and did so directly behind their truck. Ladron was somewhere in Milo’s blanket.

   A short way into the drive, Tulio glanced over at Milo. Audrey had made Tulio promise to stay in “second gear” so they were moving at a snail’s pace. Milo was scowling at the Journal.

    “What’s wrong?” Tulio asked.

    “Hm? Oh, nothing, ” MIlo said in a distracted tone.

    “You’re pretty intent there. If you don’t look away, the Journal might catch fire.”

   Milo smiled weakly, but that was the only response he gave. Tulio frowned worriedly.

    “Hey, Milo,” Tulio said. He reached over and nudged Milo’s arm. “Seriously, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me one of them actually hurt you yesterday.”

    “No, it’s not that.” Milo glanced up, then back at the Journal. “...what do you think of them?”

    “There’s too many soldiers for a scientific expedition and they’re a bunch of treasure hunters.”

   Milo finally looked up with an expression of bafflement.

    “Miguel and I spent a few trips with treasure hunters. There’s a certain look in their eyes.”

   Milo still looked confused. “But we’re looking for treasure, too.”

    “So we’re in good company,” Tulio said, though he was still wary. “I don’t like all the soldiers.”

    “There was the Leviathan guarding the gateway,” Milo said. “And that bug creature where the path split. I guess the crew ran into that one…”

   “...how’d that turn out?” Tulio asked.

    “Nobody was hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Milo said.

   Tulio laughed. “That’s what they get for not having the expert to lead them.”

   Tulio expected Milo to laugh, but his frown only deepened. He returned to the Journal, and it suddenly became clear to Tulio what was bugging him.

    “Are you worried they’re judging you?” Tulio asked.

    “Everyone always has,” Milo muttered.

    “Miguel and I don’t,” Tulio said, a bit offended.

   Milo was quick to say, “I mean, you two don’t. And Grandpa didn’t! It’s just…”

   Tulio thought about when Milo talked about the Board. “It’s because they’re important.”

   “Don’t say it like that,” Milo said. He fiddled with the page. “I don’t know. Some of them seem alright. But Rourke…”

   “Nah, I get it,” Tulio said. “I’m not sure I’d turn my back on Rourke.”

   Milo again looked baffled. “Huh? He can’t be that bad. He worked with Grandpa.”

   Tulio grunted. “Sure, I guess not. And I’ve never been fond of soldiers, anyway.”

   “No?”

   Tulio glanced at Milo. “Nope. Been arrested a few too many times.”

   Milo smiled, accepting the response.

   Altivo pulled up alongside the door, providing a thankful distraction.

    “Hey, how far are we going?” Miguel asked.

   Tulio shrugged. “It’s faster in the trucks.”

   Altivo snorted.

    “And we’re following Altivo’s hoofmarks,” Tulio said, pointing at the marred snow ahead. “That will make it easier when the path turns off.”

   Miguel looked around. “Everything looks the same out here. You’re lucky you didn’t get lost.”

   “Impossible, I had your compass,” Tulio said. 

    “Sure.” Miguel looked across to Milo. “What’s wrong, Milo? You’ve been moping for the last hour.”

   “See?” Tulio said.

    “I’m not moping. Just working,” Milo said.

    “You don’t have anything to prove to them,” Tulio said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder.

    “I wasn’t-” Milo said.

   “You were,” Tulio said.

   Miguel shook his head. “Prove what to them? You’re the only one who speaks Atlantean! Tulio can only read it.”

   “Let’s not mention that to them,” Tulio said thoughtfully.

    “Why not?” Milo asked.

   “I’m not that good yet, anyway,” Tulio said evasively. “But listen to us. You have nothing to prove to them, and especially not to Rourke. He needs you to find Atlantis.”

   Milo smiled at that and returned to the Journal, though less intently as before. Tulio glanced at Miguel, and knew he was thinking the same thing.

   They both knew how treasure hunters thought. Tulio and Miguel could take care of themselves just fine, but until they knew how these hunters operated, it would be best if Milo remained important to the mission.

    “Milo. Milo, come on,” Tulio said, taking Milo’s arm.

    “But I'm not done!” Milo protested as he was pulled along.

    “Tell that to the expedition leader,” Tulio said. “ The convoy is leaving us behind.”

   Milo sighed and moved on.

   Tulio smiled sympathetically. One thing he could say for the crew, they were determined to reach Atlantis as quickly as possible. It did mean, unfortunately, that Tulio and Milo couldn’t study any of the carvings they passed on the walls.

    “We’ll look at them later, right?” Tulio said. “Let’s go, they’re leaving us behind.” 

   Milo looked up. The rest of the trucks had moved on ahead without them. The oil tanker, driven by Audrey and with Sweet in the passenger seat, was slowing down behind them. Sweet waved a hand at Audrey, and she stopped the oil tanker. Sweet spoke to Milo, who shook his head.

    “He’s asking if something’s wrong,” Milo said, turning to walk quickly back to the truck.

    “If we miss any clues, we can blame Rourke for setting too fast a pace,” Miguel said.

   Milo gave a short laugh as he climbed into the truck. Miguel offered a jaunty salute, then mounted Altivo and kicked him into trot after the trucks. Tulio turned to follow Milo as Audrey shook her head and Sweet gave the same bemused smile he often got when he tried to figure the trio out.

   Tulio started up the truck and headed along the tunnel. It had widened and smoothed out so there was room for two trucks to drive side-by-side, the only reason the rest of the envoy had passed them.

  As they caught up, Tulio realized the other trucks had stopped.

    “Looks like they realized they lost their guide,” Miguel joked, then kicked Altivo to go faster.

   Tulio slowed the truck to a stop behind the last truck. He squinted ahead. An advantage of the envoy was the number of headlights illuminated the tunnel for miles.

    “Is it just me, or does the roof get really low?” Tulio asked Milo.

   Milo squinted. “I think you’re right. Maybe that’s why they stopped.”

   Altivo galloped back into view. “Hey, hop on!”

   Tulio and Milo climbed out of the truck and up behind Miguel, Milo in the center. Unimpaired by the threesome on his back, Altivo galloped back to the head of the line of trucks.

   Tulio found he was more or less right. A section of the ceiling had collapsed, and the tunnel now ended at a flat wall.

   Rourke, Helga, and a few of the soldiers were inspecting the wall. Rourke turned as they rode up and said something that made Milo shrink. 

    “What’re they saying?” Tulio asked.

    “If I’m sure this is the right way,” Milo said.

    “Because there’s all sorts of paths down here,” Tulio said, rolling his eyes.

   “No, but we did leave the path back there at the snowy area,” Milo said.

    “Which the Journal clearly said to do,” Tulio said.

    Miguel pointed at the corner of the tunnel. “Just look. The wall was damaged when that pillar fell.”

   “It’s the right way, then,” Milo said. He spoke to Rourke with more confidence.

   Vinny and Cookie joined the group. Rourke turned to him, and Vinny took some red sticks from his bag and waggled them.

    “What’s that Vinny’s got?” Tulio asked.

    “Dynamite. It can be used to blast through stone,” Milo said.

    “And is nobody worried about how close the ocean floor is to us?” Tulio asked.

   “Vinny says he doesn’t have enough to blast it, anyway,” Milo said.

    “Too bad, I wanted to see him blow it up,” Miguel said, disappointed.

   Milo abruptly stilled. “You don’t think they’ve blown up anything down here yet, do you?”

   “I don’t know,” Tulio said. “Why?”

   “If they’ve destroyed any statues or carvings…” Milo trailed off, looking positively thunderous. 

    “That’s another mystery we can solve later,” Tulio said. “What’s the plan for now?”

   Milo twisted and pointed to Mole’s digger beside them. “Miguel, we won’t see the dynamite at work yet, but Mole’s going to use the digger to dig through.”

   Miguel leaned forward excitedly. Rourke called to them, though, pointing back.

   “Rourke said to back up some,” Milo said.

   Miguel turned Altivo around and walked him to where the closest truck had backed to a supposedly safe distance. Milo jumped down and went to Vinny, pointing to his bag.

   The digger roared to life. The drill on front began to spin, faster and faster, then the digger eased forward. Sparks flew when the metal touched the wall. Stone broke away in chunks.

   Then, something jolted in the machine. It shuddered, then an explosion of black smoke billowed out of the cabin and back part. The drill slowed to a stop with a strange sort of grinding sound. As the machine stopped fully, a loud horn filled the tunnel when Mole hit his face on the driver’s wheel.

    “Is that how they fix their machines?” Miguel asked curiously.

   Milo, storming back to their side from talking with Vinny, said, “No… neither does the name calling he’s doing right now. Could you get Audrey? From what I’ve heard, she’s the only engineer here.”

    Miguel nodded and turned Altivo to gallop back to the end of the truck line. Sweet was leaning out of the cabin. Audrey had a look of annoyance on her face, as if she knew exactly who was honking their horn.

    “Something’s up with Mole’s digger,” Tulio reported.

    “What? I tuned that thing up this morning.” Audrey grabbed her toolbox and jumped to the ground. “What did Mole do to it now?”

    Miguel put out a hand. “Need a lift?”

   Audrey skeptically eyed Altivo. “I’ll walk.”

   “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses,” Miguel teased.

   Audrey glared.

    “I’ll miss you when she murders you,” Tulio whispered.

   Audrey shoved her toolbox up at Tulio. “The quicker the digger gets going, the better, I guess.”

    Tulio and Miguel pulled Audrey up, wisely not commenting that she was so small that barely any effort was required to do so. They also didn’t comment on how tightly Audrey was holding onto Miguel’s shirt with her free hand.

   Well, aside from Miguel saying, “You should practice riding Altivo before the expedition is over.” 

    Audrey’s shoulders drew up, but Altivo moving forward silenced whatever remark she might’ve made. Tulio subtly positioned his hands to catch Audrey if she slipped, but they quickly reached the digger without incident. Audrey tossed her toolbox down to Vinny, knocking the man back a few steps, then jumped down without waiting for anyone to help her down. She stumbled a step, then went to the digger and opened the smoking panel.

   Audrey climbed into the compartment in the back, all but her feet vanishing. She dug around for a bit, then backed out with a disgruntled look on her face. Milo edged closer as she said something and turned away. Milo said something to her, and Audrey snapped back to not touch anything.

   Tulio watched Audrey walk over to retrieve her toolbox from Vinny, then looked back at Milo… touching the engine. Tulio silently dropped off Altivo’s back and walked over to Milo.

    “What are you doing?” Tulio asked.

    “I know how to fix the boiler.”

   Thinking back to the conversation he’d had with Audrey that morning, Tulio said, “I wouldn’t advise that.”

   “It’s that or she pulls parts from another truck, and we lose a truck,” Milo said as he twisted knobs.

   The engine began to make a thrumming sound. Tulio glanced over his shoulder just as Audrey spun around. Her expression turned murderous.

    “Milo?”

    Milo didn’t acknowledge Tulio, focused on the boiler that was rapidly starting to shudder. Audrey grabbed a wrench from her tool box.

    “Duck,” Tulio advised.

    “What?” 

   Audrey’s hand drew back.

   “Duck!” 

   Tulio shoved Milo down. The wrench sailed over his head and hit the center of the engine. 

   The shudder stopped with a roar. Black smoke billowed from pillars on the digger, then the engine’s noise turned back into a smooth rumble.

    “What did you do?” Audrey demanded, stalking forward.

   Miguel slid between them, seemingly out of nowhere. “It was a team effort!”

   “The boiler’s the same kind we use back at the museum,” Milo rapidly said.

   Audrey crossed her arms, still glaring. “Museum?”

   “Yeah, where I work? Er, worked?”

   “I know that, but why- ugh, don’t touch my engines,” Audrey growled.

    “I was helping you!” Milo complained.

    “If I need help, I’ll ask for it,” Audrey said. She swapped her glare to Miguel. “What are you smiling about?”

   Miguel pointed. They all turned to find half the crew watching them with various levels of confusion and a fair amount of alarm.

    “I think they’re wondering if they need to break anything up,” Miguel said cheerfully.

   Milo snickered at their expressions, his defensiveness vanishing. Audrey huffed, but her posture relaxed. 

   Then she drew back one fist. Milo flinched away and Tulio winced in anticipation.

    “Two for flinching,” Audrey muttered, then lightly punched Milo twice on the arm.

   Milo jumped away and grabbed his arm with an awkward grin. As soon as Audrey turned back to the engine compartment, he grimaced and rubbed his arm. 

    “Let’s go before you get in more trouble,” Tulio said.

   “Hey, Milo,” Audrey said.

   Milo turned back.

    “Thanks anyway,” Audrey said.

    Milo smiled, but before he could speak, Audrey slammed the panel back down and grabbed her toolbox. Milo’s smile turned into a confused frown. Tulio grabbed his arm and tugged him away as the digger began drilling again.

    “What just happened?” Milo asked.

    “You made a friend,” Miguel said with a teasing smile as he remounted. “I’m so proud of you.”

   Laughing, Miguel kicked Altivo into a gallop. Tulio and Milo were left in their literal dust, Milo still confused.

   “But she punched me,” Milo said. “That’s usually a bad thing. As in, a sign someone doesn’t like you?”

   “I think,” Tulio said, “That if Audrey really didn’t like you, she would’ve actually hit you.”

   “But she did hit me!”

   “I tried to pick up her toolbox this morning,” Tulio said. “That thing must weigh as much as her. So trust me, she could have hit you way harder.”

   Audrey, Milo, Tulio, and Miguel were getting along like, as Vinny had put it, fire and gunpowder. Sweet hadn’t decided yet if that meant he should separate them before something exploded for real.

   “What are they doing?” Vinny asked, gesturing to the foursome huddled together near the fire.

   “Remember how Mole put a whoopie cushion on Milo’s seat?”

   Vinny’s chuckle answered Sweet.

   “Well, I’m pretty sure they’re plotting revenge.”

   “Audrey, too? I thought she didn’t like them after their nosing around her engines,” Vinny said.

   “She’s following orders,” Rourke said.

   Vinny glanced at the man. “Audrey? Following orders? Since when?”

   “Maybe she’s finally calming down and learning to listen to authority,” Rourke said.

   Sweet watched Audrey pull a crowbar half her size from the back of a truck, her grin downright evil. “Uh-huh.”

   Rourke realized Sweet wasn’t looking at him and turned. “What’s she doing with the crowbar?”

   “With Audrey, I’ve learned to not ask.” Sweet took a drink from his canteen. “Half the things she says flies over my head. That’s why she’s the engineer, not me.”

   Rourke turned back to the fire, missing when Miguel pulled out a jug of axle grease.

   “What do you think of them?” Rourke asked Sweet.

   “They’re keeping up, and Milo’s kept us on the right track so far,” Sweet said.

   “I’m talking in terms of the mission,” Rourke said.

   “Which part?” Sweet asked evasively.

   Rourke took a page from his boot. It had come from the Journal ten years ago, just before Thaddeus had suddenly died. The page was tattered and creased, but the runes and picture were still visible.

   “I’ve only known them for two days, but I don’t think Milo’s going to approve,” Sweet said.

   “Yeah, he didn’t like when I told him about my bridge, and that pillar was just a big carved rock,” Vinny said. “Nothing special about it.”

   “If that crystal in the picture is something the Atlanteans worshiped or was a source of power, he’s not going to appreciate us moving it,” Sweet said.

   “And the other two?” Rourke asked.

   Sweet shrugged. “Hard to say. Tulio has mentioned a couple times that he’s just on the journey for the money. Same with Miguel.”

   “And Milo didn’t comment on that?” Rourke asked.

   “Milo’s assumption there is that the three of them would sell pictures and maybe artifacts that he decides can be removed,” Sweet said. “I’d suggest getting Tulio and Miguel on the payroll, if you know what I mean. They could convince Milo or, at the very least, keep him distracted.”

   Rourke didn’t look impressed. “Pay them? For what?”

   “Tulio’s driving and Miguel’s running recon on that horse of his,” Sweet said levelly. “That’s more than half your men are doing.”

   Rourke raised an eyebrow. He knew that Sweet didn’t approve of the amount of soldiers they took on expeditions, not when the jobs sometimes went sideways and people got hurt. Sweet hadn’t pushed Rourke too far about it, though, knowing he ran the risk of being cut off from the expeditions.

   “Okay, fine,” Rourke said after a moment. “Provided they don’t cause any problems, I’ll think about Tulio and Miguel. The money’s being split a lot fewer ways now, anyway.”

   Sweet scowled at Rourke’s dismissive way of mentioning how many men and women had died on the way to the entrance. But again, he didn’t comment.

    “Milo! Milo!”

   Altivo skidded to a halt beside the truck, both horse and rider all but bouncing with excitement. Milo leaned out, frowning worriedly at Miguel.

    “Miguel! What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

    “Nothing, everything is great!” Miguel exclaimed. “Audrey! Audrey, come on!”

   Audrey, halfway out the passenger side of the nearest truck, startled at her name being called. Miguel had taken the initiative of getting the girl used to riding Altivo over the last couple days, though his level of success was up for debate.

   “What is it?” Audrey asked with a skeptical frown.

    “Come on and I’ll show you!”

    Audrey scowled, but she put her hand out. Put off by anyone even thinking she was afraid of horses, Audrey had met Miguel’s challenge face on. At least she was visibly improving and had only fallen off once -after which she’d gotten to her feet and back onto Altivo immediately.

   Miguel took Audrey’s hand and pulled her onto Altivo’s back with no effort. Audrey had initially been annoyed by the ease in which Miguel lifted her, until she’d seen him do the same to Milo once. Miguel was pretty scrawny, but he was stronger than he looked. This included being stronger than Tulio, something Miguel never let Tulio forget.

   Tulio watched the pair gallop away. “What do you think they found?”

   “With how excited Miguel was, maybe it was treasure.” Milo chewed on the end of the pencil he was using in his notebook. “You know, it’s been three days since the tunnel collapse. Either we’re going the wrong way or…”