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Chapter Two: A Golden Clue

Nancy rushed to the broken railing. The brown water closed over Harold, and he disappeared from her view.

"He can't swim!" Janie shouted in Nancy's ear. By now several crew members had run over to the railing.

Nancy searched for signs of Harold in the water, but it was as if the muddy river had swallowed him. Without hesitating, she stuck her list of chores in her pocket and kicked off her tennis shoes. "I'm going in after him."

"No!" Janie grabbed her arm. "It's too dangerous."

"We don't have any choice," Nancy cried. "Harold may have bumped his head or injured himself. We don't have time to run off the ship to the wharf."

Taking a breath, she peered over the side of the ship. It was about twenty feet to the water.

Not much higher than a high diving board, Nancy thought. Before anyone could stop her, she stepped over the broken railing and jumped feet first, landing with her arms outstretched to keep from plunging too deep. Still, the cold water closed over her like a black curtain. Immediately, she brought her arms down to her sides and kicked hard, breaking the surface.

When she looked around, she couldn't tell where Harold had fallen in.

"Nancy! There are bubbles to your left!" Janie called from the deck above.

Nancy swam to the spot where Janie was pointing. She swept her arms through the water and connected with something solid. It was Harold's arm. Grasping it, she pulled. Slowly, he came to the surface. His skin was blue, but when his head popped above water, he began to gasp for air.

Just then someone came swimming around the stern of the boat. When the person drew closer, Nancy recognized Karl, the Blackbeard. "Where's the microphone?"

"Microphone?" Harold stared at him.

"Yeah. The shotgun microphone you were holding when you went overboard." When Harold didn't respond, Andrew looked up at Nancy.

"I didn't see the microphone," she said. "It must have gone under."

"Karl? Did you see it?" Andrew asked anxiously.

"Nope. I was too busy pulling Harold in."

"Oh, great." With a groan of dismay, Andrew clapped a hand to his head. "It was brand-new! Somebody needs to jump in and find it."

For a second Nancy wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. She glanced over at Janie, Harold, and Karl, and saw that they looked just as surprised.

Finally Harold said, "I guess it'll have to be you, Andrew. Nobody else is crazy enough to dive in on purpose. Plus, the water's so muddy, you'd never find the microphone."

"Well, that's just terrific." Andrew jumped up. "One more problem to add to my list of headaches," he said before stomping off.

"What was that all about?" Karl asked.

Janie sighed. "He's under a lot of pressure."

Harold snorted. "He was more worried about the microphone than he was about me."

Nancy turned to Karl. Water dripped off his brows and mustache. "Thanks for towing Harold in."

"My pleasure. I'm Karl Kidd, by the way." Grabbing her band with a huge paw, he shook it so hard Nancy winced. "Otherwise known as Blackbeard."

"And I'm Harold, soaking wet," Harold announced as he stood up.

"Well, forget the hot shower and dry clothes," Janie said. "Andrew plans to block scene three in ten minutes. He wants everybody there. And you know how he is about keeping to the schedule."

"But I'm wet and cold!" Harold protested.

Pulling the towel from her shoulder, Nancy hande d it to Harold. "Use this. The sun's so warm, we'll be dry in a minute."

When the four started back to the ship, Karl asked, "So what happened, Harold? Were you practicing for your big 'man overboard' scene?"

"Very funny, Kidd. Actually, I'm not sure what happened."

"A coil of rope fell from one of the masts," Nancy explained. "Fortunately, someone yelled 'heads up' before you were hit."

"That was Lian," Janie said. "Lucky she saw the rope fall." "A rope, huh?" Stopping at the bottom of the gangplank, Karl wiggled his thick brows. "Someone out to get you, Oates? A jealous girlfriend?"

Harold rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. I'm such a lady-killer."

As Nancy followed them up, she suddenly realized that everything had happened so quickly, she hadn't even thought about the falling rope. Was it possible that someone had deliberately dropped it? she wondered.

When she reached the ship's deck, Nancy stopped to let the others go ahead. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she stared up at the mizzenmast. It was a web of sails, yards, and rigging. Nancy knew from her research that sailors used the rope ratlines as ladders to climb from the lower masts to the top masts.

In the confusion, someone could have clambered up or down the ratlines without anyone noticing. But why would someone want to hurt Harold? Nancy thought.

"Where's my assistant director?" A loud voice boomed over the ship. Nancy recognized Andrew's bellow. When she went up the steps to the quarterdeck, she saw the cast and crew gathering on the starboard side of the stern.

Selena, George, and Daniel, who were the actors in scene three, stood by the railing in their regular clothes. Karl and Janie and Harold were stan ding on the sidelines. Harold had gone over to get another microphone. A camera and several lights had been set up.

Tucking her damp hair behind her ears, Nancy hurried over. She stuck her hand in her shorts pocket. Her list of things to do was soaked, but from the impatient expression on Andrew's face, she realized she wouldn't have time to work on it anyway.

When she reached Andrew, he thrust a roll of masking tape into her hands. "We're blocking scene three. You're in charge of taping the actors' marks."

Nancy nodded. "Blocking a scene" meant the director and cameraperson figured out the best camera shots.

"For the beginning of this scene, Daniel and George will face each other," Andrew instructed. "Selena, you lean on the railing, staring out to sea."

"But my back will be turned to the audience!" Selena protested.

"Fortunately, you have a gorgeous back. Lian, how do you think that will look?" Andrew asked, ignoring Selena's frown of displeasure.

Lian was sitting behind the camera. Because of uneven surface of the deck, the camera's wheels had been mounted on a track on the plywood. "It looks great," she said. "Let me try a close-up next."

Andrew pointed to Selena's sandaled feet. "Nancy, put tape on the board right here," he instructed. "And over here -- "

Nancy hustled forward. Actors' marks let the actors know where to stand during a scene and were used to keep track of the blocking. The characters in movies might act naturally, but Nancy had learned from her filmmaking course that every move was carefully planned. For each scene, a few different angles were shot. When it was edited later, some of the shots were discarded while others were put together so the film would make sense visually.

Bending, Nancy taped several X's on the plywood. As soon as she finished, she helped Lian move the camera for a different angle. Usually this was the job of the dolly grip. But since the budget was tight, everyone had many different roles and jobs.

By the end of the afternoon, one scene had been blocked. Nancy was exhausted. Her hair had dried in a tangle, her clothes felt stiff, and she smelled faintly of dead fish.

When Andrew finally announced, "That's it for today," everybody cheered.

"Dinner's on your own tonight," Janie called over the hubbub. "Be here tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Breakfast will be served onboard."

"Whew." George came over, "I'm pooped on the poop deck." Her face was bright red under the brim of her baseball cap.

"Me, too." Nancy leaned against the railing. "I didn't realize how much work was involved in blocking one scene. And shooting takes even longer. What's the rule of thumb we learned?" Nancy thought a second, then answered her own question, "Eight hours of shooting produces six minutes of film."

George groaned. "Does that mean I have to listen to Selena gripe for eight straight hours?"

Nancy laughed. "Maybe she'll lighten up. Ready to go back to the hotel?"

"In a minute. I need to get my fanny pack. It is in the dressing room."

"I'll go with you," Nancy said, following her. "I'd like to see the rest of the ship."

The two girls climbed down the wooden ladder to the waist of the ship. Taking a sharp left, George led Nancy to an open doorway. A short flight of steps descended to a narrow passageway.

Nancy went down the steps, ducking to avoid a lantern that hung from the low ceiling. She saw several closed doors on each side of t he dim passageway and one at the far end.

"Daniel told me this is called steerage," George explained. She pointed to the door at the far end. "That's the Great Cabin, where Daniel and Andrew are staying. That opening over there" -- she pointed to a half-door in the wall -- "leads to the cargo area, where the props are kept."

Bending lower, Nancy stuck her head through the doorway. A wooden ladder led straight into a gray pit. "Why are the props kept all the way down there?"

"They were in one of the cabins in steerage until Selena came," George explained. Opening one of the cabin doors, she gestured inside. "She refused to share this dressing room with anyone. So they kicked Eli and the props out of this cabin and gave it to her."

Brows raised, Nancy stepped inside. The dressing room was tiny. A low wooden shelf jutting from the wall was heaped with clothes. The other wall had two mirrors hanging over a higher narrow shelf piled with makeup, brushes, and bottles. The third wall had pegs to hang clothes. Since there was no porthole, the cabin was stuffy and lighted only by one lantern.

"Can't say I blame her," Nancy murmured.

"Everybody except Selena uses this cabin," George explained, coming in to stand next to Nancy. "So it's a mite crowded."

Nancy turned, bumping into her friend. "Just a mite," she said with a laugh. "Is your fanny pack in all this mess?"

George wrinkled her brow. "Somewhere." She bent to look under the bed, banging Nancy with her elbow.

"I think I'll wait in the hall," Nancy said, and stepped into the passageway.

A loud clunk made her jump. The sound had come from the cargo area. Someone was down below, which was strange, Nancy thought, since no one had passed them.

"George, is there another way to get to the cargo area?" Nancy called into the dressing room.

"Yes. Through a hatch in the bow. But we're not supposed to use it because of the tour groups."

"Hmm." Nancy peered into the pit. She thought about the falling rope. Was someone sneaking around the ship?

"I'm going to look at the props," she told George. And see if there's an intruder, she added to herself as she turned and backed down the ladder.

The cargo area was lighted by one dim lantern. Nancy jumped to the wooden floor, then glanced around. She guessed she was under the quarterdeck. The outside walls of the ship curved like giant ribs. The low ceiling was crossed with beams. Boxes, plastic trash bags, and loose props were stacked randomly as if Eli had moved them in a hurry.

Suddenly another crash made Nancy twirl. Eyes wide, she stared behind her. There was an open doorway that led into the belly of the ship. A shoe box lay in front of the door, its contents of gold doubloons spilled across the floor.

A flash of movement caught Nancy's eye as someone jumped from behind several large boxes and disappeared through the door. Nancy took off after the person, running into a narrow passageway. Instantly, she was enveloped in darkness. She stopped dead. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a dim maze of corridors and entryways winding under the waist of the ship toward the bow.

Nancy knew there was no way she could follow the person without some kind of light. She'd be lost in a second.

Turning, she went back to the cargo hold. The box of spilled doubloons lay in the middle of the floor as if someone had knocked them over in his or her haste to get away.

A shiver tingled up Nancy's spi ne. Someone was sneaking around the ship. But why, and what was the person looking for?

Copyright © 1999 by Simon & Schuster Inc.