Madeleine's POV
Lightning cracked. Thunder rumbled.
"We're home," I held the door open for Milo. "Fluffy? Here kitty," Milo called out dejectedly but our cat was nowhere to be seen. Milo tugged on the light switch only to find out that the fuse had blown (again) leaving all of us in the darkness, including the strange mysterious woman that was standing across the room.
"Milo James Thatch? Madeleine Heidi Thatch?" she cooed alluringly.
"Who. who are you? How did you get in here?" Milo was taken aback.
"I came down the chimney. Ho ho ho." the woman sat down in the chair seductively, lifted her leg slightly and slid down her shawl to reveal her bare shoulders which made me bite my lip.
"My name is Helga Sinclair. I'm acting on behalf of my employer who has a most intriguing proposition for you two. Are you two interested?"
"Your.. your employer?" Milo chuckled. "Who is your employer?" I asked Helga.
She didn't tell us.
Before I knew it, I found myself in the back of a car with Milo and Helga during the pouring rainstorm and the ride was spent in heavy, unsettling silence. The black metal iron gates creaked open, allowing the car to pass into the long winding driveway that led uphill.
Once inside the luxurious mansion, the butler politely took possession of all of our coats. Milo and I marveled at the decorations in the foyer, becoming easily distracted. Most of it consisted of statues of knights in armour, large paintings, antique lanterns... you name it.
"This way, please. Step lively. Mr Whitmore does not like to be kept waiting," Helga spoke sternly. Milo and I followed her into the elevator. "You two will address him as Mr Whitmore or Sir. You two will stand unless asked to be seated. Keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?" Helga neatened up our appearances and I gulped.
The elevator lowered the three to the basement which is where me and Milo parted ways with Helga. "And relax. He doesn't bite...often," she taunted before the elevator rode upwards and she was gone.
"Phew," I breathed.
"She was intense." Milo commented.
I nodded.
Milo glanced around the basement as the two headed in further. "Whoa, it's like a secret museum mixed with a library here." I said in awe. Milo and I were taking in the sight of the excess furniture and then his attention was completely stolen by a large portrait that hung on the wall. It was of two old men shaking hands, one of them Milo recognized in awe.
"Grandpa?" I wondered.
"Finest explorer I ever met" a cheery voice greeted from a dark corner.
"Preston Whitmore. Pleasure to meet you and Madeleine, Milo," the eccentric millionaire was in the middle of bone-cracking yoga. For an old man, he was rather flexible, contorting his body into bizarre positions.
"Join me in a little yoga?" He asked us.
I shook my head. "Uh, no, no thank you." Milo declined politely. "Did you really know our grandfather?" I asked curiously.
"Oh yeah. Met old Thaddeus back in Georgetown. Class of '66. We stayed close friends till the end of his days.
Even dragged me along on some of his danged fool expeditions. Thatch was crazy as a fruit bat he was. He spoke of you two often," Mr. Whitmore explained.
"Funny. He never mentioned you," Milo hesitated. "Oh, he wouldn't. He knew how much I liked my privacy. I keep a low profile," Mr. Whitmore explained. And that was my cue to take my eyes on a walk.
"Mr Whitmore, should I be wondering why me and Maddy are here?" Milo responded.
"Look on that table, it's for you two." Mr. Whitmore pointed.
Milo and I walked over and picked up a yellow package that had For Milo and Madeleine, with love, Thaddeus Thatch written upon it. "It's...it's from our grandfather," Milo's eyes widened.
"He brought that package to me years ago. He said if anything were to happen to him, I should give it to you and Madeleine when you two were ready, whatever that means," Mr. Whitmore clarified. Milo opened the package carefully to reveal... The Shepherds Journal!
"It.. it can't be," I said in wonder. Milo looked like he'd seen a ghost. "It's the Shepard's Journal," Milo peeled off his glasses and we both stared at each other in disbelief. "Mr Whitmore, this journal is the key to finding the lost continent of Atlantis!" Milo exclaimed.
"Ha, Atlantis," Mr. Whitmore laughed "I wasn't born yesterday son," he disappeared behind a folding screen. "No no look at this. Coordinates.
Clues. It's all right here," Milo said. I stood on my tiptoes to look. (BTW, Madeleine is 4'11 and Milo is 5'8)
"Yeah, looks like gibberish to me," Mr. Whitmore decided. "That's because it's been written in a dialect that no longer exists," I explained.
"So it's useless." Mr. Whitmore concluded.
"No no, just difficult. I've spent my whole life studying dead languages.
It's not gibberish to me," Milo flipped through the pages. "He taught me some dead languages." I commented.
"Ah, it's probably a fake," Mr. Whitmore reappeared, fixing his tie in a fresh white suit instead of his blue robe.
Milo closed the book firmly. "Mr Whitmore, our grandfather would have known if this were a fake. Me and Maddy would know. We will stake everything we own, everything that we believe in that this is the genuine Shepard's Journal." he spoke passionately.
Did I mention that I admire how dedicated Milo was to his work?
"Alright, alright, so what do you want to do with it?" Mr. Whitmore questioned. The three of us sat down at a large table in front of a built-in aquarium tank full of coelacanth fishes (That were supposed to be extinct!) that covered the entire wall.
"Well..we'll...we'll get funding...I mean, the museum..." Milo thought out.
"They'll never believe you two." Mr. Whitmore replied.
"We'll show them! We will make them believe!" I protested.
"Like you two did today?" Mr. Whitmore cocked his head to the side.
"Yes! Well no. How did you-" Milo paused for a moment, "Forget about them! Okay? Never mind! Maddy and I will find Atlantis on our own."
"Even we have to rent a rowboat!" I exploded.
With his fingertips touching,
Mr. Whitmore looked prouder than ever. "Congratulations Milo. This is exactly what I wanted to hear from you and Madeleine but forget the rowboat son," he pushed a purple button and miniature models of transportation rose up from inside the table.
In astonishment, Milo leaned close, even picking one up to inspect it. "We'll travel in style. It's all been arranged, the whole ball of wax," Mr Whitmore announced.
"Why?" I asked.
"For years, your granddad bent my ear with stories about that old book.
I didn't buy it for a minute. So finally, I got fed up and made a bet with the old coot. I said, 'Thatch, if you ever actually find that so-called journal, not only will I finance the expedition but I'll kiss you full on the mouth.' Imagine my embarrassment when he found the darn thing," Mr. Whitmore displayed a photograph of him and Grandpa taken after the kiss which made me giggle.
Mr. Whitmore's face softened. "Now, I know yours and Madeleine's grandfather's gone Milo, God rest his soul, but Preston Whitmore is a man who keeps his word," he walked over to the fireplace and raised his walking stick up to the portrait.
"You hear that, Thatch? I'm going to the afterlife with a clear conscience by thunder!" the old man broke into a sad chuckle and then sighed.
"Your grandpa was a great man. You probably don't realize how great.
Those buffoons at the museum dragged him down, made a laughing stock of him. He died a broken man.
If I could bring back just one shred of proof, that'd be enough for me." Mr. Whitmore spoke, grief-stricken.
Milo and I glanced at each other sorrowfully and I intertwined our fingers, holding his hand tightly. There was a moment's silence until
Mr. Whitmore turned around and his aura livened up. "What're we standing around for? We got work to do" he bubbled.
"What're we standing around for? We got work to do" he bubbled. Using his walking stick, Mr. Whitmore hooked Milo's ankle, dragging him along until Milo fell on his butt. "But Mr Whitmore, you know, in order to do what you're proposing, you're going to need a crew," insisted Milo.
"Taken care of," Preston replied. "You'll need engineers and geologists." I continued on for Milo. "Got 'em all. The best of the best."
Mr. Whitmore spread out the profiles of the crew across the table.
"Gaetan Moliere, geology and excavation. The man has a nose for dirt. Vincenzo Santorini, demolitions. Busted him out of a Turkish prison. Audrey Ramirez, don't let her age fool you. She's forgotten more about engines than you and I will ever know. They're the same crew that brought the journal back," he explained.
"Where was it?" Milo questioned.
"Iceland," answered Mr. Whitmore, showing yet another photograph of the crew in Iceland.
"We knew it! We knew it!" Milo cheered.
"All we need now are two experts in gibberish. So, it's decision time. You two can build on the foundation your grandfather left you and Madeleine or you can go back to your boiler room," Mr. Whitmore said.
"This is for real," Milo flopped down into his chair beside me. "Now you're catching on," Mr. Whitmore grinned.
"Alright, okay. We'll have to quit our
job." Milo started.
"It's done. You two resigned this afternoon." Mr. Whitmore replied.
"We did?" I questioned.
"Yep. Don't like to leave loose ends." Mr. Whitmore stated.
"Um, our apartment. We'll have to give notice." Milo thought out.
"Taken care of ." Mr. Whitmore replied.
"Our clothes?" I asked.
"Packed."
"Our books?" Milo noted.
"In storage."
"Our cat?"
Fluffy, our short-haired Persian purred from behind, crawling into my lap as I stroked her fur gently. "My god." I whispered.
"Your grandad had a saying. Our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children. This journal is his gift to you and Madeleine, Milo," Mr. Whitmore handed him the book "Atlantis is waiting. What do you two say?" He held out our coats.
Milo and I looked at each other as if we were doing a silent agreement. I nodded.
"I'm your man, Mr Whitmore, you will not regret this!" Milo pulled his coat on backwards enthusiastically "Boy I am so excited. I- I- I- I can't even hold it in," Milo stammered, ready as ever to explore the world.