Rise of the Isle of the Lost (Descendants 3)

Mal nodded. “I can imagine.” The sea king’s anger could make the very seas boil with rage.

“But isn’t he going to find out soon? I mean, it is his trident.”

“I told him I put it back in the case, which he’s going to return to the museum tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“So I only have until tomorrow night to get it back,” said Arabella. “Before Grandfather finds out it’s missing.”

“And yo

u haven’t told anybody?”

Arabella shook her head. “My mom would kill me…and so would all my aunts, of course. I saw it shoot into the air, but no one seemed to notice because of the storm.”

“They probably thought it was just lightning,” said Evie.

“So what exactly do you need us to do?” asked Mal.

“Help me find it?” Arabella said weakly.

“We have to help her,” said Evie.

Mal considered it. Arabella should probably tell her family what happened as soon as possible, but Mal understood wanting to take care of something on your own, or with the help of your friends. Speaking of friends in need, Ben was on his way to Northern Wei, and Mal didn’t want to bother him while he was on such an important trip. But she could still rely on the rest of the gang.

“Evie, let’s get the boys,” said Mal.

Arabella’s face lit up with hope. “So you guys will help?”

Mal nodded. “Of course we’ll help. Any friend of Evie’s is a friend of ours.”

Down by Jailor’s Pier the docks were filled with sloops and schooners, brigs and clippers, vessels of all kinds and shapes, some driven by sail, others by paddle. They crammed the bay, anchor lines stretching in every direction, the boats rocking back and forth as the wind caught this one or that one. A galley with fifty paddles rowed past Uma, the men chanting in time, the oars beating the water. Seagulls filled the air with their shrieks, adding to the cacophony of chants and mixing with the hawkers’ cries from their stalls. Uma crouched on a makeshift raft she’d fashioned from one of the shop’s old tables, a broom handle, and a bedsheet. It was seaworthy enough to sail on the bay for a small race, but would not be able to handle more than that. A great cutter sailed past her, and its wake nearly sent her tumbling overboard. Next to her, Harry was bobbing up and down in a bathtub, using a shower curtain for a sail. The wake half-filled his tub, and immediately he had to bail furiously to keep the thing from sinking. Even empty, the tub barely floated. It hung at water level, and each time it tipped, a bit of water ran into it. All in all, he’d done more bailing than sailing, Uma noticed with wicked glee. It was all he could do to keep afloat.

“Let’s go over there,” she told Harry, leading them through the assortment of ships. They passed a few goblins on an old junk, one of those ancient boats from Northern Wei, sporting a red sail like the fin of some exotic fish.

“Check that out,” said Uma, as the junk sailed out of their path to reveal a pair of witches sitting in great buckets rowing with giant spoons.

“Where do you suppose you get a spoon that size?” asked Harry. “And what’s it for?”

“Well, it’s for eating little boys,” Uma said, coughing up her best impression of a witch’s cackle. “I think your head would fit nicely on that spoon.”

“I see your point. Let’s steer clear,” said Harry.

“Already ahead of you,” she replied, sailing the other way. Neither of them wanted to get any closer to the witches or goblins.

“Looks like everyone’s after the prize,” said Uma, and she didn’t mean just the pirate ship. The water was full of goblins clad in snorkel gear and thugs flailing around in old fins and rusty scuba apparatuses—all of them looking for the trident, combing every bit of the ocean floor.

“So many,” said Uma, her heart sinking a bit in her chest. News of King Triton’s trident had gone out, it seemed, and half the island was looking for the golden spear. Uma watched them nervously. Some had maps and others had formed groups. They were drawing grids across the bay and moving zone by zone, covering every inch. They were all as eager to find it as she was, and that worried Uma. The whole island’s gone mad for the trident, she thought, and while I’m trying to win a boat, they’re already combing the sea.

Next to her, Harry whistled at a goblin swimming by the junk. “Ahoy! What sort of junk are you looking to find?” he asked with a grin.

Harry must have been hoping the goblin would take him up on the joke, but he received an honest reply. “A trident! Haven’t you heard?” said the green little fellow.

“That golden thing? I heard the mermen saw it on the other side of the Isle!” Harry said, then winked at Uma. He whispered, “Thought I’d throw them off the scent!”

“Wonderful,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “There are hundreds looking for the trident, maybe more, and you’ve thrown one off course.”

“It’s a start,” said Harry, shrugging.