Dear Peter,

I write this from the helm of The Fina. We are at sea, finally. The voyage will be my first as captain, and my longest time away from land in my entire life! We are on our way to the Brazilian state of Ceará. Fergie and Heath have assured me that there aren't many pirates in that area, but I'm still kind of paranoid about running into The Encantador . . .

Anyway, something pretty awesome happened a few minutes ago. This parrot -- he says his name is Petey, like you -- swooped down and landed on the deck with a scroll attached to its leg, like a carrier pigeon. I couldn't believe the bird had found me. The paper it carried was a letter from Robin. I don't know, maybe he has some kind of alliance with the bird kingdom, cause his name is Robin?

Well, he says he's on land now, in Cuba. And he told me all the gory details of the voyage. Guess how many times he got barfed on? Seven. Not that you needed to know that, or me, for that matter.

It's still really good to hear from him. I'm so glad he's going to finally find his family, after all these years. I just hope they're alive and well for him.

I dropped by your house before we left. You and Aiden were asleep, Bailey too, but your dad and I had breakfast together. I didn't say exactly where I was going, but I said I'd be out for awhile. He kissed me goodbye and told me to be careful. I swear, Peter. It's like your mother doesn't give a crap so her husband does it for her.

I didn't tell your mom where I was going, I just left a message on her phone this morning saying that I'd be out of town for a few weeks. Well, more than a few weeks. Almost a month, actually, if the wind doesn't pick up. It's about fourteen days, give or take, there and back.

I did all this math, Peter. I'm rather proud of it. See, it's approximately 4,500 miles from Galveston to Ceará. The Fina travels at about 12 knots -- (And every good pirate knows one knot = 1.15078 miles per hour) -- so, if you divide those 4,500 miles by 13.81 (That's the miles per hour) you get 325.86. That's the amount of hours it will take to get there. Then, if you divide that number by 24, you get 13.6, which is the number of days. Rounding that to 14, we have two weeks at sea ahead of us, and two more weeks to get back!

Not that you care about any of my amazing mathematicianship.

      I'll miss you while I'm away.

                 -Aunty Olive xxx

XXX

Seawall Boulevard, at nine AM, was calm and cool.

Walking past shop after shop, he finally came to the one he was looking for. Ship In A Bottle, shiny and clean as ever. Heather never could stand grime on her siding.

Robin pushed the door open, listening to its excited tinkle at the first customer of the day. He wiped his feet on the welcome matt, which the store's owner had woven by hand. Beautiful things littered the shelves, none quite the same as its neighbor. He smile at the steady silence, the smell of salt. There was nothing better, in his opinion, than the scent of Heather's candles lined up on the wall, expelling their aromas around the store.

"Heath?" He called, glancing around him at the merchandise. This place was deceptive -- you came in needing a new spyglass and walked out with a candle, a bag of bath salts and a hand made pen. Then you realized that you'd forgotten the spyglass and rushed back inside to find yourself enticed by a pretty ship in a bottle, maybe a new pair of jeans. A bag of seashells, because your mother likes that sort of thing, and her birthday is coming up, after all. Oh, and maybe one of these journals to go with your pen. And you can't forget the spyglass again, can you?

Robin smiled to himself. Maybe all he really needed was a spyglass, but Heather's shop was chock full of lovely things. How could you walk away with only one item?

He heard mumbling in the back room. Wandering over to the area that housed the spyglasses, Robin browsed around the shelf carrying the model ships. They were twenty five dollars apiece, not too bad, Robin thought, for the amount of work they must take.

"Just a sec!" He heard her yell back.

Within the minute, Heath came stomping out of the back room, yanking her hair back into a ponytail with her stocking cap between her teeth. She put it back on, frowning at him.

"I didn't put up the sign yet," She reprimanded him. "You can't just waltz right in, when it says Sorry, We're Closed!"

He shrugged, smiling. "Hey, it says your hours are nine to five on weekdays."

Rolling her eyes, Heather glanced behind her and then gave him a quick hug. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"A month or so," he agreed. She looked pissed off, a little distracted. "Something wrong?" Robin asked.

She frowned. Shook her head. "No, everything's fine. Just a little tired. So, what do you need?"

Robin dug his busted spyglass out of his pack and held it out to Heath. She gave it a disapproving head-shake. She asked if he wanted it fixed and he said no, he'd buy a new one. Just then, he heard a new voice from the back room.

"Excuse me?" Said a girl with strawberry blonde hair, sprinkled with blonde highlights. She looked young, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and shy. She stuck her head out of the back room, her eyes cast downward. "Where's the bathroom?"

Heather looked as though she may explode with agitation. Robin narrowed his eyes, wondered who she was and what was going on. But he didn't say anything. Heather pointed sharply to the right with a glare that said get out before I kill you.

After the girl had disappeared into the ladies' room, Robin ventured to give his friend a questioning look. She rolled her eyes at him. "Okay, which one do you want?"

"Oh, don't rush me," he said, looking at the door that led to the backroom. "I thought maybe I'd stay awhile. Don't you want to hear about Uruguay?"

She gave him an apologetic frown. "Raincheck? I'm uh . . . I'm actually looking after a friend of mine's kids right now."

You're lying, he wanted to say. Tell me the truth. "I didn't know you were the Babysitter type."

"Well, I'm full of surprises," she said, pulling a spyglass off the shelf. "And I'm not open. So if you want a spyglass, you better pick one fast. How about this one? You like it?"

Determined to figure out the Mystery Kids, Robin shrugged, taking the glass out of Heather's hand. "It's not quite my style. I want something that'll go with the ship."

Heath sighed like he'd just said something incredibly annoying. "Fine, olive wood then?"

Just then, the door to the backroom burst open again, revealing a boy about the same age as the girl who had come through last. But this kid . . . this kid was familiar. The sandy brown hair, the dimples, mouth upturned in a slight smirk.

And he seemed to recognize Robin, too.

"Peter?"