The witch doctor weighed no more than a hundred pounds, but he tied his ropes tightly. He had agreed to set the boys free at three o’clock, but his watch was fifteen minutes slow. When that hour came upon their perfectly synchronized wristwatches, the boys revolted so violently that they broke their bonds, knocked the shaman unconscious, and in their fury ran headlong into a railing, over which they toppled, falling into a stream of crocodiles who were exactly fifteen minutes from completing a migration from one side of the old Egmont estate to the other.
“Who do we blame for this?” queried Joe. “Just shut up and fight,” replied Frank. The riverbank rained croc blood.
The same thought crossed both boys’ minds as they tried to choke two of Egmont’s henchmen into submission. “I should have studied medicine or law!”
“Look. There in the windows.” Frank pointed out the blueprints of a battleship the rain was forming in the panes. “It must be another sign. That we have a plan. It just isn’t quite complete. Rain for the sea, sea for the ship, a ship for the lobsters, lobsters like armadillos, armadillos for protection, protection from battle, battle on a battleship. We’re in a battle, Joe.”
“Frank, you’ve gone mad.”
Together, then, they parted ways.