Volanta

Pippa didn't know exactly what she'd been expecting when the door of Roland Fishweiler's house opened, but it certainly hadn't been a slightly bloodshot brown eye peering at them through a slim crack in the door. The eye regarded them with a mixture of nervousness and suspicion from behind wide spectacles.

"Who is it? What do you want?" a surprisingly whiny sounding voice asked.

"We're looking for Roland Fishweiler," Oliver said, looking uncertain.

"What do you want with Roland? I mean, ah, there's no one here by that name. So sorry."

The man tried to shut the door but Pippa stuck out a booted foot to block it.

"Obviously Roland is here. You can't lie and say he's not here after you already asked us what we want with him. How stupid do you think we are?"

The eye reappeared in the crack, squinting at her. Oliver hissed her name under his breath, clearly thinking her rude. Pippa didn't much care. They had come all this way and were going to all this trouble, and she would not let this odd, unappealing little man turn them away without at least hearing them out first. He fidgeted for a moment before slowly opening the door further. He appraised Pippa more carefully, his cheeks flushing slightly as he anxiously fiddled with the incredibly thick and round lenses of his glasses. They made him look a bit like a fish in a tank.

Pippa regarded him doubtfully. He was much shorter than she would have guessed; not much taller than she was in fact. His dark hair was mostly gone, leaving the crown of his slightly peanut-shaped head bare. He was dressed in a rather unflattering tweed jacket over a shirt that looked like it needed to be washed. He was quite rotund, and looked to her like a strange man-sized peach standing there in the doorway. From the look on Oliver's face, Roland wasn't at all what he had been expecting either.

"What can I help you with?" Roland asked, wringing his hands.

"We wanted to ask you...about your books," Oliver said. "The Barty Brave stories."

"Yes, yes what about them?"

"May we come inside?" Pippa asked. "It's a bit cold out here."

"Oh. Well...yes, I suppose that would be all right." Roland shuffled to the side and let them come inside, though Pippa stepped over the threshold with some reluctance. The house smelled like stale, musty air. None of the windows were open. She sat down gingerly on the very edge of the faded, lumpy settee in the parlor and soothed the skirt of her pale blue dress. Oliver sat at the other end of the settee and continued to look at Roland like he couldn't believe the sight before him.

"So. You want to talk about my books." Roland sat in a lopsided chair across from them and continued to wrong her hands anxiously, darting furtive glances at Pippa once in a while. She tried not to scowl at him.

"Er, yes," Oliver said. He leaned forward slightly. "I've had a theory for some time now, regarding the Nthuri people. And the Barty Brave books. Did you ever... actually travel to Volanta, Mr. Glee-Fishweiler?"

Roland finally stilled his incessant hand wringing for a few moments, his left eye taking up the twitching.

"Travel...to...Volanta?" he repeated, his voice squeaking slightly. He let out a laugh that reminded Pippa of a horse suffering a cold.

"Volanta is a made up place, how could I possibly go there?" Roland asked, but he wouldn't look either of them in the eye.

"If we find it, we will of course give credit where it's due", Pippa said diplomatically.

"You want to go there?" Roland blinked at her.

"So it does exist, then?" Pippa cocked her head and armed an eyebrow.

Roland opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Yes," he said, but it almost sounded like a question. He cleared his throat. "I never thought anyone would ask about it. But yes...I did come across an island that wasn't charted on any map. Actually, I beached my boat on it. I wrote the Barty Brave books because I knew no one would ever believe me about the things I saw there, but I had to share it."

"It really exists? Would you know how to get there again?" Oliver asked.

"What would you want to go there for? Islands are dangerous. Sea travel is dangerous. You should go home and stay there."

Oliver looked mildly mortified and Pippa rolled her eyes.

"The whole world is dangerous," she said dismissively.

"Exactly," Roland replied. "That's why I don't leave this house."

"You...never leave the house?" Oliver asked, bewildered.

"I moved here after I wrote my books, and I haven't left since."

Pippa and Oliver stared at him.

"It's a terrifying place out there," Roland explained. "I almost died countless times on that island. I'm allergic to a lot of plants; I broke out in hives walking around. And I'm not so good at all the climbing and traipsing through the jungle. And there are all sorts of wild animals. I had to fight a squirrel for a pile of nuts and it bit me. I still have a scar on my finger."

For a moment, Pippa almost thought Oliver was going to cry. She stood up and planted her hands on her hips, tired of all this useless yapping.

"No one is asking you to leave your sad, dusty little house, Roland," she said firmly. "We want to travel to Volanta. We just need you to tell us everything you know about it."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather just stay here and have a cup of tea? I don't get visitors very often. Especially not pretty young ladies like you." He turned beet colored and fiddled with his glasses awkwardly. Pippa huffed a sigh.

"How about we have some tea, and you can tell us about Volanta," she suggested.

The tea was horrible but she suffered through it as Roland rifled through a roll top desk and drew out an old, faded and slightly crude map and a tattered journal.

"This is what I have, if you're going to insist on this ridiculous venture. I have the coordinates here on this map, yes right there. Mind you, you may not actually find the island there. I estimated them to the best of my ability, since like I said, I ran aground there by complete accident. There was a storm, you see. I think there has to be a storm in order for you to find it, in fact. Dreadful things, storms. I hate the rain. And wind. And the ocean."

"Are you allergic to that too?" Pippa muttered under her breath.

"I was sure I had pneumonia when I first got there," Roland said, sounding disgruntled. Pippa glanced over and noticed that Oliver still looked like a little kid who had woken up on Christmas morning and discovered he had no presents beneath the tree. She had to stop herself from reaching over and petting his hair consolingly. She took the map and the journal from Roland, holding them carefully for fear they'd fall apart.

"There are all manner of strange things on that island," Roland warned. "You'd be better off deciding not to do this."

"We're going," Pippa said, rising and catching the sleeve of Oliver's shirt to pull him up with her.

"Why are you so determined to go through with this craziness?" Roland frowned.

"Because Oliver and my father are historians," Pippa said primly. "You can't make history hiding away forever."

"Making history," he grumbled.

"You went there," Oliver said suddenly. "Shouldn't you be excited that someone else wants to find the same thing you found? You could finally come forward and admit you'd actually seen this place."

"Just because you find it, if you find it, that doesn't mean anyone will actually believe you. Assuming you even make it back alive."

"We'll find it," Pippa said, tucking the journal under her arm and steering Oliver toward the door. "And we'll make it back alive."

She ushered Oliver outside and he let out a sound that was part sigh and part moan.

"I can't believe that guy wrote the Barty Brave books," he lamented.

"Oliver, forget about Fishweiler. Volanta is real. We have a good chance of finding it. Think what this could mean for you."

He just made that sigh-moan noise again and Pippa threw him an exasperated look. She wasn't impressed with Roland Fishweiler either, but excitement was humming through her. She could hardly wait to get back home and tell her father.

They were really going to find Volanta.