Free The Unmapped Sea by Maryrose Wood

over his almanac. Would the London Postal Service live up to its sterling reputation? Would the adventurous young playwright even be in London to receive her correspondence, or had some fresh adventure whisked him to parts unknown? Simon was as loyal as a friend could be, but he attracted plot twists the way spilled honey attracts ants.
    â€œI will remain optimistic, and wait for his reply,” she decided, and not without cause. Even while kidnapped by pirates, Simon had written to her faithfully. He did this by tossing notes overboard after first slipping them into empty rum bottles, of which his pirate captors had no shortage. The fact that these bottles could hardly have been expected to reach her at Ashton Place was beside the point. Even by modern standards the mail delivery in Miss Lumley’s day was swift and reliable, but alas, there was no Pirate Postal Service equipped to deliver letters from the briny deep. Tossing bottle-borne letters into the sea had been the best Simon could do under the circumstances, and truly, our best is all any of us can expect of ourselves, and each other.
    â€œCome, children! Mind your step getting off,” she said, guiding them from the train. Child-sized suitcases in hand, the three Incorrigibles clambered down the metal stairs and stood on the platform. The wind was strong, as it often is near the shore. They looked around, and sniffed.
    â€œI smell seashells,” Alexander said, “by the seashore.” (Interestingly, these very words would become the basis of one of the most famously difficult tongue-twisters ever devised: “She sells seashells by the seashore.” Credit for inventing this hard-to-pronounce phrase is most often given to Anonymous. Rest assured, Alexander Incorrigible was the first person to say it. Moreover, he clearly said, “I smell seashells,” not “She sells seashells,” which only goes to prove how thankless the burden of authorship can be.)
    â€œI smell salt. And sand. And something else . . .” Beowulf closed his eyes and sniffed again. “Are there bears in the sea?”
    â€œThere are seahorses, and sea urchins, but I have never heard of sea bears. Perhaps you are thinking of walruses?” Penelope shepherded the children to one side of the platform, for all around them the luggage was piling up. With a sharp whistle that she blew between two fingers, Mrs. Clarke directed the effortsto carry the trunks curbside, where a line of hansom cabs waited to transport them to the hotel.
    â€œI smell stinky pirates,” Cassiopeia said, with a flash of her teeth. “Or maybe just old sailors. But where is the sea?”
    â€œIt cannot be far. Once we have settled in the hotel and put away our things, we will take a walk and get our bearings, and drop this letter in the post as well.” Penelope patted her pocket once more. One would think the letter to Simon was an anchor, the way it weighed upon her! The sooner they found the post office, the better.
    Luckily, Mrs. Clarke overheard her. A moment later she pressed a slip of paper into Penelope’s hand. “Here’s the address of the inn where we’re staying. Give Jasper your luggage. You take the children to stretch their legs and get a look at the ocean while the sun’s still out. Remember to take nice deep breaths, dearies! The sea air is good for your health. That’s one thing Dr. Veltschmerz and I agree on, at least!”
    P ENELOPE INQUIRED AT THE STATION and discovered that the Brighton post office was directly on their way. She could scarcely hide her excitement as she paid for the postage, affixed the stamp (which bore a charmingportrait of Queen Victoria in her youth), and handed her letter to the postal clerk.
    â€œHow long will it take to arrive?” she asked.
    The clerk peered at the address through the lower lens of his bifocals. “London takes one day, no more and no less. But ‘Devotees of Thespis,