“That’s the spirit,” said John with an approving look. “They’re ridiculous, all right. The trick is avoiding them, and I can give you a few tips, as far as that goes. You just—Nicholas? Say, are you—?” He cried out in surprise, for Nicholas, who had abruptly stopped laughing (to listen, John had thought), now just as abruptly closed his eyes, dropped his suitcase, and pitched sideways into an azalea.
John managed to catch him under the shoulders and tried to help him upright. Nicholas was deadweight in his arms, however, and only with great effort did John keep both of them from toppling. Nicholas’s head lolled on his neck, his eyes remained closed, and for a terrible moment John thought that the poor boy had died. Then, with dawning amazement, he realized a less terrible but equally remarkable fact: Nicholas Benedict had fallen asleep, right in the middle of a laugh.
The first sensation Nicholas experienced when he awoke was discomfort in his knee. He seemed to be lying on the ground with one leg bent beneath him. He felt an azalea twig poking into his ear, and soft earth under his fingertips. His shoulder blade pressed into a stone. And—as he came to realize what had happened—he felt a rising heat in his cheeks.
It was not unfamiliar, this shame that arrived after collapsing, helpless, in the presence of others. Nicholas had never gotten used to it, had never been able to quash it. Worse, this time it was instantly followed by an electric surge of dismay. His secret was already in jeopardy, and he had only just arrived!
Nicholas steadied his breathing, trying to calm himself and think what to do. Unfortunately, John must have been watching him closely, for though the change in his breathing was subtle, the older boy immediately whispered, “Hey! Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
Nicholas opened one eye. John’s concerned face hovered over him. “Don’t you have better things to do than watch over the new kid?” he asked, as casually as he might have asked the time.
John did not smile—he had yet to do so even once—but he did seem relieved. Shrugging his shoulders every bit as casually, he replied, “It isn’t every day I get to watch someone sleep in the shrubberies.”
“Is that so?” Nicholas said breezily. “Where I come from it’s quite common.” He straightened out his tingling leg and sat up.
“So, does this always happen when you get excited?” John asked, and it was all Nicholas could do not to let the surprise—surprise and panic—show on his face. He knew his eyes had widened, and quickly he rubbed at them as if he were still just trying to wake up properly. Meanwhile John continued. “You went down right in the middle of a laugh. I’ve never seen anything like it. You have a funny laugh, by the way. Sounds like someone tapping out Morse code. No offense. I mean, it’s a fine laugh. I’ve just never heard one like it before.”
Nicholas cleared his throat, trying to gather his wits. John was clearly sharper than most. “Sorry, I’m still a bit groggy. The fact is, I don’t think I’ve really heard anything you’ve been saying.”
“Oh!” John reached down and helped Nicholas to his feet. “I only asked whether laughing always does that to you.”
“Laughing?” said Nicholas. He brushed off his pants, his mind racing. Even if John accepted a made-up explanation, he might still tell others about his original suspicion. How long would it be until someone tested that theory to see if he’d been right?
“Yes, laughing,” John said, somewhat insistently now. “You were standing there laughing, and I was trying to tell you something, and then you just closed your eyes and fell over. Has that never happened before?”
There was no help for it, Nicholas thought. His best chance was to gamble on the truth, or at least some version of it. “Well, I believe it has happened once or twice. But say, John, I don’t suppose we could keep this between us? I can find some way to pay you back. Whatever you like.”
John’s eyebrows rose in surprise, then just as quickly drew together into a frown. He was quiet for several seconds. He seemed to be working something out in his mind. Nicholas worried he was calculating a particularly hefty bribe.
“Tell me something,” John said finally, looking Nicholas in the eye. “You understood what I was saying right away, didn’t you? You only pretended not to. Why did you do that?”
Nicholas sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve had some bad experiences.”
John studied him for some time, considering this. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets, and his gaze drifted upward, as if now he were studying the eaves. At length he muttered, as if to himself, “I’ll bet. I hadn’t even thought of that.” He looked back at Nicholas. “All right, Nick—can I call you Nick?—your secret’s safe with me. And forget that business about paying me back. I’m not a creep, you know.”
Once again Nicholas was slow to reply. He was grateful, but also confused. He’d had precious little experience with generous behavior. “Sure,” he said after an awkward pause, then hurriedly added, “I mean ‘sure, you can call me Nick,’ not ‘sure, you’re not a creep.’ Because I’m sure you aren’t. A creep, I mean.”
John narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad, I think. All set, then? Ready to sneak in?”
Nicholas picked up his suitcase. “All set.”
John started off again toward the corner of the Manor. “The thing about this place, Nick, is that you’re fine as long as there’s a grownup around. Really. The staff don’t put up with any nonsense, and they give out harsh punishments. So the Spiders won’t try anything unless they get you away from the adults. You can usually avoid that if you’re careful, but tonight they know I’m supposed to take you upstairs, so they might be lying in wait for you somewhere on the way—somewhere out of sight of the staff.”
“What do they want with me, anyway?” Nicholas asked. “They don’t even know me.”
“They want to ‘initiate’ you. It isn’t personal. They initiated me, too, when I got here last year. They say it’s a tradition, but that’s just an excuse. People like the Spiders don’t need traditions to do what they do.”
Nicholas was about to ask what the initiation involved, when they reached the corner. John put a finger to his lips and peered around. He beckoned Nicholas to follow him. They tiptoed into a side yard, where in the prevailing gloom Nicholas made out the shapes of a well, a small raised garden, and a shed. Beyond these he saw nothing but darkness. For such an impressive mansion, the Manor sorely lacked for good lighting. Only a single, second-story window on this side offered the faintest glimmer of candlelight.
John led him through the side door and eased it closed behind them. They stood in a dim passage, the sole source of illumination being a band of light shining from beneath a door to their left. (“Mr. Pileus’s bedroom,” John whispered.) Voices sounded in other parts of the Manor, drifting down passageways and over transoms. Agitated conversations, occasional spurts of laughter, flurries of footsteps.
John whispered for Nicholas to tread softly and step only where he stepped. Presumably this was to avoid creaking floorboards, though with all the exaggerated caution they were taking, Nicholas could not help but imagine trip wires and land mines. He took his first stealthy step, all his senses on high alert—and in this way, skulking like a thief, Nicholas entered his new home.
At the end of the passage, the boys slipped through a door to the old servants’ stairs. The stairway was cramped and dusty, and it was pitch black until John turned the key in a wall lamp, illuminating the wooden steps and a closed door at the top. “Got it?” he whispered. He switched the light off again, and in darkness they began to climb.
“Free time will be over soon,” John said, still speaking softly. “Everyone will have to report to the dormitories for bed, so you just need to steer clear of the Spiders until then. I suppose you could hide behind the boxes in your room if it came to that.”
“There are boxes in my room?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” John cautioned. “They aren’t presents or anything. In the old days your room was a guest room, but it’
s used for storage now. You have a cot, though—you don’t have to actually sleep in a box. That’s something, right?”
At the top of the stairs, Nicholas spied a tiny circle of dim light that seemed to hover in the blackness. He knew this was the keyhole in the door, and when it disappeared, he knew John had put his eye to it. John opened the door a crack and listened, then opened it further and looked out. “I don’t see anyone,” he whispered, “but we’ll keep quiet all the same.”
The boys crept out into a short and terribly gloomy passage. Nicholas’s eye was drawn to the only discernible light; some paces to the left, where this passage ended at the intersection of another one, a sickly yellow candle burned in a wall sconce. Beneath the sconce stood an antique wooden bureau, atop which a bowl had been set to catch the steady trickle of leaking melted wax. In the dim candlelight, Nicholas took in his surroundings: the faded pattern in the carpet running along the wooden floor; the electric light fixture, missing its bulbs, that hung directly overhead; and the door, just opposite the servants’ stairs, that John was attempting to open—the door, Nicholas realized in horror, to his room.
“Couldn’t they have picked a spookier place?” he whispered. “If I didn’t have nightmares already, I’m fairly certain this atmosphere would induce them.”
John gave Nicholas a quizzical look. “How old did you say you were, Nick? You seem, I don’t know, kind of wordy for a kid your size.”
“I’m nine,” Nicholas replied, and to be comical he drew himself up to full height, as if his height were most impressive. In fact, as he well knew, he was on the small side even for a nine-year-old.
“Nine,” John repeated, and he shook his head. “You don’t sound it. I’m twelve, you know, and I’m ‘fairly certain’ I’ve never heard a kid use the word ‘induce.’ ” (He said all this in a teasing tone, not harsh at all, but Nicholas nonetheless reminded himself to be careful; others could be less forgiving.) “Anyway, this door’s locked. I’ll have to go and find Mr. Collum. You’d better stay here. There might be Spiders posted along the way.”
Nicholas tried not to appear alarmed. “But if they see you, won’t they realize I’m up here?”
“The Spiders aren’t especially good at realizing things,” John said wryly. “But if they see me, I’ll tell them I was just checking on your room—Mr. Collum often has me do errands like that—and that you’re still outside asleep. They won’t risk sneaking outside. Too many things could go wrong.”
Nicholas also saw too many things that could go wrong with John’s plan, but he decided not to mention them. He didn’t want to appear frightened to wait up here by himself (even though he was). Besides, he wanted to give John the benefit of the doubt. “Perfect, I’ll wait here, then.” He set down his suitcase, put his hands on his hips, and made a show of glancing around with a look of satisfaction. “I like it here, anyway. It’s homey.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” John said. “You just sit tight and keep your ears open. If you hear someone coming, better duck into the stairway until you know who it is. It can’t hurt to be careful.” He was already hurrying away.
“Wait!” Nicholas called, whispering as loudly as he dared. John stopped and looked back. “I… I wanted to thank you. You’re going to a lot of trouble for someone you don’t know.”
Perhaps it was the candlelight striking him from a new angle, but at these words John’s face seemed to change—his features seemed almost contorted—and when he spoke, his voice sounded tight and forced, as if he were upset. “Don’t thank me, Nick.” He made a broad, vague, irritated gesture. “This—all this business—it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t…” He sighed, and his expression appeared to relax. “Forget it. Just don’t thank me, Nick. All right? There’s no need to thank me.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” said Nicholas. He straightened like a soldier and saluted. “No thanks, then, Captain. No thanks it is!”
John’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he looked as if he might smile. “You’re a fresh one, Nick,” he said at last.
After John had gone, Nicholas surveyed the area near his room. Several paces to the right of the stairway door, the passage ended at a curtainless window overlooking the side yard. Not that Nicholas could actually see the yard (the glass reflected his tense face and the candlelit passage behind him, and outside all was blackness), but it was easy enough for him to deduce. He didn’t have to think about it. Nicholas was the sort of person who could wander blindfolded for hours and never lose his direction. The side yard lay to the east of the Manor, and Nicholas knew he was facing east, so this had to be the faintly glimmering window he had seen from below.
Nicholas turned and tiptoed to the intersection (the candle corner, was how he thought of it), where the wax dripping into the bowl made a ticking sound as regular as a clock. Indeed, he had been automatically keeping track of the drips since John left. One hundred eighty-seven and counting—approximately three minutes. Nicholas peered to the left, in the direction John had taken. This south-running passage extended past a few closed doors toward the front of the house, where it turned to the right, or west.
Nicholas swiveled his eyes (he was trying to keep quiet by not moving very much) to peer along the passage to the north. It ran a great deal farther in that direction, perhaps even to the very back of the Manor, though it was altogether too dark to tell. In the near distance Nicholas could make out another candle corner, with an identical bowl set upon an identical bureau, but the sconce there was empty.
From what Nicholas could see—or, more to the point, not see—the upstairs seemed a horribly gloomy place. He tiptoed back to the door of his room, not a little gloomy himself. Was there really to be no one on this entire abandoned floor but him? He bent to peer through the keyhole. Nothing but darkness. He wondered what sort of bed he had. At Littleview he had slept on blankets on the floor. That had been a fortunate arrangement, actually; though his terrifying dreams had often made him flail and thrash, they could never send him tumbling out of bed. He’d probably been spared many nasty bruises.
Nicholas did not want to imagine how it would be to awaken from a nightmare in this dark and isolated corner, with the feeling—that much-too-familiar feeling—that some hideous creature crouched in the shadows of his room, so instead he turned his attention to the candle in the sconce, which had just made a sputtering sound. He looked up in time to see its flame tilt sideways, then straighten again.
As if it had been caught in a draft, he thought.
Nicholas was instantly on guard. What had caused that draft? Was it simply a gust of wind slipping through cracks in the old stone walls, or had someone opened a door nearby? He heard no voices or footsteps, but this was not reassuring. If John knew where to step to avoid creaking floorboards, the Spiders might know as well. Quickly he slipped onto the servants’ stairs and eased the door closed.
A long minute passed, during which all Nicholas heard was his heartbeat. In his haste he had left his suitcase behind—a mistake, but he couldn’t risk retrieving it now. He pictured that tilted candle flame. There might have been other causes, he knew; his mind flashed over several. Still, he felt uneasy. He could no longer hear the dripping of the candle wax, but in the back of his mind he had kept up the count. Two minutes passed, then three.
Nicholas had almost decided it was a false alarm, when he heard whispers in the passage. They were startlingly close to where he crouched on the dark stairs. Indeed, if the door had not been there, he could have reached out and grabbed the whisperers. Or vice versa. Through the keyhole he caught a glimpse of a leather belt cinched carelessly about its owner’s waist—two frayed denim loops had been missed entirely—and then a large, scuffed metal belt buckle rotated into view. The person had turned toward the door. A hand passed slowly across the keyhole view, reaching for the doorknob.
There was nothing for it—he could hardly leap away—and so Nicholas swung the door open and sprang out of the stairway with a grin. “There you are!” he
cried, beaming at three startled boys in the passage. They were giants compared to Nicholas—eleven or twelve years old, and all of them big for their age. All had crew cuts like John’s. The one with the belt buckle, who was also the tallest, had jumped back to avoid being struck by the opening door. He was holding Nicholas’s suitcase.
“I heard you were looking for me,” Nicholas said, grinning. “You are the Spiders, aren’t you? I’ve heard great things about you already! Great things!”
The belt buckle boy was evidently the leader, for the other two were looking back and forth between him and Nicholas, wondering what would come next. But the belt buckle boy was staring at Nicholas in astonishment, as if this newcomer had just claimed to be a talking squirrel and shown his tail to prove it. The boy licked his lips, which were quite chapped, and after a long, considered pause, he said, “What?”
“I’m excited about initiation,” Nicholas said, lowering his voice confidentially, as if they might be overheard. “I love secrets! But I’m worried Mr. Collum will stop us. What should we do?”
“Do?” said the belt buckle boy. He glanced around at the others, who were clearly confused. One of them—a pale, lanky boy with a pinched expression, as if he’d just eaten something bitter—was mumbling the words that Nicholas had spoken. He seemed to be trying to get at their meaning by saying them himself.
“Yes, do!” Nicholas said, clasping his hands together. “I’ve never had an initiation before. It’s a kind of welcoming party, right? I don’t want to miss it, but Mr. Collum will be here any second!”
“So you think…” said the belt buckle boy, with a slowly spreading grin that showed he understood the situation now—or thought he did, anyway. He chuckled, then tried to mask it with a cough. “Well, little buddy, that won’t be a problem, see, because we’re headed to the bathroom. That’s where we do it. Come on, we’ll show you. It’s just around the corner.” He winked at the other boys, who were now exchanging knowing looks. They both spoke up in false-friendly tones, encouraging Nicholas to join them.
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict Page 3