Nicholas had concerns about other evidence as well—evidence of his “window” project from the night before—and when he felt sure no one was watching, he cast a casual glance up toward the second floor of the Manor. He had used wadded strips of bedsheets to keep the wall stones in position; and to give the appearance of mortar between them, he had used most of his toothpaste, along with a great deal of grit that he’d swept up from the floor. The discolored patch of wall had looked credible enough from inside, but there’d been nothing he could do about the outside. He worried that the narrow gaps between the stones would show.
One glance put his mind at ease. From below, the spaces were impossible to detect. Nicholas smiled inwardly and began stacking some small iron welding plates, taking care not to squash his fingers. Last night’s labor had been hard enough on them, not to mention their scalding at breakfast. Making a key would be delicate work. Fresh fingers would have been better. But he felt sure he could pull the job off, regardless. The tricky part—the devilishly tricky part—would be doing everything on the sly.
Nicholas continued pondering his secret plans as the last of the tools were brought out. Then, for a minute or so, all the boys stood around looking tense. The Spiders had not yet emerged from the basement. The bullies had lost their excuse for being down there, however, and eventually, grudgingly, they filed out into the side yard, glowering. They were obviously furious, all three of them clenching and unclenching their fists dramatically. Nicholas thought they looked ridiculous, like toddlers trying to catch phantom fireflies. But the threat they posed was made clear enough by the way the other boys scattered from their path.
As everyone waited for Mr. Pileus to begin (he was puttering wordlessly among the tools, making some last-minute decision), Moray made a show of removing his belt and letting its heavy buckle thump menacingly against the grass. He did this a few times before putting his belt back on and sharing vengeful looks with Iggy and Breaker, who jutted their chins and clenched their fists some more. They all kept trying to mouth threats to Nicholas, like You’ll be sorry and We’ll get you for this, but every time they caught his eye, he would turn away just as they got their mouths moving.
It was clearly driving them nuts, especially Moray, who began to make enraged whimpering sounds and stomp his feet each time Nicholas looked away. Nicholas saw John give him a warning look, but he only smiled and winked. As long as Mr. Pileus was here, and as long as Nicholas was alert, there was nothing the Spiders could do.
At last Mr. Pileus cleared his throat and waved everyone over to him, and the metalworking activities officially began. From the handyman’s brief, mumbling speech, Nicholas gathered that the main idea was to fashion some new shelving for the basement but that the boys would be allowed to experiment with different projects. With the boys gathered around him, Mr. Pileus dutifully attempted to instruct them in the proper (and properly cautious) use of the tools, while at the same time uttering as few words as possible. He seemed to hope that demonstrating how to use a miter saw, for example, if done slowly and with the proper expression, would provide sufficient instruction even for the sniffling seven-year-olds. The result was a boy named Oliver nearly mitering the tip of his finger, and Mr. Pileus nearly collapsing of a heart attack.
Over the next couple of hours, this sequence was repeated again and again: A boy would do something Mr. Pileus perceived to be dangerous, and the horrified man would leap forward, wresting away the tool or the boy, whichever the occasion required. His gasps and cries of alarm, the minor but frequent injuries, and the other boys’ laughter caused such constant commotion that Nicholas, working feverishly and stealthily, managed to make terrific progress on his key. Indeed, by the time a fourth boy had been sent reluctantly off to Miss Candace for treatment, Nicholas believed he had finished the job.
His success came just in time, for no sooner had he slipped the key deep into his pocket than a wave of drowsiness overcame him.
Nicholas knew that if he napped near the tables, one of the Spiders would contrive to step on him or “accidentally” drop something heavy on his head. And so, without hesitation, he took off toward the yard’s wooded border, where no one had reason to go. He did not ask Mr. Pileus for permission. He simply started running. And he managed to put twenty paces between him and the others before his run became a stagger and he was forced to slow down, drop to his knees, and fall forward in a sort of controlled topple.
Nicholas came to rest on his belly, with his cheek pressed into the soft, warm grass, and gave himself over to the irresistible force of sleep. It had been only a few hours since his last nap, but he felt as if he’d put in an entire day’s work. And why not? he thought drowsily. Had he not been working ever since he arrived at the Manor? So he had. And all of his projects had been successful, and he had successfully avoided the Spiders. He was safely out in the open, where Mr. Pileus could see him, and the sunlight was warm against his back, and the smell of the grass was sweet. Nicholas heaved one final, deep sigh of contentment, and the world faded away.
When he woke later, blinking his eyes blearily without moving his head, Nicholas could tell he’d been asleep longer than usual. The shadows of the nearby trees had shifted, and he could feel the difference in the sunlight and the temperature of the air. Without consciously thinking about it, he knew he had slept half an hour, possibly a bit longer. He was aware of a certain silence, a stillness that suggested the other boys had gone inside. There was only birdsong and a rustling of leaves in the woods. And then an earthy thump, as if perhaps a fat acorn had dropped from the upper branches of one of the giant oaks. Nicholas sat up, rubbing his eyes. He heard another thump, and this time he detected in it a subtle jingling.
Nicholas felt his mouth go dry. He recognized that sound.
Reluctantly he turned to look toward the Manor. Mr. Pileus was nowhere to be seen. John Cole was nowhere to be seen. Nicholas was alone in the side yard.
Alone, except for the Spiders.
How had this happened? The makeshift tables were still arranged in the side yard, still covered with tools. It was as if everyone had simply fled, abandoning Nicholas to his enemies. The Spiders were gathered near the open side door, where Moray stood thumping his belt buckle on the ground and glaring across the yard toward Nicholas, and both Breaker and Iggy were looking expectantly back into the passageway as if waiting for someone.
Please, Nicholas thought. Please be Mr. Pileus.
It was not Mr. Pileus who poked his head out, however, but a scared younger boy in knickers. “All clear!” the boy said. He tried to withdraw, but Breaker caught his wrist and yanked him out into the yard.
“Don’t go back down without carrying something!” Breaker growled.
“Did you not hear what we told you?” Iggy said, spitting contemptuously as the boy darted for the tables. “Little nitwit.”
Nicholas scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. The Spiders had already started toward him. They fanned out as they came, cutting off every line of escape except the woods, where he dared not go. If they caught him out there, hidden among the trees, they wouldn’t even have to worry about witnesses. And so Nicholas took a deep breath, brushed himself off, and hurried forward to meet them, grinning as if they were old friends.
The Spiders slowed, then stopped near the tables, their faces betraying their confusion. Moray glanced back at the door, and Iggy and Breaker anxiously searched the Manor windows, no doubt expecting to find a grownup watching from some vantage point only Nicholas could see. But with the exception of the terrified younger boy, who was fumblingly gathering an armload of tools, the Spiders were alone with their prey.
“Where’d everyone go?” Nicholas asked cheerfully as he approached the tables.
“Late-morning chores,” said Moray with a triumphant leer. He swung his belt around like a propeller and caught the buckle in his meaty hand. “Me and my boys volunteered to help Pileus with the tools. We bring them in, and he puts them away, see? Which means—�
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“You need my help!” Nicholas interjected. He slapped his forehead. “Well, of course! Why didn’t you say so?” He rushed forward to the nearest table, where the younger boy had just lifted a socket set from behind a stack of welding plates and was turning hurriedly to go. With a squeak of surprise, the boy collided with Nicholas, who had approached at exactly the wrong angle, and both of them were knocked off balance. The younger boy staggered backward, clutching at his armload of tools, while Nicholas stumbled into the table, his flailing hands scattering things left and right.
“Get in there before Pileus wonders where you are!” Moray hissed, shoving the boy toward the door. Then he grabbed Nicholas, still draped awkwardly over the table, and swung him around. Moray’s face was hard now. “Cut the act, Benedict! We aren’t falling for that Mr. Innocent stuff anymore. You set us up! You made us wait in that bathroom for nothing!”
Iggy and Breaker moved in to stand on either side of Moray, muttering their agreement that they would not be fooled again.
“You should have done what you said you’d do,” said Breaker, stroking his wispy mustache. He flexed his arm muscles as he did so, as if stroking one’s mustache required enormous physical effort. “You should have kept your word.”
“I should have come to the bathroom and let you dunk my head in the toilet?” asked Nicholas, looking puzzled. “Is that what you’d have done?”
“Spiders always keep their word,” Iggy said peevishly. “It’s our code.”
Nicholas looked up at Moray, who still held his arm in a firm grip. “Is that true? You have a code? So you really would have let yourself get dunked in a toilet?”
“You better believe it,” Moray growled. “If the code…” Then he seemed to realize what Nicholas had said. He grimaced. “I mean no. No, I wouldn’t have, because I wouldn’t have said so in the first place, see? It’s only if we say we’ll do something that—oh, forget this business! No more of your wise-guy questions. You lied to us, and now we’re going to make you pay for it.”
“See, he said it,” Breaker said, “so now you know we’re going to do it.”
“You bet we are,” said Iggy. He tried to crack his knuckles in a menacing way but couldn’t get them to pop. He looked even more peevish now.
Nicholas sighed. “You really don’t want to hit me with that belt buckle, Moray.”
“Wrong,” said Moray, swinging the buckle back and forth like a pendulum. “I actually want to do it real bad.”
“But it will leave an obvious mark,” said Nicholas in his most reasonable tone. “When Mr. Pileus sees it, he’ll know what you’ve done, and you’ll be punished.”
Moray glared at him. “Don’t you worry. We’ll just tell him you fell.”
“Yeah!” Breaker said with a laugh. “You were so sleepy you fell against a table!”
“Yeah, we’ll all swear to it!” said Iggy.
Nicholas looked doubtful. “Sure, but the problem is that I’ll tell the truth. It will be your word against mine, and I’m much more convincing. Remember last night, when I convinced you I wanted to be initiated? Believe me, I won’t have any trouble convincing Mr. Pileus where I got such a nasty mark. For that matter, I wouldn’t hit me with your fist, either. A black eye or a bloody nose will be even easier to explain.”
Moray bent his face close to Nicholas’s. His breath smelled like dog breath. “You won’t rat on us, because if you do, we’ll get you for it, and next time will be even worse than this time. I promise you that. I give you my word.”
“Yeah!” Iggy said. “We all do. How do you like that?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I’ll rat on you anyway, though. Believe me, I will most certainly rat.”
“ ‘Most certainly rat’?” Moray repeated, looking around at Iggy and Breaker. “Are you hearing this guy?”
“I’m hearing him,” Breaker said. “ ‘Most certainly rat.’ Get a load of him!”
“He talks like a rat!” Iggy said, then laughed really hard to convince everyone it was funny.
“It’s up to you,” Nicholas said, speaking up to be heard over Iggy’s laughter. “You’ll have to decide if it’s worth getting punished for.”
Moray licked his lips and screwed up his face, considering this. Meanwhile, another young boy scurried out from the side door, fetched a tool, and scurried back inside the Manor without a word, like a frightened mouse snatching a bit of cheese. He scarcely even glanced at Nicholas and the Spiders, perhaps for fear of seeing violence in action.
Suddenly Moray brightened. “I have a better idea,” he said, putting his belt back on and glancing around at his friends. “I’m going to sock you in the belly. How about that, Benedict? No marks!” He was so pleased with himself, he laughed out loud.
Nicholas looked apologetic, as if he hated dashing Moray’s hopes. “If I were you, I wouldn’t do that, either.”
“Oh yeah?” Moray said. He tried to make it come out like a taunt, but he sounded worried. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’ll hurt your hand,” Nicholas said.
Moray and the other Spiders had another good laugh at this. Then Moray punched Nicholas as hard as he could in the belly.
There was a clanking sound, and the next moment Moray was rolling on the grass, clutching his fist and howling. As Breaker and Iggy gaped in astonishment, Nicholas withdrew the metal welding plate from beneath his shirt—it was to slip that plate under his shirt that he had contrived to stumble against the tool table earlier—and heaved it into the air above their heads. They instinctively leaped back before it could crack one of their skulls, and as they did, Nicholas ducked under the table, popped up on the other side, and vanished through the side door into the Manor.
In the passageway, Nicholas came upon the younger boy in knickers. He had just emerged from the doorway to the basement stairs, panting with effort, and at the sight of Nicholas he ducked his head. He was no doubt used to being severely teased—few boys wore knickers anymore, not even very young ones—and from his manner Nicholas judged he was often pushed around, too. He was a meek little boy, freckle-faced, with ears that stuck out like pitcher handles. Nicholas had overheard Iggy taunting him during metalworking.
(“Hey, Buford,” Iggy had whispered, waving a mallet. “Want me to hammer those ears down for you?” And Buford had made a squeaking sound and whispered, “No, thank you, sir.”)
“See you later, Buford,” Nicholas said, brushing past him. He could still hear the Spiders outside, cursing and arguing about which one had let him get away. Evidently, they didn’t intend to follow him.
“How—how did you know my name?” Buford said, turning.
Nicholas had a flash of inspiration. He crooked his finger, indicating that Buford should come closer. “Because I knew this was going to happen,” he whispered. “Because I saw it.”
“You… saw it?”
Nicholas nodded mysteriously. “Yes, and listen, Buford, I need you to give a message to the Spiders for me.”
Buford drew back in alarm. “A message? But if they don’t like it, they’ll clean my clock!”
“Your clock will be fine, Buford,” Nicholas assured him. “Now here’s the message. I want you to tell the Spiders that I can predict the future.”
“The future?”
“Exactly,” said Nicholas. “Tell them that’s how I always know what they’re going to do. Trying to initiate me, trying to ambush me in the basement, socking me in the belly—I saw all of those things before they happened. It’s part of my special condition. So if they know what’s good for them, they’ll leave me alone. If they try to get me again, it’s just going to backfire again, because I’ll know what they’re up to even before they do. Can you remember all that, Buford?”
“I don’t know!” said Buford, wringing his hands. He looked as though he might cry. “It’s an awful lot!”
“Just do your best,” Nicholas said reassuringly. “You’re going to do fine. I can see it.”
With that
, he turned and ran off, leaving Buford with the unhappy task of telling the Spiders something they would not want to hear. The younger boy felt he had no choice, however, for if Nicholas was telling the truth, then failing to deliver the message might somehow disrupt the future. Buford had no idea what would happen if a person disrupted the future, but it might be terrible indeed, and he did not care to be responsible for it. And so without delay he ran outside to deliver the message.
Just like he predicted I would, Buford thought, and he shivered.
“Ah, so you’re awake, Nicholas,” said Mr. Collum when Nicholas appeared in his study doorway. He was seated at his desk, poring over the precious ledger through his jeweler’s loupe. John stood at the filing cabinet behind him with a handful of papers. Mr. Collum removed the loupe from his eye and gave Nicholas an assessing look. “John was just suggesting that I check on you. He said you dozed off during metalworking. I assured him that this was simply part of your condition and that you would be fine. Obviously, I was correct.”
John was looking at Nicholas with raised eyebrows. No doubt he had expected Nicholas to have a black eye or bloody lip. “Glad to see you’re all right, Nick.”
“Thanks,” Nicholas said, stepping closer to Mr. Collum’s desk. He tried to catch a glimpse of the writing in the ledger, but Mr. Collum closed it and covered it with a schedule of daily tasks.
Mr. Collum made a pencil mark next to one of the items. “I’ve assigned you to lunchtime kitchen duty for the rest of this week, Nicholas. You’ll help prepare lunch and wash dishes afterward. Please report to Mr. Griese now.”
Nicholas opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Collum held up a hand to check him.
“Do not test me, Nicholas,” Mr. Collum said sternly. “Every child helps with the chores. Run along now. You’re dismissed.”
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict Page 9