Mr. Collum, now in a highly agitated state, leaped from his desk and stormed out of the office. He returned with a fat volume of travel tales, which he shoved into Nicholas’s hands. “There! Read it if you must! I’ll time you!” He took out his pocket watch.
Nicholas grinned. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Collum. I’ve already read this book. Would you like me to quote from it? Or would you prefer to see me read something? If so, I recommend you select a book from a higher shelf, one that I’m unable to reach. That way you’ll be more likely to find a book I haven’t read.”
Mr. Collum grabbed the book back from Nicholas with a huff, flung it open, and said, “I shall read a sentence, Nicholas. If you can tell me the sentence that follows it, we shall have more to discuss. If you fail, you will leave my office immediately and report to Mrs. Brindle. You will tell her that she is to assign you a week’s worth of extra duties as punishment for wasting my time. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” Nicholas cried, and he saluted.
Mr. Collum scowled, turned his eyes to the open book, and read, “ ‘The anxiety of the mariner may take forms as infinite and various as the ocean upon which he travels.’ ”
Nicholas did not hesitate an instant. “ ‘Superstition and routine,’ ” he recited, “ ‘gossip and drink, hobby and horseplay—and of course, that most dread manifestation of all: mutiny.’ ”
Mr. Collum was staring at the page. He blinked several times. Then, glancing up at Nicholas, he quickly fanned the pages to arrive at a different passage, whose opening words he read aloud. Nicholas quoted the remainder of the passage word for word.
Without comment, Mr. Collum left the study and returned with a different book, this time one from a higher shelf. He bade Nicholas read it, and Nicholas did. It was a thin volume, scarcely more than a pamphlet, and Nicholas finished reading it in less than three minutes. He handed it to Mr. Collum, who followed along with his eyes as Nicholas quoted from it.
Mr. Collum took a seat at his desk. His lips pursed, he gazed at Nicholas in silence for almost a full minute, during which time Nicholas returned his gaze frankly, and not without pride, but with any hint of insolence carefully absent in his expression. It was critical that Mr. Collum reach the conclusion that he was useful—useful, but not a threat.
At length Mr. Collum, in a slow, deliberate, musing tone, said, “So your Mrs. Ferrier was correct, after all. At least in part. You have an eidetic memory. I once knew a man with a similar gift, a street performer who would ask passersby for the titles of their favorite books, then quote extensively from the books in question. His eyes were a camera, he said, that recorded whole pages in a moment. Clearly, it is the same with you.”
Nicholas waited. Mr. Collum was working something out in his own mind, and it would not do to prompt or interrupt him.
“And yet,” Mr. Collum continued, “when by chance I had occasion to dine with this man, I discovered, in the course of our conversation, that he had less sense than an intelligent dog. He could not speak meaningfully of anything he had read, though he remembered every word. He had a flimsy understanding of basic principles of science and mathematics. He could do nothing practical at all, nothing in the least. It was for this reason that he had become a performer—for any real work of intelligence he was entirely unsuited, despite his gift.”
Nicholas knew what Mr. Collum was getting at and understood why it was important to him. Mr. Collum did not wish to believe he had been entirely incorrect in his original assumptions about Nicholas. Nor did he care to entrust Nicholas with a task whose deeper purpose Mr. Collum wished to keep secret, a purpose that Nicholas—if he were truly intelligent and clever—might be able to guess. And yet it was obvious that Nicholas could, indeed, be exceedingly useful to him, and in his desperate state, Mr. Collum was eager to convince himself that he might safely take advantage of Nicholas’s abilities.
The director had fallen into another considering silence. Presently he nodded. “I am glad you came to me, Nicholas. You may well be of some assistance to me, and I applaud your interest in making yourself useful. I shall have to think on this, however. You have proved to me that you have a gift. What you have not yet shown me is whether you are responsible or mature enough to be allowed to take such a trip. Let us see how you behave in the coming days, while I consider the matter. Perhaps you may go, after all.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Collum! I won’t let you down, sir!”
“We shall see, Nicholas. In the meantime, you are strictly forbidden to discuss this matter with anyone. I cannot have every child in the Manor begging for special trips to the Stonetown Library. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Mr. Collum! Not a word, not a peep!”
“Very well, Nicholas. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!”
“We are not in the Army, Nicholas. There is no need to salute.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Collum!” Nicholas replied, and bowed.
Almost a week had passed since Nicholas approached Mr. Collum with his request, a week of rising expectation. Though he had yet to be granted permission to go to Stonetown, he felt sure that he would be. Mr. Collum only wished to seem to have given the matter real thought. He did not like to think that a boy could march into his office and change his mind about anything so quickly.
In the meantime, Nicholas, John, and Violet continued to hold their meetings at Giant’s Head. Night after night they discussed the clippings, after which Nicholas would recount diary entries (even the seemingly unimportant ones about buying flowers or special yarn for Mrs. Rothschild’s knitting) in hopes of some odd detail catching their attention—some suggestion of a combination for the cranks, some previously unnoticed hint about the treasure’s location. But Nicholas seemed to have overlooked nothing; no further clues emerged, and more and more their hopes were pinned to Mr. Collum’s decision.
At times they grew weary of their futile efforts, and their conversation would turn to less mysterious matters. Their favorite subject was their future life in Stonetown—when Violet would be residing at the art school (which had elegant dormitories) and the boys would live somewhere nearby, so that they could visit easily. But as often as not, they simply talked about whatever occurred to them, and watched the crescent moon fattening into a half moon, and appreciated one another’s company.
And yet a change had been taking place in John that prevented him from truly enjoying himself. More and more, the dreariness of his days seemed to follow him up to Giant’s Head like a shadow. Less and less did he find himself able to laugh or even smile. When at last Violet expressed concern, John admitted that his outcast status at the Manor was taking a toll on him.
“At first,” he said, “it was such a great relief to be with you two at night, the rotten stuff just faded away.” He shrugged sadly. It was hardly even a shrug; it was more of a sad twitch. “And it’s still good to see you—it’s the only good thing, really—but the fading away has stopped. I guess I never realized how hard it would be.” John frowned at his own words, and with an apologetic glance at Nicholas, he said, “I’m not saying I regret it, Nick. It was the right thing to do. I just don’t think I expected it to last so long.”
There was little Nicholas could say to argue with this, little he could do to make it seem better than it was. Their exile certainly had lasted a long time, and it most certainly would continue. It had become a matter of routine. The other children spoke to them only when circumstances required it, and even then the interactions were awkward and unpleasant. Otherwise the boys lived in a strange silence, broken only by the occasional taunt or insult slung at them from one of the Spiders. And, of course, they always had to be on guard against possible attacks.
“You just have to hang in there,” Nicholas said, for lack of more encouraging words. “You know things will be better soon.”
John grimaced. “But I don’t know that, Nick! I don’t know anything of the sort. How can I?”
Nicholas was
taken aback. “But the treasure—”
“Oh, the treasure, the treasure!” John snapped. “What if we can’t find it? We don’t have forever, you know! What do you think happens if we don’t find it soon? Why do you think Mr. Collum is so desperate to find it himself? There’s no money, Nick! He’ll have to close the orphanage! Believe me, I’ve heard him muttering as he goes over the books. There’s no way he can keep the orphanage running much longer, not without more money.”
Nicholas was stunned by this news and stung by John’s harsh tone. He looked at Violet, who seemed equally upset.
I never realized, she signed, her eyes filling with tears. I’ve been telling myself that if we didn’t find the treasure, at least now I have some friends. But you’re telling me that if we don’t find it, you’ll go. Isn’t that what John’s saying? Nicholas, you aren’t translating. Ask him, please.
Nicholas, collecting himself, translated what Violet had said.
John was staring at his hands. He looked extremely downcast. “I’m… sorry, Nick. I’m sorry I jumped on you like that. But yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. If the orphanage runs out of money, they’ll have to send us to other places, and there’s no telling where. We’re sure to be split up, though. Mr. Collum has been making visits to other orphanages—that’s why he took that weekend trip recently—to look into possible arrangements. It doesn’t look good.”
Violet wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. It isn’t fair, she signed. Not when we were so close.
“Listen,” Nicholas said to them, “maybe it doesn’t look good, but everything is going to be fine. I promise! I’ll be going to Stonetown—you know I will—and I’m going to figure this out if it’s the last thing I do. All right? Let’s not give up hope yet! We still have time!”
Violet sniffed and nodded. Then she smiled, and it was a small but genuine smile, with much of its usual warmth. Of course. It’s fate, right? We agreed that it was fate.
“We’re going to make our own fate!” Nicholas cried, his voice ringing with determination.
John, shaking his head as if coming awake from a bad dream, reached out and shook Nicholas’s hand. In a slightly more upbeat voice he said, “Like I’ve always said, Nick. You’re a fresh one.”
Maybe it’s just that the timing has to be perfect, Violet signed. The mining company contract expires a week from Friday. Maybe we’re meant to find the treasure on that very day. It would be a way of showing that for every evil thing, there is a good thing.
“We can show that,” Nicholas said with a laugh, “even if we’re early.”
After this exchange, the friends began to speak of other things. But the truth was, despite his show of bravado, Nicholas felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He tried, as they talked, to shake the terrible sense of foreboding that John’s words had caused in him—tried and failed. And then, as if to give dramatic voice to his uneasiness, thunder began to rumble over the hills.
Quickly they all clasped hands and said goodbye, hurrying back to their beds to beat the storm. As the boys picked their way down the dark path to the Manor, with wind tossing the branches overhead and the woods groaning and rushing all around them, Nicholas found himself wondering if, after this night, things would ever be the same again. He could not say exactly why, but he had an awful premonition that they would not be.
And in this case, as in so many others, Nicholas turned out to be right.
For three days and three nights the rain never stopped or slackened. At its gentlest, it took the form of a hard downpour. At its most fierce, it was a lashing, crashing storm. Once again the Manor passageways were muddied, mopped, and muddied again in a ceaseless, hopeless routine. Once again the orphans grew irritable and restless, the staff snappish and gloomy. Once again Nicholas and John were prevented any sort of private discussion that mattered to them. For Nicholas the only consolation was that the bad weather must surely have been delaying Mr. Collum’s search outside the Manor. It was thin comfort, though, and when at last he was summoned to Mr. Collum’s office on a Sunday afternoon, he was in such low spirits that he feared the worst.
Mr. Collum’s manner instantly encouraged him. There was an air of expectation, as well as a certain craftiness, in the way he greeted Nicholas, both of which Nicholas attributed to the director’s hope of taking advantage of him. Sure enough, no sooner had the office door closed than Mr. Collum granted Nicholas permission to accompany Mr. Pileus to Stonetown.
“Oh, thank you, sir!” Nicholas cried.
Mr. Collum held up a warning finger and reminded Nicholas not to discuss the trip with anyone. “If asked,” he said sternly, “you may say only that you have an appointment and that you do not wish to elaborate.” He also instructed Nicholas to bring the report directly to him before showing it to Mr. Cypher. As orphanage director, Mr. Collum said, he naturally took a special interest in the details of the case.
“Of course, Mr. Collum!” said Nicholas, who had no intention of including any significant details in his report, anyway. Nor would he be keeping quiet about the trip—at least not with his friends. But his tone and expression conveyed the utmost sincerity, and shortly afterward he skipped out of the office on the lightest of feet.
“Tomorrow morning,” he told John over supper, as soon as the boys nearest them had left the table.
“Finally,” said John, with a look of relief. “That’s something, anyway.” He shooed a fly away from his plate. “Funny, though, yesterday I felt sure I heard them planning the trip for next week. I wonder why he changed the day.”
“He’s excited,” Nicholas guessed. “He expects me to bring him a thorough report, and the sooner the better, right?”
“Excited or desperate,” John said grimly. “I think the hammer’s about to fall. After the service this morning, Mr. Collum said he needed me to do some filing. But when I went by his office later, he was on the telephone and sent me away. He said he’d finish the filing himself. He’s never done that before. Something really serious must be going on.”
The dining hall was emptying out, the buzz of conversation dying down. Outside, the storm raged on unabated, making it all but certain there would be no meeting at Giant’s Head that night. This would likely be their last chance to speak for some time. John, glancing around, suddenly leaned forward with a very sober, very earnest expression. “Listen, Nick—”
But Nicholas began speaking at the same time. “Can you believe Mr. Cypher gave me two days’ worth of schoolwork to do on the train? Sure, I finished it already, but what if I had been someone else? It seems rather severe to assign—”
“Nick!” John interrupted. “I want to talk to you about something serious. I’ve been thinking. Don’t you suppose—?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Not here, John,” he muttered. “I think they’re listening.”
John glanced around again. Mrs. Brindle stood in the kitchen doorway, talking to Mr. Griese, so Nicholas had not been referring to her. The few remaining children in the dining hall avoided his eye. Perhaps they had been trying to hear him, perhaps not. But Nicholas was already pushing back his chair.
“We’ll have to talk about it when I get back,” he said mysteriously, for he had a strong suspicion about what John wanted to tell him—and an even stronger unwillingness to hear it. “In the meantime, wish me luck.”
John rose to shake his hand. “Good luck, Nick. Go save the day.”
Nicholas laughed, saluted, and told John that luck would not be required.
When Nicholas awoke for the third time in as many hours, he sat up in his cot, took the matchbox from beneath his pillow, and lit a candle with trembling fingers. He braced himself for whatever the light might reveal. Often and often had he believed himself entirely awake, only to be greeted by nightmare hallucinations. This time an empty room confronted him—either that or an unusually dull nightmare. He went to wash his face and returned to sit on his cot. Yes, he was fully awake, but still full of that familiar dread.
Ever since the last meeting at Giant’s Head, Nicholas had felt a terrible urgency, and sitting here waiting for morning, he felt it all the more keenly. He had hours to go and nothing to do. An idea crept into his mind, as it had done many times before without finding a comfortable seat. This time Nicholas welcomed it. He got up again, taking his blanket with him, and gathered his alarm clock, his candle, his matches. He was going to explore the rest of the upstairs.
At the candle corner Nicholas paused to light the candle in the sconce, using the flame from the candle he carried. He listened awhile, cautious as ever, before moving on. Cautious and, yes, nervous. The second floor of the Manor, in the middle of the night, was almost as creepy as a nightmare. Shadowy passages stretching away in all directions, wind and rain rattling and ticking against the windows, and doorway after doorway. No wonder he had resisted exploring for so long. He had to admit to himself that one reason he’d decided he needed a plan before searching the Manor—a reason he hadn’t set out searching at random—was simple fear. Finding the clues that led him to the observatory had been exciting, but also a relief. They had suggested there was nothing to be found upstairs, anyway.
But that wasn’t necessarily true, and on some level Nicholas had known this. It surprised him, and bothered him more than a little, that he was able to trick himself so easily into not thinking about things that he did not care to think about. He had always been good at persuading people—evidently, this included himself.
For an hour Nicholas moved along the passages, poking his head into all the rooms and sometimes entering them. Most were entirely empty. A few contained extremely dusty antique furniture, including a grand piano. The doors to these rooms were locked, and Nicholas had to make use of his key. Really, he thought, it seemed absurd to lock the rooms with furniture in them, however fine the furniture might once have been. Was Mr. Collum afraid that some delinquent orphan would make off with a piano?
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict Page 26