Out of the corner of his eye Ben could see the workroom. Sure enough, Lyman was inside, facing them through the glass, a rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. The window was perfectly clean, but he sprayed a little, then wiped a little, sprayed a little more, wiped a little more, and he kept that up for about two minutes—just long enough to send his message. Ben turned and glared at him.
Jill kicked him again. “Stop staring, Benjamin . . . stop it. Now!”
Ben didn’t want to stop. He wanted to lock eyes and have a good old-fashioned stare-down with the tiger—see who blinked first.
But he knew Jill’s way was smarter, so he brought his eyes back to the table.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jill said, “He’s gone.” Then, breathlessly, “Did you actually find something?”
Ben whispered, “I actually did!”
CHAPTER 8
Tick Tock
“Let me see what you found!” Jill hissed. “I want to see it!”
“Quiet!” whispered Ben. “Come to this side.” He was sitting on the bench, right below the chronometer.
Jill scooted around the end of the table and slid in close to his elbow. “Okay, open it up!”
Ben was breathing too fast. He pressed both hands flat on Jill’s notebook and tried to take a deep breath, nice and slow—and he couldn’t. He felt a little faint, and in his mind he kept shouting, We found the first safeguard! We found it!
Ben wanted to slow everything down, but Jill nudged him.
“Come on!”
He opened the notebook cover, then flipped past a few sheets of lined paper. And there it was—a document, a piece of vellum or parchment about eight inches square, a little yellowed, but the writing was dark and clear. It looked like some sort of small round sticker or seal was fastened on the lower right-hand corner.
“A letter?” Jill asked. “That’s it?”
“Just read,” Ben said. “It has to be important, right?”
He held up the paper carefully by the edges so they could both see it clearly.
Be this known to all men:
I am Captain Duncan Oakes, resident of Edgeport, Massachusetts, and I do hereby proclaim and avow that the bearer of this one and only codicil to my last will and testament, upon its presentation to the proper legal authority, at that moment does become the full, complete, and permanent owner of the building known as the Captain Duncan Oakes School, including all of its surrounding property as recorded in the Essex County Registry of Deeds. This transfer of ownership shall remain in effect so long as the bearer and any successors continue to secure the use of said building and grounds as a public school to benefit the children of Edgeport. Should said building and grounds ever be put to other use, then full ownership shall pass immediately and irrevocably to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
Being of sound mind and body, I now hereunto set my hand on this fifteenth day of August in the year seventeen hundred and eighty-three.
Duncan Oakes
Witness: John Vining
Jill whispered, “Did the captain—”
“Shh!” Ben lifted one finger. “Not done yet.” A few seconds later he lowered the finger and whispered, “Wow!”
Jill continued, “So, that’s the captain’s own handwriting?”
Ben nodded. “Looks that way. Written in 1783 with a quill pen—amazing!” He laid the document down and reached for his camera. “I’ve got to get a shot of this.”
“What—now?” said Jill.
“Absolutely, for documentation. Archaeologists, field historians, anthropologists—everybody does it. Whenever you find something, you take a picture—or at least make a sketch. We should have gotten photos when we found the key and the copper plate up on the third floor. Because if—”
“Okay, okay,” said Jill. “Let me clear some space.” She picked up the document, and as she started to set it on the bench, the small round seal popped loose from the bottom corner and fluttered to the floor under the table.
“Hey!” Ben glared at her. “Here, I’ll hold it. Pick that little piece up very carefully—and hurry. Lyman could come back any second.”
Jill stooped down and then handed the seal to Ben.
A Man of the Sea was still spread out on the table, and Jill quickly folded the large double-sized pages inward, shut the book, and set it to one side. She shoved her notebook out of the way.
“There,” she said, “and be sure the flash is turned off.”
Ben set the document down on the dark wood, and after he put the round seal back in its place, he snapped a picture.
Jill leaned down and squinted at the seal. Then she reached over and picked it up, holding it like it was a rare butterfly. “Is that some kind of writing on this thing?”
Ben peered over her shoulder. “Can’t tell—too small. I can check it out later with a magnifying glass. Here . . .”
He held out his hand and when Jill passed it over, he tucked the seal carefully between the pages of his social studies book.
Bending over the document again, he said, “Any idea what a ‘codicil’ is?”
“No—I’ll grab a dictionary!”
Ben was glad to see Jill so excited—he was too. It was like they had this fish on the line, and it was definitely hooked, but they couldn’t tell how big it was yet.
A minute later Jill read the definition out loud: “‘codicil: an addition to a will.’”
“So that means . . . hmm . . . ,” Ben started again. “So, it means that . . .”
Jill began talking so fast she could barely get the words out. “It means that this paper wipes out a part of Captain Oakes’s old will, the part about giving the school to the town. And if you handed this piece of paper to someone like a judge, you would automatically become the new owner of the school and all the land around it. At least, I think that’s what it means . . . and if that’s true, then it’s no wonder the captain hid it so carefully!”
“Wow!” said Ben. “I mean, this could change everything, right? The town, the heirs, Glennley, everybody gets totally blown away by one little piece of paper!”
He paused. “But it kind of seems impossible, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” said Jill. “That’s a question for a lawyer.”
“So, should we find one?”
“Well . . .” Jill thought a moment. “It would have to be a lawyer we really trusted. Because when it says ‘ The bearer of this document’? I think that means that whoever actually has their hands on that piece of paper is the new owner. And, like, what would stop some shady lawyer from taking this away from us and walking it right over to the courthouse?”
“But,” Ben said, “no matter what, the new owner would still have to keep using the place as a school . . . right?”
“Yes,” said Jill, “that’s right—or else the state of Massachusetts would suddenly own a big piece of waterfront land in Edgeport.”
“What happened here?”
They both looked up, startled.
Ms. Shubert, the assistant librarian, had come up from their blind side. Ben quickly put out his hand to try to cover the codicil.
“Ahh . . . I see,” she said, picking up A Man of the Sea. “Well, this happens all the time with these old books.”
Ben and Jill exchanged quick glances—what was she talking about?
Ms. Shubert went on, “I can’t tell you how many times whole pages have fallen out. And those glued-in illustrations are the worst. But I’m sure I can make a quick repair, and Mrs. Sinclair will never have to know.” Nodding at the codicil, she said, “Do you remember what page that was on?”
Ben stuttered, thinking fast, “Um . . . I—I think it was right at the very end of the book. On a blank page all by itself. It—it just fell out.”
“Well, it’s easy enough to fix.” She lifted the book’s thick back cover, then picked up the document, tucked it inside, and let the cover drop shut. “But try to be more careful next time, okay? Listen, I’
m leaving in about five minutes, so you two have to run along now.”
As Ben and Jill watched, Ms. Shubert whisked the book away . . . along with the codicil.
Ben whispered, “This is terrible!” Jill nodded glumly.
The assistant librarian marched right into the workroom and set the volume on a long table. On her way out, she shut off the lights, turned the LOCK button on the back of the knob, then pulled the door shut behind her.
Stunned and silent, Jill and Ben gathered up their things.
It wasn’t until they were all the way out the front door of the school and standing by the water’s edge that either of them could speak.
“If she reads that piece of paper, we’re sunk,” said Ben.
“And if Lyman swipes that book again, we’re double-sunk,” Jill added.
“But,” Ben added in the most cheerful voice he could manage, “all we have to do is take the document out of the book tomorrow—she said she was going do a quick repair. So . . . I’ll just get it back. No big deal.” He sounded more upbeat than he felt.
“Right,” Jill said, “. . . unless she takes a good look at it and sees it’s not a printed photograph. If she figures out what it really is, then we just gave Ms. Shubert an original document that’s worth about fifty million dollars.”
That idea shut both of them up. Out beyond the bay a high-speed ferry blasted its air horn. The deep tone echoed across the water until it was swallowed up by the breeze and the lapping waves.
“You know . . . ,” Ben said, “maybe that thing is actually in a very safe hiding place—almost as safe as it was under the bench.” He wheeled to face her. “I mean, Lyman had that book all last weekend and then brought it back. So he’s done with it. Robert already got what he wanted out of it, and Ms. Shubert’s got a million other things to do, so she just fastens the loose sheet onto a blank page and sticks the book back in the reference section. And there it sits, safe and sound.”
Ben pulled his camera out of his pocket. “Meanwhile, we can print a copy and show it to a lawyer. And ask what it means. If it turns out that there’s a way this thing could really stop the Glennley plans, we know where to get our hands on the original.” Ben began talking faster and faster, shaking the camera as if it were the actual document. “I mean, this could really work—just like you said! It could shut Glennley down cold, like tomorrow—BAM! Game over, case closed—it really could! Right? So we need to talk to a lawyer, fast!”
Jill hesitated. “Well . . . I guess so. Maybe. But how do we know we can trust a lawyer?”
Ben said, “I thought lawyers have to swear to keep everything a secret, all the stuff their customers tell them—didn’t I hear that somewhere?”
“I think so,” she said, “but I’m not sure we could even talk to one, not without a parent being there. And stop shouting and shaking your arms around. Somebody’s going to think you’ve flipped out.”
Ben talked more quietly but just as fast. “All I’m saying is, we don’t have any time to waste. We have to figure out exactly what that codicil means, one way or the other, right now. And if it’s useless, then we jump right in and start looking for the next safeguard, just that quick.”
Jill made a face. “That’s a depressing thought.”
“Depressing? How come? Look,” he said, “we just proved that the safeguards are for real, and that we can actually find them! Which is really good news! So, if we have to find some other safeguards, then we will. But the great thing is, we might not even need to look! If we can talk to a lawyer, like, this whole attack could be over tomorrow—and that’s completely awesome! We just have to talk to a lawyer. Right?”
Jill nodded. “Well, sure.”
All her excitement, all the enthusiasm he had seen just a few minutes ago was gone, vanished. Ben stared at Jill, puzzled by the look in her eyes.
Then he suddenly knew what he was looking at.
“What are you so scared about?”
Jill’s face twisted with emotion . . . but just for half a second.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped. “I’m not scared about talking to some lawyer. Go ahead and print out a copy of the document, and I’ll try to find one who’ll meet with us. And maybe it’ll be someone we can trust. I totally agree—we’ve got to move fast, see if that document is a game changer. And we also have to check and make sure Ms. Shubert actually puts the original codicil in the back of that book. And we have to be extra sure Lyman doesn’t catch on that there’s anything unusual happening. But we definitely need to talk to a lawyer, like, tomorrow—absolutely.”
“Right,” said Ben.
“Okay,” Jill said, “good. So I’ll go home and start Googling for a lawyer, okay? And I’ll let you know if I have any news. Anything else I should do?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said.
“Good—see you later.”
“See you later,” said Ben.
Jill turned quickly and walked south along the harbor path.
Ben watched her go. She was walking too fast, like she wanted to get away from him.
It had been a good speech—Jill Acton, the hard-hitting team player, tough and organized. Was she scared about meeting with a lawyer? Not one bit. Ben believed that part.
Jill probably thought she had fooled him completely, made him think she wasn’t afraid at all. Of anything .
Ben knew better. He had seen it in her eyes, just for a second—real fear. About something else. Something still hidden.
He wanted to help, and she wouldn’t let him. And there was nothing he could do about it, not until she asked.
But when would that be?
He knew how stubborn Jill was. And proud. She could probably go on like this forever, pretending nothing was wrong .
He didn’t have forever. Time was running out.
CHAPTER 9
Messages
By the time Ben got home, he’d managed to put Jill out of his mind, at least temporarily. He was back in the Keepers hunt, and he wanted to get a close look at the little seal that had fallen off the codicil.
His mom hadn’t arrived home yet, so he trotted all the way up to his attic room, dug his social studies book out of his bag, and thumbed through the pages until he found the seal.
He set it on his desk and clicked on his bright study lamp.
Ink, lots of it. Splotches and marks and blots all over the place. But he was pretty sure there was writing, too. He took a small magnifying glass from his desk drawer—yes, definitely writing, but the magnifier wasn’t strong enough. Time to go high-tech.
He got out his camera, took a close-up picture, then plugged it into his laptop and imported the image onto the screen.
Still tiny, still just a bunch of inky scratches.
So he enlarged the image on the screen—200 percent . . . 300 percent . . . and at 400 percent larger, he could read something.
On an index card, he wrote down exactly what he saw:
ABput
thinge
ahind
shleff
at window
The “thinge” and the “at window” parts seemed clear enough . . . but “ahind”?
He enlarged the image a little more and told his computer to sharpen the image. The computer obeyed . . . and there it was—message received!
He grabbed his phone and hit Jill’s number on speed dial.
“Hi.”
“Hey, guess what? That seal that fell off the codicil? It wasn’t a seal at all! It’s a tiny little note: ‘AB put things ahind shelf at window.’ AB—that has to be Abigail Baynes, the same girl whose name is on the copper plate. She wanted to get in on the Keepers action, so she hid some stuff in the library, and then slipped her own message in with the codicil! Cool, huh?”
“‘Ahind’?” said Jill. “What’s that mean?”
“‘Afore’ means ‘before’—I’m sure of that. So ‘ahind’ must be the same as ‘behind.’ Boy, she was rotten at spelling, and it looks li
ke the paper she wrote on came from a scrap pile, but her message got through. And now we’ve got something else to look for!”
“Terrific,” Jill said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just what we need.”
If they’d been in the same room, Ben might have punched Jill on the arm for that, so it was a good thing she was half a mile away. But he lost his temper all the same.
“Okay, fine. Well, I am so very, very sorry to bother you with my boring historical interruptions. I’ll let you know when I find something worth your valuable time. Nice talking to you.”
He hung up.
His phone rang just seconds later. It was her.
He let it ring four times, then picked up and pretended to be his own voice-mail message. “This is Ben—say something,” followed by his best fake “Beeeep.”
Jill started to talk, leaving him a message.
“Ben—sorry . . . it really is cool, what Abigail wrote. And when you were talking about it, I could really imagine her, figuring out how to leave something of her own there. With the other thing .” She paused, and Ben heard her breathing. “So anyway, I’m really sorry. It’s just that, right now . . . it’s . . . well, anyway, I hope you get this. . . . Talk to you later. . . . Bye.”
Ben let the line go dead. Her message was over.
So many messages. On a round scrap of paper, on a neat vellum sheet, on a copper plate, on a gold coin in his pocket, even on a big key.
Then this newest message, only seconds old. It started at Jill’s lips, shot through her phone, flashed through space, bounced off a satellite, and made vibrations in his ear. In his heart, too, if he was honest with himself.
He wasn’t mad at her.
He just wanted the old Jill back. It was important, for lots of reasons.
And really, if she hadn’t been sarcastic about it, he might have admitted that she had a point. Did they need someone sending them on a new treasure hunt right now? Not really. This newest two- hundred-year-old message would have to move to the end of the line.
Fear Itself Page 6