The House on Hoarder Hill

by Mikki Lish

The alarm on Spencer’s watch beeped. “Grandpa will be home soon,” he said.

  Simon played a few rippling arpeggios. Something seemed to occur to him, and he tilted his head. “There may be somebody who knows something more. Well, not somebody. Nobody, actually.” He rocked back and forth as the notes rose into the air. “But in this house? Finding things or nothings or somebodies or nobodies is next to impossible. Lord knows, even Master wouldn’t be able to find everything, short of asking the Woodspies.”

  “Woodspies?” Hedy repeated, struggling to follow his nonsense.

  “Come on, Hedy. It’s time to go!” Spencer urged.

  The children thanked Simon over their shoulders and scuttled from the room, each pulling on one of Doug’s hind paws. At the stairs, Stan very nearly fell off Doug’s back. “Careful!” called the stag.

  “Sorry,” Hedy said over her shoulder, “we don’t have much time.”

  “At least down is easier than up,” said Spencer.

  Doug winced as they bumped his head down the steps. “Maybe for you!”

  Back in the room with the green door, Hedy darted to the window. “I can see Grandpa! He’s nearly here.”

  The children straightened Doug on the floor in front of the fireplace and hoisted Stan to the precarious tower of boxes that Hedy had built to get the stag head down. She climbed up, and Spencer passed Stan to her by his antlers.

  “Stan,” Hedy asked, “do you know what Simon was talking about? About ‘somebody’ or ‘nobody’ knowing something about Grandma?”

  “And what are Woodspies?” Spencer added.

  Stan’s nose twitched nervously. “What a can of worms this is turning out to be.”

  Hedy’s arms trembled as she raised Stan up to the large screw from which he usually hung. For a brief moment, she wobbled dangerously, struggling to keep her balance under his weight, the boxes shifting beneath her feet.

  Stan closed his eyes and said in a strained whisper, “Now is possibly not the best time to go into all of this. Get me up safely first.”

  With a grunt, Hedy shoved Stan up and onto his hook. Hedy admired her handiwork before stepping back just a little too far and falling off her staircase of boxes.

  “Hedy! Are you okay?” Spencer yelped.

  Hedy groaned. Her tailbone throbbed painfully.

  “Is it your butt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything else?” Doug asked.

  “The butt’s quite enough, thank you,” Hedy said, struggling to her feet.

  They put the boxes back as best they could; then Spencer skidded to the doorway and poked his head into the hall. “He’s downstairs!” he said.

  “You two get out of here and come back when you get a chance,” Doug said. “We’ll tell you what we know.”

  Both Hedy and Spencer hesitated in the doorway. In a short and very strange time, a rug and a hunting trophy had become their friends, and now neither of the children wanted to close the door on them.

  “Thanks, guys,” Hedy said.

  Doug gave a cheery waggle of his ears, and Stan smiled as he said, “That was the grandest fun I’ve had in years.”

  Although the cold of touching Simon lingered in Hedy’s hand, her lungs fizzed as she and Spencer headed to the kitchen. From the look on Spencer’s face, he felt the same way; his eyes were dancing, and he seemed to be clamping his mouth around a smile that was fighting to get out. The grandest fun in years, Stan had said. But when Hedy caught sight of the fridge door and the magnetic letters on it, she was reminded that they had a serious mystery to solve.

  The pain in her tailbone certainly wiped the smile off her face as she sat down. “Ouch!”

  Grandpa John broke off his study of—of all things—a tin of Spam. “What’s happened?”

  “Hedy fell over,” Spencer answered.

  Hedy sensed Mrs. Vilums pausing in her chopping. Wanting to keep Grandpa John off the scent, Hedy said, “Yeah, in our room. I tripped over Spencer’s mess.”

  “I did NOT leave a mess!” Spencer cried, outraged.

  Hedy frowned at him, willing him to go along with her. Luckily, before it could turn into a proper argument, the phone rang in the hallway.

  “Mom and Dad!” Hedy said hopefully, and sprang to answer it.

  It wasn’t their parents, however. It was a very polite woman who asked for Mr. John Sang. Grandpa John spoke for only half a minute before he hastened back in, rubbing his chin. “I have to go out,” he said.

  “Where to?” asked Spencer.

  Grandpa John didn’t answer immediately but was clearly wondering what to do with them. Mrs. Vilums put her knife down. “I think it would be best to take the children out of the house, Mr. Sang. You wouldn’t want them to run out of things to do.”

  Hedy wondered what the woman meant by that.

  “Of course, of course,” Grandpa John said. “Well then, you two, grab your coats.”

  “But where are we going?” Spencer asked, jumping for his aviator hat on the hook by the back door.

  “The Palisade.”

  “What’s the Palisade?” Hedy asked.

  But Grandpa John wouldn’t explain any further, calling goodbye to Mrs. Vilums, whom Hedy was beginning to think may spell trouble for their investigation.

  They drove for over an hour, Grandpa John listening to the radio the whole time. Hedy studied his fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time with the symphony that was playing. Occasionally he lifted a hand off the wheel and drew it across his chest as though drawing a bow across a violin.

  “Can you play the violin?” she asked.

  Grandpa John shook his head. “I just pretend when I’m listening.”

  “That’s like me,” Spencer said, “I play air guitar and air drums and air trumpet. We could start an air band, Grandpa John.”

  “Your grandmother loved this piece,” Grandpa John said, smiling as he tapped away.

  As Grandpa John had brought up Rose himself, Hedy felt bold enough to ask, “Did you look for Grandma after she disappeared?”

  The tapping slowed and then stopped. “What do you think?”

  Hedy nodded, feeling silly for asking. Of course he would have. “Did the police look?”

  “The police, me, Peter, her sisters, our friends, our neighbors …” He sighed.

  “And no one found anything?”

  “No one found anything. Your mom used to toddle over to that darn magic box that Rose disappeared into and cry. I thought she was too young to know what happened, but maybe she sensed something. We searched that box a thousand times over. There was nothing there.”

  “What happened to the box?” Hedy strained to recall its name. “The Kaleidos?”

  “I got rid of it. Couldn’t have it with a toddler around. Couldn’t have Olivia anywhere near it.”

  Grandpa John turned the radio up, but it was some time before his steering wheel percussion began again, and it was much less lively than before.

  They reached an ordinary-looking town called Stradmoor, which hummed with cars and bikes and people on their phones. Hedy had found the tranquility of Marberry’s Rest strange and watchful when they’d first arrived there, but she must have gotten used to it. Stradmoor—which would have felt like a smallish town a few days ago—seemed as chaotic and rowdy as home.

  Grandpa John seemed to know his way around well. His car wove away from the newer shops and houses, full of families doing their Christmas shopping, to older streets that were quieter and eventually became narrow one-way lanes, worn and stained with years of footsteps and traffic.

  Grandpa John slowed the car alongside a tight row of terraced shops. Each grimy building was covered with graffiti and had heavy security bars crisscrossing its door.

  “Is this place safe?” Spencer asked.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” Grandpa John said firmly as he parked, which wasn’t exactly an answer. “Out you get.”

  In the middle of the terrace was a house painted a pale lem
on color. The windows were not filthy like those of its neighbors, but they were hard to see through. On the single unremarkable door was old lettering: THE PALISADE—BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.

  With a hearty shove of the shoulder, Grandpa John opened it, and Hedy and Spencer followed him into a large showroom of magic props. Top hats, black capes, wands, silk kerchiefs in a rainbow of colors, playing cards, and all manner of other things were stacked neatly on shelves or hung from stands. The air smelled like lemons.

  “Mr. Sang!” said a voice above.

  Sliding down the banister of a creaky set of stairs was a young man wearing baggy pants and the sneakers Hedy was hoping she would get for Christmas. He shook Grandpa John’s hand warmly, beaming the whitest, most winning smile Hedy had ever seen.

  “How are you, Soumitra? University going well?” Grandpa John asked the young man.

  Soumitra raked a hand through his scruffy hair. “You know I’d rather be here. But Mom says I need a backup in case magic takes a dive.” He crooked his head at Hedy and Spencer. “You guys Mr. Sang’s apprentices?”

  “I am!” Spencer said.

  Soumitra gave him a fist bump, a friend already. “And how about you?” he asked Hedy.

  Grandpa John cleared his throat loudly. “Thank you, Soumitra. I think they’re a bit young to settle on careers. Ah, Mrs. Pal!”

  A woman with white-gray hair slowly descended from the level above, her cane thumping with each creaking step. Soumitra vaulted two steps at a time to help her down. Despite her limp, her cane, and her thick-rimmed glasses, her gaze was keen and quick.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sang,” Mrs. Pal said, shaking Grandpa John’s hand. Hedy recognized her voice from the phone call earlier on. “You brought your bodyguards today?” she added, with a kindly glance at Hedy and Spencer.

  “My driver and my removalist. Mrs. Pal, may I introduce Hedy and Spencer.”

  As the children said hello, Mrs. Pal slipped her glasses down her nose to get a better look. “It’s an honor to meet you.” To Grandpa John, she added, “Fine, strong grandchildren. And smart, I think.”

  “If they would listen to me as well, I’d say I’d won the lottery,” Grandpa John said dryly.

  Mrs. Pal chuckled. “One day they will save us old people and we will be glad for their rebellion. Come,” she went on. “Let me show you the new arrival.”

  “Could you mind these two rascals, please?” Grandpa John asked Soumitra apologetically.

  “No problem,” the young man said. “Loads to show them.”

  Grandpa John fixed the children with a look. “We won’t touch anything,” Hedy said quickly.

  “Of course you can touch things!” Soumitra exclaimed, but catching Grandpa John’s frown, he added, “Under my strict and extremely responsible guidance. Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers in a Scout’s salute.

  Grandpa John snorted but followed Mrs. Pal up the stairs. When they had disappeared from view, Soumitra gave Hedy and Spencer a can of pop each, cracked one open himself, and said, “I was kicked out of the Scouts, actually.” Hedy, shocked, was about to ask what he had done, but Soumitra strode away calling out, “Want to see something cool?”

  On the far side of the showroom hung an enormous framed poster of a magician onstage. It was a young Grandpa John. He was mid-speech, a silky cloak flowing down his back, pointing his wand at smoke that floated around a small girl on a pedestal. Hedy could practically hear the applause of the crowd watching the act.

  “Looked good, didn’t he?” said Soumitra admiringly. “He was pretty famous.”

  Spencer grabbed his Polaroid camera from his backpack to take a picture.

  “Now check out this guy,” Soumitra said, pointing to a photo of a middle-aged Chinese man clothed in a round dark cap, a dark padded jacket over a pale skirt, and long ribbons draped over his shoulders. His eyes were serious, and two sharp cheekbones cast shadows on his face. “Know who this is?”

  Hedy bent to read the small inscription at the base of the photo. “Tsang Li Ming.”

  “Your great-great-grandfather,” Soumitra said. The children stared at him, disbelieving. “Scout’s honor. Well, magician’s honor or whatever.”

  “But he’s Chinese,” Spencer said, puzzled.

  Hedy stepped even closer to the photograph, looking for anything in the face of Tsang Li Ming that would draw an undeniable line from that shaven head to her own messy mop, or from those razor-sharp cheekbones to Spencer’s round face that was bathed in freckles. She found nothing. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what my grandmother told me,” Soumitra said. “Somewhere along the line, the T was dropped to Westernize the name. So now your grandad is Mr. Sang.”

  “I’m part Chinese,” Spencer whispered, delighted.

  “One … sixteenth,” Hedy said, working it out in her head. “Is your grandmother a magician too?” she asked Soumitra curiously.

  “She sees things that we can’t see. But she was never a magician. And now she sells stuff. Normal illusionist props”—he swept an arm around the showroom—“and the other stuff.”

  “What kind of other stuff?” asked Spencer.

  “Oh.” Soumitra coughed. “Boring things, not worth your while.”

  But Hedy’s inner bloodhound was sniffing like mad—which meant that the “boring things” were not boring at all.

  “Are Grandpa John and Mrs. Pal talking about ‘other stuff’?” she said, trying to sound offhand as she walked around looking at posters of other magicians. She stopped by a colorful photograph of a tiny man with bright green hair pulling an enormous trombone out of his sock.

  “Yeah,” said Soumitra, straightening a rack of magician’s capes. “They get together every few months. My grandmother keeps an eye out for gear your grandad is interested in buying.”

  “Grandpa John has loads of stuff already,” Spencer said. “His house is full of it and no one’s allowed to touch anything. It’s a waste.”

  “He’s just being careful, I guess.”

  “What sort of things does Grandpa John like to buy?” Hedy asked.

  “Super magic stuff?” Spencer added, shaking a box of fake ice cubes.

  Soumitra thought. “Some guys like to collect old cars that don’t work anymore. The things just sit in their garages collecting dust, but the old guys still enjoy looking at them and thinking about when they were shiny and new. I think that’s your grandpa, but in a more unusual form.”

  “Some of Grandpa John’s stuff still works, though,” said Spencer. Soumitra’s eyebrows shot up at that, and Spencer hastily added, “Don’t tell Grandpa John we know, though. Right, Hedy?”

  Soumitra glanced at Hedy, who had moved farther around the walls to a huge poster for a magician called Sebastian Sello. The illustration showed him soaring above London Bridge with a magnificent pair of wings upon his back.

  “Hand on heart, you guys be careful,” Soumitra said seriously. “Things can be unpredictable. I mean, cars are dangerous if you don’t know how to drive.”

  Hedy nodded emphatically. It was time to get Soumitra off the subject of what she and Spencer knew. “This is the first time I’ve seen him happy to see someone except for our family. I don’t think he has any friends. No one ever visits—except for Uncle Peter, his brother.”

  “Really?” Soumitra seemed surprised. “That’s good to hear. I guess people grow out of sibling rivalries.”

  Sibling rivalry? Hedy thought back on some of Grandpa John and Uncle Peter’s chafing at each other and wondered if they used to be even worse.

  “He turned his back on the showier side of the business,” Soumitra went on. “There were people who weren’t that kind to him after your grandmother …” He trailed off awkwardly before brightening. “Want to try on some costumes?”

  After they’d spent some time riffling through a basket of damaged stage clothes, a phone buzzed in Soumitra’s pocket. He checked the message. “Your grandfather’s ready. I have to help him get this thi
ng into his car.”

  “Was that Mrs. Pal texting you?” asked Hedy curiously, glancing at the stairs.

  Soumitra nodded. “Easier for her than yelling from up there.”

  “I don’t think Grandpa John even knows how to use a phone that isn’t stuck to a wall,” Hedy said.

  Soumitra led them back across the showroom and up the creaky stairs. “No photos up here,” he softly warned Spencer before he opened the door.

  Mrs. Pal and Grandpa were standing around a bulky object, uneven in shape and wrapped in a sheet. Hedy also spotted two parcels by Grandpa John’s jacket, wrapped in Christmas paper.

  “Will it fit in your car, Mr. Sang?” Soumitra asked.

  Grandpa John pursed his lips. “Perhaps if we dismantled the three main parts. They could stack on top of one another.”

  Soumitra nodded and moved to untape the sheet, but Grandpa John stopped him with an outstretched hand and cleared his throat with a quick look at Hedy and Spencer. He obviously didn’t want them to see what it was.

  “Maybe you can have a quick chat with Mrs. Pal while Soumitra and I pack the car?” he suggested to the children. “I won’t be long.”

  Hedy and Spencer followed in the old woman’s shuffling footsteps, down a cramped hall to a large workspace. A long wooden butcher’s workbench ran the length of the room, inset with inkwells and holding a cantilevered toolbox.

  Mrs. Pal was making her way slowly to a door beyond the workbench. Hedy studied the sliver she could see of the room beyond. Rods crisscrossed the air, hung with a hodgepodge of jumbled objects. There were spectacles, dominoes that seemed to be made of jewels set in glass, some sort of measuring device made up of big and small dials, and many more things besides. Hedy even thought she could see a tin of Spam.

  Below all this was a round piece of pale cloth, spread beneath like a safety net. When a shaft of light fell into the room, it bounced and split in every direction. All the hanging objects glowed with different colors—violet, amber, magenta, and emerald. On the cloth below, a few dark squiggles appeared. It was too far to see what the markings were, but Mrs. Pal gave a very satisfied tut.