A Dastardly Plot

by Christopher Healy

  “Is everyone in their proper seats?” Mrs. Cochrane asked.

  “Just drive!” Hertha shouted.

  Mrs. Cochrane spun the wheel, revved the engine, and tore toward the water’s edge. The car bounced over rocks and branches and splashed into the water.

  “That was not the move I expected,” said Cassandra.

  “Make it a boat first!” Margaret shouted. “It’s still a car! Make it a boat!”

  The car surged out into the fast-flowing East River, water rushing over the sides and flooding the seating well.

  “This might be a good time to tell you I can’t swim,” said Molly.

  “I would like to remind everyone,” Josephine Cochrane said, in a manner far calmer than one would expect from a person in a sinking Moto-Mover, “I made it quite clear that operating a vehicle was not part of my skill set.”

  “Everyone hold on,” Hertha said as she scrambled over seats to pull the correct lever. Soon, the glass bubble began rising, the nose reshaped itself, and the hidden fins appeared.

  “Oh, look! It’s turning into a boat.” Cassandra beamed. “So that’s what the lady in the goggles meant when she said, ‘Make it a boat.’”

  The passengers were up to their waists in brackish water. Emmett spit some from his mouth. “And I thought the nausea would be the worst part,” he muttered.

  Sparks shot from the control panel.

  “What was that?” cried Molly.

  “Electricity and water do not play nicely together,” said Hertha. She began cranking levers and pumping foot pedals to no avail. “This coach is waterproof from the outside. The river was never meant to be a passenger. The motor is dead.”

  The boat was drifting south with the current. It wouldn’t be long before they were swept into New York Harbor and the Atlantic Ocean beyond.

  “We can’t let ourselves be washed out to sea,” said Emmett.

  “Are you certain?” Cassandra asked. “Because I think we already are.”

  “We have to paddle,” said Sarah. She lowered the glass shield and stuck her arms over the side. “Come on, everybody! Believe in yourselves!”

  The seven of them paddled with all the strength they could muster. Even Mrs. Cochrane did her part (though not without complaining about the water making her fingers all pruney). Together, they fought the current, and twenty grueling minutes later, they were climbing onto a Manhattan pier, much to the bafflement of the local fishermen.

  “Bon voyage, Marvelous Moto-Mover,” Hertha said mournfully as the vehicle disappeared beneath the surface.

  “First boat ride and first shipwreck in the same day,” Molly said, wringing out her dress. “But at least we—”

  Her mother lifted her off the ground and spun until her dizziness overpowered her affection.

  38

  Sunken Hopes

  HERTHA LED THE sopping-wet group away from gawking seamen and paused in a small portside park to debrief Cassandra on the events of the past week.

  “I must say, part of me wishes it was the real Edison who’d been the villain,” Cassandra said. “I would’ve liked an excuse to slap him with my hat.”

  “He may still give you one,” said Hertha. “Speaking of which . . . Sarah, have we gotten any word from Mary and the boys? Any luck they’ve already put an end to Rector’s skulduggery?”

  Sarah pulled the handheld telegraph from a hidden pocket in her skirt. “Rescue success,” she narrated as she tapped out her message in the dots and dashes of Morse code. “What is your status?”

  After an excruciatingly long pause, the answer came in blips and bleeps: “Trapped. Locked in Bell Guild office. Need help.”

  “You know,” said Molly. “They may be fancy inventors, but Bell and Edison are not great action heroes.”

  “What’s the time?” Hertha asked.

  “Four twenty-two.” Margaret tapped her goggle clock. “Waterproof.”

  “Mary, Bell, and Edison will have to wait,” Hertha said. “We’ve barely ninety minutes until Rector throws his switch, and it will take half that simply to get uptown. Cass, I hope your Sonic Nullifier is nearby.”

  “My sonic what now?” Cassandra asked.

  Molly’s gut sank.

  “There, um, there is no Sonic Nullifier,” Emmett said shakily. Then he turned hopefully to Cassandra. “Unless there is? By any chance?”

  Cassandra stared blankly.

  “I’m sorry,” Emmett said to the MOI. “It’s just . . . we had to get to Molly’s mother. You saw how close she came to getting her brain fried!”

  “There are thousands of lives at stake!” Hertha snapped, directly at Molly. The other members of the MOI looked on uncomfortably.

  “I never said there was a Nullifier,” Molly mumbled.

  “You never said there wasn’t!” Hertha sounded just as hurt as angry.

  “Stop,” Cassandra butted in. “I see that Molly lied to get you to come after me, and that was definitely wrong, considering all that’s going on. But please don’t blame her. This is my fault.”

  “Molly’s a big girl, Cass,” Hertha said.

  “But that’s just it,” Cassandra said. “She’s a child. Even if I haven’t always taken that fact into consideration myself.” She gently lifted Molly’s chin and looked into her eyes. “I had a lot of time to think in that asylum. And I came to realize: I have been a terrible parent. You’re twelve years old, Molls. And look at the situations I’ve put you in. Climbing bridges, blowing up laboratories . . . And for what? My success? My fame? It was wrong. And it stops now.” She turned to the other women. “I will go to the Guild to free the men and your friend Mary. I owe you at least that much. The rest of you go after Rector.”

  “What about Emmett and me?” Molly asked. “Do we go with you or the MOI?”

  “We don’t need your kind of assistance,” Hertha said sharply.

  “You go nowhere,” Cassandra said to Molly. “You go back to the pickle shop. And Emmett with you. No more danger for you. I forbid it.”

  Molly pulled away. “No,” she said. “You don’t get to start playing the protective mother now. You don’t know the half of what I’ve been through this past week without you—getting kidnapped by gangsters, jumping off moving trains, hiding out in garbage dumps. And, yeah, it all started out because I wanted to help you, but it became something I had to do for myself, and Emmett, and these amazing ladies who might never want to speak to me again now. And for the world. Not everything is about you, Mother! You don’t understand that, though, do you? Not when you’re acting like breaking into the Guild was the first bad situation you ever put me in. I quit school for you, I run the pickle shop for you, I act as your assistant day and night!”

  Cassandra blinked back tears, but her face stayed stony. “I never asked you to do any of those things,” she said.

  “You didn’t have to,” Molly snapped. “You needed me to do them. That was pretty darn clear.”

  “That’s not—” Cassandra cut herself off and took in a long breath through her nose. She turned to Hertha. “I trust you will see that my daughter and her friend stay safely away from Central Park.”

  “They can stay with me,” said Mrs. Cochrane. “I will escort them back to your shop.”

  Cassandra nodded and turned to her daughter. “I’m sorry about the past, Molls. But how can I make up for it if you don’t allow me to start doing the right thing?”

  Molly watched her mother walk away—a bald woman in a wet hospital gown. She barely resembled the Cassandra Pepper Molly knew. That helped in a way. Because Molly didn’t want to believe the Cassandra Pepper she knew would abandon her again so soon.

  39

  Enemies at the Gate

  “THIS STINKS.” MOLLY kicked a pebble as they walked back toward Thompson Street and Pepper’s Pickles.

  “I’m sorry,” Emmett said.

  “About what?” Molly grumbled. “That the Mothers think we’re awful now, that Blackwell turned my mother into a jerk, or that
we’re stuck with Mrs. Grouchy Bloomers?”

  “My ears work perfectly well, you know,” Mrs. Cochrane said behind them.

  “About everything,” Emmett said. “I just—I hated lying to everyone, but since my father, nobody’s made a bigger impact on my life than you, Molly. I wanted to help you. And what I thought you needed most was your mother. Guess I was wrong about that.”

  Molly sniffled. “I don’t blame you for anything, Emmett. I’m still kinda shocked that you lied for me like that, but . . . I know why you did. And I’ll never forget it.”

  “Chin up, children,” Josephine said, stepping between them. “Everybody’s emotions are running hot right now. I’m sure Hertha will have forgiven you by tomorrow morning. Provided we’re still alive.”

  “Um, thanks,” said Emmett.

  “As for Mrs. Pepper,” Josephine continued, “I think you should both allow her a little leeway. Your father did most of the child-rearing when you were younger, didn’t he, Molly?”

  Molly stopped and turned, casting Mrs. Cochrane a curious glance.

  “Your mother spent most of her life as an inventor. Then she suddenly had to raise a child all on her own. As a widow, at that. I can tell you from experience that when you’ve been part of a team for a long time, it’s not easy to suddenly be by yourself.”

  “How do you know so much about my family?” Molly asked suspiciously.

  “Hertha told you we did our research. Your mother’s story struck a chord with me. My husband passed away not too long ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emmett said. Molly just looked down.

  “Thank you, dear,” Josephine said. “As a way to move on, I threw myself into inventing. It turned out, I’m quite good, but even so, it has been difficult to shed the identity of businessman’s wife.”

  “Well, if you want to drop the prim and proper stuff, my mother can definitely help with that,” Molly said.

  “Perhaps that’s why I recommended her for membership in our club.”

  Molly looked at her askance. “Are you trying to make me warm up to you?”

  “I have no such plans,” said Mrs. Cochrane.

  “Plans!” Molly shouted with sudden urgency. “I still have Rector’s plans in my boot! Without that evidence, how are the others going to get anybody to believe them? We have to catch up with them!”

  Mrs. Cochrane pursed her lips. “It’s not ideal, but we’ll just have to hope that Hertha manages to convince the authorities without that paper. Or that your mother gets the real Edison to the Fair in time.”

  “But what if neither of those things happens?” Molly said. “You know this paper will make it much easier for them.”

  “I promised I would keep you safe!” Mrs. Cochrane thought for a second, then held out her hand. “I’ll take the paper to Hertha. You two continue to the store.”

  “You think leaving us unsupervised is gonna keep us safe?” Molly scoffed. “As soon as you’re out of sight, we’ll just go to the Fair anyway. And think of all the reckless stuff we’ll do without you tsk-ing at us.”

  “She’s not bluffing,” Emmett said with a shrug. “You have a much better chance of keeping your promise if you come with us.”

  Mrs. Cochrane sighed and began hustling after the children.

  “Woo-hoo! I’m going to the World’s Fair!” Molly hooted. “We’re gonna stop Rector! And ride the Ferris Wheel! Ooh, and can we get candy corn?”

  “Remember that we’re going there to stop a madman,” Mrs. Cochrane chided.

  “Yeah, I remember,” Molly replied. “So can we get candy corn?”

  Twenty-two minutes later, the trio squeezed out of a packed train car and hurried up the block to Central Park. Molly could see enticing hints of the Fair’s hidden wonders rising above the tall striped fence that surrounded its grounds: bejeweled spires, stained-glass domes, mosaic-tiled minarets. And towering above it all was George Ferris’s Big Wheel. It looked like a gigantic mill wheel, only instead of paddles, it had steel gondolas filled with gleefully shrieking passengers.

  Molly paused across the street from the main gate, where, in the shadow of a spinning, wrought-iron globe, ushers were herding throngs of people into the park. “Step right up! No tickets needed! Everybody in! Free admission today only!”

  “I didn’t read anything about free admission,” Molly said.

  “Green jackets,” Emmett pointed out. “They’re MacDougal’s men, trying to fill the park with as many victims as possible for Rector.”

  “Don’t miss yer chance,” yelled one fake usher.

  “But I’m on the way to the doctor,” said a passerby. The usher grabbed him by the lapels and tossed him in through the gate anyway. “There’s doctors in the Fair!”

  “Shall we?” Mrs. Cochrane headed for the gate.

  “But those are Green Onion Boys,” Emmett said. “They might be looking for us.”

  “Walk fast without any fuss and we’ll be fine,” Josephine encouraged them.

  “C’mon,” said Molly. “You think every random Green Onion can recognize us on sight?”

  Emmett took a deep breath and headed for the entrance.

  “This way, this way!” called the usher nearest them. “Don’t miss this uniqueous bargain! Come—” The man thrust a wicker cane out to stop the children in their tracks. Pembroke, the Green Onion who’d first questioned them at Bandit’s Roost, blinked at them through swollen, black eyes—a result of the brawl, Molly assumed. Did he recognize them?

  Mrs. Cochrane pushed Molly and Emmett through from behind. “Move along, children! We adults would like to get inside too!”

  “Heh.” Pembroke grinned at her. “Juvenilians today, am I right?”

  “A blight on society,” Josephine muttered as she hurried past him.

  As soon as they were inside, Mrs. Cochrane steered the children behind a snack vendor’s wagon. “Did that man rec—”

  “Candy corn!” Molly cooed. She tried to sneak her arm past the vendor to grab one of the little orange-yellow triangles. But Mrs. Cochrane smacked her hand down and pulled the children off the path, to a shady spot behind an elm tree.

  “I was just lookin’,” Molly said apologetically.

  “Hush!” Mrs. Cochrane chided. “Now, did that gangster recognize you?”

  “You can be most ascertained of that,” Pembroke sneered as he strode up behind her, swinging his cane. “These are the brats that got me demotivated. And I’m gonna be most empleasured to—”

  Mrs. Cochrane grabbed the cane from his hands and broke it over his head. Pembroke fell flat.

  “Wow, Mrs. Cochrane,” Molly gasped. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “I’m a woman who keeps my promises,” she replied.

  “What’s that in his ears?” Emmett asked. He crouched and removed two tiny silver devices from Pembroke’s ear canals. “They’re meshed,” he said. “Some kind of filter, maybe?”

  “They must be special earplugs to protect Rector’s men from his machine,” Molly said. “He doesn’t want to brain-melt his own minions, right?”

  “Put them in,” said Mrs. Cochrane.

  Emmett looked at the plugs and cringed. “But . . . these were in Pembroke’s ears. They’re all . . . waxy.”

  “I’ll take ’em.” Molly popped the plugs into her own ears. “I can still hear. I hope they work. Next pair is yours, Emmett. We just need to steal a few more from some unsuspecting Onions.”

  “Come, children.” Mrs. Cochrane dragged Pembroke’s unconscious body behind the tree. “The world awaits.”

  40

  The World Awaits!

  THEY SPED BY a group of raucous men in lederhosen dancing with beer steins, then followed weaving paths past a replica of the Sphinx and a man selling kebabs. They turned past an Australian boomerang demonstration and cut through a parade of beret-wearing children singing “Alouette.” Then they followed the trail around a Swiss chalet bedecked with cotton-fluff snow and past a group of raucous men in le
derhosen dancing with beer steins—

  They’d gone in a circle.

  “Drat! We need a map,” said Emmett.

  “Wait, we have one!” Molly stopped and leaned against the fence of a Peruvian petting zoo, complete with llamas roaming fake Andes Mountains. Digging into her damp boot, she found Rector’s plans and unfolded them. The ink had run, but the map was still mostly legible. “We’re set!” she cheered. She waved the paper overhead to show Emmett, and a llama lurking behind her promptly ate it. “No!” Molly cried. “You are so—so—bah, you’re actually cute. But why did you do that! Now we’re—”

  “No time for yelling at animals,” Mrs. Cochrane said, nudging Molly back onto a side path, past the Warsaw Sausage Works. “The other Green Onions might have discovered our friend Pembroke by now. We need to warn Hertha and the others.”

  “What if the Onions already got them?” Molly asked with sudden horror. “What if we’re the only ones left who can unmask Rector? What if—?”

  “Molly!” Emmett blurted. Strolling out of the Sausage Works were two familiar faces: Crikes and Tusk.

  Crikes spit out the kielbasa jutting from between his teeth. “Shove my uncle in a pumpkin!” he sputtered. “It’s them!”

  “Ooh.” Tusk grinned. “I don’t care if Oogie said to keep you two alive, I’m gonna—”

  “Is that what he said?” asked Crikes. “To keep them alive?”

  “I think so,” said Tusk.

  “’Cause I thought he said to burn them alive.”

  “Burn ’em? Wow, that’s really different. Maybe you heard him say ‘bairn.’ He says that sometimes when he means ‘kids.’”

  “I thought that was ‘weans.’”

  “I think both, actu— Aw, crud! They’re running away!” He tossed his tray of wieners onto a puzzled boy and charged after them.

  Molly, Emmett, and Mrs. Cochrane ran as fast as they could, but Mrs. Cochrane quickly fell behind. The short, stilted steps her tight dress forced her to take would never allow her to catch up.