The Boy Who Could Fly

by Laura Ruby

  “OK, sweetheart,” said one of the photographers. “We’re going.” He kept snapping pictures even as he and the other photographer backed out of the room.

  Hewitt stared at Bug and Georgie with an unreadable expression on her face, as if she were furious, but neither Bug nor Georgie could imagine what she was so angry about. It wasn’t their fault the photographers had figured out who they were and decided to take pictures. One minute passed, two minutes.

  “Can we—” began Georgie.

  “Not yet,” said Hewitt, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Don’t move.” She left the room.

  Another few minutes passed. Finally, Hewitt returned. She said, “I needed to check that they left the building. Come with me.” She motioned Bug and Georgie to follow her. She led them out of the reading room and into a smaller room, which was empty. “This is the Arents Collection room,” she told them. She took a red velvet rope and closed off the entrance.

  “What’s the Arents Collection?” Bug asked.

  “Materials on the history of tobacco,” said Hewitt. She moved to back corner of the room and pulled out a volume on Cuban cigars.

  “What are you—” Georgie said.

  The bookcase swung open to reveal a long, dark tunnel.

  Chapter 18

  Woof

  “What’s going on?” Bug said.

  Hewitt ignored Bug and focused on Georgie. “You know those photographers will be waiting at the front entrance. Probably more than just those two. They won’t leave you alone. They’ll follow you wherever you try to go.”

  Bug peeked into the dark tunnel behind the bookcase. “And?”

  “This tunnel leads to the storage area in the basement. I can take you under the library and then up to a door at the William Cullen Bryant memorial in the park behind the building. But if we’re going, we better go now.”

  “Come on, Bug,” Georgie said, pushing at his back. They couldn’t tell Hewitt that Georgie would make them invisible and no one would see them, so it didn’t matter how many photographers were waiting. Besides, Georgie was flattered that Hewitt wanted to help. Also, she wanted to know where the tunnel went. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Bug hesitated, then nodded. He and Georgie followed Hewitt into the passageway. Affixed on the wall next to the doorway was a small lion’s head. Hewitt pressed down on the lion’s head and the bookshelf swung back into place behind them, enveloping them in complete darkness. Hewitt turned on a flashlight and pointed it. At the end of the passageway, Georgie saw a spiral staircase. Hewitt moved towards the staircase.

  “Be careful,” she said. “It’s a long way down.”

  Georgie eyed the wrought-iron steps, the thin railing. The steps themselves were so narrow that she wasn’t sure her feet would fit. She wished Bug could fly them down the shaft, but even if he were completely rested, not even the best Wing in the world was able to carry two people, let alone two people and a cat (the bird could fly for himself). Anyway, they would have to walk. Over the thin railing, Georgie could see nothing but blackness. She didn’t know how far down the basement was. A few floors? A few kilometres?

  Hewitt started down the steps, with Georgie in the middle, and Bug at the rear. Georgie was concentrating so hard on planting her foot squarely on the steps, planting the other foot, clutching the railing, her head started to hurt. And the endlessly looping spiral didn’t help either; Georgie was getting dizzy. The weight of their bodies made the delicate staircase buck and jerk. Georgie hoped that they weren’t too heavy, that the staircase wasn’t going to collapse and send them screaming towards their dooms.

  “How much further?” she said.

  “Not much,” said Hewitt. “Watch your step.”

  “I am.”

  Just then, something crashed into her back. Noodle yowled and Pinkwater burst from her pack, shrieking, “Mayday, Mayday!” Georgie grabbed on to the thin railing and somehow kept herself from pitching forwards. Hewitt swung the flashlight up and behind her. Bug was hanging from the railing, kicking his feet as if he didn’t remember he was a Wing. His sunglasses fell from his face and dropped. They heard the faint crash as the glasses smashed to the floor some distance below. He stopped kicking, and pulled himself back on to the staircase.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I slipped. Still tired from yesterday, I guess.”

  Georgie nodded. Hewitt sighed. “Come on,” she said. “We’re about halfway there.” She shined the light in Georgie’s face, making her wince. “Do you have a cat in that backpack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cats aren’t allowed in the library, you know,” Hewitt said. “Just lions.” Then she laughed. “Kidding.”

  “Yeah,” Bug muttered. “Funny.”

  Somehow, they managed to make it down to the basement without anyone plunging to his or her doom, which Georgie thought was quite an accomplishment. Hewitt panned the light around so that Bug and Georgie could see. And what they saw was a cavernous space, double the height of a normal room, packed with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Georgie could see that some of the books on the shelves were huge, oversized things that would take two people to open. Some of the books were tiny, barely the size of postage stamps.

  “Wow,” said Georgie. From the backpack, Noodle mewled.

  “We keep some of our rarest books down here,” said Hewitt. “And some of our most unusual.”

  “What do you mean, unusual?” Bug wanted to know.

  Hewitt began to walk past the shelves of books. “Some of them are very, very old, older than they should be, printed before humans were thought to have written language. Some of them are written in languages that no one can identify. And there are some filled entirely with mathematical equations so complicated that even the most illustrious mathematicians can’t figure them out. Others are even more unusual.”

  “More unusual how?” said Georgie.

  Hewitt panned the light over some locked trunks stowed along one wall. “Dangerous. Some of the books were published with inks that poison anyone who touches the pages. Some of the books have contents with the power to drive readers insane. Some of the books have blank pages, but they speak when you open them, whispering to you as if you were the only person in the world, the only person with the ability to understand what they are telling you. Some books are sleeping and can only be awoken by magical means. Some of the books,” she said, “can kill.”

  “Come on,” said Bug.

  Hewitt Elder spun, shining the light in Bug’s eyes. “You don’t believe me? I’m not surprised. What else could you expect from the son of a gangster but ignorance?”

  Bug scowled and clenched his fists, but he didn’t say anything. Pinkwater, who sat on Bug’s shoulder, chirped, “Wham!”

  Hewitt turned the light back to the path in front of them and kept walking. If the library upstairs had been silent, the basement was the very definition of silence. The air was still and heavy, like a held breath. As if somebody, something, was waiting in the dusty stacks. A chill raced down Georgie’s spine, and her hair prickled on her scalp. Noodle growled low in her throat, a warning.

  Georgie took a deep breath. They were just books, and this was just a basement. Nothing creepy here. No one was poisoning anybody. No one was driving anyone crazy. No one was killing anything. They weren’t going to be opening any of the books anyway.

  Abruptly, Hewitt stopped and pulled a book from the shelves. She flipped it open and shined the light on the pages. A bit reluctantly, Bug and Georgie gathered close to look. On the pages, there were strange, rough squiggles and round splotches that didn’t resemble any alphabet that Georgie had ever seen. They almost looked like… paw prints?

  “Listen,” Hewitt said, putting her ear close to the book.

  Georgie bent her head. Woof, she heard. Woof, woof.

  Woof?

  Noodle yowled, making Hewitt grin. Her grin, Georgie had to admit, was not a pretty thing. “Dogs, maybe,” Hewitt said. “Or perhaps wolves.”


  Bug frowned. “You can’t mean that wolves wrote it?”

  Hewitt shrugged. “We’re not sure. But the kitty doesn’t like it, and neither does the lion.” She shined her light behind Bug and Georgie. Georgie jumped. Next to them, almost touching them, was a huge stone lion, one of the originals sculpted for the library steps. His eyes bore down on Georgie and she gasped. She felt as if he were staring at her. As if he were alive.

  “That’s Patience,” said Hewitt. “The real Patience. We’ll see Fortitude later. The statues are way too valuable to be kept outside. So we keep them down here to guard the books.”

  “And how do they do that?” Bug said.

  Again, Hewitt shrugged. “Nothing has ever been stolen. So however they do it, they do it.”

  Bug rolled his eyes at Hewitt’s deliberate mysteriousness and possible insanity. He patted the stone lion on the head. “Hey, guy,” he said. “I bet you’d like a saucer of milk.”

  Hewitt put the “wolf” book back on the shelf. “I’d watch your fingers if I were you,” she said to Bug.

  “Yeah,” said Bug. “Right.”

  Hewitt turned and followed the path snaking along the rows of bookcases, the trunks and piles of books on the floor. After a few minutes, they came to the very end of the basement. Here there were no bookshelves or piles, but a bare concrete wall with two heavy iron doors set in the middle of it.

  “Hmmm,” said Hewitt. “No Fortitude. I wonder where he went.”

  Bug rolled his eyes again. Hewitt ignored it. She handed him the flashlight and told him to shine it on the iron door on the right. On the door was a wheel like you’d find on the hatch to a submarine. Hewitt gripped the wheel with both hands and turned it. There was a loud clanking sound.

  Hewitt opened the door to reveal the ladder behind it.

  “You’ll have to climb to the surface. When you get to the top, you’ll see a round hatch. That hatch opens up into the William Cullen Bryant Memorial. Actually, it opens up into William, himself. You’ll be inside the statue. Make sure you close the round hatch. Then, once you’re inside the statue, feel around for a panel that should be right at your feet. Slide it open, and you’ll be in Bryant Park.”

  “What do you mean, feel around?” said Bug, clearly irritated with Hewitt now. “Can’t we borrow your flashlight?”

  “I need it to get back,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’re practically a superhero.”

  Hewitt stepped back to allow Georgie and Bug to go through the iron door. Georgie stopped her. “Thank you,” she said.

  Hewitt’s face softened as she looked at Georgie. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I hope we see each other again.”

  “Wait,” said Bug. “Where’s the other door go to?”

  Hewitt shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to open it.” She seemed rather annoyed to have to reveal this. “You better go.”

  She gestured towards the open right door. Georgie walked through it and gripped the rungs. She started to climb the ladder, hand over hand. As soon as Bug started to climb, they heard the door below them slam shut, and the wheel turning and locking them in. It was pitch black, and Georgie could see nothing – not the rungs, not her own hands. Below her, Bug said, “The heck with this.” The next thing Georgie knew, Bug was grabbing her by the arm and lifting her off the ladder and into the air. They flew up five floors until they stopped with a thud.

  “Ow!” said Bug.

  “What happened?” Georgie asked.

  “I found the trapdoor. With my head. Can you open it?”

  Georgie reached up and felt around on the ceiling until she found a handle. She pulled the handle, and then pushed at the hatch. It opened with a soft metallic creak. They couldn’t fit through the door together, so Bug shoved Georgie through first and himself second. It was still terribly dark, so they made sure all fingers and toes were out of the way before they slammed the hatch shut.

  “OK,” said Georgie. “Now we have to look for that panel.” They dropped to their knees and felt all around them. Since they were inside a hollow statue, the walls were bumpy. It was difficult to find any knobs or hinges or anything else that screamed “escape”. Their hands fluttered in the dark, occasionally touching, which was embarrassing and thrilling at the same time. Finally Georgie found it, a thin vertical seam. She scrabbled at it, getting a hold and then yanking sideways. The panel slid open, light streaming in. After their eyes adjusted, Pinkwater flew outside to check to see if the coast was clear.

  “Out!” chirped Pinkwater. “Out, now!”

  Georgie pulled of her backpack and slid it through the opening. Then she crawled out. Bug followed. Quickly, he turned and shut the panel. The two of them leaned back against the statue of William Cullen Bryant, panting as if they’d just outrun a gang of Punks.

  Georgie said, “That was an adventure.”

  “One word for it,” Bug grunted.

  “Wasn’t it cool to see all those books in the basement?”

  “You mean the ones written by wolves? Yeah, that was great.”

  “Woof!” chirped Pinkwater.

  “Hewitt is pretty interesting, isn’t she?”

  “She’s mean,” Bug said.

  “She’s not mean,” said Georgie.

  “Yes, she is. And she’s crazy too.”

  “She is not. She’s my friend.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Bug said.

  “Yes! Why else would she take us through the basement?”

  “Because she’s a know-it-all. A show-off.”

  Georgie thought about the regal way Hewitt walked, how she had put Roma in her place, how she had helped Georgie at the Museum of Natural History and now at the library. “You’re wrong,” Georgie said firmly.

  Bug grunted. “Had enough of the library?” he asked. “’Cause I know I have.”

  “Yeah,” Georgie said. “Let’s go.” Just in case reporters were still out looking for them, she held out her hand and he took it. Georgie was annoyed about what he’d said about Hewitt, so held on to only one of Bug’s fingers.

  It was an invisible Bug and Georgie who took the subway uptown to the Bloomingtons’ building, slipping past a grave-looking Deitrich the doorman and joining a rather sullen-looking delivery boy in the lift.

  Once the delivery boy had got off on the fifth floor, Georgie let go of Bug’s little finger. The lift chimed when it hit the top floor of the building. Bug and Georgie got out, slowing when they noticed the three police officers talking outside the open penthouse door. One of them turned to her. “Are you Georgetta Bloomington?”

  “Yes. What’s going on?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” the officer said. “We were hoping that you could tell us.”

  Chapter 19

  OK, Potato

  “What happened? Where are my parents?” said Georgie, shoving past the officers and into the penthouse apartment. Inside, Bunny and Solomon Bloomington sat together on the couch, surrounded by more police officers and several men in dark suits. The television yammered in the background. Agnes put tea and plates of kolachkes – biscuits with jam – on the table. Bunny jumped up when she saw her daughter.

  “Georgie! Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!”

  “At the cinema,” Georgie said. “Like I told you.”

  “No,” said Bunny, her face anguished. “We checked the cinema. And then we checked everywhere else we could think of. Why didn’t you tell us where you were going?”

  Georgie tried to think of a reasonable answer. “It was spur of the moment. We hadn’t seen The Professor in a long time, so we thought we’d visit him.”

  “You decided to go clear across town on the spur of the moment?” Bunny said. “And where did you go after that? It’s nearly six o’clock!” Georgie opened her mouth to speak, but it was clear her mother wasn’t going to let her. “What is this?” Bunny gestured to the coffee table. Next to Agnes’s biscuits was what looked like a miniature blac
k coffin. A dozen tiny black silk roses lay in the box.

  “I don’t know,” Georgie said.

  Bunny scooped up the card that came with the box and read it out loud: “For Georgie. I can’t wait to see you at my party. OK, Potato. Love and screams, Mandelbrot.” She held the card out. “Who is this Mandelbrot? Why is he sending you these horrible flowers? What party is he talking about?”

  “I—I—I,” Georgie stammered. The policemen looked at her expectantly. The men in suits sipped coffee. Bug shuffled his feet. Pinkwater chirped, “OK Potato.”

  “Stop that!” Bunny barked at the bird. Pinkwater alighted on Bug’s shoulder and flapped his wings.

  Solomon spoke up. “We didn’t know where you were. And then this thing was delivered. We were terrified. We called the police.”

  “We just went to see The Professor,” Georgie said lamely.

  Suddenly the TV blared, “And now for our entertainment report. Seems that Bug Grabowski is dating not one, but two of the richest girls in the universe. These photos were taken today showing Sylvester ‘Bug’ Grabowski, winner of last year’s Flyfest, getting cozy with none other than Georgetta Bloomington, long-lost daughter of Sol and Bunny Bloomington.” On the screen, a photo of Bug and Georgie at the library. “Slow down, Bug!” the newscaster said. “What’s Roma Radisson going to say to this?”

  Solomon looked at Bug. “I think you should go, Sylvester.”

  “I— yeah,” Bug said. He glanced at Georgie. “See you tomorrow?”

  Bunny answered for Georgie. “No dear, you won’t.”

  Georgie watched Bug walk out the door, saw him mouth I’m sorry before he disappeared. Pinkwater fluttered after him, chirping, “Me too!”

  One of the men in suits said, “Sir? Do you still need us?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Phil. Thanks for coming by so quickly. We’re OK now.”

  The man named Phil gathered up the tiny coffin, flowers and the card. “We’ll see if we get some fingerprints off these. Maybe trace the delivery company. I’ll let you know what we find.”