Ezra snickered to himself and took another bite of mashed potatoes and gravy.
“Is something funny Ezra?”
“It’s just–dad always says he loves taking questions, especially about literature.”
“He’s right, honey, nothing brightens my day more than a student that actually wants to read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” he said, then recited, “Streets that follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent to lead you to an overwhelming question…”
“For crying out loud Eliot, not at the table!”
They continued arguing for almost ten minutes, during which time Ezra finished his meal and retreated to his bedroom on the second floor of their narrow house. He sat in his windowsill looking down the lonesome street, his hands enveloped by his long sleeves—surely everyone was inside eating dinner at the time. Ezra was so used to his parents arguing he hadn’t thought twice about encouraging it whenever he wanted to make his escape.
Ezra had a way of taking matters into his own hands. On several occasions he had helped his friends find lost items or proved their innocence when they were accused of cheating or other offenses. The biggest mystery he had solved occurred at the end of the previous year when he discovered a teacher in his middle school was selling drugs to students.
Since then, he had a reputation among the bullies of the school as a nosy snitch, and as a blessing to his friends and his nicer classmates. Now, however, he was going into high school. Ezra didn’t know what to expect when he stepped through those daunting doors the following week. Would he be hailed as a promising young sleuth or a nuisance to be dealt with in due time?
Ezra shook off that thought and plopped himself down on his bed. He heard a whine from under his sheets. Wilhelm had somehow nuzzled his way beneath Ezra’s sheets and was sleeping soundly. Ezra pushed Wilhelm aside. He yawned and immersed himself in Feudal Japan and the Way of the Samurai, which he read until he fell soundly asleep, his nose in the book’s crease and his arm around his dog several hours later.
3
Eight houses away, another boy also lay in his bed, but this boy could not sleep for the life of him. Instead, he clutched an old photograph of he and his brother at the lake. His older brother had one arm around the boy’s back and the other moving in for a noogie. He willed himself not to burst into tears as he remembered that autumn day, much the same as this one, three years earlier.
♦
“Help!” a small girl cried after wading too far into the lake.
Every year the boy went to the same lake in central Oregon with his family and his aunt, uncle, and cousins. The boy was floating on his back in the shallows when he heard the girl’s muffled call. He stood up in the water and surveyed the lake, squinting his eyes in the September sun. After a moment he saw a pair of arms and legs thrashing about in the distance. It was his cousin Sophie. He froze. He was supposed to be watching her while the adults went to town to buy groceries.
“What are you waiting for?” yelled an urgent voice from behind the petrified boy.
The boy said nothing, only turned toward the dock and gazed in his brother’s eyes with a look of sheer dread.
Wesley, fifteen at the time, grabbed the blue foam kickboard at his feet and dove into the water, swimming out to his flailing cousin. He wrapped his arms around her ribcage and lifted her head above water. Wesley swam back slowly, Sophie tightly clutching the floating piece of foam. He was never a very good swimmer himself; in fact, it had taken nearly all he had in him to swim out to Sophie.
“Sophie,” he said. “Can you—can you make it from here?” he asked between breaths.
She nodded and used the kickboard to make her way back to the dock.
From the shore the boy could tell his brother was running out of energy. He reentered the water and swam as hard as he could to Wesley. While he swam he never came up for air, only kept his head down and stroked with all his might. He came up for air after thirty seconds of constant strokes.
He turned his head left to right and left again. He could only see Sophie waiting at the dock. No sign of Wesley. He dove into the clear central Oregon water and turned 360 degrees. There!
He surfaced for air once more, and then dove again like a bullet to his sinking brother. The boy reached him and grasped his ribs like he saw Wesley do with Sophie. It was no use. His brother outweighed him tremendously and even if he could finagle him to the surface, there was no way to get back. He kicked his legs furiously and both boys’ heads breached the surface. They gasped and flailed violently.
Why hadn’t they gotten proper swimming lessons? They go to the lake every year, but they usually only waded in the shallows or fished off the dock.
He closed his eyes and cried into his pillow. He knew his parents had never forgiven him, though they insisted he had done his best. He felt like everyone thought it was his fault. And who was he to argue? Maybe if he hadn’t hesitated, he would have been the one to swim out to Sophie in the first place. Questions like this ate at the boy’s mind day in and day out. That was the last time they went to the lake.
The boy turned over the photograph and read the note. “Wesley and Carson, 15 and 11, at Sparks Lake.”
4
The day finally arrived for Ezra to board school bus and be carted off to Truman High School. While he wasn’t excited to face the throng of students haphazardly searching for their first classes, he was excited to see his best friends Madison and Mason. They were twins, and although they often bickered, in truth they were practically inseparable.
Despite the anxiety in the pit of his stomach, when he slept, he dozed heavily like every other day. An alarm like a siren woke Ezra at six-thirty. Wilhelm glanced up at Ezra with a look of disdain for ruining his sleep.
For a moment Ezra sat up in his bed trying to recall the details of his dream. Just as the details began inching back to him, Mrs. Thorne yelled up to Ezra to get moving.
Ezra took a lengthy shower, the only proven way to wake himself up, and dressed. Ezra was a boy of extremes. When he slept, he slept hard. When he was awake, he was perhaps the most aware person alive.
On his way down to breakfast he heard Mr. and Mrs. Thorne bickering about finances so he decided to sneak a granola bar from the pantry and walk to the bus stop early, rather than sit through a heated monetary dispute.
As he turned from the pantry he tripped over the German Shepherd lying stealthily in wait for him. Ezra fell over the dog, who began licking his face immediately.
“Ugh. Get off Jake! Down boy!” Ezra screamed.
Ezra pushed Jake aside and carefully slipped out the front door, making sure not to let the dog outside. Once Jake had gotten out without a leash and ran around the neighborhood for hours before anyone could catch him and bring him back. Both dogs were perfectly trained; except Jake would never heed Ezra’s commands. In fact, the only person Jake would listen to was Mr. Thorne.
Ezra met up with the twins, Madison and Mason, at the bus stop. It was a cool September morning and Ezra wore a dark blue long sleeved shirt. On that particular morning, Madison was arguing with Mason, suggesting that she was the good twin and he was just an evil twin their parents should keep in the attic. This was a typical conversation for a morning at the bus stop; but by the time they got to school they formed a temporary twin alliance, which lasted only until the final bell rang.
Both Madison and Mason had blue eyes and brown hair and were nearly the same height. Madison however, was a hair taller, and never let Mason hear the end of it.
Ezra had always been the shortest kid in class, but the summer had been kind to him, and he was now only a few inches shorter than the twins. Since the twins had seen Ezra all summer they hardly noticed the change, but everyone else he saw at the bus stop commented on the sudden growth spurt.
Carson only sneered, crossing his arms and leaning himself against the fence, visibly annoyed with Ezra.
“You’re taller than me now, Ezra,” Addie said blushing. She
was wearing a bright pink skirt and matching fingerless gloves. Addie always dressed without regard to what was “normal.”
Ezra was still admiring Addie’s outfit when Madison nudged him in the side and whispered, “I think someone has a crush on you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ezra scoffed and crossed his arms, tapping his elbows with his lightning-quick fingers. “Shouldn’t the bus be here by now?”
The twins laughed to themselves. As if on cue, the bus turned the corner moments later. Ezra and the twins could hardly fit in the same seat anymore so Ezra ended up sitting in the seat opposite them with Blain “The Brain” Bertrand. Blain looked as though he hadn’t showered in a few days; his raven-black hair was greasy and knotted. Ezra noticed that Blain was never able to find a comfortable position for his glasses on the bridge of his nose, so he kept adjusting them, which smeared his fingerprints all over the lenses. When he couldn’t see, he would have to take off the glasses and wipe them down, then repeat the process over again.
He was a nice enough kid and extremely intelligent, but he was always hyper and tended to drop things or stutter when he got excited. Although he had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), when he was on his game he set the curve; when he was frustrated or was made fun of he would freeze up and flunk.
After an interesting bus ride talking to Blain about dragons, tanks, and interstellar exploration, Ezra took out his schedule and compared it with the twins’.
“How did we get every class together?” Ezra mused.
“Our mom is on the school board, remember?” Mason said while immersed in his latest text message. He looked up and continued, “They pretty much do what they want.”
“I’m sure it’s a coincidence Mason. Mom wouldn’t play favorites like that.” As Madison spoke, a cloud of uncertainty grasped her mind, which she quickly shook off.
“Sure,” Mason chuckled. “And if a frog had wings he wouldn’t bump his rump when he hopped.”
It was starting again; the twins bickered as much as his parents. It seemed Mason had forgotten the twins’ truce. Eventually, Ezra was able to get a word in to tell them class was about to start, and they hurried to the science lab.
The physical science teacher, Mr. Kessler, was a stout man that also served as the school’s football coach, making him an even more intimidating figure than he already was. He had almost no visible neck and when he talked for an extended period of time his face turned beet red. He would often talk so fast and for so long he would forget to breathe and end up gasping for air in mid-sentence.
Mr. Kessler yelled for quiet as soon as class began. The room turned cold and silent, not a sound escaping from the lips of the intimidated students. The teacher wrote his name on the board in fat square letters and turned to the class.
“I’m passing out a syllabus, but unlike your other teachers, we won’t be wasting a class period discussing it,” Mr. Kessler said vehemently. “I expect it to be read by tomorrow because I may decide to quiz you on it. Get in groups of four and go to your lab tables!”
When the students hesitated, Mr. Kessler yelled, “Now!”
There was a sudden cacophony as more than thirty students rushed to find a table with their friends. Ezra, Madison and Mason found a table in the corner, far away from the ill-tempered Mr. Kessler, but they were one member short.
As the lab tables filled up one raven-haired boy was left in the center looking lost. Blain “The Brain” turned and made eye contact with Ezra.
“Oh no…” Ezra said under his breath.
“H-hey guys, can I j-join you?” He said wiping a stray booger from his nose onto his sleeve.
A sandy-haired boy turned around from the adjacent lab table and said, “Uh oh, looks like you guys are stuck with the tweaker!”
The rest of the boy’s table burst out laughing.
“Shut up Carson!” Madison cried, then turning to Blain, “Come on Bra-I mean Blain, you can be our lab partner.”
Madison turned pale, genuinely upset with herself for slipping on Blain’s name and hoped he didn’t notice.
“Thanks guys, I’ll do my b-best,” he stuttered.
“That’s enough, settle down,” Mr. Kessler yelled. “Okay, today we’re going to begin learning about the electromagnetic spectrum. Who knows what I’m talking about?”
Blain muttered something about waves of light then began drawing a dragon down the side of his lab instructions.
“I’m talking about waves people! Everything from radio waves to Gamma Rays,” Mr. Kessler said trying to sound energetic. “Wake up!”
Ezra tried to shake himself out of his coma of boredom but was unsuccessful. Instead of focusing on the lecture he was tapping his foot on his lab stool as though he had somewhere else more important to be.
“Today’s lab will concern Infrared waves and their uses in anything from night vision goggles to remote controls. Before we get started we need to do an overview of the EM Spectrum. Take out your notebooks and pens people!”
During the lab Blain stayed fairly levelheaded so they didn’t attract unwanted attention from Mr. Kessler or Carson, however Addie did shoot Ezra several looks from across the room.
The rest of Ezra’s day was equally as demanding as his first period, leaving him thankful when he plopped on his bed face first after school. Wilhelm pulled at his shoes, urging Ezra to take him for a walk.
“Not now boy, I’m beat,” Ezra said, but his voice was muffled in his pillow.
Wilhelm continued gnawing at his sneakers until he gave in. Ezra attached Wilhelm’s leash to his collar, then rounded up Jake and put a leash on him as well; he might as well kill two birds with one stone.
It was an unusually cool September day for Portland. Ezra covered his hands with his sleeves and blew hot air into them.
The Grimm Brothers led Ezra down his street, Cornelia Place, past the twins’ house, past Addie’s house, nearing his arch-nemesis Carson’s house. Why his worst enemy at school had to live a block away from Ezra he would never know. As Ezra passed by, Carson stormed out of his house, yelling obscenities at his parents who were following close behind him.
Carson’s father yelled, “You’re lucky your mother and I put up with you! Once you graduate you’re getting twenty bucks and a suitcase and you’re out of here, buddy!”
His father faded from view behind a screen door before Carson could yell back at him.
Carson turned to Ezra and said half-heartedly, “What are you looking at? Get out of here before I beat you senseless!”
Wilhelm snarled at Carson and tugged at his leash, begging to be set loose on him. Ezra pulled him back and kept on his walk, taking the long route home so he wouldn’t have to walk past Carson’s house again. Ezra returned a half hour later to the comfort of his bed and lay face down feeling for the remote on his windowsill. He finally found the power button after fumbling for a few moments and flipped through the channels.
Every channel he turned to seemed to be playing the news. Ezra wasn’t a big fan of the hokey local news crews but the headline caught his interest. He watched as the anchorwoman, Sally Snow, laid out the news in her faux-assertive newscaster voice:
“A Theft at the Ancient Artifacts Museum; when Franklin Roy, the museum’s curator, came to work this morning, the last thing he expected to discover was that a burglary had taken place. Authorities have not released what items were taken, but the museum will remain closed until Wednesday at the earliest. We will be on the scene and updating you with any new developments.”
Ezra had risen from his bed and was kneeling close to his TV, biting his lip with curiosity. When the anchorwoman moved on to the next story he switched off the TV and returned to his bed. It was too late to take the train down to the museum and check things out, so he’d have to wait until after school the next day. He knew, however, that it would feel like an eternity, as his excitement was growing by the minute.
To keep his mind occupied he read Feudal Japan and the Way
of the Samurai until he was called to dinner, then returned to reading once he finished his pork chops. When Mr. and Mrs. Thorne weren’t looking he slipped Wilhelm bits of pork chop and green beans to limit the time he spent with his parents. They seemed to be overly interested in how his day went and Ezra’s mind was occupied with more important questions than what he had for lunch that day or if he liked his teachers.
What was stolen? Who did it? And how did they do it?
Countless thoughts rushed through Ezra’s mind that night, causing him to wake up almost every hour, rolling around in his sheets with frustration. He had to find out who was behind the heist and bring them to justice. His DNA wouldn’t let him stand by and do nothing. The next day he would search for clues, interview museum employees, and solve the case of the missing artifact. For Ezra, nothing was better than a good mystery.
5
When Ezra’s alarm sounded the next morning, for the first time in his life, he was already awake. He hit the off switch and readied himself for school as quickly as he could. He was preparing questions for the curator the whole day, neglecting his classes, hoping he’d be able to interview the chubby man. By the time three-thirty rolled around he was overcome with excitement. He had already told his parents he was going to the library and to not expect him before dinnertime.
Of course, Ezra had no intention of going to the library. He took the MAX from the station a few blocks from Truman High School into downtown Portland to the Ancient Artifacts Museum. When he arrived he saw a news van out front and a suspicious unmarked black van with tinted windows across the street. Outside the museum stood two men in dark suits and sunglasses; one was talking into his wrist. There was an occasional squad car that rolled by, but considering the heist, things seemed rather calm.
When the men took interest in Ezra, he decided it was best to pretend he was on his way across the street to grab something from the café. He entered the café, bought an orange cream soda, and took a seat facing the museum. He bit at his thumbnail nervously. Now that he was here he wasn’t sure he had the gumption to make up a story and get past the extra security guards.
The Sword Maker's Seal Page 2