Colin and The Rise of The House of Horwood
Page 13
***
Their initial search revealed nothing but a house that, oddly enough, seemed even larger on the inside than on the outside. Some hallways went in straight lines; however, others went in circles. The harder they searched the more confused and disoriented they got, until it dawned on Colin that they should ask Sergeant Peary.
Given the last fiasco, when Sergeant Peary had nearly burned down the school, Colin was reticent to call on his guardian spirit. Still, Grandfather Thunder must have had his reasons for asking Peary to look out for him, so the boys slipped down into what they were now affectionately calling the ‘dungeon,’ and made their way to the wine cellar. Sure enough they found the superhero there smoking his perpetually burning cigar, crouched on the floor, and spinning an empty bottle. The dark green bottle spun, blurring until it slowed and finally stopped, its neck pointing to where Colin and Spike were standing. Sergeant Peary looked up making a sour face.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to kiss you?” he said jumping up to his feet, the momentum carrying his spirit body off the ground where it floated just beneath the ceiling. He kicked his feet against it to return himself to the floor, “Well, now that’s settled, what can I do for you two stalwart lads?”
“We need information,” said Colin, beginning to second-guess his decision to seek out the Sergeant.
“You’ve come to the right place,” said Peary, rubbing his hands together in delight and spinning about even faster than the bottle. When he stopped spinning, he was wearing a detective’s trench coat and a roguishly tilted fedora. “Well gents, what can I do you for?”
Colin tried to ignore Peary’s bizarre chameleon-like behavior. The bloodstain over the ghost’s chest, even with different clothing, was still there. “How well do you know Horwood House?”
Peary stroked his chin. “If I had much of a memory, I would say, I’ve known it all my life, but you know, ghosts aren’t allowed to have memories. You have bits and parts that float around, but nothing you can really hold onto, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t be able to share much, you know, Section 1.5 of the Ghost Protocol Convention.” He leaned forward as though somebody was trying to eavesdrop. “The ghost union is very particular about the things spirits can and can’t do. If I break too many rules…” He drew a threatening line across his throat with his smoldering cigar.
“Yeah, right, we really believe you. What are they going to do to you?” grinned Spike. “You’re already dead!”
Sergeant Peary tilted his fedora back, a sober look on his face. “You’d be surprised what they can do. They could send me into the light, and then where would you be? No guardian spirit, no protection!”
“Is that where the dead go?” asked Colin, “Into the light?”
Sergeant Peary paused, and for a moment was about to tell them more, when he shook his head, “Better left unsaid. Now, listen, I’m not kidding about not being able to tell you things outright, but I can answer certain questions.”
“Right,” started Colin briskly, “then, is there any money in Horwood House, and where is it?”
Sergeant Peary picked up the empty bottle he had been spinning and looked into it, using it like a crystal ball, then he nodded when he found a suitable answer. His transparent form took on a darker hue. “This is relatively difficult -- painful. This house is money. Can’t you smell it, in the walls, in the floors, in hidden chambers? You have to know where to look, and to do that you have to think like the Old Man,” said Peary, his entire body seeming to sag when he said ‘Old Man.’
“The Old Man?” asked Colin, feeling the weight of the phrase pressing into him. “I thought you couldn’t remember things.”
“Yeah, Zuhayer Bombast Horwood, the House’s master. I wish I could forget him.”
“So, you can show us where he kept the gold then?” cut in Spike, a strange glitter in his eyes.
Peary shook his head sadly. “No, I can’t show you where the Old Man’s gold is. Like I said, you have to crawl inside his head, and mores the pity for the poor soul who does that.” He was becoming more and more transparent, vanishing into the stale air of the wine cellar.
“Hey, wait!” started Spike but was stopped when Colin grabbed his sleeve. “What’s up with him? It’s like something just sucked all the life out of him. Sorry, you know what I mean.”
A further search of the house revealed nothing but an endless warren of passages and rooms. Exhausted, they gave up and were left to ponder Sergeant Peary’s cryptic statement that the house was money.