by Morris, Chad
Abby stood in the middle of the virtual room she had made, inspecting it closely.
There was a window. But there was no footage of anyone entering or leaving. There was the bathroom. It might have a window, possibly a fan leading outside, but those would be too small to enter through, especially for the man they had seen.
She looked at the bed. Wait. She had something. She could remember the dart in Coach Adonavich’s neck. It hadn’t gone in straight—it leaned. And it didn’t lean toward the door. That meant no one would have shot her from that angle. It came from the side of the window. Yes, the window would work. Perhaps someone had poked their head in and blew the dart. That was possible, but not without being caught on camera. Could they have been on the roof somewhere and shot through an open window? Yes, but the window wasn’t open. They might have shot through the closed window, but there was no hole. And after the coach was comatose, they still would have had to come in to get the key.
Abby’s mind filled with questions.
Why would he walk over to the window before shooting? Wouldn’t that have been foolish? Someone might have seen his silhouette. No. The lights were out.
“Do you mind if I see what you are working on?” Mrs. Trinhouse asked.
“Uh,” Abby stammered. “It isn’t done yet.” She lifted her visor.
“Oh. I don’t mind if you don’t. I love to see a work in progress.”
“I’d rather show it to you later,” Abby said, hoping Mrs. Trinhouse would go for it.
“I don’t want you to feel pressure.” Mrs. Trinhouse put her hand on Abby’s shoulder. “And I know there is a lot going on, but you are a little behind in your work. We need to make sure you keep up on it, because we definitely need you around.”
Nice words. Abby wondered if Mrs. Trinhouse meant them. She was able to act excited when she gave her lecture. She could probably act sincere and concerned right now.
“But Abby,” she said, lowering her voice. “I wonder if you should back out of that group we both belong to. Your brother too.” She was obviously referring to the Council of the Keys. “I’m not sure anyone your age should have to deal with the pressure or the danger. Let us adults handle it.”
She sounded like Muns.
“I just don’t want anything to happen to either of you.”
Abby looked back at her teacher. She gave a half-smile.
“Think about it,” Mrs. Trinhouse said. “And let me know if I can help with your project.”
Abby put her visor on. She would look again. She would not back down. She would figure this out.
• • •
Abby tried to walk to the cafeteria, but she couldn’t. She walked to the med center instead. She had tried all class period, but she still had no idea how the intruder got in. Soon she was sitting in a hard chair between Coach Adonavich and Ms. Entrese. She held her head in her hands. Her shoulders lurched as she cried.
“I’m so sorry. You two were both brave enough to stand up to Muns, and I can’t figure out how he did this. It doesn’t make any sense.” She looked over at Coach Adonavich. She remembered running to the mountain top in her gym class and playing one of the most competitive games of basketball ever. The coach had drive and determination. Grandpa trusted her, and she had been one of the two others who had turned the keys to help Abby save her parents.
The fear came back like a storm, clouding over Abby. If Muns could get someone as smart and quick and athletic as Adonavich, then what chance did she have? Abby had made it clear that she was opposed to Muns. Was she going to end up like Adonavich? One night she would get a dart in her neck and the next thing she knew, she’d wake up to a new reality. Muns would have won. Everything would be different. Unless he changed the past too much, then maybe he would alter history enough that she would never exist at all. She might never wake up, having never existed.
She cried some more. She hated the feeling. She hated how it filled her, crowded all her other thoughts out. She didn’t want to be afraid, but she couldn’t help it.
She looked at Ms. Entrese again. Memories flooded back through her. Ms. Entrese had put her in the Chair at the beginning of the year. Though their relationship had started out rocky, she had taught Abby well. Abby thought of the Sherlock Holmes story she had planned to show Ms. Entrese in the Chair as her first assignment of the new semester—“The Speckled Band.”
It was a murder mystery. A woman had died in the night; her last words were “the speckled band.” Her sister suspected their stepfather, who lived in the next room over, but there was no evidence. Thankfully Ms. Entrese hadn’t been murdered.
Abby turned on her rings and opened the story—perhaps trying to distract herself, or perhaps just to wish she were more like Holmes. She began to read. Holmes sat in one of the wicker chairs and gazed at the room the woman had been murdered in. He took in each detail. He paused on a tight new bell rope, used to call a servant, that hung down from the ceiling, its tassels resting on the bed’s pillow. After examining it closer and giving it a pull, he discovered it was no bell rope at all. It did not call anyone. “Very strange,” he muttered.
Abby read on and Sherlock pointed out what else he thought was strange—the ventilator shaft that went to the room next door and not to the outside for fresh air.
All three characters moved to the room the ventilator shaft connected to—the stepfather’s room next door. Abby imagined an especially large bed for what the book detailed was a large man who could bend an iron rod into a curl. Holmes walked around the room, taking in the books on the bookshelves, a wooden chair, a round table, and an iron safe. Sherlock carefully looked at it all.
Abby read quickly now.
“What’s in here?” Sherlock asked, tapping the safe.
“My stepfather’s business papers.”
“Oh! You have seen inside, then?”
“Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.”
“There isn’t a cat in it, for example?”
“No. What a strange idea!”
“Well, look at this!” He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it.
“No; we don’t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.” Abby loved that part. The stepfather had befriended gypsies and was intrigued by the wild animals they had. He had adopted a few. This guy was weird.
“Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine.” He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.
“Thank you. That is quite settled,” Sherlock said. And that was it. He had solved the case. Of course he didn’t tell Watson until it was all over, but he had solved it. Abby knew what the solution was, but only after she had read the whole story. It was obvious her second time through, but impossible to detect on the first.
She would love it if that could happen to her—if she could solve this problem while it was happening. She couldn’t be content to understand it only in retrospect—then it would be too late. But her problem had nothing to do with this mystery.
Wait.
The ducts. Sherlock Holmes had figured out that it had to do with the ducts.
Abby looked at her watch. She only had ten more minutes of lunch. She messaged Derick and Rafa. She had an idea.
“The Speckled Band,” she mumbled to herself and ran out of the room.
25
Friends in Cages
Abby blew into the tube. A paper ball shot across the hall, hit the wall, and fell to the ground. It had hit just two bricks below where she was aiming. Someone else inside of Cragbridge Hall was better than she was, but she was still hoping that practicing would give her more insight as to who they were. She had upgraded her tube, finding that the school-supplied hangers in her closet were made from long hollow pieces of plastic. She had cut the bottom off one and found it worked much be
tter than a rolled-up piece of paper.
She shot again, this time just a brick to the left of where she had aimed.
“Hey, Sis.” Derick stood in front of her. “Has the brick wall been acting up again? Good thing you’re here to put it back in its place.”
Abby turned and blew again.
“Gross!” Derick jumped and then wiped the spitball off his ear.
“I was going for between your eyes. I’m not perfect, but I’m getting better.”
“It’s still gross.” Derick picked up the paper ball his sister had shot at him and threw it back at her. “Does this have something to do with your theory?”
Abby put the tube back into her backpack. “Not really. I’ll tell you about it when Rafa gets here.”
“Estou aqui.” Rafa approached the brother and sister team.
“Good. Thanks.” Abby waved. “Can we talk in the lab?” She nodded toward the large locked doors in front of her.
Rafa nodded and opened them up. Once inside the larger lab area, with several stations for students to hook up their equipment, Abby began, “I have a theory. The thief didn’t come through the front door, or through the window. Usually the simplest answer is the best place to start. What about the vents?” She looked around the room for a moment, then pointed to a vent in the floor.
Rafa looked where she had pointed. “No one could fit through that vent.”
“Yes, but that was the same problem as in the story. But in the story it turned out to be a snake, through the vent.”
“What story?” Derick asked.
“‘The Speckled Band.’ It’s Sherlock Holmes,” Abby answered.
“You’re suggesting . . .” Derick said as he pointed at his sister “. . . a snake came through one of the vents and attacked people with blowdarts? A snake can’t even hold a blowdart.”
“No.” Abby shook her head. “But what if it was a small animal? Not a real one, but an avatar?”
“An avatar?” Rafa asked. “But an avatar can’t leave the lab.”
“Not unless it was stolen.” Abby nodded toward her brother. “You did that once last semester.”
“But even if they steal it,” Derick said, “could an avatar blow through one of those tubes to attack with blowdarts?”
Abby raised her tube. “That was my next question.”
“Technically, yes,” Rafa answered. “They have to be able to breathe out air in order to mimic animal sounds. It’s part of the robot equipment.”
“But if that guy in the hoodie used an avatar to attack, his name should be on the registry,” Derick said. “They keep a log of everyone and what animal they use and for how long. It’s all recorded. That’s how Rafa threatened to expel me from the school. So if we can check the registry, that will narrow down if we have any suspects.”
“Right. That’s why I asked you two to meet me here.” Abby turned to Rafa. “I was wondering if you could show me the registry.”
Rafa nodded. “We can check the logs.”
“Can you show us last night?” Abby asked.
Rafa quickly logged onto his rings and began moving his fingers. “Let me show you this onscreen so you can see it for yourself.” With another flick of his finger, the registry was on the large screen in front of them. “This list is the normal classes logged on.” He scrolled through name after name of students. “But this was all during the day; you can see the time here.”
He continued, “But when it comes to last night, you can see I was in a fish from about eight to nine p.m. Sometimes I like to go for a swim at night.”
Abby glanced at Derick. She could see jealousy on his face.
“After that, I’m on the registry again.” Rafa pointed. “This is when I was in the basement. Then I logged off to check on Dr. Mackleprank. And here is when Derick took over. No one else logged on for the rest of the night. Doesn’t look like your theory holds.”
Abby looked at it closely. “And then there’s nothing else until this morning when students came back in?”
“Nope.” Rafa scrolled to show her a long list of more students’ names.
“Can anyone alter the logs?” Abby asked.
“No,” Rafa said. “When anyone uses any of the avatars here at Cragbridge, it’s on the log. There is too much on the line not to keep track.”
Abby saw Derick and Rafa exchange a look. She noticed her watch. She only had a few minutes until class started.
“Can you search by person?” Derick asked.
“Yes,” Rafa answered.
“Can you show me mine?”
In a moment, Derick looked at a string of his name and dates.
“You’ve been practicing that giraffe a lot,” Rafa said, pointing out a few sessions.
“Yeah,” Derick admitted. “What about you—can you show me your logs?”
“Sure,” Rafa said. Another string of numbers and dates appeared. It was a long list and only covered a few dates.
“You sure do this a lot,” Abby said.
“Com certeza,” Rafa answered. “Several times a day, every day. I’m really trying to perfect it.”
“What about Dr. Mackleprank?” Abby asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Would she see his name there somehow? “Can you show me his logs?”
Rafa looked at both of them. “It was not Dr. Mackleprank,” he said, a firmness in his tone. “But I will show you all the same.” He scrolled again and there was another list of dates and times.
It wasn’t him. Abby was wrong.
• • •
Everyone seemed to be eyeing each other suspiciously. Abby looked at each of them: Derick, Grandpa, Coach Horne, and Mr. and Mrs. Trinhouse. Could any of them be a traitor? Definitely not Grandpa or Derick.
Abby hoped no one suspected her. She tried not to look nervous, but knew she was probably failing. Nervous and guilty can often be confused.
Coach Horne sat in the Chair and described what happened the night before. It was rather a dull story aside from helping Derick stop the intruders. Before Grandpa called him, he was fast asleep. And after all the action, he went back to his apartment, didn’t even bother changing out of his clothes, and crashed on his bed again.
One by one, each member of the Council took the Chair and told about where they were before and after the incident pulling intruders out of the London fire. But it was Mrs. Trinhouse that Abby watched extra closely as she related her evening.
Mrs. Trinhouse had stayed up late researching on her rings. Nothing about meeting anyone. No sinister plot. Then she got the call and came to the basement with her husband. After, she stayed up on her rings some more and then finally went to bed.
“Can I ask a question?” Abby interrupted. Grandpa nodded. “Why did you go to the Watchman a few nights ago?”
Immediately the image of Mrs. Trinhouse crawling up into the belly of the school’s tower appeared on the screen behind her. Mrs. Trinhouse gasped. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked up at Grandpa.
He placed his hand on his chin and looked back at her. “Yes, go ahead.”
Mrs. Trinhouse began, “My husband and I worked with Oscar to develop a sensor array that can detect Muns’s large energy bursts. We hid it in the tower. Being up high only strengthens its ability to sense the bursts.” Images of Mrs. Trinhouse, Mr. Trinhouse, and Grandpa together appeared on the screen. They were looking at a machine about the size of a desk. Then the view shifted to the three of them putting the mechanism in the tower. “Mr. Trinhouse had to remove part of the floor and install a trapdoor all in one night. It was a lot of work.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you went there,” Abby said.
“I was doing a routine check,” Mrs. Trinhouse responded. An image appeared of her quickly looking at the machine, but that gave way to scenes of her thoroughly inspecting it.
“I believe there was more to it than that,” Coach Horne said.
“There was,” Mr. Trinhouse said. “While I went to help bring the prisoners
to the Chair she was inspecting the machine for any alterations.”
“Alterations? Why?” Abby asked.
“The machine could measure energy bursts, but nothing else,” Mrs. Trinhouse said, glancing at Grandpa. “I was looking for clues as to how Oscar knows not only that Muns used a burst, but where in time he has gone.”
Grandpa rubbed his head and gave a tired smile. “And I have given her the tools to find the answer to that question.”
Members of the Council exchanged glances. Who else was looking for the same information Abby was? It made sense that Grandpa would ensure others were on the trail to find out as well. Perhaps they already knew. But did that mean the Trinhouses were innocent? What about the suitcase that had its insides taken from right under their noses?
Grandpa spoke again. “I think it is time I place guards in front of and inside of Abby’s and Derick’s rooms, along with my own, my son’s and daughter-in-law’s room, and Coach Horne’s. We cannot afford any more incidents.”
“And not the rest of us?” Mrs. Trinhouse asked.
Grandpa looked back at the math and engineering teacher. “If you wish, I will do so, but that may give away that you have keys.”
“Maybe you could place guards on random doors as well. That would throw them off,” Derick suggested.
Grandpa nodded. “It would also give them a list that they could check off. They would weed it down eventually. I think for your safety we must do this.” The Trinhouses also opted for guards at their apartment.
“And now,” Coach Horne said, “I understand that we didn’t have Dr. Mackleprank in for this discussion earlier. He is not a member of the Council, but can we invite him to sit in the Chair and answer our questions?”
• • •
Dr. Mackleprank? Derick was upset. Mackleprank couldn’t have done it. He had been shot by tranquilizer darts. And he had not been using an avatar to sneak around.
Grandpa raised his cane. “I have messaged Dr. Mackleprank and he is unable to be here.”