But first they’d have to rescue Thrillkill and the others, and the only way to do that was to say what she was thinking, even if it wasn’t much, and even if it was crazy.
“Professor?” she said. He looked at her numbly. “I might have a clue. Do you want to hear it?” He nodded ever so slightly.
She couldn’t understand why she was so nervous. She cleared her throat but it didn’t help. She could hardly get the words out.
“Those people we saw?” She waited for him to nod. He didn’t. He seemed lost in his own world. “I know this sounds crazy,” she said, “but if I didn’t know better I’d say they were zombies.”
For a moment he said nothing. He looked off into the distance, as if he were thinking about something long ago and far away. And then in the softest voice imaginable he said, “Yes. She is.”
Discussion Questions for Your Reading Group
If you were in Headmaster Thrillkill’s position—students missing, parents threatening to sue, and Legatum’s most important possession destroyed—what would you do?
Should Amanda take Simon’s advice and get back together with Holmes? Why?
Do you think Warden Doodle is being fair in not letting Manny have a guitar? Why? Can you play air guitar?
How would you attempt to keep the teachers from splitting up? Do you think the Punitori are being unnecessarily stubborn? Do you agree with any of the factions?
If you had a mynah bird, what would you teach it to say?
What do you think the zombies really are? How about drawing some?
How do you feel about bees? Could you wear a coat of them the way Gordon does?
How do you feel about the way Amanda reacts when she finds out why Harry is grinning at her? How would you react in her situation?
Did you guess who the hacker was? Who did you think it was?
What is your favorite zoo animal? Why?
If you discovered a mysterious sarcophagus wide open, what would you do?
Would you break into Crocodile’s flat to investigate? Why?
What would you do if you discovered a mysterious silver coin with a king’s face on it?
Who is your favorite Legatum teacher? Why?
Was Amanda right to make the film a musical? Why? What would you do if Thrillkill assigned you to make a film like that?
Where do you think The Detective’s Bible is?
What do you think of Scapulus Holmes? Would you change him in any way? How and why?
What summer seminars do you think the teachers should offer? (Please let me know so I can work them into the curriculum.)
Is Amanda still too bossy? What do you think she needs to learn about herself and the world?
Would you rather have authentic King Arthur coins or leprechauns’ gold. Why?
How would you help David Wiffle if you could? Would you?
Q and A with Author Paula Berinstein
Where did you get the idea for the purple rainbows?
Brainstorming. I make lists of all kinds of potentially interesting phenomena, creatures, events, and so on, and then pick the ones I think will work the best. I chose purple because I thought the color would be very dramatic.
I also liked the idea of a broken rainbow. I thought just reversing the colors would create a rainbow that can’t exist, but lo and behold I found out that there are such rainbows! However, to my knowledge, there’s no such thing as a rainbow where all the colors are completely out of order.
Of course as Hugh experiments with the rainbows and discovers how well purple works for his purposes, he drops the other colors and focuses completely on purple. Then it’s just a matter of getting the right purple and the right amount of energy.
As it turned out, the fact that purple doesn’t have its own wavelength was extremely convenient, although I didn’t know that when I started outlining the book. There really is a theory that non-spectral-colored light can be used to detect hidden structures. See the article “New Frontiers for Color” at the Color Matters site, http://www.colormatters.com/color-and-science/new-frontiers-for-color. If you can use non-spectral colors to detect hidden things, then why not use purple, which is a non-spectral color, to look for gold and quartz, which give off electrical signals? Hence the purple rainbows.
Why did you include bees in this story?
I asked a friend of mine if there was anything special he’d like to see in my stories, and he said bees and ninjas. I was able to pull off the bees, but obviously there are no ninjas in the story.
Will there be ninjas in another story?
At the moment I have no plans that include ninjas.
Have you ever actually looked for a needle in a haystack?
Not literally, no. Sometimes when I park my car in a huge lot, like at a shopping center, I feel like I’m looking for a needle in a haystack, but no, I never have. I’d like to, though. I’d like to see if I can find it using technology. (My cat swallowed a needle and thread once, and the vet found them using x-rays. Fortunately she was able to remove them and the cat is now fine. Needless to say, I’m very careful when I sew around her now.)
Would Wink really have been able to jam a lockbox in a haystack?
I doubt it. But he was a resourceful guy, so you never know.
Is there really such a thing as an odor-controlled lock?
Yes! Google this article: “A Novel Odor Key Technique for Security Applications Using Electronic Nose System” by Mahmoud Z. Iskandarani.
Why do you exaggerate so much?
Fiction is larger than life. All novelists, playwrights, and screenwriters exaggerate. Shakespeare was a huge exaggerator. Charles Dickens too. Of course you have to do it right or it detracts from the story.
What does Punitori mean?
The punishers. Like that, do you?
Do you think you do it right?
I hope so. Time will tell. A writer can never be sure her readers will receive her work the way she envisions it. I’ve been astonished at some of the things people have said about my books. One person who shall remain nameless said, “My goodness. You have an astounding amount of dialog in the books.” Another said, “Shouldn’t the kids be taking English and math?” So you never know.
Amanda Lester
and the
Blue Peacocks’ Secret
PAULA BERINSTEIN
The Writing Show
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Gobsmacked
Chapter 2 A Darktower Day
Chapter 3 Good News and Bad News
Chapter 4 Peacock-nip
Chapter 5 A Mysterious Painting
Chapter 6 Illogic
Chapter 7 I Vant to Be Alone
Chapter 8 Conundrums
Chapter 9 Peacocks, Pages, and Poop
Chapter 10 Fine Feathered Friends
Chapter 11 Can You Dig It?
Chapter 12 Elbow Grease
Chapter 13 The Book of Merlin
Chapter 14 Poison Pills
Chapter 15 Can You See His Shoes?
Chapter 16 Poppycock and Balderdash
Chapter 17 Putting the Genie Back in the Bottle
Chapter 18 Only Seven People Saw the Video
Chapter 19 Casting Couch
Chapter 20 The History Machine
Chapter 21 LewisCarroll23’s YouTube Channel
Chapter 22 Collapse!
Chapter 23 Charlotte
Chapter 24 The Peacock Whisperer
Chapter 25 My Boyfriend’s Back
Chapter 26 A Deal with the Devil?
Chapter 27 Earful’s Secret
Chapter 28 Battle
Chapter 29 Turning Point
Chapter 30 It’s a Wrap
Chapter 31 Mood Indigo
Chapter 32 Solvere Scelus
Chapter 33 Eyes Deep as the World
Chapter 34 The Plot Thickens
Discussion Questions for Your Reading Group
Q and A with Author Paula Berinstein
About the Author
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Gobsmacked
Amanda couldn’t believe Simon Binkle was kissing her again. She’d told him to stop about a zillion times, and here he was doing it anyway. He could be so annoying, even if he was practically her best friend. When was that kid going to grow up?
It wasn’t like he had a good reason. He didn’t have a crush on her. He’d said it himself: he was too immature to like anyone. And he knew she didn’t feel that way about him. The truth was he was just doing it to needle her. And it did get her goat, but the crazy thing was that in a way she liked it. Nerdy, geeky, exasperating thirteen-year-old Simon Binkle was an extraordinary kisser, and at the same time she wanted him to go away, Amanda secretly wished he would keep doing it. But the whole thing was too embarrassing and she was glad she’d finally gotten through to him.
Except obviously she hadn’t. Or had she? Maybe this was a dream. She did feel all woozy. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have. She’d drifted off on top of her bed, her blind friend Ivy Halpin had covered her with the quilt her Aunt Ethel had made for her, and for some perverse reason she was dreaming about Simon. And what a beautiful dream it was, if you could forget it was Simon. His lips were so warm and soft and his touch so light and it felt so good, but dream or no, it was wrong, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—have it.
“Cut it out, Simon,” she murmured, trying to wake up, but sinking deep into the softness beneath her instead. “Mmm, this is nice,” she thought. But how odd. The kiss sure felt real. And then it hit her: what was Simon doing in her room?
Her eyes flew open. Everything was blurry and it took her a moment to focus. She could see colors—brown, blue, a bit of red, a big yellow splotch—but that was all. Then, gradually, the fog cleared and she saw a shape looming over her. Yep, it was Simon all right, tall and dark, except where were his glasses, and why was his hair so long, and he sure had gotten better looking since the last time she’d seen him, and OMG, it wasn’t Simon but NICK MORIARTY!
Amanda sat bolt upright and screamed. What was Nick Moriarty, her ex-best friend, now her mortal enemy, doing in her bedroom? And why was that old red Formica table there, and that tiny oak cupboard, and that awful yellow beanbag chair?
She was obviously dreaming. This wasn’t her room, it wasn’t Simon, and it wasn’t real. But if that was the case, why weren’t these images going away? And why was Nick holding her and saying “You’re safe, Amanda, don’t be afraid,” and ewwwwwww!
“It’s all right,” he seemed to be saying. “You had an accident. Please stop screaming.”
He held her tighter, as if that would stop the noise, and she screamed louder. “Get away from me!” she wailed, and breaking free of his arms, pushed him.
He let go and took a step back. When that didn’t stop her hysteria, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m leaving, okay? See? Here I go.” He turned and started toward a doorway she hadn’t noticed before.
Somehow this gesture brought Amanda to her senses. She wasn’t dreaming after all. Where was she, what was she doing here, why was her head hurting, and did he actually—
“Wait!”
Nick stopped in mid-stride and turned to face her. She felt like an idiot but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was the fact that she was still half asleep, or maybe it was shock, or . . . who knew? She had to ask. “Did you just kiss me?”
And then Nick Moriarty, descendant of Sherlock Holmes’s nemesis Professor James Moriarty, fugitive from the law, turncoat and heartbreaker, did something she hadn’t seen him do in a long, long time. He threw back his head and laughed. The mirth was genuine—his smile reached his sky blue eyes—but there was something wrong with it, something missing, or perhaps an edge to it. “Same old Amanda,” he said. “What an imagination you have.” He paused and looked her up and down, or side to side rather, since she was lying down. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she said. Typical Nick evasion. “Did you kiss me?”
“Of course I didn’t kiss you,” he said, dropping into an odd-looking navy blue chair. It was so low to the ground that he was practically sitting on the floor. His legs looked longer than ever. In a few years he’d be taller than his father. “So, you and Binkle are an item now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, looking around the room. It was dark, close, and somehow familiar. Everything looked miniature, like something out of Alice in Wonderland. Maybe this was a dream after all. “Where am I?”
“The boat,” he said. Then, coldly, “Holmes then?”
“The Falls?” The Falls was Nick’s father’s boat—the one he’d moored at Lake Windermere before battling the detectives at the nearby quarry. But the police had seized the boat when the Moriartys fled, hadn’t they? Wait, what was he talking about?
“What about Holmes?”
“Yes, it’s the Falls, and are you back with Holmes?” It was a weird question. Somehow Nick always knew what she was up to. Although considering that he’d just seen his mother murdered, it wasn’t surprising that he’d lost track.
Now she remembered. Mavis! Was it possible that Nick’s mother, Mavis—Blixus Moriarty’s wife—was actually dead? Amanda had actually seen the killing. Sixteen-year-old Taffeta Tasmania, betrayer of the Legatum Continuatum School for the Descendants of Famous Detectives and sometime Moriarty cohort, had shot Mavis dead in the tunnels where the Moriartys had been hiding out, and then fled. Good riddance, Amanda thought. Except if she was at large she was still dangerous, and that wasn’t good. Why had Blixus, let her go? He could have stopped her but he’d chosen not to. Was he nuts?
Then, despite the haze that surrounded her, she remembered her manners. “I’m sorry about your mom,” she said tentatively. She wasn’t used to expressing condolences and wasn’t sure how to do it. Of course in this case what else could she say? She couldn’t add anything positive about the woman.
Nick’s eyes grew wide for a split second. She’d caught him off guard. For a moment he said nothing. Then, perhaps remembering his own manners, which for a criminal were actually quite good, he said, “Thank you,” also tentatively.
Now what was she supposed to say? Normally she’d try to help, but nothing about Nick was normal. Still, it was the right thing to do. She took a deep breath. There was no telling how he’d react. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head and shifted in his chair. That thing looked so uncomfortable. She didn’t know why he was keeping it. Perhaps he was just numb. She could see that he was sad, but you never got what you saw with Nick. You always had to be on your guard.
“What are you doing here?” she said, throwing off the afghan he’d laid over her. It was so bright it hurt her eyes with those orange, yellow, and purple stripes. She wondered who’d picked it out. Someone with iffy taste. Hugh, maybe. Nick’s younger brother only cared about hacking. Anyway he hadn’t been blessed with the rest of the family’s aesthetic sensibilities. Maybe some dotty old aunt? “Is Blixus with you?”
“No.”
Nick sounded angry. He stood up and walked over to a porthole. It was small and didn’t admit much light, but there was enough to illuminate his face a little, reminding Amanda just how handsome he was. Fortunately she was no longer susceptible to his charms. A pretty face hiding an evil mind—that was Nick.
“Is he coming?”
She really didn’t want to run into Nick’s father. The man was cruel and would probably kill her after all the things she’d done to him. After all, she was largely responsible for his having gone to prison, and with his twisted mind he’d probably found a way to blame her for his wife’s murder too.
“I hope not.”
That was weird. Why wouldn’t Nick want Blixus there? Perhaps he meant to kill her himself.
She pulled the afghan over herself again, as if it would protect her. “What are you going to do to me?”
He turned and faced her. With the light behind him she could barely make out
his face. “I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said in a tone that was uncharacteristically kind. “You had a nasty fall.”
A fall? She didn’t remember that. She’d come down the hill to town so she could see Eustace Plantagenet, the surfer dude who drove the Windermere tourist tram, and . . . then what? She couldn’t remember.
“Where’s my skateboard?” she said, suddenly remembering her means of transportation. Nick reached under the table, grabbed the yellow board Simon had given her for her birthday, and held it up. It looked like it had a new ding in it. How had that got there? “What happened?”
“It seems that a rather large peacock was going somewhere in a hurry and didn’t see you,” he said without laughing, even though the image was ridiculous. “It knocked you off the board.” He started to give her the skateboard.
She grabbed it out of his hand. All she needed was Nick’s cooties all over her things. Oooh, there was more than one new ding. It did look beat up. Of course he could have done that, and probably had.
What was he talking about anyway? Nick was great at making up stories, but this one beat all. “A peacock? I don’t remember that. But my head does hurt. Did you cosh me?” Nick shook his head. She narrowed her eyes. “Am I a prisoner?”
He smiled wryly. “No I didn’t cosh you, and you can leave whenever you want to.”
She didn’t believe him for one moment. He had to be lying. What was he up to anyway? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good for the detectives.
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 107