“Would one of you like to volunteer for the ‘next world’?” the professor taunted, turning his gun on Edgar, then Allan, and then back again. “Or shall I decide?”
The boys said nothing.
Instead, they began whistling “Ring Around the Rosy.”
Roderick poked his head out from behind the props, out of the professor’s line of vision. He had cleverly slipped his collar and leash.
The man smiled. “Ah, whistling in the face of death. I give you both points for style, boys.”
Being a well-trained cat, Roderick leaped to the taut web of ropes beneath the stage, directly above the professor.
Now all the twins needed to do was stall for time.
“We have one last request,” they said hurriedly, before the professor could pull the trigger.
“Yes?”
“Before you send one of us into the ‘next world,’ will you tell us how you became such a distinguished and unmatched genius?”
The professor straightened in his wheelchair, surprised. “That’s an outstanding question. I’m glad you boys aren’t taking this dying stuff too personally.”
“And can you start from the beginning?” Allan asked.
“Oh, I’m afraid there isn’t time for that,” the professor said. “But since you asked, I will share a few insights about my journey, my genius, myself.”
The boys encouraged him to continue.
Roderick Usher started on his work in the rafters, fraying, fraying, fraying…
His claws were sharp, his paws fast.
But would they be fast enough?
When the professor’s egotistical ramblings began to wrap up, the twins pressed for more.
“When did you first realize you were a genius?” Edgar asked.
With ironic timing, the heavy counterweight directly above the professor snapped loose from the newly frayed rope and came down on his head just as he said, “My genius came upon me suddenly, like a bolt of lightning out of the sky—”
Bam!
He tipped in a heap out of his wheelchair to the ground, unconscious.
“Nice work, Roderick!” the twins cheered.
The cat leaped down from the rafters and wove a figure eight around their legs.
Still, not all was well.
Above them, they heard crashes, clanks, and thuds. The rope that Roderick Usher had loosed held more than just one counterweight—it was part of the web that controlled all the trapdoors in the stage. Suddenly, long lengths of rope whipped through the pulleys, snapping at the air like angry serpents, and counterweights began to fall all around the boys, exploding fragments of cement wherever they landed.
And making matters worse…
The trapdoors in the stage all fell open at once. Whatever props or scenery the trapdoors supported plunged down, crashing all around the boys. The half-ton brass machine used to simulate the Wizard of Oz in his grandiose, flame-breathing disguise fell just inches from where they stood.
Crash!
Next, band instruments plummeted from the stage, including the drum kit and piano.
Clang! Boom!
And the musicians who played the instruments.
Ouch!
Seconds later, the Wicked Witch, Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the other actors fell from above as if they’d actually been dropped by a tornado.
The boys could only jump out of the way.
But where were the dangerous Mr. Archer and the other flying monkeys?
Looking up through the open trapdoors, Edgar and Allan saw why no monkeys had fallen into the basement—they’d all been jerked upward to the top of the theater, where their ropes tangled with the rafters. There they dangled helplessly, thirty feet up, in a single ball of kicking fur.
The panicked audience of the OZitorium couldn’t see the mayhem taking place above and below the stage, but they heard it. There was a mad rush for the exits, everyone pushing and shoving despite their Etiquette Society training.
Who’d have thought so much could come from the untying of one rope?
Roderick Usher leaped into Edgar’s arms and mewed at the boys.
“Let’s get out of here,” Allan said.
“Over there!” Edgar indicated a metal stairwell that led up to a door marked Exit.
“What about that dried-up old spider?” Allan asked, pointing to the professor, who remained unconscious beside his tipped wheelchair. “Should we tie him up?”
“He’s not going anywhere. We’ll tell the cops where to find him.”
They raced up the metal stairs and pushed on the door, hoping it wasn’t locked.
It flew open.
The three tumbled into the sunlight, safe.
WHAT THE POE TWINS DID NOT KNOW…
TEXT MESSAGE FROM THE CELL PHONE OF IAN ARCHER TO THE CELL PHONE OF PROFESSOR S. PANGBORN PERRY
(AKA PROFESSOR MARVEL), SENT WHILE ARCHER DANGLED FROM THE CEILING OF THE OZITORIUM:
Where are you, sir? Police everywhere! I’ll say nothing to them, but I’m counting on you to get me out of this. Fast.
SECOND TEXT MESSAGE FROM THE CELL PHONE OF IAN ARCHER TO THE CELL PHONE OF PROFESSOR S. PANGBORN PERRY, SENT FOURTEEN MINUTES AFTER THE FIRST MESSAGE:
Still no response. Curse you, Professor! If you don’t get me out of this fix in 48 hours I swear I’ll start singing. Yup, I’ll tell the cops all about the Poe twins’ parents, how their “accident” was no accident.
NO FURTHER TEXT MESSAGES TO OR FROM THE CELL PHONES OF IAN ARCHER AND PROFESSOR S. PANGBORN PERRY.
STARS
THE next day at the press conference, when Edgar and Allan emerged with their aunt and uncle through the wide double doors of the county courthouse, hundreds of cameras flashed in their direction. To the boys, it appeared to be a whole galaxy of tiny, exploding stars. Dozens of shouted questions arose from the crowd of reporters, photographers, television cameramen, and sound engineers who pushed and jockeyed at the foot of the old building’s wide staircase for the best view of the boys.
“Look at that mob,” Allan whispered to his brother.
Edgar nodded. “If any group of kids ever acted this out-of-control they’d probably get detention for life.”
The camera flashes continued and the shouted questions came so fast and furious that even with two brains operating in perfect coordination, the Poe boys could make little sense of it. The mayor, who looked like the host of Aunt Judith’s favorite TV game show, smiled reassuringly and led the family to a podium that had been set up at the top of the stairs beneath a banner that read:
Edgar and Allan knew for certain that this time the welcome wasn’t for Parents of Exemplary Students—and most certainly not for Physicists of Extreme Science.
The mayor commanded the podium. He tapped the microphone. The boys half expected him to introduce them as the “daily double.” Disappointingly, he merely delivered a boring speech.
“It is my distinct pleasure,” he said, in a voice that had little game-show excitement in it, “to welcome you distinguished ladies and gentlemen of the media to our lovely town and to assure you that we will make your stay with us…”
To the boys it sounded like “Blah, blah, blah.”
Eventually, the mayor got around to the facts: “These two boys, working entirely on their own, identified, caught, and detained two dangerous criminals, one of whom they rendered unconscious and the other of whom they tied up for the police.”
“How did you boys track ’em down?” a reporter shouted.
“How’d you figure it out, Edgar and Allan?” another asked.
“Did you ever fear for your safety?” a third reporter called.
The mayor held up his hand to silence the reporters, and continued with his statement: “The arrest of Mr. Ian Archer, who is high on the FBI’s Most Wanted List, represents an important victory for law enforcement. Trust me, ladies and gentlemen of the press, Batman himself couldn’t have delivered a criminal to us in a neater package.”
&nbs
p; Hands shot up among the members of the press and dozens more questions were shouted, but the mayor ignored them and continued:
“But even more significantly, these boys captured Professor S. Pangborn Perry, a wanted felon who has been living in these parts for seven years under the name of ‘Professor Marvel.’”
“Have you boys solved crimes before?” a reporter interrupted.
“What brought you to Kansas?” another called.
“Would you boys be willing to do an interview for the local news?”
Again, the mayor held up his hand. “Please! Ladies and gentlemen…”
Reluctantly, the press corps quieted.
“Mr. Archer, arrested while disguised as a winged monkey, is currently in police custody,” the mayor continued. “Meantime, Professor Perry, who received a severe blow to the head, remains unconscious in a local hospital where he is under twenty-four-hour police guard. That these boys traced these criminals to our town, when even the FBI could not do so, speaks to their amazing deductive powers.”
Next, the rotund police chief, dressed in a uniform clanking with medals, walked up to the podium. He cleared his throat. “It’s my honor to present to these boys the Kansas Commissioner’s Medal, the highest honor given to private citizens for contributions to crime-fighting.”
Amid a furious clatter of cameras, the chief pinned a twin set of shiny medals on Allan and Edgar.
“Your mother and father would be very proud of you,” Uncle Jack whispered to the boys.
“As we’re proud,” Aunt Judith added.
Hearing these words felt good to the boys—even better than receiving medals.
The roar of questions only got louder and more out of hand when the twins started toward the microphone.
“How’d you boys figure it out?”
“What were the clues you followed?”
“How’d the two of you infiltrate the professor’s lair?”
Edgar and Allan had decided it was too risky to tell the press the whole truth—some other lunatic might come after them if the professor’s “quantum entanglement” theory went public.
Edgar stepped up to the mike, straining on tiptoe to reach it. “First, you all should know that we’re the great-great-great-great grandnephews of the author Edgar Allan Poe. So we start with a bit of an advantage in the imagination department.” He pointed to the journalists. “Go ahead, write that down.”
“Can you be more specific?” they asked.
Allan joined his brother, rising to his tiptoes, too. “Sorry, but we captured these criminals using an ingenious thought process that would be impossible for most of you to follow.”
Edgar raised his eyebrows. “Is anyone here the great-great-great-great grandnephew or grandniece of, say, Sherlock Holmes?”
No one raised a hand.
“In that case,” Allan said, “let’s just leave it at this: we solved the crime and you didn’t.”
“Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen,” Edgar said.
“Wait!” a reporter shouted. “What are your plans for the future?”
The boys looked at each other. “For now, we’re just planning to spend time with our friend Roderick Usher.”
“Roderick who?” the reporters shouted.
“Our cat.”
“Can we get his picture too?”
The boys shook their heads no. “He’s having a nap right now.”
The mayor took the podium once again. He held up a cell phone and announced to the press: “I have a call here from none other than the governor himself. He’d like to offer his congratulations.”
The police chief handed the phone to the twins.
Edgar held it to his ear. After a moment, he said, “Thanks for the kind words, Mr. Governor, but why would we want to support your reelection campaign when we’ve never even met you?”
Edgar listened to the governor’s answer.
“We can have power and influence?” he repeated, turning to his brother.
Allan shook his head no to the governor’s offer. “We’ve had quite enough of ruthless ambition,” he observed.
Edgar agreed. He tapped a secret string of numbers into the cell phone keyboard. Surely, a few hundred volts delivered through the earpiece would settle the issue.
The governor’s startled scream was audible over the phone line.
Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith groaned.
Edgar handed the phone back to the mayor. “The governor’s had his say.”
The press shouted more questions. Cameras flashed all around. News trucks beamed the boys’ video images across the nation.
Edgar and Allan happily took it all in.
“And there’s one more thing,” Edgar said into the microphone.
Allan moved beside his brother. “We couldn’t have done any of this without our aunt and uncle, who’ve not only taken us into their home but also into their hearts.”
Uncle Jack beamed. Aunt Judith wiped her eyes.
The boys had surprised themselves. They’d managed to say aloud what they really felt—and in front of witnesses.
That night, after a celebratory banquet, grateful city officials awarded the triumphant Poe family a two-bedroom suite at the Deluxe Motor Lodge near the edge of town. It had been an exhilarating day, so when Edgar and Allan claimed to be tired and asked to be excused to their room to spend time with Roderick (for whom the motel made a special exception in its no-pets policy), Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith naturally assumed the boys would be asleep before long.
Of course, this wasn’t the case.
Instead, the boys sprawled fully dressed for hours on their queen-size beds, neither of which they even bothered to test as trampolines. They were too distracted by questions to jump up and down. So they each just gazed up at the motel ceiling, speculating aloud about Professor Perry’s nefarious but oddly insightful theories regarding their unusual connectedness. No one else had ever quite figured them out so completely.
“So why are we the way we are?” asked Allan.
“Well, in a quantum universe unusual things, like us, happen from time to time,” suggested Edgar.
“And that’s neither a good thing nor a bad thing.”
“Right, it’s just an unlikely thing.”
“And we’re still free to be whatever we choose to be.”
“Sure, like everyone else.”
“That is, so long as we’re always…”
The boys stopped, searching for the right word.
“Alike,” they pronounced in unison.
Of course the boys benefited from their unusual connection. Still, they had to admit that sometimes being two boys with one mind could be a little frustrating. For example, they could never play chess with each other, as each always knew what the other was thinking. Additionally, they couldn’t help wondering if some things, even their least favorite things like health class or gossipy talk shows, might be more interesting if they were able to see them differently from each other, to disagree once in a while.
“Of course, it’s nice never being alone,” Allan observed.
Edgar agreed (naturally), but gave voice to what his brother was also thinking: “Or, being like one boy, are we actually alone even when we’re together?”
“You mean, the way your thoughts are also my thoughts?”
“And vice versa.”
“Well, there are times…” Allan started.
Edgar finished the sentence: “When it’d be great to share our secrets with somebody other than each other, somebody who doesn’t already know them.”
“Yes, but who?”
Not Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith. And not Stevie “The Hulk” or any of the boys’ other classmates, none of whom would ever believe that Edgar and Allan were not just identical but actually interchangeable. It was just too strange. And Edgar and Allan had learned from unnerving recent experience that scientists who might understand the connection were not to be trusted.
A chime in the tower
of the nearby City Hall marked the hourly passing of the night.
Nine o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock.
At last, the boys realized there was someone they could tell.
At midnight, with Roderick sauntering beside them, they slipped out of their room, closing the motel door carefully so as not to wake their aunt and uncle in the next room. The night was chilly and the sky clear—perfect for their purposes. They crept through the silent motel parking lot and dashed across the deserted, two-lane highway to where the vast Kansas cornfields began.
Were they looking for more trouble?
No, they were looking for a tiny light in the sky.
It was a snap for the boys to calculate that at this latitude and longitude the satellite launched years before with their unfortunate mother and father accidentally aboard would be visible as a glimmering, orbiting star in the northeast skies from 12:11 to 12:36 a.m. In the almost complete darkness of the cornfields, it would be easy to pick it out among all the ordinary constellations.
“There it is!” Allan observed.
“Mom and Dad, you won’t believe all the stuff that happened today,” they said in unison to the sky.
And they told their parents the whole story.
“A big studio wants the boys to be in a movie?” Uncle Jack asked Aunt Judith the next morning as the family pulled out of the motel parking lot on their way to the local Pancake House for breakfast.
“Yes,” she answered excitedly as she put away her cell phone. “A movie producer just saw the boys on TV and wants them to play the young Edgar Allan Poe in his current project. Isn’t that fantastic? Edgar and Allan, movie actors!”
“Not so fast, Aunt Judith,” the twins said from the backseat, which they shared with Roderick. They were anxious to get back to Baltimore and to celebrate their overnight fame with their friends—surely the school district would reenroll them now that they were national figures. Then again, being in a movie could be fun. “We’ll think it over.”
“When do they want the boys to start?” Uncle Jack asked his wife.
The Tell-Tale Start Page 9