by Brian Lies
“Um—what?” the other three said.
“A cat,” Skylar said, pointing again. “Look. At the top of the stairs.”
The group peered up the stairs into the darkness. “There is a cat,” said Kiera, stepping up closer. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called.
Snip glanced wild-eyed at Malcolm under the radiator. She was cornered. And Malcolm’s internal pleas changed from Please don’t freak out to Please don’t hurt Kiera.
“Kiera . . .” Ms. Brumble called. “Be careful. Come down. Let me take a look first. There shouldn’t be a cat in here. She’s probably a stray.”
But Kiera was there now. On the landing. “It’s okay,” she called back. “I think she’s scared. Aren’t you, kitty?” Kiera held out her hand. It was inches from Snip’s nose. Malcolm could hear Snip’s ragged breathing.
PLEASE don’t hurt Kiera.
Malcolm realized he was holding his breath. Snip sniffed Kiera’s fingers, and Kiera lightly touched them onto Snip’s head. “It’s okay, kitty. We’re here. We’ll take care of you.” Malcolm had never heard Kiera use this voice. It was not harsh-bossy or glitter-spangles. It was soft, like chocolate left in a pocket too long.
Kiera lightly stroked the top of Snip’s head with her fingers. Snip closed her eyes and swayed. A small sound generated from deep in her chest. A low, vibrating noise. A purr. Snip jerked her eyes open, looking wildly around.
Kiera laughed. “It’s okay, kitty. Come on.” Kiera tapped the floor in front of her, and to Malcolm’s amazement (and Snip’s too, from the look she kept shooting over her shoulder at Malcolm), Snip followed her to the top step. Kiera sat a few steps down from her, so they were on the same level. She ran her hand over Snip, starting at her ears all the way down to her tail.
Snip shuddered. And leaned into Kiera’s hand. She purred again.
Ms. Brumble was there now, a few steps lower. She smiled. “She likes you.” Ms. Brumble reached out her hand, and Snip sniffed it, too. “I used to have a kitten that looked a lot like this,” Ms. Brumble said. “Years ago. She ran away.”
Now, thought Malcolm. It had to be now.
He reached back under the radiator for the fuzzy pink stuffed mouse and kicked it as hard as he could toward Ms. Brumble. It bounced, then rolled. It came to a rest next to Snip on the top step. He was about to find out if his hunch was right.
Kiera picked up the mouse and looked behind her. “Where in the world did this come from?”
Both Ms. Brumble and Snip stared at it, eyes wide.
“I—That’s a cat toy,” Ms. Brumble said in a shaky voice. “Mr. Plumpkins,” she whispered. She gaped at Snip. Then took a step back. “I have to sit down.”
But Kiera was already swinging the toy by its tail in front of Snip. “Here you go, kitty.” And Snip—whether it was because of the ancient catnip, or Kiera’s voice, or because she finally had something she needed—raised a paw and swiped at it.
“If she’s a stray, do you think I can keep her?” Kiera asked, scratching her behind the ears.
At Kiera’s question, Ms. Brumble finally took her eyes off Snip. “Well, I don’t know . . . I guess that would be up to your parents—be careful!”
Kiera had picked up Snip and was now carrying her down the stairs. “I’m going to ask them,” Kiera declared. “If they let me dye my hair for the fifth grade musical, a cat as sweet as this one shouldn’t be any problem.”
Malcolm finally let out his breath as Snip descended the stairs in Kiera’s arms. Snip looked back up at where Malcolm was, still hidden under the radiator. And for the first time since Malcolm had known her, he saw her relax. Saw her melt into Kiera’s arms, into a ball of black fur with yellow eyes and a white-tipped tail. Over Kiera’s shoulder, Snip’s whiskers twitched at Malcolm, and—Malcolm’s stomach flipped—what was that? A smirk? A grimace? A sneer? What was Snip up to?
Then Malcolm realized why he couldn’t recognize it: It was the start of a smile.
Malcolm hadn’t even known that was possible.
Chapter 26
Behind McKenna
Now what? Malcolm wondered as he crept out from under the radiator to listen to the nutters and Ms. Brumble chattering in the hall below. Malcolm could hear their voices receding as they made their way down the hall. Jovahn was still trying to convince Ms. Brumble to go look for the portrait upstairs. She was saying they needed to call animal services for the cat. Kiera was insisting that her dad would take the cat to the vet. Skylar was trying not to trip on his shoelaces.
Malcolm watched them move away from the landing. So . . . he guessed that had worked? It hadn’t gone as planned, but from the looks of things, Snip didn’t seem to mind. He smiled to himself. It was a little like Aggy’s kale and butternut squash. He had a feeling that Snip would like this kale much better than her old butternut squash of the fourth floor. He just hoped she also enjoyed lots of loud singing.
Then, suddenly: “Hey!” Kiera cried. Snip stiffened in her arms. The cat’s ears perked up, and she twisted so that her yellow eyes lasered in on Malcolm at the top of the stairs.
Kiera and Snip struggled for a moment; then Snip leaped down and raced back down the hallway toward Malcolm. “Hey!” Kiera shouted again, and took off after Snip.
What the crumb? Now what was Snip up to? Ms. Brumble called out, “Wait! Kiera! Oh . . . for Pete’s sake!” And she chased after Kiera. Jovahn and Skylar didn’t even hesitate. And in seconds, the whole group was churning up the stairs, aiming right for Malcolm.
Scrap! Malcolm dove out of the way as Snip reached the landing. The cat rounded the corner and continued up the next flight of stairs. As she did, Malcolm thought he heard, “Come on, rat!”
Malcolm hesitated for a second, then zigged and zagged after the group, dodging Skylar’s untied shoelaces, which slapped the floor like whips.
Snip led them on a weaving, roundabout chase up to her domain: the closed fourth floor. Through a jungle of old tables, broken chairs, and chalkboards that had long ago been replaced. Back to a corner that Malcolm didn’t even know existed. Finally, she stopped. She wasn’t even breathing hard. Her yellow eyes gleamed as she waited for the humans and Malcolm to catch up.
Malcolm, on the other hand, was wheezing. He had followed in the shadows, darting from one to another. It was too dangerous to run out in the open. He watched, panting, behind the legs of two tables stacked on top of each other.
Kiera had managed to gather Snip in her arms again. “Kiera, be careful!” Ms. Brumble chided. “Obviously, that cat is unpredictable. And you guys”—she aimed her broom, which was still in her hand, at the other nutters—“shouldn’t be up here! You’re going to get me fired! Now, let’s go. I don’t want to hear another word about not calling animal services.”
But Skylar was pointing again. And Jovahn was already kneeling and not listening. Malcolm climbed up to the next level of stacked tables so he could peer down.
“Dude, it’s the dude,” Jovahn whispered.
Kiera pushed her way between Skylar and Jovahn. “Oh . . . kitty! You’ve done it!” She rubbed Snip’s ear, and Snip stretched her neck into Kiera’s. “You’ve found Walton McKenna.”
Because propped against a row of dented, paint-chipped lockers, leaning amid a stack of old chalkboards, was a painting. A painting of a man in an old-fashioned suit, with gray hair and round wire-rimmed glasses. His right hand rested on the head of an enormous floppy-eared dog.
Skylar touched a tear in the canvas over Walton McKenna’s left elbow. “That’s where I hit it with my shoe.” Then he turned and looked at Snip with round eyes. “Can you believe it? She heard us talk, and she brought us to it!”
There was a pause, and then Ms. Brumble said, “Oh, Skylar. That was just a coincidence.” She knelt down to study the painting. “We just trapped her in this corner. Or she was tired and stopped here.” But Malcolm saw her stealing glances at Snip out of the corner of her eye.
The nutters were quiet behind her. She stood and
looked around. “What? You don’t think so?” Finally, she shrugged and smiled. “What do I know?”
Jovahn reached out and gently fist-bumped Snip’s paw. “Way to go.”
“I suppose . . . since we found it, we might as well bring it down,” Ms. Brumble said. She handed her broom to Skylar. “Jovahn, can you grab the other side?” Together, they wound their way back through the fourth floor and down to Room 11.
They continued the debate over how the portrait was found all the way back to the room, where Skylar’s Gram was waiting to give everyone a ride home. You had some raised eyebrows over the cat, Mr. Binney, but Kiera’s parents were called and, like she predicted, she was picked up by her dad, who took them directly to a vet.
In fact, the debate over how the portrait was found became part of the story—part of the whole legend, really—from that day on. Did the cat lead them to the portrait, or was that just a coincidence?
What do you think, Mr. Binney?
No one asked Malcolm. But he knew.
He Knew.
Chapter 27
Ernie Bowman
Later that night, Malcolm called in a Ripe Tomato Alert to Room 11. He could never remember all the Midnight Academy alerts and what exactly they meant, but he knew a Ripe Tomato would get everyone there. Fast.
Maybe too fast. Polly came winging in. Honey Bunny loped in with Tank’s scooter in his teeth. He was moving so quickly, the scooter flung right past the door and banged into the wall. Tank slid off and landed on his back. “What is it, Malcolm?” Honey Bunny gasped.
“Uh . . .” Malcolm was quickly realizing that maybe he had made a mistake with the kind of alert he had called. He looked past Honey Bunny. “Are you all right, Tank?” Jesse James and Billy the Kid were pushing him back over onto his feet.
Tank craned his neck around. “I think I chipped my shell.”
Aggy came trudging up, her glasses on her nose, Pete clamped tightly to her ruff. “What’s”—gasp—“wrong”—gasp—“Malcolm?”
“Uh . . .” Malcolm said again. He looked around the circle of the Academy. They looked prepared to do battle. “First let me just say I’m sorry to get you all in a panic. I didn’t get the full pledge training, you know. It’s possible that I made the wrong alert call.”
Harriet looked around. “So there’s no emergency? I left a brand-new library book and there’s not an emergency?”
“Not exactly,” Malcolm admitted, then rushed to add, “But that’s not to say there isn’t something very important to share.”
Harriet grumped, “Perhaps you need to have a nutter read you the story of the boy who cried wolf.”
“You mean ‘the rat who cried Ripe Tomato’?” Jesse joked, and elbowed his sister.
“Okay, okay,” Aggy said, pushing her way forward. “What’s this about, Malcolm?”
Then she looked behind him. Her tongue flicked out. Once. Twice. “Is that . . . what I think it is?” she finally asked. Slowly, the group fell silent as they followed her gaze.
Malcolm nodded so hard, he swore he could feel his brain rattle a little. “Yes, I’m sorry to get you all worried. But we found . . . well, the nutters . . . actually Snip . . . now, that’s a really long story!” He laughed weakly. “We found the portrait of Walton McKenna. And . . .” He paused in a dramatic way that Kiera would definitely approve of. “Let me present Ernie himself.”
Instead of the gasps of recognition and congratulatory slaps on the back like Malcolm’s hero brain had prepped him for, his statement was greeted with a lot of confused sideways glances.
Finally, Billy spoke up. “I thought you just said it was Walton McKenna?”
“It is,” said Harriet flatly. “I’ve seen his picture in the yearbooks.”
“Are you saying that Walton McKenna is Ernie Bowman?” Honey Bunny asked, his brow furrowed in a question mark.
“No,” said Malcolm, realizing they were focusing in on the wrong thing. “No, no. Not the lanky! The critter. Look at the dog! Doesn’t he look familiar? That’s the dog from the coin. His name is Ernie.”
Aggy crept forward to peer at the portrait with her glasses perched on her nose. “It is the same dog. But how do you know his name?”
“Let me start at the beginning. Remember ‘In times of need, look beneath the oak under the stars behind McKenna’? Well this is ‘behind McKenna.’”
Malcolm disappeared behind the painting for a moment. It wiggled and the Academy critters could see through the hole in the portrait that Malcolm was removing something from the back of it. He came around the front again, pulling several pieces of drawing paper.
He spread them out in front of the group. There were three sketches. The first was of someone’s feet, wearing brand-new boots, crisscrossed and propped up against a fence post, with a dog’s head resting on them. The dog had a dreamy look to his eyes. It was the same dog as the one in the portrait. “Ernie” was written at the bottom.
The second was a blue jay with one leg bent crooked. The artist had caught him in midflight, but from the background, you could tell it was inside. “‘Blue,’” Billy read at the bottom of that page.
And the third. This was of a little girl—her back to the viewer, but peeking over her shoulder. “‘Thomas Jefferson, guinea pig extraordinaire,’” Tank read.
Harriet gasped. “Did you say ‘Thomas Jefferson’? The guinea pig? As in, the founding member of our Midnight Academy?”
Malcolm nodded. They were finally getting it! By now, Malcolm was sweating all the way up to his ears. Is this how hard it is to teach every day, Mr. Binney? Malcolm wished he had your laser pointer and document camera to help explain. “Yes! That’s Thomas Jefferson! I think Blue and Ernie were there at the beginning of the Academy too. Blue was the school mascot who lived in the library. She and Ernie were this guy’s”—he pointed to the boots—“pets. And he’s Randall Carson. The guy who did these pictures. And he’s the hobo man.” Malcolm waggled his eyebrows. “Get it? Hobo man?”
“You’ve lost me again, Malcolm,” Honey Bunny said.
Malcolm pulled out McKenna’s letter. “Just listen for a minute.” And he read the letter. And he explained about Ernie Bowman being Ernie and the hobo man, and the commas, and even Amelia sending the copy of the Hobo Code from her new school.
“Cheez, Malcolm, were you going to keep any more secrets?” Jesse asked.
“I wasn’t keeping them secret!” Malcolm said. “I just didn’t put it all together. Until now.”
“So . . . the traveler is . . . a hobo,” Harriet started. “And the dog—”
“Is Ernie.” Billy was starting to bounce, and Malcolm knew that meant she got it. “Ernie”—she pointed to the dog—“and the hobo man. Founders of the Midnight Academy and the first member of the Elastic Order of Suspenders.”
“Yes!” Malcolm let out a huge breath. Crumb, he should have told her first. She had explained it so much better—and in twenty words.
Honey Bunny cleared his throat. “I’m still back on Snip. She’s alive?” He cocked his head at Malcolm. “And you didn’t say?!”
“Later,” Aggy murmured. She had been remarkably quiet throughout all of this. “So, if the time capsule is ‘under the stars,’ and this is ‘behind McKenna,’ we’re still missing ‘beneath the oak.’”
Malcolm could have kissed her. He hoped she knew that he had saved this for her. He flipped the pictures over and pushed them toward her. “I found a note on the back.”
“‘Look in the auditorium wall, under the oak, R.C.,’” she read. “And then a Mark.” Four triangles—one large, three small. Malcolm had already used Amelia’s Hobo Code to figure it out. “It means ‘tell a good story,’” he explained.
“Cheez,” Billy said. “That’s a little more straightforward than our yearbook messages.”
“I suppose he had a little more to work with,” Honey Bunny pointed out. “Being able to hold a pencil and all.”
“Inside—under the oak.” Tank bonked his h
ead on the wall lightly. “How’d we miss that? Duh—we’re Inside critters, so probably it’s going to be . . . Inside.”
But Aggy wasn’t listening to any of that. She was watching Malcolm. She nodded at the portrait. “You’ve already figured this all out. Did you already go down there and look? Is it there? The Loaded Stash?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I haven’t gone. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Chapter 28
Tell a Good Story
Twenty minutes later, the group had reassembled—a little less hectically—in the auditorium. The giant fans were still running, so they had to shout, but the moon and starlight shone through the side windows—especially so now, without the Council Oak outside.
“I found it! Here!” Billy called out. And there, on the baseboard at the back of the auditorium, directly under Sylvia’s former nest, was a Mark. Two circles almost touching.
“What is it?” Harriet asked, looking up at Aggy. “What does it mean?”
“It’s another old one, not used anymore.” She touched it with a claw. “But definitely appropriate. It means ‘never give up.’”
“This is it! The Loaded Stash,” Pete crowed.
Jesse pointed to a vent on the wall—in fact, the very same vent had given Malcolm light so he could see that Sylvia was a squirrel the first time they met. “I bet we could get in there to see what’s behind it.” He elbowed Malcolm. “Let’s go!”
But Malcolm was starting to get a funny feeling in his stomach. Kind of like when you fill up your tray in the lunch line, only to find out that you don’t have any lunch money. “Um, guys,” he began to say. Because he knew—nothing was behind that Mark in the wall. Why, how many times had he run past it in the last few weeks? Surely he would have seen something. This was going to be another dead end. Another disappointment.