And he was enjoying every moment of it.
It wasn’t the tasks themselves (mind you, he was proud that he had finally conquered the vacuum). It was where he was. It was the people he was meeting. The members.
Like Belinda Carey, her hair multicolored like a tie-dyed shirt, who spent her days exploring the various sewer systems of cities in Europe and who was always the first person to call on if the toilet broke in the building. Or Tom Argall, who liked to immerse himself in the complex hierarchical world of leaves, sitting at the tops of trees for months until they adapted to him and made him part of the canopy. There was Lady Trill, who had a fondness for desert islands, and once survived an entire year with only a paperclip and a snow globe. And there was August C. Bourré, who believed the greatest adventures one could have were in one’s own backyard. He was infamous for having the largest number of arrests for trespassing in the backyards and gardens of various families around the world.
Of course there were more of them, and those who weren’t presently in the city and able to use the society headquarters were talked about so much that it seemed as if they were there.
And it wasn’t just the stories that were thrilling, it was the society headquarters itself.
Which room was his favorite? Could he even choose? The obvious one would have to be the library, which was also a kind of enclosed central courtyard. The space rose the height of the entire building, with books shelved floor to ceiling. At each floor of the building there ran a balcony around all sides that allowed access to books and also various rooms beyond. The tree grew there, tall and thick, its roots somewhere in the basement and its trunk rising up and up until it burst through the ceiling and continued up with its tree teahouse. Somehow, some clever soul had managed to fashion steps that wrapped around and through its trunk, allowing you access to all the levels of the room.
The library collection was vast. Each level had its own theme, and of course, Sebastian was most drawn to level four: the Human and Worldly and Not-So-Worldly Biology section. Not only did it have books on every species on the planet, and some books on species Sebastian was skeptical truly existed, it also had the most spectacular creature in the entire Explorers Society. Stretching the breadth of the north section of the library was a large skeleton of an Elasmosaurus, the long-necked carnivorous swimming dinosaur from the Late Cretaceous period that kind of looked like a brontosaurus from the torso up, but then it had fins instead of legs, and long sharp teeth. The skeleton was lit by blue and green lights for a fantastic effect that made it easy for Sebastian to picture it swimming through deep ancient seas.
There was also a room off the east side of level four that was filled with specimen jars containing all kinds of bugs and insects. But the most fascinating and probably freakiest part was the large room behind a hidden door made to look just like one of the bookshelves. You pulled on the book entitled Human Kinesiology and a room filled with actual human bodies was revealed. These bodies were stripped of skin, highlighting all the various muscles and tendons, and they were posed as if in action, revealing how the inner workings of the body would respond in different activities. One body was doing yoga, another was preparing to jump, another was baking a cake. All the bodies, Sebastian had learned, had been donated to the society, gifted by their owners in their wills (including the great Shakespearean actor Jonathan Llyr, sitting and holding his own head in the classic Hamlet pose).
Of course…there was also level five, the engineering level, and he couldn’t help but enjoy that one as well, considering everything his sister had told him about the subject. And there was a replica of the Wright brothers’ plane taking up much of the west side of the room, which was an extraordinary thing to see every day.
There was also the geology level with all its sparkling rocks and all its dull rocks, which turned out to be far more interesting in some ways than the sparkling ones.
There was the chemistry level…
There were lots of amazing levels.
So the library was the obvious first choice. But the library wasn’t everything.
“There’s more?” Sebastian had asked, his mouth still open wide from the awe he’d experienced upon first entering the library.
“Always assume there’s something more, Sebastian. That’s a good life lesson,” Myrtle replied in that matter-of-fact way of hers.
He had been shown the locker room where the explorers kept their personal belongings: “Make sure all the boots point toward Mount Kilimanjaro,” Myrtle had instructed.
He had seen the kitchens, where international chef-adventurer Tobias Wallace spent most of his time, experimenting with varied and unusual flavors. “This is from my latest expedition through the sulfur caves of Morocco,” he said, pointing to a small fishbowl. Sebastian looked more closely and saw what seemed to be puffs of smoke moving about. “Gaseous carp. They smell and taste like rotten eggs. They’re fantastic. Would you like to try?” Tobias held up a small flaky pastry and Sebastian shook his head.
“Uh, I just ate. Next time?”
“Let me put some in Tupperware for you. You can take them home to your parents.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
There was also the room piled high with empty Tupperware containers. “Just dump the contents into the compost hole there,” Myrtle had directed. Sebastian did and placed the empty container on top of a teetering pile. “We return all the containers at the end of the month. And the composting does wonders for the tree.”
Then there was the greenhouse, an addition to the rear of the building, all in glass framed by delicate Art Nouveau ironwork. It peaked in a Gothic arch, and swirls of wrought-iron vines and leaves grew up the supports. Warm and muggy, it was tended to by a husband and wife pair, the Dryers. Flora from all over the world could be found there: tall, slender trees with wide, flat green and orange leaves; small purple flowers that sent their pollen flying in bursts of purple and pink every fifty-nine minutes. Roses and daffodils, sunflowers and cacti. And it seemed almost every explorer had their own plot devoted to their own particular interests—transplanted items rescued from extinction, or weeds extracted from an overgrowth for further investigation.
Possibly the room that confused Sebastian the most was the leather chair room. It wasn’t that the room itself was confusing; it was pretty straightforward, actually. It was a room with a lot of leather chairs. Some were low and boxlike; others were tall wingbacks. Some were nothing more than stools with leather tops. They were all placed in groupings around low coffee tables in alcoves. Here members of the society would meet to relax, have a compelling conversation, or nap, isolated on their own. The latter really applied only to Henry McGuin, a small bald man who seemed always to be sleeping in the northeast corner, arms folded across his chest, his head leaning into the right seam of his chair. Games of various kinds sat on tables of various kinds, and cards were a particular favorite of the members, who sat playing with them for hours, laughing but also getting fiercely furious at times.
This room confused Sebastian so much not because of what was in it, but because of how it made him feel. Which was mostly out of place. As if he was still trespassing even though he wasn’t anymore. As if he shouldn’t be there, didn’t fit in or belong. It wasn’t just that he was a kid and everyone else was a grown-up. No, Sebastian had always been able to get along quite well with grown-ups. It was that he wasn’t an explorer. He couldn’t share stories, couldn’t share laughs. All he could do was wipe away the odd watermark and clear up crumbs with the handheld vacuum and dust around the objects in the large glass case between windows labeled with such interesting titles as “Dragonlace Vase, 33 BC” and “Flaming Mosquito Bicuspid, 1969” and “Gold Orb, date unknown.”
But more than just a weird feeling, there was a sense of longing. A sense that not fitting in mattered to him in a way that not fitting in had never mattered. He had never felt a need to be popular at school, to find that social grouping that would finally give him a sense of belong
ing. He had never thought he didn’t belong in the first place. Maybe it was because he had always perfectly belonged with his family. Maybe it was because belonging didn’t really affect his future career options.
Here, though, at The Explorers Society…Here. Here he hated that he didn’t really belong. That he was here because, without knowing it, he’d done something wrong. He hadn’t earned the right to be here. He hadn’t even known what here was until just a couple of days ago. The leather chair room was the room where the members gathered to talk about their adventures old and upcoming, the room most populated by members at any given moment, and it was the room where Sebastian felt most out of place, surrounded by so many amazing people who had earned the right to be in the society.
So it was with great trepidation that he pushed open the door to the leather chair room and went in. There was thankfully only one small group toward the back by the windows. In short order, Sebastian had pushed the chairs back into place, mopped up three spilled drinks, and dusted off the tables and windowsills. Maybe tomorrow he should wash the windows?
He finally approached the group in the back. One gentleman Sebastian didn’t recognize gave him a small nod, and Sebastian quickly grabbed a couple of empty glasses and cleared a few crumpled napkins. There was, of course, a waitstaff who could do that as well, but he really wanted to impress the members. Stand out. Go beyond the call of duty.
For some reason.
“The Ice Queen cometh,” said Lady Trill with a smile, and Sebastian instinctively looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Myrtle was making her way toward the group. She sat down in a low-slung chair and reclined, releasing a contented sigh. Then she looked at Sebastian.
“Good! Sebastian, have a seat. We need to talk.”
He didn’t need to be ordered twice, not by anyone usually, and certainly not by Myrtle. Sebastian pulled up a small stool and sat facing the group.
“Do you know everyone here?” she asked.
Sebastian nodded. “Almost everyone. Lady Trill, Edmund Banks, the Hopper. I don’t know that gentleman.” He gestured toward the man sitting to her left.
“I’m Llewellyn Tracy,” replied the man in a melodious voice. He smiled politely and stroked his neatly trimmed black beard.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Sebastian, I need to ask you something, and you have to be honest with me,” said Myrtle, leaning forward and looking at him hard.
“I always am.” He sat a little straighter in his chair, ready to answer any question she should ask in the most efficient and direct way possible.
“Yes, I know, so unfortunate. What exactly have you been getting up to in the time since you started working here?”
Was it a trick question? Sebastian couldn’t tell. He hadn’t found Myrtle to be anything other than extraordinarily straightforward. And yet, wasn’t the answer kind of obvious? “Well, I mean, the stuff you told me to do,” he answered hesitantly. “Cleaning.”
Myrtle sighed hard and leaned back in her seat. She gave Lady Trill a look, and the long-haired brunette shook her head.
“Did I say something wrong?” He slouched ever so slightly, not happy with the idea that he might have displeased her.
“If I may,” said Llewellyn Tracy, “I’m afraid the issue is that you’ve done something right. And not just something, but everything.” It sounded as if it ought to be a compliment, but his singsongy voice was in a minor key.
“I…” Sebastian had nothing. “I don’t get it.”
“Do you know why the society agreed to let your punishment be to help out instead of calling the police or wiping your mind of the memories of your visit here?” asked the Hopper, a small man in plaid sitting on the edge of his chair, feet dangling above the floor.
“Wait—you can do that?”
“No, of course not. No such technology exists. Besides, there are the moral implications. The point was that we had other options, both real and imaginary, and yet we agreed to this one. Why do you think that is?”
The answer was obvious. Or maybe it wasn’t. Sebastian was feeling less sure of himself by the moment. “Because you needed the extra help?” he asked tentatively.
Myrtle leaned toward him once again and took his hand in hers. It was soft and warm, as if she were wearing a well-worn leather glove. “Because you needed the extra help.”
“With what?”
“With pushing the boundaries, with breaking the rules, with getting yourself into trouble.”
“Why on earth would I want to do any of those things?” Just thinking about it made his stomach tighten, and it felt as if something heavy were suddenly sitting on his chest.
“Sebastian, do you know how penicillin was discovered?”
“Uh…I think it was by accident,” replied Sebastian.
“Yes,” said Myrtle. “Because the man who discovered it, Mr. Fleming, had been remiss in cleaning his petri dishes and mold had grown. If he had been like you with your mop and bucket, imagine what a different world this would be.”
Now, this was hardly fair, and Sebastian was starting to get sincerely angry. His punishment was that he was supposed to help out at the headquarters, and cleaning it had been a big part of that. They had told him to mop the floors. Shown him where the bucket was kept. It wasn’t as if he had appeared on their stoop just begging the members to clean up after them or anything.
“So now you don’t want me to clean? Fine, I’m happy not to clean. Should I just sit here, then?”
“Oh my, he’s gone all petulant,” said the Hopper in what could only be described as a condescending tone.
“At least he’s talking back a little,” replied Llewellyn Tracy.
“Sebastian.” Myrtle ignored the others, her gaze pinned on Sebastian as if she was studying him carefully. “Some time in the next week I want you to do something inappropriate, okay?”
Sebastian inwardly rolled his eyes and outwardly frowned. “Sure, fine, whatever.” It seemed so silly, so stupid. And anyway, was it really inappropriate if he did what was asked of him? And why did any of it matter? He lived a perfectly good life. A perfectly appropriate life.
But he still had that spark of determination to prove himself to them for some reason, and so Sebastian began his campaign over the next several days, resolved that somehow he would manage to do something “inappropriate.” He left his water glass on the wooden table in the hallway instead of on a coaster. Well, he tried to, at any rate, but it just didn’t feel right punishing a vintage Louis XVI table when he was the one in trouble, so he quickly removed it a moment later. He ignored his summons to the leather chair room…for a full five minutes. He even showed up late one day for work, sitting outside playing with his key to the headquarters for twenty minutes until he finally came inside. No one remotely noticed.
It all seemed so pointless, and as the week wore on, Sebastian wondered if maybe he could just lie. Lying, after all, was inappropriate, and maybe he could say he’d done something truly terrible when no one was watching. People rarely watched him.
Except when they did.
It was when he decided to tackle the archives that Sebastian finally found his moment of inappropriateness. And much like mold growing in an unwashed petri dish, this moment of inappropriateness grew from something slightly unpleasant into something that would change the course of a person’s life: Sebastian’s.
Dramatic music plays now.
Or…not.
(Okay, who’s in charge of the dramatic music, because I was told it was going to play now and it hasn’t and this is seriously unacceptable.)
The archives were Sebastian’s least favorite part of the society headquarters. It wasn’t that what they contained wasn’t interesting. In fact, there were some fascinating personal histories filed under Q that he had started to read. It was just that the place was impossible to keep clean. No matter how hard he dusted, there was always a layer of grime that wouldn’t go away. Even when he tried with soap and water and really sc
rubbed, the tops of the filing cabinets, the tables, the floors, all of it stayed stained and the dust would find its way back again. Like an irritating game of hide-and-seek. The particles waited for him to leave the room, and then each piece of dust would dutifully float back into place.
Possibly part of the reason for this was that the archives were little more than a hollowed-out cave in the ground. The roots of the great tree pushed through the ceiling above him and twisted their way down the walls. The floor was covered in a kind of stone, but even so the earth peeked through, and could never be fully swept away.
Aside from the cleanliness factor, the room was also gloomy, lit by a single bulb, a bland pale light that hardly escaped its own glass encasing. It would make Sebastian’s eyes grow heavy. And time would seem meaningless and work would happen in slow motion. Sometimes even appearing to run backward.
This was why Sebastian didn’t actually mind the company of the pig in the teeny hat, despite the fact that it always seemed like the pig was judging him a little bit. Sebastian would talk to the pig to keep himself awake and focused. And on occasion he could swear that it did appear as though the pig could understand him.
“See! This is what I mean! I just cleaned that spot five minutes ago and it’s filthy again!” Sebastian said, and the pig gave a little snort back in what Sebastian hoped was solidarity.
Sebastian sighed hard. “Pass me the scrub brush?” he asked, knowing full well the pig would have no idea what he was asking for. But the pig turned and looked, stood up, and wandered over to the scrub brush. Sebastian watched in amazement as the pig picked it up and came trotting over to him. “Uh, thanks…,” said Sebastian, reaching out to take the brush from the pig’s mouth.
The Door in the Alley Page 4