by F. C. Shaw
August the First
Having solved the class schedule, Rollie felt more confident about attending Sherlock Academy—until he realized that VIAL had four letters and clearly V did not stand for a title like professor. He mentioned this to Cecily the next day, and she reminded him that some people have two middle names or, in some rare cases, two last names. They decided to count this as a possibility.
Much to their surprise, the days trickled by quickly, and before they knew it, the end of July came. On Sunday, the day before August first, the Wilson household erupted into chaos in preparation for Rollie’s first day of school. Lucille and Daphne pointed out they were luckier than him because their summer holiday continued until September. Edward and Stewart warned everyone they were not taking Rollie to school every day, until Mr. Wilson reminded them that Rollie would be boarding there and would be brought home every Friday evening for the weekend by the Academy’s taxi service. Mrs. Wilson made sure Rollie remembered to pack his toothbrush, his slippers, his bathrobe, and “oh, what about your nice slacks, and don’t forget a copy of the family portrait.” Auntie Ei remained the only calm person in the manor that afternoon. She sat in the library pretending to read the newspaper, but really eavesdropping on everyone.
As Rollie passed the open library door, she spoke to him. “Rollin, come in here a moment.”
Rollie hurried into the library. He almost hadn’t heard her over the din of everyone else. “What is it, Auntie? Mum wants me to grab my—”
“Never mind that right now. I have something important to give you.” She held out an ordinary looking jar of orange marmalade. “Take it.”
Rollie took it, confused. It was a small jar holding maybe one cup of orange marmalade. It was sealed with wax, and labeled with a tag that read A good snack for the LIBRARY. “Uh, thanks, Auntie.”
“You’re very welcome, Rollin. Perhaps it will remind you of home.”
“Perhaps.” Rollie wanted to remind her that he didn’t care for marmalade on toast and preferred only hash browns for breakfast, but he was not about to hurt the old woman’s feelings by seeming ungrateful, so he nodded in agreement.
“When you’ve eaten it all, save the jar. You may find it useful.” She folded the newspaper she had been reading, and held it out to him. “Please toss this in the rubbish. I’m through reading it.”
Rollie took the Daily Telegraph from her and read the headline: “Scotland Yard Discovers New Lead on Herr Zilch.”
“Well, this is good news, isn’t it?” Rollie pointed to the headline.
“It would be if it was true,” Auntie Ei said. “The Yard is always finding a new lead that leads nowhere in the hunt for Herr Zilch.” She looked worried.
Rollie did not understand Auntie Ei’s obsession with the news, in particular news on the elusive Herr Zilch. “Why are you always so interested in Herr Zilch?”
Auntie Ei frowned. “He has plagued this city for fifteen years. I have been following the news about him for that long, believe it or not. I would like nothing more than for him to be found, caught, and brought to justice for his robberies, murders, and betrayals.” Her croaky voice caught slightly, and she gave a little moan.
“Are you alright, Auntie?” asked Rollie. He noticed she looked a little pale.
“It’s nothing—just a bit of indigestion.” She cleared her throat and continued, “Now run along and finish packing.”
As Rollie left the library, she called after him, “Don’t forget to pack that marmalade!”
****
The next morning, being the first of August and thus the first day of school for Rollie, the Wilson family crowded together in the entry hall with Rollie’s one suitcase and two boxes. Rollie endured farewell pinches and hair ruffling from his older twin brothers, and dainty hugs from his younger twin sisters. When the horse-drawn hansom pulled up to the house at eight, the family pressed together for a final farewell.
“Wash behind your ears, and air your socks and—”
“Eloise, that’s enough,” Mr. Wilson cut in. “Rollie’s a good boy. He’ll be fine.”
“He’s never gone away to school before.”
“Mum, I’ll be home on the weekends.”
“Or sooner,” Edward smirked. “Stew and I have a bet that you’ll get homesick by Wednesday.”
“I’m saying Thursday,” Stewart added. “He’ll be home by Thursday.”
“Son, I’m saying Friday.”
“Dad, I’m planning to come home every Friday.”
“I know, son, I’m joking with you.” Mr. Wilson gave him a wink and a firm squeeze on the shoulder. “Time to go.” He picked up Rollie’s suitcase and carried it to the cab. “Boys, grab his boxes!”
Grumbling, the twins each picked up a box and carried them to the cab. Lucille and Daphne helped each other carry his book bag. Mrs. Wilson pulled Rollie to her and hugged him.
“Be safe, and be good,” she whispered in his ear. “Study hard and have fun.”
“Bye, Mum. I’ll see you in a week.” Rollie turned to Auntie Ei. He leaned in for a hug, and she patted his back.
“Do you have that jar of marmalade?”
“Yes, Auntie, in one of those boxes.”
“Good boy. Keep your eyes and ears open and trust your instincts.” She nodded curtly and gave him a nudge down the front steps. Then she turned back inside to go read in the library.
Rollie waved to his family as he climbed inside the cab. The driver flicked the reins and started the hansom down the road to Cecily’s house where she waited alone by the front gate. As the driver loaded her luggage, she climbed inside.
“Where’s your family?” Rollie asked. “Didn’t they want to say goodbye?”
“I said goodbye to them this morning,” Cecily shrugged. “Did you have a whole farewell procession?”
Rollie ignored her question. “I can’t wait to get there!” He practically bounced on his seat in anticipation.
The anticipation lasted another twenty minutes until they stopped at 221 Baker Street. The driver jumped down from his perch and opened the cab doors. “Go ‘head and check in. I’ll deliver yer luggage to yer rooms.”
As they hopped out of the cab, Rollie and Cecily noticed the street crowded with hansoms and a long line of children leading to the front door. They found the end of the line at the corner of the building, and stepped into place.
Soon the line moved forward as the front doors opened. When Rollie and Cecily reached the front doors, they found a welcome sign that instructed them to find their first class of the day.
“This is it,” Rollie exhaled. “This is when we find out if we solved the class schedule.” He pulled out his notepad from his back pocket and flipped to the schedule he and Cecily had jotted down. “Room A should be on this ground floor.” He led Cecily down a hallway filled with other children.
The only rooms on the first floor were the headmaster’s office, the library, the orientation room, and a locked storage closet. They ventured upstairs to the second floor and quickly found room A. The one-time flat had been converted into a classroom with individual desks and chairs facing a blackboard. Several charts covered the walls. The charts, all having to do with numbers and letters arranged oddly, did not make sense. Unsure if there was a seating chart, Rollie and Cecily chose two desks side-by-side, two rows from the front.
“I like to be close,” Cecily whispered.
“But not too close in case we’re wrong and have to leave,” Rollie added, sliding into his chair.
As the clock ticked towards nine o’clock, several students filed into the classroom. They chose seats and roved their eyes around. At nine o’clock, the teacher marched into the room and towered in front of the blackboard.
“Welcome to your first class at Sherlock Academy. I am Katherine E. Yardsly.”
Nine O’clock
/> Rollie and Cecily glanced at each other excitedly.
“Students, if you are in the correct class, I will call your name from my roll sheet,” Katherine E. Yardsly called, whipping out a sheet of paper from her desk. “If you are not in the correct class, you will return to the entry hall and attempt to solve the class schedule again. Understand?” She looked around the room, but did not seem to want an answer. She snapped her eyes back to the roll sheet. “Brighton!”
“Here!” Cecily answered, and blew a sigh of relief.
“Fraser!”
“Yes, that’s me! I’m here!” one pale boy answered, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.
“Hawkins!”
“Thank goodness!” one dark-haired girl exhaled.
Ms. Yardsly worked down the list, responded by relieved boys and girls. When the name Tildon was called, Rollie recognized the dark-haired boy he had met in the rearranging library. Rollie jumped when his name was called.
“Wilson!”
“Present!”
“That concludes the class list.” She eyed two girls sitting in the back. “Go back downstairs to the foyer and solve the class schedule.”
The two girls fumbled to their feet and ducked out the door.
“Good job to you who found your first class. Are there any questions before we commence?”
No one moved.
Ms. Yardsly turned to the blackboard, grabbed a piece of chalk, and feverishly scribbled on it. Then she spun back around, and stepped aside so the class could read the board. They were not surprised to find that it made no sense.
“Your first assignment is to learn which class this is by decoding what I have written on the board. Use your own ingenuity. You may use the paper and pencil in your desk. You have two minutes. Go!”
Rollie copied down the letters.
ADBECCDOEDFIGNHG ICJOKULRMSNE OLPEQVRESL TOUNVEW
Rollie focused on the board, his eyes widening and narrowing. He circled every third letter, like he and Cecily often did when deciphering their own codes.
He ended up with BCEI—not a word, so he tried something else. He worked backwards and got VOSVP—not a word either.
Time ticked by; a minute left.
He squinted again. He circled every other letter and found that every other letter was the alphabet: ABCDEF . . . .The remaining letters spelled . . . DECODIN—
“Time’s up! Pencils down! Who has it?”
Eliot S. Tildon shot up his hand. “Decoding Course Level One!”
“You are correct. In this class, you will learn about codes and ciphers. You will learn how to crack the easiest and some of the hardest codes known. Having a resource of codes and ciphers is invaluable to a detective. You will remember that Sherlock Holmes had several occasions to crack codes. The cipher you cracked here . . .” Ms. Yardsly tapped the board with her chalk, “is one of the simpler ciphers used. You had to circle every other letter to find the message. Second assignment: use this code to write down three words to describe me. You have two minutes. Go!”
Rollie thought of three words: icy, stern, and tall. He penciled down these three words, hiding them in the alphabet. He barely finished jotting down the last letter in tall when she barked, “Time’s up, pencils down!”
Every student dropped his pencil and stared up at her. One young girl wearing spectacles, who Rollie remembered from orientation, even put her hands up in the air to show she had dropped her pencil.
“I do a little thing called ‘pair-and-share’. You pair up with a partner and share what you’ve learned. Wherever you have chosen to sit will be your seat the rest of the year. And whoever I assign as your partner today will be your pair-and-share partner for the rest of the term. Understand?” She did not wait for a reply. Instead she maneuvered around the room, pointing to different students, saying, “You and you, partners. You and you, partners . . .”
Rollie and Cecily were dismayed when Ms. Yardsly did not pair them up. Rollie got paired with Eliot behind him and Cecily got paired with the girl wearing spectacles, whose name was Tabbitha—Tibby for short.
“Hey, I remember you from orientation,” Eliot said when Rollie turned around in his chair.
“I’m Rollin, but I go by Rollie.”
“Eliot. There’s no way to short-cut Eliot.”
“Eli?”
Eliot made a face. “Nope, Eliot it is. How old are you?”
“I’ll be twelve on November first.”
“That’s still a long ways off. You should just say eleven and a half until it’s at least October.”
Rollie was unsure how seriously to take Eliot, but Eliot seemed to take himself very seriously. “How old are you?”
“I just turned twelve in June.”
“That’s a while ago.”
“Not really. It’s a summer birthday and we’re still in summer. See, the way I figure it, if your birthday is in the same season as you currently are, then you can say ‘I’ll be twelve in November.’ But if your birthday is in a different season than the current one, then you should just say your age.” He nodded firmly, signifying the discussion over.
“I’ve never heard of that before,” Rollie countered. “I think everyone should be able to say what they want. There shouldn’t be any rules for that sort of thing.”
“If there were more rules, there’d be less crime.”
“What does that have to do with birthdays?”
“Nothing. Rules do.”
“I thought we were talking about birthdays.”
“You changed the subject,” Eliot pointed out.
“No, I didn’t, you just said—”
“Rollin E. Wilson!”
Both Rollie and Eliot jumped in their seats. Ms. Yardsly towered over them, her mouth set in a firm line and her eyes locking with theirs.
“Let me clarify that pair-and-share time is to be used for assignments, not for your personal banter. Do you understand?”
This time Rollie was sure she wanted an answer. “Yes, Ms. Yardsly.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then ordered, “Swap papers, decode each other’s three adjectives, and swap back.” She turned on her heel and marched back to the front of the classroom.
Cecily gave Rollie a sympathetic smile, and went back to decoding Tibby’s paper. Eliot held out his paper to Rollie. Rollie snatched the paper, tossed his to Eliot, and spun back around in his chair. He quickly circled every other letter and decoded Eliot’s three descriptive words: tall, loud, icy. Funny that Eliot would use the word icy also. Rollie thought it was a creative adjective to use. He turned back around, swapped papers, and returned facing forward.
“Psst!” he heard behind him. “Rollie.”
Rollie turned his head a bit. “I’m not talking to you. You got me in trouble.”
“Sorry about that, but you should have just agreed with me. Accept my apology, chum?”
Rollie nodded reluctantly.
“Do you get what I’m saying about the birthdays?”
Rollie rolled his eyes. He could not believe Eliot brought it up again, just after they had been warned not to talk. Maybe if he ignored Eliot, then Eliot would get the hint.
“Do you? I think the season really makes a difference. And by the way, do—”
“I don’t think this is important,” Rollie hissed as he spun around. “So stop talking to me or we’ll—”
“Rollin E. Wilson! Did I not just clarify my rules for pair-and-share? Furthermore, pair-and-share is over, so there is no excuse for your turning in your seat and talking with Eliot S. Tildon! You will write the sentence of my choosing one hundred times after class.”
Rollie dropped his head on his desk partly in frustration and partly in shame. He waited for Eliot to step up and admit he had contributed to the conversation. No word came from behind. Ms. Ya
rdsly lectured on the history of a few codes, but Rollie barely heard her. He was fuming inside. He was mad at Eliot, but also at himself. He always strove to follow the rules and apply himself as a student. His teachers always liked him and felt proud of him. Now he had made a horrible first impression to his first teacher on the first day of school. He wondered if he should mention Eliot’s involvement. No, he did not want to worsen his first impression by being a tattletale.
Soon Ms. Yardsly dismissed the class and declared recess for thirty minutes on the rooftop. As the students filed out of the room, she stationed herself behind her desk.
“Rollin E. Wilson, come forth.”
Rollie tiptoed up to her desk. He kept his eyes on the floor.
“Take this pencil and paper and write the sentence I dictate to you.” She cleared her throat as Rollie prepared to write. “Ms. Yardsly made a hasty judgment in punishing me over Eliot.”
Rollie snapped his eyes up to her.
“Rollin, I realize now Eliot got you in trouble,” she said in the softest tone he had heard her use yet, though still firm. “It was noble of you to take your punishment without tattling on him. Write the sentence. Once is sufficient. It will make you feel like justice was served. That’s all for today.” She waved her hand at him to go.
Still surprised, Rollie stumbled back, bumping into a desk. He turned and headed for the door.
“And Rollin?”
He turned around.
“Don’t make the same mistake I did by judging things too quickly.”
He smiled. “Yes, Ms. Yardsly. Thank you.”
The school’s rooftop looked like an average recess area with tables and benches, hopscotch courts, and even a plot of grass for field games. A tall chain-link fence guarded the perimeter, and offered the students a great view of the neighborhood and nearby Regent’s Park. Students sat at the tables and ate their morning snacks. Some skip-roped, played hopscotch, or stood around chatting. Rollie spotted Cecily nibbling on toast at one table. Tibby sat next to her.