“It just so happens,” said the rather proud and sunny Mrs. Thimbleton, “that I’ve just finished organizing a special welcome for the students this year. Now if you’ll come sit down and stop giving Adélaïde here the wrong impression with all your lurking in doorways, I’ll tell you about it so you can surprise your class first thing this morning.”
Mrs. Thimbleton gave Adélaïde the note. Adélaïde thanked her and circumnavigated Mrs. Murkley, doubting the brutish woman saw her at all because she nearly slammed the door on her good leg.
It was still early and there was time before class, so Adélaïde decided to wander the halls. The Button Factory was a unique place, but its seemingly endless pale yellow corridors dotted with countless windows felt uncomfortably familiar to her. After getting lost a number of times, she poked her head into a students’ room. There was one for each grade, and she thought it looked comfortable. She walked past the armchairs and couches and sat in a window seat overlooking a vast unkempt courtyard with a crumbling fountain at the center. She stayed there awhile, watching as tiny dots of students made their way along winding paths. In groups of two and three, students began trickling into the room. They sat together on couches, but no one noticed the girl in the window.
Against the far wall were two lavatory doors. Adélaïde left the window and stepped inside the girls’ room to tighten her leg. Just as she finished, Alice P. Suggins entered.
♦ CROCODILE IN DENIAL ♦
Adélaïde stood before a long row of sinks pretending not to notice the girl who was now glaring at her.
“That’s an ugly sock,” said Alice.
“It’s not a sock,” she replied. “It’s a wooden leg.”
Alice (who was a girl with the grace of a swan yet the killer instincts of a hawk) swooped in to get a closer look.
“What happened to you?” Alice asked.
Adélaïde met the girl’s eyes. “A crocodile,” she replied, and turned back to the sink to wash her hands.
Alice didn’t buy it. “Where would you have seen a crocodile?” she said with her nose to the air. “There are no crocodiles in Rosewood.”
The first thing that popped into Adélaïde’s head was the Nile, as a matter of fact and that’s what she said. “I’m not from Rosewood,” she added. “Can’t you tell from my accent?”
Alice did notice the accent. “The Nile?” she repeated.
“Yes, the Nile is filled with crocodiles.”
Adélaïde dried her hands and left the girls’ lavatory, hoping that would put an end to it. It didn’t. Alice couldn’t keep such a story to herself. A few hallway whispers later, Adélaïde’s tiny thread of misinformation was woven into a magnificent tapestry depicting a tale of adventure and mischance and woe.
“She was traveling across Egypt,” said Charlie H. Brimble. “In a hot air balloon.”
“And she wanted to photograph the Nile,” said Molly S. Mellings. “But she leaned too far and fell in.”
“She was lucky enough to survive,” said Alice P. Suggins. “But a crocodile ripped her leg clean off.”
MEMBER OF THE ROSEWOOD PUBLIC LIBRARY
WILLOW ACADEMY LIBRARY
• BOOK REQUEST CARD •
REQUEST NO. 37954
Miss Whitewood,
Would you please find a book on crocodiles? Where they live and what they eat. Thanks.
Archer Helmsley
Archer tapped the request card against the second-floor book request station while looking over his shoulder at Oliver.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Oliver wasn’t. “But that’s what everyone is saying. You’ve seen her leg. That’s not normal.”
It certainly wasn’t. Archer put the request card into a container and the container into the tube to the library. A healthy dose of jealousy enveloped him as they hurried down the corridors to class.
“What kind of person falls out of a hot air balloon in the desert?” he asked.
“A reckless one,” said Oliver.
“No,” said Archer. “One like my grandparents. They survived a desert plane crash. I’ve never survived anything.”
“That’s a good thing,” said Oliver.
Archer disagreed.
“Well, your head was inside the jaws of a polar bear. That’s something.”
“It might be,” said Archer. “If the polar bear wasn’t dead.”
Archer and Oliver found their class and took two seats at the back of the room. Hearing all of the students whispering about Adélaïde made Archer feel worse. It’s an odd thing to be jealous of a girl whose leg was eaten by a crocodile. Few people would be jealous of that. But Archer was few people. And it wasn’t so much the loss of a limb as it was the entire story. Archer knew a great many people were able to do a great many things he couldn’t—but my own neighbor? Living just across the gardens?
“It can’t be true,” Archer said.
Oliver opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. The room fell silent. Archer spun around. The crocodile girl was standing in the doorway.
You might think Adélaïde would be nervous because she was in a new country and she’d never attended a real school before, but Adélaïde was never a casualty of stage fright. Still, as she walked past the stares and sniggers of the other students to take her seat in the final desk of the final row, she wished she could blend in better.
“She doesn’t look like she’s done such things,” Archer whispered.
“That means it’s probably true,” said Oliver. “My father says I should never trust someone who looks the part.”
Adélaïde sat quietly staring out the window, ignoring the whispers that began once more. She didn’t have to ignore them for long, because a minute later the door flew open and knocked against the blackboard with a force strong enough to blow every last whisper out the open windows. Archer’s heart took a hit with the blackboard. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen a door open like that.
CHAPTER
NINE
♦ ARCTIC-RELATED ACCIDENTS ♦
Mrs. Murkley marched across the room without acknowledging a single student. She plopped her bag and a stack of papers on the desk and proceeded to stare out the window for a few moments. The students exchanged glances. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing:
Did she see us? thought Charlie H. Brimble.
Is she blind? thought Molly S. Mellings.
She needs a new dress, thought Alice P. Suggins.
The other students knew nothing about their new teacher. Archer did. And he couldn’t believe his luck, if luck is the right word. He had managed to avoid being seen by Mrs. Murkley all summer long. Now she stood before him, in all her glory, and he was certain she would do a number on him. He lowered his head to the desk behind a well-fed boy named Digby Fig.
Mrs. Murkley left the window to assume her position in front of the class. She studied the young faces looking back at her and appeared to dissect them, one by one. After this preliminary once-over, she began.
“My name is Mrs. Murkley,” she announced without ceremony. “And it’s quite clear in looking at all of you that your feeble Mrs. Thimbleton has been running a rather loose ship. This changes now.”
Before she could continue, Alice raised her hand. Mrs. Murkley twisted her head in the girl’s direction.
“A problem already?” she asked.
Alice shook her brightly beaming head from side to side. “First of all,” she said. “I wanted to say that I love your dress. I also wanted to be the first to welcome you to our school. My name is Alice and I will be glad to assist with anything you might need.”
Mrs. Murkley’s smile was not one to warm the cockles of your heart.
“A kind gesture, my dear Alice,” she replied. “And I have one for you as well. I shall place you at the very top of my list.”
Alice allowed herself a proud smile. “Thank you,” she replied.
Mrs. Murkley’s laugh didn’t warm the cockles either. “And wh
y, may I ask, are you smiling?” she snorted.
“Because—” Alice hesitated, “because it’s good to be on top.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s the case elsewhere in this school,” said Mrs. Murkley. “But I can assure you that in here, it’s the very last place you’ll want to be. Now are you quite finished with your little routine?”
Alice blushed. “What routine?” she asked quietly.
Mrs. Murkley soured. “Honestly, Alice! You love my dress, do you?” She turned to the rest of the class. “I would like everyone to take good note of this. Our dear Alice here is a perfect example of why one mustn’t spend too much time in the sunlight. Now put your elixirs away. I’m not buying anything. And pipe down. I don’t want to hear another word from you.”
The students shifted in their seats. For reasons Archer couldn’t figure out, Charlie Brimble threw up his hand.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Archer.
“Committing suicide,” whispered Oliver.
Mrs. Murkley groaned. “Can’t I get two words out before you all start laying your issues at my feet?”
Charlie lowered his hand a little.
“Come now, string bean,” Mrs. Murkley continued. “Tell us your problem. Clothes can’t find enough hip or shoulder to grab on to? Whatever it is, I can’t promise results, but I’ll roll up the sleeves and try my best.”
With the entire class and Mrs. Murkley now glaring at him, Charlie’s thoughts bounced around like an egg being hard-boiled.
“I—uh, I just—” he tried.
Mrs. Murkley shook her head. “This place is far worse than I thought,” she said. “I’ve seen tree stumps with greater cognition.”
She folded her arms and tapped her foot while waiting for Charlie to say something, but it’s awfully difficult to think once your thoughts have been hard-boiled. All Charlie managed was, “Never mind.”
Mrs. Murkley grinned. “Very good,” she chirped. “I sense improvement in you already. Still, let’s put you in slot number two on my list so Alice won’t feel alone. Now where was I?” Mrs. Murkley looked out at the sea of students and caught sight of Archer.
Archer still had his head lowered to his desk, and while some adults might struggle to tell the difference between a boy and plank of a wood, Mrs. Murkley was a professional and well versed in the defining aspects of each. “It’s all in the grain,” she’ll tell you. “A boy will have countless more knots than a plank of wood.”
Something peculiar happened when Mrs. Murkley saw him. He assumed she would be furious. He’d sent her to the hospital, after all. The strange thing was, she didn’t look angry. Not in the least. It was just the opposite, in fact. She appeared downright gleeful, as though she might burst at the seams and he would have to duck as chunks of Murkley soared over his head. Archer’s palms grew sweaty.
“Alfred!” she cried. “Oh yes! I did so very much hope to see you in my class. I take back what I said about Mrs. Thimbleton. She’s a clever lady, that one. Thought you did away with me, did you?”
The students twisted their necks to stare at Archer.
“And it goes without saying,” Mrs. Helmsley had said just before Archer left the house that morning. “That if you see Mrs. Murkley, you will apologize.”
While engaging this woman a second time was the last thing Archer wanted to do, he took a deep breath, raised his head, and tried his best to explain the accident.
“Accident?” repeated Mrs. Murkley. “You want me to believe it was an accident? That’s rich, my dear. Chocolate fudge, that is. So you accidentally fell asleep with your head inside a polar bear’s mouth? And you accidentally rolled a glass eye from that mouth. I see. And then you accidentally tried to explode my heart?”
The students exchanged grins. They were fascinated. Mrs. Murkley turned to them.
“Tell me,” she said, “has anyone here accidentally fallen asleep with their head inside a polar bear?”
Not a single hand went up.
“I wouldn’t think so,” said Mrs. Murkley. She clasped her hands and flashed Archer a poisonous smile. “But perhaps you’re right, Alfred. Perhaps the whole ordeal was an accident, as you say. Yes, your family does have a rather peculiar history of Arctic-related accidents, don’t they?”
Archer bit his tongue and turned a light mauve, sorry he’d opened his mouth. Oliver began poking him in the back. He knew what it meant. It meant, Don’t do something foolish and get yourself thrown out a window or shipped off to Raven Wood. But as Mrs. Murkley took a few steps in their direction, the poking stopped.
“Yes, perhaps it was an accident,” Mrs. Murkley continued. “But today is a new day. Today we put this accidental lifestyle of yours up on the shelf. Today we replace it with a purposeful existence. That’s the task I see before me. That’s why I’m here. That’s what brought me to your doorstep. There’s hope for you yet, my dear boy, and I must try my best, for we should all very much hate to see you go the way of the iceberg like those loons.”
Archer’s toes curled and he bubbled with anger.
“They’re not loons,” he said quietly, behind clenched teeth.
“What’s that?” asked Mrs. Murkley.
“I said they’re not loons.”
“But of course they are, my dear. Even you must see that.” She addressed the class once more. “Has anyone here had a family member float out to sea atop an iceberg?”
No one raised a hand. Mrs. Murkley gave a thoughtful nod.
“Why does this not surprise me?” she asked. “Ah yes, because normal people don’t float out to sea atop icebergs, do they?”
“Normal people don’t shout at the moonlight!” cried Oliver.
At least, that’s what Oliver thought about doing. In truth, Oliver was looking the opposite way, trying his best to disassociate himself from Archer. Across the room, Adélaïde watched in amazement.
♦ HEADS WHERE HEADS OUGHT NOT BE ♦
Adélaïde was no stranger to nastiness. Her mother, you’ll remember, was most unpleasant, and she could sometimes still taste Mr. Stanislas’s rusty words, and of course there were the attacks from the petits rats. But Mrs. Murkley was not a petit rat. Mrs. Murkley was a Mouse King. At least, that’s how the ballerina saw it. And while she knew nothing of this Alfred or his polar bear or the iceberg, she didn’t like what she was seeing, so before Mrs. Murkley could say another word, Adélaïde cleared her throat and said, “Pardon, Mrs. Murk-lay.”
Mrs. Murkley spun around.
“Who called out like that?” she snapped.
Adélaïde raised her hand. Jaws dropped all around and though no one said a word, they were all thinking the same thing.
It’s the crocodile girl!
Mrs. Murkley left Archer’s desk, marched across the room, and raised herself to her full height. Adélaïde, already a trifle small for a girl her age, looked even smaller beneath the behemoth, but she stared back without hesitation. Mrs. Murkley’s ears went pink. This one would be trouble.
“First of all,” she said. “The name is Murk-ley, not Murk-lay. Second of all, there are rules in this classroom, my dear. I will not tolerate you calling out willy-nilly like this.”
“I’m sorry,” said Adélaïde. “This is my first day in a real school.”
Mrs. Murkley blinked and tilted her head. “What do you mean this is your first day in a real school?”
“I lived in France,” Adélaïde replied. “I wasn’t able to attend school.”
“Are there no schools in France?”
“There are plenty,” said Adélaïde. “But I was tutored.”
“Too troubled to attend a proper institution, no doubt,” Mrs. Murkley snipped at the same moment she noticed Adélaïde’s leg. “Very troubled, I see. Where’s your other leg? Are you trying to make me look extravagant for going about on two?”
Adélaïde shook her head while suppressing a smile.
“No, Mrs. Murkley,” she replied. “I don’t think you’re extravagant.”
A few brave students giggled. Mrs. Murkley’s pink ears drained into her face and deepened in hue. She couldn’t tell if this girl was being coy. But that didn’t matter. Mrs. Murkley was clearly losing her patience.
“I knew you were going to be trouble,” she snapped. “Yes, the very moment I introduced myself and saw you staring out that window with your head up in the clouds.”
Mrs. Murkley lowered a hand to Adélaïde’s desk and positioned her head so close that Adélaïde could count her nose hairs.
“From now on, you’ll keep your mouth shut and that little head of yours inside this classroom where it belongs!”
Adélaïde slowly turned and gazed out the window. “But don’t you think the clouds are very pretty?” she asked.
This small act of defiance had a tremendous effect on Mrs. Murkley. Her giant head flushed a brilliant red and her nostrils flared. She looked like she might blow a gasket. The other students tried their best to back away while still remaining in their seats.
“Gorgeous!” Mrs. Murkley shouted. “But if I instruct you to keep your head inside this classroom, you’ll do well to obey!”
“In France,” said Adélaïde, facing Mrs. Murkley once more,“they tell us to be mindful with those who dictate head placement because these could be the same people who someday tell you to stick it in a guillotine.”
“You’ll stick your head where I tell you to stick it!” Mrs. Murkley demanded. “In a guillotine or wherever! If you don’t, there will be consequences!”
Adélaïde nodded. “But,” she said slowly, “what consequences would be worse than sticking my head in a guillotine?”
Mrs. Murkley sputtered and turned a color that was difficult to describe. Her lips were tight and her eyes were slits and her heart beat wildly. For Mrs. Murkley, a wildly beating heart was never a good thing. Adélaïde sensed a problem.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Mrs. Murkley pointed a shaky finger at her. “Girls who are missing legs are in no position to question the wellness of others!” she shouted, her voice cracking.
The Doldrums Page 9