“What was that!” Mrs. Leperton cried.
“I have no idea!” said Mrs. Helmsley.
Oliver and Adélaïde were silent, staring at a motionless Archer lying beneath the ladder.
“I think it came from the Glubs’,” Mrs. Helmsley said.
“It’s their own fault,” agreed Mrs. Leperton. “Can’t expect to see where you’re going in a garden like that.”
Archer groaned as Adélaïde and Oliver pulled the ladder off his face. He was having a rough day. This fall hurt more than the bookshelf catastrophe, and the bump on his head doubled in size. He opened his eyes. Adélaïde was kneeling over him.
“Hello,” he groaned.
“You have grass in your teeth,” she replied, pointing to hers. “Here and here.”
Archer rubbed his mouth. “Did I get it?” he asked.
Adélaïde nodded. “But there’s also a long wooden sliver sticking out of your cheek. Hold still.” Adélaïde gently removed the wooden splinter and wiped his cheek. “There’s a bit of blood,” she said. “Did you fall on purpose?”
“It was my mother,” he replied, rubbing the cut. “She can’t see me out here with the lad—” His eyes opened wide. “Are they still over there?”
“No,” said Oliver. “They’re gone.”
“Why can’t she see you with a ladder?” Adélaïde asked.
“It’s a long story,” said Archer.
Adélaïde helped him to his feet. Archer shook his head a few times as they tucked the ladders against the garden wall. Oliver went inside to find two more jars and quickly returned, handing them one each.
The evening air was heavy over the Willow Street gardens and made them feel like they were standing inside a bubble. Droplets beaded on the grass and glazed Adélaïde’s shoes as she crept toward the back corner of the garden, following the dotted path of a firefly. She stood perfectly still; then, as quickly as she could, capped the jar and trapped a neon critter inside.
“Got one!” she cried.
“Shhh!” shushed Oliver, pointing once more to the Murkley house.
Archer did the same, pointing to his house.
Adélaïde made a face at them and looked at her firefly. Below the jar, next to her foot, she spotted a moss-covered stone.
“Who’s Théo?” she asked.
Oliver sighed at the question.
“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” said Archer, who still knew nothing about Théo either. He showed his jar to Adélaïde. It was brimming with fireflies. “And you can make your fingers glow if you pinch them,” he said.
“Thanks for the tip,” she replied. “But I think I’m okay.”
As the three scurried this way and that across the garden, Oliver’s younger sister Claire watched with her face pressed to the second-floor window. “Hello, Archer!” was her muffled cry through the glass. Archer waved. The non-nocturnal opossum sauntered along the garden walls without anyone’s notice, searching for a place to settle in before nightfall.
After collecting their fill, Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde sat down in the grass next to the shaggy tree.
“What was it like being in a hot air balloon over Egypt?” Archer asked.
“The stars were quite pretty,” said Adélaïde.
“That’s what my grandparents said.”
“Where else have you been?” Oliver asked.
Adélaïde was silent. Archer looked at her. She seemed to be having a difficult time remembering all the places she’d been, but once she started naming them, she quickly remembered more and more, and Archer and Oliver were impressed.
“Your father took you?” Archer asked.
“No, he’s in the coffee business,” said Adélaïde. “My mother took me.” She paused, then added, “They used to call her the snail because she took her house wherever she went—always packed and ready to go.”
“Was she with you when the crocodile ate your leg?”
Adélaïde nodded. “She fell too while trying to grab me.”
“Did it hurt?” Oliver asked.
“It happened quickly. It’s all a blur. I don’t remember it well.”
“I hope I never get that close to a crocodile,” said Oliver.
“They’re dangerous. It swallowed my mother in two bites.”
Archer and Oliver lowered their jars. “Is that true?” both asked.
“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I didn’t like her anyway.”
“You didn’t like her even though she tried to stop you falling out of the balloon?” Oliver asked.
Adélaïde bit her lip. “It’s complicated,” she said, and quickly changed the subject. “Did your grandparents really float out to sea atop an iceberg?”
Archer nodded and explained the story.
“That’s why they keep me inside,” he said. “They think I’d do something equally dangerous if I had the chance.”
Oliver pinched his lips. “They’re right about that,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Archer replied. “Everything is going to be different when my grandparents return.”
“You think they’re still alive?” Adélaïde asked.
Tonight, Archer was certain of it.
A cry shot from the Murkley household and pierced the bubble over their heads.
“She reminds me of the Mouse King,” said Adélaïde.
Oliver shook his head. “She’s the Queen of Hearts,” he said. “She nearly chopped my head off.”
“She’s worse than the Queen of Hearts,” said Archer. “She doesn’t just want to chop off our heads. She wants to put hers in their place.”
Adélaïde started giggling and she couldn’t stop.
“What’s so funny?” Archer asked.
“I was picturing Mrs. Murkley’s head on your body,” she giggled.
Oliver giggled, too. Archer turned it into a trio.
“It wouldn’t be very pretty, would it?” he said, lifting his firefly jar to his eyes and tapping at the glass.
“Are you kidding?” said Adélaïde, trying to stop a second bout of laughter from erupting. “It would be terrifying!”
“I’d never sleep again,” agreed Oliver.
Archer’s eyes began sparkling and his fingers began twitching, and he was speaking very softly to himself but he was not a million miles away.
“She’s not going to have the chance,” he said.
“Oh, I think she’ll try,” said Oliver.
“She certainly will,” agreed Adélaïde.
“But we’ll be long gone,” said Archer.
Four eyebrows went up.
“Where will we be?” Adélaïde asked.
Archer looked at her and smiled.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
♦ THE JOURNEY BEGINS ♦
Preparing an expedition is no small undertaking. Expeditions require thoughtful work and organization. This much Archer knew and he wasted little time putting a plan in order.
“I know I said I’ve been lots of places,” said Adélaïde. “But I don’t think I can help you with this.”
“Don’t worry,” said Archer. “What’s important is that you’ve done other things because I’ve done nothing.”
MEMBER OF THE ROSEWOOD PUBLIC LIBRARY
WILLOW ACADEMY LIBRARY
• BOOK REQUEST CARD •
REQUEST NO. 37955
Miss Whitewood,
Can you please find every book you have on Antarctica?
Thank you,
Archer Helmsley
“Should I be worried?” asked Miss Whitewood. She placed her hand on Adélaïde’s shoulder. “I hope they’re not dragging you into anything.”
Oliver frowned. “No offense, Miss Whitewood, but I don’t think that’s possible.”
Miss Whitewood pointed to a table holding a massive stack of books. “That’s everything I could find,” she said.
Archer reviewed the stack. It would require prioritizing. He divvied up the books and they carrie
d them into the reading room. The janitor was dusting a windowsill as they entered. He chuckled when he saw Adélaïde.
“How was that Thai Ferry?” he asked.
Adélaïde smiled. “Very nice.”
“She’s been to Thailand, too?” whispered Oliver.
“I guess so,” said Archer.
In the weeks that followed, the trio spent much of their time in the reading room and students’ room before, between, and after class, reading as many books on Antarctica as they could.
Many of the books were old and dense and tedious, to say the least. Archer was fine with this. Oliver and Adélaïde grew bored. They sorted through the stacks, placing the boring books next to Archer and the books with photos and diagrams next to themselves. Archer made notes in his journal as he read. He shared the important notes with the others, but thought it best to keep the more terrible details to himself.
1914. Antarctic. 69° 5 S, 51° 30 W
The ship Endurance was trapped in ice. The ice squeezed the ship.
Sounded like, “Heavy fireworks and blasting of guns.”
The ship sank. The crew were stranded.
“Hopefully, the worst part will be the Drake Passage,” he said. “But once we’re past that, the rest should be fine.”
“I don’t get it,” said Oliver.
Archer glanced over his notes. “It says the Drake Passage is—”
“No, I got that,” said Oliver. “What I don’t get is why seals start out all fluffy and white and then turn into giant sausages.”
“Sausages with teeth,” said Adélaïde.
“Focus,” said Archer, catching a glimpse of Oliver’s book. He tilted his head. “It really does look like a sausage.”
“They’re up to something strange,” said Alice P. Suggins. “We should tell Mrs. Murkley. She might reward us.”
“I’m not saying anything to her,” said Charlie H. Brimble. “She makes my thoughts get all confused.”
“It’s true,” said Molly S. Mellings. “We’d accidentally say that we were the ones up to something strange.”
Charlie leaned against the back of the couch and skimmed a page over Adélaide’s shoulder.
“Antarctica?” he said. “Are you hoping to lose your other leg?”
Oliver lowered his book and glared at Charlie. “Why don’t you go play with your chickens, String Bean?” he said.
Archer started laughing. Adélaïde giggled, too. Charlie slunk away. Adélaïde suggested they sneak out of the Button Factory during lunch and go to her father’s café, where they could speak without anyone overhearing.
“What about your father overhearing?” asked Archer.
“He only underhears,” said Adélaïde.
♦ SUBTLE HINTS OF ORANGE PEEL ♦
Archer said their best escape option would be an exit near the northwest corner of the courtyard. This wing of the Button Factory was mostly storage rooms, which meant fewer teachers to catch them, and a tunnel led from the courtyard, through the building, and out onto the street. So as the students made their way to the dining hall, the trio broke ranks, scurried across the courtyard, around the crumbling fountain, and through the tunnel. From there, it was only two blocks north to Howling Bloom Street and Mr. Belmont’s café.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Archer,” said Mr. Belmont. He turned to Oliver. “And you are?”
Oliver shrugged. “I’m just a Glub,” he replied.
“Oliver Glub,” said Adélaïde.
“Glub?” repeated Mr. Belmont. “That’s an intriguing name. Yes, well, very good.”
The café was crowded, but the patrons were too busy drinking coffee and reading newspapers to pay them any mind. Archer noticed the flowery woman sitting in the corner drinking enough espresso to kill a small hippopotamus. But after their third lunchtime visit, even he developed a taste for that potent brew. Mr. Belmont was pleased.
“You might like this one, too,” he said, placing another cup in front of Archer. “That will get the mind soaring high above the clouds on subtle hints of orange peel.”
During their lunches, they continued to discuss the matter at hand. One day Archer brought maps of Antarctica that he found in the map room of Helmsley House. They pushed aside their cups and plates and spread the maps over the table.
“That’s Antarctica?” said Oliver. “It’s gigantic.”
“It is rather large,” agreed Adélaïde.
“It’ll be fine,” said Archer. “Ships at sea must follow specific routes like cars on roads, so any ship we take should follow the same path my grandparents did.”
“But icebergs float,” said Oliver. “It won’t be in the same place.”
“Maybe it will have come full circle,” said Adélaïde. “And be where it was two years ago.”
Archer lowered his third espresso with a shaky hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “If it’s there it’s there and if it’s not it’s not, but there’s really no sense—no sense at all in wondering what will be until we’re there. I think it’s there. It has to be there. You know?”
Adélaïde pulled the cup away from him. “I think you’ve had enough of that,” she said.
♦ CARAMEL CREAM & ICE SCHEMES ♦
On their way back to the Button Factory, the trio sometimes stopped across the street at DuttonLick’s for something sweet. Oliver was right. It was a terrific shop with windows displaying all sorts of delights, and the thick aroma of chocolate to greet their noses as they stepped inside. Spiraling up to the ceiling were racks of lollipops, dollops of taffy, and great mountains of chocolate bars.
Oliver preferred to take his time, but Archer knew being late to Mrs. Murkley’s class would be a mistake.
“How about candied cherries?” he asked, trying to hurry Oliver along.
Oliver was incredulous. “Candied cherries!” he repeated. “No one enters DuttonLick’s to buy something as boring as candied cherries!”
“Well, what do you want?” said Adélaïde, inspecting a row of sea-green seahorse lollipops.
Oliver wanted the whole store, but settled for a caramel cream chocolate bar. They paid for the chocolate and headed back to the Button Factory. Oliver broke the bar into three parts and they walked in silence as the chocolate and caramel cream melted in their mouths. They passed beneath the archway and stepped into the courtyard, joining the other students heading to afternoon class.
“Does your father have a freezer at his shop?” Archer asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Adélaïde. “Why?”
“Because we have no experience with Antarctic temperatures. Not even close. And I think we should at least have some sense of what that will be like.”
“We could do something with ice after school,” Adélaïde suggested.
It wasn’t a terrible idea but they couldn’t do it that day.
“Archer and I have something personal we have to do today,” said Oliver, trying his best to look casual about it.
“Something important,” Archer added.
Adélaïde shrugged. “That’s fine,” she said. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”
They made it to class just as Mrs. Murkley returned from the teachers’ lounge.
♦ AN UNSAVORY ALLIANCE ♦
Mrs. Murkley had not softened since that first day of school. The students tried their best to resist a cough or a sneeze, fearing even these would land them in a heap of trouble. They were right. Digby Fig spent an entire afternoon scraping gum off the bottom of Mrs. Murkley’s desk when he was unable to stop hiccupping. The students suppressed their grins as each hiccup caused Digby to smack his head against the underside of the desk.
During Mrs. Murkley’s classes, Oliver distanced himself from Archer and Adélaïde. He was afraid Mrs. Murkley would make a connection between them. But Mrs. Murkley was no fool. She suspected an unsavory alliance was forming after spotting the trio numerous times in the corridors and library. Archer was unaware of this until he spotted her in the library that af
ternoon.
“Still just the librarian, I see,” Mrs. Murkley said as she approached Miss Whitewood’s desk.
Miss Whitewood smiled politely. “Can I help you find a book?” she asked. “Do you have something specific in mind?”
“Of course I do,” huffed Mrs. Murkley. “It’s dangerous business leaving your mind open around books. I require a text on the colonial uprisings—the role the French played and how the British dealt with them.”
Archer slipped out from behind the bookshelf and into the reading room.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Miss Whitewood said.
As Miss Whitewood scoured the shelves, Mrs. Murkley strolled toward the reading room.
“Close your books!” whispered Archer.
“Why?” asked Oliver.
There was not time to explain. He grabbed Oliver’s book and tossed it behind the couch. Adélaïde quickly shut hers. Archer slid his notebook into his pocket and sat down. When Mrs. Murkley stepped into the room, Oliver took his strategy to a new level and nearly fell off the couch.
“Just as I suspected!” Mrs. Murkley announced proudly, towering over them. “And what, may I ask, are you three up to?”
“Two,” clarified Oliver. “I’m not with them.”
Adélaïde jabbed him and beamed at Mrs. Murkley. “We’re keeping our heads where our heads ought to be,” she said.
“In books,” added Archer. “Books that have nothing to do with polar bears.”
“Or guillotines,” said Adélaïde.
“Or icebergs,” mumbled Oliver.
Mrs. Murkley leaned forward to grab Adélaïde’s book, but Adélaïde pulled it tight to her stomach.
“I’ve found a few books for you, Margery!” Miss Whitewood called from her desk.
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