Mrs. Murkley gave all three a contemptuous eye before leaving. Adélaïde gave that same eye to Oliver.
“Two?” she repeated. “You stand up to the String Bean but not her?”
“She has a lot more hip and shoulder,” said Oliver.
“Don’t worry,” said Archer. “But we have to be more careful.”
“And we’d better go,” said Oliver. “Archer and I have that personal thing we need to do.”
♦ AN ICE GIFT ♦
The following day after school, Adélaïde and Oliver climbed down the ladder to Archer’s bedroom. Archer had three coolers lined up. Adélaïde unzipped her bag and handed out earmuffs, gloves, and scarves. Archer opened the coolers and they all sat down.
“What exactly are we doing?” Oliver asked.
“I guess we’ll just eat as much as we can,” said Archer.
As they began to do just that, there was a knock at the door. Oliver and Adélaïde dashed behind the bed. Mr. Helmsley entered to ask Archer why there was a trail of water leading from the kitchen to his bedroom.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Helmsley asked slowly when he saw Archer in earmuffs, sitting before a cooler of ice.
Archer knew there was nothing he could say that would make this look any less unusual, so he told the truth.
“Eating ice,” he replied.
“. . . Eating ice?” repeated Mr. Helmsley. He shook his head. And she thinks it’s for the best we keep him locked in here. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re keeping busy.”
Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde continued eating ice after Mr. Helmsley left, but ten minutes later, they’d all had enough.
“This was a terrible idea,” said Adélaïde.
Oliver was oscillating between this world and the next. Adélaïde smacked his back and an ice cube shot out of his mouth.
“Thanks,” he sputtered.
“I guess we can try it again some other time,” said Archer, pulling off his earmuffs. “Unless we find a better way.”
Oliver stood up. “I’m going to get some tea to bring us back to room temperature,” he said.
Archer and Adélaïde waited on the roof while Oliver went to his kitchen, but for cake, not for tea. Today was Adélaïde’s eleventh birthday, though she made no mention of it. Mr. Belmont, however, had discreetly told Archer the date during one of their café meetings. So Archer and Oliver had spent the previous afternoon doing something personal. They’d spent the afternoon with Mrs. Glub in the Glubs’ kitchen learning how to make a cake.
“Now it’s not very complicated,” said Mrs. Glub. “But timing is everything. Archer, you get three eggs and Oliver, two cups of flour.”
Making a cake might not be a complicated process, but there will always be a few kinks the first time you try anything. Mr. Glub spotted a few kinks the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
“That’s, uh—we’re not going to eat that, are we?” he asked.
“Does it look that bad?” said Archer.
“Well,” said Mrs. Glub. “I can’t say it’s what I was picturing, but there’s a lot of heart in that cake.”
Oliver agreed. “I think it looks good,” he said.
Oliver returned to the rooftop with the large Glub and Helmsley original cake. Adélaïde stared at them both.
“Your father told us,” said Archer. “Sorry I made you eat ice on your birthday.”
Oliver set the cake on the chimney. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This will taste better.”
If you tipped your head to the left and closed one eye, it looked just like a store-bought cake. And it did taste better than ice, which Oliver was glad to hear.
“The peanut butter and blueberry filling is wonderfully original,” said Adélaïde.
“We tried to follow the recipe,” said Archer. “But lost it halfway through.”
“I’m not good at following plans anyway,” said Oliver.
“What did you wish for?” Archer asked.
“A bon voyage,” said Adélaïde.
“Thanks for that,” said Oliver.
“Thanks for this,” said Adélaïde, taking another bite.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
♦ A NOT-SO-GOOD PLAN ♦
The weeks passed from one to the next and it was nearing the end of September. Archer had spent a considerable amount of time trying to work out the specifics of how they would actually pull this journey off. There were two issues. They needed both a departure date for a ship going to Antarctica, and equipment. He knew the ship would have almost everything they needed, but thought it best to have a few things of their own just in case something went wrong as it had for his grandparents. The problem was that this would require a trip into Rosewood—a trip that would be more difficult than sneaking out of the Button Factory or into Oliver’s house. But Archer had an idea. He asked Oliver and Adélaïde to meet him on the rooftop early one Saturday morning.
Oliver struggled up the ladder with a bowl of oranges and three plates. Adélaïde spread a cloth over the table and opened a brown paper bag.
“What are those?” Oliver asked.
“Chocolate croissants. You’ll like them.”
The two had been bringing provisions to the roof for quite some time.
“Is that everything?” Adélaïde asked.
It was everything: chocolate croissants, tea and oranges, toast with butter and toast with jam, three soft-boiled eggs, undercooked bacon, some leftover birthday cake, and a little espresso. Oliver and Adélaïde were both quite proud of this spread until Archer jumped over the crack between the houses with a cooler and a disapproving frown.
“Is something wrong?” Adélaïde asked.
Archer lowered the cooler. “Why’s all this food here?” he asked.
“You said you wanted to have a nice breakfast while you explained the next step.”
Archer shook his head. There had been a misunderstanding. He thought they should try eating an ice breakfast, but there was a noticeable drop in morale after he said this. Oliver looked especially disappointed. He’d just spent the hour under Adélaïde’s instruction trudging up and down four flights of stairs with all the food.
“Ice breakfast?” Oliver repeated, glancing over the delicious table.
Archer nodded, but he was now thinking the same thing Oliver was. “This does look much better,” Archer admitted, pushing the cooler under the table. “We can eat the ice later.”
Oliver and Adélaïde were relieved. They all sat down to feast, and for a while did so in silence. It was still early morning and most of the city was asleep. But the sun was beginning to rise and the trio was glowing a brilliant orange.
Adélaïde poured her tea into a bowl and drank. Oliver lowered his croissant.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he said. “Why are you drinking from a bowl?”
“This is how we do it in France,” she replied.
Oliver grinned and held out a spoon. “Would you like this as well?”
Adélaïde bounced an orange peel off his forehead and into his cup. Oliver used the spoon to fish it out. Archer finished his croissant and brushed the flakes from his fingers.
“Adélaïde is the only one who’s ever been to Rosewood Port,” he said. “Do you think you can get us inside?”
Adélaïde stirred her tea and nodded. “We’re small enough,” she said. “I doubt the guards would even notice.”
Oliver’s cheeks bulged with croissant. “But if you do get inside,” he said, “then what are you going to do?”
“We’ll have to find a ship to stow away on,” said Archer.
Somehow he would have to figure out if and when a ship was leaving for Antarctica, and they could board that ship while the cargo was being loaded. Rosewood Port was large and heavily trafficked with ships docking and departing every day.
“There must be at least one heading to Antarctica in the near future,” said Archer.
“But if not,” said Adélaïde, “we can always
take any ship as long as it goes south. Then change at another port to another ship that would go even farther south to Antarctica.”
Archer agreed and took out his notebook. He flipped through the pages.
“But how are you going to know when a ship is leaving?” Oliver asked.
Adélaïde studied him. “Why do you keep saying you?” she asked. “Don’t you mean we?” Archer wasn’t paying attention. His first concern was finding equipment. The night before, he’d rummaged through the map room looking for anything that might help him. Mostly he’d found dust, but he’d also stumbled onto a box with cards inside it. Each card listed the name, address, and account number of various shops around Rosewood. Some were very strange, but Archer found one that he thought was important. He slipped that card out of his notebook and handed it to Adélaïde.
“I found that last night,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve been to stores like this before. I haven’t, but I think we can find what we need in there, right?”
Strait of Magellan
EXPEDITION EQUIPMENT
– 17 Barrow’s Strip –
Name(s): Ralph / Rachel Helmsley
Account Number: 39504728
“This should be good,” said Adélaïde, still wondering what she had gotten herself into. “You want to go and have a look?”
“Yes,” said Archer. “And we can ask them about docking schedules at Rosewood Port. I’ll bet they’ll know something.”
This was the first step of Archer’s plan. Overall, it wasn’t a very good plan. But it’s better to have a not very good plan than no plan at all.
Oliver disagreed.
♦ CREAM OF TOMATO SOUP ♦
Oliver had made a decision the night of the firefly hunt, but still had said nothing to Archer. His window of opportunity was quickly closing, so he decided that now was the time. He pulled a newspaper clipping from his pocket, flattened it against his leg, and handed it to Archer.
“I’ve liked spending time with you both,” he said. “But I have to stop at the water’s edge. I’m not going to Antarctica. That will explain why.”
THE DOLDRUMS PRESS
CREAM OF TOMATO SOUP
. . . Family stunned when “Lionhearted” Uncle Baxley was found face-first in his cream of tomato soup at the age of forty-three . . .
Archer wasn’t surprised. With a healthy diet and ample exercise, a lion’s heart can last up to fifteen years. Mr. Baxley’s made it to forty-three.
“That’s not the point,” said Oliver.
“What’s the point?” Adélaïde asked.
“The point,” said Oliver, “is that some people’s hearts can handle more than others’. A year with Mrs. Murkley is plenty for me. I can’t handle much more and I don’t want to die in a bowl of cream of tomato soup.”
“But you don’t eat cream of tomato soup,” said Archer.
“I don’t like it much either,” said Adélaïde.
“The kind of soup doesn’t matter,” said Oliver. “I don’t want to die in any kind of soup or on an iceberg in Antarctica. I can’t handle that. And to be honest, you shouldn’t be doing this either.” He turned to Adélaïde. “Did he tell you what will happen when his plan fails?”
“If the plan fails,” said Archer.
“What will happen?” Adélaïde asked.
Archer was silent.
“His mother will ship him off to Raven Wood!” said Oliver.
“Raven Wood?” she repeated.
“Yes,” said Oliver. “Mrs. Murkley used to teach there. It’s a boarding school. I knew a boy who was sent there.”
“And?” said Adélaïde.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Oliver. “He never said very much about it when he returned. He never said much of anything, really. He just sort of sat there, humming like an electric fan.”
“Is that true?” Adélaïde asked Archer.
“I don’t know,” said Archer. “But we’re not going to fail. And I don’t understand why you’ve waited till now to say this.”
“Because I never thought I’d actually have to do anything,” said Oliver. “But it’s all becoming much too real for me. I was only in this for friendship.”
Adélaïde fiddled with an orange. It wasn’t her original intention, but the more time she spent with these two, the more she liked them.
“I’m here for friendship, too,” she said.
“Then we all agree,” said Archer. “And who said anything about dying? I don’t plan on dying.”
“Nobody plans on dying,” said Oliver.
“I nearly died,” said Adélaïde.
“That’s why you’re not afraid,” Oliver replied. “I’ve only had far-death experiences and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“But that’s not going to happen,” said Archer. “Don’t you see? My grandparents did great things together and I think we can, too. Beginning with finding them. This is your chance to become more than just a Glub.”
“I like being just a Glub,” said Oliver. “You two are the ones who like to court danger and swim with crocodiles and things like that. Me? I prefer to catch fireflies and see how many blueberries I can fit into my mouth. No one ever died from eating a blueberry.”
“I’m sure someone did,” said Adélaïde.
“But this is all happening for a reason,” said Archer.
“Nothing happens for a reason,” said Oliver. “Everywhere is chaos. Adélaïde was half-eaten by a crocodile. Your grandparents are stuck to the side of an iceberg. And my cat turned into a statue.”
Archer and Adélaïde exchanged glances. Oliver sighed.
“Théo,” he said. “He ate cement mix—I don’t want to talk about it. What I’m trying to say is that I see this stuff everyday in my father’s newspaper and there’s no rhyme or reason to any of it. Terrible things just happen and you’d better get out of the way when they do.”
“You can’t always get out of the way,” said Adélaïde.
“You need friends to pull you out of the way,” said Archer.
Oliver stared at him. He couldn’t argue with that. “But you’re doing the opposite of pulling me out of the way.”
“That’s not true,” said Archer. “If you don’t come with us, you’ll be alone with Mrs. Murkley.”
Oliver turned to Adélaïde, who shrugged and popped an orange slice into her mouth. “You have a choice,” she said.
“That’s not a choice,” said Oliver. “A choice is deciding whether to eat cake or ice.”
“So choose cake,” said Adélaïde.
Archer nodded. “Choose friendship.”
The table fell silent. Oliver pushed his plate forward and begrudgingly searched his pockets until he found the ad for survival kits that he’d torn from the deep-sea magazine. (He’d been carrying it ever since.)
“Can I see that card?” he asked Adélaïde. She gave it to him. It was the same shop. Oliver nodded and handed the card back to Archer.
“All right,” he said. “But before I go anywhere, I need you both to promise me something.”
“Avec plaisir,” said Adélaïde. “That means ‘with pleasure.’”
Oliver didn’t want a French lesson so he continued, speaking slowly. “If we find ourselves stuck to the side of an iceberg and I’m too cold to think, I need you to whisper in my ear the word dig.”
“I promise to say dig,” said Adélaïde, even though she thought this a strange request.
Archer nodded.
The sun was now a little higher in the sky. All three stared out across the rooftops in the direction of the ocean, much like Alexander the Great, sitting atop his elephant staring up at the Himalayas.
“So now what?” Adélaïde asked.
Archer held up his card.
“But it’s Saturday,” said Oliver.
Archer smiled. He knew exactly what day it was.
♦ AUTUMN FLOWERS ♦
Archer went to the edge of the roof and looked down into the gardens. Oliver and
Adélaïde joined him and popped orange slices into their mouths.
“It’s the autumn flower festival,” said Archer.
Down below, all of the neighbors were busy making preparations for a day of garden tours, cider and cakes, and music. The Durnips’ garden swelled with magnificent orange dahlia flowers while Mr. Malik showed his ruby hibiscuses to Mrs. Pemberton, who seemed much more impressed with her autumn roses.
“I don’t think my father knows about this,” said Adélaïde. “He’ll be at the café all day. Not that it matters. Our flowers are dead. He didn’t water anything.”
“Mrs. Murkley’s garden doesn’t have any flowers,” said Oliver. “They probably made a run for it during the night.”
Archer and Adélaïde laughed. Then the three of them looked at the Glubs’ infamous garden. “Your mother never expects much from us, Archer,” said Oliver. “But I’m sure my mom will be hiding.”
Mrs. Glub wouldn’t be the only one hiding. Mr. Helmsley also went into hiding during these events. Archer didn’t have to. He had been seven years old the one and only time his mother had asked him to help her. Shortly after she’d handed him the clippers and sent him to the garden, he had discovered a new box from his grandparents and was in such a rush to open it that he accidentally trimmed the tips off his mother’s most treasured flowers: the Gerbertwolicks—a rare breed whose purple and red blooms can last three weeks (unless you cut them off with clippers). After that, Mrs. Helmsley instructed him to stay far away from her flowers.
“She’ll be busy all day,” Archer mumbled, scanning the gardens for his mother. She must be down there somewhere. She was. Mrs. Helmsley was in the Lepertons’ garden, helping to perk up a dreary pot of chrysanthemums.
“You’ve watered them too much,” Archer heard her say. Mrs. Leperton threw up her arms. “When you smother them like this, something bad is bound to happen!”
“This is our chance,” said Archer. “We have to go now. We’ll head to Strait of Magellan and see what we can find. And hopefully they’ll know about ship schedules. If not, I’ll figure something out.”
One by the one, they climbed down the ladder to Oliver’s room and dashed down the stairs, stopping on the third floor to grab a bus map. Mr. Glub was sitting in the living room. He lowered his newspaper when the trio spilled into the foyer. Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde froze, their eyes fixed on Mr. Glub. Mr. Glub smiled and raised his paper once more. Still, no one moved.
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