“I didn’t see anything,” Mr. Glub said from behind the paper. “If anyone asks, I didn’t see a thing.”
Archer looked at Adélaïde who looked at Oliver who looked back at Archer who shrugged and reached for the doorknob. They bent low as they passed beneath Archer’s windows and the Lepertons’ windows and once they were in the clear, took off down the sidewalk. Archer stopped after a few feet and spun around. Adélaïde, who was only operating on one good leg, mind you, could never run as quickly as the others. He went back and took her hand.
“You’d think I’d be better with it by now,” she said.
“You’ll figure it out,” he replied, and together, they moved quickly down the sidewalk to join Oliver at the bus stop.
“How’s your heart?” Adélaïde asked.
“Still beating,” said Oliver.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
♦ WAREHOUSE WARD ♦
Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde sat on a bench in the shade of a tall stone wall, waiting for the bus. It was taking a while. Oliver opened the map and looked for Strait of Magellan. Adélaïde watched a pigeon perched atop a lamppost.
“That’s in Barrow’s Bay,” said Oliver.
Archer knew nothing about it so Oliver explained. Barrow’s Bay was a neighborhood on the easternmost edge of the city, near the ocean. There was a canal leading through it that arched up and cut Rosewood in two. Many people called Barrow’s Bay “the Old Warehouse Ward” because it was mostly just that, once-beautiful warehouses turned crusty from the salty air. But whatever anyone called it, certain parts of Barrow’s Bay were not the sort of places you should go wandering alone at night.
“We don’t have to take the bus,” said Oliver, tilting the map toward Archer. “We could walk through Rosewood Park. But there would still be a decent walk on the other side.”
Archer would have preferred this. But he was afraid it would take too much time. His mother would only be occupied for so long.
“Let’s take the bus,” he said.
“We’ll have to take two,” said Oliver. He squinted at the map. “It almost looks like it’s inside the canal.”
A man with his pants tucked into knee-high boots strolled over and stood with his back to them.
“Why does he have an umbrella?” whispered Oliver.
“And rain boots?” whispered Archer.
“Storm’s coming,” said the man, without turning around.
Archer and Oliver looked up at the bright blue sky.
Finally, a Rosewood bus squealed to a halt. Oliver and Adélaïde followed the man up the steps and dropped their coins into the meter. Archer paused in the door. He glanced back at Willow Street, hoping his mother would be too busy in the gardens to check on him.
“On or off,” said the bus driver. “Can’t do both. You’ll be ripped in half.”
Archer turned and got on the bus. “Sorry,” he said, and dropped his coins into the meter.
“Back here!” shouted Oliver from the rear of the bus. Adélaïde threw up her hand. Archer walked past the stares of strangers and took a seat next to Adélaïde.
♦ ON THE FRITZ ♦
Rosewood buses, like most city buses, are often filled with odd individuals, and it’s best to mind your business while riding one. But it’s difficult to stop yourself from looking at each person and wondering about their oddities. So long as they don’t catch you staring, this is a perfectly fine thing to do, and Archer was doing just that as the bus sped off down the street. An old lady was eating a bag of lemon drops that made her lips pucker. This made Archer wonder. If she put the lot in her mouth at once, would her entire face pucker?
Oliver reached up to crack open a window, but the additional breeze wasn’t enough to clear the dank air.
“It smells like a dog in here,” he said.
“Because there is a dog in here,” replied Adélaïde.
Indeed, seated directly across from them was an all too proper-looking gentleman with a muddy silver spoon wedged into his blazer pocket, and seated next to him was a beagle with muddy paws. Adélaïde stood up to scratch the creature’s head.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Fritz,” the man replied. “I always name them Fritz.”
“He’s a nice dog. How old is he?”
“Three years and he’s not a nice dog.” The man gave the beagle a stern look. The beagle licked its snout. “Doesn’t know how to behave, this one. I do to him today what I should have done to him two years ago.”
“What should you have done to him two years ago?” Archer asked.
“We’re on our way to the pound,” he said. “They’ll put him down.”
Adélaïde straightened. “That’s awful,” she said. “You can’t do that!”
The man coughed into a handkerchief, taken aback. “I can and I will,” he replied.
Adélaïde was appalled. And the worst part about it was Fritz looked perfectly happy to be out and about. But only because he didn’t know his life was about to take a turn for the worse. She looked at Oliver, who shrugged.
“It’s better than eating cement mix,” he said.
One stop later, when the bus driver shouted, “Thistlery Street,” the man stood up.
“Wait,” said Adélaïde. “Let me have him.”
The man coughed into his handkerchief a second time and tried to leave, but Adélaïde placed herself in front of him.
“Trust me,” he said. “You don’t want this dog. Now out of my way!”
“What difference does it make?” Adélaïde said, sticking out her hand. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
The man stared at Adélaïde, then down at Fritz. The bus driver shifted in his seat.
“Get off or sit down!” he shouted.
The man took one last look at Adélaïde before dropping the leash into her hand and stepping off the bus.
Oliver smacked Archer. “She’s crazy!” he said.
“So why are you hitting me?” said Archer, rubbing his arm.
Adélaïde sat down and knocked her shoulder against Oliver’s. “You’re the one who just said you didn’t want to die in a bowl of soup. Why should Fritz?”
“I don’t think that’s how they do it,” Oliver grumbled.
Adélaïde placed Fritz on her lap and rubbed his head. They transferred to the next bus two stops later and continued on to Barrow’s Bay.
“What exactly are we getting?” asked Oliver.
“I’m not sure,” said Adélaïde.
Oliver eyed her with a growing suspicion. For everything she said she’d done, she didn’t know very much about anything.
“I’m not certain either,” said Archer, flipping through his notebook. “I think it’s best if first we see what they have. Then we can decide what we need. But we can’t take much.”
Outside the bus windows, the buildings were growing taller and taller, as were their shadows. Suddenly, the bus stopped short. Adélaïde grabbed Fritz, who nearly flipped off her lap. The driver shouted, “Turntail Way.”
Oliver stood up. “This is us,” he said.
The trio stepped off the bus and into the shadows of giant warehouses, looming high over their heads. One end of Turntail Way led to more warehouses and shadows. Down the opposite way, Archer saw a sunny opening.
“Let’s go that way,” he said.
♦ IN A MOLDY SORT OF WAY ♦
Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde stepped out from the warehouse shadows and found themselves staring out at the Rosewood Canal. Crooked trees lined the towpath and threw shadows on small wooden boats drifting in the greenish water. They weren’t very far from Willow Street but that’s not what it felt like. Even the air was different. The ocean was near, and they could feel the salt sticking to their cheeks as they followed down a stone stairway to the canal and stood just a few inches above the water.
“It’s beautiful,” said Adélaïde.
“In a moldy sort of way,” agreed Oliv
er.
Archer was quiet. He didn’t know such places existed in Rosewood. And seeing this canal stretching far in both directions made him wonder what else he didn’t know about.
A few people flitted this way and that. Archer tried to stop a man to ask for directions, but the man ignored him. Oliver consulted his map, then looked south to where the canal curved left and widened. In the very center of the water was a narrow island, no more than a hundred yards long and half as wide as that. The buildings that lined this strip appeared to rise straight up out of the greenish water.
“I think it’s there,” said Oliver. “That’s why it looked like it was inside the canal.”
They set off down the walkway, past small bridges and doorways that looked like secret entrances to shops above the canal’s wall. They crossed a bridge that stretched to the narrow island and fell silent when they reached the other side. The buildings here were much older than those on Willow Street, or at least they looked much older, and cutting down the center of the island was a cobbled street, all in shadow except where bits of sunlight pierced the cracks between the buildings. A sign above their heads read “Barrow’s Strip.”
“I don’t want to go down there,” said Oliver.
Adélaïde agreed. Fritz was too busy sniffing a rotten fish to have an opinion either way. Archer wasn’t eager either, but he convinced them to follow him. Oliver and Adélaïde did so with twitching eyes. They weren’t certain what sort of shops these were or what sort of customers frequented them, but they were certain few eleven-year-olds would spend time in such a place.
“I feel like we’re being watched,” Oliver whispered.
“We are being watched,” Adélaïde replied, nodding at hazy silhouettes in dusty shop windows.
Archer stopped and looked up at the façade of a once-majestic building.
“That’s it?” said Oliver. “That can’t be it.”
“It looks a little—dusty,” said Adélaïde.
The building was four stories high and seemed to stare down at them as they stared up at it. Archer looked at his card. The address was correct. And he could just make out the words Strait of Magellan at the top of the building. This was it. But it wasn’t what he had imagined.
“Well,” he said, placing the card back in his pocket. “I guess we’ll see.” He pushed hard against the heavy door and disappeared inside.
Oliver and Adélaïde hesitated.
“Ladies and children first,” said Oliver.
Adélaïde smiled and curtsied, which somehow turned into a fancy spin, and before Oliver knew what was happening, she was behind him, grabbing tight to his shoulders and pushing him toward the door.
“Children should always go before ladies,” she said.
♦ NOT SO STRAIT OF MAGELLAN ♦
Adélaïde and Oliver nearly bumped into Archer. They couldn’t see a thing, but their noses flared with the scent of crusted salt spray. Once their eyes adjusted to the dimly lit shop, they could see it was packed with all sorts of equipment. Wooden racks stretched every which way, piled high with goggles and helmets and ropes and oxygen tanks and still more things they didn’t know the purposes of. Adélaïde was right. Everything was covered in a healthy bit of dust.
“I don’t think I’d trust any of this stuff,” said Oliver.
“And why not?” came an unkind voice from the back room.
A chair on wheels squeaked into the doorway and the man sitting on it leaned back to get a look at them. Archer squinted, but a window behind the chair made this man a dark silhouette.
“This is not a chocolate shop,” the man said. “You’ll find nothing sweet in this salty place.”
“We need equipment,” said Archer.
“We’re going on a journey,” said Adélaïde.
“Is there a chocolate shop nearby?” asked Oliver.
The man left the squeaky chair. He leaned against a wooden counter and fished something from his teeth while glancing them over. Unlike the name of his shop, this man looked very crooked.
“You’ll be paying for anything that dog breaks,” he said, glaring at Adélaïde with deep-set deep blue eyes.
“He didn’t break anything,” she replied, pulling Fritz tight.
“Not yet he hasn’t,” the man grumbled. “Aren’t you all a little young to be going anywhere?”
“We’re older than we look,” said Archer. “I think you knew my grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa Helmsley.”
“You probably didn’t call them ‘Grandma’ and ‘Grandpa,’ though,” Oliver clarified.
The man didn’t have eyebrows in the traditional sense, but if he did, they would have gone up after hearing this.
“Which would make you Archer Helmsley?” he asked.
Adélaïde and Oliver exchanged glances. Archer wasn’t comfortable with this man knowing his name either.
“They mentioned you a number of times,” the man said, and pressed his tongue into his sunken cheek. “There hasn’t been any news on the iceberg, I hope?”
Archer wasn’t sure why he put it like that, but no, there hadn’t been any news on the iceberg. “That’s why we’re here,” he explained. “We’re going to find them.”
At that, the crooked man erupted with laughter and couldn’t stop.
“It’s not funny,” said Adélaïde. “We’re serious.”
“Yes, my dear.” Laughter. “You are quite the little peg-legged pirate, aren’t you?”
Oliver pushed back his shoulders and said, “At least she has eyebrows!”
The man stopped laughing. Oliver wished he’d remained silent. Adélaïde turned to Archer, who was looking a little smaller than usual.
“We don’t need his help,” she said. “Let’s just find what we need and get out of this creepy place.”
“Take your time,” said the crooked man, smiling.
While Adélaïde and Archer disappeared farther into the store, Oliver lingered at the counter. He removed the ad for survival kits and politely asked the crooked man where he might find them.
“You’d better watch that tongue of yours,” the man replied, snatching the paper from Oliver’s hand. “Or I just might cut it out of your head.”
Oliver leaned back. That didn’t sound like an empty threat. This man made Mrs. Murkley look like a sugar plum fairy.
“Fourth floor,” said the crooked man, pointing up.
Oliver tilted his head. The entire center of the store was hollow. He could see different landings with railings, circling up four flights.
“Best watch yourself up there,” the crooked man said. “That’s a long way to fall.”
Archer and Adélaïde took their time wandering the aisles inspecting odd devices. Because they didn’t know what they needed, their decisions came down to whether or not they knew what the equipment did and whether or not they could easily carry it. They selected rope and hooks, an ice pick, and Adélaïde found a small shovel for Oliver. Archer realized he had seen a number of the odd devices in his house, and if there was room, they could take them from home. This led Archer to think about his grandparents’ trunks. He told Adélaïde about them as they climbed the stairs to the second floor, and both agreed it would be a good idea if they could find them as there might be things inside that they could use.
Archer and Adélaïde leaned against the second-floor railing. Fritz stuck his head between the spindles and tried desperately to lick the salt from the air.
“Is your father going to be angry when you bring a dog home?” Archer asked.
“No,” said Adélaide. “He won’t care.”
“If I did something like that I think my mother would—” Archer stopped. He caught a strong whiff of gasoline and someone tapped his shoulder. He spun around. It was the Eye Patch.
♦ THE SOCIETY ♦
“Oh—hello,” said Archer.
“I thought that was you, Archer Helmsley,” the Eye Patch replied.
Adélaïde bit her lip, but she was growing used to th
e idea that there were many odd strangers who knew Archer by name. The Eye Patch put his hand on Archer’s shoulder.
“I was wondering if I might ever see you again,” he said. “And I’m glad I have. But I must ask what you’re doing in this place? Never thought I’d see you in here.”
Archer didn’t want to be laughed at again so he said they were walking by and stopped to have a look.
“Do you work here?” he added.
The Eye Patch didn’t. “I’m only in Rosewood a short while—just here to pick up a few things.”
Adélaïde ran her finger over the dusty railing and made a squiggle while watching these two from the corner of her eye.
“You knew my grandparents, didn’t you?” Archer asked.
“Very well,” said the Eye Patch. “Wonderful people. Ralph and Rachel were loved by many in our community.”
“And you do still think they’re alive, don’t you?”
“I have no reason to,” the Eye Patch admitted. “But I do.”
“Don’t lie to the boy!” shouted the crooked man, peering up from the first floor. “They’re dead—frozen solid. And I’m one of the few who can drink to that! Waiter, bring me two Helmsleys on the rocks!”
Adélaïde watched the crooked man dance a queer jig behind the counter. The Eye Patch leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only they could hear.
“Don’t pay him any mind,” he said. “It’s in his interest financially that Ralph and Rachel remain missing.”
“Financially?” asked Archer.
The Eye Patch nodded. “As you can imagine, there were lots of bets at the Society after the iceberg.”
Archer couldn’t imagine. “Bets about what? And what Society?”
“You must know about the Society,” said the Eye Patch, straightening. Archer didn’t. “But your grandfather was the president! And a highly respected one at that. Well, not by everyone, of course. There are a number of factions at the Society.”
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