The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse

by Nicholas Gannon

  Archer was going to tell his grandparents, but there was something he wanted to do first—something that would be dangerous and difficult and worst of all, illegal.

  “I want to break into Mr. Birthwhistle’s house,” he said.

  Oliver and Adélaïde stared at him as though he’d suggested they go up to DuttonLick’s rooftop and throw themselves into the street.

  “Mr. Mullfort said he’d be there at six o’clock. If we can get there before they—”

  “Wait,” said Oliver, shaking his head. “You want to break into Mr. Birthwhistle’s house while he’s inside?”

  “Before he’s inside. We could find a place to hide and then hear what they have to say. My grandparents need proof. This could be my chance to get it.”

  “But how are we going to get inside?” Adélaïde asked.

  “That’s the part I need to figure out. Maybe we could—”

  “Here we go, Oliver!” Mr. DuttonLick chirped, his head popping up from the spiraling stair. The chocolatier was as skinny as he was cheerful, and his curly hair bounced up and down as he strode toward them and presented a slip of paper to Oliver.

  “I’m so wonderfully excited to teach you all my secrets! Three generations of chocolate mastery await you! I hope you’re excited to learn!”

  “I am,” Oliver said, but instead of taking the paper, he pointed to Archer and Adélaïde. “I was wondering, would you mind if my friends were assistants, too?”

  “Mind? Why would I mind? There’s going to be lots to do! We could use all the help we—” Mr. DuttonLick’s chirping collapsed into a croak. “But aren’t you . . . aren’t you Archer Helmsley?”

  “Kind of,” Archer admitted.

  Mr. DuttonLick raised a finger, as though he were about to say something very wise, but for a moment, his mouth hung open like a deep sea bass.

  “I don’t want to sound . . . It’s not that I’m ungrateful, you understand. But it’s terribly unpleasant, this whole curse business.”

  Archer couldn’t believe it. Did everyone in Rosewood think his family was responsible for the snow? It was completely absurd. And while he wasn’t desperate to be Mr. DuttonLick’s assistant, it would be a handy alibi with his mother, should he need one.

  “Terribly unpleasant,” Mr. DuttonLick continued, running a hand through his curly hair. “That poor lemon drop lady, rest her soul. And if something were to happen inside my shop . . . possible lawsuits and—”

  “Please,” Adélaïde pleaded. “What if Archer promises he won’t get anyone killed?”

  “My dear, it’s disturbing that Archer would even have to make such a promise.”

  Oliver whispered in Archer’s ear. “Don’t get angry. I’m only saying this to help.” He then addressed Mr. DuttonLick. “Archer’s grandparents are the curse. Not him. Archer was thrilled to hear he could be your assistant. It’s all he’s been talking about. Right, Archer? What were you saying the other day? Oh, right, you said Mr. DuttonLick was a genius.”

  While it was true that Mr. DuttonLick was a wonderful chocolatier, Archer had never said he thought Mr. DuttonLick was a genius. Mr. DuttonLick was peculiar. Peculiar doesn’t always equal genius. But Oliver knew what he was doing.

  “A genius?” Mr. DuttonLick repeated, flushing with pride. “I’m not sure I’d call myself a genius. But I do make wonderful chocolate, don’t I? Perhaps you’re right! Perhaps I am a genius!”

  To Archer’s amazement, Mr. DuttonLick clicked a pen and added two signature lines to the permission slip.

  “What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t let you assist your favorite genius? Now, have your parents sign this. And bring it back as soon as you can. We’ll begin our work next week!”

  Mr. DuttonLick practically floated off, repeating the word genius under his breath. Archer and Adélaïde stared at Oliver, who grinned widely.

  “Mr. DuttonLick likes to be flattered,” he explained. “I come here a lot. I know him well.”

  “But I think your genius comment might go to his head,” Adélaïde said.

  “I think it already did,” Archer agreed, laughing.

  ♦ STEALING GLIMPSES ♦

  When Archer returned home, he shut his bedroom door and sat down at his desk, flipping through the blank pages of the journal Mr. Mullfort had dropped. Why did they need two journals? Wouldn’t one be enough to make a forgery? And why did Mr. Mullfort steal this one?

  Archer couldn’t make sense of it. He left the journal and his desk and stepped out onto his snowy balcony, his mind focused on breaking into Mr. Birthwhistle’s house. Mr. Birthwhistle’s house was also Benjamin’s house. But Archer didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about Benjamin at all.

  Across the way, through the top-floor windows of the Belmonts’ home, he saw Adélaïde lying on her bed, reading a book. He glanced next door at Kana’s house and nearly slipped backward. When he looked again, the windows were empty. But they hadn’t been a moment ago.

  Why would Kana be watching me? he wondered.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  ♦ CONCERNING GLUBS AND MISRAS ♦

  At Rosewood Port in Barrow’s Bay, an elegant ship, sparkling with morning light, drifted through icy water, approached a private slip, and docked. An old man, as elegant as the ship, disembarked and, with the assistance of a cane, entered the port.

  “Passport, please,” a port guard groaned, craning his neck to glimpse the immense line before him.

  “You’re new, I see,” the old man replied. He hung his cane on the lip of the desk, searched the pockets of his fine twill vest, and presented his passport.

  “You’ve not been in Rosewood for more than two years, Mr. Dalligold,” the port guard said. “How did you know I was new?”

  Mr. Dalligold didn’t respond. Instead, he adjusted his round glasses and lifted a coffee-stained newspaper from the guard’s desk.

  ROSEWOOD CHRONICLE

  METEOROLOGIST EXPLAINS

  THE SCIENCE OF THE HELMSLEY CURSE

  “Mr. Dalligold? Mr. Dalligold. May I ask what brings you home?”

  “Ah, yes.” Mr. Dalligold lowered the paper and removed his glasses. “I’m here to defend two very old friends from the madness we sometimes call society.”

  “You mean you’re here to appear in court?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  The port guard searched the floor. “Where’s your luggage?”

  Mr. Dalligold raised his cane. “I travel light.”

  On the other side of the city, through the revolving doors of Rosewood Station, a train squealed to a halt and hissed. Three Society members stepped off and stood side by side in the dissipating steam. Throughout the station, eyes settled on them and took in their tattered appearance, but the three were too steeped in conversation to notice.

  “All I’m saying is, the Order of Magellan and the Order of Orion have always hated each other.”

  “It’s true, but I trust Birthwhistle’s assessment. Captain Lemurn wouldn’t leave anyone behind.”

  “The Helmsleys lost it years ago. Wigstan Spinler knew it better than anyone.”

  In the center of Rosewood, through the front door of Helmsley House and up four flights of stairs, Archer opened a drawer, hid a stolen journal beneath a sweater, and took Mr. DuttonLick’s permission slip to the kitchen.

  ♦ BEHAVIORAL CHANGES ♦

  Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley were alone at the table, speaking quietly. Archer paused in the doorway to listen.

  “Who is this Wally Gold they went to meet?” Mrs. Helmsley was saying.

  “I don’t know any Wally,” Mr. Helmsley replied, staring over his newspaper.

  “Wally Gold?” Mrs. Helmsley repeated, poking her fork at a fruit salad. “I wouldn’t trust him—sounds like someone who runs a carnival scam booth.”

  Archer tilted his head. Were his grandparents meeting with Mr. Dalligold? The man his grandfather had told him about? If they were, Archer was thrilled to he
ar it.

  Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley hushed when he approached the table. After their meeting at the Glubs’ house, they acted as though nothing was going on whenever Archer was within earshot. And considering Archer was now plotting to break into Mr. Birthwhistle’s house, he was quite content to let his parents think he knew very little.

  “You look in good spirits, Archer,” Mr. Helmsley said, sipping his coffee. “Enjoying your break from Raven Wood? Or do you miss that country air?”

  While the country air had been nice, there wasn’t a single thing about Raven Wood that Archer missed. With the exception of Mr. Churnick. And sometimes, someone else.

  “I’m glad to be home,” he said, and handed his mother the permission slip. “Mr. DuttonLick is having a holiday party next week. He needs assistants to help him prepare. Oliver and I volunteered. Adélaïde, too.”

  Archer figured there were many ways his mother could have reacted to this, but he wasn’t prepared for the way she did. It looked like she might cry tears of joy.

  “Did you hear that, Richard?” She held the paper as though it were a trophy. “Archer has volunteered to help at a party! That Mr. Churnick!”

  “That certainly is something,” Mr. Helmsley said, considering Archer with a pinch of suspicion. “Odd man, Mr. DuttonLick. Awfully smiley.”

  “If you keep this up, Archer,” Mrs. Helmsley continued, beaming as she added her signature to Mrs. Glub’s and Mr. Belmont’s, “I might let you take over my flower festivals one day.”

  Taking over the Willow Street Flower Festivals was the last thing Archer wanted, but he forced a smile and said, “That might be nice.”

  Archer left his house and knocked on the Glubs’ front door. Mrs. Glub answered, looking more frazzled than usual.

  “Oh, uh, good morning, Archer. Come in. Come in.”

  Archer watched Mrs. Glub from the corner of his eye as he hung up his coat. Mr. Glub stumbled out of the kitchen, mumbling to himself and staring at a piece of paper covered in numbers.

  “Good morning, Mr. Glub,” Archer said, waving.

  But Mr. Glub passed him without even noticing.

  “Is everything all right?” Archer asked.

  Mrs. Glub strained a smile. “Never better. Oliver and Adélaïde are across the hall. I’ve made your favorite. Apple cider turnovers.”

  Archer poked his head into the great room. Oliver and Adélaïde were seated on the sofa before the fireplace.

  “They won’t disappear,” Adélaïde was saying. “Give it a moment. You’re going to burn your tongue.”

  Between his friends and a cozy fire, resting on an ottoman was the tray of apple cider turnovers. They were still bubbling hot. Archer hurried in and grabbed one. Oliver already had. Both wasted no time chowing down, breathing hard to cool each bite before swallowing. Oliver reached for a second before he’d finished his first. Adélaïde watched with disgust.

  “You don’t understand,” Oliver said, sucking a piece of caramel from between his teeth. “You’ve never tried these ones.”

  “They’re the best thing Mrs. Glub makes,” Archer agreed.

  “I’m sure they’re delicious. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t chew.”

  “Is everything okay with your parents?” Archer asked Oliver, in between bites.

  Oliver suddenly looked guilty for eating like a starved pig. “It’s nothing,” he said, setting his half-eaten turnover back on the tray.

  It was clearly not nothing. And Archer was about to push the matter, but Adélaïde made a face that suggested she’d already tried.

  “Have you had any ideas?” she asked.

  Archer shook his head. Two days had passed since their run-in with Mr. Mullfort, and Archer still didn’t know how they might break into Mr. Birthwhistle’s house. The meeting was tomorrow evening. And as far as he could see, their only option involved a rock and lots of broken glass. Archer thought it best to save that as a last resort.

  “I still think you could ask Benjamin,” Adélaïde said, finally reaching for a turnover. “It’s his house, too.”

  Oliver shook his head and turned to look out the window. “What’s Archer supposed to say? ‘Hi, Benjamin. I’m here to spy on your father and prove he tried to murder my grandparents, so if you wouldn’t mind letting us in, this should only take a few minutes and we’ll—” Oliver shot to his feet. “I don’t believe it!”

  “You don’t believe what?” Adélaïde asked.

  “It’s Kana. She’s in the garden. She was just staring at these windows. Does she know I’m in here?”

  “I thought she was watching me the other night,” Archer said, standing up. “But maybe she was watching your house.”

  Archer and Adélaïde joined Oliver, peering out the window and over the Glubs’ garden wall. Kana was in her garden, building a snowman, her silver streak of hair curling down the side of her head.

  “Why does her snowman have a base and three midsections, but no head?” Archer asked.

  “Because she’s a strange one,” Oliver replied.

  “I’m sure she’s perfectly normal,” Adélaïde insisted.

  “As normal as that snowman,” Oliver agreed.

  Kana glanced over her shoulder. The trio ducked below the windowsill.

  “Did she see us?” Adélaïde asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Oliver said. “But I want to know what’s going on. I’m sick of living in fear. Follow me.”

  At the garden door, Oliver put a finger to his nose. “We’ll study her up close before saying anything.”

  “What do you mean, study her?” Adélaïde asked. “She’s not a zoo creature, Oliver!”

  ♦ WISHING NOT SO WELL ♦

  Earlier that winter, Mrs. Glub had had Oliver shovel the garden patio after every snowfall. Having nowhere to put the great heaps, Oliver had piled the snow against the back garden wall. It had grown into quite a mountain. Now, in perfect silence, Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde climbed that mound to peek into Kana’s garden. Almost immediately, Kana turned.

  Archer squirmed under Kana’s gaze. Were her bright blue fish eyes looking at him or through him? Adélaïde tried to explain on behalf of the group, but she was just as sheepish.

  “We were . . . and then you . . . What I mean to say is, how did you hear us?”

  “I didn’t.” Kana giggled. “I felt you.”

  “That’s perfectly normal,” Oliver mumbled, nudging Adélaïde with a great deal of satisfaction. “We’re only here because I want to know why you’ve been watching me.”

  Kana twirled her silver streak of hair around her finger. “I was being a bit obvious about it, wasn’t I? It’s just that I’m worried about you.”

  Oliver’s satisfied grin disintegrated. “You’re worried about me?” he said almost indignantly. “You’re the one who falls down wishing wells.”

  “Is that true, or was it only a rumor?” Adélaïde asked.

  “It’s true. I forgot to let go of the coin. Or I didn’t want to let go. I think that’s it. Yes. I threw the coin in but didn’t want to let go. And then I tripped over my foot.”

  “And yet you’re worried about me?” Oliver asked slowly.

  “Very much. I think you’re in danger of falling down a well, too. Not a real well, of course. But you worry about lots of things, don’t you? Almost everything.”

  Oliver went bright red, but Kana wasn’t finished.

  “And I’m worried that one day, you might wish to throw your cares away, but after so much time, you won’t be able to let go.”

  “Are you psychic?” Archer asked with amazement.

  “Psycho is more like it,” Oliver grumbled.

  “I’m not psycho,” Kana insisted with an intensity that surprised Archer. “I go to the Button Factory. That’s how I know you three. Everyone talks about you. You’re very popular.” She paused. “Maybe popular is the wrong word. Nothing they say about you is very good.”

  “Well, you should hear what they say about—”r />
  Adélaïde elbowed Oliver before he could finish.

  “I know what they say about me. But I’m not crazy. And I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  Kana put her back to them and began patting one of her snowman’s three stomachs. Adélaïde flashed Oliver a sharp eye and tried to smooth things over.

  “Where did you live before moving here, Kana?”

  “I used to live on Deangor Street,” she replied, keeping her back to them. “That’s on the other side of the park. I didn’t like that house. I begged my parents to move until we finally did.” Kana stared up at her new house as though it had whispered to her. “This one isn’t much better. There’s something dark about this house, too.”

  “Probably because it used to belong to Mrs. Murkley,” Adélaïde suggested. “What was wrong with your old house?”

  “The problem wasn’t my house. It was the one next door. Benjamin was nice. But his father filled me with terrible feelings.”

  Archer nearly slipped down the snowbank. “Did you say Benjamin? You don’t mean . . . You didn’t live next to the Birthwhistles, did you?”

  Kana turned to face him. “I did. Do you know them?”

  Archer picked his jaw up off the wall.

  “I’m glad your grandparents are alive, by the way,” she continued, once again twirling her silver streak. “I know the papers are saying awful things. But I’m glad my wish came true.”

  “What wish?” Archer asked.

  “I saw the iceberg headline two years ago, like everyone else. After I did, I began wishing your grandparents were still alive. There’s a hidden wishing well inside a Rosewood Park hollow. And for two years, I made that wish almost every day.”

  Adélaïde tilted her head. “Are you saying that’s why you fell down the well?”

  Kana nodded. “After two years, I thought I should stop. Why are—why are his eyes flickering like that?”

  Adélaïde peered at Archer. “He can’t hear you. He goes to this place sometimes. We’re not sure where it is.”

  Kana smiled, seeming to know exactly where that place was. “I’ve gotten lost there.”