The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse

by Nicholas Gannon

  “You got your friends killed!”

  Archer threw his new binoculars around his neck and climbed the ladder to the roof. Maybe they had escaped somehow and were making their way home? He pointed his binoculars across Rosewood Park, at the Birthwhistles’ house, but he wasn’t high enough to see anything. He took hold of the chimney, pulled himself to the top, and stood like a beacon, as tall as he could, binoculars raised. He still couldn’t see north of Rosewood Park, but he didn’t move from that spot.

  Time moved both very quickly and very slowly. Archer didn’t know how long he’d been standing atop that chimney, but he was shaking and his fingers were frozen. He couldn’t hold his binoculars steady. Twice now he’d poked himself in the eye. Below, Adélaïde’s bedroom was dark. Kana’s, too. Oliver’s balcony, jutting out beneath him, was also in shadow. He turned and spotted the dented metal bowl. If his friends were okay, if they had made it out, he was certain they’d come to the roof. And he had to be here, preferably not in iceberg form.

  Dismounting the chimney was difficult. Archer was frozen stiff. When his feet found the roof, he continued to the ladder and disappeared into his house. The door to the map room was still closed. Archer was back on the roof a few minutes later with his coat, a newspaper, an armful of logs, and a matchbook in his pocket. He scooped the fresh snow out of the metal bowl, crumbled the newspaper into balls, set the logs on top, and struck a match.

  Soon firelight flickered on Archer’s face as he stood there thawing. Adélaïde’s and Kana’s rooms were still dark. Archer’s thoughts were darker. His friends hadn’t escaped. He couldn’t wait for them any longer. He was wrong not to tell his mother. He had to tell someone.

  Archer turned away from the fire and took hold of the ladder. The cold metal stung his hands. As he reached the final rung, Oliver’s room lit up. Then Oliver’s balcony door opened.

  “Look at my hand,” Oliver said, stepping outside. “I’m still shaking!”

  “So am I,” Adélaïde replied.

  Archer stayed motionless, certain he was hallucinating.

  “We were just coming to see you, Archer,” Adélaïde said when she spotted him. “We tried to get you on the radio. Kana went straight home.”

  “But how—how are you here?”

  “Benjamin,” Oliver said, and sniffed the air. “Is my house on fire?”

  ♦ RADIO SILENCE ♦

  Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde huddled around the fire for a long while before anyone said anything. Archer was amazed his friends were safe. Adélaïde and Oliver were equally surprised.

  “I don’t understand,” Archer finally said. “I thought you . . . Didn’t Mr. Birthwhistle open the closet?”

  “Almost.” Adélaïde’s voice was still a little shaky as she rubbed her hands over the fire and explained everything.

  Mr. Birthwhistle and Mr. Mullfort had entered the office not one minute after she wedged herself beneath the desk. All she could see were their shoes, but it was easy to tell who was who. Mr. Mullfort’s boots were pitiful. He plopped himself on the couch, which sagged to the top of Kana’s frightened head. Mr. Birthwhistle remained on his feet, leaning against the front of the desk. Adélaïde could count the stitching on his perfectly polished, fine leather shoes.

  Her eyes were glued to Kana’s throughout the men’s conversation. But when they fell silent, her attention went straight to the closet. She heard the hum before Mr. Birthwhistle did.

  But Mr. Birthwhistle and Mr. Mullfort weren’t the only ones in the house. Benjamin had also arrived home with his father, and Adélaïde saw his head poke over the landing as he came upstairs. She waved furiously to get his attention. Benjamin almost tripped backward. Adélaïde mouthed, “Please help us!” But Benjamin simply stared. Then he spotted Kana under the sofa. After that, he went back downstairs, and Adélaïde closed her eyes, certain they were doomed.

  Mr. Birthwhistle approached the closet door. Adélaïde glanced at Kana and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Kana was reaching for Mr. Mullfort’s ankles. But just as she was about to grab them, there came a thunderous crash from downstairs. It startled Kana and Adélaïde as much as it did Mr. Birthwhistle and Mr. Mullfort. The men bolted from the room, and Adélaïde wasted no time. She crawled out from beneath the desk, yanked a ghostly pale Oliver from the closet, and when Kana was freed, all three crept to the top of the stairs. Benjamin was staring up at them.

  “Hurry!” he whispered sharply.

  Kana tried to thank Benjamin for his help, but he practically shoved them out the front door and into the snow. Digby was wallowing in despair on the Figs’ front steps. They tossed him the key, but from his expression, you’d think they had tossed him a gold bar.

  “I know you and Benjamin disagree,” Adélaïde told Archer, still rubbing her hands over the fire. “But we would have been in terrible trouble without him.”

  “I’m not sure why he helped us,” said Oliver.

  Archer was beyond grateful and wished he could thank Benjamin himself.

  “You heard what Mr. Birthwhistle said about coming after you?” Adélaïde asked. “We need to tell your grandparents.”

  “We’ll tell them about the journal,” Archer said, trying to digest everything. “We can’t tell them about the communications yet. They’re going to ask me how we know and they can’t find out you were inside Mr. Birthwhistle’s house. Mr. Suplard was here. Maybe he still is. He hooked my grandparents up to a lie detector. The less they know about what we did, the better.”

  Adélaïde and Oliver followed Archer down the ladder, into his bedroom, and to the top of the stairs. One floor down, Mr. Suplard and his Deputies stepped out of the map room.

  “This is all confidential, of course,” Mr. Suplard said, shutting a notepad. “But you both should know you did well. Barring any new evidence . . . well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  ♦ MR. DALLIGOLD ♦

  The trio entered the map room, and for a moment, Archer’s grandparents didn’t notice them. Grandma and Grandpa Helmsley were seated at a long table that was covered in maps and globes, deep in conversation with a man even older than them. Archer cleared his throat.

  “Come in, Archer!” Grandpa Helmsley said, pushing up from the table. “I’d like to introduce you to the wonderful Mr. Dalligold.”

  Mr. Dalligold rose to his feet with much elegance and a cane in one hand. His face was filled with wrinkles, but dust had settled into the cracks and softened them a bit.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Archer Helmsley,” Mr. Dalligold said in a regal tone.

  Archer couldn’t explain it, but he knew in an instant that Mr. Dalligold was someone to be greatly respected. Archer was also a little nervous. Mr. Dalligold’s kind eyes were penetrating. He didn’t seem like someone easy to keep secrets from—like his grandmother.

  “Now what had you in such a tizzy before?” Grandma Helmsley asked as everyone sat down.

  “There’s something we need to tell you,” Archer began. “We were at Bray and Ink four days ago. We saw someone buy a journal identical to the ones you used—the ones I’d found inside your trunks. We thought it was odd, and we followed him and he immediately mailed the journal somewhere.”

  “He actually took two journals,” Adélaïde added. “One he stole without Mr. Bray noticing.”

  “Can you describe this man?” Mr. Dalligold asked.

  “He’s crooked,” Oliver said. “But we don’t have to describe him. His name is Eustace Mullfort. We’d seen him before. He owns a shop called Strait of Magellan. He once threatened to cut my tongue out.”

  Archer didn’t look at his grandfather directly, but he could feel heat pouring off him.

  “Mullfort? That third-rate, crusty, no-good—”

  “Calm down, Ralph,” Grandma Helmsley insisted, turning to Mr. Dalligold. “You were right.”

  Mr. Dalligold nodded thoughtfully “You would have been suspicious too, Rachel. After you and Ralph vanished, Mr. Birthwhist
le gave Strait of Magellan to Mr. Mullfort and then kicked him out of the order. I overheard Mr. Birthwhistle telling Mr. Suplard he had misgivings about Mr. Mullfort. Strait of Magellan was virtually blacklisted and has since fallen into disrepair.”

  “That doesn’t sound like people who are working together,” Grandpa Helmsley said.

  “No,” Mr. Dalligold agreed. “But it does sounds like Mr. Birthwhistle.”

  “But the journal,” said Grandma Helmsley.

  “They’re making a forgery, of course,” Mr. Dalligold said. “A banishment vote won’t pass without hard proof. Mr. Birthwhistle knows that. But should someone discover one of Ralph’s own journals corroborating that the iceberg incident was a hoax . . . well, that would convince many to side with Mr. Birthwhistle.”

  “You could have Mr. Bray testify,” Archer suggested.

  Mr. Dalligold tapped his cane’s handle against the bottom of his chin. “Adélaïde said Mr. Bray sold Mr. Mullfort one journal. If Mr. Bray testifies, Mr. Mullfort can present the stolen journal and no one would be the wiser.”

  “No, he can’t!” Archer dashed from the room and was back a moment later with the stolen journal. “Mr. Mullfort dropped it.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a bit of luck,” Grandpa Helmsley said, looking as though he might kiss Archer.

  “For us,” Mr. Dalligold clarified, taking the journal. “Not for Mr. Bray. What will Mr. Mullfort do when he discovers he doesn’t have this? He can’t buy another. Mr. Bray could be in danger. I’ll put eyes on the shop, but we mustn’t raise suspicion. Mr. Birthwhistle must complete his scheme with the journal before we do anything with Mr. Bray. If he suspects the forgery is compromised, he’ll do something else. And we’ll no longer be one step ahead of him.”

  “We need to check on Mr. Bray,” Grandpa Helmsley said, standing up and gripping Archer tightly on the shoulder before leaving. Mr. Dalligold nodded at the trio and followed him out.

  “Not so fast, you three.”

  Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde turned back from the door. Archer’s grandmother went to the radio, clicked it on, and read the frequency aloud.

  “The radio was on when we came in, Archer. Were you using it? Who might I find on the other end of this frequency?”

  Archer was perfectly silent. Oliver and Adélaïde didn’t say a word either.

  “And I’m curious,” Grandma Helmsley continued, turning off the radio and facing them. “You said you’d been upset earlier because you wanted to tell us about the journal. That happened four days ago. What made you so eager to tell us about it tonight? Is there something else you’d like to tell me?”

  Archer was a statue. There were many things he wanted to tell his grandmother. Mr. Bray wasn’t the only one Mr. Mullfort might go after. There was proof of their innocence, hidden somewhere at the Society. And he knew all this because he’d heard it from Mr. Birthwhistle’s own mouth. That was the problem.

  “There’s nothing else,” he finally said.

  His grandmother clasped her hands tightly, looking concerned.

  “Very well. But if you three are up to something, it must end now. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, Archer. I’m quite the opposite. All of you have helped us a great deal. But Mr. Birthwhistle is not someone I want you tangled up with. You might think you know where you stand with him, but I’ll warn you, with that man, things are rarely what they seem.”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  ♦ FEARING DISAPPEARING ♦

  Archer searched Helmsley House many times over the next two days. He peeked around corners and behind doors, frightened he might find Mr. Mullfort lurking inside. He tried to reason with himself, but it wasn’t working. Mr. Birthwhistle had told Mr. Mullfort to do something if Archer was found in the right place at the right time again. Breaking into Mr. Birthwhistle’s house was the third time. Thanks to Benjamin, they hadn’t been caught. But that wasn’t a great consolation. What if Mr. Mullfort decided to do something regardless?

  The only good thing, as far as Archer could see, was that things couldn’t get any worse. But when he met with Oliver and Kana at Adélaïde’s house, he realized he was wrong.

  “What do you mean you haven’t told your grandparents?” Adélaïde asked, sitting next to Kana on the couch. “You have to, Archer. You’re wasting time. They need to search. Those communications prove Mr. Birthwhistle was behind the iceberg.”

  “But if my mother finds out what we did, she’ll take me away and I’ll never see my grandparents or any of you again.”

  “Your mother’s the last person who should know,” Oliver agreed. “Maybe you could tell the Eye Patch—Cornelius, I mean. Have him tell your grandparents. No one will know it was us.”

  Archer would’ve told Cornelius in a heartbeat. “But how are we supposed to find him?”

  Kana hadn’t said word since they’d sat down. She kept reaching into a pocket of her dress but never pulled anything out. Adélaïde prodded her.

  “What do you think Archer should do?”

  “Nothing,” Kana warned. “And it’s good he didn’t tell anyone. Digby knocked on my door this morning. Mr. Birthwhistle knows everything.”

  Kana leaned forward and lowered her voice.

  “We left footprints all over Mr. Birthwhistle’s backyard. It was obvious we’d come over the Figs’ wall. After we left, Mr. Birthwhistle interrogated Digby, promising Mrs. Fig wouldn’t find out if he explained. Digby told him it was Oliver, Adélaïde, and me. And that you were listening over a radio.”

  Adélaïde and Oliver sank a little deeper into the couch.

  “That doesn’t mean Mr. Birthwhistle knows we heard anything,” Archer said. “Maybe he thought you were the ones who caused the crash downstairs?”

  “We left the closet door wide open,” Kana said, shaking her head and reaching into her pocket again. “I found something in my mailbox.”

  Kana removed a letter and set it on the table. There was perfect silence as Archer read it aloud.

  “When I hide something, it’s never found. But should I discover the Society is being searched, that search will be redirected. The four of you will vanish. And while I don’t like to repeat myself: when I hide something, it’s never found.”

  The silence grew as thick as Raven Wood oatmeal. Adélaïde and Kana were staring at each other. Archer glanced at Oliver. He’d never seen his friend look gloomier. Archer turned back to the letter. The writing matched Mr. Mullfort’s, but these were obviously Mr. Birthwhistle’s words.

  “We didn’t tell anyone about the communications,” he said, trying to keep everyone calm. “We’re not in danger unless someone is caught searching.”

  “But think about it, Archer,” Adélaïde said, lowering her voice as though someone were listening. “Mr. Dalligold has eyes watching Mr. Bray. If Mr. Birthwhistle or Mr. Mullfort realize that, they’ll know you told your grandparents about the journal. And they’ll have no reason to think you didn’t tell them about the communications, too. They’ll come after us.”

  “I wish I could vanish right now,” Oliver mumbled.

  Kana twirled her silver streak of hair around her finger, her eyes fixed on Archer. “What are you going to do?”

  Archer didn’t know. But Mr. Birthwhistle was not someone who made empty threats.

  Adélaïde reached out for the letter.

  “Why did he give this to you, Kana?” Archer asked, passing it over.

  Kana shrugged, gazing at the floor.

  “Whatever we decide,” Adélaïde said, reading the letter to herself. “From now on, we shouldn’t go anywhere on our own. It’s too easy to pick us off one by one.”

  “And we can’t hide.” Oliver groaned. “Mr. DuttonLick is expecting us tomorrow.”

  Archer spent most of the day feeling stuck. It wasn’t until later that evening that he thought he might have a solution. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea, but what if he searched for the communications? It made sense. He wouldn’t have to tell anyo
ne. If he went to the Society by himself and if something went wrong, he’d be the only one who vanished. Of course, Archer would prefer not to vanish either.

  He sat on his bed, his journal in his lap, reviewing his notes from the radio expedition. Mr. Birthwhistle had said the communications were tucked away at the Society. That wasn’t much to go on. It’d be like trying to find a corn kernel on a sandy beach. Archer shut the journal and tapped his fingers on it.

  ♦ MEEGFLOG, WOLPSHURE, FISHPERG, GLOOP ♦

  The sun made a rare appearance the following morning, glistening through icicles hanging above DuttonLick’s sweetshop windows. Archer and Oliver were inside, waiting to begin their work with Mr. DuttonLick. They were also waiting for Adélaïde.

  “Where is she?” Oliver said, pacing back and forth.

  Both grew paler by the minute. It was the final free chocolate day (DuttonLick’s signature seahorse lollipop), and the bell jingled frequently as cheerful customers entered. Every time it did, Archer craned his neck, but it was never Adélaïde.

  “You don’t think Mr. Mull—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  Before setting off that morning, they’d stopped at Adélaïde’s house to pick her up. Mr. Belmont had answered the door with espresso beans in his hands. “I haven’t seen her since first thing today.” Archer and Oliver had knocked on Kana’s door, but there had been no answer. They continued to DuttonLick’s then, hoping Adélaïde was already there, only to discover she wasn’t.

  “I’m going to check the café,” Archer said, not wanting to stand around anymore. “Maybe she’s with Amaury. You stay here in case she shows up.”

  Just as he took a step toward the door, Adélaïde burst through it. The bell spun like a top.

  “Where were you?” Oliver said, nearly shouting as she dashed down the aisles with a newspaper in her hand. “You’re the one who said we—LOOK OUT!”

  Molly S. Mellings stuck her foot out, hooked Adélaïde’s wooden leg, and sent her somersaulting into a mountain of perfectly stacked chocolate bars. Candy flew everywhere and the students erupted in laughter as Adélaïde, still clutching the newspaper, scrambled to her feet.