Archer hadn’t told Oliver or Adélaïde that he was going to test Doxical Powder on himself, but he had told them about a book he was hoping to find.
“Benjamin had it on the train. He was always reading it. I don’t remember the title, but it’s hard to miss. It has an emerald-green cover. Maybe Wigstan Spinler wrote it. I’m not sure. But I’m guessing it will tell us more about Doxical Powder. And I’d like to know more.”
They stepped beneath the giant wrought-iron Willow Academy gate (which still said BUTTON FACTORY). Archer took a crumpled cap from his pocket and pulled the brim low to hide his face. Miss Whitewood had warned him not to be spotted if he came for a visit. They climbed the barely shoveled front steps and pushed through the heavy front doors.
“This is eerie,” Oliver said, peering around the empty entryway. “It’s never been so quiet.”
“Keep your head low,” Adélaïde advised, placing her hand on Archer’s shoulder. “We’ll guide you to—”
A door creaked open. Footsteps hurried toward them.
“School is not in session! May I ask what you children are doing here?”
Archer knew that voice, but with the brim of his hat pulled low, he could only see Mrs. Thimbleton’s shoes. They were lime green with tiny bows. Adélaïde and Oliver presented Miss Whitewood’s library passes to the head of school.
“How many of these did Marion hand out?” Mrs. Thimbleton mumbled.
Archer also revealed his pass. But instead of taking it, Mrs. Thimbleton placed her finger beneath his hat’s brim and lifted it. Immediately, her tiny head reeled back as though avoiding a misdirected snowball.
“Archer Helmsley? What are you doing here? You were expelled after that tiger stunt.”
“We didn’t plan—” Archer said.
“Like your grandparents didn’t plan the iceberg?” Archer reddened and bit his tongue. “Your actions had many consequences, Archer. The Murkleys had to sell their house just to pay the medical bills. They now live in a miserable two-room hut in the Thickets. The Thickets! That’s the worst neighborhood in Rosewood.”
“How is Mrs. Murkley?” Adélaïde asked, feigning concern.
Mrs. Thimbleton shook her head in dismay. “They say she’s making progress, but I don’t see it. She can only communicate by blinking. The dear must feel like a strobe light! Now please, Archer, see yourself out immediately. And you two, straight to the library. Tell Miss Whitewood I need to see her before she leaves. Honestly, giving library passes to expelled students?”
Adélaïde and Oliver stepped behind Mrs. Thimbleton. Adélaïde mouthed, “Go straight to DuttonLick’s. Don’t stop.” And they disappeared down the hall.
Mrs. Thimbleton tapped her foot harder and harder until it almost became a stomp. She was also pointing at the door, which suddenly shot open as though she’d willed it.
“ARCHER! What a surprise!”
Archer nearly tripped over his feet as he reeled around. Mr. Churnick stumbled in with a worn suitcase in one hand and a soggy pastry box in the other. His overgrown teeth were on full display in his wide smile.
“What are you doing in Rosewood, Mr. Churnick?”
“I’ve got a meeting with the lovely Mrs. Thimbleton.” Mr. Churnick dropped the soggy pastry box into Mrs. Thimbleton’s hesitant hands. “Brought you a cheesecake, Thimble, my dear. Stonewick’s finest!”
Mrs. Thimbleton fumbled with the box, keeping whatever was dripping from its corners well away from her lime-green shoes.
“Never had a chance to thank you for my cheesecake, Archer!” Mr. Churnick continued, turning back to him. “Terribly kind of you. A wonderful surprise. Wish I had time to chat, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Have to catch a train back to Stonewick before they suspend service. Apparently there may be a blizzard on the way. Just as well. I didn’t want to spend another night in that hotel. It was packed to the gills with peculiar characters. But all the others were booked! Oh, and I hope your parents weren’t too—”
Mrs. Thimbleton cleared her throat as though it were clogged with a wet toad.
“Something wrong, Thimble, my dear?”
“Please stop calling me Thimble, my dear, Mr. Churnick. Archer must leave the premises. He was expelled following the incident.”
Mr. Churnick shook with laughter. “The polar bear! Who could forget?”
“We haven’t.”
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Thimbleton. Give the boy a break. He gave that bottom dweller exactly what she deserved. Miss Whitewood suspects you don’t know the half of it. That pit of misery destroyed my school. And while I can’t say I’d blame him if he did, I don’t believe Archer wanted to crush her with that polar bear.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Mrs. Thimbleton said, eyeing Archer. “Now please, we have details to iron out. And Archer, the door!”
Mrs. Thimbleton marched to her office. Mr. Churnick slapped Archer on the back and left him with a grin. “I think it’s time I make another detention slip disappear. Or in this case . . . I suppose it would be an expulsion slip.”
♦ MUDDIED THOUGHTS ♦
Archer paused halfway down the school steps, spotting a silver button glistening in the snow. He pocketed it and froze. Across the street loomed the dark forest called Rosewood Park. He searched the crooked trees and their crooked shadows. Was Mr. Mullfort in there? The moment Archer had decided he’d go to the Society himself, he feared Mr. Birthwhistle might somehow already know his plans. He took a cautious step, glanced both ways down Foldink Street, and didn’t stop running till he was inside DuttonLick’s.
“Something got you all flustered?”
Archer spun from the window. It was only Mr. DuttonLick. He’d never been so glad to see the chocolatier.
“It’s nothing,” he said, breathing heavily. “Oliver and Adélaïde will be here soon. I just wanted to—”
“Have some alone time with your favorite genius?” Mr. DuttonLick guessed, winking and wrapping his arm around Archer’s shoulder. “That’s what has you all flustered, isn’t it? Afraid you might disappoint me? Don’t fret! You’re doing great!”
Next thing Archer knew he had a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other and was on the third floor, which Mr. DuttonLick roped off behind him. Archer glanced at the empty couches and chairs and then at the floor. It was a disaster. ’Twas the season of wet boots, after all. Archer groaned, plopped the mop into the bucket, and slapped it on the floor.
Why was Mr. Churnick meeting with Mrs. Thimbleton? And what did he mean when he talked about making an expulsion slip disappear? Even if Mr. Churnick somehow convinced Mrs. Thimbleton to lift Archer’s expulsion, his mother would still want him up at Raven Wood. Mr. Churnick said he hoped his parents weren’t too . . . too what? He’d never finished his sentence.
Archer sploshed the mop into the bucket. The water instantly turned a disgusting brown. He wrung it out and plopped it back on the floor.
What if something went wrong with the Doxical Powder? What if he did something wrong? What if he turned into his opposite permanently?
Archer dipped the mop back into the bucket, watching a spider scurry across the floor to escape the burgeoning puddle. Archer wished he could ask Benjamin about Doxical Powder. Benjamin knew more about plants than anyone he’d ever met. Not only that—wouldn’t Benjamin be able to help them get their hands on Greenhorn uniforms? And while Archer was convinced the communications were hidden in the Archives, he wasn’t sure where the Archives were. He couldn’t ask his grandparents if they had a Society map. “Oh, I’m just curious, is all.” They’d never buy it. But maybe Benjamin had one.
Of course, the only reason he wanted Benjamin’s help was so he could take down Benjamin’s father. And even if Benjamin would help him, Archer wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
Archer had been miserable during the train ride to Raven Wood. He’d grown more miserable still when gravel popped beneath bus tires and he’d glimpsed his new school—that dilapidated ruin. It was true that his first
week with Benjamin had been strange and awkward, but after that, Archer had almost forgotten about the terribleness of Raven Wood.
“Rub your palm against your forehead,” Benjamin had said as they made for the Raven Wood nurse’s office one morning that fall. “Make it as hot as you can.”
“It’s a fever, boys,” the nurse concluded, ushering them into beds. “We’ll keep you here till it breaks—can’t have you spreading it throughout the school.”
When the nurse sealed them off with a curtain, Benjamin hopped out of bed, slid open a window, and Archer followed him out. They crossed the school grounds, making their way toward the thick pines that surrounded Raven Wood.
“I’ve never had much luck finding interesting specimens in these forests,” Benjamin said as he fixed a brass magnifying contraption to his head. “But if you see anything that looks special, bring it to me.”
They split up upon entering the shade of the towering evergreens. Archer wandered the forest ground, covered in yellow pine needles, and kicked a pinecone, watching as it tumbled into a curious plant. The plant’s leaves were grouped in three—two small ones surrounding one large one. They had a slight sheen, and their tips were orangish. He wasn’t sure if it was anything special, but he plucked a few anyway and found Benjamin hunched over a troop of purple-spotted mushrooms.
“I think I found something,” Archer said, crouching next to him.
Benjamin inspected the leaves through his magnifying lenses. Then he stared at Archer. The lenses made Benjamin’s eyes twice their normal size and their concern twice as alarming.
“That’s poison ivy, Archer.”
Benjamin pushed the lenses from his eyes as Archer dropped the leaves.
“You’re going to have a nasty rash. You need to wash the oils off. Hurry! To the ocean!”
Archer and Benjamin sprinted from the pine forest, passed the crushed topiary where a boy had nearly died, and continued down the stone walkway to the shimmering sea. Archer bent down at the water’s edge, dipped his hands in, and didn’t notice the wave until it swallowed him. His nostrils flared with salt and he sat up, perfectly drenched, spitting seawater from his mouth. Benjamin laughed so hard the magnifying lenses dropped over his eyes again.
“You’re the only fountain at Raven Wood that still works!”
Either Benjamin didn’t notice the second wave, or thanks to the magnifying lenses, he thought it was farther away than it appeared. Whatever the reason, a moment later, he too was soaking wet, sitting in the sea next to Archer, spitting.
“Make that two fountains,” Archer said, both of them grinning wide.
Archer stood quietly on DuttonLick’s third floor, staring into his muddy bucket. Why did Benjamin’s father have to be Mr. Birthwhistle?
♦ NATURALLY UNNATURAL ♦
Archer set the mop into the bucket and hurried over to the stairs, hearing Oliver’s and Adélaïde’s voices.
“I’m not going to make it!” Oliver was saying. “Help me!”
“You’ll be fine,” Adélaïde replied.
Archer lifted the rope for them. Adélaïde stepped under it with a bulging bag. Oliver stepped under it with two more buckets, another mop, a broom, a brush, rags, and a few spray bottles. He barely managed it.
“Did you find the book?” Archer asked, giving Oliver a hand.
“Not the one you wanted,” Adélaïde replied, spilling books onto a couch. “Miss Whitewood had these, but I don’t think they’re going to help us.”
“It was good you weren’t there,” Oliver added as Archer sifted through the pile. “Miss Whitewood practically interrogated us. She thought it was odd—us being interested in books on plants and gardening in the middle of winter.”
Archer lifted a book called How Does Your Garden Grow? It was pink and there was a lady on the cover, smiling in a way that made him think she was in need of a psychological evaluation. Another was titled Tulips Unsealed: Gardening Secrets. It was yellow and there was a picture of a bloated, red-faced man, clutching a pair of binoculars, partially hidden deep in a garden overflowing with tulips. These two would love his mother’s flower festivals.
“I know,” Adélaïde said, seeing his expression. “But these were all she had. She’d never heard of the book you described.”
“This one might help,” Archer said hopefully, opening a book called The Plant Dictionary. He carefully removed the jar of Doxical Powder from his pocket and searched for the plants listed on the back. They weren’t in there. Not one of them. Archer frowned at the jar. “It’s like they haven’t been discovered yet.”
“Can I see that?” Oliver asked.
Archer handed him the jar.
Oliver held it up to the light, cautiously shaking the fine blue powder and pink specks. “This can’t be natural.”
“Technically it’s completely natural,” Adélaïde said, leaning over to see better.
“How can making someone go against their nature be natural?”
“If you go against your nature with the use of nature, then it’s natural.”
“I don’t think that’s right. And I still don’t understand why you suddenly want to know more about Doxical Powder, Archer.”
“There is a chance we might permanently damage Alice, Molly, and Charlie,” Adélaïde said.
“We’d be doing Rosewood a favor if we permanently turned them into their opposites.”
“We’re not testing it on them,” Archer said, shutting the dictionary. “We’re testing it on me.”
“I hear lots of chatting, but no scrubbing!” Mr. DuttonLick chirped from the second floor. “Scrub! Scrub! Scrub!”
“I love his shop,” Oliver said, grabbing a brush and dropping to his knees. “But Mr. DuttonLick is getting very old very fast.”
“Why are we testing the Doxical Powder on you?” Adélaïde asked, taking hold of the mop.
“It just seems right,” Archer explained. “We’ll know more about it with a firsthand account. I’ll do it tomorrow during the party. We can’t do it around my grandparents or my mother or Amaury.”
“I was looking forward to watching the transformation of the terrible three,” Oliver sighed, struggling to pry a piece of gum stuck between the floorboards. “I wonder what you’ll be like.”
Archer was still trying to figure that out, too. He was a Helmsley. But who was Archer Helmsley?
“Well,” Adélaïde said, thinking it over. “You’re loyal and brave, so maybe you’ll become a treacherous coward?”
“Or sometimes,” Oliver suggested, “when we’re together, it’s like you’re not really with us—like you’re off somewhere far away. So maybe you’ll be very present.” He stared at Archer. “That could be intense.”
Archer grinned and took the rags and spray bottles to the windows. While polishing the glass, he saw a Society truck squeal to a halt just off Howling Bloom Street. It was much larger than the one Cornelius drove. Archer froze, half expecting to see Mr. Birthwhistle and the Society attendants get out. But when the doors opened, Greenhorns rushed out instead. They separated into groups and scattered down Howling Bloom Street, entering different shops. He spotted Darby, running to keep up with two older Greenhorns who entered Trumm and Drumm, while the cinder block named Fledger made for DuttonLick’s alongside a boy who resembled a piece of driftwood.
Then Benjamin hopped down from the truck by himself, looking unsure about which way to go. Archer hesitated, then tapped on the window. He tapped louder. He almost banged. Benjamin looked up. Archer motioned for him to come inside. Benjamin hesitated, but followed the cinder block and driftwood into the sweetshop.
“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, now trying to pry the gum from his brush as Archer hurried to the stairs.
“Benjamin’s here. I need to ask for his help.”
Adélaïde nearly dropped the mop. “What do you mean, ask for his help? You can’t tell him what we’re doing, Archer. If you tell Benjamin we’re going to the Society and he tells his father .
. .”
“You can’t tell him the truth,” Oliver agreed.
It was a risk, but Archer went to get Benjamin anyway.
♦ A PUNGENT ODOR♦
Tense was about the only word to describe the second post-Raven Wood reunion. Benjamin sat on the couch across from the trio, his leather satchel in his lap, looking everywhere except at Archer.
“I saw Mr. Churnick this morning,” Archer tried. “He was at the Button Factory. I’m not sure what’s going on.”
Benjamin couldn’t have cared less.
“Why are Greenhorns here?” Adélaïde asked.
“The Society is overflowing,” Benjamin finally said. “They want us out of the way. They’ve been carting us all over Rosewood.”
Oliver cleared his throat, certain he knew the reason for the tension. “You might be angry that we broke into your house, and you’re probably wondering why we—”
“My father had nothing to do with the iceberg,” Benjamin insisted, locking eyes with Archer. He opened his satchel and dangled a newspaper before him. “I’m only here to show you this. They found a journal, Archer. They proved your grandfather lost his mind.”
Archer would rather eat a rotting fish than read that article again. “That journal was forged.”
“Why would anyone forge a journal, Archer?”
“Because the iceberg wasn’t a hoax. There’s proof. It’s hidden inside the Society. And I’m going to find—”
Benjamin was on his feet, stuffing the newspaper back into his bag.
“Good luck,” he said. “But if you ask me, you’re wasting your time. I know you don’t want to, Archer, but you need to accept it. The truth isn’t hidden anywhere. It’s sleeping in your house.”
Archer stood up before Benjamin reached the stairs.
“Don’t leave, Benjamin. Please. I know you don’t like my grandparents. I know you’re angry they tried to banish Wigstan Spinler. You won’t believe me, but my grandfather didn’t want to do that. He was trying to do something else. But my grandparents shouldn’t be banished either. Please, Benjamin. I need your help.”
The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse Page 16