Benjamin turned from the stairs and pushed his leafy hair from his eyes. “You’re going to be disappointed,” he said, returning slowly to the couch. “But if it means you’ll finally accept that my father is the one telling the truth, then sure, I’ll help you. What do you need?”
The offer was as quick as it was unexpected. Archer was perfectly silent.
“What do you need help with?” Benjamin repeated.
“Can you get us Greenhorn uniforms?” Adélaïde asked, glancing sideways at Archer.
Benjamin nodded. “How many do you need?”
“Four. Two girls and two boys.”
“And do you know if there’s a map of the Society?” Oliver asked.
“There is,” Benjamin said. “It’s a very elaborate, but I can—”
“Wait.” Archer raised his hands to hush everyone. “You do understand what you’re helping me with, don’t you, Benjamin? I’m saying there’s proof that my grandparents didn’t want to vanish. I’m saying there’s proof that someone tried to kill them. I’m saying that someone is your father.”
Benjamin sighed and slouched back into the couch. “I know you blame my father, Archer. And I wish you’d believe me. But you won’t. Not until you see for yourself. I don’t know what you’re expecting to find, but you’re—”
All of a sudden, Benjamin fell silent. They’d left the jar of Doxical Powder on the table.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, trying to grab it. Archer got it first. “You didn’t steal it from Mr. Spinler’s collection, did you?” Archer shook his head. “But no one else knows how to make it. How did you get it?”
“My grandfather had it,” Archer explained, and pointed to the pile of useless gardening books. “We’re trying to learn more about it. My grandfather told me it could—”
“I know what Doxical Powder does.”
Benjamin reached into his satchel once again. Archer saw a brilliant flash of emerald green, and then, on the table before him, was the very book he’d been hoping to find. Its title, gold lettering stamped into the velvet, glittered as it caught the light.
WIGSTAN SPINLER’S
COMPENDIUM ON PLANTS
THIRD EDITION
WIGSTAN SPINLER • ORDER OF MAGELLAN
“What’s a plant listed on the bottle?” Benjamin asked as he opened the book.
“The first one is slate leaf,” Archer said, leaning forward.
* S L A T E L E A F *
Slate leaf is typically found in warm, swampy regions. My first encounter with these fascinating viridiplantae was in the Amazon, where they grew in a bit of still, stagnant water. The roots were buried deep in mud and the leaves sprouted no more than an inch above the water line. It was the leaves that first drew my attention. Their thickness was notable—some of the densest I’ve encountered to date. I plucked one and split it, and there arose a pungent odor. I’ve since collected a great deal of slate leaf during my travels, and while I’ve found its effect to be quite versatile, I believe it is at its most potent when mixed with yellow hotus and pugwort. See: Doxical Powder, page 253.
“Mr. Spinler has a tendency to understate things,” Benjamin explained, gazing at the jar in Archer’s hand. “Slate leaf is more than pungent. It’s awful. Have you smelled that powder?”
Archer hadn’t. He popped the cork and nearly collapsed off the couch. “It smells like an old sponge soaked in rancid milk!” he gasped, handing it to Oliver, who, for some reason, felt enticed to sniff it, too.
Oliver’s eyes watered immediately. “That’s the worst thing I— I think it melted my nose hairs!”
Adélaïde grabbed the jar and took a casual whiff. Her eyes bulged. “That is disgusting. I hope the chocolate will mask it. You might not be able to swallow it, Archer.”
Adélaïde realized her mistake the minute Benjamin’s smile faded.
“What do you mean, swallow it?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Archer wasn’t about to tell Benjamin their whole plan.
“I need to test it for something,” he said. “We want to make sure it’s safe.”
Benjamin became very serious. “Greenhorns aren’t allowed to conduct practical tests without supervision,” he warned. “I’d love to see Doxical Powder at work, but to do it outside the Society . . . Mr. Spinler’s work is Society Restricted. That means it can’t be known to non-Society members.”
“Why not?” Adélaïde asked.
“Can you imagine if everyone had bottles of Doxical Powder?” Benjamin said incredulously. “It’d be chaos.”
“But I’m testing it,” Archer said. “And I’m not a Greenhorn. We’re going to put it into chocolate, and I’m going to eat those chocolates tomorrow during DuttonLick’s party.” He fidgeted with the jar. “I never understood why you liked plants so much. I thought plants were boring. But I was wrong. Plants are incredible.”
Benjamin glanced at him.
“We’ll be careful,” Archer continued. “If the Society finds out, I’ll take all the blame.”
Benjamin wasn’t smiling, but as he turned his attention back to the book, it looked like he wanted to. He flipped to page 253. Doxical Powder.
“Mr. Spinler is never specific when it comes to dosage,” he explained almost breathlessly. “I’d recommend you make three small chocolates and put one pinch into each. It’ll be better to have a little extra than not enough.”
Benjamin shut the book, tucked it back inside his satchel, and stood up smiling. “I’m not missing this. I’m coming to the party. But we do have to be careful, Archer. No one can know.”
“Don’t forget the uniforms and the map,” Adélaïde reminded him.
Benjamin nodded and followed Archer to the stairs.
“I told you you’d find plants interesting if you knew more about them,” he said, still smiling. “And Doxical Powder is only one example. You should see what else they can do.”
Archer’s smile was less enthusiastic. He was still nervous about eating Doxical Powder, but knowing Benjamin would be there made the idea digestible. Hopefully, chocolate would make the Doxical Powder digestible.
“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with this,” Adélaïde whispered to Oliver as Archer led Benjamin downstairs. “I know Benjamin denies his father had anything to do with the iceberg. But what if he knows more than he’s saying?”
“Then he’d have to be a terrific liar,” Oliver replied.
“As terrific a liar as, say, his father?”
Oliver’s face drooped. “I never thought of that.”
“Think about it,” Adélaïde continued. “After we told Archer’s grandparents about the journal, his grandmother warned us about Mr. Birthwhistle. She said things are rarely what they seem with him. What if it’s the same for Benjamin?” She bit her lip. “Maybe it’s only my imagination, but during the party, let’s keep our eyes on him. Don’t say anything to Archer. He’s got enough to worry about with the Doxical Powder test.”
When Archer returned, they pressed on with their work. They scrubbed the third floor and polished the second floor. Their buckets were almost entirely mud when they’d finally finished, and it was dark outside. Inside, everything was sparkling. Especially Mr. DuttonLick.
“What a wonderful job!” he chirped, running his finger along a shelf. “Not a speck of dust! Can’t remember the last time my shop looked so good! I’d love to have you three full-time! Perhaps we can arrange it? We’ll talk about that later! Now, be here first thing in the morning! We have lots of chocolate to melt before the party!”
The trio grabbed their coats and stepped outside. They found the cold night air invigorating on their hot and sweaty faces. They did not find the crowd gathered outside Bray and Ink equally pleasant.
“Why isn’t anyone going inside?” Archer asked, afraid to know the answer.
They heard whispers as they got closer.
“I was supposed to meet Mr. Bray for coffee tonight.”
“It looks like someo
ne broke in.”
They didn’t need to go any farther to see what everyone was staring at. The pane of glass in the green door was smashed, and a sign hanging there said BRAY AND INK WILL BE CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
♦ GOOD KING OLIVER ♦
Everyone says there’s a calm before a storm, but this is almost never the case. Before a storm, especially a terrible one, most everyone is frantic, rushing this way and that, collecting and hoarding supplies before Mother Nature throws her tantrum. Shovel factories kick into high gear, newspapers declare doom is upon us, and grocery stores are ransacked. If anything, the storm itself is the quiet part. Streets lie deserted, warm bowls of soup are slurped, and shovels sit quietly by the door, awaiting the aftermath.
The citizens of Rosewood were not calm before the storm. A bleak sky shrouded the city, turning everything an ominous gray.
ROSEWOOD CHRONICLE
THE WORST BLIZZARD YET?
It would appear the Helmsley Curse is far from over. Barometric pressure is dropping. Snow and high winds will soon collide. That can mean only one thing: a blizzard.
“This is ridiculous,” Adélaïde said, peering out the windows of DuttonLick’s sweetshop. Howling Bloom Street was a hectic scene, everyone dashing this way and that, gripping shovels and bags of groceries. One man even hurried by pushing a wheelbarrow filled with electric heaters. “There might be a lot of snow coming, but it’s just snow.”
“You’d think the sky was about to spit fire,” Oliver agreed.
Archer was studying the Belmont Café delivery truck, parked across the street. The blizzard was supposed to strike the night of the Inquiry. If all went well with the Doxical Powder, they’d have a day to search the Archives before that. He hoped a day would be enough. He couldn’t imagine that tiny delivery truck would see them through a blizzard.
“I hope Mr. Bray is all right,” he said, turning from the window.
ROSEWOOD CHRONICLE
EDMUND BRAY LED ASTRAY?
An apparent break-in took place on Howling Bloom Street. Edmund Bray of Bray and Ink has not been seen since early last evening. Rumors suggest Mr. Bray’s shop was a front for a Rosewood crime syndicate.
The previous evening, after seeing the shattered window, Archer had raced home alongside Oliver and Adélaïde, desperately hoping it was his grandparents and Mr. Dalligold who’d decided to hide Mr. Bray before the Inquiry. But his grandparents weren’t there. Archer hadn’t seen them till this morning at breakfast. His parents were at the table too, reading the headline for themselves.
“I would never have thought that Mr. Bray was involved in a criminal operation,” Mr. Helmsley said, staring over the paper at Archer’s grandparents.
“It just goes to show how you never know a person,” Mrs. Helmsley agreed, leaning over Mr. Helmsley’s shoulder to read the article. “I wonder what he was peddling. Hand grenades? Exotic fish? Black market chewing gum?”
Neither of Archer’s grandparents said a word, and neither touched their breakfast. Archer couldn’t ask them what had happened, but he didn’t have to. His grandparents’ miserable expressions said it all. It was clear that Mr. Mullfort had broken into Mr. Bray’s shop. Archer had told Oliver and Adélaïde as much as they’d made their way to DuttonLick’s.
Oliver was especially upset. Mr. Bray had long supplied his father’s newspaper with paper and ink, and when Oliver was younger, Mr. Bray always had a piece of candy for him when delivering spools of newsprint. His sister, Claire, was now the recipient of those sweets.
“I still don’t get it,” Adélaïde said, lugging a box of decorations from DuttonLick’s closet. “Mr. Dalligold promised he’d have eyes on Mr. Bray. How did Mr. Mullfort get to him?”
“Maybe whoever those eyes belonged to went missing as well?” Archer suggested, grabbing a second box.
“Mr. Mullfort was probably thrilled to take him,” Oliver muttered. “He probably has him tied up somewhere. Who knows what he’ll do?”
The last thing on any of their minds was chocolate, but chocolate was now their only hope.
“I’d better get into the kitchen,” Oliver said as Archer and Adélaïde readied buckets and mops. Oliver would spend the day melting chocolate with Mr. DuttonLick while Archer and Adélaïde cleaned the first floor, decorated, and set up tables.
“Don’t let Mr. DuttonLick see it,” Archer said, handing Oliver the Doxical Powder.
“And remember, one pinch into three small chocolates,” Adélaïde added.
Oliver pocketed the jar and stepped into the kitchen.
♦ INVENTING CHOCOLATE ♦
Mr. DuttonLick was flitting around in a particularly cheery mood.
“I’d like to teach you something before we begin,” he said, ushering Oliver to the far side of the kitchen, where two etchings, ornately framed in gold, hung crookedly. “The other day you mentioned none of your teachers has taught you about the invention of chocolate.” He pointed to the first etching. “Chocolate was not invented. It was discovered!”
“Discovered?” Oliver repeated. Perhaps there was more to this whole exploration thing than he’d anticipated.
“Yes, discovered. Those are Aztecs, and they believed the cocoa bean was a gift of the gods. The Aztecs mostly drank it mixed with spices. And if you were to drink Aztec chocolate, you’d likely find it incredibly bitter.”
Mr. DuttonLick pointed to the second etching, which was of Mr. DuttonLick’s own shop.
“It wasn’t until sugar was added to the cocoa bean that one could say a little inventing happened. And the rest, as they say, is sweet, sweet history!”
Oliver didn’t say it, but as they set to work, all he could think was that he was about to do a little inventing of his own. After breaking a mountain of DuttonLick’s triple dark darker-than-dark chocolate bars into small pieces, Oliver dumped them into a glass bowl and set it over a pot of boiling water.
“Keep the heat low. . . . Stir slowly . . . overstirring can cause it to crystallize.”
Mr. DuttonLick dug through a cabinet.
“Turtles! We’ll start with turtles! Slow and steady wins the race!”
Mr. DuttonLick lined up turtle molds and instructed Oliver as Oliver ladled the chocolate into one mold, then took a long metal spatula and scraped the excess chocolate back into the bowl. Oliver banged the mold on the counter—“to eliminate air bubbles”—and the chocolate was left to harden.
“Won’t take but ten minutes! Now you finish the turtles. I’ll prepare the rest.”
While Mr. DuttonLick was on the other side of the kitchen, Oliver ladled chocolate into another mold, filling only three turtles, and uncorked the Doxical Powder. Even with the jar far from his nose, he could smell the despicable slate leaf. He dropped a pinch into each turtle and watched the blue powder and pink specks vanish into hardening chocolate puddles. He then hid that mold beneath the counter and set to work filling the others.
After that first batch, many more followed. By the time Oliver and Mr. DuttonLick had finished, the entire kitchen was piled with delectable sweets. And everything was covered in a great deal of chocolate. Oliver reached below the counter and pressed his finger to the Doxical Powder turtles. They were hard. He discreetly popped them from the mold and hid them in his pocket.
“That was almost too easy,” he mumbled. Then he and Mr. DuttonLick cleaned up the mess and grouped the sweets to be set out on tables throughout the shop.
“Go get Archer and Adélaïde to help you! I’ll take care of the . . .”
Mr. DuttonLick paused, staring at Oliver in a more peculiar way than normal. Did he suspect something? Oliver hurried out.
Archer and Adélaïde erupted with laughter and nearly fell off their ladders when Oliver arrived.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Were you trying to turn yourself into a chocolate bar?” Adélaïde jested, peering down at him with a spool of steamers in her hand. “Are we
supposed to serve you at the party?”
Confused, Oliver wiped his forehead and was shocked at the amount of chocolate that came off. “That’s why Mr. DuttonLick was staring at me. But no, you’re not serving me to anyone, thank you very much.”
“It’s just as well. You’re going to taste like a rotten eggplant until you apologize to Kana.”
Oliver wrinkled his chocolaty forehead. “Why am I apologizing to Kana?”
Adélaïde’s smile deflated. “The blizzard? Did you forget? Kana was right. She predicted a blizzard was coming. Don’t play dumb. We made a deal, Oliver.”
Oliver grumbled and turned to Archer. “The chocolates are ready when you are,” he said, and went to wash up.
♦ FACES IN THE CROWD ♦
The night sky was still a miserable gray as the trio helped Mr. DuttonLick with a few last-minute preparations. Adélaïde hung what was left of the blue and red streamers and purple seahorse balloons while Oliver and Mr. DuttonLick roped off the shelves.
“You have no responsibilities during the party, but if you see any sticky fingers trying to steal anything, don’t be afraid to shout!”
Adélaïde went to a long table next to the door and arranged cups around Belmont Café’s massive hot chocolate machine. Amaury had nearly crushed himself lugging it across the street earlier that day. Now it was churning out what must have been twenty gallons of hot chocolate.
“Wonderful!” Mr. DuttonLick glanced around. “It’s beautiful!”
With the decorations up, the sweetshop looked like a beautiful firework had exploded and never faded.
“Now the last thing I’ll need are the— Archer? Archer? Has anyone seen Archer? I’ll grab the tickets!”
Oliver and Adélaïde blinked at each other.
“Have you seen him?” Oliver asked.
“Not since he was sent outside to shovel the sidewalk.”
They went to the door and saw a horde of students waiting to push in. Suddenly Archer appeared, clawing his way back to the door. His face was jammed against the glass.
The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse Page 17