The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse

by Nicholas Gannon

  Mrs. Helmsley tore down the stairs. Mr. Helmsley hurried after her. Neither said a word. Snow whirled in, forming miniature drifts on the rug. Mr. Helmsley approached the hole. Archer followed.

  “Archer!” Mrs. Helmsley demanded. “Come away from there at once!”

  Archer and his father stood a few feet from the hole—a few feet from broken glass and splintered floorboards and torn wallpaper and missing chunks of wall. Outside, a truck was stuck halfway up a snowbank on the opposite sidewalk. Four ropes were tied to its bumper. The other ends were tied to columns that had once flanked the front door to support the alcove window. Now those columns and window and bits of wall were scattered across Willow Street. The copper goat had landed on the front steps of the house just opposite them. That house suddenly lit up, and little old widowed Mrs. Darington opened the front door, spotted the goat, shrieked, then slammed the door shut.

  This had to be Mr. Mullfort’s doing.

  Archer sprang from the room, narrowly dodging his mother’s arms.

  “ARCHER!”

  He shot past his grandparents in the hall, who tried to stop him as well.

  “What happened, Archer?” Grandma Helmsley shouted, wrapping herself in her robe.

  Down in the foyer, Archer jumped into his boots and dashed across the street. The truck bore the Society seal. It was still running, smoke pouring from its hood. He threw open the driver’s-side door. The cab was empty.

  Archer backed away, looking one way down Willow Street and then the other. Mr. Mullfort was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to his house. The destruction was even more shocking from the outside. It looked as though a torpedo had struck Helmsley House. His parents were staring out at him from the hole, as were his grandparents.

  All along Willow Street, houses began lighting up. Front doors opened and gasps and cries echoed across the snow. Even old Mrs. Darington was back on her front steps. Next door, Mr. Glub hurried outside, pulling on his coat.

  “Archer?” he called, stepping over a splintered post and broken glass as he approached the truck. “What in the—” Mr. Glub stopped dead when he turned and saw the hole in Helmsley House.

  “Archer, get inside right this moment!” called Archer’s mother.

  But Archer stood frozen next to Mr. Glub, trying to take it all in.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, and faint flashes of red lit the sky.

  “Best do as she says,” Mr. Glub advised, ushering him across the street. “I’ll let the police know everyone is all right.”

  When Archer stepped back inside, his father was in the foyer inspecting the damage.

  “Listen to your mother, Archer,” he said, grabbing his coat. “Do whatever she tells you to do.”

  Mr. Helmsley joined Mr. Glub outside. Mrs. Helmsley barreled down the stairs with a suitcase in her hand, her eyes blazing like sparklers. She dropped her suitcase next to Archer and put both her hands on his shoulders.

  “Go upstairs and pack your things. We’re leaving immediately. I’m going to phone a hotel. Hurry.”

  Archer didn’t argue. He dashed to his grandparents’ room, but the door was locked and his knocks went unanswered.

  “You know this was Mr. Mullfort,” the polar bear said as Archer continued to his room.

  “Did you see him?” Archer asked.

  “I can’t see anything. I can only say what you’re thinking.”

  Archer dragged the scarlet trunk from the closet and was throwing a few days’ worth of clothes into it when Oliver stepped through the balcony door, his eyes wide as could be.

  “What happened?”

  “It had to be Mr. Mullfort,” Archer said, dropping sweaters into his trunk. “My mother snapped. We’re going to a hotel.”

  “What about the Society? What about the delivery truck?”

  Archer wasn’t sure how they were going to do anything now. His thoughts were ricocheting around his head.

  “Hold on,” Oliver said. “Don’t leave.”

  Oliver hurried out and returned a few moments later with the portable radio. “Adélaïde left it in my room. Take it with you. That way, wherever you end up, even if there’s no phone, we can communicate. And give me the Doxical Powder.”

  Archer opened his dresser and reached into the back corner.

  “Tell Adélaïde what happened,” he said, handing Oliver the jar.

  “I will. We’ll go to the café as soon as it’s open. We’ll wait by the radio.”

  Archer dragged his trunk to his bedroom door and glanced back at Oliver before going downstairs. Mrs. Helmsley was pacing the foyer. She grabbed one side of Archer’s trunk and they hauled it outside toward a taxi parked a few feet from Helmsley House.

  “Heck of a something,” the cabbie said as they approached. “What happened?”

  “When your family associates with strange people, strange things happen,” Mrs. Helmsley replied, climbing into the taxi.

  Archer saw his grandparents, his father, and Mr. Glub standing next to the Society truck with the police. A crowd of neighbors had gathered around them. Everyone was staring at the hole. Archer was desperate to join them.

  “Can I say good-bye to Grandma and Grandpa, at least?” he asked his mother, almost pleading as the cabbie struggled to get their luggage into the trunk.

  “No. And I told them to stay away from you. Now get in the car, Archer.”

  Archer craned his neck to see out the back window as the taxi sped off. He didn’t turn around again until Helmsley House had disappeared.

  ♦ KEEPING SECRETS SECRET ♦

  A sleepy bellhop greeted Archer and his mother and helped them carry their luggage through the doors of the North Canal Hotel. Despite it being the middle of the night, the lobby was noisy and crowded with odd individuals. Mrs. Helmsley’s disapproval was evident as she tried to get the attention of the concierge, who, to Archer’s aching eyes, seemed nothing more than a blur as he dashed back and forth across the lobby.

  “There’s no pipe smoking, thank you!”

  “Boots off that sofa! It’s just been reupholstered!”

  “No, the kitchen is closed. And we don’t serve fried grasshoppers!”

  “Excuse me. Excuse me!” Mrs. Helmsley grabbed the concierge’s arm before he could fly past them a fifth time.

  The horror in his eyes diminished as he focused on Archer and his mother—perfectly normal, upstanding Rosewood citizens.

  “Oh, I do apologize,” the concierge said, lowering his voice. “This is all overflow from that—that Society, or whatever it is they call it. Apparently their place is filled to the gills. And now every hotel in Rosewood is, too!”

  “Is that why it was so difficult to find a room?” Mrs. Helmsley asked, glancing around with dismay. “I thought we’d be sleeping in Rosewood Station tonight.”

  “You were fortunate. A gentleman cut his reservation short two days ago and fled the hotel with a cheesecake.” The concierge ushered her to his desk. “You are Mrs. Helmsley, I presume?”

  At the name Helmsley, the entire lobby fell silent. Everyone was now fixated on Archer’s mother.

  “I am. Please hurry.”

  While the concierge searched his disheveled desk for the room key, Archer stayed by the luggage. He nearly shouted when someone tapped his shoulder, but he was delighted see Mr. Dalligold peering down at him.

  “My grandparents need your help,” Archer explained. “Someone tore a hole in our house. The police are there.”

  Archer was still in shock, and it must have shown on his face. Mr. Dalligold placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The odd thing was, Archer instantly felt calm.

  “Your grandmother phoned me not five minutes ago,” Mr. Dalligold said, staring in a way that made Archer think he was reading his thoughts. “Now is not the time for secrets, Archer. You told us about the journal. What didn’t you tell us?”

  There was no hope of getting to the Society now, but Archer had to do something.

  “There’s pro
of the iceberg wasn’t a hoax,” he said. “I’m sure it’s hidden at the Society. It’s communications of some kind. In the Archives.”

  Mr. Dalligold sighed heavily.

  “I won’t ask why you kept such a thing secret, Archer. I’m sure you had a reason. But time is not on our side. The Inquiry is tomorrow evening. I’ll have Beatrice Lune and Cornelius begin a search. With any luck, the Inquiry will be over before it—”

  “Wait,” said Archer. “You need to have someone watching Oliver, Adélaïde, and Kana. He threatened us.”

  “Who threatened you?” Mr. Dalligold asked.

  “Threaten?” Mrs. Helmsley repeated, stepping up behind Archer with the room key in her hand. “Are you threatening my son? Who are . . . You were at our house!”

  Mr. Dalligold straightened. “I was, Helena. And it was very rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Dalligold.”

  “Dalligold?” Mrs. Helmsley’s eyes widened. “You’re the carnival crook!”

  Mr. Dalligold tilted his head and smiled oddly. “I’ve been called many things throughout my years, but that’s certainly one I’ve not heard before.”

  Mrs. Helmsley blushed, as though she knew she’d insulted someone she shouldn’t have. “I didn’t mean . . . I apologize if I . . . We’ll say good night to you now.”

  Archer peered over his shoulder as he and his mother carried their luggage to the elevator, but Mr. Dalligold was already gone.

  Mrs. Helmsley locked the door as soon as they were inside their hotel room. Archer thought she might swallow the key, but she put it into her pocket instead.

  “I’m calling your father,” she said, picking up a phone from the table between the two beds.

  Archer opened a glass door and stepped out onto a stone balcony. The frigid air felt good on his hot cheeks. He leaned against the railing and saw Rosewood Canal, winding in both directions. He wasn’t sure where he was exactly, but it had to be somewhere north of Willow Street. To his right was the giant clock tower above Rosewood Station. It was three o’clock in the morning. The Button Factory smokestacks were straight ahead, but a long way off. Archer wished he could see Helmsley House. What was happening now? And more importantly, what was going to happen now?

  “Come inside and get some sleep, Archer,” Mrs. Helmsley called. “I couldn’t get ahold of your father. We’ll sort out this mess in the morning.”

  There wasn’t much night left, and though Archer lay down, he couldn’t sleep. Mrs. Helmsley never even got into bed. She paced the room until dawn, muttering quietly to herself.

  “We never should have moved in. I knew it was a mistake, and we’re not going back.”

  ♦ A ROOM WITH NO VIEW ♦

  Archer didn’t remember falling asleep, but he had. When he awoke, he kept his glowing eyelids shut. It was a horrible dream. I ate too much chocolate. It’s time to go to the Society. He regretted opening his eyes when he finally did. Morning light was streaming into the hotel room, and his mother was dozing at the table.

  “You need to eat something, Archer,” she said, lifting a menu when he got out of bed. “Order whatever you’d like.”

  “Aren’t we going downstairs?” Archer asked.

  Mrs. Helmsley shuddered. “We’re not eating with those people. The dining room must be a three-ring circus. I’ll phone the kitchen.” She pointed to small door built into the wall. “Breakfast will arrive on the dumbwaiter.”

  Their breakfast also arrived with a newspaper.

  ROSEWOOD CHRONICLE

  HELMSLEY HOUSE IS FALLING DOWN

  Archer wanted to read it, but Mrs. Helmsley flung it into a trash can and he didn’t dare retrieve it.

  “Are we staying here until I leave for Raven Wood?” he asked, poking his fork at a pancake.

  “You won’t be returning to Raven Wood, Archer.” Mrs. Helmsley said, gulping her coffee in one go. She hurried to the phone and dialed the kitchen again. “Please send a pot of coffee to room eight zero one. Yes, an entire pot, thank you very much.”

  “Why not?” Archer asked as his mother rejoined him at the table.

  “We received a letter from Mr. Churnick three days ago. Raven Wood is shuttered. He was very apologetic about the short notice. Apparently he’s now dean of student affairs at Willow Academy. Many of his students will switch schools. And he expressed a keen interest that you do as well.”

  Archer didn’t believe what he was hearing. The dumbwaiter light blinked. Mrs. Helmsley grabbed the pot of coffee.

  “For reasons I’m not quite sure of,” she continued, pouring herself a fresh cup, “Mrs. Thimbleton lifted your expulsion, with the caveat that should you return, you would be closely monitored.”

  Archer was afraid to say it but did anyway. “Am I going back to Willow Academy?”

  “Your father and I agreed you would,” Mrs. Helmsley replied. “But last night changed everything. Someone is after your grandparents. It’s not safe anymore. A long time ago, your grandfather told me he thought bad things were going on at that Society. And if he thought they were bad, I can’t imagine what I would think. Now I have a long phone call to make.”

  Archer didn’t touch his pancakes. Mr. Mullfort had ruined more than Helmsley House last night.

  Mrs. Helmsley spent the entire day on the phone, speaking to a real estate agent. Archer could only hear snippets, but none of it sounded good.

  “I have another hidden gem! Very hidden. A lovely cottage! Deep in the woods—very deep in the woods, indeed! No one, not a single person would ever find you there!”

  Archer spent much of the day on the balcony. Off in the distance, he was almost certain he could see the Society’s Observatory. Archer would have given his left eye to Cornelius if it meant he’d know what was happening. Mr. Dalligold and Cornelius and Beatrice Lune must be searching the Archives at that very moment. They’d probably searched throughout the night. Had they found the communications?

  Lunch arrived via the dumbwaiter. But once again, Archer didn’t eat a thing. When dinner arrived, he was starving. All he’d eaten the previous day was chocolate at the holiday party. Mrs. Helmsley dislodged a gigantic turkey with all the trimmings from the dumbwaiter. Archer sat before the roasted bird, thinking it could have plugged the hole in Helmsley House. He ate half of it, and it made him very drowsy. He climbed into his bed and collapsed into a deep sleep—deep, but not peaceful. He tossed back and forth, stuck in a nightmare.

  ♦ PLANTING PROOF ♦

  Archer stood alone in darkness. He didn’t know where he was. Lights began flickering overhead, and with each flicker, he glimpsed a figure, drawing closer. All at once the lights held steady, shining brightly, and there, towering before him, was Mr. Birthwhistle, his hands covered in dirt. They were alone inside the Grand Hall. Archer tried to run, but he couldn’t. The sapphire rug was covered in chocolate. And so were his feet.

  “The thing with dirty hands!” Mr. Birthwhistle howled. “The thing with dirty hands!”

  “Why do you keep scratching your arm?” Archer asked.

  “I brushed up against two things I shouldn’t have. And one of those things was you.”

  Mr. Birthwhistle lunged. Archer shouted and sat straight up in bed, dripping cold sweat. He wiped his forehead, fearing he’d awakened his mother, but she was still sound asleep. Archer slid out of bed and grabbed his journal from his trunk, clicked on the desk lamp, and thumbed through the pages till he found his notes from the radio expedition.

  Mr. Birthwhistle had told Mr. Mullfort he’d brushed up against two things he shouldn’t have. He’d said one of those things was Mr. Mullfort. What was the second thing? Mr. Birthwhistle was scratching his arm. Was it a rash?

  Archer leaned back in the chair. That night at the Society, in the greenhouse lab with Benjamin, Oliver had brushed against a plant.

  “It’s not poisonous, is it?”

  It wasn’t. Benjamin said poisonous plants were kept in Greenhouse Four. Then they had been interrupted.

 
; “I think that’s Malmurna. She’ll write me up if she finds me here by myself.”

  They’d continued their conversation atop the Observatory, where Adélaïde had seen Greenhouse Four light up.

  “Malmurna knows I love the Greenhouse.”

  Was it Malmurna?

  “My father is coming, Archer. Or maybe he’s already here.”

  Mr. Dalligold was searching in the wrong place. The communications weren’t hidden in the Archives. They were buried beneath poisonous plants in Greenhouse Four. That was where no one would look. That was why Mr. Birthwhistle was scratching his arm. He’d brushed against a plant while burying them.

  Archer went to the balcony. A sliver of red pierced the clouds. The Rosewood Station clock tower gonged six o’clock in the morning. What was he supposed to do? He had to tell someone. He had to get in touch with Oliver and Adélaïde. He had to escape.

  Mrs. Helmsley was still asleep when Archer stepped back into the room. He hurried the radio into the bathroom and turned on the shower to muffle the noise.

  ♦ BELMONT CAFÉ ♦

  Oliver and Adélaïde were shivering outside the café.

  “Do you think he’s still in Rosewood?” Adélaïde asked.

  “I hope so,” Oliver replied. “There’s Amaury.”

  “Another early morning at the radio?” Amaury questioned, moving briskly to the door. “And any news on Archer? I went to see the hole for myself—couldn’t believe it.”

  “We’re not sure where his mother took him,” Oliver said, shaking his head.

  Amaury unlocked the door and they all hurried in. Oliver and Adélaïde sprinted to the radio. Adélaïde clicked it on as Oliver grabbed the headphones.

  “Anything?” she asked. Oliver shook his head. “Wait here. I’ll get hot chocolates.”

  Oliver kept the headphones on while trying to remove his coat and nearly tripped over the cord when he heard Archer’s voice.

  ARCHER: Can anyone hear me? Oliver? Are you there? It’s Archer.

  OLIVER: I’m here, Archer!

  ARCHER: I know everything. I know where the communications are.

  OLIVER: It sounds like it’s raining on your side. Can you repeat that?

  ARCHER: I know where the communications are. It’s not the Archives. We have to get to the Society. You have to come get me. I’m at a hotel.