by Lisa Samson
“The damage?” asked Linus.
“The bathroom will have to be completely redone. At least that’s what I overheard her saying to her brother on the phone this morning.”
Ophelia sat up straight. “I didn’t know she had a brother.”
“His name is Johann. He said he would come home right away.”
“Well, at least she’s got family to help.” Ophelia fanned herself with a flyer for Mr. Pine’s Shoe Repair she’d found on the bench when she sat down.
“Or,” said Walter, “maybe there’s a reason her brother has stayed away for so long.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Madrigal herself?” asked Linus.
“Would you blame him?” asked Walter. “Anyway, some people are coming to clean everything up today. Thankfully, it was rather contained.” Walter stood up. “Let’s go to the movies.”
“Got a date.” Linus stood too, jamming his hands in his shorts’ pockets.
“I’m game,” said Ophelia, wanting to tuck her hand in Walter’s but knowing she would never dare do so.
Linus fetched Clarice from the parlor at the school and walked over to the ice cream shop where, true to form, Clarice—fair, slender Clarice—ate the eight-scoop sundae called The Trough all by herself.
You be the judge.
three
Good Psychology Makes for a Better Costume
or Let’s Get This Party Started, Shall We?
The next day up in the attic, Ophelia cooled herself with an old Spanish fan she found in Uncle Augustus’s costume collection, the breeze from the black and red half circle of fabric pushing her hair away from the sides of her face. Drops of perspiration slid down her temples and under her chin. “It’s so hot up here.”
Could anyone state the obvious any more obviously? No. And yet we all do this sort of thing all the time.
“Heat rises.” Linus’s straight blond hair hung in sweaty strands, some of it stuck to his forehead like cooked spaghetti. (“Like cooked spaghetti” is a simile. A simile is when a writer compares one thing to something else using the words “like” or “as.” If you want to get really highfalutin about it, a simile is a literary device that falls under the overall heading of “imagery.” In other words, you make the reader conjure up an image in order to more precisely understand what you’re actually talking about or to feel some kind of emotion. Whew! Somebody find me a handkerchief to wipe my brow—I’m as sweaty as the twins after all of that!)
She rolled her eyes and fanned herself more forcefully. “Remind me why are we up here in the hottest part of the house?”
“He’s downstairs.”
Linus, a young man of few words, was in a constant state of figuring out how to pare down his speech even further. He’d tried doing ESP with everyone, but due to the fact that Ophelia was the only one that picked up his thoughts, he realized he wasn’t really communicating to her purposefully so much as she could simply read his mind. Twins do that sort of thing, you know. A week before, he had decided to limit his responses to two words whenever possible. So far he was doing well, at least when their good friend Walter wasn’t around.
Ophelia nodded from where she lay on a midnight blue velvet sofa with gold fringe most likely built a hundred years before. Everything inside the house on Rickshaw Street was originally bought by somebody else, and that somebody else was most likely no more. They were all what some people call antiques. Other people would call them moldy, disgusting dust traps. I’m not naming names. Tomorrow Uncle Augustus would throw his monthly party. He held one on the eleventh of every month, rain or shine, no matter the day of the week. The family all possessed a soft spot for the number eleven. It seemed to come up more than it should.
And it only took the twins over two months to realize it. (I’m being sarcastic, remember?)
Each party centered on a classic work of literature that went with their uncle’s overall theme. Tomorrow was the “All for One and One for All Community Garden Party,” in which they would don costumes from Uncle Augustus’s collection and pretend they lived in the late sixteen-hundreds, in France, during the exciting times of The Three Musketeers. Ophelia always read the books the parties revolved around. So far that summer she’d consumed The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Moby Dick. Ophelia is a reader, a good reader, which means she has a longer, more patient attention span than most young people today. She is not a dullard.
“He’ll find us eventually, you know, Linus.”
“Nope.”
“I’d bet money he knows this attic is here. I’d bet money he knows we know about it too but is pretending he doesn’t.”
“How much?” Linus asked.
“Two bucks!”
“Nah.”
Uncle Augustus kept them from being lazier than their natural predilection. (The way they tended to be when nobody cared one way or another.) In fact, they’d do no chores at all save for Augustus, who had them ripping up carpet and cleaning away sludge, as well as sweeping the front stoop and mowing the back garden.
“We’ll wait,” Linus said.
He turned on the swiveling library chair back to the experiment table before him. Linus decided he would uncover the secret to the enchanted circle, painted right there on the attic laboratory floor, if he did nothing else in life. He would be as great a scientist as his predecessor, the mysterious, some said mad, scientist, Cato Grubbs. He would find worlds nobody ever dreamed of. And the enchanted circle would lead the way.
Oh dear. Now I suppose you will want to know all about this enchanted circle if you don’t know about it already, in which case I have to ask you, “Why haven’t you read the first two books in this series?” It would make this book somewhat easier for you to get a grip on. But you’ll have to wait a bit. I could explain everything to you right now, or show you in real-time action when the circle comes to life at 11:11 p.m. the next day, as Uncle Augustus’s party is still in full swing and the twins and Walter have been sent up to bed.
This writing tactic is known as “show, don’t tell” and is one of the primary rules of good fiction. Far be it from me to break it like I did in chapter two, so you, dear ones, will have to wait. This adds an element of suspense as well, a veritable two-for-one special in literary methods. Writers love that sort of thing when it happens.
Linus reached for what he called “the rainbow beaker.” When held up to the light streaming in from the trefoil window (reminds one of a shamrock), the heavy liquid shone in a bright prism. He’d figured out a few weeks before that the rainbow beaker, or the formula therein, when combined with black powder number three, heated up to ninety-two degrees before noon, could bring inanimate objects from a book of one’s choosing to the Real World of present day.
In the strange world of Linus and Ophelia, they’d come to know two worlds: Book World and Real World. You live in the Real World. As do I. (Although sometimes I wonder about that.) As do they. If you wake up and find yourself in the pages of a book, then do come see Linus. He has a lot of questions for you, and your knowledge would certainly speed up his experimentation. Or get to a good psychiatrist. Either one will do. If you choose not to do anything, don’t come crying to me. I warned you, didn’t I?
Of course, he’d told no one about his success in the laboratory of the building’s former owner, Cato Grubbs, mad scientist, wearer of ruffles, and general troublemaker, with a personal goal of making himself rich making things difficult for everyone else. Some people are like that you know. I would call them busy bodies and instigators. You might call them drama queens. These types need no real reason to cause trouble other than the thrill of causing trouble. If you are a drama queen like Cato Grubbs, I suggest minding your own business and stop fiddling with the lives of those around you. Thank you.
As far as the rich part, Cato is greedy. Perhaps you know someone like that. Enough is never enough. Oh, they’re insufferable!
Linus had been dodging Cato for the past four weeks. The scientist left threatening notes telling h
im to stop experimenting with his equipment and supplies. He looked at his sister, still sitting on the couch, and took a peek at the latest one.
Ho, Boy!
You’ll be sorry if you take 3 oz. of white powder no. 2 and combine it with a full bottle of milk of magnesia! I’d better never catch you doing that or revenge will be mine!
Linus tried that very thing, naturally, and a little dancing flame resulted, lasting about three seconds before it waved a fiery little appendage, bowed, and disappeared. Linus then experienced a horrible case of indigestion and he’d used up all the milk of magnesia.
Cato always seems to add a dash more intrigue.
Ophelia wiped her forehead with her forearm just as their friend Walter entered the attic. “Hi, guys.”
Walter’s voice contained a strong London accent. His mother had enrolled him in The Pierce School for Young People, but had sent him off to the States early to keep him off the streets. He’d found the secret passageway one night that opened up in the Easterdays’ bathroom, and soon the twins accepted him into their circle and they all became fast friends.
Sometimes people meet, and for no explicable reason, possess the feeling they’ve known one another for years. That’s how the trio felt about each other.
Linus looked up from the experiment table. “Hi, Walt.”
Walter walked over to Cato’s desk and picked up a paperweight, a glass bubble of an object with a human molar inside, and threw it from hand to hand. “Has Uncle Auggie assigned costumes yet?”
“No,” sighed Ophelia, setting aside her fan and sitting up. “We’re just sitting here waiting for him to bellow.”
Walter set down the paperweight and dropped to the floor for some push-ups. He was always doing that sort of thing and had the arms to show for it. Ophelia wouldn’t admit it out loud to anyone, but she certainly admired those arms. After thirty or so, he stood up. “I’ve got a rather daft idea. Why don’t we just go down, pick out our own costumes, and get it over with?”
Linus swiveled in his chair. “Good thinking.”
Ophelia stood up. “Brilliant! Let’s take matters into our own hands for once!”
four
Of Course a Man Can Wear Ruffles If He Wants To!
or Never Get Caught Underdressed at an Adventure If You Know What’s Good for You
It was good thinking. Usually Uncle Augustus picked out the worst costumes that made the boys feel especially silly. What red-blooded teenage male wants to wear tights on a summer evening? Or any day for that matter?
People commonly think that because I work in the English department, I, Bartholomew Inkster, self-proclaimed Literary Fussbudget, would like to dress like people in Shakespearean times. Rubbish, I say!
Walter was especially particular about his clothing. A reformed London street rat (never mention picking locks or pockets to him), he’d lately taken to having a well-groomed appearance. He showered at least once a day, even pressed his shorts. So old costumes? Poor Walter.
As for Linus, if it hasn’t been washed a thousand times or is a white or blue T-shirt, you might just go ahead and put him in a suit of armor as far as he’s concerned. Comfort at any cost. And the boy hates to do laundry. I shudder to think of all that goes on in his laundry pile, I really do. Dust, grime, and moisture ganging up together to form … well, ask your science teacher about spontaneous generation. It may not be as far-fetched a theory as one might think.
“What era are we in this time?” Walter asked. He’d read The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Moby Dick after their first two adventures, but he had yet to read The Three Musketeers.
Thankfully, Uncle Augustus organized his costume collection by time period, and Ophelia started sliding hangers over one by one. “The late sixteen-hundreds,” she told him. “It’s a very fancy era too. Lots of lace and finery. I’m kind of excited!”
Linus shook his head. “Oh no.”
Walter laughed. “Suddenly being a cabin boy in rags doesn’t seem so bad.”
“More comfortable,” said Linus, remembering his last costume for the Whale of A Tale Seafood Party, the day the grouchy, speech-giving, “touched in the head” Captain Ahab made his appearance. My heavens, that man could talk. Not that Linus minded. Less pressure on him to utter a thing.
“That’s for sure.” Ophelia lifted off a suit of clothing and handed it to her brother.
He grimaced at the gold brocade vest, jacket, and knickers. A linen shirt with sleeves that could double as parachutes hung with it. “Oh man.” In a bag hung black shoes with big buckles and some white stockings. The fabric was stiffer than a father’s resolve when his teenage son asks for the car keys so he can go to a party.
She handed Walter his hanger.
“Brilliant!” he cried at the sight of an outfit any soldier of the time would have been proud to wear, black breeches and a blue velvet tabard (a smock-like over-garment) as well as a white shirt with a fancy collar. “I’ll look like one of the musketeers.”
“Thanks, Ophelia,” Linus said with a tone. He shook his head and marveled at how inflection made all the difference, even to a mere thank-you. Why, you could say one thing and mean the exact opposite. Very economical word-wise. He liked it.
Yes, my dears, Linus was employing sarcasm. Did you recognize it?
Ophelia put a finger up to her lips as she picked through the gowns. “I am not going to be a servant this time. I’m going to be a lady.”
She pulled out a full gown of silver blue, lace, bows, and pearls decorating it to such an extent it would render any pageant queen happier than a five-year-old with free rein in the candy aisle.
The above description is a metaphor. Metaphor is like a simile only not using like or as. Brilliant, eh?
Walter whistled. “You’ll look beautiful in that, Ophelia.”
She blushed. That’s exactly what she wanted to hear.
The boys settled in Linus’s cluttered blue room to sweat and play video games while Ophelia told Uncle Augustus they’d attended to matters themselves. She found him in the dining room making party favors.
“We picked out our costumes.” Reaching for a satin ribbon to tie around a small bottle labeled “Much Needed Perfume,” she sat down to help with the party favors.
I certainly would not have wished to live in that time period when baths were a rare occurrence. Imagine the germs! The bugs! The grime! The germs! (Oh, I already said germs, didn’t I?)
He raised his eyebrows, his mouth turning down at the corners in appreciation. “Well good! I was hoping you’d take matters into your own hands eventually.”
Figures, thought Ophelia, we played right into his hands.
She held up the bottle and chuckled. “I like this idea. I’m glad the costumes aren’t from the time.” She plugged her nose with finger and thumb. “P.U.”
Uncle Augustus arched a brow. “How do you know they’re not?” And he gave her a mysterious smile.
Yes! She thought. I was right! He does know about the attic!
Oh no! She frowned. One more adult in on the secret. This wasn’t at all what they wanted.
“Where are the boys?” he asked.
“Upstairs in Linus’s room.”
“Be a dear and go get them, would you? I have a job for you to do.”
The rest of the evening? Polishing the furniture, scrubbing the baseboards, polishing the silver, folding napkins, scrubbing toilets, anything Uncle Augustus could think of. By the time the trio fell in their beds, they felt as if they’d climbed a mountain.
five
It Takes a Fire to Create a Community
or Sometimes You Have to Set a Tiger’s Rooms on Fire in Order to Change Its Stripes
Ophelia powdered her face, applied some of Aunt Portia’s bright red lipstick and pinned a fresh flower into the dark hair she’d curled in tight ringlets. Normally, she thought of herself as plain, but she found out what a lot of females do: a beautiful dress, well-coiffed hair, and a fresh flower bring out their God-g
iven beauty.
When Ophelia appeared in the kitchen, ready to help serve the hors d’oeuvres (fancy little snack foods) created by Ronda, the caterer and hair dresser of the neighborhood, Walter sucked in his breath at the sight. He said nothing, however, just cleared his throat, grabbed a stack of napkins, and hurried into the dining room.
Ronda, wearing a slender black dress and a gold brocade apron, clapped her hands in delight. “You look gorgeous.”
Speaking of gorgeous. Ronda, with her auburn hair and large eyes, provided a visual definition of that very word. (Don’t tell her I said so. I’ll tell her you’re being a drama queen.)
Linus entered. “Silly clothing.”
Ophelia laughed. “You look fancier than I do.”
“All right, people.” Ronda went over the roster of guests, the list of duties, and the time schedule. As they had at every other party, the trio went to work, carrying around trays of food and drink, providing general atmosphere to the party, and when they weren’t serving, helping to slather spread on crackers, make up punch or lemonade, chop vegetables, or place food items onto toothpicks. Or being yelled at by Professor Birdwhistell from the philosophy department. (None one in the English department can abide anybody in the philosophy department. Those philosophy people think they’re the most insightful individuals on the planet. But we know better.)
The professors of Kingscross University, the business people along Rickshaw Street, and neighbors and friends had all gone to great lengths to look like French nobility. Ringlets on the women, wigs on the men, sumptuous textiles and frills in a rainbow of color, even a crystal-topped cane or two appeared. Father Lou, invited for the first time, opted out on a full costume, instead sticking a large red, curling plume in his beret from his motorcycle club days. Ophelia thought he looked quite handsome in neat black slacks, a white shirt, and a leather vest.
But by nine o’clock, what with all that fabric on their bodies, all the guests had retreated to the back garden to escape the heat of the bookstore.
Everyone except Madrigal Pierce. She tapped Ophelia on the arm and ushered her to the living room where she sat her down and drilled her on her education in a manner of sorts. It was as if the fire hadn’t happened at all.