Dueling with the Three Musketeers

by Lisa Samson

  Maddie? How nice!

  “I need to have a word with you, Ms. Pierce. It shouldn’t take but a minute.”

  “Let’s go to my office.”

  Johann looked about as pleased at this development as a mother whose child has dialed 9-1-1 for the fun of it.

  Ophelia had never been in Madrigal’s office. It was nothing like the rest of the house. The walls glistened white and shining in the sunlight streaming through a large bay window, the seat supporting two large cream-colored pillows. Modern, sleek furniture sat on a blond wood floor and all the walls held colorful abstracts. “Oh my!” she said. “This is beautiful!”

  “You like this?”

  “I love it! Are you kidding me? It’s so different —”

  “From everything else around here, including me,” Madrigal interrupted. “Yes, I know. Have a seat.”

  Ophelia sat in one of the two pale yellow chairs that vaguely reminded her of a swan that sat in front of Madrigal’s desk, a thick glass affair perched on sleek wooden pillars.

  Madrigal sat in the other chair. “What is it? You look like you’re about to burst.”

  “I think we’ve come up with a way to save the school!”

  “How did you —”

  “Ms. Pierce, the walls have ears in places like this.”

  “True,” she said. “So you all know.”

  “We can’t let The Pierce School close down!” Ophelia realized at that moment how much she actually cared. I mean, she thought she cared before. But sitting in front of the headmistress in her office, and seeing a little bit more of who she really was, Ophelia knew there could be so much more for this woman.

  “Maybe it’s time. First the fire, now Johann.” She paused. “Why do you care?” Madrigal snipped.

  “We’re friends with Walter and Clarice.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Her mouth turned down.

  Ophelia decided to take a chance. Maybe, like Milady, Madge just hadn’t been planted in loving grounds in which to flourish. “You’re our neighbor, Ms. Pierce. Neighbors help each other out. We just do.”

  “Not many people feel that way anymore.”

  “No. But we do!” Ophelia put her hand on the woman’s arm.

  Madrigal snatched it away and glared at her.

  Oh, she thought. I guess that was going too far. “Anyway,” said Ophelia. “Let me tell you our idea.”

  Ophelia was still talking a minute later when Johann banged at the door. “He’s here, Maddie. Get to the sitting room!”

  “Oh, can it, Joe!” she yelled back. She cleared her throat and Ophelia continued.

  “It can’t hurt, Ms. Pierce.”

  “No. It can’t. I guess I’d better get in there. But at least I feel a little bit of hope, even though that hope stands upon making this place into a haunted house. It makes me wonder whether to laugh or cry.” She sighed. “Thank you, Ophelia.”

  “We’ll be over later on with the basic plans.”

  fourteen

  Spit Solves a Multitude of Problems, but Only If it Doesn’t Gross You Out

  Ophelia went back home to fetch Milady. She had no doubt the wicked countess would find the perfect outfit for scaring the shoes, socks, and black silk shirt off of Johann Pierce.

  When she opened the door to the costume room, she almost jumped to the ceiling. There sat the most gruesome-looking woman she’d ever seen who wasn’t sporting blood. “Whoa!”

  Milady stopped, looking like a well-dressed cadaver (corpse, dead body) sitting in a chair, and jumped to her feet. “You think this is good, then.”

  “Absolutely!” Ophelia was soundly impressed.

  Milady had located a gray dress from the turn of the century (the eighteen-hundreds to the nineteen-hundreds, that is). The gauzy fabric flowed to her feet but there was no train to get in her way. She had taken her stiletto (that sharp little knife with which she earlier threatened Ophelia) to the hem of the skirt and sleeves and tattered them to strings.

  “How did you make your face so pale?”

  “Your aunt helped me. She helped me with all of this. Oh my, she’s a gem, Ophelia, a jewel, a magnificent—”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “And I’m going to frighten that man so much, he’ll be running his sorry person back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

  “Milady!” Ophelia couldn’t help but laugh. “That wasn’t very nice!”

  “Whatever made you think I was nice, Ophelia?”

  Ophelia realized she was having a grand time with this visitor from the enchanted circle. Who would have thought this villainess would be the most cooperative guest yet?

  “Let’s get back over to the rectory and see what’s going on,” said Ophelia.

  Up in the attic Walter executed his customary push-ups while Linus thumbed through some of the larger, more ancient tomes. Of course he had no idea what was written down, since the book was made up of characters that appeared more like runes than letters of an alphabet. Thankfully, Cato Grubbs left handwritten notes on scraps of paper translating the formulas and ingredients. Some actually described the process as well as the results.

  “Look,” said Linus. He took a mortar (a stone bowl) from one of the upper shelves, as well as a pestle (a special stone stick used for grinding herbs and other ingredients in the mortar), and set them on the worktable in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” asked Walter.

  “Hold on,” Linus murmured. He rummaged through a brass spittoon (a receptacle made for spitting into) that was filled with plastic baggies with various labels. Some labels were written by a dot-matrix (old) computer printer, others in Cato’s hand. Apparently Cato had kept up with technology before he deserted the building twenty years before. Linus chose two bags, one labeled “ ‘dust to dust’ dust,” and the other “greener grass from the other side of the fence.” He prepared his mind for the experiment. It always helped to be focused, to go through the steps mentally at least three times before actually doing the experiment.

  He arranged everything. “All right. I’m going to take two parts grass to one part dust, grind to the finest powder, then spit into the mortar three times. Thank goodness I’m a guy. It has to be guy spit,” Linus told Walter.

  “It has to be guy spit?” Walter asked.

  Linus ignored the question. “After adding the sputum (a more proper yet somehow more disgusting term for spit), I’m going to stir with the spiny end of an egret quill.”

  There was something to the DNA of an egret. Linus had no idea what it was, and at that point he wouldn’t search for the answer. He just wanted to make the experiment work.

  A few minutes later he had completed those very steps to perfection.

  “What’s next?” Walter stood behind Linus’s shoulder looking over at the equipment.

  “Set it over a flame and simmer until the paste hardens into what should be the size of a dime.”

  For some reason, Linus didn’t mind talking out loud to Walter, especially at his worktable. As the summer progressed, it became more and more like talking to himself.

  He followed the instructions to the letter, the process taking about fifteen minutes, giving Walter time to make them PB&Js for a late afternoon snack.

  Walter met Ophelia in the kitchen.

  “Well.” She rooted through the refrigerator for some leftover roast beef from a few days ago. Aunt Portia made a brown meal that also included French onion soup, gravy, and wild rice with mushrooms and pecans. “Milady is getting hungry preparing for her first haunting. I think she might take a nap too.”

  “I was going to make some PB&Js,” he said, hoping Ophelia would take the hint and make him and Linus sandwiches too.

  “Help yourself, Walt.”

  Blast. Oh well. He reached for the bag. “Linus is working on an experiment. Fingers crossed.”

  “Where’s d’Artagnan?” she asked.

  “He’s helping Father Lou fix his motorcycle. Why would that be so fascinating to a mus
keteer?”

  Ophelia started to laugh. “I know exactly why!”

  Walter opened the lid to the jar of peanut butter. “And?”

  “At the beginning of The Three Musketeers he gets made fun of by the Count de Rochefort for having such an old, sorry-looking yellow horse. He got in a fight and didn’t end up on the winning end. I bet he’s thinking a motorcycle is a much better way to get around.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Ophelia and Milady ate their sandwiches and looked on the computer at some fashion blogs. Milady was delighted at the fashions of the day. You can imagine, if she had been able to stay, what a trendsetter the Frenchwoman would have been.

  fifteen

  Never Underestimate the Power of Jewelry

  or One Ring to Rule Them All and a Diamond Brooch Can Cause a Lot of Trouble

  Ophelia threw her length down on the blue sofa. “Any discoveries?”

  “I think so.” He opened a copy of The Lord of the Rings. “Watch.”

  Ophelia’s eyes rounded in horror. “That book? I hope you know what you’re doing, Linus, because I can think of a thousand things that could go wrong.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just going after the ring.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel better.” She rolled her eyes.

  For the past month he’d been trying to find a way to bring artifacts from Book World over to Real World. If characters could travel, why not things? Cato Grubbs did it all the time. So far, however, Linus had experienced a string of failures. He tried bringing the famous wardrobe through, but only a robe covered in bumps appeared. After that, there was the gold straw from Rumplestiltskin debacle. He decided this time he would get it exactly right. He’d measured perfectly, and there in his palm was the pebble he’d created earlier.

  He opened up The Lord of the Rings and placed the pebble precisely on the word ring, making sure it wasn’t some other ring. If he was going to get a ring, he wanted the fancy gold one with elvish writing.

  Placing the pairing in the middle of the circle, he dropped an eyedropper full of the rainbow liquid onto the pebble precisely at 7:11 and stood back. “We’ll see.”

  Ophelia held her breath. The book glowed as if someone shone ten flashlights from deep in its pages. And as if some unseen hands grabbed the volume, it jumped up, snapped shut, and landed with a thud onto the floorboards. Much too loud of a thud for a cheap paperback from the bookstore at the mall, I might add. Nobody values quality literature these days.

  Linus picked it up without hesitation while Ophelia shielded the left side of her face as she looked on, wincing.

  He opened the book, the pages flipping open to reveal the ring. The. Ring. The ring, ring. Linus gasped. So did Ophelia.

  “It’s beautiful!” she said, reaching out, eyes glazing over at the sight.

  He snapped the book shut, almost on her finger. “No way, Golem.”

  “Just let me touch it. Just once.”

  “Nope. Never.”

  “But—”

  “Go downstairs.”

  “Oh, come on, Linus!”

  “Now, Ophelia!”

  Ophelia started (jumped a little bit, like when someone sneaks up behind you and pokes you in the side). Linus had never talked to her like that before.

  She ran from the room.

  Am I Sam or Golem? Linus wondered, picking up the ring. He held it between finger and thumb and examined the play of light on its golden surface. He closed his eyes trying to feel something. Some pull. Anything that seemed to be dangling an obsession at the other end of it.

  He waited for three seconds.

  Looked again.

  Waited for another three.

  Really? This was the item that took three long books to dispose of? This was the big deal?

  He waited some more.

  Come on! I should feel a little something, right? Didn’t Sam?

  He’d always liked Sam. Sam was his favorite character. If he had to be a hobbit, he’d definitely be Sam.

  I, Bartholomew Inkster, prefer to be an elf but that is neither here nor there. And I must ask, does anybody want to be a dwarf? Nobody that I know of.

  Two more seconds. He sighed.

  Nothing.

  Good. That’s a relief.

  This little thing might come in handy someday, he thought, hiding the mystical circle of gold in a jar of monkey bones.

  Ophelia lied down on her bed and cried and cried, her voice breaking on each sob like a fog horn. Don’t blame me for the description! I’m just writing down what she told me. I told her that sounded a little harsh but Linus assured me she was spot on.

  Linus had never spoken to her like that. So who was the one affected by the ring? she wondered. Oh, but it was so beautiful. She thought the words “my precious” and giggled.

  Best to leave it alone.

  But if he could bring the ring over from Book World, what else could he summon over? The notes from Cato Grubbs were clear. The formula only worked on inanimate objects.

  Which made her think of Milady and the priceless diamond brooch (pin) that caused quite the hubbub. You see the queen of France had given Lord Buckingham a portion of the pin given to her by her husband. (One has to wonder a bit about the intelligence of French royalty during this time, but it certainly makes for a better story for the heads that wear the crown to be emptier than they should.) Under Cardinal Richelieu’s suggestion, the king asked for his queen to wear the brooch at an upcoming ball. Of course, the cardinal was well aware of the queen’s gift.

  Guess who went to England to retrieve the missing portion?

  D’Artagnan!

  Guess who went to England to make sure d’Artagnan didn’t get the piece back to France?

  The Countess de Winter.

  Guess who ended up with the missing piece?

  Let’s just say it wasn’t any wonder d’Artagnan wasn’t too happy to see the woman who bested him.

  I wonder if we could bring over that pin? she thought, realizing right away that would make them no better than Cato Grubbs who looted and pillaged Book World on a regular basis. Thinking of Cato Grubbs, why was he mysteriously staying away? What was the mad scientist up to?

  Ophelia could only guess. She found Linus.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “I was thinking.” He put the last jar, made of a ruby colored stone, on the shelf. “What happens to Milady?”

  “Let’s just say, her fate is rather drastic, Linus.”

  He turned quickly toward his sister. “Why in the world do you have to choose people that find themselves in a matter of life and death?”

  “It seems as if this time, she chose us.” She shrugged. “But you have to admit, it makes it a lot more interesting.”

  He grinned. She grinned.

  He put his arms around his sister and they embraced as they did when they were babies in the same crib.

  Everything was once again as it should be.

  Stupid ring, the twins thought exactly at the same time.

  “All right,” said Father Lou. “Tonight, stage one, should be easy. Milady should have no trouble. Tomorrow night may not be so easy. Linus? Are you sure you know all that about pulleys?”

  “Yes, Father.” He didn’t mean to sound proud, but Linus fully realized what he did and didn’t understand, and pulleys fit into the former category.

  “D’Artagnan, are you positive you can swing out from the balustrade at the top of the staircase?”

  D’Artagnan took a swig from a can of cold Coke. Linus had never seen a character acclimate so quickly, but then, he seemed to do the same thing in the novel, according to Ophelia.

  “Yes. The playacting will be the greater challenge, Father. But Milady will have the bulk of it, and she is quite good at pretending to be something she is not.”

  Here we go again, thought Linus.

  “All right,” said Walter. “We’ll have Madge get Johann out of the house tomorrow evening
so we can set up. I’ll do backup on that if he won’t go with her.”

  “Good.” Father Lou said, and wiped his greasy hands on a rag. “We’ll meet at the school around seven and pray everything goes as it should.”

  sixteen

  Motorcycle Repair and the Art of Haunting Houses

  How much longer do we have to wait?” Milady hissed. “This costume is hotter than a blacksmith’s shop.”

  “We can’t do anything until he decides to go to bed,” whispered Walter.

  “Are you sure I can crawl through the passageway in this get up?”

  “It doesn’t matter. All you really have to do is get inside. Just to disappear for a bit.”

  The brother and sister Pierce entered the front door. Johann apparently wasn’t up for Madrigal’s cooking and Walter couldn’t blame him.

  “Well, I’m heading off to bed,” Madrigal chimed and most unnaturally, I might add.

  Walter winced. Come on, Madge. Keep it cool.

  “I’m going back out then,” he said. “I’ve got things to do.”

  What things? Walter thought.

  Madrigal hurried back to her quarters, high heels clicking as usual on the marble floor.

  As soon as he heard the door shut, Walter, now out of sight, let the bottom of a heavy chain drop to the floor. The Countess de Winter began to moan.

  Well done! thought Walter. You sound like you’ve been in pain for centuries.

  “Aaaaah-uuuuuuuugh. Oh, my looooooooooove.”

  She winked at him. And moaned some more. Oh, goodness, the woman sounded like all the sorrows of the world had collected in her soul. What an actress Milady was turning out to be.

  “What’s that?” Johann called. “Who’s there?”

  “You’re on, Milady.” Walter whispered and rustled the chain some more.

  She turned the corner of the hallway and gliding smoothly without looking to the left or to the right, Milady passed through the gallery, right in front of the rail. She looked almost as if she were on roller skates. She stopped in the middle and looked straight at Johann, her eyes piercing his, then without a sound, continued straight down the hallway to the supply closet where Ophelia would be waiting to help her inside the passage.

  Walter ran without sound back to his room.