Dueling with the Three Musketeers

by Lisa Samson

  Oh dear, the whole house was quite filled with all manner of paraphernalia (miscellaneous items, usually necessary for a particular activity, in this case, Cato’s experiments), from old bicycles to packing peanuts. Engine parts, crates of bottles, a doll collection that no little girl would have wanted. Yes, they were that strange. A crate of Pink Bubble soda and all sorts of brown bottles labeled with names only a scientist would understand.

  Portia, after spending a good portion of her life writing books, had decided to start selling them instead. Strangely enough, they found a flyer from a realtor on their front door, extolling the benefits of the shop on Rickshaw Street, with a phenomenal price. Of course they bought it.

  And now, here they all were. Linus going through another man’s rubbish, Portia downstairs making coffee for Milady, Augustus at the kitchen table tapping his chin with the pen he was using to make a to-do list for the twins, and Ophelia still softly snoring in her bedroom. Most likely her sheets appeared to have been taken up in a giant hand and twisted, her legs and arms poking out.

  Nothing resembling a black tome was hidden in the desk. He decided to crawl under the worktable and see what was in the boxes beneath it.

  After an hour, he grumbled within, miffed it was taking this long to find the book. Then again, with Cato Grubbs involved, he should have expected as much.

  eighteen

  Just When You Thought People Can Change, Someone Comes Along and Destroys Your Faith in Humanity

  Ophelia threw another outfit together from Ronda’s offerings and headed into Milady’s room. We have to get started early on d’Artagnan this morning, she thought.

  “All right, Milady! Rise and shine!” she chimed, a surefire way to awaken someone and directly plunk them down headfirst into an awful mood.

  However, Milady, like Linus, was a morning person. One never knows about these things. We somehow rarely think of a book’s antagonist (bad guy) as a morning person.

  She opened her eyes. “Ophelia! Good morning!” she said with a smile.

  “I’ve got clothes for you. I think you’ll like the outfit.”

  She laid out a gypsy skirt in sky blue and another T-shirt, this one in bright white with gold embroidery around the neckline.

  Milady clapped. “Beautiful! I love this era. Can we look at clothing on that lighted box again?”

  “Sure. Go ahead and get dressed, and I’ll bring us some breakfast.” Ophelia put her hand on the doorknob to go.

  Milady threw back the covers. “Ophelia?”

  “Yes, Milady?”

  “Do you think people can change?”

  Wow. Ophelia folded her arms across her chest. “It depends on how badly they want to, I suppose. Or why.”

  Milady nodded. “That’s what I thought. But some circumstances make it easier than others, don’t they?”

  “I’d agree with that.”

  “Thank you. You may go.” Milady dismissed her.

  Ophelia closed the door with a smile.

  Twenty minutes later the pair walked across the street, arm in arm like girlfriends. Ophelia still wondered whether or not she had been taken in by the Countess de Winter. But honestly, what did Milady have to gain in any of this?

  Absolutely nothing.

  She squeezed her arm, Milady squeezed back, and they laughed together as they walked up to Father Lou’s kitchen door.

  Walter found Linus in the attic, still searching for the book in yet another box of junk. Linus explained his task. “No luck yet, though.”

  “Sorry, mate.” He jammed his hands in his pocket and looked around. “This place is awful and yet fantastic, isn’t it?”

  Linus couldn’t see the awful about it, but he didn’t want to argue. That took too many words and he was already tired from all the searching. “Yep.”

  “Well, point me in some direction, any direction, and I’ll have a go as well.”

  Walter never shirks from lending a helping hand. A true friend. No wonder everyone likes him so much. King Solomon, that wise old sage, once said, “A man who would have friends needs to be friendly himself,” or something of that nature. You’d do well to remember that. We all would. The world would be a much nicer place, wouldn’t it?

  (How was that, parents? Did it make up for my tirade about terrible names? Good.)

  Linus had always liked his hair. The light blond color made it easy for Ophelia to find him, and it kept his head warm in the winter. Therefore, he had no interest in pulling it out, which is just what he felt like doing.

  “We’ve looked everywhere,” he mumbled.

  “What do you suggest?” Walter dropped for some push-ups.

  “No idea.”

  “I’ll get us a snack.”

  “Great idea.”

  Walter headed down to the kitchen.

  When Cato Grubbs said he wouldn’t make it easy on him, he wasn’t kidding. Linus hoped and prayed he wouldn’t grow up to be as maddening an adult as his distant cousin.

  “Come on!” he cried out in frustration, balling his hands into fists. He fell back down into the chair at his worktable, a very nice leather office chair, by the way. Some people have all the luck. He set his elbows on his knees, dropped his forehead into his hands and ground the heels of his hands against his eyelids.

  Calm yourself, Linus. It’s going to be okay. You’ll find it.

  He sat in stillness for another minute, then raised his head. A sound in the corner near the blue couch snapped his gaze in that direction. A rustling, almost as if it came from a small animal, scratched at the wall, then stopped.

  Linus arose and walked toward the corner, feeling a little uncertain. I can’t blame him, can you? After all that searching he’d done, it might have been anything from just a little field mouse to some odd robotic miniature machine that could shoot lasers straight from its eyes and clear through your body. Oh, I just hate those things, don’t you?

  But it wasn’t either of those things. Instead, a book leaned against the corner, a black book, a large black book. And on its cover? You guessed it. The number eleven in crimson Roman numerals.

  Linus grabbed it with both hands and hurried back to his worktable. He breathed in deeply, then opened the book. Here it was. The secret to bringing people through the portals at will. He was surprised Cato was actually willing to dispense such information so quickly. Maybe he was a natural at this! Maybe he was destined to surpass his eccentric second cousin thrice removed!

  The pages of the book snapped open to another passage.

  Huh? A television screen? How in the world?

  Static covered the screen like a million black and white ants milling around a square of spilled syrup. (And would somebody please clean that mess up? I already have enough to do in the English department. Thank you.)

  But the black and the white separated to reveal a man. Cato Grubbs to be precise, and he was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. His light curls bounced with each “Ha!”

  Linus sighed. Great. Just Great.

  Finally, the gales of laughter abated (calmed down) and Cato reached into the breast pocket of his pale green brocade coat, pulled out a white handkerchief and mopped his sweaty, flushed cherubic face. Linus could tell he was dressed in the garb of The Three Musketeers time period and actually, he didn’t look much different than usual. The man does love his ruffles.

  “Don’t you want to know what’s so funny?” Cato asked, feeding the slip of fabric back into the pocket.

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Now, now, Cousin Linus, don’t be a spoilsport.” He leaned closer to the screen. It was foolish to think there was actually a camera. No, this was a portal to be sure, but only a visual one, Linus surmised. “You actually thought I was going to let you in on the secret, didn’t you?”

  Linus didn’t move. Not one muscle. He didn’t even blink his eyes.

  Cato laughed again. “No worries, lad. I would have thought the same thing, out of sheer hope more than anything else.”
<
br />   Linus had to nod at that.

  “I like your pluck, Linus. You’ll go far.”

  “I have a quick question before we talk about the brooch, Cousin.” Linus leaned closer to the book. “Why do you go into Book World to bring back artifacts when clearly there’s a formula to bring them through without all that?”

  “What have you brought through?”

  Linus didn’t wish to say.

  “You’d best spill it, boy. Trust me.”

  “The ring from The Lord of the Rings.”

  Cato began laughing again. “From what part of the book?”

  “The flashback scene where Golem finds the ring at the bottom of the river.”

  “Quick! Go get the copy.” Linus did while Cato said, “Oh, this will be rich.”

  Linus grabbed the book off the shelf near the door.

  “Open it!” Cato cried from the book-screen.

  Linus did. “There’s nothing written here.”

  “Exactly. You have to be careful about these things, lad. And where did you put the ring?”

  “In the jar of monkey bones.”

  “Go ahead and get it.”

  Linus reached onto the shelf and opened up the jar. Odd. He dug deeper. What? Then ran his fingers along the bottom of the container. “Empty!”

  “Precisely. If you call something forward from the attic, it only lasts for a certain period of time, and there’s no going back in no matter what copy you use. Effectively, no one else will ever get to see the real ring, Linus. You were it. The only one.”

  “Other than Ophelia.”

  Cato waved a hand. “Right. Whatever. Now, the brooch.” He looked to his right, then to his left, and said, “Ready?”

  “Yes,” said Linus.

  “Is anything in the circle?” asked Cato.

  “Nothing.”

  “All right. Stand clear. We’re transmitting.”

  Just like it did at 11:11 p.m., the circle glowed and pulsed through the rainbow ending in its crystal white light. The sparks flew and when the smoke cleared, there was nothing.

  Cato Grubbs laughed and laughed.

  “Do you not get it?” cried Linus. “We need that brooch.”

  “Why?”

  Linus explained.

  Cato laughed some more. “Don’t you get it, boy? True love is strengthened in the fires of adversity. If you three do your job, a priceless brooch should make no difference at all. Now shut the book please, I have work to do. But remember what I said. It’s important.”

  Oh, how rich. Cato Grubbs giving out relationship advice. Would wonders never cease?

  nineteen

  Tragedy Is Never Funny, Unless You Produce a Reality Show That’s Been Cancelled, but Other Than That …

  Linus and Walter sat with Father Lou working out a series of pulleys, the first of which would suspend Milady out over the school’s entry way, the second which would hold d’Artagnan as he swept in, grabbed her, and pulled her back over the balustrade. Oh, the argument that would then ensue.

  “This is going to be brilliant,” said Walter. “Absolutely brilliant!”

  Linus, as always, felt a little nervous. “I’m still concerned for their safety. We need to test the line for that kind of weight.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Father Lou pulled tight on the line currently attached to d’Artagnan’s pulley. “Let’s go to the top of the church bell tower and give it a whirl.”

  Throwing something over the edge of a window high up in a wall. If you can think of anything better for three males, let me know, because I clearly cannot.

  Briefly, Ophelia explained her matchmaking scheme to Father Lou while Milady and d’Artagnan went to find out how the pulleys were coming along.

  He raised an eyebrow and turned on the oven. “Really, Ophelia? That sort of thing never works out, you know.”

  “Can it hurt to try, though? I hate to think of Milady going back there and continuing on down her road to ruin.”

  He laughed. “Road to ruin? You crack me up.”

  “So she can hang out over here today?”

  “Why not? That doesn’t seem like too much interference. And he does fall for her later on in the book.” He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a roast and a bag of carrots. “Pot roast tonight. Dinner here?”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you going to be doing the rest of the day?”

  “I have another hundred pages to go in the novel.”

  “You haven’t read it all yet?” He opened the pantry and pulled out some potatoes and a couple of onions.

  “No. It’ll be fine though.”

  Brave words, Ophelia. You see, if she doesn’t read the rest of the novel by the time the portal opens again, the character is doomed to fizzle to nothing in the acids between the worlds. So far they’d avoided such fates for their visitors.

  She realized how cavalier she’d been. “I’d better go.”

  Rushing up to her room she heard Uncle Augustus calling her. But remembering that list of chores, she pretended not to hear. Oh, you’ve never done that? Please.

  Walter made his excuses to the crew at Father Lou’s. He still didn’t feel right about things. What did his mother call it at times? That’s right. A sense of impending doom. He thought of school fires, and pulleys breaking, and characters fizzing painfully away. I mean, what could go wrong? Right?

  Still, he needed to sit by himself for just a bit, think rationally about all that was going on and maybe figure out why he felt like this.

  He entered the school from the street and had just ascended the grand staircase when Madrigal let out a cry of frustration and stomped her foot on the floor of the dining room. He stopped, tuning his ear in that direction. Maybe Johann just told her how to properly make tuna salad. He smiled as he remembered his dear mum’s food, not much better than Madrigal’s.

  “Look, Maddie! I don’t even know why you want to stay in this spooky place! It’s just creepy.”

  “What do you mean? You grew up here too.”

  No response.

  Madge paused. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

  “What? No.”

  “No, who? You know exactly what I mean. You saw the Gray Lady, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Walter crept back down the steps and stood at the wall next to the dining room entrance.

  “You don’t want to know who she is? Well, I’ll tell you anyway because she wasn’t around when we were growing up.”

  Johann said, “Suit yourself.” But Walter heard the interest in his voice.

  “Remember that old house across the street and up the block? The Wethington place?”

  “Yes. When did they tear that down?”

  “Three years ago. She came over here after that. Come, brother, you know you saw her. Admit it.”

  He still said nothing.

  Walter held his breath. Nobody told Madge what the Gray Lady’s story was. How would she do? Thankfully she’d been updated about what was happening in the evening. Would she set the groundwork?

  “She’s one of those ghosts of love lost.”

  Johann harrumphed. “Figures. We can’t even have an extraordinary ghost. Just another pale, blond female pining over being left by a boyfriend who probably didn’t much love her to begin with.”

  What a sentimental old fool, Walter thought.

  “I thought you didn’t see her.”

  “Nevermind that. You might as well finish the tale.”

  “The Wethington house has a grand entry like ours with a balcony at the top of the steps.”

  “Yes, yes. I know.” His impatience was beginning to bother Walter. For some reason, he just did not like this man. He felt that in his gut too.

  “It’s not like you thought. She had a baby while her husband was off fighting in the civil war. It was the wintertime and the child died, the same day she heard that her husband had been killed in battle.”

  Walter found himself
feeling such sorrow. Hold up, mate. This is just a story.

  Great job, Madge! First a soft spot for d’Artagnan, now this. While Ophelia’s matchmaking, she should try to put her together with Father Lou.

  Now that would be a match made in heaven. (There’s that sarcasm again.)

  “She threw herself over the balcony that night.”

  “She sure moaned painfully,” said Johann.

  “But even worse …”

  Oh, Madge. Don’t take it too far!

  “The army was wrong. Her husband wasn’t dead!”

  “Have you ever seen her, Maddie?”

  “No. I just hear her. I feel sorry for her, believe it or not. So what are you going to do, Johann?”

  “I’ll get you out of here, Maddie. One way or another. I promise you.”

  “You never liked me, did you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You killed mother the day you were born. How can anybody forgive that?” he said.

  Madrigal went charging through the door, high heels clicking furiously as she ran across the foyer and down the side hallway to her office. Walter was up the steps before her door slammed shut.

  We never know the pain people bear inside. How can we? Walter’s heart broke for Madrigal Pierce.

  At 4:30, Ophelia set down the book, feeling more concern for Milady than ever. But what could she do? When she entered Father Lou’s manse, the smell of pot roast, even on a summer’s day, brought a feeling of homey warmth she recognized but had never really known. We all know what is true and good instinctively, don’t we? I would say pot roast falls into that category with ease. And the fact that walking into a home with the smell of a wonderful meal meeting you at the door was an odd occurrence for Ophelia Easterday makes me sad. Hopefully your parents are better at providing you with such experiences than hers were. And if they are, be thankful. A fine roast beef is nothing to sneeze at, dear ones.

  Father Lou was just cleaning and paring some strawberries. “Making strawberry shortcake for dessert. Everybody’s invited. Well, all the haunted house gang, that is.”

  “Perfect.” Her aunt and uncle were headed down a little later to Birdwistell’s to play bridge. They were on their own for dinner anyway. “How’s the pair?”