by Bill Harley
“Is that possible?” she asked as a small smile appeared on her thin and sour face. “Would there be room for him?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Gritbun. “They’re always looking for new students to train.”
“But isn’t it very expensive?” asked Darius, searching for something that would discourage Aunt Inga.
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” said Aunt Inga excitedly. “I’ll just get some more money from those Figby Migby people.”
“And there are scholarships,” Mrs. Gritbun enthused. “Students can work off the fee on the weekends and in the evenings, and between classes and drills and homework. There is always work to be done.” She smiled at Anthony. “Wouldn’t you like your playmate to come to Crapper, Anthony?”
“I think it would be just great,” Anthony said, leering at Darius like a poisonous snake. If he’d had a forked tongue, it would have flickered.
“We should look into this immediately,” said Aunt Inga. “I certainly can’t have him underfoot for the whole school year. I’d never get anything done.”
She looked at Darius.
Mrs. Gritbun looked at Darius.
Anthony looked at Darius.
They were all looking at Darius.
“I think it would be good for you, Darius,” said his aunt.
Darius couldn’t help himself. The words jumped out of his mouth like angry grasshoppers. “I don’t want to go to Crapper! I’d hate it there!”
There was a moment of silence as the three people on the sofa stared at him. Then their mouths opened and they began to speak all at once. To Darius, they looked like the mythological three-headed monster Daedalus had told him about—Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to the underworld.
Darius couldn’t tell which words were coming from which mouth, they came at him so fast.
“Of all the …”
“I don’t believe …”
“Why you little …”
“Horrid …”
“Ungrateful …”
“Selfish …”
“Little …”
“Brat …”
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!” (Darius knew that those words were spoken by Aunt Inga.)
“I don’t even have a room!” shouted Darius. “All I have is a cot in a dark, damp basement!” Tears were running down his face, but he didn’t care.
“I knew it,” screeched Aunt Inga. “I just knew it would come to this.” Cookie crumbs sprayed from her mouth as she spoke. “Well, just listen to me, Mr. Snootypants, you’re lucky to have that much. But you won’t have it for long. Nosiree Bob, you won’t. I won’t have you here underfoot all winter, and if the fine school that Anthony goes to will have you, it’s probably the last place on earth that will.”
“Miss Hastings would take me!” said Darius. “Let’s find her. She would take me.”
“What could she do for you?” Aunt Inga sputtered. “She’s an old woman.”
“She loves me!”
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!” Aunt Inga repeated, shaking with rage.
“My dungeon, you mean!” said Darius, wiping his tears. He got up and walked out of the room, leaving the hissing, seething three-headed monster muttering to itself. As he reached the stairs, he put his hand in his pocket and found Miss Hastings’s silver wings. He pulled them out and held them in his fingers, rubbing them as if that would bring them to life and lift him up, away from Aunt Inga’s house, and high into the sky. “I’m finishing my bike,” he said out loud. “I’m coming, Miss Hastings.”
But it wasn’t going to be that easy.
13
Darius Tells His Story
The next morning, Darius was at Daedalus’s house earlier than ever before. He rapped on the back door and it opened a crack.
Daedalus peeped out, his hair twisted and standing straight up. “What do you seek, Master Darius?” he said, squinting his eyes. “And why do you come so early to the land of the dead?”
“This isn’t funny, Daedalus. You have to let me in so we can work on my bike.”
“This is no way to speak to Charon, the ferryman.”
“Who?”
Daedalus rolled his eyes. “Don’t you remember? We talked about him. Charon, who carries people over the River Styx to the land of the dead. They put coins under their tongues to pay him. Do you have some money for me? Let me look under your tongue.”
“Daedalus!” Darius sputtered. “This is no time for stories! Please let me in!”
“No one crosses the River Styx without payment … What about cinnamon buns?”
“DAEDALUS!” yelled Darius. “Let me in!”
“Okay, okay, don’t be so touchy—you’re acting like a grown-up,” Daedalus grumbled as he opened the door. “What’s the problem? Would you like some juice?”
“I don’t have time to sit down and eat,” said Darius. “We have to finish my bike today. It’s already taken too long.” He scooted down the stairs.
“What’s the hurry?” Daedalus called as he followed Darius down to the workshop.
“Mrs. Gritbun had a terrible idea and now my aunt is sending me to military school and I’ll be eaten alive,” Darius spoke in a rush. “Anthony is already figuring out more ways to torture me. They’ll stick me in Crapper and I’ll never get out. We don’t have much time. We have to finish my bike so I can ride away and find–”
“Wait! Slow down. What are you talking about?”
You might find it hard to believe that during all those days of working on bikes with Daedalus, Darius had not told him anything about his problems with Anthony or his plan to escape. But it’s true. They were so interested in bicycles and stories of the Greek gods that they had forgotten everything else. Daedalus hadn’t pried into Darius’s business away from the workshop, and Darius had been grateful. Talking about his aunt or his parents or Miss Hastings just made him feel bad.
First, Darius confessed that he hadn’t told Aunt Inga about coming to the workshop.
Daedalus frowned. “You promised me you would tell her!”
“I know, I know,” said Darius, “but let me tell you why I didn’t. I guess we’d better sit down. This may take some time.”
Daedalus pulled a wooden bench from under the work counter and took a seat. Darius sat on the other end of the bench and told his story. Tears welled up in his eyes when he told about his mother’s unexpected death and his father’s disappearance. His cheeks grew red with anger when he talked about Aunt Inga and Anthony. By the time he got to the part about having to go to Crapper Academy, he was walking around the small kitchen in circles, waving his arms wildly.
In fact, Darius was so upset that he didn’t notice the effect his story was having on Daedalus. He didn’t see the look on the old man’s face when he heard the name Frobisher. He didn’t hear Daedalus gasp when he learned that Darius’s beloved housekeeper was named Miss Hastings. Darius didn’t even see the tear Daedalus wiped from his eye.
When Darius had worn himself out raving about Anthony and Aunt Inga and Crapper Academy, he collapsed in the chair and looked over at Daedalus.
His wild-haired, wonderful friend sat across from him, covering most of his face with his large, old hands.
“See, Daedalus?” Darius said. “I have to finish my bike and get out of here. Now!”
Daedalus peered at him through his fingers, his bright blue eyes now filled with tears. “I should have known right away,” he said.
“What? Known what?” asked Darius.
“Your father was named Rudy?”
“Yes. How do you know?”
“And your Miss Hastings—”
“Our housekeeper.”
“Gracie?”
“Yes, her first name is Grace. How did—?”
“Incredible,” Daedalus murmured. “Inconceivable. But of course …” The old man cleared his throat and looked up through the basement window, high on the wall.
“How did you know them?” Darius repeated. He had
the feeling something important was about to happen, but he didn’t know what it was. Something was knocking on the door of his brain, but he couldn’t find the doorknob to open it.
“I … um … knew Miss Hastings very well … once,” Daedalus stammered.
“How did you know her?”
“We were friends.”
“Wait. Wait! You were friends with Miss Hastings? Good friends?”
“You could say that.”
“Wait … Daedalus. Was it you? Were you going to marry Miss Hastings a long time ago?”
Daedalus’s breath caught. “Yes, it was I.”
“And you knew my dad?”
“Yes,” said Daedalus, frowning.
Darius didn’t notice the worried look on his friend’s face. He was beside himself with glee. “That’s great!” he shouted. “We can find her together!” Darius didn’t say it, but he was also thinking that the three of them might search for his father, too. Finally, it seemed that things were headed in the right direction.
You are probably thinking so, too. I know I am.
But then, Daedalus shook his head. “No thanks, I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
“This is all happening too fast.”
“Too fast for what? What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you want to see her?”
“I doubt that she would want to see me. The last time I saw her she was angry with me, and I bet she still is. She was always very stubborn.”
“You’re wrong. She would want to see you! She needs you!”
“No, Darius, I don’t think so.”
“You’ve got to come with me. You’ve got to help me find her. I have to get away!”
Daedalus sighed and thought for a moment. “I will help you finish your bicycle. If you want to find Gracie … er … Miss Hastings, that’s your business. But I won’t go myself. It is too late for that.”
“But why? Why won’t you? Why don’t you want to see her?”
“After everything that has happened, she would want to see me even less.”
“You’re wrong!”
“I’m right. I’m sure of it. Something very terrible happened between Gracie—Miss Hastings—and me. More terrible than I even knew, until now.”
“But–”
“ENOUGH!” Daedalus boomed. The metal rims hanging over his head buzzed and rattled in sympathy. “I can’t talk about it. No buts. No ifs. No ands.”
Darius gulped, surprised at Daedalus’s yelling. He had never raised his voice like that before. Darius looked closely at him. This man was different from the person he had come to know over the past several weeks. He saw a terrible unhappiness that he couldn’t, for all of his eleven years, understand.
“Okay,” Darius said, “but you will help me finish my bike?”
“Yes, I’ll help you do that,” answered Daedalus.
“Maybe we could repair the flying bike instead, since that way I could get to Miss Hastings faster?”
“No,” said Daedalus. “Definitely not.”
Even though Darius knew he was pushing his luck, he risked another question. “How’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How did you build a flying bicycle?”
“Science. I was a scientist.”
“But why–”
“No!” Daedalus interrupted. “Don’t ask me again!”
“Okay,” said Darius, now close to tears. “Don’t yell.”
“I will help you finish your bike. But do not ask me again about the flying bike.”
“Okay,” Darius said. “Okay. But what about Miss Hastings?”
“No! Nothing about Gra—” He caught himself. “Nothing about Miss Hastings. Don’t bring her up again.” Daedalus took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “All right,” he said. “Time to finish up the spokes. And then you need to go.”
Darius desperately wanted to ask more, to talk more, but he understood that the time was not right. He would have to wait.
And so will you.
14
A Visit from the Colonel
The next day, as Darius was on his way out the door to the library, he heard his aunt talking on the phone. He peeked into the living room.
“Yes, Colonel,” Aunt Inga said with sugary politeness. “Yes sir, we’ll look forward to seeing you. I must tell you, he’s not very well behaved…. It doesn’t? You can fix that? Wonderful. When does school begin? … That soon? Fine. Darius and I will look forward to meeting you…. Yes, thank you ever so much. Good-bye, Colonel Crimper.”
She hung up the phone and turned to Darius. “That was the headmaster of Crapper Academy,” she warbled. “What a wonderful man. So distinguished sounding. He has an opening for you at the school, and he will be coming to meet us tomorrow. I just hope you don’t ruin the whole thing.”
“But Aunt Inga,” pleaded Darius, “I really don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to Crapper Academy. I don’t want to go with Anthony. Please don’t—”
“Oh, now you’re singing a different tune. I just knew it. Now that I’ve made arrangements, you’ve changed your mind and you like it here? Well, it’s too late for that. What’s done is done.”
“But–”
“I’m not in the mood for your excuses.” The words spewed out of her mouth. “Don’t you ever think of anyone else? You’ve been under the impression that the whole world is here to serve you. I guess now you’ll finally find out how the world works. School starts in a week and then I’ll be free of you.”
Darius glared at his aunt.
“I know you don’t like me,” she said. “This will be best for both of us. You won’t have to see me except at Christmas and in the summer—unless they have a summer program.”
At precisely eleven o’clock the next morning, there was a sharp knock on the front door.
“Answer that!” shouted Aunt Inga from her bedroom. “I’m not quite ready yet.”
Darius opened the door. A very large, round man dressed in an olive-green military uniform stood before him.
“Atten-hut!” the man shouted.
Darius was so stunned he couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare. Everything about the man was massive. The head on top of his rotund body was big and square. He had enormous features—large ears, a bulbous nose, a huge mouth with puffy lips, and the bushiest eyebrows Darius had ever seen.
“Atten-hut!” the man bellowed. Still Darius stared.
The man ripped open the screen door and leaned over until his bushy eyebrows and monstrous mouth were inches from Darius’s face.
“Excuse me, son,” he said in a menacing whisper, “but maybe you’re hard of hearing. I said … ATTEN-HUT!” The roar hit Darius like a freight train and he jumped back two feet. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself standing straight with his arms at his sides.
A smile spread across the colonel’s face. “That’s better, son. You must be Darius. I’ve come to meet you and your wonderful aunt.”
“Here I am,” sang out Aunt Inga as she came into the living room all dressed up in a horrible frilly dress that Darius had never seen. “You must be Colonel Crimper.” Her voice was as cheery and sunny as a kindergarten teacher on the first day of school. Darius felt like throwing up. He’d never heard Aunt Inga use that voice before, and he instantly spotted it as a fake. He noticed that it didn’t bother the colonel at all.
Darius knew that was a bad sign. Anyone who couldn’t tell Aunt Inga was being fake was probably fake himself. Or a monster that didn’t give a fig.
Aunt Inga ordered Darius to sit on the most uncomfortable chair in the living room and listen while she and Colonel Crimper talked. Aunt Inga said the most terrible and untrue things about Darius, as if he weren’t even in the room. Colonel Crimper nodded sympathetically and assured her that his academy had very effective methods for dealing with unruly lads.
Darius had often heard his father say that going from a bad situation to a worse one
was like “leaping from the frying pan into the fire.” That expression now had a whole new meaning for Darius. If Aunt Inga was a frying pan, Colonel Crimper was a fire. A big one.
“Of course, our students are still boys,” said Colonel Crimper as they opened the second bag of cookies, “but we believe it’s never too early to start them on the road to manhood. We don’t coddle them. Talking in class is not tolerated; on the third offense the student is put in solitary confinement for three days. They can talk as much as they want there!” The colonel laughed at his own joke.
“You put them in jail for talking?” Darius blurted out.
Both Aunt Inga and Colonel Crimper stared at him. Neither of them spoke.
“I was just curious,” Darius muttered.
To make matters worse, halfway through the visit Mrs. Gritbun and Anthony showed up. Aunt Inga’s singsong voice may have made Darius feel sick, but Anthony’s behavior was enough to make him throw up everything he had ever eaten.
“Good morning, Colonel Crimper, SIR!” shouted Anthony, standing at attention, staring off into space and saluting.
The colonel rose and saluted back.
“At ease, Gritbun, at ease.” The colonel chuckled. “Gritbun, Gritbun, Gritbun. One of our very best. A man we’re proud of. Isn’t that right, Gritbun?”
“Yes SIR!” shouted Anthony.
Darius felt his undigested breakfast rising up in his throat.
“This is the kind of young man Crapper produces!” the colonel boomed. With the larger audience, he raised his voice and went on and on about the wonders of Crapper Academy. The two ladies enjoyed his blather as much as he enjoyed blathering.
The colonel blabbed. Aunt Inga and Mrs. Gritbun smiled. Anthony smirked. Darius stared at the ceiling. After another half hour of bluster and bombast, Colonel Crimper got up to leave. At the door he said to Aunt Inga, “I’m quite confident everything will work out fine. Anthony Gritbun is one of our finest cadets. And I’ll make sure he personally sees young Darius through the first term. You’ll do that, won’t you, Gritbun?”
Anthony directed one of his most evil smiles at Darius.
“Yes, sir!” Anthony said with great relish.