The Crown of the Bandit King

by Matti Lena Harris

  “Aren’t you kids curious to see the Bronze Crown?” the Detective called.

  After all the trouble the Bronze Crown had caused? Sure, I was curious. Even if something was wrong, looking at the crown probably wouldn’t do any harm. We all approached the edge of the hole as the Detective removed the broken lock and pried open the lid.

  On second thought, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

  The moment the lid opened, I felt a rush of power so strong and so unlike anything I’d ever felt from any other Collectible that I staggered backward. So did Deeter and Sweet Pea. The Detective nodded at us.

  “The Bronze Crown’s got quite a kick!” he said.

  Inside the box was a bundle wrapped in an old, stained cloth. The Detective grasped the bundle, his hands shaking, and gently he unfolded the wrappings. I’d expected the Bronze Crown to be some heavy, jewel-covered thing. Like the ones in pictures of kings and queens. But it wasn’t like that at all. When the Detective raised it up, it was just a thin, bronze circlet—round and smooth and plain.

  “At last,” he said. “At last.”

  The crown’s only decoration was a symbol engraved on the front—a star with sixteen pointed rays that shone in every direction. And yet, even though it was plain, in some strange way the Bronze Crown was absolutely beautiful. Something deep inside me wanted to reach out, to touch it, to feel its weight in my hands and its smoothness with my fingers.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” asked the Detective, his voice hushed. “Its first owner was Alexander the Great, perhaps the greatest warrior king the world has ever known. Yet they say he never wore it. The legend says that when it was presented to him, he rejected it.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “He must’ve been insane,” Deeter said.

  Sweet Pea gave Deeter a nudge with her elbow while the Detective turned the crown in such a way that the light gleamed along its rim.

  “Insane or not, Alexander guarded the Bronze Crown in his lifetime,” the Detective said. “Upon his death, many others tried to lay claim to it. This crown has been the seed of constant strife throughout the ages. Wars. Betrayals. The assassinations of kings. More bloodshed than any of you can possibly imagine.”

  “It sounds dangerous,” I said.

  “It is. Oh, yes. It most certainly is.”

  “You’re going to put it somewhere safe now?”

  “Of course. I’ll put it where no one else can get it.”

  He lifted his head enough that I could finally see below the rim of his fedora hat to look into his eyes. Familiar eyes. Dark eyes.

  “Where’s that?” I asked.

  The Detective smiled. “I’m going to wear it.”

  He removed his fedora and brushed the brown hair away from his eyes. Then he clutched the crown as if readying to place it on his head.

  “They call you Rookie, don’t they?” he asked. “It may not be your name, but it’s very appropriate. Leading me right to the Bronze Crown. A rookie’s mistake. Especially since I would never have found it if you hadn’t shown me the way.”

  Sweet Pea, Deeter and I gaped at the Detective, our eyes wide. This was wrong. How could he be the Artisan behind it all? He’d been hunting me, not the crown. This couldn’t be happening. But as I stood there looking into his eyes, I realized there was only one thing I could do. And even if I did it, I wouldn’t be able to make things right again.

  I’d been such a fool.

  “Of course,” the Detective continued, “no king is complete without his servants. And you three will have the honor of being my first devoted followers. Don’t worry. They say it doesn’t hurt, as long as you obey me.”

  “I may have made a rookie’s mistake,” I said, “but so have you.”

  “I highly doubt that, seeing how I’m the one with the crown. But I’ll humor you, boy. What mistake might that be?”

  “You may have searched Sweet Pea’s and Deeter’s stuff, but you didn’t search mine.”

  The slightest flicker of doubt glinted in the Detective’s eyes. But he placed the Bronze Crown on his head anyway, and a strange orange light rippled along the crown’s rim. He opened his mouth to speak. To command us.

  To make us obey.

  Whatever he was about to command, it didn’t matter. Sweet Pea, Deeter and I never heard his words. By then, I’d locked arms with them, snatched the Gold Doorknob from my pocket, and used it to take us far away from Skeleton Canyon.

  The Detective didn’t have us, but he had the crown.

  And now there was no way to defeat him.

  Chapter 24

  Richard the Third

  The air in the Professor’s study was cool and clean, so different from the hot, dusty air of Skeleton Canyon. Deeter, Sweet Pea and I stood at the top of the landing for a minute, blinking to make our eyes adjust to the dim light here in the quiet room.

  “This is a disaster!” Sweet Pea said. “The Bronze Crown! How are we going to get it back?”

  “Maybe the Professor can help us,” I said.

  “What if he can’t?”

  Then I’d pretty much doomed the world to a lifetime of tyranny and servitude.

  “He can help,” I said. “He told me he was a wizard, or a…er, muse. He’ll know what to do.”

  Not much had changed in the Professor’s study since I’d last been here. The rising columns of books still filled the room, though some of the columns were shorter now and some were a taller. Near the ceiling, the flying books fluttered and flapped. Sweet Pea and Deeter gawked at them as we trudged down the stairs.

  “Guess he doesn’t believe in bookshelves,” Deeter said.

  Or maybe the books didn’t believe in bookshelves.

  When we’d reached the bottom, we approached the Professor’s desk. There were more newspapers set out, but other than that, the chaos on the desk looked just the same. His blue teacup, half filled with cold tea, remained sitting on the desk’s edge.

  “Now what?” Sweet Pea asked.

  Maybe it was a good thing that the Professor wasn’t here, after all. Once he learned how much I’d messed up, he’d probably hand me over to that mysterious Artisans’ Council so I could be thrown into the Penitoria, never to see the light of day again.

  “I’ve ruined everything,” I said.

  Sweet Pea put her hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah,” Deeter added, “you didn’t know how things would turn out.”

  “I thought everything would be so simple to fix,” I said. “I rushed in. I should have thought things through more. And now I’ve brought about the end of the world.”

  “Oh, come on.” Deeter punched me in the arm. “It’s not that bad.”

  I gave him a look.

  “Well, maybe sort of that bad,” he said.

  “I’ve let everyone down. How am I going to tell the Professor?”

  “Tell me what?” the Professor asked.

  He was standing at the side door, watching us.

  No one spoke.

  “Ah, I’m being rude.” The Professor walked over to his desk. “What kind of host am I? The tea’s gone cold, but I can warm it again if any of you would like some. No?”

  We shook our heads.

  “Well…there used to be chairs here, believe it or not. I’d offer you a place to sit, but the chairs have disappeared. I’m not used to visitors, you see, and lately I’ve been very preoccupied. My research…yes, very preoccupied.”

  He patted his hair down and fidgeted with his bow tie. Trying to look more like a host, probably. He only seemed wilder afterward, though.

  “That’s okay,” I said.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, beginning to search among his papers. “I had a plate of sweets here somewhere, but it seems to have gone off with the chairs. You all are welcome to sit in my own chair, of course, though I doubt the three of you will fit….”

  He stopped and sighed. His eyes moved over our faces
, and finally they rested on me.

  “I’m adept at a great many things, young scholar,” he said, “but I can’t help solve a problem if I don’t know what the problem is.”

  He was right. Best to just say it. I inhaled a deep breath.

  “The Detective has the Bronze Crown.”

  “Well! Why the glum faces? That’s terrific news!” The Professor slapped me on the back. “Probably the best I’ve heard in at least a century! It’s a load of weight off my mind if the crown is safe at last.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Professor. He’s claimed it for his own. And it’s my fault. I led him right to it.”

  “It’s true, sir. The Detective has stolen the crown,” Sweet Pea said. “We were there. We saw him put it on his head. He nearly used it against us.”

  There was a long pause, and then the Professor chuckled.

  “Very good, young scholar! I need to research the art of joke-making more thoroughly. For a moment, I thought you children were serious! How wonderfully amusing!”

  Okay. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. How could the Professor help us if he didn’t even believe us?

  “We are serious,” I said.

  But the Professor was laughing too hard to hear me.

  “Maybe this is why Alexander the Great refused the crown,” I said to Sweet Pea and Deeter. “Maybe he thought people would laugh at him if he didn’t win his wars himself. Come on, guys. We’ll have to get the crown back on our own.”

  Sweet Pea and Deeter both glared at the Professor as we started to leave.

  “What did you say? Alexander the…wait a moment, young scholar!” the Professor called after us. “Wait! Truly, I meant no offense. Please come back!”

  I nodded at Sweet Pea and Deeter, and we returned to the Professor’s desk, though Deeter kept mumbling that working with any Artisan was a waste of time.

  “You must understand,” the Professor said, “the Detective is an Artisan of immense integrity. The idea that he has betrayed us, well, it’s a rather far-fetched theory. However, I always keep an open mind, and clearly whatever brought you here is of extreme importance. Do please forgive me.”

  When he put it like that…besides, fighting with an Artisan on our side would be better than facing the Detective alone.

  “Now, tell me everything, children,” the Professor said. “Everything that’s happened to you, everything that’s been said and done. Begin with the day of the library fire, and leave no detail out. I must have all the facts!”

  So we told him about the events at the library. The rogue Collector and his henchmen. The Magic Eight Ball and the Choir Boys. Skeleton Canyon and the hidden cavern. The whole story. We even told him about the Garden Trowel and Richard the Third and Deeter’s peanut butter granola bars. The entire time we talked, the Professor paced in front of his desk.

  “Excuse me,” he interrupted, “did you say the Detective shot the lock?”

  “With his revolver,” I answered. “Why?”

  “No, no, no. That’s not right. The Detective had no need to use his gun for that. He can pick locks better than any thief in the world.” The Professor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Go on.”

  So we did, right up to the point where the Detective put the crown on his head and I used the Gold Doorknob to help us escape. The Professor paced for a little longer, but slower now, his shoulders sagging and his feet shuffling as they went. He mumbled something to himself that I couldn’t quite make out.

  “Yes, children,” he said at last. “It would seem the Detective has betrayed us. We have lost the crown indeed.”

  Then, he went over to his desk and sank down into his chair. He seemed so disappointed. So defeated. I almost didn’t dare say anything more. I certainly didn’t dare look him in the eye.

  “Are you angry, Professor?” I asked quietly.

  “Oh, yes. I’m very angry,” he said. Then his face softened. “But not at you.”

  He let out a long sigh.

  “No, I’m not angry at you, young scholar. You didn’t ask for any of this trouble, and you’ve been remarkably brave in the face of it all. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disheartened. Now that we’ve lost the Bronze Crown and The Book of All Words, I really don’t see what more can be done.”

  “Um, Professor, we still have the book,” I said. “He only stole the crown.”

  “We still have The Book of All Words?”

  The Professor spoke like maybe he could hardly believe it.

  “I kept it with me,” I said. “In my backpack, here.”

  Not as if it mattered much. We’d already used the book to find the crown, and that was the only thing the book was good for, wasn’t it? But the Professor jumped to his feet and began to dance a sort of jig in front of his desk.

  “We still have the book! We still have the book!” he cried. “Ah-ha! I must be getting old, young scholar, to give up so easily! This changes everything! Let me think a moment.”

  He removed his glasses and began polishing them with his handkerchief. Then he started muttering to himself again. Finally, he stopped and faced me.

  “Just one question, young scholar, a very important one. When you met the Detective in the cave, what color were his eyes?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “They weren’t exactly brown, and they weren’t exactly black. Dark. That’s all I can say. His eyes were dark.”

  “Fascinating. They say the eyes are the window to the soul.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s quite simple, young scholar. The Detective’s eyes are green. Whoever was in that cave and claimed the crown, it wasn’t my friend the Detective!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I am that it wasn’t you who attacked me in the Arizona graveyard! Clearly, we are dealing with a villain who is exceptionally skilled at impersonations. And who has no hesitation to place the blame on other people. There’s just one thing I don’t understand—Shakespeare’s Richard the Third.”

  “Man, is that all you’re worried about?” Deeter asked. “What’s a play got to do with anything, when the world’s about to end?”

  Sweet Pea gave him a nudge, but the Professor wagged his finger at Deeter.

  “Precisely, my dear Finder! Precisely! What’s a play got to do with anything?”

  Deeter elbowed Sweet Pea with a payback nudge, and she rolled her eyes at the smirk on his face.

  “Maybe the play is some kind of secret code,” I said. “Maybe the henchmen are using it to communicate with each other somehow. Like a hidden message.”

  “Richard the Third…Richard the Third….” the Professor said. “Secret codes…why Richard the Third? A hidden message…oh.”

  He stopped his pacing and stood perfectly still. Deeter and I exchanged looks, but we kept our mouths shut.

  “You’re right, young scholar,” he continued. “It is a hidden message, in a way. A very troubling one. Intended for the Artisans themselves. Of course, I can’t go around making accusations unless I am sure…or at least as sure as I possibly can be.”

  Whatever he meant by that he didn’t explain, so Sweet Pea, Deeter and I were totally lost. Instead, he sat down at his desk once more and leaned back in his chair with his hands folded across his chest.

  “What can we do to help?” I asked.

  “Rookie’s right,” Sweet Pea said. “There must be something we can do.”

  “No villain’s gonna take over the world and get away with it,” Deeter added. “Not while we’re around!”

  The Professor regarded the three of us for a moment.

  “You children really are remarkable. You have done such a great deal to help as it is. I hesitate to ask for more when you’ve risked so much already.”

  “Man, what’s there to ask?” Deeter said. “We’d only go and save the world without you anyway.”

  The Professor laughed. “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? Truly remarkable! You know, most Artisans don’t give mu
ch thought to the Finders. Neither do the Collectors, not as much as they should. Yet perhaps those who underestimate the Finders are very foolish indeed. Certainly, the villain behind all this has underestimated you.”

  “Professor,” I said, “it’s my fault that we’ve lost the crown. I can’t stop now, not like this. Whatever I have to do to make things right again, I’ll do it.”

  “Correction,” Sweet Pea said, “we’ll do it.”

  “Guys….” I shook my head. “No way. Not again.”

  “Rookie, you just don’t learn, do you?” Deeter said. “We Finders have to stick together.”

  “It’s great of you to offer,” I said, “but in case you hadn’t noticed, I have a sort of habit of nearly getting us killed.”

  “If I might lay your quarrel to rest,” the Professor said, “the errand I need done shouldn’t be too much trouble or involve too much risk. I need some answers from my friend the Critic. I’d visit her myself, but time is short. I can accomplish a great many wondrous things, but being in more places than one at any given time is far beyond my scope.”

  “We’ll go,” I said. “Where is she? How do we find her?”

  “That’s easy enough. Do you still have the Gold Doorknob I gave you?”

  I nodded.

  “Excellent. Then attach it to the door at the top of the stairs and open the door. Outside, you’ll find a long stairwell, the Artisans’ Stairwell. Go down five flights of stairs, and knock on the door you find there. That’s the Critic’s room.”

  “What should we ask her?”

  “I need to know if there was any mistake made during the recent Artisan stage performance of Richard the Third.”

  “I read about that performance in The Artisan Times,” Sweet Pea said. “The Critic’s review said it was a disaster.”

  The Professor tapped his fingers along the edge of his desk. “Yes, I read that same review. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but now….”

  “Professor, what do you mean, a mistake?” I asked.

  “Oh, any little mishap—a misplaced line, or some misquote perhaps. Yet even such a small thing could mean a catastrophe for the Artisans.”