In Harm's Way

by Andrew Clements

  The second clue, “tread up one more,” had led to a secret space under a staircase—actually, two secret spaces. Under the north stairwell was where they’d found the Underground Railway station—but, of course, that hadn’t been planned in 1783.

  The actual safeguard was a brass token hidden below the south staircase, a token which gave them access to an account at the Edgeport Bank and Trust Company. The captain’s original deposit of about fourteen thousand dollars worth of gold had been tended carefully by the bank for more than two hundred and ten years, and last Thursday the Keepers had learned that they now had a secret fund that they could use “for the welfare, preservation, and continuing operation of the Captain Duncan Oakes School.” The fund was truly massive, over eighty-eight million dollars! And Lyman and his bosses knew nothing about it.

  Another recent advantage? They had been joined by two grown-ups. Mrs. Keane was the wife of the real school janitor, the man who had recruited Ben to be the new Keeper—just before he died. Then, at Mr. Keane’s funeral, Ben had met Tom Benton, who had been the janitor at Oakes School before Mr. Keane took over from him.

  And Robert Gerritt was a Keeper too—which would never have happened if Jill hadn’t forced the issue. Ben now had to admit that Robert’s intelligence was remarkable. But his personality? Sometimes hard to take . . . . Very.

  So, now they had five official Keepers, a huge reserve of cash, and a secret list with three more clues—good, solid resources.

  And they also had keys to every door in the school, thanks to Mrs. Keane. They were her husband’s keys, and they’d already been useful—that was how they had gotten inside the school at three in the morning on Saturday.

  But what they did not have was time. The school was scheduled for demolition on June 11, right after school let out for the summer—in just ten days.

  They had to get that next safeguard, but first they had to crack a new clue: After three hooks pass, one will be brass.

  Gerritt said he had ideas. Which was good. The guy was a genuine genius—and Ben had no trouble admitting that . . . most of the time.

  Robert could still be incredibly obnoxious and pushy and annoying, but those flashes of pure brilliance? They made up for the other stuff . . . most of the time.

  After “Yankee Doodle” the chorus moved on to an old sea chantey. And when they sang, “Hey, haul away, we’re bound for better weather,” Ben had to smile. Because last week had also brought him a surprise—a sailboat, his very own Optimist. He still couldn’t believe it. The boat wasn’t totally new, but the sails and rigging were, and the hull was smooth and clean.

  He couldn’t wait to face off against Gerritt. They belonged to the same sailing club and had fought for first place in their division all last season. Working together at school didn’t mean they had to play nice out on the water. This Saturday’s race was going to be epic!

  And the best thing about the new boat? His mom and dad had teamed up to get it for him—the first thing they’d really done together since their separation two months ago.

  Ben loved the next song, and threw his heart and soul into the first lines: “I’ve been working on the railroad, all the live long day . . .”

  But his thoughts quickly wandered again.

  The Underground Railroad thing? That must have really scared the Glennley people. And Lyman and Wally were going to do everything they could to shut off any more searching, any other bit of free time that he and Jill and Robert had inside the school.

  Of course, their social studies project gave them an edge. They had special permission from Mrs. Hinman and the librarian to arrive early and stay late to do research about the history of the school.

  Their base camp for the project was the library, and Lyman had been doing his best to keep them bottled up in there—and failing.

  But with Lyman on super high alert, and now Wally too? If they were going to make any progress, they’d need new strategies.

  After three hooks pass, one will be brass.

  Hooks . . . what kind of hooks? He had started a list, but nothing made sense yet. Maybe it was something to do with the carvings . . . .

  The intercom speaker crackled, and there was one clang, about half as loud as a normal bell. As the singing stopped, the voice of the school secretary filled the music room. “Mr. Maasen? Please send Benjamin Pratt to the office right away. He has an emergency phone call.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Thumping

  Ben stood frozen for two seconds, but when the intercom message sank in, he scrambled off the risers, dropped his music notebook, grabbed his book bag, and rushed out of the music room. He almost sprinted through the halls.

  Emergency?

  The worst possible fears filled his mind—this had to be about his mom or dad, didn’t it? Something bad . . . something awful!

  He burst into the office, and Mrs. Hendon pointed him toward the nurse’s room.

  “There’s no one in there, Ben. Push the button for line three. Here, I’ll close the door so you have some privacy.”

  Ben was breathing hard, almost felt faint. His fingers were cold and shaky, and he had trouble hitting the blinking button on the phone.

  “H-hello?”

  “Who am I speaking with?” A man’s voice, very official.

  Almost in a whisper Ben said, “This is Benjamin Pratt.”

  “Hey, Pratt, glad you made it. Listen, I need—”

  “Wh-what? Who is this?” Ben shook his head like he’d just been punched.

  “Relax, Pratt, it’s me, Gerritt. I’m calling from the boys’ room up on the third floor—don’t have much time. I need you to—”

  “You are such a jerk, Gerritt! I thought my mom or dad—”

  “Yeah, I know, I know. Sorry about that, but I had to get you out of class quick so you could check on something, and I didn’t want Stretch and Stumpy to be—”

  “Who?”

  “Lyman and Wally—I met the little guy on my way out of the library before homeroom—looks like a gnome. Anyway, the evil twins think you’re in chorus now, right? I mean, like, they didn’t see you in the hall on your way to the office, did they?”

  “No, I don’t think so . . . .” Ben felt dazed, but Robert pushed ahead.

  “Great, so listen up. I need you to do something. You know the tall curved posts along the outer walls in the east-west hallways, the ones that hold up the ceiling beams?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Well, I need you to thump on each one of them.”

  “What—why?” said Ben.

  “No time to explain, just do it. And hit ’em with something hard.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like your head, Pratt—I don’t know, find something hard, anything. And when you thump, listen.”

  “Listen?”

  “Yeah, you have to listen, and pay attention. I’ll quiz you later. Gotta go.”

  “Hey, w-wait!” Ben spluttered. “What am I supposed to say to the school secretary about this?”

  “About what?”

  “About this phone call, idiot—what do I tell her?”

  Robert laughed. “How should I know? You’re the one with the emergency! See you later.”

  The line went dead.

  Ben hung up and went back into the office. The secretary hurried over.

  “Anything I can help with, dear?”

  Ben shook his head. “Um, actually . . . everything’s okay now. This guy . . . at my mom’s office? He got worried because she was really late for work . . . for a meeting . . . and she wasn’t answering her phone, and he thought there might have been some kind of trouble . . . and he didn’t know how to get hold of my dad. But my mom got there when we were talking . . . some kind of car trouble. Um . . . could I have a pass back to music?”

  Ben was furious at Gerritt for forcing him to do this—he hated having to lie. But Mrs. Hendon looked so relieved, Ben was afraid she might try to hug him.

  She was all smiles as she fill
ed out the hall pass. “I am so glad it turned out to be nothing! Here you are, Benjamin.”

  Ben suddenly knew what he could use to thump the beams. He’d found a baseball in the gutter along Washington Street about two weeks ago, pretty scuffed up, but not terrible. And it was still in the bottom of his book bag.

  He turned left outside the office, and then reached into his backpack and found the hardball. The first upright was near the corner, before the south stairwell doors.

  He looked to be sure the coast was clear, then held the baseball tightly in his palm and gave the dark oak post a good whack.

  Thunk.

  The hallway was empty, but that could change any second. He hurried to the next post.

  Thunk.

  The third post was right before the door to the janitor’s workroom, so Ben hit it with a little less force.

  Thunk—same sound.

  Neither of the men was in the workshop—what had Robert called them? Oh yeah—Stretch and Stumpy. Pretty funny.

  He hit the fourth post.

  Thunk—the same solid, deep sound, like hitting a tree.

  He was beginning to feel pretty stupid, and he was getting madder at Gerritt with every step, ready to quit. He looked ahead, counted seven more posts, and decided he’d at least finish this side of the school before going back to chorus. He picked up the pace.

  Just as he was thumping the sixth post, Luke Barton came out of the boys’ room.

  Thunk.

  The kid smiled and walked over. “What’re you doing?”

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  Ben walked quickly to the next post.

  Thunk.

  Luke stuck with him. “Can I do the next one?”

  “Sure,” said Ben. “But if you get caught, don’t blame me.”

  He tossed him the ball, and Luke ran to the next post and really whomped it.

  Thunk.

  He turned to Ben and grinned. “Cool!”

  Ben did not see anything even a little bit cool about hitting a wooden post with a scuffed baseball, but he nodded and said, “Yeah, cool.”

  Luke tossed the ball back.

  “Thanks, Pratt. See you later.”

  “Yup.”

  Ben walked casually to the next post, and without even breaking his stride, he gave it a glancing blow with the ball.

  He stopped.

  Retracing two steps, he stood facing the post.

  He tilted his head. Was that a thunk?

  He looked both ways. Luke had rounded the corner, and the hallway was empty again.

  He reached back and slammed the hardball against the post.

  Not much like a thunk.

  He hit it once more, and this time he was sure.

  This post had a sound all its own.

  CHAPTER 5

  Hooked

  “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Yes, Gerritt, I’m sure. I know the difference between a thunk and a bong. Go hit the post yourself. The eighth one from the south stairwell goes bong.”

  Ben took a bite of chocolate cake. He could tell from the shape of Robert’s eyebrows that the quiz wasn’t over.

  He and Jill and Robert were back in a corner of the cafeteria where they’d never eaten before. They ate lunch in a different spot every day now, so Lyman wouldn’t know where to plant a listening device. Ben wished he could eat in peace, but every lunchtime ended up being a war council.

  “So . . . this bong,” said Gerritt. “Is the tone high or low?”

  “Low. Definitely low.” Ben took a long pull on the straw in his milk carton. His cake was gone, which meant he had to start in on the grilled cheese and salad. Always a sad moment.

  “And is the sound solid, or is it more of a hollow sound?”

  “Hmm . . .” Ben bit off a chunk of sandwich, chewed slowly, then swallowed, and took a sip of milk. “I’d say there’s some of each. The sound itself is pretty solid, but there’s a little bit of echo in there too. Like a gong—which rhymes with bong.”

  Jill was done eating and held up her hand to interrupt before the quiz could continue. “Enough with the suspense, Robert. What’s all this about?”

  “Simple: It’s about hooks. From the next clue, right? ‘After three hooks pass,’ and all that. I started a list last night, every kind of hook I could think of.”

  “I did that too,” Ben said.

  “So did I,” said Jill.

  “Okay,” Robert said, “how many different kinds did you guys come up with?”

  Ben said, “Coat hooks, cup hooks, grappling hooks, boat hooks, button hooks, fish hooks—”

  Jill jumped in. “And iron pot hooks, for hanging pots in a fireplace. And picture hooks, chain hooks, meat hooks, like, in a butcher shop. And a weed hook, which is another name for a sickle—”

  “And also door or window hooks,” said Ben, “like for screens.”

  “Or a hook to replace a hand, like Captain Hook had in Peter Pan . . .”

  Robert nodded. “Yeah, I got all those, and some other ones, too. And none of them seemed to connect with what we know about the school. But then, I started thinking like John Vining.”

  Ben knew that name—they all did. John Vining was a ship’s carpenter, the man Captain Oakes had hired back in the 1780s to transform his huge brick warehouse into a school. Vining was also the person who must have figured out how to hide the safeguards.

  Ben smiled as he chewed another bite of sandwich. Robert was about to show them how smart he was. Again. And since he was now able to feel less jealous and less annoyed about that, Ben was ready to be entertained.

  Turning to Jill, Robert said, “Remember the name they used for the third floor of the school, on that coin Mr. Keane gave to Pratt?”

  Jill nodded. “ ‘The upper deck.’ ”

  “Exactly,” said Robert, “which is a shipbuilding term applied to the school building.” Looking at Ben, he said, “And what did they call the exact center of the school?”

  “ ‘Amidships.’ ”

  “Right—a nautical term. And that’s why it seemed logical that the word ‘hooks’ in this clue could also have some kind of nautical meaning, something to do with the way ships are built or described. So, I accessed the online Oxford English Dictionary through the Edgeport Public Library, and I did a Boolean search, and—”

  “A what?” said Jill.

  “A Boolean search—named after George Boole, a math guy. I wanted to find all the connections in the whole history of the English language between shipbuilding and the word ‘hook,’ so I asked the OED to search for ‘ship AND hook,’ with that word ‘AND’ in all capital letters. And when you search that way, it finds any definitions that include both those terms. And the dictionary found me a word: ‘futtock.’ ”

  “What?” said Ben.

  “Futtock,” Robert said. “It rhymes with ‘buttock.’ ”

  “Lovely,” said Jill. “And what does this word that rhymes with ‘buttock’ have to do with posts in the hallway which make different sounds when poor Benjamin goes sneaking around hitting them with a baseball?”

  As usual, Robert wasn’t going to be hurried. Ben used his napkin to hide his smile. He wasn’t sure which was more fun—Robert showing off his smarts, or Jill getting impatient about it.

  “I’ll explain in a second. So, the OED is a fantastic research tool. A little more reading inside the definition revealed that this word ‘futtock’ is a combination of two words that sailors said together quickly: ‘foot-hook’—that’s right, hook! And to explain that, the OED quoted from a very old book about ship construction, written in 1611 by Captain John Smith.”

  Ben leaned forward. “Really? The same guy who was saved by Pocahontas?”

  Robert nodded and pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. “Yup, and Smith’s book, called The Seaman’s Grammar, says ‘Your rising timbers are the hookes, or ground timbers and foot-hookes placed on the keel.’ So, if Captain Oakes and John Vining are using that
word with this nautical meaning, and they apply it to this building, what would those hooks be?” Robert quickly answered his own question. “Those big curved posts in the halls! And to seal the deal, this morning I checked in the rare books section of our library, and I found a copy of that very book by John Smith—with John Vining’s name written in it!”

  Ben said, “And you wanted me to hit the posts to see if any didn’t sound like wood.”

  “Exactly. ‘After three hooks pass, one will be brass.’ And bong is a brass sound.”

  Ben was about to say that the count wasn’t right, but he saw his mistake.

  “Oh . . . if you start counting at the post closest to the art room, then the post that goes bong is the fourth one—it all fits!” Ben had to grin. “That is very cool, Gerritt! Very!”

  Jill smiled in agreement, but immediately said, “Still, it’s not like that solves the clue. And how come you couldn’t just look at the post and see it was made of metal instead of wood?”

  Robert said, “I’m guessing that the post was painted carefully to look like wood, or else there’s a thin layer of wood glued on top of the brass, a veneer. And you’re right—we haven’t solved anything yet. But at least we know where to start looking.”

  Jill scowled. “It’s not much help that the post is right out there in the hallway, and pretty close to the janitor’s room, too.”

  “Which is why,” Robert said, “we need a really excellent camera.”

  Ben nodded. “Sure, snap some pix, and we can study the post without having to stand there staring at it.”

  “So . . . we all agree? ’Cause I located this sweet little camera with a great lens and huge megapixels—and Tom Benton could get it from Ace Camera so we’ll have it by tomorrow!”

  Ben saw Jill start to frown. She didn’t like how Robert always took charge, or the way he had started talking about spending money the minute they learned about their superfund. Ben was expecting a sharp word or two, but suddenly her face softened.