by C T Cassana
. . .
Robert needed a few minutes to recover from the shock before picking up his walkie-talkie.
“Alpha 2? Alpha 1 here. Come in, Alpha 2.”
Alfred Sullivan, the guard on duty upstairs, answered in an annoyed tone. In his more than twenty years in this job, he had never before had such terrible work partners. One was an incorrigible party-boy who skipped work whenever he felt like it; the other, a total idiot who seemed to think that being a security guard was the same as working for Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
“What do you want, Robert?” he asked, making his irritation as obvious as he possibly could.
Robert didn’t know how to answer. If he said anything about ghosts to Alfred, all his co-workers would make fun of him mercilessly. They already did whenever they could, and almost always for no reason. And now if he gave them a wonderful excuse like this, there wouldn’t be a single person in the whole company who would miss the chance to laugh at him.
“I think I heard something,” he said at last. “Possible intruders in the building. Keep on the alert.”
“This building is more than a hundred and fifty years old, Robert. It’s mostly made of wood, and the wood creaks. Of course you heard something!” replied the veteran security guard. “Don’t bother me again with your tomfoolery.”
. . .
Charlie looked at the four walls of the room where they had just appeared and saw that they were covered with bookcases. It was the third room they had visited in their brief but eventful journey through the Athenaeum Club.
After dodging the security guard, they had arrived on the second floor and immediately after that had zapped into another room that appeared to be a lounge, with comfortable leather couches for the club’s members. All of the rooms were lit dimly by the building’s emergency pilot lights and the occasional lamp that had been left on here or there. The rooms were very large and had a stately look. From the lounge they went onto a room full of tables and big curtains draped over some enormous windows. Then they appeared in what must have been the restaurant, and finally, just when Miss Rotherwick was beginning to sway from her dizziness, they came to a large room with more leather couches and shelves lined with books, although not enough to warrant a title as one of the best libraries in London.
Miss Rotherwick opened one eye and staggered over to one of the couches to sit down.
“Oh my God!” she moaned, covering her face with her hands. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry; it makes you a little dizzy at first, but you get used to it. I hardly even feel it now.”
The woman took a deep breath and lowered her hands. She couldn’t believe what her eyes were showing her; it was simply impossible.
“The Athenaeum Club!” she exclaimed, incredulous. “We’re inside! H… h... h... how did you do it?”
Charlie smiled without saying a word, and she remembered that she shouldn’t keep asking questions if she didn’t want to make him suspicious. She had no idea how much of all this she was supposed to know, and if she asked the wrong question the boy would realize that it had all been a sham, a big misunderstanding. The best thing to do was to go along with it and take in everything that happened.
So far, what had happened was utterly fantastic, not to mention unbelievable. The boy had brought her to the Athenaeum Club, and not merely to the front door, but inside one of its reading rooms. And apparently they had done it with the help of nothing more than a velvet cape. A cape with powers to transport people from one place to another and, it would seem, to do much more, given that at dinner Charlie had spoken of a visit to one of Nefertiti’s daughters.
“It’s an incredible sensation, although I didn’t expect to be so dizzy,” she said, trying to play down her shock.
“You’ll be fine in a minute. Okay, let’s start looking,” said Charlie, taking out the sheet of paper with the translation of the poem.
Miss Rotherwick nodded. They had to try to find the “annulus” that the boy had mentioned, which seemed to have something to do with the cape and with Professor Conwell. In the process, she would be able to gather a little more information about what was going on.
“Alright,” she said.
“The poem talks about fifteen steps,” remarked the boy. “I guess that refers to the staircase at the entrance that you have to go up to get to the library. Except I think it had more steps than that.”
“This isn’t the library, my dear. It’s one of the four reading rooms next to it. They’re all connected, so I think the library should be that way,” said Miss Rotherwick, pointing to a door at the far end of the large room.
Charlie took his flashlight out of one of his pockets and they walked together to the door.
“Helen, if you’re not a member here, how do you know this place so well?”
“The Athenaeum Club is open to visitors, and I came to see it a few times. I also have a book on the most prestigious clubs in London, and of course, it has a lot of information about this one.”
When they reached the door she turned the knob, but it wouldn’t open.
“Oh dear, I think it’s locked,” she said.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to use the cape again,” remarked Charlie. “But it’s only a few yards; this time you won’t even feel it.”
. . .
Old Alfred Sullivan was still sitting at the table at the end of the hallway on the second floor of the Athenaeum Club. Since his dimwitted partner’s interruption he had managed to read the “Finance” section without being disturbed again. He spread out his newspaper and turned the page to fold it carefully, ensuring that all the corners were together and the paper looked neat and tidy in spite of its enormous size.
When he had finished the operation and was about to begin reading the “Society” pages, he was interrupted once again. But this time, it wasn’t his stupid partner.
Alfred rose to his feet and pricked up his ears. He could hear voices; a woman and a boy, he thought. Perhaps Robert had brought in a radio, despite the fact such things were not allowed. But curiously, the voices were not coming from downstairs, where his partner was on guard, but from the drawing room, which was on the second floor, a few yards away from his table.
Alfred picked up his walkie-talkie to confirm his partner’s position.
“Where the devil are you, Robert?” he asked gruffly.
When he heard the question, Robert knew that Alfred had come across the intruders too.
“A... a... at my post,” he replied, swallowing hard.
“Have you turned a radio on somewhere?”
“No, Alfred, I don’t have one here. According to point 7.2 of the Internal Regulations, radios aren’t permitted.”
Alfred shook his head in annoyance while he walked toward the room where the voices were coming from. The door was locked, and before opening it he put his ear against the wood to check if he could hear anything or if it had just been his imagination. At that moment, Robert came up behind him, trembling with fear. Alfred knew that his partner wasn’t cut out to be a night watchman, but now he was paler and more frightened than he had ever seen him before.
“What the devil’s the matter, Robert?”
“You saw them too.”
Alfred didn’t reply.
“The woman and the boy. You saw them,” stammered Robert.
“No, but I heard them. They’re in there,” answered Alfred, while searching for the key to open the door.
“Be careful, Alfred. They’re... they’re not... They were on the stairs, and then, ‘whoosh!’, they just disappeared.”
“What the devil are you trying to say, lad?”
Alfred put the key in the lock, irritated and slightly unnerved by Robert’s remark. He opened the door slowly, and peeked in through the opening. Robert felt his heart beating madly, and without realizing he clutched at his partner’s arm before stepping into the room.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Alfred snapped at him
, shaking his arm free.
Robert let go shamefacedly, and the two guards entered the room.
. . .
Charlie pointed his flashlight at the walls of the room so that he could see it more clearly. Now they really were in a library, the most beautiful library he had ever seen. All the walls were covered by tall, stylishly framed wooden book shelves, reaching up at least thirty feet high. The roof was decorated with elegant plaster moldings and from the center hung a round lamp with a classical design. On a side wall, a flight of steps led up to a wood and metal platform that ran alongside the shelves, which, far from spoiling the room’s appearance, vested it with a magical quality, seeming to invite the visitor to explore it. Two enormous leather couches sat near a marble fireplace, and in different parts of the room there were reading tables adorned with busts of distinguished members of the club. It was a very special library, different from any other he had seen before; this library had a soul.
Charlie was impressed, and he privately promised himself that when he grew up he would join the Athenaeum Club.
Miss Rotherwick looked at him with a knowing smile.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
The boy answered her with a nod. Then he remembered the reason they were there, and the security guard who had seen them downstairs. They had to hurry to find the annulus and get out of there as quickly as possible.
“Do you think the steps that the poem mentions are those ones there?” he asked.
“Perhaps, my dear. Let me check just one thing,” replied Miss Rotherwick, taking the flashlight out of his hands.
Instead of going to the stairs, she approached a large cabinet on one side of the room with innumerable little drawers, each one marked with a sign on the front. Miss Rotherwick shone the flashlight over the drawers in the tallest row and stopped when she came to a sign that read: “Dav-Drew”. She opened it and browsed the index cards filed inside it, flipping them between her fingers with amazing agility.
“Here it is,” she said, pulling out one of the cards. “Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. Shelf 25.”
“How do you know?” asked Charlie.
“Oliver Twist tells the story of a poor boy who suffered terrible tragedies, including having to work as a thief for a wicked man. Fortunately, it has a happy ending. It is a masterpiece of English literature, written by the great Charles Dickens.”
“One of the forty thieves. The story of the pure-hearted thief’s apprentice, written with mastery by one of the forty,” added Charlie, looking over the professor’s poem.
Miss Rotherwick gave him a pleased nod; it was clear that Charlie was a very clever boy. She then went over to the shelves on the lower level and shone the light on a small white plate with a number at the top.
“These are the shelves with the lower numbers; 25 must be up there somewhere.”
She began climbing the steps and Charlie began to follow her. But then suddenly, without a word, he turned around and made for the door.
. . .
Robert and Alfred advanced slowly through the large, long room. It appeared to be empty; absolutely empty. The men scoured it from one end to the other, checking every corner and space between the furniture.
As he walked, Alfred began to feel increasingly silly. He had allowed himself to be influenced by a ridiculous story cooked up by the stupidest security guard he had ever had the displeasure of working with in his forty long years on the job. It was true that he had heard voices, a boy and a woman; but his half-wit of a partner claimed that he had seen them and that they were actually ghosts. And worst of all, Robert didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut; sooner or later he would tell all their co-workers how the two of them had scoured the club in search of a couple of apparitions, and he would describe it like he was Agent Mulder from The X Files. The ridicule would go on for years; he would have to put up with it until he retired.
“There’s nobody here, for the love of God!” he grumbled. “This is all a lot of nonsense!”
“But, Alfred, you yourself said that...”
“Nonsense! We’ll move forward our twelve o’clock rounds and that’s all! Go back to your post and do the rounds of the ground floor. And not a word about ghosts... to anyone!”
Robert stared into space without saying a word, which would have satisfied Alfred that the matter was settled... if it weren’t for the fact that his partner’s expression looked more stunned than ever.
“Alfred,” said Robert. “There are lights on in the library.”
Alfred bolted around and looked toward the door at the far end of the room; it was a double-leaf door with windows at eye level, giving a view into the adjacent room. Indeed, a light, probably from a flashlight, was moving around inside the library. Now there could be no doubt: somebody, whether of this world or the next, was inside the building.
. . .
Charlie crouched down next to the door and peeked cautiously through the glass. He had heard something on the other side; a man’s voice, speaking in an annoyed tone. He could also see a shaft of light moving around wildly, pointing toward the windows in the library door.
Fortunately, Miss Rotherwick was absorbed in the adventure of finding the annulus and, judging by the expression on her face, she was having a wonderful time. The whole experience seemed to have made her twenty years younger. Her eyes shone brightly and she hadn’t stopped smiling even for a moment. She had already climbed the first flight of steps and was almost to the top of the second. It was amazing to watch her, but truly terrifying to hear her count the steps aloud, so as to confirm to Charlie that the poem was referring to the steps in the library and not to the stairway at the entrance to the club, as if it really mattered by that point.
“Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. It’s here!” exclaimed the woman. “Now we just have to find the book!”
Charlie smiled half-heartedly. Then he raised his head very slowly and carefully to see what was happening on the other side of the door. He was horrified to see the guard he had startled a short while earlier, still with the same stunned expression, but this time accompanied by an older man who looked considerably smarter than his companion. The older man appeared quite cross and was telling off his partner. Charlie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the man was gesticulating wildly and gesturing that they should leave. The boy sighed in relief. He was too far away from Miss Rotherwick to be able to leave suddenly if the two men came in, and he couldn’t have transported over to her with the cape because the steps were too narrow and it would have been impossible to hit upon the exact position.
He peeked out again to make sure that the two men were leaving. But something seemed to have changed: they were both staring at the door now and talking to one another. Then they began walking slowly in the direction of the library.
Charlie jumped up and turned around to check on Miss Rotherwick’s progress. She had now reached Shelf 25, had located the copy of Oliver Twist and was opening it up to check inside. She wasn’t bad at all for a beginner. However, she still had to deal with the hardest part: finding the exact hiding spot of the annulus, an operation that might take an instant or a good while longer, depending on the luck and the inspiration of the searcher.
Meanwhile, the guards were advancing toward the door slowly but surely. From his crouched position, the boy studied their faces. They were scared, although each man showed it differently. The younger man looked besieged by panic, while the older man seemed to be making a great effort to control his fear, as if he believed that duty must always come before one’s personal feelings. The boy watched them with a worried look; he could see he didn’t have much time. He had to act decisively and he had to do it fast.
He ran from the door over to the foot of the staircase where Miss Rotherwick was.
“Have you found anything?” he whispered.
“Not yet,” she said, intuitively replying in a low voice.
“Look for an envelope hidden in some hiding spot that would b
e protected over time, something like a secret trap door, just like in spy movies,” explained Charlie. “Remember that the professor was very clever and he knew what he was doing.”
“Of that you can be sure.”
“I need to go to the loo, but I’ll be right back.”
“In that case I’ll go with you, my dear.”
“Believe me, Helen, there are some things that a person has to do on his own,” replied Charlie as he turned around.
The woman smiled at the boy’s answer and went on searching for the hiding spot he had described. Meanwhile, Charlie crept stealthily back over to the door, turned the dials on his bracelet and disappeared.
. . .
Alfred slapped his partner out of the way while he pulled the keys out of his pocket.
“Get off it, man! Can’t you see it’s locked?”
He stuck the key in the lock and turned it a couple of times. Just as he was about to pull down the handle to open the door, he heard a voice behind them that just about gave him a heart attack.
“Good evening!”
The two guards both spun around at once. A few yards from them they saw the slim face of a boy of around eleven. He was completely draped in a cape so black that it blended in with the darkness of the room and created the illusion that his head was floating in the air without a body to hold it up. The sight was so terrifying that neither of the men could find words to speak. Then the boy disappeared from in front of them and reappeared in another part of the room.
Robert stifled a scream of terror.
“Do you see that????” he wailed at his partner. “I told you they were ghosts!!!”
Charlie made an effort to keep a serious look on his face; the dopey guard had given him just what he needed to take care of the situation.