We Hold These Truths

by Andrew Clements

  “And that date!” whispered Jill. “It’s exactly the same as the date on the copper plate—where we found the list of clues!”

  Ben’s mind was racing, and Jill still had a grip on his wrist. He twisted his hand free, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture of the small plaque.

  “Quick,” he said, “grab the dictionary and put it back on . . .”

  Too late.

  Lyman stood about five feet behind them, leaning against a bookcase and smiling, a toothpick sticking from the corner of his mouth. He pulled a dust cloth out of his back pocket and gave a swipe or two across the front of a shelf.

  “You know,” he said, “it’s inspiring to see kids who get so excited about learning something new. It makes me want to learn new things too.”

  Jill turned a cold eye on him.

  “Maybe you can learn to be a better liar,” she said, “or a better spy—maybe even a better person someday, except I’m not holding my breath on that one, Mr. Lyman. But what would be really good right now, would be if you just went somewhere else and worked on being a better janitor, instead of following us around all the time. And if you don’t leave right now, I am going to yell over to Mrs. Sinclair and tell her that you’ve been saying mean things to us.”

  While Jill was talking, Ben had turned away, his phone still in his hands.

  Lyman kept smiling. “Well, Miss Acton, I think I’m going to call your bluff—I see quite a few messy fingerprints on that display case, and some dust, too. And when a man has work to do, then snotty little children need to move aside.”

  Lyman took a step forward, craning his neck to see what they’d been looking at.

  Ben quickly turned, and he also stepped forward. He stood there, his arms folded, blocking Lyman’s way. He felt a touch against his elbow—Gerritt was beside him, using his iPad as a video camera.

  Robert said, “Hey, Mr. Lyman, can you give us a big I-work-for-the-Glennley-Group smile?”

  “Step aside, boys.” He held up his dust rag. “I have work to do here, and you’re in my way.” The smile was gone.

  Ben shook his head. “You’re gonna have to shove us. Or you could call to the librarian for help. Or the principal. Or maybe you could call your mommy, Mr. Lyman.”

  It was no fun being nose to nose with someone so deeply angry—this was a lot scarier than getting yelled at by the principal last week. Lyman’s eyes narrowed to thin slits, and the man bit down so hard on the toothpick in his mouth that Ben heard it crack.

  The intercom clanged, and Mrs. Hendon’s voice called, “Mrs. Sinclair? Is Mr. Lyman in the library?”

  Ben smiled, and he saw the man’s face change as his name was spoken. Lyman broke eye contact and looked toward the front desk as the librarian replied.

  “Yes, he’s here, Rita.”

  “Please tell him to go up to the third floor right away—a sink overflowed in the girls’ room, and his assistant isn’t responding.”

  Gerritt’s eyes never left the iPad screen, but he grinned and whispered to the image he was recording, “Bye-bye, Mr. Lyman.”

  The intercom went dead, and Mrs. Sinclair said, “I guess you heard all that, Jerry.”

  Lyman turned and headed toward the door. “Sure did. I’m on my way.”

  Ben heard the fake smile in his voice, and Lyman added, “It’s sure going to be great when they knock this building down—it’s time to put the old dump out of its misery!”

  Ben knew that the janitor was talking to them, not Mrs. Sinclair, and as the library door hissed shut behind him, he wanted to shout, Yeah, well we’ll just see about that . . . Jerry!

  Gerritt had a different reaction.

  He walked right to the librarian’s desk, leaned forward, and said, “Do you agree with what Mr. Lyman just said, about tearing down the school? Do you?”

  Mrs. Sinclair looked as if Robert had insulted her. “Of course not! It’s a terrible idea, and that amusement park will ruin Edgeport!” Ben and Jill had come over and were standing there with Robert. She looked flustered and quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed her outburst.

  Mrs. Sinclair looked from face to face. “I . . . I didn’t mean to be so emotional. Mr. Telmer told us that the superintendent expects the staff to keep our opinions about all this to ourselves. But that’s how I feel. . . . It is.”

  Jill said, “We’ve got something to tell you—can the four of us go into the workroom for a few minutes?”

  The librarian hesitated, then said, “Does this have something to do with your question about the stars?”

  Jill nodded. “Yes, about that, plus a lot more.”

  Mrs. Sinclair said, “Just let me call Ms. Shubert in the teachers’ room so she can cover the front desk. You go in, and I’ll be along in a minute.”

  The three kids moved all their stuff from the alcove into the glass-walled room. They sat at the worktable, and immediately Jill said, “You were right about her, Robert. Completely. And I was wrong.”

  “No problem,” he said. “It was good to be sure. You were right too.”

  Jill said, “Well, it’s sure a good thing that Lyman had to go and fix—” but she stopped when she saw the grin on Ben’s face.

  “Ohhh!” she said slowly, smiling at him. “You clever, clever boy! You texted Mrs. Hinman, up on the third floor, and told her we needed a diversion!”

  “I may have done something like that,” he said. “You’re not the only one who knows how to use a secret agent.”

  Ben was expecting a bit more praise for his remote control rescue mission, but Jill had moved on.

  Looking at Robert, she said, “So, what do you think is the best way to have Mrs. Sinclair help?”

  Robert shrugged. “That’s sort of up to her. We’ve got to tell her everything we know, get her up to speed, and then see if she has an idea about how to focus in on that one still star.”

  As the two of them talked, that old feeling of being left out crept into Ben’s head, along with some jealousy for Gerritt, for how smart he was. But he stopped it dead in its tracks.

  No—this is good! Because my first job is to keep everyone working together.

  It was a freeing thought—so freeing that he suddenly felt like he was far above the workroom, even above the school and the whole town, and as he looked down, he could see all the different resources that the Keepers and the Glennley Group were bringing to this fight. It reminded him of the way old-time admirals used to put little models of all their ships onto a huge flat map, then move the models around to trace the progress of the war and to plan the next steps. He could see everything.

  And he saw that the entire war now depended on the successful action of just one warship . . . the USS Oakes—and he was the captain, Captain Benjamin Pratt . . . or at least, the temporary captain. And the biggest part of his job right now? He had to help the Keepers do their best work, each one of them. And it was up to him to set the example and boost the morale of the whole crew.

  Because Captain Pratt knew about warships. Without true and constant teamwork, without smart, unselfish labor, a battle could be lost long before the cannonballs began to fly.

  And this battle was already raging. The first shots had been fired, and now it was do-or-die. They were facing a pirate ship . . . the Glennley Beast. And each ship was trying to get into a commanding position. The Beast was well-armed, its crew was tough, and Captain Lyman was ruthless. And unless the Oakes could . . .

  “Now, tell me what all this is about.”

  Mrs. Sinclair sat across the table and her bright gray eyes looked straight at him. Ben came back to earth very fast—but not completely.

  Instead of starting to tell the librarian himself, he said, “Robert, why don’t you explain.”

  Because that was the move Captain Pratt would have made.

  CHAPTER 17

  Dog on a Chain

  Mrs. Sinclair wasn’t just interested in what Robert told her about the Keepers—she was thrilled by it, and e
ven more excited when Jill asked her to take the oath of secrecy and join up—which she did.

  “I knew it!” she said, looking around the workroom table at them. “I just knew you three were up to something special! In the twenty-three years I’ve been here, no research group has ever put in the kind of time and effort that you have, and now I see why!”

  Ben said, “Well, we’ve made a lot of progress, but we’re not sure if what we’ve already got is enough to stop Glennley. What we need right now is to keep Lyman and Wally away from that sextant—I don’t think Lyman saw it. And we also need to open the case so we can see if the last safeguard is in there.”

  Mrs. Hinman stood up and said, “Let’s go take a look.”

  Before they even got close to the case, Ben noticed something he’d missed earlier—they all saw it.

  Jill said, “There’s a keyhole!”

  Mrs. Sinclair said, “And I don’t have the key—of course, I’ve never really looked for it. . . .”

  Robert pulled up on the front of the case. “Yup, definitely locked.”

  Ben hurried back to the workroom, fumbled with his backpack, then trotted back and lay the big key ring on the display case in front of Mrs. Sinclair.

  The librarian’s mouth dropped open. “How in the world . . . ?”

  Ben said, “Mr. Keane left these with his wife, and he asked her to give them to me.”

  Robert pointed: “Try that one.”

  They all stared: Robert had spotted a small key that featured a distinctive design—a star!

  Ben slipped it into the keyhole and twisted. With a soft click, the front edge of the top rose a quarter of an inch. Mrs. Sinclair and Jill took hold and lifted upward until the hinged lid was all the way open.

  Robert reached for the sextant box, but Ben said, “Wait a second,” and he snapped three pictures. “Okay.”

  “It’s pretty heavy!” Robert set the box on the shelf next to the dictionary. “First off, we should look at the case—see if there’s anything else hidden in there.”

  Mrs. Sinclair immediately picked up the sextant box and said, “I think the first thing to do is to put this in a safer place.”

  She carried it into the workroom, set it on the table, then opened a cabinet and got out a paper tablecloth. She covered the whole thing, and before she came out and shut the door, Ben saw her turn the lock button on the knob.

  Rejoining the group, she said, “No one else has a key to that room, so our friendly janitors can now snoop around all they want.”

  Robert was bent over the display case, tapping the sides and the shelf.

  “I’m not seeing any secret hiding places in here—do you guys see anything?”

  Ben checked the inside, then lay on the floor and shined his small flashlight up from below.

  “Gerritt’s right,” he said. “There’s just that one shelf inside the case, and I can see the underside of the boards. No hidden compartments.”

  Jill said, “So let’s lock it up, put the dictionary back, and check out the sextant.”

  Mrs. Sinclair handed Jill a key. “You three go and lock yourselves into the workroom. I’ll get this area looking normal again and then carry on with my regular work—so no one suspects that I’m part of your team.”

  The three of them went in and stood around the table, and Jill pulled the cover off the wooden box. Ben started to reach for the sextant, but Robert said, “Hang on, Pratt—let me get some close-up shots with the good camera before we mess with it. From what we know about Old Man Oakes, there could be some kind of message hidden in the way he left the thing set up.”

  After Gerritt took five or six photos, Ben lifted the sextant out of the case, and Jill did a careful examination of the box itself, inside and out. She even removed the purple velvet liner. Apart from the inscription on the small brass plaque, there was nothing.

  “Heads up!” Gerritt snapped. “Wally!”

  Ben tucked the sextant back into its box, and Jill had the whole thing covered again before Wally got close to the workroom. He didn’t try to come in, but he definitely wanted to see what they were up to.

  He unhooked a spray bottle from a clip on his belt, gave a few quick squirts onto the glass, and then wiped away at it with a cloth—leaving filmy streaks behind. But he wasn’t paying attention to anything except the kids, and his small dark eyes instantly focused on the large covered lump on the table.

  Robert said, “So it’s the old fake-window-washing trick. Two can play that game—watch this.”

  He pulled a couple of paper towels off a roll, then walked over, stood directly in front of Wally, and began pretending to clean the inside of the glass. He mirrored each of Wally’s actions, completely blocking his view. They were almost the same height, and Gerritt smiled right into his face, eye-to-eye.

  Jill started to giggle.

  As they watched, Wally’s face turned a blotchy red, and his lips curled back into an ugly grimace.

  Jill stopped giggling. “Um . . . Robert? I don’t think it’s good to get him that mad. . . .”

  Robert kept polishing the glass, mimicking Wally’s every move.

  Speaking softly, he said, “I seem to remember that it was you who told us how Stumpy had anger issues—so I’m gonna see if he’ll blow his top. One big outburst, and he’s history—and you have to admit, it would be great to have him disappear.”

  As usual, it was hard to argue with Gerritt’s logic.

  But Ben didn’t like it. Was this a reaction to what Wally had said to him the other morning? Because what Robert was doing seemed sort of like teasing a dog on a chain—just plain mean.

  Wally suddenly turned away and stomped out of the library.

  Robert said, “Well, at least I got him to leave.”

  That was true, but still, it left Ben with a bad feeling.

  CHAPTER 18

  Aloft

  The heat wave, the pressure of finding safeguard number five, the endless hide-and-seek with Lyman and Wally, plus Gerritt’s constant sniping and Jill’s never-ending touchiness, and Ben was ready to make it official: Tuesday, June 9, was one messed-up day. And it wasn’t over—not even close.

  Ben wished it was. Except, not really.

  But time was almost up. And if he and the other Keepers couldn’t solve the final clue and find that last safeguard, that was it. All Glennley had to do was let the clock run out, and it would be game over. So long Oakes School. And Barclay Bay. And Edgeport.

  All day long, no matter what kind of emergency Mrs. Hinman or Mrs. Sinclair or any of the other extra Keepers came up with, Lyman or Wally had hovered near Ben and Jill and Robert almost constantly. They were simply ignoring all other requests. For the part of the morning when the three of them had been in the library, one or the other had walked up and down the hall, past the doors, pushing a dust mop.

  The one time Ben had managed to sneak away on his own after a trip to the restroom, Mr. Telmer had spotted him in the hallway and ordered him to go outside and join his fourth-period class.

  Lunchtime was a waste, because Mrs. Flagg had been instructed not to let any students into the school from the cafeteria for any reason. Everyone had to go back outdoors.

  All three of them were going to be at the chorus and orchestra rehearsal after school, but Ben couldn’t see that helping much. Even if they could escape Mr. Maasen’s watchful eye, it would be a snap for either Lyman or Wally to spot them leaving the auditorium.

  And now it was sixth-period gym class, and where were they? Stuck outside, sitting still and sweating.

  Lying on the grass beneath an oak, Ben felt like this whole day had been a tragic loss—a wasted opportunity at the worst possible moment. He looked up through the leaves at the hazy sky and saw a lone seagull, floating with the offshore breeze.

  Are we really going to be the last kids in the history of Edgeport to finish a school year here?

  Ben sat up, opened his iPad, and tapped the screen to access the photos.

  R
obert had taken some very sharp pictures of the box, the sextant itself, and the small brass plaque. Slowly and carefully, Ben studied each photo and then read the inscription slowly, over and over again. And about the sixth time through the inscription, the last phrase jumped out at him: Set a true course, and then climb aloft and keep a sharp lookout!

  He pulled a card from his backpack and began scribbling notes.

  He nudged Robert. “Hey, Gerritt, remember what you said, about how Captain Oakes used nautical and shipbuilding terms and applied them to the school building?”

  Robert didn’t stir. “Yeah—upper deck meant third floor, five bells meant six thirty on the chronometer, ‘hooks’ was short for ‘futtocks,’ which meant posts in the hallway.” He yawned. “So what?”

  “So, at the end of the sextant inscription, there are three nautical terms in a row—set a true course, climb aloft, and keep a sharp lookout!”

  Robert opened one eye. “Are you really just figuring this out, Pratt? Let me translate for you: Find the right direction, then go up to the third floor, and look around carefully. The problem is, Pratt, we’ve been all over the third floor a million times. We’ve looked at every door, tried every key in every keyhole, tapped on every wall and the back of every cabinet. And there’s nothing there. Nothing.”

  Jill brushed a fly away from her face, but aside from that lay perfectly still on her back, eyes shut. “I know I’m not a supersailor like you two lords of the waves, but isn’t ‘aloft’ different from ‘the upper deck’? Like, higher than the deck?”

  Robert sat straight up. “Jill—that’s brilliant! Look!”

  She rolled over and propped her chin on one elbow. They were at the edge of the field behind the Annex, so they all had a view of the entire back of the original school.

  And Jill and Ben saw what Robert was pointing at, clear as day, framed against the blue sky. He was pointing at the cupola, up on the very top of the copper roof.

  “That,” he said, “is ‘aloft’!”