We Hold These Truths

by Andrew Clements

  Getting in for a close-up with the camera, Robert said, “That is beautiful!”

  There was just one thing in the case: a perfect scale model of a twenty-four-gun frigate. The gun ports on both sides of the ship stood open, and it was fitted with a brass bow chaser and a long gun aimed straight back over the stern, also made of brass. Every sail was raised, every rope was taut, and the first American naval flag flew from a forward mainmast stay, as if fluttering in a strong breeze.

  Then Gerritt said, “But I don’t think we really need to open the case, do we?”

  Jill looked at Robert. “Are you crazy? What if there’s something hidden inside the boat, or if there’s another clue written on that little flag?”

  Ben agreed with Jill, and he immediately zipped the wire through the dried pitch.

  With the lid up, he could read the tiny lettering on the bows of the ship—it was the USS Stalwart, the ship Captain Oakes had commanded when he defeated the British ship in Edgeport Harbor, HMS Safeguard—and it was the Safeguard’s bell that was hanging on the wall in the school office!

  Jill had her headlamp in her hand again, and getting down close, she looked into every opening, checked both sides of every sail—even checked the little deck above the captain’s cabin to see if it lifted off.

  Ben had looked at a lot of model ships, and this was the best one he’d ever seen, especially the rigging. Every knot was perfect—even the wooden pulleys were carved just right, and each tiny belaying pin locked a rope in its proper place.

  After a minute or two Jill straightened up. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Except an amazing model ship, you mean,” Ben added.

  “Yeah,” Gerritt said, “I agree that it’s definitely cool—but is that gonna save the school? I don’t think so.”

  Ben could feel Robert’s impatience.

  “All right,” he said, “ready for the last one?”

  Robert nodded. “Yeah, and let’s have a big drumroll for item number three!”

  And as Ben pulled the cloth covering off, Gerritt moved in closer with the camera and fluttered his tongue to make a fakey drum sound: “Ba-dur-rum, ba-dur-rum, ba-dur-rummm . . .”

  And then he stopped.

  Ben stood still, staring, and so did Jill, her eyes popped wide.

  It was another display case, but this one had glass on all four sides as well as the top. There was a brass plaque on the wide front, fastened to the wood below the glass panel.

  But no one read the plaque—no one needed to.

  Because right there, dressed in his Revolutionary War naval uniform, lay the body of Captain Duncan Oakes.

  CHAPTER 25

  American Mummy

  “Shocked” was not a strong enough word.

  Neither was “stunned” or “amazed”—not even “thunderstruck.”

  Ben could not get his mind around this!

  He’d been climbing all over the captain’s gravestone ever since he was four years old—outside, out on the playground of the school! Because that was where Captain Oakes was buried—everyone in the whole town knew that! Everyone in the entire state knew it—that Duncan Oakes was this weird old guy who had built a school and then had himself buried on the playground—outside!

  Except . . . it wasn’t true.

  Because the man was lying right there, on full display—every ghastly bit of him.

  No, that wasn’t true either. Because his face was hidden.

  Someone had carefully placed a square of blue silk, a covering that went from the top of his forehead down to the high collar of his shirt.

  But Ben still saw a glimpse of dark, leathery skin—part of his neck.

  And even though the captain was wearing fancy dress gloves, the hands looked thin and bony—the same hands that looked so strong and sure in that painting downstairs.

  A shiver ran through him, and Ben thought, It’s an American mummy!

  Jill whispered, “Shut off the camera, Robert.”

  “But I want to get a shot of—”

  “Turn it off—now!”

  “All right . . . sorry. It’s off,” he said.

  Ben peeked at Jill—she looked awful . . . pale and tired, and now sort of scared, too.

  He felt like he wanted to go put an arm across her shoulders.

  And he also felt like he wanted her to come do the same thing for him.

  But he needed to be strong now, he had to be Captain Pratt . . . right?

  Right.

  Speaking softly, he said, “So . . . remember what it said on that engraved message that told all the clues, the message that ended with the oath of secrecy? It said to look for the final safeguard ‘only if you must,’ because once that last one was found, ‘our school will change forever.’ I don’t know about you guys, but that’s exactly what just happened for me.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Robert said, “but . . . I think this is really going to do it—save the school, I mean.”

  Jill stared at him. “I don’t get that—how?”

  Ben had never seen Gerritt look so uncomfortable. It seemed like he was having to force himself to speak each word, one after the other.

  “Well,” Robert began, “I know this is gonna sound weird and everything, but when I was in fourth grade? That was when I first sort of started to understand what had really happened to my mom and dad. And I used to stop at their graves over in the churchyard on the way home from school—like, at least two or three times a week, all year long. And I thought about them being down there, with all those other people lying all around them. And . . . well, there’s a big backyard at Gram’s house, and an apple tree that blossoms every spring. And I thought it might be nice if . . . if they were buried right there, close to home.”

  He stopped, and Ben could tell it took an effort to make himself continue.

  “Anyway, I talked to Gram about it one day, and she said it was a nice idea, but that there were strict laws about where bodies could be buried. And once they were buried, there were even stricter laws about moving them.” He paused again, smiled sheepishly, and said, “Well, you know me, so I went and studied up on all the Massachusetts laws about burials and graveyards and tombstones and crypts and monuments—I kind of got obsessed. All the laws are online, and there are tons of them, and they aren’t that hard to understand—they try to use really clear language. And Gram was right—once a body is laid to rest, it’s supposed to be left alone. And if there’s a gravestone or a monument, it’s illegal to mess with that, too.”

  “Oh!” Jill said. “You’re saying that even though this is a school, because the captain is lying dead right there, this whole big building is kind of like a giant gravestone!”

  Robert nodded. “Right. I mean, we should check it out with the lawyer, but yeah, that’s what I think.”

  Ben said, “Call him—call the lawyer!”

  Gerritt made a face. “Now? It’s three thirty in the morning.”

  “So?” said Ben. “The Oakes trust is paying him a lot of money—call him! And put it on speaker.”

  Harold Chamden picked up on the first ring.

  “Robert—are you okay? You’re not at the police station—listen, don’t make any statements, not a word to anybody, okay? Not a word!”

  “We’re fine, Mr. Chamden, we’re all fine. We’re here at the school, up in the cupola on the top of the roof. Sorry to wake you up, but—”

  “Wake me up?” The lawyer laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve been talking with your grandmother and Jill’s and Ben’s parents all night—trust me, nobody is sleeping!”

  Ben said, “You’re on speakerphone, Mr. Chamden—could you talk a little softer? And Robert needs to tell you something.”

  As Robert began explaining, Ben got out his phone and snapped a photo of the body in the glass coffin and a second shot of the brass plaque on the front of it.

  Talking very fast now, Robert said, “So, up here in the cupola? We found Captain Oakes, um, I mean, his body. This is where h
e’s buried, except it’s more like a mummy, because his body’s lying in a glass case, right here. And I was just telling Jill and Ben how I’m pretty sure this means that nobody can do anything to the school, because—”

  “Wait, wait . . . ,” said the lawyer, “you said his body is right there? In plain view?”

  Ben spoke up. “Mr. Chamden, this is Ben again, and I just sent you two pictures in a text.”

  They heard the lawyer’s phone ding, then heard him tapping, then, “Whoa! That is incredible! Hang on a sec . . .”

  Ben heard his fingers tapping a keyboard, and then Mr. Chamden began to narrate what he was doing.

  “Okay . . . I’m at the website for the Massachusetts General Laws . . . burial, cremation, burial at sea—here we go! Chapter one hundred fourteen, cemeteries and burials. And . . . here it is, section eighteen. Listen to this: ‘Any town having within its limits an abandoned or neglected burying ground may take charge of the same and keep it in good order, and may appropriate money therefore, but no property rights shall be violated and nobody shall be disinterred. No fence, tomb, monument, or other structure shall be removed or destroyed, but the same may be repaired or restored.’ So that’s it! It’s against the law to even touch that body, and no part of the structure around it can be removed or destroyed! Case closed—almost. You need to send me more pictures right away, as many as you have, and then get out of there without alerting the janitors. I’ll get the rest of our legal team on this right away, like in the next ten minutes, and we’ll be at the courthouse in Salem at eight thirty—which is . . . that’s less than six hours from now! And you kids need to get home to bed!”

  “Yes, they certainly do!”

  The deep voice echoed in the small room, and the short hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stood up. He stared at the dead man in the glass coffin—and then spun around.

  Lyman!

  Lyman was standing behind them on the ladder, with just his head and shoulders above the top of the open hatchway—and he had a clear view of the whole room!

  The lawyer said, “Who . . . whose voice was that?”

  Ben gulped, then spoke clearly. “Mr. Chamden, please turn on a recorder. . . . Is it on?”

  After a pause and a click, the lawyer said, “Yes, I’m recording now.”

  Ben said, “That was the voice of Jerroald Lyman, an employee of the Glennley Group. And he’s also been working as a janitor here at the Oakes School. And he is here in the room with us.” Ben snapped a photo of Lyman and texted it. “I’ve just sent you a picture of him.”

  The lawyer took over. “Mr. Lyman, I am Harold Chamden, and I am an attorney and an officer of the court in Essex County. I represent the three students there with you, and also their parents and guardians. These students have just sent me photographic evidence of what you see there, and I also have evidence that you are right now within the burial monument of Captain Duncan Oakes. The room you see there is defined by law as an ancient burial site. I am now giving you a direct and clear warning that if you make any attempt to disturb that site or any of the artifacts there, or anywhere else in the entire building, such actions will make you personally liable for fines and imprisonment under the general laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Under the law, this discovery of human remains must be reported immediately to the local police, which will be my next phone call, and a uniformed officer will be there inside the next fifteen minutes, possibly sooner. You will need to give the police your full cooperation. The people who will be viewing this gravesite in the next days and weeks will be other state and local police officers, the state medical examiner, and the state archaeologist. Do you understand what I’ve just told you?”

  Lyman answered immediately, and Ben was puzzled by how sincerely and freely he spoke.

  “Yes, Mr. Chamden, I understand completely, and I want to assure you that neither I nor the company I work for wants to break any law of any kind, or to be involved in any illegal activity. However, I am very concerned to find three young people here inside a town building at three fifteen in the morning, because I also work for the Edgeport Unified School District, and this is a very unusual circumstance.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” said Mr. Chamden. “And as a school employee, you are now legally and personally responsible for escorting students safely downstairs, and you will find their parents and relatives waiting in the school parking lot on the south side of the building, and they will take all the children to their homes. Do you understand your legal responsibility to do this?”

  “I do, sir,” said Lyman, “and you have my word that I shall do just as you have directed.”

  Again, Ben could not figure out what was going on, what kind of game the janitor was playing.

  The lawyer said, “Ben, I want you to keep this line open, and if we should get disconnected, call me back immediately. And I’ll be there soon, about the time you meet up with your parents. And if there is any problem whatsoever, any one of you can dial 9-1-1. Do you understand?”

  Ben said, “Yes. Thanks, Mr. Chamden.”

  Lyman looked around the room. “Very impressive, and I congratulate you on finding this. Very impressive. Well, we’d better get downstairs.”

  He took a step backward down the ladder.

  Ben didn’t move, and neither did Jill or Robert.

  Ben looked Lyman in the eye. “What’re you doing? What kind of trick is this?”

  Lyman looked back at him. “There’s no trick,” he said mildly. “It’s very simple—you’ve won. With all the theme parks and other development projects that the Glennley Group has launched over the past fifteen years, do you think this is the first time we’ve bumped into graveyards or tombs or ancient burial grounds? They’re most often Native American sites, but we are well aware of these kinds of laws. And as I told Mr. Chamden, we don’t want to break any laws. Also, I personally believe that it’s morally wrong to disturb anyone’s final resting place—that’s just how I feel, and I don’t like it even if a court approves. And now . . .”

  The lawyer spoke up through the speakerphone. “I’m still recording all this. . . .”

  Ben was still glaring at Lyman. “You ‘don’t want to break any laws’—are you kidding? What about when you tried to flood out the whole school last weekend?”

  Lyman’s face darkened, and he snapped, “There were other—”

  He stopped himself, and began again, more quietly. “That was an unfortunate incident, a plumbing failure in an old building. But getting back to what the lawyer was saying, he’s right about how everything has changed here, and that is the report I’ll make to the people at my company as soon as we’re outside. I’ve had a particular role to play here during this project . . . but now that this has become a legal and moral matter, my work is done.”

  Jill said, “But what about when you stole that whole Underground Railroad station from us? That wasn’t exactly legal!”

  Lyman’s eyes flashed a little at that, but he kept his voice calm. “On the contrary. It was my dog, a Rottweiler named Moose, who discovered that hideout after he somehow got trapped inside the north stairwell. There was no indication that anyone else had been inside the school that night—legally or illegally—since this is a discussion of what is or has been lawful. And once that historically important room was found, my company and I acted quickly and responsibly to preserve it.”

  Listening, Ben had to agree with Lyman—technically, he probably hadn’t broken any laws. And studying the man’s eyes, Ben didn’t see any anger there now, didn’t see any hidden craftiness in his face—if anything, the guy seemed sort of relieved.

  Jill wasn’t done. “What about Wally? Is he good with all this now?”

  Lyman tapped the walkie-talkie clipped to his collar. “Wally, did you hear all of this? You agree that we’ve finished our work here now, right?”

  The speaker sputtered, but it was definitely Wally’s voice, and it sounded like a “yes.” Lyman clicked the walkie-talkie of
f, and again he said, “So, we should get downstairs.”

  It was very odd, but Ben believed Lyman—completely. It was like they were talking with a different person. But he still kept his guard up.

  They reached the third-floor hallway, and as they started down the south stairwell, Robert asked, “So, how did you find us up there?”

  “Well,” Lyman said, “I had an alarm set for three a.m., because I recalled that some of you had come into the school before at about that time—which is, of course, the best time for covert nighttime action. So, Wally and I made a sweep through all the halls. First off, all the paintings and maps had been covered with that white plastic in the afternoon, and when we got up here, the plastic over that big painting was gone. Then it was just a matter of listening, and we heard faint voices and some other sounds. A strong flashlight on the big painting revealed that hole in the canvas, right at the keyhole—which was brilliant. And using a good stiff piece of wire and a pair of locking pliers, Wally was able to fashion a key that worked in the lock. Once it was open, I climbed up, and he listened in. I was halfway up the steps when I heard you start talking about the . . . corpse.”

  As they came out of the stairwell into the first-floor hallway, Jill and Robert were both talking at once, telling how shocked they’d been to see that dead body.

  Ben didn’t know whether to smile or frown. Gerritt and Jill had apparently also decided that Lyman wasn’t the enemy anymore. It was like they were pals now—old veterans, swapping war stories.

  He heard something, and thought it might have been his dad beeping the car horn. “Shh . . . ,” he said, “quiet a second. Did you hear that?”

  All four of them stood still, and now the sound was very clear.

  And loud. And close.

  But Ben didn’t need to ask what it was, because now he knew.

  It was the unmistakable rumble of a diesel engine—a big one!

  CHAPTER 26

  The Beast