The Final Gambit

by Christopher Healy

  Molly caught the villain mid-sneeze, barreling into him and knocking him up against the wall so she, Emmett, and Robot could run past, back toward the central atrium. Before they could reach the mezzanine, however, Rector drew a pistol-like armament from his coat and aimed it at Robot. Molly had seen this weapon before. Rector’s rebuilt Magneta-Ray began to hum and glow with a dull orange light.

  “Ha!” Molly scoffed. “Forgot Robot is aluminum, huh? Magnets don’t affect him!”

  Robot suddenly skidded to a stop and began a headfirst slide back toward Rector.

  “The helmet!” Emmett yelled. “It’s steel!”

  Molly and Emmett each dove for one of Robot’s legs and tried with all their might to hold him in place. They crouched, grunting and sweating, their arms wrapped around his thick metal shins, while Rector pulled pack on his blaster like a fisherman trying to reel in a big catch. Robot’s arms flailed until he finally managed to brace himself in the doorframe that led out to the mezzanine. With a harsh scraping sound, the helmet popped off and flew to Rector.

  “I am not a knight anymore,” Robot said sadly as the children scrambled to their feet.

  “What’s going on up here? Who are you?” yelled the bewildered security guard who emerged from the stairwell. Rector flicked his wrist and the knight helmet flew through the air, smacking into the man and bowling him over. A second guard behind him began shouting, “We’ve got a man down! Get word to the police!”

  Rector used his Magneta-Ray to pluck the man’s buttons from his coat and pelt him with them until the guard fled back downstairs.

  As Molly, Emmett, and Robot darted around the mezzanine to the other side of the atrium, they could hear more men yelling from below. “This place is going to be crawling with cops any minute,” Emmett said.

  “At least we’ve put some distance between us and Rector,” Molly said, knowing full well it wasn’t much of a bright side.

  Just then, they heard the sound of shattering glass and Rector stepped onto the mezzanine across the atrium from them. He held his Magneta-Ray in the air. A glistening cavalry sword floated above his head. “Have you ever sneezed inside a mask?” he shouted across the distance. “It is not pretty!”

  Then he twirled his hand and sent the saber spinning across the atrium. Molly and Emmett grabbed each other as the deadly blade came hurtling at them—

  The sword suddenly froze in midair, mere inches from their heads.

  “What happened?” Emmett muttered.

  Robot was holding his hand out. An orange glow seeped from the seams of his chest plate.

  Molly swallowed hard. “I’m, um, not gonna yell at you this time, Robot,” she said.

  “Ah,” Rector said, leaning casually against the mezzanine railing. “So the clanky fellow still has something that rightfully belongs to me. I was beginning to wonder. I’ll have to get that back before I’m done here.”

  There was a commotion below as a group of police officers ran into the museum. “They’re upstairs!” someone yelled.

  “That’s my cue to exit,” Rector said, putting his magnet ray back into his coat. “I’ve got a precious stone to snatch. Nice catching up, though.” He dashed down a corridor into the east wing seconds before security guards and officers of the capitol police began pouring from stairwells along the mezzanine. They emerged from every possible entrance and began approaching the children from both directions, angrily waving their batons.

  “We’re trapped,” Emmett said shakily. “No way down.”

  “Incorrect,” said Robot. He hoisted Emmett into one arm and bent for Molly to climb onto his back—which she eagerly did. Then with his right hand clamped on to the mezzanine railing, he swung his gawky pipe legs to the other side and released the hidden rope in his arm. In a blink, they descended to the now empty first floor and Robot quickly reeled his hand in. Policemen gathered at the railing, scratching their heads in bewilderment.

  “Ha!” Molly crowed, hopping from Robot’s back. And then, “Ha!” again when she saw the sign directly in front of them: SPACE ROCKS. They’d done it! They’d evaded arrest and beaten Rector to the Ambrosium!

  Molly raced into the exhibit and made her way down the row of display cases. A dusty black stone in the first. A dull gray one in the next. Then dusty gray. And dull black. Where was the smooth, lustrous orange of Ambrosium? Where was the glow? That sign outside showed a glowing rock! But none of the meteorites in that room were full of power; they were full of cracks and holes. “They’re just rocks!” Molly barked in frustration. “That sign is a liar!”

  The sound of descending footsteps reverberated from down the hall. Emmett grabbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Molly, but they’re coming back.”

  Molly huffed. She would have to soothe herself with the thought that, when Rector reached that exhibit, he would be just as disappointed. Reluctantly, she joined the others, darting out through the abandoned front entrance, fleeing once more into the shadows.

  Molly hunched her shoulders and pulled her coat tight, to protect herself from both the wind and prying eyes. She had a freshly pilfered newspaper rolled in one hand as she returned to the dank alley behind a condemned restaurant where they had spent the night among malodorous trash heaps. Not the accommodations she’d hoped for, but at least they’d managed to get a few hours of sleep in without being discovered.

  After fleeing the Smithsonian the night before, they had trekked back into the woods to retrieve the Daedalus Chariot. Unsurprisingly, it was gone, likely impounded by Agent Clark and his men. There was no sign of Dr. Stinkums either. And so, with few other options, they fell back upon Molly’s old theory of hiding someplace no one else would want to go.

  “Anything in there?” Emmett asked as soon as he saw the newspaper.

  “Gimme a chance to look!” Molly snapped, making him flinch. “Sorry,” she said, more amiably. “I’m just tired and hungry.”

  “Believe it or not,” Emmett said, “I didn’t get the best night’s sleep either, huddling between these rotting potato sacks.”

  “I am not hungry, as I do not eat,” said Robot, who stood leaning against the brick wall. “I am tired, however. I think I am, at least. I have never been tired before. But I assume this is what tired feels like. Also, I miss my knight helmet.”

  Molly’s brow crinkled with concern. “You’re tired, Robot? For real? I was afraid of something like this after you used your powers last night.” She handed the newspaper to Emmett and took a reluctant peek inside Robot’s chest compartment. The remaining Ambrosium could barely warrant being called a nugget anymore. It was only slightly larger than a marble.

  Hoping to ignore the pang in her heart, Molly turned her attention to Emmett. “What does the news say?”

  He didn’t have to page far into the World’s Washington edition to find what he was looking for. “Here it is—page two. ‘Daring Theft at Smithsonian.’ Aaand . . . They’re blaming it on us. Of course. ‘The culprits have been identified as adolescent fugitives Emmett Lee, a young man of Chinese descent, and Molly Pepper, daughter of attempted assassin Cassandra Pepper.’”

  “Hey, I’ve broken a whole bunch of laws myself!” Molly griped. “How come I only get to be known for my mother’s crime? And one she didn’t even commit!”

  “Yeah, well, apparently being Chinese is the only notable thing about me,” Emmett said.

  Molly gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re an amazing inventor. Someday everybody’s going to know your name for the right reasons.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” Emmett said, “but I’m having a hard time looking that far into the future when apparently Clark did give our names and descriptions to every cop, agent, and security guard in this town.”

  Molly growled at the man’s name. “Any mention of Rector in that article?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” Emmett said as he continued to read. “Oh! But this is interesting: ‘Thanks to the intervention of the ca
pitol police, the criminals escaped with only two of the lauded museum’s artifacts.’”

  “Two? We got nothing!”

  Emmett read on. “‘One was a suit of armor’”—he paused to roll his eyes—“‘the other, a large stone.’”

  “What? There was Ambrosium?” Molly gasped. “Rector got to it first? How? He never passed us on the way to—”

  “No, listen,” Emmett said. “‘The Star of Ceylon, which at one hundred and eighty-three carats is the largest known sapphire in the world, is a stunning loss to the museum, having been valued at over twenty thousand dollars.’”

  “I do not understand,” said Robot.

  Molly flopped down onto a garbage can lid, dropping her face into her hands. “I do,” she said. “Rector was after a rock, but not the same kind we were. He was just out to steal some big, expensive jewel! There was never any Ambrosium. In fact, there’s no more Ambrosium anywhere. No more magic space rocks that we can use to save you, Robot. That tiny bit you’ve got left in your chest? That’s all there is. Forever.”

  18

  Ladies and Gentlemen, the Next President of the United States!

  Washington, DC, October 19, 1884

  “THE QUESTION FACING us all is this: Do we want to wait for the future? Or do we want to bring the future to us?”

  Thomas Edison’s voice reached even the screaming fans in the back row, thanks to the Vocal Empowernator device that amplified his speech across the entire National Mall. He paced a wide wooden stage beneath a towering proscenium arch rigged with an array of light bulbs that spelled out his name in red, white, and blue. “Some presidents are happy to stay in the present,” the candidate continued. “Take Poodle-Cheeks Chester Arthur, for example. When was the last time he invented anything? No offense, Ches—you know I love you. And, hey, Arthur’s better than all those presidents we’ve had who insisted on living in the past. Did you know that James Madison never even used electricity? It’s true. Not once! That’s why I’m going to be a different kind of president—a president unlike any this great nation has ever seen before. Tell me, good people of America, do you want a leader who’s already history? Or one who plans to write a new chapter for our country?”

  Thousands applauded and shrieked Edison’s name, some wobbling as if they might pass out from sheer ecstasy.

  “How is he getting people to cheer for him when he’s saying absolutely nothing,” Molly griped.

  “Maybe that’s why they call him the Wizard,” Emmett replied.

  The two crouched beneath the stage while the vociferous candidate paced above their heads. The sea of fawning Ed-Heads on the Mall hooted so loudly that Molly wondered if they could even make out Edison’s words. Still, as much as she didn’t understand the wildness of the crowd, she was grateful for it. With security forces busy holding back autograph seekers, it had been shockingly easy to hop the fence into the backstage area and crawl underneath the platform.

  It also helped that they didn’t bring Robot with them this time. They were too afraid to. And they figured the manure-scented alleyway behind the city stables was as safe a place to leave him as any.

  “But you don’t even have to wait till inauguration day to see me make my mark on Washington,” Edison said to his followers. “I’ll be lighting up the town in December when I crown the Washington Monument with a little bit of that Edison magic. So, remember, folks: Edison is the future and the future is Edison! And Edison is America! Edison, future, America!”

  “I think he’s wrapping up,” Emmett whispered.

  “In conclusion, let me leave you with one final thought,” Edison said. “Can the other candidates do . . . this?” The rapid tapping and shuffling overhead told Molly that Edison was treating the crowd to one of his signature soft-shoe dance routines.

  She and Emmett crawled to the rear of the stage and crouched by the back steps so they could catch Edison as he left. When the dance—which went on far too long—finally ended, the roar of the crowd made Molly jam her fingers in her ears. She only pulled them out when she saw Edison’s brown-checked pant legs bound down the steps in front of her. Two men in black immediately strode over to the candidate, but Edison shooed them away. “Back off, fellas, I’m fine,” he said, dabbing behind his ears with a handkerchief. “Go take a break and let me catch my breath in peace. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  The men left.

  “No one is as young as they used to be,” Molly said as she and Emmett emerged from hiding.

  “Gah!” Edison jumped. “Why do you keep doing this to me? And now at my own campaign rally? There are press people here! I can’t be seen with you urchins.”

  “Well, Agent Clark already knows you’ve seen us. Because we told him,” Molly said with smug satisfaction. “So . . . Who’s the urchin now? Huh?”

  “You!” Edison snapped. “You are the urchin! Urchins are children by definition!”

  “Mr. Edison, please,” Emmett interrupted. “We had no intention of bothering you again. You made your feelings pretty clear. But we had to tell you what happened last night. We saw Rector. With our own eyes.”

  “Look, I’m not accusing you of lying,” Edison said. The crowd was still boisterous enough out front that he didn’t worry about being overheard. “But you’re kids—your imaginations have imaginations.”

  “Did you hear about the burglary at the Smithsonian?” Molly asked.

  “I did,” he replied.

  “That was Rector!”

  “Funny, I heard it was you,” Edison said, crossing his arms.

  “Fine, then we’re done here,” Emmett said, glowering at him before turning to Molly. “We did our duty, we warned him. If he refuses to take us seriously, that’s on him. But we are not going to stand around doing nothing while a madman is on the loose, so—”

  “Wait—I believe you now,” Edison said.

  Emmett glared. “It’s bad enough you won’t help us; we don’t need your sarcasm on top of—”

  “Stop!” Edison barked. “Rector’s here! I believe you!”

  “Really?” Emmett said with surprise. “Because I didn’t think I made a very convincing argument—”

  “Would you shut up! He is literally right there!”

  Edison pointed a quivering finger at the top of the proscenium arch. Emmett and Molly spun to see the masked, black-clad figure of Ambrose Rector crouched on a pipe behind the giant letter “E.” Upon realizing he’d been spotted, the villain lifted a blowpipe to the mouth-hole of his mask and fired a dart at them.

  “Look out!” Emmett shoved Edison to the ground and—thunk!—the dart planted itself into the wooden steps.

  “Hurry!” Molly cried. “Call security and—”

  “Don’t bother,” Edison said, clutching his chest. “He’s already gone.”

  Molly spun around—the masked figure had vanished. “Yes, but your men could—”

  “My security couldn’t stop two little kids from sneaking back here,” Edison said, brushing himself off. “They’re useless. I apparently have a diabolical genius stalking me—I’m going to need real help.”

  “Are you all right?” Emmett asked him, helping the man up.

  Edison nodded. “I suppose I owe you my thanks.”

  “This makes us even for the time I beat you up,” said Molly.

  “You didn’t save me, Emmett did!” Edison countered. Then he softened his tone. “But I suppose you actually were trying to warn me of legitimate danger, so . . .” His eyes widened, the reality of the situation appearing to dawn on him. “What am I going to do? I should never have underestimated Rector. The man could be anywhere! I’m a major public figure—I can’t just go hide in a sewer like you two—”

  “We haven’t been in a sewer!” Molly said.

  Edison sniffed. “Coulda fooled me,” he muttered. “Look, Rector just made it clear he’s out for revenge. He knows I conspired with Bell to send him on that Antarctic mission that nearly led to his demise, and he wants me dead
for it. I don’t even know how I’m going to show my face beyond this fence without putting my life at risk. You kids need to go notify Agent Clark right away.”

  “Us?” Molly scoffed. “Clark doesn’t believe us any more than you did a few minutes ago! Besides, he’d have us in cuffs before we could utter a word. Send one of your security goons.”

  “What if Rector’s already disguised himself as one of them?” Edison’s eyes darted around in a paranoid panic. “You know how good he is at that kind of stuff!”

  Molly narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I’ll pardon you as soon as I become president,” Edison offered with a cheesy smile.

  “Hold on! No one can go to the police,” Emmett said. He had plucked Rector’s dart from the stage steps and unrolled a thin slip of paper that was wrapped around it. “It’s a message. Maybe he wasn’t trying to kill anybody just now.”

  Edison sniffed. “Well, in that case, I retract my thanks. You wrinkled my suit for nothing.”

  “What’s the note say, Emmett?” Molly asked, reading over his shoulder.

  “‘I have Bell,’” Emmett read.

  “He kidnapped Alec again?” Edison said. “Sheesh. Can that guy go, like, a month without getting kidnapped?”

  Emmett cleared his throat and continued reading. “‘I have Bell. Speed up construction on the monument. Have it done before Election Day, or Bell dies.’”

  “Okay, well, now I feel bad,” said Edison. “You should have mentioned the killing part sooner. But anyway, this is all the more reason we should immediately notify—”

  Emmett cleared his throat even louder and read, “‘Do not involve the authorities. Tell anyone, and Bell dies.’”

  “I’m just gonna be quiet now,” Edison said sheepishly.

  Molly looked into Emmett’s eyes. She knew he was thinking the same thing she was. “It’s on us again,” she said. “We have to stop Rector. Alone.”

  “Not alone,” said Emmett. He turned to Edison. “He has to help us.”

  Edison gaped. “What am I supposed to do? I’m the one being targeted. The only reason Rector hasn’t killed me yet is because he knows my murder would bring the construction on the Washington Monument to an abrupt halt, and he apparently needs it finished for some devious reason. What I should be doing is finding a nice, cozy little safe spot. And staying there.”