The Candy Shop War

by Brandon Mull

  The blinds snapped back together, and Nate met Mr. Stott at the front door. Today his pajamas were plaid with a matching nightcap. “You got it?” he asked in wonder, stepping aside to let Nate enter.

  “She caught Trevor,” Nate said, coming inside.

  “Oh, no,” Mr. Stott said.

  “I barely escaped,” Nate said, his voice catching. “I was out of Shock Bits. I had to either run or get caught too.” Tears stung his eyes. He clenched his jaw.

  “You did the right thing,” Mr. Stott said.

  “Will he . . . be okay?” Nate asked.

  “He was no longer fighting?”

  “No, he was done.”

  Mr. Stott nodded. “Anything can happen during a fight, but if Belinda subdued him, she won’t kill him. Losing the teleidoscope is a major blow; she’ll want to use Trevor as a bargaining chip.”

  “Can we trade the teleidoscope for Trevor?”

  Mr. Stott cocked his head slightly. “Without the base, it would do her little good. If she suspects I have the base, she may want more than the teleidoscope. But first things first. Shall we see if it actually reveals a clue?”

  Nate gave a nod.

  Mr. Stott led the way to his bedroom, crossed to the little marble platform beside his bed, and placed the teleidoscope in the mounting. It fit perfectly. He bent over and began turning a wheel on the teleidoscope. Nate waited, hoping the sacrifice had not been wasted.

  “Mrs. White also had a book written by Hanaver Mills that she got from the museum,” Nate said. “We had it, but we lost it in the fight.”

  “You brought the most important item,” Mr. Stott said.

  Mr. Stott quit peering through the teleidoscope for a moment and turned on the rest of the lights in the room, then returned to his task, slowly fingering the wheel, one eye closed. Nate folded his arms. He paced. He thought about Trevor, wondering whether Mrs. White was hurting him.

  Mr. Stott backed away from the teleidoscope. “Without touching a thing, tell me if you see words.”

  Nate crouched and gazed into the eyepiece. The message was faint, written in sparse gold flecks mingling with the other colors, the letters warped but unmistakable:

  HOLDS

  THE

  KEY

  “Holds the key?” Nate said. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I assume there’s more,” Mr. Stott said. Nate moved out of the way, and Mr. Stott resumed his position. He began turning the wheel backwards in such small increments that the motion reminded Nate of the minute hand on a clock. Patiently Mr. Stott nudged the wheel, studied the image for several seconds, and then nudged the wheel again.

  “Aha!” he finally exclaimed, stepping aside. “What do you see now?”

  It took Nate a moment to recognize the words, faintly inscribed in blue specks against a brilliant background of tie-dyed sunbursts, the letters highly stylized:

  HOUSE

  OF

  HAAG

  “House of Haag?” Nate said.

  “Tougher to spot that one,” Mr. Stott chuckled. “Not an endeavor for the color-blind. House of Haag holds the key.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I need to research the Haag family,” Mr. Stott said. “I know there are numerous Haags here in town. The family has been well-represented in Colson for many years, no doubt dating back to the days of Hanaver Mills. This is a major breakthrough. The key to accessing the treasure must be a Haag family heirloom. They probably don’t even know what it does.” Mr. Stott hunched over the teleidoscope and began to delicately turn the wheel again.

  “You think there’s more?” Nate asked.

  “If there are two messages, there may be ten,” Mr. Stott said. “We must be thorough.”

  Nate sat on the edge of Mr. Stott’s mattress, not really expecting Mr. Stott to find anything else. “Mrs. White has a dwarf who can jump super far and throw things really hard,” he said. “He tackled me out in front of the candy shop and practically broke my back. We landed on the other side of the street. Then somebody showed up in a car, and the dwarf let me go. I heard a gunshot.”

  “Did you see who was in the car?” Mr. Stott asked, his voice remote as he concentrated on the image in the teleidoscope.

  “No, it was dark and I was scared of getting my head blown off. I just ran, well, glided, to your house.”

  “Probably wise. Some rival of Belinda’s must have been keeping an eye on the shop, awaiting an opportunity. I wonder who else is in town.”

  Nate leaned back on the bed, which made him realize how tired he was. “She has this other guy, a big fat dude, who was barfing orange goop at us. It was so disgusting.”

  “Here we go,” Mr. Stott said. “Have a peek.”

  Nate sat up and slid off the bed. This was the faintest image yet, convoluted letters formed by glittering silver particles:

  MAP

  IN

  SHIP

  “Map in ship,” Nate read. “How did he set up all these messages?”

  “A remarkable feat,” Mr. Stott acknowledged. “Even if, as I suspect, he was something of a magician himself. I have never come across a mirror system quite like the one in this teleidoscope, with some deliberate imperfections built into it. I honestly can’t guess how he pulled it off, especially with such subtlety.”

  “What does the clue mean?”

  Mr. Stott put his eye to the teleidoscope again, coaxing the wheel forward little by little. “Locating a map would be a serious coup,” Mr. Stott said. “The first half of the battle is learning where the treasure is hidden. After that, we can try to figure out how to acquire it.”

  Nate yawned. He knew it was important, but standing around and staring into a teleidoscope was not exactly keeping his adrenalin pumping.

  “Success!” Mr. Stott finally reported. “Have a look.”

  The next words were formed by black specks against a psychedelic backdrop:

  USS

  STAR

  GAZER

  “The map is aboard the USS Stargazer?” Nate postulated.

  “A reasonable guess,” Mr. Stott said. “Let me keep looking.”

  Nate sat on the floor while Mr. Stott continued to nudge the wheel, scrutinizing each new kaleidoscopic vista. Nate leaned back. The floor felt comfortable. He thought about climbing onto the bed.

  The next thing he knew, Mr. Stott was gently shaking his shoulder. Nate blinked blearily. “Find something?” Nate asked, trying to sound awake.

  “Nothing new,” Mr. Stott said. “I cycled back through all the four messages twice, using different lighting schemes. I think we’ve found all we’re going to get, but I’ll check again in the morning with fresh eyes.”

  “I guess I should get going,” Nate said.

  “Let me give you a lift in the truck,” Mr. Stott offered. “You’ve had a traumatic night.”

  Mr. Stott led him out of a door in the kitchen and down three concrete steps to the driveway. He manually raised the garage door and went to the driver’s seat of his truck. Nate climbed in the passenger door. “I suppose we can dispense with the music tonight,” Mr. Stott said. “Four a.m. is a trifle early for ice cream sandwiches.”

  Nate snapped on his seatbelt. Mr. Stott pulled out of his driveway. “Tell me where you live, Nate.”

  “On Monroe in the Presidential Estates.”

  “Near Trevor and Pigeon,” Mr. Stott said, nodding. “How about we avoid Greenway and go up the back way, on Mayflower? My guess is you’ve seen enough of the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe for one night.”

  “Yes, please,” Nate agreed.

  “Now that you made your move, I’ll have to remove my bathroom mirror,” Mr. Stott said. “Can’t give Belinda a chance to retaliate that way.”

  “Good idea,” Nate replied.

  They drove in silence for a moment. Nate felt unsettled. He kept expecting a car to close in behind them. They rounded a corner onto Mayflower.

  “Don’t worry abo
ut Trevor,” Mr. Stott said. “That teleidoscope was the real deal. I’ll start working on those clues, and we’ll figure out a way to get him back.”

  “How?”

  “The way I see it, we don’t want to give away the clues until we follow up on them, find the map and the key. Then we can exchange the teleidoscope and the base for Trevor without handing Belinda the treasure. For all of our sakes, we must prevent her from gaining the power she seeks. That woman has a long memory.”

  “Think she might come after me?” Nate said.

  “Belinda is not rash,” Mr. Stott said, turning into the Presidential Estates from Mayflower. “More likely she’ll spy on you, try to confirm the location of the teleidoscope before making a move. Since you no longer have the teleidoscope, that should work to our advantage. Try to relax. I’ll get in touch when I know more. I expect I’ll have a mission or two for you and your friends to perform before this is over.”

  “Do you have magic candy too?” Nate asked.

  Mr. Stott winked. “I may not hand out power as readily as some, but I’ve been crafting enchantments for at least as long as Belinda. I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve, never you fear. For now, hang on to this cell phone. I programmed in my number. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Nate accepted the phone. “What’s your address?” Mr. Stott asked.

  “3473,” Nate said. “Up here on the left.”

  The ice cream truck pulled to a stop, brakes squeaking. “Get some sleep,” Mr. Stott said.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Nate replied, hopping out of the truck and shutting the door.

  Mr. Stott pulled away, and Nate went into his house. He had left the front door unlocked. He walked up the stairs to the bathroom, closed the door, sat on the edge of the bathtub, and cried. Once he got going, he found himself overwhelmed by violent sobs. It had all been so terrible, abandoning his friend to an unknown fate, almost getting captured himself. He wished he had never heard of Mrs. White or her magic candy.

  He pulled himself together and used some toilet paper to blow his nose. This was far from over—he needed to keep his head. He used the toilet, and then washed his hands. After turning off the faucet, while shaking droplets from his fingers, he saw a face in the mirror.

  A face besides his own.

  The surprise made him gasp and jump back.

  It was Trevor.

  Nate spun, checking the room. Trevor was not in the bathroom with him. But he was in the mirror.

  Nate turned to the mirror and waved. Trevor waved back, smiling wanly. He looked just as real as Nate’s reflection. Who knew how he had escaped? All that mattered was that he had! Nate motioned for Trevor to come through the mirror.

  Trevor shook his head, holding up empty hands.

  Nate frowned. He dug the two remaining Mirror Mints out of his pocket and pointed at one.

  Trevor shook his head.

  “No mint?” Nate whispered.

  “No mint,” Trevor mouthed. If he had spoken the words out loud, Nate could not hear him.

  Nate held up a finger and ran to his room. He opened his backpack and removed a notebook and a pen. Returning to the bathroom, he wrote:

  She stranded you in there without a mint?

  Trevor nodded.

  I only have two. One gets me in, and the other only gets one of us out.

  Trevor nodded, apparently having already worked that out.

  You came straight to my bathroom once Mrs. White trapped you?

  Trevor pointed to himself, then steepled his fingers to form a roof.

  You went to your house first?

  Trevor nodded, pumping his arms to convey that he had run there.

  Did she hurt you?

  He scrunched his face and turned one hand from side to side, indicating that she had hurt him somewhat.

  Nate wrote quickly, his handwriting even less legible than usual.

  The scope worked. We have clues. We’re going to bargain to get you out of there.

  Trevor held up both hands, fingers crossed.

  Are you okay?

  Trevor shrugged and gave a slight nod.

  Do these letters look backwards?

  Trevor shook his head.

  Nate had to think about that one. The reflected words looked backwards to him. But Trevor was not looking at a reflection, he was looking at the actual paper, as if through a window. That made sense.

  I’m sorry I left you. I panicked. I thought I’d get captured too.

  Trevor stuck his thumbs up. Then he pantomimed as if he were looking through a telescope and gave a thumbs-up again.

  We’ll get you out. I promise.

  Trevor nodded and winked. They stood there staring at each other awkwardly for a moment. How could Trevor be so close and so far away? Trevor leaned his head sideways, closed his eyes, and rested his hands against his cheek.

  Sleepy?

  He shook his head, pointed at Nate, and pantomimed like he was sleeping again.

  Yeah, I’m tired. But I don’t want to leave you.

  Trevor shook his head and gestured again for Nate to sleep. Then he mouthed something that Nate didn’t catch. Trevor pointed up at the light, and Nate understood.

  I’ll leave the light on.

  Trevor smiled.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chasing a Ship

  The cell phone did not ring until late Tuesday morning during class, beeping the melody of “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” Nate hastily pressed the green answer button. “Hi.”

  “Can you talk?” asked Mr. Stott.

  “I’m in class,” Nate said softly. “But my teacher is on the fudge.”

  “Good. Still no definite leads on the Haags. At least twenty members of the family currently live in Colson. I’ve found names and addresses for most of them. Narrowing down the list of candidates might take some time. I do, however, have solid info on the ship.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Among his many hobbies, Hanaver liked to construct model vessels. His masterpiece was an elaborate clipper housed inside a bottle. Guess what the name was.”

  “I don’t want to say it out loud,” Nate said.

  “Right. The USS Stargazer. Not based on any actual ship I could find, although I came across a Star Trek vessel with that name. The model is currently owned by Victoria Colson, daughter of Ebner Mills, a grandson of Hanaver. Victoria is the wife of our current mayor, Todd Colson.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I’ll drive my route after school,” Mr. Stott said. “Meet me with Pigeon and Summer at the bottom of Monroe Circle at about three-thirty.”

  “You got it.”

  “See you then.” The line went dead.

  Nate put away the phone. Both Pigeon and Summer were staring at him from across the room. He had called them on Saturday and explained what had happened to Trevor. Nate nodded to confirm that it was the call they had been expecting.

  Nate had mostly laid low over the weekend, and had instructed Summer and Pigeon to do the same. If Mrs. White was watching, he did not want to be out in the open unnecessarily. His one exception had been the visit to Trevor’s house on Sunday afternoon.

  His stomach had been in knots when he knocked on the door, but he had known it was unfair to let Trevor’s parents think their son might be dead. He could barely look Trevor’s mom in the eye when she answered the door.

  “Hi, Nate, are you here for Trevor?” To his astonishment, she had not sounded distressed.

  “You could say that,” Nate had replied.

  She had placed her hands on her hips and sighed. “You know, I’m having the hardest time keeping track of that boy! He’s always off on one errand or another. Seems like he’s hardly ever home lately!”

  Feeling a new level of respect for the white fudge, Nate had decided not to meddle any further, hoping that somehow they would rescue Trevor before his parents ever knew he had been in danger. Part of him doubted whether it would have been possible to convince them thei
r son was missing, no matter how much evidence he presented.

  Other than visiting Trevor’s parents, updating Summer and Pigeon, and waiting in vain for Mr. Stott to call, Nate had spent the weekend attending to Trevor. He wrote him notes, showed him the Sunday funnies, and even put on a slapstick puppet show.