There were several people who merited close monitoring. Seashell Feeney, the criminals and their methods teacher, was at the top of the list because she was the most militant and ruthless of the lot. She was always up to something no one else knew about and Lila was determined to learn what that was. Saliva Snaffle, the secrets teacher would have been second, but she had disappeared so she was out, as was Redleaf, who was dead. That left Snool, the weapons instructor, who was the only other teacher worth bothering about. The rest of them, including that fool Darktower and that megalomaniac Buck, were namby pambies who thought they were tough guys.
As far as the students were concerned, only five of them mattered: Ivy Halpin, the smartest of them all; her sister, Fern, who was about to graduate; Owla Snizzle, the most underrated and dangerous child at the school; Scapulus Holmes; and Simon Binkle. She could probably strike Holmes off the list. He lived in front of his computer and was only a threat insofar as cyber activities were concerned. Fine, four students then. The rest of them, including her daughter, were too scatter-brained, overly vain, or just plain clueless.
Binkle was an interesting case. She’d never cared much for him—he was too rough-mannered—but he was smart and focused. With that combination of brains, guts, and drive, he was probably the one who would lead her exactly where she wanted to go. She needed to watch him.
How would she accomplish that? Since she wasn’t at Legatum anymore it would be difficult to get a tracer on him. Could she send him something that embedded itself into his phone? Not a bad idea. She’d need to find a hacker for that, but the cartel undoubtedly had access to those. Even so, that would allow her to tell where he was but not necessarily what he was doing. She needed more information than a tracker could give her. What else could she do? Ah, she had it.
She would get the hacker to install a bug. While they were at it, the same program could watch his phone to see what he was using it for. Of course she couldn’t sit there and shadow him all day long, but she’d know if he left the campus. That would be the time to tune in and see what he was up to.
She hit Waltz’s icon. She couldn’t wait to tell him about her brilliant plan. But when he answered the phone she teased him, wouldn’t tell him until he’d made all sorts of promises, begged for it. It was a game they liked to play and she always won.
Of course he was thrilled with her idea. He immediately brought in a hacker named Mischa X, who installed the eavesdropper within twenty-four hours. As soon as she listened in she could hear Simon talking about some musical instrument he wanted to make. It was boring but at least she knew the snooper was working. She was convinced that sooner or later the boy would lead her to the secrets, the metadata, and other goodies she and her love could use to beat the detectives at their own game. Then Thrillkill and Buck would rue the day they’d let her go.
Simon was so excited about having found The Detective’s Bible, or at least a lead as to its whereabouts, that he could scarcely contain himself. Because he’d promised Holmes he wouldn’t tell, though, he needed to find another way to express his joy and he knew just what it would be.
Despite Ivy’s dithering, or perhaps because of it, his love for her had only grown. He was so frustrated from living in limbo that he felt he simply must do something to push her into making a decision. Even if her answer was no, and he fervently hoped it wouldn’t be, he needed some kind of closure, an end to the constant maybe her ambivalence created. And so he decided that he would woo her actively.
He wasn’t a candy and flowers kind of bloke, but he was inventive and he decided he’d design something for her—something she would love as much as he hoped she’d love him. Of course that would have to be something musical, for music was to Ivy as filmmaking was to Amanda. And so he set about doing research in order to come up with the perfect invention.
He had been intrigued by the loose piano strings Noel had been fiddling with in the basements and had got to pondering how instruments worked. It all had to do with vibration, but there were different ways to make structures vibrate. You could manipulate strings directly with your fingers, a bow, or a pick, or attach something to vibrate them for you, as with a piano. You could open and close chambers and blow air through them. Or you could hit something, the way you would a drum.
He thought and thought about the different options, considering the sounds they could make, and an idea came to him. What if you did all of those things in one universal instrument? Not a synthesized electronic orchestra but an acoustic one, a real one.
The idea so inspired him that he ran to his computer and began to design his new creation, the ivy-forte. It would be wonderful and Ivy would love it, especially the way he’d engrave her name on it. She’d touch it and gasp with pleasure and throw her arms around him and say, “Oh, Simon, I love you,” and why was he thinking this way? He was sounding like a girl. Not that he didn’t want her to say or feel those things, but it was positively embarrassing when mushy thoughts like that came into his head. What was he, a romance writer? Yeesh.
And yet he did love her. There was no denying that. She was the most wonderful being on the planet, with her amazing brain and her beautiful face and her shiny hair and that mysterious smile. That smile! But what he loved the most about her was her serenity. Sure, she got upset now and again like anyone, but in the main Ivy was the most peaceful person he had ever known and he loved just being in her presence.
He hadn’t realized it at first. He wasn’t a touchy feely person and normally wouldn’t have given half a thought to something so frivolous. But one day it had struck him that being around her was like inhaling the aroma of freshly baked bread, and he’d decided he wanted to get to the bottom of it.
It had taken him a while to figure it out. He’d even gone so far as to try to sniff her and see if she was giving off some kind of pheromones or using perfume. But when that experiment failed, he’d begun to think about mood, and that had led him to consider the idea of well-being, and then he had cracked it: Ivy simply exuded happiness and he wanted that.
It wasn’t all one-sided, though—about what he could get from her. He’d thought about it all carefully and come to the conclusion that he could and would offer her the moon, figuratively and in some ways literally. While he knew he was a nerd and a geek, Simon had developed a lot of confidence in himself since those first few awkward Legatum weeks, and he had realized that he had a lot to offer, both as a person and a detective. He’d also, thanks to Amanda, discovered that he was an excellent kisser and he had a feeling Ivy would appreciate that too—if only she would give herself the chance.
He found himself lying awake at night thinking about all the things he would do for her and Nigel. He would invent until he was blue in the face, and then he would hold her and kiss her and love her and give her everything she never knew she wanted and then some. And he would drift off to sleep enveloped in the bliss that was Ivy Halpin.
When Simon actually came to design the ivy-forte, he realized he’d got a bit carried away. If he incorporated wind instruments, reeds, strings, and percussion in the same device, it might be complicated to play. Ivy was plenty dexterous, that wasn’t the issue, but she did have only two hands and one mouth, so perhaps he should think about simplifying the instrument and optimizing the features that remained. He decided he’d focus on strings and keys.
The idea was that you could play the keys like a piano, or use a bow or fingers on the strings. Being the techie that he was, he decided he would incorporate electronics so Ivy could program the instrument to play strings and keys at the same time, or one of them while she manually played the other. It was essentially an electronic keyboard combined with a guitar or violin.
When he finished the design he was so excited that he called Clive to come see it. Clive being Clive he was impressed but worried. Since Ivy didn’t love Simon the gift would be inappropriate and he’d just end up feeling embarrassed and potentially hurt. She might even say she couldn’t accept it.
; “You don’t understand,” Simon said as they contemplated the design. “She will love me after this.”
Clive frowned. “You don’t know that.”
Simon sat back and folded his arms. “Who else would do such a thing for her?”
“I don’t think that’s how women think,” said Clive.
“Ivy isn’t just any woman,” said Simon. He was beginning to wish he’d never let Clive in on his secret.
“No, of course not,” said Clive. “But there’s something chemical in their brains that they all share. I’m pretty sure of it.”
“What, some kind of an apathy chemical?” said Simon.
“Not apathy,” said Clive doubtfully.
Simon peered at him. “A resistance chemical?”
Clive sighed. “No, that’s not what I mean either.”
Simon practically yelled. “Well what then?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
What was it about women that made everything so vague? Clive was usually so precise but now he was waffling all over the place. Simon wanted to shake him. “Then how do you know she won’t like it?”
“I didn’t say she wouldn’t like it. I said it might not make her fall in love with you. She isn’t a fairy tale princess.”
“You think I’m being an idiot,” said Simon, shutting off his computer. “Living in a fantasy land.”
“No, no,” said Clive waving his hands. “I just mean that you shouldn’t expect anything.”
“Fine. I don’t and I won’t. I just want to do this. She deserves it.”
Clive sighed. “Good luck, mate. You deserve her. I’m just not sure she knows it.”
The next step was building the ivy-forte. Simon would have to do it secretly, which meant working in his dorm room. It was one of the few places on campus Ivy couldn’t go, nor Amanda, who would probably tell her what he was doing and spoil the surprise. It would be cramped working that way and he’d have to keep running back and forth to the lab for tools and supplies, but it would be a hundred percent secret. Clive, who was one of his roommates, wouldn’t tell a soul despite his misgivings, and the other, a third-year named Cecil LaTour, never talked to anyone so he wasn’t a problem either.
That settled, he turned his attention to the next issue: parts. The simplest way of making them would be not to make them at all, just purchase used ones. But Simon had another idea, one that excited him no end: he would 3D print them. Ever since he had started using the 3D printer in Professor Kindseth’s classroom he had made all kinds of cool stuff and had got very good at designing structures that worked fresh off the machine. Why not do the same for the ivy-forte? The secrecy thing, that was why. If he wanted to use the 3D printer he’d have to make sure no one walked in on him and spilled the beans. And given the popularity of Professor Kindseth and his classroom that wouldn’t be easy.
He might consider taking the teacher into his confidence and enlisting his help keeping people away, but that was a bit touch and go; you couldn’t guarantee complete security even with a teacher on your side. Or he might do his work in the middle of the night when no one was around, but that would mean dragging around during the day and falling asleep in class. He briefly toyed with the idea of sending the work out to a commercial service, but if he did that he couldn’t oversee the process and wouldn’t be able to catch errors at the source. So it was quite a conundrum and he pondered the question for days.
While he wrestled with that problem he spent the rest of his free time experimenting with configurations. He liked the idea of an accordion-like setup Ivy could suspend from a strap around her neck. He could also mount it on a stand, like an electronic keyboard, so she could play it flat, but that would be difficult to strum and it might end up as a glorified autoharp rather than the sophisticated device he intended. Still, a horizontal arrangement would make it easier on Ivy’s neck, as wearing the instrument would put pressure on her delicate shoulders.
He briefly considered turning the thing into a garment and allowing her to slip into it like a smock and at one point even made a crude prototype, but he thought that might be too much of a muchness. Then he got the idea to install it on top of a lazy Susan-type arrangement that would let her spin it around and reach whatever portion she wanted to play at the time. It seemed a logical idea, but since he didn’t play an instrument himself he had no idea if that was as practical as it seemed. And then he hit on an idea so sublime he couldn’t believe his own genius.
What if he were to do all of the above? He could design a dynamic structure that let Ivy configure the forte whichever way she wanted, when she wanted it. It would take some doing because the parts would have to have multiple connection points, but he was sure he could pull it off. The only thing he was worried about was how easy it would be to do by feel, since she wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing.
He had to admit that it was an impressive idea—a feat of engineering so bold and original that it begged to be implemented. The problem was that it would take all his time and his schoolwork might suffer. Not only that, but he’d be less available to help fight Moriarty and Waltz, and he was key to the success of bringing those two to justice. And yet . . . Ivy, beautiful Ivy. If he failed to convince her this time . . . he didn’t want to think about that.
But he did—in spite of himself. In fact now that he’d come to a decision he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And as he pictured her beautiful copper hair and those green eyes and her lovely skin he knew he had no choice. He had to do it. He would design the flexible, dynamic version of the ivy-forte and win her heart at last. His sleep, his classes, and his crime fighting would all have to come second. Life without Ivy was just too devastating to contemplate.
Of course the best laid plans and all that. When Simon tried to print the parts for the ivy-forte at 3:00 a.m. he ended up waking several of the teachers, not to mention some of the kids whose rooms were on the top floor.
“What’s going on in here?” snuffled a sleepy-eyed Professor Mukherjee, who stumbled in wearing a robe in a nauseating shade of green. It was a good thing Amanda wasn’t there because she’d probably puke.
Simon panicked. What could he say? He was sleep walking and accidentally turned on the 3D printer?
“Call security!” bellowed Professor Snool, who seemed to think the school was being attacked. His dressing gown was a bit more staid than Professor Mukherjee’s: a deep blue sateen that didn’t go with his pugnacious personality. Simon did a double-take but didn’t have time to wonder what Professor Snool might be hiding because Professor Also came running in in a sensible flannel plaid.
“What in the name of Edgar Allan Poe? Oh, Mr. Binkle. What are you doing printing at 3:00 in the morning?”
“Uh, hello, Professor,” Simon said, figuring she would be the least apt to scream at him. He was wrong. As she took stock of the situation a lightbulb seemed to go on over her head and she was suddenly wide awake.
“Turn it off and get into my office now!” she yelled so loudly that several other teachers came running. Professor Stegelmeyer was holding a pistol and Professor Feeney a throwing star. Professor Peaksribbon had his hands up as if he were going to slice someone and Professor Buck, the one no student in their right mind wanted to tangle with, was brandishing some kind of high tech thing Simon had never seen before.
Buck’s voice rose above the others. “Has there been a security breach here? Seashell, check it out.”
Professor Feeney surveyed the scene and said, “Unknown. No apparent signs.”
“Anyone?” said Professor Buck.
Simon was shaking so hard he thought his knees might buckle, but he also realized he’d better disabuse the teachers of the notion that Moriarty had broken into the school or they might start shooting.
“There’s no breach, sir,” he said, his voice shaking.
“Then what in the world is going on here?” said Professor Buck, who wasn’t wearing a robe at all, but gray sweats.
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br /> “Um,” said Simon, racking his brain. If he were to tell the truth he might be suspended again. But if he didn’t he might trap himself in a lie he couldn’t sustain. “It was my fault, sir.”
Buck gave him a wry look. “Do tell. I never would have suspected.”
“It won’t happen again. I promise.”
“You promise, you promise.” Buck was not amused. “Do you think discipline here at Legatum turns on a student’s promise? This is a detective school, Mr. Binkle. We believe in crime and punishment. Did you commit a crime? Because if so you will be punished.”
“Not a crime, sir,” said Simon. “Maybe a teensy tiny infraction.”
“Oh, an infraction, is it?” said Buck. “Well, then, perhaps a teensy tiny punishment. Shall I pull one hair out of your head and close the case?”
Simon was now sweating profusely. Buck’s sarcasm always got to him. It was weird because Professor Darktower, who was also sarcastic, never bothered him, but Buck—Buck made him feel as though he wanted to crawl into his own skin and hide. He didn’t dare try to outwit the guy. If he failed, things could get ugly very quickly.
“I broke the rules, Professor,” said Simon. “I had an idea for something I wanted to print and I couldn’t wait. I am undisciplined and reckless and I am ready to take my punishment.”
Buck sneered. “Very well, then. Two weeks of detention and confiscation of the printed material. Now return to your room and stay there until your first class of the morning. Is that clear?”
Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise Page 9