Читать книгу The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse - Nicholas Gannon, Nicholas Gannon - Страница 10

CHAPTER

THREE

♦ YEARS OF WONDER ♦

Archer awoke to a bustling and clanking of pots and pans. He rubbed his droopy eyes and hurried down to the kitchen. The stovetop was roaring, and Mrs. Helmsley was dashing this way and that, cooking everything she could get her hands on. Archer kept his distance, fearing she might fry him by mistake. His father sat alone at the table.

“Are Grandma and Grandpa home?” he asked.

Mrs. Helmsley nearly toppled onto the stove.

“Not yet,” Mr. Helmsley replied.

Archer wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t want to meet his grandparents on an empty stomach. He took a plate and a fork and went to the counter, buried beneath eggs and bacon and toast and pancakes and waffles and oatmeal—and his mother showed no sign of slowing.

“I can’t take much more of this,” she muttered, peering over her shoulder as Mr. Helmsley refilled his coffee. “I was at Primble’s Grocery yesterday, and when I got to the counter, they told me to take my business elsewhere! Where are we supposed to get food?”

“They’ll sort out whatever is going on,” Mr. Helmsley assured her. “In the meantime, I’d like them to have their room on the third floor.”

“But we’ve been using it for storage! It’s filled with boxes.” Mrs. Helmsley clicked off the stove and frantically wiped her hands on her apron. “We mustn’t upset them. They might get violent!”

Mrs. Helmsley hurried up the stairs. Mr. Helmsley sauntered after her.

Archer panicked, standing alone in the kitchen. He’d been waiting for this moment for as long as he could remember, but now he didn’t think it’d be anything like he’d expected. Overcome with an urge to retreat to his room, he made for the hall, but froze at the sound of a knock at the door.

All throughout Helmsley House, the animals erupted in joyous furor. Archer had never once heard anything like it.

“It’s time!” a porcupine bellowed. “It is time!”

“They’re home!” cheered a zebra. “How do I look? The stripes, I mean. I should have had them pressed!”

“Shut it, you fool,” the ostrich snapped. “And would someone take this blasted lampshade off my head?”

“Are you sick?” the badger asked Archer. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Archer was too fixated on the door to respond, and he was so flustered he didn’t realize he was still clutching a fork as he inched his way toward it.

“We’re gone for nearly twelve years and they change the locks?” came a voice on the other side.

“I’m sure they were changed the moment we left.”

♦ TEA WITH GIANTS ♦

Archer took a deep breath and opened the door wide. He was immediately engulfed in the blinding whiteness of snow whirling into the foyer. He couldn’t see anyone, but heard two voices, filled with laughter. Archer squinted. Two faces emerged. His eyes widened. Archer was staring at his grandparents.

“Why, hello there,” they both said, with smiles so large they might crack lesser faces.

Those three words filled Archer all the way to the top.

“Hello,” was his nervous and quiet reply. “I’m Archer Helmsley.”

“How can you be Archer Helmsley?” Grandpa Helmsley asked. “The Archer I had a brief encounter with many years ago was dressed something like a Christmas tree. And if I’m not mistaken, he also had a peculiar fondness for cucumbers.”

Grandpa Helmsley was as broad as he was tall. His beard, a mix of white and gray, matched his hair, which was pushed back from his forehead. But it was Grandpa Helmsley’s pale green eyes, sparkling with something wild, that held Archer entranced.

“I don’t think he’s that Archer anymore,” Grandma Helmsley said.

Grandma Helmsley was smaller but no less brilliant. Her plump figure was hidden beneath a thick coat and a faded red dress. The warmth beaming from her smile could have thawed the whole of Rosewood.

“He certainly isn’t,” Grandpa Helmsley agreed. Then he pointed to the fork still clutched in Archer’s hand. “You’re not going to… what I mean to say is, that’s a little…”

“Hostile,” Grandma Helmsley finished. “I believe that’s the word you’re looking for?”

“Quite.”

Archer blushed and dropped the fork into his pocket.

“Much better.” Grandpa Helmsley glanced over his shoulder as though they were being watched. “Now would you mind if we stepped inside? It’s no iceberg out here, but it is quite chilly.”

Archer’s grandparents stepped over the threshold and into Helmsley House as though they’d only just returned from a very long walk.

“Best shut the door, dear,” his grandmother said. “Rosewood has many prying eyes.”

Archer closed the door and put his back to it. Stomps and thuds echoed down the stairs.

“Would that be your parents?” Grandma Helmsley asked, hanging her snow-laden coat on a caribou’s antlers.

“They’re fixing your room,” Archer explained, his heart pounding.

“Very good. We did hope to have a moment alone with you.”

“Forks out of the way!” his grandfather whispered, and with a firm hand on Archer’s back, he ushered him down the hall and into the kitchen.

Grandma Helmsley inspected the countertop feast and poked a pancake. “Tea,” she said, shaking her head and taking a kettle to the sink. “Best to begin with tea. Builds an appetite for more.”

“Splendid!” Grandpa Helmsley pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. “And while the water boils, I have a question for you, Archer. Come have a seat.”

Archer wanted to pinch himself as he sat across the table from his grandfather. His grandparents were practically fictional characters to him. He’d read their journals. He knew their tales. They’d crashed planes in the desert and been lost in jungles. But now, here they were, two giants, stepping off the page and into the Helmsley House kitchen.

Grandpa Helmsley leaned forward and clasped his strong hands as though he was about to say something very important. “Tell me, Archer, are the stories true?”

Archer blinked a few times. Stories?

“He means the tigers,” Grandma Helmsley clarified, pulling a tray from a cabinet and setting three cups on it.

Grandpa Helmsley slapped the table, his green eyes sparkling. “The tigers!”

“But more importantly,” Grandma Helmsley said, “that you and two friends put together a plan in the hopes of finding us.”

“We did,” Archer replied. “But that’s not a good story. We failed miserably.”

“Miserably?” Grandpa Helmsley roared. “You mean it failed gloriously!”

“While it was a dangerous thing to have happened,” his grandmother said, lifting the whistling kettle off the stove, “when we heard why it happened, well, we were tickled pink.”

“I was tickled purple!” Grandpa Helmsley said, his eyes still twinkling. “Outrunning tigers? I’ve never heard of such a thing! You’re a Helmsley all the way to the stars, Archer!”

“I can’t imagine Helena was thrilled about it,” Grandma Helmsley said, joining them at the table and pouring everyone a cup.

“No,” Grandpa Helmsley agreed. “But don’t give us this ‘It’s not a good story’ nonsense, Archer. We want to hear all about it. And don’t spare a single detail.”

Archer had never imagined his grandparents would be eager to hear his story, especially with so many more important things to discuss. When he’d finished telling it, his grandparents were silent. Grandpa Helmsley’s whole face had welled up. Grandma Helmsley patted his shoulder gently.

“Don’t let your grandfather’s scruffy outsides fool you, Archer. Inside, he’s as soft and sweet as a caramel.”

Grandpa Helmsley chuckled and cleared his throat. “Forget the caramel, Archer. It’s only that, what I mean is—look at you! You’re completely grown! And we missed it.”

“Now you’re talking nonsense,” Grandma Helmsley said. “He still has plenty of growing up to do. That’s not to say you’re underdeveloped, Archer.”

Grandpa Helmsley sized him up. “Tad short for your age. And skinny like your father. But with a bit of elbow grease, you’ll sprout like an oak! The Society will help with that. Once you’re a—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Grandma Helmsley urged.

Grandpa Helmsley sipped his tea. “Yes, lots to sort out first.”

“Like the iceberg?” Archer asked hesitantly.

Grandpa Helmsley leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “What have you heard, Archer?”

“Lots of things.”

“People do love to talk.” Grandma Helmsley shook her head in disgust. “Especially when they’ve not the slightest idea what they’re talking about. Makes them feel clever.”

“They’re saying you wanted the iceberg to happen,” Archer explained. “They’re saying you wanted to vanish. They’re saying you went—” He stopped, not wanting to tell his grandparents the part about them being unhinged. But it was clear they already knew.

Grandpa Helmsley reddened liked a stubbed toe. “It’s complete rubbish, Archer. You mustn’t believe a word of it.”

“So what happened? How did you survive the iceberg?”

“Well,” Grandpa Helmsley said, running his fingers through his beard. “While I can promise we were on an iceberg, Archer, it wasn’t for two years. It was more like, three days. Give or take.”

“Three days? So where were you all this—”

Archer fell silent. His mother had suddenly appeared, standing frozen by the kitchen door, staring at his grandparents’ backs the way one typically stares at ghosts. Grandma and Grandpa Helmsley spun around.

“HELENA!”

It was only one word, but even that seemed too much for her. She tried to respond, but instead glugged like a jug of water held upside down. And she went on glugging until eventually, she glugged, “You’re dead!”

To be fair, it probably wasn’t what she’d planned on saying.

“I’m dead?” Grandpa Helmsley repeated, winking at Archer as he glanced himself over. “Well, I do wish someone had told me sooner. That’s the sort of thing people like to know. It’s odd, though. I don’t feel dead. Do you feel dead, Rachel?”

Mrs. Helmsley flushed. “That’s not what I… I didn’t mean to… I apologize if I—”

“Now, don’t you apologize, Helena,” Grandma Helmsley said, giving Grandpa Helmsley an eye that said many things. “Ralph’s having a bit of fun with you, is all. It’s as much a shock to us as it is to you.”

Archer wasn’t sure if that was possible. He’d never seen anyone look more shocked than his mother did. And he guessed her shock would not quickly vanish.

Everyone got to their feet when Mr. Helmsley entered. Archer’s father looked like a toothpick next to his grandfather.

“Still as spindly as ever,” Grandpa Helmsley said, clamping his giant hands on Mr. Helmsley’s skinny shoulders. “I told you all that sitting around a law office was no good. It’s never too late to change course! The order may have openings!”

“You might need a good lawyer,” Mr. Helmsley replied with a smile.

“Isn’t that what you’d call a conflict of interest?”

Mrs. Helmsley had been inching her way toward the dining room and finally escaped.

Grandma Helmsley smothered Archer’s father in a hug and then fixed his hair. “It’s been quite an ordeal, Richard.”

“Icebergs often are,” he replied, ushering them back to the table. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Archer!” Mrs. Helmsley called. “Please come here immediately. I need help… reorganizing the silverware drawers!”

Archer looked to his grandfather, wanting to join them at the table to find out what was going on.

“Don’t you worry, Archer,” Grandpa Helmsley assured him. “We’re not going anywhere.”

♦ DRIP, DRIP, DRIP ♦

“I’m going to repeat what I said yesterday,” Mrs. Helmsley said when Archer stepped into the dining room. Her hands were trembling. “It’s very important that you spend more time outside. You should know there are certain accusations against your grandparents. I’m not sure what to believe, but I’m worried they’re not entirely… sane. Less so than usual, I mean.”

Mrs. Helmsley shut the silverware drawer, which looked exactly as it had when she’d opened it, and led him to a closet filled with cleaning supplies. “I need to see for myself, and you need to keep yourself busy.” She handed him a feather duster.

“What am I dusting?” Archer asked.

Mrs. Helmsley inspected the spotless dining room but, like Archer, saw nothing.

“The curtains! Dust the curtains!”

Archer grumbled as he went to the window. Do people even dust curtains? He raised the duster, but paused and peered through a slit between the fabric panels. A truck was idling outside his house. He squinted at the driver. Is that the crooked man?

Before the tiger incident, he, Oliver, and Adélaïde had visited a dilapidated expedition supply shop called Strait of Magellan. The crooked man was the nasty owner of the shop—a man who’d made lots of money betting that Archer’s grandparents were dead.

“What’s he doing outside my house?” Archer mumbled, and tilted his head to read the insignia on the side of the truck. “The Society… Barrow’s Bay… Rosewood.”

Was that the Society? The one his grandfather was once president of?

Archer opened the curtain wide, hoping to get a better look, but the truck squealed off down Willow Street.

That was the first stranger to lurk outside Helmsley House, but it wasn’t the last. No more than an hour later, reporters began incessantly knocking on the front door. It was like the constant drip of a leaky faucet.

“Only a moment of their time!” a reporter pleaded. “A glimpse of the insanity within—”

Mrs. Helmsley slammed the door in his face. That was the sixth knock of the morning.

“Do you have any idea where our trunks are, Archer?” Grandpa Helmsley asked, straining to see behind a couch in the sitting room. “A friend said he’d brought them home.”

“I used one when I went to Raven Wood,” Archer answered. “The rest are down in the cellar. In a hole.”

“In a hole! Who would put our—”

Mrs. Helmsley stormed into the room and shrieked. Two reporters had managed to climb the facade and were taking pictures through the windows. She nearly yanked the curtain from the rod as she wrenched it shut.

“It’s a deluge!” she cried, eyeing Archer’s grandparents as she marched off. “We’re all going to drown unless you speak to someone!”

Archer couldn’t believe it, but for what had to be the first time in his life, he actually agreed with his mother. His grandparents still hadn’t explained the iceberg to him. And while he wasn’t sure what they’d told his parents, it clearly wasn’t enough to satisfy.

“Why won’t you say something?” he asked.

“Telling the truth is not always easy,” Grandma Helmsley replied. “Telling the truth can make you sound unhinged.”

“And that’s exactly what he wants,” Grandpa Helmsley muttered, peeking through the curtain at the horde of reporters gathered outside. “I’ll bet he’s having a good laugh right now.”

Mrs. Helmsley flew by clutching a sign.

DO NOT DISTURB

NO REPORTERS

NO INTERVIEWS

NO ANYONE

Archer heard the reporters booing his mother as she furiously nailed it to the front door.

“Follow me,” he said to his grandparents, leading them into the cellar to retrieve their trunks.

♦ ANOTHER PIECE OF THE IMPOSSIBLE ♦

“Your grandfather’s shirts go in the top drawer, dear.”

Archer tucked them inside as his grandfather lifted a wooden crate from a trunk. Archer remembered that crate. Oliver had found it the day Adélaïde discovered that the trunks were hidden in the cellar hole. It was filled with corked jars of colorful powders and liquids.

“What are those?” he asked, dragging an empty trunk to the closet and returning to his grandfather.

“Something we should have thrown overboard on our way to Antarctica,” Grandma Helmsley said, glaring at the crate.

Grandpa Helmsley gave Archer an odd sort of smile. “I suppose you could say they were something of a parting gift. I’m surprised they’re still here. Each of these bottles does something different.” He set the crate on the floor and removed a jar that was filled with dark blue powder and pink specks.

“Take that one, for example,” he continued, handing it to Archer. “That’s Doxical Powder. One pinch of that, and you’ll find yourself behaving the opposite of how you normally would. Temporarily, at least.”

Archer brought the jar close to his eyes. “But that would be like magic.”

“It’s not magic, but it is powerful. Did you know there’s a berry that grows in tropical West Africa called the miracle berry? When you eat it, the juices coat your tongue and, for a time, make sweet things taste sour.”

Archer had never heard of such a thing.

“A botanist at the Society, a man named Wigstan Spinler—he told me Doxical Powder works from a similar principle, but with your brain’s receptors instead of your tongue’s taste buds.”

Archer moved the jar from his face.

“It’s strong, yes. But harmless.”

“Harmless?” Grandma Helmsley questioned. “Honestly, Ralph, after everything that… What I mean is, in the wrong hands, Archer, that jar could do a great deal of harm.”

Archer gently shook it and watched the fine powder shift. Could such a small thing really do so much?

“It’s made from plants,” his grandfather explained. “It should say on the back which ones.”

“Slate leaf, yellow hotus, and pugwort.” Archer lowered the jar. “Pugwort?” Benjamin had a plant of the same name.

“I believe pugwort gives it those pink specks,” Grandpa Helmsley said, and stuck out his hand. Reluctantly, Archer passed it back.

“Curiosity is natural, Archer,” his grandmother said. “But those jars are not to be played with. I’m not sure they should even exist.”

“And best not talk about them publicly, Archer,” his grandfather added. “Mr. Spinler’s research is something of a secret.”

“My roommate at Raven Wood would’ve liked that,” Archer said, watching his grandfather set the crate next to a hedgehog high atop a wardrobe. “He loved plants and told me I would, too, if I knew what they could do.”

“Is that so?” Grandma Helmsley said, digging in her trunk. “What was his name?”

“Benjamin Birthwhistle.”

Grandma Helmsley stood straight up. Her arms were filled with sweaters, but from her expression, you’d think they were explosives. “Did you say Birthwhistle, Archer?”

Archer nodded. His grandfather’s expression was the same. “Do you know Benjamin?”

“Mostly we know his father,” Grandpa Helmsley explained, staring across the room at Grandma Helmsley. “A man named Herbert Birthwhistle. Or I suppose it’s President Birthwhistle now. He took over at the Society after we vanished.”

Archer shook his head. That couldn’t be right. “Benjamin’s father is a travel guide.”

“A travel guide?” Grandpa Helmsley’s laugh was filled with something bitter. “That’s what he told you, is it? Well, I suppose at a certain point that was almost true. But he’s one travel guide we’ll never use again.”

Archer was becoming uneasy. He had a vague idea where this was going. His grandfather stood before him and became very serious.

“You want to know more about the iceberg, Archer, and it’s only right that you should. Above all things, a true explorer desires to make the unknown known.”

“Ralph.”

“The first thing you need to know is that when I was president of the Society, I made decisions that Mr. Birthwhistle disagreed with. But there was one decision in particular that Mr. Birthwhistle hated me for—a decision he wanted to reverse. And sometimes, when you want something bad enough, you’re willing to do something terrible to get it.”

Archer’s mouth fell open.

“Now that’s quite enough of that,” Grandma Helmsley said, dropping her sweaters into her trunk. “Your grandfather and I have a few things we need to discuss.” She hurried Archer to the door and sent him out.

“We agreed he’s not to be involved in any of this!”

“I’m not involving him! I only want him to know the truth!”

Archer pulled back from the closed door. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Fearing his mother might ask him to dust more curtains, he hurried to his bedroom, his mind racing. Benjamin’s father is the president of the Society? He did something terrible? Some thoughts are better left unspoken, so Archer said nothing as he passed the polar bear in the alcove.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the polar bear whispered. “And if you consider it more, you might find it’s not as absurd as you think.”

Archer shut his bedroom door. It can’t be true. He went to his desk, grabbed the newspaper clippings, and there it was, right under his nose.

“We’re still gathering information,” President Birthwhistle said. “But I can say without hesitation that the iceberg was no accident.”

The room began to spin. Archer took a breath. When he released it, out came the thought he didn’t want to say.

“Did Benjamin’s father try to kill my grandparents?”