Читать книгу The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse - Nicholas Gannon, Nicholas Gannon - Страница 11
ОглавлениеOn Christmas morning, joyful children all across Rosewood sat around trees, tearing into presents and gulping down more chocolate than their stomachs knew what to do with. In Helmsley House, Archer sat on his bed, encircled with newspaper clippings, tearing through his thoughts.
Did Benjamin know who Archer was? He had to. But did Benjamin know what his father had done? That had to be why Benjamin had said Archer would hate him. Didn’t it?
“Merry Christmas, Archer! Come downstairs!”
Archer rolled off his bed and followed his father’s voice.
It wasn’t a completely cheerless Christmas morning. The Helmsleys gathered around the tree decked with metal ships and planes, exchanging and unwrapping gifts. Archer received his usual yearly planner from his parents, which he faked interest in and kindly thanked them for. Mrs. Helmsley received a tremendously colorful yak-hair sweater from Archer’s grandparents, which she quickly averted her eyes from, perhaps fearing she might go blind. Mr. Helmsley received a paperweight, bearing a red crest: ORDER OF ORION. “It’s never too late,” Grandpa Helmsley said with a wink. Archer’s gift from his grandparents was by far the greatest Christmas present he’d ever opened—a beautiful pair of binoculars, polished brass with leather grips.
“Finest they make,” Grandpa Helmsley said, placing them around Archer’s neck. “And you’ll need a fine pair when you become a Green—”
Mrs. Helmsley coughed violently into her new sweater. Grandma Helmsley rushed her a cup of tea. By the time she recovered, Grandpa Helmsley had lost his train of thought.
After a sumptuous breakfast, Archer’s grandparents went upstairs, Mr. Helmsley prodded a dwindling fire, and Archer helped his mother with the dishes. Aside from her coughing fit, she was in good spirits. Not a single person had knocked on the front door. Until someone did. Archer wasn’t sure if his mother was startled and dropped the plate or if she was furious and threw it. The dish shattered regardless, and Archer narrowly dodged a ceramic shard. His mother tore down the hall, shouting before she’d even gotten the door open.
“It’s Christmas morning! Don’t you have a fam—”
Mrs. Helmsley hushed. It was no reporter. It was a tall man in a greasy jumpsuit with an eye patch covering one of his eyes. The Eye Patch! Or at least, that’s what Archer called him. He’d met the Eye Patch twice before, but all he knew was that the Eye Patch was the captain of a ship, a friend of his grandparents’, and tremendously kind.
“Merry Christmas, Helena!” the Eye Patch cheered. “Hope I’m not disturbing you. I saw the sign. Was going to leave. But I’m here on urgent Society business. I was wondering if I might… Helena? You look a bit queasy. Don’t you remember me? It was a long time ago, but I thought the grease might…”
Mrs. Helmsley’s eyes narrowed and her forehead went splotchy. It was almost like she was trying to dig up a memory she’d killed off and buried deep in her mind.
“Cornelius?” she finally said, her voice quivering.
The Eye Patch smiled widely. Mrs. Helmsley didn’t. He seemed to know why.
“I’ll admit it wasn’t the best way to introduce myself,” he said, his smile waning. “Ralph and Rachel asked me to stay in the waiting room. And I did. But there was a pigeon, you see. It wandered into the viewing room—perched itself on his bassinet. Filthy creatures, pigeons.” Cornelius paused and looked his greasy self over. “Right. But I was only trying to shoo it away. That’s how I got the grease on his face. I tried to rub it off and, well, things sort of spiraled out of control. To be fair, you did sic those nurses on me. They nearly ran me out of Rosewood.”
Mrs. Helmsley had no response. Cornelius fished in his pockets and revealed a letter that would have been very pretty were it not spotted with grease. He handed it to Archer’s mother, who held it at arm’s length.
“For Ralph and Rachel,” Cornelius explained, wiping his hands on his chest. “Sorry about the grease. Nature of the job.”
Mrs. Helmsley glanced from the letter to Cornelius and back again. Archer wished she would say something. Cornelius was chewing his lip, his one eye looking left and right.
“I’ll just be going now,” he said, backing down the steps and nearly slipping on a patch of ice. “Sorry to disturb you. Again. And… Merry Christmas?”
Mrs. Helmsley slammed the door. “He will not become a regular visitor.”
“Was that story about me?” Archer asked as he stepped to her side.
His mother nodded gravely. “One minute you were sleeping peacefully in your bassinet. The next you were in the arms of a greasy one-eyed man. I screamed so loud the nurses thought I’d been stabbed.”
Archer suppressed his smile and stuck out his hand. “I’ll give them the letter.”
Mrs. Helmsley was all too pleased to get rid of it. “Wash up after you do.” She sniffed her hand. “It might only be grease, but it’s where that grease came from that disturbs me.”
♦ URGENT BUSINESS ♦
Archer wanted to read the letter on his way up the stairs, but he presented it to his grandparents and waited patiently as they opened and read it. Well, not that patiently. While he was trying to see through the back of the letter, he realized something was scribbled there.
Please come. The order wants to help.
Birthwhistle will not be there.
You need to tell your side before he arrives.
—Cornelius
“There’s something written on the back,” Archer said.
His grandmother flipped the letter, and he finally saw the front.
RONALD H. SUPLARD
HEAD INQUIRER
SOCIETY CODES AND CONDUCT
DEPARTMENT OF INQUIRY
RALPH AND RACHEL HELMSLEY,
IT HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOU’VE BEEN IN ROSEWOOD FOR TWO DAYS, BUT HAVE YET COME TO THE SOCIETY. I ASK THAT YOU NOT DELAY ANY FURTHER. THERE WILL BE A BANQUET IN THE GRAND HALL THIS EVENING FOR MEMBERS WHO ARE IN ROSEWOOD OVER THE HOLIDAYS. CONSIDER THIS A PERSONAL INVITATION AND STRONG SUGGESTION THAT YOU ATTEND.
REGARDS,
RONALD SUPLARD
Grandma Helmsley inspected both sides of the letter as though she was looking for a clue. “Do we trust Suplard?” she asked his grandfather.
“We have no reason not to.”
“Then we’ll go. I wish you could come, too, Archer, but there are many—”
“Of course he’s coming,” Grandpa Helmsley interrupted. “It’s a banquet. He can bring his friends and see the Grand Hall while we attend to business.”
Grandma Helmsley frowned, but she didn’t argue.
His grandfather told him to invite his friends and then left to speak to his father. Archer hurried to his room but stopped outside the door. He couldn’t imagine going to the Society without Oliver and Adélaïde. But he hadn’t spoken to either of them since the Glubs’ party. What if they were angry with him? They had every right to be. He slunk into his bedroom, not sure he wanted to face them. But there they were. Adélaïde froze, her hands poised to leave a brightly wrapped gift on his desk.
“Oh, uh, merry Christmas,” she said. “We thought you were downstairs. We were just going to leave this.”
“We still can,” Oliver added. “If you’d prefer.”
“Please don’t,” Archer said, shutting the door. “I’m sorry. For the other night. I didn’t mean to ruin the party. I was—”
“We know you were upset,” Adélaïde said, trying to give him the gift.
Archer was reluctant to take it. “I forgot to get you something.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said as Adélaïde forced the present into Archer’s hands. “My father was right. We’ve been loafing ever since you left. Go on. Open it.”
Archer sat on his bed and unwrapped the gift. There were two things inside. The first was a half-empty box of DuttonLick’s chocolate caramel turtles.
“I might have eaten a few,” Oliver said, blushing. “But I’ll make you more. I wanted to tell you the other night—Mr. DuttonLick is having a huge party at the sweetshop, and he asked me to be his assistant. He’s going to teach me how to make chocolate.”
Oliver had gone from blushing to beaming. He’d even puffed out his chest a little. DuttonLick’s sweetshop was Oliver’s favorite store in Rosewood. And aside from Mr. DuttonLick himself, Oliver knew it better than anyone.
“You’ll be a great assistant,” Archer said, pouring the chocolates into his hand and offering his friends some.
Beneath the half-empty chocolate box was a brand-new leather-bound pocket journal.
“I thought you could use a new one,” Adélaïde explained, licking a bit of caramel from her finger. “I hope you like it. It’s from Bray and Ink on Howling Bloom Street. And look.” She leaned in and lifted the cover. “This one even has a pen holder.”
Many things in this world can rack you with guilt, but treating your good friends poorly and having those same friends acting as though it never happened at all takes the cake.
“It’s perfect,” Archer managed. “Thank you.”
Adélaïde smiled and sat beside him, glancing over the newspaper articles sprawled across his bed.
“We heard your grandparents are home,” Oliver said hesitantly. “Have they said anything about the iceberg?”
“Not much,” Archer sighed. “But it wasn’t a hoax. My grandparents aren’t dangerous. Mr. Birthwhistle is. He’s the Society president, and I think I know what’s really going on.” He paused before adding, “I think Mr. Birthwhistle tried to kill my grandparents.”
That was not quite in keeping with the spirit of Christmas morning. Oliver and Adélaïde needed a moment to digest it.
“Why do you think that?” Adélaïde finally asked.
“My grandfather basically said it.” Archer searched the newspaper clippings for the ICEBERG HOAX! article. “Think about it,” he continued, handing it to Adélaïde. “Mr. Birthwhistle talked to the newspapers first. He got everyone to believe my grandparents wanted to vanish—that they went crazy. I’m sure he’s doing the same thing at the Society. And now, if my grandparents tell the truth, if they say Mr. Birthwhistle tried to kill them, it will only reinforce the claim that they’re insane. Who’s going to believe them?”
“Fait accompli,” Adélaïde mumbled, lowering the article.
“Stop using your fancy French words,” Oliver insisted. “What does that even mean?”
“It means if Archer’s right, Mr. Birthwhistle has trapped his grandparents.” She turned to Archer, frowning. “But why? Why would he want to kill your grandparents?”
“My grandfather said there was a disagreement about something.”
Oliver wrinkled his forehead. “Adélaïde and I have disagreements all the time, but it’s not like we would ever…” He paused. Adélaïde was grinning at him in an odd way. “Well, maybe you would leave me on an iceberg. But I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“My grandfather wouldn’t tell me more,” Archer explained. “But I know someone who will. My roommate at Raven Wood—I didn’t know it, but his father is Mr. Birthwhistle! There’s a banquet at the Society tonight. I’m going to find Benjamin there. And I’d like you two to come with me.”
“You want us to come with you to the place where the president is someone who tried to kill your grandparents?” Oliver asked slowly.
At a knock on the door, Archer shoved the newspaper clippings behind his pillow. His grandparents stepped into the room with grins as wide as could be.
“Would this be the infamous trio?” Grandpa Helmsley asked. “Adélaïde and Oliver?”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Grandma Helmsley said, shaking both their hands. “Archer has told us all about you. The life raft and your wooden leg. If you don’t mind my asking, dear, how do you find getting around on that?”
“It changed everything,” Adélaïde replied. “But I’m mostly used to it now.”
“You’ll fit right in at the Society,” Grandpa Helmsley said. “Speaking of which, I can’t say your mother is thrilled, Archer, but your father agreed. And will you two be joining us?”
“We’ll talk to our parents,” Adélaïde said, glancing at Oliver. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”
“Very good.” Grandpa Helmsley looked at his watch. “Cornelius will be picking us up in a few hours, but we’d like to mention a few things now. Rachel and I have business to see to while we’re at the Society. I don’t expect you three to keep to our sides the whole time. In fact, I’d prefer that you don’t.”
“But we do expect you to stay nearby,” Grandma Helmsley added. “There’s a lot to see there, but no wandering off on your own. We’ll be in the Grand Hall for the evening. And the Grand Hall is where we’d like you all to stay. I can assure you it will be filled with many characters.”
Mr. Helmsley appeared in the doorway. “And when you return,” he said to Archer’s grandparents, “as promised, you begin to sort things out.” He motioned for Archer to join him out in the hall.
“I know you’re excited, Archer,” his father said. “But while you’re at the Society, you must follow your grandparents’ rules. Your grandmother’s right. The Society is filled with characters. But not everyone is good-natured. Use your head. Mind yourself.”
♦ BRIDGES TO SECRETS ♦
That evening, Archer stood at the door pulling on his coat alongside his grandparents. Mrs. Helmsley was in the sitting room, peering through the curtain at a filthy black truck idling outside the house. “This will not become a regular thing.” Next door, Oliver was also eyeing the truck from the Glubs’ front steps. Adélaïde was with him, watching plumes of smoke dance around it.
“Isn’t the mist pretty?” she said.
“That’s exhaust,” Oliver replied.
Archer and his grandparents climbed down the front steps. Oliver and Adélaïde joined them at the truck. Cornelius leaned out the window to greet them and spotted Adélaïde.
“The crocodile girl!”
Adélaïde curtsied.
“She’s actually just the lamppost girl,” Oliver clarified.
“Whatever you are, it’s my pleasure to be your transport this evening.”
The inside of the truck was every bit as a filthy as the outside.
“It smells like stale coffee and grease,” Oliver noted, climbing into the backseat alongside Archer and Adélaïde.
Grandma and Grandpa Helmsley joined Cornelius up front. Once their doors were shut, Cornelius slammed his foot on the gas, and they barreled off down the snowbound streets. Archer’s grandparents didn’t seem to notice the speed. But Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde scrambled for something to brace themselves with as the truck swerved on the snow and ice.
“I think he’s more used to steering ships,” Archer whispered, taking holding of a strap dangling from the roof.
“And he does only have one eye,” Adélaïde agreed, gripping the strap as well.
“Or maybe reckless is just his style?” Oliver suggested, prying his face off the front seat and reaching up.
