The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse Page 3

  “Does that mean I don’t have to go back to Raven Wood?” he said hopefully.

  Archer knew in an instant that it was a silly thing to ask. It was clear his mother thought the land mine required further testing.

  “Mr. Churnick has done tremendous work with you. You must remain under his guidance. And I’d like to know his secrets,” she mumbled.

  “But we do have some news that might make you happy,” Mr. Helmsley said, nudging Mrs. Helmsley.

  “Yes. After careful thought, your father and I have agreed that it will only help to foster your progress if you spend more time outside the house while you’re home.”

  Archer’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Ever since his grandparents had vanished, he’d been kept a virtual prisoner inside Helmsley House.

  “Now hurry upstairs and wash. You smell like a stale train car. The Glubs are expecting us any minute.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley disappeared down the hall. Archer stood frozen in the foyer, staring around at the familiar treasures and taxidermied animals collected by his grandparents. His old friend the badger, perched on a small table, was dressed in a Christmas sweater.

  “Welcome home, Archer,” the badger said miserably. “Would you mind helping me out of this thing? Why does she do this to me every year?”

  “She thinks it makes you look like a gentleman,” Archer said, pulling the tiny sweater over the badger’s head.

  The badger huffed as Archer smoothed its fur. “I was neither gentle nor a man in life, and I don’t see why I should be made such things in death!” The badger lowered its voice. “And while I’m glad you’re back, Archer, I must say there’s something strange going on. Why did Benjamin say you’re going to hate him? Why haven’t you heard a word from your grandparents? And why was that Mrs. Fig so furious at them? I’m not sure what it’s all about, but I think it’s bad.”

  Archer stared at the badger. “How do you know all that?”

  “I know it because you know it.”

  “What’s going on?” the ostrich shouted from the next room over. “I can’t see with this lampshade on my head! Is that thing back? Don’t tell me the thing with dirty hands is back!”

  ♦ JUST A CHRISTMAS PARTY ♦

  Next door, the Glubs’ house was filled with people and music and all sorts of delights. Everyone gathered in a room that, despite its chipping paint and loose floorboards, was called the great room. And it was great. Adélaïde was seated on a plaid couch before a crackling fire. Next to her were three tall windows overlooking the snowy gardens. Oliver scurried into the room and plopped himself beside her.

  “I put more logs on,” he said, sticking his shivering hands toward the fire. “It’s freezing out there. You can go next time.”

  Adélaïde pointed to her wooden leg. Oliver rolled his eyes.

  “How long are you going to milk that?”

  Adélaïde smiled and got comfortable on the couch.

  A few feet away, in the corner of the room, Oliver’s younger sister, Claire, was digging beneath a tree decked in tin ornaments and lights.

  “What’s she doing?” he asked slowly.

  “She’s moving her presents to the outside and yours to the inside.”

  Claire peeked over her shoulder at Adélaïde. Both started giggling.

  “I don’t like this at all,” Oliver grumbled, and turned back to the fire. “The two of you are not becoming friends. I forbid it.”

  Lovely smells wafted from the other side of the room. Mrs. Glub was dashing between the kitchen and the great room, keeping a long table overflowing with food.

  “Mind yourselves!” she called, setting a spiced pecan pie on the table. “Piping hot!”

  Miss Whitewood, invited at Adélaïde’s request, was also at that table, filling a plate and explaining her duties as the Willow Academy librarian to Belmont Café’s barman, Amaury Guilbert. But Amaury was clearly more interested in the duties of Mrs. Glub’s pastries, which, of course, were to be eaten.

  “These strudels are delicious,” he said, glancing over at Mr. Belmont. “We should be selling these at the café!”

  Mr. Belmont wasn’t paying attention. He had gifted an espresso machine to the Glubs and was showing Mr. Glub how to operate it by brewing a brand-new espresso blend he’d been working on and was finally quite pleased with.

  “And then you simply pull this lever here.”

  A small cup filled with a dark, steamy brew.

  “Most remarkable!” Mr. Glub said. He lifted the cup and took a sip. “And most delicious! But tell me, François . . . what am I tasting? Wait—it’s hazelnut, isn’t it? Yes, that’s certainly hazelnut!”

  “It should be toffee,” Mr. Belmont said, frowning. “Hints of toffee?”

  “Toffee?” Mr. Glub took another sip. “How fascinating! You’re a genius, François! I had no idea toffee could taste just like hazelnut.”

  Mr. Belmont opened a notebook and crossed something out while muttering in French. Mrs. Glub returned from the kitchen, this time with a tray of cherry almond cookies, and shook her head at them.

  “I like your family,” Adélaïde said. “I wish mine was more like yours.”

  “Sure,” said Oliver. “They’re great. But when’s Archer getting here?”

  “The Helmsleys should be arriving any minute,” Mrs. Glub said, stepping up behind the couch. “So I’ll say it one last time: you two are not to tell Archer anything about the newspapers or his grandparents.”

  “But they’re his grandparents,” Adélaïde said, peering up at her. “Don’t you think he needs to know what everyone in Rosewood already does?”

  “I very much do, dear,” Mrs. Glub admitted somberly. “That boy’s been awaiting this moment for as long as I’ve known him. It’s all he’s ever talked about. Unfortunately, it’s not our decision. Mr. and Mrs. Helmsley made me promise it wouldn’t be mentioned. I suspect, and hope, there’s more to all of this than we know.”

  ♦ SECRETS AND SNOWBALLS ♦

  Oliver and Adélaïde left the couch and the great room and went to a window at the front of the house. Oliver forced the latch, slid open the window, and stuck his head out. Willow Street was deserted.

  “We have to tell him,” Adélaïde said, leaning next to Oliver.

  “I know. I’m just worried he’s going to hate us for not saying something sooner.”

  “He’ll hate us even more if we don’t do it now.”

  Oliver was about to agree when a snowball smacked him clean across the face. He jerked his head and clunked it on the window. “Who did—?”

  “ARCHER!” yelled Adélaïde.

  Oliver wiped the snow from his eyes. Archer was smiling at them from a snowdrift where the sidewalk should have been. Adélaïde and Oliver dashed to the door and, without bothering to grab their coats, jumped down the front steps and tackled him.

  “It’s about time!” Oliver said, pulling his arm from beneath Adélaïde. “But a hello would have worked just as well.”

  “Hello,” Archer said, sitting up and inspecting Oliver’s head. “Sorry about that.”

  “He’s fine,” Adélaïde assured him. “He’s got a thick skull.”

  Oliver stood up grinning and offered them both a hand. They shook the snow from their clothes and stepped back inside the Glubs’ house. Archer took a deep sniff. It smelled like gingerbread and caramel and pine. It smelled like home.

  “Keep your coat,” Oliver said, pulling his from a hook and handing Adélaïde hers. “We’re going upstairs. But you should say hello first. Everyone’s been waiting for you.”

  They crossed the hall and entered the great room, where Archer was greeted like royalty.

  “Welcome home, Archer!” Mr. Glub cheered, popping him on the head with a closed fist. “This place hasn’t been the same without you lurking around!” He pointed to Oliver and Adélaïde. “You should’ve seen them, Archer. They’ve been loafing about without you.”

  “Thank you for sending all those pastries
and the cheesecake,” Archer said as Mrs. Glub wrapped him in a warm hug.

  “It was my pleasure, dear. And there’s plenty more for you tonight. Now where are your parents?”

  “They’ll be here soon.”

  Claire, still digging beneath the tree, jumped to her feet with one of Oliver’s gifts in her hand. She tossed it over her shoulder and joined the merry crowd. It looked like she was going to give Archer a hug, but she shook his hand instead.

  “That’s awfully formal, Claire,” Mr. Glub said, laughing.

  Mr. Belmont smiled on from behind the Glubs while Amaury, who’d only recently arrived from France, seemed to be wondering who this Archer fellow was.

  “And how was the Raven Wood library?” came a familiar voice.

  Oliver whispered in Archer’s ear as Miss Whitewood stepped forward. “Adélaïde invited her. I’m not sure how I feel about having a teacher in my home. I’d prefer to keep my worlds separated.”

  Archer hadn’t seen Miss Whitewood since before the tiger incident, but he was pleased to discover she still smelled like books. “The Raven Wood head of school wanted to speak with you,” he said. “Mr. Churnick. Did you ever talk to him?”

  “I did,” Miss Whitewood replied, handing him a small card. “I gave one to Oliver and Adélaïde, too. That’ll get you into the library over the holiday if you’d like to come see me. Be discreet if you do. You mustn’t let Mrs. Thimbleton catch you inside the Button Factory.”

  Oliver grabbed a tray of fudge crumble cookies from the table. “We’re going to my room,” he announced.

  “And why should you leave?” Mrs. Glub asked.

  “You need coats to go into your room?” Mr. Glub added.

  “It’s cold up there,” Oliver explained. “My radiator is dying. It clanks and clunks, but it’s all lies. There’s no heat.”

  Mr. Glub gave Archer a knowing smile. “It’s not easy to be the son of a lowly newspaperman.”

  Mrs. Glub tapped her foot. “All right. I know you three have much to catch up on. But please, I don’t want you getting any more strange ideas.”

  “And we don’t need to be gossiping about things we’re not supposed to gossip about,” Mr. Glub warned. “We’re a Doldrums family. Not a Chronicle family.”

  ♦ BAD TIDINGS TOWARD MAN ♦

  Oliver led the way up the stairs to his bedroom and then out onto his balcony, where they used a metal ladder to climb to the roof. When Archer’s head poked over the ledge, he saw a shoveled pathway across the snowy flat rooftop and a roaring fire in a dented metal bowl.

  “We wanted to talk without anyone else around,” Adélaïde explained.

  For a moment, Archer stood gazing down into the Willow Street gardens, and then at the Rosewood rooftops stretching in all directions, and finally at the Button Factory smokestacks, rising above all else. He truly was home. But something was different. The house next to Adélaïde’s—Mrs. Murkley’s former residence—was all lit up.

  “That’s where the girl I told you about lives,” Oliver said. “She moved in two weeks after you left. Diptikana Misra.”

  “But everyone calls her Kana,” Adélaïde added.

  “No, everyone calls her cuckoo.”

  “She has a silver streak in her hair. That’s usually the sign of a traumatic experience.”

  “And we know what that experience was, Archer.” Oliver pointed to the metal bowl. “Do you remember the last time we had a rooftop fire—before the whole tiger disaster? We were tearing up a newspaper to get the fire going, and there was a story about a girl who’d vanished down a wishing well. According to everyone at the Button Factory, that girl was Kana.”

  “They said the water inside the well gave her psychic abilities,” Adélaïde said, nodding.

  “I don’t believe that part,” Oliver scoffed. “She was strange before that. And now she won’t stop staring at me. I think she wants me to know she’s doing it—like she’s trying to tell me something without using words. It’s creepy.”

  “Perhaps she’s trying to say she likes you,” Adélaïde suggested, batting her eyelashes.

  Oliver scowled and moved closer to the fire. Archer and Adélaïde followed. Archer told them all about Raven Wood and the rumors of what Mrs. Murkley had done. Their faces dropped when he told them he’d be going back after the holiday. Like Archer, they’d been secretly hoping his parents would let him stay.

  “It’s because my grandparents are coming home,” he explained. “My parents even told me to spend more time outside. Something strange is going on. My roommate at Raven Wood, on our last day together, suggested my grandparents might be dangerous, but he wouldn’t say any more. And then earlier today, at Rosewood Station, there was this . . .” Archer paused. Adélaïde and Oliver seemed to be having an argument with their eyes. “Do you know something?”

  Oliver stopped rubbing his hands. “We’re not supposed to tell you, Archer, but we’ve been hearing lots of things. None of it’s good.”

  Archer sat perfectly still, staring at his friends. Adélaïde nudged Oliver. He sighed heavily, but continued.

  “Everyone in Rosewood is saying the iceberg was a hoax—that your grandparents weren’t actually on one for two years. And the only reason they were on one at all was because they wanted to vanish.”

  “We don’t know the details,” Adélaïde said. “But supposedly, before they vanished, your grandparents were doing strange things at the Society. The other members feared your grandparents had gone crazy and were out to destroy everything. There was even an effort to remove your grandfather from the presidency. That’s when your grandparents vanished.”

  “Everyone’s thinks they’re dangerous, Archer,” Oliver continued, as Adélaïde dug into her pocket. “They think your grandparents have cursed the city. They’re blaming all of this snow on them.”

  Adélaïde handed Archer a bundle of newspaper clippings. His head was reeling and his frown grew deeper as he skimmed headlines: HELMSLEYS’ CURSE! ICEBERG HOAX! KEEP THEM OUT! THE ICEBERG COMES TO ROSEWOOD! He lowered the articles and stared blankly at the mounds of snow, flickering with the firelight.

  “This has been going on ever since I left,” he said, his fingers trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Your parents told us not to,” Adélaïde explained. “Didn’t they have newspapers at Raven Wood?”

  Archer hadn’t seen a newspaper since he’d left. Raven Wood kept some in the mailroom, but Benjamin always sat on them while waiting for him, or knocked them off the table, or took the last one.

  “We don’t understand—” Adélaïde continued, but Archer could no longer hear her.

  He couldn’t hear anything. The fire went blurry. His friends went blurry. Then everything started spinning. He’d spent two years hoping his grandparents weren’t dead. Two years. If they weren’t on an iceberg, where were they? Why would they let him think they were dead? This couldn’t be right. His grandparents wouldn’t do that. Archer shook himself.

  “It’s mostly the Rosewood Chronicle that’s been printing these stories,” Adélaïde was saying. “It’s all they write about anymore.”

  “My father won’t print anything until he hears from your grandparents,” Oliver added. “He feels terrible that he got the story wrong the first time. He’s not sure if it was a hoax.”

  “What do you mean, he’s not sure?” Archer repeated, almost glaring at Oliver. “Of course it wasn’t a hoax. They sent me a piece of the iceberg. You saw it. Don’t tell me you believe this.”

  “Don’t get angry at him,” Adélaïde said. “No one’s saying your grandparents didn’t get onto an iceberg. They’re just saying your grandparents wanted to vanish.”

  Archer’s heart was thumping in his ears. Why would his grandparents want to vanish? To want something like that, you’d have to be out of your . . . His heart stopped.

  Archer shot to his feet and shoved the articles into his pocket.

  “My grandparents were lost,” he said, m
oving to the ladder. “Now they’re coming home. That’s all there is to it. Everyone’s going to feel very foolish when my grandparents set the record straight. So I’d suggest you two stop talking.”

  ♦ A PASTRY IN A GLUB TREE ♦

  Archer hurried down the stairs. He poked his head into the Glubs’ great room and saw his parents laughing with Miss Whitewood. Merry spirits danced all around, but they kept their distance from Archer. He continued to the Glubs’ kitchen, which was a complete disaster. He opened the freezer, pushed aside a frozen fish and a pot roast, and there, at the back, saw a large chunk of ice—his piece of the iceberg. The one his grandparents had sent him. He’d left it with Oliver, fearing his mother might pitch it.

  Archer pulled it out and went to the kitchen table, resting his head on his fists while his eyes flickered over the frozen hunk. This proved his grandparents were on an iceberg. It didn’t prove it was an accident. And it didn’t prove they were on one for two years. If they weren’t, where had they been? Worse still, in all that time, why hadn’t they sent him a message to let him know they were still alive? A letter. A secret gift. Anything. Were Oliver and Adélaïde right? Was everyone in Rosewood right? Had his grandparents gone round the bend?

  Archer didn’t want to return to the party, but the longer he stayed away, the more people might ask where he’d been. He stashed the iceberg back inside the freezer and slowly made his way to the great room. Crazy? Oliver and Adélaïde were sitting on the couch when Archer entered. He went straight to the table of delights, which seemed anything but.

  “There you are,” Mrs. Glub said, stepping to his side. “Oliver said you needed a bit of fresh air. Is everything all right?”

  Archer’s forced smile betrayed him, drooping into a terrible frown. Mrs. Glub didn’t say a word, but it was clear she knew. She shot Oliver and Adélaïde a sharp eye and then grabbed a plate for Archer.

  “You need to eat something, dear,” she said, piling it as high as could be. “Everything seems worse on an empty stomach. Here, take this and have a seat near the windows.”

  Archer sat down. Claire immediately joined him. She didn’t say a word, but smiled each time she took and ate a pastry from his plate. Archer could feel Mr. and Mrs. Glub staring at him. He wasn’t sure if he felt more angry or foolish. He didn’t notice that Oliver and Adélaïde had inched to his side.