The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse Page 6

  “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.

  The truck’s sputtering tires spewed waves of snow as they careened along. Archer nearly cracked his head on the window as they fishtailed across a busy intersection. Lights flashed from all directions and horns blared. Cornelius casually spun the wheel. Down another street, they plowed through a huge drift, creating a gigantic tidal wave of snow that immersed a poor fellow struggling to walk his dog. The man shouted and began furiously digging with his hands. His dog had vanished. Cornelius sped on, oblivious to the havoc he and his truck were wreaking. Before the jostled trio knew it, they were crossing out of the Willows and into the warehouses of Barrow’s Bay.

  Barrow’s Bay was Rosewood’s easternmost point. And while it was the sort of place you only went when you had to, in the dark of night, the glittering warehouse windows gave it a distinct air of magic. They flew across a bridge glowing beneath lampposts. Down below, wooden boats were stuck in the frozen canal. Then the main canal fractured into smaller waterways, and the truck roared over many smaller bridges. The warehouses became more condensed and the streets increasingly narrow.

  “Cornelius should slow down,” Oliver said, closing his eyes. “We’re going to crash into a building.”

  But Cornelius didn’t. With all the abrupt turns, Archer was convinced they were winding through an intricate maze. What would they find at the center? Benjamin, hopefully. But then what?

  “Eyes wide, Archer!” Grandpa Helmsley announced. “It’s around the next corner.”

  Archer’s window had gone foggy, and he didn’t dare release the strap to wipe it clean. When the truck finally slid to halt, he opened the door and hopped out.

  They were in a massive cobbled piazza enclosed by warehouses on all sides. And there, at the very center, rising before him, built from many different kinds of stone, was the Society. It was surrounded by a narrow canal, much like Strait of Magellan was, but this concrete island held only the Society. There wasn’t room for anything else. The Society was enormous. He couldn’t tell how high it reached, because its towers and roofs and ornate intricacies disappeared into the starry sky.

  Archer had never seen anything more magnificent.

  Adélaïde pointed to marvelous footbridges, half buried with snow and lit by lampposts that stretched to the Society from all sides. “It’s like a secret,” she said. “Right in the middle of Rosewood.”

  “A big secret,” Archer agreed.

  Oliver stumbled out of the truck, looking disoriented from the wild ride. He steadied himself on Archer’s shoulder and gazed up. “I have to admit, that is impressive.”

  “Isn’t it?” Grandpa Helmsley said, stepping to their sides. “I’ll never forget my first time seeing it. I was not much older than you three.”

  “We’ll meet you inside, Cornelius,” Grandma Helmsley said, shutting the door.

  Cornelius sped off to return the vehicle, and Grandpa Helmsley led everyone to a footbridge.

  “Now remember what we told you,” Grandma Helmsley said. “You three are to remain inside the Grand Hall where we can see you.”

  The night air, sweeping up from the canal, was biting as they entered the front courtyard. The Society loomed high over their heads, glowing. Two stone narwhals with crossing tusks stood at the center of the snowy walkway. Grandpa Helmsley stopped and instructed everyone to take hold of a tusk.

  “It’s for good luck and safe passage,” he explained. “Before embarking on an expedition, all explorers take a moment here.”

  The courtyard ended with a set of stairs leading to three giant doors. Grandpa Helmsley opened the middle one and signaled for Archer to go first. Archer hesitated a moment. He was about to enter his grandparents’ world—a place where greatness stood shoulder to shoulder with courage and daring. And a place where Mr. Birthwhistle plotted and schemed.

  Archer exchanged an uncertain glance with Oliver and
Adélaïde, and then he vanished inside.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  ♦ THE GREENHORN AND HIS FATHER ♦

  The Society’s entrance hall was every bit as majestic as the outside promised. An ornately tiled floor stretched before Archer. At the other end, two sweeping staircases leading to an arched balcony rose around more narwhals with crossing tusks. Oliver and Adélaïde joined him and watched a pale, gaunt man thumping a trunk down the steps. The man didn’t notice them till he was halfway across the checkered floor.

  “Who are . . . never before . . . new Greenhorns?” he stammered, his ghostly eyes peering over the trunk.

  The man’s confusion turned to shock when Archer’s grandparents stepped through the Society doors. His trunk slammed against the floor. “So it’s true . . . had hoped you . . . wasn’t certain!” He turned excitedly to Archer. “And that makes . . . you must be—”

  “My grandson!” Grandpa Helmsley said proudly. “It’s wonderful to see you, Harptree!” His grandfather shook Mr. Harptree’s hand so fiercely that Archer thought he might launch him up to the balcony. “Harptree’s the Society Archivist.”

  “Where are you going, Harptree?” Grandma Helmsley asked, pointing to the trunk.

  “Scotland Society . . . archival emergency . . . ship sails . . . one hour . . . but so good to . . . welcome home!”

  Mr. Harptree tapped a finger to his forehead, lifted his trunk, and was gone.

  “Is there something wrong with him?” Oliver asked.

  “You might not guess it,” Grandpa Helmsley said, ushering them to the staircases. “But Harptree has a brilliant mind. The Archives are extensive. Not many go in without getting lost. But Harptree knows every inch of them. Unfortunately, such a mind often makes life’s simple tasks more difficult.”

  “He’s never been able to finish a sentence,” Grandma Helmsley explained.

  The staircases were lined with busts of former Society presidents. And the final bust, at the top stairs, was none other than Grandpa Helmsley himself.

  “That’s a bit chilling,” Grandpa Helmsley said, staring himself in the face. “Your mother was right, Archer. I’m dead.”

  Straight ahead were the doors of the Grand Hall. It sounded like quite a gathering inside as they approached.

  “Ralph, Rachel! You made it!” A man was rushing down the corridor toward them.

  “This is Mr. Suplard,” Grandma Helmsley told Archer. “Mr. Suplard is the Head Inquirer of Society Codes and Conduct.”

  Mr. Suplard was not much taller than Archer. He had round glasses, perched on the tip of his nose, and looked something like a walking file cabinet. His arms were overflowing with papers and folders.

  “I would shake your hand, Master Helmsley,” Mr. Suplard said in a nasal voice. “But as you can see, mine are full at the moment.” He turned to Grandma Helmsley. “The department had a bit of an emergency. Oslo Grogger. Order of Hollander. Volcanic issue. He’s no longer with us.”

  “Volcanic issue?” Oliver repeated.

  Mr. Suplard nodded gravely. “Was told it was dormant. It wasn’t.”

  “That’s a cruel joke,” Grandpa Helmsley said. “But I suppose humor is relative?”

  “Quite. We’re investigating.” Mr. Suplard pointed to the doors, doing his best to not drop anything. “It’s a holiday banquet. Consider it a welcome home. And I do welcome you home. You’re all the Society has been talking about.”

  Archer wasn’t sure if he liked the way Mr. Suplard was now studying his grandparents.

  “You both seem in good health, which is very good indeed. There’s much to discuss. Many questions need answers. I’ll join as soon as I can. But I’ll warn you. While the Inquiry Department remains impartial, you know others do not do the same. Presidents included. President Birthwhistle is very displeased.”

  “We’re aware,” Grandma Helmsley replied. “He’s not in there, is he?”

  “No. I’m told he will arrive tomorrow.”

  With that, Mr. Suplard waddled off down the corridor, and Archer’s grandparents led the trio into the Grand Hall.

  ♦ DAZZLING SIGHTS AND STRANGE DELIGHTS ♦

  Archer caught his breath. Giant rafters wrapped in garlands lifted a cathedral ceiling, and a sapphire rug, embroidered with constellations, stretched across the vast floor. A peculiar assortment of individuals filled long rows of heavy oak tables lining the cavernous hall. Adélaïde wasn’t the only one missing a limb, and Cornelius wasn’t the only one missing an eye. All were drinking and eating and making a great stir, until someone shouted, “HELMSLEYS?”

  The hall fell perfectly silent, and every face turned toward them. Many were scowling. Archer looked to his grandparents, whose grim expressions broke into smiles as a small group, seated at nearby table, jumped to their feet and swarmed them. What followed was many back slaps and handshakes and many a “Welcome back from the grave!” His grandmother introduced him to a slender woman with dark hair not much older than Miss Whitewood.

  “Beatrice Lune,” she said, sticking out her hand. “It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you, Archer.”

  “Beatrice is the Society’s finest pilot,” Grandma Helmsley explained.

  “Your grandmother exaggerates. But it’s true I’ve never crashed a plane in the desert.”

  Grandma Helmsley laughed. “That was Ralph’s fault!”

  Beatrice released his hand when a second, larger group pressed in. Archer lost sight of his grandparents as he, Oliver, and Adélaïde were squeezed to the periphery. Oliver wrenched his foot from beneath a man’s giant weathered boot. Grandpa Helmsley’s head emerged above the crowd. He pointed toward a banquet table.

  “See if there’s something you’d like to eat!”

  Though they’d already eaten, something about cold weather gives one a bottomless appetite. When they reached the table, however, they all hesitated, inspecting the sprawling feast. Finally Oliver said what they were all thinking.

  “This can’t be real food.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks?” Adélaïde suggested hopefully.

  The food couldn’t taste worse than it looked.

  “Deep-fried tarantula?” Oliver said, moving down the line. “I think I’ll pass. Rice balls with . . . are those fried grasshoppers? No thank you. Let’s see: broiled elk tongue, snake on a stick, pickled newts, and what is . . . that almost looks like—did you see that? It sneezed!”

  “I’m not sure what that is,” Adélaïde said, searching for the name card.

  “Who cares? I don’t eat things that sneeze.”

  The table went on and on, but they wished it didn’t.

  “Let’s skip the food,” Oliver said, moving toward the silver punch bowls at the end.

  Adélaïde sniffed a few. “I think they’re alcoholic.”

  “This one isn’t.” Oliver grabbed three cups and ladled them to their brims. “It’s called Greenhorn Apple Cider.”

  “What’s Greenhorn?” Archer wondered, lifting his cup.

  “Maybe it’s a spice?” Adélaïde guessed.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Oliver said, taking a gulp. “But I do know what apple cider is, and I know it doesn’t sneeze.”

  Archer nearly forgot about Mr. Birthwhistle and Benjamin as he gazed around the Grand Hall, sipping his cider. There were more Christmas trees than he could count. To his left, at the head of the room, was an elevated platform where a pleasant fire crackled. Above the fireplace hung a crest with a giant B on it. Archer scowled. He turned to point it out to Oliver and Adélaïde, but stopped.

  Across the hall sat a group of fifty boys and girls, all his age and older. They were in uniform. The boys had on dark brown pants and the girls had on dark brown skirts, and everyone wore thick blue sweaters over shirts with ties. The younger ones were whispering and pointing to Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde. The older ones didn’t seem to care.

  “Are they talking about us?” Oliver asked, lowering his cider.


  “They’re laughing at us,” Adélaïde replied. “Do you see Benjamin, Archer? Is he with them?”

  Archer scanned the table and shook his head. “But maybe they know where we can find him.”

  The uniformed group quickly turned away as the trio approached. Archer, Oliver, and Adélaïde stood before them, but it was like they were invisible.

  “Excuse me,” Archer said. “I was just wondering if any of you might know a boy named Benjamin Birthwhistle?”

  Everyone burst into laughter. Archer flushed in embarrassment.

  “Of course we know Benjamin,” snickered a large boy who bore a strong resemblance to a cinder block. “What business is it of yours? Who are you? Are you anybody?”

  A girl seated with her back to them spun around and studied Archer with bright brown eyes. She had dark hair, chopped to her chin, and a few light freckles on her cheeks.

  “Ignore him,” she advised. “He knows who you are. We all do. You’re Archer Helmsley.”

  “How—how do you know me?”

  “We know your grandparents, of course. Your family isn’t exactly a secret here.”

  “Your grandparents are deranged!” the cinder block wailed, nearly knocking a plate off the table as he pounded his fist. Two boys seated next to him nodded and sneered. “Have they returned to finish their work? Who are they going to banish this time?”

  “Can it, Fledger,” the girl said, flashing the boy a sharp eye. “My parents said they had good reasons to do what they did.” She turned back to Archer. “Anyway, if you’re looking for Benjamin, you should check the Greenhouse. He sneaked out as soon as you arrived. I’m certain that’s where he went.”

  “How do we get to the Greenhouse?” Adélaïde asked.

  The girl pinched her lips. “That’s going to be difficult to explain.” She stood up and searched the hall. “I’ll take you, but we’ll have to be quick.” She aimed her gaze at Fledger. “If Malmurna checks in before I’m back, tell her I’m in the lavatory. Do not rat on me. Again.”