Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror

by Paula Berinstein

  “How are we going to get into this party?” she said as they were leaving the photographer's in their street clothes. They had wrapped the fancy duds carefully in tissue paper and were heading back to their rooms to drop them off. “Is there a guest list?”

  “I would imagine so," said Nick. “But I’ve never had a problem crashing parties. You just act as if you belong. They always let me in.”

  “You're tall and good-looking," she said. “I've never been able to do that.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said. “You're gorgeous.”

  “You have no idea how much power tall men have,” she said, sighing. “Just ask Professor Kindsseth.”

  Professor Kindseth, Legatum's forensic photography teacher who was now running Amanda's film production company, was five foot five and always complaining that out in the world, people ignored him.

  “Fine, so you'll be short and gorgeous and with a tall bloke. No problem.”

  “But what if they don't let us in?”

  “I'll talk them into it.”

  “But what if—”

  “Are you saying you think we should impersonate two of the invited guests?”

  She hadn’t been but it could work if they timed their entrance right and a few other things fell into place. “It's an idea.”

  He thought for a moment. “That would require that we know who’s been invited.”

  She was warming to the idea. The more she thought about it the better she liked it.

  “I'll bet we could figure it out," she said.

  “How?”

  “By learning about who the hostess hangs out with.”

  “You want to spy on her? There isn't much time. The party's tonight.”

  “By reading the society page of the newspaper. Remember when we did that in Sidebotham’s class?”

  “You mean—”

  “Yup, the British Library. Back issues.”

  Nick grabbed her and kissed her. “You're a genius. Come on. Let’s drop off the duds and check it out.”

  But when they got to the site of the British Library, the familiar rust-colored complex wasn't there.

  “Seriously?” said Amanda. “I thought it was like a million years old. Except now that I think about it, the architecture is kind of modern.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that it hasn’t always been here," he said. “It’s such an institution.”

  “It’s creepy,” she said. “Something we take for granted not existing. I don’t like it.”

  “It’s history,” he said. “That’s how it works.”

  “Well it’s freaking me out,” she said.

  He took her hand. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be. It’s just hitting me how things change. You don’t think about it until they’re in your face.”

  “I know. But that’s how life is,” he said. “And sometimes change is good. I’m no longer with Blixus, for example.”

  “That is true,” she said, smiling.

  “And we’re together. That’s even better.”

  She brightened. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

  Nick kissed her. Then, spying a passerby, he approached the man.

  “Good afternoon," he said. The man looked startled, but Nick obviously fit in because he didn't shy away. “We are supposed to meet someone at the library and we've forgotten the address. Do you by any chance know it?”

  “You mean the British Museum Library?” said the man. “Just down the road on Great Russell Street.” He pointed toward the Thames.

  “Yes, that's the one,” said Nick. “Thanks very much.”

  “British Museum Library, eh?” said Amanda as they walked down Judd Street. “That was the big library in those days. Er, these days.”

  “What is the name of the hostess again?” said Nick absently.

  “Eustachia Parrot," said Amanda.

  “Sounds like a bird's ear," said Nick.

  Amanda giggled. “Probably some dried up old prune with a lorgnette.”

  “No doubt," said Nick. “With wrinkled arms and blue hair.”

  They both laughed. “Actually, I kind of like blue hair," she said. “Your hair looks a little blue in some kinds of light.”

  “Peacock, midnight, navy, cornflower?”

  “Shut up. Muffet blue. Look, we're here.”

  They had indeed arrived at the British Museum. When they entered the library, the librarian, a thin, balding man with shaky hands, eyed them up and down.

  “We'd like to see recent issues of the Times," said Nick in his plummiest voice.

  “No children in the library," said the librarian.

  Amanda's jaw dropped. She’d never known any library to refuse admittance to children. But beyond that, they weren't children. Nick was nearly fifteen and looked twenty-two, and Amanda was fourteen and almost a half. In centuries past they would have been old enough to marry.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “No youngsters in the library," he said. “Scholars only.”

  Amanda and Nick looked at each other. Nick drew himself up to his full height of six foot two and a half and said, “I am Professor Muffet of the Oxford history department. This is my sister, Amanda. We are here on official business.”

  “Don't make me laugh,” said the librarian.

  “Sir," said Amanda, getting into the spirit. “My brother studies Egyptian royalty. You resemble one of the kings whose portraits reside in his collection. I am an artist. I'd like to paint you.”

  “Nice try," said the librarian. “Out.”

  “My dean will hear about this," said Nick sounding a bit menacing.

  “Tell it to the queen,” said the nasty man.

  Amanda and Nick glanced at each other. Then Nick turned and began to leave. “Follow me," he hissed, and she did.

  When they'd got well away he said, “He'll leave for tea. When he does we'll go in.”

  “Brilliant," she said. “That should give us a couple of hours. What shall we do in the meantime?”

  “Let's see what we can find out about these monsters.”

  They bought a newspaper on the street and settled themselves in a cafe with some tea.

  “Look here,” she said, reading the lead article. “It says the monsters have only been seen at night.”

  “That makes sense, I guess," he said. “Darkness makes a good cover.”

  “But maybe there's another reason," she said surveying the front page for more detail.

  “Like what?”

  “The monsters seem to appear just before people are robbed," she said. “Every one of the victims has reported waking up without their wallet or valuables afterwards.”

  “Waking up?”

  “Odd, isn't it?” she said. “It’s as if the monster puts them to sleep.”

  “A drug of some kind?” said Nick.

  “Maybe. Or just fright.”

  Nick rubbed his chin. “The monsters are disabling their victims at night, then robbing them. People who go out for the evening tend to have valuables with them, like jewelry and fat wallets. Gifts, maybe.”

  “I never heard of a monster being a burglar,” she said.

  “This has Moriarty written all over it," he said gazing off into the distance.

  “But how is he creating monsters? There are no holograms in the nineteenth century.”

  “Good point," said Nick. “I don't know. And we know the things aren’t animatronic. My foot went right through the one we saw.”

  “You don't suppose it's some kind of ghost?”

  Nick laughed. “Sorry, Ramon, old boy, but not a chance.”

  “Then I don't get it," she said.

  “Neither do I. Is there some kind of geographical pattern to the sightings?”

  Amanda scanned the article again. “Other than that they seem to occur in the richer parts of the city, not that I can tell.”

  “Then their purpose is theft," said Nick. “Which means there are human thieves lingering nea
rby. The next time we see one of those things, that’s what we go for.”

  “How do you suppose the monster came through Simon's screen though?” she said, sipping the last drop in the cup. There was something different about nineteenth-century tea. She liked it. “Do you think Moriarty had something to do with that too?”

  “Yes," he said. “But not James. I'll bet you anything that was Hugh.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. Hugh can’t possibly be time-traveling.”

  “I wouldn't be surprised.”

  “Then he might be here too?”

  “Perhaps," said Nick.

  “Great," said Amanda. “Just what the nineteenth century needs.” Then something occurred to her. “You don't suppose he and Blixus have teamed up with James and are coming after me again?''

  Nick put down his cup. “No, that's impossible. Put it out of your mind right now.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I was wrong. Hugh isn't time-traveling. Our being here was down to a glitch in Simon's machine.”

  But Amanda wasn't convinced, and she was feeling anxious again. Hugh could do anything Simon could do and more. And if he joined up with James, another genius, the Moriartys would once again be unstoppable.

  She regarded Nick across the table. He was smiling at her, tacitly telling her that everything would be all right. And as she studied his face she realized he was sincere. After everything he'd been through—Blixus beating him, finding out he was adopted, losing his hearing—he still believed in himself and he still believed in her. And she knew that if he could thrive in the face of adversity, so could she.

  She smiled back at him and reached out for his hand. “You’re right. I don't know what I was thinking. Come on, Let's go find out who we're going to be tonight.”

  When they returned to the library, they hid themselves in a corner and watched as the officious librarian toddled off for his tea. As soon as he was out of sight they raced through the turnstile and into the reading room. A couple of people turned their heads, and one man did a double take as he saw Amanda, then turned back to his reading with a wide grin on his face. Amanda scanned the room, caught sight of some newspapers hanging on dowels, and motioned for Nick to follow her.

  When they got to the newspaper section she saw a pile of Times issues. Leafing through them, she determined that they covered the last week. Perfect! They split up the issues and carried them to a reading table. It took Amanda three issues to find what she was looking for.

  “OMG. There are so many articles about this Eustachia Parrot. This one talks about how she was seen at the symphony with Lord and Lady Baden-Nedab.”

  “Baden-Nadeb?” said Nick. “That must be a joke.”

  “Why, because it's a palindrome?” she said.

  “Exactly. Wait, here's something about her attending the wedding of Lord Orangeade and Lady Fundament. There's a mini guest list here.”

  “Oooh, good one. Let's pick the silliest names and be them.”

  “You don't think the butler or whoever admits the guests will know them, do you?”

  “He might. We'll just have to take the chance though. There aren't any pictures of these people here. We wouldn't know what kind of disguises to use.”

  They would have to take the chance. There was no time to come up with another plan. What was the worst that could happen? That they’d be refused entry. Big deal. She skimmed the names.

  “I'll be Harriet Cockleworth.”

  “And I'll be Lloyd Poison,” he said, craning his neck and reading her paper upside down.

  “Seriously?”

  He pointed to the page. “That's what it says.”

  “You don't think it's a typo?”

  “I'll mumble.”

  “Okay, good. We have a plan then.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “It's getting late. Let's go get ready.”

  11

  Eustachia Parrot’s Party

  When they had returned to their boardinghouse and got into their fancy clothes Nick took one look at Amanda and whistled.

  “No one would ever keep you out of a party. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He maneuvered her so she was standing in front of the looking glass. “Your hair, my God. When we get back, please wear it like that for me. And that dress. Your waist looks so tiny I could fit my hands around it. Come here.”

  She laughed and took a step toward him. He circled his hands around her waist.

  “Almost,” he said, eyeing the result. “Be still my beating heart. And by the way, that neckline. You should come with a warning.”

  But Amanda wasn’t looking at her reflection. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was always handsome, but in his formal dress he was so striking she could barely breathe. With those black tails, blue vest that matched his eyes, pleated shirt, and black bow tie, he looked like a god. His shoulder-length hair gleamed under an equally shiny top hat. He was beyond perfection. She hoped to heaven that that picture would come out and they’d be able to take it back home with them. If not she’d make him dress up in period costume and take her own.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Er, nothing. It’s just that you look—I mean . . .”

  “Something wrong?” he said.

  She shook her head. She couldn’t find the words.

  “Do I have food in my teeth?” he said, feeling around his mouth.

  “No,” she was able to squeeze out. Her heart was pounding through her chest.

  “Good,” he said. “Because Lloyd Poison is very meticulous about his grooming.”

  That got her. She burst into laughter.

  “He’d have to be with a name like that,” she said. “I’ll bet he was bullied as a child.”

  Nick’s eyes sparkled. “Do I look like the kind of bloke to be bullied?”

  He most certainly did not. She couldn’t imagine any kid wanting to take Nick on. It would be suicide.

  “Are you ready?” he said, checking the time on the silver pocket watch he’d bought.

  Amanda took a final look at herself in the glass. She was pleased with what she saw. Her normally unruly hair had been tamed into a ridiculously complex do, her beautiful taffeta dress hugged her figure, and her gloves were so clean and sleek they were almost blinding.

  “Ready,” she said.

  Nick held his arm out for her and they started down the staircase. Suddenly, missing a step, she tripped and nearly fell. He caught her in time, but the high heel on her shoe broke off, causing her body to wrench in an uncomfortable way. It felt as if her back was doing flips.

  “Ow!” she yelped.

  He steadied her. “Are you all right, love?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I think so. But my heel broke off.” She reached down and picked up the broken heel. “What am I going to do?”

  “You could wear the boots we got yesterday,” he said.

  “No I can’t. They’d look terrible.”

  “Well, not your sneakers, that’s for sure.”

  “I need new shoes,” she said.

  “I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as an all-night shoe store.”

  “Oh dear,” she said. “For want of a nail.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “We could repair it.”

  She held up the heel. It was all mangled. “Really?”

  “It does look a bit thrashed,” he said. “Perhaps our landlady would let you borrow a pair then?”

  “I don’t mean to be insulting,” she said, “but does she look like the kind of person to own fancy dress shoes?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Nick.

  “Well I can’t go barefoot.”

  “Fine then. I’ll make you a heel.”

  “But we’re already late!”

  “I don’t see that we have a choice,” he said. “I’ll need some tools.”

  She reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch. “There isn’t time.”

>   “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Go and get Mrs. Fitzgibbon.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Let’s just try, okay?”

  He ran down the stairs to get the landlady. He was gone so long that Amanda sat down on a step to wait. When he returned with the woman in tow she was holding a lovely pair of fancy white shoes.

  “From my wedding,” she said. “Obviously they’re a bit out of fashion, and I’m sorry it took me so long to find them, but you’re welcome to borrow them if you like.”

  Amanda eyed the shoes. They were huge. “They’ll do. Thank you, Mrs. Fitz. You’re a gem.”

  “They look a bit large, dear,” said the landlady. “Let me just get something to stuff in them.” She left for what seemed minutes and returned with a pair of thick brown stockings. “Try these,” she said.

  Amanda and Nick exchanged a look. You definitely did not want to see thick brown stockings peeking out from under a delicate lavender dress with fancy white shoes. On the other hand, if they didn’t get out of there soon they’d miss their opportunity.

  “I’ll take them,” Amanda said.

  She removed her shoes, pulled the stockings on, and tried the white ones. The fit was perfect. Mrs. Fitzgibbon pulled a couple of garters out of her apron and she slid them on.

  “You look lovely, dear,” said the woman.

  “Thanks,” said Amanda, giving her a peck on the cheek.

  “Have fun!” the landlady called after them as they raced down the stairs.

  Nick hailed a hansom and they were off. It was already after 9:00, which wasn’t terrible, but they were a bit late and might have missed something important.

  As they were traveling it struck Amanda that the real Harriet Cockleworth and Lloyd Poison might already have arrived.

  “Faster!” she called to the coachman.

  “Don’t worry,” said Nick. “We’ll get in.”

  “But what if—”

  He reached over and stroked her cheek. “We’ll be fine.”

  He was right of course. They were two of the most inventive people on the planet. She knew that. The Moriartys’ visions must have been doing a number on her to make her so nervous. She took his hand and kissed it and he smiled. But when they arrived and gave their names and presented their calling card the butler told them they weren’t on the guest list. Amanda was shocked. She’d thought Harriet and Eustachia were good buds, and that Harriet’s husband, Stanley Cockleworth, was a club friend of Lloyd’s. She wondered if they should pretend to be indignant.