Amanda Lester and the Red Spider Rumpus

by Paula Berinstein

  “The history machine? Could it tell us something?”

  “I wish,” said Simon. “For one thing it was aimed at the castle, so if Professor Snaffle was somewhere else it wouldn’t have picked up her vibrations. For another thing it’s broken. I don’t know what’s wrong but we were lucky it worked at all. There seems to be a basic design flaw and I can’t figure out what it is.”

  “You don’t think Hugh did something to it, do you?” said Ivy.

  “I don’t know what to think,” said Simon. “And unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to get it straightened out soon.”

  “I just hope he didn’t hurt her,” said Amanda. “We’ve had enough people die around here.”

  THE SECRET LIFE OF SCAPULUS HOLMES

  When Professor Sidebotham, observation and research teacher and former acting headmaster, died of a heart attack, everyone was shocked and sad. But when they discovered that the remaining secrets had gone missing, all hell broke loose and the old woman was forgotten.

  Legatum’s secrets had been an issue for some time. Housed in compartments below the campus, they comprised the collective knowledge, history, and annals of the school and were absolutely critical. Unlike The Detective’s Bible, they were constantly updated, a task that fell to the aforementioned Saliva Snaffle, who was one of the few who knew where the metadata that made them usable resided. All had been well until the summer, but then Blixus’s sometime protégé Taffeta, a former student gone bad, had wormed her way into the trove and made off with some of them, and everything had changed.

  The disappearance was ironic too because Headmaster Thrillkill had just made a deal to allow the wretch society to live in the tunnels in exchange for guarding the secrets. The artists hadn’t moved in yet so they couldn’t be blamed. Nor had there been a known breach, the surveillance devices in the trove having caught nothing suspicious. So whoever had taken them was cagey and it was imperative that the truth be discovered.

  Worse than the mere loss, though, was the fact that the secrets were now out in the world. True, they were useless without the metadata, but just because no one knew where it was didn’t mean it couldn’t be found. What was worrisome, however, was the possibility that someone like Hugh Moriarty could guess at their subject matter, construct a Rosetta Stone, and read them. Of course there was a lot of false data thrown into the secrets to keep unauthorized people from figuring out what really went with what. But some of the early codes that had been used weren’t that sophisticated, and it was possible someone with Hugh’s abilities could crack them.

  Which made the fact that someone found a slip of paper in the trove with the name “Scapulus Holmes” on it even more troubling.

  “I thought the secrets were encrypted,” said Amanda when she heard about the mysterious message, which Holmes had decoded none too happily. The kids were sitting in the common room with snacks. Amanda was eating pumpkin seeds, Simon nuts, and Ivy yogurt-covered raisins.

  “Maybe it means something other than what it says,” said Ivy, dropping a raisin on the floor. “Or maybe it isn’t really a secret. Nigel, no.”

  The dog, who had barely inclined his head in the direction of the raisin, looked up at her.

  “I think it is, and I think it’s juicy,” said Simon. “We need to find out what’s going on.”

  “It certainly is weird,” said Ivy. “Scapulus seemed very uncomfortable about the whole thing. He knows something. I’m sure of it. But you know, Simon, it isn’t really our business.”

  Simon grabbed the raisin and gave it to the dog. “He won’t tell us.” He looked at Amanda. “He’ll tell you though.”

  Amanda was not about to ask Holmes anything at this point but she did not want to discuss the matter with Simon, so she said, “I’ll ask him.” Maybe if she delayed long enough he would forget.

  She took a few seeds out of the packet, dropped them in her palm, and poked them. The discovery was disturbing, and not just because it was about Holmes.

  “Ivy, do you think there’s stuff about any of us in the secrets?”

  “Glmf,” said Ivy, chewing. “These are good. I don’t know. That hadn’t occurred to me, but it does make sense.”

  “‘Course there is,” said Simon. “They know everything about us. Gimme one of those.”

  “Not everything,” said Amanda, hoping her love life wasn’t the subject of a Legatum secret—or several. With her history, there might be entire books in the collection. She handed Simon a seed. He shook his head and pointed to Ivy’s stash. Without missing a beat, Ivy handed him some raisins, which he promptly dropped.

  When Amanda thought about it, it made sense that the detectives knew everything about everyone. After all, information was their stock in trade, and they worked hard to get it. Her onetime friend Editta would probably have been able to calculate a value for the secrets, but Amanda had no idea how you could put a price on them. If you factored in their ability to help the detectives solve and prevent crimes, apprehend criminals, and train new sleuths, they probably had their own GDP. But as far as she knew, that had never been the detectives’ primary concern. What mattered to them was success in fighting crime, and the secrets were absolutely vital to that.

  “You don’t think whoever kidnapped Professor Snaffle made her open the trove, do you?” said Ivy, rattling the package. There were only a few raisins left. “We’ve been talking about the metadata, but now with the secrets gone too, he might have done both.”

  “Probably,” said Simon in his maddening way. He held out his hand again.

  “Simon!” said Amanda. “You’re awfully cavalier about that. You act like someone was just wondering if it would rain today. And gosh, you’re messy.”

  “Just stating a probability,” he said, picking up the raisins. “Would you like me to calculate the odds?”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Amanda. “If you’re so sure, what do you think we should do about it?”

  “I didn’t say it was a certainty,” said Simon, getting up and tossing out the debris. Amanda wanted to clobber him. Then a thought hit her.

  “Do you think we know everything they know about us?” she said.

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” said Ivy. She balled up the bag and stuck it in her pocket.

  Amanda looked off into the distance. The trees were completely devoid of leaves and the normally verdant lawn was brown. Winter in the UK was one big yick. It had bothered her at first but she barely noticed anymore. Suddenly realizing she’d spaced out, she snapped to and turned to Ivy.

  “The teachers collect information about us, encode it, and stick it in the secrets trove.”

  Ivy was still chewing and waited until she had swallowed to reply. “Right.”

  “Well, what if some of that information isn’t about us but about our parents?”

  “Like Nick’s, you mean?” said Simon.

  “Yes, like Nick’s,” said Amanda, putting the packet of seeds down next to her. She had told them about Nick being adopted and they had gone ape. Clive had been so upset he’d refused to believe it, and Amanda had had to spend hours calming him down. But they’d seemed to have accepted the situation now. “Maybe the teachers knew all along that he wasn’t a Moriarty.”

  “That seems unlikely,” said Ivy. “Didn’t you say his DNA wasn’t on file and Professor Hoxby was surprised when he found out?”

  “Yes,” said Amanda. “But that’s just Professor Hoxby. No one can know everything that’s in the trove.”

  “Can’t be,” said Simon, grabbing the seed packet. “They’d have known exactly who he was, both that he was the Moriartys’ adopted son and also who his real father was. The metadata must have some kind of rating for importance. Stuff like that is way more important than the fact that you used to be a chocoholic. And by the way, how can you eat these things?”

  Amanda shot him a dirty look.

  “And they’d know who his mother is,” said Ivy.

  “Maybe they do,” said
Amanda, still rankling. “And if that’s the case they should tell him. It isn’t fair to keep that a secret from him.”

  “They don’t owe him anything,” said Simon. “And depending on who the woman is, it might be sensitive information.”

  Amanda was getting even more annoyed with him. She didn’t want to admit that he had a point, even though she could see he did. It wasn’t right to keep important facts like that from Nick and he should realize that.

  “Who do you think it is?” said Ivy.

  “No idea,” said Amanda, turning away from Simon. “All I know is that it isn’t Mavis or Celerie Wiffle.”

  “Who else did Wink see?” said Simon, oblivious to Amanda’s negative body language.

  Amanda and Ivy’s jaws dropped.

  “OMG, I never thought of that,” said Amanda, forgetting how angry she was. “Of course. It has to be someone Wink dated. Good point, Simon.”

  “Unless he donated to a sperm bank,” said Simon.

  “Detectives aren’t allowed to do that,” said Ivy.

  “Why not?” said Simon.

  “Um, the secrecy thing?” said Amanda, who sincerely hoped he wasn’t considering contributing. A baby Simon? Yikes!

  “What’s that got to do with it?” said Simon. “It’s not as though their knowledge is passed along in their genes.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” said Ivy.

  “Well, what did you mean?” said Simon.

  “I have no idea. I’m just sure it isn’t allowed.”

  “But this is huge,” said Amanda. “And OMG again, I’ll bet you the information about Wink’s love life is in the secrets!”

  “You’re right,” said Ivy. “The detectives have to know who Wink was dating, especially around the time Nick was born. But wasn’t he married to Celerie then?”

  “He’d have to have been, wouldn’t he?” said Amanda. “Nick and David are the same age.”

  “Nuh uh,” said Simon. “Nick’s birthday is in December. He’s more than six months older than David.”

  That didn’t sound right. “When is David’s birthday?” said Amanda. “I thought he was older than me. Mine is in May.”

  “August.”

  “You’re right,” said Ivy. “That’s quite a difference. What day is Nick’s?”

  “December 14th,” said Amanda. The date was burned into her brain. Five days before his last birthday she’d found out he loved her. She’d agonized over whether to acknowledge the occasion and had barely slept. In the end she had decided to say nothing, a decision that had given her an upset stomach for days.

  “Then he’s already fourteen,” said Ivy.

  “Yes, just turned it,” said Amanda quietly.

  “That’s an eight-month difference,” said Simon. “Maybe Wink and Celerie weren’t married yet when Nick was conceived. Boy, that guy got around, didn’t he?”

  “Shut up,” said Ivy.

  “No, he’s right,” said Amanda. “And I’ll bet the teachers know who he was seeing. Thrillkill would know.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Simon. “The guy was pretty sneaky.”

  “They know everything,” said Ivy. “And he and Thrillkill were really tight.”

  “I don’t think they do,” said Amanda.

  “Why not?” said Ivy.

  “Because, Professor Scribbish didn’t know about my mom and Banting Waltz.”

  “He doesn’t look like him,” said Simon.

  “Professor Scribbish doesn’t look like Banting Waltz?” said Amanda.

  “No, not them. Nick. He doesn’t look like Wink.”

  “Does David look like Wink?” said Ivy.

  “Nope,” said Simon. “Not at all. He looks like his mum.”

  “Then maybe Nick looks like his mum, whoever she is,” said Ivy.

  “Can we change the subject?” said Amanda. She was becoming uncomfortable with them delving into Nick’s business.

  “But what about Scapulus and the secret?” said Ivy.

  “It is odd that the one slip of paper they found in the trove had his name on it,” said Amanda.

  “Indeed,” said Simon.

  Just then there was a commotion outside the common room and Amanda could hear her mother’s voice.

  “You know I’d be perfect for it,” Lila was saying.

  Muffle, muffle, muffle. She was talking to Thrillkill but it was hard to hear him.

  “Surely you’re not going to let me go to waste, Gaston. You know how much I contribute to this school.”

  Amanda and Simon exchanged a look. Amanda held up a finger.

  Muffle, muffle.

  “The secrets class then.”

  Muffle, muffle. “I’m sorry, Lila. I wish I could but I can’t.”

  “This is outrageous,” said Lila. “Someone needs to take over those responsibilities.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes.

  “Professor Scribbish will teach the observation classes,” said Thrillkill. “I will be taking over the secrets myself. I’m very sorry.”

  “You’re treading on thin ice, Headmaster,” said Lila. “I’m very influential and I can withdraw my support at any time.”

  “As I said,” said Thrillkill, refusing to be intimidated. “I’m sorry.”

  Then there came a clack, clack, clacking of Lila’s heels and it was quiet.

  “Hoo boy,” said Simon. “Your mom is really mad.”

  “Typical,” said Amanda. “She wants to take over the place.”

  “Sounds like we don’t have to get her to leave after all,” said Ivy.

  “No,” said Amanda, brightening. “I guess we don’t.”

  It was weird that there was no record of the secrets having been moved, or a security breach. Some of the teachers said it must have been an inside job, but no one could imagine who would have done such a thing. Professor Thrillkill instigated extensive background checks on all the new teachers to see if there was anything they’d missed when hiring them. Since the checks would take a while, they would just have to wait.

  A search of the campus turned up nothing, except for one thing: someone had wiped the surveillance tapes for the night of December 27th, a disturbing fact that caused Thrillkill to place the school on alert. But that miserable development was overshadowed when Nick’s boat blew up in the middle of the night.

  IVY DOES IT AGAIN

  When Amanda heard about the explosion she got a stabbing pain in her chest and couldn’t breathe. She sat frozen in her bed for what felt like no time and forever. When she was finally able to grasp what was going on she ran to one person after another asking if they knew what had happened to Nick. Not a single person did. They didn’t even know whether the police had found a body. She tried texting him, although she didn’t seriously think he’d answer. Finally, unable to cope with her mounting fear and frustration, she took off for the boat to look for herself.

  When she arrived it was still dark. The scene was blocked off and the police were keeping people away. She felt like going up to the guard and pounding on his chest, but instead she stopped and tried to think things through. It was winter. The water was so cold she couldn’t even consider trying to swim to the wreckage. If by some miracle Nick had been blown clear, he wouldn’t have been able to spend much time in the frigid lake. He’d have to have got out before succumbing to hypothermia. What were the chances of that? If he’d been stunned, not great.

  Of course if he’d been killed it was all over and there was nothing she could do. But when she thought about it, the fact that they hadn’t found a body was encouraging. Nick had to be alive. There was no other explanation for his disappearance.

  Suddenly a terrible thought struck her. If Blixus, for he had to have been the one to blow up the boat, had hidden nearby, he could have grabbed Nick and taken him off somewhere. He might have even killed him on the spot and stolen his body! If that were the case, Nick was either in big trouble or dead, and considering how angry Blixus had to be, the latter seemed a lot more likely
. What should she do? Whatever had happened she had to find him. The chances of him contacting her were infinitesimal, so she’d have to act.

  Where would he go? He’d want to hide from Blixus, so it would have to be someplace Moriarty didn’t know about or wouldn’t think of . . . or couldn’t enter. Legatum! Nick would be trying to make his way to the school. And he would take the safest, most circuitous route possible, which meant evasive maneuvers: wending his way through people’s back gardens, hiding in dustbins, sneaking behind shrubbery. The possibilities were so numerous that the chance of finding him was almost nil. Amanda would have to wait for him to come to her.

  But if Blixus had him, all bets were off. The criminal had proved so elusive that the chances of locating him were even lower than finding Nick in the bushes. Even if she did find the man, what could she possibly do to save Nick? Her fast talking wouldn’t get her anywhere with Blixus if he were intent on killing his adopted son. She’d have to call in the cavalry, and who would that be? Would the teachers really care? Would the police?

  She felt so helpless she wanted to scream. The situation was urgent, she didn’t know what to do, and any action she took was likely to lead to failure. Except one.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Ivy. If ever there was a time for super senses this was it. She just hoped her friend would be willing to help.

  She was. Of all Amanda’s friends, Ivy was the only one who had ever seen good in Nick—well, except for Editta, but she was in love with him. Not that Ivy had always been keen on the boy. Amanda remembered her first semester at Legatum when she and Amphora had complained that Nick ignored them. In fact for a while, their dislike of him had threatened to tear the girls’ friendship apart. But later, at a time when Amanda was having her own doubts, Ivy had unexpectedly come around and tried to convince her that there was something in Nick that was worth the trouble.

  Now, in typical detective fashion, Ivy peppered Amanda with questions about what Nick and Blixus’s likely courses of action might be. Then, seemingly dissatisfied with what she’d heard she said, “The clock.”