Amanda Lester and the Red Spider Rumpus

by Paula Berinstein

  “It wasn’t stolen, but that’s not the point,” said Nick. “If it falls into the wrong hands the detectives will be finished.”

  “Then get it back. Wait, what do you care about the detectives? Have you got this Bible?”

  “No, I don’t. Mrs. Sweetgum, I am the son of a detective. Wink Wiffle was my father. David Wiffle is my brother. Blixus Moriarty adopted me.”

  “How dare you?” said Mrs. Sweetgum. She was yelling so loud she practically broke Amanda’s eardrums. Nick winced and held the phone away from his ear. “You lying little criminal.”

  “Ask Professor Hoxby,” said Nick, bringing the mic close again. “He performed the DNA testing.”

  Dead silence. Then, “You’re telling me that you, Nick Moriarty—”

  “Muffet now.”

  “Muffet? You’re Nick Muffet again?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What does Moriarty think about this?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to him for months.”

  “What do you—where are you? Is this a joke?”

  Nick turned around and looked at Thrillkill, who nodded a second time. “I’m at Legatum, Mrs. Sweetgum. I want to be a detective.”

  “This is outrageous,” she said. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait,” said Nick. “Here is Professor Hoxby. Please just talk to him.” He gave the phone to the purple pathology professor, who explained how he had tested Nick’s DNA and discovered that the boy was indeed the son of Wink Wiffle. When the teacher had finished he handed the phone back to Nick.

  “So it’s true,” said Mrs. Sweetgum more calmly. “I know Basil Hoxby. He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is,” said Nick. “And he is in trouble. He needs your help.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “I’m a great supporter. Of them, not you or Gaston Thrillkill. Did you know that my dear departed husband Blumkin was a detective sergeant? Cut down in his prime, he was. If he had lived he would have been a detective chief inspector. More, I always believed. I was so proud of him.”

  “I have heard many wonderful stories about him,” said Nick. “I wish I’d known him.”

  “You would have liked him,” she said.

  “Mrs. Sweetgum,” said Nick, “there is something you can do to help. It will honor his memory.”

  “Anything,” she said. “Except the lawsuit. That stands.”

  “A donation to the school,” said Nick. “In support of the search for The Detective’s Bible.”

  “For the search, you say? What about my daughter?”

  “I give you my word I will do everything I can to get her back,” said Nick. “I cannot promise to be successful though.”

  “You’re an odd young man,” said Mrs. Sweetgum. “You actually sound sincere.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Nick. “I will sweeten the deal for you. If I can get Mrs. Wiffle to match your donation, will you agree?”

  Someone in the audience laughed, then several people. Nick turned around and held up a finger.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Sweetgum, “but that’s a fool’s errand. You go on and try though.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Nick, and ended the call.

  The room went crazy. Kids were yelling and arguing and jumping around while the teachers tried to keep order. Amanda wanted to run up and hug Nick, but she forced herself to sit still, avoid looking in his direction, and listen to Holmes go on and on about how he shouldn’t have mentioned the Bible, even to a parent, and how he’d misled the woman into thinking her daughter would come back.

  Then someone started chanting, “Call Wiffle now. Call Wiffle now.” They didn’t even want to give Nick time to think about what he might say to Celerie Wiffle. Soon all the students had joined in and the sound was deafening. Ramon, who was sitting a few feet away from Amanda, kept complaining that the noise would disturb the ghost, and Amphora kept trying to shush people.

  At last Nick held up the phone and the room quieted down. He sat down with his back to the room again and dialed.

  “Hello, Mrs. Wiffle,” Nick said when Celerie had answered. “This is Nick Moriarty and I have a proposition for you.”

  “What?” said Celerie. “Who is this really? David, is that you? It isn’t funny.”

  “No, ma’am, it’s really Nick Moriarty, and I want to tell you about something I think you’ll find important.”

  “Stop threatening me!” Celerie screamed. “Where is my son?”

  “He’s well,” said Nick. “He’s taller.”

  “Let him go!” Celerie wailed. “Wait, he is? How tall?”

  “Three more inches, I’d guess. He’s going to be a tall man.”

  “My David. Just like Wink. He was 5’ 11”, you know. Wait, stop distracting me. Send David home!”

  “He’s free to leave at any time,” said Nick, just as he’d told Mrs. Sweetgum.

  “Then why isn’t he here?” said Celerie.

  “I don’t know,” said Nick. “I do know that he misses you though.”

  “You should be in jail,” said Celerie. “Your whole disgusting family. What do you want from me?”

  “I want to make a deal,” said Nick. “It’s something I think you’ll find appealing.”

  “You’re asking a ransom for my David?” said Celerie.

  “No, no ransom. David is free to go any time.”

  “You are really something, you know that?” said Celerie. “Such a liar.”

  “I used to be, that’s true,” said Nick. “Not anymore.”

  “You want to extort me,” said Celerie. “First your sick mother murders my husband, then you kidnap my son, and now you want to take our money.”

  “I don’t want your money,” said Nick. “But the detectives could use a donation.”

  “Stop talking in subtext!” yelled Celerie. “I know how you gangsters do that. Shut up!”

  Amanda’s jaw dropped. Celerie Wiffle knew what subtext was?

  “Mrs. Wiffle, the detectives are in trouble and need your help. Now, considering that you have always supported them, you should be falling all over yourself to help them, but you don’t seem to be listening.”

  Oooh, he was getting tough with her. Amanda didn’t think that was a good idea. Better to keep flattering the woman. She’d never been a nail biter but she felt like chewing her nails down to the quick.

  But it had worked. Celerie was still listening. “I will make a trade,” said Nick. “If you will donate five hundred pounds to the detectives, I will tell you a true story about your husband that you’ve never heard before. I have divorced my father and applied to join them. They may or may not accept me, but whatever happens I will always, for the rest of my life, support them. Now you can believe me or not, but if you don’t you will probably never hear this story, and I think you would want to.”

  Celerie wasn’t impressed. “Slander. Libel. Lies.”

  “Not at all,” said Nick. “I’ll tell you what. You don’t have to promise. I will tell you the story anyway. Then you decide.”

  “Everything you say is a lie. You’ve brainwashed my David and you have the nerve to—”

  “My dad tried to turn your husband and couldn’t.”

  Nick seemed to be very good at making the kids gasp because they did it again. This time the teachers joined them.

  “What do you mean?” said Celerie.

  “A few years ago, Blixus Moriarty made your husband a very tempting offer. Mr. Wiffle was a brilliant man and my dad wanted him on his side. He wanted him so much that he put himself in danger just to talk to him. There was a standoff and he tried to recruit him. He told him that if he would join our cartel he could write his own ticket. ”

  Celerie was definitely listening now. “Wink never said.”

  “That’s to his credit. My dad said he wasn’t a braggart.”

  “How do I know you haven’t made this up?”

  “I can prove it,” said Nick. “Blixus, I mean my dad,
put the offer in writing. I have it. I will text you a copy in two minutes.” He hung up.

  All eyes were glued to Nick as he dug into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He scanned the paper and texted the image. Then he phoned back.

  “That’s Wink’s handwriting at the bottom,” said Celerie. “That’s exactly what he would have said: ‘In your dreams, Moriarty.’ But this is incredible. He never told me.”

  “He was an amazing man,” said Nick. “I can tell you more stories from my dad if you want.”

  “I’d like that,” said Celerie almost cheerfully. “Well, then, I suppose I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

  “I’m afraid you did, ma’am,” said Nick. A couple of kids laughed.

  “Very well then. As long as the money does not go to Gaston Thrillkill, Legatum shall have it. I will wire it this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wiffle,” said Nick. “The school will put the money to good use.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re up to, Mr. Moriarty, but it’s obvious to me that your story about my husband is true. Perhaps for your second act you can bring my David home.”

  “I will try, ma’am. I will try.”

  After Nick hung up the room exploded again. Amanda ran up and threw her arms around him, causing Holmes to go ballistic and everyone else to stare. Thrillkill strode up to Nick and handed him a sheet of paper.

  “Well done, Mr. Muffet. Let us see how you do with this one.”

  Amanda looked over Nick’s shoulder as he read the instructions for the next task, then glanced up at Thrillkill. The headmaster had done some nasty things in his life, but nothing like this. The second labor required that Nick ingest a lethal poison. If he didn’t find an antidote quickly enough, he would die.

  18

  THE SECOND LABOR

  The fact that the donations from Andalusia Sweetgum and Celerie Wiffle came in almost instantly was completely overshadowed by the announcement of Nick’s second test. Amanda was ready to strangle Thrillkill. Sure, the labors should be difficult, but this poison thing was beyond the pale. Nick could die! If the teachers wanted to punish him, wouldn’t it be better just to renege on the deal and send him to prison? Couldn’t they see he was making amends? What purpose would it serve to kill him?

  Holmes, of course, was rubbing his hands together in evil glee. Well, not really, but Amanda felt that he was enjoying Nick’s predicament way too much. He hadn’t been happy about her very public hug with Nick—that had been obvious—but he hadn’t said anything about it, and Amanda was relieved that she hadn’t had to argue.

  The day set for the task was the next Saturday, which gave Nick two days to prepare—if there was even a way to do that—and Amanda two extra days to worry. He may have done well on the first test, but this was different. This was life and death. One hesitation, one mistake, and Nick would be no more.

  Amanda wondered if there was a way to get Thrillkill to call off the labor and substitute something else. Maybe a fake test to see if he could find an antidote to a fake poison. Surely that would do. If he failed he would be out of Legatum, but at least he wouldn’t die.

  She went to the headmaster’s office to try to reason with him, but when she got there he told her something worse. She would be the one to hold the antidote. It would be hidden in her purse and if she gave Nick any sign that she had it, the test would be over and he would be out. Nor was she allowed to help him in any other way. At the merest hint that he had had outside help he would fail, and she would be kicked out of Legatum and ostracized from the detectives forever. As if that weren’t bad enough, to ensure that she didn’t slip Nick the antidote at the last minute Thrillkill threatened to expel Amanda’s friends too: Ivy, Simon, and Clive, to be exact.

  That did it. If she couldn’t convince Thrillkill to be more reasonable, she’d have to convince Nick. It was time to call off this insanity and accept that he’d have to spend the rest of his life in prison. It would be awful, but at least she’d get to see him. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be let out for good behavior in about twenty years. Surely that was better than dying.

  But Nick wouldn’t do it. “Anything else,” he said. “I will do anything else for you, but not this.”

  “But why not?” she said. “At least you’d be alive.”

  “But unredeemed. People would think I was a coward. I know you don’t want that.”

  She tried to imagine anyone believing Nick was a coward and found that she was horrified. It would be as if she’d given up filmmaking because it was too hard and everyone knew it. Worse. Sure, you’d be alive, but you’d be living a fake life. What was the point of that? He was right. She’d asked way too much of him—more than she herself could ever do. He would have to proceed.

  If Nick was going to die, though, she wanted to spend every moment she could with him before it happened. She wished the boat were still there. She could cut class and the two of them could hang out there until Saturday just holding each other. But of course the boat was in pieces and Nick had to rest so he’d be alert for the trial, so in the end they stole a few minutes here and there and went down to the tunnels so they could be alone together. With the wretches moving in, Ramon looking for the ghost, and Holmes watching both of them like a hawk, they didn’t get much time together, but at least they were able to exchange a few kisses.

  “I still can’t believe you love me,” said Nick, during one of their interludes. “A detective and a criminal.”

  “Simon told me you’re my true love,” she said. “I have to.”

  He looked at her with amusement and said, “What are you on about?”

  “No, really. He knew it before I did.”

  “Simon Binkle? Glasses, cowlick, yay high?” He indicated a height a couple of inches below the top of his head.

  “Yes. He’s more astute than you’d think.”

  “Well, then, I owe him, don’t I?” Nick said, and kissed her.

  When Saturday arrived Amanda was more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Nick would not only have to ingest poison, but make some potentially deadly choices. If he decided to look for the antidote rather than synthesize it, or vice versa, he might run out of time. Not that that couldn’t happen anyway, but the possibility of making the wrong choice to start with rendered the whole labor that much more difficult and dangerous. He hadn’t uttered one word of complaint, or even shown fear during the two days between tasks, but Amanda could tell he was worried. His eyes were ringed with purple, the whites shot with red.

  When the time came, everyone gathered in the dining room to watch Nick drink the poison. It was as if they were Romans hungering to see lions eat Christians, or colonists thirsting for the blood of so-called witches. Thrillkill justified this public spectacle as documentation to make sure Nick hadn’t cheated and accomplished what he set out to do—if, in fact, he did. But if he didn’t he would die in front of the whole school, and Amanda didn’t think she could ever forgive Thrillkill for that.

  When the headmaster gave the word, Professor Pargeter, the toxicology teacher, produced a beaker of some foul-looking chartreuse concoction and set it in front of Nick.

  “I discovered this poison myself,” she said. “It is known only to one tribe in a remote South American enclave. You will need to analyze it chemically and synthesize an antidote, because there is no information about it anywhere. However, we have discovered the antidote ourselves and hidden it on the school grounds. You may prefer to look for it. We don’t care whether you make it or find it. As long as you use it in time you will not perish. The time between ingestion and death is twenty-four hours. You know the rules. Good luck.”

  Twenty-four hours! Nick might be dead in a day. Amanda could not get her head around that. She had the antidote safe in her purse and would not be allowed to give it to him? What was the point of that? Now she knew without a doubt that the detectives were not only vindictive but sadists. How dare they make Nick crawl to Editta’s and David’s mothers, t
hen accept money they would use to kill him? She vowed right then and there that if Nick died she would get revenge on the lot of them, whatever it took.

  But Nick didn’t seem bothered. He stood up, shook Professor Pargeter’s hand, and thanked her—thanked her—for the opportunity. Then he lifted the beaker and downed the liquid in one gulp.

  Amanda thought her heart would stop. She could feel her whole body tremble and her limbs weaken. If she hadn’t been sitting down she would have fallen. Ivy reached over and took her hand and Nigel licked it, moves that did not escape Holmes’s notice.

  Nick turned around to the group and said, “I have decided to analyze the poison rather than look for a needle in a haystack. I am going to the lab.”

  Was it Amanda’s imagination or was he slurring his words? Surely the poison wouldn’t have acted that fast. If that were the case the teachers hadn’t given him a fair test, and whatever she felt about them, she was sure they would have done that. She had no idea how fast the poison worked, though, or what its symptoms would be, and how many of those twenty-four hours Nick would realistically have to stop the effects.

  It was not possible for the entire school to follow Nick into the lab, so Thrillkill designated a few students to watch, plus the teachers. The walk seemed to last forever and Amanda resented every second it took away from the search, but Nick was making use of it. He was looking things up on his phone and walking at the same time.

  By the time they got to the lab Nick was showing symptoms, or so Amanda thought. He seemed to be out of breath and his coordination was ever so slightly impaired. One of the kids, Perdido Han, had the nerve to say that he was faking it and Thrillkill kicked him out. Nick rushed to a cupboard and grabbed a handful of activated charcoal capsules, a known remedy for poison, downing them with some water, but the symptoms didn’t seem to abate, at least not so far as Amanda could tell, although the shaking might have been due to anxiety.

  Now Nick turned to the group and said, “According to my research, when a poison has been taken orally the first thing to analyze is the contents of the stomach. So unfortunately I’m going to have to make myself throw up and analyze the vomit. Because this poison has never been cataloged I will be trying to see if I can determine the class to which it belongs. That may be the best I can do.”