by Jess Keating
“When I was in custody, Martha told me that the most difficult problems require elementary solutions,” I said. “We just have to go back to basics. I mean, we’ve done it before, right? Like, with—”
“Wait,” Mary interrupted. “Did Martha actually use the word elementary in your conversation?”
I thought back to the tiny room with the handcuffs. “Um, yeah?” I blinked. “When she visited me in my interrogation room.”
A small, nervous smile crossed Mary’s face. “Of course!” she whispered.
“What do you know that we don’t, Mary?” Bert asked. He looked to Leo and Charlie, who simply shrugged. They were as confused as he was.
“Elementary,” Mary said. She was talking to herself now, with an air of uncertainty and hesitation. “It’s our only option. We’re in the United Kingdom after all; it’s not that far. Maybe we could …” She trailed off, then turned to face us. “I know what Martha was trying to tell us,” she said. “I know where we need to go.”
“And where’s that?” Grace asked.
“Scotland.” Mary pulled a stack of papers from her backpack, unfolded one of them, and spread it across the table.
“What’s in Scotland besides the Loch Ness monster?” I asked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Tech. Weapons. Surveillance. And most importantly, a friend.”
I craned my neck up at the cracked and towering stone turrets above our heads, marveling at the way the highest peaks poked through the Scottish fog.
None of us knew who Mary’s mysterious friend was, and she wasn’t giving anything away, but they were the best option we had, so we’d hopped on a train and headed to Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city. It had taken hours, but as the distance between us and Agent Donnelly had grown wider, I began breathing a little easier.
Ever since I’d first set eyes on the Genius Academy mansion, with its zillion rooms, pristine laboratories, and year-round ice cream truck, I thought I’d seen the best living space the world had to offer.
But you know what? It turns out a mansion wasn’t the coolest place to live. That honor went to the huge, turreted fortress we now stood in front of. Every creepy, mossy inch of it.
“A castle?” I choked out a laugh. “Your friend lives in a castle?” I reached forward to place my hand on the cool stone, enchanted by the lush tendrils of green ferns that seemed to reach up from the ground to hug the ancient stone foundation. “Why do we have a mansion, when we could have a castle?”
“We don’t have a mansion anymore, remember?” Bert said bitterly. He was still in a bad mood because Grace had cut lunch short. His stomach rumbled. “Do you think this friend of yours knows how to make a grilled cheese sandwich, Mary?”
Mary pursed her lips, ignoring him. Ever since boarding the train to the city, she’d become increasingly hard to read. She was nervous, quieter than usual, and even a bit … distracted. She kept staring off into the distance and spacing out during conversations.
“All right, everyone.” She forced a tight smile. “When we get inside, try not to judge my friend. He’s a little … different.”
“You’re saying this to six geniuses who are currently wanted for grand larceny by the British government. Different is kind of our thing,” Leo pointed out.
“Three cheers for Team Different,” Charlie mused, popping a piece of gum into her mouth and chomping loudly.
“But still!” Mary hissed. She smoothed her hair, then applied a slick coat of lip gloss from a tube in her pocket.
I glanced at Charlie. This friend of Mary’s was getting more interesting by the second, and we hadn’t even met him yet.
“Hey, Mary …” I ventured. “How exactly do you know this guy?”
“We don’t have time for the long story,” she said softly. “Is everyone ready?”
She knocked on the castle door, and within seconds, a quiet shuffling sounded behind the massive door. I was expecting someone big and hulking to answer, fitting in with the size of the enormous castle.
But instead, a tiny woman in a muted purple dress appeared at the door. The deep lines on her face starkly contrasted the perfectly pressed white apron across her waist, and the tiniest pair of reading glasses that I’d ever seen was perched on the top of her head, tucked into a nest of graying hair.
“Mary?” The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, Mary, my dear! It has been an age!” I sidestepped to make room for her as she rushed forward to wrap Mary in her arms.
“Mrs. Hudson!” she exclaimed. She returned the woman’s hug, rocking from side to side for a few moments. “I’m so sorry for dropping in on you unannounced. I know you hate that.” She gave her an apologetic bow.
Mrs. Hudson straightened out her apron and finally moved her gaze to take in the rest of us. What must she have thought of the seven of us? Showing up with dirty backpacks; messy, running-from-the-authorities hair; and crazed, desperate looks in our eyes.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Hudson said. “You know you’re always welcome here, Mary. That includes any friends of yours, as well. Come in, come in! Get out of those wet shoes. Edinburgh is dreadfully damp this time of year. Dreadfully damp any time of year, matter of fact. Best to warm up by the fire.”
“Thank you,” Mary said gratefully. We stepped inside the castle and immediately were met with a fire crackling to our left in an enormous fireplace and a sweeping wave of stairs dominating the center of the hall. It was like stepping back in time.
“Everyone”—Mary gestured to the old woman—“this is Mrs. Hudson. She’s caretaker of this place. She’s also a pretty great cook.”
Bert perked up, twisting around in search of the kitchen. “You don’t say?”
Mrs. Hudson bent a few degrees into the tiniest curtsy. “Pleased to meet you all.”
Mary grinned, but the nervous glint didn’t disappear from her face. That told me that Mrs. Hudson, despite her hospitality, wasn’t the only one we’d be meeting today.
“And, Mrs. Hudson,” Mary said, “these are my friends. From Genius Academy.”
I shifted back on my heels, surprised that she would share information about Genius Academy like that. Wasn’t it supposed to be a government secret? But Mrs. Hudson didn’t flinch. How did this teensy castle caretaker know about us already?
“Leo, Grace, Charlie,” Mary continued, “Mo, Bert, and that’s Nikki.” She pointed to us all, and we each nodded when introduced. “We need your help.”
Mrs. Hudson plucked the tiny glasses from her head and squinted through them, frowning dolefully through the dirty lenses. “You need my help?” she asked as she used the hem of her skirt to wipe the glass. “Or …”
Mary’s voice rose an octave. “His help,” she admitted. “We need his help.”
Mrs. Hudson let out a slow whoosh of a sigh. “I’d be happy to help you all, Mary.” She spoke slowly, and I didn’t miss the tone of sympathy in her words. A sinking feeling began to grow in my stomach. Sympathy was never promising. “But you know he’s very particular about his time. And things have never quite been the same since … well, you know.”
“I do,” Mary said. “But we don’t have any other choice. The Academy’s been shut down. If he doesn’t help us …” She trailed off. “I don’t want to think about what could happen. It could be the end of everything.”
We all stood still as statues as Mrs. Hudson scrutinized us, ending with Mary. “All right,” she said. “If anyone could convince him, it’s you.” She gave Mary a wink. “Now come along. He’s upstairs.”
“What the heck does that mean?” Charlie whispered to me. “She makes it sound like Mary and this guy were, like … you know …”
“No idea,” I admitted. A small trickle of annoyance dripped through me. Mary knew all my secrets; shouldn’t I know all hers?
We followed Mrs. Hudson and Mary like a flock of ducks chasing their mother, our damp socks squishing as we waddled up the grand staircase.
It took us about seven minutes of n
avigating stone hallways lined with gold-framed portraits of generations of uptight British geriatrics to finally reach the door that Mrs. Hudson was looking for.
“Hello?” she called out. She knocked once gently on the door and cracked it open, revealing a dark room filled wall-to-wall with bookshelves. Against a large window sat a mahogany desk, and instead of facing the door, its accompanying chair was turned away from us, looking upon the gray outside world. The brown elbow of a shirtsleeve peeked out on one side.
“Mrs. Hudson!” The elbow shifted, hiding its owner from view. “You know I’ve asked not to be bothered while I’m writing! I’ve only just sat down for the day!” The voice didn’t sound much older than the rest of us.
Bert leaned down to mutter in my ear. “He’s a writer, like Mary!”
I held my breath. Something about the stillness of the room amplified every creak of the floor and shuffle in that gigantic, overstuffed leather chair in front of us. And every shaky breath from Mary as she stepped forward.
“It’s not Mrs. Hudson,” she said as the dark silhouette of an arm reached forward, a quill pen in hand. The arm froze instantly in midair at the sound of Mary’s voice.
I made a face at Charlie. Who writes with a quill pen these days?
The tension in the air was giving me a headache, but I was too spooked by the eerie Victorian room to speak out of turn. I wouldn’t have been surprised if ghosts were listening in on us.
“Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley.” The boy drew out her name, like he was inspecting every syllable. The chair creaked again, and he set the feather quill down on the surface of his immaculate desk. He was still facing away from us, shrouded by the tall back of his ornate chair.
“Yes,” Mary answered. Bert cleared his throat awkwardly.
“You’re not alone. There are five others …” The boy sniffed loudly, then corrected himself. “No, six.”
I turned to Leo, more than a little perturbed. Were there surveillance cameras all over the castle? Could he somehow smell us? Spiders of suspicion began to crisscross my neck.
Mary set her hand on her hip and dropped her backpack at her feet, startling all of us. “Yep, congratulations, you’re right. As always,” she said. Her timid attitude was gone, replaced by something I’d never really seen before: an edgy Mary. Pushy and almost sarcastic. “So are you going to help us or what?” she asked.
“Uh, Mary?” Charlie ventured, stepping forward. “Maybe we should ask a little bit … nicer? Nicer than that, anyway. And explain what’s going on?”
“Oh, he already knows. Don’t you, Artie?”
A floorboard groaned as the chair shifted back, its wooden legs protesting loudly. The boy sidestepped his desk and turned to face us.
Finally, I was able to get a good look at him … and honestly? I hate to say it, but he was pretty darn cute.
Not like, Leo cute, maybe. But the kid had tousled, thick black hair, sharp yet kind eyes, and dark skin. He wore black pants and a brown sweater, and his hands were stained with patches of ink.
But cute or not, I still hadn’t sorted out how exactly Mary was expecting this kid to help us steal the antidote to Victor’s virus. Was he going to help us write the bad guy to death or something? Maybe throw a quill pen at him?
“Let me guess,” he said, tilting his head in amusement, his cool gaze passing over each of us. “Genius Academy has been disavowed and shut down completely. Martha has been arrested, and you seven have been framed for not only stealing the Crown Jewels but also for an explosion at the Tower of London. You each escaped arrest not long ago, and you’ve since lost your safe house because someone …” He scanned the group, landing squarely on me, and pointed. “You. You’re the one. Because this one with the ferret was followed by British intelligence. And now you’ve had no choice but to head north to Edinburgh to the one person you know who can help you prevent the destruction of mankind. What is it you’re trying to stop?” He chewed his lip. “Something huge. Something … biological.”
In my periphery, Leo’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He was impressed.
I was impressed, too, if we’re being honest. How on earth did he know all that?
“A deadly virus,” Mary said. A small grin played at her lips, but she was trying to hide it with attitude.
“Ah, so close.” The boy shook his head in mock frustration. “Nearly had that one.”
The two stared at her each for a beat.
“Awkward …” Bert said, covering his mouth with his hand as he half coughed the word.
Mary jerked back to reality, blinking wildly. “Right,” she said. “Everyone, this is Artie. Artie, this is—”
“Wait.” The boy interrupted her. “How many times do I have to tell you, Wollstonecraft? It’s not Artie …” He gave her a devilish grin. “It’s Arthur.”
He turned to our leader, instinctively knowing who was in charge. “Grace, I presume. I’m Arthur Conan Doyle. Detective. Author. Mary’s ex-boyfriend. At your service.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. How could Mary have kept a secret this big?!
Arthur clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Oh, has she not told you about me?” He gave Mary a pouty look, clutching his chest dramatically. “That hurts, Wollstonecraft.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Don’t start, Artie,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here unless it was our last option. I know you don’t like random people dropping in on you.”
He crossed his arms. “You’re not random people.”
Mary’s attitude softened. “So you’ll help us? We’ve got a theft to organize and could use some of your tech.”
“I typically spend my time pursuing thieves and criminals, Mary. To prevent robberies. I’m currently tracking someone who’s been hopping all over the United Kingdom stealing millions of dollars from high-security organizations.” He crossed his arms over his chest haughtily. “Now you want me to become a criminal? A thief like all the rest of them?”
Mary mirrored his posture, tapping her toe impatiently. “Like you haven’t been a criminal before,” she said. “We both know you’ll never be like anyone else. Please, you’re our only hope. Almost all our belongings were at a Genius Academy safe house. We don’t even have a place to sleep.”
He glanced over at me. “Because this one got followed to your safe house, right?”
“This one has a name, you know,” I huffed, glowering at him. Pickles chattered angrily in my defense.
He bowed slightly. “Of course you do. My apologies. I’m not used to having company, as Mary has pointed out. You are, of course, Nikola Tesla. Inventor, newest recruit at the Academy, and … ferret owner.” He extended his hand.
I shook it, once again feeling those creepy edges of suspicion crawl over me. “How do you know that? And more importantly, how do you know about the Crown Jewels? And Martha’s arrest?”
“How do people know anything, really?” he asked. “It’s all deduction. Elementary, my dear Nikola.”
A chill ran up my spine at his words.
“Artie …” Mary’s voice was a low warning. “Behave. These are my friends.”
He lifted his hands and raised his thick eyebrows in mock innocence. “What? What did I do? Nikki asked a question! I’m allowed to answer questions, aren’t I?”
“Ugh,” Mary said. “I knew this would happen! You can’t help it, can you? Could you please go five whole minutes without … without … being yourself!” she sputtered, squeezing her hands into fists. “Artie’s kind of like me. But instead of reading people’s emotions, he’s more of a …” She trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Genius?” Artie offered.
“Um, no! I was going to say ‘computer.’ He puts a lot of things together at once. Though the result can be more than annoying.” Mary glared at him.
“So you know what’s happened because you’ve deduced it?” Charlie asked. Her lip curled in skepticism.
Arthur bit his lip and looked to Mary, as though h
e was asking permission.
“Go ahead.” She waved her hands dismissively. “Show them.”
To my great terror, he turned to stare at me. “Everyone wears their guilt in different ways,” he said.
I didn’t know where he was going with this, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be fun for me.
“Uh-huh …” I said, shrinking away from his stare.
He reached up, nearly touching my face. “Nikki here wears her guilt on her left nostril. You see how it flares a little when I mention your safe house being discovered? All I had to do was pay attention. Everyone has a tell.”
I forced my chin higher. “My nostril isn’t doing anything!” I said haughtily.
“Whoa, it is!” Bert said. “Look at that! Flaring up like a balloon!” He leaned in closer to inspect my face. I swatted him away with one hand.
“And you …” Artie turned to Bert, who sidestepped away, as though physically moving would protect him from Artie’s observations.
“What about me?” Bert challenged. He leaned closer to Charlie, like she might protect him, too.
“Albert Einstein,” Artie said. “No, wait …” He scrutinized him some more. His face took on that faraway stare-at-the-wall quality he’d had earlier. “Not Albert. You don’t like that, do you? It’s Bert. Albert reminds you of an old man.”
Bert blinked at him, suddenly looking about two inches tall, compared to his usual giraffe-esque stature.
“You don’t know that,” Bert said. “I go by Albert sometimes.”
Mary snorted in response. “You’re not going to fool him, Bert.”
Artie continued. “You, Bert, have one sister. It makes you extra empathetic to the girls in your life, though you lack the skills to demonstrate it. You prefer to be behind a laptop screen or buried beneath stacks of research.” He paused and lifted his chin playfully. “Does she know, Bert?”
