by Mez Blume
I slammed my hand down on his desk. “But what if the most rational explanation is magic?”
A moment of silence followed. My hand tingled. He looked at it a moment. Then, as if wanting distraction, somewhere to look besides at Imogen and me, he took out his pocketwatch and held it between both hands. “You’ll never be a detective, Miss Watson,” he said, fumbling the watch open. “A detective needs cold, clear-headed Reason. Not fairy stories. That stuff is for the nursery, not the constabulary. Now I must ask you to collect your things and leave my home at once. I’ll make up some excuse to tell Mrs. Janklow and Arthur. The truth would only upset them.”
I didn’t budge. Hot tears stung my eyes, but I couldn’t even brush them away. Then Imogen took hold of my arm and pulled me away from the office. The Inspector never looked up. His eyes stayed glued to his pocketwatch as if hoping to find the truth on its cold face.
25
No Time for Tears
“Katie, slow down! Do you even know where you’re going?”
I flung myself through the iron gates of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. No, I didn’t know where I was going, but I couldn’t stop and wait for Imogen to catch up to me. I was too ashamed for her to see the tears pouring uncontrollably down my cheeks.
Shame was all I knew in that moment. It felt as heavy as wet concrete being poured over my shoulders until I could hardly breathe. Unable to take another step for the weight of it, I collapsed, a miserable heap, onto the nearest bench.
Imogen caught up and dropped down beside me. I covered my face with my hands, but I couldn’t hold back the choking sobs that gave me away. I had been in some terrible fixes before and still managed to keep from crying. But the memory of Janklow’s face – that look of disappointment – and his parting words, “You’ll never be a detective, Miss Watson”… The sting of those words was worse than any cut or bruise I’d suffered. It was more than I could bear.
Imogen didn’t speak at first. She waited until my sobs died down into sniffles, then handed me her frilly handkerchief to wipe my running nose.
“It’s not fair, what Janklow said.” She didn’t sound upset. Just matter-of-fact. “But none of it was true, you know? You really shouldn’t take it so much to heart, Katie.”
I knew she was trying to help; but instead of feeling better, I felt a flare of anger and looked away. How could Imogen talk so calmly, as if it didn’t matter what Janklow thought of me? This had been my chance to prove that I had what it took to be a real detective, that I wasn’t just some kid playing games. Now, he thought of me not only as a silly kid, but a lying one.
“You don’t understand,” I muttered, my watery eyes fixed on the ground. “Without Janklow, it’s hopeless.”
“What do you mean, hopeless?” Imogen’s voice was laced with her old sarcasm. “You’ve managed just fine without Janklow before now. Why is he suddenly so important?” She sounded impatient, annoyed. It made my anger flare up all the more.
“Because he’s a real detective!” I shouted. “He knows what he’s doing. And I … I don’t. What he said might’ve been based on lies, but he was right about one thing. I’ll never be a good detective. I can’t do this. It’s too big for me. I give up.”
After a long, self-loathing pause, Imogen finally answered, her voice quiet but sharp. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up because one person doesn’t think you’re amazing? What about Ramona? What about your promise to Jim and Ka-Ti… and getting home to our families? None of that matters now because of one person’s wrong opinion of you?”
I blinked at her, stunned. I thought she would leave me to wallow in my misery, not tell me to buck up and get over myself. It hadn’t occurred to me how selfish I was being. My decision to give up didn’t just affect me. It meant giving up on her and everyone else too.
“You know, Katie,” – she still had a piece of her mind to give me – “I was so desperate to come with you on this adventure because … because I believed in you. Back in Cherokee Country, you never gave up on me. Even when I was horrible to you, you still fought against all the odds and came after me. I thought I could count on you to see this thing through, but I guess I was wrong.”
Imogen’s words cut way deeper than Janklow’s; they struck true as an arrow striking a bullseye. I felt my eyes stinging again as she stood up and stormed down the pathway. But this time, I fought back the tears. This was not a time for wallowing. I knew now that this, of all times, was a time for taking action.
“Wait, Im.” I sprinted after her.
She spun around, arms crossed over her chest.
I sniffled and looked her square in the eye. “We will find Ramona, and we will get home again. I’m not giving up. Not yet. Not as long as you’ll stick this out with me.”
Her iron glare softened, and she gave me one of her signature eye rolls. “Honestly, Katie. You know I’m not going anywhere. Obviously.”
The best way I knew how to thank her for pulling me out of the pit of despair was to throw my arms around her neck.
She hugged me back, all the while grumbling in my ear, “Ok. Ok. Are we going to solve this thing now or wait ‘til next Christmas?”
We found another bench, and I pulled out my pen and notebook with a vengeance, like a knight unsheathing my sword for combat. “Right. Let’s go over the facts again. If our theory is correct, Phineas had Wix hide the painting on Gabriel’s barge. The question is, why?”
“Well that’s obvious, isn’t it?” Imogen answered. “He did it to get Gabriel arrested, to make sure he didn’t get in the way.”
“Yes, but in the way of what?”
“Whatever it is he’s planning.”
I rubbed my hands together to warm them, then picked up the notebook. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” I flipped through the pages right to the back and took the picture of the Webb brothers from its pocket. “They look so close. I bet they never thought then they’d wind up enemies.”
“Katie, did you write that?” Imogen was craning her neck to peer at the notebook lying open in my lap. “That handwriting looks an awful lot like–”
My eyes dropped to the page. “Phineas Webb’s,” I breathed, snatching up the book and holding it close to my face. How hadn’t I noticed the note scribbled onto the back page … a note in loopy, cursive writing, identical to the writing that had churned my stomach just an hour earlier.
My mind was in a flurry as I read out the message, growing angrier with each word:
My Dears,
I write to advise you: keep your distance from my brother or I shall have no choice but to discredit you as well as him. I truly thought Gabriel could sink no lower, but he has proved me wrong by employing children to spy for him. I have known you were acting as his agents since your visit to Camelot. This notebook, which my manservant confiscated, only confirmed my suspicions. Your uncanny interest in my model and your eagerness to examine my pocketwatch told me at once that Gabriel had sent you. I do not doubt he is most sore about losing his beloved trinket. But in truth, I feel no remorse for asking Wix to take it. The watch was wasted on Gabriel, a mere sentimental plaything, like Ramona herself. I alone saw what a rare and valuable treasure that little bird was, the worlds it could open.
I tell you this so that you may pass it on to my dear brother when I am gone. He should not look for me, for where I go, he cannot follow. I must now embrace my Destiny, as he must be embraced by his. Tell him this, then you will do well never to speak to him again. I fear his reputation shall only sink lower after I depart. I should be sorry to see two young ladies in the bloom of their youth pulled down into the mire alongside him.
I bear you no ill will, but bid you farewell as a friend,
P.W.W.
“A friend? Is he serious?” Imogen made a snarling noise. Her fists were clenched and she looked ready to pummel the first person to cross her path. “What’s with all these notes, anyway? Doesn’t he have the guts to say what he wants to say to our faces?”I still stared at the letter
, my eyes retracing the line about the pocketwatch being wasted on Gabriel… about its ability to open worlds…
Like a hammer striking a bell, the answer to a long-muddled-over riddle rang loud and clear in my mind until it burst from my mouth: “He’s been using the pocketwatch to get through the painting!”
Imogen stopped ranting and looked at me dumbfounded.
“The canary sings Ramona’s grandmother’s song,” I explained. “That’s how he’s been bringing the painting to life without her!” My palm flew up to meet my forehead. “How did I not see it sooner?”
Imogen was still staring at me with her mouth wide open. She seemed to be hatching a thought. At last she said, “It still doesn’t add up, though.”
I waited for her to explain.
“I mean, it would all make sense if Phineas still had the painting. He uses the watch, plays the song, slips through the painting, voilá! But he doesn’t have it. The police do. And he’s the one who made sure they’d find it… that is, if we’re right and Wix really did plant it on the barge.”
I bit my lip, thinking hard. She was right; it didn’t add up. If Phineas was planning a getaway, he would need the painting. I bit so hard I tasted blood on my lip.
“What if we’ve been wrong the whole time?” Imogen muttered. “What if Gabriel really did steal the painting to protect Ramona?”
I shook my head, but the tiniest seed of doubt was beginning to bud. What if he did? Or what if the painting had nothing to do with Phineas’s plan? The doubts were like tiny holes in a boat, letting despair seep in and flood my mind. Action. I needed to take action before I drowned in questions.
“We need to speak to Gabriel,” I said. “We’re missing something. Maybe there’s another painting or… oh I don’t know. But if anyone can help us figure out what Phineas is up to, it’s him.”
Imogen looked at me doubtfully. “Sure. But there’s just this teensy little problem. Gabriel is locked away in a jail cell, remember?”
The sound of quick steps crunching the frosty walkway and heavy, gurgled breaths made me twist around in my seat. Dobbs was running up the path towards us; the gurgling was Betsy at his heels. I was so happy to see him, I sprang to my feet. His wide, toothy grin lit up his whole face when he spotted us.
“Law,” he panted, his breath coming out in puffs. “Bess ‘n’ me’ve been searchin’ for the two of ya high ‘n’ low!”
“Does Inspector Janklow know you’ve come looking for us?” I asked, wondering how much Dobbs knew about the letter and what had passed between us and the Inspector.
“Think so,” he said, straightening up. “’E was the one wot told me I was to make sure you made it safely back to the Misses Turveys’.”
“He did?” I couldn’t believe it. Janklow didn’t despise us? He still cared whether we were safe or not?
Dobbs nodded. “Wouldn’t tell me why you left, though. Just said the case of the missin’ paintin’ was closed ‘n’ we weren’t to be seein’ one another anymore.” A hurt expression came over Dobbs’s face. “But that don’t explain why you ‘ad to go without so much as a ‘by your leave’. I was beginnin’ to think you didn’t care whether we met again… That is…” His ears sticking out from beneath his hat rim shone bright red. “Wot I meant was, Bess didn’t much like bein’ dropped so sudden-like. She ‘as a very sensitive ‘art, ya know.”
I bent down to rub Bessy’s wrinkly head. “We do care, Bessy,” I told the dog, making sure Dobbs could hear me loud and clear. “You’re a true friend. We could never drop you.”
I looked up and locked eyes with Dobbs. He beamed at me, then looked quickly down at his feet. Toeing the frosty ground, he said, “So I reckon you’ll not be needin’ a chaperone anymore, now the case is closed ‘n’ all.”
“Actually, Dobbs, we do need your help.” I glanced at Imogen and she gave me an approving nod. “Janklow was mistaken. The case of the missing painting is still very much open.”
He cocked his head. “Janklow mistaken?”
“It’s not his fault,” I answered quickly. “He’s been hoodwinked. We wish we could explain everything, but there’s not time. Phineas Webb is plotting something. We believe he planted that painting on Gabriel’s barge to get him out of the way. He set the whole thing up so that Janklow wouldn’t believe Gabriel… or us.”
Dobbs sank onto the bench looking stricken. “You mean to say Gabriel Webb’s an innocent man ‘n’ I called the coppers on ‘im?”
“You did the right thing, Dobbs,” I assured him. “You were just looking out for us, just like you were supposed to.” I looked at Imogen who nodded in agreement.
“Yea,” she added, “It’s Phineas who’s caused all this to happen. Not you.”
“Which is why we have to stop him,” I said. “But we need your help. We need to speak to Gabriel.”
Dobbs scratched Bessy’s head, thinking and chewing on his lip. Finally, he sat up. “Miss Katie. You know I’d ‘elp you if I could, but ‘ow am I s’posed to get you past the Constable wot’s guarding the Cap’n?”
I laid my hand on his shoulder. “You’re Arty Dobbs,” I said. “If anyone could think of a way to slip past the bobbies unnoticed, it’s you.”
He puffed up proudly, but deflated the next second, shaking his head. “Sorry, Miss Katie. Miss Imogen. I’d like to ‘elp ya, but I’m ‘fraid I can’t ‘ave no part in it.”
I felt a fresh stab of shame. “What do you mean, Dobbs?”
“I’ve turned over a new leaf, ‘member? I’m a partner in Janklow and Son now. And besides, what would me new Ma think of me? I am sorry,” his head hung, wagging back and forth. “If it was anyfink else, I’d be at your service, but I’ve given all that up. I’m for the law now. And I’d advise you two not to go crossin’ it.”
Imogen looked as though she’d just been slapped. I’m sure neither of us ever thought we’d be getting a lecture from Arty Dobbs about crossing the law. But one look at him told me how much he was struggling himself. Despite feeling hurt, I was proud of him.
“You’re right, Dobbs. We won’t ask you to cross the law. But Imogen and I have to do this. We have to stop Phineas because … well, because it’s the right thing to do. You don’t have to be involved. You can forget we ever had this conversation. Just, please, don’t tell Janklow. We’ll figure the rest out on our own.”
Dobbs tensed and screwed his eyes shut, as if squeezing every muscle of willpower, then, all in a rush, he let it go with a sigh. “No offence, misses, but you’ve got ‘bout as much chance of findin’ an ha’penny in an haystack as getting’ past that Constable without Bess ‘n’ me to ‘elp ya.”
26
Monkey Tribe of the Metropolis
Dobbs staged a plan within the hour. After a quick round-up, he managed to rally a handful of his fellow street Arabs to come to our aid. We met them in a back alley near Covent Garden Market. There was Willie the Slink, the tall, dirty boy Dobbs had greeted in the market days before; a squat, square little boy called Gus who wore his flat cap down over his eyes; and two scrappy-looking, white-blonde-headed girls, Sally and Tilda, who introduced themselves as the Mudlark Twins.
The Arabs listened with the sombre respect of soldiers to their general as Dobbs gave them their orders. Willie the Slink, who was already a familiar face to the local constabulary, was to act suspiciously to draw the Constable out onto the street, then give him the slip. Sally would play the part of snitch, telling the Constable what she had witnessed of Willie’s made-up crimes and which way she thought she’d seen him take off. Meanwhile, Tilda would help herself to his keys. Apparently, the twins were famous for this double-act pick-pocketing tactic.
I felt a little squeamish about the plan by the time we got in position around the corner from the police station, but the gang of Arabs looked as cool as cucumbers.
Dobbs was giving his last briefings as the bells tolled half past nine. “Remember, Gus, you’re on watch. Two rooster crows as soon as you catch sight o’ Cons
table Smart headin’ back to the station. I want sharp eyes out, got it?”
Gus saluted, his eyes still invisible beneath his hat. I privately wondered how good a watch he would prove to be.
Dobbs peered around the corner to take stock. “Well, this is it,” he said.
“Dobbs.” I was getting cold feet. “What if Constable Smart catches Willie before Sally has the chance to stop him?”
Dobbs and the others all snickered. “Why, Miss Katie, you’d make a stuffed bird laugh,” Dobbs said, bracing his belly. “Smart’s no match for Willie the Slink. I’ll be painted pink if Willie don’t manage to slip through his daddles.”
Imogen looked at me as if to see whether I had understood a single word. I shook my head and decided not to ask any more questions.
Dobbs resumed his watch, waiting for the right moment, then turned to Willie and gave the signal, raising an invisible pistol and pulling the trigger. Willie dashed out from hiding, one hand hidden beneath his coat flap, looking this way and that and slinking – I could see why he’d been given his name – past the police station in a convincingly guilty manner.
It was only seconds before we heard Smart. “Oi, you! Not another step! I said… ah, dash him.”
The Mudlark twins slipped out next. The plan was in motion.
“Follow me!” Dobbs whispered hoarsely. We tiptoed around the corner and ducked into the station, Gus taking his position right outside the door.
Dobbs led us through the front room to a big, black iron door with a padlock. He turned back towards the door to the street just in time to see Tilda appear and toss a ring of keys. Dobbs snatched it out of the air, fumbled for a key, and opened the padlock in a wink. Behind the door was a dark, arched brick hallway with two iron doors on either side.
Dobbs cupped his mouth. “Psst! Nemo!” the whisper echoed and came back. A narrow window slid open in the second door to our left. Dobbs stayed at the hallway’s entrance while Imogen and I ran to the open window. A pair of grey eyes peered out at us.
