by L. L. Samson
They all knew their headmistress possessed supersonic hearing; and furthermore, she never seemed to sleep—unless her house was on fire. (You’ll have to read about that in an earlier adventure.)
Unfortunately, Father Lou wasn’t a student at the school, and, overconfident in the carpet’s ability to keep their secret, he allowed almost his full weight to fall on the accursed step number twelve.
All three of them froze at the protestation of the wood beneath the carpet.
“Whoever is coming down the steps had better have an outstanding reason,” a haughty voice called out from the formal dining room. (It was used mostly for grown-ups with more dollar bills than they could possibly spend without looking ridiculous.) Sometimes Madrigal spread her work out on the shining maple table late at night. This happened to be one of those nights.
Father Lou raised a finger to his lips. Maybe she’d let it go, assume she’d misheard, or believe that her sharp tone was enough to send the perpetrator running back upstairs.
Walter and Linus thought no such thing, feeling not at all surprised to hear the echoing sound of Madrigal’s high heels clicking across the marble floor.
The sight of the three of them frozen like statues on her curved staircase actually stopped Madge in her tracks. “Lou?”
“Um, yeah. Hi, Maddie.”
Maddie? thought Linus.
“And you two!” She pointed from Walter to Linus.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Walter.
“Down here. Right now.” Father Lou wasn’t exempt from her accusing finger. “You too. Don’t think you don’t have any explaining to do, Lou.”
They lined up in front of her.
“Do you know what time it is?”
Father Lou stepped forward. “Look, Maddie, I can explain.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
Walter opened his mouth. “I say, Miss—”
“Not you,” she snapped. “Your yammering, even in that British accent, will not make things better for you tonight. Lou?”
Blast, thought Walter. Usually the accent worked wonders across the pond (in the United States), sometimes even with Madrigal Pierce.
“Ophelia is missing in the tunnels,” Father Lou explained.
“With that boy Tom who’s visiting Kyle,” added Walter.
“What’s happened to Tom?” a young voice asked from the balcony. There Kyle sat in his wheelchair next to the balustrade (railing).
Madrigal tapped her foot. “Back to bed, young man.”
“But Tom’s my friend. How long have they been gone?”
“About thirty minutes or so?” Father Lou asked Linus.
“Probably closer to forty-five by now,” he answered. Linus tried his best to stay coolheaded; panicking would do no good. But all of this chitchat (light conversation) was beginning to collapse his foundation of calm.
“How did they manage to sneak past me?” Madrigal wanted to know.
“We found an entrance to the tunnels in the bookstore basement tonight,” said Walter.
“And then the door locked behind them. We couldn’t get through to go after them,” said Father Lou.
“It was either come here or go to the cave entrance up river, and with the rain …”
“Hold it, Walter. You’ve been down there before tonight, haven’t you? Did you get in through the school basement?”
“Maddie, please.” Father Lou held up his hands. “There will be plenty of time later on for questioning Walter and Linus—”
“You too, Linus?” she asked
Thanks, Father Lou. Linus nodded.
“Maddie, time is of the essence. Please.”
Nobody could imagine telling her about Joe’s presence.
“Let me change my clothes,” she said, hurrying in the direction of her office.
“What? Why?” cried Father Lou.
“I know those tunnels like I know my own name, Father. I won’t be long.” She disappeared down the hallway.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Walter, running a hand through his curls.
“How are we going to explain Joe?” asked Linus.
“Just follow my lead, guys. We’ll pretend we’re just as surprised as she is,” said Father Lou, walking toward the floorless parlor and looking down into the basement.
“And hope Tom and Ophelia catch on?” Linus asked.
“That’s all I’ve got.” Father Lou reached into his pocket for his flashlight.
“Will Tom and Ophelia be all right?” Kyle called down to them.
Linus ran up the stairs, not at all concerned with number twelve now. He knelt down by the boy’s wheelchair. “They will. I promise, Kyle.”
With that promise, the gravity of the present situation settled on him like a cape of iron ore, for he realized he couldn’t make that promise. Not really. Not this time.
He rose to his feet.
“I’ll stay right here,” Kyle said.
“All right, man.” Linus ruffled his hair and made it downstairs just as Madrigal emerged from the hallway, a pair of khaki work pants stuffed in dark green Wellington boots.
“Follow me,” she said.
Linus garnered a great deal of comfort from her confidence.
sixteen
Unlikely Partners
or You Never Appreciate a Person until They’re Under the Ground
Joe stepped silently behind them, his footfalls every bit as effective as Walter’s. The only clue to his presence was a sudden intake of breath every so often. Ophelia surmised that, perhaps like herself, Joe felt these close quarters, and subterranean ones at that, more keenly at some moments than others.
Years later, as a student in the English Department at Kingscross University, Ophelia told me that her mind ran wild as she and Tom led Joe further down the main tunnel. She thought about the sheer weight of the stone overhead, the soil on top of that—now soaked with rain. Perhaps they were passing under a heavy brick house. And what if somehow, like Joe did later on in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, they became trapped—only to die of starvation? Wait, they would have no water source. That means they’d die of thirst well before they died of starvation.
Small comfort.
Ophelia placed her hand around her throat and swallowed. And they had no water bottle this time.
By now Linus and Walter have surely realized that we’re gone, she reasoned internally. They’re probably worried sick. They’ve probably followed us down here.
The weight of that thought, picturing Joe’s knife buried in her brother or her friend, was far greater than stones and dirt and even starvation.
Ophelia hadn’t heard the latch click on the door as they were shut off from the rest of the world above ground. If it had been her, she would have gone for Father Lou’s help. She hoped Linus exhibited the same good sense. She sent that thought flying from her brain, hoping that somehow her twin—the one she’d been with since the very moment her life began—would pick up the transmission.
Of course, you and I know that Linus possesses the same good sense that Ophelia does. And we also know that Linus can be very practical. But fear for a loved one’s safety will cloud a person’s mind sometimes, and certainly, more danger surrounded them all than ever before.
Linus, on the other hand, did not hold nearly as much mystery in his grasp as Ophelia did. He knew she was roaming the tunnels in the presence of a murderer.
Madrigal led them down the narrow tunnel from the school basement, a giant flashlight (more like a searchlight with a handle, according to Walter) lighting up the walls far better than anything they’d ever brought down there.
“Did anyone bring chalk?” asked Father Lou from his place at the back of their single-file line. His broad shoulders brushed the walls on either side of him.
Linus fished around in his hoodie pocket, his fingers sliding against the cool smoothness of the stick of chalk. “Got some.”
“We won’t need any,” Madrigal called back. “I know these tunne
ls better than I know my own name.”
“You’ve been down here quite a lot, then?” asked Walter, wondering why she repeated that phrase. He knew the importance of the Pierce name to the headmistress.
“You’ve met my brother,” she said, her voice still crisply headmistress. “Would you rather be in a mansion with him or underground without him?”
“I see your point.”
Johann Pierce would make anybody want to go subterranean. The man had set fire to the school in order to get the insurance money. Who wants to be around a person like that? He recalled Johann’s hateful words to Madge on that fateful night of the fire: “You killed Mother on the day you were born.”
“Besides,” her voice softened now. “It’s nice down here. Always cool, always quiet. I do my best thinking here.”
Everyone left that alone. There was no sense trying to pry more information out of Madrigal Pierce than what she was willing to offer. It would be easier to tie a red blanket around your neck and fly like Superman.
They arrived at what Linus now thought of as the river tunnel.
“Let’s head toward the cave,” Madrigal said. “Hopefully they went that way.”
“Should we split up?” asked Walter.
“There’s strength in numbers,” said Father Lou.
Madrigal stopped and turned, shining the flashlight down the line of males. Not knowing about Joe yet, she said, “Why should that matter? Both Walter and Linus have flashlights and chalk. The system is quite simple down that way. I think that’s an excellent idea!”
Way to go, Father Lou, thought Linus. Normally having him along proved helpful. But tonight—sounding the alarm on the twelfth step, and now this—Linus began doubting his decision to bring the man along. He must have gotten soft in the head, being in love with Ronda and all. Let’s see how he gets us out of this one.
“Wait.” Walter raised his hand to shield his eyes against Madrigal’s beam of light. “We found evidence earlier that the antiques burglar might be using these tunnels to store his or her loot.”
“Are you sure?” Madrigal asked.
“Relatively so,” said Linus.
“I wish you had said something earlier,” she reprimanded them. “I would have brought my rope dart along.” She turned back around.
Rope dart? Walter mouthed to the other two.
Right? mouthed Linus.
Father Lou wasn’t surprised actually. Spend any time as a bounty hunter, and you’ll soon learn that who people are and who they seem to be might not be one and the same.
Tom explored every side passage he could off the river tunnel. He realizes, Ophelia deduced, that we’re playing for time until the others find us.
The first tunnel, if her judgment of how far they’d traveled was correct, ended at the basement of Ronda’s hair salon. They met a brick wall there. Clearly an earlier resident of the narrow house on Rickshaw Street had located the tunnel and wanted nothing to do with it.
“What is this?” asked Joe. “I ain’t never see’d a wall down here.”
“You never knowed about any of this afore,” said Tom.
“True enough.”
“Let’s get back to the main tunnel,” suggested Ophelia.
Joe eyed her in the reflection of her flashlight. “Say. Why you wearin’ them boy clothes?”
Tom sighed. “Do we tell him, Ophelia?”
“Tell me what?” Joe asked harshly. “You’d better tell me!”
“How did you get to that room you woke up in?” asked Ophelia.
“It was strange for certain,” said Joe, as they continued on. “I got to the mouth of McDougal’s Cave, and they’d put up an iron gate.”
“Judge Thatcher did it,” said Tom.
“That—” Joe spit instead of describing his feelings about Becky’s upstanding father.
This is a fine example of the saying, “Actions speak louder than words.” You can also apply that when someone who says they’re your friend won’t stand up for you when the other kids make fun of you. Ophelia could tell you about that sort of thing. Ask her about her classmate Sarah from sixth grade.
“What happened after that?” Tom called over his shoulder.
“Now, I ain’t sure. I was sittin’ thinkin’ about how a body were to break through such doors, when this fancy feller come up behind me. I almost stabbed him.”
“What did he do?” asked Ophelia, stalling for time. She knew how much people loved to talk about themselves. She also realized she might be able to gather some valuable information on traveling from Book World to Real World without the need for a circle.
“Said he knowed another way out. Then he did the blamed oddest thing I ever see’d in my whole life. And I’ve see’d more’n my fair share.”
Ophelia had no trouble believing that.
Joe stopped when they reached the river tunnel once again and leaned back against the wall, bending his right leg and resting his foot against the wall behind him.
By the way, Joe was dressed like any other person from St. Petersburg, Missouri, so you can stop picturing him in buckskin pants with fringe, moccasins, and a feather in his hair. If you don’t like that, take it up with the author Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain’s real name).
“He took a kind of stone out of his coat pocket. A soft stone. White. But not chalk. Then he drawed a circle ‘round the both of us.”
So a circle is still necessary! noted Ophelia.
Tom looked a little disappointed. Joe’s journey seemed a whole lot more exciting than his had been. “What happened next?”
“He took out a jar of some kind of powder, sprinkled it just inside the lines of the circle. But that ain’t even the strangest part. After the powder, he throwed a book down in front of us.”
“What book?”
“How should I know? I caint read.”
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, briefly forgetting how many people were illiterate (unable to read) back then.
“Next thing I knowed, I was waking up in that room.”
“Traveling usually makes people sleepy,” Ophelia said.
“Traveling to where?” asked Joe.
“From McDougal’s Cave to these here passages,” said Tom.
“Then why’re we lookin’ for my treasure box if it ain’t around here?” Joe pushed himself off the wall with his foot.
“We have to find our way back to McDougal’s Cave first,” said Ophelia.
“I reckon that’s all we can do,” Joe agreed.
Ophelia looked at her watch. 1:04 A.M. How does time become so relative down here? she wondered, wishing more than ever that Linus was with her. He’d know.
They set off once more down the river tunnel, another passage breaking off to their right. Tom took it. Ophelia tried gauging the distance once more, and as she did, she noticed the walls had changed to stone blocks, a heavily timbered ceiling holding up whatever rested on top. It reminded her of pictures she’d seen of old mineshafts. This was not a comfort.
“Look!” she cried as her flashlight lit up a table, some chairs, and other items arranged on pieces of furniture.
“Must be Birdwistell’s tunnel!” Tom ran forward. “Look here, Ophelia. These chairs are just like the ones we saw on that box!” (Of course, by “box” here, Tom meant Linus’s computer.)
“He is the burglar!” She rushed up to Tom. “I knew it!”
Sure enough, the two chairs were Louis the Fourteenth, and the sideboard was from Napoleon’s time. She gasped. “Oh my!” Sitting on top of the sideboard was the Fabergé egg and an exquisite jewelry box.
“What’s going on?” Joe caught up with them.
“Somebody’s been stealin’ fine things from folk in this town,” said Tom. He reached forward and opened a drawer in a desk that hadn’t been mentioned on any of the lists. “Look at this!” He pulled out a pendant hanging from a golden chain. “This one looks older’n any of this here stuff.”
“Esmeralda’s necklace!” Ophelia took the piece.
“So Cato’s in on this too!”
“Who’s Cato? Who’s Esmeralda?” Joe asked, his eyes glittering at the sight of the large emerald set in fine gold.
“Cato Grubbs is the fancy fellow who brought you here,” she said.
Joe snatched the necklace from Ophelia’s fingers. “This here’ll fetch a pretty price in St. Louis.” He slid the necklace into the pocket of his brown coat.
“Hey!” hollered Tom.
“It’s okay.” Ophelia held up a hand. “Let him keep it.”
Joe’s eyebrows raised in surprise, then lowered with suspicion.
“I know Esmeralda—the owner of that necklace,” Ophelia explained. “Or rather, I know that she is not a nice person. She hurt a good friend of mine, and I don’t like her.”
Ophelia was referring to her friend Quasimodo, a sweet person whom Esmeralda had exploited (used for her own means without one bit of concern for his welfare) because he loved her and she knew he’d do anything for her.
Joe held up his knife again. “Now you shine that light on all o’ this, and I’ll just see what else I can find.”
Ophelia hoped that Ronda had only somehow misplaced her jewelry and that it wasn’t down here with the rest of Birdwistell’s stash. When Joe stuffed the Fabergé egg into his pocket, she wanted to cry. “Oh!” she gasped, hoping that Real World objects stayed only for so long in Book World before they returned where they belong. Then she remembered what happened to the one ring to rule them all. She and Linus had gone back to their copy of The Lord of the Rings book and read the part where Frodo patted his pockets, looked all around him, and discovered the ring was nowhere to be found. He’d had no choice but to go back to Uncle Bilbo’s house, settle down, and have lots of little Hobbits. With the ring gone, well, you can probably figure out what happened to all of those ugly, horrible, smelly orcs.
So much for the Fabergé egg.
When Cato returned to his secret room and found the trapdoor standing open and Joe missing, he laughed himself into such a coughing fit that he nearly passed out on his bed.
