At five o’clock everyone took a break. Joe found a shady spot and threw himself on the ground. Welly sat down next to him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We all felt that way our first day.”
“Why couldn’t these dudes build their houses out of wood?” Joe groused. “Or at least use smaller rocks!” “Wood was too scarce,” Welly replied. “And with big stones, the walls go up faster. You’ll see. In a day or two, you’ll get to do some stone laying. We all trade off jobs, you know. That makes it more interesting.”
“I hope something does,” Joe groaned. “My arms are turning to stone and my mind is turning to mush.”
The next hour went faster and was easier. When Joe found a stone that was flat on all six sides, he almost let out a cheer. And when Kevin rang a bell to end the work period, he saw that the big heap of stones was practically gone. He looked over at Frank, and they exchanged grins.
Next came showers in a roofless enclosure. It reminded Joe of the changing room at the beach back home. He and Frank had just finished dressing when the dinner bell rang.
The Hardys were among the last to enter the dining room. They paused at the door and looked around. Marie-Laure waved and pointed to two seats between her and her brother. Joe was torn. He might have liked to sit with some of the people he hadn’t met yet. However, saving the seats was the French girl’s way of making up for that glass of water in the face. It would be rude of him to refuse it.
The meal started with pâté and thick slices of crusty country bread. Next was chicken stewed with carrots and onions. After platters of sliced tomatoes with basil leaves and olive oil came warm homemade apple tart and an assortment of cheeses.
“Do you eat like this all the time?” Frank asked Jean-Claude.
Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes for an event we have a special meal,” he replied.
Joe caught Frank’s eye and smiled. This meal seemed pretty special to him!
“We have a custom here,” Marie-Laure said. “After dinner we go up to a ledge near the chateau to watch the sunset. It is a way of being more together.”
“Sounds nice,” Joe said. “But tell me something. You keep calling the castle a chateau. I thought a chateau was like a palace, with fountains and gardens and stuff.”
“Sometimes it is,” Marie-Laure explained. “But Fréhel is what we call a château fort, a strong chateau. Those others came later, when the need for high walls was less.”
Welly, across the table, added, “We get the word castle from French. So it’s really the same thing.”
On the way to the ledge, the Hardys walked with Luis, Welly, and Gert. As they passed the entrance to the castle, Gert said, “Watch out, guys. You don’t want the Sieur to get you.”
“What does that mean?” Frank asked.
“It’s a local legend,” Luis said. “The Sieur de Fréhel was a nobleman. He explored the world—Africa, Asia, South America … When he returned, he brought back a fabulous treasure in diamonds.”
“Sounds like the Count of Monte Cristo,” Frank said.
“Sort of,” Welly said. “But this guy was for real. He was the ancestor of the twins, in fact.”
“So this is the lost treasure Marie-Laure mentioned this afternoon?” Joe asked. “What happened to it?”
“That is a long story,” Luis said. “It can wait.”
They scrambled up a rocky path to the ledge. The view was terrific. So was the drop from the front edge. As the sun moved closer to the horizon, it became huge and dark orange.
“Wow!” Joe said. “That is really spectacular!”
Gert gave a sour smile. “Yes. The cause is air pollution from power plants along the Rhone River.”
“This guy’s a load of laughs,” Joe muttered to Frank.
Soon the sun was down. The landscape darkened in the valley below, but the sky stayed a brilliant light blue.
The teens started back to the village. Frank turned to Luis. “What about that long story?”
“Ah,” Luis said. “Yes. This was in the days of Napoleon. After his fall, there was a lot of unrest. Some former soldiers turned bandit. A bandit gang heard of the hoard of jewels at Fréhel. They attacked the chateau. The Sieur and his men held them off while his wife and children escaped through a secret tunnel, but the bandits were too many.”
“What happened then?” Joe asked, wide-eyed.
Welly took up the story. “The diamonds were in a secret hiding place. The Sieur wouldn’t tell the gang where. They tried to torture him, but he died of a heart attack. The bandits were furious. They took his body up to the highest wall and threw it over.”
“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “How do we know all this?”
“The Sieur’s wife spread the alarm,” Luis told him. “Mounted troopers came from the nearest town. They captured some of the bandits, who confessed before they were executed.”
“And the treasure was never found?” Joe asked.
“No,” Welly said. “Not only that—the Sieur’s body was never found either. The local peasants said he still prowled the chateau and the village. Later, some treasure seekers were found at the bottom of the wall with their necks broken.”
“This is why the village became deserted,” Luis added. “The people were scared away.”
“That is quite a story,” Frank said.
“It is not yet over,” Gert told him. “There is reason to think the Sieur still roams his domain. If so, he cannot be happy to see all these intruders. Do not be surprised if one of us is found with a broken neck!”
4
Lost in the Maze
Gert’s prediction of danger seemed to hang over the group like a threatening cloud. Frank glanced at Welly and Luis. Their faces were carefully blank. Did they really take this ghost story seriously?
Back at the square, some of the kids went inside to listen to music. Most stayed outside to talk and enjoy the night air. As the newest arrivals, Frank and Joe were the center of interest. Everyone wanted to get to know them.
Quite a few wanted to talk about the USA, too. Whatever country they were from, they knew the names and histories of American pop groups and movie stars. They watched American TV shows, wore American jeans and sneakers, and ate American burgers. What they got from all this, though, was a little peculiar.
“No,” Frank heard Joe telling a Spanish girl. “We don’t really have a gang problem at Bayport High School. And nobody I know brings a gun to class.”
A guy named Narguib, from Alexandria, Egypt, asked Frank about the personal life of his favorite rap artist. “Is he really as wild as they say?”
“Beats me,” Frank said. “I’ve heard of him, but that’s about it.”
“How can that be?” Narguib demanded. “Didn’t you say you live in New York? So does he!”
Frank started to explain the difference between New York City and New York State. Narguib wasn’t interested. He obviously thought Frank was holding out on him.
Marina was different. She was from one of the Greek islands. Her aunt and uncle lived in a town not far from Bayport. She had visited them a year earlier and wanted to talk about places she remembered.
“We went to a wonderful restaurant for fish,” she said. “It was built out over the water. From outside it looked like nothing, but inside it was very elegant.”
“I think I know the place,” Frank said. “It’s in Herrick’s Cove, and it’s got a French name.”
“That’s right,” Marina exclaimed. “I remember now—Au Vieux Port. What a small world this is!”
The light faded slowly. As the darkness grew, Frank noticed the others drifting off. Luis and Welly came over. “We are going back to the room now,” Luis announced. “The sun comes up very early.”
Frank looked at his watch. To his surprise, it was already after ten. He held back a yawn. “Good idea,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”
The blackness that surrounded Frank was total. He held his breath and li
stened. Something told him he was in the center of a huge space—a sports arena, perhaps, or an airplane hangar. From nearby came a scribbly sound like plastic scraping on stone. It was followed by a tiny squeal so high pitched that he wasn’t sure he’d heard it at all. He wanted to move away from it, but he didn’t dare. For all he could tell, he might be standing at the edge of a dangerous drop.
A pale glow filled the air. It came from inside the rough stones that he now saw walled him in. He was at the bottom of a deep, narrow shaft. Metal rungs led up one side, but when he touched one it burned his hand. The squealing was louder now. He glanced down and gasped. He was standing in the middle of hundreds of squirming rats. They stared at him with bloodred eyes and bared their sharp white teeth. The braver ones started to climb up his legs. He stamped his feet to shake them loose.
There was a low opening in one of the walls of the shaft. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? He ducked through and found himself in a long, curving corridor. At the far end, someone was just vanishing around the bend. Maybe it was someone who knew how to get out of here. Frank set off at a run. Soon the other guy was in sight again.
“Hey!” Frank called. “Hey, wait up!”
The words bounced around the stone corridor like a thunderclap. The stranger didn’t turn. Frank ran faster. He was starting to think that he had seen the guy before somewhere. He had narrowed the gap to less than twenty feet when he remembered where. It was in the three-way mirror of a clothing store. He was looking at his own back.
Suddenly the other figure stopped walking and began to turn around….
Frank sat up suddenly. He was breathing quickly, and his forehead was damp. Some dream! It still felt real. He turned his head. The room was dark, but the windows were paler from the sky’s glow. He slid to the end of the bunk and climbed down the crossbars to the floor. The tiles were cool on his bare feet.
His lips and tongue felt dry. He remembered that Joe had left the water bottle on the dresser. He groped his way over, waving his hands in front of him to keep from bumping into anything.
As he passed the window that looked out on the chateau, he paused. Bluish white beams from the rising moon lit the front of the ruins and cast the rest in deeper darkness. Frank wished he had his camera with him. Not that film could really capture such a magical scene.
Suddenly he held his breath and stared. A light had just appeared at one of the openings in the chateau’s wall. He knew it wasn’t reflected moonlight. The color was all wrong, a sickly green like rotting wood. There it was again, at a different window.
Frank tiptoed over to the bunk and felt for Joe’s shoulder. Joe sat up.
“Wha—” he muttered drowsily.
“Quick, come over to the window,” Frank whispered. “I want you to see this.”
It took Joe a moment to understand. By the time they made it to the window, the strange glow was gone.
“You were dreaming,” Joe murmured.
“No, that was before,” Frank replied. “This was real. I saw it.”
“Yeah, right,” Joe said. He started back toward his bunk. “That’s what you get for listening to ghost stories right before bedtime.”
In the morning Frank awoke before the sun rose. The sky was still pale gray. When he climbed down from his bunk, the shaking of the bed woke Joe as well. In whispers, Frank suggested they take a walk before the others got up.
The hillside was loud with birdsong. A cool breeze rustled the herbs that grew wild all around. Once they were away from the village, Frank said, “There’s something going on here. Something that’s not right. I think we should try to get to the bottom of it.”
“You mean that booby trap yesterday?” Joe asked.
“That, sure,” Frank replied. “Plus whoever was sneaking around the chateau during the night. And beyond that, there’s a funny atmosphere. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Maybe it’s just somebody’s idea of a joke,” Joe suggested. “Somebody like Gert, for instance. I can imagine him pulling stunts to make people believe the chateau is haunted.”
“Not very funny,” Frank pointed out. “If that rock had hit the car, Kevin might have gone right over the side. Luckily he stopped in plenty of time.”
“Okay, but what exactly are we looking for?” Joe asked.
Frank pounded his fist into his palm. “I wish I knew,” he said. “At this point all we can do is talk to lots of people and keep our eyes and ears open. I hope we’re imagining things. But I don’t think so.”
They got back to the village just as the bell rang for breakfast. The long table was set with pitchers of coffee and hot milk, baskets of bread, and dishes of different flavors of jam. Frank took a seat next to the English girl, Libby. Joe sat farther down the table, between Gert and Siri.
Frank picked up the nearest pitcher of coffee. It smelled wonderful. He looked for a cup or mug, but there wasn’t one. The only crockery at each place was a small plate and an upside-down cereal bowl.
Libby noticed his confusion and giggled. “It’s a French custom,” she explained. “At breakfast, you drink café au lait in what they call a bol, pronounced ‘bowl.’ Oh, and you’re supposed to pour the coffee and hot milk at the same time, from opposite sides of the bowl. Here, like this.”
She turned his bowl right side up, took the two pitchers, and poured. The hot milk foamed up and left a thin layer of bubbles on the surface of the coffee.
“Thanks,” Frank said. He picked up the bowl of coffee and took a sip. It was delicious, but the sides of the bowl burned his fingers. “Anything else I need to know at this point?”
“Well … you needn’t expect a decent breakfast while you’re here,” Libby said. “Bread, butter, and jam, that’s it. They do sell cereal in the stores, but the French mostly think it’s a foreign fad. As for a really bang-up meal of eggs, a rasher of bacon, fried tomatoes, and toast, no such luck!”
“How do you like TVI?” Frank asked. “Aside from the breakfast menu?”
“It was really super at first,” Libby replied. “But now I’m wondering if I should finish out the time I signed on for. I don’t like all this ghost business. It makes me very uneasy.”
“The story about the Sieur de Fréhel, you mean?” Frank probed.
“Not exactly,” Libby said. “A story’s just a story. I don’t avoid the East End of London because of tales about Jack the Ripper. No, it’s little things. Noises at night. Glimmers of light where no one ought to be. A tool that isn’t where you put it down just a moment before. I daresay you think this all sounds remarkably silly.”
“No, I don’t,” Frank assured her. “But Joe and I just got here yesterday afternoon. I haven’t had time to notice much. I’d like to hear more about your experiences.”
Before Libby could reply, Kevin, at the end of the table, stood up and tapped his knife against his coffee bowl.
“I have a couple of announcements,” he said. “We finally got the go-ahead to put in running water. So this very morning we start digging the trenches for the mains.”
There was a mix of cheers and groans from around the table.
Kevin grinned. “Second, it’s time to choose partners for the TVI pétanque tournament. It starts tomorrow afternoon. We want everyone taking part, from beginners to experts.”
“What’s that?” Frank whispered to Libby.
“It’s a local game rather like lawn bowls,” she whispered back. “You’ll see.”
Frank had no idea what lawn bowls were, either. Did they have something to do with coffee bowls?
“All right, that’s it,” Kevin concluded. “I’ll see you in the square in half an hour.”
Frank and Joe joined the others in clearing the table. Afterward they went outside and watched Jean-Claude and three others play pétanque. This involved tossing or rolling heavy steel balls as big as baseballs. The aim was to end up as close as possible to a little target ball. You also tried to hit your opponent’s ball to knock it away from the target.
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“I bet I can do that,” Joe announced. “It’s a lot like bowling, but without the pins or the hard floor.”
“Will you team with me?” Marie-Laure asked him. “I am pretty good, and I think you will learn fast.”
“Uh, sure,” Joe said. Frank saw from his face that he was wondering what he was getting into.
The game finished and the teens went to work.
Kevin helped them lay out the course of the new water main with pegs and string. It ran from the top end of the village, under the shadow of the castle wall, to the lower end, near Sophie’s office.
Frank, Joe, and a half dozen others started prying up cobblestones and carefully piling them to one side. As soon as the stones were cleared, another crew started digging a narrow trench.
The job went surprisingly quickly. A guy named Antonio taught the others a bouncy song from his region outside Rome. It fit perfectly with the rhythm of the pickaxes and shovels. By ten o’clock the trench was already half the length of the first block of houses.
Frank was trying to get his pry bar under a very stubborn cobblestone when he was startled by a loud scream. He whirled around. Libby was standing with her head back and her arm extended upward. Frank looked where she was pointing.
Fifty feet above them, a block of stone as big as a large suitcase teetered on the top edge of the castle wall. For a long moment it seemed to balance there. Then it toppled forward. Trailing a tail of dust, it tumbled through the air toward the ground.
5
United Emanations
“Back!” Joe shouted. “Everybody back!”
“Quick!” Frank added.
Now others were shouting, too, in half a dozen languages. Libby was a few feet from Joe. The English girl seemed frozen in place by the sight of the plummeting stone. Joe grabbed her around the waist and pulled her toward the shelter of the nearest house.
The block of stone crashed down on a pile of rubble at the base of the castle wall. The impact sent a cloud of smaller stones and pebbles flying in all directions like buckshot. One grazed Joe’s bare arm. When he looked down, he saw a line of red forming against his tan.
The Castle Conundrum (Hardy Boys) Page 3
