by Brandon Mull
Chapter Nine
Clean Slate
Nate stood at the front of Mt. Diablo Elementary, watching from beneath an overhang as rain streaked down, wondering why white sidewalks turned brown when they became wet. A nearby gutter funneled a steady flow of water from the roof. Great pools had formed in the overcrowded parking lot, where kids were trying to leap into cars without dousing their shoes.
The rain had caught him unprepared. There had been a few clouds in the sky when his mom drove him to school. The day had grown overcast by first recess, then the rain began around lunchtime, accompanied by prolonged growls of thunder. Although the thunder had passed, a ceiling of murky clouds stretched to all horizons.
Trevor exited the main office and trotted over to Nate. “My mom is coming,” he said. “She’ll take all of us.”
“At least somebody still has parents,” Nate said. He and Pigeon had both already tried to phone home and reached only voice mail.
“I’m surprised none of our families knew the rain was coming,” Pigeon said. “Plenty of kids brought raincoats and umbrellas.”
“Mrs. White should start printing the forecast on her fudge boxes,” Summer proposed.
Trevor shifted his backpack on his shoulders. “What should we do about the thingy we found?”
The previous night, after returning from the cemetery, they had unfastened the clasp on the ivory box and opened it. Inside, bundled in silky fabric, they found what looked like a little golden spyglass. When they had looked through the spyglass, whatever image they focused on was fractured into fragments, as if someone had inserted kaleidoscope mirrors into a telescope. Upon further examination, they had discovered no other clues in the box, among the silken wrappings, or on the view-warping spyglass.
“We go home, get dressed for the weather, and meet on the path by the Nest,” Nate said.
“I still say we take the telescope apart,” Summer insisted.
“And I still say it isn’t made to dismantle easily,” Nate said. “It seems too fancy, with mirrors or whatever inside—we’ll mess it up.”
Summer crossed her arms. “I don’t want to rely on Mrs. White. I want to see the clues myself.”
“If we could see screws or something we’d give it a try,” Trevor said. “I agree with Nate.”
“Me too,” Pigeon said quietly.
“Okay, have it your way,” Summer relented. “But if Mrs. White claims she found a clue inside the telescope telling us to rob a church, I’m turning in my candy.”
Nate shrugged. He gave Pigeon a playful shove. “I saw you dozing in class,” he said. “Not that Miss Doulin noticed.”
“I couldn’t keep my eyes open for a while there,” Pigeon confessed. “I hope next time Mrs. White gives us an assignment we can do during the day.”
“Have you guys seen Denny or Kyle or Eric?” Summer asked.
“I saw Kyle on my way into school,” Trevor said. “He noticed me and avoided me. I think we’re in the clear with them. Oh, speaking of that, did I tell you guys I saw the dude with the overcoat?”
“No, where?” Summer asked.
“I was at the Colson General Store yesterday with my mom. He was sitting by the entrance reading a paper and keeping an eye on everyone. Mrs. White was right that he’s definitely up to something. I forgot to tell you guys last night.”
“Did you play it cool?” Nate asked.
“I think so,” Trevor said. “But he gave me a look that made me nervous. Hopefully it was just in my head.”
They stood listening to the patter of the rain, watching the cars in the parking lot dwindle. Miss Doulin scurried over to her little hatchback without a coat, holding a leather satchel over her head, and entered through the passenger door to avoid the puddle on the other side.
“You guys stranded?” a mellow voice asked from behind them.
They turned. It was Gary Haag, the custodian. Nate had seen him around a few times. He was a thin guy in his early thirties with a wispy mustache and a light brown mullet that dangled to the base of his neck in straggly curls. He wore a denim jacket decorated with images doodled in black ink: a Viking ship, a frowning snowman, a dollar sign made out of cobras, Homer Simpson’s head, a snowflake, a scuba diver, a pair of dice, a curved sword, a biplane, an algebra equation, a hamburger. A ring with at least twenty keys dangled from his belt. The odor of cigarettes lingered about him.
“My mom’s coming,” Trevor said.
“Oh, right on, I was feeling bad for you guys,” Gary said, brushing hair out of his eyes. “I was going to find you a ride or something.” He looked up at the gray clouds. “You’re not dressed to walk home, and that rain ain’t letting up anytime soon.”
“That’s nice of you,” Summer said. “We’ll be all right.”
“How you been doing, Pigeon?” Gary asked.
“Good,” Pigeon said.
“Right on.” Gary stood with his hands on his waist, examining the sky. “You ever wonder if the clouds are really just hiding alien spaceships, like in that movie? I mean, this could be a full-on invasion.”
Nate could think of a few movies Gary might be referencing. “It’s a big storm,” he said to fill the silence.
Gary nodded. “Don’t you wish rain would fall from
normal-sized clouds? You know, here and there, a little at a time. You might even be able to get out of the way if you stayed on your toes. But nope, all we get is some megacloud that blankets the whole state. I bet you couldn’t even get out of the way in a Ferrari.”
Nate glanced sideways at Trevor, who raised his eyebrows. Pigeon scratched his scalp. Summer stared at her feet.
Gary let out a prolonged sigh. “Well, I have a bunch of stuff to do.” He jangled his keys. “Going to be a soggy ride home. Hope your mom stashed a life raft in the trunk. Keep it real.” He sauntered away down a covered walkway.
“Is that guy sane?” Nate asked in a low voice.
“Gary’s nice,” Trevor said. “He can be kind of odd. There’s Mom!”
Trevor’s mom was driving along Oak Grove Avenue in a dark blue sedan. She turned into the parking lot and pulled up alongside the curb. Trevor climbed into the front seat, while the others piled in the back. His mom had curly dark hair and a darker complexion than her son. “It’s really coming down,” she said.
“Thanks for picking us up,” Summer said.
“My pleasure,” Trevor’s mom said, pulling out of the parking lot. “Nate, you’re on Monroe?”
“Right,” Nate said.
She wove around a slow-moving pickup. “We all live so close we should carpool in the mornings!”
The wipers were on high mode, pushing away each new bombardment of raindrops an instant after they splattered against the glass. Nate found himself entranced by the motion, and wondered how Trevor’s mom kept her concentration on the road. The sedan splashed through the edge of a huge puddle, sending up an impressive fan of water.
“Awesome,” Trevor said.
They went to Summer’s house first, pulling into an empty driveway. She waved and used a key to let herself in. They returned to Main, hung a right on Greenway, and turned into the Presidential Estates, the rain still pouring. After dropping off Pigeon, they swung around to the other side of the circle and let Nate out.
Simply running from the car to his porch, Nate got surprisingly damp. He did not carry a key, but knew where the hidden spare was tucked away. He tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Nate swiveled and waved, but Trevor’s car was just pulling out of sight.
“Mom?” he called.
“In here,” she answered from the family room.
Nate found her on the couch in front of the television. “Where were you?” he asked. “I tried to call, the rain had us trapped at school.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking. Looks like you found a ride.”
“Trevor’s mom.”
“I was looking into joining a health club. Did you know I’ve put
on six pounds since I started eating your fudge?”
“Maybe you should stop eating it,” Nate said.
“I can’t,” she said, making wide, guilty eyes. “Neither can your dad. Cheryl eats her fair share as well. It’s like we’re stuck in a fanatical fudge phase.”
“Did you join the club?” Nate asked.
“No, they kept pressuring me. They wanted me to sign a two-year contract. So I went and got a few exercise DVDs instead. I got back not five minutes ago.”
“Okay. I’m going to go change. I’m supposed to meet Pigeon.”
“Doing homework?”
“We have an assignment to finish.” Nate rushed upstairs.
*****
As rain pattered against the yellow hood of her raincoat, Summer brooded about the injustice that she had the longest walk to the Nest. Unless the creek was really low, she had to go all the way over to Greenway, up to the jogging path, and back to the bottom of Monroe Circle just to reach their hideout. It was even less fair on a rainy day like today.
Fishing a sealed sandwich bag of Moon Rocks out of her pocket, she decided to take a shortcut. She turned down a side street that granted access to the strip of wilderness along the creek, and squelched through the weeds to where the water was rushing at a much higher level than normal. It would be a long jump, even with a Moon Rock, and if she messed up, she could get swept away. She hesitated, reconsidering the longer route, then decided she was being a sissy and popped a piece of candy into her mouth. Her body swiftly felt lighter.
She had picked a spot where the far bank was only a little higher than the near bank. Crouching, she sprang forward. For a moment, instead of merely jumping, it seemed like she was soaring up into the rainstorm, rising like a superhero, the rain noisy against her coat, but soon she reached the apex of her leap and began curving down toward the far bank. Her galoshes plopped down in the oozy mud.
“Now, that was an incredible jump,” said a familiar voice.
Summer whirled. Denny came out of some bushes wearing a hooded camouflage slicker. He appeared to be alone. “Jump?” Summer said, playing dumb.
“Yeah,” Denny said. “I wanted to see how high the rain had made the creek. Imagine my surprise when I see you walk up to the edge of the water, eat something, and jump across. I mean, a huge jump, like you were flying.”
“You must be seeing things,” Summer said.
“Kind of like how we were seeing things when Eric got all hairy and Kyle was puking root beer? Kind of like how I imagined that I was pinned to the ground by a massive force? What’s going on, Summer?”
Summer pretended to sneeze and spit her Moon Rock into the weeds. Her body grew heavier. “I don’t have time to stand around talking,” she said. “Let’s just say, if I were you, I wouldn’t mess around with us anymore.” She turned and walked away hurriedly.
“Love the threat,” Denny laughed. “Fine, go fly away to play with the magical geek squad. You don’t scare me. I have my eye on you guys.”
Summer did not look back. She kept her pace quick and found the others waiting on the path above the Nest. Trevor and Nate wore hooded ponchos. Pigeon had on a thick winter coat and carried a black umbrella.
Summer bit her lip. Part of her wanted to report what Denny had seen, but she felt too embarrassed that she had been so careless. They already knew Denny was suspicious of them because of the trick candy. She decided there was no need to humiliate herself by sharing what else he had witnessed. “Do you have the telescope?” Summer asked.
“Of course,” Trevor said.
They started down the path together. Summer checked periodically over her shoulder to make sure Denny wasn’t tailing them. It would be easy enough for him to deduce that their candy was coming from Mrs. White without their actually showing him. By the time they reached Greenway, she felt confident that Denny was not on their trail.
The Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe was not as busy as it had been during their previous visit. But considering the rainstorm, there was still a respectable crowd. The guy with the wine-colored birthmark was helping customers, but the dwarf was not behind the counter today. Instead there was a big, round guy. He had thick, shiny lips, and his cheeks and jowls were bloated with fat. His black eyebrows almost met above his knoblike nose. Pockets of blubber bulged from the backs of his huge hands.
The guy with the birthmark ducked through the batwing doors into the back of the store and returned with Mrs. White, who waved the kids over. She raised the countertop and led them into the back.
Today the rear of the store was immaculate. Everything looked freshly scrubbed, the shelves appeared orderly, and no ingredients cluttered the worktables. “I’m very excited to see what you discovered,” Mrs. White said, taking a seat at the table with the purple covering.
Trevor opened his backpack and placed the ivory box on the table. Mrs. White undid the latch. They had rewrapped the spyglass in the silky material, trying to make it look exactly as they had found it. Mrs. White unfolded the fabric and held up the spyglass, peering into it. “Excellent,” she said, twisting the end of the spyglass. “Well done.”
“What is it?” Nate inquired.
Mrs. White lowered the spyglass. “This is a teleidoscope, undoubtedly fashioned by Hanaver Mills. I expect it will prove useful locating the treasure.”
“Teleidoscope?” Pigeon asked.
“You mean you don’t know?” Nate asked, enjoying the moment.
Pigeon rolled his eyes.
“A teleidoscope is a hybrid between a telescope and a kaleidoscope,” Mrs. White elaborated. “A normal kaleidoscope uses optical trickery to create patterns out of bits of material built into the device. A teleidoscope uses similar optics to reconfigure whatever you point it at. Teleidoscopes work best when aimed at vivid backgrounds—for example, a bright floral arrangement.”
“Is it a clue?” Trevor asked.
“I suspect it is a tool for unlocking a clue,” Mrs. White said, setting the teleidoscope aside.
“Do we get some reward candy?” Nate asked.
“You get a new magical edible to use in completing a new assignment. While I strive to unravel the secret of the teleidoscope, I have a new mission of some urgency for the four of you.”
“Do we have to do it at night?” Pigeon sighed.
“Nighttime would probably be best, but you can wait until the weekend.” Mrs. White held up a grainy gray cube. “As you know, most of my confections work best on children. But a few function equally well on adults, like the white fudge. Interestingly, adults tend to remain most susceptible to magic that dulls their senses and reduces their vision. This masterful creation exploits that weakness, wiping out the memory of anyone who ingests it.”
“Like amnesia?” Nate asked.
“Total amnesia,” Mrs. White said. “Those who consume it retain their language abilities, but lose all the specifics of their identity. They start again with a clean slate, which is where the substance derives its name. Since the effects are permanent, and each Clean Slate is indescribably difficult to produce, I do not administer it lightly.”
“You want us to erase somebody’s memory?” Summer verified.
“A villainous man,” Mrs. White affirmed. “An enemy to me and to all humanity. Letting him start again with a clean slate will be a service to him and to the world.”
“What makes him evil?” Summer asked. “Is he after your treasure?”
“He is after the treasure, and would do terrible things with the power it would grant,” Mrs. White said. “Whether or not I succeed in finding the treasure, he must be stopped. We need to get him to voluntarily consume the Clean Slate. If we try to force it upon him, the magic will fail. The Clean Slate dissolves almost instantly into any liquid, so I will need you to sneak into his house and taint a drink in his refrigerator.”
“That sounds really dangerous,” Summer said. “Who is he?”
“I’ll tell you once you agree to the assignment,” Mrs. W
hite said.
“Can you prove that he’s evil?” Summer challenged.
Mrs. White pressed her lips together for a moment before regaining a look of calm. “This relationship requires trust,” Mrs. White said. “I trust you with candy so powerful that most grown, responsible adults would misuse it. You trust me that the assignments I select are in our best interest. Otherwise we should end the relationship.”
“You can’t just expect us to blindly do whatever you say,” Summer said. “You have to earn trust. How do we know you won’t misuse the treasure as much as this other guy? We earn your trust by fulfilling the tasks you give us. Can’t you give us some proof to earn ours?”
