Sherlock Academy

by F. C. Shaw

  Mr. Permiter put his hands on his hips. “How dare you laugh at poor Herbie Frecklebottom! He comes from the prestigious Frecklebottom and Wartnose families!”

  The children roared with laughter. For a moment Mr. Permiter held his serious composure, but then burst out laughing with them. “There are no such people—at least not here. I can’t speak for the rest of the world.” Mr. Permiter hopped onto his desk and sat cross-legged atop it. “Let’s discuss my disguise. Did anyone see through it? Be honest. Don’t sound smart just to impress me. It will work.” He winked at them. “Yes, Rollie?”

  Rollie widened his eyes in surprise at the mention of his name.

  “Yes, I know your names already. Put your hand down, Rollie.”

  Rollie smiled. “I noticed your hands. They didn’t look old.”

  Mr. Permiter snapped his fingers. “A dead give-away. Good one, Rollie!”

  “Thank you, Mr. Permiter.”

  “You can call me Mr. Chad. But not you.” He pointed to a girl right in front of him. When she looked crestfallen, he grinned. “Kidding! You may all call me Mr. Chad.”

  “Mr. Chad? I noticed something else.”

  “Let’s have it, Rollie.”

  “That old sailor disguise was the same one that Sherlock Holmes wore in The Sign of the Four.”

  “Bingo! A true Sherlockian! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a detective. Now to tell you a little bit about myself,” Mr. Chad began, as if someone had just asked him about his life. “I’m American, grew up in New York City, and yes, it is a grand city, and yes, I am personal friends with Lady Liberty. Last year, I came here to teach. I’m still the new kid on the block, so to speak. I love the Brits, but hate your food. It’s very boring. And I refuse to wear a tie.” He pointed to his collar. “Professor Enches always gives me a hard time and tells me it’s professional etiquette to wear a tie.” He shrugged. “One last thing I will tell you: this school is full of mysteries, so keep a wary eye out!”

  * * * *

  “I think Mr. Chad is my favorite teacher,” Rollie said as he and Cecily skipped downstairs.

  “He’s very funny. I like his accent, but Miss Hertz is my favorite.”

  They reached the downstairs hall where a line had formed. The students waited turns to read the dormitory assignment on the wall. Some moans of disappointment and some squeals of excitement could be heard as students read with whom they would room.

  “I’m going to love being here!” Cecily exclaimed.

  “Me too! Especially since Mr. Chad said there are plenty of mysteries here.” Rollie stepped up to the list tacked on the wall. He found his name. “I’m in room O on the fourth floor. I’m rooming with . . . Oh no! Eliot! And some other boy named Rupert.”

  “You don’t like Eliot?”

  “He’s annoying. Where are you?”

  Cecily used her finger to track down her name. “I’m on the third floor in room J. I’m with Tibby and Margot.”

  They scooted out of the way and mounted the stairs. Cecily waved goodbye on the third floor, and Rollie continued on up to the fourth. On the fourth floor, the hallway bustled with boys. Two tall boys tossed a yellow ball to each other, another three boys chased each other in and out of open rooms, and more boys bumped past each other trying to find their rooms. Rollie found his at the end of the hallway. When he stepped inside, he spotted Eliot leaning out the one window. The room was small with three beds lined against three of the walls. One desk stood under the window. Rollie found his suitcase, boxes, and book bag stacked on the bed nearest the door. He strode over and opened the suitcase.

  Eliot turned. “Hello, roomie.”

  “Hello,” Rollie mumbled.

  “Glad to be rooming with you. I was nervous I’d be rooming with someone I didn’t know.”

  “Have you met Rupert yet?”

  Eliot shrugged. “He hasn’t been up yet. It’s great that we have classes together, too. Although I shouldn’t be surprised, since all first year students take the same classes together.”

  Rollie draped his bathrobe over the end of his bed. “Do you know anything about our extra classes? For math and science and all that?”

  “You didn’t hear? That’s what they call Independent Studies—IS for short.” Eliot opened the deep bottom desk drawer. “All your textbooks are in here. We follow a syllabus. We have to do it in our own time. I’m thinking if I get up early I can do a few subjects before breakfast. That way I’ll have more free time in the afternoon. Plus I want to use the desk first. I hope you don’t mind. I set my alarm for five o’clock.”

  Rollie groaned. “Five o’clock! That’s so early. Why don’t you study in the library?”

  “It’s all the way downstairs,” Eliot protested. “I’ll be really quiet. Actually, you should wake up and study with me.”

  “No, thanks. I work better in the afternoon.”

  “You should get it done in the morning.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Rollie snapped. His head swam with the events of the day. He needed a little peace to settle his thoughts.

  Eliot held up his palms in a gesture of defense. “Cranky! I’m just trying to be a good chum.”

  “Sorry, Eliot. My head is so full right now.”

  “I know what you mean. You know what I do to relax? I read my comic books.”

  “Who do you read?”

  “Sherlock Holmes.”

  “Sherlock Holmes comic books?”

  “My grandpa gave them to me. They’re really rare.” Eliot tossed his pillow aside and grabbed a small stack of black and white comic books. “You can borrow them whenever you want. Start with this one.” He held up one titled The Adventure of the Speckled Band.

  “I love that mystery! Thanks, Eliot.” Rollie took the comic book and lay down on his bed.

  Maybe Eliot would not be such a bad roommate after all.

  Rollie the Postman

  By Friday, Rollie had grown accustomed to his new school. He memorized his schedule, regained his appetite, and slept through the night. Surprisingly, Eliot studied quietly in the wee hours of the morning, and used a flashlight to read by. Rupert kept to himself, being a boy with a solemn face; he never appeared happy to be there.

  But Rollie was.

  He liked having different teachers for different subjects. He liked that the teachers never gave homework. He liked that most of class time was used for practicing lessons, instead of listening to lectures—except for Professor Enches, who enjoyed lecturing in a boring manner. Rollie deemed Mr. Chad his favorite. Mr. Chad often called on Rollie to answer questions, or used Rollie to demonstrate applying a false nose or eyebrows. Rollie found him interesting, and loved listening to his American accent. Rollie had never been this excited about school.

  Late Friday morning, Rollie sat listening to Professor Enches ramble on about the polite manner to introduce oneself to a potential client seeking help with a mystery. At first Rollie took notes diligently, but after thirty minutes his mind wandered. He thought about his family and what it would be like returning home for the weekend later that afternoon. He hoped his brothers would not tease him too much, but he did hope his family asked lots of questions about his week. He hoped the dinner conversation centered on him—he did not hope too high, though.

  “Always make direct eye contact. This is not only polite, but also assertive, and it shows your client that you are interested, attentive, and courageous enough to hear whatever frightful tale they are about to disclose to you.”

  Rollie heard Professor Enches in the background, so started with surprise when he felt the professor brush past him. An envelope landed on his desk with a light slap. Professor Enches continued walking down the rows of desks, and did not bother to look back. Rollie read the front: To Mr. Crenshaw.

  Did Professor Enches mean for Rollie to deliver t
his? Why did Rollie have to be their postman?

  As soon as class was dismissed, Rollie leaped to his feet and dodged around his classmates to Professor Enches’s desk, where the professor sorted through his notes. When Enches spotted Rollie heading for him, he gave the boy a kindly smile.

  “Professor, sir, did you want me to deliver this for you?”

  “Yes, of course—if you don’t mind, that is,” Enches said.

  “I don’t mind,” Rollie said hesitantly. “I just wondered why me instead of the post.”

  “I suppose I can let you in on our little secret.” Enches leaned on his desk and beckoned Rollie to step closer. In a low voice he told him, “Mr. Crenshaw and I are planning a special party for the staff here, and have been discussing details through our letters. But we can’t use the post because all incoming and outgoing mail at the Academy is inspected as a precaution against enemies.”

  Rollie’s brown eyes widened. “I didn’t know the Academy had enemies.”

  Enches’ face grew grave. “Oh, yes, but that is a different conversation.” He cleared his throat. “Since you live next door to Mr. Crenshaw and you see me on a daily basis, we thought you’d be our perfect ally to deliver our correspondences. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “No, sir, I don’t mind.”

  Professor Enches patted him on the shoulder. “Good lad.”

  * * * *

  “Rollie, tell us all about your first week of school!” his mother exclaimed at the dinner table later that evening.

  “Solve any big cases yet?” Edward snickered through a mouthful of potatoes.

  “Rooming with any villains?” Stewart added.

  “Boys,” Mrs. Wilson warned. “Let Rollie speak.”

  “It’s great, Mum, I really love it!”

  “Whoa!” Stewart commented. “The kid’s eyes just got really wide when he said that!”

  “He must be pretty excited!” Edward gasped dramatically.

  “What are your classes like?” Mr. Wilson spoke up, regarding Rollie over his spectacles.

  “I have five classes every day. It’s sorta like college, Dad. One of my teachers is actually a professor.”

  “Who is he? Maybe I know him.”

  “Professor Ichabod P. Enches.”

  “Ichabod? Very odd name.”

  “His initials spell PIPE.”

  Mr. Wilson chewed thoughtfully on his roasted chicken. “PIPE! Wasn’t that one of the items in your hollow book?”

  “Yeah! Dad, it’s so clever. All those items were the initials of all my teachers, and—”

  “That is clever!” Stewart exclaimed.

  “What item am I?” Edward asked. “What’s an EPW?”

  “Nothing. But I’m a SAW. Ha!” Stewart socked his twin in the shoulder.

  “Fact: I don’t know any Enches,” Mr. Wilson continued. “Never heard of an Enches. Where did he get his degree?”

  Rollie shrugged. “He didn’t say. Oh! One of my teachers is American. He’s from New York City.”

  “Lucky bloke!” Edward exclaimed. “Someday I’m going to New York City.”

  “You’ll never go. It’s too expensive,” Stewart said matter-of-factly.

  “I want to see the Statue of Liberty!” Lucille piped up.

  “Lady Liberty,” Daphne chimed in.

  After dinner, the family went their separate ways. Rollie headed upstairs, anxious to be in his room again. As he passed Auntie Ei’s bedroom, he heard a distinct clearing of the throat, so he poked his head in her doorway. The old woman sat in her comfy armchair next to a glowing fireplace; she was reading the Daily Telegraph, and nibbling on the chocolates from Mr. Crenshaw. Rollie stifled a smile when he realized that the box was almost empty. He knew exactly what he was going to give Auntie Ei for Christmas now.

  “Did you want something, Auntie Ei?”

  “You were not able to tell us much at the dinner table tonight.” She kept her eyes on her newspaper.

  “That’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  “Is it a fine school? Are you studying hard?” Her eyes did not look up as she turned a page and folded the newspaper.

  “Yes, Auntie. I really love it.” Rollie ventured into the bedroom. He had set foot in that room only two other times before: once to collect some ashes from her fireplace to study under his magnifying glass, and another time to read to her when she fell ill. The first time he got scolded, and the second time he got thanked. He wondered what he would get this time. “One teacher said the school was full of mysteries. That got me excited.”

  Her eyes snapped up. “Mysteries? What kinds of mysteries?”

  “I don’t know yet, Auntie.”

  “Well, keep a wary eye all the same.” Her eyes dropped back down to the Daily Telegraph.

  “That’s what Mr. Chad told me.”

  “The American teacher?”

  “Yeah, he’s really fun.”

  “He is relatively new on staff at the Academy. I do not know much about him. On the contrary, you can fully trust Headmaster Yardsly,” added Auntie Ei. “I’ve known him for years and I cannot think of anyone more trustworthy.”

  “Really?” Rollie eyed her as curiosity tickled his brain. “How do you know him—”

  “Did you like the marmalade?” interrupted Auntie Ei.

  Rollie had forgotten about his great-aunt’s odd gift. “I haven’t eaten any yet,” he confessed in a small voice.

  “Well, you should enjoy it soon before it goes bad.”

  “I’ll try some this week.”

  “It’s of no consequence.” To herself she mumbled, “At this point, anyway.”

  Rollie caught that last statement. He watched his old great-aunt sitting cozily by the fire, newspaper in hand. For the first time, Rollie grew suspicious of his great-aunt. Suspicious she knew more than she let on. Suspicious she had a connection to his new school. And suspicious she had a different purpose for giving him the jar of marmalade.

  Auntie Ei took a bite of chocolate, groaned, and dropped the half-eaten piece back in the pink box.

  “Still indigestion?” asked Rollie.

  Auntie Ei rolled her eyes. “I do not have many sins, but my love of chocolate is one of them. I am afraid at my age sugar does me no favors. I will be fine.” She closed the pink box.

  “Are you finished reading? Would you like me to toss the paper for you?” Rollie offered.

  Auntie Ei looked up at him, her gray eyes soft. “Thank you, Rollin, yes. I fear if I read much more I will have a heart attack.” She passed the newspaper to him with a sigh and picked up a book off of her end table.

  Rollie scanned the newspaper and knew why the headline troubled Auntie Ei so much. It heralded yet another crime by Herr Zilch. Rollie wanted to ask his great-aunt more about the criminal mastermind, but he could tell she was not in the mood to discuss any more. She opened her book and did not acknowledge him further.

  * * * *

  Rollie pushed the doorbell. He fingered the envelope in his left hand. From inside he heard the clip-clop, clip-clop of heels upon marble floors. The door opened.

  “Good afternoon,” the young, brassy-haired secretary greeted in a pleasant voice with a pleasant expression. “May I help you?”

  Rollie answered, “I have a letter for Mr. Crenshaw.” He held it out to her.

  “Would you like to deliver it yourself?” she asked in a musical tone.

  “Sure.”

  “Follow me.”

  Clip-clop, clip-clop. Rollie followed her through the house—a very grand house with high ceilings decorated with Italian frescos. He passed a library with barren shelves and covered furniture. The parlor also looked unoccupied with white sheets covering sofas and armchairs, and the fireplace was cold and dark. A magnificent crystal chandelier, veiled with cobwebs, hu
ng above a grand marble staircase. As he passed the staircase, Rollie glanced up at the landing and spotted large oil portraits of stern military leaders guarding the wall. The mansion felt cold and empty. Rollie thought it a little strange that Mr. Crenshaw had still not fully moved into the mansion even though he had been living there since last winter. He wondered if maybe the elderly man had difficulty unpacking his things, for he moved around stiffly and slowly.

  The secretary led Rollie through the sparse kitchen to the back garden. Mr. Crenshaw sat in his usual spot under the willow tree. He struggled to his feet as Rollie stepped outside.

  “Good afternoon, young neighbor. How are you today?” He extended one of his gloved hands.

  “Fine, thank you.” Rollie shook it and held out the envelope to him.

  Mr. Crenshaw took it with a nod. “I am much obliged. I hope you do not mind being our little postman. Did Ichabod tell you about our little secret we’re planning?”

  “Yeah, he told me all about it.”

  “Good. Tell me, how are you enjoying Sherlock Academy?”

  “I love it.”

  “Is Sullivan Yardsly still headmaster?”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “How many students attend?”

  “Not sure. I’d say about eighty. The dorm list had about that many names on it.”

  “That’s a good number. How many faculty?”

  “There are six including the headmaster.”

  “Have you solved the Rearranging Library yet?” Mr. Crenshaw asked.

  Rollie shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Mr. Crenshaw smiled, the creases around his sunken eyes deepening. “Well, you’re a clever detective. I am sure it’s only a matter of time before you do.”

  “Thank you. I better be going, sir.”

  “Of course, young man. Thank you again for your service. And remember, mum’s the word.” He winked.

  As Rollie started to leave, Mr. Crenshaw stopped him.

  “How did your aunt like the chocolates I sent over?” he asked.

  Rollie grimaced. “They gave her a stomachache.”