The House of Puzzles

by Richard Newsome

  A broad smile broke out on Ruby’s face. ‘Quite right. Sorry, Alex. It looks like I’m stuck with this bunch.’

  Alex tilted his head. ‘Ah, well. That is my loss. I suppose I’ll see you on the second leg—that is, if you manage to finish the first one.’ He turned to go. But just as Gerald was preparing to unleash his thoughts about Alex Baranov and his team, the blond boy swivelled in his tracks. ‘Oh, Gerry Willy,’ he said, clamping his hand on Gerald’s shoulder again. ‘I almost forgot. You and I have to go and see Rice Crispies.’

  Gerald spun around and jumped to his feet, coming nose to nose with the other boy. ‘Stop calling me that,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. It’s a bit like Gretchen’s snoring,’ Alex said, a snide smile on his face. ‘You’re going to have to get used to it.’

  Chapter 9

  Gerald Wilkins and Alex Baranov sat outside the closed door of the headmaster’s office, waiting. Alex spent the time regaling Gerald with tales of his summers in the south of France. Gerald spent the time ignoring him.

  A woman at a tidy desk on one side of the room typed at a computer. She looked up from her work. ‘I’m sure Dr Crispin won’t be too much longer,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Alex said. ‘Gerry and I can entertain ourselves.’

  The woman returned to her typing.

  Gerald shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I’ve told you to stop calling me that,’ he said, trying not to let the woman overhear.

  ‘Not a chance, Gerry Willy,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve made it my mission to have everyone in this camp calling you Gerry Willy by the end of our time here.’

  Gerald’s face flushed red. ‘If you keep calling me that then your time here might not be very long.’

  Alex sat back in mock horror. ‘Gerry! Is that a threat? Because now I’m scared.’ The snide smile returned. ‘Willy, willy scared.’

  Gerald clenched his jaw. He knew he couldn’t get into a dust-up outside the headmaster’s office so instead he launched headfirst into his suspicions. ‘You’d know all about threats, wouldn’t you?’ he said. ‘You attacked me the first night here. Maybe I should mention that to Dr Crispin.’

  Alex picked up a copy of Field & Slaughter magazine from a coffee table and leafed through the pages. ‘I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about,’ he said, and, as if to add a point, ‘Gerry.’

  Gerald was about to fire a barrage of abuse when the door to the office popped open. With it came something quite unexpected from any headmaster’s office: the sound of laughter.

  Dr Crispin stood in the doorway with a look of almost manic delight on his face. ‘Ah, here are the two young scamps. Come in, lads. There are some people here you might like to see.’

  Gerald gave an uncertain glance to Alex, then another one to the headmaster. He’d had a few experiences of being called to the principal’s office at his school in Sydney. One of them involved his old school buddy Ox, a dozen eggs and a blender in the home economics room. It had not ended well. Since then, Gerald had made a point of having as little as possible to do with headmasters and their offices.

  Gerald followed Alex through the door and had a tentative look inside. To his astonishment, he found his mother seated on a couch with the self-assurance of a queen on her throne.

  ‘Gerald!’ Vi Wilkins trilled with delight when she saw him. She rolled out of her seat and wrapped him in her arms. ‘My little man!’

  Through a curtain of silk blouse Gerald caught a mooshed-up vision of Alex Baranov looking at them with undisguised glee.

  Gerald struggled to extract himself from the embrace. ‘Mum! Please!’ he said, muffled in the stranglehold. Then, in a lower voice, ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

  ‘Embarrassing you!’ Vi said in a not-at-all low voice. ‘How strange you are, darling. As if I could possibly embarrass you. Come, let me see you.’ She released her hold and clamped her hands over Gerald’s cheeks. ‘But you’re wasting away, dear boy.’ She turned to Dr Crispin. ‘Headmaster, I do hope that little contribution I just made to the school’s building fund might include some extra tuck for my little boy.’

  Gerald’s eyes swivelled across to Dr Crispin. The headmaster had taken a seat behind his large wooden desk. What looked like two cheques lay on a blotter in front of him. The headmaster reached out and tucked the slips of paper into his breast pocket. ‘I think we might be able to arrange seconds for Gerald and Alex, given the circumstances,’ he said in velvet tones.

  It was only at that moment that Gerald realised there were other people in the room as well. Standing beside Alex was a man who could only have been his father. He was a taller, broader and, if possible, blonder version of his son.

  ‘I thought we weren’t meant to see our parents at all during this term,’ Gerald said.

  Dr Crispin patted his top pocket. ‘I am nothing if not flexible,’ he said, his moustache bristling.

  Alex thrust his chin towards Gerald. ‘Father, this is the boy I was telling you about,’ he said.

  The man looked at Gerald as a thoroughbred might regard a mule. He stepped forward and took Gerald in a crushing handshake.

  ‘Sergei Baranov,’ the man said in a mild east-European accent. ‘You are Gerry?’

  Gerald had known Sergei Baranov for all of five seconds and already he hated him with a white-hot intensity. ‘Actually,’ Gerald said, ‘my name is Gerald. Your son, Lexie, has a tremendous sense of humour. Everyone at camp laughs at him.’

  Sergei Baranov stared at Gerald with eyes of blue ice. The handshake continued for another awkward moment before Gerald’s mother came to the rescue. ‘Imagine anyone calling you Gerry,’ Vi said with a birdlike laugh. ‘How terribly amusing. And of course, you remember Jasper Mantle from the Billionaires’ Club.’

  Gerald wrenched his hand free and turned to find Mr Mantle standing by the headmaster’s desk. He greeted Gerald warmly. ‘We haven’t seen each other since the afternoon at my butterfly house,’ he said. ‘You were with a friend. Miss Upham, yes?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Gerald said. ‘And you were with a friend too. Tycho Brahe.’

  Jasper Mantle’s complexion reddened. ‘You have a good memory,’ he said flatly.

  ‘He made a big impression,’ Gerald said.

  Sergei Baranov settled into a plush armchair and declared, ‘Enough with pleasantries. Let us get to business. What is the latest with the initiation plans?’

  Gerald had that feeling of helplessness that always occurred when other people made decisions for him.

  ‘Do I get any say in this?’ he asked his mother.

  Vi responded with a glare, then turned to Jasper Mantle and lavished him with an ingratiating smile. ‘I’m sure Gerald is very much looking forward to New York, Jasper, even if he isn’t showing it.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Teenagers.’

  Mr Mantle gave a knowing nod. ‘We all had our rebellious stage,’ he said. ‘I seem to recall bunking off school to spend the occasional afternoon down by the riverbank.’

  ‘To have a sneaky cigarette?’ Vi said. She leaned across and placed a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll bet you were quite the wag in your time.’

/>   ‘To catch butterflies, actually,’ Jasper Mantle said. He stared wistfully out the window. ‘Heady days.’

  Gerald looked at him blankly. ‘Butterflies?’

  ‘My collection had to start somewhere, Gerald. But that’s the collector’s lot—once you start you have to keep going. It’s a bit like eating peanuts. It’s impossible to stop at one. I’m still searching for the elusive Xerxes Blue all these years later. It’s a lifelong pursuit.’

  ‘I’m the same way with shoes,’ Vi said, nodding in sympathy. For a moment, she too gazed wistfully out the window. ‘So much leather, so little time. Now, do tell us about the initiation. It has us all intrigued.’

  Gerald squeezed in next to his mother on the couch. Jasper Mantle took a sip from a china teacup and coughed lightly into his closed hand. ‘The Billionaires’ Club is an institution of long-held traditions,’ he said. ‘Once you become a club member, you are a member for life.’

  ‘What about Mason Green?’ Gerald’s head was slumped between his shoulders, his eyes trained on the floor. ‘You booted him out.’

  Jasper Mantle shifted in his chair. ‘Those were exceptional circumstances,’ he said, his neck stiff as a gatepost. ‘Murder is most definitely not a tradition we hold dear. However, one man’s fall from grace is your opportunity, Gerald.’

  Vi clamped her hand onto Gerald’s knee and squeezed. ‘Mr Mantle is right, dear. This is an important opportunity for all of us. Certainly not one to be squandered.’

  ‘Ow!’ Gerald yelped. He rubbed his knee where Vi had dug in her fingernails. His mother gave him one of her button your lip if you know what’s good for you looks.

  ‘It’s not at all onerous,’ Mr Mantle continued. ‘All you have to do to become a full member in good standing is spend a night in the Billionaires’ Club in New York.’

  Gerald looked sceptical. ‘That’s all?’

  Jasper Mantle smiled. ‘That is all.’

  Gerald narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s the catch? Is it haunted, or something?’

  Vi emitted a trill of laughter. ‘Oh, Gerald—I hardly think Jasper would put you up in a haunted house!’ A sudden look of concern washed across her face. She turned to the butterfly collector. ‘Would you?’

  Jasper Mantle spread his hands wide. ‘We all have skeletons in the cupboard, Mrs Wilkins, but not so many ghosts. Our founder had quite the sense of humour. He designed a house to explore his whims and fancies. Have you heard of him: Diamond Jim Kincaid? He made his pile in railroads and property speculation in the United States, and he established the Billionaires’ Club in 1830. He was quite the eccentric, I’m told.’ Jasper Mantle clapped his hands together with gusto. ‘And now we can welcome two new members into the fold.’

  There was a sudden sickening lurch in Gerald’s stomach. ‘Two new members?’ he said. He looked aghast at Alex Baranov, who was sitting smugly next to his father.

  Jasper Mantle gave him a patient smile, as if he was house-training a particularly dense labrador. ‘That’s right, Gerald. Two new members. It is such a piece of luck that young Alex can attend the initiation as well, following the, uh, resignation of Tycho Brahe.’

  ‘Someone else who didn’t hold with club traditions,’ Gerald said.

  ‘Quite.’ Mr Mantle dabbed a handkerchief at the corners of his mouth. ‘The members were more than happy to offer the spot to Sergei’s son. All part of the renewal and revitalisation of our group—it will certainly bring the average age of the membership down.’

  ‘To a hundred and eight,’ Gerald muttered under his breath.

  ‘What was that, Gerald?’ Jasper Mantle asked.

  ‘I said, “I can hardly wait.” I’m sure Alex and I will have a wonderful night together.’

  Jasper Mantle beamed at the two boys. ‘That’s the spirit. The more the merrier. You see, Diamond Jim embedded a number of puzzles into the house. Part of the charm of this initiation night is seeing how many of them you can solve. They have tested some of the finest minds for generations. Working together, who knows what you might turn up. But I’m sure you’ll become jolly good friends forever.’

  Alex glared at Gerald. ‘Oh yes. Jolly good friends.’

  Gerald returned the glare. ‘Forever,’ he said.

  Gerald zoned out as the details were discussed. The only detail he was worried about was the one that had him sharing a night with Alex Baranov. As the meeting wrapped up and his mother gave him a parting hug, Gerald was pulled to one side by Sergei Baranov. The tall blond man stooped to speak quietly in Gerald’s ear.

  ‘My son has been teasing you, yes?’ Baranov said. ‘About your name?’

  The note of sympathy in Mr Baranov’s voice took Gerald by surprise. ‘I suppose,’ he said. ‘But it’s no big deal.’

  Sergei Baranov shook his head. ‘Alex can be a bit of a bully, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘His mother and I…’ He stared at the floor and shook his head again. ‘We try our best. But sometimes a person’s character, it cannot be changed. No matter what you try.’

  Gerald wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Sergei Baranov stroked a hand across his chin. ‘Has Alex threatened you regarding this Triple Crown challenge? Told you not to try?’

  Gerald’s eyes were drawn in to the man’s hypnotic gaze. He nodded.

  Again, Sergei Baranov ran a hand across his whiskered chin. ‘I see.’ He moved his mouth close to Gerald’s ear. ‘This is one time I agree with my son.’

  Gerald’s head jolted. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

  Sergei Baranov’s voice deepened. ‘If you know what is good for you, you’ll quit this challenge and walk away. The same goes for the initiation at the club. You have nothing to gain here, Gerald Wilkins. Spare yourself the trouble and some very real pain.’

  Gerald took a clumsy step backwards, bumping into the corner of the headmaster’s desk. He looked wide-eyed at Sergei Baranov, not sure if he had heard right. But the look on the man’s face told Gerald there had been no mistake.

  ‘So nice to meet you, Gerry,’ Sergei Baranov said in a voice of Siberian frostiness. ‘I do hope to have the pleasure again very soon.’

  Chapter 10

  Gerald chose a desk near the back of the classroom as a stream of students flowed inside. Felicity tossed her bag on the floor by his feet and settled in next to him.

  ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ she said. ‘Scottish history in Scotland. What a treat.’

  Gerald watched Felicity insert a pencil into a sharpener and give it a twist. ‘You were more fun on holidays,’ he said.

  Felicity withdrew the pencil and pursed her lips to blow away any stray shavings. ‘And you run the risk of being very boring indeed if you keep up that attitude.’

  Gerald rested his chin in his palm until his cheek squished up to his eyeball. ‘More boring than Scottish history?’

  Felicity did not bother to respond.

  Gerald’s initial excitement at being away at camp had quickly flattened when he realised that his days were still going to be full of school lessons. Sergei Baranov’s threat and Mason Green’s insistence that he crack the coded message from Jeremy Davey had made him anxious. That a
nxiety was only compounded by the relentless drudge of algebra, French vocab and the periodic table. And, worst of all, Scottish history.

  The remainder of the students filed in. Ruby was the last through the door. Gerald raised his hand to beckon her across, when her path was intercepted.

  ‘Will you look at that?’ Gerald said.

  Felicity glanced up. ‘At what?’

  ‘Blinking Alex Baranov has just asked Ruby to sit next to him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said yes!’

  ‘I don’t think that’s illegal,’ Felicity said. ‘She can sit wherever she wants.’

  ‘I know,’ Gerald said in a low grumble. ‘But Alex Baranov? That’s just revolting.’

  Felicity screwed up her nose to mirror the look on Gerald’s face. ‘So is jealousy.’

  ‘I am not jealous,’ Gerald said. He paused while he sharpened his narrow-eyed scowl at Alex. ‘I just really hate that guy.’

  A hush fell over the room as a short woman in a tweed skirt and starched white blouse marched into the class. ‘Settle everyone, please,’ she said, in equally starched tones. ‘It’s thinking time.’

  Felicity wriggled upright in her chair. ‘Oh goodie,’ she whispered to Gerald. ‘It’s Miss Whitaker. She’s one of my favourite teachers.’

  Gerald squinted at the woman at the front of the class and tried to reconcile the concepts of ‘favourite’ and ‘teacher’.

  Miss Whitaker rubbed her hands together and beamed. ‘Today we are going to talk about the life of King James VI of Scotland. Now, can anyone tell me something interesting about James VI?’ she asked.

  She was met by a sea of blank faces.

  She scoured the room, looking for signs of intelligent life.

  ‘Anyone?’ she asked.