“Wait up,” I said to Lydia. She looked down at me. For these climbs she wore dark pants and sturdy boots—the only time I’d seen her not in a long black dress. This was Action Lydia. “We shouldn’t go any higher,” I said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Lub,” I said. “His place is at the top of this cliff. In an old lighthouse.”
“Really,” she said. She sounded peeved that Lub hadn’t told her this.
“We don’t want to lead the rest of them up there,” I said. “Besides, the cave entrance is supposed to be near the water.”
“Fine.” She began to climb down past me, and in the narrows we were face-to-face, our hips touching. I put out an arm.
“I know you’re the leader of the Involuntaries. You may be trying to keep it a secret, but you’re really bad at not being the leader.”
“That is completely untrue,” she said.
“I’m just trying to say thanks.”
“Then you’re really bad at that.”
“I’m serious. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t … you. Commanding this secret army.”
“This ‘army’ isn’t doing much good, is it? Three days and nothing to show for it.” She dropped past me and started down. “All right, people!” she shouted. “Head home. We’ll use the phone tree for any news—standard homework code.”
She glanced up at me.
“Yep,” I said. “You’re just one of the troops.”
She almost smiled.
* * *
The inner circle of the Involuntaries met every night, sometimes only for ten minutes. After three days, everyone was getting frustrated with the lack of progress.
“Waughm’s all over the place,” Flora said. She was in charge of following him, and had recruited a team of people to keep him in sight wherever he went in the school. She kept all the surveillance notes in a spiral notebook. “He’s up and down the hallways, barely sitting down.”
“He’s nervous,” I said.
“Seems like it,” she said. “He also runs errands outside of school, though we keep losing him every time he gets in the car.”
“We know he’s visited Bode at least twice,” Garfield said. He had another team following the police chief, but that was mostly accomplished by tracking where his squad car went in town. And all the reports ended more or less at 10 P.M., which was the start of curfew.
“Any news about the Albatross?” Lydia asked.
“Not much,” Ruth whispered. The girl had practically dropped out of school to watch Ruck’s garage. She hung out in the woods by the docks, talking to Isabel. “Micah was there last night for fifteen minutes, but he’s been the only visitor. No Scrimshander.”
“And no Waughm or Bode?” Lydia asked.
“Do not doubt us,” Isabel said. The doll was sitting two chairs away from Ruth, but I swear her voice came straight out of Isabel’s porcelain mouth.
“Nobody’s doubting you,” Lydia said to the doll.
“Ruth, have you ever read Newton and Leeb?” I asked. Ruth looked at me blankly. “I think you’d like it. It’s a comic strip, about this boy whose best friend is a robot that he thinks is real.”
“Sounds stupid,” Isabel said.
“Okay then…,” Garfield said. “Any news from the ‘secret’ team?”
“Sorry,” Lydia said. “No leads there.” Lub had told us none of his people had headed out to open water for their regular meeting with the humans—which made sense, considering the Albatross hadn’t left the garage. He’d tried listening in on the Elders, but he hadn’t heard anyone talking about Urgaleth or the Ashen Light.
“We have some good news, though,” I said. “I think we know where this summoning of Urgaleth is supposed to take place. A few days ago I was in Uxton, and I was finally able to get on the Internet and confirm it.”
“You found this on the Internet?” Bart said skeptically.
“Not exactly. I used my mom’s account to log in to the NOAA servers. See, my mom set out radio buoys that send positioning signals to satellites. Three of them are still working. But one of them only pinged its location once, and then went offline—on the day my mom was attacked.”
“Someone knocked it out?” Garfield said, excited. “It had to be Waughm!”
“I don’t know who,” I said. Actually, I had a pretty good idea who’d destroyed the buoy. The Elders probably took it out soon after the Albatross crashed my mom’s boat. “But this turns out to be a good thing. Disabling the buoy is more suspicious than leaving it in place.”
“You seem pretty confident about a single data point,” Bart said.
“I like a confident man,” Flora said.
“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t tell them that I’d confirmed the location with Lub. When I showed him the map of the buoy’s former location, he said that it seemed like the place where the Elders were meeting. Then again, Lub thought human maps of the sea were laughably inaccurate. “We still need to find my mom before they take her there.”
“We can’t find the Scrimshander’s cave,” Bart said. “Dozens and dozens of little cracks in the rock, sure. Lots of tunnels that go nowhere. But no secret lair.”
“We need to narrow down the search area,” I said. “What do we know about him? We should be thinking like my mom. Tracking the subject according to his known habits and habitats.”
“If you run into a Scrimshander expert, let us know,” Bart said.
“Oh,” I said. Then: “Oh.”
“What is it?” Lydia asked.
“I need to visit the library.”
“Nobody goes in the library,” she said.
“Yeah, you keep saying that. I’d sneak in at night, but it has to be during the daytime.” I needed to catch Professor Freytag before he went home.
“But you’re suspended,” Bart said. “And Waughm’s patrolling the hallways like crazy. You’ll never get in.”
“Leave it to me,” Flora said.
* * *
At 9:52 A.M., just as third period was starting, the big double doors of Dunnsmouth Secondary burst open, and the entire population of the school began pouring out, pushed out by the insistent blat of the fire alarms.
I strolled across the street toward the crowd. I’d ditched my down jacket and had put on a heavy black wool coat that Bart had lent me. Gar had given me a toboggan hat, which I pulled down to my eyebrows.
Mrs. Velloc appeared at the top of the steps. She stood in the middle of the flow of students, scanning the crowd—for anyone laughing, smiling, or otherwise indicating that they had pulled the fire alarm. I ducked behind a tall student. Then Flora sidled up and looped an arm through mine.
“Nice costume,” she said. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“What? No.”
“Pity.”
Advance word must have gotten out to the students, because almost everyone was wearing a coat and hat. We milled about in the chilly air. I saw tall Bart on the fringes of the crowd, but I couldn’t find Lydia or the other Involuntaries. The alarm went on and on.
“Where’s the fire department?” I said.
“Oh, they’re in Uxton,” Flora said. “They never come for us unless we call and say it’s a real fire.”
“I can’t believe this whole town hasn’t burned down,” I said.
“Again,” she said.
A few minutes later the alarm went silent, and then Principal Montooth and Mr. Waughm came out to wave us back in.
The students began walking up the steps. Montooth and Waughm went back inside, but Mrs. Velloc remained planted by the front door, studying each face that passed. Flora must have sensed me tensing up, because she whispered, “Act two.”
Someone shouted. A boy with black spiky hair stumbled backward and hit the ground. Another boy jumped on top of him, yelling, “She’s my girlfriend! Mine!”
Mrs. Velloc ran to pull them off each other. Flora and I strolled inside, arm in arm.
“What was that about?” I
asked.
“Classic love triangle,” Flora said.
Waughm and Miss Pearl stood by the office door, talking to each other. I dropped my head, and Flora steered me to the right, away from them. In a minute we turned a corner, and we were out of sight of the teachers.
“What would have happened if they were stopping people inside the atrium?” I asked.
“Act three. I really wish we could have used it.” She handed me a key. “This is from Lydia, in case the library’s locked.”
They’d thought of everything. “Great show,” I told Flora. “Four stars.”
“I think we changed some lives here today,” she said. “Ta!”
I jogged down the hallway ahead of the wave of returning students. The corridor in front of the library was empty when I reached it. The doors were closed, but unlocked.
“Professor Freytag?” I called. The library was dimly lit, as usual. I pulled off the borrowed coat and hat and left them by the front desk. Then I began to walk up and down the aisles, calling the professor’s name.
The big table in the back of the room was still covered by the nautical map I’d seen on my second visit, but now there was a newspaper there. The Uxton Beacon, from several days ago. The second story on the front page said, SEARCH FOR SCIENTIST AND AREA MAN CALLED OFF.
Police say that the search for a man and woman missing at sea since last week has been discontinued. Rosa Harrison, of San Diego, California, and Hallgrim Jonsson, of Dunnsmouth, were in Jonsson’s boat somewhere east and north of Dunnsmouth Bay when they lost radio contact. The boat has not been found.
Hal Jonsson’s first name was really Hallgrim? That explained something I’d been wondering about.
I went back to the front desk. The surface was dusty, but the big ledger for signing out books was open, with an old-fashioned pencil still in the crease. The last entry was for Ohio on Two Dollars a Day, lent to Ishmael Shemp on October 11, 1972. I found a scrap of paper in the pocket of Bart’s coat and wrote, “Prof. F, I must see you right away. Please call.” I wrote the phone number of the rental house, then placed the paper in the middle of the desk. I turned toward the door—and there was Professor Freytag.
The man was studying the spines of the books on the shelf nearest the desk, muttering to himself. “No no no,” he said. “Not that one, not that one…”
“Professor!” I said. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
He wheeled about, startled. “Who are you?” He blinked at me through those thick glasses. “Wait. You’re the science boy. Don’t tell me your name.”
“I know, I know, there’s power in names,” I said. “But I don’t care. It’s Harrison Harrison.”
“I really wish you hadn’t told me that.”
“You owe me an explanation, Professor.”
“I do?” He seemed upset by the news.
“You gave me the diary of Tobias Glück. You knew what was in there, didn’t you? You knew it would tell me about the Scrimshander—the Scrimshander.”
The professor raised his hands to his ears. “Please! I’m not permitted to talk about … certain subjects.”
I stalked toward him. “You’re going to have to. You have to tell me everything you know about him—starting with where his cave is located.”
The professor strode away from me. “I’m sorry, I really can’t help you. I told you, I’m not permitted—”
I reached for his arm—and my hand passed through his body.
I looked at the professor, then at my hand, then back to the professor.
He turned to face me, looking sheepish. “Ah. About that.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I should have been prepared for this eventuality,” the professor said. “It’s been obvious since you first saw me that you’re a sensitive. Tainted by some exposure to the Other Side. The fact that you managed to see me as well as hear me shuffling about—well, that hasn’t occurred since little Claudia, back in—”
“You’re a ghost,” I said.
“Let’s not be vulgar. We are men of science. Let us say, rather, that I fit all the criteria for a Sturgean Standing Wave, which is to say, a coherent sympathetic oscillation in the luminiferous aether, although with certain atypical properties.”
“So, a ghost.”
The professor sighed. “Yes.”
This made no sense, but it also made a lot of sense. I’d never seen him touch a physical object. I’d never heard of anyone who’d even seen him. “No wonder nobody goes in the library,” I said.
“It’s a sad commentary on the state of modern education,” he said.
“I mean, because it’s haunted.”
“Oh, yes! That.”
“Are you trapped here?” I asked.
The professor brightened. “Interesting question! I am strangely attracted to this place. I feel that what I’m looking for is close—very close. Furthermore, I don’t seem to want to leave, which raises the thorny issue of free will. Do I not want to leave because I do not want to, or because I am not capable of not wanting to, do you follow?”
“Uh…”
“Let’s just agree that I never seem to go anywhere else.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have a real problem. The Scrimshander’s kidnapped my mom. I need to know where he’s taken her, or where he’s going to take her.”
Professor Freytag frowned. “I wish I could help, my boy, but as I mentioned, I’m not permitted to discuss it.”
“Who doesn’t permit you?”
He pursed his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t say. I mean this literally: I cannot say who, or what, has done this. I can only say there are certain restrictions on my waveform: a set of boundary conditions that—”
“Stop!”
The professor recoiled. “There’s no call for anger.”
And I was angry. Something churned in my head—a wild animal bashing against a cage. My right leg burned.
I took a step back, trying to calm myself. “Okay, you’re saying there are rules you can’t break. But you don’t know why.”
“As I said, free will is a tricky—”
“Are you a man of science, or not?”
The professor looked affronted. “Of course I am. Even though I’m immaterial, that doesn’t mean I lack substance.”
“Then tell me where my mother is!”
Professor Freytag opened his mouth. His form abruptly blurred, and he began to sink into the floor, shuddering like a heat wave on a desert highway. His arms flew out to his sides, and he began to vibrate, faster and faster. His body began twist into the ground. His shins vanished, then his knees.
They’re reeling him in, I thought. Keeping him from me.
I didn’t know who “they” were. I wasn’t thinking at all. I jumped forward, arms wide, to stop him before he disappeared.
Then the entire room began to vibrate—or else I was vibrating with the professor, falling into his frequency. My arms were wrapped around his chest, heaving him up. I could feel his scratchy wool sweater, smell the years of tobacco smoke in its fibers.
Then, just as suddenly, he turned to vapor again. I fell through him, onto the floor. When I looked up, he was standing above me, both feet on the ground.
“Well, that was interesting,” he said, sounding stunned. “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me,” I said.
“Oh my boy, it most certainly was. You commanded me to speak, and now … I’m speaking, aren’t I? I can even say…” His eyes widened in delight. “Scrimshander. There. I’ve named the beast himself.”
I got to my feet. The professor said, “Quick, Harrison. Before it wears off. What do you want to know?”
* * *
“The Scrimshander is an ancient creature,” the professor told me. “According to oral histories I was able to record when I … when I resided in a body, it was a simple messenger, ferrying messages between the human Intercessor and the Dwellers. But over time he became something else. A weapon.”
<
br /> “I’ve seen his knife,” I said.
“More than that, my boy. What this creature does is prevent his victims’ waveforms from dissipating. By some process I do not understand, their essences are frozen, as definitively as the portraits in his scrimshaw.”
“What are you saying—he traps their souls?”
“Speaking unscientifically, yes. They become his possessions. They cannot act against him, forevermore. The most they can do is talk in the abstract about him—or perhaps point out a book or two that might be of interest.”
“I’m so sorry, Professor. When did he—” I was going to say “murder you,” but that seemed harsh. “How long ago did you run into him?”
“What time is it now?”
“About eleven-thirty in the morning.”
“Then it was about ten hours ago,” he said.
“Uh…”
“Why are you looking at me like that? Oh. It’s not September seventh, is it?”
“No.”
“Or 1932.”
“Not even close.”
“Hmm.” He looked glum. Then he straightened his shoulders. “Let’s consider that a benefit, shall we? In a way, this is a kind of time travel.” His eyes widened. “Have we put a man on Mars?”
“Not yet. Professor, I need you to concentrate. Any day now, the Scrimshander’s going to take my mother out to meet the Dwellers. For some reason they need her to raise Urgaleth—”
“The Mover Between Worlds!”
“That’s the one.”
“My mentor, Professor Armitage, first ran across mentions of this Urgaleth, but the texts were always incomplete. It was the rumor of a complete set of scriptures that first brought me to Dunnsmouth. I heard of the town from—”
“Professor. My mom. I need to find the Scrimshander’s cave before they sacrifice her to Urgaleth.”
“My boy, they aren’t going to sacrifice her,” he said. “The Mover comes whenever the stars are right, regardless of whatever human they toss on to the water. No, they probably need her to be the host, though why they’re using a grown woman—”
“The host of what?”
“Oh! Is she pregnant?”
Harrison Squared Page 19
