by Gary Paulsen
The headless suit of armor made loud clanking noises as it floated through the air. It was coming right at him. Amos rolled to the side just as it reached for him.
Amos landed on the stone floor beside his bed. He opened his eyes, sat up, and looked around the room. No ghosts. No suit of armor. It was a dream. He let out a sigh of relief and shook his head. “Dunc told me I’d have nightmares if I ate that fifth piece of apple pie.”
He sat in the dark for a few minutes wondering where he had left his candle. Then he heard the loud clanking noise again.
It wasn’t a dream. He felt around on the night table for matches. Three tries, and he finally managed to light his candle. He searched the room. Nothing.
Amos sat down on the bed. “This is crazy. It’s probably the high altitude. I’m not getting enough oxygen to my brain.”
He started to blow out the candle when he heard it again: a loud noise like metal hitting metal. It seemed to be coming from inside the fireplace.
Amos cautiously inched over to the fireplace. He stepped up onto the hearth and looked in. Nothing unusual—just a regular everyday fireplace. Amos turned to step back down. His bare foot landed on something sharp. He jerked it up and fell backward against the wall of the fireplace. It started to move.
Amos screamed, just before being swallowed by the fireplace.
“Amos?” Dunc, hearing the scream, came flying into Amos’s room. T.J. was on his heels. Dunc pointed his pen flashlight at the bed. “He’s gone.”
T.J. held his candle up. “Listen. I hear something.”
“It’s coming from over there.” Dunc threw the light on the fireplace. “Amos?”
“I’m in here.” The voice was muffled, blurred.
“Amos, what are you doing behind the fireplace?”
“Checking for termites. Don’t be stupid. Get me out of here!”
“How’d you get back there? I can’t find a door.”
“There’s no door. I fell on this lever, and the whole wall turned around.”
T.J. stepped close to the back of the fireplace. “Amos, push on the lever again.”
“I can’t find it. My candle went out. I dropped it when the wall turned.”
Dunc searched the wall. He pushed and pulled on everything. “There’s nothing on this side.”
“I’ve got an idea.” T.J. headed for the door. “Tell Amos to hang on. The cavalry’s coming.”
“What’s going on out there?” Amos yelled through the wall. “Are you guys going to get me out of here or what?”
“T.J.’s working on something.”
“Tell him to hurry. There are big hairy creatures keeping me company back here.”
Dunc could hear muffled voices coming from behind the wall. “Amos? Are you okay?”
The wall slowly creaked open.
Amos blasted through the opening. T.J. followed carrying a small white mouse. “Here’s his big hairy creature.”
Amos shrugged. “It was dark.”
Dunc looked at T.J. “How’d you get back there?”
T.J. put the mouse on the floor. “I figured if his fireplace did it, mine would too. I was right.”
“This is great.” Dunc sat on the arm of the overstuffed chair. “There are probably secret passages all over this place. Tomorrow we’ll follow as many as we can, and—”
“Not this boy.” Amos shook his head. “Huh-uh.”
“Why not?” Dunc asked. “Don’t you want to find out what’s going on here?”
“I already know something weird is going on. That’s why I’m not going.”
T.J. looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. Earlier, you said you thought—”
“That was earlier. Before I heard the—it.”
“You heard the noise?” T.J. asked. “What did it sound like to you?”
“It sounded like a machine—that walks—and has big yellow monster eyes—and eats people.”
“Amos.” Dunc gave him a look.
Amos hated it when Dunc said his name like that. As if he were a three-year-old. “Well, it did.”
“That’s what I thought too,” T.J. said. “I mean, I thought it sounded like some kind of machine.”
Dunc rubbed his chin. “I wonder why anyone would go to the trouble to hide a machine in an old Scottish castle.”
“Aren’t you dressed yet?” T.J. poked his head in Amos’s room. “Mrs. Knox has breakfast ready.”
“If you recall, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Amos tied his shoe. “Something to do with fake fireplaces, loud noises, secret passages …”
“Well, try to hurry. We’ve got major investigating to do today.”
“You’ve been hanging around Dunc too long. You’re starting to sound like him.”
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
T.J. took the stairs two at a time. Amos slumped down them still half-asleep. Dunc was already in the kitchen eating.
Amos sat down at the end of a long wooden table. In front of him was a bowl of something white and runny. “What’s this stuff?”
“Porridge, young man. And all you’ll be gettin’, so eat up.”
Amos looked up and found himself staring into the black eyes of an old woman with scraggly gray hair. Her back was bent, and her nose was long and crooked. The only thing missing was a wart on her nose.
“Amos, this is Mrs. Knox,” T.J. said. “Mrs. Knox, my cousin Amos Binder.”
She studied him for a long time. Amos hoped she wasn’t considering turning him into a frog.
“Eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Amos nervously picked up his spoon. He looked at the stuff in the bowl. It reminded him of the snot that Jimmy Farrell always had dripping off the end of his nose. He put some of it in his mouth. It really wasn’t too bad, if he pretended he was back home eating Fruit Slams. And if he didn’t think about Jimmy Farrell.
Mrs. Knox sat down at the table with a cup of tea. She drank it in one noisy gulp and then concentrated on the leaves in the bottom. She started talking out loud in a high-pitched voice to no one in particular. “I see three grasshoppers. Hopping here, hopping there. They’re having such a lark—but then they hop somewhere they shouldn’t be and see things they shouldn’t see—and then all three get mashed. Flatter than an English pancake.”
The last line tickled her. She started cackling like a hen laying an egg.
“Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Knox.” T.J. pushed his bowl away and stood up. “We’ve got a lot of sight-seeing to do today, so I guess we’d better get started. Oh, and don’t worry about lunch. We’ll take care of it ourselves.”
Dunc and Amos followed him out the door.
Mrs. Knox screeched after them, “We’re having haggis for supper. Don’t be late.”
Amos leaned up to T.J.’s ear. “Who’s Haggis?”
“It’s not a who. It’s a what. Haggis is a famous Scottish dish made from the organs of a sheep—heart, liver, and lungs. They boil them in a bag made from the sheep’s stomach.”
Amos made a face. “Couldn’t we just order out for pizza?”
T.J. grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a stash of candy bars in my room. And we can always go down to the village for a quick meal.”
“There’s a village near here?” Dunc asked.
“Sure. Dunbar Village. It’s a fishing village right on the coast. I go there all the time when I’m not working in my laboratory.”
“You have your own laboratory?” Amos was impressed. “Can we see it?”
T.J. blushed. “Well, I guess it’s not a real laboratory. Dad gave me a room to work on my inventions. I finally got the bugs worked out of my magnetic signal retriever. But I’m still having problems with those air shoes.”
Amos patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, T.J., you’ll get it. Genius runs in our family.”
Dunc rolled his eyes. “I hate to break this up, but we have a case to solve.”
“Right,” T.J. said. “And like my grand
mother always says, ‘The early bird scratches the bald spot on the top of your head.’ ”
Dunc looked at T.J. He thought about asking him to explain that one but decided it would be smarter to let it drop. “Let’s walk down to the village. I have a feeling we need to check it out if we’re going to get anywhere on this case.”
Amos opened the front door. He took two steps and ran face-first into a man’s chest. A man wearing a tweed jacket and a red plaid skirt.
The man looked down his nose at him. “Excuse me, young man. I’m Mr. Macbeth, the realtor for this property. I was just about to knock.”
T.J. pulled Amos back. “These are my friends from America, Mr. Macbeth. This is—”
The man curled his upper lip. “Yes, I heard you had some little friends staying with you. Is your father in?”
“My dad’s at work. Can I help you?”
“I need to check on some things for the owner of the property. If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to the housekeeper.”
“She’s in the kitchen.” T.J. moved so that the man could get past.
Mr. Macbeth walked through the front door and headed for the kitchen without a backward glance at the boys.
“Hmmm.” Dunc tapped his chin. “There’s something strange about that guy.”
Amos shrugged. “He seemed okay to me—if you don’t count the dress.”
“That was a kilt.” Dunc continued to tap his chin. “In Scotland men sometimes wear kilts to signify which clan they belong to.”
“If it’s not the dress, then what’s bothering you?” Amos asked.
“Well, for starters, how did he know T.J. had friends staying with him?”
“Dad and I didn’t tell him,” T.J. said. “We didn’t even know ourselves for sure until yesterday.”
“And if he really came to see your dad, why didn’t he come in the afternoon, when he’d be sure and catch him at home?”
“Is he a suspect?” T.J. asked.
Dunc nodded. “It looks that way.”
“Couldn’t we talk about this on the way to town?” Amos asked. “I’m starving.”
“We’ll go in a minute. Right now, we’ve got more important things to do.” Dunc took his pen flashlight out and flashed it on and off to make sure it was still working.
Amos frowned. “What could be more important than eating?”
Dunc looked at T.J. “Didn’t you say the passage from the staircase leads to the kitchen?”
T.J. nodded. “And who knows where else. I haven’t explored all of it.”
“Come on.” Dunc led the way to the stairs. He pulled on the statue, and the secret door slid open. “Let’s find out what our friend Mr. Macbeth is up to.”
Amos stopped. “Wait a minute. What about that monster we heard last night? He’s probably running loose in there somewhere, looking for his next victim. Maybe I should stay out here and keep watch.”
“You can’t stay out here,” Dunc said. “Somebody might see you and wonder where T.J. and I are.”
“I’ll tell them you’re in the bathroom.”
“Both of us?”
Amos shrugged. “When you gotta go …”
“Someone’s coming,” T.J. whispered.
Dunc pulled Amos inside the passage and shut the door. He fumbled for his pen flashlight. “Which way to the kitchen?”
T.J. led them to the right, down a narrow, musky-smelling tunnel. They followed him in silence until they reached a dead end. Voices were coming from the other side of the wall.
Amos started to say something, but Dunc put his finger to his lips.
Mrs. Knox sounded angry. She was practically yelling. “You said it would just be the professor! Then he shows up with his brat. And if that ain’t enough, two more whelps from America show up. Before long, they’ll have a regular dog-and-pony show.”
Mr. Macbeth’s voice was calm. “They’re just kids. What can they hurt?”
“If they find out, they can hurt plenty. My boy Jimmy, don’t like it. He’s thinking of getting out while there’s still time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can tell Jimmy and the others that everything is under control. We wanted a good cover for our operation, didn’t we? Well, now we have it. Those Yanks don’t have a clue.”
Dunc checked the stairs. “It’s all clear. Come on.”
Dunc and T.J. bounded down the stairs and out the front door. Amos would have followed except for one small problem: The back of his jacket was caught in the secret door.
Mrs. Knox moved into the great hall and started dusting the furniture. She noticed Amos on the stairs. “You up there. What are you doing?”
Amos looked around. “Me?”
Mrs. Knox put her hands on her hips. “I don’t see no one else up there.”
Amos gulped. “I’m not doing anything. Just hanging around.”
“Well, do it somewhere else. I’ve got work to do in here.”
The front door opened, and Dunc stood in the opening. The door blocked Dunc’s view of Mrs. Knox, who was dusting an antique bookshelf. He looked up at Amos. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I said I’m not coming.”
“Why not?”
Amos tried to point to Mrs. Knox with his head. “I like it up here. There’s an outstanding view of the … wall from here. I may stand here all afternoon.”
“Don’t be dumb—what’s wrong with your head?”
Amos let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe you and T.J. should go on to town without me. I’ll just stay here and enjoy the view.” He rolled his eyes in Mrs. Knox’s direction.
T.J. pushed by Dunc. “What’s the holdup?”
Dunc shrugged. “Amos wants to stay here.”
Mrs. Knox picked up her dusting supplies and stormed off into the kitchen. “A body can’t get no work done around here with all this commotion.”
T.J. looked up at Amos. “Want us to bring you anything from town?”
“Get up here!”
Dunc scratched his head. “But I thought you said—”
“I’ll give you two seconds to get up here. Then I’m going to wiggle out of this coat and strangle both of you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were stuck?” Dunc pulled on the statue.
Amos jerked his coat out of the crack. “All this time I thought you two were so smart.” He stomped down the stairs. “My dog Scruff has more brains in his little toe.” He headed out the door mumbling to himself. “My goldfish could out-think both of you put together. A rock has more intelligence.…”
“What’s wrong with him?” T.J. asked.
“Who knows. Sometimes he gets like this. Don’t worry. It never lasts long.”
Amos was almost to the bridge when they caught up with him.
“You call this a town? There’s not even a traffic light! Where’s the mall? The arcade?”
“It’s a fishing village, Amos,” T.J. said. “About all they have are a few shops, a couple of pubs, and a fish market.”
Amos sniffed the air and nudged Dunc. “Does this place remind you of anything?”
Dunc crinkled his nose. “The waterfront back home. I hope the people are nicer.”
“Tell me again why we’re here?”
“We’re looking for clues. Anything that might tell us what’s going on up at the castle.”
“Do we have to look for clues on an empty stomach?” Amos asked.
“There’s a place across the street that makes pretty good food.” T.J. pointed at a sign that said “Macdonald’s.” “The menu is sort of limited, though.”
“Are you kidding?” Amos snorted. “We have those at home. I eat there all the time.”
“But Amos, it’s not—”
Amos wasn’t listening. He crossed the street and looked inside the door. The room was dark, and there were several steps leading down to the main floor. One side of the room was a bar. The other side had a few empty tables.
Amos took a step back. He looked at T.J. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“I’m sure.” T.J. led them to a table. “This is definitely Macdonald’s. Rosie Macdonald’s.”
When they were seated, a woman wearing a white cup towel for an apron came over to their table. “What’ll it be, gents?”
Amos cleared his throat. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger, fries, a large chocolate shake, and—”
The woman grinned. “That’ll be one order of fish and chips.” She rolled the r’s in the word order. “How about you two?”
“We’ll have the same.” T.J. turned to Amos. “I told you the menu was limited.”
Dunc leaned over the table. “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve been followed.”
T.J. and Amos turned around. Mr. Smith, the grounds keeper from the castle, was coming down the steps.
“I said don’t look.”
“I knew he’d turn up,” T.J. said. “He’s everywhere. I haven’t been able to make a move without him following me.”
Mr. Smith walked over to the bar. He whispered something to Rosie and handed her a piece of paper. Without looking around, he turned and left the building.
“That was strange,” T.J. said. “Usually he stays right with me.”
Dunc watched Rosie working behind the counter. “I wonder what was on that piece of paper.”
“That’s not hard to figure,” Amos said. “He placed an order to go.”
Dunc shook his head. “He didn’t wait for any food.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“She’s probably an international spy,” T.J. whispered. “And he gave her a coded message.”
Amos put his elbow on the table. “You’ve been watching too many old James Bond movies.”
T.J. looked offended. “I’ve learned a lot from James Bond.” He took a pen out of the inside pocket of his trench coat. “Take this, for example.”
Amos reached for it. “What does it do? Write in disappearing ink?”
“Among other things.” T.J. jerked it out of his reach. “Watch this.” He touched a button, and a tiny pair of scissors slid up out of the handle.
