The Dark Secret of Weatherend

by John Bellairs

  At first Miss Eells didn't get it. She wrinkled up her forehead and stared off into space. "Does this bus..." she muttered, and then she paused and chewed her lip. Suddenly her face lit up. "Hah! To Du-luth! Toodle-oot! Not beep-beep! And that's one of our clues, isn't it? The sonorous bus! If there's some way of stopping young Borkman from carrying out his father's plans, it seems we'll find it in that cemetery in Duluth. Well, that settles it! We have to go there."

  Anthony's head was still spinning. Miss Eells was going too fast for him. "But what about Pam and the crack of noon and the rest of the clues?"

  Miss Eells shrugged. "I suspect they will become clearer when we arrive at the cemetery. Are you coming with me?"

  Anthony felt awful. His mother would never allow him to go away with Miss Eells. But maybe he should just leave without permission. After all, Miss Eells needed him. Anders Borkman had to be stopped.

  Miss Eells looked at him sympathetically. She knew what he was going through, but she also knew how important it was for him to join her. The idea of driving all the way to Duluth—over two hundred miles—by herself, was harrowing. Also, Anthony was good with tools, and he could break into Borkman's tomb. Without him, Miss Eells thought, the mission might end in total disaster.

  She took hold of Anthony's arm and stared at him hard. "Young man," she said, "a lot may depend on what you decide to do. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but you know that Anders Borkman is trying to destroy the world. Now, I could go by myself. But I'm a lousy, nervous driver, and as for breaking into the tomb... well, I have trouble opening a can of beans. So, a lot depends on you. I know you think your Mom'll massacre you if you disobey her. But if you don't come along, there may not be any Mom or Dad to come home to. I'm going to be making some rather large sacrifices myself. My hearing before the Library Board is tomorrow at noon. If we leave for Duluth tomorrow morning, I won't be there." Miss Eells paused and relaxed her grip on Anthony's arm. "You will come with me, won't you?"

  Anthony had never felt more miserable in his life. He licked his lips and tried to avoid Miss Eells's earnest gaze. His stomach was all knotted up, and he felt so incredibly tense that he wanted to run around the room screaming. The marble clock on the mantel ticked quietly. Finally Anthony allowed his eyes to meet hers. He knew he ought to help her... and yet he kept thinking about the long, lonely drive up to Duluth and the terror that surely awaited them. What if Anders Borkman was using magic to listen in on their conversations right now? If so, he'd find some way of stopping them. And the things he'd do to them would not be pleasant. So far he had just been fooling around with them because he was sure they couldn't really do anything to stop him. But if Borkman ever thought that Anthony and Miss Eells could actually wreck his plans...

  Anthony closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He was scared, but he just couldn't let his friend go alone. He opened his eyes, looked at Miss Eells, and forced his mouth up into a wan little smile.

  "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll go with you. When do we leave?"

  CHAPTER TEN

  At five a.m. the next morning Anthony awoke with a jolt. He hadn't dared set his alarm, but fortunately he had that built-in wake-up system that some people have. The room was pitch black, and as he dressed he felt as if he were moving inside a strange dream. In his closet was a battered leather satchel containing his tools: a hammer, hacksaw, chisel, small crowbar, flashlight, and a Boy Scout hatchet. He had also thrown in a couple of Mounds bars and a sweat shirt. He thought about his sleeping parents and brother and the dark menace that hung over the town of Hoosac as he took the satchel out. "This isn't happening," Anthony muttered to himself. He stumbled over into a corner of the room, found his new red parka and his red leather cap, and put them on.

  Well, he was as ready as he'd ever be. With one hand on the doorknob Anthony looked back into his dark room. The friendly illuminated face of his bedside clock hovered there, like a tiny moon. Suddenly he had an overwhelming desire to be five years old and sick in bed with the flu. He wanted to be tucked in and have meals brought up to him. He wanted to have his mother spoon syrups into his mouth and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Luckily the feeling passed, and he went out, closing the door softly behind him.

  A few minutes later Anthony was standing on the front steps of the library, waiting for Miss Eells. It was a cold, raw morning, and a stiff wind was blowing. It made a hollow whistling sound through the trees of Levee Park. All around him Anthony could hear the bare branches creaking and groaning, although it was still too dark to see much. Suddenly he heard the sound of a car motor. A low, bulky shape was creeping up the circular drive in front of the library. Anthony could hardly bear to look. What if it was Anders Borkman? But to his great relief he heard the signal—three beeps of the car horn. It was Miss Eells after all.

  Anthony picked up his satchel and raced toward the car. The passenger door was flung open, the dome light inside came on, and there was Miss Eells. She was quite a sight in baggy gym pants, a sweat shirt with Hoosac A.C. on the front, and tennis shoes. Her hair bun was slightly mussed and had two pencils stuck in it, and around her neck was a Saint Christopher medal on a chain. On the seat next to her was a folded road map and a brown paper bag that probably contained lunch.

  "Hi, Anthony!" she said cheerfully. She seemed amazingly calm for someone who was going off on a dangerous mission.

  Anthony threw his satchel into the backseat and climbed into the car. He was not terribly surprised by Miss Eells's outfit; after all, he had seen her in some pretty weird getups. But the medal puzzled him, and he asked about it.

  "Oh, that!" said Miss Eells as she threw the car into gear and drove off. "Saint Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. This is going to be a pretty difficult trip, and I figured we might need some help from him before this adventure is over with."

  The car started slowly down Levee Boulevard. Anthony was just settling himself back for the long drive when Miss Eells put on the brakes.

  "Look!" she said, pointing excitedly.

  Startled, Anthony sat up. It was still dark, but along the sidewalk he could see a row of streetlamps. Someone had just passed out of the circle cast by one lamp and into the gloom. Tensely Anthony waited for the figure to move into the light again. When it suddenly did, his jaw dropped. It was Mrs. Oxenstern! She was in a gym suit, and she was walking fast, heel-to-toe. Her stomach bobbled up and down as she went, and she pumped her fat arms vigorously.

  Miss Eells covered her face with her hand. "I just don't believe it! She must come out at this ungodly hour so no one will see her! Well, now I've seen everything." And with that, Miss Eells threw the car into gear again and roared off.

  They drove down through the center of the sleeping city and across the great iron suspension bridge into Wisconsin. On they went, through small towns and across rolling acres of farm country. As they drove it got lighter outside but not much lighter; it was going to be a dark day. Miss Eells switched on the car radio. The weatherman reported that it would be cloudy, clearing toward evening. But it occurred to Miss Eells—and to Anthony—that there might be storms that couldn't be predicted. As they drove, Miss Eells's cheerfulness gave way to worry and tension. She told Anthony that she had tried to phone Emerson several times but had never gotten an answer. She also wondered if they might be going on a wild-goose chase. The "clues" in old Borkman's diary might not be clues at all.

  "Nevertheless," said Miss Eells with a sigh, "it's better to try than not to. All last night I dreamed about those four standing stones. Only they weren't in that circle of cedars. They were on a grassy hill, with a dark mountain in the background. It was like that vision I had when the blue fog from that book put me in that terrible trance in the library. Anders Borkman was there, standing inside the circle in a black robe. And every time he flung his hands in the air, lightning bolts came crashing down from the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance. You and Emerson and I were watching, but we couldn't do anything. And then
an ice storm started, and my face was covered with ice and I couldn't see or breathe. I woke up, gasping and choking. It was just awful. It may have been just a crazy dream, but still... well, it may have been a warning of things to come." She paused and then went on. "Do you know what really drives me crazy? I feel like I ought to know the answer to that clue about the choir of the Blessed Virgin. I mean, I'm a Catholic and all. But so far, it's as clear as mud."

  On Miss Eells chatted as she drove while Anthony just listened and watched the scenery go by. Around ten a.m. they stopped at a restaurant in Eau Claire, and Anthony had a big breakfast. Miss Eells ate the sandwich and banana that she had brought, and then they drove on. The farmhouses got fewer and fewer, and the fields looked wilder and more forsaken. And then it started to snow. At first there were just a few little twirling flakes, but soon it was coming down thick and fast. The road became a sparkling white track, and Anthony began to notice that the car was wavering from side to side.

  "I think we're starting to skid," he said, giving Miss Eells a worried glance.

  Miss Eells shrugged. "Don't worry, friend. I had my snow..." Her voice trailed off. She made a choking noise, and then she swore and pounded her fist on the steering wheel. "Oh, no, I don't believe it. How could I have been such an idiotic fool?"

  Anthony stared blankly. "What's wrong?"

  "Oh, nothing much," said Miss Eells bitterly. "I just forgot to have my snow chains put on, that's all. Let's hope this snow doesn't get so bad that we'll have problems—Oh, God! Look!"

  Up ahead of them a dog had wandered out onto the road. He was directly in front of the car, just staring stupidly around him. Miss Eells hit the brakes, and the car skidded. The dog ran off, and she took her foot off the brake, but it was too late. The car began to fishtail. It swung into wider and wider arcs. "Hang on!" she yelled, and Anthony clutched frantically at the door handle. Rear end first, the car rolled off the road and down a steep, bumpy, rocky incline. Something hard hit its underside with a loud bongg! and a sickening jolt. Anthony thought they were going to flip over. But the car just kept on rolling till it came to a jarring, tooth-rattling halt against the trunk of a tree.

  Silence. Anthony sat dead still and listened to his pounding heart. Amazingly he wasn't injured. For what seemed like a long time, he stared straight ahead, up the steep rocky slope that was fast being covered by the swirling snow. Although he was afraid to look over and see how Miss Eells was doing, he finally forced himself. And there she sat, her hands folded in her lap and an utterly disgusted look on her face.

  "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" she said dryly. Then her voice broke, and it sounded as if she were going to cry. "Oh, Anthony!" she wailed. "What are we going to do? We can't push this car up that slope or drive it up. We'll just have to sit here while the snow covers us up. It's all because I forgot to put on the stupid snow chains!"

  "Don't worry," Anthony said. "We'll get there somehow. Everything'll be all right."

  Miss Eells got out of the car and went around to the rear to inspect the damage. And Anthony, with a lot of slipping and sliding, managed to scale the steep bank and make it up to the road. He waved his arms frantically at about half a dozen cars, but they all just whizzed on past. At last a big red tow truck with a chain hoist came rolling past, and when Anthony motioned, it stopped. The white letters on the truck's door said

  JOHN JOHNSON TOWING

  EAU CLAIRE, WIS.

  Anthony ran up to the truck, and the driver rolled his window down. He was a middle-aged man with an oblong head, a long, blunt-ended nose, and a big sheaf of yellow hair that stuck out from under the baseball cap he was wearing.

  "H'lo, young man. What's your problem? You lost?"

  "No, no!" said Anthony, excitedly. He pointed off to the right, at the ditch. "Our car's down there! A dog ran in front of the car and Miss Eells and I ran off the road. Can you get us out?"

  The man heaved a deep sigh and looked at his watch. "Oh, I spose so," he said wearily. "Anyway, I'll give it a try." He got out of the truck. Mumbling some more to himself, he loped over to the edge of the road and peered down. "We-ell..." he said slowly, "I think my cable'll just about reach that far. Like I said, we'll give 'er the old college try. Tell your friend to come on up here if she can. You guys can watch while I fix you up."

  Anthony slipped back down the slope and helped Miss Eells make it to the road. The man turned on the amber flasher on top of his truck, and then he backed it up until the rear wheels were at the very edge of the ditch. From the derrick at the rear of the truck hung a woven steel cable with a big hook on the end. With the hook in his hand and the cable paying out slowly the man made his way down the slope toward the car. He hooked the cable under the front bumper of the Dodge, made sure the car's gears were in neutral, and then clambered back up to the truck and started the engine on the hoist. As he worked he sang a very monotonous song called "Yon Yonson" over and over in a strong Swedish accent:

  My name is Yon Yonson,

  Ay come from Vis-con-sin

  Ay work to de lumber hoose de-ere

  When ay valk down de street

  Da people ay meet

  Dey say to me, "Vot is your na-ame?"

  And ay say,

  My name is Yon Yonson,

  Ay come from Vis-con-sin...

  And on and on. After the man had sung the song through about ten times, Miss Eells and Anthony were pretty sick of it, but they were not about to complain. Mr. Johnson and his truck were—as far as they were concerned—sent from heaven. The hoisting engine whirred and slowly the poor, battered Dodge was hauled up out of the ditch. Miss Eells got her purse and some other important things out of the car. Then she and Anthony climbed into the cab with the driver and they drove back to Eau Claire.

  A bit later Anthony and Miss Eells were sitting on a couple of rickety wooden chairs in a smelly, badly lit garage. The Dodge had just been lowered from the lift, and Mr. Johnson was standing before them, his long face even longer than usual.

  "Broken axle?" asked Miss Eells, looking up. "Did you say broken axle?"

  Mr. Johnson nodded glumly. "Yep. Musta hit a rock er somethin' on the way down. I can't fix it here—hafta send away to the Dodge people for a new one. My advice'd be, get a new car. Not worth fixin' in my opinion."

  There was an uncomfortable pause. Miss Eells looked at Anthony and down at the floor. Then she turned to Mr. Johnson, and the expression on her face was one of utter hopelessness. She thought about the chances of her being able to pay for a new car. Very soon she would be unemployed: today was the day she was supposed to be appearing before the Library Board. But instead she was off on an improbable mission that had just turned into a super-impossible one. With difficulty Miss Eells pulled herself together. She heaved a deep sigh, put on her best businesslike attitude, and cleared her throat. "Hem! Well, Mr. Johnson, can we leave my poor vehicle here for a couple of days?"

  Mr. Johnson looked hesitant. He scratched his long chin. "We-elll..." he said slowly, "...I got a lotta stuff out there in the back lot, but I guess one more hunka junk wouldn't matter none. Yeah, sure, you c'n leave it for a bit. But how're you gonna get to... didja say Duluth?"

  "We really have to get there," said Anthony. "We... it's kind of an emergency."

  "Yes," added Miss Eells, nodding. "It really is very important. I see by the sign over there that you rent cars. Could you possibly rent us one for a few days?"

  Mr. Johnson's eyebrows rose, and he looked Miss Eells up and down. Miss Eells blushed, because she knew what he was thinking. Could an old lady who wore tennis shoes and gym pants and a Hoosac A.C. sweat shirt ever pay for a rented car? Silently Miss Eells cursed herself. Why had she decided to travel in this dumb outfit when she could have just carried the gym suit along to wear later? But then her pride welled up inside her. Who did Mr. Johnson think he was, anyway? She was a respectable citizen who had lived sixty-eight years without having been convicted of a major crime, and—until recently—had been rega
rded as a reasonable, solvent, hardworking person.

  Slowly she stood up. She put on the most haughty expression she could manage, clutched her pocketbook to her breast, and said icily, "Mr. Johnson, my credit is perfectly good. You can call the First National Bank of Hoosac if you want. I can write you a check for the towing job you did, and then—"

  "Be s'prised if the banks was open," said Mr. Johnson, cutting her off. "Big storm down'n Hoosac—heard about it on the radio. Wind 'n' snow 'n' hail, t'beat the band! Funny kind of a storm—just started, all of a sudden, down there round Hoosac and La Crosse. Usually they come in from the north 'n' hit us first. We'll get it in an hour or so, I bet. That snow out there's just the beginning."

  Mr. Johnson went back to rubbing his chin and thinking about whether or not Miss Eells was a good risk. Miss Eells and Anthony looked at each other. They were not worrying over credit ratings now. A cold fear was rising in their guts. Was this the start of the wild, world-ending storm that they had feared?

  "Look here, Mr. Johnson," Miss Eells said angrily, "I haven't got time to sit here and grow moss on my north side while you make up your mind. It is very important that we get to Duluth as soon as possible, so if you don't mind, I'll settle our towing bill and then my young friend and I will go down the street and find a..."

  Miss Eells's voice trailed off. She had taken one step toward the doorway of Mr. Johnson's office, but now she froze in her tracks. Anthony froze too, and stared. Somebody was standing in the entrance to the garage. It was a person that they knew very well but had not expected to see.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There in the wide doorway stood Emerson Eells. In the stormy half-light he looked like a visitor from another world. He was wearing a black fur Alpine hat with a small red cockade on it and a gray winter coat with large black buttons. Oddly enough on his feet were pointed black leather shoes instead of boots or galoshes. And although the street outside looked slushy, Emerson's shoes were immaculately clean.