by F. C. Shaw
Auntie Ei’s face reddened with anger. “How dare he! Do not let him bully you.”
“But I believe him when he says he’ll hurt everyone and—”
“You would be foolish not to believe him, for Frederick Zilch always means what he says. But . . .” Auntie Ei held up a finger. “Do you not think that everyone would be safer if he was in prison? If you think about it, you would actually be protecting everyone by not staying out of his way.”
Rollie hadn’t thought of that.
Auntie Ei gave Rollie one of her rare eye-smiles—her mouth did not move, but the wrinkles around her eyes creased and her gray eyes glistened. “I do not need to reaffirm the special bond you and I share—especially after today. You know I have always favored you—you’re courageous, intelligent, and you do not try my nerves. I believe in you, Rollin Edgar Wilson. Do not be afraid.”
Warmth from those words flooded him with courage.
“I must add you are honest as well,” she whispered.
Rollie grimaced. “I try to be honest. I couldn’t be very honest with this case. Headmaster made me promise not to tell. How can I be a good detective by keeping secrets, and still be a regular friend? How did Holmes do it?”
“To be clear, Sherlock Holmes was not a relational man. He had only two meaningful personal relationships: his brother Mycroft and his one true friend Watson. As a detective, he was at the top of his profession, but it came with a cost—few personal friendships. However, while he had to keep secrets from his friends, he was honest about who he was with them.”
“But with Wesley—”
“Were you ever dishonest about your friendship with him?”
“No. I was always his friend. And I think we could be best friends.”
“You sound very honest to me.”
“Aren’t best friends supposed to tell each other everything? Especially secrets?”
“Were Holmes and Watson anything less than best friends even though Holmes often had to withhold information and secrets from Watson?”
“They were the best of friends,” agreed Rollie.
“Of course they were because they shared more than just secrets. They shared a bond forged with loyalty and respect. Watson once wrote that he revered Holmes above all others he knew. And Holmes often told Watson he was an indispensable companion. Yet as a detective, Holmes was forced to keep secrets from Watson, and Watson respected that. Their friendship may not have been regular—as you think it—but it was true nonetheless. Is that helpful?”
“Yes, Auntie. Sometimes I wish . . .” Rollie hesitated. “Sometimes I wish I could just be a regular person.”
“You can be, but you would have to give up being a detective. You cannot be both, I am afraid. Only extraordinary people can live the life Holmes did. What is more important to you? Being an ordinary person and a regular friend, or being an extraordinary detective?”
Rollie did not answer.
“Tell me, when you were pursuing Wesley, did it ever occur to you to let him go?”
“Not really. I knew I had to stop him.”
“Why? He was your friend.”
“But I had to save the school and solve the case.”
“Of course you did. The truth can be hurtful, but solving the case is everything.” Auntie Ei nodded with approval as if he had just given her the correct answer to a test question. “This morning we apprehended two of Herr Zilch’s agents working at the Daily Telegraph and intercepted the other messages about to be sent. We learned Herr Zilch wanted Watson’s Case to blackmail us. I came to warn Yardsly.”
“When you say we apprehended the two agents who do you mean?”
“I am referring to a few special agents from Scotland Yard who have been assigned to finding MUS.”
“You work with them?” Rollie stared at his eighty-something-year old aunt with a new-found respect.
“Occasionally, but I am loath to admit I am too old for that sort of work. However, this mole case was far too important for me to allow age to be a hindrance.”
Rollie smiled at her, and she winked.
After a few seconds’ pause, Rollie said, “You weren’t really away on holiday this month. You were away on business for Sherlock Academy, weren’t you? Just like you were this weekend.”
“Keen deduction. No, I was not on holiday, nor have I ever been all these years. In the fall, I administer our Academy’s entrance exams to children in England, Scotland, and Wales. I discover eligible students for the following academic year.”
While Rollie was surprised to hear her admit this, he was not entirely surprised to learn of her extensive involvement with Sherlock Academy.
“Why did you send me the secret passage map?” he asked.
“I wanted you to find the secret passages, obviously,” sniffed Auntie Ei. “And you did. Well done.”
Rollie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “But why?”
“It is to your advantage that you know the ins and outs of Sherlock Academy, as well as its secrets and treasures. Not only will it arm you against Herr Zilch, but it will also serve you later when . . .” She stopped herself, studied him a moment, then coughed and glanced out the side window of the hansom. “I would have given it to you sooner, but I had to track it down.”
“Where did you get that Holmes newspaper?” Rollie asked.
“It is a family heirloom.”
“A family heirloom!”
“You will soon discover that our family’s involvement with Sherlock Holmes does not begin with you or me, nor will it end with us,” Auntie Ei sniffed. “There is one more thing, Rollin.” She leaned in and whispered coarsely, “Dare not forget that Herr Zilch and MUS are still at large. You must never cease from guarding the Academy and its secrets.” She continued in a whisper, “There is a reason you were chosen to attend Sherlock Academy. Headmaster Yardsly knows it, I know it . . . and Herr Zilch knows it.”
Rollie’s brown eyes grew wide. “What’s the reason, Auntie?”
“The reason involves your family lineage I alluded to. You will know more soon enough. Until then, be always on your guard and trust your—”
“Instincts. I’ll remember.”
Auntie Ei nodded curtly. “Not your feelings. Holmes once said instincts and intuition can carry a detective far. Now if you will please excuse me, I wish to return home. I will see you this weekend for your birthday celebration. Right now I need to go shopping for some personal items.” She winked.
Rollie had not noticed the hansom had stopped in front of 221 Baker Street. He opened the cab door and hopped out. The hansom maneuvered down the crowded street and disappeared in the sea of automobiles.
All at once, exhaustion overcame him now that the adrenaline of the day had subsided. His side throbbed with bruises from his fight, and his legs ached with all the climbing and running. Yet he lingered a moment on the sidewalk to reflect on his conversation with Auntie Ei.
He knew that while Herr Zilch was at large, Sherlock Academy was not safe from him. His suspicions that Herr Zilch had a personal interest in him were confirmed. He expected Zilch would retaliate soon, but this time Rollie would be ready. He was confident in who he was choosing to be.
A detective.
At that moment, Rollie made an empowering promise to himself. He vowed to protect the Academy and defeat Herr Zilch.
No matter the cost.
Halloween and a Birthday
The rest of the week dragged . . . and dragged . . . and dragged . . .
The teachers congratulated Rollie and Cecily with tight smiles, pats on the back, thumbs-ups, and such—but made no mention of the case. Their classmates were none the wiser, except for Eliot who watched suspiciously and made his own conclusions about what his friends had been up to. He grew frustrated when Cecily was vague about how she had gotten a deerstalker hat. Howeve
r, he basked in the headmaster’s acknowledgement and in the students’ appreciation of his efforts to bring back the custodian staff. The maids and janitors returned to their duties of keeping the Academy spick and span; their priorities were repairing the holes in the walls and sweeping up the debris.
As for Cecily, she treasured her award and Rollie’s kind recommendation of her. While she enjoyed the extra attention for her help, she also cemented Rollie as her best friend and the kindest boy she would ever know.
Rupert changed, no longer uttering rude comments or knocking into Rollie on the stairs. He participated in the little conversations his roommates started after lights-out each night, and warned them when he was going out on a midnight errand. When he could, he sat with them for meals, always choosing to sit next to Cecily, who he tended to stare at fondly for minutes on end. He also returned all the autumn decorations to Miss Gram, who was happy to put them up again.
Miss Gram was happy to get her stolen tools back, which had been found under Wesley’s bed, minus one pair of wire cutters. When told that her wire cutters served an important part in thwarting MUS, she easily forgave Rollie for taking them.
Rollie’s bruises gradually healed, but his feelings did not. He worried about Wesley, and he missed him. He still felt sore over the whole situation.
The older boys gave up practicing rugby at recess and took up gossiping about Wesley’s disappearance. Rollie avoided them. He did not bother Headmaster Yardsly about if and when Wesley would return. He hoped Yardsly would tell him in due time. Rollie could not help wondering if Wesley would be able to attend his birthday party the coming weekend. It seemed a remote possibility. In the meantime, he fumed a little about Yardsly’s curtain of silence keeping everyone in the dark about Wesley and MUS. He hated having to listen to speculation while knowing the truth.
All week he worked diligently to complete all his IS work. Ms. Yardsly was gracious in giving him make-up work in light of his missed quiz. He did not enjoy writing a three-page essay all in Dancing Men code titled The Importance of Being Punctual, but he was grateful for a second chance. By the end of the essay he knew the Dancing Men code by heart, and hoped in the future it would come in handy.
Much to everyone’s surprise, Headmaster Yardsly and the other teachers joined the students on the roof during breakfast. Yardsly stood behind his podium to command attention. Ms. Yardsly stood in her usual stiff militant manner. Miss Hertz bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. Miss Gram smoothed her turquoise dress. Mr. Notch blinked behind his ultra-thick glasses. And Mr. Chad stood casually with his hands in his pockets.
“It’s not Tuesday, it’s Friday,” Eliot reasoned.
“Headmaster must have something important to tell us,” Tibby answered.
“But it’s not Tuesday,” persisted Eliot as if not hearing her.
“He’s allowed to break his own rules once in a while,” Cecily said.
“But I think—”
“HAPPY FRIDAY!” Yardsly boomed. “I have a few words to convey to you.” He paused and took a drink of water. “Actually, a few apologies.”
The rooftop fell silent, the only noises coming from distant city traffic.
“I must apologize for—” another sip— “for keeping some confidential Academy information from you.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I meant only to protect you, but I have found that in doing so, I crippled you.”
In between coughs and sips, Yardsly informed the students about MUS and Herr Zilch’s intentions to close Sherlock Academy. While he did not go into details about Watson’s Case, he did clear up Enches’ and Wesley’s mysterious absences. When he noticed a few expressions of shock and fear on his students’ faces, he ended with words of encouragement.
“FEAR NOT! The world is full of villains, which is the very reason you are here training to be heroes. Right now we have the threat of Herr Zilch and MUS. But I am not worried because we have a fine new generation of detectives here at the Academy.” He paused and looked at Rollie. “Study hard, observe everything, and bolster one another as we continue our fight for justice.”
* * * *
Later in Mr. Chad’s class, the students worked at the Disguise centers. One group practiced applying facial prosthetics. Cecily and her group created outfits from the costume trunks. Eliot and Tibby worked with their group trying out different props. Rollie and his group practiced different accents from the dialect cards. Mr. Chad sat at his desk, keeping his “appointments” with his pupils. As always, Rollie was the last student called to the teacher’s desk.
“Hey, kiddo.” Mr. Chad leaned back in his chair and placed his foot up on the desk to tie his Converse sneaker.
Rollie glanced at the familiar star engraved on the sole.
“How are you doing?” the teacher asked.
Rollie shrugged. “I’m okay. I’m ready to go home for the weekend.”
“Not sticking around this time?”
“No. It’s my birthday tomorrow. We’re having a party.”
“Nice! Now correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t birthdays usually something to get excited about? You look pretty glum.”
“I am excited. Cecily and Eliot and Tibby are coming. I invited Wesley, but . . .”
“I get it.” Mr. Chad’s usual happy-go-lucky face furrowed with sympathy. “You’re a fine detective and you did the right thing even when that meant giving up what you wanted. Pretty selfless. Ol’ Sherlock would be proud.”
Rollie gave a weak smile.
“You know, Rollie, we teachers are allowed to make recommendations for excelling students to skip ahead a year. Is that something you’d be interested in?”
“Maybe. When would I move ahead?”
“Next year. Instead of entering as a second year, you’d skip ahead to being a third year. Just something to consider. I’d be more than honored to make the recommendation myself.” He patted Rollie on the shoulder. “Happy birthday. Eat some cake for me. I really—”
“Mr. Chad!” someone suddenly wailed. “Arthur’s face is swelling up!”
“I think I’m allergic to facial prosthetics,” moaned Arthur.
* * * *
“What kind of cake are you having? Where are we sleeping? In the library or the parlor? When should I give you my gift—”
“Eliot!”
Eliot blinked at his friends as they bounced along in the hansom. Hansom cabs could comfortably seat two adults or three children. But the group of four friends had insisted on sharing one cab to the Wilson manor. They crammed together, their shoulders squished.
Rollie grinned. “Relax. It’s just a sleep over.”
Cecily giggled. “You have been to a slumber party before, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Eliot said.
Tibby gasped. “You’ve never been to a slumber party?”
Eliot shook his head. “I use to attend a boarding school in Scotland and birthday parties of any kind weren’t allowed. No children lived in my neighborhood. I spent the weekends with my nanny. Once I attended my cousin’s seventh birthday party. Good times were had by all.”
No one replied.
“Don’t feel bad,” Eliot eased them. “I’m really excited, Rollie!”
“Good, but remember it’s my birthday party.”
“Don’t worry, I know the rules. You have to honor the birthday person.”
“Finally you and your rules will pay off,” Rollie mumbled.
The hansom left the city behind and entered London’s quiet northern suburbs. The driver by-passed Cecily’s house and stopped in front of Number 22 Primrose. He opened the door and tipped his bowler hat as the children scampered out of the cab and up the front walk.
“Nice Halloween decorations!” Tibby exclaimed.
“I’ve never really celebrated Halloween either,” announced Eliot.
&n
bsp; “How are you still a kid?” quipped Cecily.
“We’re having a little Halloween party tonight, too,” Rollie told them. “Then my birthday tomorrow.”
The front door flew open before Rollie could turn the handle. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson stood in the doorway to welcome the children. Mr. Wilson wore a tall green top hat and yellow coat, while Mrs. Wilson wore a blue dress, white apron, and a long blond wig.
“Alice and the Mad Hatter!” Cecily clapped.
“You’re terribly late for a very important date,” Mrs. Wilson quoted.
“Tea, anyone?” Mr. Wilson crowed.
“Costumes are in Rollie’s bedroom. Hurry, your other chums will be here soon.” Mrs. Wilson beckoned them inside.
The bewitching night turned out to be great fun for all. The children dressed in old Victorian clothes from Holmes’ era. They decided to be different characters from his mysteries. Edward and Stewart terrorized everyone with their monster masks. Lucille and Daphne delighted everyone with their pixie costumes. Auntie Ei holed up in her room, for she was exhausted and in no festive mood. A few neighborhood and school friends joined in the fun of playing charades, bobbing for apples, and hunting for candy.
As the night wound down, Tibby joined Cecily at her house to spend the night. Rollie helped Eliot and his brothers set up camp in the library. They chatted into the wee hours of the morning until sugar headaches overcame them. Rollie lay awake a few minutes after Eliot and his brothers were snoring. He anticipated the morning when his birthday would be officially celebrated. And he hoped one last time to see his friend.
* * * *
Knock-knock!
KNOCK-KNOCK!
Rollie rubbed his eyes in the weak dawn light and struggled up off the floor. He shook free a blanket that had twisted around his ankle. His friends and family were still asleep. The house was very still. The grandfather clock gave eight loud gongs as he stumbled to the front door. He fumbled open the lock, and opened the door cautiously.
“Hi, Rollie.”
“Wesley!”
Wesley stood bundled in his coat and scarf. One hand stuck into his pocket, the other held something behind his back. His short brown hair was smartly combed. His deep brown eyes reflected weariness. The ordeal he had endured at Scotland Yard had taken a toll on his spirits.
