by F. C. Shaw
Other Books by F.C. Shaw
Sherlock Academy
Sherlock Academy: Watson’s Case
The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue
Future House Publishing
Sherlock Academy: The Holmes Brigade
Future House Publishing
Text © 2016 F.C. Shaw
Interior illustrations © 2016 Jeff Harvey and Tyler Stott
Cover illustration © 2016 Future House Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-944452-20-9 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-944452-21-6 (epub)
ISBN: 978-1-944452-23-0 (mobipocket)
ISBN: 978-1-944452-22-3 (pdf)
Cover illustration/ Cover image adaptation by Tyler Stott
Developmental editing by Helena Steinacker
Substantive editing by Emma Hoggan
Copy editing by Jenna Parmley
Interior design by Michelle Lippold
To Westly and William,
Be courageous to follow your dreams and be yourselves
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Contents
1. Boxing Day
2. Eliot’s Demands
3. Two Failures
4. Outsmarting MUS
5. Return of the Prowler
6. Another Secret in the Library
7. Through the Window
8. The Treasure in the Wall
9. Herr Zilch’s Story
10. Auld Lang Syne
11. Mr. Chad’s Clue
12. Black and White Proof
13. Another Prowler in the House
14. The Mystery in the Folder
15. A Threat, a Puzzle, and a Solution
16. Mycroft’s Mercantile
17. The Other Mr. Holmes
18. Whistle Blowing
19. Up on the House
20. The Holmes Brigade
The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue: Chapter 1
Before You Go
About the Author
Want F.C. Shaw to come to your school?
Boxing Day
The Christmas card had come by post a few days before Christmas.
It made Rollie feel homesick. Not for home—he had been home on Christmas vacation for a week now. No, it made him homesick for school. He was school-sick. And he still had three more weeks of vacation.
“Rollie! Lunch!” his mother called from downstairs.
Rollin E. Wilson set the Christmas card back on his desk. He plodded down the twelve steps from his watchtower-like bedroom to the second floor. From there, he hurried downstairs. He found his family gathered around the dining table. Chicken noodle soup, biscuits, and roasted chestnuts promised a good wintry lunch. Everyone was still dressed in pajamas and robes.
“Fact: Today is December twenty-sixth, Boxing Day,” Mr. Wilson declared. “Did everyone enjoy Christmas yesterday? Everyone get what they wanted?” He looked expectantly through the spectacles perched on his nose.
“Why can’t Christmas last all week?” Lucille pouted.
“Or all month?” her twin sister Daphne added.
“Your father’s bank account would not survive a whole week of Christmas,” Auntie Ei croaked. “And neither would my health.” The eighty-something-year-old woman looked more exhausted than usual, having lived through another Wilson Christmas.
Stewart, one of the oldest children, nodded. “Father Christmas was good to me.”
“I didn’t get that motorcycle I wanted,” Edward, his twin, grumbled.
“Ed, did you honestly think we would give you a motorcycle?” Mrs. Wilson asked a little sarcastically.
“Fact: You’re not ready for something like that, son,” Mr. Wilson said.
“But, Dad, I really want—”
“You have a job. Save your money. Buy one yourself.” Mr. Wilson nodded in a finalizing way.
“I never have any money,” Edward complained. “Having a girlfriend is expensive. Roly-Poly, don’t ever have a girlfriend, if you can help it.”
“I don’t plan to any time soon.” Rollie slurped up his chicken noodle soup, the only soup he liked. “I’m only twelve.”
“You say that now.” Stewart snickered.
“Beware of Cecily.” Edward grinned.
“She’s not my girlfriend! She’s just my best friend.”
Edward poked him in the ribs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“I would like to remind everyone,” Mrs. Wilson said, “that the day after tomorrow, Uncle Ky is coming for his annual visit.”
Everyone cheered except for Auntie Ei, who thought it was more of an obligation than a treat to entertain her younger brother.
“Peter, he will arrive at Paddington Station at four-ten,” Mrs. Wilson read from a train timetable. “Can you pick him up?”
Mr. Wilson nodded. “Does anyone want to come with me? Auntie Ei?”
“That does not sound a bit appealing,” the old lady said. “He will most likely require me to drop him off when he departs—the sentimental old bean.”
Though Rollie was finished eating, he waited for his father’s permission to leave the table.
Mr. Wilson deliberately sighed, sipped his tea, and very slowly folded his napkin. He checked his children’s empty dishes and impatient expressions. “Fact: There is still some food in your bowl, Daphne.”
She studied her bare bowl. “Where, Daddy?”
“Right there.” He pointed to a tiny bit of carrot leftover from her soup.
Daphne and Lucille erupted into a fit of giggling.
“Da-ad!” the children wailed at once.
“I guess I should know when I’m beat.” He stood and blew a kiss to his wife. With a wink, he departed the dining room and headed to his personal home office for more mathematical study.
“Rollin, kindly go up to my room and fetch some letters I need mailed,” Auntie Ei said. “They are on my writing desk. I will be in the library.”
Rollie barreled upstairs to his great-aunt’s cozy bedroom. He found a stack of addressed envelopes on her writing desk. As he scooped them up, a sheet of paper fluttered to the carpet. He snatched it up and was about to stuff it back into one of the desk’s pigeonholes when he recognized Sherlock Academy’s emblem on the stationery.
Without t
hinking, he read the letter.
20 July 1931
Lady Wilson:
I agree with the points you raised in your last letter. While I have always been interested in enrolling your great-nephew Rollin, the reasons you’ve given against his attending Sherlock Academy are valid. You know where I stand on the issue. If you do not wish for him to attend, I will not push the matter.
I will wait for you to decide.
Sullivan P. Yardsly
Rollie’s middle fluttered as it always did when he came upon something mysterious.
Ding-Dong!
The front doorbell downstairs rang, making him jump. Quickly, Rollie stuffed the letter back into a pigeonhole in the writing desk, grabbed the envelopes to be mailed, and hurried out of the bedroom. He started downstairs. His head pounded with the confusing information in that letter.
The reasons you’ve given against his attending Sherlock Academy are valid.
What were these valid reasons that had led them to think that Rollie should not attend?
He paused on the landing and remembered another confusing sentence.
If you do not wish him to attend, I will not push the matter.
Why would Auntie Ei not want him to attend? And why was he now attending as if there had been no question about it? What had changed?
He reached the bottom of the stairs and inched toward the library where his great-aunt waited. She sat bundled in an armchair before the blazing fireplace. Rollie was surprised to find Headmaster Yardsly seated across from Auntie Ei.
“Ah, ROLLIN!” the headmaster hailed in his boisterous voice. “Happy Boxing Day.”
“Thanks, sir, nice to see you.” Rollie suddenly felt self-conscious in his pajamas.
“I assume you found them,” Auntie Ei cut in, holding out her hand.
Rollie handed her the letters and stood silently by. He watched her flip through the stack with her wrinkled, crooked fingers and watched her gray eyes check the addresses. He glanced at Yardsly who was thumbing through pages in his pocket notepad.
Auntie Ei held out the three long envelopes. “Kindly put these letters in the post for me. I want them to be picked up tomorrow.”
With a quick good-bye to Yardsly, Rollie took the letters. He read the addresses as he left the library: Daily Telegraph Newspaper, Grayson and Sons Inheritance Management, Inspector Clyde of Scotland Yard. He tugged on his boots and wrapped his black wool coat around his blue-striped pajamas. When he opened the front door, a blast of icy air made him shudder. He dashed down the front walk, almost slipping on the sleek pavement. As he plowed through the snow, he was thankful the red pillar box was just a few yards down the street from his house. He slipped the letters through the mail slot, and turned back toward home.
Quietly, he entered the house, stripped off his coat and boots, and padded over to the library door, which was open just a crack. He leaned his ear in to listen to Auntie Ei and Headmaster Yardsly’s conversation. The polite side of him felt guilty for eavesdropping, but the detective side of him was curious enough to stay posted there.
“Euston is certain the MUS list is here in London,” Yardsly was saying in a low tone. “We’re just not sure where exactly.”
“We must find that list, Sullivan,” Auntie Ei replied urgently. “It contains the names of Zilch’s agents and the addresses of all the MUS headquarters. Without that list, we cannot hope to bring MUS down.”
“I agree, Eileen. You don’t have to stress that to me—you should stress that to Scotland Yard. I need more help finding it.”
“They have already reassigned the agents who were guarding Zilch’s house to help you,” Auntie Ei reminded him. “Which makes me nervous.”
“I could still use more help—London’s a large city, you know.”
“I have just written to Inspector Clyde at the Yard,” said Auntie Ei. “Not in regards to the MUS list, but to that other matter.”
Rollie leaned in closer to the crack in the door, for he could tell by Auntie Ei’s tone that she was about to divulge a secret.
“About the Will,” she continued.
“Good idea. It seems Zilch is after it, as you supposed.”
“His going after Watson’s Case confirmed it.”
“How much do you think he knows?” asked Yardsly.
Auntie Ei sighed, and Rollie could imagine her rolling her eyes. “I cannot waste my energy on speculation, but we can be certain Frederick knows more than he should.”
Rollie heard a rustle and a creak and guessed the two adults were getting to their feet. Hastily, he bolted upstairs. His mind was filled with questions over the conversation he had just overheard, particularly the part about a will. In some ways, he was not surprised to learn of another mystery from Auntie Ei, for she was brimming with them. As always, there was not much chance of unlocking her secrets. At least, not right now.
He spent the rest of Boxing Day reading through the Sherlockian Encyclopedia Auntie Ei had given him for Christmas. In between lines, he pondered over the letter he had accidentally found in Auntie Ei’s room. He wondered if there were more mysterious letters about him in Auntie Ei’s writing desk. He had no opportunity to search for more, for she was holed up in her bedroom for the rest of the day to recuperate from Christmas. Besides, he felt uneasy about searching her bedroom; that room had always held a sort of reverence for him.
That night as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep amidst his blistering thoughts, his eyes rested on that Christmas card again. He thought about his headmaster desperately searching for the MUS list. Rollie had earned Yardsly’s trust because he had now saved the Academy twice from Herr Zilch. He wished he could help track down the MUS list. He also wondered about this mysterious will Auntie Ei had mentioned that she supposed Herr Zilch was after. Who had written the will, and who was it for?
He thought about Herr Zilch eluding everyone. The villain had once been Rollie’s elderly next door neighbor. Even though Zilch had told Rollie to stay out of his way and stop pursuing being a detective, Rollie had made a promise to himself to stop Zilch. He nearly had in October, but Zilch had escaped and had not been seen since. The only remnant of Zilch was his empty mansion that could be seen from Rollie’s bedroom window.
BANG! BANG!
Rollie started.
With a grunt, he rolled over.
Then he squinted at a light shining through his bedroom window. His little red alarm clock pointed to 1:10 a.m.
BANG!
Now he was awake again. He stumbled over to the window and peered out.
Suddenly the light went out, the noises stopped, and the night resumed its wintry calm. The light and noises had come from Herr Zilch’s vacant house. He watched another minute, and then scurried back into his toasty bed.
He wondered if what he had just witnessed really was true—it seemed a little unbelievable.
Eliot’s Demands
The next day Rollie was glad to have his best friend Cecily Brighton over, partly because he was bored and partly because he needed to tell her about last night. He tried to remember what had gone on next door in the middle of the night. He had been half-asleep, but he was sure someone had turned on a light and slammed some doors. When he opened the front door for Cecily, he found her standing there with a frown. Against the white snowy backdrop, her auburn curls, green eyes, and lightly freckled nose were striking.
“Did you get a letter yet?” she asked. “From a dear friend of ours?”
Rollie checked the carpet under the front door’s mail slot and picked up a few letters. One was addressed to him. As Cecily followed him back indoors, he ripped open the envelope and read the one page letter.
To Rollie:
Happy Christmas! I really hoped this would get to you on Christmas Day, but then I remembered there would be no deliveries on Christmas Day. Still, as long as it gets
to you the week of Christmas, I can still wish you a Happy Christmas.
Headmaster Yardsly has given me permission to put together a team to clean Sherlock Academy. I know people usually do deep cleaning in the spring and call it spring cleaning. But since this was my idea, I get to make the rules and I think winter holiday is a great time to deep clean. I’m calling it Winter Cleaning.
I’ll expect to see you at school on 29 December at ten o’clock—that should give you enough time to get over Christmas. I’ll need to stay the night with you, since it’s too far for me to go all the way to London and back home to Scotland in one day. Besides, I’m sure you miss me. I meant to draw you another Rollie Holmes comic strip, but ran out of time. So if you didn’t have time to get me a Christmas gift, don’t worry about it. See you soon!
Eliot S. Tildon
P.S. Read the back.
Rollie turned the letter over. It was blank. “He must have forgotten to write something. Are you going to help with Winter Cleaning?”
“I guess if you’re going to.” Cecily wiggled out of her red-and-green plaid coat and hung it on the hall tree. “There’s nothing much to do now that Christmas is over. I hope Tibby goes.”
“I used to love Christmas vacation when we were in regular school. But I love being at Sherlock Academy too much! I miss it.”
“Me too! When I’m there, I feel like I’m always in a mystery.”
“We sort of are, what with Herr Zilch always causing trouble. I’ve been a little worried about Wesley.” Rollie’s face clouded. “I haven’t heard from him lately.”
Last October, Rollie had uncovered Herr Zilch’s spy inside the Academy, a mole that turned out to be Wesley Livingston. Since Wesley had not known he was working for MUS, he had been cleared by Scotland Yard and allowed to return to school. But Wesley still feared repercussions from MUS.
While Rollie trusted Headmaster Yardsly and Scotland Yard to do their best to keep an eye on Wesley, Herr Zilch was capable of getting what he wanted no matter the obstacles. Rollie had also promised Wesley he would help protect him, and being apart from his friend made him worry. Of course Wesley could take care of himself too, for he was captain of both the rugby team and the fencing team at the Academy. Still, Rollie had now learned never to underestimate an opponent, especially when that opponent was Herr Zilch.
