People who are blind.
And then it all came together.
And you’ll be checked by the blind
Chapter Seven – Getty
Curial’s mother wanted him to play this blind man Matthew in a game of chess. He was certain of it.
As Curial watched, Matthew yelled out “checkmate!” and the younger man he was playing shook his head, almost in disbelief. The old man extended his hand, long fingers grown slightly crooked from an even longer life, and the young man took it and thanked him. Then the young man grabbed his backpack, jumped on his bike, and rode off.
Matthew started to rearrange the pieces like he’d probably done thousands of times before in his life. Curial stepped forward and the old man craned his neck.
“Come to play, or admire my beauty?”
“Maybe a little of both.”
The old man clapped his hands together. “Ha, sit down, sit down. I certainly have time to dispatch someone as young as yourself. From the sound of it, you’re twelve or thirteen.”
“Thirteen,” Curial said, taking a seat. “You’re good.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Matthew said, biting on his bottom lip. He reset the clock then tilted his head. “I like to play a quick game, son. Your move. But if you don’t mind calling out your move, makes it easier for me to follow the game.”
They played for ten minutes, moving fast and furiously. After one particular move, the old man squealed in delight.
“Ooo-wee! I think I see what you’re trying to do now. Where you been hiding yourself, boy? You must come down and play more.”
“I think I will. I like how you play.”
Matthew chuckled and ran his big long hand across his mouth. “And you, son, play just like your mother.”
Curial’s heart almost stopped.
“My mother?”
“Yes indeed. Now, she played more elegantly than you. You, you’re more of a charging bull. But at your core, you play just like her. She obviously taught you well.”
Curial gulped. “You knew my mother?”
“I may be blind, but I know I don’t stutter. That’s what I’m telling you.” The old man leaned forward and nodded his head. “Yep, you most certainly have her eyes.”
Curial felt for his eyes. “How could you possibly know that? Aren’t you blind?”
Matthew slapped his own knee and howled. “I love doing that. I know, because she told me you had her eyes. She also told me that some day after she was gone, you’d be following a few clues that would lead you right here to me.”
“She told you about me?”
Matthew nodded. “I knew your mother well. We met years ago at an art gallery, struck up a friendship. She would come down here and play chess. We talked about art, I told her stories, she asked me questions. She was kind, sharp as a whip, funny. Your mother was like the daughter I never had. Her funeral, that was hard on me.”
“But I didn’t see you at her funeral.”
“And I didn’t see you. Ha! Don’t worry, it was a big funeral, and I know how to get around without being noticed.”
He stood up, placed his derby hat on his head, and grabbed his cane.
“Walk with me, Curial Diggs.”
Curial stood up and came to Matthew’s side, the old man expertly maneuvering around tables and chairs as he walked to the main sidewalk. “Yep, your mother and I talked about a great many things. We shared a love of art and a fascination with the disappearance of a particularly fantastic treasure: the Romanov Dolls. And your mother told me that if you ever found me, I was supposed to give you everything we knew about those dolls.”
“Are you taking me to where you keep the information?” Curial asked.
“No, I’m just stretching my old bones.” He smiled a big toothy grin and pointed to his head. “I keep everything about those dolls right here.”
Curial had once heard that blind people often had to rely on memory more than other people, since writing things down was more difficult for them.
“You’ve remembered everything about the dolls?”
“Ha!” Matthew snorted. “Sorry to say that my memory isn’t quite what it used to be so I keep the important information on flash drives.” He stopped, took his derby off, turned it upside down, and fished his finger into the inside rim of the hat. His forehead tensed up as his hands went to his pockets. “That’s weird. It was here this morning.” He stopped and cocked his head, then moved it back and forth like he was listening for something. He took two steps off the path towards the trees, then stopped and put both hands on his hips.
“Maurice?” said the old man.
“Did you just say Maurice?” asked Curial.
A chuckle came from deep inside the trees.
“Maurice,” said Matthew, “what have I told you about going through my stuff?”
Curial watched the trees move back and forth as a figure stepped through. It was a kid. A very familiar kid. This couldn’t be happening. The kid was short, white, and had curly brown hair. He wore blue jeans and a grey hooded sweatshirt.
It was the world’s most irritating kid. Maurice. He waved at Curial.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite rich kid.”
“Unbelievable,” said Curial. He turned to Matthew. “Please tell me you don’t know Maurice.”
“Know him?” said Matthew, “He’s my nephew. Can’t you see the resemblance?”
Matthew was tall and black. Maurice was short and white.
Matthew started to laugh. “I took Maurice in a few years ago. Sounds like the two of you have been introduced.”
“Unbelievable,” said Curial again.
“Sorry Unc,” said Maurice, “Curial’s just sore because he lost Three Card Monty to me.”
“And because he was stalking me in the library earlier today,” said Curial.
“Rich kids apparently think they own the library.” Maurice shook his head. He held something small, black, and red between his thumb and forefinger and handed it to Matthew. “Your flash drive Matthew, and for the record, I didn’t go through your stuff.” Maurice smiled. “I lifted it.”
Matthew furrowed his brow. “Impossible,” he said in a low throaty voice.
Maurice arched his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
Matthew rubbed his chin with his hand then his eyes grew big. “Coming off the bus, I bumped into a woman carrying her groceries.” He held a long finger up in the air. “Well I’ll be, an Old Ruby.”
Maurice smiled even bigger now.
“An Old Ruby?” said Curial.
Matthew clapped his hands together and howled. “Yes indeed Curial Diggs. You see, an Old Ruby is when the pickpocket positions himself behind or alongside an older woman. Preferably she’s carrying groceries or shopping bags. Then, while you gracefully bump her into your target, you use the collision as the opportunity to make the lift.”
Maurice straightened his small frame up. “And Uncle Matthew has been telling me that I could never, ever, ever pick and I quote ‘the pocket of the master himself.’”
Matthew wagged his finger in the air. “Don’t be listening to this fool, Curial, everybody gets lucky sometimes. Now Maurice, give the boy his flash drive.”
Maurice held it out and when Curial went to grab it, Maurice jerked it back.
“Got to be faster than that.”
Just then, Matthew’s cane whacked Maurice in the butt.
“Ouch!” Maurice yelped as Curial grabbed the flash drive out of his hand.
“Forget it Curial,” Matthew said. “Maurice has an attitude problem that I haven’t yet been able to cure. You take that flash drive home, look through the stuff your mom and I put together, and then come back and play chess with an old man and we’ll talk.” Matthew smiled, put his derby hat back on, then held his white walking stick out in front of him and walked away. Then he stopped and wheeled around. “Maurice, before you come home, would you mind stopping at Nelsons and buying a bag of black licorice? Y
ou know how I like my licorice.”
“Sure thing Unc.” Maurice put his hand to his jeans pocket, then his eyes grew big as he patted his pockets frantically. He let out a breath. “He didn’t.”
Up ahead, Matthew chuckled. He was holding a wallet high above his head.
“They call it the Double Ruby, Maurice. I Rubied you at the exact moment you Rubied me.”
“But, but how?”
Matthew shook his head then pointed to his ears and then his nose. “I heard you coming a mile away. It’s your breathing that gives it away. And then, of course, the smell of eleven-year-old boy. I can always smell you coming.” Matthew tossed the brown wallet into the air and Maurice caught it. Then Maurice began sniffing his armpits.
“Don’t worry Maurice, remember, you’re still just a kid.” Matthew grabbed some birdseed out of his pocket and threw it on the ground for the pigeons. Then he ambled away.
Curial rolled the flash drive over between his thumb and finger. So his mom really had left something for him. Something big. His mother had given him so much in his life. And now, when she was gone, she’d found a way to keep giving.
Curial felt a shove in his shoulder. He looked over at Maurice.
“So you’re going after the Romanov Dolls, eh?” said Maurice. “I’ve heard Matthew talk about them before.”
“So that whole time in the library about Michelangelo the turtle…”
“Yeah,” Maurice smiled. “I actually know about art. Matthew’s taught me a ton. The Romanov Dolls are the real deal.”
“My mom wants me to find them,” said Curial.
Maurice smiled and stood on his tip toes. “Wow! To find those dolls, that’s a pretty big job. You’re gonna need some help don’t you think?” Maurice jabbed a thumb into his own chest.
“You?” said Curial while chuckling.
“Of course me. I know the streets, I help Matthew with his art consulting business—you could use a man like me.”
“I could use a man for sure but a boy? How old are you anyway?”
Maurice put both hands on his hips. “Eleven but I’m an old eleven.”
Curial looked at him skeptically.
“I’m short okay,” said Maurice, “but I can do the work of three twelve-year-olds.”
Curial shook his head and started to walk way, then he turned around. “No offense Maurice, really. If I needed to steal somebody’s watch, or hustle a kid out of his milk money, you’d be the first person I’d call but this is different.” Curial held the flash drive up and looked at it with wonder. “I’ve got myself a treasure to find.”
*-*-*
In the ten minutes it took Mike to rush Curial home, all Curial did was finger that flash drive and wonder what might be on it. For now, Peru would have to wait; the Romanov Dolls were calling.
Mike stopped in front of the Diggs Mansion and Curial raced up the front stoop and flew through the front door and toward the main stairs. Hank yelled after him but Curial ignored his butler, taking the stairs two by two. By the time he pushed open the two big oak doors to the library his breathing was fast and heavy. Didn’t matter. He ran through the library toward the spiral staircase.
And that’s when he heard a nasaly voice from above. An all too familiar nasaly voice.
Getty stepped from the spiral staircase to the main floor. “What a surprise,” Getty said. “You’re not in your library working on your studies.”
“Is it your mission in life to bother me?” said Curial, as he tried to catch his breath.
Getty sneered. “Sadly, no. Because of my big mouth, you’re father’s given me a much more unpleasant task.”
“What are you talking about?” said Curial.
“When I delivered that folder, I noticed you didn’t seem to be paying much attention to school. I mentioned it to your father and told him I thought Haverfield was what you needed. That was my mistake.”
“Why?” asked Curial.
“Because, instead, he put me in charge of monitoring your studies,” said Getty.
Curial’s heart began racing. “There’s no way dad would make you my tutor.”
“That’s not entirely true,” said Getty as he pulled a large black binder from his leather bag and handed it to Curial. “I have no intention of teaching you.” He let out a heavy breath. “But this is your new curriculum. Once a month, on the dates listed in the binder, I will come here and test you. I will report the results to your father.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Believe me, Curial, I wish I was. I don’t have time for this.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Curial said.
“Because your father is Robert Diggs, I work for him, and he told me to do it.”
“It’s not your job to babysit me!”
“For once, I agree with you. But here’s my problem. One day, when your father hands the company to you, that will make you my boss. And although the prospect gives me nightmares, it’s in my best interests that you at least know what you are doing when that time comes.”
“But you’re not a teacher, you’re a banker.”
“Curial, please. I graduated in the top ten percent of my class at Harvard and have an MBA from the London School of Economics. I think I’m more than qualified to monitor a thirteen year old smart aleck like yourself.”
“I’m not a smart—”
Getty cut him off with his hand. “As I said, I really don’t have time for this. Now sit down, so we can get started.”
Getty pulled a packet of papers out of his bag and set it on the large table in the center of the library. He set a pen down on top of it.
“But you said you weren’t going to be teaching me.”
Getty was stone faced. “You’re dad insisted on a pre-test. He wanted to know how much you’ve been slacking off.”
“But—”
Getty slashed his hand through the air silencing him once again. “You’ve got one hour, and if I were you, I’d get focused. Your father does not like to be disappointed so you better do well.” Getty said it like a threat.
“Or what?” said Curial.
Getty drummed his fingers on the table. “I hear Haverfield is nice this time of year.” Getty picked up the pen and extended it.
“You’re out of your mind,” said Curial.
Getty shrugged. “Have it your way.” Getty pulled his cell phone out and started dialing.
“What are you doing?” asked Curial.
“Calling your dad, of course. I’m sure he won’t mind being pulled out of a meeting with the German Chancellor to learn his snot nose kid is throwing a tantrum.”
“Wait!” Curial said.
Getty stopped.
“Don’t call him. You said I have an hour?”
“I said that a minute and a half ago. If you can do math, then you know how much time you have left.”
Curial snatched the pen from Getty’s hand, sat down, and began.
Chapter Eight – Seven Days
After that horrible test, Getty left, and Curial got to work. He loaded up the files his mom had left for him on Matthew’s thumb drive. And that night he tried to learn as much about The Romanov Dolls as he could. He ended up falling asleep in the library, and dreamt of a monster with Godzilla’s body, and Getty’s face and voice attacking Manhattan, trying to destroy Curial Diggs.
His cell phone woke him up.
Curial picked his head up, wiped drool off his mouth, and reached for his phone.
“Hello,” he said groggily.
“I really hope you’re tired from all the studying you did last night,” said Getty.
Curial was definitely studying, just not what Getty wanted.
“What do you want?” said Curial.
“To tell you that your father almost had a heart attack when I reported your pre-test score five minutes ago.”
“Very funny, how did I do?”
“I actually feel sorry for you. NO, that’s not true. It will be deli
cious to watch your struggle through this. Curial, you did terrible.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“I’d say a fifty-three percent is pretty bad.”
“Fifty-three percent?”
“To be precise, it was a fifty-two and a half percent so I did the generous thing and rounded up.”
“I got a fifty-three percent?”
“Yes, Curial, you did and you know what that means?”
Curial was wide awake now, and he was speechless.
“That means in a week and a half, I will test you again and if you don’t show dramatic, and I mean dramatic improvement, then—”
“Father will send me to Haverfield,” Curial said, his voice a bit shaky.
“Finally,” Getty replied, “you got a question right. I’ll see you soon.” The call disconnected and Curial sat there, stunned, just staring at his phone. Finally, he shivered and stood up. He needed some fresh air.
He spent an hour walking through the park and then finally found himself back at the MAC. He visited his mom’s favorite piece, hoping she might have some magical piece of advice for him.
It all seemed so unfair. She had left him a task, an adventure. And just as he’d found it, his dad had found a way to ruin it. He made his way to the renovated main hall, and sat on a newly installed bench in front of the glass enclosure where, very soon, the jewels of the Egyptian Queen Sefronia would be displayed to commemorate the reopening of the exhibit hall.
Curial was just about to leave when he spotted a familiar black coat out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey Claude,” he said, a little louder than was probably suitable for the museum.
Claude turned, and when he did, Curial could instantly tell that something was wrong. The curator’s shoulders were slumped and he offered only a feeble smile.
“Is something wrong Claude? You look like someone stole your dog.”
Claude blew air out through his lips and gently shook his head. “Worse, Mr. Diggs. Much worse.” He swallowed, and a lump moved visibly down his throat. “I’m afraid you are looking at the man who will, in just a couple of weeks, be the former museum curator of this glorious place.”
Teenage Treasure Hunter Page 5
