“I left it with Sweet Pea and Deeter in the Pancake Shack, but I can get it.”
“Excellent. I have a hunch his journal will tell us not only what happened that fateful day, but also where the Bronze Crown was hidden at last. However, I suspect I already know what stopped John Ketter from becoming a tyrant as the Bandit King. I think I know what ended the crown’s power over him.”
“What?”
“Love. And if I am right—if love stopped the Bronze Crown—then perhaps all is not lost.”
The Professor set down his teacup, stood, and brushed the dust off his jacket. A few of his flying books gathered around him again, but he shooed them away with a wave of his hand.
“Now,” he said, “if you’d be so kind as to fetch the book, we shall set to work at once with some very important research.”
“Not until you give me some answers,” I said. “First, how do I know I can trust you?”
The Professor beamed at me. “Very good, young scholar! You’re beginning to explore matters of deeper philosophical significance. In fact, how do we know if we can trust anything at all! Yes, very good.”
“Um, thanks.”
“Sadly, you can’t know the answer to your question at this moment.”
Seriously? I crossed my arms in front of me. If the Professor wanted The Book of All Words so badly, he was going to have to do a lot better than that.
“Trust is as fragile as gossamer,” he continued, “and sometimes just as illusive. Any answer I provide will disappoint you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it will likely occur to you that I might be lying.”
“So, you’re not going to even try to convince me?”
The light in the Professor’s eyes twinkled like he was holding back a laugh, and he placed his hand on my shoulder.
“You can’t know everything, young scholar. And for some people, knowing is never enough. This isn’t a matter of trust; it’s a matter of faith. Are you willing to trust me, despite your ignorance?”
I frowned. “So maybe I can’t know everything. But I want to know about the Artisans, at least. How you do the weird stuff you do. Who are you people?”
“That question is even more complex than your first. But….” The Professor rubbed his chin with his thumb. “I like to think of the Artisans as muses.”
“Muses?”
“Most people believe only painters and poets have muses, but that is quite incorrect. Even dentists have a muse. In fact, I visited her just the other day for a teeth-cleaning. She does very fine work.”
“But, you use magic.”
“Yes.”
“So that makes you a wizard, doesn’t it?”
The Professor inhaled a breath. “Some Artisans might object to the label, with its images of wands and pointy hats. Still, if that term is easier for you to understand, then it is suitable enough. Like muses, we inspire. Like wizards, we produce wonders. Ultimately, we Artisans seek to accomplish good in this world.”
“Then why was your student trying to steal The Book of All Words?”
“My student?” The Professor tilted his head. “I don’t have a student. I haven’t in years.”
“But I saw him. In the aisle of forbidden books. He set fire to the Librarian’s library.”
“That is odd. And troubling. Did he say he was my student?”
Now that I thought of it, he hadn’t. He’d looked like a student. I’d kind of just assumed….
“This fellow you met,” the Professor continued, “he wasn’t my student. In order to become the Student, one must love learning more than anything else, and there hasn’t been anyone like that in the world for quite some time.”
He sighed, his gaze moving over the books in his study. Then his eyes focused on the piles of newspapers laid out on his desk, and he adjusted his glasses.
“Ah, well. Never mind that. Back to the business at hand. I won’t force you to bring me the book, of course. That is a decision you must make yourself. I’ll leave you to think it over while I clean up. I’m sure I look quite the fright!”
The Professor passed his hand over his wild hair, gave me a wink, and exited through a door in the corner.
Now what should I do?
I glanced at the maps, the old newspapers, and the digging tools. The Professor was obviously searching for the crown. He didn’t try to hide that fact. He said he wanted to stop the crown. To find its weakness. But wouldn’t a villain say that, too? Could I really trust the Professor with The Book of All Words?
But then, on second thought, did I even have to?
Deeter, Sweet Pea and I could use the book to discover the crown’s location ourselves. Once we’d found the crown, we could give it to the Detective, prove I was innocent, and end this whole mess for good.
Without trusting the Professor.
There was the sound of distant footsteps approaching. The Professor’s, probably. If he was the villain behind all this, and he even guessed what I was planning, everything would be ruined. I had to get out of here fast. The Gold Doorknob was still in my pocket, but I hesitated to use it. Would it take me back to the Pancake Shack? Or would it drop me off in some random location?
That was all I needed—to end up in the middle of the Sahara Desert.
Boy, if I had any luck left in my good luck account, I sure needed it now.
I held the doorknob like it was attached to a door, just like the first time I’d used it. Then, after a quick breath, I turned it.
“Come on, please,” I said to the doorknob. “Please!”
It worked.
I felt that weird rush like before, as if I’d been yanked out of space itself and hurled forward. The Professor’s study, his desk, his books—they stretched behind me like a rubber band and snapped out of sight. In their place appeared the Pancake Shack. I landed at our table in the exact same place where I’d been sitting. Sweet Pea and Deeter were still seated opposite me, and even Deeter’s plate of pancakes was untouched, so I must not have been gone too long.
“Rookie!” Sweet Pea cried so loud that everyone in the restaurant looked at us. Deeter slapped his hand over her mouth. The last thing we needed was attention. She nodded, and he let go.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“How long have I been gone?” I asked.
“Only a few minutes. Still, we were starting to get worried.”
“I’m fine. And I have some answers. Did anyone notice how I left? Did anyone see?”
“The Gold Doorknob’s magic worked too fast. I hardly saw you leave, and I’m right in front of you.”
“Good. I know what we have to do next. We have to use The Book of All Words to read John Ketter’s journal.”
“John who?” Deeter asked.
“John Ketter, the Bandit King.”
I told them everything that the Professor had said about Ketter’s journal. And I told them my plan.
“That explains a lot,” Sweet Pea said. “But are you sure we should find the crown ourselves?”
Deeter shook his head. “Weren’t you paying attention? How do we know we can trust the Professor? He’s an Artisan.”
“They’re not all bad,” Sweet Pea said. “Or at least, I don’t think they are….”
“They’re the reason why we’re in this mess.” Deeter stabbed the remains of his pancakes with his fork. “Making those crazy Collectibles. Messin’ around with magic. It ain’t natural. Look. I say, if you’ve gotta trust someone, trust a Finder. And if you gotta trust a Finder, trust yourself.”
“It’s the Bronze Crown, Sweet Pea,” I said. “With so much at stake, can we afford to take risks? Deeter’s right. It’s best if we keep the Artisans out of it.”
Sweet Pea nodded, but she was still frowning.
“We need some place safe,” I said, “so we can read The Book of All Words without being disturbed.”
“Let’s go back to the Ragman’s house,” Sweet Pea said. “It’s
probably safer to read Ketter’s journal there than anywhere else.”
After paying our bill, Sweet Pea led us to the back of the restaurant to see if the bathrooms had locks. They did. The boys’ bathroom was occupied, so Sweet Pea started to use her house key on the door of the girls’ bathroom.
“I’m not using that door!” Deeter said. “That’s for the girls!”
“Oh, Deeter, grow up,” Sweet Pea said, turning the key in the lock. It made a small click.
“Anyone looking?” she asked.
No one was, so she drew her key out of the lock and opened the door. The Ragman’s front hallway was on the other side, just like we’d left it. We piled inside and shut the door behind us.
“Home, sweet home,” Deeter said.
Strange, but I was almost glad to be back. The crazy clocks, the umbrella stand full of golf clubs and peacock feathers, the dusty smell—it almost seemed friendly. The house may have been bizarre, but at least here there were no flash floods, killer fish, or psycho clowns.
Sweet Pea raised a finger to her lips, and then she crept down the hallway to listen at the Ragman’s study door. Finally, she tiptoed back to us.
“I can hear him ranting about his latest bidding war,” she said. “Apparently he just lost the Purple Pie Plate. We’ll be fine.”
Even in our absence, the Ragman had been busy. Next to the old suit of armor in the living room was a huge fancy picture frame—no picture, just the frame. There were more wooden crates on the floor as well. My fingers tingled when I walked by them, so they must have been full of Collectibles. The Ragman may have lost the Purple Pie Plate, but he must have won a few bids, too.
“Does he ever stop?” I asked Sweet Pea.
She rolled her eyes while Deeter laughed.
The three of us sat on the green velvet sofa to read The Book of All Words, but I couldn’t get the book out of my backpack. The book’s corners had snagged on the zipper, and the book seemed heavier than before. Almost like it didn’t want to be read. In the end, all three of us had to fight to untangle it. Then I held the book on my lap.
“Here’s hoping,” I said. “Book of All Words, please show us John Ketter’s journal.”
The book’s cover warmed under my palm, so I opened the book to its first page.
This journal is the property of John Ketter. April 1, 1879.
“Oh, man,” Deeter said. “Reading this is gonna take forever.”
“Maybe not,” I said.
I flipped to the last page. It was dated May 2, 1885.
My dearest Rose is dead. The crown’s to blame. No. I am to blame. What a fool I was. Now I have lost her forever. May God have mercy on me for the things I have done. I have come to a decision. I shall bury the crown in Skeleton Canyon, and I shall burn this journal. The crown must never again be found. The crown is—
There was one last word, but it was blurry and hard to read.
“What does that last part say?” Sweet Pea pointed at the black smudge of words.
Deeter tried to read the line. “The crown…is curled. Curled?”
“The crown…is curried?” Sweet Pea suggested.
“Curried? That makes no sense,” Deeter said.
“Well, neither does curled.”
“Makes more sense than curried.”
“Guys, wait. Listen,” I said. “It’s cursed.”
Sweet Pea and Deeter both stopped arguing and looked at me. Then they examined the page again. Sweet Pea covered her mouth with her hand, and Deeter slowly sank back against the sofa. For once he actually seemed at a loss for words.
The crown is cursed.
Chapter 22
Skeleton Canyon
“This time,” I said, “I’m going alone.”
The living room got really quiet. Sweet Pea and Deeter had been searching for useful Collectibles to bring on another hunt. But when I made my announcement, they both stopped and looked at me like I’d just told them the Ragman had been turned into a penguin.
“Rookie, think of it this way,” Deeter said. “First, no one should go alone to a place with a name as spooky as Skeleton Canyon. Second, the Bronze Crown is cursed. It could zap you with a lightning bolt the moment you find it. Think about that.”
I already had.
A lightning bolt? Was that the best he could imagine? I could imagine a hundred things the curse might do to kill me. Things way worse than a lightning bolt. And even if the curse didn’t kill me, I could think of a thousand other things it could do to make me wish it had.
But if Sweet Pea and Deeter stayed here, at least then I’d only have a hundred things to worry about. And that was enough.
“We don’t know what the curse is,” I said. “Maybe it’s not a big deal. Maybe it makes your nose hairs fall out, or your teeth turn green. I can live with that.”
Deeter snorted, and Sweet Pea shook her head.
“It’s not the curse alone,” she said. “Have you forgotten the other dangers? The Artisans. The rogue Collector. And all the people working for him, like the widow Hiddleburg and fisherman Jack and that evil clown. Even the Detective. There are too many people out to get you!”
All the more reason for Sweet Pea and Deeter to stay at the Packrat House.
“Look, you guys helped me find the Magic Eight Ball. You’ve done enough. I can do this myself.”
“We’re coming with you,” Sweet Pea said. “End of discussion. Besides, if you go alone, then I won’t let you use this.”
She waved a green-handled garden trowel high in the air like it was the most amazing prize in the world.
“Um, how is a garden trowel suppose to help me find the crown?” I asked.
“It’s not just any garden trowel,” she said. “It’s the Garden Trowel. One of the Gardener’s best Collectibles. It digs up things in seconds. Even things buried deep. It’ll dig up the crown much quicker than any of us could, even if we used regular shovels.”
I had to admit, a Collectible like that would make things much easier. Still….
“Look, Rookie,” Deeter added, “You need all the help you can get.”
“You’re doing it again, Deet,” I said.
“Doing what?”
“Proving you’re the world’s most annoying boy.”
“Only to stop you from messing up again! That journal didn’t say where the Bronze Crown was buried exactly. So how are you gonna find it?”
“Well, I have my Finder’s instinct. Right?”
They both raised their eyebrows at me. I could tell they weren’t convinced. So I held up the Magic Eight Ball and tried my best to look confident.
“I could use the eight ball to help me.”
Deeter crossed his arms. “Like I said, you need all the help you can get.”
“That settles it. I’ll get some packs ready,” Sweet Pea said. “Deeter, you handle the food this time. Make sure you bring lots of water.”
“Right.” Deeter nodded.
Seemed like tying them up and leaving them here wouldn’t be an option.
“Guys, wait,” I said. “You don’t have to do this. Why do you both want to help me so much?”
They exchanged looks with each other.
“Why do we….” Sweet Pea put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Rookie. After everything we’ve been through together. Do you really need to ask?”
And suddenly, I couldn’t help grinning. This whole time, I’d had an empty feeling inside me that I’d thought was because I’d lost my memories. But now, with Sweet Pea and Deeter there beside me, I didn’t feel it as much. Was this what having friends felt like?
“Thanks,” I said.
They both grinned back.
After that, we finished packing our bags. Sweet Pea was in charge of the Collectibles, and I managed to find some camping gear. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to let Deeter pack the food, though. Everything he brought had peanut butter, pancakes, and salsa in it.
At least he remembered to bring marshmallows for s
’mores.
When we were ready, we went into the hallway and stood at the front door. Sweet Pea placed her hand on the doorknob. Then, she let out a big breath and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate.
“Skeleton Canyon, Skeleton Canyon,” she whispered.
She turned the doorknob, and with a slight creak, the front door swung open.
“Oh, man,” Deeter muttered.
The door led to a desert canyon made of volcanic rock formations that rose up like hands clawing at the sky. Long, dark shadows spread over the sand, mingling with the sun’s red glare, while a lone vulture soared high above the canyon’s rim.
“Time to find the crown,” I said. “Time to end this.”
We all stepped over the threshold, and Sweet Pea closed the door.
From the mouth of the canyon, a gust of hot wind rushed at us to moan in our ears. I waited for my skin to tingle or my stomach to jump, but I didn’t sense any magic here. I turned to Sweet Pea and Deeter.
“Anything? Do you feel the crown?” I asked.
Sweet Pea raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Not yet,” she said. “Maybe we’re too far away. Buried Collectibles are always harder to locate. And with the way the canyon walls twist and turn, that will make finding the crown doubly difficult.”
No kidding.
The Bandit King couldn’t have picked a better place than this to hide the crown. So many rock crevices and cracks and caves. Great for hiding loot. And great for an ambush or a trap. Plus, there seemed to be only one way in.
Which meant only one way out.
“We should start walking,” I said. “If the crown is here, then it must be inside the canyon.”
“It’s creepier on the inside,” Deeter said. “Looks like a thousand eyes watching us.”
He was right. The patterns on the canyon walls formed strange faces—sneering, laughing, howling.
“Try not to look at them,” I said.
Not that there was much else to look at. Only some scrub brush and low-growing juniper that had been twisted by the heat and the wind. We walked until sunset, but still there was no sign of the Bronze Crown. Finally, we stopped to rest at the base of a dead tree.
The Crown of the Bandit King Page 17
