Chessmen of Doom (10 page)

The phone in Fergie's house rang fifteen times before someone finally picked it up. Luckily it was Fergie himself.

"Hi ho, big John! So what's up? Is—"

"He's here!" Johnny whispered hoarsely, "so you better get yourself in gear! Are you sure that cellar window is still loose?"

"Don't worry, it is. The prof never checks things like that."

Johnny scowled. He did not like spying on the professor, though in this case he felt he was doing it for a good cause. "Okay, just get on over here," he said, and then he hung up.

Around seven o'clock that evening, Johnny and Fergie were crouching on the cold, damp ground next to the foundation of the professor's house.

"Is this the window to the coal bin?" Johnny asked as Fergie edged forward and started prying at the glass.

Fergie snickered. "No, it ain't, John baby," he whispered in a mocking tone. "It's the window to the laundry room. If you're lucky, you'll catch your foot in a tub and break your ankle. But you won't get coal dust on your nice clean pants."

"Thanks," muttered Johnny sourly. He watched as Fergie gripped the window frame and shoved it inward. One at a time they slid over the sill on their stomachs. With a
thunk
Johnny's feet hit the bottom of a laundry tub. Awkwardly he hopped onto the floor, and Fergie came slithering into the room after him.

"There, now!" said Fergie, as he jumped down to join Johnny. "That wasn't such a big deal, was it? Where are those stairs?"

Johnny thought a bit. Then he pointed off to the left. "Over that way, I think. Come on."

By the thin, faint beam of Fergie's penlight the two boys made their way past dusty shelves to the foot of the back staircase. In days gone by the old house had had a staff of servants, and they had used this back stair as a way of getting around the house without disturbing the owners. The boys climbed, and the steps creaked loudly; Johnny imagined that the professor and Dr. Coote were hearing every little squeak and groan of the ancient wood. After what seemed like forever they opened a door to the third floor of the house, which was like a large attic with sloping ceilings. In one of the small rooms, once used as servants' quarters, an old dusty bed without any mattress stood in one corner, and there was a tiny brick fireplace with a boarded-up hearth. Set in the baseboard of one wall was a hot-air vent with an ornamental iron grill. The vent had been pulled shut. Johnny knelt to shove it open. As luck would have it, this room was directly over the professor's study. Almost instantly the boys began to hear the voices of the two old men, which sounded hollow and distorted. Apparently Dr. Coote was trying to explain something, but the professor kept butting in because he was not satisfied with the explanation.

"Now, wait a minute—just wait a minute!" growled the professor irritably. "Do you mean to say that this creep with the chessmen has taken over some kind of hocus-pocus that my brother began?"

Dr. Coote sighed. "Yes, Roderick. That is exactly what I mean. You have that diary that you found disguised as a cookbook in your brother's library. You have these letters that an Englishman named Edmund Stallybrass sent to your brother. It's pretty clear now that Perry was trying to frighten mankind into peacefulness by making comets zoom past the earth. It's a pretty crack-brained scheme, but your brother was not a terribly sane person, was he? All right, then. Your brother dies, and then this Englishman who stole the chessmen comes to America to put Perry's mad plan to work. However, I will bet you that our friend Stallybrass isn't interested in scaring mankind into peace. I think he has something a good deal more sinister in mind. It really is too bad that your brother chose to let this lunatic in on his plans, but I guess he needed him to steal the chessmen. I did a little digging and I found out that this Stallybrass used to be an assistant curator at the British Museum. It would have been easy for him to sneak into the museum at night."

The professor coughed and paused. "But see here, Charley," he said at last. "How did those two figure out that they could use a set of medieval chessmen as part of a magic ritual? It's not the sort of thing you read in museum guidebooks."

Dr. Coote sniffed. "No, Roderick, it most certainly is not! It beats me how they figured out their ritual, but . . . well, the British Museum has lots of old scrolls and books tucked away—things that no one has ever read. Maybe Stallybrass stumbled across something like that and then he wrote to Perry, and then the fun began!"

"Fun indeed!" growled the professor. "My brother should have been horsewhipped for even
thinking
of such a scheme! Well, now we have a crisis on our hands, but what can we do?"

"Roderick," Dr. Coote said slowly, "it seems clear that when you and the boys saw the comets vanish you must have seen a failed attempt. Or maybe it was just a trial run. But the question is, when will Stallybrass try again? I have combed through your dear brother's diary till my eyes ache, and I think I've finally figured out what all those astrological drawings were for."

"Astrology!"
snorted the professor, "Leave it to my crackpot brother to believe in such rubbish! I told him many times—"

"You're forgetting something, my friend," said Dr. Coote, interrupting. "I will admit that the daily horoscopes in the papers are idiotic, but astrology was part of medieval magic. If we are going to stop Mr. Stallybrass, we have to take astrology seriously. Now, then—as far as I can figure out, Perry's magic ritual can only be used in a month when there is an eclipse of the moon, and when Jupiter and Saturn hang in conjunction in the house of Mars. I know that sounds like gobbledygook to you, but those conditions existed in August when our friend did his little magic routine. The planets won't be favorable again till mid-January, so we have a little time to plan a counterattack!"

Professor Childermass swore under his breath. "So we have time, do we?" he grumbled. "Time for what? Time to find out who Crazy Annie is? Do you know I have racked my brains, and I have even let myself be hypnotized, in order to find out who that woman is? But it's no good. Why on earth couldn't my brother's ghost have been a little clearer about what he meant?"

"Come now, Roderick," said Dr. Coote mildly. "You know as well as I do that ghosts have to speak in riddles—it has been this way ever since the dawn of time. The rules are ancient and must be observed."

"Hmph!"
said the professor. "It seems to me that it is time the rules were changed! However, our problem remains: We have to go up to that wretched estate in the middle of the winter, and we have to fight without any weapons. What do you think our chances of winning are?"

"Pretty slim," retorted Dr. Coote with a weary sigh. "But at least we have a little time to think. We need to go over this Crazy Annie business from every possible angle. You know, Crazy Annie could be a thing and not a person. Mons Meg was a cannon, and Jack-in-the-Pulpit is a flower. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yes, I do," the professor answered fiercely. "But I have combed the dictionaries and encyclopedias, and I can't find any plant or mineral or object whatever that is called Crazy Annie!" He sighed and blew his nose. "I'm not trying to be nasty, Charley," he went on in a milder tone, "but I'm afraid we're up against a big fat brick wall. Still, I'm not going to let Stallybrass have his way—not without a fight. I'm going to Perry's estate on January fifteenth. Will you come with me?"

Dr. Coote paused. "I'd love to, Roderick," he began nervously, "but as you know, I have bad legs and—"

"Oh, to the devil with your bad legs!" snapped the professor impatiently. "Bring a cane, for heaven's sake! I'm not asking you to be an Olympic runner, I'm just asking for moral support."

There was a longer pause. "Of course," said Dr. Coote. "Though I can't imagine what either one of us can do."

"Neither can I," said the professor gloomily. "It'll just be the old college try, the goal-line stand with two seconds remaining in the game." He added, in a voice that was thick with emotion, "Thanks for being my friend, Charley."

 

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

The months rolled by, and the seasons changed. The maple leaves turned red and yellow and fell to the ground, and the cold winds of November whistled through the bare branches. In the first week of December snow fell on Fillmore Street, whitening the branches and piling little pointed caps on posts and fire hydrants. Mid-January was near, a lot nearer than Johnny and Fergie liked to think. Many times they had talked over the things they had heard while eavesdropping in the professor's attic. But now, as the fateful time got closer and closer, they realized that they didn't have a ghost of a plan. They wanted very much to help the two old men, but they didn't know how. Of course, the professor and Dr. Coote didn't have a plan either—all their hopes were pinned on finding out who Crazy Annie was. But what if they couldn't solve that riddle? Then the evil Mr. Stallybrass would be free to do whatever he liked, which was not a pleasant thing to think about. The boys felt hopeless, but they also felt determined. They wanted to be in on the adventure, even though it seemed like a very dangerous one.

They hashed over dozens of plans. They thought about stowing away in the trunk of the professor's car, but they realized that they would probably get locked in and have to bang for help in order to get out. If they hid in the backseat, one sneeze would betray them. So, one idea after another got shot down. But on a gray December afternoon, as the boys were gobbling hot fudge sundaes in their favorite booth at Peter's Sweet Shop, Fergie came up with the best scheme so far—they would take the train to Stone Arabia.

Johnny was startled by the idea. He held his dripping spoon in the air and stared in amazement at Fergie. "Do you think the train stops there?" he asked. "I mean, it's a really small town, and—"

"Be not worried, big John!" said Fergie with a confident grin. "I got a Boston and Maine timetable, and the choo-choo does stop there. We can hop the train the night those two old geezers drive up, an' then we can take a taxi out to the estate. They'll have to put us up for the—"

"Wait a minute!" said Johnny suddenly. "Where are we gonna get the money for all this?"

Fergie licked his spoon and looked smug. "From you, big boy. Remember when the prof gave you some money to start your own bank account? Well, if you haven't spent it all on chewing gum and Cracker Jacks, there oughta be enough left for a couple of train tickets and a taxi ride."

Johnny nodded weakly. But then another problem occurred to him. "What about our folks? We can't just say that we're taking off for Maine. What'll we tell them?"

Fergie grinned slyly. "I've got that one figured out too. You tell your gramma and grampa that you're stayin' over at my house for the night, an' I'll tell my folks that I'm stayin' at
your
house. They'll never check up on us, an' the next day we'll hitch a ride back with the prof and old Whosis. Nobody'll ever be the wiser."

Johnny paused and stared thoughtfully at the melting ice cream in his dish. "You don't think anything's really gonna happen when we go up there to the estate, do you?

Fergie shook his head. He seemed calm and confident. "Naah, I really don't! That red-faced crumb blew it once when he tried all that abracadabra with the skull an' stuff. He might try again, but I think the prof and Dr. Coote will fix his clock. An' we're gonna help!"

Johnny looked at his friend doubtfully. Was Fergie just being brave, or did he honestly think that they could go up to Maine and face an evil magician without being harmed? The professor and Dr. Coote thought there was danger, and so did Johnny. And Johnny was not thrilled by Fergie's great big plan for fooling the Dixons and the Fergusons. Something could very easily go wrong. Gramma might call Mrs. Ferguson for a recipe, and then the beans would get spilled. But Johnny would not let his friend down. When Fergie climbed on the train, he would be with him, no matter what.

Christmas came, and Johnny got the usual presents from his grandparents—two white shirts, a tie, socks, and an outdoors novel called
North Woods Whammy.
The Dixons meant well, but they weren't very imaginative about gift giving. Then January arrived, with freezing gales and ice storms. The temperature dropped to near zero and stayed there for a week, and then it warmed up a bit and snowed. Now that the day for the professor's departure was getting closer, Johnny watched him like a hawk, listening for any hint of exactly when the trip would take place. He had said he'd go on the fifteenth, but he might get impatient and leave a day early. Finally, on the evening of the thirteenth, the professor casually told Johnny that he was going up to Durham the night of January fourteenth to visit Dr. Coote for a couple of days. As soon as he could, Johnny called Fergie and told him that the big trip was coming. The next morning, during breakfast, Johnny asked Gramma and Grampa Dixon if he could spend the night at Fergie's house. The next day was Saturday, and there would be no school, so Gramma and Grampa agreed.

Johnny spent his day at school in a very nervous state, with his stomach all knotted up and worried thoughts flitting through his brain. After school let out, he went down to the bank, drew out some money, and bought two railway tickets to Stone Arabia. Then he went home to pack his overnight bag.

Snow was falling steadily as Johnny stood on the yellow brick platform outside the Duston Heights railway station. He was wearing his old blue parka and red stocking cap, and he held a small black leather valise. He looked around nervously—where was Fergie? It was hard to believe that he would chicken out, but you never could tell. For the tenth time Johnny walked back into the heated station and peered up at the big electrical clock over the door. It said five minutes to seven. The train was due to be in the station at seven, and it would leave for Maine at ten after. "Fergie, you're cutting things pretty close," Johnny muttered under his breath. He bit his lip and looked around at the empty wooden benches and the potbellied iron stove. Maybe it would be a good thing if they did miss the train. Maybe the nervous voice that he heard in his head was his guardian angel telling him that this whole trip was a very bad idea, and that he'd better get out while he still had a chance. But just as Johnny was thinking that he should duck out the back door of the station and go home, Fergie walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting leather jacket with a ratty fur collar and a pair of bright red fuzzy earmuffs and he had a bowling-ball bag that was obviously stuffed full of clothes. Fergie's cheeks were very red, and he was breathing hard.