Mask on the Cruise Ship (2 page)

— Peabody Roberts

I checked the top file, which was labeled “
Empress Marie
Passenger List.” Empty. I tossed note and file back on the table.
That
certainly hadn't been interesting reading.

I was just licking the last bit of egg salad off my fingers when the door opened. Mr. Trotter had his hand on the knob, but in response to something Mr. Wellman had said he was looking back over his shoulder. I sat up straight, prepared to thank him very nicely for the sandwich.

“No, thank you, I won't join you and Dinah for lunch,” the program director called back cheerily to Mr. Wellman. “Today I'm treating myself to my favorite sandwich — egg salad with all the trimmings — from the deli downstairs. I appreciate the invitation, but I've been anticipating this scrumptious delight all morning. Really,” and here he giggled, “I've been counting the minutes till I take that first, heavenly bite.”

OH NO. In panic I eyed the now-empty Styrofoam container. Why hadn't Mr. Trotter explained to me that the “treats” he kept in here for his guests didn't include sandwiches?

“I'm so glad you've decided on Dinah,” Mr. Wellman was saying. “You won't be sorry.”

Mr. Trotter wagged a playful finger. “So long as there are no disruptions, Wellman. No disturbances. I value calm above all else.”

This was awful. There wouldn't be a shred of calm left to Mr. Trotter once he discovered his lunch was missing. In fact, the only shreds would be my contract — after he'd ripped it up. No Alaska cruise for Mother, Madge and me.

Gulp. My palms were now so clammy that the
Empress
Marie
could've just about floated in them. Then —

I noticed again the note that was paper-clipped to the top file.

Mr. Trotter
—

Borrowed the contents of this for a while. Hope you
don't mind.

— Peabody Roberts

After a last giggle at some remark of Mr. Wellman's, the program director started to turn.

I grabbed the note, slapped it on top of the Styrofoam container and weighed it down with the paper clip.

“Come back in and join us, my dear,” smiled Mr. Trotter. “We're all done … Hope you helped yourself to some chocolates.”

“Um,” I said, but Mr. Trotter wasn't listening. He was patting his mustache curls, I guess to make sure the smile hadn't dislodged them in any way.

Mr. Wellman and
I waited at the elevator.

“You'll love the cruise,” he assured me. “I know someone else who's going: Julie Hébert. Julie's the stepsister of a client of mine, Professor Elaine Hébert, a renowned expert in First Nations culture. I book speeches and TV appearances for Professor Hébert.

“Anyhow, the prof's sister will be transporting a valuable Tlingit Nation mask to an art gallery in Juneau.”

“Hey, we studied Tlingit masks this year,” I exclaimed. “Shamans, who were people with special powers, put masks on to drive evil away. Ravens, eagles and other animals were the spiritual helpers the shamans called on. When the shaman wore a mask of one of these animals, it meant the animal was right there, helping him.”

I flapped my arms and ran back and forth in front of the elevators. I thought it'd be exciting to be a shaman, able to battle the dark spirits.

“Er, Dinah.” Mr. Wellman caught me by an arm. “Maybe you should come in for a landing. Remember, Lionel Trotter is into
soothing
surroundings.”

“Oh, right,” I said and stopped flapping. “So what's with the mask that's going on the
Empress Marie
?”

“Professor Hébert had borrowed the mask for an exhibition at the University of British Columbia. She was planning to return it herself, but then she got invited on an archeological dig in northern B.C. So the prof gave the cruise ticket to her stepsister.”

“Lucky Julie,” I commented.

“Not so lucky,” Mr. Wellman said thoughtfully. “There's been something rather sinister — ”

However, I wasn't to find out about Julie and the sinister something just yet. Mr. Trotter burst out of his office into the hallway. His apple cheeks had reddened to a dark beet color. He was quivering so much with indignation that his thick mustache curls were dancing, like the “Waltz of the Flowers” scene in the
Nutcracker
ballet.

Talk about being possessed by evil spirits. Mr. Trotter, I thought, could have used a shaman himself about now. He bellowed at the receptionist: “WHERE IS PEABODY? I'M GOING TO TAKE HIM APART LIMB BY LIMB!”

Chapter 2
The Raven and the stepsister

J
ulie Hébert lifted the box's lid. A scarlet flame jutted out at us.

I grinned.

Mother jumped.

Madge, who loved using bright, bold colors in her art, smiled delightedly. “It's a beak, Mother,” she exclaimed. “It's … ”

“It's the Raven,” I said, as Julie drew the bubble wrap away from the fierce, vivid mask. “He's in so many First Nations legends, but my favorite is the one where he captures the light.”

“Me, too,” nodded Julie, whom Mr. Wellman had brought by to meet us. “When the Raven wants something, nothing stops him.”

My friend Pantelli Audia and I had done a project on the Raven for school. According to legend, in the beginning the whole world was dark. A rich man and his daughter selfishly hoarded all stars, the moon and the sun in three bags hanging on their wall.

The curious, bright-eyed Raven decided enough was enough. Time to let the light free to shine on everyone. He changed himself into a pine needle that the girl swallowed when drinking a cup of water.

As well as selfish, the girl must've been awfully stupid, I figured. Imagine not noticing that you'd gulped back a pine needle!

The pine needle part was Pantelli's favorite. Pantelli loves trees. He wants to be a tree doctor when he grows up, or maybe a forest ranger. So, for our project, he went into a five-page rant about different types of pine needles — how it must've been a needle from the dwarf pine that the girl swallowed, as opposed to one from a regular-sized pine.

We got points taken off, needless — or should that be needles? — to say. OFF TOPIC, the teacher wrote scornfully.

Back to the myth of the Raven. Having been digested by the girl, he changed himself into a baby, which she then gave birth to.

The baby/Raven started crying nonstop. I guess there weren't any pacifiers in those far-off mythic days. The girl and her dad shoved the bags at the baby to keep him quiet. Dumb-dee-dumb-dumb. The baby/Raven opened the bags, probably with a big, gleeful
caw!
, and let loose the stars, moon and sun.

I studied the Raven's
long beak, with its red rim stretching like a smile. And the round black eyes, alert and — humorous, I thought.

“He's funny,” I said.

Julie nodded, pleased. “You're right, Dinah. The Raven has an excellent sense of humor. I've always thought that's the source of his cunning, his mischief, in all the stories about him.”

“As long as he doesn't use his mischief for ill,” murmured Mother — a typical no-fun, Motherly comment, I thought and shook my head at her. She was so embarrassing sometimes.

Julie stroked the bright red beak. “The Raven's challenge is to turn his gift of mischief to good use. He doesn't always succeed. I think that if you were that clever, that capable of fooling others, it would be very hard to stay on the straight and narrow all the time.”

Madge was still gazing, entranced, at the mask. Like me, she was too much in awe of the Raven to care about his off days. “Since he brought light to the world, I think we pretty much have to forgive him everything,” she pointed out.

“With fans like you, the guy definitely doesn't need an agent,” remarked Mr. Wellman. “Hey, Julie, you're really knowledgeable. Maybe
you
should start giving lectures on the Raven.”

“I'd be at every one,” promised Madge, who was starting at Emily Carr Institute of Art in the fall. Her blue eyes shone.

Julie's round, cheery face began to rival the Raven's for redness, only it was embarrassment, not ferocity. “I don't think Elaine would approve,” she said, running a hand through her spiky-cut black hair. “She'd think I was shoving my way into the limelight.”

“What's wrong with that?” I demanded. “I do that myself, as often as possible.”

Julie hesitated. “You see, Elaine believes that amateurs should keep quiet. She says it took her years to become a professor, so she's earned the right to be a public figure. Whereas someone like me — well, I love art and mythology, and I'm actually an artist, too. Or trying to be! But I don't have a fancy Ph.D. like Elaine.”

“P-h-
phooey
,” I said, deciding I didn't like this sister of Julie's very much. Sounded like Elaine put on quite the airs.

Julie ran her hand through her hair again. She was one of those people with untidy hair that looked chic and expensive, whereas mine just looked untidy.

She confided, “Besides, with what's been happening, I'd rather keep a lowered profile on the cruise.”

Julie had quieted her voice even beyond its usual softness. I leaned forward to be able to hear her. Unfortunately, my cat-slippered toes crunched on some bubble wrap that had fallen.
Pop, pop, pop!

“We don't need sound effects, Dinah,” Madge reprimanded. Being dreamy, she was pretty quiet and soft-spoken herself.

“Sorry,” I apologized. Nope, I just wasn't the type to maintain a soothing atmosphere.

Julie was more twinkly-eyed than offended, so I plunged on, full of curiosity. “Mr. Wellman mentioned a sinister something. Is it to do with the mask?”

Julie nodded. “Someone's been trying to steal it.”

Madge and Mother also leaned forward to hear. Hunched in a circle around Julie, the three of us resembled cloves of garlic.

There'd been two
attempts to steal the mask, Julie explained.

The first had been at her apartment on Cadwallader Avenue, where she'd stored the Raven initially. Someone had climbed the tree next to her second-story window, slid along the nearest branch, jimmied the window open —

And crashed to the ground when the branch broke beneath him.

“The police deduce that it was a ‘he' from the footprints limping away from the scene,” Julie explained. “A man of slight build, about five nine.”

Mother broke in with a Motherly
tsk
. “Cadwallader's not the best area for a young woman to be living in. So much crime! It's not safe for you, let alone the Raven, Julie.”

Julie shrugged. “It's all I can afford, at least till my paintings sell. An art dealer told me I had real talent — that it wouldn't be long till I could hold a show in his gallery!”

Finding out about the attempted theft, Elaine insisted Julie bring the mask to her beautiful house in the Shaughnessy area. Julie could stay there with the mask until the cruise; Elaine herself was already off on her archeological dig.

For the privilege of staying at Elaine's, Julie had to scrub the house from top to bottom. “I don't mind, though,” Julie assured us.

Mother, Madge and I exchanged looks. So Julie was stuck on grimy Cadwallader Avenue while Elaine lived in swishy Shaughnessy! The only small houses there were the bird feeders. You'd think Elaine could spare Julie a teeny room at her place, at least while Julie struggled to make it as an artist.

Soon after Julie moved into Elaine's, the security alarm blared forth. Poking his head out, a neighbor saw a slight, medium-height man in black cap, sweat suit and black mask hobbling off. Obviously the same guy who'd tried breaking into her apartment. This time the burglar had taken fright at the alarm's loud pealing.

Mother and Madge looked horrified, but I had to stifle a laugh. The burglar's efforts reminded me of a Roadrunner cartoon. “It doesn't sound like we're dealing with an overly high IQ here,” I observed.

“There's a big illegal market for art — a problem we should take very seriously,” Mr. Wellman said. “Most likely some unsavory art dealer has hired our low-IQ thief. That's the police's theory, anyhow.”

He told Julie, “One reason I wanted to introduce you to Dinah is that she's very observant, a natural detective. She'll watch out for you. In any case, once you set foot on the
Empress
, you'll be out of our thief's reach. Smooth sailing, I'd say.” Mr. Wellman beamed at his little joke.

Madge, Mother and Julie laughed politely, but I took the opportunity to frown at him. Grown-ups were so bad at humor, in my view. Best not to encourage them.

The adults started
talking about the luggage limit you could take on board a cruise ship. Mind-numbing. I mean, as long as I remembered to bring my CD player and Judy Garland and Bessie Smith CDs, I'd be well-equipped.

Excusing myself, I started to head upstairs. Then, in the front hall, “The Yellow Rose of Texas” tinkled out.

Either there was an elf-sized orchestra nearby or — yup. Somebody'd left a cell phone, a silver metallic one, on the hall table. I grabbed it.

“Hello?” I said.

Now, since I'd never seen the cell phone before, I knew quite well the call couldn't be for me. However, like the Raven, I was naturally curious. Curiosity was my strong or weak point, depending on how you looked at it.

A female voice on the other end snapped, “Are you cleaning?”

“Not if I can help it,” I replied in surprise.

A wail. “C'mon, you're staying in my house, aren't you? It needs cleaning. So get to work!”

This must be Julie's cell phone, and the woman on the other end must be —

“Elaine?” I guessed.

“Of course it's Elaine,” Professor Hébert barked. “You listen to me, Julie. Take good care of the mask. Don't botch this for me. And don't talk to people about the Raven, or anything else for that matter! You're not the know-it-all you think you are. In fact, you know nothing! You're just a silly little — ”