Spiders on the Case (3 page)

J
o Bell returned to the display case. Her head was spinning. Buster had a major self-esteem problem, that was for sure. Although he could deliver a sting, he seemed to believe that just a “touch of the toxic” would help him so much. She had tried to explain how highly overrated venom is.

Buster might not have venom, but he had brains. Jo Bell was tired of Felix being viewed as the only one around with any smarts. So when Buster suggested that they should bring Jo Bell's family into the dragnet, she flatly said no.

“Don't you think your mother should know?”

“Not yet. No one should until we have a plan.”

“Well, would you at least introduce me?”

Again, Buster's rather sad voice touched Jo Bell. She wondered if he'd ever had any friends at all. It seemed as if he did nothing but read in between catching the occasional silverfish or cockroach. That was probably why he was so smart.

She agreed to introduce Buster to her family, but she swore him to secrecy about their project. She had been very lucky that her family was gone when she had witnessed Agnes Smoot slicing out that page. This was going to be her case to solve…. Well, hers and Buster's.

He had already given her a lengthy reading list of books and magazines about police procedure, from understanding fingerprints to deciphering marks made by shoes in mud. There was no mud in the Boston Public Library, but according to Buster, there were scuff marks on many of the floors.

Most of these books were not in the rare books room. But it was time she visited “the stacks,” the library's shadowy back rooms with miles of shelves. And to navigate the stacks, Jo Bell had to learn the Dewey decimal system by which books were classified into subject areas. She must also begin to visit the Bates Hall reading room. Buster was so familiar with the visitors to the reading room that he knew which books they favored. He told her about one elderly woman who loved books on crime and detection. She wore elaborate hats, so it was easy to find a perch and read over her shoulder. Jo Bell couldn't wait to get started.

But now she heard her family returning.

“Hello, dear!” Edith trilled as she skibbled up the leg of the display case where the family web was. “We — well, how should I put it? We had a stimulating time.”

“What do you mean?” Jo Bell asked.

“Frankly, I can only take so much flamenco dancing. All that pounding! Clackety-clack with their feet in those chunky shoes! I thought my spinnerets were going to fall out. It's really too much for a spider my age.”

“Oh, Mom!” Felix said. “You'd think you were ancient.”

“Well, I'm no spring spider.”

“How was Fatty?” Jo Bell asked.

“Quite well, but I think he does miss us. And there is going to be another two weeks of what he calls this ‘infernal flamenco.' So he might come for a visit over here. Imagine hearing that six nights a week, and then the matinees on Saturdays and Sundays.”

“I made a friend,” Jo Bell suddenly blurted out. The announcement was met with stunned silence.

“A friend!” Julep said.

“Not a human, dear? Oh, I hope not. I mean, Tom understands us, but others might … might not.”

“No, a spider friend,” said Jo Bell.

“A spider!” they all said at once.

“One of ours?” Edith asked hopefully. She would so like to chat with one of their own species.

“No, Mom, not a brown recluse.”

“Well, what is she, dear?”

“It's a he, Mom, and he is a walnut orb weaver.”

“A
Nuctenea umbratica
,” Edith said. “They're a very nice sort. Not venomous, of course.”

“Yes, and please don't remind him of that. He has a bit of a self-esteem problem.”

“I would, too,” Felix said. “I mean, they're orb weavers, but on a scale of zero to ten, their webs are a two, possibly a three, in terms of beauty and elegance.”

“Shut up, Felix. He's very nice. He's very shy, he's really smart, and he does not need a critique of his weaving skills from you.”

“No squabbling, please, children. Now get ready for night patrol.”

“But, Mom,” Julep whined. “I'm not even hungry.”

“Julep, no whining. I told you not to eat that cockroach at the theater. It spoiled your appetite.”

“But I was hungry then and I'm not hungry now. Besides, I went down to the children's room and they were passing out cookies. There were crumbs all over the place.”

“What in the name of silk were you doing down there?”

“Story time. They're reading this great book called
Little House on the Prairie
— all about the pioneer days and this nice little girl named Laura.”

“You certainly do flit around,” Felix said. “First pop-up circus books and now pioneer books. What will it be next?”

“I'm thinking about Egypt. There's this really cool pop-up book of a pyramid,” Julep said.

“I hope it's not in the children's room,” Edith said.

“No, it's right here in the rare books. No kids ever come up here! It's one of the antique pop-up books. Actually, they call them movable-parts books. I heard Tom on the phone talking about the pyramid one.”

“Well, it's a relief that it's up here. But, Julep, I've said this once and I'll keep saying it until it sinks in.”

Jo Bell and Felix exchanged quick glances with their dozen eyes. How often had they heard this lecture?

“Tom Parker is the only human being we have ever met who has welcomed us,” Edith began. “He requires nothing of us except that we eat the little pests that are destroying some of the world's greatest treasures. This is our duty not just to Tom but to the reading public. In general I am not fond of humans, but human beings who read improve our planet.” She paused. “Is that understood, children?”

Edith's three children bobbed their heads up and down obediently.

She continued, “I think tonight we'll penetrate the John Adams collection. I heard Tom on the phone today talking about how he was worried about a silverfish invasion. Particularly in those books in Adams's personal collection, where he made notes in the margins.”

“Can my friend come, Mom?” Jo Bell asked.

“Oh, your friend — the walnut orb weaver?” Edith asked.

“Buster.”

“Buster. Yes, of course, dear. Where is he?”

“Right here,” Jo Bell tipped her head toward a crack in the display case.

“Right where?” Julep asked. “I don't see a thing.”

“He's shy, very shy.” Jo Bell skibbled over to an infinitesimally small crack in the frame of the case. “Buster, come on out and meet the family!” She waited a few seconds. “Come on, Buster.”

Slowly, the walnut orb weaver crept out. Edith, Felix, and Julep poked their heads forward. Eighteen eyes scanned the tiny crack that Jo Bell seemed to be speaking to. There was a brown blur as Buster dropped to the floor of the case.

“He's dead!” Edith gasped.

“Don't worry. That's just his way … his way of arriving.”

“Like a corpse!” Felix said.

“He's so flat. He doesn't even look like a spider,” Julep said. “More like a paint chip.”

“Well, I am a spider.” A voice came from the little fleck of brown, amazing the family, except for Jo Bell, even more. Then, one at a time, Buster's eight legs appeared and he staggered to his feet. “I am a spider, but nothing compared to you, of course. I'm not really toxic. I can only raise the occasional welt on a human.”

“Please, dear,” Edith interjected. “We don't talk about such things.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. But Felix is right, too. My weaving skills are quite modest. The marbled orb weavers and the strawberry orb weavers can do pyramids and cylindrical orbs. They're quite fantastic.”

“Quit apologizing for what you're not!” Jo Bell roared.

“Oh, sorry!” Buster said.

Edith stepped up to the walnut orb weaver. “Now, Buster, I've organized night patrols against those revolting silverfish.”

“Don't call them revolting if you expect me to eat them, Mom,” Julep whined.

“Point taken, Julep. The silverfish are not revolting, but whining is.”

“Touché!” Felix whispered.

F
orward, march!” Felix barked.

Jo Bell shuddered with embarrassment.

“I will do a short recon mission to assess the enemy position. When I report back to Mom, I'll deploy troops. That's you.”

“Oh, Felix dear, what would I do without you!” Edith cried.

Gimme a break
, Jo Bell thought, but she kept quiet.

“Well, military history
is
more useful than fashion history.”

That did it. Jo Bell could no longer remain quiet. “Felix, I could just bite off that fresh new leg of yours! You're such a know-it-all!”

“Now, now, children. No squabbling. Felix, we'll wait here for your report.”

“I think that was snotty of Felix, Jo Bell. I really do,” Julep offered.

“Thanks,” Jo Bell muttered. “Well, let's just wait until the supreme commander of our allied forces returns.” She sighed.

“What's with the fresh new leg for your brother?” Buster asked.

“Here's the short answer: Felix used to be passionate about music. Wanted to be a conductor. Then he got his leg whacked off by Leon Brinsky, conductor of a philharmonic in Los Angeles. End of story.”

“Is that why your mom is so protective of Felix? She makes a big fuss over him.”

“You noticed?” Jo Bell was stunned. This was some spider! He was sensitive, even though he seemed so obsessed with venom — their venom.

“Yeah. She can't take her eyes off Felix's webs.”

“You saw that?”

“Yes, hope you're not mad.”

“No, no, not at all. I'm glad someone was paying attention to me.”

“Anytime.” Buster paused. “Listen, I have a question.”

“Sure.”

“Felix didn't actually bite that conductor, did he?”

“Of course not.” Jo Bell cocked her head and studied Buster with her six eyes. “You don't get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“About us — brown recluses,
Loxosceles reclusa
. You see, we don't have to bite humans to scare the daylights out of them. Our reputation does it. One look at Felix peeping over that music stand, and Leon Brinsky panicked. Slashed down with his baton, then promptly fainted.”

“Wow!” Buster was clearly impressed.

“It's not a wow situation, Buster. It means we spend our lives on the run. First word of a brown recluse on the premises, the E-Men show up with silver tanks of poisonous gas.”

“That's what happened?”

“Time and time again. That's why we wound up here. And we hope to stay — at least for a while.”

At that moment, Felix returned.

“Attention!” he barked.

“Gather round, children.” Edith waved five of her legs to motion them over. “Let's listen now to Felix's report. He does this so well!” Edith beamed at her only son.

“As you know, John Adams's personal library is kept on the balcony over there — just opposite our web. The Adams collection is very vulnerable. I heard Tom talking about it on the phone this morning. Since it's up on the balcony” — Felix waved his new leg to indicate the balcony — “it requires a climb of three meters.”

“Do we have to use the metric system?” Julep complained. “I haven't learned that yet.”

“All right, almost ten feet,” Felix snapped. “A big group of silverfish — and a few glue bugs — have moved from the southwest corner of the balcony to the northwest corner. Hence forth, I'll refer to this as the geography section because that's where the Adams atlas is kept.”

“No! Not John Adams's personal atlas!” Edith sighed. “Children, as you know, John Adams was the second president of the United States. His books are especially valuable because he scribbled little notes in them.”

“I thought we weren't supposed to scribble in books,” Julep said.

“If you're the president of the United States, you can scribble on anything you want,” Jo Bell said.

“But proceed, dear.” Edith nodded at Felix. “Explain your strategy.”

Jo Bell couldn't bear how her mother fawned over Felix. And the more her mother did, the more insufferable he became.

“The southern flank of this quadrant is vulnerable. I would suggest after our initial climb a sneak attack. We'll gather at Checkpoint Quincy to begin our climb. You all know where that is — just over the doorway.”

Jo Bell yawned.

“Are you bored, Jo Bell?” Felix asked. “I suggest you listen up!”

“Oh, no, not bored, just curious.”

“What about, dear?” her mother asked.

“I find it fascinating how one minute Felix is an artist, and the next some kind of military expert.”

“They're both art forms,” Felix replied rather snootily. “There is a design to a military campaign just as there is a design for a web. Now, if I may continue?”

“Yes, dear, please do,” Edith said. “The silverfish must be stopped before it's too late.”

Felix looked more smug than ever, and Jo Bell started to feel as if she needed two more eyes to take in all of his fat head.

“For our climb, use number two quality silk.” Felix then turned to Buster. “In orb weavers, I believe our number two is your number five. Strong, highly flexible, with a good amount of stretch, but it doesn't go all loopy on you.”

“Yes, I believe you're right,” Buster said.

“I have extensive knowledge of orb weaver silk — some remarkable grades, if I do say so,” Felix continued.

Jo Bell thought she would vomit.

“He's unbearable!” she whispered to Julep, who was playing with a dead glue bug she had found.

“I can't believe I'm passing up this glue bug, but I can't eat another bite.”

“Don't worry,” Felix said. “We'll haul them back in my newly designed web, which is not only elegant but has amazing hauling abilities. We'll break into teams. Mom, you and Julep are one team. Jo Bell, you take Buster. I'll roam and supervise all of you. Assault Team One.” He nodded at Edith and Julep. “You should head directly for the atlas. Jo Bell, you and Buster need to go to call number 915.4. It's one of the few prints left of a sketch that Paul Revere did of the Boston Massacre. The sketch is now being attacked. It's massacre twice over, first by the British soldiers and now by the silverfish.”

“May I say something?” Buster asked in almost a whisper.

“Yes, but be quick about it,” Felix snapped.

All twenty-four eyes were now riveted on Buster.

“I have been here for a while and I am familiar with the Adams collection. There is something terribly important I need to tell you.”

“What's that?” Jo Bell asked.

“There's a drawing in there of Crispus Attucks, the first African American to die in the Revolution. To die once is bad enough, but to die again when the silverfish eat him is unthinkable.” A new somberness seemed to envelop the four spiders.

“What do you mean?” Felix whispered.

“If the silverfish eat the drawing of Crispus, he will be gone. Gone from all memory if there isn't another drawing of him. He sacrificed his life for this country, and the silverfish are devouring the evidence!”

“We'll save him,” Jo Bell said. “Buster, you and I can save him together.”

“Perhaps I should go with you,” Felix said. “This is a very urgent mission.”

“No, Felix,” Edith said. “Jo Bell and Buster can handle this. Let's stick to your original strategy.”

Jo Bell's six eyes were shining as she looked at her mom.
Finally!
she thought.
Finally, it's not all about Felix.

“All right,” Felix barked. “Now prepare to climb!”

At precisely one minute after seven o'clock, according to the clock on the wall, the five spiders' spinnerets began to contract. Seconds later, they were squeezing liquid silk from their spigots for hoist lines. Attaching their lines to Checkpoint Quincy, they began to climb a vertical silken highway. On glimmering threads they swung through the amber light of the rare books foyer. They traveled steadily upward with singularly graceful motions to the lofty heights of the John Adams collection balcony shelves.

Forty minutes later, Felix had reached the recessed lighting fixtures just above the balcony. When the rest of the spiders arrived, he gave a silent signal with his two forelegs, or pedipalps, to indicate a steady stream of silverfish flowing like a trickling creek toward the atlas.

“Shocking! Positively shocking,” Edith gasped.

Felix waved his pedipalps wildly for silence. “No talking!” Of course, spiders do not exactly talk but, instead, communicate by sending out vibratory signals. The leg hairs of spiders contain some of the most highly refined sensors of any animal on earth.

An even larger infestation of silverfish awaited Jo Bell and Buster at their destination. The insects' long, flattish bodies seemed to be oozing in and out of the huge folio with the precious drawing of Crispus Attucks. “Thank God they don't have wings,” Jo Bell muttered.

“I'll do a dead drop in from the top of the folio,” Buster said.

“Be careful of the cracks. You might drop into the wrong place,” Jo Bell warned. The leather cases and folios that held so many of the rare book treasures seemed more like mummies than books.

“Okay, I'll come in from the side,” Buster said.

Jo Bell spotted the long antennae of several silverfish poking out from the edges of the folio.

Three seconds later, Jo Bell and Buster were inside the pages. The damage was impressive.

“Good grief, Buster. Look at poor Crispus! They are all over him.”

“You go for the head, Jo Bell. The head's the most important thing. We can't have a hero without a face. I'll get the silverfish at his feet.”

Jo Bell swung down on a bouncy thread of number four grade silk through the volley of silent gunfire on the page and knocked two silverfish senseless with a double injection of venom. She rolled them to the edge of the engraving and returned to the fray, making her way toward the hero's face. From the corners of three of her eyes, she saw that Buster had arrived at Attucks's feet and was working feverishly to wrap up a silverfish and a glue bug, using his super-sticky binding silk. Within another two minutes, a dozen insect bodies were scattered across the engraving — from the cobblestones of King Street to the tippy-top of the state house.

“We saved him!” Jo Bell exclaimed.

Together they began to walk slowly around the image of the man who lay sprawled in the streets. They had rescued him from a second death. They had saved the memory of Crispus Attucks, the evidence that he died a true patriot for the cause of freedom.