In Harm's Way

  No Lyman, no Wally.

  Walking briskly toward his homeroom, as he went past the causeway to the annex he glanced right. Nobody.

  And when he rounded the corner and could see the whole south hallway, again neither man was in sight.

  But he heard something: two men . . . laughing.

  He walked along the hall until he was almost to the janitor’s workroom, then bent down as if he was tying his shoe.

  “Yeah,” he heard Lyman say, “what a great game! And then we all went to that joint way out on East Fayette and ate that super hot chili! That was an experience!”

  Wally laughed again, and then started trying to remember the name of a girl they’d both known.

  Ben straightened up and tiptoed back toward the art room.

  When he went in and sat down, Ms. Wilton saw him.

  “Ben—good morning. You’re in early today.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to check over some homework.”

  He got out a notebook and flipped it open, but he didn’t even see the paper. He was thinking about what Jill had said.

  Lyman and Wally knew that all three Keepers were inside the school this morning, but they weren’t tracking any of them. It was like they didn’t care.

  Ben knew a little about military strategy, and there were really just two main reasons why an enemy would ease up during a battle.

  The first reason was pretty clear cut. If a commander had strong evidence that a battle was impossible to win, then it was time to stop throwing troops and resources at it. You might not actually start retreating or surrendering, but you stopped trying to make your troops advance.

  That was one possibility—but how could that fit this situation? There was no way Glennley was going give up this fight, but that was how Lyman and Wally were acting suddenly. Like Jill said.

  The second reason for backing off was a lot scarier to consider, and it made Ben tap his tongue on the back of his front teeth.

  Because sometimes the commander of an army got hold of some special information. Maybe he knew about a secret weapon, or knew that a huge battalion of fresh troops was arriving, or that a massive air attack was coming, or even knew about a drastic change in the weather—but whatever this special knowledge was, it made the commander feel that victory was certain.

  And if you were sure that victory was coming because of some new circumstance, then it made sense to ease up, and wait.

  Ben had a bad feeling about this. Something was coming, something big.

  And Lyman and Wally knew it.

  CHAPTER 18

  Brother to Brother

  By Friday afternoon, the Keepers were in complete agreement: The two Glennley goons had apparently retired from spying, and they both seemed to be enjoying life as full-time school janitors. The building didn’t appear to be any cleaner because of this sudden change, but the kids certainly experienced much more freedom of movement.

  After observing Lyman and Wally relaxing early Wednesday morning, Ben had texted Jill.

  Yr right about L n W—

  they’re not tracking anyone.

  Could mean trouble. Talk later.

  When all three of them had met at lunch Wednesday, Ben had laid out his theory—basically, that Lyman and Wally knew something was going to happen, something that would make whatever the Keepers did or didn’t do completely unimportant.

  Robert had said, “But how do you know it’s not just a trick to get us to let our guard down?”

  It was a good question, but when they had compared notes Wednesday after school, no one had been tracked or spied on—not once all day.

  Even so, on Thursday Robert had checked out the entire school with their scanning device, just to be sure that Wally hadn’t installed some supersecret surveillance system. He hadn’t. The whole place was signal-free.

  Then during lunch on Friday, all three of the Keepers had stood up and walked out of the cafeteria together, right under the noses of the Glennley men—an action that would have caused a major scramble just days earlier. And neither Lyman nor Wally had shown any interest. They had even seemed mildly amused.

  Ben really wished that the third safeguard business was completely settled, because with this kind of freedom, the search for safeguard number four could have been done so simply.

  Ben felt more and more worried that some kind of Glennley plan was out there, like a ticking time bomb.

  But for the moment, he’d managed to put all that out of his mind. He and Jill and Robert stood in the shade of a maple tree beside the parking lot of the Masonic lodge, and Tom Benton was just climbing out of a cab, right on time. Ben noticed that Tom wasn’t using his walker today, just a sturdy aluminum cane.

  The Harbor Light Lodge was a square, two-story brick building on Washington Street, less than half a mile from Oakes School. A small sign faced the parking lot, and it displayed that same symbol that was inked on the leather package in Ben’s backpack. He had learned online that it was called the “square and compass,” two tools that actual stonemasons used.

  They walked over to the steps, and Tom said, “Hi, kids. Looks like we’re all here—everyone ready?”

  “We’ve been ready for days!” Robert said.

  “All right, then. Here we go!” And he pushed the button on the intercom next to the door.

  Three seconds later a voice said, “Hi, Tom, and welcome! I’ll be down in a minute—just take a seat in the foyer.”

  The door buzzed, and Tom pushed it open.

  Tom took a chair next to an inner door, and Ben sat with Jill and Robert on a red cushioned bench along the wall. The place smelled funny to him—a mixture of men’s cologne, wood smoke, and old floor wax.

  Tom hadn’t had any trouble setting up the meeting. He had called Jill’s dad early Friday morning and said he’d been asked by a friend to bring an important looking package to the Grand Master of the Edgeport lodge. They’d agreed to meet at three forty-five—except Tom hadn’t mentioned he was bringing three kids along. Ben wondered if that was going to be problem.

  He whispered to Jill, “You ever been in here before?”

  “It’s a club for men only, Benjamin—they don’t do the bring-your-daughters-to-the-lodge thing.”

  “Men only?” Robert said. “Really? That’s caveman stuff.”

  “Yeah, well the Freemasons go back almost that far,” said Jill. “Look ’em up online—you’ll be amazed.”

  “So, like, how come your dad’s into this?” Ben asked.

  She shrugged. “The members are all from around this area, so I’m thinking it’s partly for his business—networking and stuff. But they also do community work, like raising money for charities. From what I’ve read, there’s nothing too weird about it—except for the men-only part.”

  There were footsteps from behind the door, and Tom stood up. Jill’s dad came in and he stepped forward to shake hands.

  “It’s good of you to meet with me on such short notice, Mr. Acton.”

  “Call me Carl, and I’m glad you called. And I couldn’t very well put off a meeting where someone’s bringing me a mysterious package. Now, wh—”

  He stopped mid-syllable when he saw the kids—and then his daughter.

  “Jillie? Wh-what are you doing you here, sweetheart?”

  “It’s kind of a long story, Daddy. Is there someplace we can all sit down?”

  “Um . . . sure. Come on into the conference room.”

  They followed him through the door and past a wide wooden staircase. There was a red satin rope stretched across it, and Ben guessed that upstairs was where the members had their meetings.

  The room they entered didn’t look very lodge-like, as far as he could tell. There was a round wooden table with eight ordinary chairs around it. Bookcases filled one wall, and four or five posters about charity events covered another one. The one window in the room was large, but the panes were stained glass, alternating blue and gold. The seat Mr. Acton took faced west, and sometimes his face l
ooked yellowish and sometimes it was tinted blue, like an old photograph.

  He leaned forward onto his elbows and laced his fingers together. “So,” he said, smiling across the table at his visitors, “if there’s a long story about why you’re here, someone better get it started.”

  Ben said, “It really begins back in the 1700s with Captain Oakes. You already know how he left a will, and how he wanted his building to always be a school, and how the town decided to buy out his heirs and sell everything to the Glennley Group. Well, the captain planned ahead, in case something like this ever happened. And he left things hidden around the school—he called them safeguards. He hoped they could be used to defend the school, to keep it for the kids and families of the town.”

  Mr. Acton lifted the pointer finger of his right hand. “And what do you kids have to do with this?”

  Ben started by telling about the gold coin Mr. Keane had given him, and explained how its puzzle had led them to the large iron key and the instructions on the engraved copper plate, and the solemn oath that had made them the new Keepers of the School. He told about the codicil, about the gold and silver coins they’d discovered. As Ben mentioned each item, Robert and Jill used their iPads to show him the photos.

  When Ben explained how the Underground Railroad hideout had actually been discovered, Mr. Acton stared at Jill and the two boys.

  “Are you saying that all of you have been breaking into the school? To hunt for these things?”

  “We have keys, Daddy. Mr. Keane gave Ben his whole key ring before he died. And really, because of that new codicil, the Keepers actually own the school and all the land around it now—and you can’t really break into a building that you already own, right?”

  He frowned. “The codicil says that?”

  Ben jumped in. “Whoever shows up in court and files the codicil is granted ownership.”

  “Well,” he said, “I doubt if the police would see it that way. Go on, tell me the rest.”

  Ben started to explain how Mr. Lyman was actually working for Glennley and was using his fake job as janitor to spy on them, but Jill’s dad immediately held up a finger. “This Lyman spies on you? What does that mean?”

  Ben said, “He’s a professional industrial spy. He’s got all kinds of electronic equipment, and he’s there to be sure that nothing upsets Glennley’s plans at the last minute, before they tear down the school. And he’s been tracking all of us, and not just around the school. He knows where each of us lives, and he even called my mom once, real late at night.”

  Mr. Acton jumped halfway out of his chair. “That is outrageous! I don’t care what this fella does for a living! Any grown man who follows my daughter around is looking for a punch in the nose—and a call from my lawyer, and the chief of police, too!”

  “It’s not like we’re in danger, Daddy,” Jill said. “He just has to know where we are so he’s sure we’re not searching around the school.”

  Robert said, “Yeah, ’cause it didn’t take Lyman long to figure out that we’re hunting for things, except he still doesn’t know what. And the Underground Railroad thing really scared them, because that could have gotten the whole building landmarked. So the best he can do is always try to keep an eye on us. He’s got our class schedules, he knows where we live—we see him all over the place. And this week, he got a new man to help him out, a guy named Wally, another fake janitor.”

  “Well, I don’t care what these men think they have to do,” Mr. Acton growled. “Following kids around town is way out of bounds!”

  Ben said, “Well, there’s other stuff too. Because the people at Glennley keep feeding Lyman information about all of us. For example, if you left this meeting, and then tomorrow you sold those shares of Glennley stock you bought recently, Lyman would know all about that right away. And then the other side would guess that you knew something important—which is true. So really, you can’t sell that stock, even if —”

  “Hold it, hold it!” Mr. Acton’s face was bright red. “How in blazes do you know about my stock trading?”

  “Because Lyman told Jill and me about it one day in the school library—to make her feel bad about trying to stop the theme park, because that would make you lose money.”

  The man stroked his chin. “I don’t like this Lyman guy, or his bosses. But they’re sure right about the money. If this theme park project doesn’t go through for Glennley, hard to tell how far their stock value would drop.”

  “Well,” Ben said, “I think we can promise that you’ll be repaid for everything you might lose on the stock by not selling your shares.”

  And then Ben glanced at Jill and Robert and Tom. They all nodded.

  Mr. Acton smiled like a dad. “That’s a real sweet thing for all of you to say, but we’re talking about thousands of dollars here, maybe even ten or fifteen grand. No, I’m a big boy, and besides, some stock losses are always handy at tax time.”

  “Daddy, you don’t have to be all noble. Captain Oakes left a fund at Edgeport Bank and Trust, and the Keepers get to spend it on anything that helps keep the school safe. Like you not selling your stock right now.”

  Mr. Acton leaned forward. “A fund? You mean money?”

  “It’s a trust fund,” said Ben. “Captain Oakes set it up, and the bankers have kept it going ever since 1791.”

  “So . . . how much are we talking about here?”

  Jill said, “About eighty-eight million.”

  Her dad sat up straight. “No! Really? Dollars? Eighty-eight million?”

  Jill nodded. “And we can use as much as we need, to help protect the school.”

  The thought of all that money brought a wide smile to his face, followed by a sudden frown. “But I don’t see how I fit into this . . . this puzzle.”

  Ben said, “We’re just trying to follow the orders Captain Oakes left, Mr. Acton.” He bent over and pulled the leather folder from his backpack and pushed it across the table. “This is the third safeguard we’ve found hidden inside the school, the package that Tom said he was bringing. And it’s addressed to you. And right now, that’s all we know about it.”

  “Addressed to me?” He read the inked inscription. “Ah . . . I see what you mean!” Mr. Acton smiled and nodded slowly. “I’m starting to think Captain Oakes must have been a pretty amazing guy. So let’s see what he had on his mind.”

  Robert and Ben got out their cameras, but Mr. Acton said, “Sorry, fellas—no pictures, please. It’s a lodge rule.”

  Without any ceremony, he took hold of the packet, slipped two fingers under the flap, and snapped all four of the red wax seals in about two seconds. When he opened the flap, the stiff leather cracked and then broke off. Ben winced to see such a great old artifact being treated like a mail-order package, but it was out of his hands.

  The contents of the leather pouch were wrapped in some kind of dark blue cloth . . . at first Ben thought it might be a flag.

  Mr. Acton pulled it out. “This is silk. And I’ll bet this color was chosen on purpose.”

  There was no sealing wax, and Jill’s dad simply unfolded the thin cloth. Ben found himself expecting some kind of treasure . . . diamonds would be nice.

  “Hmm . . . three things in here,” said Mr. Acton.

  These had also been wrapped in colored silk—scarlet, green, and white. The scarlet fabric covered a lumpy looking object, and that was what he unwrapped first.

  “Ah,” Mr. Acton said, “a trowel!”

  It looked like a pie server to Ben—except it appeared to be made of solid gold. Right away, Ben made the Masonic connection. He’d seen a workman use a tool like that to push mortar around when he was building a stone wall behind Ben’s grandfather’s cottage in Maine. But this trowel had obviously never been used for actual stonemasonry.

  Mr. Acton held it up into a patch of yellow light and squinted. “Listen to this! ‘To the Honourable Duncan Oakes, my dear Brother and Comrade-in-Arms.’ And it’s signed, ‘from George Washington’! This . . . this
is a chunk of real history, right here in my hands!”

  Robert whispered, “Open the little green one next—I mean, please open it.”

  Mr. Acton smiled. He set the trowel down on its scarlet cloth and reached for the small green bundle.

  When he pulled back the covering, Jill reacted first.

  “That is beautiful!”

  She was right. It was a round red jewel, as big as a quarter, set in the center of a golden sunburst. Three diamonds glittered on a wide gold loop above the jewel, and a green silk ribbon, the same color as the silk wrapping, ran through the loop.

  Mr. Acton stood up quickly and went to pull a book from the shelf behind Tom Benton.

  “I’ve heard of these, but I’ve never actually seen one—at least, not a real one.”

  He turned to the index, then flipped to a page near the middle of the book. He held the book so they all could see a color photograph. It showed an item almost identical to the piece of jewelry on the desk. He read the caption.

  “ ‘Dating from Scotland in the early 1700s, this red jewel sunburst, suspended from a green collar-ribbon, confers honour upon a Brother who has proven a special affinity for protecting and renewing all that is good upon the earth.’ Pretty amazing, eh? And I bet that’s a twenty-carat ruby right there—probably worth a bundle!”

  “Open the last one, Daddy.”

  Ben thought Jill seemed a little embarrassed by her father’s interest in how much the jewel was worth, but it seemed perfectly normal to him—after all, this was a treasure hunt.

  But Ben was instantly disappointed with the final item. The white silk unfolded to reveal a triangle of pale leather with a bold black border and a couple of marks or drawings on it. There were thin red ropes attached to two of the corners. It reminded Ben of a signal pennant.

  Mr. Acton was more excited about this than either of the other things.

  “Do you believe this? This is just . . . awesome! Awesome!”

  Tom Benton said, “My father was a Freemason, and I’ve got a photo of him wearing something like that. It’s a ceremonial apron, right?”