Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis

  Now the question was what was to be done about the catastrophe. The kids sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Revealing what was bothering her seemed to have stopped Ivy’s bawling, for she had stopped crying completely.

  “We have to find it,” said Amanda. “And we need to get help for you.” She stroked Ivy’s hair. Nigel looked up and wagged his tail.

  “Absolutely,” said Amphora. “You must go to the new doctor. And we have to scour those basements.”

  “That will take forever,” said Simon. “We need a system.”

  “Simon’s right,” said Amanda. “We need a system. Let’s sit down and make a list of all the possibilities. If we know what the item is, we might be able to find it more quickly.”

  Just then each of the kids’ phones buzzed. A text from Thrillkill had arrived. “Gordon Bramble missing. Last seen in basements. Anyone with knowledge ping me immediately.”

  Oh great. Wiffle had gone to Thrillkill. There was no way Gordon was missing, but here David was making a huge deal out of the fact that his sidekick had finally started to become his own person.

  “Weren’t there cameras in there?” said Amphora.

  “Yes,” said Ivy, disentangling herself. After all that hugging she was rather rumpled. “Good thought. They should be able to find him that way.”

  “Nope,” said Simon, who seemed relieved that the hugging and stroking was over. “There weren’t very many, and all the ones I saw were broken.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” said Amanda. “It’s good because they didn’t see us, but it’s bad for Gordon.” She stopped abruptly. “What am I saying? He’s fine. That Wiffle kid is such an attention seeker.”

  “Yeah, he is,” said Simon, “but Gordon doesn’t have any sense. He could be lost.”

  “But how lost is lost?” said Amphora. “The tunnels can’t be that big.”

  “Yeah, they are, and . . .” He turned to Ivy. “Don’t fine me for disagreeing with her. They really are extensive. You might be surprised.”

  “You mean he could really get lost in there?” said Amphora.

  “Sure,” said Simon. “He isn’t that bright in the first place, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Those whiny kids always end up getting lost. I’m surprised that didn’t happen at Blackpool.”

  “He had Wiffle with him then,” said Amanda.

  “Do you really think he’s that dumb?” said Ivy. “I thought he was a bit clueless, but he does well in his classes, doesn’t he?”

  “I dunno,” said Simon. “I’ve never seen his papers. Van Helden House did really badly on the class project last term though.”

  “I don’t think debating Gordon’s intelligence is going to get us anywhere,” said Amanda. “There really is going to have to be a search party.”

  “So he wasn’t just being the Lone Ranger?” said Amphora.

  “Unfortunately no,” said Amanda. “For once he actually had a point.”

  The kids laughed. No joke at Wiffle’s expense was ever over the top. He was so irritating that he made himself a target. If only he realized that.

  Just then a coterie of teachers walked past the common room door. As they did so, Professor Also stuck her head in and said, “Anyone see Gordon Bramble?”

  “Hours ago,” said Amphora.

  “Where was that?” said the teacher.

  “At the big fork in the basements,” said Amphora.

  “Oh, the glade,” said Professor Also. The friends looked at each other. The place where all the tunnels converged was about as far from a glade as you could imagine.

  “Uh, right,” said Simon.

  “Does anyone know if he has his phone with him?” said Professor Also.

  No one spoke.

  “All right, I think it’s time to start looking.”

  She held her phone and punched in a text. Within about a minute, Professors Buck and Ducey had arrived. They seemed to be the go-to teachers for day-to-day crises. They took off into the basements like a shot.

  “Now we wait,” said Professor Also.

  They waited and they waited and they waited. With each passing moment David Wiffle grew more agitated. He was sure his friend was dead or had fallen into the clutches of some unnamable bogeyman. At first the kids weren’t the least bit worried. There was so much to explore down there that who wouldn’t spend as long as he could? But when Gordon didn’t emerge for dinner, even they became concerned.

  “You don’t think something really happened to him?” said Amphora, chewing a bit of lettuce. “Mmm, this dressing is wonderful.”

  “Doubt it,” said Simon. “He’s just lost. And I don’t think it’s so great. Kind of vinegary if you ask me.” He made a face.

  “How about a head injury?” said Amanda. “No, I think Amphora’s right. It is good.”

  “There haven’t been any aftershocks since he left,” said Simon. “Take mine then.” He started to shovel his salad onto Amphora’s plate, which caused her to snatch it away and hold it up. The lettuce fell onto the table. “Hey, why’d ya do that? I’m trying to help.”

  “Simon, you’re coming perilously close to another fine,” said Ivy.

  “Poppycock,” he said. “I’m being nice.”

  “Are not,” said Amphora, who was looking unsure about putting her plate back down.

  “Just do it, dodo,” said Simon. “I’m not going to try helping you anymore.”

  “Simon, fifty p,” said Ivy.

  “You know, Ivy, I think you’re biased,” he said. “Why is it always my fault?”

  “It isn’t,” said Ivy. Amphora looked annoyed and started to open her mouth, but stopped when Amanda shook her head. “Now, getting back to Gordon, I think something could have happened to him. A rock could have come loose.”

  “If he was knocked out, they would have found him and brought him back,” said Simon, pushing his plate away in a way that was obviously intended to annoy Amphora. When anyone even implied that Rupert Thwack’s food wasn’t four-star quality, she gave them a lecture. His move seemed to do the trick. Amphora looked so mad Amanda fully expected her to stand up and thwack Simon in the nose. “Say, I wonder if he’s hiding on purpose.”

  “Why would that be?” said Amanda.

  “To prove a point,” said Simon. “I think our friend Gordon is having an identity crisis and he’s rebelling against everything and everyone.”

  “That sounds possible,” said Ivy. “Ever since he set off those glitter explosions he’s changed.”

  “Yes, but why would he have to go that crazy?” said Amanda.

  “Let’s put it this way,” said Simon. “If you’d spent half your life hanging around with Wiffle, wouldn’t you have lost your mind?”

  “Good point,” said Amanda.

  Just then there was a commotion out in the hall and who should appear but Gordon Bramble himself. He was disheveled and dusty and muttering under his breath. He stumbled into the dining room, getting junk all over the floor.

  “Hey, Gordon,” called out Simon. “You okay?”

  No response.

  “Hey, man,” said Simon. “Are you all right?”

  “Mr. Bramble,” said Professor Buck, emerging just behind him. “Snap to.”

  More muttering, but no acknowledgment from Gordon that there was anyone in the world outside of himself.

  “This isn’t good,” said Ivy. “Hang on. What was that?” She seemed to have heard something Gordon was saying. “You’re kidding me.”

  “What?” said Amanda, Amphora, and Simon together.

  “Hoo boy,” said Ivy in a low voice. “I think he inhaled some spores or something. He’s saying something about having overheard some weird stuff the teachers said.”

  “What?” the three friends said again.

  “I can’t tell that well, but it seems to have something to do with the Moriartys,” said Ivy.

  “Oh great,” said Amanda. “Just what we need.”

  “If the Moriar
tys are involved, it’s serious,” said Ivy. “OMG, you don’t think they have the whatsit, do you?”

  “I’m beginning to think just that,” said Amanda. “And if that’s the case, it’s no wonder they’re upset. Even in prison, that family is really dangerous.”

  Just then David Wiffle stuck his head into the room and started screaming at Amanda’s group.

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is down there? Look at him. He’s out of his mind. This is your fault. If anything happens to him it will be on your heads. You are completely selfish and irresponsible.”

  “What’s going on here?” said Headmaster Thrillkill, appearing next to the Wiffle kid. “Oh, hello, Mr. Bramble. Are you quite all right?”

  Gordon was still muttering to himself. His eyes were glassy.

  “Professor,” said David, “this is all their fault. They tempted him into the basements.”

  “Did you do that, Mr. Binkle?” Thrillkill said looking straight at Simon.

  “No, sir,” said Simon. “We didn’t encourage him at all. We just said that we didn’t want him with us. If anything, that should have deterred him.” He had a point, but it wasn’t as well made as it could have been.

  “Mr. Bramble, I want you to go to the nurse at once,” said Thrillkill. “As for you, Mr. Wiffle, and the rest of you, I want you to settle down. Let’s see what the nurse has to say and then we’ll worry about what did or didn’t happen. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” said all five kids, although Wiffle said it in an insolent way.

  “Sir,” said David. “We’re not supposed to be using skateboards on campus, are we?” He gave Simon a sidelong glance.

  “I don’t see any reason not to,” said Thrillkill. “As long as everyone obeys the rules of the road. Now run along. I’m sure you have homework to do.”

  He removed himself from the room. Wiffle, who was getting really good at noisy exits, once again stomped away, taking Gordon by the shoulders and marching him down the hall toward the hospital. The teachers scattered who knew where, and the four friends were alone once more.

  16

  Back to the Whatsit

  Even though there was an unidentified body to contend with, the kids felt that finding the whatsit was the most critical problem facing the school, so Amanda decided to make a list of all the terrible things that might happen without it and speculate on what might cause them.

  She remembered Professor Feeney’s furtive phone call, which was the first time she had heard anything about something not being where it should be. Professor Feeney taught the criminals and their methods class, so maybe the item had something to do with criminals. Of course most things the detectives did had something to do with criminals, so this conclusion was rather a big duh, but what specifically? Could the whatsit be proof of a crime, or something that would lead to a criminal’s capture? She wrote:

  “Something to help put criminals away.”

  Or, it might be a way of fighting criminals. Perhaps it was a defensive technology, like a weapon or a security device. Or perhaps it was an offensive technology, like a secret bioweapon. Professor Feeney had said that everything would change if the item fell into the wrong hands. A bioweapon would certainly qualify. The thought of that was really scary. Amanda wrote.

  “Offensive or defensive technology.”

  Perhaps it was something that incriminated the detectives, or harmed them in a legal or financial way. The deed to the school? Money? Compromising photos, dirty secrets? She wrote:

  “Something that could harm the detectives’ ability to operate.”

  Perhaps Professor Feeney meant that if the item weren’t recovered the detectives might no longer exist. Did that mean they would all be killed? That was a horrifying thought. Would the criminals infiltrate them more than they had before, or somehow take them over, like a conquering nation? Would the school be destroyed or unable to function? She wrote:

  “The end of the detectives.”

  She had heard them mention Moriarty. Ivy and Gordon had too. Could Blixus Moriarty have taken the item? If so, where was it? Had the cook or the crooked doctor, Mr. Tunnel, taken it? How about Mavis or Nick? Could it be lying in the factory rubble? The crime scene investigators had already sifted through that. Perhaps they had found something she didn’t know about. She had spoken to the nice crime scene woman at New Scotland Yard once before. The woman had called to tell her that after she had set off the fire sprinklers and melted all that sugar, ants had descended on the ruins. It might be a good idea to call her and see what she had to say.

  Amanda looked up the number and hit the call icon. The woman she’d spoken to before, Nimba Pencil, answered.

  “Why hello, Miss Lester,” she said. “Say, I meant to tell you that the ants are gone. The exterminators did a bang-up job.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Amanda. The thought of millions and millions of ants, even all that way away in London, turned her stomach. She reached for a gingersnap. “I was wondering if it might be possible to get a list of the evidence you gathered. I suppose this must be a rather strange request but—”

  “Normally it would be, yes,” said Ms. Pencil. “However, in this case I think we can make an exception. After all, if it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have captured the Moriartys.”

  And Nick wouldn’t be dead.

  “We do ask that you keep the list strictly confidential, though,” said Ms. Pencil. “Consider this a professional courtesy.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Amanda. “Thank you so much.” She was astonished that the woman was practically breaking the rules to do her a favor.

  Ms. Pencil texted her a link to a secure storage site and rung off. Amanda entered the site and looked at the list:

  Moriarty Sugar Factory Evidence List

  Computers, thumb drives.

  Industrial equipment and supplies, including trolleys.

  Oh boy. This was looking pretty boring. She hoped the list would get more interesting.

  Schematics, a dossier on Herb Lester, receipts for sales of the sugar weapons.

  These were obviously critical. They shed light on the entire operation and would be important for the upcoming trials of the Moriartys and their cronies. She could also understand why the cartel had kept a file on her dad, but what did it say? Anything related to the missing item? She didn’t see what that would be, but it was a possibility. She put a check mark next to “Dossier.”

  A framed wedding picture of Mavis and Blixus Moriarty.

  Amanda had never thought about the Moriartys’ personal lives. It was weird to imagine this intimate moment. She wondered what Mavis’s dress had looked like. They had probably made a beautiful couple. They were both so attractive. No wonder Nick—

  Stop it! Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? There were exercises you could do to help you remember, but she’d never heard of anything to make you forget. Unless Editta’s mother had some voodoo remedy. Oh for heaven’s sake. She was really losing it. She could see why so many of the teachers were crazy. Being a detective made you nuts. Not that she could leave Legatum now with so much at stake. Argh. Back to the list.

  Remnants of Schola Sceleratorum, the Moriartys’ secret school for criminals: furniture, books, blackboards, refrigerators, microwave ovens, plastic skeletons, grease paint, cameras, film, videotape, disguises, skates, martial arts uniforms, flashlights.

  No doubt the grease paint was Nick’s. Thinking about him made her angry this time, though, which was a good thing. If she could maintain that feeling maybe he’d stop haunting her. It was infuriating that the criminals had set up a school to train people to be bad. And Nick had been proud of that. What gall.

  She wondered what the school had been like. Who would go to such a place? Who taught the classes? It was so hard to imagine the parents sending their kids there the way the detectives’ parents did. Was it possible that for every good person in the world there was an evil counterpart? If that were the c
ase, fighting the bad guys would be hopeless. There were too many of them.

  No, the thought was crazy. There was no way half the people in the world were bad. Probably more like a thousandth or a millionth of the population. She’d have to discuss this question with Professor Also when things calmed down.

  Skateboards.

  Bicycles.

  Soccer and rugby balls.

  Really? The thought of the criminals riding skateboards and bicycles made them seem too normal.

  Lab equipment.

  Lockers.

  Cell phones.

  Tablet computers.

  It figured that they had labs too. That would have been where they made the sugar virus and its antidote. Was it possible that the whatsit had been kept in one of the criminals’ laboratories? She put a check next to that one.

  Remnants of the sugar weapons.

  Ugh. Those things were so creepy. But related to the whatsit? She didn’t see how.

  Décor from Moriarty’s office.

  Now that was nice stuff. All steampunky. She had to admit that Blixus had done a beautiful job—every bit as good as the décor gremlins. Maybe he had an artistic streak. Maybe that was where Nick had got his theatrical talents, and would you shut up about Nick already?

  Paperback novels, including one or two by Lila Lester: Time and Broken Glass and Glare.

  Ugh, that was so yucky. Was this part of them surveilling her mother? If so she’d better tell her, although she was sure Lila wouldn’t listen.

  Was there anything special about those two titles? She tried to remember what the two books were about. She’d only read the first one. Time and Broken Glass featured Lila’s most popular detective, Neville Vanilla. As Amanda recalled, it was set at Oxford University and featured a group of anthropology students and their teachers. Something about an ancient civilization they were arguing over. She didn’t see what that could have to do with the whatsit, and she really didn’t understand why the Moriartys would be interested. The second book, Glare, was less familiar, but she thought it had something to do with Iceland. What that had to do with anything she couldn’t imagine either.