Ben whipped around and glared at Lyman, almost spitting in his face.
“You snake! All your nicey-nice talk about giving up, and all that friendly chat about the law—all so Wally could have time to get outside and fire up the destroyer!”
Lyman shook his head, his eyes wild. “I never—”
But Ben turned away, grabbed Jill’s hand, and took off running.
“C’mon, Gerritt!” he shouted. “The front door!”
They blasted outside, and when they rounded the south corner of the school, all three of them stopped short—frozen in place.
Ben shivered, and he squeezed Jill’s hand so hard that she said, “Ow!”
He let her hand go, then instantly wished he hadn’t. The view before them was like a scene from a horror movie.
In the orange glow of the streetlights, he saw that the huge tractor treads of the demolition excavator had chewed up the pavement on Washington Street, broken the granite curb stones, and now they were grinding a path across the south lawn, straight toward the school. Three maple trees, each thirty or forty feet tall, had already been knocked down, brushed aside like weeds by the massive machine.
As Ben watched, almost hypnotized, the enormous hydraulic arm began to unfold, rising up and reaching forward, its yellow-and-black tendons lit by the lamps along the harbor walk. The clanking treads and the whine and roar of the big engine made it hard to think.
Something rushed past him, and Ben was startled—then he realized it was Lyman, running toward the machine, which surprised him even more.
“You guys get over there!” Ben shouted to Jill and Robert, pointing toward the water, and he took off after Lyman.
The man had such long legs that he got to the tractor a good fifteen seconds before Ben, and he’d run around to the far side, where the cab was. Ben followed, then stopped as close as he dared—the noise was deafening.
Inside the cab, Wally was hunched over the controls, his hands quickly moving from lever to lever as he guided the machine across the lawn. The long arm, now up at least sixty feet above them, was poised like a giant cobra. Another twenty feet of forward travel, and the south corner of the school would be in striking range.
Lyman cupped his hands around his mouth. “Wally!”
He screamed the name a second time, even louder. “WALLY!”
But if Wally heard him, he gave no sign of it. The light from the control gauges cast a dim greenish glow up onto his face, and Ben thought the guy looked totally out of it. Glancing to his left, Ben saw that Jill and Gerritt hadn’t gone to the harbor walk—they’d followed him. Ben was about to yell something to Jill when Lyman did an astonishing thing.
With a running leap, he landed with both feet on the moving treads, then quickly stepped onto the deck beside the door of the cab. He pounded on the glass with a fist, and Wally jumped as if he’d been stuck with a pin, completely surprised.
He didn’t open the door and he didn’t slow down.
But he did slide back the window on the door, and when Lyman pointed at his ears, the sound of the engine backed down.
Ben could hear them shouting.
“You can’t do this, Wally! Really, you can’t!”
“I heard you,” Wally bellowed. “You surrendered to those stinking kids! You said, ‘You’ve won’! You’re a traitor!”
Lyman shook his head, his long face earnest and serious.
“I’m not a traitor, Wally. I had a job here, that’s all. And that gravesite? It changes everything. There’s a dead human being up there. If no one had found it until after the building came down, that wouldn’t have been our fault. But it’s there, and we know it’s there. And now it’s wrong to even touch the place. The law wins, Wally. You should know that by now—the law always wins!”
“Oh yeah?” screamed Wally. “Let’s see how the law deals with this!”
He jammed the window shut and faced forward again. Lyman kept pounding on the glass, but Wally ignored him. The exhaust pipe blasted dense smoke and sparks into the night air, and the tractor surged forward, faster than before. Wally flipped a switch, and two powerful headlights on the front of the cab lit up the whole south side of the school.
Lyman got his fingers into the crack of the control cab door and began to pull, but Wally suddenly shoved the door open wide and knocked him backward. Lyman stumbled onto the clanking treads and fell to his side, hitting his head before tumbling the four feet to the ground. He lay still.
Jill reached him first. “Mr. Lyman! Mr. Lyman!”
There was a cut on the side of his head, but he opened his eyes and smiled weakly at Jill. And when he saw Ben and Robert, he croaked, “Hurry, call the police!”
But Mr. Chamden already had.
A cruiser pulled into the bus turnaround, lights flashing and siren pulsing. Ben ran toward it, waving his arms, and then the car jumped the curb and sped across the lawn, coming to a stop fifteen feet in front of the advancing excavator.
Both officers jumped out, leaving the doors open wide. They stood side by side, each taking the same stance: one hand held out in front, palm open, and the other hand at the hip, close to their service weapons.
The message was clear, and Wally got it.
The machine stopped moving forward, the diesel engine slowed to a quiet purr, then clattered to a complete stop. In the sudden silence, Ben could hear waves, lapping against the seawall.
The officers walked to the side of the machine, and when Wally opened the cab door and climbed awkwardly to the ground, one of them put handcuffs on him, while the other one read him his rights. They started to lead him toward the cruiser, but Wally said something, and the men nodded and brought him over to Lyman, who was now sitting up on the grass.
“You okay, Jerry? I’m . . . I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“I know, Wally. I’ll be fine. And I’ll come see you later this morning, I promise.”
Ben watched Wally walk away toward the police car. Then he looked at Lyman.
He squatted down so he could look him in the eye, and said, “Mr. Lyman? I want to apologize too—for accusing you of helping Wally try to do that.”
Lyman nodded. “I understand. But it’s like I was telling Wally—I really was just doing a job here. I actually admire you, and your friends, too. It’s been an honor.” He paused and gave Ben a crooked smile. “And, if you promise not to tell my boss, I’ll let you in on a big secret. I am very happy that it’s turned out this way—no kidding!”
Lyman held out a hand. Ben shook it, and as he smiled into the man’s face, he’d never felt more grown-up in his life.
As he stood up, he heard someone call his name. He turned to his left and saw his dad and mom running across the lawn, both of them looking scared.
He waved, and when his mom yelled, “Are you all right?” he called back, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
As Ben watched them, he couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t just because he was glad to see them, or because it was good to feel so loved.
He smiled because, as they hurried toward him, they were holding hands.
CHAPTER 27
Historic
“You have to sit over on that side—you’re ruining the trim!”
Jill made a face. “I don’t care about the trim. I’m sitting on this side of the boat because I want to sit next to you. End of discussion.”
Ben laughed, and then said, “Fine. But don’t blame me if you never learn how to sail.”
“Who said I wanted to learn how to sail?”
School had been over for two weeks, and the media storm whipped up by their discoveries had mostly died down. A news crew from somewhere like Moscow or Rio de Janeiro would still show up in town every few days, but it was nothing like that first week. The interviews had been nonstop, at least three a day. The whole account of the discoveries had already been featured in magazines and newspapers all around the world—not to mention the Internet explosion. Ben thought the best story he’d seen was the one in the Sunday Boston Globe, a
huge feature with a lot of good photos. The last time he’d checked, there were thirty-three YouTube videos about the Oakes School, and the one Gerritt had made had already pulled in more than six million hits.
But the world was moving on to other news.
He’d been glad to learn that all the charges against Wally had been dropped, and Jill and Robert were glad about that too. The guy had just taken everything too personally.
Something Jill had to keep warning me about. . . .
And even there at the end, he’d thought the worst about Lyman. Not taking things personally? That was a tough one.
As part of Wally’s deal, the Glennley Group had agreed to pay for all the repairs to the street and the school grounds—three new maple trees had already been replanted.
No one had seen Lyman since that morning, sitting on the lawn outside the school with a gash on the side of his head. Ben hoped that he was keeping his promise about taking Wally for a long cruise.
Ben pulled on the sheet to try to pick up some speed and make the boat flatten out, get it to plane better. It was hopeless . . . unless he could make Jill move to the other side of the boat. He smiled to himself and paid out the sheet again.
The Glennley Group had issued a statement about their decision to work with the town to untangle the financial problems caused by the sudden cancellation of the Tall Ships Ahoy! project. It was a huge mess.
The Captain Oakes trust was taking an active role in that process. The trustees had unanimously decided that in order to help with “the welfare, preservation, and continuing operation of the Captain Duncan Oakes School,” the trust should make a large, anonymous donation to the town—so that the taxpayers of Edgeport would not have to bear any extra burdens, and so that the Glennley Group could be fully repaid and sent packing as quickly as possible. Mr. Rydens wasn’t worried about the expenses. “As long as we still have five or ten million left to keep investing, the trust will be fine. And who knows, in another century or two, someone else may want to try to take that land and use it to build a spaceport or something. But we shall be ready for them. When it comes to growing money, there is nothing quite like time.”
It was a relief to be out on the water. He and Jill and Robert and the other Keepers had become local celebrities—which was surprisingly annoying. And tiring.
But Ben tried to push all that out of his mind, and just sail.
Even sailing had changed for him, especially racing.
He had won the first official race of the season, and Gerritt had won the next, even-steven. It was still just as fun, but winning didn’t seem to matter quite as much as it used to. Even Gerritt was a little more relaxed about racing. There was still plenty of trash talk, but that was different too.
Everything was different.
“It was nice, what you did for Robert. He’s going to love taking a trip on your dad’s boat. And he’s going to end up being your best friend, you know.”
Ben looked sideways at her. “I thought you were going to be my best friend.”
She smiled, but didn’t answer. There wasn’t any need to.
“Ready about!” he said, but it was a casual command.
He eased the boat around, and they both shifted to the other side. There wasn’t much of a breeze—just enough to make decent headway. With horrible trim.
“Yeah,” he said, “I thought about asking you to come. Really, that was my first idea. But I knew you weren’t exactly crazy about sailing.”
Jill wrinkled her nose. “No offense, but the idea of being stuck on a boat like the Tempus Fugit for three weeks? That would drive me crazy—even if I was with someone I liked—even someone I really liked.” She paused. “No, I meant what I said. Asking Robert to go along was a nice thing, and he’s going to have a great time.”
It was July now, and the hours they’d spent on his boat and on the beach had been good for both of them. But better for Jill, he decided. She looked just right. The paleness of the long school year was gone from her face. It was a face he never got tired of looking at.
The school was never going to be the same, just like Captain Oakes had warned. On this tack, he had a clear view of the place, there on the shore, dominating the skyline—exactly where it belonged.
Jill was staring in the same direction.
“So . . . ,” he said, “what do you see when you look at the school now?”
“I see you and Robert and Mr. Keane and Tom Benton and Lyman and Wally and Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Hinman . . . and Captain Oakes . . . and a million other people, and all that stuff we found.” She paused a moment, and gave him a half smile. “But mostly, I see you.”
Ben smiled back. “I’m good with that.”
He didn’t want to spoil things by telling her what he saw.
Because his view was a lot more analytical. When he looked at the school now, he saw the past and the present and the future, all jumbled up together. Captain Oakes had reached out from his grave and pressed a gold coin into his hand. And from now on, Ben knew that he was an important part of the history of this place—all the Keepers were.
Changes? Yes. But as far as he could tell, the changes were going to be good.
The plan that the school board had proposed was pretty simple. The brand-new middle school on the other side of town was going to become the junior high school. And thanks to another large, anonymous cash donation, there were going to be significant improvements made to the Oakes School.
The Historical Society was involved, too. If those improvements could be made quickly enough, then starting next summer, the school would be open during July and August as a museum—sort of like the House of the Seven Gables and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s house in Salem. There would be weekly visiting hours so people could come and see the legacy of Captain Duncan Oakes—including his very own dead body.
Ben had thought about that quite a bit. And he and Robert had talked about it too—they’d had two sleepovers since school let out.
Because that thing in the coffin—that wasn’t the person. He was sure of that. And he was pretty sure Captain Oakes had known that too.
But it still amazed him to think how Captain Oakes had used all his skills, all his resources, everything he had—including his very own body—to protect something that he felt sure was worth protecting.
Big ideas.
Ben was tired of big ideas.
He wanted to think about smaller ideas for a while. The big ones weren’t going to go anywhere.
Jill was leaning toward him, with one hand over the side, fingertips trailing in the water. She sat that way every time they went out. It made the boat tilt even worse, but Ben didn’t care.
“And your mom and dad?” she asked. “Are things better?”
“Yeah,” he said, “they seem pretty good. Still not back together, not in the same house yet. But this trip? Being stuck on a boat for three weeks is gonna be just right for them. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”
Ben took another quick sideways look at her, then turned the other way and smiled. He had a good feeling about Jill, too. They hadn’t kissed yet, but he was pretty sure it was going to happen.
And he was pretty sure that she was pretty sure about it too.
That would be historic.
But there was no big rush. The summer was just beginning.
ANDREW CLEMENTS is the author of more than sixty books for children, including the modern classic Frindle; the New York Times–bestseller No Talking; and the Benjamin Pratt & the Keepers of the School series. On the back flaps of the first books in the series, Mr. Clements told us about his love of old things; here is a particular favorite.
When I was five years old, I spent a week with my grandparents in Dover, Delaware. They had an old house, and out back there was a small barn with a long workbench with dozens of drawers—one full of saws, another with drills and drill bits, and another with hammers and horseshoes and nails. But my favorite drawer was loaded with old knives. My grandfather showed m
e each one, and then he taught me how to use a small penknife to sharpen a pencil. I was too young to own a knife, but he said, “Someday I’ll send you one.” I went home to New Jersey, and I got busy with school and friends. About eight years later, a package arrived. My grandfather had remembered his promise, and he’d sent me about twenty different knives! Since then, I’ve lost some of those knives, some got broken, and I have given some away. But I still have one little knife on the desk where I write, and now and then, I use it to sharpen a pencil.
Visit Andrew at andrewclements.com.
ADAM STOWER loves fantasy and adventure stories. He studied illustration at the Norwich School of Art and Design and at the University of Brighton. He currently lives with his daughter in Brighton, England. Visit Adam at worldofadam.com.
JACKET DESIGN BY SONIA CHAGHATZBANIAN • JACKET ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADAM STOWER
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
SIMON & SCHUSTER • NEW YORK
Meet the author, watch videos, and get extras at
KIDS.SIMONANDSCHUSTER.COM
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Andrew-Clements
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Adam-Stower
Books by Andrew Clements
Benjamin Pratt & the Keepers of the School
#1: We the Children
#2: Fear Itself
#3: The Whites of Their Eyes
#4: In Harm’s Way
#5: We Hold These Truths
Big Al
Big Al and Shrimpy
Dogku
The Handiest Things in the World
A Million Dots
About Average
Extra Credit
Frindle
The Jacket
Jake Drake, Bully Buster
Jake Drake, Class Clown
Jake Drake, Know-It-All
Jake Drake, Teacher’s Pet
The Janitor’s Boy
The Landry News
The Last Holiday Concert
Lost and Found
Lunch Money
No Talking